#AND THE WAY HE SAYS “SQUASH” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilreidgirl · 2 months ago

Text

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

#drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey fic #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

3K notes · View notes

gotta-bail-my-quails · 11 months ago

Text

woah did not realize 3 inches was that small

#not a pp joke im ace #measured my ponytail circumference because im constantly worried im balding and it comes out to about 3jn #which is apparently medium hair density #although my hair is thin af so...?#apparently eating eggs almonds fish squash spinach broccoli and citrus help...#most i already consume in some way except for fish #yall have no idea how much i fear balding #im not even 20 yet too #i have nightmares about this shit #like. not even the horrific death shit scares me its balding 💀💀#they say what you see in mirrors in dreams are the scariest things you can imagine...#I SEE MYSELF BALDING #genuinely.#i just rly like long hair. this is evident in my taste in men #except for toland 👉👩‍🦲 bald ass mfer #his hair fell out when he got powers lol

1 note · View note

writerfromthestars · 4 months ago

Text

DP X DC PROMPT: DANNY'S AN ASSASSIN?!

So Danny gets adopted by the Waynes somehow.

Now, he's a teenage vigilante, he knows all the signs. And he can clearly tell that Damian and Tim are sneaking out under the cover of night to fight crime as Robin and Red Robin.

While ordinarily this would lead to the connection between the Waynes being Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and various other assorted vigilantes, that's not what we're here for, so instead, what happens is that Danny thinks that his two absolutely normal little brothers are sneaking out, meeting strange people dressed in spandex and Kevlar on rooftops, and punching criminals.

He has no issue with this.

The only issue he has is that Tim and Damian are inexperienced, I mean, Damian's twelve or something like that, he can't have been Robin for long. He's not particularly willing to get back into heroism himself, though, so this leads to him casually dropping random tidbits of information that only an ex-vigilante/hero/assassin/other part of the caped community, would know into regular conversation.

Like, if Tim's using bandages on his hand, Danny will suddenly drop the fact that that particular brand is very absorbent and works really well to take care of large, bloody wounds, like bullet holes in important places.

If Damian's reading a book about different knives, and their creation processes (because be real, he totally would) Danny will read over his shoulder a bit and then just point out a knife that would particularly good for stabbing someone in the stomach, or slitting someone's throat. (he knows this because of a. his rogues trying to kill him and b. Dan likes sharp things.)

The three of them are watching some superhero movie or something, and Danny goes on a twelve-minute rant about how the fight scenes would never work that way.

Tim and Damian come to the conclusion that their new brother has been trained by the League of Assassins or something.

Here's the issue. Danny hasn't.

So Damian starts dropping little hints that he knows that Danny was part of the League, for example a reference to a technique that only a League member would know. Danny, who has been trained in hand-to-hand by Dan, who was trained by dead League assassins in the alternate timeline, knows the moves.

Danny is just happy that his baby brothers are taking his advice, and opening up to him too. Damian is even starting to talk about fighting with him, and he thinks that they might actually tell him about their nighttime activities soon.

Finally, the two confront him on it. And by that, I mean that like the emotionally constipated bats they are, they utterly fail in their interrogation because they can't just come out and say it out in the open.

Tim: so Danny, I noticed how you know a lot about fighting. and first aid, and stuff.

Damian: I have noticed this as well. Might I inquire as to where you gained these skills?

Danny just thinks that they have figured out his past as a vigilante and that they are worried about him being hurt.

Danny: Don't worry about it. I don't do that type of thing anymore.

Now that's a deflection if Tim's ever heard it.

Damian, digging for more information: I wish to know. Maybe I can learn from whoever it was that taught you?

Danny grimaces slightly before answering.

Danny: Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna learn from the people who taught me this stuff. They squash you like a bug.

Tim and Damian take this as confirmation that Danny was involve in the League. Danny just means that pitting his rogue gallery, which consists of exclusively ghosts, against living boys would be unfair.

#fanfic #writing #batman #dcu #damian wayne #tim drake #danny fenton #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #damian wayne al ghul #danny gets adopted by batman #batfamily #batkids #batfam #league of assassins

3K notes · View notes

choslut · 5 months ago

Text

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about.

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust.

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting.

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind.

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife.

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra.

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more.

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure.

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes.

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over.

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out.

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts.

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full.

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day.

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream.

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement.

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

PREVIOUS : THE COLOUR RED ft. yae miko NEXT : BLACKOUT ft. tartaglia

liked that? check out the WE’RE SO BACK main masterlist.

#jujutsu kaisen #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #kento nanami smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader

8K notes · View notes

atrwriting · 1 year ago

Text

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

11K notes · View notes

lovie-bugzz · 7 months ago

Text

train ride ┊fred weasley

pairing - bsf!fred x f!reader (first person pov)

summary - The train compartment had gotten a bit crowded on the way to Hogwarts, so your best friend Fred offered for you to sit in his lap. However, throughout the ride you just couldn't seem to get comfortable...

contains - smut, dom!Fred, swearing, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), teasing, hair pulling, rough sex, cum swallowing

word count - 4834

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

The twins and I were laughing about something stupid that George had said as the train left the station. I lightly hit the boy in the arm, "Shut up!" I say between laughter.

After we had calmed down, Fred spoke up, "Let's go meet up with Lee and the girls." He said, referring to Alicia and Angelina. The six of us had been a tight knit group since first year, and it now being our sixth year, it was safe to say that we were all extremely close.

George and I agreed, and so the three of us began our trek down the aisles of the train, looking into each of the compartments. Once we found them, we squeezed into the small room, greeting one another.

As the three of us sat down, it began to be a tad bit cramped, with Lee and Alicia taking up the whole of one side, Fred and I had to squeeze in beside Angelina and George.

I pushed past how uncomfortable I was as Lee started a conversation, asking, "Do any of you have a clue as to what's happening at Hogwarts this year?"

"No! Mum's been going ballistic and nobody will tell us what's going on." George told them, Fred nodding along, "Yeah, it's like all the adults are keeping this giant secret."

