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foreverdolly · 10 months ago

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 3 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. ( need to edit this later because I'm exhausted right now)

word count: 3.5k

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If the intruder had made another noise then hadn’t been able to hear it. Not over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dread washed over you, the blood in your veins turning to ice as you were struck with a sudden realization:

Either you fought for your life, here and now. . . or you died.

Your throat locked up, and suddenly you found yourself unable to say anything at all. Shouldn’t you be screaming like a madwoman? Had he seen you undress for the night? Had he been lurking in a corner or a closet as your attendants had run your bath? Was everybody in on this?

Every nervous smile and antsy movement came rushing back to you. Betrayal slapped you in the face so hard that it stunned you back into motion.

The knife that you had hidden away in your room after breakfast was shorter than you would have liked- minimal reach, meaning you’d have to get up close to the attacker. Still, you somehow managed to kick the sheets off of you in order to lurch to the side before he was able to brandish his own blade. You heard it cut through the air, the loud tearing of the pillow where your head had just been perched a millisecond ago echoed through the pitch black room.

You moved towards the door, bare feet against ice cold marble, and finally began to open your mouth to scream for whatever guards were sure to be stationed near the guest quarters.

“I wouldn’t bother,” The man’s voice sneered, a smile evident in his voice. “No one will save you.”

There it was. The truth.

Everyone hated you, but you already knew as much. There was very little you could do in your nightdress- no way you could properly fend off an attacker without any shoes on your feet. Even worse, you had no shield.

“Why are you doing this?” You questioned, raising the knife so that you were holding it defensively in front of you. You hated how pathetic you sounded with your voice shaking like that. Still, your hands held strong.

Under immense trauma and stress like this your body had gone into autopilot. Again and again your training has been hammered into you. You must remain calm. Act with surety.

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.

You waited, listening to see if he was getting close to you. The bed creaked, the attacker stepping into a single ray of silver light that had escaped through the blinds.

It was a guard.

So this was planned. You should have known enough. You would have thought that Feyd would have been the one to orchestrate the whole thing, but his earlier warning had made it clear to you that he hadn’t wanted you to perish. At least not like this.

He didn’t say anything else to you before his arm came barrelling down. You stepped to the side, almost tripping over the fabric of your dress in your panic. The cutter blade struck the wall behind you, and in the man’s blind fury he left his side completely defenseless. You surged forward, the knife tightly clutched in your hand, and brought it down hard on his arm. He cried out, the sound nearly deafening you as it echoed off of the empty walls.

“You bitch!” His weapon clung against the ground.

Still, his uninjured arm struck against the side of your face. The world tilted beneath you as you stumbled backwards, your spine cracking against the dresser drawer as your knees buckled beneath you. Pain. It felt like he had just drilled a hole clean into the side of your face. No one had ever landed a blow to you like that. The guard took advantage of your stunned state, moving forward so that he could wrap his meaty hands around your throat.

You needed to use the Voice. He had to stop. . . but his hands were squeezing too tightly. Your lips moved but little more than fearful croaks escaped you. Tears pooled in your eyes at the pressure, at the pain, at the fucking fear that was threatening to swallow you up whole, whole, whole until you were nothing. Your nails scrapped against any bit of skin that you could find. He hissed in pain, using the weight of your own body against you as he slammed you against the dresser where he currently had you pinned.

You kicked out your legs, desperately trying to find a foothold so that you could wrench yourself upwards. If you were in pants then you might have been able to save yourself, but your bare feet slid out against the loose fabric pooled underneath you. The man had struck when you had been most vulnerable. He was killing you.

Your eyes widened, the tears finally spilling past the thick wall of your lower lashes. He was killing you. He was killing you. He was killing you.

With the ringing filling your ears, you hadn’t heard the commotion outside of your door. Only when it slammed open, light from the hall flooding in, did you realize that someone had been alerted. The hands around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a deep, wheezing breath in.

“Help me.” But you couldn’t reach the correct frequency, not when your vocal cords were so damaged.

Still, with bleary eyes you stared up at whoever’s large form filled the doorway. Begging them to save you.

And so they did.

The world just fell away, like ink on wet paper- it all bled around him. All sound and sight ebbed away, the only thing visible in his rage being your tear filled eyes. Feyd had seen looks of pure terror on the faces of men he had bested countless times before. It never meant much to him. The lives he had taken never weighed heavy on his shoulders. He never cared much for anything aside from his own ambitions. He had goals- found minor joy in sharpening his mind and his blades.

He had carried his memories of you from childhood with him into adulthood, each glance and nervous smile acted as a balm that soothed any future traumas or worries. He knew that one day he would be standing exactly where he was right then, with you within arms length.

This wasn’t what he had pictured throughout the years though. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was currently witnessing.

Women bled the same as men did. He never felt overly-noble when it came to protecting them, no matter how weak or frail they looked. Feyd understood that it was survival of the fittest. People lost their lives every day in much crueler ways than suffocation. . .

But the guard had his hands around your throat, and in that moment Feyd no longer saw the proud woman that had managed to nearly knock him off of his feet earlier. No, in that moment you looked just like that six year old little girl he had always cared for so dearly. You looked exactly how he had left you- scared, fragile and innocent.

Feyd-Rautha wasn’t quite sure what love was, but he could imagine that it must be what he felt for you. Losing you was an impossibility, he’d never let it happen. He couldn’t.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

An eerie sort of calm befell the room, the only sounds being your shaky breaths as you tried to fill your aching lungs with air. The guard didn’t answer him, only stared with fearful eyes up at the Na-Baron. He was looking Death right in the face.

“Was it your idea to attack her in the middle of the night like this?” Feyd took another step into the room, which had the guard scooting back awkwardly on his knees. “You were going to kill her in the dark like she was no better than an animal.”

He hadn’t even been brave enough to face you with the lights on.

Feyd, without turning around, used his foot to close the door behind him. Once again the room plummeted into pitch black darkness. There was a shuffling sound in front of him, the man trying to get to his feet as fast as he could to put some distance between the two of them, but it was too late. Feyd followed the source of the noise and reached out, grabbing the man around the stomach before sinking his blade deep into his neck. A sick wet gurgling noise caused you to let out a small cry. Still, the blue eyed man wouldn’t be offput by your disgust.

He had to pay for what he did to you.

And so he dislodged the knife easily, the sharp blade gliding through muscle and skin, and then stabbed again. And again. And again. The guard moaned in pain, trying his hardest to buck and fight Feyd off of him. Even when the man’s legs gave out from under him Feyd followed him, falling to his knees so that he could continue his ruthless assault.

The Na-Baron grit his teeth, eyes wide as his knife continued to find purchase in the corpse beneath him. The bastard had caused you to suffer. He had hurt you. Feyd didn’t stop there either. He stood up and made his way out into the hallway.

The rage had made a home somewhere deep in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with so much anger. He needed. . . he needed to make everyone atone for what they had done to you. Did they think that he would approve of their lame assassination attempt?

“You heard everything and did nothing!” He screamed out at the other guards who stood in the hallway.

His hands were coated in blood, his black shirt and night pants soaked through, clinging to his skin. All they could do was watch him, unable to say anything at all. Feyd knew that they could not deny his claims. They had all been in on this from the start.

And so he raised his blade again and did not stop until every man in the hallway was long-dead.

Not a word had been said since the incident. You didn’t even complain when Feyd had all but dragged you through the halls, rather you followed him as emotionless as a doll. The blood of the fallen marred your arms and crisp white nightdress. It was as if your body had gone into auto pilot. Your mind was lost to you, as you felt as though you were floating off somewhere far away. You no longer existed at all.

You were just a hollow shell now, in a state of shock that had you shutting down completely.

Where was he taking you? You didn’t know, nor did you particularly care anymore.

The guard’s final breaths had sounded wet, probably due to the blood in his lungs. The blade hitting bone. His moans of pain. Those sounds still echoed in your ears, and you were positive that you’d never be able to get them out of your head.

You’d never witnessed anything like that in all of your life. Someone had been killed mere feet away from you. And yet you weren’t sorry for him. You searched yourself for even an inkling of pity and came up short. The bastard got what he deserved.

“Why did you have to do that in front of me?” You managed to mumble out.

Tonight would soon become a memory that would never abandon you. Even in old age you were certain that you would be able to recall every gut wrenching detail of tonights events. When the door leading out to the doorway had opened and illuminated the room, Feyd’s sins had been revealed in full to you.

The guard was unrecognizable. He no longer looked human to you, his insides turned out. Your betrothed had quite literally gutted your attacker in front of you.

Your bare feet tracked blood on the floors, the long skirts of your nightgown soaked with another man’s blood.

“I killed him for you. I wanted you to experience every moment of retribution.” He didn’t turn around to face you as he spoke. Instead he kept his eyes on the hallway, the pupils of his pale blue eyes blown out wide.

You cast a look down at the hand that was holding your arm in a vice-like grip. He was shaking. It was almost as though he could feel your eyes on his hand. His trembling fingers dug into your soft skin.

Feyd released you once the two of you were alone in a room together, closing the door behind him and locking it for good measure. You stood there, motionless as you followed the line of his jaw with your eyes. The muscle there ticked a few times as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was still agitated, you could tell.

“You’re starting to bruise.” He motioned towards his own neck.

Your hand flew up to your throat, poking at the tender skin. It felt hot under your touch- sore too. It would serve as a reminder of how close you had come to death. Tonight you felt nothing. . . but what about tomorrow? Would you ever be able to sleep again?

“How did you know that I was being attacked?” Your suspicion was beginning to build back up again. There were just too many coincidences.

“You think I had something to do with this?” He sounded agitated. There was no hint of his usual sarcastic lilt in his tone.

You’d never seen Feyd like this before. He actually seemed. . . offended but your gentle accusation.

“You can’t answer my question with yet another question. How did you know I was being attacked?” You might have been in a state of immense shock but you still had some wits about you.

You were locked in a room with a murderer, and the possibility that he had a hand in your assassination attempt was high. Once again you found yourself utterly defenseless. If he tried to attack you now there was no way that you’d be able to defend yourself. Not only that but your throat was wrecked. You could barely talk at the current moment, meaning you couldn’t even depend on the Voice if you needed to. You were as helpless as a child in the wake of Feyd’s power.

“I see you in my dreams sometimes.”

Anyone else would have called him insane, but you were used to Paul’s dreams. They’d been getting even more vivid as he aged. So Feyd had a dream that you were in danger? You found it difficult to believe that he would go out of his way to come to your rescue. Still, here he was.

“Is that why you warned me today at breakfast?” The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. He’d known something was going to happen since last night.

“Yes,” He tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. “Something told me to go and see you.”

You didn’t have it in yourself to question him further. You’d have to be satisfied with his answers. What you really wanted was a bath and a fresh change of clothes. One last look at your soiled clothes had your nose wrinkling in disgust. The smell of blood was thick in your nose- so strong that the iron scent almost smelled sweet. You gagged outwardly, putting your hands on your knees as you suddenly dry heaved.

“You realize that he couldn’t be left alive after what he had done, don’t you?”

Of course you did. That didn’t make it any better though. Your fingers stuck together, caked in blood, as you balled them into fists at your sides.

“Bath.” Was all you said, already looking around the room that you assumed was his living quarters for any sign of a tub.

