#Lou fanfiction

[incognit0slut]

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.

[salemsvlog]

Maddie, joking about Buck liking guys for almost 5 seasons: for the kicks an giggles

Maddie, after Buck comes out to her:

[drivebypainter]

Local Hallmaster!Shen Yuan slowly comes to terms that he may like a man!

All jokes aside, I’ve really been loving “Wolf In The Bamboo” by Angry_gremlin_commando, it’s just so well written and it’s jiuyuan! JIUYUAN MY BELOVED!!

[turtleblogatlast]

AU where Leo is trapped in the Prison Dimension for months instead of minutes and the only way he gets by with his sanity intact is through recording himself talking to his wrist comm.

When they finally manage to get Leo back and make him rest up to heal, Donnie can’t help but listen to the recordings left behind.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting, only that his subconscious is screaming at him that it has to be heartbreaking, that it has to be torturous.

Instead, what Donnie is subject to is a full thousand hours’ worth of Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu crossover fanfiction. More than one part in the series. Spanning well over a million words.

(The worst part is that it’s actually good.)

[melpomenewoes]

Shen Yuan Disciple AU where an extremely vengeful disciple performs a ritual that brings back Wu Yanzi (same thing that brought Wei Wuxian back) so Wu Yanzi realizes he can get revenge on Shen Qingqui while under the guise of one of Qing Jing’s innocent disciples.

A great target for this is that favorite little disciple of Shen Jiu’s, Shen Yuan, who may or may not be Shen Jiu’s brother or illegitimate child…? Either way, it’s obvious Shen Jiu cares about this one in particular and how fitting the two look so similar.

Posing as an older disciple, Wu Yanzi starts by being friendly to Shen Yuan to gain his trust, then offers to assist him in cultivating, but through their “training” he becomes more and more physically rough often leaving Shen Yuan with hidden injuries. Worse, Wu Yanzi convinces Shen Yuan that all of this was Shen Jiu’s idea and he condones this extra training because Shen Yuan is too weak in his eyes.

So Shen Yuan doesn’t say anything out of fear of being accused of complaining or being weak.

As Wu Yanzi starts weaving demonic cultivation into the training, Shen Yuan starts to catch on (being far more knowledgeable about the PIDW world than Wu Yanzi could ever anticipate with SY being a transmigrator.) When confronted, Wu Yanzi threatens SY’s friends, especially Lou Binghe.

With Shen Jiu, he’s irritated because while he was tough on his (secret favorite) disciple, SY didn’t need to flinch at his gaze.

On the other side, Lou Binghe notices the increasing turmoil in his best friend/crush’s demeanor; then, he notices a limp and the bruises. Shen Yuan makes excuses, but eventually lets it slip that Shizun had him doing extra training with an older disciple. One day, Shen Yuan comes back worse than ever and enough is enough.

Storming into the bamboo house, Lou Binghe confronts their shizun. Shen Qingqui is, of course, enraged at the little beast’s accusations until Ning Yingying backs up Lou Binghe’s story. Shen Qingqui does not appreciate being blamed for abuse he didn’t actually commit especially towards one of the disciples he (likes) tolerates.

Even more angst if while all this is happening, Wu Yanzi realizes he’s running out of time to subject Shen Qingqui to the same fate as him so he speeds up the plan to force Shen Yuan to betray his master just as Shen Qingqui did to Wu Yanzi all those years ago.

[repressedqueen]

Me watching this scene for the first time:

"Tommy??" 🧐🤔🤷‍♀️

Me watching it again after 7x04 & 7x05:

"Tommy!!" 🥰🥹😌🤗💘

[worrynoodle]

Okey dokey...

I need a break for a while I think.

I encourage you all to take one as well. This is very disparaging news. And everything unknown that surrounds it (if s3 is going to be dropped, if DT and MS are going to speak up or drop the show themselves etc etc and all of that). I think it is a good time to go support your favorite good omens fic writers and artists and remember that we as a fandom have put in a lot of creativity and we arent the ones who did something wrong.

I don't really know what to hope for but if what the victims say is true I hope they get justice for what has happened to them. I hope this gets legitimately investigated and that we can all get some closure.

But for now, you aren't wrong for loving Good Omens and the world it's created. You arent wrong for wanting to make art and wanting to enjoy art about it. This all sucks.

Here are some of my favorite good omens writers and artists, go enjoy their wonderful creations:

@mrghostrat Fanfiction and art

Flawless (E)

Editors Note (M)

Big Name Feelings (E)

In the Room Where You Sleep (E)

@camilleflyingrotten Art and comics

@snae-b Fanfiction

Long Haul (E)

Lunacy (E)

Somn (E)

Protect and Serve (E)

@caedmonfaith Fanfiction

Plus one (E)

Aziraphale in the Evenings (E)

Win a date with Anthony J Crowley (E)

The pact (E)

@gleafer Comics and art (and fics?)

@chernozemm Fanfiction and art

Black_earth on AO3

Flawless (E)

There are even more, go give them some love! Thank you all for your amazing art and I will absolutely continue to support you all! Link your favs too I'd love to read them!

[red-rover-au]

Friends, fans, freaks, help me out. Share EVERYTHING about how you think the Battle Nexus and Big Mama’s businesses work

Any headcanons about the structure/technology (like about her door that looks Very Krang-Like and what that might mean), your fanfic or your favorite fanfic that has the nexus as a significant plot point and/or goes into detail about how the place is managed, stuff you picked up from canon that gives hints on how Big Mama operates (like that chest covered in bones that her turtle assistant handed her), literally anything and everything you can think of!

If you know anything about economy that would be super helpful too, you should infodump about that as far as its relevant to Big Mama (pleeease)

[7s3ven]

CINDY LOU WHO. cedric diggory

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N helps her crush and longtime best friend, Cedric Diggory, get with another girl. Deep down, she knows she’ll never be the bright and bubbly girl Cedric wants. She’ll always be the cunning snake with a knack for starting fights.

“Cindy Lou is bright, bubbly, and extraordinary… she’s everything I’m not.”

A/N: I do take requests so feel free to ask for one :). I mainly write for Maze Runner, Harry Potter, PJO, and Hunger Games

Guess you make him happy like I couldn't do. Cindy Lou Who. With your hair so long, lips so red. Maybe we met once, I forget

Scrolling five years back, I'm obsessed. Breaking my heart, 'tis the season, I guess. The snow's gonna fall and the tree's gonna glisten. And I'm gonna puke at the thought of you kissin'

“The boy who I love who's now in love with you. Cindy Lou Who.”