The topic continued for about twenty minutes, everyone butting in with their own theories as the what was happening. I couldn't really pay attention as I was severely uncomfortable, being pressed in between Fred's shoulder and the window, my arms were pretty much completely constricted.

Fred glanced over at me, with a crease in his brow, noticing how squashed and uncomfortable I was, he leant down slightly to speak to me, "You alright, love?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, it's just a bit cramped in here." I told him, brushing it off. The boy chuckled lightly, shaking his head, before suddenly he pulled me up by my waist, and placed me in his lap.

I was a bit surprised at first, my eyes going wide for a split second until I let out a small sigh of relief at now finally being able to move my arms. I turned back slightly with a light chuckle and gave him a thankful nod, to which he returned with a cheeky smile.

For a while, everything was fine, I was comfortable and laughing along with the lively conversations in the compartment. But that stopped when I started to squirm a bit, causing Fred to still, letting out a quiet groan, which I didn't quite catch.

I stopped after a moment, finding a comfortable stop on his lap, making the boy let out an inaudible sigh of relief. His attention was brought back to the conversation for a mere minute before I started moving my hips again, finding my spot atop him to be growing more and more uncomfortable the longer I sat here.

One movement I made in particular had my ass digging right into his now hardening bulge. He harshly grabbed my hips, halting my movements which made me jump a bit at the sudden contact.

The boy leaned forward towards my ear, whispering lightly so the others wouldn't hear, "love, if you don't stop that, we're going to have an issue..." He said, his voice had a sudden rasp to it. The unfamiliar tone sent a shiver down my spine, my eyes widening as I realized what I had been doing, and a deep red blush settled on my cheeks.

I was glad the others weren't paying attention to us, they were too encapsulated by their own conversations.

It was an innocent mistake, I was only trying to get comfortable, forgetting that I was literally sitting on top of Fred's dick and squirming around. I turned back slightly, to look at him, as I whispered back, "Do you want me to move?" I asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

He rose a brow at me, a smirk on his face, "You moving is the problem, love." He joked, making me roll my eyes at him, the blush on my cheeks deepening further. He spoke again, this time with a more serious note, "I just need you to stop fidgeting so much, okay?"

He moved one of his hands from my waist to my thigh, his hand casually resting on my inner thigh, his touch causing my skin to tingle. I turned back around, "Fine..." I spoke, innocently looking out the window, making sure I didn't move anymore.

I watched the trees and landscape fly past us, but I couldn't keep the thoughts out of my head. Of what would happen if I did move again. It was definitely tempting, I bit my lip as dirty thoughts made their way into my head. But I shook them away just as quickly as they came. What was I doing? Fred is my best friend, I can't be thinking about him like this.

But on the other hand, it was tempting. So, after about another minute or two of contemplation in my head, I decided to test the waters.

Pretending like I had forgotten our prior conversation, I just slightly moved my hips against his. The boy let out a cough, as if clearing his throat, but I knew better. I stifled my smirk, before moving again, this time the tiniest bit harder. He sucked in a breath, glaring at the back of my head.

He knew exactly what I was doing, but he couldn't do anything, no matter how badly he wanted to, not with his brother and friends in the same compartment. So, he subtlety pinched my waist, as a warning, which sort of backfired on him as it only made me squirm more, my ass hitting exactly the right spot to rile him up.

I could feel it, the effect I had on him, how could I not? It was digging into my ass. The boy grit his teeth, leaning up a bit to whisper to me, "You're playing a dangerous game, love..." He spoke lowly, but I only shrugged, feigning innocence, my hips moving hard against him, making him groan as I turned to give him a smug smile, "I don't know what you're on about." I say simply, turning back around and making sure my movements stayed completely still.

Fred chuckled lowly, throwing his head back against the seat, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He was clearly frustrated that I stopped, and I couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

About five minutes had gone by, I was so busy basking in glory that I almost missed how Fred gripped my hips and stood us up.

"We're going to go find the trolley. Do any of you want anything?" Fred spoke, asking the others. I was confused by this, but didn't make any move to protest as I was too focused on how hard the boy behind me was grabbing my hips.

Everyone shared a glance before Lee spoke, "No, we're good."

Fred nodded before moving us forward and pushing us out of the compartment and letting the door slide closed behind us. He loosened his tight grip on my hips, but kept them resting there as he pushed me forward to walk down the corridor.

I had no doubt in my mind that he was keeping me so close in front of him to hide his boner. I let a smug smile wash over my face at the situation, but it was quickly washed off my face as my arm was suddenly being tugged into the bathroom. I gasped as Fred pulled us into the small room, slamming the door shut, locking it and then proceeding to push me flush against it.

I stared up at him with wide eyes as he towered over me, the dark look in his eyes making me squirm against the door. He rested his arms on either side of me, effectively trapping me in place between him and the door. He leaned in close, his nose almost touching mine, his eyes roaming hungrily over my face.

"You didn't think you were actually gonna get away with that did you?" The boy asked. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Playing with fire like that, teasing me in the train compartment with our friends around."

I couldn't answer, my words failing on me as my mouth opened and closed like a blubbering fish.

Fred smirked at my reaction to his intense gaze. He pressed his body more firmly against mine, leaving me no escape. His hands moved from the door to my hips, keeping me in place, his grip tight enough to leave slight indents on my skin from his long fingers. He rose a taunting brow at me, "Cat got your tongue, love? You were quite the little minx a few minutes ago. What happened?"

I was in such a state of shock, not knowing what to say, my cheeks were burning. As soon as he had pulled me into the bathroom all of my confidence went down the drain. The way he was looking down at me hungrily, his lust filled eyes staring into my soul, it made my knees weak.

Fred chuckled low in his throat, noticing the effect he was having on me. His smirk turned into a sly grin, his eyes drinking in the sight of my flushed cheeks and the way my body was practically trembling against his.

"Not so cocky now, are you? Just a few minutes ago you were teasing me to no end, knowing exactly what it would do to me. But now..." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above my ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. "Now you're trembling beneath my touch, and it's driving me mad."

