#and not like in a romantic way but he and my other friend every week are like 'if you died i would never recover' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fayes-fics · 8 months

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A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.”

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.”

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic.

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade.

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision.

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him.

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction.

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.”

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman.

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first.

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now….

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his.

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together.

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly.

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk.

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member.

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip.

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!”

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense.

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race.

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside.

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently.

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing.

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body.

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever.

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

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atrirose · 2 months

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͏͏𝒗𝒊. ͏MORE THEN JUST FRIENDS ! enha ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏— ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏해찬 ͏ ͏& ͏ ͏𝐢

bsf(?)enha x f!reader. warning. none, kissing in jake’ + fluff wc.0.9k 🐰 seiu?!: after a century i’m writing hcs again yayy

— HEESEUNG LEE

let’s you bite him, very weird behavior but he has grown used to it, at first he was all confused as to why you feel the need to bite him like a chew toy but it’s okay your best friend(?) get you now, his biceps nom nom, but due to all this he has bite marks all over him which he is least bothered about but he does get asked if he is dating someone a lot which is confusing because why would people just assume he is dating out of the blue “yn you know i have been asked three times today whether im seeing someone and it’s all because of the bite marks you leave, people would think we are dating”

“do you want that to be a reality” he looks at you with wide eyes “are you hearing yourself” — “i am heeseung”

— JAY PARK

wears your hair tie which very bf coded and i wonder why he hasn’t asked you out yet? like which bestie goes around wearing a girls hair tie when he obviously is in the market? wearing it just makes you thing he is taken “do you love my hair tie that much you can’t even return it to me? YOU CANT RETURN MY OWN HAIR TIE TO ME” shoves a piece of cake in your mouth to shut you up “is it bothering that much, i will buy you more” which is weird because why not just return the one he has on his wrist, at this point he just wants be a wife.

“keeps me away from girls you know” oh so now he is just using you as an escape mechanism “keeps me a step closer to you” your ears turned red “so you wanna date me?” you ask

“that’s very multifaceted question” you hit his shoulders “big meanie” he giggled knowing damn well he is down right bad for you

— JAKE SIM

don’t at him but he has kissed you, like a full blown kiss not just a peck, for training purposes right? yes for training purposes so you both don’t seem like complete losers with no experience when you start dating someone, you can at least put each others name on the resume “do you wanna kiss?”

“no” jake looked at you with puppy eyes “why not” just because this is not WHAT NORMAL FRIENDS DO MR.HOT AND GENIUS BESTIES “your breath smells bad” eyes out like that sad hamster on tiktok with violin bg playing “UGH WHATEVER” you kiss him as he smiles between the kisses, knowing you can’t resist him (damn hot mf) “love ya see you after the match”

— SUNGHOON PARK

takes you on dates, and i get that it’s normal but it’s not normal when he is taking you out alone with him every other week to ‘treat you’, because normal friends totally don’t eat at a fancy restaurant together or go on a late night drive without romantic feelings like girl who are you kidding? “don’t you ever think all this dates we go to without our other friends who you reject because you only want to be with me is the reason why people think we are dating”

“yes” he said cuddling you on his bed “and like this is not normal too you cuddling me, WAIT WHAT YES?” he kissed you forehead “yes but we aren’t just friends either you know” butterflies

— SUNOO KIM

cuddles all the time, whether it is out, in school or hanging out at each others houses, you both are all up each others, which has been pointed out so many times but sunoo really doesn’t care, he would rather feel your soft cheeks next to his than hear people about how this can be a whole scandal and lower the chances of you both getting any partners because people think you both are dating “sunoo can i get some water please i’m dehydrated” you try to wiggle out of the sofa you both were cuddling “nooo i will be cold”

“no you won’t be ugh get off me big baby” you try to push him as he gets up “so now you hate me” obviously he is faking it but you feel bad “im not i’m sorry sunoo what do you want me to do”

“date me”

— JUNGWON YANG

unusually long eye contact, and not the staring contest kinda way, but a loving and soft way, like he is expressing how much he loves you by staring at you, even when you are not looking at him he is always admiring you, asked at multiple occasions why he was staring at you and he just replies with ‘can’t i look at my best friend’ like sure so normal for a bestie to look at his bestie with love doe eyes. so the way he looks at you with undivided attention you might think he is listening to everything you are saying but no you got him wrong.

he humming at you talking about some dog you found cute on tiktok but he isn’t actually really listening and registering anything you are saying, he too busy admiring your plump lips that he would give anything to kiss right now “and then a blue cat said heya bro” he still looking at you “hmm that’s cool”

“YANG JUNGWON YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME” you said shaking him “i guess not, it’s hard to control myself from kissing you and still listen to you, i can’t multitask like that”

— RIKI NISHIMURA

has your face as his alternate face lock id, also lets you use his phone, you want his phone real quick okay have it, you want to see through his photos okay have it, you want to use his insta okay use it, the only thing you are off limits is the boys gc because shady business goes down there, people really think you are dating your bestie and how he is the most honest and trustworthy bf ever? like no he has thousands of feet pics in his camera roll and you haven’t heard any explanation from him yet? how is he honest.

“you are going through my dms?” riki asks as you play around with his phone “yeah and if that bothers you don’t worry im texting this pretty girl who slide in your dms, soon you would have a cute girlfriend all because of my rizz” he snatched his phone from your hands “what the hell i thought i blocked her? yn why are texting her-”

“why? did you get offended? i’m sorry i shouldn’t have, no matter how close we are” he face palms like an old man done with everything “i’m not offended because you texted her, i’m offended at the fact that i have such a dumb friend who can’t see i want her more then just friends” there star struck aren’t you

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iicarused · 3 months

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##cant take my eyes off of you

valentine’s day special // vox x reader : alastor x reader : lucifer x reader : striker x reader

synopsis: it’s valentine’s day. the lead up, the present, the aftermath

beware: fluff, minor angst, establishment relationships (not for lucifer) // short hc’s

VOX

you have to tell him months in advance of what you want. if you don’t, he may not even think about the day. valentine’s day to him always seemed like a chore, but when you gave him a solemn gaze and a sweet smile — he couldn’t say no. all you asked for was a dinner together back in december, a gentle reminder and two months in advance. what you didn’t expect was how he was planning to go even bigger

while he didn’t ask you to be his valentine, he did plan a whole day of activities for just the two of you. it started off small as he didn’t want you to think much of it. it’s quite normal for vox to bring you breakfast in bed, especially since he wakes up much earlier than you

the key different was a rose on the edge of the tray. before you cod thank him, he was already out the door. it was a sweet gesture, and you believed that it was just vox doing something nice for the start of your day. although, more signs of him planning something started to show up afterwards: an outfit waiting for you in your bathroom to wear after your shower, a certain perfume set in place for you to wear, the entire penthouse being cleaned to the speck.

finally, you found a note left for you at the coffee table. “you rest your pretty face today and don’t worry about lifting a finger.”

vox came back not long after with a large bouquet of flowers and a bag of sweets in hand. “you really think i’m just going to allow you to settle for some lousy dinner?” finally admits through a laugh. “you deserve this whole day served to you on a silver platter.”

ALASTOR

you thought he forgot about it till you found a letter at the foot of your door. you still had a week before the day of love even came, but alastor thought about it very thoroughly on what he wanted to do and how to do it. the letter was sweet and genuine, the scent of his cologne lingering on the paper.

“my dearest, y/n.

oh, how i look forward to spending valentine’s day with you, or i hope you do accept this to be my valentine. a day that is entirely booked for just you and i, what a wonderful life to live. i hope by the end we are able to bask underneath the stars with our love stronger than ever before.

with love,

alastor.”

when the day came, alastor was at your door with 7 roses in hand. “the best for you, my dear.” while it wasn’t a large bouquet, you noticed how he wrapped it with a string, you noticed the paper bag wrapping, then you noticed the ends trimmed: he prepped it for you to either set it in a vase or to be hung and dried. the petals were already bloomed for you — it was a genuine gift

after, he took you out to cannibal town. not the most romantic, but to say it was more preferred than the other rings of hell is an understatement. on behalf of his close friend, rosie had prepped a table for you both on the gazebo. lined with flowers and vines for privacy

a mundane valentine’s day, but a well spent one with your lover. gentle kisses against your fingertips and the skin of your shoulder — his teeth grazing every so often just for a reaction.

by the end of the night, he has his cane playing some old timey tunes while he whisks you around in his arms. not only does alastor have a way with words, but he also has a way to sway you off your feet; quite literally too.

LUCIFER

“i was hoping you would be my valentine this year — totally fine if you decline — not that you have too but-“ “i would love to be your valentine this year.” and that’s how lucifer asked you on a date for valentine’s day. extremely nervous and was pulling at the hem of his collar, in high hopes that you would accept. after dedicating his whole life to a single soul, it is kind of expected that he would be nervous to jump back into the dating game.

most definitely had to ask charlie and/or got a little tipsy by the bar to chat with husk about it. more so, he blabbered about his nervousness and fears of what could happen — husk just nodded and hummed while listening to the king of hell freak out about a date — what if he can’t woo you?

finally settled for something simple and something that’s hes good at. he brought you to the castle for a lunch he prepared in the garden. “i got word from charlie that you enjoyed a strawberry shortcake.” lucifer sheepishly admitted through a proud grin.

a talker, a chatterbox, any other word in the english vocabulary of a man who talks your ear off. it’s almost funny because you know it isn’t word vomit, he just enjoys a chat and especially getting to know you. he questions are almost endless, his interest seem to go on forever, and somehow he doesn’t seem like an egotistical guy who just rules hell. he’s just some guy who loves ducks and getting to know someone on a deeper lever.

took you around the garden afterwards, introducing you to all his favourite plants and getting to know yours. his hand rests on your back for a majority, leading you around and allowing you to lead him to plants that pique your interest.

the entire day is just spent with you talking about anything and everything, honestly. from stories to old tales you heard throughout the years, it almost made you forget that it was only a date and not a lifetime of being together.

STRIKER

he has been working a lot these days. a whole lot. his attention span is very slim, and it is very evident how he tries to not show his irritation towards you. tired eyes always gaze over yours, almost like he’s not in touch with the world to really concentrate on you. sometimes you question why you’re still around — why he bothers to stop you at the door and tell you he’ll put more effort.

finally, the day you dreaded. you were on the path of grabbing a bag of chips and turning on a movie, but striker had other ideas. he came back home about lunch looking more clean — more refreshed than any other day you had seen him — a bouquet of dandelion’s and a gift bag in hand.

“sweet pea, you didn’t think i was falling out of love, did yah?” he was smug — he was smug until he realized you started to cry. “shit, sweet pea, i was jokin’!” he was by your side in seconds and had to calm you down. after a long needed conversation, you were ready to start the day. he wanted to tell you why he was busy, but that would mean spilling everything he had planned.

he admitted his faults, but his promises were never broken. on one condition, he was not allowed to speak or bring up any work related topics on this special day, to which he quickly agreed.

he took you out for lunch and dinner, but the rest of the evening was spent lazying around on your back patio with some country music playing. tennessee whiskey to be exact. he never stopped giving you kisses on your face either, his tail wrapped over your waist to keep you on top.

#ᥫ᭡.#hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel imagine #vox x reader #alastor x reader #vox imagine #alastor imagine #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #striker x reader #striker #hazbin hotel headcanon

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pinkmirth · 7 months

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⸻ 𝒦ℰℰ𝒫ℰℛ!

𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮ℐ𝒮 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ you’ve fallen for your darling bodyguard, and you’re over the moon to discover that he feels the same. but this feels borderline forbidden . . . for just how long can you keep what you have with reiner under wraps?

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ( 5k+ words of . . . ) bodyguard!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), fluff, nsfw, modern au, scion!reader (descending from a rich family/influential bloodline), hyperfeminine ‘girly-girl’ reader, reiner’s german, mutual pining, secret relationship / sneaky link, public display of affection (pda), food play, car sex (unprotected), slight dacryphilia, creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. mama, baby, honey, princess), reader calls reiner ‘ papa, ’ explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁ℯ 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓁ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇! ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ this post is an answer to an anonymous ask: ‘ what about secret dates (turned sneaky links) with body guard! reiner??? ’ oh. my. goodness! nonnie, you’re a sexy genius and you should know it. tagging the amazing @ramonathinks! she’s the one who even introduced this bodyguard!rei-rei concept to me, and for that i’m so grateful :) ramona my love, thank you again for all the delicious reiner thoughts you always send my way! now enjoy, xoxo ♡︎

reiner’s your bulking shadow, always trailing not far behind.

he’s been hired by your parents to ensure your safety. nothing more, nothing less. he’ll follow your every step and drive you wherever you please; after all, it’s what he’s paid to do.

things started off the way they should— professional. from the very beginning, reiner knew to keep his distance, and that he did. but he soon realized just how hard that would become . . . you’re effortlessly gorgeous, sharp with your words and caring to a fault. his growing affection was only a matter of time.

nowhere on the criteria for the job does it say that he should be developing feelings. observing your habits, committing them to memory and predicting your behavior is the only thing he’s got any business doing. yet, he loves to feel the softness of your palm in his hand when he helps you into the backseat of your car, even if the contact is just for a split second at most. he finds himself peeking glances at you from the rearview mirror, soaking in how pretty you look when you’re unaware of his gaze. in truth, reiner wishes you didn’t have such an effect on him; that would make work-life much easier on his poor soul. well, love isn’t known for being simple, now is it?

it takes about four weeks on the job for him to grow a soft spot for you. reiner’s always been a hopeless romantic, oh-so quick to fall. he’d willingly lay down his life for the sake of your own, and not just because he’s getting a paycheck for it. thanks to the job description, his devoutness isn’t questioned.

before long, reiner can tell you’re becoming attached to him as well. on a fateful night, he even overhears the phone call between you and your friend, something about ‘ mister braun being so sexy that it hurts . . . ’ your bodyguard is nothing if not a man of dignity. he never meant to eavesdrop! it’s just that he's stationed outside your room for night patrol. he’s now especially glad about being up at five in the morning; he wouldn’t have been able to hear this otherwise. your confessions pry a subtle grin from his lips. there he stands, smiling to himself in the dimly lit hallway where nobody can see him blush like a schoolboy.