Y/N sighed as she impatiently checked her watch and tapped her foot against the stone floor. It was almost curfew and Cedric was still a no show. The rules were less strict now that school was done, but Y/N had a reputation to live up to. It was the least she could do with all the trouble she had caused this year.

“Y/N.” Cedric jogged towards her, looking out of breath. She arched an eyebrow and her gaze scanned his untidy uniform.

“… Do I even want to ask?” She questioned.

“Ah.” Cedric sheepishly smiled, “My friends and I were playing hide and seek. It was a pretty intense game.” Even during his senior years, Cedric was still the bright-eyed kid Y/N had grown up with.

“Right. Well, why did you want to see me? You know how I don’t like going out before curfew.” Y/N folded her arms over her chest, “Plus, you’re late.” She quickly added.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I just had to grab this.” Cedric pulled out a black box, smiling. He carefully opened it, showing the necklace to Y/N. “Do you recognize the crystal?” He questioned, making Y/N scoff.

“Of course I do. It’s my birth month crystal. (Insert crystal).”

Cedric grinned. “You still know so much more about gems than me. You should’ve been put in Ravenclaw.”

“Oh, please. If I was put there, I would be sleeping in the hallways. I can’t figure out riddles.”

Cedric playfully nudged her with his elbow. “Don’t say that. You’re smart.”

The pair walked beside each other as the moonlight shone through the cracks of the castle. Cedric had slipped the necklace box back into his pocket and he gently cleared his throat.

“I’m going to give the necklace to Cho.” He suddenly blurted out, causing Y/N to pause. She looked over her shoulder at Cedric, wondering if he was joking. He wasn’t.

“Why? She’s your ex.” Y/N felt mildly disappointed that the necklace wasn’t for her. For the longest time, she had been holding onto her feelings for Cedric. Everybody could see it; the Golden trio, the teachers, even Draco’s posse. And yet Cedric had never caught on. She was starting to wonder if he was just messing with her.

“She helped me through a lot. I owe it to her.” Cedric smiled. Y/N gazed at him before she nodded.

“Okay… I’m guessing you want my help?”

“Yes. Please.” Cedric was ready to get on his knees and beg. Though, he was sure Y/N would find great amusement in that. She had always been a little sadistic.

Y/N briefly looked away, blinking away small tears and recollecting her composure so her voice wouldn’t crack. “What do you want me to do?”

edric had wanted to meet Cho at the black late, which was where he and Y/N usually hung out. That stung.

Y/N tied the last of the heart-shaped balloons before securing them to a nearby tree. Cedric was pacing around, wildly muttering under his breath.

“Will you relax?” The Slytherin girl piped up, rolling her eyes. “You’re making me feel nervous.”

“I can’t help it.” Cedric replied. Of course, nobody could help but feel anxious around Cho Chang. She was beautiful and smart and kind. Y/N had talked to her a few times, and if she were a guy or lesbian, Cho would be her crush too.

“Well, that’s the last of the balloons. Good luck, Ced. I’ll be nearby if you need help. Just don’t expect me to hug you if she rejects you.” Y/N playfully punched her friend’s shoulder. Cedric boyishly grinned and quickly embraced her.

For a moment, Y/N was speechless. She slowly hugged him back and awkwardly patted him. She could smell his expensive cologne and it almost felt Cedric was confessing to her instead.

Y/N was the first to pull away. She wished Cedric luck once more before hurrying off, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt envious of Cho. Y/N had been by Cedric’s side since day one. She had comforted him and supported him and hid her breaking heart when Cedric admitted to liking Cho the first time.

And now it was all happening again.

Y/N hid behind a tree just in time to see Cho walk out of Hogwarts and make a beeline for Cedric. She watched as they conversed and when Cedric showed Cho the necklace, she jumped with joy.

Y/N let out a small sigh. She pressed her lips into a thin line, accepting that she wasn’t the girl Cedric would ever go for. She wondered that if they weren’t childhood friends, would Cedric still be nice to her?

She was a Slytherin. A somewhat mean one with a soft spot for certain people. She started too many fights to count, and the threat of expulsion was always hanging over her head.

She wasn’t Cho Chang, who was pretty like the starry night shining above the calm ocean. Cho Chang was kind, sweet, and loving.

Cho Chang was Cindy Lou and Y/N was the Grinch with no room in her heart to change.

The next time Y/N saw Cedric, he was by Cho’s side. Y/N usually sat at the Hufflepuff table with Cedric, much to some people’s dismay, but today Cho was with him.

Y/N didn’t feel welcomed at that point so she sat with her friends, completely missing the way Cedric gazed over at her in confusion.

“Ah, Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. Everybody’s favorite couple has finally reunited.” Ivy, a pale-skinned girl with light freckles lining her cheeks and soft silver hair grimaced as she sarcastically spoke.

“It’s a shame you never dated Diggory, Y/N. You guys were perfect together.” Hime sighed as she poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice. She offered to fill Y/N’s glass as well, but the H/C-haired girl declined.

“Boys are always stupid.” Evan, short for Evangeline, piped up. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. I agree with Hime. He should’ve gone for Y/N.”

Y/N silently ate as she listened to her friends complain about Cedric, probably in an attempt to make her feel better.

“Has anybody noticed how he keeps looking over here?” Hime questioned, whispering quietly. “Chang never seems to have his attention for long.”

“I’m telling you, Diggory secretly likes Y/N but he’s scared she’ll reject him. So he’s playing it safe and going for an ex who he knows he had chemistry with.” Ivy retorted, sparing another glance at Cedric.

Y/N huffed in amusement. “Where did you come up with that?” She spoke for the first time.

“It’s obvious.” Evan backed up Ivy’s theory. “When he wins a Quidditch game, who does he run to? You. When he needs help with homework, who does he find? You. When he wants to go to Hogsmeade, who does he immediately ask?”

Evan arched an eyebrow while Y/N sighed.

“Me.”

“Exactly!”

“It’s a plausible theory.” Hime uttered. “You two have been friends for ages. He’s close friends with Hermione Granger too, but does he hug her and look at her like he does to you?”

“That’s probably because she’s younger and he doesn’t want to end up with a sentence.”

“Good point. What about Floral over there?” Hime nodded over at the Ravenclaw girl who was always arranging flowers or reading about them. Her name wasn’t Floral but everyone called her that and it stuck. “You three are all friends, right?”

“More like I was forced to befriend her, but sure.”

“Diggory doesn’t look at her the way he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me?”