His hot breath fanning over my ear made me let out a shaky breath, I turned my head slightly to look at him. "Fred..." I breathed out, my eyes flickering down to his lips as I bit down on my own. The air in this small bathroom was thick, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Fred's eyes darkened as he watched my gaze linger on his lips. His gaze zeroed in on my biting down on my own lip, a sight so tempting that it took all his self-control to not attack my mouth in that very moment. He chuckled softly, the sound rough and filled with desire.

"Say my name again." He commanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, as he moved his face closer to mine, his breath mingling with mine in the cramped space between us. He smirked, loving the effect he was having on me. He thrived off of it.

I did as he said, breathing out his name once more, "Fred..." I was getting desperate, I needed him to do something.

Fred's eyes darkened with desire as he heard me say his name again, the tone of my voice making his self-control waver even more. He smiled slightly, enjoying the power he held over me in this moment. He knew I wanted him to do something, but he wasn't going to give in that easily. He loved having me at his mercy, the look of want in my eyes making him feel powerful, and making him want me even more.

"You want something, love?" He asked, his voice low and seductive, as he took a piece of my hair and delicately placed it behind my ear.

I nodded, "Mhm." I hummed out, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. My desire for him was clouding my head.

Fred smirked down at me, the look in my eyes fueling his arrogance and ego. He slowly moved a hand from my waist to my chin, his fingers gently gripping it and tilting it up slightly, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him.

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you want, and maybe I'll give it to you." He teased.

"I want..." I trail off, my voice failing on me. I cleared my throat, looking up at him, "I want you to kiss me."

Fred was consumed by desire and need, the moment I uttered those words he couldn't hold back anymore. He practically lunged at me, capturing my lips in a rough and needy kiss, full of pent-up passion and desperation. My arms went to circle around his neck, but before I could, he quickly took hold of my wrists, pinning them above me with one hand, holding them firmly against the door.

I let out a gasp at the action, which he took full advantage of by plunging his tongue into my mouth, exploring every inch of it, tasting me, claiming me as his own. His free hand wandered down my body, tracing every curve and contour, making me moan around his tongue.

Fred swallowed my moan, the sound only adding to his hunger and desire. He was intoxicated by me, my gasps and sighs fueling his need to have all of me. He continued to explore my body with his hand, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He broke the kiss, panting slightly, only to attack my neck with his lips and tongue, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive flesh, determined to leave his mark on me.

"Oh, fuck..." I whined as I felt him bite down on my neck, turning my head slightly to give him better access. My arms squirming in his tight hold.

Fred continued his assault on my neck, he released a low growl, his hold on my wrists tightening as he felt me squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying my reaction to his touch. He nipped and sucked, leaving behind a trail of red marks on my neck.

I shivered as he blew cold air over the tender skin, before speaking into my neck, "You're so sensitive."

I couldn't respond, too caught up in the pleasure, but my eyes suddenly widened as I felt his fingers start playing with the waistband of my pants, running against the skin of my lower stomach. I bit my lip in anticipation, and I could feel Fred smirking against my neck when he noticed.

His fingers continued to toy with the waistband of my pants, occasionally slipping beneath it, teasing the sensitive flesh of my stomach, but not going any further than my panty line. I squirmed in his hold, getting impatient.

He broke away from my neck for a moment to look down at me, and the look in his eyes was pure desire and hunger. "You're so pretty like this, love." He whispered, his voice rough with need.

I continued to squirm in his hold, the way he was still holding my arms against the door was maddening. "Please, Fred... Touch me, please." I whined, desperately.

Fred only chuckled evilly, "Why should I, love? You been teasing me all day, testing my patience." He taunted, his fingers continued to toy with the waistband of my pants, occasionally dipping below the fabric, only to slide back out again, teasing me.

"I'm sorry... I won't tease you anymore, just please. I need it." I pleaded, pushing my hips closer to him. The way his fingers were brushing just above where I needed him was making me even more desperate with desire.

His hand moved from my waistband to my hip, gripping it tightly and forcing me back onto the door. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine, his words a hot whisper against my mouth. "You're a needy little thing, aren't you? Begging for me like this."

I let out a whimper, nodding at his words as my head rolled against the door. "What do you want, love? Tell me what you need. I want to hear you say it." He said, his voice low and sultry.

"Your fingers. I need them inside of me." I answered, making him chuckle from my blunt response.

"Is that so, hm?" He murmured, his hand trailing away from my hip and moving between my legs to rub me through my pants. I whined at the sensation, finally getting some friction. "You want my fingers, do you? You want me to make you feel good, make you cum?"

I couldn't help but moan from his words, that combined with how he was touching me sent heat over my body. I nodded again, "Yes, please."

"That's a good girl, using your words and asking nicely. I like that." He teased, his fingers moving up to unbutton my pants, pulling them slowly, exposing more of my skin. He began trailing his fingers over the top of my panties, his touch was light and teasing.

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing my ear, as he whispered, "Are you wet for me, love?"

I shivered, nodding my head, "So wet, just for you, Fred." I told him, my arms squirming in his hold once more, I wanted to touch him so badly.

He chuckled darkly at my unsuccessful attempts to break free of his grip, he only tightened his hold on my wrists. He could feel how much I wanted to touch him, but he wasn't done making me a needy mess just yet.

"Is that so?" He whispered, his voice thick with desire, as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of my panties, gently touching my bare skin, feeling just how aroused I was.

My breathing stuttered as his fingers trailed over my wetness, spreading it over my throbbing clit, causing me to moan loudly. Fred smirked in satisfaction at the sound of my moans, he loved how I was reacting to his touch, how he was reducing me to a moaning mess with just his fingers.

"Shhh, love. You're being too loud. You don't want anyone to hear us, do you? I don't think you want everyone to know just how needy you are for me, how desperate you are for my touch." He whispered, continuing to tease me, his fingers rubbing and circling over my bundle of nerves.

I nodded, biting my lip to stop myself from being too loud, but that went down the drain as I felt him slip two fingers inside of me. I practically screamed at the force with which they entered me. "Fuck!"

Fred chuckled as my reaction to his fingers entering me, it was louder than he initially thought, he quickly dropped his hold from my wrists and moved his hand to cover my mouth, effectively muffling my scream into a mewl.

