Imagines and fictions to read

You always had a perfect idea of marriage. Since you were little. Everything you were told that a woman was finally complete when she had a family. That everything would be always sunny and surrounded by flowers scent as it was always spring.

That was, of course, until you were arranged to marry Sherlock.

It wasn't a nightmare at all, but it wasn't the dream you were expecting either. Being a man of few words, after the appropriate consummation of marriage the night of the wedding, he never dared to touch you again. In fact, he paid you little to no attention, always focused on a case he was solving, or his books, his drawings, writings, whatever that kept him busy. At first, you wondered if he was just giving you space to adapt to your new life, but that feeling of abandonment kept growing and growing during the following months, and it evolved into the thought that he didn't find you appealing at all. Physically and intellectually.

So, determined to have your perfect marriage, you decided to prove him wrong and started to try to engage with his interests. You showed him the different drawings you made from the flowers that decorate your house in London, or tried to comment something about the book you knew he was reading. But you got only dry responses from him, and you finally gave up, hiding angrily around the house whenever he happened to be around.

That's when his night escapades started.

You were always asleep when he came back, but he did it so drunk that he woke you up every time, whenever he tried to get in bed. One night he didn't manage to, and you let him sleep all night on the floor, only to find the room empty the next morning. During breakfast, only silence, but at this point you were used to it.

Which continues to the present day.

There's one night that you wake up for no apparent reason. No sound, no clumsy, drunk attempts from your husband to get in bed, nothing. You wonder why you're awake, and then you realize. He should be back by now.

"I am not going to worry. He is an adult. He should know how to behave" you mutter to yourself when minutes go by and he's still not back. You say so, but you're unable to get back to sleep, so you sigh. "God, please, if he's dead, let it be at least with his pants on. Nothing embarrassing" you mumble as you start getting out of bed.

That is, of course, to hide your concern. Even from yourself.

Fully dressed as if you were about to go to church so nobody could make the mistake to take you for a lady of the night, which ends up happening anyway but you pay those drunk bastards no mind as you keep walking, you finally arrive at the nearest bar, where you can hear some ruckus right before seeing a man being tossed out by the owner. You wish you were surprised, but the thing is, you’re not, as you start to distinguish the features of your not really beloved husband.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Holmes! Don’t start shit in my pub!” the other man yells before closing the door.

You hear the grunts of your spouse as he finds some support on his hands and starts to crawl, finding your feet and the end of your dress, which makes him raise his face, his eyes traveling all the way up until they meet your angry gaze. Then, he growls as he makes a defeated expression. An expression that stings like the bite of a rageful wasp, but you don’t react to it.

“I’m happy to see you too, dear husband” you say. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I’m glad to see this is not as embarrassing as I was expecting. Can you walk?”

“Yes” he aggressively protests, and you witness his poor attempt to get on his feet, which obviously doesn’t end well, and ends with Sherlock again with his hands on the ground, fighting to get some balance.

You roll your eyes white. After having been giving you the silent treatment for months, you could perfectly leave him there to his own luck, but it’s the poison of resentment what is talking. You have always been a compassive soul.

So you bend your knees and take his arm, helping him get on his feet. It takes you some effort, since he’s a big man and it’s not exactly cooperating, as drunk as he is, but when he is finally up, you put his arm over your shoulders as you pass yours around his waist. For a moment, you believe to notice how the man tries to lean closer to your face, making you both almost go to the ground again, but with your help, Sherlock manages to keep some balance.

During the walk back home, the cold air of the night seems to put some sense and sobriety back in your husband. Not much, though. There is no such miracle. But at least he is able to climb the stairs to the main door. Still with your help, of course. Once inside, you drop him on the nearest sofa, because there is no way you’re letting him sleep with you tonight. He reeks of alcohol and who knows what else. But that frustration, that anger and embarrassment he’s making you feel that night keep you from letting it be for the night and going back to sleep. It’s time for you to put the cards over the table.

“Look, nobody can blame me for not trying, because I have tried. I’ve tried until the point of exhaustion. But you…” you were so sure about what you wanted to say until that second, until that pain in your chest makes words stumble. But you continue. “If you despise me so much, why did you agree to marry me in the first place? What did I do to you, so you can’t even at least try to get to know me?”