Ivy slammed her hands on the table, looking like she had been waiting years for this question. “He looks at you like Jack Dawson looks at Rose. He looks at you like Chuck Bass looks at Blair Waldorf. He looks at you like Luke looks at Lorelei. Like Morticia and Gomez, Bella and Edward, uh.. give me another one!”

“Percy and Annabeth?” Evan suggested.

“Yes! That’s how he looks at you. He’s giving you the I wouldn’t want anybody else by my side look. He’s probably just… confused. You’re like his Cindy Lou Who. You make him happy and you bring out the best in him.”

“Cindy Lou is bright, bubbly, and extraordinary… she’s everything I’m not.” Y/N gestured over to Cho, who was giggling with Cedric. “Cho Chang is more like Cindy Lou.”

“Cindy Lou Who has a nice ring to it.” Evan said, off topic.

Y/N nodded in agreement. “It does. The rhyme is satisfying.”

“Enough about language features! You have to get your man back, Y/N.” Ivy intensely stared at Y/N, determined to get Cedric and her together.

“He was never mine to begin with.”

“Then make him yours! Come on, Y/N, you’re beautiful- no. Gorgeous. And sure, you have a bitter side but guys who can’t deal getting a little burnt aren’t worth it. And I know that you burnt Diggory over and over again, with both your anger and literal fire.”

“Just so we’re clear, the fire thing was an accident. And I don’t want to force anything onto Cedric. I’ll just… go with the flow.” Y/N ate the last of her food and stood up, “I need to wrap presents. Don’t you dare try and sneak in to see your’s.”

Y/N was mainly referring to Ivy, who lifted her hands in surrender.

Again, Y/N failed to notice how Cedric’s eyes trailed to her. But Cho saw it.

“Cedric.” The raven-haired beautify tugged on his sleeve, “Can we talk?” She spared Cedric’s friends a look. “Alone?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

The pair walked off, fully aware of how Y/N’s friends were watching them closely.

“What did you want to talk about?” Cedric questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t want to assume anything, Cedric. But to me, it seems like you only confessed to me again to play it safe. I can tell that your true feelings don’t lie with me.” Cho glanced at Y/N, who exited a nearby bathroom and was too busy drying her hands to notice the couple. “They lie with her.”

Cedric followed Cho’s gaze, softly staring at Y/N with that damned look of adoration.

“I think someone else deserves this necklace.” Cho gently removed the jewellery, handing it over to Cedric. “Face it, you love her. You always have. You can’t try to love me, Cedric, not when Y/N exists.”

“She doesn’t like me back.” Cedric muttered, grasping the necklace.

“Are you sure?” Cho quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you think she stayed by your side for so long? Even when the other Slytherins teased her, even when you two argued, even when you kissed me in front of her. How could you not notice, Cedric? She brings you drinks after quidditch practice and buys you gifts and even stays at Hogwarts so you aren’t lonely. Why do you think she never dated anybody, Cedric? It’s because you were the one she wanted.”

Cedric shook his head. “No. She doesn’t like me. Y/N is smart and amazing and cunning. I’m not her type. Her type would be someone like…” He paused, thinking, “Matteo Riddle.”

Cho sighed as she shook her head. “You really have no idea, do you? Spend more time with Y/N and hopefully you’ll notice the things the rest of us do.”

She quietly walked off, leaving Cedric standing outside the Great Hall. Cho made an immediate beeline for Ivy, Evan, and Hime and sat in Y/N’s spot.

The trio clad in green glanced at her, confused and a little hostile.

“Cedric likes Y/N.” Cho quickly uttered so the group didn’t explode on her. “I got through to him but he thinks Y/N doesn’t like him back.”

“Thats bullshit. It’s so obvious!” Ivy groaned.

“Exactly.” Evan agreed, “But Y/N doesn’t think Cedric likes her either.”

Cho sighed. “It’s obvious they have mutual feelings but neither of them believe it. So, let’s force them to confess.”

Hime raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you like Cedric? Why are you willing to help us?”

“Despite our dating history, Cedric is still my friend. And I want to help him in any way I can.” Cho smiled.

“Oh, I have an idea!” Ivy exclaimed, “What if we get them under the mistletoe? But instead, they have to fight! We can call it mistlefoe!”

Cho, Hime, and Evan exchanged looks.

“I think we should just stick to mistletoe.” Cho uttered. “We could, uh, surprise them by decorating one of their common rooms? The Slytherin room is never decorated, right?”

“I wish it was.” Evan sighed, “It’s a cute idea. We could surprise Y/N by decorating the common room and then led her in and Cedric can be standing in the middle of the room under the mistletoe.”

“But to pull that off, we’ll need more help.” Hime added, “I don’t think four people can do that. And it’s only us in the Slytherin common room. Not even Matteo is here. So he can’t help.”

Cho glanced past Hime and Ivy, staring at the Golden Trio and their extended group of friends. She smiled. “I have an idea. But it’s going to involve working with Gryffindors.”

The group of Slytherins all glanced at each other before they shrugged in unison.

“Anything for Y/N.”

“Whatever.”

“Do I get to kiss Oliver Wood after Diggory and Y/N kiss?”

Cho, Evan, and Hime stared at Ivy, who only cheekily grinned.

“Um… I’m not sure about that last one. Let’s just start off with asking the Gryffindors first.” Cho sheepishly smiled.

“Ivy and I will get the decorations.” Hime offered, “There’s some extra ones in the basement if Hogwarts too. Evan, Chang, you can get those after you ask the Gryffindors.”

“Call me Cho.” The ravenette smiled before she stood up. “We don’t have much time. Let’s hurry.”

“Wait, we forgot something.” Ivy piped up, “Who’s going to distract Y/N?”

“Evan can distract L/N. I’ll ask the Gryffindors myself and if they accept, they can help me get the decorations from the basement.”

“Okay.” Hime looked around, slowly nodding. She smiled. “Let’s go.”

Cho approached the red table while Hime and Ivy hurried towards Hogsmeade and Evan rushed off to find Y/N.

It took a few hours for everything to be set up, but finally the Slytherin room was decorated and ready.

“I need to get something. I’ll be back.” Evan smiled, lying through her teeth. She watched as Y/N entered the Slytherin common room and rushed off to find her friends.

Y/N squinted her eyes as she walked into the dark room. “Huh? Ivy? Hime? You here? What did you do to the lights?” Nobody answered her. She tilted her head to the side, confused.

The lights suddenly turned on, along with multiple Christmas LED lights. She quietly gasped as she stared at the tinsel covered stairs and brightly decorated tree.

In all her years at Hogwarts, the common room had never been decorated. Slytherins weren’t exactly big on Christmas.