‘ nuh-uh, i can’t! that man works for my parents . . . he’s completely off-limits. it's a damn shame, isn’t it? ’ you release a sigh, one so exasperated that he can hear it through the other end of the door. call reiner crazy, but it sounds to him like you’re yearning to have him all to yourself. in a sudden moment, you're emerging from the room, donned in a tiny pink nightgown. cute, but thin as fuck. leaves nothing to the imagination, even. it’s the flimsiest thing he's ever seen you wear.

reiner’s cheeks burn so red that is downright embarrassing, thankfully you're unable to see him. he’s quick to lift his head and look towards the ceiling instead— much more suitable than ogling the tits of his very own client. you wouldn’t be able to catch him staring regardless, considering how the entire corridor’s tainted with darkness, but he wouldn’t dare try to steal a peek anyway.

what he can see, though, is your leisurely smile as you tell him you’re headed to the kitchen to grab a cool glass of water.

“would you like to escort me there too, mister braun? or can i go do something by myself for once?”

you’re playing with him, he realizes. just mere teasing meant to be absolutely harmless. your voice sounds much sweeter at this hour; soft and casual, coated lightly with fatigue from a busy day’s schedule.

“as long as we’re indoors, you can go anywhere you like, madam.” says reiner, “i’ll be here if you need me.”

you make your way to the refrigerator, prancing down the mansion’s luxe spiral staircase, and reiner’s rampant heart finally begins to calm. he wonders if you’d meant for him to hear you on that call. (by now, he knows just how cheeky you can be; it was definitely purposeful.) nevertheless, he's got a job to keep. neither your mother or father would respond kindly if they were to find out that he's become attached to you, or vice versa. he can hardly imagine playing the boyfriend when in reality, he’s supposed to be making sure nothing suspicious comes anywhere near a mile-long radius of you . . . it’s laughable! he’s sure your parents have more than enough money to make him disappear in the blink of an eye— that chilling fact alone puts him on his best behavior.

reiner decides to conceal it; the way he feels for you. keeps his back straight and arms folded to portray the unapproachable persona that got him hired in the first place. you eventually decide to question him over why he so-often wears that solid expression, ‘ like he doesn’t know how to smile, ’ is how you put it. it’s the very first time that you ever hear him laugh, and you turn out to like the sound. rumbly and full of bass. he couldn’t bring himself to admit that in every waking moment, it takes everything to suppress his smile whenever he sees you.

eight months of being in his company brings you to notice that reiner’s a decent listener. he makes for a great conversation, too. sure, he’s just your bodyguard, but he’s got a good ear and a smooth voice. your talks with him are always so lovely; he gives you the comfort to open up about things you’d never be able to tell your parents. pride washes over him when you admit that he’s the only one you genuinely trust. and in these moments, reiner allows himself to get vulnerable too. he tells you of his love for football as a youth, how he takes combat classes five times a week, and that he’s got tons of sisters, brothers and cousins back home in the countryside. the pair of you are so different that the contrast could almost be considered terrible. though, the longer you stay in each other’s presence, the less you can bring yourselves to care.

you and your bodyguard have grown . . . close, to say the least. the way you’re always latching onto his brawny form seems much more than friendly, especially to your parents. ‘ i feel secure with him! ’ is your claim. they’d beg to differ, but your wellbeing is enough to keep them satisfied. reiner excels at his job, and more importantly, the big blonde lug makes you happy. nobody they’ve hired in the past was ever able to get in your good graces; you utterly hated all your former bodyguards. they were much too controlling, lingered too close.

but mister braun was able to differentiate himself. he listens to your dreams and fears alike, treats you like a capable woman instead of some spoiled brat. it also doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly easy on the eyes . . .

reiner can no longer take it. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. the smoothest advance he can make is standing at your right side and slinking an arm around your waist, with claims of it being for your ‘protection.’ but the both of you know it’s only the proximity he’s chasing after. the way he looms beside you was always more self-indulgent than it was for safety. he just liked the closeness of it all.

he feels so much for you, and he’s virtually dying to tell you. but there’s countless reasons why he shouldn’t— particularly the risk of losing his job. every now and again, reiner chooses to be a little bit stupid, all consequences be damned. he works up the nerve to release his confession with slow and careful words. you quickly reciprocate, arms thrown around the back of his neck and tugging him into a cozy hug. he takes you by the waist and pulls you closer in— god, he’s been wanting to do this for so long. reiner hums when your manicured fingers ghost his nape, nails grazing the ends of his hair, with your tits pressed to his own chest. the pair of you fit better than he ever could’ve imagined.

you don’t know whether to call yours and reiner’s relationship ‘ official ’ — can it really be deemed as such when you’re the only ones who know? you dare not mention this to your parents, ‘cause he’s got a job to keep and you couldn’t possibly bear him not being around.

so, you’ve both decided that it’ll be a secret. shared only between you and him, so nobody’s able to intervene. dating your bodyguard is fun— brief kisses being shared when you’re the only ones in the room. the way he snugly hooks his arm around your body when escorting you feels tighter, a little more intimate. in a way, keeping things under wraps feels exhilarating.

your particular relation with mister braun isn’t verified to the outside world, but people are catching on. whenever you go out, reiner’s sure to follow. paparazzi-taken photos of you are occasionally uploaded to the internet, and it’s always a given that he’ll be included. after several months of being seen together time after time, it’s typical of people to assume that this so-called ‘ bodyguard ’ of yours is more of a boyfriend. they aren’t too far off, but you clearly won’t go out of your way to confirm their suspicions. you’re always captured in a picture of you clinging onto his burly arm with a glossy smile. your sweet expressions contrast nicely with his forever-furrowed brows. he’s handsome in this intimidating way, the tabloids say.

it’s a slow-moving thursday when reiner decides to take you on your first date with him. he waits a good hour and forty-five minutes for you to get ready. he’s used to this, of course. by now, he’s got nearly a year’s experience of waiting on you hand and foot. but tonight, his nerves get the best of him. you finish up when he least expects you to— for fuck’s sake, you even catch him pacing in the goddamn kitchen. the sight of you melts his concerns, just a little. you’re done up glamorously from head to toe, and reiner can’t contain his smile, nor hold back his stare. your light lashes are curled and wispy, with blush scattered along your cheekbones. your plush lips are pink with tint, and you’ve got on this figure-hugging outfit that he’d love to tear off of you.

you scan your surroundings, peering at every angle of your spacious home in search of your parents. after ensuring the coast is clear, you engulf him in your arms, wishing you could kiss him but you’re all dolled up and your lips are lined and glossed. reiner nuzzles his nose into the crook in your neck, inhaling faint traces of your most beloved vanilla parfum.

“god, you look so fuckin’ beautiful,” his whisper is soft against your warm flesh. you rub your hands along his broad shoulders, then slide them down his firm biceps. “and you look sexy in black,” you perk up at him, eyes round and gleaming. he loves you, he’s come to realize. and the last thing he wants is to screw this up . . .

he’s thinking too damn much. you can easily tell. it’s obvious in the way his thin blonde brows wire downwards like something’s wrong.

“reiner . . . stop it.” you order, voice serious. you only ever speak that way when you want his utmost attention. to that, he fixes his posture and stands tall as if he’s on patrol.

“stop what?” is his vague response, hands loosely positioned at either one of your hips. you lift your palms to cup his face, feeling the definition of his high cheekbones and firm jawline beneath your fingertips. he’s gorgeous, you think.

“for one, you’re clenching your teeth,” you mention, caressing his rigid jaw line until the tightness lessens. his stubble’s rough and scratchy, but it fits him so damn well. “and you’re frowing, baby.” next, your thumbs trail up to his brows, gently kneading at the creased arch. “relax.”

“m’sorry,” reiner lets out, tone low and pleading. his hands rub at your sides in an anxious pattern. “it’s jus’ that you’re so important to me . . . i wanna do this right, y’know?”

“i bet you will, rei. no need to worry, hm?” you shoot him a soft smile, and he returns it; one of the rare times you catch a glimpse of his nice and shiny teeth. “now show me a good time, papa.”

right before taking your leave , your parents have questions for you— almost too many. you don’t have any business meetings or mall trips on your schedule, so where on earth is he taking you to? rei-rei claims that he’s bringing you to a new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to try. he’ll drive you there and stay on patrol; or so he says. they decide not to question the unusually neat way his blonde hair is slicked back, or how his black dress-shirt and slacks look sharper than usual. hell, he smells amazing too. it can’t be denied that mister braun cleans up nicely.

see, reiner told a partial truth to your family. you’re on your way to a new german restaurant that’s about twelve minutes out, it’s just that you wanted to try it out with him in particular. on the drive there, you just can’t seem to restrain yourself from gazing at the man. reiner looks so put together like this, in a strapping black outfit that‘s snug against his arms, chest and thighs. his side profile’s flawless— he’s got a perfectly defined nose that slopes down to his lips, and you yearn to lick on his protruding adam’s apple. he’s got one hand on the wheel, merging into lanes and making u-turns, while the other that’s unoccupied intertwines with your softer, smaller one.

upon reaching a red light, he takes the opportunity to lift your hand up to his face, trailing his lips along the back of it. “lieblich . . .” he murmurs something in his native tongue that you can’t seem to understand, though you know its meaning is a sweet one. your grin makes him forget all about the risk he’s taking.

upon reaching your destination, reiner’s back in bodyguard-mode. that’s how he gets whenever you’re in public. yes, you’re on a date, but your safety will forever be his number one priority. he escorts you in with a large hand fit snugly into the small dip of your back as he confirms the reservation. his touch never leaves you, not even for a second. he does that thing; where he takes a brief one-over of the area, scrutinizing his environment before making the next move. you go one, two, three stories up, to the VIP floor where your dinner seats reside.

it’s a lot, he knows— the velvet floors, fancy cream-white seats and glass-like walls that showcase an aweing view of the city. you’re more than used to the finer things in life, so the only thing he wants to give you is what you deserve.

you’re raving on about how nice everything looks, leaning back into your seat as you sip on a flute of sheer-pink rosé. he’s relieved to know that he was able to make you smile tonight. a waiter presents themselves, and reiner effortlessly engages with them in german conversation. his words are smooth and fluid as he translates all the entrée and sides you asked for. even when placing a simple order, he’s still the sexiest man on earth. would now be a bad time to kiss the hell out of him?

the next three hours go by quick. you’re chatting and laughing and trying bits of each other’s platters ( though, it's mostly you eating a over half of the food from his plate . . . ) you got yourself salted-caramel ice cream for dessert, and reiner’s mischievous enough to lean close and lick the dripping residue off the corner of your lips. you gasp at him and deliver a playful kick to his foot from under the table.

“what? you had somethin’ there.” is the given excuse for his rascal behavior. naughtiness twinkles in his golden-brown eyes. there aren’t many people up here on the expensive floor, apart from two other occupied tables located on the other end of the room, and a handful of waiters that leave the kitchen every now and again. he’s lucky there isn’t anyone to catch you both.

“you’re crazy,” your laugh is infectious, “don’t make me return the favor.”

in a quick motion, reiner swipes a finger into the ice cream, his touch meeting a subtle cold. before the caramel gets the chance to melt all the way down the length of his digit, he smears some across his bottom lip. his tongue juts out to lick up the rest of the treat from his index finger.

“oh, please do.”

being away from probing eyes has made reiner bold as ever. you take him up on his request, tilting forward so that your tongue can eagerly swipe over his lips and wipe them clean. mostly sweet, just the tiniest bit salty. you want more of him already.

there’s isn’t a soul watching, so reiner escalates it. in an instant he’s got your lips merging, his hand squeezing your thigh from under the table, hot puffs of air escaping you both. “oh my god— you’re g’na get me in trouble, rei!”

“so be it,” reiner mumbles in reply, his words ticklish against your lips. from underneath his fingertips, reiner senses how tightly you press your thighs together, hungry for friction. he’s even beginning to feel worked up himself. but, the pair of you haven’t gone that far yet. the most you’ve done are hour-long makeout sessions on your king-sized bed in the earliest points of the day, when you have enough privacy to get away with it. but you wouldn’t mind feeling him in a new way tonight . . .

“you wanna get out of here, don’t you, mama?” reiner coos, cheeks rosier with his eyes slightly lidded. “mhm,” you’re quick to agree. so he puts the payment for the meal on his tab, takes your hand in his and leads you back down to floor one until you’re out of the building and back inside your window-tinted g-wagon.

mister braun is big. you’ve always known it from his appearance alone, but fuck, it holds a much greater meaning when he’s got you tucked into the backseat of your mercedes with his slacks pulled down to his ankles and your dress strewn sideways, making a slow attempt to press himself into you.