“I didn’t want to marry you” he growls, his strong voice making your stomach shake, and his words making that stab in your heart sink deeper. “I only did it so my fucking brother would leave me alone” Sherlock fights to remain sitting, as you stay still, in silence, waiting for him to finish to break your heart into a thousand pieces. “When he first told me to get married, I thought I would get a wife that would be satisfied with a quiet life, doing whatever she wanted with a man that didn’t bother her too much, not changing my life, my habits, beyond that. I wasn’t expecting…”

He finds himself lacking words, and you don’t need the rest. He has talked now more than the several months you have been married, and honestly, you don’t need more of it. With your pride and heart deadly hurt, you turn so he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to come from your eyes and you take the first steps to leave the room, walking until you find refuge in the intimacy of your room. The room you’re both supposed to share, and has witnessed nothing but silence and unhappiness. Wiping away a couple of quick tears, you take your time to undress yourself, but you’re barely half done when the door opens, a panting Sherlock that somehow managed to climb a whole flight of stairs, holding the weight of his body against the door frame.

“I thought you were smart enough to understand that if I left you on the sofa was for you to sleep there, detective” you say, instantly defensive.

“You didn’t let me finish” he responds.

“To finish what? Telling me how I have ruined your life? Sure, something I find endearing to hear, please, continue. What is it that you weren’t expecting?” you reply with sarcasm.

“I wasn’t expecting to like my wife.”

You look at him with a gaze burning in anger.

“You are drunker than I thought” you say.

“I’m serious” he replies, stepping inside the room with clumsy steps, until he manages to sit on the bed. It’s difficult to take him seriously like that.

“That makes no sense.”

“It does!” Sherlock keeps protesting. He seems angry about it, which only proves your point. But he continues before you can say anything. “I can’t read, I can’t think… I can’t focus on anything else because I can only think about you! What kind of joke is that?!”

You frown but this time out of confusion, not anger. Stepping closer to him, you see how his expression softens now that you’re near, something that never happened before. But it doesn’t change anything. It shouldn’t change it.

It shouldn’t.

So you decide to step away before it does.

But he is faster and takes your wrist, pulling until you’re in front of him. Sherlock uses his other arm around your waist to hold you closer, the smell of alcohol and his own scent getting all over you. Your first instinct is wanting to push him away, to tell him who the hell he believes he is. That he can’t ignore you for the entirety of your marriage and now pretend that his behaviour could remain without punishment.

But you remain there, not daring even to breathe, because this is the closest you have been in months.

“You’ve stolen my mind, and that’s all I had” he mutters, his breath smelling like the last dozen cups he had.

“Do you think that is an acceptable excuse…”

You don’t finish the sentence. His mouth is suddenly attacking yours. It tastes sour, and sweet, and he’s both clumsy and aggressive. Sherlock traps your lips as he presses you closer to his chest, where you can’t escape from, though you’re not sure you want to either. This is what you have been asking for months, his attention, Maybe you didn’t get it the best way, but he was finally giving in. Even when you were still angry with him. An anger you make sure is reflected on how you kiss him back.

You feel one of his hands on the back of your neck, keeping your face against his as he takes a brief pause to breathe before kissing again, and the other starts vigorously undoing the laces of your corset. You run your fingers through his brown locks and pull from them when you feel how his teeth sink in the flesh of your neck, taking an unexpected moan from your lips as a new found warmth starts to grow inside you. A warmth that is completely new and makes you forget about everything else that isn’t Sherlock or you.

With strong fingers, he rips the half open corset, impatient and lustful, as you can confirm by the sudden thickness that you can feel pressed against your hip. After removing the garment, he spins you and pushes you to lay on bed, your breasts suddenly exposed, as he starts to remove what remains of your clothes. Sherlock then starts crawling on the mattress and over you, like a tiger stalking his prey, a blue gaze that burns more than fire now that lust has taken control.

“Don’t hide from me, wife” he growls when you instinctively put your arms over your exposed breasts. “Your naked beauty is all that I have been able to think about since I saw it for the first time.”

And you obey, not because you feel coerced to, but because you’ve been wanting this, to feel wanted, desired by your own husband, for so many months. However, you still give him an angry stare, wanting him to know that that time isn’t forgotten. But the wetness between your legs betrays how you actually feel, and he can find that out when a couple of fingers slide between your lips, part them apart and get easily inside you, making you moan again as you feel how they push through your canal, with Sherlock’s eyes fixed in yours, both of you, for once, staring at each other with ardent desire.

You don’t get back to sleep until early in the morning, when the darkness of the sky starts to fade.

When you wake up at noon, you do so with Sherlock’s arm curled over you, his fingers intertwined with yours as you keep your hands close to your chest. His face is buried there in that space between your neck and your shoulder, and his breathing is slow and steady. He is still asleep. Or that’s what you think until he presses a slow, delicate kiss on the skin of your neck.