He didn’t make any complaints as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself. Feyd gave you the time to process everything, didn’t knock on the door even once as the minutes ticked by. You stayed in the water until your fingers pruned and rubbed your skin until it was raw. Blood was everywhere. Under your nails, between your toes- it had even soaked through your dress and now caked your lower legs and thighs.

You threw on a thin cotton robe you found neatly folded on a small towel rack, tying it tightly around your waist before you built up the courage to face your fiance again.

“Take me back to my room.” You were eager to fall asleep.

You’d been through too much. The thought of having to be conscious was tiring in itself. If you could close your eyes and sleep for the next ten years then you would.

You missed your home. You missed your parents and Paul. You missed stability and security. Your life felt lost to you now.

“This is your room now.” He was laying on the bed, already in a change of clothes. He seemingly took a bath himself while you had locked yourself away. There was no trace of gore left on him now.

Your mouth went dry, palms pooling with sweat. Surely you were understanding him incorrectly.

“You can’t expect me to sleep in the same room with you. We aren’t married.” There was absolutely no way your parents would approve of something like this.

“I don’t trust anyone besides myself with your safety.”

You didn’t trust anyone. Especially not Feyd.

“Why should I be expected to sleep with you? I don’t feel comfortable-”

“I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you again. Let that pile of bodies act as a warning to anyone else that tries. That’s why you should be expected to stay here with me. Get in the bed.” He seemed tired. Aggitated.

“No.” You held strong. Never in your life had you slept in the same room as a man, let alone someone like Feyd-Rautha. He’d sooner kill you in your sleep then anyone else would.

“Come here.” His tone caused you to jump.

You had to bite your tongue as you approached him, sitting down awkwardly on the bed before you finally succumbed to his wishes. The bed was softer than your own, which you immediately envied. The soft mattress enveloped you, and all at once the tiredness you hadn’t felt until then finally sank in.

You didn’t put up much more of a fight. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own accord. Feyd was watching you, turned on his side so that he could get a better look at you. It was then, for the first time ever, that you fully noted how beautiful he was. Up close like this he was even more striking. Blue eyes, full lips and pale, flawless skin.

One thing that went unnoticed by you was the fact that Feyd didn’t turn the lights off.

Without having to ask. . . he didn’t turn the lights off.

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ೃ࿔ savage bonds taglist:

@elf-punk @shitfuckeryclownverse @mydarlingelvis @heartarianagran @ohdearmaggie @chalametism @killingboredom @obsessedvibee @avidreader73 @softboo @tedcruzumakii @luminnara @narniansmagic @torchbearerkyle @ziggy-stardust-world @tian-monique @adoxra @zz-snow-zz @tiredsleepyhead @icontrolthespice @itsparksjoyhuh @verveta345 @shegatsby @zae5 @ertepla @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @lotus-888 @meetmeatyourworst @moonchild-artemisdaughter @abswifey @flower-frog @auroranodyssey @forgedfromthestars @moony-artemis @juliskopf @moonsoulk @serrendiipty @atrxidxs @the-ruler-of-death @mintoblobo @just-pure-trash @randominterwebthings @springholland @so-dramatic1 @ashy-kit @aslutforscarletwitch99 @sofia-013 @gamorxa @ricecakeslove @alexandrainlove @selfishlittlebeing @ceres27

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune #austin butler #austin butler x reader #smut #dune smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune x you #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha fic #austin butler fic

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hiruseki · 7 months ago

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god i seriously am never getting over That Scene in orv. kim dokja has so little compassion for himself that the only thing he can think to do upon being confronted with the most powerless, frightened, vulnerable version of himself is to try and murder it with his own hands. even when everyone is sobbing and begging him to stop, even when everyone has already forgiven him without reservation, even when yoo motherfucking pilgrim of the apocalypse joonghyuk cannot muster any animosity, kdj will not stop trying to convince them this trembling little boy needs to die. it had been well established by that point that kdj is self destructive and self loathing, but he was good at maintaining some emotional distance from his actions. but the moment he steps off that train, recognizes his own drawings, realizes what's happened, that impassive veneer shatters and he becomes desperate and vicious. this man hates himself so much. seriously, can you imagine how it must have felt to be oldest dream? you're an abused, lonely, depressed child. profoundly alone in this world, betrayed by everyone you've ever loved. you are so frightened of everything you can't bear to live in reality. you meet yourself from the future, but even he has no sympathy for you. no, he hates you. he hates you so much he wants to kill you. he would point a broken sword at his own throat if it meant he could erase you. you don't know what you did wrong. you never do. all you can do is cower from the monster and hope he doesn't get you.

like it's so fucked up. orv is so fucked up.

#what if you were the villain of your own story. my god #and the way kdj goes back to pretending to be casual afterwards is also eerie. guy who can handle his feelings normally #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv spoilers #kim dokja #could seriously talk about this scene for days it's so fucked up in like 20 different ways #because imagine how horrible it must have been for kdj to have his vulnerability laid bare w nothing to hide behind. kdj of all people.

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reidmotif · 8 months ago

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Dialing up for Trouble

Summary: Reader and Spencer were fuck-buddies, until Spencer cuts her off quite suddenly. A party and some risque images may be enough to get them back to their old routine.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: semi-public sex, sexting, mentions of nude images and descriptions of generic lingerie, masturbation (f!receiving), penetrative sex, semi-dom!spencer

Word Count: 3.5 k

Masterlist

Clichés bothered me. There was no other way to put it. I’d grown up hating the likes of love triangles, meet-cutes, chosen ones, and right now, I was being reminded more than ever of that hatred because, what the fuck?

“Too much of a good thing” was the reasoning Spencer had cited when he proposed we stop sleeping together casually, and return to our previous relationship of “just coworkers”. I’d let him know how ridiculous I found his sentiment, and attempted every possible method to continue our secret rendezvous, but he was absolutely dead-set on his decision, it seemed.

No more sex. No more late-night calls. None of it. It was all over. All because of a cliche.

We seemed to agree on one thing, and that was, yes. The sex was fantastic. It really was that good. While I’d never wish weariness on Spencer Reid, I couldn’t deny that in the aftermath of stress and frustration from whatever life had chosen for him, the way he’d deal with that was absolutely electrifying for me.

I’d find myself constantly breathless, pulled into hotel rooms, storage closets- anything resembling the barest hint of privacy, and allow him to use me as he saw fit. I gave him complete trust and control over my body, and in turn, he rewarded me with some incredibly life-changing orgasms. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to get an equal amount of satisfaction out of our hidden trysts, which only made his recent decision that more devastating.

It’d been roughly a month since we’d had sex, or anything resembling the sort, and I found myself absolutely deprived. When the FBI gave out invitations to its semi-annual gala, I imagined the festivities would be enough to distract me, but I was completely in error for assuming so. Amidst drinks and conversations, there was the occasional lull where I couldn’t help but absentmindedly imagine the feel of his hands over my skin, squeezing the fat of my hips. His lips trailing up and down my neck, focusing on spots only he knew about. The way his hair would tickle against my thighs when he’d bury his head-

“Hey.”

The voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I have to remind myself not to choke on my beverage. There he was. The current subject of my thoughts, standing in front of me, live and in the flesh. Spencer Reid.

“Hey.” I mirror back, taking a sip of my drink, acting as lax as I could, given the circumstances. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the party in front of us, the general ambience.

“You know me.” He replies, pausing for a second, keeping his gaze trained on mine. “Not my scene but.. doable.”

I chuckle for a moment, understanding perfectly. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most social guy out there. I was honestly surprised he’d chosen to come to this thing at all in the first place.

“You look nice.” He says, suddenly. “Your dress. It’s nice.” He rushes out the words, as if he’s scared to say them in the first place.

I smooth down the fabric instinctively, nodding. I try not to let the compliment affect me so much, keeping my head down for a split second to hide the creeping heat emanating from my cheeks.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

I surprise myself with my own answer. The silence for that tick is horrible. I appreciate it? Jesus. I couldn’t think of the right words anymore. The correct and witty response that would allow this conversation to flow smoothly.

I truly wanted to fuck this man so bad, it made me look stupid.

And stupid I was, because yet again, I attempted to test the current parameters of our relationship he’d put us on. I swallow my pride, lifting my head to meet his eyes with mine.

“If you like it so much, you could- you know. Take it off.” I say, biting my lip. There’s a light tease in my voice, but it’s obvious I’m being as forthcoming as I possibly could. No games. No jokes. I didn’t want to dance around it, and I hoped my boldness would reward me as it did previously in the past.

But no, it seems that fortune does not favor the bold, because Spencer’s immediate response was to shake his head, lowering his voice. He pulled on my arm to decrease our proximity, to the point where it was ensured no passer-bys could possibly hear our conversation.

“Come on.” He pleads, almost looking desperate. “I told you we should stop- hasn’t that worked out? We can be coworkers. This works.”

I roll my eyes, letting my displeasure show plainly over my face. “This works?” I say, and the sarcasm is clear in my voice. “Sex worked too, you know.”

“I know it did!” He says, in a hushed whisper. “But- we can’t. No. It’s not right. Too much of a-”

“If you finish that sentence, I swear to god.” I say, my expression turning much more volatile. I forcibly shrug his arm off me. “This is stupid.” I continue, trying not to let my voice rise. “I see the way you look at me. I know it was good for both of us. I know you’re thinking about it just as much as I am, so why not!” There’s a hint of hurt in my voice as well. Underneath all the sex, I’d grown to miss the interactions after. The giggles under covers and the feel of his hair in my fingers. I missed him. All of him.

There’s a miserable pause on his end, and I hold my breath waiting for his next words. Spencer sputters, looking absolutely defeated. “Because- because we just can’t, okay?” He replies, helplessly, stepping back from me, as I’d done with him. “Look. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the party, okay? Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Before I can get in another word, demanding a real explanation from the man, he leaves me alone, replaying the words of his confusing outburst in my mind.

I take a short time to myself, electing to go use the restroom and take a breather from the party, a bit on edge after our exchange. Was it possible he was completely fine with what the loss of our arrangement had done to us? Was I the only one absolutely losing my mind? Any attempt to diverge my attention from the topic proved futile, and I remained in the closed room, mindlessly adjusting myself in the mirror with no real rhyme or reason. There’s an eventual use of my phone, focusing the camera directly on my face to make sure nothing had smudged or looked off on my face in the time I’d last checked my makeup. In the use of the device, I remembered the pictures I’d taken before coming here.

The pictures weren’t meant to serve any true purpose. I’d bought new lingerie for this dress, as my previous bras weren’t suited to the cut and shape of the specific piece of clothing, and decided to take a few pictures for myself. It was lacy, and pretty, but nothing truly special. The bra had a slight push-up effect, and the panties were a bit cheekier than my normal, day-to-day undergarments. The actual lingerie was innocent- harmless, even. Looking at the images right now, though, a salacious idea creeped into my head.

Under the right circumstances, these could be exactly the catalyst to finally receiving what I wanted.

I open the messaging app on my phone, finding Spencer’s contact, and beginning to type out a simple message.

hey.

The response is immediate.

What’s up?

You good?

Where’d you go?

I laugh a little. I imagined him scanning the crowd for me, trying to figure out where I’d gone off to.

all good, don’t worry

so we’re still sticking to the no sex thing?

I see his typing bubble pop up, then pause. Then starts up again.

Yes.

Trust me, it’s for the better.