Y/N looked around, realizing she wasn’t alone. “Cedric?” She stared at the brunette boy. “What are you doing here? Have you seen Ivy or Hime? I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

Cedric silently looked up. Y/N, puzzled, followed his gaze. She lifted her head, staring up at the floating mistletoe above her head. “Oh.” She whispered.

She looked at Cedric again, jumping when he was only a foot away.

“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you, Y/N.” He uttered, “I should’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

Cedric didn’t say anything as he leaned forward to softly kiss her. Y/N froze, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

“Y/N,” Cedric pulled away and brushed a strand of loose hair aside, “You’ll always be my Cindy Lou.”

[citysuk]

i need someone to write about reader finding out that aemond is cheating on her in the silk street, like a heart clenching angst that makes me cry all night. PLEASE DO SOMETHING

[charliehoennam]

angel part 3

pairing: louis bloom x f!reader

summary: louis takes his crush/neighbor out on their first date and gets a little carried away.

warning: this fic contains dark themes such as stalking, dubcon/noncon, smut and others. Read at your own risk. 18+ ONLY.

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

It's another hot night in Los Angeles.

You step out of your bathroom wrapped in your towel, fresh out of the shower. Rummaging through the messy closet that you've yet to finish organizing due to the move, you try to mentally plan your outfit.

Thinking about what to wear, you push between the hangers and through your clothes for a better look. You find a nice, short, red dress that's both casual and elegant enough for a first date. You match it with a pair of cute ballet flats that accentuate your feet and legs.

Meanwhile, Lou secretly watches you set out your outfit on the bed. There’s a certain thrill that he enjoys about watching you.

He thinks it’s rather sweet how naïve you are, but he’s also aware that it could lead you to potential danger in the wrong hands. That’s why he’s taking it upon himself to protect you.

He’s seen and filmed plenty of horrible things happen to the young innocent girls of L.A who unknowingly put themselves in harm’s way. He doesn’t want that to happen to you. Better than anyone else, he knows what evil men can be capable of. Whether you know it or not, you need him.

His tongue grazes his bottom lip as he watches you take your towel off. Your hair and make-up are all ready. Now, you just have to get dressed.

Hanging your towel over your closet door to dry, you walk over to the side of your bed to grab your favorite lotion from your nightstand.

With concentrated wide eyes, Louis watches from afar as you squeeze the scented lotion onto your palm. Propping your foot on the mattress, you rub the creamy lotion onto your shin first and gradually work your way up to your thigh.

Louis admires you as if admiring a work of art. The way your breasts dangle as you bend over to rub your shin, the folds on your stomach that bunch together, the curve of your ass when you switch your attention to the other leg, the way your ass jiggles when you rub the lotion over your cheeks.

"That's a great ass," he thinks to himself. “Why there though? Does she expect me to touch her there tonight? That would be too forward, wouldn’t it? Is this a sign that you want me too? Oh, you naughty little angel.”

He smirks at the hope of getting to go to fourth base with you again, but with you actually conscious this time.

He stops himself from getting too excited when he sees you putting on your underwear. The way you cautiously select a matching lacy pair indicates, to him, that there’s a strong chance he might get to see it. Just actually on you instead of in your drawer.

Forcing himself away from the window, he takes one last look at himself in the mirror. Adjusting his brown suit jacket, he decides to undo the top button of his white shirt hoping that his subtle flaunting of his chest will give out the signals he’s looking for.

Noting a couple of strands by his ear, he takes his comb to smooth them back into place. He gently presses his palm against the area after spraying a quick mist of hairspray to keep them there.

After a quick spritz of cologne behind each ear, he adds the stolen watch he’d taken from a security guard long before his days as a rising entrepreneur. It sits a little loose on his wrist, but he doesn’t mind it enough to take it off.

Stepping into his bathroom, he stares at himself blankly before opening the medicine cabinet. He takes the sleeping pills he’d used on you before and opens the orange bottle to take a couple of doses. Once they’re placed in a small plastic baggie, he crushes them up with the use of the cup on his sink he usually uses when brushing his teeth. Satisfied with their powdered fineness, he tucks the baggie into his wallet and closes the cabinet.

You come out of your apartment and walk out of the building to find Louis waiting for you outside with his hands tucked into his pockets. He flashes a genuine smile at you as you approach.

“Wow, you look spectacular, Y/N.”

“Thanks. I didn’t wanna overdo it” you smile shyly, pressing your cheek against his to greet him with a friendly kiss. He doesn’t quite kiss you back, surprising by the act, but he’s very happy about it because it’s a positive sign that you’re getting comfortable with him. “You smell really good, by the way. Are you wearing cologne?”

“Yes, I am. I hope it’s not a bother? Special occasions call for special measures.”

“Is this a special occasion?” you smirk up at him.

“Of course, it is. It’s not every day that I get to take the most beautiful lady in the complex out to dinner.”

Your cheeks warm at his compliment.

“It’s not a bother at all. I really like the scent actually.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. May I call you sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. You don’t think anyone’s ever asked your permission to call you a pet name, but you kind of like it. His wardrobe might be a little plain and a touch outdated, but his manners nearly make you wet.

“I thought we could maybe go to this place called Cabanita. They have the best beef fajitas” he smiles leading you over to his dodge challenger.

The cherry red color makes it impossible to miss. You'd noticed it when Matt whistled upond seeing it in the parking lot. You had no idea it belonged to a guy like Louis.

It was a big contrast to his rather timid personality. You would have guessed it belonged to someone little more obnoxious.

"This is your ride?" You ask trying to not look surprised.

"Yeah. Is that alright? I promise I won't drive above the speed limit if that's your concern" he chuckes opening the passenger door.

"Yeah, it's completely fine. Just a really nice car" you smile walking closer to slide into the passenger seat.

He thanks you for the compliment and walks around the front to slide into the driver's seat.

"Seat belt on?" You nod as he clicks in his before starting up the car.

As he pulls out of his parking space, your eyes wander around the vehicle. It's spotlessly clean and neat without a single wrapper lying around. The faint scent of pinewood radiates from the scented pine tree hanging from the mirror.

"So have you been there before?"

You hum looking over at him as he pulls out of your thoughts.

"Cabanita? Have you been there before?" He asks he drives out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"No, I haven't. I've heard about it though."

"Boy, are you in for a treat then. It's one of my favorite places. There's an excellent vegetarian empanada too, if you're not into meat."

"I suppose I'll have a hard time choosing what to eat then.”

