Simon Riley Indulging Your Darker Kinks Cw: Cnc, Mask Play, Knife Play, Breath Play, Gun Mentioned (but

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

flight risk

john wick x fem reader, minors mdni

synopsis: life was perfect, despite what your parents wished for you, you had all you could possibly want. surely your husband wont wake you up at 2am and drag you across the world, uprooting everything you've ever known.

authours note: this is the first thing i've ever written AHHH AHHH AHH, thank you for reading though!! oh my goshhh, i'm so nervous.

cw: drugging, guns, suspected kidnapping, morally grey but also not john, john just wants his wife guys </3

it had been exactly 3 years since you had uprooted your life after meeting john. which sounds like a major sacrifice, because well sure, thats how your parents viewed it. the confused pinching of your mother's eyebrows as she fiddled with her wedding ring told you that. 

you didn't need to be a genius to recognise that perhaps your father didnt trust john, slipping pepper spray into your purse and a pocket knife onto your keychain as you said goodbye in the airport. maybe it was an act of rebellion moving away, far away. sure you were naive, but in a specific way. you had seen shit, a lot of shit, but you made an active choice every day: see the good. is it indescribably cliche? absolutely! but hope kept you going. 

so when you stumbled upon a particular six-foot man with a limp, you tilted your head both in awe and intrigue. your first dates were awkward, almost forced. he was incredibly vague about every little detail in his life and so naturally, you chalked that up to ‘he must not like me.’ when you asked about his family, he responded that he didn't speak to them. when you asked about his job, you got the typical ‘im a contractor’ response. what the fuck is a contractor? what are you like a spy? psh. 

but he was sweet, a gentleman too. paranoid and perhaps vigilant to a fault, but you didn't ask questions. he was just being overprotective, which was nice in your eyes. you fell deeply in love with him, getting married 2 years after meeting him. you pieced together his career. he would call you a pacifist when you commented on the number of guns he seemed to own casually. which sure, wasn’t exactly a lie. but he didn't view the world as black and white, and therefore neither should you, you decided very quickly. 

it was your anniversary so you decided to set up a beautiful, intimate dinner at home. he arrived and you pushed him away to put on some slacks, even though it was just the two of you. he would chuff, kiss your temple, and oblige. so there you sat, serving dinner, walking over to his side of the table to pour him merlot when you accidentally bumped the bottle with your hip, knocking it off the table. you let out a yelp, frozen as you watched him catch it effortlessly without breaking eye contact with you. there were 2 things to note about his actions. 

1. you were unquestionably sure that this must be the most attractive thing anyone has ever done, fuck.

2. the speed of his reflexes did not match the job description or the skillset that belongs to a ‘contractor’

the dinner continued, albeit awkward because you had questions. and to your surprise, he wasn't so vague. now he was being blunt to a fault. which you suppose married couples are. 

“im a hitman” he stabbed a shrimp sitting on top of the pile of pasta, bringing it to his mouth with a sense of casualness that was unnerving. haha. funny.

so naturally, you giggled as he chewed. 

“a hitman? john that’s- ridiculous. can you be serious for a moment? i love your jokes, but this is our anniversary dinner.” you laughed softly into your wine glass, tilting your head and propping your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on (an action that would have caused your mother to hit the back of your hand with her fork due to the improper manners you were displaying).

“not a joke baby” he hummed almost with a solemn look in his eye. the reality of the situation hit you like a freight train when he reached out to hold your hand over the table, drawing soft, soothing circles on the back of it. not a joke. it wasn’t a joke. 

he slept on the couch that night. maybe it was harsh, but no- no, he deserved that. you married a man, a hitman. who lied about his entire career and kept guns under floorboards, you didn't even know could be kicked up. alas, trust was built back up. he reassured you he only killed dangerous people who did bad things. life wasn't so black and white, you realised once again. it took a while, but you fell back to the stage where you trusted him again. 

he came home late some nights, and left to go overseas every now and then for a week or so. but he would come back with little souvenirs for you: wine from rome, chocolate from switzerland, and jewellery from india. he made money that you could only dream about, but who can put a price on taking someone's life? 