I groan internally. Of course he thinks that. Always thinks he knows what’s good for everyone.

trust me

if you knew what i had planned for us

you wouldn’t say that

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, indicating he was now calling me? I hadn’t planned for this.

“Spencer?” I remark, waiting for his voice on the line.

“What do you mean?” He says, quickly. I can no longer hear the bustle of the party in the background, so it’s only reasonable to assume he’s moved somewhere quieter. Still, I ask.

“Are you around other people?” I murmur, keeping my voice low.

“No. Alone. What did you mean by your last message?” He repeats, quickly.

There’s my in. I respond, feigning an unmistakable innocence in my voice. “Mind if I show you?”

“Show me?” The confusion in his voice is palpable.

“Show you.” I reply, more definitively. “Check your messages.”

I bring my phone away from my ear, electing to send the first picture I saw in my camera roll, which prominently featured my breasts- a feature of mine I knew Spencer was quite interested in. I return to the call, my heart pounding wildly.

“Did you see?” I ask, hesitantly, when all I can hear is his breathing on the other line.

The response is a choked out, breathy mess of a sentence. “Yeah- I did. Jesus.”

“Want more?” I murmur, biting my lip as the realization dawned on me that this possibly had a chance of working.

There’s a delay in his words on the line, before I finally hear:

“Yes. God, yes.”

I grin ear-to-ear, beginning to send an assortment of pictures I’d taken previously in the day. Knowing this was having an effect on him, that somewhere in this party Spencer was sitting alone, his gaze trained on his phone intently, did something to me. He was behaving this way because of my body, because of what I could do to him.

It was hard not to get wet at the thought.

“You look so good.” He breathes out, and the desire in his voice is unmistakable.

“Yeah?” I mumble to the speaker. “You think so?”

“Mhm.” He murmurs. “You’re wearing this right now?” He asks, seemingly needing that confirmation at this moment.

“In all its glory.” I try not to giggle before murmuring teasingly, “What, you wanna see?”

“Where are you?” He asks, suddenly seeming very determined. I can hear the shuffling on the other line, indicating he was now starting to move from where he was currently situated. He was completely, and utterly serious about this.

“Bathroom, on the left corridor of the entrance.” I say, feeling exhilarated at the thought of him meeting me here. This was happening.

Finally.

“Stay.” He replies, and the call cuts.

There’s an impatient itch that creeps up on me during the two-minute wait for him, before I hear a solid knock on the door, and my name being whispered through the door, belonging to a voice I’d grown so accustomed to and fond of.

My fingers undo the lock, opening it just enough so that he could squeeze through without drawing too much attention to ourselves right now.

And as soon as he’s managed in, he’s practically on me, devouring me with a kiss with a passion I’d never felt from him before. My hands go to wrap around his neck, pressing our bodies flush against each other, every ragged breath of his shooting directly to my core, which was now throbbing with need.

“Fuck. Missed this so much.” He breathes out, gasping for air in between our kisses. I couldn’t so much as get a whimper out, before he’d dive right in again. It’s like he wanted to eat me alive.

And I’d let him.

I moan softly into his mouth, starved for more contact between us. It’s as if he can read my mind, because in an instant, he guides us from the center of the bathroom, towards a wall, slotting his thigh between my legs. He takes a momentary break from ravishing me with his lips, now adopting a slower, more sensual pace as he works down my neck, each soft kiss leaving me craving him even more.

His hands drift down to my hips, keeping me pinned against the wall as he murmured soft praises. My legs felt wobbly, absolutely taken aback by how quickly I could go weak for this man.

“You like this, mm?” He mumbles, letting his teeth nip over the lobe of my ear, before switching to a more neglected side of my neck. “Like me that much, mm?”

I don’t care about the cockiness in his tone. I don’t care how smug I render him. I just need him to continue this, for as long as I can have him.

“Yes.” I breathe out, my voice higher-pitched than it normally would be. “God. Love this so much.”

There’s a flash of hesitance from him, as he pulls his face away from my neck, staring at my eyes with his own. I can’t dwell on the pause, because for once, I’m finally seeing him. His hair was absolutely ruined, sticking up wildly in different directions. His cheeks were a light pink, serving to make his features even prettier and doe-like than before. But what got me were his eyes. His pupils were blown out, the normal honey-hazel I’d seen on a daily basis replaced with an absolute abyss of black. The darkness served to cause a surge within me, practically launching forward to meet his lips with mine.

There are no words required for what happens next, as I feel his hand creep up my back, pulling me away from the wall and towards the closest surface, which happened to be the sink. He guides me to bend over, and I do so with no resistance.

He could have me, whichever way he wanted, whenever he wanted. All I needed was his touch.

I can feel him crouch to his knees, slowly reaching under my dress to hook his fingers around my panties, slowly pulling them down. I can feel a string of my arousal clinging to the fabric, and it seems Spencer can too, because he practically moans as he drags the soiled piece of lingerie down my thighs. I step out of them quickly, and turn my head back, fast enough to see him stuff the proof of our debauchery down his suit pocket.

“Eyes ahead.” He whispers, leaning down close to my ear to nip at the sensitive flesh again.

“Okay.” I murmur, slipping into a more submissive version of myself that he seemed to bring out in me. There’s a sense of relaxation and excitement all at the same time, and I’m absolutely wracked with lust for him.

His fingers stroke my clit for a moment, applying pressure in just the right way. The movements are practiced, precise and guaranteed to hurl me off the edge if he continues this way.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He murmurs, almost amazed, letting his fingers slip away. “All this for me?”

I can barely respond, whimpering and nodding. “Yes. Please- Spencer.” I beg, needily.

“I know, I know.” He replies, and I can hear how pleased he is. There’s a certain delight he derives from my submission, and while in any other circumstance, the smugness he displays would turn me off, right now it only served to further my hunger.

I can feel him start to work on his belt, sliding the coarse material of his dress pants just enough, so that his cock could spring free. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, his tip sliding through my folds, and I clench at the thought of him finally being inside of me.

Just when I believed his teasing to be done, there’s a knock at the door, and we both freeze. Spencer swallows, and quickly raises his voice. “Occupied!”

There’s silence, and that previous sense of lust and content drifts back into our bodies, Spencer’s fingers trace up to my face, and he lets his finger slip into my mouth. I can taste my arousal on his fingers, and there’s a genuine struggle on my end to stay upright. How could I, when the man behind me rendered me so indisposed?

He draws his fingers out of my mouth. “Good girl.” He whispers.

It seems the universe has other plans though, because yet again- a knock sounds at the door. I can hear Spencer’s groan, and watch through the mirror as he attempts to come up with a response that would give us the seclusion we required.

My patience however, had worn thin. His cock was right there, and I’d be damned if I was forced to wait any longer. I turn my head towards the door, complacency and submission gone from my voice.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to fuck him in here!” I say, snarking out the words.

There’s a silence, and a murmur of mortification on the other side of the door. Footsteps. And then at last, silence.

Spencer quickly leans down to kiss my cheek, mumbling out an “I love you.”

Before I can even comprehend the words, he’s guiding himself into me, sliding his cock through my walls, and I have to bite my lip to keep a scream in. He feels so fucking good inside of me, stretching me out in ways no man ever could. I can feel the underside of his cock hitting that spongy spot deep inside of me, and my breathing turns rapid in mere seconds.

“There we go, relax for me baby, yeah?” He mumbles. “Nice and slow.”

I moan out my affirmative, gripping onto the sink as I let my jaw drop, eyes squeezing in absolute ecstasy. “So good for me.” He murmurs. “So warm and wet, Jesus.”

And with that, he starts a pace that works for both of us. It’s hard and fast, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. The feel of his cock gliding through my puffy walls is intoxicating, and I can only wonder how I went so long without feeling it.

It seems Spencer’s having similar thoughts, because through my moans and his occasional groans, I can feel his grip on my hips get more bruising by the second, marking me as his own. I can hear occasional fragments of words through his noises.

“Never letting you go. Oh fuck. Fuck.” He mumbles, and despite the overwhelming amount of arousal shooting through me, my heart swells.

“Me too.” I whimper out, gripping the sink even harder. I can feel my wetness seeping all around us, splashing against my thighs with every movement he drives into me. “Need you so badly.”

“Rub your clit for me.” He demands, whispering out the words. “Need to see you come on my cock first, pretty girl.” The words are strained, and I can tell he’s doing everything to keep from spilling inside of me prematurely.

There’s no reason to temporize, and my fingers make their way down to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and the effect is almost immediate. It takes roughly a minute of my incessant rubbing and the feel of him inside me before I’m coming with a soft shout, growing limp against the sink as my muscles twitch and fill me with a deep sense of relief and satisfaction.

Spencer isn’t far behind me, humping into me a few more times before coming inside of me, the release signified with a loud moan and a sense of warmth flooding my deepest point. He slumps against my back, pressing a few, soft kisses to my neck.

As we both come down from our highs, I recall the words Spencer mumbled in my ear previously. I let out a self-satisfied giggle, which Spencer smiles at.

“Mm. What’s that about?” He murmurs.

“You love me?” I ask, softly.

A pause.

“A little.” He responds, voice equally as soft.

“Is that why you stopped having sex with me?” I mumble out, gently.

He presses another kiss to the nape of my neck. “Mhm. Please don’t be mad.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “Not mad. The opposite, really.”

He pulls me up, causing us both to look at each other. “You feel the same way?”

I nod, biting my lip. “We could try this out, I think. I want to, Spencer.”

I stop, and decide I do need to tease him a bit, especially after the sex-less agony he put me through for a month.

“Though, I do recall someone telling me too much of a good thing can go bad..”

His lips part in confusion, before he picks up the teasing nature of my words and leans in for a soft, simple kiss. He keeps his forehead on mind, his eyes staring into mine with a gentle reverence.

“Let’s indulge just this once.”

holy shit has it been a long time since i've written a fic!! i'm so sorry?! i've been dealing with life and other assorted things and writing sort of took a backseat in that period of time <3 i hope this was okay. as usual any feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are so so greatly appreciated. i love writing for spencer, and i hope you guys like that writing too <3 i'm sorry that the two previous fics i promised seem to be delayed, i swear i'm gonna write those next, but inspiration sort of just struck on my end f or this, and i hope it was good <3 but yeah!! thank you so much for reading and interacting with this in any way you choose!! i appreciate it greatly!!

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lnfours · 7 months ago

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i could imagine how soft lando is after a fight and maybe you could write something about lando and reader had a lowkey big fight, and lando decided to join her to the shower (GWSJZHHAHZ) and apologize under the shower before finally creating a steamy scene with the reader

ooooh my god. oh my god.

smut (18+ please!)

send in your lando thoughts

the argument was something stupid. a result of exhaustion and frustration on his end. he hasn’t meant to upset you, or yell at you for that matter, but he had. and he felt guilty when you turned on your heels, walking away and leaving him in the kitchen.

you two hadn’t seen much of each other the past week and a half. between his traveling, his training schedule and your own calendar, it felt like you were always just missing each other. it felt like you didn’t get to spend so much time with the other recently, which was a big deal to you beings he’s hardly home to begin with.

you knew he hadn’t really meant to go off, maybe you had caught him at the wrong time. you knew he was tired, wanting nothing more than a simple break. but you couldn’t help it. you missed your boyfriend. plain and simple.

he walked into the bedroom, hoping to find you, but instead heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. he cracked open the door, stripping off his shirt.