"There's no rush anyway. The purpose of this is to get to know each other better after all, right?”

You nod in agreement.

"And they've got a great selection of drinks too. Of course, I won't be indulging too much. Alcohol and driving is never a safe combination."

You smile at him thinking about how your ex used to drink and drive. You like that he's responsible, not only with himself, but your presence too. He makes you feel safe.

"I really appreciate that. Maybe afterwards, we could have a night cap at my place? I mean, as long as you don't mind the mess. It's better than the last time you saw it, but there's still some things to organize."

He smiles widely at the thought of being in your apartment again.

"I would love that, sweetheart."

Upon arriving at the restaurant, you're led to a table for two by the polite hostess. Sitting in the rounded booth of your table, you look around the beautiful decoration of Mexican flair.

"This place is beautiful. I can't believe I've never been here before."

"Neither can I. Please don't  this the wrong way, but I would assume a woman as beautiful as yourself would be often taken out on dates?"

You don't know exactly how to respond.

"I just mean that any man would be happy to take you out for a wine and dine."

"I don't know about that" your cheeks warm. "I haven't been on a date in a while, to be honest."

"That's a little hard to believe. I'd imagine you have guys lining up for an opportunity like this."

"I wish" you chuckle smiling widely at his flirtation. "It is really nice to be here tonight though. I'm glad we did this."

"I am too" he smiles.

You spend the rest of the evening sharing bits and pieces of personal information about yourselves. You tell him how you moved to California, where you're from and the area you work in.

He shares that he's a native to L.A and that he's a business man, specializing in news report filming. He also shares that his parents are deceased and jokes about you not having to deal with troubling in-laws when you apologize for his loss. It happened a long time ago and he was raised by his grandmother who is too no longer around.

You love how Louis listens to you and questions you, making the conversation naturally effortless. It’s a very pleasant change from the men you’d met over tinder giving online dating a chance.

Learning more about your hobbies, interests and area of expertise, Louis is hopeful that you’d make a great match. He strongly believes you’re a potential candidate for him to settle down with, but only time can confirm that. There’s still so much more he needs to revie, but his investment in you is already rather hopeful.

Once you've enjoyed your dinner and dessert over endless talks about each other, you both agree to head back to your place for a night cap.

When he walks into your apartment, he tries to act like he's never been there before. Like everything is new and he doesn't already know all the books or CDs you have on your shelf. Or the shampoo and perfume you wear. Or what your favorite cereal is. Or where you store your undergarments.

No, he doesn't know any of that. He's seeing it all for the very first time.

With a wine glass in hand, you invite him to sit on the couch with you and continue your conversation about the lovely experience you had at the restaurant and how lovely the food and environment were.

It's obvious that there's a slight tension in the air when he sets his hand on your thigh. You're not quite sure why, but it feels a little fast.

You've only just met the man, gone on the first date just now. And given your history of relationships, you've had a pattern of rushing into the sex.

You don't want to give off the wrong impression about yourself and you actually like Lou. He's polite, thoughtful and didn't keep making sexual passes at you over dinner like the other guys.

It was actually really nice to finally be able to sit down and talk to someone who genuinely wanted to get to know you for who you are and not just your body.

There's still something that you can't quite explain that makes you uneasy about him, but the fact that you can't quite pinpoint it makes you believe that it might be just you projecting your fears onto him. It has been a while since you've dated; this was your first date in months.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and hope he won't pick up on your hesitance.

Louis knows something is making you uncomfortable. He doesn't know what. He knows he'll have to work harder and longer to gain your trust, to ensure that you feel completely safe with him before you can invite him into your bed. But that's ok, he doesn't mind the wait. He can be patient when he needs to.

When you come back to the small living room, he's stood adjusting his suit jacket.

"Are you leaving?"

"I hope you're not offended" he nods. "I just got a call from my employee. I have to go, but I was hoping we could maybe do this again sometime?"

"Yeah, a-alright. I'd love to" you nod masking your disappointment. You're almost sure you blew it. He's never going to actually come back.

"Thank you so much for tonight. I really enjoyed our talk and I look forward to getting to know you even better."

"So do I" you nod forcing a smile at him as you follow him to the door. "Stop by whenever. I'm home every day after 6."

As if he doesn't already know your schedule.

"Will do, sweetheart. I apologize again, but I promise I'll make for it. "

"There's no need. It's work."

"Yes, that's true. And I do love the service that I provide, but I think I've been begun to enjoy your company even more."

You smile surprised at him as you open the door. He leans down to mimic your very first act and presses his cheek against yours to kiss you goodbye.

You sigh as the door closes behind your back and shake your head. Part of you wishes you had caved in. Why shouldn't have you? You were flirting, he was into you. All the signs were there.

Regretfully taking your wine glass from the coffee table, you chug down its remaining content. There's a bitter taste to the wine. It just must've been out or opened for too long. It could be time to get a new bottle.

You take the glasses to the kitchen to give them rinse and set them on the drying. Then, you walk over to the closet to remove your dress and bra and change into your pajamas which consists of an oversized t-shirt and the cute lacy panties you’d picked out.

To be fair, Louis did actually have to work. Although the date had ended, his night was only getting started.

It’s only 2 a.m when he comes home from another adrenaline-filled night. Despite the rush of speeding from neighborhood to neighborhood, he isn’t all too tired. Not for you, at least.

Making his way to his window, he looks into your apartment to make sure you’re fast asleep. Content with the fact that you are, he takes his fun time kit and makes his way to your front door.

Quietly breaking into your apartment again, just as easy as before, he closes the door behind him and makes his way over to your bed. With his camcorder in hand, he stares down at you hungrily.

You're on your side with your back to him. Your shirt is just slightly hiked up from the position, revealing a bit of your stomach. You don’t even feel it when he traces his finger up your thigh and over the arch of your ass to test the effect of his dosage.

It’s the same amount as last time, so he’s confident you won’t wake up. But the issue is that he didn’t see you take the sedative this time. For all he knows, you could’ve tossed the wine out instead. It’s a risk he’ll willing to take as he palms the knife – his last resort – in his pocket.

Judging by the TV that’s still on, he believes you did take it. The more he's watched you over the past few days, the more he believes you were made for one another. You don't get out much. Friends aren't over all the time. It's mostly just you alone in your apartment doing chores or watching TV, and you never sleep with it on.

He smirks at the panties that perfectly accentuate your ass, making it look plump and rounder. They look so pretty on you; he doesn’t want to take them off even though he’s anxious to drill his cock into your pussy.