"Shhh, love. You really can't keep quiet, can you?" He teased, his voice thick as he continued pumping his fingers inside me at a fast pace.

I moaned against his hand, my own hands that were finally free gripping onto his wrist that was moving inside of me. My eyes rolling back in my head as I felt him add a third finger, stretching me out.

"Oh, fuck, love. You're fucking swallowing my fingers." Fred groaned out, curling his fingers inside me, hitting that perfect spot that had that familiar coil in my stomach forming.

I was so close, and I knew he could tell by the way I was clenching around his digits. My breathing was coming out ragged, I was panting against his hand as he continued to hit my g-spot over and over again. My orgasm was right there, I was tipping over the edge until suddenly, Fred took his fingers out of me.

I let out a squeal in protest against his hand, but Fred only chuckled at me, as he dropped his hand from my mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Why... Why did you stop?" I panted out, watching as he placed his three fingers that were dripping in my slick in his mouth, sucking me off of them.

He hummed around his fingers, pulling them out of his mouth with a pop, I stared at him in shock as he responded, "Oh, now, love. You didn't think I was going to let you finish just like that, did you? Not after how naughty you've been all day." He teased, a smirk on his lips.

I let out a huff, throwing my head back against the door, frustrated from being denied my release. But my ears perked up as I heard him undoing his belt, making me look back at him.

"Patience, love." He said, undoing his belt and quickly unzipping his pants. "Good things come to those who wait, remember?" He taunted me, slowly letting his pants fall to the ground, and stepping out of them, leaving him in his boxers.

I stared down at the obvious tent, the one that I had created, I bit my lip watching as he paced towards me, pulling me toward him and kissing me hard.

The kiss was more rough and needy than our previous one, we were breathing heavily into it, devouring each other. My hands trailed into his hair, as his trailed down and squeezed my ass, and I moaned as I felt his hard on press against my lower stomach.

In one swift movement he broke the kiss, turning me around and bending me over the sink. He ran his hands over my back, before harshly pulling my underwear down my legs. His hands ran possessively over my hips.

I looked over my shoulder at him, watching as he pushed his boxers down, freeing his length, my eyes widened at the size. "Shit..." I muttered out.

Fred smirked at my reaction, "See something you like, love?" He teased, making my eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

"You're... So big." I spoke, almost cringing at myself, but I couldn't help it. Fred chuckled at my bluntness, he loved how I was so honest and open with my words, not like most girls he'd been with.

"Don't worry, love. I'll make you feel good." He reassured me as his hands stroked my thighs, moving up and down my skin in a soothing motion.

I bit my lip, nodding my head, the way he could be so rough with me one second, and the next be so comforting was making my head dizzy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He murmured as his hands slowly moved higher up my thighs, nearing my bare core. I shivered at his words, his touch making me more needy.

He bent down slightly, placing a kiss on my hip before he went back up, spreading my legs a bit more and started lining himself up with my entrance, running his dick through my wet folds, making me whine.

"You ready?" He asked, to which I nodded, but that seemed to not be good enough because Fred gripped my hip tightly, "No. I need a yes." He growled, as I let out a shaky breath.

"Yes..." I responded, making him smirk.

"Good girl." He praised, before slamming into me, instantly bottoming out, making me scream out his name, "Fuck, Fred!"

My hands gripped tightly onto the edges of the sink, the boy behind me panted heavily as he began to relentlessly pound into me, "Oh, fuck. So fucking tight, love." He spoke, his words adding to the amount of pleasure I was in.

The sound of our skin slapping together, our heavy breathing and moans filled the small bathroom, if anyone walked passed the door they would have no doubt about what was going on in here. "Feel good, love?" Fred questioned, but I could only moan in response.

Fred growled at this, his hand roughly latched onto my hair, pulling me flush against his chest, speaking lowly in my ear, "Huh? I asked you a question."

"Yes! Yes, feels so- Fuck- So good!" I stuttered out, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. The way he pulled on my hair was intoxicating, it was painful, but the pleasure it gave me completely overpowered it.

His free hand trailed up the front of my shirt, pushing it up over my bra, before pushing that up as well. He squeezed my boob in his hand, lightly pinching my nipple, making me whimper.

"Yeah? You like how I fuck you, don't you? You're taking me so well." He praised, his hips stuttering a bit, so he took his hand away from my boob, pulling out for a moment to grab my thigh and rest it atop the edge of the sink.

After he readjusted me, he pushed my back down again, still keeping his strong grip in my hair, before thrusting back into me. "Yes!" I moaned out, the new angle allowing him to hit my g-spot, and his balls to slap my clit repeatedly.

I knew if he kept up this pace I wasn't gonna last much longer, plus I was still a bit sensitive from him denying me my orgasm before. "Fuck, this pussy is all mine." He groaned, his voice hoarse.

"Yes! Oh, fuck it's yours! All yours!" I said in between moans. I was a mess, beginning to clench tightly around him as I felt myself nearing release.

Fred moaned as he felt me squeezing him, "You close, love? Gonna cum?" He taunted, picking up his pace, which I wasn't sure was even possible.

"Yes! So close." I said, my voice cracking.

"Cum then, cum all over my cock." Fred commanded. It didn't take long after his words for my release to wash over me, my eyes rolled back as I let out a guttural moan, my legs shaking as he continued to pound into me, letting me ride out my high.

I felt Fred twitch inside of me before he spoke, "Shit, shit..." He moaned, swiftly pulling out of me, "On your knees." He demanded, his voice low and authoritative. I instantly complied, moving off the sink and getting on my knees in front of him, "Open your mouth for me, love." He said, prompting me to listen, I opened wide, staring up at him as he jerked off above me.

He groaned at the sight of me below him, throwing his head back, as he hovered his tip over my tongue, "You look so good down there." He said, before letting out a guttural moan, and releasing in my mouth.

I moaned as his cum shot out onto my tongue, the salty taste making me hum in pleasure. "Fuck..." He trailed off, his hand slowing on himself as he milked himself dry.