“lando?”

“hmm?”

“what’re you doing?” you asked, but you knew what he was doing. he wasn’t being very subtle about it.

the shower door opened and he step foot inside with you, curls sticking to his forehead as the water fell onto the two of you, “joining you, is that alright?”

you nodded, letting his hands find your hips.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, letting your back hit his chest, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder, “for yelling and getting short with you. i shouldn’t have yelled.”

you hummed softly, “‘s okay,”

“let me make it up to you.”

his words lost into the skin of your neck and the sound of the shower water pouring down around you. his hands rested on your tummy, holding you against him as you felt his teeth gently nibble at the skin where your neck meets your collarbone.

“how do you plan on making it up to me?”

his hands moved down, fingers dipping between your folds as he teased you. you gasped, head falling back against his shoulder as he smiled down at you, “‘ve got a few ideas.”

“lando,” his name on your tongue sounded heavenly to him.

“yeah, baby,” he said, “tell me what you want. i’m yours.”

you moaned, his teeth gently pulling at your earlobe.

“fuck,” you swallowed, grasping at his forearm. wet from the warm water and his muscles and veins peeking through his perfectly tan skin, “i need you. please,”

he was quick to move his hands to your hips, the two of you finding yourselves situated with your hands on the glass, his one hand on your hip as the other teased himself up and down your slit.

“this what you want, pretty girl? want me to fuck you up against this shower wall?”

“please,” you said. and he would’ve been lying if he said he could deny you like this. spread out and vulnerable, waiting for him to take care of the aching between your thighs that was simply his fault.

“c’mere,” he mumbled, hand wrapping around the base of your throat to pull your head back, your mouth opening in a gasp as he pushed in. no matter how many times he’d have you like this, the stretch and feeling of tightening around him was never not delicious.

“fuck,” he mumbled, slowly moving his hips once you had fully adjusted, “missed you.”

“i missed you too.” you managed to choke out. his hand was still around your throat and as he picked up his movements, the pressure against the points in your neck became greater and greater. your eyes rolled back as he moaned into your ear.

“i love you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin below your ear, “so much.”

“i love you too,” you could barely speak, too drunk off of the way his dick was slamming in and out of you. how good it felt to let him have his way with you.

“so good for me,” his free hand traveled, finding your clit with ease as he began running tight circles against it, “come for me, baby. you deserve it.”

you moaned his name, making him pick up the pace just a little more as his hips met yours in a consistent pace. the pace that drove you crazy.

soon the coil in your lower belly was threatening to snap, “‘m so close, lan.”

“me too, baby,” he said, “gonna come for me? come all over my dick, hmm?”

nothing could compete with his dirty talk and he knew it. watching the way your body convulsed against him, your moans and the way you tightened around him sending him over the edge.

he came with you, moaning into your ear as you tried catching your breath. chest rising and falling as he pulled you back from the shower wall. he carefully slipped out of you, letting you turn around before he placed a kiss on your lips.

between kisses he mumbled against your lips, “how about we get cleaned up and take this to the bed, hm?”

you nodded, hands finding his curls, “please.”

#mail time #new moon #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x you #ln4 one shot #ln4 smut #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader imagine #smut

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whorediaries-09 · 9 months ago

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i‘m craving rom weasley smut and im so happy you’re taking requests!!😩

how about ron x girlfriend!reader having passionate and hottttttt sex in the kitchen one night while they’re visiting his family. they have to be quiet because one thing about their relationship is, that they’re almost never casting a quiet spell because it’s just so exciting if there’s a possibility of being caught🤭

just imagine her on the counter and him pounding her and it’s soooo hard to be quiet!! and apparently they weren’t really that quiet because the next morning fred says „how’d you two sleep?“ with suuuuuch a big smirk on his face👀

ughhhh i love this request so much ⭐❗ ron was actually my first fictional crush. hope you like this!

heaven and back;

pairing- ron weasley x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- it's like that one scene in where harry and ginny were caught kissing and george was like 'morning'-

little train

' she went to heaven and back now everything is turning to black.'

the ache in your core began during dinner, when ron had been eating with one hand, and the other one buried deep into you. he slowly rubbed circles upon your clit, pumping his fingers in and out simultaneously. it made you squirm in your seat, and he surely enjoyed watching you hold back the pretty sounds from your mouth as you tired not to combust in front of his family and your friends.

but he had teased you, all through out dinner, 30 minutes of pure torture, just to leave you withering with anger and not make you finish. every time you'd feel the coil about to snap, you'd clench your thighs and the walls of your cunt and he would draw out his hand.

and by the look on his face, you could understand he did it on purpose. he enjoyed the game. two could play the game, you decided, so you changed into your 'night clothes' to join harry, ron and hermione for their usual conversation after dinner.

it was a soft silk night slip dress in burgundy. it was lined with black lace. it ended just above your knees. knowing molly wouldn't allow any of the girls to sleep along with the boys, you'd decided to wear the dress, to be a tease and take a little sweet revenge.

it had resulted in an awkward boner and a distraction to him. he sat painfully, the ache in his groin prominent, the bulge of his pants a few minutes away from being visible. he was too immersed in trying to hide his bulge that eve hermione beat him at chess. with an excuse of being tired, he called off the night, going to sleep.

you had thoroughly enjoyed the redness of his face and how visibly hot he was. if it weren't for going to bed, you were sure he'd turn into a tomato with steam rising from his ears.

but the ache in your core persisted, and try as hard you might, you couldn't get off yourself. so that's why you were awake in the middle of the night, dreaming of your boyfriend's fingers knuckles deep into you, as he wrecked your body, putting you away from the pain.

the ache travelled from your core to your throat, as you slowly gulped. you were thirsty. and the last jug of water was emptied by ginny. so you decided to be crawl down the kitchen, drink some water and sneak back right in.

initially, that had been your plan.

you surely didn't expect yourself to be sitting on the kitchen counter with ron's cock buried deep into your cunt as he pounds into you. he wraps your shaking thighs around his waist, letting him feel better, letting him go deeper.

'k-keep quiet,' he whispers into your ear. the slow sensuous way he speaks contrasts with the rough pace he wrecks you. you nod incoherently, burying your mouth into the crook of his neck, your mouth clasping onto the skin, trying to silent the moans that beg to be echo from your lips.

'just cast the s-shit- spell ron-' you say, as he removes your face from his neck, holding you by the throat. he presses onto your arteries slightly, letting the oxygen flow into your head admonish. he grins, pressing his sweaty temple against yours,

'no honey, what's the fun in that?'

the big pleading eyes of yours does nothing but turn him on further, as he rubs circles on your clit, making your toes curl and back arch. he hits your sweet spot just right, and paired with the the ruthless circles on your clit, the coil bubbles intensely within you, wrecking you slowly.

'f-fuck, so g-good. just there, ron please don't stop,' you scream, shame thrown out the window. he breathes you in, letting out a small gasp as your walls convulses around him.

'i don't fucking plan to stop,' he promises, chuckling darkly. you bite your lip, feeling the nerves tug your veins, the sensations colliding to create a beautiful ecstasy that bubbles within you, shimmying through every crevice of your body.

you scream his name, chained with obscene words as you release, the euphoria of the orgasm gripping you slowly, ruining you slowly. he releases himself deep inside you, his white hot orgasm painting your insides.

he brandishes your face with kisses, helping you off the counter and helping you clean up. with a final kiss on your cheek, he wishes you a goodnight as he descends to sleep.

the morning breeze is cool. your back still hurts from the weird juxtaposition you'd been last night, getting your brain fucked out by the one who has his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body.

he's warm, the result of wearing the jumper his mum had knitted him last christmas. his fingers are wrapped around his cup of freshly brewed tea. he sips on it slowly, letting the taste wander on his tastebuds, enjoying the silent peace.

it doesn't long though, when his older brother, fred shows up. he's chewing on a piece of bread, a big smile- no smirk on his face.

'what are ya so jolly about, this morning?' you ask, humming slowly. he stands beside ron, pressing his shoulder upon his.

'well good morning to you too. it's not a crime to be jolly now is it?' he winks. you chuckle.

'good morning, fred,' ron grumbles, rolling his eyes. fred's smirk deepens as he replies,

'good morning ickle ronniekins. how did the both you sleep?'

he knew.

****************************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.

#ron weasley smut #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley imagine #harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley #ron weasley x you #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #ron weasley fanfiction #harry potter x y/n #ron weasley x y/n #ron weasley fanfic

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sundrop-writes · 11 months ago

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How would Spencer react to the f!reader eating a sucker in a very provocative way during a meeting?

I decided to change this up a bit. Rather than it being during a meeting, it's just randomly around the office because eating a sucker/lollipop during a meeting would be annoying af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

How would Spencer Reid react to you teasing him with a lollipop?

Warnings: reader can definitely be interpreted as gender neutral because there isn't much description of them beyond their mouth (sorry if that isn't what you wanted lmao); this is very sensual/smutty toned (but there is no sex scenes); Spencer is thinking about sex acts/is having sexual fantasies about the reader; heavy sexual innuendo; definitely leans more toward Sub!Spencer; I was thinking of S4/S5 Spencer when I wrote this but you can imagine any Spencer; background Morcia; implications of Spencer masturbating in the bathroom at work. Reader loves teasing Spencer - idk what else. Not really proofread.

"Oooh, what's this?" You asked, walking up to see a large bowl of candy sitting in the middle of Morgan's desk.

"Leftovers from Halloween." Prentiss explained, not looking up from the file that she was reading. "Of course, Garcia put them on Morgan's desk. What was it that she said?"

"A little something sweet for my something sweet." JJ recited the words from her place at the coffee machine with a laugh.

"Oh, he is gonna love that when he comes in." You chuckled.

You knew that he wasn't going to eat all of it himself, and Garcia likely intended it as a pick-n-go for the office anyway - so you took a careful glance into the bowl and then picket an appealing round lollipop. A blow-pop, you quickly realized. Very nice. You knew the gum in the middle was crappy, but you would have fun seeing how long it would take to get to it, and it was cherry flavoured - one of your favourite candy flavours.

You grabbed it up and a few others to slip into your desk drawers, along with taking a few packets of M&Ms for your favourite desk neighbour. When you walked over to your desk that was in front of his, you tossed the candy so that it hit the front of his chest, and Spencer jumped violently, having been scared right out of his concentration from whatever he was reading. A thick academic paper, from the looks of it.

You heard Emily's nasel chuckle in from behind you at how hard he had jumped.

"Good morning." You greeted him with a wide smile as he glared at you, but took the candy and began opening it anyway.

"Yeah." He scoffed.

"You're welcome." You also said, nodding toward the candy in his hand.

"Did you know that M&Ms shortly after their creation, M&Ms were exclusively distributed to the US military during World War II as a part of soldier's rations?" Spencer stated, giving another one of his 'fun facts'.

"Due to the candy coating making them far less perishable, and far easier to transport due to the fact that they were less likely to melt. At the time, they were packaged in cardboard tubes and featured a violet colour among the candies. And that's how they became famously known as 'the candy that melts in your mouth, not in your hand'." Spencer explained, the last words becoming muffled as he stuffed some of the candy into his mouth.

"And now they have gone from feeding soldiers to being the breakfast of a skinny little genius like you." You joked, unwrapping your lollipop and raising it to your lips.