As he films, he slides his middle finger down the crack of your ass and slowly moves it towards your pussy. His eyes alter back and forth from your face to your ass. He wants to be sure you don’t wake up, but there’s no movement so far. Your breathing is just as steady as before.

Smirking to him with wide eyes, he quickly unbuckles his belt and pants and lets his cock spring from its confines. Feeling more confident than the last time, he sets the camera down on the bed in order to strip down and undress.

Once completely naked, he takes his camera in hand again and aims the focal point back to your ass. He lifts the fabric of your panties to tuck his dripping cock underneath it, pressing it against your cheeks. A faint quiet “fuck” escapes from his lips.

He toys with his cock, enjoying how your ass and the lace feels against his hardened shaft. You’re just so warm and begging to be fucked.

Propping one knee on the bed between your legs, he hooks your panties with his finger to lift them and glides his glistening tip down to your plush pussy folds and back to your ass. He could come from this alone, but he wants to enjoy it for as long as he can.

You might not even know, but your body reacts to the head of his dick massaging your clit. You don’t move, too unconscious to even notice, but he can feel your pussy slickening with every stroke between your lips.

Stilling his hips for a moment, the camera shifts upwards to catch him lifting your shirt up over your breast. With a smirk, he flips the screen of the camcorder and sets it down near the corner of your bed angling it to capture himself and you from the front.

Happy with his angle, he’s able to finally focus on only you. He slides your panties to the side and slowly pushes his cock into your wet hole. The pleasure is so good that he has to stop and lean his head back with eyes shut tightly to hold himself back.

Slowly pushing and pulling to wet his dick, he finally bottoms out with a low groan. The tightness of your walls has him struggling to contain himself.

He leans down as he cups your breast in his hand and latches his lips onto your hardened nipple. He sucks and flicks his tongue over it, kneading the flesh with his hand hoping the distraction is able to make him last longer.

Standing beside your bed, his hips begin their slow thrusts as he straightens up. He keeps a hand on your ass to keep your cheeks open for his cock. The other stays on your breast for the sheer satisfaction of how squishy it is.

“Fuck, angel. You feel so fucking heavenly” he whispers to himself. “Could fuck you forever.”

Watching where your bodies connect, he pants and watches your pussy swallowing his cock with such ease. His balls grazing against your thigh only heightens his ecstasy.

His hips quicken until they’re snapping against your ass cheeks. He quickly glances at the camera screen to make sure the angel is filming every inch.

Feeling his orgasm approaching, he squeezes your ass and hips as his eyes move up and down to watch your jiggling breast and your swollen pussy lips engulfing his dick. He hates that he can’t fucking cum inside you. You feel too good to pull out, but he does regardless and lets his ropes of white cum squirt in the crack of your ass instead.

It’s a win-win to him. He doesn’t cum inside you but he still gets to have your warm flesh milk him of every drop.

Stepping back to catch his breath, he holds your panties with one hand to film your ass painted white with his load. He zooms in as close as he can to capture his seed drip between your cheeks.

Stunned by the fact that you haven’t even budged, he sets the camera down. He carefully rolls you onto your front, lowers your panties to your ankles and parts your legs as wide as he can.

Taking the camera once more, he watches with wide eyes as his cum slowly trickles onto and between your pussy lips, making you look so juicy and creamy for him. He can’t help but set his camcorder aside and position himself on your bed to lower down and lick it up.

His tongue prods at your creamy cunt as his hands squeeze your ass, thumbs parting your sore lips open to lap at all the juices oozing from you. He circles your clit. His tongue licks at your folds over and over again to capture every drop of his salty load and sinks as far as it can into your pussy.

Moving upwards, he parts your cheeks to glide his tongue between them and licks up the mess, poking the puckered hole with his tongue. He can only imagine how good fucking your ass must feel. He doesn’t want to do that just yet, he wants you to be awake for it because he knows it could be painful. He’s not an animal, of course.

His cock does twitch and hardens at the thought of fucking your ass.

Spitting on your pussy, he rolls you back onto your side before lying down beside you. He takes the camera to film himself lying beside you, as if you’re a couple. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your conditioner. He smiles to himself as he kisses your neck and shoulder, admiring how cute you look together on the screen of the camcorder.

Positioning it on the bed, he aims the lenses of it up at your cunt and his cock for the perfect angle of his dick slipping back into you for another round.

Tonight, he plans to test his limit and see how much he can really get away with.  

His cock slips past your pussy lips again and fucks you harder this time, letting his balls slap against your clit and add to the delicious vulgar sounds that fill the room.

Once his orgasm builds up again, he holds your thigh tightly and pulls his cock out to simply glide between your drenched lips, cumming on them.

His load slickens your thighs, so he holds them closed and fucks them slowly to ease himself down from his high, altering from your supple thighs and wet cunt.

He swears he could fuck you like this all night, and he just might.

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.

[mae-lou-ron]

More Than That

Summary: Something has been on your mind, but you should have known your lover in secret, Rex, would see right through you.

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Warnings: A little angsty (secret relationship, anger over the tragedy of the clones, pining) with a happier ending, hurt/comfort, a side of fluff, sweetheart Rex, mando’a phrase / pet names.

Word Count: 1,150

A/N: here’s 1,100+ words that literally fell out of my brain after I got out of work tonight. Lately I’ve been thinking too much about the clones creation (as one does) and I guess this is where it decided to come out 🤷🏼‍♀️ Barely proofread. Also don’t come at me if I got the mando’a sentence structure wrong kthnx.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = 93.5% sure that means I love you. source

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Meshla?” Rex's gloved fingertips brushed the inside of your arm, pulling you from your distant thoughts and into the familiar whirlwind of sensations his touch always ignited in you. Not just his touch, everything about him from his warmth to his scent to the sound of his voice had a magnetic effect on you.

Instead, you stiffened and gently pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Rex... sometimes I just can't think straight when you're touching me," you murmured, regret coloring your voice. "I'm sorry." You stepped back, and he let his hand fall to his side.

His eyes softened, concern in his gaze. "Hey," he said in a soft tone. "It's okay." He removed his gloves and extended his hand, leaving the choice to touch him up to you. "Talk to me?" he encouraged softly. You took several steadying breaths before sliding your hand into his, the touch now grounding you as he guided you to the stack of crates in the corner.

Rex waited for you to sit before settling next to you, the small space seeing you pressed together from shoulder to knee. He then sat stoically at your side as you sorted through your thoughts.