“fuck. let me in, princess,” reiner’s grunt is low, throaty enough to make you clench. your flesh feels hot and your pussy’s leaking all over the coffee-brown suede seats. he knows well enough to play around with your clit, reveling in the noises you make when his pressure increases. simultaneously, his lips suction at the smooth flesh of your neck. it feels like you’re burning up, and he’s the only one who can quench your fire.

experimentally, his hips tilt forward, and another two inches make its way in. he’s only got his fat tip and then some past that dripping hole of yours, but it’ll take much more to stretch you wide open for him. he’s groaning and muttering all sorts of profanities— about how tight you are, how good you feel, how fucking nasty this is of you.

“c’mon, woman,” reiner sucks a sharp breath into his lungs, goading you on, “lemme fuck this tight pussy.” he’s got you dangerously aroused, done by the effort of a few dirty words. wetness dribbles down from your slit to the place you and reiner carnally join, slicking up his girthy shaft as he continues to break himself past your tight rings of muscle. you claw at his solid arms, basking in the stretch. his size is imposing, forcing you open to accommodate all of him. it burns in the best way possible.

“m—more, papa,” you make out a pretty whine, knowing just how he loves your begging. you’ve got your lips agape, kissed raw from reiner’s earlier advances. you grow restless and begin to rock your hips, aching to take the entirety of him.

“mm, don’t worry, baby. i’ll give it to you so good,” it takes a little more of reiner bucking his pelvis, movements careful and shallow, for him to finally make it in. he’s bottomed out, and you can feel the throbbing from his underside. having you wrapped around him feels so incredibly right. you clench rapidly, enveloping him in an incomparable warmth.

by the time he’s made everything fit, you’re a darling little mess. your hair’s gotten frizzy and your eyes are all big ‘n glassy, with your lower lip tucked underneath your teeth. one moan after another escapes you, streaming into his ears like liquid gold. reiner throbs at the sound of every little mewl. he licks away your tears which you hadn’t even known began to fall, catching them before they can roll down the apples of your cheeks. you love the feeling, it’s just that there’s so much of him to handle at once— his fat cock, searing-hot tongue, large roaming hands . . . he's this close to consuming you whole, and you want him to.

reiner’s attentive with the way he fucks you. out, in, the pattern goes, hips drawing back before he slams back into your shaking frame all over again. he hits so unbelievably deep every time, like the width of him can’t help but prod against every spot you have. he manages to stimulate every inch of your walls, bumping every crook and ridge possible. not a part of you goes unattended to. reiner dips his head low to catch your beaded nipple between his lips, while his cock drives further inside and impels you to make more room, just for him.

as gentle as he may try to be, reiner’s undeniably a hefty man. taking it slow won’t make any difference; every deep plunge he makes into your cunt has the car creaking on its very own wheels.

“i fuckin’ love you,” he drops the heated words, punctuated with drilling thrusts; but the dick’s got you goin’ all dumb on him. it’s cute, he can’t deny, but reiner needs you to know exactly what you mean to him. so he grips at your chin from either side and lightly squeezes your cheeks together, tender with care but steady enough to make your eyes uncross and focus on him alone.

“you hear me? i— goddamnit, love you more than anything. love you so much,” the deeper he pushes in, the less you can manage to breathe. you feel the pulsing of his cock in your tummy, and it’s like the tip snags so deep that it nearly lingers in your throat. you feel yourself bounce against the seat, tits jiggling whenever he sinks inside, draws out, and snaps right back into you. your gut feels tightly wound up, and your pussy’s become impossibly more sensitive.

you’re close, he can feel it. your walls flutter with more ardor than before, squishing against the base of him with a tightness gratifying enough to spur moans from deep within his chest. you even bring your hands down to claw at his asscheeks, firm and round to the touch; the perfect source of leverage.

“r— reiner!” you cry out to him, and he’s sure his name hasn’t sounded so good up until now. he wonders if you can actually hear yourself and just how slutty you sound. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby?” to that you nod, head bobbing desperately. you don’t have to tell him, he knows. reiner’s knowledge is keen on the topic of you. what you like, what you don’t, and when you’ve had enough. now he’s truly taking his sweet time getting to know you from the inside out.

he presses a consoling peck to your forehead, maintaining that undoing pace of his. the repetitive ‘plat’ of his heavy balls smacking into your sticky cunt is dull compared to the huffing, panting and whining, but it’s there in all its vulgarity.

“ooh, i know exactly what y’need, princess. papa’s g’na take care of you . . . ” reiner doesn’t even say it above a whisper, just declares his devotion in the softest way he can. he slips a hand down the middle of your sweat-streaked bodies to bring some attention back to your precious clit, lewdly slick and much puffier than earlier. he gives swift strokes using the pads of his fingers, combined with the fluid roll of his hips, until you're arching into his broad chest and snapping your quivering thighs closed, trapping his wrist in between them.

reiner can unravel you with such ease, like he lives for the sole purpose of your pleasure and nothing else. you convulse against him, so he slows. but reiner hardly lets up. not completely, that way he’s able to ride you through it. he continues on, feeding you shallow thrusts to near his own high. his movements turn borderline erratic; thighs trembling, cock throbbing. he’s so close, “gonna cum,” his warning comes off as a groan, straight from the depths of his gut, erotic and primal. he’s clenching his teeth again— this time, for good reason. “where do y’want me?”

not a second is wasted before you plead, ‘ inside! ’ and with that, you’ve officially fucking broken him. never did he think his wildest dream would’ve come true by the very first date. lucky mister braun, getting to fill you up— especially when it’s what he’s been stroking himself to the thought of every other night. now, you’re practically crying for him to give it all to you. undoubtedly, he will.

he comes through one final, sloppy jerk of his hips. with a breathy grunt released into the car’s stuffy atmosphere , his warm seed spurts into you, tainting your womb. once reiner slips out, his thick cum pours down to present the most obscene view. it’s all so slippery, seeping down until there’s a wet puddle of your and his making beneath your ass. reiner’s body goes lax, thoughtfully balancing himself over you with his face propped onto your boobs. it’s only now that he realizes, legs cramped up, that he’s a bit too large for the backseat.

“ . . . i meant what i said earlier.” reiner’s voice comes off muffled, with his face stuffed between your tits and all. he looks adorable this way, gazing up at you with his lips curled into a slight pout. his arms loop your waist, snug and secure.

“mm, you said a lot of things earlier,” is your soft laugh, recalling his crude mouth and how worked up it made you. he allows you to rake your nails through his short blonde fringes.

“applying for this gig is the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me,” reiner makes an attempt to sit upright and show his conviction, but he ends up with his back hunched over in the restrictive space. he disregards his comfort and reaches for your hands, clasping them in his own. “i said that i love you . . . and i mean it.” his words are airy. he’s still winded from the sex.

“and i love you,” you mean it, too. with all your being. you love him in a way you've never loved anybody else. mister braun keeps you safe, sprinkles you with compliments, slips on your heels for you, puts you first. he makes you feel like this pairing has a chance, like you don’t have to hide it. besides, he deserves your all. you should be proud to call him yours, and that you are.

reiner always wants your kisses. in the morning when you wake, right before dinner, and as you’ve recently discovered, after sex too. you’re always eager to receive his lips pressed to yours. “i love you,” reiner adds in between pecks. he now says it like it’s second nature— he loves you. it makes your heart leap from beneath your chest. he kneads your bare thighs in his palms, slowly gliding his tongue into your mouth. without shame, you moan against his lips. slivers of spit tether you both even after you part.

“i want everyone to know that we belong to each other, reiner . . . my family, too.” you admit, peering up at his handsome face through your curled lashes. you’ve got your hands planted at his chest, feeling at the solidity of his pecs.

“tonight?” he asks, tone unsure.

“yes, tonight, rei!”

he adores your sudden zeal for honesty. he truly does, but—

“maybe another day would work better, princess,” reiner muses, “when your parents wouldn’t kill me for all those hickeys on your neck.”

3K notes · View notes

kamaluhkhan · 5 months

Text

you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

3K notes · View notes

evielmostdefinitely · 5 months

Note

i need more about the wedding or the wedding press tour.

or smut on the train.

all of it. anything.

snow bride |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: based off the wedding night on the train before the press tour.

contains: smut. 18+. dom/sub dynamics implied. oral fem receiving. pinvsex.

“Wait!” Corio called, hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. Your champagne soaked squeals had him grinning, hand slipping around the white material of your dress.

“Corio,” You laughed, turning in his arms. “What are you doing?” Your eyes shone, love drunk and glassy with adoration, the high of the wedding, the reception still fresh. Your family, friends, other elitist members had waved you goodbye, with tight smiles and slithering hopes of joy for the newlyweds.

“It’s tradition, my love.” Corio smiled. Alone, he was more generous with his affection. His hands moved, bending at the knees to hoist you, one arm under your knees, the other on your back, cradling you to his chest.

You laughed, head tipping back, dizzy off the champagne that seemed to endlessly flow, drunk off the way Coriolanus held you while you danced. He moved into the threshold of the train’s carriage, the wafting scent of roses. Tigris and your other bridesmaids had taken the liberty of decorating the honeymoon carriage. Dozens of white roses, just like the ones from the ceremony, lined the carriage’s space. Dripping wax candles in their holders for a more romantic ambiance. A bottle of champagne and a signed card of well wishes on the plush bed, where Coriolanus set you down.

You lay there, sprawled, the frill and pearls of your dress around you, veil fanning around your head like a halo. Coriolanus grinned over you, blonde curls fallen from his coiffed hair from the night.

“How will this do? Hm, for the next two weeks?” Coriolanus reached his hand up, now bearing his own wedding ring, complimentary to your own. “Up to the Prima Donna’s standards?”

The nickname you despised had you rolling your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “It’s wonderful.” You hummed, blinking up at him. “Much nicer than what I expected.”

“You didn’t think I’d put you in something like the tributes used to come on, did you?” Corio grinned, stroking your cheek bone affectionately. “Your father would have a noose around my neck before we ever made it to the train station.”

“No,” You giggled, shaking your head, your hand falling gently on top of his. Rings rubbing, metal on metal. “I just… It’s nice. Feels like home.” Your now shared home with Coriolanus, you meant. A wedding present after the engagement from your father, before you moved into the Capitol’s Presidential Mansion. Always with fresh cut roses, burning candles, and soft fabrics that relaxed Corio. Made it entirely your own.

“We’ll be back in no time, my darling.” Corio whispered, the pad of his thumb brushing over the soft rouge of your cheeks. “It will be a nice break. Nice to see all of Panem. You can see my work throughout the Districts.”

“I can’t wait.” You hummed, lips pressing gently into the pad of his thumb. Coriolanus’ cock lurched, a jolt of excitement even at the simple tenderness of your touch.

You watched his eyes darken, that primal need fell over him easily, lips curling in a sinister smile. His hands slithered up your arms, circling your wrist gently before he pounced, slotting his body over yours, lips pressed to yours. You loved when Coriolanus was passionate rather than powerful. When he’d kiss you like you were his lifeline, like the very thought of his lips not on yours would have him breaking apart. When he took time to explore every inch of your mouth, swallowing your breathy, needy whines, his tongue pushing past your teeth.

You could feel his erection even through the layers of your dress, pushing into you, hips rolling and rubbing into your own. His hands anchored your wrists down, squeezing them tightly before releasing them, tangling in your hair and veil instead.

“Corio,” You whined, the tug of your veil still pinned into your hair. “I- Let me take it off.”

He didn’t seem to hear, or ignored you if he did. His lips trailing up and down the side of your jaw, pushing into the nape of your neck to inhale your scent, the perfume oil you dabbed yourself with before walking down the aisle- it drove Corionalus mad the entire ceremony. His hands tugged at the veil again just to hear you whine, covering his smirk by sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Corio, please.” Your voice lilted, breathy with desperate pleasure. “Help me take it off.”

His lips were swollen, blossoming red and plump, his tongue running over the bottom lip. Despite the glint in his eye, he pulled back, offering you a hand. The carriage was beginning to rumble, you could hear the whistles and shouts of the crowd bidding goodbye outside over the crack of fireworks illuminating the Capitol.

Coriolanus pulled you up gently, a hand on your hip to steady you as the train started to glide. His hands squeezing the fat of your hips through the dress, gliding down your thighs, your claves to shove the fabric back up.

“No,” You clicked, a huff of annoyance. “You have to undo the buttons.”

“Oh.” Corio mocked, eyes cutting to yours in warning. “My apologies, Prima Donna. How dare I not know.”

You huffed, brows furrowing into a sulking frown. “That’s not a very nice way to treat your wife on our wedding night.” You held the bedpost, his fingers trailing up your legs, squeezing over the fat of your ass- playfully or a warning, you weren’t sure.

“You should be nice to me, Corio.” You turn, batting your eyes at him from over your shoulder.

He lifted a brow- amused. Fingers hooking the buttons from their fastens, calloused hands ghosting down your spine, leaving you shivering. “I think I’m very nice to you.” Coriolanus declared.

“You’re teasing me.” You frown, lip jutting partly for show- partly because you knew how much he loved it.

“I haven’t even begun to tease you, my love.” Coriolanus’ tone dropped to a dark, husky octave that had you shivering, nails digging into the post of the bed.