You were one of the people who joked about it, but you secretly loved the fact that he was skinny. You would never tell, but you imagined pinning him down and him not being able to get away because of his lack of muscle.

Spencer would have made some clever reply, but instead, his eyes became locked on your lips.

Watching your lips gently wrap around the roundness of the lollipop immediately sparked something in him. From that moment, his eyes focused on nothing but your mouth, and he absolutely lost all train of thought - including the fact that he had been reading something before you even sat down.

It wasn't even intentional at first. At first, you were just enjoying a random sweet treat at seven o'clock in the morning, going about small things like taking off your jacket and getting the files organized on your desk, and when you looked up to ask Reid if he had a spare red pen that you could use to mark off some things - that was when you noticed it.

That far off, glassy look in his eye that you had never seen before.

He was staring at your lips, hard, clearly not even realizing that he was doing it - at this point, the candy had just barely stained the inner part of your mouth red, and he was being driven insane, imagining himself running his thumb or even the head of his leaking cock along that spot, feeling the pure softness of your lips, having your sweet tongue reach out to meet the throbbing head of his-

"Reid?"

The sudden sound of your voice seemed to shake him from this daydream.

You pulled the lollipop from your mouth with a wet smack, and he swallowed a whimper - it was a sound so subtle that you wouldn't have been able to hear it if you hadn't been carefully listening. You clenched your jaw, suppressing a smirk. You didn't want him to know that he had been caught. Not yet.

"Um - ah - yeah?" He stuttered out, quickly looking back down at the papers in the middle of his desk, trying not to make it seem like he had been staring at you so blatantly.

"Can I borrow a red pen?" You asked, trying to give him your best look of feigned innocence as you placed the cherry red bulb back to your lips while waiting for his answer, gently tracing your tongue around it.

You loved the way his eyes clung to this action like a magnet, his own lips dropping open slightly as he let out a hot breath in awe, his pupils blown wide.

His pants were suddenly very tight.

Spencer had to purposefully tear his eyes away from your mouth when you began oh-so-slowly teasing the lollipop in and out of your lips, forcing him to perfectly picture the round head of his cock fucking between those perfect cherry lips.

He frantically looked around his desk, and grabbed the first pen with a red cap that he could find.

"Here you go." He mumbled, tossing it onto your desk, not even bothering to hand it to you.

He then grabbed his messenger bag from underneath his desk and so subtly placed it at his front while he scrambled off toward the bathroom. You simply let out a laugh and then shoved the candy into your mouth fully, looking back down at your files and getting to work.

Spencer could only pray that you would be done with the lollipop by the time he got back.

A/N: Okay this definitely turned more into the style of a blurb, but what I love about writing requests right in my inbox is that I don't need to do a super defined style, I can just write whatever comes off the top of my head and I don't have to worry about over-editing stuff. It's great for creativity and it's almost like a writing exercise? Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 8 months ago

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A silly little idea but what if reader is asleep in the rec room because she's just so exhausted after mission days ago? And it's not just sleeping, you're literally hibernating. The four men have to check everywhere cause you're not in your room. First is Soap who find you. When he saw you're sleeping peacefully in sitting position on the couch (glad Price has changed that old dusty couch with the new one), he can't help but also feel sleepy, especially seeing how relaxed you are. So instead he joins in sleeping with you on your left side.

The next is Gaz who's been busy finding Soap and need his assistance. He also notices he hasn't met you since morning. When he found both of you snoring in the rec room, he smiled to himself and let the exhaustion take control over him. He's just gonna rest his eyes a bit okay. Now, he sits on your right side and close his eyes.

Ghost has been grumbling because the two sergeants now are absent in rookie's training. He immediately checked the rec room and what greeted him was something that made his heart warmed a bit. He found you, Soap and Gaz are snoring on the couch. Soap's on your left, his head leaning on your smaller shoulder. You're in the middle and Ghost just realized how youthful you're actually looking without too much stress or mental burden when you sleep. Gaz is on your right, his left arm tangles with yours. Ghost smiles behind his mask, pulling out his phone from pocket and snapping at least 10 pictures of you sleeping together. He can use this for the next threat or blackmail (but actually, he saves it for himself because you're just so adorable sleeping together).

As Ghost's about to flee from there, Price enter and sees the whole scene. He looks at Ghost with hint of amusement and shakes his head a bit. He gets out of the room right after telling him "Wake them up in 15 minutes" and Ghost nods.

Hello anon no this is not silly this is soooo cute 😩💖 Imagine them cuddling and sleeping like a pile of cats. They deserve the peace after so many troubles waiting for them. TYVM for sending this wonderful idea to me 🫡💖

TF141*F!Reader

Summary: you fall asleep on the couch in the rec room, and the sergeants joins your nap while Ghost and Price enjoying the scene

Each Other’s Shelter

“Bonnie?”

Soap opens the door to the rec room. He has been finding you, yet almost dug through the whole base, the last place he expects you will be in is the rec room. You aren’t someone who would fall asleep easily already, let alone sleeping outside your room. So when he sees your figure, sitting on the couch in a weird position that he doubts how you’re able to sleep like a bear hibernating and unbothered by all the noises, he’s sort of confused and amused at the same time.

He walks towards you, casting a shadow on your figure when he stands in front of you. You look so serene and young, your usual frown and stress-included expression vanishes when you’re deep in your sweet dreams.

“Bonnie?” He whispers again as he kneels.

You still don’t move or react even a bit, and he laughs quietly at your slightly agape mouth.

The mission you guys just completed a few days ago must have exhausted you to your limit, but he loves to see you like this, wandering in your own dreams without the mundane burden on your shoulders.

Soap lets out a big yawn which even surprises him, he thought he was quite energetic a few minutes ago, but he wouldn’t complain about the spell you secretly cast on him with your peaceful presence.

A short nap won’t kill him, right? He contemplates as he takes a seat on your left side, letting your bodies squeeze together that the warmth is flowing between, and drifts into the dream along you.

Gaz asks almost everyone whether they saw Soap or not, he really needs some help from the sergeant right now, and even you have not been seen since the morning, like you two just disappear from the base.

He almost starts forming the conspiracy theory that you two are playing hide and seek together and the winner will get the excessive one-slice cake stored in the fridge.

He’s feeling tired from the sore muscles and the lack of rest after the grueling mission. The whole team just straight back to work after dealing with those bullshits, he’s worn out, and surely you and Soap are the same as him when he enters the rec room and sees you snuggling on the couch.

Soap leans his head on your smaller shoulder compared to the team, and seems like you unconsciously scoot yourself to seek the heat beside you, as your head angles towards Soap’s too.

A little tranquil haven built by you two inviting him to join with its magically soothing comfort.

Just going to rest his eyes for a while, the papers can wait.

Telling himself and chuckling at your suddenly stuttered tiny snores, he sinks into the couch beside you.

Gaz smiles when he imagines you shooting daggers at him when he laughs at you for your adorable snores later, and lets the rest he longs for cocoon him from the chaotic world.

When one of the recruits asks him about his sergeants since they’ve been waiting for them and their training, but neither Gaz nor Soap shows up, Ghost just sighs and waves the recruit off, and goes on his way to search the little dorks.

He doesn’t stop and guess where they will be, he just heads to the rec room. His instincts and years with his teammates instruct him the whereabouts of them.

What Ghost doesn’t expect is you’re with them too, and he takes in the scene unfolding in front of him, the heartwarming vibes filling the room make him soften and curl the corner of his lips under his mask.

When was the last time he felt such overwhelmed by tenderness that his bad temper was conciliated? He lost count of it, but he knew only his team and his love could provide him with this relief.

He fishes out his phone and snapping you cuddling together like newborn bear babies. The photos capture the sight and freeze the gentleness wonderfully, from how you and Soap tilt towards each other, to the way your arm tangles with Gaz’s, fingers intertwined tightly like you are afraid to let go.

Ghost watches the exhaustion brings all of you to somewhere without having to worry. Of course he notices Gaz hits his limits after the mission even though he tries to hide it, and Soap is unaware of the need for rest which’s deep down his heart. You force yourself to keep going with tiredness chaining your ankles, ending up adding wrinkles in your brow these days. Now the vivid contrast reminds him how youthful you actually look, and he hopes the innocence can stay on your beautiful face longer.

Stepping backward in order to leave, Ghost halts when he hears the low huffs of laughter coming from behind.

“Price.” He calls the man narrowing his eyes and obviously enjoying what’s happening in the rec room just like him, and shakes his head feigning a resigned attitude. No words are exchanged between them, as they just want to admire the undisturbed view in silence.

“Wake them up in 15 minutes.” Ghost feels the reassured pat on his shoulder before the Captain exits the room with a lighter mood.

His eyes trail at Price’s figure until it becomes a dot from the distance, then turns back to the three of you still napping on the same spot without stirring.

Glancing at his watch to remind himself to wake up all of you, Ghost guesses 5 more minutes is acceptable, and he knows Price will agree with him.

a/n: Price ‘threatens’ Ghost to send him the photos btw

thx for reading, have a nice day/night :D!

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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

Text

Come Undone

Day 26 → Cum Marking 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, and somnophilia

Kinktober Masterlist

Charles can’t remember the last time he’s been this agitated. The tension has been building for days, coiling around his chest like a tight wire, and it all seems to be connected to one thing — or rather, one person.

You.

He stands in the Ferrari garage, arms crossed, leaning against a wall with his eyes trained on you. You're talking with Lewis again. That familiar laugh escapes your lips, the one Charles loves, but now it grates against his nerves.

Lewis is close, too close, and Charles can’t help but notice the way Lewis’ hand brushes your arm as he talks. It’s subtle, probably innocent, but it still sends a spark of irritation through him.

“Everything alright?” Joris asks, coming to stand beside him. His tone is casual, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes.

Charles doesn’t answer immediately, jaw tight as he watches you laugh again at something Lewis says. “Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is strained, even to his own ears.

Joris raises an eyebrow, following his gaze. “You sure about that? You’ve been glaring at Lewis like he’s the second coming of 14-year-old Max.”

Charles lets out a huff of air, half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m fine,” he insists, though he can’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

Joris just smirks, nudging him with his shoulder. “You know, if you stare any harder, you might just set him on fire.”

Charles finally looks at Joris, who is grinning like he’s thoroughly entertained by this. “I’m not-” he starts, but Joris cuts him off.

“You’re not what? Jealous? Possessive? Both?” Joris teases, but there’s no malice in it.

Charles sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just … he’s always around her.”

“Maybe because she’s your girlfriend and he’s trying to be friendly?” Joris suggests, but Charles shakes his head.

“There’s something about the way he looks at her. It’s not just friendly.”

Joris considers this, then shrugs. “Maybe. But you know, she’s with you. Not him. And she doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual, does she?”

Charles glances back at you, still deep in conversation with Lewis, completely unaware of the turmoil in his mind. “No,” he admits reluctantly. “She doesn’t.”

“Then maybe you’re overthinking it.” Joris claps a hand on his shoulder. “But if it’s bothering you this much, maybe you should talk to her.”

Charles frowns. “And say what? ‘Hey, I think my new teammate is flirting with you, can you please stop talking to him?’ That sounds ridiculous.”

Joris laughs. “It does when you say it like that. Just … I don’t know, make sure she knows how you feel about her. So there’s no room for doubt.”

