thinking of having a roommate who loves seeing me walk around in an oversized shirt with no bra and pj shorts that make them question if i’m even wearing anything underneath because of how thier hidden by the shirt.
i want them to be a little creep who gets off on how trusting i am towards them.
who sneaks into my room when i’m out to steal my panties and use them as a cum rag before putting them back in my closet. knowing i’ll wear them even if i see the stains cause i’ll just assume i ruined them myself and decide they’ll work until i get some new pairs.
who watches me put on location after i shower, seeing me rub the white cream into my skin and wishing it was their cum covering me instead, taking my half empty bottle of cream and adding a couple loads of thick cum to it, loving the way i don’t question why the bottles are little fuller now, nearly creaming their pants seeing me cover myself in the cum filled location, it’s almost like their claiming my body marking it as theirs.
who can’t take it anymore and sneak into my room while i’m asleep, find me sleeping in those ridiculously short pj bottoms, moving them to the side, seeing my pretty pussy presented just for them, getting me nice and wet with their tongue while stretching me out with two fingers, adding a third to make sure i’m nice and prepared, finally getting to fuck me all nice and gentle like a cute princess, so blissed out finally being able to touch me in the the depraved ways they’ve been craving and hearing me make those sweet sleepy moans that bring them so close to the the edge that they don’t notice how rough they’re getting with me, pausing mid thrust when they hear me whisper their name, looking down to see my half awake and unfocused eyes, slowly starting to thrust again while cooing at how cute i am to be having such a depraved dream about my roommate, lulling me back to sleep while still fucking into my wet cunt, cumming harder than they ever have before right into my pussy only to pull out and watch it leak out of my hole, using thier thumb to push it back into my cunt before wiping their hand in my hair and fixing up my shorts, going back to their own room completely spent and ready for sleep.
who wakes up the next morning to see me act like nothing happend and i don’t have dried cum covering my thighs and making my bed head worse.
maybe my lovely roommate will decide to start making nightly visits to my room to test just how oblivious i can be.
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i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's just miserable that no one remembered his birthday at work but when he gets home his roommate just welcomes him with the most thoughtful gift and a warm hug PLEASE
thank you for requesting! <3 fem!reader
The lights are off. The air conditioning blows a shade too cold. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and acknowledges that, despite his awful, aching day, it’s nice to be home.
The living room is clean where it hadn’t been this morning when he left. If he had to clean it by himself, he’d die. It must’ve taken a good hour or longer, even the floor shines sparkling clean.
“Hey?” he asks into the open air, wondering where you are.
“Spencer!” you yelp from the kitchen, “Hey, what took you so long? It’s almost seven!”
He sighs to himself with a great dash of self-pity. “I know. Had to stay and finish something. You cleaned?”
“I had to! Quick, come in here, I need your help with something.”
He doesn’t want to help, he wants to lay down in bed. Spencer wonders how a normal person, a normal boy, would feel after a day like today. He wonders if Morgan would go home and lay in bed and cry. He wonders if it could ever be possible for everyone to forget Morgan’s birthday.
Spencer hangs his jacket on the rack and puts his bag by the shoes. He’s tempted to go to bed and pretend he hasn’t heard you, but he supposes he shouldn’t. He’d sort of been hoping you’d text him happy birthday, and but that never happened. He doesn’t think anybody in the world besides his mom knows what day it is today, and Spencer had to remind her, so.
“Spence,” you say, your smile of a calibre he’s never witnessed, standing in front of the kitchen island with your hands behind your back, “I hope you know I’ve been waiting two whole hours for you to get back. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day, but you can’t be blamed for working. Okay. Are you ready?”
“Am I ready? What did you want help with?”
You step to the side, grinning, the sleeves of your nice blouse like big, soft petals around your wrists and against your thighs. “Tada!” you say, guiding his attention to the silver platter on the countertop, a chocolate cake at centre stage and stuck with candles, flames aglow. “I rushed to light them when I heard the door,” you tell him, and he can hear your breathlessness now, your excitement for him evident. “A lot of candles, you’re getting old! Too old for chocolate sprinkle. I should’ve got you something sophisticated.”
“You got me a cake?”
“It’s your birthday,” you say happily. “Happy birthday, Spencer. I got you some presents, too, but the cake is the best, it’s from the Leaven. How fancy is that?”
“Will you sing?” he asks.
He doesn’t know why he asks. He’s mostly kidding, but you smile shyly and beckon him toward you. “I’ll sing. Come stand over here.”
You sing him happy birthday, and he blows out his candles, only ten candles altogether but enough to feel like a kid as the heat kisses his chin.
“Okay, and I got you this,” you say, finally pulling both hands from behind your back, seemingly eager to move the focus from your performance.
It’s a bundle about as thick as an average novel. He knows it’ll be books before he opens it, because you know him, and it’s in your nature to give him your everything.
He doesn’t look at them. He takes the package blindly and shoves it onto the counter, wrapping you in a hug so hard it makes your back click. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You don’t make him. “Sorry, I just– I–” You’re the only one who remembered. “Thank you for the cake.”
You hug him not quite as hard, but tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, you’re my best friend ever, you can pop me like a roll of dough any day of the week.” You might be exaggerating. Spencer doesn’t know. “But especially today, you know. You can have anything you want.”
Spencer should let go. Anything you want, you’d said. He hugs you until he’s sure you’re sick of him, your thumb pressing little circles into his shoulder, his arms tucked up under your armpits and around your back. “Thanks,” you murmur.
“What?” he asks. “For what?”
“For such a good hug. And being a great roommate. And for not complaining about the candles.”
“The candles are perfect.”
You lean back in his arms. “Thank you. Now what do you want first, cake or dinner?”
Spencer really wants another hug. “Um. Cake?”
“Good choice, handsome.”
His cheeks are pink by the time he gets a slice, but it’s the best birthday cake he’s ever had.
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