Anger bubbled into your throat at your own selfish feelings—the fear of losing Rex suddenly in battle, and the anguish in knowing that if he lived to the end of this war, the cruel reality was that the Kaminoans had engineered the clones with a half life. It wasn't fair. Yet, you refused to say anything that might make Rex feel compelled to console you about the tragedy of the clone's existence—one he was already well aware of.

“It’s something I need to make peace with myself, Rex.” You smiled softly up at him. “I know you’d swoop in with a daring rescue if you could, but you already have to bear so many burdens…let me keep this one for you.”

Rex regarded you carefully, his golden eyes searching your face. You loved how his eyebrows furrowed so deeply when he was trying to sort you out.

He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing his thumb across your cheek. The tender gesture made your heart ache, knowing that even these small moments of affection were stolen between duties and battles. His touch lingered, as if memorizing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips.

“There’s something else.” he said in a low voice. It wasn’t a question.

You chuckled a little at how intensely perceptive your sweet Captain was becoming lately. He was spending too much time with Commander Tano. You sighed, steeling yourself for what you were about to say.

"You've always meant more to me than those moments we were able to steal away. I know we agreed it was best to keep that way but…Rex I…I can't pretend anymore," you said softly before locking eyes with him, chest tightening, knowing that opening this conversation would likely prompt him to end things—he was far too honorable to drag you through whatever anguish he thought might lay ahead.

Rex's eyes fluttered closed, a flicker of what looked like pain crossing his features before he schooled his expression. He took a deep breath, his hand tightening around yours. "I understand," he said softly, his deep voice thick with emotion. "But I need you to know something first."

“That it’s over?” you quipped, voice cracking. Kriff. You swore you wouldn’t shed tears in front of him. He’d just want to try to fix something that neither of you had the power to change.

Rex's eyes softened. "No, cyar'ika. He sighed and you felt his hand squeeze yours gently. “That I love you." His voice was low, earnest, filled with an emotion that made your heart pound.

Your head snapped up to regard him as you processed his words. Love? That ember for him that you'd been so carefully guarding, afraid to even name, was suddenly thrust out in the open. Your eyes searched his face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but you found only sincerity and a rare flicker of fear in his gaze.

"I know our situation is… complicated, but how I feel about you isn’t."

"Rex, I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. The words you'd been holding back for so long threatened to spill out all at once. "Stars, we've kriffed up," you burst into a fit of watery laughter, your deep anxiety finally bubbling over now that he'd confessed what you'd been so afraid to.

Rex chuckled softly, and you loved how the sound rumbled deep within his chest, how his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Maybe just a little," he admitted, bringing your hand to his lips. Ever the gentleman. "But I wouldn't change anything." His eyes slid over to yours, vulnerability and hope shining in them. "So, what now?"

“I wish I knew…” you wiped at your damp cheeks with your free hand.

A sly look crossed his features, “Well…usually when someone tells you they love you…”

“You usually say it back," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears still glistening in your eyes. Your heart raced as you took a deep breath, gathering the words that were swirling around in your heart and mind.

“Ner cyare…” you murmured, reaching out to touch his face. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…”

Rex's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and joy flickering across his face as he recognized the Mando'a phrase tumbling from your lips. His grip on you tightened, and he pulled you closer to press his forehead against yours. His voice a low rumble as he responded, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika."

Lost in the warmth of him, the weight of your shared confession settled over you like a comforting blanket. This moment eclipsed all your previous encounters in this room. Even if just for a moment, you glimpsed a future where you could truly cherish every precious moment with Rex, even knowing how short your time together might be.

"May I kiss you now, meshla?" Rex murmured, his eyes flickering to your lips.

“Please…” you breathed.

His lips met yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as if you were something precious. The kiss was slow, sweet, and filled with all the still unspoken words you’d both been harboring. When you finally parted, Rex rested his forehead against yours once again, his thumb brushing away the remnants of tears on your cheek.

“Be mine,” he whispered against your lips. “Ner cyare…”

You smiled against him, your heart overflowing with love and hope despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. "I've always been yours," you whispered back, sealing your words with another tender kiss. The galaxy might be at war, but in this moment, wrapped in Rex's arms, you found your home.

[prttylilbunny]

how about reader who's OBSESSED with Hazel's hands and rings?

HAZEL X HAND OBSESSED!READER

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warnings: nothing just a bit of fluff!!

word count: 0.3k

notes: ty for request!! this is my first time doing hc y'all so please be nice or I'll explode💔 also sorry this is so short:(

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-okay so I feel like hazel would see you always stare at her hands and how you really like holding them, like not even holding hands but just like holding her hands

-she didn't actually wear rings till you started obsessing over her hands, like one time you just said that she would look nice with rings and she bought a bunch just for you🤭💕

-if you like fidgeting she'd definitely let you fidget with her hands/fingers, she even bought one of those spinny rings just so you could fidget with it!!

-if your big on physical touch she would without a doubt have her hands on you at all times

-in the car? her hand is resting on your thigh, moving though a crowd? her hands are holding your hips and guiding you, sitting down next to each other? her hands around your waist

-she's definitely a silver girl!! she only wears silver!! of course because she likes it more than gold but also one time you told (before you were dating) that silver looks good on her and she got all flustered and since then strictly wears silver

-again if you tell her she looks good in anything or she should start doing something she completely obliges, like one time you told her since her hands are sooo nice and she should start wearing lotion so they smell nice and are super soft!! then the next day she came to school with a small vanilla lotion bottle attached to her backpack

-and even if you had been dating for about 7 months she only discovered your whole little hand thing 4 months in, and somehow she was surprised even though she noticed how you're always looking at her hands😭

-overall if you like smth about her she'll like enhance it!!🤭

[salemsvlog]

Buck, at some point after the wedding ceremony: So, everyone, this is Tommy. My boyfriend.

Tommy: Hi

Everyone:

Josh, on the back, holding a champagne bottle while looking at the sky: So you just hate me, then?

[gyllenhaalstuff]

Whatever it takes - Lou Bloom

Summary: Lou asks you out with the intention of sleeping with you. However, he has to work for it.

Warnings: Sub!lou, oral (f receiving), foot on crotch (don’t be spooked), fingering, masturbation, lou is eager to please, piv sex, unprotected sex, cum eating. Yeah, it’s filthy.

Word count: 1540

Notes: I am ashamed. Prob typos. might suck i cba to proofread.

~

Even though Lou had little interest in people, every once in a while he found someone to obsess over. And during these periods, he weakened. His goal was to be with them, no matter what it took or what it looked like.