“Corio,” You whimpered, breath caught in your throat. “Don’t be cruel. Be nice to me tonight. It’s our wedding night. No teasing.”

Corio hummed, loud and dramatic, like he was truly thinking it over. Maybe he was. Maybe he was contemplating being so cruel and teasing you, a punishment for you daring to step out of line- so he could regain control. Or maybe he’d do the opposite, be so doting and ravenous of you, give you the attention you were requesting so you’d become desperate for it even more. Keep you in your place that way, desperate and ruined, only for him.

Coriolanus pulled the fabric off your shoulders, with a tenderness that made your knees weak, delicately removing the dress from you until you were left bare. Standing before him in your wedding lingerie, a garter on your thigh that bore the same initials stitched as his handkerchief. It was a tradition from the old world, something people had forgotten about or let die out with so many other traditions, but you kept. It was sweet, to you, carrying a piece of him intimately to reveal later.

Corio’s eyes never left your thigh, sinking slowly to his knees in front of you. His initials there, stitched in metallic red thread to the white silk fabric, tied to your thigh in place. “Do you like it?” You whispered, the flecks of the golden flames from the candles reflecting in his eyes.

Coriolanus’ gaze lifted to yours, hands cupping the back of your thigh, just above the garter. “You did this?”

“Well, I-I didn’t make it. I, uh, I had it made but it was my idea.” You blushed, heart hammering. “My grandmother used to tell us stories that her great grandmother did this. It was an Old World tradition, but-but I thought it was… endearing.”

Coriolanus nodded, eyes flicking to yours, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Endearing…” He hummed, pad of his thumb swiping over the fabric that covered your inner thigh. “Very endearing.”

“You like it?” You squeaked, nails raking over his scalp, pushing the curls back so you could better see his face.

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded. You didn’t think he’d take to the garter over the lingerie the way he did. “I think you look wonderful with my name on you.”

You blushed, hands raking through his hair. His fingers slipped over your panties, tugging them down slowly. Coriolanus undressed you, just as slowly and tantalizing as before, leaving you entirely bare in front of him- except for your ring and the garter.

Corio had you pinned to the wall, hands anchored in on your hips, tongue lapping furiously at your clit, running through your folds. His eyes on you, holding your gaze, sharp squeezes to your hips when you’d tilt your head back and look away for too long.

“Corio- oh!” You whined, pulling at his scalp, pulling him further and further into your sopping cunt. His mouth suckled at your clit. He was always so good at giving head- too good, you’d told him once, at the beginning of your relationship, though he’d never tell you who his past lovers were.

“‘M gonna- ‘m gonna cum, Corio, please. I-I’m close, I’m so close.” You writhed under his touch, hips bucking and twisting. His hands held your firm against the wall, fingertip shaped bruises blossoming on your skin, eyes on yours, nearly challenging.

Your fingers curled, nails digging into his scalp, yanking at the curls, moans and whimpers tumbling from your mouth as your vision blurred. You hoped the train's walls were soundproof from the other cabins. Corio would normally mock you for being so loud, tease you with a slanted grin. Thankfully, his mouth was still occupied on you, even as your legs shook and slid down the wall, further onto his face.

Your chest heaved, a sheen of sweat that accompanied your flush over your body. Corio grinned, pulling away, hands still holding you in place. His chin was dripping with your release, and he didn’t dare bother to wipe it away. Instead, he kissed you. Hand gripping your jaw firmly, snaking to the back of your head. It was filthy, him making you taste your own release on his tongue.

“I want you,” Corio growled, a heaving breath between a rather harsh kiss. “To keep that on.” He muttered, and you knew he was talking about the garter. “And just that on for the remainder of the night, do you understand?”

You nodded, a pathetic mewl trapped behind your teeth, nose brushing his. Corio’s thumb traced your bottom lip, brushing over the kiss bitten, swollen lip before slowly pressing his thumb in. You took the digit obediently, cheeks hollowing around his calloused finger, sucking lightly. Coriolanus’ cock throbbed at the sensation, at the sight of your rounded eyes on him, sucking at his finger.

“If you want me to keep being nice to you,” Corio’s chin lifted, looking down at you in that authoritative way that made you throb, aching from the freshness of your last orgasm. “You keep that on. Make sure it doesn’t slip.”

Coriolanus kept his word. He was nice to you the entire night, long into the morning when you settled into District One. Your legs wrapped around his waist, clawing at his back, pressing his head into your neck to feel closer to him. He covered you with sweet kisses, lips dragging along your cheeks, your jaw, feather light kisses that had you swooning.

You were aching, linearly limping to the podium with Coriolanus, clutching his arm up the stairs, trying to hide your wince with every step. You’d spend the day in bed after that. Coriolanus would have orders to give, meetings- boring matters you were ok to miss. He’d spend his next night as a married man in the large bath tub with you, petals in the water, your legs on either side of his thighs making the water slosh over the side.

Every time he heard it announced- Mr. and Mrs. Snow. He would beam with joy. That politician smile, dazzling and smug, holding your arm as you walked to the podium of each district.

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mrsbarnesblog · 4 months

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Mattheo Riddle headcanons

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: what is it like dating Mattheo

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff, no mention of y/n, you can be in any house, spicy content under the warning

Author’s note: For all my Bucky fanfic readers, I'm sorry that I haven’t posted in almost a month. This December is just too overwhelming, and every time I tried to finish my fic, it felt like I was wasting my time. I literally just miss the ending, and I hope to finish it as soon as possible.

For my possible new followers and/or HP stans, Mattheo is my current obsession, and I’m literally head over heels for him. And you know what they say: if you can’t find a fanfic that you like, write it yourself. So yeah, I'm trying something new, and I have a few ideas that are poisoning my head every single minute lmao.

sorry if there are any mistakes. hope you’ll like it💘🎀

Mattheo was never that much of a playboy because he didn’t like to share his space and, well, communicate with people in general

Due to his family, he was really reserved and refused to be weak

You weren’t that popular in school, so he had never really noticed you but one day, you suddenly started hanging out with Pansy and he could not get you out of his head anymore

He hated it

He hated that you occupied all of his thoughts for at least a few weeks

Tried to ignore his feelings for you as long as possible, but from the moment you two had to work together on the project, everything went downhill

He was scared to ask you out, not ready to be rejected by the only person he genuinely liked and thinking that maybe you secretly hated him like everyone else

At the beginning of the relationship, Mattheo told you that sometimes he might get cold and distant, but it wasn’t your fault and that you should just give him some time

Mattheo is romantic and for his favorite girl, he always arranged the best dates

He was nervous to kiss you after the first date when he walked you to your dorm

Little did he know, but that sexy smirk and the way he looked at you all night drove you insane

So you just pulled him by the tie, connecting your lips

Since then, Mattheo has been addicted to you

Hands are always on you, holding your hand, your waist or your thighs

Looks at you as if you hung the moon and the stars

He kisses you in front of everyone to make sure that they know that you are his, and he is yours

Likes to pull into into his lap while he’s talking with his friends in the common room

Holding you close, slowly strokes your arms or your back, unable to keep his hands away from you

Whispers sweet nothings

Loves your smell and always buries his nose into your hair

He wears rings and allows you to steal them

His hoodies and t-shirts too

Secretly likes to be little spoon or lay on your chest while your hands are playing with his curls

Buys you everything you might possibly like, even though you always tell him to stop spending his money on you

Likes to study with you because you can actually get ready for the lessons while he has another opportunity to stare at you

So overprotective and always snaps back at people who, even in the slightest way, disrespect you

He never lets you go to the parties alone in case some creepy guys decide to hit on you

Possesive

When you’re wearing revealing clothes, one part of him is proud and wants to brag that his girlfriend is the sexiest woman on the planet, but the other part wants to cover you with big blanket and keep you to himself

Always sarcastic and sassy

Fights a lot

He had never gone to the medical wing because he wasn’t used to asking for help, but since you started dating, he let you heal his wound

Loves when you scold him for those fights, just because you look so cute when you’re angry and he has an excuse to kiss and spoil you

He has anger issues, but he has never raised his voice at you

Actually, you are like a sedative to him because only you can calm him down in a matter of seconds

Will never make you feel uncomfortable or insecure

You don’t like something or someone? Mattheo will make sure to get you out of the room and won’t let that person come near you ever again

The way you call him “Matty” turns him into a literal puddle

Can’t sleep without you in his arms

spicy

During your first time, he was super attentive and always checked whether you were okay or not

Praises. A lot of fucking praises

“You’re taking me so good, my love”, “you look so pretty when you cum around me.”

He likes every position, but prefers when he can see your face

There is literally not a single place in his dorm where you two haven’t had sex

Gets turned on literally by everything you do

He’s risky. As soon as he finds out that you actually liked it, he always teases you under the table, pulls you into the storage rooms, and talks dirty while there are a lot of people around

Got you two in detention a few times for getting caught kissing at night by Snape (you were lucky that he caught you before Mattheo’s hands slipped under your skirt)

His personal favorite is sex in the astronomy tower. The way you’re trying to hold back your moans drives him crazy

Also bathtub in the prefects’ bathroom, where you love to sit with him deep inside of you

He usually dominates, but sometimes likes to let you be in charge and see how you ride him

He has a big appetite, and what is the best way to deal with it? Right, you.

Mattheo would’ve spent hours in between your legs if you allowed him

He never asks for anything in return, but still seeing you on your knees for him is a fucking miracle

Your hair are around his hand, while you’re taking as much of him in your mouth as you can

Eye contact

He’s willing to try in bed anything that you want, except things that might get you hurt

He likes to keep his hand on your neck while he’s thrusting into you but never actually squeezes

Can be rough and fast or really gentle and slow, depending on the mood

After someone pisses him off or if you had a small fight, he always fucks you into the bed with your hands pinned above you until you’re literally crying from pleasure

By the way, when you don’t have time to put a spell on the room, it gives him satisfaction to know that everyone hears the way you moan for him

He always makes sure that you came, and if you didn’t, he’s more than happy to go down on you

Love confessions

Aftercare is a must

Hugs, kisses, food, baths—anything you might want

He always keeps you close until you fall asleep and then just stares at you, wondering how he could be so happy to have you

#slytherin boys #harry potter fanfiction #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle fanfic

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ghostlygeto · 8 months

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let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling”, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate x reader #mine !!#bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion drabble #astarion fluff

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake.

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast.

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst.

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed.

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground.

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides.

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside.

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers.

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day.

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing.

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill.

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless.

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising.

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again.

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere.

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile.

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties.

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression.

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer.

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question.

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals.

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful.

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved.

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar.

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly.

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness.

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh.

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you.

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head.

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall.

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed.

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine.

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach.

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall.

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast.

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go.

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face.

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure.

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic.

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips.

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs.

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes.

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you.

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee.

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you.

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him.

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess.

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics.

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure.

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment.

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely.

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches.

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything.

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should.

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements.

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet.

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up.

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles.

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture.

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void.

So you dance.

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

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sreidisms · 2 months

Note

Early seasons Reid and with BAU!reader whom just has a HUGE crush on her and Gideon has to spell it out to Spencer? I just love season 1/2 Reid. Him in glasses just makes me swoon ❤️

THIS IS SO CUTE, like it's so probable too. I didn't understand if you meant that Gideon had to spell out that Spencer likes the reader or that the reader likes Spencer, so I went with the former. If you wanted the latter, tell me and I'll write it!

An Oblivious Genius

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer has feelings for you but is too oblivious to realise - Gideon helps him.

Genre: subtle fluff

Word Count: 862

Warnings: none

A/N: the way I ended this leaves it open to a part two, so please comment if you'd like one!

“I think you have feelings for her.”

“Huh?”

Gideon didn’t lift his gaze from the newspaper in his hands, the wrinkles on his forehead peeking from behind the inked folio. “I said, you may have feelings for her, Reid.”

Spencer never turned to anyone for help, because why would he? He knew more than anyone else when it came to most things - well, except socially. And emotionally. And anything having to do with you.

The only person that wouldn’t bruise his ego was Gideon - his mentor, his guidance. He held more of a God-like presence than a fatherly one for Reid; his advice and experience were almost holy, a dogma which Spencer believed and followed without questioning.

So when his number one source of truth told him he had a crush on you, it was a shock.

“I don’t think that’s the case-”

“Reid.”

Spencer stopped his attempted rambling as Gideon’s eyes made an appearance from behind the lowered paper.

“Just repeat what you were telling me at the start of the conversation,” the older man sighed.

Spencer shifted on his legs, picking at the rolled up sleeve that was settled by his elbow.

“I know she’s my closest friend, the person I feel most comfortable with, although she’s been working here for less time than everyone else. It’s probably because she doesn’t interrupt me and listens when I talk.” He paused for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I like that.”

“What else?” urged Gideon, setting his newspaper on the desk in front of him.

“I get really excited to see her. Well, I enjoy seeing Derek and Elle too, but I get this weird feeling at the pit of my stomach when I see her.” He pressed his palm to his sternum, showing the origin of the sensation.

“That’s because she means more to you.”

“Yes, but surely not in the way you’re implying. It could be heart burn; do you know that twenty percent of Americans suffer from a gastroesophageal reflux at least once a week-”

“You’re telling me you happen to experience heart burn each time she enters the room?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, making the younger agent feel dumb for such an improbable conclusion.