you adored him though. maybe it was fucked up, maybe you were sick and twisted. but your husband would kill for you without hesitation, and you couldnt lie to yourself and say that fact didnt turn you on at least a little bit. 

you both moved to tokyo, right in the middle of the city about a month after this dinner. relocation seemed to be a common theme, but new cities and new languages were always exciting for you. and he assured you all was well, but you had your suspicions. maybe he feared someone he pissed off would come find you, even the score and put a bounty over your pretty head. 

you enforced the fact that if you were going to sleep with guns in the house, they all needed to be locked away in gun safes. there needed to be rules, and trustworthiness for this to work. john lied, he kept a hidden one in his bedside table, and another under your bed alongside the others in the safe. 

the rain pelted, it was a sunday night, well morning technically you realised. pretty much all of japan had been hit with a tropical storm, which meant that sleepless nights in your shared highrise apartment came with built in ‘white noise’ sounds from the thunder outside. though this night, you slept soundly. it was about 1am when you faintly heard footsteps, belonging to john you assumed. 

talking in incoherent sleep babble, you didnt open your eyes, you just mumbled ‘john..?’ muffled by your pillow. whoever it was stopped what they were doing and walked over. 

“mm, hi baby. it’s me. go back to sleep mkay? it’s late.” a silky smooth voice surrounded you in a blanket of warmth and you mumbled an i love you and drifted back off.

unaware. he waited until you were out cold before he started haphazardly shoving belongings of yours into a suitcase. he proceeded to zip it up and prop the suitcase against the wall next to his own. on top of his suitcase laid two drivers liscences, marked with photos of the two of you, but with different names, addresses, birthdays. identities. you stirred in your sleep as a calloused palm gently cupped your cheek, whispering your name. your eyes blinked open sleepily. 

“hi my sleepy girl” he looked down at you, perched on the side of your bed with a soft smile, still dressed. which was odd, why wasnt he in his usual sleeping sweatpants? you sleepily blinked up at him, looking over to your digital clock. 1:47am. 

“mhmhphmh?…” you mumbled out, an unspoken question as if to say come to bed, what are you doing? your eyes fluttered closed again, snuggling back down.

“honey, need you to wake up for me, kay? im sorry, i know, i know..” he gently rubbed your back, biting down on his cheek until he drew blood, loathing himself for what he was about to put you through. his sweet, sweet girl.

“eyes open, open them up for me.” he gently tapped your cheek and begrudgingly open them, sitting up looking unimpressed. 

“it’s 2am i wanna-” you yawned softly, covering your mouth. “wanna sleep john, just come to bed.” your eyes shifted around the room landing on the packed suitcases. suddenly sleep no longer felt like a priority. 

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, tucking your hair behind your ears as you looked to him for answers wordlessly. he sighed softly, a deep one that he had clearly been holding in for a moment or two. he gently stood up, holding out a hand for you to take and pulling you up, walking you to the walk-in robe. 

“i know you’re confused, and probably scared. you trust me, don't you baby?” he looked down at you as he rummaged through clothes that belonged to you. he settled on a sweater and jeans. 

“trust you..? of course i do.. i just don't, john.. what's happening?” you asked, almost with hurt in your voice, a conviction of what was about to occur. 

he gently walked back over, mumbling a quiet ‘arms up’ as he slipped your nightgown off, putting a sweater on you, and passing you jeans to put on. 

“it’s just a precaution baby. don't want to scare you, okay? we’re just going on a trip for a little bit, okay?” he said calmly as you zipped up your jeans and slipped on converse. you swallowed thickly as he put a baseball cap on your head.

“an incognito sort of trip?” you said with disappointment, realising all too well what this trip meant. “where? you know i panic when i fly, i can't get on a plane, john.” he kissed your forehead softly, washing away any doubt. 

“there are eyes and ears everywhere, baby, we have to be quiet about this, just have some faith in me, i wouldn't purposefully put you in a dangerous situation, yeah?” he walked out, sliding her fraudulent id into her pocket. it was like a whole double life he lived. she had no idea he had these made, did he have fake passports too? emergency cash stashed somewhere? you followed him like a lost dog as he picked up your suitcases. 