“You’re awake” he whispers then, his voice giving you goosebumps from head to toe.

He doesn’t move one bit.

“I am” you respond.

You notice how his legs are also tangled with yours. His whole body, in fact, is stuck to yours like it has never been before, warmt and soft, unlike those eternal nights that even the smallest distance between both in bed felt like an abyss.

With an unusual calm that has nothing to do with what happened between the two of you the last night, Sherlock keeps going with the kisses, and it feels good, warm and sweet, soft and tender. It makes you lower your defenses.

“Don’t think everything is forgotten, husband” you sigh as you try not to melt under the touch of his lips.

“Mmh” is his distracted response, as he continues.

“Nor forgiven” you add. “You said very hurtful words last night.”

“Then I will have to work hard to earn your forgiveness” he whispers as he gently nibbles your earlobe. “I have to make up for a lot of lost time.”

“Darling, please…”

“Please what?” You teased, a hint of a smile hiding behind a faux stern expression.

Geralt pulled you tighter into himself and buried his face in your chest, “Please stay with me tonight.”

You trailed your fingers through his long silver hair as it hung down on his bare shoulders. The two of you were tangled and entwined with each other along with the once pristine sheets of your bed.

“But you’ve already had me,” you giggled into his ear, unconsciously squeezing your thighs together thinking of the last hour you’d had together.

“Mmm,” he let out a low whine and moved his lips to your neck, “I need you to stay with me.”

“You need me?” You mocked, “you dont need anyone. You’ll be gone by morning, back on the road.”

He stopped and looked up at you. Sad and broken. You immediately regretted the insult, though you’d said it in jest. You realized he was serious.

“I’m so tired,” he said to you, “you give me the solace that I need.”

You kissed him and he pinned you under him.

“Take your solace,” you said and grabbed his hips pushing him into you.

He cried out and buried his face in your neck, “Oh Darling.”

He took you just as furiously as he had the first time and you basked in the pleasure he gave.

You stayed with him all night. But, just as you’d predicted, he was gone with the sun’s first light.

Vizima wasn't well known for its large mountains or protruding hills, but what it was known for were the cavernous rocks hidden on the sides of many of the canals. Even more famous were the giant walls separating the city from the rest of the world. The options for travel were few and far between, either attempting passage through the closed off gates or risking your life on the jagged rocks. For most, the former option was the obvious choice. However, you were most definitely not most. 

Growing up in the mountains, it was often truly a battle of the fittest. You had learned how to climb at a young age, using it to your advantage to gain entry into closed off villages...and the occasional castle. Right now, with Vizima under lock down, you were more than grateful for the many cuts, bruises, and broken bones that had strengthened you into the climber you are today. Without the experience, you'd surely be stuck outside the walls with the drowners all night. 

Nearing the city gates, your feet stop at the sound of a sudden commotion behind you. When you turn, a sight stands before you that you never would have expected to actually see. 

A witcher. 

The snow white hair and glowing amber eyes of the large man make him stand out significantly against the sea of villagers. His skin is scarred and rough, the signs of many battles litter the parts of him that aren't covered in armor. 

For a second, you're completely lost in thought. Witchers were things of legend. Mutants made with the sole purpose of fighting the monsters that others could not. They were fairy tales, myths created to bring some sense of comfort to people. 

Were they meant to be so beautiful? Surely, a savior would be.

The sound of angry villagers forces you from your thoughts, reminding you that not everyone thought so highly of his people. It was truly ridiculous that they would fear someone whose sole intent was to save them. Ridiculous, yet still true nonetheless. 

You look back to the wall for a brief moment, sighing as you decide that it would have to wait. 

"You vile monster! Leave me alone!" The old lady yelling at the witcher shrieks her words. You roll your eyes, but they soften as you catch the slight hurt look on the witcher's face. 

"I think it's best you step away from her, Witcher." The tall man turns at the sound of your voice. His eyes scan you quickly, clearly trying to decide whether you're a friend or foe. 

"I was only asking for directions." His words are defensive, but you don't blame him. 

"Yes, but she's clearly not going to be of any help." You turn to the old lady who is staring at the witcher with a satisfied sneer. Oh, so she thinks you're on her side? 

"Feel free to be on your way, ma'am. You and your prejudice are completely useless and I'd much rather not have to put up with your monstrous ignorance. It's quite hideous." The old lady stares at you in shock and disgust. She spits on the ground in front of you and walks away, but not before shouting over her shoulder. "Let filth lay with filth!" 