“Okay … okay maybe not, the two variables cannot be fully independent of each other if they occur simultaneously every time.”

It was surprising to Gideon that such an intelligent and well-rounded person could be so oblivious to something as romantic feelings. He pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing them slowly and dragging his fingers down his cheeks, buying himself some time to think.

“I think an obvious question is, do you think she’s pretty?” he asked and waved his hand to the side.

Spencer bit his lower lip. He thought you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on if he had to be entirely honest; but he couldn’t admit that, not out loud at least.

“I do.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say, Gideon? That I think that she’s breath-taking and there’s not a thing about her I don’t like?” He said it with a certain anger, one that was buried somewhere deep inside him, a result of the pent up emotions and anxieties in his chest.

“Is that the truth?” You’d think that with his profiling experience, he would have learnt to mask the way he was suppressing the fluttery feelings and adoration he had for you.

Gideon sighed before speaking again: “What are the signs that one is supressing emotions?”

“Struggling to identify and express feelings or appearing emotionally distant, unexpected mood swings, and avoidance of specific topics, people, or situations.”

“And doesn’t that seem to mirror what you’re going through?”

Spencer thought about it. He was definitely finding it challenging to pin point his emotions, he couldn’t really understand what he felt for you; he didn’t really have mood swings, but had just lashed out at his mentor over a comment; and he certainly avoided the topic of liking you or the teasing of such from his workmates.

“Shit, I like her.”

Gideon chuckled at his out-of-character swearing. “First off, watch your language. Secondly, I’m glad you’ve come round.” He laid back in his chair once more, lifting up the paper to continue his reading.

The young genius didn’t know what to do with this newfound information. He liked you. More than liked you, really. He was fascinated by your mere existence, your kindness, your humour, and most definitely your looks. How hadn’t he realised this sooner?

“What do I do now?” he mumbled, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his button-up shirt.

“You tell her you like her.”

Spencer near snapped his glasses in half with the way the pads of his fingers pressed firmly in shock.

“You want me to do what?”

“Reid, it’s not a secret that she has a soft spot for you.”

The boy sputtered, jaw opening and closing like a door on rusted hinges. “I- I can’t do that!”

The newspaper rustled as Gideon flipped the page. “One of you will eventually.”

God I need him, he's such a cutie

#writingreidisms #reidismrequests #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #fem reader

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cupid-styles · 1 month

Text

casual

partially based on casual by chappell roan and a lil bit of sad personal experience hehe

word count: 2k

content warnings: angst (no happy ending), references to smut, alcohol, harry being a douche, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

From: H (12:47 a.m.)

Come over?

To: H (12:50 a.m.)

Give me 15

From: H (12:52 a.m.)

. . .

It’s not unusual for her nights to look like this. Or her early mornings, rather.

It wasn’t always this way. When she first met Harry, she wanted nothing to do with him romantically or intimately. She’d heard about his reputation — it wasn’t anything bad as long as you were looking for the same thing. He was an expert in bed and the friends that slept with him always provided rave reviews. Ever excited rumblings of, “oh my God, he’s so caring! He made me finish twice before he even took his cock out” and “he’s the perfect one night stand — seriously, I’ve never had anyone better.”

But Y/N didn’t care for that.

She was a serial monogamous, always bumping around from one lengthy relationship to the next. In hindsight, she supposes she wasn’t any better than Harry, who earned his notoriety from a series — a long series — of casual hookups.

If you needed a rebound, you went to Harry.

If you were going through a dry spell, you went to Harry.

If you were just horny and needed someone to go home with at the end of the night (and he hadn’t miraculously already found somebody else yet), you went to Harry.

And Y/N never planned to sleep with him. Ever, really. He was a fine friend, someone who mixed well with their mutual friends, but they hardly exchanged conversation except for the occasional nicetie. She had his phone number from when he planned Rachel’s surprise birthday party last year and they were friends on Venmo, passing back the same $20 every month for drinks or a shared Uber.

That was the extent of their friendship.

Until a few months back, when Y/N was down in the dumps. She’d been seeing this girl, Samantha, for a month or two, assuming that they were headed straight towards a happy, exclusive relationship — only to discover that Samantha was sleeping with and seeing just about 10 other people on the side. And it only came out because Samantha happened to contract chlamydia from one of her sexual partners, so she’d been forced to tell Y/N for the sake of her health.

Y/N's friends, Rachel, Maeve, and Len gave her time to wallow. They offered it to her on a silver platter, even, offering multiple girls nights out (and in), providing Y/N all the space she needed to cry and complain and talk about how hurt she felt.

But then… a week of moping turned into two, which turned into three, which eventually turned into a month and a half. Her friends were exhausted from watching her spiral into sadness, so they did the only thing they knew: They sat her down and told her she needed to rebound. Fast.

“And who the hell am I supposed to rebound with?” Y/N asked through a sniffle. The only thing that made this whole thing worse was her friends staging an intervention for her because she was being annoyingly sad about her not-really-breakup-but-felt-like-a-breakup. “See, that’s the best part of being friends with a man whore,” Maeve replied eagerly. Len and Rachel sat on either side of her with bright eyes, nodding excitedly. “Harry! He already said he’s down and everything!” “Wait— you already asked him?” “We just put the idea in his head. Don’t worry, men are stupid,” Len quickly waved her off, “But he’s going out with everyone tonight. We’ll feed you a few shots to get you just buzzy enough, and then send you off to your night in heaven. You won’t even remember that girl’s name by the time Harry’s done with you!” Y/N cringed. “Hasn’t, like… everyone slept with him though?” Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s clean. He gets regular testing and uses condoms. Really, Y/N, it’s sort of a rite of passage at this point. But you should do it only if you’re comfortable— don’t let us force you into it.” Y/N swallowed tightly. She had to admit, the thought of a rebound sounded… appealing. She’d swiped through dating apps looking for one, but she was too scared that a one night stand would end in her bloody murder. And it helped that Harry already knew what he was doing, and— wait, was she crazy or was she actually starting to consider this? “Alright, fine,” she replied with a shaky exhale, “Let’s do this.”

That was four months ago.

And what was supposed to be an evening of stupid, lusty, casual sex turned into Y/N falling hard. It wasn’t her fault, though — no, not when he panted breathy promises into her mouth in the back of the Uber, mumblings of “just tonight, you know that, right?”. She’d replied just how she’d rehearsed it in her brain hours prior: “yes, yeah, I know— just tonight. Just for tonight.”

"Just for tonight" shifted into Harry asking her to stay until the morning for breakfast and shower sex. Then, the following weekend, he texted her the ever classy you still awake? at just past midnight. She was indeed up, doing nothing but rotting on her couch and watching a documentary about the deep sea — and her hookup with Harry had been good, really good, and she wasn’t going to turn down another night of orgasms.

As he wrapped a condom around his dick and pressed messy kisses down her neck, he whispered the same hurried sentiments from the weekend before: “didn’t see anyone I wanted tonight and we were good, yeah? It was good. So just… just one more night, okay? That’s fine, right?”

Foolishly, with flittering eyelashes and her nails scraping down her back as he pushed inside, she nodded and echoed his words. Just one more night, that’s fine.

It didn’t take long for their friends to catch on when Harry would leave the bar an hour early without looking for someone to take home. Or, when they’d both be out and, like magnets slowly being pulled towards one another, they’d end up kissing on the street as they waited for an Uber to take them back to Harry’s place.

The guys hounded Harry about it, asking if Y/N was finally the one to tie him down.

“Nah,” he’d reply with a shake of his head, “She’s a good girl. Too good for me.”

When Y/N’s friends demanded to know every last detail, she shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. It's... good, I think."

They only responded with small, tight smiles.

. . .

“Your mom texted me today. She invited us to come see them this weekend.”

Harry doesn’t reply — or rather, he makes an unassuming humming noise — as he gets out of Y/N’s bed, untangling his naked form from her sheets. He hunts down his briefs and pulls them on before stretching his arms out.

“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, grabbing her tee-shirt off the floor and tossing it to her. She sits up, tightening the sheet around her chest. She shakes her head as she clutches the fabric of her shirt in her hands and watches him scroll on his phone.

“No. I thought we could get something.”

Harry hums again, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. Swallowing, Y/N puts her shirt back on. She’s not sure why, but she always feels oddly vulnerable once they’ve finished hooking up. When she’s still naked and he’s already moved onto the next thing, like having plans with the guys or taking a shower before he heads home. She'd even purchased his favorite body wash and shampoo when he started sticking around a bit longer, but he'd never even mentioned it or uttered a thank you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he finally replies. He locks his phone and places it back on the ledge of the TV stand in her bedroom. The simple act makes her heart jump — usually, he’ll stuff his phone in his pocket as he’s leaving. Maybe he was planning on staying the night. “So listen, I know I took you to dinner at my parents’ place that one time, but I don’t really feel comfortable with you talking to my mom.”

Y/N furrows her brows in confusion. “She texted me, H. I don’t, like, regularly reach out to her.”

“Right, but it just makes this whole thing feel way more serious than it is.” he says, sitting back down on the bed. He maintains a steady distance between them and it makes a small lump form in Y/N’s throat.

“Okay,” she murmurs slowly, “That’s fine, I get it. But… we never really talked about what this is.”

Harry glances up with wide, confused eyes. “We’ve said it a million times, Y/N. This is casual. Completely and totally casual sex.”

An ugly, involuntary chortle leaves her chest. He raises his eyebrows.

“We’ve been fucking for four months. That’s not really casual.”

“Yes, it is. It’s friends with benefits.”

“Sure, maybe, but that’s if you explicitly outline that you’re just having sex. No feelings involved.”

“We did that.”

“When?”

“At the beginning,” Harry responds. He seems frustrated now, but it feels as though he’s recalling a memory that Y/N was never even around for. “Remember? I told you, it was all just for tonight type shit. Nothing real.”

“Then why the fuck did you take me to your parents’ house two months ago?” Y/N demands, anger rising in her chest, “And why am I your date to all of your stupid, boring work events? And why the hell are you at my house like four times a week, and why do you have a drawer full of my clothes at your place?”

“Y/N—”

“This isn’t fucking casual, Harry. This is dating. You’re dating me and you don't even realize it.”

“I would know if I was dating you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, you know that.”

She groans and shakes her head, ignoring the way her jaw already aches from clenching it so hard. She grabs a clear pair of underwear from her drawer and quickly slips them on. Harry’s silent the entire time.

Suddenly, she whips around and faces him. “Have you been fucking other people?”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. He shakes his head.

“No. I wouldn’t do that, and it’s unsafe.”

“Right,” she murmurs, placing her hands on her hips, “So piece it together, Harry. Neither of us are sleeping with other people. We’re exclusively seeing one another.”

“You’re just making this out to be way more of a thing than it is—”

“Oh, fuck off!” she exclaims, “You have a key to my house! That’s pretty serious!”

“I didn’t ask you for that!” he fires back as he stands up from the bed. They’re in a stand-off now, staring at one another with angry eyes. She snorts and shakes her head in disbelief.

“My friends were so fucking right about you. You’re such an asshole. You know Maeve called me a loser for thinking you were a good guy?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone and sweater, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

They don’t exchange any other words as he leaves her room. She sits back down on the edge of the mattress, listening as he stuffs his feet in his sneakers and slams the front door shut. She doesn’t even notice that tears are lining her eyes and falling onto the apples of her cheeks.

. . .

It’s barely 48 hours later when Y/N’s watching a YouTube video as she stands in the bathroom, doing her nighttime routine.

Like four months prior, when she hoped Harry would be a good rebound for her heartbreak, she's been moping around in self-hatred and sadness. She's in awe of how cruel and oblivious he's being, but more than that, she can't believe she actually believed he had real feelings for her. Ones that extended beyond sex.

She’s brushing her teeth when she notices a text notification come down, redirecting her attention from the influencer vlog to read the name of the sender. She taps on it to see a familiar initial.

From: H (10:32 p.m.)

Sorry for what I said. Can I come over?

733 notes · View notes

loafgeto · 7 months

Text

ᝬ 𝗡𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⤵︎

geto suguru x fem!reader

synopsis: you are the babysitter to twin girls. their adoptive dad, suguru, is normally dealing with work related issues and comes back one night with a treat.

cw: fem! reader, mdni 18+, explicit language, dilf geto suguru, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), creampie, dirty talking, fingering, squirting, some praising and usage of pet names (geto says princess, baby, and sweetheart, mister and sir are used for geto), you and geto basically fucking and trying to keep quiet while the girls sleep ;P

wc: 3.9k

a/n: hello guys, this is my first oneshot on here🙁 and if you know me, i’ve been obsessing over geto suguru and one of my friends suggested i write about him!! this oneshot isn’t proofread so it’s published however i wrote it like. i’ll go back soon to check for grammar or typo issues. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy because i know i will😋💯‼️

“Come on girls, it’s time for you two to sleep,” you call from the kitchen to the two girls that were sitting by the TV in the living room. After cleaning the table and washing dishes, you went to the girls in order to prepare them for bed.

Grabbing the remote to the TV, one of the girls suddenly whine. “But I don’t wanna sleep. I wanna watch TV still,” Nanako huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in persistence.

“Me too.. I like this show. Please miss Y/n?” the other twin, Mimiko frowns, pressing her stuffed animal close to her.