Charles nods, but his eyes drift back to you. The way Lewis leans in slightly as he talks, the easy smile on his face … it’s driving him crazy. Joris is right — you’re with him, not Lewis, but that doesn’t stop the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

“Thanks,” he says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Anytime,” Joris replies, patting his shoulder before walking away, leaving Charles to stew in his thoughts.

He knows he should focus on the race tomorrow, but all he can think about is how Lewis seems to find every excuse to be near you. At first, he thought he was imagining it, reading too much into friendly interactions. But as the days went on, it became harder to ignore. The casual touches, the lingering looks, the way Lewis always seems to find you when Charles isn’t around … it’s all too much.

Charles doesn’t want to be that boyfriend — the one who’s insecure, who reads into things that aren’t there — but every instinct he has is screaming that Lewis is interested in you. And the worst part? You don’t even seem to notice.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice. “Charles?”

He blinks, realizing you’re standing in front of him now, a concerned look on your face. Lewis is nowhere to be seen, and Charles feels a small surge of relief at that.

“Yeah?” He replies, trying to shake off the tension.

“You okay?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study his face. “You seem … off.”

He forces a smile, but it feels tight. “I’m fine.”

You don’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird for the past few days.”

He hesitates, wondering how much to tell you. Part of him wants to just brush it off, to avoid any potential conflict, but another part of him — the part that’s been simmering with jealousy and frustration — wants to tell you everything. Maybe Joris is right; maybe it’s better to be honest with you, to clear the air before this eats him alive.

“I’ve just … I’ve noticed how much time you’ve been spending with Lewis,” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral.

You blink, clearly surprised by the direction the conversation has taken. “Lewis? What do you mean?”

Charles rubs a hand over his face, feeling a little foolish now that he’s actually saying it out loud. “It’s just … he’s always around you, and it feels like he’s flirting with you. And I don’t like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, then you frown. “Lewis isn’t flirting with me. He’s just being friendly.”

“Maybe,” Charles concedes, “but it doesn’t feel that way to me. He’s always touching you, always finding excuses to talk to you …”

You stare at him for a moment, then shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re being ridiculous. Lewis is just … Lewis. He’s like that with everyone.”

Charles feels a flicker of irritation at how easily you dismiss his concerns. “Not like this,” he insists. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “And how does he look at me?”

“Like he wants something more,” Charles says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you laugh — a short, incredulous sound. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Charles snaps, more frustrated by your reaction than anything else. “I know what I’m seeing, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Your smile fades, replaced by a look of confusion and something else — hurt, maybe? “Charles, I’m with you. I love you. Why would you think for a second that I would be interested in someone else?”

“It’s not that,” he says quickly, regretting his tone. “It’s not about you. It’s about him. I just … I don’t trust his intentions.”

You stare at him, and he can see the gears turning in your mind. “So you’re saying you don’t trust me?”

“No,” he replies, but the word comes out too quickly, too defensive. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

You sigh again, rubbing your temples. “Charles, I don’t know what you want me to say. I can’t control how other people act. And if Lewis really is flirting with me — which I don’t think he is — then he’s wasting his time because I’m with you. You’re the only one I want.”

He wants to believe you, and deep down, he does. But the jealousy is still there, a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate. “I just … I don’t like it,” he repeats, feeling like a broken record.

You step closer to him, reaching out to take his hand. “Then talk to me about it, okay? Don’t keep it bottled up until you’re this upset. We can work through it together.”

Charles squeezes your hand, grateful for the gesture even if the tension hasn’t fully left him. “I will. I promise.”

You smile softly, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good. Now, can we stop worrying about Lewis and focus on the race tomorrow?”

He nods, but his mind is already racing, thinking about what he can do to make sure Lewis knows you’re off-limits. It’s not enough to just talk to you about it, he needs to take action, to show both you and Lewis that you’re his and his alone.

After the race, he tells himself. After the race, he’ll do something to make it clear to everyone — including Lewis — that you belong to him.

And this time, he won’t hold back.

***

The hotel suite is quiet, save for the soft rustling of the pages as you flip through your book. Charles can hear it from where he stands near the window, staring out into the darkened city. The lights outside blur together, a sea of neon and streetlights that fail to hold his attention. All he can think about is you — lying in bed, lost in whatever story you're reading, completely unaware of the turmoil still swirling in his mind.

He turns away from the window, glancing over at you. The lamp on your nightstand casts a warm glow, illuminating the relaxed curve of your body under the sheets. Your face is serene, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you read, and Charles feels a wave of affection that is quickly followed by a surge of something more primal, something that has been simmering under the surface all day.

He walks over to the dresser, where the hotel has placed a few empty glasses, neat and pristine in a row. He picks one up, the cool glass smooth against his fingertips, and his mind is already racing with thoughts of what he’s about to do. It feels a little crazy, maybe even a little wrong, but the idea has taken root, and he knows he won’t be able to shake it.

You don’t notice when he slips into the bathroom, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The light is harsh, and it jolts him slightly, making him take a deep breath as he stares at himself in the mirror. His reflection looks back at him, eyes dark with the need he’s been trying to suppress all day.

He sets the glass on the counter, steadying himself with another deep breath. His thoughts are consumed by you — by the way you laughed with Lewis, by how oblivious you seemed to the effect it had on him, by how badly he wants to remind you that you’re his.

Slowly, he reaches down, undoing the button on his pants. His hands are shaking slightly as he lowers them, along with his boxers, the cool air of the bathroom hitting his skin. He closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he wraps his hand around himself.

It doesn’t take much to get him going. He’s been half-hard all day, the tension of jealousy and desire building up inside him. His mind drifts back to the way you looked at him earlier, the concern in your eyes when you asked if he was okay. He thinks about how soft your skin is under his touch, how you feel when he’s inside you, how you moan his name in the dark.

His strokes are slow at first, deliberate, as he imagines you on the bed, waiting for him, completely unaware of what he’s doing. The thought only heightens his arousal, and he bites his lip to stifle a groan as his hand moves faster. He can picture it so clearly — coming back into the room, seeing you lying there, trusting him completely.

The pressure builds quickly, and he has to brace himself against the counter with his free hand, his breathing ragged as he nears the edge. He forces himself to keep quiet, to not alert you to what he’s doing, but it’s difficult when the pleasure is so intense, so all-consuming.

Finally, with a choked gasp, he spills into the glass, his body trembling as he comes down from the high. He stands there for a moment, catching his breath, before he carefully sets the glass down on the counter. The sight of his release, warm and viscous, in the clear glass sends a thrill through him, a reminder of what he’s about to do.

He cleans himself up quickly, adjusting his clothes and wiping the outside of the glass clean. Then, with one last look in the mirror, he picks up the glass and exits the bathroom.

You’re still in bed when he comes back, your book now closed and resting on your chest as you lie with your eyes shut. You look so peaceful, so relaxed, and he feels a rush of tenderness mixed with the lingering heat of his arousal.

He sets the glass on his nightstand, careful not to draw your attention to it. “You still awake?” He asks softly, moving closer to the bed.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmur, not opening your eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, then sits down on the edge of the bed. “You look tired,” he comments, reaching out to gently stroke your arm. “You should get some rest.”

You smile slightly, eyes still closed. “Just winding down. It’s been a long day.”

He nods, even though you can’t see it, his fingers tracing small circles on your skin. “I was thinking …” he starts, his voice low and careful. “Maybe I could give you a massage? Help you relax.”

You hum in response, a pleased sound that makes his heart skip a beat. “That sounds nice,” you reply, shifting slightly under the covers to give him better access to your back.

Perfect, he thinks. His plan is falling into place.

He reaches for the glass on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to alarm you. You’re still lying with your eyes closed, completely unaware of what he’s about to do, and the thought of it sends a fresh wave of excitement through him.

“Just relax,” he whispers, leaning over you as he carefully pulls the sheets down to expose your back. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You nod slightly, your trust in him evident, and it only fuels his determination. He dips his fingers into the glass, coating them in the warm cum before setting it back down. His heart races as he leans over you, his hand hovering above your skin for a moment before he finally makes contact.

The feeling of his release on your skin is electric, sending a jolt of arousal through him. He starts at the base of your spine, his fingers gliding smoothly over your skin, spreading the liquid across your back. You sigh softly, completely unaware of what he’s using, just enjoying the sensation of his touch.

He takes his time, his movements slow and deliberate as he works his way up your back, his fingers kneading the tension out of your muscles. The room is filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the occasional murmur of contentment escaping your lips, and it drives him wild.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “How does that feel?” He asks, his voice rough with need.

“Good,” you reply, your voice sleepy and content. “Really good.”

He smiles, a mix of pride and possessiveness swelling in his chest. “Good,” he echoes, his hands still moving over your skin, spreading his mark across every inch of you.

His touch becomes firmer, more insistent, as he moves higher up your back. You shiver slightly under his hands, but still, you don’t open your eyes, completely trusting him. It’s intoxicating, the power he feels in this moment, knowing that he’s marking you as his in a way that no one else ever could.

He dips his fingers back into the glass, gathering more of the cum, and starts working on your shoulders. The thought of his release mingling with the natural scent of your skin is almost too much for him to handle, and he has to take a steadying breath to keep from losing control.

You let out a small moan as his fingers dig into a particularly tight spot, and he can’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re mine,” he whispers against your skin, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

You don’t respond, and for a moment, he worries that he’s gone too far, that you’ve realized what he’s doing. But then you sigh contentedly, shifting slightly under his hands, and he realizes that you’re still half-asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s really happening.

The realization sends a thrill through him, and he resumes his ministrations with renewed fervor, his hands moving over your skin with purpose. He wants to cover every inch of you, to make sure that there’s no part of you that hasn’t been touched by him, that hasn’t been marked as his.

He’s lost in the sensation, in the feeling of your skin under his hands, in the thought of what he’s doing. The rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, and he knows that he’s never wanted you more than he does right now.

Finally, when he’s satisfied that he’s covered every inch of your back, he pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. He’s breathing heavily, his heart racing, and it takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts, to come back to reality.

You’re still lying there, your eyes closed, completely unaware of what he’s done. He feels a rush of possessiveness, a fierce need to protect you, to keep you all to himself. He knows that what he’s done is risky, that it could backfire if you ever found out, but in this moment, he doesn’t care.

You’re his, and now there’s no doubt about it.

He leans down to press another kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment before he pulls back. “You should get some sleep,” he says softly, his voice low and rough.

You murmur something in response, too tired to form coherent words, and he smiles, pulling the sheets back up over you. He watches as you settle into the pillows, a contented sigh escaping your lips, and he feels a surge of satisfaction.

He moves to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers beside you. You instinctively curl into his side, your head resting on his chest, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close. The warmth of your body against his is soothing, grounding him after everything that’s happened tonight.

As you nestle closer, you mumble, “Whatever lotion you used feels amazing.”

He swallows hard, his heart racing all over again, but he manages to keep his voice steady. “I’m glad you liked it,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You sigh contentedly, already drifting off to sleep, completely unaware of the truth. And as Charles holds you in his arms, he can’t help but smile, knowing that tonight, he’s left a mark on you that only the two of you will ever know.

***

The sun has barely begun to rise, casting a soft, golden light over the Monaco skyline as Charles stands in the kitchen of your shared apartment. The place is quiet, the kind of peaceful that only comes in the early hours of the morning. He’s dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, barefoot on the cool tile floor as he busies himself with breakfast.