Your eyes roll and you scoff. Turning back to the witcher, you find that his eyes are no longer defensive. Instead, there's a certain curious spark that he doesn't seem to be hiding. 

"Now, Witcher. What can I help you with?" He takes in a deep breath, a low "hmm" leaves his mouth before he steps closer to you. 

"I was wondering if you knew how I could be granted passage into Vizima." 

You bite your lip and look at the large gate currently being patrolled by guards. You knew you weren't being allowed entrance because you had no genuine business there. You were simply seeking a friend that had last been seen in the city. A witcher though, may be a different story. 

There were tales of a cockatrice having made residence in the sewers, a beast whose death could most definitely be aided by the help of a witcher. Amongst many other scrolls bound to be posted for help, this beast may be his ticket in. 

"I can’t make any guarantees, but there's a cockatrice living in the sewers and terrorizing the locals. Perhaps if you could offer its head, they'd be more inclined to grant you passage." He nods his head, making that low hum once again. He pulls out his blade and examines it quickly.

It's a beautiful weapon, but you know that without a certain coating, killing the creature would be a severe ordeal. 

Rummaging through your bag, you push things around until your hand lands on a vile of lime green liquid. You smile in triumph and hold it out to him.

"Here, take this with you." The witcher looks down at it, then back at you with slight distrust. Again, you don't blame him. 

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to kill you. It's ornithosaur oil. Coat your blade in it before battle and it should make killing the creature much easier." You push the vile toward him, eager for him to take it. 

It takes him a second longer to make up his mind, but he finally reaches over and picks up the oil. Placing it in his bag, he trades it for a pouch. It jingles with the coin inside. 

"How much?" The pouch tilts over in his hand, ready to pay you for the help. You didn't want his money though, you just wanted to make his life a little easier. Something about his weary look and weathered features made your heart bleed for him. Witchers, like many beings in this world, were treated incredibly unfairly. 

"No, don't worry about it. Consider it a gift." You continue to smile at him, hoping that your kindness could ease some of his stress. 

"A gift?" His brows furrow. Whether he's unfamiliar with the gesture, or just generosity in general, you're not sure. 

"Yes, a gift. For allowing some of us to rest easier at night." His mind is working over your words, taking the time again to decide how to react. He eventually decides to gesture to the large wall to the side of the two of you.

"Are you trying to get in? I could tell them you're assisting me." 

You shake your head immediately. "I'm going in, but I'll find my own way." It's not that you don't want to travel with him, moreso it's the knowledge that the city won't take kindly to lies...especially those told by a witcher. You'd rather not risk it.

"Are you certain? You wouldn't have to actually fight the beast, it would only be to get you into the city. As payment for your assistance." He's almost begging at this point, seemingly a little desperate to pay you back in some way. He wasn't indebted to you though. There really was no need and you want him to know that. Some kindness is simply that.

"You don't owe me anything, Witcher. Though, I hope to be seeing you soon." You mean that. Before he can argue again, you turn and jog down the side of the elevated grass and toward the wall to the city. Turning one last time, you offer the witcher a small wave and smile. He nods to you. 

Walking on the bridge and up to the guards, Geralt can't take his mind off of you. The way you had swooped in, essentially rescuing him from the old woman and even going so far as to tell her off...it was like nothing he had ever seen before. You were small and unassuming by comparison to his own large and intimidating stature, not someone he'd deem a threat. Yet, the fierce protectiveness you'd shown in his defense made him second guess just how much he should really be underestimating you. 

Lost in thought, he nearly misses the flash of something caught in his peripheral vision. A witcher never misses anything though, so he does turn. What he sees is shocking, to say the least. 

You'd not taken him up on his offer to get you into the city, and seeing you steadily climbing the large wall told him exactly why. It was impressive, though that felt like an understatement. Geralt had trained endlessly within the walls of Kaer Morhen, but nothing he could do was anywhere near as incredible as the way you skillfully sought out each foothold, hoisting yourself up without fail. 

Now he'd really need to be sure not to underestimate you. 

When he reaches the guards, he begins the conversation he's had many times before. Kill a monster, receive payment. In this case, payment would be entrance to the city. 

Halfway through the monotonous convincing, a rock crashes to the ground off to the side that you'd been climbing up. Geralt's eyes instantly seek you out, finding you desperately attempting to pull yourself up over the ledge by the small grasp you still had on the stone. His heart rate picks up, nearly as fast as a humans as he wills himself not to panic. 