I closed my mouth, swallowing his seed, making him stare down at me darkly, before harshly pulling me up to my feet. "Such a good girl for me." He praised once more, holding my cheek in his hand before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

As he pulled away, he gave me a loving look, "Was that okay, love? I didn't go to hard did I?" He asked, making my heart melt. "No, that was... Perfect." I told him, it still baffled me how he could be so rough and dominant and then switch to being so caring and comforting.

He chuckled, "Good." He said, moving away from me to pull his boxers back up and put his pants on. As he did I adjusted my bra and pulled my shirt down, before bending down as well to put my own pants on, but I stopped short when I felt the sudden pain in my legs, making me wobble a bit.

"Woah." Fred spoke, going forward and grabbing my waist to steady me, "You alright?"

"Yeah... My legs just hurt a bit." I told him. Fred smirked at that, making me shoot him a glare, and lightly slap him on the chest. "Shut up."

He rose his hands in mock surrender, "I didn't say anything." I just shook my head at him, trying to bend down again, but he stopped me, "Let me help you."

I watched him as he bent down, slowly pulling up my underwear, then my pants, even buttoning them for me. I gave him a smile as he stood back up, and pecked my lips. "Thanks."

"For what? The sex, or helping you put your clothes back on?" He joked, making me roll my eyes. "Fred." I warned him, making him chuckle. "Okay, okay. I'll stop." He said, as he buckled his belt, while I adjusted my hair, trying to make it look like Fred's hands weren't just gripping and tugging on it a few minutes ago.

"Do you think they'll know?" I asked, making him look at me. He glanced down at my neck, specifically the hickeys that littered every inch of my skin. He stifled his smirk, "Considering the amount of hickeys I left on you... No, they'll have no clue." He said, sarcastically.

I groaned before we both looked at each other, and instantly broke out into laughter. This was definitely not how I thought this day would go when I woke up this morning, but I couldn't complain.

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

masterlist

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #smut #harry potter smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfic #oneshot #imagine #fred weasley imagine #fanfic #smut fanfic #weasley smut #weasley twins #weasley twins smut #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins fanfic

5K notes · View notes

lalunanymph · 3 months ago

Text

THE CHAMPION'S PRIZE

✧₊⁺ SUMMARY the crow wins against kane and decides he wants to claim his most precious prize—you.

✧₊⁺ WARNINGS first time, mention of injuries, mention of blood, size kink, cunninglingus, big dick sylus!, sylus king of consent, semi-public sex, brief mention of handjob, oral sex, possessive, pet names (sweetie, little dove, kitten, little one, baby), voice kink, sweat kink, nipple play, girl on top, missionary, sex on the floor, unprotected sex, creampies, mc and sylus are both idiots in yearning, mild angst if you squint, 18+, mdni

✧₊⁺ DAWN SAYS if you know me... you know i love my ufc aus.... the second i saw boxer!sylus in his new card i ran to my google docs and birthed this not so h0rny piece

✧₊⁺ A03 | x/twt

The cheers of the crowds erupting from the stands vibrated through the soles of your boots.

Formidable and cocky, Sylus approaches the side of the ring, shouts and boos from the spectators gathering today, lending to the erratic yet eclectic atmosphere of this surreal championship fight. Before he enters, he takes something in his hand and kisses it, dropping it back into the safety of his short’s pocket. It’s the pouch you gave him weeks ago, the blessing of a grassland warrior’s lover bestowed onto him for this momentous night.

You’re my lucky charm, sweetie, he had texted you a few days ago when he told you to come meet him for a boxing showcase. And I want my lucky charm right there in the stands where I can see her.

Your grip tightens on the bouquet of flowers you were holding, heart right in your throat as Sylus’s opponent enters the ring, too, and much to your consternation, he receives a bigger round of screams. He’s stocky and broad, the same height as the red-eyed menace who invited you to visit his boxing showcase right in the heart of the N109 Zone. As the bell rings, you hold your breath with the crowd. Sylus is fast and sure, his movements fluid and punches almost mesmerizing.

He moves like poetry in motion—if poetry could leave a man with a black eye and bruises, lying face down on the ring, unconscious before the second timer could go off, that is. The referee cards his win and blows the whistle. The crowd shakes and moves, their cheers and sounds reaching to the highest point of the domed ring.

It’s chaos out in the front, and you have to protect your bouquet from getting squashed by the numerous bodies thronging in the front. Suddenly, a hand shoots out to grab your arm and you find yourself right at the corner of the ring, a smug and sweaty Sylus grinning at you. You hesitate to step closer, aware of the numerous eyes on him and you. Word could get back to the Association and your return to Linkon could be sabotaged—there’s too much at stake to be seen with Sylus in broad daylight.

But, the notorious leader couldn’t care less, gesturing for you to come closer. There's a bit of dirt on his face and you take it upon yourself to rub it off, shooting him a grin.

“Congratulations, champion!” You enthuse, shoving the bouquet right in his face. Sylus grins and takes the arrangement of lilies, tulips and datura from your hand, tossing you a cocky smirk.

“Is that all a champion should get?” he teases, and you shake your head in mirth, crossing your arms right in front of you.

“What else would the champion want, pray tell?”

In answer, Sylus takes your hand in his, his palm much larger and scarred compared to yours. His knuckles are red raw, and you take it upon yourself to lift them to your lips, kissing the contused flesh softly. “Are you hurt?”

“If you keep that up, kitten, I won't be,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes, smacking his chest lightly.

Cad, you tease and he smirks again, wrapping an arm around your waist. The championship ring on his finger shines under the blinding lights, and Sylus notices how overwhelmed you're getting. The way you fidget and shift your eyes, and how you're clinging tightly to the rope of the ring, makes him think he needs to distract you for a bit.

“The flowers. How thoughtful. I feel like I should give you something in return.” He notices the way your eyes linger on the ring, and he grins wider. “Do you like the champion's ring? It's yours now.”

He removes the bulky circle and gently takes your hand, thumb softly brushing the rise of your ring finger knuckle. He slides the ring onto your finger, taking his time to admire how sweet the circlet looks contrasting with your skin.