 

This time you were the object of his affection, though there are probably better words to describe it than that. Working in the reception of a news outlet, you often talked to him as he dropped off his tapes. He would tell you uninteresting stories about his uneventful life. Thankfully he didn’t bore you too much. As your eyes often fell to his veiny hands, fidgeting as he awkwardly stumbled over his words. Men like this were your weak spot. Inexperienced and desperate.

 

It took you by surprise when one day he asked to take you out. But a few hours later there you were, sat in a dimly lit restaurant with Lou opposite you. He seemed more interested in you than the chips and salsa that stood before him. “I don’t mind being alone,” he chatted on, “but you miss out on a lot. Touch, intimacy.” You raised a brow at him. “Well, yeah, you usually need two for that,” you chuckled. He smiled knowingly. “I want you to be that person.” You let out a laugh, taken aback. “I thought you didn’t like people,” you questioned. And in return he responded, “I like you.”

 

You weren’t going to deny him, but you weren’t planning to give in either. His apartment, if you could even call it that, was small and dark. You sat down next to him on the couch. Lou turned his face to yours before quickly enveloping you in a kiss. “M-mm,” you shook your head and pulled away while Lou looked at you in confusion. “What do I get out of this?” He looked as if he had never thought of it before, like he had never seen that others also wanted to gain more than they lost. You continued, “Think of it as business. You get what you want, and now I need to know how you’ll compensate me.” Lou nodded and swallowed. He could smell your perfume as its aura reached him, making his mouth go dry and his pants tighten. He had never felt your scent before, and now all he wanted was to taste it.

 

“What do you want then?” Lou asked, with his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “I want you to get on your knees.” You stated, not knowing if it would work. But he complied. He lowered onto the floor before you, sat back on his heels, and looked up at you. “If you’re going to get to fuck me, you have to make me want it. Get it?” You asked, and Lou nodded. “Take your clothes off,” you ordered him. His hands began to unbutton his shirt, all while scanning you up and down. He let the fabric slide off his shoulders and began undoing his pants. In his nervousness, he sat straight, an attempt to appear confident and in control. He straightened his legs and pulled off his pants. “Keep the rest on,” you ordered.

 

You smiled at him before letting your gaze fall down. You hummed happily at his erection, especially at the damp, small spot where his pre-cum seeped through his underwear. You slipped your feet out of your heels and let one of them graze over his cock. Lou drew a shaky breath as you did, digging his bitten fingernails into the carpet beneath him. You laid back as you ran your foot up to his tip, where you heightened the pressure, letting your toes spread on either side of it. Lou held back a moan, fighting back his selfish need to tear your clothes off and bend you over.

 

Your other foot perched on the couch, opening your legs up. Your dress skirted up to your hips as you flashed your damp panties at him. Lou gazed fastened there immediately. “If you’re going to deserve to put your cock there, you have to put your mouth on me first.” You said, looking down at his desperate, heavy-lidded eyes and his agape mouth. This kind of power was new to you, but this man was in need of being put in his place. Of learning some respect. You kicked off your underwear and slid your finger down to your slit before spreading the wetness around your clit. “Let me see your cock,” you breathed out, not looking up from Lou's crotch. He took his cock out before pumping it as he stared at you massaging your clit. You removed your fingers and gave him an expectant look.

 

Lou leaned forward. He nestled his face between your thighs before breathing in your scent, which he groaned at. He opened his mouth and pressed a sloppy kiss onto your aching clit. His tongue swirled around it as he tugged harshly on his cock. You leaned your head back against the cushions before tangling your fingers into his slicked-back hair. He hummed at the slight pain, sending vibrations through your body.

 

Lou dipped his head further down to lap at your wetness oozing out of you. He shivered at the taste and stopped jerking off, or else he would cum instantly. He let his tongue enter you, like he didn’t want to miss out on a single drop of you. You arched your back and bucked your cunt into his face, making his nose bump against your abandoned clit. You hissed through your teeth and tugged on his now messy locks.

 

Lou backed off and looked at his work, smiling at the effect he managed to have on you. He snuck up his hand and ran a finger over your folds before letting it slip into your hole. “Am I doing alright?” He asked, not wanting to do a bad job. He really needed this fuck, really needed you. You nodded and hummed in approval, looking down at him through heavy eyelids. Lou bent his fingers and once again attached his mouth to your clit. His other hand moved back down to his cock to feverishly stroke it. You moaned out loud at his doubled efforts and clenched around his finger. “‘I’m close,” you whimpered, and Lou quickly swapped to fuck you with his tongue and circle your clit with his fingers. He didn’t want your fluids to drip down onto the sofa when he so badly wanted them in his mouth. As your orgasm came crashing down, you cried out and pulled around his desperate tongue. You grabbed his hair and pulled him off your sensitive clit. He looked at you in adoration as you tried to catch your breath. He never knew how fun it could be to see another person enjoy themselves, even less how hard it would get him.

 

“I’m yours now,” you said between two deep breaths. Lou stood up, and you took off your dress. He gawked at your tits before he turned you around so that your arms held you up against the back of the couch. He looked down at your ass, at your drenched opening as he stroked himself.

 

He lined up and entered you as he harshly gripped onto your hips. You moaned at the intrusion and the stretch. It’s always the skinny guys. Lou began moving in and out of you slowly; shaky breaths escaped his mouth as he watched you swallow him. He carefully upped the pace, not wanting to let this moment pass by too quickly. As pleasure started to swarm his head, he could no longer stand straight so he leaned over your back. He grunted against your skin as he fucked you; his hand slithered around you to grope one of your tits. His fingers closed around your nipple and pinched it, tugged at it. As he began nearing his climax, he roughly dug his fingers into your flesh and bit down on your shoulder.

 

Whimpers escaped his lips during his last, rhythmless thrusts. You clenched around his cock at the sounds before he spilled into you. He held himself there as he emptied himself, letting his cum coat your walls.

 

When he pulled out, he quickly got down on his knees. When he got what he wanted, he wanted to cherish it and not let anything go to waste. His open mouth caught his cum before it dripped down onto the couch; he moaned at the taste of you mixed together. His tongue moved to lick up your slit before placing his mouth around it, lapping up every drop that spilled out of you. Saying you were surprised was an understatement. You choked on a moan as he entered his tongue into you for the second time that night.

 

When he leaned away he smirked at your cleaned pussy. You sat down on the couch and placed a hand over your racing heart. What the fuck just happened? Lou stuck his cock back into his underwear and plopped down on the couch beside you. After a minute of silence, you announced your departure. “I guess it’s time for me to leave,” you shrugged and got dressed. Before you exited his apartment, Lou finally spoke. “You’ll be back. I’ll make sure of it.”