The thought of you getting hurt or caught struck fear in him that he could not quite explain. 

The guards turn, and in a fit of fast thinking, Geralt says the first lie that comes to mind. "The sun is nearly set. Sounds like the drowners are getting an early start to their night." 

This instantly stirs alarm in the soldiers, who scramble to make their decision. Geralt's eyes drift up once more, a small smile spreading over his lips as he just barely catches your bag flip over the other side of the wall. 

You'd be safe, and he knew he'd be seeing you again. 

Turns out, again came sooner than either of you thought. 

Sitting in The Hairy Bear, you nurse a small pitcher of alcohol while watching the surrounding crowd. It wasn't exactly safe here for a woman alone, so your hood was decidedly staying up while you sat in the corner to rest. Things hadn't quite gone to plan. Your friend, as it turns out, was not in the city at all. He'd left not a day before you'd arrived, taking with him the last chance you had for a decent rest in weeks. 

Like you said, it wasn't exactly safe out here for a woman. Or anywhere, really. You were exhausted, and the promise of having someone you trusted to allow you to lower your guard was nearing a necessity. You could fight, even better than most of the men here, but that wouldn't protect you if you were sleeping...or too tired to stand. 

From the opposite end of the tavern, the door swings open with a gust of wind. You pull your cloak closer, attempting in vain to stop the icy chill from reaching your bones. It takes only seconds for you to discover that something is wrong. The whole rowdy room was now eerily silent. 

"Get out. We don't mingle with mutant scum!" Your eyes dart up, already knowing who you'd find on the receiving end of such harsh words. 

"I'm simply looking for a place to rest." The Witcher makes to move past the drunkard, but the man pushes against his chest harshly. 

"I said leave you ugly sack of shit!" Where there was only one man before, now there are at least ten backing his cruel words up. 

Even from here, you can see the turmoil in his golden eyes. If he hurts them, he's only proving them right. How cowardly of them to attack him when they know he can't fight back. 

Another shove, and the drunk man is nearly spitting in the witcher's face. That was the last straw for you. 

"Fucking monsters like you should-" the man stops suddenly, feeling the cool blade pressing against his throat. Your hood is still over your head, but you know your identity won't remain a mystery for long. The witcher might have enough restraint to take the abuse, but you sure didn't have enough to allow him to. 

"Should what? Don't get shy now, finish your fucking sentence!" The harsh scowl can't be seen well, but the acid in your voice translates it nicely. You see the way the man's eyes grow in fear and it only prompts you to push the blade a little deeper. 

"Nothing? How utterly humiliating." You almost want him to fight back, give you something fun to do. He doesn't though, and you and the witcher watch as he walks away with his head held low. 

The group around you watches with baited breath. Tired of it, you lift your blade again. 

"Anybody else care to voice your idiotic beliefs?" The crowd immediately disperses and you shake your head in annoyance. How very typical of them to chicken out when faced with an opponent that can fight back. 

Once everyone has gone back to what they were doing, you turn to the witcher and lift your hood. 

"I knew I'd be seeing you again." The smile on your face is a stark contrast to the angry yells you had shouted only moments before. 

The witcher offers you a small smirk. "That was impressive." The look on his face tells you that he's acting nonchalant, but you can see in the way his eyes soften that he truly appreciates the help. 

"It's not hard to intimidate cowards." Behind you, your ears pick up the angry voice of another drunk man. 

"Look, she's just another headstrong bitch!" Your eyes go dull for a second before you pull a dagger from the holster on your thigh and turn suddenly to let it fly through the air. It lands directly in the palm of the man, shattering his glass and causing him to howl in pain. 

You turn back to the witcher with a smile. 

"Sometimes intimidating requires a little bloodshed." He lets out an amused puff of air, this time smiling genuinely down at you. 

You guide the tall man back to the corner you were seated in before the commotion, allowing him to choose the seat he felt most comfortable in before occupying the empty one across from him. 

"How did the battle in the sewers go? I'm guessing you won. You know, considering you're here." You offer him some fruit you had at the table and he takes one. 

"It wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. The oil you gave me was very useful though." He takes another piece of fruit, and you can tell he's hungry. Waving down the waitress, you ask her to bring you some bread and stew. 

"Are you hurt at all?" His face contorts slightly, but that is quickly wiped from his features when he notices he's made it obvious. 

"It's nothing I can't handle." You nod and pull out a few herbs from your bag. 

"I don't doubt that. But you don't have to handle it alone." Working quickly, you crush the herbs into a paste, pouring in some of your alcohol as a base to make the remedy into a digestible liquid. 