“There. The Champion's ring for the champion's lover.”

Your ears heat up at his words and you toss him a quick scoff, trying hard to keep the embarrassed delight from showing too apparently on your face. “You're a tease.”

“Am I now?” He takes your hand in his again, and tugs you closer to him. Close enough you have to stumble past the boxing ring ropes. Sylus is decisive when he tugs you closer to him, almost leading you right into his Champion's Box, where the world and the strobing lights fade away. Inside the VIP room, the bruises and cuts become more apparent.

“Sylus—”

Panic consumes you, and he lets your distress marinate, playfully not reminding you how easily he could heal himself; loving how sweetly you fret on him.

“You're hurt.” Tersely, you pick up the first aid kit by the side of the door, rummaging inside for antiseptic and bandages.

“You're cute when you're worried about me, kitten.” He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, touch tender despite the violence you just witnessed a few minutes ago. You ignore his jab, focusing on dabbing the freely flowing blood from a cut on his face. Sylus staves off his body loudly blaring at him to use his healing tendencies. But, despite how badly his skin is itching to close the wound, he still wants you to treat him.

You notice him staring at you and chuckle, a playful gleam in your eye. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re beautiful.”

You pause from swiping on antiseptic onto a cotton roll, wondering if the punches he sustained in the ring were finally starting to manifest in the form of his boldness.

“And you… have been hit in the head one too many times.”

Not one to be deterred, Sylus chuckles and snakes his arm around your waist, dragging you right onto his lap where you fall forward in a huff, eyes growing wide at how close his lips are to yours.

“Sweetie,” he speaks and you can practically feel him breathing on you. “I might have sustained a few injuries, but none of them severe enough to not give you credit where credit is due.” He lifts his hand to a loose lock of your hair, his smirk deepening. “And you, my little dove, were an absolute vision on the stands. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

His thumb touches your lower lip, and you instinctively part your mouth. Sylus’s eyes darken with desire at your little subconscious tick, his mind pumping full of lewd thoughts which he tries to put off. Not wanting to scare you too soon.

Instead, he tilts his head closer, waiting for you to make the first move. The tantalizing sight of his lips is too much for you to resist, and you take his bait, closing in to where your breaths meet as one.

Sylus groans into the heat of your mouth, the taste of you after so many years of yearning rendering him speechless and needy. He’d imagine this exact scenario a million times, yet the reality of it happening makes it that much sweeter. You taste like pomegranates and sin, a heady combination which makes his blood sing, body tensing at the onslaught of arousal flooding his veins.

You pull back slightly, the red string of fate manifesting as a single strand of saliva connecting you two together. Sylus greedily snapped it with a flick of his tongue, tasting your growing desire.

“Kitten…?”

He was usually more glib than this. But, the way you stare at him, eyes warm and melting with affection, makes any smart remark he has left in his arsenal shrivel up and die. Sylus swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and your eyes trail to that subtle movement.

Without thinking, you touch the base of his neck, gingerly thumbing the swell of his throat. Sylus isn’t in the least concerned to hide his shiver from you, those ruby eyes seeming to glow with restraint as he lets you have your fill of exploring him. The sweat beading down his chest trickles past his red tank top, and your eyes follow the droplet’s motion; wondering what was waiting for you underneath… if he would let you explore him again like you did that night in his shower.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” His voice, deep enough to be a rumble, vibrates against your chest. He lifts your head to meet his eyes, and in those ruby hues, a devastating hunger was waiting for permission to gorge on you. “That night in the shower… how I had to restrain myself from taking you right there and then. You really are a tease, kitten.”

Sylus traces the outline of your lips with his thumb as his voice turns rougher.

“Imagining what it would be like to have this soft mouth on mine… how you would sound… the look on your face when I finally claim you as mine… all… mine…”

Lower, and deeper. His voice hypnotizes you to give into your full desire, and you knew in the deepest recesses of your soul, that his Aether eye didn’t need to gouge the truth from you.

You want Sylus, in his entirety and totality. You want him like you want to quench your thirst.

The collision of your lips together brought sparks flying from the deepest roots of your mind, connecting to your fingertips which tangle right in his hair, drawing him closer. Sylus is always careful to never scare you off with his brute strength, and in this moment, he couldn’t resist hoisting you up into his arms, pressing you right against the wall like he did the first time the two of you showered together.

Devouring your lips with a slow sensuality he reserves only for playing with his prey, Sylus teases your tongue with his, tasting the ridges of your mouth and unearthing more delightful, soft mewls and moans from you.

“Do you feel this, kitten?” He whispers, and to your surprise, grabs your hand, placing it right on the bulge of his crotch. “This is all my desire for you—all of my wanting for you. I need you, kitten. I will never get enough of you.”

Yearning encroaches his admission, and you glance up into his love sick eyes, feeling a wave of desire surmounting your need to be cautious. There is nothing in this moment you want than to give all of you to him, but the fear of being found out—of being hunted—takes precedence in your wavering mind.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus removes your hand from the throbbing heat of the tent in his shorts and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles reverently. “I know this is a lot to consider, little dove, but take your time. I’ll be here waiting for you—always.”

The truth is, you didn’t want him to wait. Sylus has been nothing but patient in his endeavors to court you. It’s about time you return the favor.

The moonlight shines through the blooms hanging from the edge of the table, highlighting the two figures entangled on the floor, their lips pressing insistently onto one another, bodies and breaths twining as one.

He tastes like sin and danger, a hint of whiskey on his breath. But, you drink him up, growing drunker on his unceasing devotion. Sylus feels you tugging on the edge of his tank top, and obeys you without a word, lifting it off his toned torso and tossing it to the other side of the room. You touch the dips and divots of his chest, committing the shape of him to your memory.

Sylus thinks it’s time for you to return the favor and smirks, sliding his hand underneath your blouse. He runs warm, his touch drawing goosebumps down your arms. It’s a strain for you to hold back when you nod, the urge to take it slow yet have him completely rendering you paralyzed with inaction.

But, Sylus has got you. He takes your consent inch by inch, letting your skin appear to him in a slow creep of growing anticipation.