“we aren't coming back here, are we? to this apartment?” you asked in a flat tone, one of hurt and despair. he gently shook his head, giving you a solemn smile. you disappeared into the kitchen, dumping everything in the fridge into the bin. 

“honey? what are you doing? baby- i.. we have to go, now.” you looked up at him, rushing to shove perishable items into the bin. 

“i dont want to leave the apartment in disarray, someone will realise and come and look, and i dont want the owners of the building stumbling across rotten food. its the polite thing to do.” you said, mindlessly stepping into action. 

“very polite. clever girl. we dont have time for that though, baby. come on. need you to listen to me and focus.” he held out a hand which you begrudgingly took. 

you suddenly yanked away, running back into your closet, to which he sighed pinching his nose. 

“baby. i won't tell you again,” he said, short. pointedly. you reassured you would only be a minute, running back out with your wedding garter in hand, shoving it into your suitcase. wedding albums, dresses, suits would all sit here and haunt your empty apartment. 

you needed to take something with you. he noticed what you did and looked down at you like you had punched him in the gut, pained, hurt. he gently cupped the back of your head, bringing you forward to press a pained kiss to your forehead as he cursed under his breath.

“im so sorry sweet girl. i just need to keep you safe, you understand that, don't you?” you gave him a brief nod, a faraway look in your eyes. 

he led you out into the hallway, and then ushered you into the elevator as he took a phone call. he spoke in tongues, well, that was what it sounded like to you. codewords and a whole different language. something eastern european you guessed. you perched a seat on top of your suitcase, as he spoke. he looked over to you and continued speaking, reaching down to pick up his suitcase, phone held to his ear by his shoulder as he pulled your suitcase along with you sitting on top of it. he hung up the phone. down another hallway. suddenly you were in the apartment building's garage. he led you to a black suv. you looked at him confused. 

“you drive an aston martin, and this isnt my kia sport.” 

“no, it isn't your kia sport. get in, honey, come on.” you sighed, still so many unanswered questions as he ushered you in, doing up your seatbelt. 

“i didn't know you were bilingual,” you said, looking down at your converse, chewing your lip. you didn't know what to say, too many things to ask. 

“what language was that?” 

“ukranian.” he spoke softly, driving you through the city, he passed you a bottle of water that was in the car. “drink, you need to stay hydrated.” 

“john im scared, i don't understand any of this and i need to call my dad, tell him what's happe-” he gave you a knowing look. sighing softly, holding out his hand for your phone. 

your furrowed your eyebrows, but trusted him. passing him the phone. he dropped it onto the floor of his car and stomped the foot that wasnt on the accelerator onto your phone, smashing it. you let out a loud gasp of shock, confusion. he had a stone cold face as he rolled down the window and threw it out of the car. 

“john!” you choked out, in disbelief. 

“don't fight me on this sweetheart. i need you to listen to me and do what i say, okay? im trying to keep you safe, and that isn't going to work if you have your phone on you. you cant be traceable.” you sat there, realising the weight of his words. 

“i asked you to drink, baby. please.” you scoffed, a little attitude now. you wanted to throw the water in his face or tell him to shove it up his ass. he was being vague again. not answering your questions, ordering you around. but you conceded and drank, he watched you out of the corner of his eye. 

you sipped, thinking about how much your family would worry when you didnt answer their calls, would they file a missing persons report? i mean, they didnt know what john.. truly did. oh god this was going to be messy. you gulped down the water, curled away from him. was it petty? sure. but you wanted to know you weren't happy with him. 

you sighed sipping the water and suddenly the bottle slipped from your hand, sloshing onto your shoes and dribbling down your lips as you tilted your head almost in slow motion, realising what had happened. john didn't react. why wouldn't he react? oh… oh.