The witcher watches you in interest, this time not at all defensive when you slide the liquid over to him. 

He takes it and sniffs it, nose scrunching like a wolf when he gets a whiff of the medicine. The waitress places down the food in front of you and you thank her. 

Tearing off a piece of bread, you push the bowl and loaf over to him.

Instantly, he's shaking his head as he recognizes the generosity that's clearly becoming a pattern with you. 

"I'm not hungry. You should eat." He places the liquid down, ready to continue to argue. Too bad for him, you're much more stubborn. 

"I already ate. Besides, that thing tastes about as bad as it smells. It works wonders to stop pain and infection, but you're going to need something to get the flavor out of your mouth." He looks into your eyes, golden honey piercing into you as he tries desperately to understand. 

"At least let me pay you this time." You begin to shake your head, but stop suddenly as you remember you have no place to sleep. 

"Are you planning to rent a room here?" He nods his head. "I can cover the cost for you to stay tonight." 

Your eyes find the innkeeper and you sigh. 

"I was actually wondering if I could stay with you. The innkeeper here is a misogynistic pig. He doesn't allow women to rent rooms alone." When you look back to the witcher, you're not surprised to see the hesitancy in his features. 

"I'll give you the money for the room, I just can't rent it myself." The offer pulls him from his thoughts and his once thoughtful face turns stormy. 

"I'm paying for the room." You shake your head, reaching for your coin pouch, but you stop when you feel his looming glare.

"Either I pay, or you sleep outside with my horse." You look at him, mouth open in feigned shock. The joking lilt in his voice told you that the threat was lighthearted and you can't stop the laugh that spills from your lips. You don't know it at the time, but he thinks it has to be just about the prettiest sound he's ever heard. 

"What's your name, witcher?" 

"Geralt. Of Rivia." You sit back, relaxing against the back of the seat.

"Well Geralt, you'd better hurry up and eat before I decide to take your horse up as my bunkmate for the night instead of you." 

He takes the threat seriously and quickly downs the medicine, moving to the stew instantly to wash the disgusting taste from his mouth. 

Watching the guards patrol the city from your seat at the windowsill, you welcome the gentle warmth of the fireplace Geralt stokes to life behind you. The cold seeps in through the cracks of the inn, but the flames burn brightly to combat it. When he stands, a pained grunt leaves his mouth and you instantly fall from your reverie. 

Standing, you pull your robe tightly over your undergarments and make your way over to him. 

"Where are you hurt?" Your feet nearly hit against his, hands itching to touch the newly exposed skin as he stands before you in his sleep shirt and pants. 

"It's nothing." He dismisses your concern, but makes no effort to stop you as you guide him to the bed to sit. A soft groan slips from his mouth, and you get the impression that it's his abdomen that's injured. 

Your hand comes up to rest at the laced up collar of his shirt, working the threading loose to expose his chest. Just as you begin to open the shirt, his own strong hands envelop yours and bring your movements to a halt. 

"It's not a pretty sight." Your eyes search his, seeing the self doubt stir to life in his eyes. Did he truly not see how beautiful he was? Of course, he could mean the wound, but the uncertainty in his glowing eyes tells you it's something more than that. 

You nod, and he releases your hands, allowing them to rid him of his shirt completely. You understand his concern immediately. 

His chest is littered with scars, both old and relatively new. Jagged claw marks and the straight lines of blades cover the expanse of his skin. His body doesn't bother you in the slightest, and it definitely doesn't change how breathtaking you find him to be. What it does do though, is make you mourn for him. This world was so unkind to those who were different. The monster slashes were nearly a given part of being a witcher. The more human marks were the ones that struck anger and pain in your heart. 

"I told you it wasn't pretty." You lock eyes with Geralt, hand coming up to rest against his chest. 

"The only thing ugly about this is the fact that people were cruel enough to inflict it upon you." There’s a softness that replaces the fear in his eyes, and you wish more than anything else that you could make that fear dispel permanently. That was unrealistic though. You couldn't stop the nightmares from haunting him, but you could stop the physical pain he was likely in right now. 

Leaning down, you rest between his legs with your own knees softly hitting the floor. Geralt watches you intently, seeing as you pull your bag from the side of the bed and dig around for the ointment and bandages you knew to be in there. 

His injury was painful, but luckily nothing serious in a physical sense. It wouldn't need stitches. You grab a clean cloth, dipping it into some water from your canteen and gently wipe around the skin of his wound. When the blood is cleared, you grab a new cloth and pour the ointment over it. 