Once you’re down to your bra, Sylus takes the chance to plant soft and warm kisses on your chest and shoulders, his touch gentle yet clear with his intention to take you.

“Can I look at you, sweetie?” He tugs on the cup, crimson eyes never leaving your expression. You nod, flushing when he unhooks your bra, letting the bothersome material slide down your arms, revealing your bare breasts to him.

For a man who’s used to getting what he wants, Sylus’s touches are colored with hesitation as he slowly drags his fingertips down your shoulder, sliding closer to your heaving mounds.

“May I?” His voice, a deep, reassuring rumble, instantly puts your fears at ease.

“Yes,” you whisper, and it’s the consent he needs to run the edge of his nails over the swell of your tits, finding how they move with each breath mesmerizing.

“Can I… suck on them?”

Your breathing catches, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you nod. “Yes… please,” you add politely. He smiles at the touch of submission in your tone, loving how you’re trusting him explicitly with this first experience. Sylus takes care to taste you like you’re a rare, exotic fruit in his lap, his tongue running across the soft flesh of your most sensitive areas, leaving behind little hickies for you to find tomorrow like a reminder of this moment you shared with each other.

You moan when he slowly explores the shape of your turgid bud with his tongue, sucking with enough pressure to get you grinding down on his bulge. “Mhm,” he releases your nipple with a soft pop, “Doll… you’re driving me crazy.”

He takes his time with your other nipple, pinching and rolling the other one with his free hand.

“Sylus… yes…” your whispers incite him to give you more; needing to hear his name rolling from your tongue.

The heat is simmering, building to an unbearable crescendo. This time, you lick a droplet of sweat running down his jaw, inciting a deep chuckle to rumble against your throat.

“You naughty, naughty kitten.”

He trails one long, nimble finger to the heart of your arousal, gently parting your folds to find the treasure he wants to tease. You’re so wet, your body doesn’t need much coaxing to accept his finger, the tight opening of your muscles relenting to allow him to sink his middle digit knuckle-deep inside of you. With his thumb, he rubs your clit in unbroken circles, enjoying your puffs of hot breath against his neck. You feel him growing harder, his desire to claim you unmistakable.

To his surprise, you tug the band of his shorts down, revealing his throbbing need for you. The sight of your smaller hand grasping his thick base shoots a bolt of desire through his entire body, the cool metal of the ring he gave you sliding up and down his shaft enough to make him hiss and wince.

“Kitten… you’re playing a dangerous game.”

His chest heaves with unabashed yearning, and he licks his lips when he sees the glassy look in your eyes, your mouth wet with want as you slowly lower your head to his cock. Sylus has no choice but to retract his fingers from your loving depths as he sinks his hand in your hair, cursing under his breath when you stretch your mouth around his tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, running his free hand through his messy mop of silver hair. God… you were much too tempting, ready for the picking.

The sight of your cherry red lips wrapped lovingly around his cock is enough to send his mind into a dizzying spiral of lust, blood pumping rapidly south. He grows and thickens in your mouth, the taste of him almost musky and sweet with a hint of salt from his sweat. Sylus groans when you run your tongue over his balls, his entire body tensing in anticipation when you bring one soft globe into your mouth.

He takes a few moments to enjoy the feel of your warm mouth on him, before he switches up the game and puts you on your back this time.

“As much as I love the thought, kitten, I think you’d taste better,” he murmurs as he trails his obscenely long fingers up your thighs, unbuttoning your jeans in one swift movement.

“Sylus,” you gasp when he tugs it down, revealing the captivating lace hugging your hips almost lovingly. He takes his time to admire you, cock throbbing and aching to sink right into you. But, he has to warm you up to him first. It won’t be an easy fit.

He shushes you, hooking his thumb under the band of your panties, dragging down the last barrier protecting your modesty from him.

“Trust me, kitten.” The sight of him kneeling right in between your thighs, kissing the plush flesh reverently, burns through you with desire. “I would rather make you feel good instead.”

And his mouth was on you. His tongue parting through your folds, teasing your clit, drives you wild with desire, sparks running down your spine.

You taste so good… he murmurs. You’re doing so well for me, doll. So well. His voice is deep enough to vibrate through your cunt. His tongue moves inside of you, deep enough to touch a special spot which makes your toes curl.

Mhm… Sylus… more…

Who was he to say no to you? Sylus is putty in your hands, willing to give you everything and anything.

He delves deeper, taking his sweet time to sample your wetness and submission. He curls his tongue, latching on your clit to suckle on the tight bud which makes your toes curl, heels digging deeper into the back.

Maybe for your next trinket, I should get an anklet with my name, he mumbles, planting a brief kiss on your ankle, the thought exciting him. The image of his name sparkling off your skin, glinting with his claim on you, makes him hard enough to cut through steel.

You nod, mouth parting to pant out his name. Yes… please…

You’re so good for him. Sylus wants to reward you, and he does so with a tender kiss to your clit.

“Please, Sylus,” you whimper, clipping your hips against his. “Want more… need more…”

So eager, he chuckles under his breath, but he could never deny what you need. He slips off his boxer shorts and his underwear, tossing it to the floor. It’s not everyday the great Onychinus leader would bare himself for anyone’s eyes. But, you weren’t just anyone.

You were his beloved, his love, his shivanika.

The only one who is allowed to see him like this.

Your eyes widen at how much bigger he is up close, weighing heavily on your thigh.

Is that all…?

“Why?” He teases. “Can’t take it all?”

You swallow. Part of you thinks you can’t, but the other part—the stubborn one—knows you would do anything for him.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, as if he can read your mind. “I won’t hurt you, sweetie.”

He’s so incredibly big, you wonder how you’ve never noticed it before. The thick trunk of his forearm braces beside your head, his powerful thighs planted on either side of you. In the circle of his embrace, you feel small and delicate like a flower waiting to be uprooted by a great tree.

It enthralls you. It scares you.

His kisses soothe you, taking your mind off his great, hulking physique.

You dig your nails into his biceps, hanging for dear life as he preps himself to enter you. He runs his tip through your folds, smearing your juices with his pre-cum. Slapping the weight of him on your clit, again and again, each jolt driving your hips up to meet his.