“I’m sorry girls.. you know your dad gave me your schedules and he firmly said for you two to be in bed by 8:30,” you remind the girls as the remote falls under your grasp and you hit the power button to turn the TV off. “Now if your dad found out I broke one of the rules, he might not let me be your babysitter anymore.”

Their eyes widen in shock and they end up complying to your words. It wasn’t necessarily true. Though, their dad would be disappointed, he wouldn’t fire you because of it. And that’s because you’re actually a great babysitter. The previous ones weren’t as bad, but the girls didn’t necessarily like them until you were hired.

Nanako and Mimiko were quick to like you as their babysitter, in which satisfied their dad and you began babysitting them constantly several weekdays and weekends. It had been three months since, and it’s like you were apart of the family.

Not only that, you were given a good pay every week just to watch and take care of them. He was a single dad, worked 5 days a week to provide for him and the girls, and well, extremely handsome. You were astonished to discover that he didn’t even have a partner. He always dismissed it, declaring he was too focused on his work to seek for a relationship.

Unfortunate. You were honestly attracted to him, but you didn’t get this job solely because of that. You genuinely needed money to support yourself, and since you had prior skills in taking care of children, you figured it’d be easier to earn that way.

You just happen to become interested in the dude. It was to the point you even started developing some romantic feelings for him. You started imagining yourself with him, with the girls, as a family. Even imagining him pinning you down on his bed and fucking you relentlessly. You felt guilty thinking about it all, but no one had to know.

For now, you hide your true feelings about him but still show your respect and care for him. And you weren’t certain but, you even considered that he might have something towards you too.

You tuck the two girls in their individual twin beds, making sure they were comfortable before reading them a bed time story. And when they finally fell into a slumber, you quietly slip out of their room, shut off the lights and close their door.

Venturing back into the kitchen, you decide to grab a small serving of the cookies you three baked for dessert earlier and settle in the living room before their dad got home.

You play on your phone for the remainder of the hour. Scrolling through social media and messaging friends back while munching on the cookies. You glance at the clock several times, reading the numbers before deciding whether to prepare a meal for their father or not. Usually, out of courtesy, you would cook him a simple dinner that he always appreciated by eating and complimenting how well you cooked it.

hello, mister geto. i was wondering if you wanted me to cook dinner for you so that when you get back, it would be ready? you sent him the message, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you waited for a response.

No later than 2 minutes, he replies. no need to worry. i’m getting takeout. thanks though.

Well, you guessed you were able to relax until then, which you found no problem in.

You took this moment to walk around the two story house and explore. Their dad gave you permission to do so, even allowed you to enter all of the rooms besides his unless necessary. You were allowed to touch items but handle them with care or else you’d pay for the damage. You often found yourself in the room where he stores series of novels and single books, and read there while the girls sleep.

This time, you decided to grab one of the books from the Percy Jackson collection and read in the living room before their dad came home. You didn’t know how many times you’ve read the series, but you enjoyed it, and could read it over and over again with no complaints.

By the time it was 9:30, you could hear the front door to the house click, indicating someone was using a key to open the house. You get up from the couch, deciding to greet their dad by the door. The knob twists and as you approach the large foyer, the door opens and their dad steps into the house.

Geto Suguru is definitely one in a billion. His eyes directly fall onto your figure when the doors open, and he found himself unable to break his gaze until he opens his mouth.

“Ah. Y/n,” Suguru was quite surprised with your greeting by the door, but he replaces his expression with a warm smile as he shuts the door behind him. “How was today? Were the girls good?”

“Today went well, as usual, Mister Geto. The girls were good. Did their homework, had dinner, and are sleeping right now,” you reply as he walks past you to get into the kitchen. He gives you a glance and nods, and you follow him.

“That’s good, I appreciate it,” Suguru implies as he enters the kitchen, placing the bag of takeout on his kitchen island table. He gives you another look before adding, “want some?”

“Oh- no, thank you. Please, it’s your dinner. You should enjoy it,” you decline with a polite grin as you went to the other side of the island table. Conversations were occasionally like this between the two of you, it may seem awkward, but it didn’t feel like it. “How was work today for you, Mister Geto?”

“Was alright. Just got dragged into some issues. Have to deal with it tomorrow,” Suguru sighs with an irritated groan. He starts untying the knot from the takeout bag and took out the boxes.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully things will be alright for you,” you reply with a slight frown. “You know I’m here to listen to your problems.”

“No worries, but I appreciate you,” Suguru chuckles softly. “By the way, you sure you don’t want any? I bought too much for one person.”

“I’d feel bad..”

“You should feel bad for not eating, especially when I offered,” Suguru slides one of the boxes over to you. “Come on. It’d be our first dinner together.”

You didn’t necessarily know how to respond and decide to just comply to his offer. You take the takeout box and a pair of chopsticks. “Well.. thank you, Mister Geto.”

Suguru only nods as a reply and you both start to eat in silence. You notice that he frequently sends you glances. Mind you, you’re wearing a dress. The length was mid-thigh and the attire was mainly for the girls since they wanted to play dress up. His glances caused you to ponder if he was becoming uncomfortable and you decide to bring up the matter but Suguru speaks first.

“The dress looks beautiful on you,” Suguru blurts out the compliment as your eyes meet his. You were appalled, to say the least. This unexpected compliment caused your heart to skip rapid beats.

“O-Oh.. thank you, sir.. The girls wanted to play dress up, so I came in a dress in order to do that,” you casually explain, trying not to express your fluster due to his words.

Suguru raises a brow, but smiles. “Yeah? I’m glad you and the girls have a close bond. They don’t have a mother figure but I believe you’re supporting that role for them. I’m genuinely grateful for you since I can’t always be there for them. And you’re always welcome here, even if you aren’t scheduled to babysit them.”

“I really appreciate that. Thank you so much,” you give him a smile. Honestly, how more can this man go to attract you?

“You thirsty?” Suguru brings up next as he starts walking towards one of the cabinets. He takes out two wine glasses, glancing at you for an answer. “I don’t have wine anymore, you fine with some juice or soda and we pretend like it’s wine or whatever?”

You laugh softly. “I’m fine with that.”

Suguru pours juice in the two glasses and hands you one of them. “Next time, I’ll have some wine prepared. Just don’t want the girls getting their hands on something they shouldn’t be touching.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hide them extra careful. Besides, the girls are smart enough not to snoop in areas they aren’t supposed to,” you imply and Suguru chuckles, nodding in agreement.

“You’re right. Next time then.”

“Mhm. Next time.”

You and Suguru finish eating shortly afterwards. He remained at the island table, cleaning up the takeout boxes and messaging his employers on his phone. You went to the sink and began washing your glass cup, and afterwards, you’d finally prepare to go back home.

Suguru stood behind, unbeknownst to you. About to turn around in order to fetch his cup to wash, you felt the sensation of his body hover over yours. This feeling caused you to startle, but you remained poised and watch as he placed his empty cup in the sink.

“Don’t worry, I got it from here,” Suguru whispers in your ear. It sent shivers down your spine and you turn your head to meet his gaze. He was so close to you. His lips were reachable for you and your heart starts pounding.

“I-It’s okay.. I should be the one to..” you start to say as your eyes trail from his lips and up to his eyes. “..wash them..”

You and Suguru stood there, locking eyes for who knows how long. It was cliche, but at that moment, you found yourself getting lost in his dark eyes. You felt your face burning and you were certain Suguru could see how flustered you’ve become. But you didn’t budge, and neither did he.

“Mister Geto..?”

“Fuck..” Suguru murmurs, finally breaking eye contact but remained in the same position. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just—“

He looks back up at you and the expression in eyes told everything.

In an instant, your lips found your way to his. Suguru immediately kisses you back, wrapping an arm around your waist while yours went around his neck. He gently pushes you against the kitchen island table, and he deepens the kiss with more passionate energy.

You pull Suguru closer, a hand going to grasp his hair as his free hand slithers under your thigh and he grips it. Suguru hoists your thighs up and moves his hand further under your dress.

“God.. you’re so beautiful. Wanna fuck you so bad, princess,” Suguru mumbles as he pulls away slightly from the kiss.

“W-Want you to fuck me.. Mister Geto..” you whisper through your pants as a smirk forms on his lips. He gives you another kiss, pressing his tongue against yours. You moan against mouth and he pulls away, sliding his hand up to cup your ass.

“Yeah?” He replies and you nod, feeling the tip of his middle finger trace the soaked area of your underwear. “Already so fucking wet, just f’me.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Suguru then began swirling his finger around your clothed clit, causing you to release a moan. Gosh. The feeling of his fingers just gently touching you already made you a complete mess.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” Suguru reminds you as he pushes your underwear to the side.

“Mhm.. want you to fuck me with your fingers, sir..” you mumble, still holding him by the neck.

Suguru wastes no time and pushes two of his longer fingers into your dripping pussy. You throw your head back slightly, gasping at the feeling before Suguru latches his mouth on your neck. He begins to pump his fingers in and out of you at a sensual pace, circling his thumb around your clit.

Your hand grabs the edge of the island table for support and the other covers your mouth, refraining your loud moans to echo throughout the house. But it just felt too good, that you could barely hold back.

“You hear that, princess? You hear how wet you are for me?” Suguru inquires, pulling back and dropping to his knees. His fingers pump a few more time before he lifts the dress up even more. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“M-Mister Geto..” you moan as you felt his mouth latch onto your pussy. His tongue starts to suck and lick your clit, as he proceeds to slide and curl his fingers in and out of you in a faster pace. “So good..”

Suguru thrusts his fingers deeper, hitting your spots. He uses his other hand to lift your leg over his shoulder for a better angle before pushing his fingers out. He licks your arousal dripping from your cunt and down your thighs before pressing his tongue into your pussy.

“S-Sir!” you throw your head back as you felt his tongue lick in and all around pussy. He gives a gentle blow to your clit before giving it several kitten licks.

Suguru returns two of his fingers inside of you, curling and pumping them at a quicker speed. Your moans escape from the tip of your tongue just like that. It was music to Suguru’s ears and he wanted to hear your sweet and erotic noises more.

The way your walls clench around his long fingers made him wonder how it’d feel like with his dick. Oh, how he wanted to test it out right now.

“G-Gonna cum.. Mister Geto..”

“Cum for me, princess. Cum over my face and fingers.”

A hand goes to grip his hair as he fucks your pussy with his mouth and fingers. You’re close, feeling his fingers curl in you to rub against your sensitive spots. Suguru quickens his pace so you’d cum faster when hearing your wet pussy squelch and moans get louder, messier.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.. cumming—“ you moan out, head falling back and your grip on the kitchen island table tightens as your cum squirts over his fingers and mouth.

Suguru continues to pump his fingers several times as you came, licking all of the juices that dripped from his mouth. He cleans your cum with his tongue, making sure to get every droplet that dropped on your skin.

He gets up, gently pushing his fingers in your mouth in order for you to get a taste of yourself. You suck and swirl your tongue over his fingers and Suguru’s expression turns more cunning.

“Didn’t think my kids’ babysitter was this naughty,” Suguru comments with a chuckle following.

“It’s cause of you..” you murmur as he removes his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva connected from your tongue and the tip of his fingers.

Suguru leans in to give you another kiss, lifting you off the ground with his strength and you wrap your legs around his waist. Your lips moves against his as he walks the two of you over to the living room, where he lays you down on the couch.

“Remember to keep your voice down, princess,” Suguru mutters as he trails his hand behind your back to the zipper of your dress. He gives you another quick kiss as you nod your head.

Suguru completely unzips your dress and lifts it over your head, tossing it to the side before examining your body with his eyes. “So perfect,” he says and lowers his body to kiss you again.

He grinds his body against yours and you could feel his bulge press against your clothed pussy. Even under all that clothing, you knew he was big. So big that you didn’t know if you could take it.

“Need you inside of me, Mister Geto. Please,” you whine as his hand slips under your bra to grope your breast.

“You that impatient?” Suguru chuckles against your skin before pressing several kisses down your neck and chest. But it’s obvious that he’s completely mesmerized. “Need my dick in you so badly, hm? I’ll give it to you, baby.”

Suguru unzips his pants, taking his hard cock out. It sprung up, already dripping in pre-cum. Your eyes were glued on his dick, mouth practically open. Your pussy quivered with the sight of it, knowing it’d be slipping in and out of you soon, making you beg for more.

He could feel his face flush as quickly takes off his shirt and he begins pumping his cock several times with his hand. “Can’t wait to feel your pussy around my cock.”

Suguru slips your underwear off, tossing it to the side with your dress and spreads your legs further apart before aligning the tip of his dick to your entrance. You bite your lip, feeling his tip glide against your wet folds.

“Still so wet..” Suguru murmurs, dick twitching with the feeling of your wet entrance. “Been waiting for this moment..”

“Me too.. sir..”

He pushes his cock inside of your pussy slowly, feeling your walls clench around him at an instant. You both let out moans, and Suguru lowers his body over you while using both of his hands to grab your hips.

Suguru was big, so fucking big. He stretches you out perfectly, as if your pussy was made just for his cock.

“Fuckkk,” Suguru grunts, pushing his entire length into your pussy.

“So big.. Oh g-god. Mister Ge—“

“Suguru. Call me, Suguru,” he interrupts as his face drops to your neck.

“Suguru..”

Hearing you say his name for the first time brought a warm feeling to his heart, it was so soft, sweet and affectionate. The way you looked at Suguru made him wonder if you actually felt the same way about him.