“john, i feel dizzy n’ fuzzy or something.. i dont-” you slurred out, not recognising your voice, you sat confused as your head lolled back into your seat and you slipped into unconsciousness. 

fuck,  john swore under his breath. the guilt was going to eat at him alive. he needed to get you on a plane, a private unlisted one of course, far away and off the grid. but he knew he would have to drag you on kicking and screaming, your phobia of flying would ensure that. that would be loud, and messy. next best solution? 

mildly drug the love of your life to make the transition smoother. god you would never forgive him for this, but it’s something he was doing for you, he tried to convince himself.

the unmarked suv pulled up to an open field, somewhere in japan. an undisclosed location. there was a plane under a huge tarp waiting, he pulled the tarp of the smaller plane, it was only built for two. he never mentioned he could fly a plane, or that he had fake passports made up, or that he spoke multiple languages and had various safehouses built.. nothing of the sort. but why would he want to worry your precious mind? there was nothing he hated more than seeing the look of fear on your face. 

he shoved the luggage in and sighed, cursing again as he slung you over his shoulder, walking up the two steps to the plane, sitting you down and strapping you in. tears welled in his eyes at the sight of you sitting there, looking so vulnerable. he gently pulled your head up to slip on the headphones and closed the plane door. as he strapped in, the plane roared to life and suddenly the two of you were in the air. 

he landed the plane somewhere in sweden. a field. where he of course, had another unmarked suv waiting. he killed the engiene, swallowing his guilt as he slid your headset off and scooped you back up, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of your mouth, your jaw had gone slack. 

you stirred slowly, words slow to come out of your mouth, still a little slurred as he drove around sweden. something garbled and entangled, adjacent to ‘john?’. he clenched his jaw, inhaling softly before deciding to pull over, if you slapped him, it would probably be best if the car was stationary. 

he turned to look at your sweet face. waiting for you to speak. you winced softly, your head aching, limbs like jelly. groggy. 

“you..- did you?” you mumbled out with bite. you had pieced it together as you passed out. he didnt react, because he was expecting you to fall unconscious, because he have you water he had previously drugged. 

“i had to get you on a plane. without you pulling my hair or screaming.” he said calmly, staring straight forward. 

“i might just fucking kill you, actually, ive decided.. im your wife!” you yelled, and he flinched. “you deserve this, john” - he spoke to himself in his mind. 

“my darling girl, i know. i know..” he winced as you continued your rant. 

“you fucking drugged me! with what? what was it? some fucked up sedative im sure you have lying around in our apartment. oh! im sorry, our old apartment. i cant do this. where the fuck are we? im going back home.”

“cant tell you the drug. it’s something from somewhere, we can call it that. we’re in sweden, i have a safe house being set up but we need to stay in a hotel tonight.”

“oh! fantastic, we’re in fucking sweden and my husband practically used a date rape drug to knock me out.”

“honey please dont ever use the word ‘rape’ and ‘my husband’ in a sentence together, ever again. clear?” he said sternly looking at you.

you sighed softly. “im sorry- i didnt it mean it like that. but im still fucking seething with you.” he turned the car back on, turning back onto the road. 

“which is entirely fair. you can slap me when we get to the hotel, alright baby? i just need to get you somewhere while we wait for the safehouse.” he said softly. 

you grumbled something out but relented. “im not going to slap you, you’d somehow get off on that.” you blurted out and he chuffed under his breath, knowing that would be true. 

you arrived in a hotel, a fancy one at that, he spoke to the front desk. luggage at his side. oh great, he speaks swedish too. you glared at him as he spoke. he walked you to the elevator. 

“honey?” you said with a deceiving smile and anger in your voice. 

“yes dearest?” he responded with equal sarcasm.

“next time i comment on the fact you’re bilingual, maybe correct me and say trilingual.” 

“polygot actually, 8 languages.” 

you turned your head to look up at him, and yell. but the elevator doors dinged and opened, revealing a sweet looking couple. you bit your tongue and he stepped aside letting the couple out. he had the nerve to strike up a conversation with them as you looked at the ground, no idea what was being said. 

“åh vilket underbart par!” the woman cooed softly, nudging her husband who agreed smiling gently. 

“ah tack så mycket, det här är min underbara fru. kul att träffa er båda, men vi måste komma till vårt rum. önskar dig lycka till!” john spoke and your eyes widened softly at the accuracy of the accent, he dragged you into the elevator. 

“i love you. i love you so much. please realise im doing this for you. to protect you.” he said, holding your cheeks softly in his palms as the elevator rode up to your floor. 

“i love you too. im just confused, and scared.. i wouldnt have gotten on a plane otherwise, im still peeved you did that though.” he nodded, kissing your forehead.