Sylus… you mewl his name. Need it… need it inside…

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs sweetly, “I’ll give it to you.”

You see a sliver of his smile as he cranes his head down, kissing your jaw reverently. You weren’t joking when you said you were terrified of his cock, but Sylus took his sweet time to prepare you for him.

The first stretch always hurts the most, and he makes sure to deepen his kiss as a distraction.

It works. Sort of.

You tighten involuntarily around him, and he hisses under his breath, brows knitted together. “You’re still tense… relax, sweetie. Or else, I can’t get in.”

To help you, he sucks on the tip of his index and middle finger, drawing them slickly towards your core. He massages your clit with feathery soft circles, stimulating you over and over again until you’re whimpering and shaking.

“Does it feel good?” He hums into the crook of your neck and you nod, embarrassed at how easily it is for him to slip deeper inside. “Mhm… you’re loosening up just nice for me, kitten.”

It’s insane how much his voice vibrating against your throat is driving you wild.

Desire coats your begging—Please, Sylus. I need more… more…

Deciding you’re ready enough, he nods, crimson eyes softening at the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

No need to cry, sweetie. I’ve got you.

The smell of him, musk and sweat, envelopes you as he curves his body over yours, intent on driving you crazy with how close he is. But, he’s never close enough.

Until, finally, he’s pressed inside you, skin-to-skin, breath-to-breath, buried right to the hilt. It’s a mess between your thighs, slick and pre-cum staining your thighs, drawing a lewd symphony of wet squelches when he finally begins to move.

Thrusts so deep, you feel it right in the heart of your desire. It turns you on, to have him invading your senses like this. The scent of him burning your nose, the taste of his tongue heavy in your mouth. Staining you with the very essence of him till your pores are heavy with his presence; your entire body marked with him.

Sylus doesn’t hold back any longer, the beast inside of him unleashed the second you murmured your assent for him to have you in every way possible.

So good for me, baby. You feel like a dream, he whispers. Good girl—letting your lover have you like this. You’re so good for me, aren’t you, little one?

Your eyes flicker to where he’s stretching you out and he chuckles, noticing your minute gestures.

You like watching me, huh? As he speaks, his cock sinks deeper inside of your warm depths, the both of you hissing at the same time. Mhm, fuck… dirty little girl.

The spark of degradation reminds you again who exactly is fucking you. A dark man, wanted for his misdeeds, and yet here he was with you on the floor, entangled with your body and taking the last of your innocence away. You force the thoughts away, focusing on the now.

The now of having Sylus in your arms, feeling his devotion marking the delicate skin of your neck, leaving his claim on your skin.

That’s it… you’re doing so well for me…

You always had an inkling of how good Sylus is at talking, but you never expected for him to be this glib while balls-deep in you.

Feels like a dream, kitten. I love you.

Your breath catches right in your throat.

Did he just…?

Sylus’s ruby eyes warm at the confused look on your face, and he slows his thrusts, nuzzling your jaw.

“Yes. You heard right—I love you. I love you. Is that so hard to believe?”

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, focusing on giving himself to you. A part of him holds no hope for your response, but he’s taken aback when you tip his face closer, drawing his mouth to yours like a moth to a flame.

Your kiss burns through him, and he moans when you taste his lower lip, your honeyed whisper of reciprocation enough to bring him to his knees.

“I love you, too.”

Sylus groans, letting his head fall on your shoulder, the protective arch of his body drawing you closer into his arms.

Kiss me, kitten… kiss me and never regret me again.

You behave so well for him, following his every instruction. Even ones you don’t exactly understand.

Your lips seal on his like a covenant, and his blessing is given in the form of his seed pumping hotly into your depths; the feeling of your walls squeezing him tightly enough to bring him to the pearly white gates.

Fuck, kitten—he gasps and it’s all mounting again. Getting hotter and better.

His voice is tinged with desire, breathy and deep as he noses your hair.

You’ll be the death of me, Y/N.

Of all the names he loves calling you, your own name would forever be the sweetest utterance on his lips.

Please… you gasp, needing to feel more.

You’re so greedy, it’s almost unlike you. But, you know Sylus is a giver. He will always give you what you need.

I got you, he rumbles, and the mixture of slick and his cum spills down to the ground, staining your thighs. He doesn’t let up, fully needing to have you cream on him till you’re spent.

He feels how close you are from the tensing of your thighs, your body poised at the edge again. Ready to take him.

And he can’t hold back. You were like the sweetest addiction he would always relent to.

Come for me, you murmur and it shocks him—this unexpected boldness. Come inside me, Sylus… make me yours.

Yours… yours… you were always his. And this confirms it. You and him were tied together in a red string of fate, packaged neatly as soulmates in this life and for every life that would come.

No matter if it kills him. No matter if he would lose his heart again.

It was always yours in the first place.

Sylus leaves you with his burgeoning warmth, ropes of it shooting inside of you as you come for him again—fully, completely and wholly his.

Beginning till end, from time immemorial. You would always have his heart.

He stays deep inside you until it’s done, leaving lazy kisses on your face, on your chest and lips. The crowds have long disappeared, this room cordoned off by his organization to give him space.

His men know better than to barge in, and the organizers are wise enough to stay out of the champion’s way if they know what’s good for them.

“I’m so… full,” you whisper, twitching your hips. “Full of you.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, and leans down on his bruising elbows to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Is that a complaint I hear, kitten?”

You shake your head, the movement setting dull sparks of desire shooting into his lower body when he feels your walls tensing around his softening cock.

Good, he swipes his thumb over your cheek, catching a stray sweat droplet before it could fall to the ground. Because I’m far from done with you, kitten.

When he kisses you this time, it tastes of a promise already fulfilled.

feedback and reblogs are much loved!! thank you for your support <3

#🦢 writes #sylus smut #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus qin #lads sylus #sylus x you #sylusposting #sylusting #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lnds x reader #l&ds sylus #l&ds smut #sylus

2K notes · View notes

incognit0slut · 4 days ago

Text

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut.

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #lou writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

2K notes · View notes