With no hesitation, Suguru thrusts immediately, grunting during the moment when he feels his cock grinding against the walls of your pussy. You cover your moans with your hand, and his thrusts become faster and deeper, hitting every sensitive part of your pussy.

“Fuck! Suguru-!” your arms wrap around him, nails beginning to claw his back.

Your moans start to resonate the room, despite trying to lower it, his cock was just too good. He thrusts fast, his balls slapping against your cunt and you swore you could feel him penetrate your womb. The wet and erotic sounds of skin slapping and your wet pussy starts to permeate the room and Suguru covers your mouth with his, refraining your loud moans to travel to the second level of the house.

Suguru’s pounding you so fucking good, just like you’ve always imagined him doing. But this was way better than all your imaginations and dreams. You’re in pure bliss, overwhelmed with the feeling of how good his cock his. Your legs wrap around Suguru’s waist as he thrusts his cock deeper and deeper as he could, enjoying your moans falling into his mouth.

“Fuck.. your pussy feels so good princess,” Suguru says as he pulls his lips away from yours.

He slips his cock out before pushing two fingers inside of your pussy and rubbing your clit with his thumb again. He thrusts them several times, getting moans out of you before slipping them out.

Suguru flips your body over, and you prop yourself with your two hands while his hands travels back to your hips. He grips the side of your hips, spreading your ass cheeks before slamming his cock back inside of you, making you wince.

“Suguru!”

This position made you feel him so deep inside. His cock rubs against your g-spot every thrust, making your body tremble and moans escape even more. Suguru noticed this made you louder, and he found it amusing and cute how you’re trying to stay quiet as possible.

Your pussy is clenching him so tight, making him grunt and moan. God, he knew he’d love this feeling. “F-Fuck, princess. Squeeze my cock just like that.”

“S-So close again.. Suguru-“

Suguru’s grip around your hip tightens to the point his hand print was marked and he fastens his pace, his hips slamming into your ass and the couch starts creating squeaking noises. Your upper body drops to the couch, unable to withstand propping yourself up. Your moans are buried within the couch and your back arches more to allow Suguru to fuck you deeper.

He could feel how deep he’s going in your pussy, it drove him insane. Fucking your kid’s babysitter should be the last thing to think of but he couldn’t help himself, especially on the first day he met you. For one, all he knew was that he wanted you. Wanted to hear you moan, cry out his name and kiss him. Wanted to cum inside of you and make you squirt. He’d make you his.

“Gonna cum soon, baby— fuck,” Suguru grunts, lowering his body over yours. One of his hands goes to grab your face, making you turn to face him. You both share a sloppy kiss, moans bouncing off each other’s tongues.

“Want your cum in me, Suguru..”

“Yeah? Gonna pump some into your womb. Gonna make you mine.”

You can barely speak, your mind becomes foggy and your eyes are rolling back. Moans can only tell how you’re feeling, and it’s enough for Suguru to know he’s fucking you the best.

Suguru’s lips trail down your neck and to your shoulders, and he peppers several kisses against your skin. He gently bites the skin of your back, returning his grip to your hips as he quickens his thrust, pounding you from the back.

“Fuck, fuck. I-I’m all yours, Suguru!” you cry out, trying to grip the seat of the couch as you reach your next orgasm.

“Cumming too, shit—“ Suguru grunts, his dick pumping cum into your womb as you squirt over his cock and couch. He gives several slow thrusts, feeling the walls of your pussy pulsating and squeezing all of his cum out.

You’re both panting and sweating, processing the moment that just occurred. Suguru’s cock is still buried deep inside of you, gaining the warm feeling of your pussy. He groans, finally slipping his cock out.

His cum mixed with your juices drip out of your pussy, streaming down your inner thigh and onto the couch. Suguru is breathing heavily and he lowers his body in order to press a kiss against your temple.

“Wanna stay here for the night?” Suguru questions, lips near your ear.

“I don’t know..” you reply, turning your head to him before he kisses your lips. “I don’t have extra clothes.”

“Wear mines.”

Suguru kisses you once again, trying to convince you further.

“Come on. It’s late, besides you and I need a shower. And clean up the mess we made,” Suguru continues with a short chuckle. “Plus, I’m sure the girls will be thrilled to see you in the morning.”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding your head. “Okay.”

LOAF4U. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

3K notes · View notes

ja3hwa · 7 months

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♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟐: 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤/𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢 ♡

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Your two professors were more than happy to show you some tips and tricks to help you study.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.36k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Colleg Au. Suggestive.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Professor!Yungi x Student!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Swearing. Pet names. Hints of sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Some man handling. Mingi and Yunho are HUGE.

Thank you, @mixling-blog, @yugy-oh, and @senpai-of-doom, for requesting Mingi and Yunho for this day. ♡♡♡

Note: I actually forgot to finish this day, and I'm so sorry. So I'll be making a part 2 once kinktober is done cause I had this whole idea but i just lost track of all the fics and this one got put on the bottom of my list by accident ahhhh.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

There was a secret code in college, an unspoken rule if you will. Never, ever, by any means, fall in love, or sleep with your professors. And yes, they might be handsome, and they might be only seven or so in age difference. But never, EVER, be romantically or sexually involved. And this rule stuck by most students and more professors. There were young girls who always fawned over the brooding, tall, and mysterious drinks of water known as their music or mathematics teachers. And boys that would whisper among themselves who was the hottest, Ms. Kim, the science teacher, or Mrs. Park, the criminology professor.

But you? You swore the minute you only got barely accepted to the college―since you were late for the cut―that you would not look at your teachers in such an inappropriate and unprofessional way. Besides, you were one day going to be joining them as a professor once you pass your training exam. You always wanted to teach visual arts and Theater and this college has allowed you not only to study such majors and degrees but also train so that one day you’ll be able to teach them yourself to others.

You worked hard, studied instead of sleeping. Sleeping instead of hanging out with friends. Your life revolved around your work, and yet when you met the stand-in, since your normal teacher was away for a couple of weeks. It was like your brain no longer understood how to function. And the worst part…

Theres two of them.

Both are strong, tall, and deviously handsome. One had a voice so deep you could feel the vibrations of his vocals every time he spoke, and the other had eyes as piercing as the sun and a smile that could kill. To say they were your ideal type would be an understatement. And what was the icing on the cake? They are huge. Beefy broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs, heavy chests. They were like super soldiers, and oh, how that made you swoon. Wanting nothing more than for them to pick you up and throw you around as if you weighed nothing. If you were to stand in between them, you surely would be caged in the best way possible.

You met them during the first term, six months ago. And every day since was a little unspoken game of cat and mouse. You didn’t flirt at first, still wanting to be professional but as your late hours at the library grew or the time spent sitting in an empty classroom for some quiet as your dorm was too loud to considerate became more common. Mr Park and Mr Jung came to your aid to help you with your studies, of course. First, they would sit at the front of the classroom while you were at a row of desks. They would explain about being a teacher, cheat sheets of sorts, and tips for when to do your first training shift. Helping you understand the ins and outs of navigating college students. And then it slowly moved to one of them sitting next to you, Mr Song, you could smell his cologne, the musk of his natural scent. His arm would brush yours, occasionally making you see how his large biceps were. And they were definitely the same if not larger than your thighs. Your body felt so small next to him.

And then Mr Jung sat on the other side of you. The feeling of being caged was coming to reality, and it was burning a fire inside of you. You tried to brush away these feelings. They are your professors, after all and one day, co-workers, not some school crush to dot over. But they were so smooth-talking, charming, with flirtatious smiles, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder since they are so naturally big, were they big else where…

“You get all that peach?” Mr Jung’s voice snapped you out of your lewd thoughts, redness suddenly pooling on your cheeks. You see that’s why Mr Jung had given you such a nickname, Peach, was because of the shade of pink your cheeks would be whenever he made eye contact with you. Deep down you knew your professor shouldn’t be nicknaming his student but then again you didn’t take the classes they taught, and the longer you thought about it, the more okay it was to flirt back. After all, you were all adults.

“You seem a bit distracted today?” Mr Song grumbled behind you, making a shiver dance down your back. My god, if that man sounded like that on a regular, you wondered what his bedroom voice sounded like, or even better, his morning voice. “Is something bothering you?” he asked, placing his large hand on your shoulder, stopping you from turning to the side to see him. No, instead, he slowly rubbed his fingers deep into your tense muscle, making you feel relief surge through you. You almost forgot to answer the question, too focused on the older man's hands doing wonders on your shoulders.

“I-I uhmm…” You were lost, suddenly feeling Mr Jung’s hand grip the top part of your thigh, rubbing circles on your exposed flesh where the hem of your shorts are. “It’s just. M-mr Jung…”

“Don’t worry, Peach, and I said already. Call me Yunho. We are going to be co-workers soon. You should address me and Mingi as such.” He included his friend and co-worker at the end, letting you know what you’ve been told for the thousandth time, call them by their first names. “You seem tense, darling. What could ever be the cause of so much tension in this pretty body of yours.”

Your eyes snapped open now, looking at Mr Jung―uh you mean Yunho―in his intense stare. Did he just call you darling? Now, your face was definitely redder than a tomato at this point. “Y-Yunho…”

Yunho groaned, biting his lip while rolling his eyes slightly. he had to pull back for a second before returning his hand to your thigh. “God, my name sounds so good when you say it.”

You looked away for a moment, feeling your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. The next thing you knew, a pair of large beefy arms pulled you by your waist until your ass was placed onto a board, hard, lap. “Say my name Doll Face. I wanna hear what my name sounds like coming off your pretty lips.” All barriers were gone and lines were being crossed. But none of you cared anyone. The flirtation became too much, more so for the men it seems and with Mingi’s lips finding the sweet spot behind your ear you couldn’t help but moan;

“Mingi…”

“Fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl.” The hold Min had on you got tighter, and his huge biceps caged your back against his heavy chest. Your mind was spinning at the sheer thought that all Mingi and Yunho had to do was squeeze you tight enough that you’d break. They are so much bigger than you, stronger than you. They could throw you around and do as they pleased to you and all you could―would―do is lay back and take it.

“We knew you’d be such a good girl for us peach. Just look at you, head empty already when we have barely touched you.” Yunho chuckled, squeezing your thigh, letting his long fingers slip towards where you needed them most. “you want us to touch you, darling? Teach you some real lessons?” He emphasized the word ‘real’, all knowing that He and Mingi were going to teach you anything but a real lesson in this moment.

“Please…” you retched out for Yunho, gripping his perfectly iron button-up, pulling him towards you. “Please show me…” He drew his lips to yours quickly as Mingi’s bit down onto your shoulder while his hands loosely move to open your legs, letting Yunho cup your entire wet cunt with his huge hand. You were most definitely in for a night of your life.

-♥︎

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

Steve proposes to Eddie during DND.

He's played about a dozen times since the Vecna ordeal three years ago, just one-off stories with no real consequences, and while it took him a little bit to get a feel for the game, he's finally reached a point where he doesn't feel totally out of place.

It helps that Eddie absolutely lights up every time Steve agrees to play, that his boyfriend tends to go a little easier on the rest of the table because they all help Steve half-fumble through the mechanics. It's worth it when Eddie beams at him for figuring something out first, for suggesting a dumb play that has the table screaming when it works.

It's the summer after the kids' senior year, and when Eddie offers to run an all-day one shot to celebrate their graduation, Steve instantly starts planning. He talks to Robin, who absolutely gushes over his idea, and along with Dustin they plan it all out.

He learns the premise of the one-shot from Eddie - there's a big bad who's been taking people from the kingdom, and the king is finally forced to do something when his own son, the prince, is also taken - and Dustin helps him make a character, a fighter who is the personal guard of the prince, whose goal is to find and bring him back safely.

Eddie seems pleased with the character when Steve explains it to him, even more so when Steve suggests the idea that they've fallen for each other and have been lovers in secret. "You're such a romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says before kissing him, and Steve knows it’s a tease and a compliment, knows that Eddie loves how soft he can get over things like that.

The game happens about two weeks later, and Eddie wasn’t joking when he called it an all-day affair.

They get started at about ten that morning, Steve and Eddie, their four boys, and Erica all crowded around the little dining table in Steve and Eddie's little apartment, with Robin, El, and Max entertaining themselves in the adjacent living room.

At Eddie’s insistence, they take a break every couple of hours so everyone can get up and stretch and use the toilet, with slightly longer breaks for lunch and dinner (sandwiches and pizza, respectively, both provided by Steve and Eddie).

The big bad is defeated at around nine that night, and everyone is elated as Eddie takes them through the aftermath, letting each player character have a short moment to reunite with their stolen friends and loved ones.

Robin and the girls have moved to sit on the nearby kitchen counter to listen, partly because El always enjoys these soft moments in the story, and partly because Robin knows what’s going to happen soon.

Steve stays quiet, letting the others have their moment as he fights down the sudden anxiety that sparks through him, knowing what he’s about to do. He looks up when Eddie says his name, takes a steadying breath, and asks "Do I see the prince?"

Eddie nods, says "You do."

"I go over to him."

"He sees you approaching and he rushes to you, meeting you halfway. As soon as you're close enough, he throws his arms around you and says 'I knew you would save me, darling.'"

Steve smiles. "I say, 'I always will, my love' and then I kiss him."

The teens hoot and holler a little as Eddie grins. "He kisses you back, and for a moment it's like everything else fades to the background. All that matters is him, back where he belongs, safe in your arms."

Steve nods, and before he loses his nerve asks "Can I do something?"