“i know baby, how about i run you a bath and we can order some champagne and talk? would that be alright?” you nodded softly as he walked you to your hotel room. it was lovely, luxurious even. he ran the bath and you stripped, slipping in and sighing in bliss, closing your eyes. 

you heard him speak on the hotel phone, probably ordering champagne, and he checked the hotel room, paranoid. the champagne never came, and so he sighed, poking his head into the bathroom, looking at you in absolute awe. you turned your head looking towards him.

“im just going to run down to see what’s taking so long, okay baby? i will be right back, two minutes at most.” you nodded softly. 

“that’s okay. ill be here… and john?”

“hm?”

“i love you.” he smiled walking over to kiss you delicately, looking into your eyes.

“i love you too. two minutes, time me.” he murmured before disappearing. 

two minutes later, almost exactly - if you had bothered to time it, you heard the door click. you smiled to yourself, closing your eyes softly as you relaxed in the bath, bubbles covering you. you heard the footsteps approach the door. 

“john? dont bother with the glasses, just come here.” you called out, assuming he was going into the hotel room to collect the glasses. he never responded. he always responded to you. 

“john?” you called out, voice wavering. it’s not like you could call him. but surely it was him. you sighed, stepping out, wrapping a towel around your body. soap suds rolling down your chest as you padded out into the bedroom part of the hotel room. he was nowhere to be seen. 

“john? baby?” you mumbled softly. it all happened so fast.

you had no time to react as a hand clamped over your mouth from behind. another grabbing your waist, hand around your towel. your short towel. you kicked, screaming, muffled behind the hand. trying to kick out the feet from behind you. you halted, inhaling shakily when you felt something cold press to the side of your head. this wasn't john. 

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18+ !! <3 coming to theatres soon...

bond.. james, bond. ✧ .・smoke & mirrors, dirty martinis, garters, british accents, disguises, seduction, elevator sex, suicide pills, rome, revolvers, aston martins, gentle love, body worshipping, casinos, chandeliers, cigars, holding his arm instead of his hand, gloved hands, fake passports, false identities.

these boots are made for walking, nancy sinatra

bulletproof, la roux

i belong to you, caro emerald

toxic las vegas, britney spears & elvis presley

i know places, taylor swift

heads will roll, yeah yeah yeahs

why dont you do right, julie london

sweeter

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

tags: MDNI smut!, established relationship, fem!reader, foodplay (whipped cream), oral (f receiving, munch!spencer i love you), nipple play, kinda temperature play, one use of pussy pronouns (gasp).

a/n: fun fun fun, my first time getting experimental with smut! happy reading!!

wc: 1.7k

you instantly regret it when the foam hits you. it's that unpleasant cold sensation. similar to a too-frigid shower early in the morning when the water doesn't heat up fast enough, spreading a shiver down your spine as you recoil inward.

spencer's fingers rub soothingly into your hip as he hovers the nozzle of the can over your other nipple. your stomach clenches, your bodily response telling you to get away. you were warm; spencer made you feel warm. 

but no. you had to bring this up; you had to insist despite his protests and concerns for you.

“it'll be fun, spence,” you had goaded. “and it'll taste good.”

“you already taste good,” he responded, dipping down to lick your pulse point as if to prove his point.

“can we at least try?” you whined, tone overly sweet. 

he conceded with a huff, but you weren't blind to the excited little glint in his eyes.

so now you're perched on your kitchen counter, clad only in your underwear, on top of an old t-shirt that spencer had so courteously laid out for you, ensuring the marble wouldn't be ice to your thighs. the kitchen, apparently, was the most ideal location for this. easy and convenient to clean up, and food is meant to be here, after all. 

he's eyeing you with amusement, eyebrows raised. “are you sure about this, honey?” he struggles to suppress a laugh, barely managing it. you’d imagine he’d be more sympathetic, but all he's sporting is a smug little smile as he sprays more whipped cream on you, chuckling when you flinch.