"This might sting a bit." Geralt only nods, breathing heavy as he prepares for the pain. 

When the ointment meets his skin, he jolts a little. 

"I'm sorry. I'm almost done, I promise." You continue to cover his injury, feeling as his hand comes over to rest against your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin gently, and you recognize this as a comfort for him.

"Don't apologize. You've shown me more kindness tonight than I've been offered in years." His voice is thick, but it's a raw honesty kind of heavy. He wasn't speaking out of pain, at least not one caused by the cut you were cleaning. 

It almost literally hurts you to move from his grasp, but you have to dress the wound so it wouldn't become infected. Rising slightly, you grab the bandage and lean closer to him. Your body is nearly pressed to his crotch when your hands work the bandage around his wide torso, and back again. Over and over, you brush his thighs, hot breath fanning over his already heated abdomen as you continue to wrap him. When you finish, the flush in your cheeks feels like a wildfire. 

From your place on the floor, you look up at Geralt to tell him you're done. It's only then that you really notice how large he is. His chest is strong and rippled with tight muscle, arms big enough to throw you around easily if he wanted to. His abdomen, though covered, had felt hard against your fingers. You suddenly feel lightheaded at the sheer size of him, and when your hands come up to steady yourself, they land on the large muscle of his thighs. 

That's when you hear it. A low growl rumbles from Geralt's throat when you touch him. Looking back up, you can barely recognize his honey-colored eyes as they are now dark with lust. 

You can feel your core becoming wet, excitement filling you at the thought of Geralt wanting you just as badly as you want him in that moment. 

"Geralt…" Another low rumble leaves from his lips, but he blinks his eyes rapidly to get ahold of himself. When he opens them again, the gentleness is back on his features. 

His hand comes back up to stroke your cheek and his brows furrow.

"You don't have to do anything, kitten. We can just sleep." The reassurance makes your heart swell, only driving you to want him even more. You lean into his hand, rubbing your cheek against the calloused skin of his hand.

"And if I want to do something?" You slowly turn your head to the side, taking one of his large fingers into your mouth and sucking gently. 

Above you, Geralt groans and guides you up to sit on his lap. You let his finger go with a soft 'pop' and smile at him. 

He grins back at you, admiring your face and wishing desperately to have it permanently ingrained in his memory. Your rosy skin and wide eyes would surely be the death of him. That little smile was just the weapon that made it certain. 

Leaning forward, Geralt presses his lips to yours. At first, it's gentle and sweet. You both take the time to explore the feeling of each other's lips, not wanting to take this moment for granted. 

Soon though, it becomes more heated. His hand presses you tightly to him, and you yelp in surprise when you feel the large bulge hit against your clothed heat. 

Geralt chuckles, leaning down to press wet kisses down your neck. He sucks on the skin just above where your robe begins, making you moan as you become more and more sensitive under his touch. 

Your hips grind down on him, and the ragged breath that escapes him makes you flutter against him. When you grind down again, Geralt forcefully pulls your robe off and throws it off to the side. 

He instantly leans down, pushing your bra aside as his lips connect with your sensitive nipple. His other hand comes down to pinch the other, massaging the breast he isn't currently sucking between his teeth. His hands are so large, they encase you completely and your breathing falters as you become more and more sensitive to his every move. 

"Geralt, I need-" you can't finish your sentence as a moan escapes your lips when he tugs on your nipple. He kisses your breast gently and grins at you, cockiness clear on his face. 

"What is it you need, kitten? I couldn't quite catch that." He lifts his face to kiss you passionately, letting his tongue explore your mouth. 

Unable to speak, you instead reach your hands down, desperately seeking to release him from the confines of his pants. He begins to laugh into the kiss when he feels your fumbling hands, but it quickly turns into a rumbling groan as your fingers finally find their way beneath his pants. 

Slipping around his cock, your eyes widen at just how big he is. Obviously, you expected it  because of, well, everything about him, but you couldn't even get your hand halfway around his length.

The shock quickly wears off, as determination sets in. Your hand grasps as much of him as you can and you slowly stroke him, loving the way his eyes shut tightly at the feeling. 

"You're such a sweet little thing, wanting to take care of me." You whimper at his strained words, knowing you'd do anything if it meant making him feel good. 

Your other hand reaches down, cupping his balls and squeezing as your strokes become faster. Geralt ruts into your hand, breath coming out rapidly and fanning your heated skin. You kiss his chest, and his eyes open to meet yours, hand suddenly coming to unwrap your hold on his throbbing member. Instantly you think you might’ve done something wrong, and he notices right away. 