Eddie quirks a brow, curious. "Of course,” he says, and Steve takes a breath to steady himself.

"I take his hand, and then I drop to one knee."

A couple of the teens give little 'ooh's as Eddie looks at him, clearly a little surprised, and Steve continues before he can say anything.

"Three years ago, I took my place by your side as your personal guard. I swore to care for you, to protect you from anything that would want to hurt you, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love."

Steve swallows, knows he's blurring the line of character and person as he speaks, staring at Eddie across the table.

"The last three years have been everything to me. Any time I'm not with you, you're the only thing I can think about, and every day spent with you is a fucking gift, because I know just how close I came to losing you."

The sudden urge to touch Eddie becomes overwhelming and he stands, watches Eddie's shocked face as he rounds the table and drops to a knee in front of his lover. Eddie's eyes are wide and he gives a soft "Steve?" as Steve takes a slender hand in his own, remembers the words he had practiced over and over with Dustin.

"I don't want to be just a fighter anymore. I want to be a paladin, set on a righteous path, and if you'll let me, I want to make an Oath of Devotion. Not to any god or angel, but to you, the love of my life."

Steve pulls the ring from his pocket and offers it to Eddie. It's very much not traditional, and at first glance seems to be just another chunky ring that blends in with Eddie's current selection. But Steve had to get it, the shield molded onto the band and the new 'beloved' engraved on the inside repeating what Steve always says, I'll protect you, I love you.

Eddie is in tears as Steve stares him down, as he gently asks "Eddie Munson, will you marry me?"

For just a second, Eddie is completely still, save for his shaky breathing. Steve doesn't get scared, he knows that sometimes it takes Eddie a second to register things when he's overwhelmed. He waits it out, and after a few seconds Eddie blinks rapidly before jerking forward, dropping to his knees as he throws his arms around Steve. "Fuck yes! Of course I will!"

Cheers erupt through the room, and a flash goes off when they meet in a kiss. Eddie looks over to see Robin with a camera in her hand and tears streaming down her face. “Don’t mind me,” she says, a bit choked up even as she beams at them, and Eddie’s head whips back to Steve.

“You planned this!” he yells, unable to stop his own tears from falling, and Steve laughs. “Of course I did!” is his reply as he takes Eddie’s hand back so he can slide the ring onto it, and he ignores the second flash from where Robin sits.

“Wanted it to be perfect,” Steve says softly, stroking his thumb over the ring, now at its new home on Eddie’s finger. “Wanted you to know how much you mean to me, and I figured something nerdy would hit all the right buttons.”

“I helped with the nerd stuff!” Dustin calls from his seat, and Eddie laughs wetly as he scrubs at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I should have known something was up with you, Henderson. You’ve been bouncing off the walls for weeks.”

Steve stands up from the floor before helping Eddie up, and they both grunt as Dustin practically slams into them for a hug, quickly followed by a more reserved El. They hug each of the kids in turn and accept their congratulations, and after a few minutes Eddie is put together enough to actually finish out the one-shot.

Later that night as they're getting ready for bed, Eddie presses up behind Steve, one hand sliding to rest on his stomach and the other opening in front of them, revealing a simple, gold band.

"You beat me to it, you dick," he says with so much tenderness, and Steve laughs as he takes the ring.

"You can still do your proposal, if you want," Steve replies, heart swelling as he looks over the band, sees the little 'sweetheart' engraved on the inside.

"Nah, there's no way I can top what you did for me."

"I dunno, you normally top me pretty well," Steve teases, just to hear Eddie's delighted little cackle.

He turns and hands the ring back to Eddie, asks "Put it on me?" and Eddie smiles. He takes the ring and slides it onto Steve's finger, his thumb brushing over shiny metal, and Steve feels so fucking happy as they meet in the middle for a kiss.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #joey writes #steddie fanfic #heres the proposal fic #as promised #i see you all screaming in the tags and please know it brings me endless joy #ily all #oath of devotion

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kxsalt · 13 days

Text

An evening of laughter over dinner. The young lady sits at the table with a couple, sharing wine and stories. Ever since the pair had moved back into the city, she had quickly grown very close to her friend and her new husband. From the first time she saw them together, the single girl thought they were a perfect couple. She watches them share a kiss with a pang of jealousy and another emotion her inexperienced soul can’t quite describe yet.

A week later the girl rides the train home after a terrible date. The woman had no romantic intentions and was only interested in selling health supplements. Already exhausted, she opens her dating app to see a hundred shirtless men holding fish. She closes it again with a frustrated grunt. The girl arrives at her station and starts to make her way through the crowd.

Up ahead, in the throng of people, she spots her newlywed friend. Her heart jumps, and she pushes through the mob to try and get close to her. I can’t wait to tell her about my horrible date. Maybe she’ll want to hear about it over dinner again. That unfamiliar feeling returns. Getting closer, her friend steps out of the human traffic, standing with a man she doesn’t recognize. The girl is only a few metres away, but invisible among the other passengers.

She watches her friend pull the strange man in for a kiss.

Disbelieving her own eyes, the girl freezes. Even as annoyed people bump into her, she watches, mouth agape as the married woman makes out with the stranger.

What am I seeing. I must be crazy. She wouldn’t cheat on him, they’re both perfect… for each other. I must have this person mistaken for my friend.

The kiss breaks and the woman laughs. A laugh as unique as a fingerprint. The girl sees every detail of her smile.

Oh god, it is her. Why me? What am I going to do?

She returns to her empty apartment, feeling strangely heartbroken. Her husband is an amazing man, doesn’t he deserve to know? Is it none of my business? How could she do this? The next few days are torment. Wracked with guilt from her involuntary secret, she decides to take the unenviable step of telling him about his wife’s infidelity. I have to. It would hurt him more if I didn’t tell him. And it would help her in the end. That unfamiliar feeling cracks through her fear.

Arriving at the couple’s home, the girl feels like she’s going to have a heart attack. Welcoming her in, the married man makes her a cup of tea. The girl is obviously distraught, and he tries his best to calm her down so she can talk. A word salad spills from her mouth, and she starts to cry as she explains what she saw. The man’s face falls as the girl becomes more overwrought. She finishes her story, looking at his soft, compassionate expression.

“I am so sorry that you saw that. I can see how upsetting this is to you. We were always worried that something like this would happen. I’m sorry it was you.”

The girl stops crying, disoriented by his response. She expected him to be angry, or sad, or devastated. But his only concern is for her. He doesn’t seem hurt in the slightest. The man brings her some tissues and encourages her to drink her tea. Sitting down beside her on the couch, he gently starts to explain.

“When we first started dating, we were seeing other people, too. It kind of just… never stopped. We felt comfortable with it, and we knew we wanted to be with each other… It’s changed a lot over the years. When we became official, we would give each other passes, for a date or a night of fun. Always equal. We agree on a pass, we each hook up with someone, and then we come back together. I know it’s unusual, but it works for us.”

The girl is bewildered by his explanation. He continues:

“When we got married, we knew it would change again. We both want to settle down, find a different way for us to do stuff like this without chasing random people. Actually, this pass is supposed to be the last time... Like that at least. I’m so sorry that you got so upset by what we’re doing. You’re a good friend, I know you care about both of us so much. I can see how that would terrify you.”

Her head swims, she stares at the wall. The adrenaline of her mission has worn off, replaced by confusion and embarrassment. He calls his wife and asks her to come home early, so they can explain everything together. A half hour later, she rushes through the door and envelops the young girl in a big hug. The couple holds hands while they answer her questions. The girl relaxes. Her heart warms when she sees them kiss, confirmation of their love.

Feeling as if she has intruded enough, she gets ready to leave. Excusing herself to the bathroom before she goes, the girl sits on the toilet pondering the night’s conversation.

Out of all the possible outcomes, this is the best I could have hoped for. She washes her hands. The best I could realistically hope for. The girl is confused by her own line of thinking. Anything better would be impossible. She dries her hands. What else could I wish for? The girl stares at herself in the mirror, that strange new feeling wells up inside of her, stronger than ever before.

Leaving the bathroom, she finds her friend waiting for her.

“Thank you for being so understanding… I know it’s a lot. I know you came here because you wanted what was best for us, even though it was scary. I admire that. He admires that. You’re a good friend.”

“Thanks, I’m sorry I got so far up in your business… Good luck now that you’re through the ‘giving out passes’ phase. I hope whatever you two do together brings you closer together.”

“Oh, well, we’re not quite done with the pass thing yet.” She subtly points into the living room. “He hasn’t used his pass yet.”

“Ah, well, if I see him with a girl I won’t come crying to you. Haha.”

“Haha, yeah. I mean he could use it with whoever he wanted to. That’s how it works.”

“Right, you explained that earlier.”

An awkward pause drags through the conversation.

“Do you want to stay for dinner tonight?”

“I feel like I already overstayed my welcome.”

“You haven’t. I feel like we should make it up to you.”

“Uh, maybe? I don’t know.”

“I want you to fuck my husband.”

The conversation screeches to a halt. The girl stares at her friend, dumbfounded. They start to talk over one another. You don’t think I’ve been trying to sleep with him, do you? No, I just thought you might like to try it. I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble. It’s no trouble. Wouldn’t it be weird? I don’t think so. Does he even want to? He’s brought it up before. Isn’t that weird? I brought it up first. I’m wearing ugly underwear. I could let you borrow something.

“I’m afraid it would feel like cheating.”

“I could watch, to support you. So you know it’s okay.”

The young lady’s heart almost leaps from her chest. Why did that convince me? At a loss for words, she nods her head.

Standing naked in the couple’s bedroom, she paws through her friend’s clothing. A mixture of fear and excitement whirs though her mind. Taking out a tiny pink thong, she slips it on and steps in front of the mirror. Her familiar emotions mix with the unfamiliar ones. Why does it feel so hot, wearing her lingerie?

A knock at the door, her friend enters. “You look beautiful.” The young girl blushes unexpectedly at the compliment. “My husband will love you. Are you ready?” Another emotion, another nod, more confident this time. She summons her husband.

He gives her a kind smile as he walks into the room. A loving peck on his partner’s cheek, and the man steps towards the new girl. His arms wrap around her waist and their lips touch. They surprise each other with a deep, passionate kiss. Their tongues flirt, their noses rub, their hands roam. His kisses work down her cheek, and into her neck. The girl gasps and looks over to his wife. Relief and joy as she sees her gorgeous smile. His wife’s lips move, whispering. Keep going.

Eager to please them, she reaches down to feel his cock bulge in his pants. The man groans and returns the favour, grasping her wet pussy through the skimpy thong. They touch each other, faster and faster, kissing open and free. She unzips his pants and starts to stroke his cock. He lifts up his shirt so she can see him. His body looks better than I ever imagined.

Dropping to her knees, she takes him in her mouth. The faint taste of his precum overpowers her senses. Fingering herself wildly through her friend’s tiny underwear, the girl does everything she can to make him feel good. Glancing over at his wife, she sees her rubbing her bare pussy. She’s lifted up her dress to touch her breasts, too. Her body looks better than I ever imagined.

The trio are thoroughly excited. Nobody can wait for what comes next. He lifts the girl up and tosses her onto the bed. She spreads her legs and pulls the thong to the side. The husband pushes her legs up against her chest. “Oh god, it looks so good.” The wife chimes from her spot in the corner. He rubs his hard cock against her exposed pussy. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

The tip, the head, half way, all the way. There’s no going back now. The married man’s cock stretches out the single girl’s pussy, and they exhale. Enjoying the warmth of his wife’s friend’s body, he starts to stroke his cock in and out of her. The girl trembles, getting used to his size. The wife gasps, rubbing her clit as fast as she can. They fuck each other, making out while the tension releases. The girl is overwhelmed by pleasure and excitement. She starts to encourage her friend.

“Your husband’s cock is so big! Ah~! It’s so good! Ah~! So big… Ah~! Your husband is fucking me so… Ah~! Good!”

“You like that, you dirty little slut?”

“Yes, I love it.”

The couple on the bed roll over. The girl takes his hands and puts them on her ass. A firm grip, and he pulls on her bumcheeks. So he can get deeper. So she can see every inch enter her. She bounces on his dick, thrilled at the thought of how little her friend’s thong is hiding. She feels her orgasm build inside of her. Quickening her pace, the girl will finish soon.

The sounds of a woman cumming fill the room. The couple look over at the wife, helplessly masturbating as she fingers herself to completion. They look back to each other, grinning. “Now it’s my turn…” The girl giggles, playing with her clit while his strong hands pull her up and down on his cock. They kiss passionately again. The girl cums on his married dick, picking up where his wife left off. Pushed over the edge by their chorus, he fills her sweet pussy.

They lie there for what could be an hour, could be a few minutes. The girl slowly climbs off of him, and walks past his wife, also basking in the glow of her orgasm. She heads down the hall, back to the bathroom, to wash up after their encounter. Looking at herself in the mirror again, her unfamiliar feelings beat in her chest. An epiphany strikes her. Like a ray of light through the clouds, she understands herself.

Stepping back into the hallway, his wife is waiting for her again.

“I really, really, enjoyed that… I hope you did, too.”

“It was almost perfect.”

The girl walks up to her. She wraps her hands around her waist. Their lips meet, they kiss. They push back into each other, letting the taste of their first embrace waft through them.

Their fingers touch. Holding hands, tugging lightly, they walk each other back to the bedroom.

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