“you’re a sadist,” you grumble before turning firm, your resolve clear. “i’m sure.”

you inadvertently puff out your chest, a show of strength, but it doesn't appear that way to spencer. his eyes dart down, something hungry blooming in the dark pits of his pupils. 

maybe this will be fun. 

your tits only just covered by clouds of white foam, the sight is ghastly, and it makes him swallow hard. he stands there, a little confounded, as you reach for a bottle of sprinkles beside you, lightly dusting some over you. he hates you for being so normal about this and he hates you for the teasing grin that plays at the corner of your mouth when you look at him again. the counter has offered you some leverage, putting you at eye level with him.

but, oh. he loves you for the way your head tilts so endearingly. the way your lip gets pulled sheepishly between your teeth as you note the intensity with which he regards you. you lean forward, pressing a fluttering kiss to his cheek. you pause by his ear, “go ahead.”

he hooks an arm behind you, pulling you forward as well as offering you something to lean on. he starts with a kiss on your shoulder, lingering in what you assume is an effort to prolong it, to tease you. you feel the curve of his smile against your skin, the way his teeth peek out as he does so. his lips brush over your collarbone, up to your neck. they attach themselves just under your jaw, sucking lightly.

you don't realise that he has brought that can back to your body until you feel foam pool at the hollow of your throat. you hiss at the sudden cold contact but he quickly soothes that with the warmth of his tongue, scooping it up.

“fuck,” you curse lowly when he runs his tongue up your neck, nipping at your pulse point. 

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, bringing his lips back up to yours. he kisses you multiple times in quick succession, trying to make you laugh. he succeeds when you bite his bottom lip in mock reprimand. “i’m so lucky.”

it's dizzying the way he dips down so quickly, pressing a kiss to your sternum. you almost don’t realise when his mouth inches dangerously close to your whipped cream covered nipple, wrapping his lips around it and licking up the melting remnants off along with the sprinkles. the sensation makes you keen, high pitched and a little needy. he laps at the peaked bud, pinching and rolling it between his teeth. 

his arm is firm against your back, holding you to him with unmitigated strength as he sprays more cream onto your nipple and flattens his tongue on top of it. he spends a while there before moving to your opposite one and repeating with carefully paid attention. he hums appreciatively, pulling off with a pop. his pleased smile is accompanied by a contented lick of his lips.

“you want more?” he asks eagerly, relishing the way you look at him with a mildly shocked expression. 

you agree with a dazed nod. reaching for his neck, you pull him in for a kiss, breath hitching when you taste the whipped cream on his lips. “what the fuck?” you stifle a laugh in disbelief.

he just shrugs like it's nothing. like what he just did didn’t get you embarrassingly wet. you squeeze your thighs together, a way to conceal the growing damp patch on your underwear. spencer, ever the observer, notices this. he nudges your knees apart, stepping between your legs. his fingers skim over your skin as he takes you in, smiling somewhat deviously. 

“lift your hips?” he tugs at the waistband of your panties, pulling them down when you rise off the counter. 

he sneaks his hand down and presses his thumb between your folds. he rubs in small, slow circles, drawing out little moans and gasps from you. he trails down to your entrance, to the pool of wetness there and drags it back up to your clit. 

“holy shit, you really liked that,” he breathes, gaping at the way the pad of his thumb glistens. “or you just like my tongue on you. either way.”

“spence,” you whisper, his name caught between a whine and a plea. 

“what do you want, angel girl?”

“make me come,” you murmur, gaze darting helplessly between his eyes and his mouth. it's clearly not all you want.

he knows this. 

“i’m trying,” he says earnestly, applying a bit more pressure to your clit as he does so. he doesn’t hide the shit-eating grin that blooms across his face.

you make a noise, something dragged out and petulant, not willing to encourage further teasing, which makes him laugh.

“you want my mouth?” he asks, to which you nod meekly. he presses a chaste to your chin, chuckling fondly. he drops to his knees and you don't notice when he snags the can of whipped cream down with him.

he pulls you from behind the knees to scoot closer to his face, leaving you almost hanging off the counter. with a hand on your inner thigh and his shoulders between your legs, he holds you open. 

now, you shouldn't be surprised. spencer has always been partial to eating you out; some might even argue it's his favourite thing to do. so when the opportunity to enhance that experience came along, you shouldn’t have been surprised that he took it. 

still, you can't help the shocked squeal that you let out when he sprays whipped cream over your clit, stupidly rotating his wrist so it settles in a swirl like he's icing a cupcake. he drinks in the sight, the white peak beckoning him. wildly excited, he dips down and licks. it's obscene–you can’t even look at him, the way his tongue sticks out. 