There’s a calmness to this routine, a tranquility that he cherishes. It’s just the two of you here, no prying eyes, no tension — just the comfort of home. But even in this serene setting, a part of him is buzzing with anticipation, a subtle undercurrent of the possessiveness that he’s been feeling more and more of lately.

On the counter, among the fresh fruit and yogurt, sits a small glass, nearly identical to the one he used just a few nights ago. It’s filled with the same substance, warm and opaque, waiting for the moment when he can mix it into something that you’ll consume. The thought of it sends a thrill through him, a reminder of the secret he’s been keeping, the private bond he’s been nurturing in ways only he knows.

He’s almost lost in thought when he hears the soft pad of your footsteps approaching from the hallway. You enter the kitchen, still sleepy-eyed and wrapped in the comfort of an oversized sweatshirt, your hair slightly tousled from sleep. There’s something about seeing you like this, so natural and unguarded, that makes his chest tighten with affection — and with that familiar, possessive need.

“Morning,” you murmur, your voice still soft with sleep as you come up behind him.

He turns to greet you, a smile already playing on his lips. “Morning, mon amour,” he replies, pulling you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, your head resting against his chest, and he holds you there for a moment, savoring the feeling of you in his arms, so close, so his.

You’re warm against him, the scent of your skin mingling with the fresh coffee he’s brewed, and it’s all he can do to keep from letting his hands wander, to keep from pulling you even closer. But he knows he has a plan to stick to, so he leans down to kiss the top of your head instead, a soft, lingering gesture that makes you hum contentedly.

“I was thinking about making smoothies,” he says, his voice casual as he pulls back just enough to look down at you. “You want one?”

You nod, eyes still half-closed as you lean into him, not fully awake yet. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” you murmur, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, fingers idly tracing the fabric of his shirt.

He gives you a reassuring squeeze before gently disentangling himself from you, turning back to the counter. “Sit tight. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.”

You wander over to the kitchen island, pulling up a stool and resting your head on your folded arms, watching him with sleepy eyes. He glances over his shoulder at you as he starts gathering ingredients — the yogurt, the fresh berries, a banana — carefully setting each one on the counter in front of him.

“You sure you’re awake enough for this?” He teases, his tone light, though his mind is already on the next step, on the glass sitting just within reach.

“Barely,” you admit with a small laugh, your eyes closing as you rest your chin on your arms. “But I’ll manage. I could use something refreshing.”

He grins, a soft chuckle escaping him as he reaches for the blender. “This should do the trick, then.” He starts adding the ingredients, layer by layer, taking his time to make sure everything is just right. The kitchen fills with the sound of fruit hitting the blender, the soft clink of the yogurt spoon against the glass, the low hum of the machine as he blends it all together.

And then, with a practiced ease, he reaches for the glass, the one that holds his release, and adds its contents to the mix. The thick liquid disappears into the smoothie, blending seamlessly with the other ingredients, leaving no trace of what he’s done. It’s the perfect secret, hidden in plain sight, and the knowledge of it sends a shiver of excitement through him.

He caps the blender, turning it on once more to make sure everything is thoroughly mixed, and then pours the smoothie into a tall glass. It’s a vibrant, inviting shade of pink from the berries, the kind of drink that promises sweetness and freshness, and he can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction as he walks it over to you.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the glass in front of you with a smile.

You sit up, blinking your eyes open as you reach for the glass. “Thank you,” you say, your voice still soft with sleep, but there’s a warmth in your tone that makes his heart swell.

He watches, his breath catching slightly, as you take a sip. Your lips wrap around the straw, and for a moment, he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of you drinking, the subtle curve of your mouth, the way your throat moves as you swallow. It’s such a simple thing, but knowing what’s in that glass, what you’re consuming, makes it feel like so much more.

“Mmm,” you murmur after a moment, pulling back with a pleased smile. “This is really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice a touch huskier than he intended.

You nod, taking another sip, completely unaware of the deeper meaning behind the drink. “Yeah, really good. You always make the best smoothies.”

His heart swells with pride, even as the possessiveness lingers, wrapping itself around his thoughts like a vice. You’re his, in every way that matters, and this smoothie is just another reminder of that fact — a reminder that only he knows about.

“Glad you like it,” he says, leaning against the counter as he watches you take another drink. “I put a little extra care into this one.”

You laugh softly, setting the glass down as you meet his gaze. “I can tell.”

For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, a quiet connection passing between you that feels almost electric. There’s a warmth in your eyes, a softness that makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms again, to hold you close and never let go.

But instead, he pushes off the counter, walking back over to where you’re sitting. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch just a little.

“Do you have any plans today?” He asks, his voice low, intimate.

You shake your head, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “No, not really. Just thought I’d relax, maybe read a bit.”

He nods, his hand sliding down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Good. You deserve to relax.” He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering against your skin.

You smile, a soft, contented smile that makes his chest tighten with emotion. “What about you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve got some training later, but nothing too crazy,” he replies, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I was thinking we could spend some time together before that, though. Just the two of us.”

You nod, your smile widening as you squeeze his hand. “I’d like that.”

He feels a warmth spread through him, a deep, satisfying contentment that comes from knowing you’re his, that you’re here with him, that you trust him completely. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever, to keep close to his heart.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to look into your eyes. “Finish your smoothie,” he says, his tone gentle but insistent. “I want you to be well-fed before we start our day.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you pick up the glass again. “Okay, okay,” you say, taking another sip. “Bossy.”

He grins, his heart swelling with affection as he watches you drink, knowing that with every sip, you’re taking in a part of him, a part that only he can give you.

And as he watches you move around the apartment, smiling and laughing, completely unaware of the deeper connection you now share, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction, a certainty that no one else could ever have what you have with him.

You’re his, in every way that matters. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

***

The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden light across the Monaco apartment, bathing everything in a soft glow. The air is filled with the distant hum of the city below, but inside, all is calm, quiet — a perfect oasis for the two of you.

Charles moves around the spacious bathroom with purpose, the sound of running water filling the air as he prepares a bath for you. It’s been a long few weeks, with races and travel and the endless demands of his career, but now, finally, there’s a moment to breathe, to relax. And Charles is determined to make sure you do exactly that.

He watches the water fill the tub, swirling with bubbles from the bath salts he added, filling the room with the soothing scent of eucalyptus. But even as he sets the scene for a moment of peace, his mind is elsewhere, focused on the next step of his plan, the one that’s been playing out in quiet, secret moments ever since that night in the hotel.

He glances at the door to the bathroom, half-closed, knowing you’re just in the other room, curled up on the bed with a book, completely unaware of what he’s about to do. His heart beats a little faster at the thought, that same possessive thrill coursing through him, mixing with the tenderness he feels every time he looks at you.

The water’s almost ready now, the tub nearly full, and he knows it’s time. With a practiced ease, he reaches for the waistband of his shorts, slipping them off and setting them aside. He’s already half-hard, the anticipation of what he’s about to do sending a rush of heat through his body.

He moves to the edge of the tub, positioning himself just right, and with a deep breath, he lets his hand drift lower, closing around his length. The sensation is immediate, a familiar pleasure that he’s come to associate with these moments, these secret acts of intimacy that only he knows about.

His thoughts are filled with you, with the image of you sinking into the bath, the water wrapping around your body, warm and soothing. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes fixed on the water, imagining how it will mix with his release, how it will touch every inch of your skin, marking you as his in a way that no one else will ever know.

It doesn’t take long before he’s spilling into the water, his cum clouding the surface, disappearing into the bubbles. The sight of it sends a shiver of satisfaction through him, a sense of completion that’s as much emotional as it is physical.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, to let the last remnants of pleasure fade before he straightens, pulling his shorts back on. The water is ready now, the bath perfect, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as he turns to leave the bathroom, ready to call you in.

“Mon cœur,” he calls softly, stepping out into the bedroom. “Your bath is ready.”

You look up from your book, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him. There’s a softness in your expression, a trust that makes his heart ache with affection, and he crosses the room to you, holding out a hand to help you up.

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thank you,” you say, your voice warm and full of gratitude as you follow him back into the bathroom. “This is exactly what I needed.”

He leads you to the tub, the water steaming gently, the scent of eucalyptus wrapping around you both. “Just relax,” he murmurs, his hands finding the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your eyes closing as he helps you undress, his touch gentle, reverent. There’s something almost ritualistic about the way he moves, his hands sliding over your skin as he removes each piece of clothing, until you’re standing naked before him, your body bathed in the soft light of the setting sun.

He guides you to the edge of the tub, helping you step in, and you sink into the water with a contented sigh, the warmth enveloping you, easing the tension from your muscles. Charles watches you, his gaze fixed on you as you settle back against the tub, your eyes closing in bliss.

“How’s the water?” He asks, his voice low, intimate.

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, your lips curving into a soft smile as you lean your head back. “So warm … feels amazing.”

He smiles, a wave of satisfaction washing over him at your words. “Good,” he says, kneeling beside the tub, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You open your eyes, looking up at him with a gaze so full of trust, so full of love, that it nearly takes his breath away. “I’m lucky to have you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a tender caress.

His heart swells at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. “I’m the lucky one,” he replies, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to memorize the feel of you, the scent of you.

He pulls back slightly, his hand moving to the edge of the tub where a bottle of shampoo waits, carefully placed within reach. “Let me wash your hair,” he offers, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

You nod, your eyes closing again as you relax back into the water. “That sounds nice,” you say, your voice soft, almost drowsy.

He reaches for the shampoo, pouring some into his palm, the familiar scent filling the air. But as he moves to work it into your hair, he pauses, his eyes flicking to the small cup he’d placed on the floor behind him earlier, hidden just out of sight.

With a quick glance at you to make sure your eyes are still closed, he reaches back, his fingers closing around the cup. He moves carefully, mixing its contents with the shampoo in his hand, watching as the two substances blend together, the color and texture indistinguishable from the original.

His heart beats a little faster as he begins to work the mixture into your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp with a practiced ease. The scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam rising from the water, filling the room with a heady aroma that makes everything feel even more intimate, more connected.

You sigh softly as he works, the tension melting from your body with each gentle stroke of his fingers. “That feels amazing,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions — love, possessiveness, satisfaction. “I’m glad,” he replies, his voice low, soothing. “I want you to feel good, to feel relaxed.”

You hum in response, a sound that’s almost a purr, and he can’t help the way his chest tightens at the sound, at the sight of you so vulnerable, so trusting under his care.

As he continues to wash your hair, his fingers moving through the strands with gentle precision, he feels that same familiar thrill, the knowledge that he’s marking you in a way only he knows about. It’s a secret bond, a connection that runs deeper than words, deeper than anything else.

He finishes rinsing the shampoo from your hair, his hands cradling your head as he pours the water over you, careful to keep it from getting in your eyes. You let out another contented sigh, your body sinking deeper into the water, your skin glowing in the soft light.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes still closed, a smile playing on your lips. “You always take such good care of me.”

His heart skips a beat at your words, a rush of warmth flooding his chest. “I’ll always take care of you,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

You reach up, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining with his in a gesture that feels as natural as breathing. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice filled with a depth of feeling that takes his breath away.

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a tender caress. “I love you too,” he replies, his voice steady, but there’s an intensity in his gaze, a fierceness that speaks to the depth of his feelings, to the possessiveness that’s only grown stronger over time.