“oh god,” you gasp, moaning when he sprays a line up your vulva, his mouth following close behind, greedily lapping up the mess.

“gotta clean her up,” he mumbles, amusement tugging at him when he sees your expression–thoroughly heated. “can’t have you getting a uti,” he continues, licking a casual but firm stripe between your folds. he definitely means it.

his lips close around your clit, dropping the can with a resounding thump as he circles his arms around both thighs, seemingly done with the cream. he sucks profusely; cheeks hollowed as he pulls your bud into his mouth, tongue flicking over it relentlessly. your soft pants reverberate around the room, blending with the wet sounds coming from between your legs. he moans when your thighs try to close around his head, a broken sound escaping him as his grip tightens. 

“sweet,” he mumbles. “you taste so amazing, angel. so so good.”

his words are muffled against you. he gets like this, you’ve noticed, pussy drunk–as you so affectionately put it. he babbles mindlessly, his tongue working deliberately without pause. it's not like you're doing any better, the unyielding press of his mouth on you rendering you a mess. your hand rakes through his hair desperately, tugging when the coil in your stomach begins to tighten.

“oh fuck. spence, i'm gonna-”

his eyes snap up to yours, softening. the warmth in his gaze is at odds with the desperation in the way he holds you, the way he mouths at you like he’s starved. he hums, the sound vibrating through you, coaxing, pleading as he urges you to let go. 

the wave crashes over you, pulling you under. his mouth follows the spasming motions of your hips, dutiful as he helps you ride out the high. he selfishly licks at you a few more times before pulling back. the lower half of his face is a wreck when he stands up, slick covering his chin. he greets you with a coy but giddy expression. 

“you’re insane,” you giggle, reaching for a kitchen towel that you know is somewhere behind you. you use it to wipe his face, rubbing his lips dry with your thumb, rosy and swollen from overexertion. you cradle his face gently and he leans in, planting a kiss on your palm as he does so. 

“good?” he asks nervously.

“really good, baby.” you smile, inclining forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

you hop off the counter, a spring in your step as you thrust the can of whipped cream into his hands. you slip your fingers into his belt loops, biting your lip as you walk backwards, pulling him toward the living room–to the couch. 

“trust that i won't make a mess,” you placate his confusion with a playful grin. “but we are not finished here.”

spencer was in for a night. 

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yeah some people don’t believe in reality shifting but some people also don’t believe women can orgasm so I stopped trusting other peoples opinions a long time ago

18+ !! <3 coming to theatres soon...

tom riddle ✧ .・chilled to the bone, collarbone kisses, sacrificial lamb , well-mannered, 1940's, being reprimanded, nocturnal, promised immortality, dead of night, ethically ambigious decisions, constantly looking over one's shoulder, lingering paranoia, selfishness, whiskey nightcaps, cyanide baked into pies, rulebook, love or obsession posession?

cant catch me now, olivia rodrigo

put your head on my shoulder, paul anka

feeling good, muse

seven devils, florence + the machine

change, deftones

hello, adele

where did your love go? dawid podsialo

end of the world, skeeter davis

sometimes all an angel needs is her alone time and tumblr

I want retired!john with a bad knee and a pudgy belly who spends his time helping at risk youth because I love to imagine that john was a troublemaker in his youth who just needed a strong role model in his life

being his pretty wife who brings baked goods for their group sessions, you remember every face who introduces themselves to you. make all the kids feel seen every time you greet them at the youth center, asking how the test they were talking about last week went

even if they give john a hard time, they can’t bring themselves to be mean to their youth counsellor’s wife because she’s just so sweet

being the “safe” house in the neighbourhood, door always open for the teens who’d rather not go home. who don’t have parents they can ask for advice or a warm meal waiting for them tonight

is this too niche and boring? or is there something here?

please help a displaced family of 7 in gaza https://gofund.me/e231bb99

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