As you relax back into the water, your eyes drifting closed once more, Charles watches you, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and possessiveness, satisfaction and desire. You’re his, in every way that matters, and with every secret act, every hidden gesture, he’s reminded of that fact.

And as he sits there beside you, his hand still holding yours, he can’t help but feel a sense of completion, a certainty that no matter what happens, you’ll always be his, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

***

The room is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the rhythmic hum of the city outside. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, creating long shadows that stretch across the floor. The air is cool, a gentle breeze slipping through the cracked window, stirring the fabric of the curtains ever so slightly.

Charles lies beside you, his body still as he watches you sleep. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft flutter of your eyelashes as you dream, the way your lips part slightly with each breath — it’s all mesmerizing to him, a sight he never tires of. There’s a peace in this moment, in the quiet intimacy of sharing a bed with you, knowing you’re safe, warm, comfortable, that you trust him completely.

But there’s also something else — a restlessness, a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing day. He’s been patient, careful, methodical in the way he’s been marking you as his, but tonight, that need has reached a peak, a point where he can’t ignore it any longer.

His gaze drifts down to your lips, the soft curve of them, the way they part slightly with each exhale. An idea takes root in his mind, one that’s as thrilling as it is intimate, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving, slipping out from under the covers with a practiced ease that keeps the bed from shifting too much.

The room is still cool as he stands, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor as he walks to the foot of the bed. He pauses there for a moment, his heart beating a little faster as he considers what he’s about to do. There’s a thrill in the secrecy of it, in the knowledge that you have no idea what’s coming, that you’re completely at his mercy in this moment.

With a quiet breath, he moves to the other side of the bed, his hands reaching for the waistband of his shorts. He slips them off, the fabric pooling at his feet, leaving him bare in the dim light of the room. His body responds immediately, the anticipation sending a rush of heat through him, his desire hardening almost instantly.

He looks down at you, your face still peaceful, unaware, and he knows he has to be careful, gentle, if this is going to work. He lowers himself onto the bed, positioning himself over you with practiced care, his body hovering just above yours. He leans in close, his breath warm against your skin as he brings himself closer to your lips.

Your eyelashes flutter, a soft murmur escaping your lips as you start to stir, but before you can fully wake, he moves, pressing the tip of his length against your mouth, the contact so light, so delicate, it’s almost like a dream.

Your lips part instinctively, a reflexive action born of years of being together, of knowing each other so intimately. Charles’ breath hitches as he feels the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your lips as they brush against him. He’s careful not to move too quickly, not to startle you awake, but even this small touch sends a shiver of pleasure through him.

“Shh, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice low, soothing. “Just relax. It’s okay.”

You murmur something unintelligible, your head shifting slightly on the pillow, but you don’t wake. Your body is still relaxed, still trusting, and that trust sends a wave of possessive satisfaction through him, a reminder that you’re his in every way that matters.

He presses forward slightly, just enough to let the tip of himself slip between your lips, careful to keep his movements slow, deliberate. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow slightly in your sleep, the way your lips instinctively close around him, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes his breath catch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just like that.”

He moves carefully, slowly, guiding more of himself into your mouth, each inch sending a thrill of pleasure through him. The sensation is almost too much, the combination of your warmth, your softness, and the knowledge that you have no idea what’s happening, that you’re completely at his mercy in this moment.

But he’s not doing this just for his pleasure. There’s a purpose to this, a plan that’s been forming in his mind ever since he started marking you, ever since he realized how much he needed you to be his in every way. He wants you to associate this with feeling good, to connect the taste of him with pleasure, with satisfaction, even if you don’t fully understand why.

His free hand moves to your thigh, gently caressing the soft skin there, his touch light, reassuring. “You’re doing so well,” he whispers, his voice soothing, even as his heart races with the intensity of the moment.

You stir again, your lips tightening slightly around him as your body responds to his touch. He can feel the tension in your muscles, the way your breathing changes as you start to wake, but he doesn’t stop. He’s careful, precise, his movements designed to keep you on the edge of consciousness, just aware enough to feel the pleasure, but not enough to fully wake.

“Just let go,” he murmurs, his hand trailing up your thigh, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there. “I’ve got you.”

Your breathing quickens, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body responds to him, even in sleep. He can feel the way your muscles tense, the way your hips shift slightly, as if seeking more contact, more pleasure.

He keeps his movements slow, controlled, his own pleasure building with each careful thrust, each soft sound that escapes your lips. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow, the way your lips part around him, and he knows he’s close, so close to the edge.

But he doesn’t want to finish yet, not until he’s certain you’ve felt it too, that you’ve connected the taste of him with pleasure, with satisfaction. He moves his hand higher, his fingers brushing against the warmth between your legs, finding you already wet, already ready for him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of affection and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl.”

He strokes you gently, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, his touch just enough to push you closer to the edge, but not enough to wake you fully. He watches as your breathing quickens, your body responding to his touch, to the combination of sensations he’s giving you.

It doesn’t take long before he feels you start to tense, your muscles tightening, your breathing becoming more erratic. He can see the pleasure building in you, can feel the way your body is reacting, and it’s almost too much for him to handle, the intensity of it sending him right to the brink.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction as he watches you, as he feels you. “Just let go, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one final thrust, one last stroke, he feels you fall over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your climax. The sight of you, the feel of you, sends him over the edge too, his own release spilling into your mouth, the pleasure almost overwhelming in its intensity.

He stays there for a moment, his breath ragged, his heart racing, as he watches you slowly relax, your body sinking back into the bed, your breathing evening out as you slip back into a deeper sleep. He’s careful as he pulls away, as he adjusts the covers around you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re warm.

He watches you for a moment longer, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and possessiveness, satisfaction and desire. You’re his, in every way that matters, and with every secret act, every hidden gesture, he’s reminded of that fact.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as he whispers, “Je t’aime,” into the darkness.

And then he slips back under the covers, his body curling around yours as he holds you close, his heart still racing with the intensity of what just happened, of what he’s just done. But there’s no regret, no second thoughts, only a deep, abiding satisfaction, a certainty that you’re his, in every way that matters.

As he drifts off to sleep, his hand resting possessively on your hip, he knows that he’ll continue to mark you, to claim you, in all the ways that matter, in all the ways that only he can. Because you’re his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you that way, forever.

***

The night air is thick with celebration. Monaco is alive with the sounds of revelry — cheers and laughter drifting up from the streets below. It’s late, but the adrenaline from Charles’ latest victory keeps you both buzzing. You’re in your shared apartment, the lights dimmed low, the atmosphere electric with the thrill of his win. Champagne flutes sit abandoned on the table, half-full and forgotten in the wake of more pressing desires.

Charles can’t take his eyes off you. You’re draped in his suit jacket, the oversized fabric slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone, the delicate line of your neck. There’s a flush to your cheeks, the result of both the champagne and the heady excitement of the night. You’re beautiful, radiant in the aftermath of his success, and he feels a swell of pride, of possessiveness, as he watches you.

The victory tonight was sweet, but what’s even sweeter is knowing you’re his. Completely his. He’s trained you well — his perfect, responsive lover — and tonight, he’s going to show you just how well that training has paid off.

“You’re happy,” he says, his voice low, tinged with satisfaction as he watches you lean back against the sofa, your eyes bright with joy.

“Of course I am,” you reply, your smile wide, genuine. “I’m so proud of you. You were amazing out there.”

He steps closer, his gaze intense as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers itching to touch, to claim. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m pretty sure your skill had something to do with it.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “But I’m serious. You’re my good luck charm.”

You tilt your head, leaning into his touch, your eyes softening as you look up at him. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he replies, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.

He moves closer, his body pressing against yours as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with practiced ease. He knows exactly how to kiss you, how to make you melt beneath him, and he feels that familiar thrill of satisfaction as you respond, your lips parting to let him in.

But tonight, he’s not just interested in kissing you. Tonight, he has something else in mind, something he’s been working towards for weeks.

He pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips as he murmurs, “I have something for you.”

Your brows furrow in curiosity, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he takes your hand, guiding it down between your bodies, letting you feel the hard evidence of his arousal. Your eyes widen slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you realize what he’s implying, what he’s about to do.

“Charles …” your voice trails off, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty coloring your tone.

“Shh, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice soothing as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, positioning you just right. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he guides himself to your lips, the tip of his length brushing against your mouth, warm and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, a flicker of surprise in your eyes, but then your body remembers the way he’s been with you, the way he’s trained you, conditioned you, and that hesitation melts away. You part your lips slightly, allowing him to slip into your mouth, your breath catching as you taste him, as you feel him.

It’s a taste you’re familiar with by now, a taste that’s been ingrained in your subconscious over weeks of careful, methodical training. But this time, it’s different. This time, you’re awake, fully aware, and the intensity of it hits you like a tidal wave.

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping your lips as he presses deeper, the familiar warmth and saltiness of him filling your senses. There’s something about it, something intoxicating, and you can’t help but respond, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the pleasure that’s become so closely associated with this taste.

Charles watches you, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and satisfaction as he sees your reaction, sees the way your body tenses, the way your breath quickens. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect, and the knowledge that he’s the one who made you this way, who trained you to respond like this, sends a rush of possessive pride through him.

He moves carefully, his hips shifting slightly, allowing him to press deeper into your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you in place. He’s careful not to go too fast, not to overwhelm you, but there’s a thrill in knowing that you’re so close, that he’s about to push you over the edge.

You whimper softly, your lips tightening around him as the pleasure builds, as the taste of him floods your senses. It’s almost too much, the intensity of it, the way your body responds so instinctively, so powerfully to this simple act. You’re teetering on the edge, so close to falling, and you can feel it, the tension building in your core, the overwhelming need for release.

Charles watches you, his own breath ragged as he feels your body’s response, as he sees the way you’re teetering on the brink. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, with desire. “My perfect girl.”

And then, with one final thrust, one last push, he feels you fall over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your climax. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can’t hold back, can’t stop the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you gasping, shaking, lost in the sensation.

He holds you there for a moment, letting you ride out the wave, his hand stroking your hair gently, soothingly. He can feel the way your body shudders, the way your breath hitches as you come down from the high, and it fills him with a deep, satisfying sense of accomplishment.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with affection as he gently pulls away, his hand still cradling the back of your head, holding you close. “You did so well.”

You’re still breathing heavily, your body trembling slightly as you look up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and wonder. “Charles … I …”

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay. You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

You nod slightly, your breath still shaky, but there’s a look of understanding in your eyes, a recognition of what just happened, of how far you’ve come, of how much you’ve changed. And Charles knows, without a doubt, that you’re his, completely his.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you both settle back onto the sofa, the aftermath of the moment settling over you like a warm, comforting blanket. There’s a sense of peace, of contentment, as you rest your head against his chest, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure.

Charles strokes your hair, his fingers gentle as they move through the soft strands, his heart filled with an overwhelming ove for you. He’s proud of you, of how perfect you are, of how well you’ve responded to his training. And as he holds you, he knows that this is just the beginning, that there’s so much more to explore, so much more to experience together.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, his voice filled with a quiet, possessive satisfaction. “And you always will be.”

You don’t respond, not with words, but the way you snuggle closer to him, the way your body relaxes in his arms, says it all. You’re his, in every way that matters, and there’s no place you’d rather be.

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