His hand strokes your cheek and he kisses you. 

"If you kept going, I would've cum all over your hand. That isn't where I intend to do that." Your pussy throbs at the gravelly base of his voice and you pull his lips back to you. 

You're aching for him now, desperately needing to feel him deep inside your cunt. 

"Geralt please." He smiles and kisses your nose. 

"You're so cute when you beg." You feel his arm pushing down and stopping right at your clit. His fingers press gently, stroking small circles into the fabric and driving you wild in the process. Your own hand goes down, pushing your panties aside to grant him uninhibited access to your wet core. 

Geralt smiles and presses the rough pads of his fingers back down on your clit again. This time you feel him completely. You whine as his fingers trace the lips of your pussy, slowly spreading you open and tracing your slit over again. 

"You're so wet. Absolutely fucking beautiful." The praise makes you giddy, but you have very little time to appreciate it as you feel a thick finger push its way into your tight hole. 

Geralt kisses you fiercely, swallowing up your moans as he moves his finger in and out of you slowly. When your hand comes up to clutch his arm, he looks down between the two of you and inserts another large finger. You gasp loudly, feeling his two digits pushing into you. 

Geralt kisses you again and you can't help it when your hips grind into the palm of his hand. He leans back, watching your brow quiver as he continues to push his fingers into you, speeding up when your breathing becomes erratic. 

You can feel your core tightening, a slowly building fire begins to light deep within you and you hold on to Geralt tightly as his fingers speed up, thrusting in and out of your wet pussy at an unrelenting pace. Suddenly, you feel the chord snap, your pussy spasms around his fingers and he continues to move them slowly inside of you as you cum on his hand.

He can't keep his eyes off you, and he's glad for that as he watches you unravel beneath him.

When your breath finally calms, Geralt slips his fingers out of you. He brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks your juices off of them, eyes falling shut as he groans at the taste. 

"I'll have to remember how sweet you are for next time." You whimper again, taking his fingers and pulling them into your own mouth. Geralt pulls them out, then watches your lips closely as he pushes them back in. His fingers move in and out of your mouth, much like they had just done with your pussy not moments before. 

"I'll have to remember how good you are with your mouth as well." You giggle around his fingers and push yourself forward, grinding yourself into his hard cock. 

He's leaking precum onto your tummy and you love the way he feels against you. Suddenly, he stills your hips with his large palm.

"Are you sure you're able to?" You answer him by grasping his cock and guiding it to your soaked pussy. 

Geralt groans loudly and you kiss him as he thrusts his hips up, teasing his hard cock against the lips of your wet heat. 

"Please don't make me beg again." You feel as though you'll die if you can't have him now. He continues to tease you a little longer, rutting his cock up and down your slit as he attempts to control himself above you. 

"If I asked you to, would you?" You kiss the base of his throat and sigh against him. 

"Yes." 

At that, he pushes himself past your entrance, just barely stroking the head of his cock into your hole. You grasp his shoulders and try to push him further into you, but he resists. 

"Patience, kitten. I don't want to hurt you." You bite down on his chest and whimper. 

"Oh, but I wish you would." That's all it seems to take to break his resolve. 

Geralt growls as he pushes his cock into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out, reaching your arms around him to both push him away and pull him closer. It hurts, feels as though you're being ripped apart, but somehow you crave the feeling even more with each passing second. 

He gives you a moment to adjust, but you know you can't. There's no way, with how devastatingly big he is and how small you seem to be by comparison. 

His lips come down to kiss your cheeks, and it's only then that you notice your crying. 

"Is this what you want? You want to hurt?" You can't nod your head fast enough. 

"Please." Geralt groans and pulls his cock nearly all the way out, his head just barely inside you, before he pushes all the way back in. You can feel yourself tightening around him almost uncontrollably. 

When you pull him down to kiss you, his hips pick up their pace, thrusting in and out of you at an unrelenting speed. 

He keeps his lips locked on yours, taking all of your cries as he forcefully fucks you into the mattress. The slow build from before returns, but this time it seems to be barreling toward you. 

Geralt's hand wraps around your leg, pulling it over his hip and holding you steady as he continues to move his hips in and out of your dripping core. 

"Be good for me." 

He moves his hand from your leg, and you almost let it fall back down. A sharp smack onto your inner thigh brings you back to attention though, Geralt's nonverbal warning letting you know that you needed to keep your leg up. 

When he’s sure you're not going to move, his hand comes down to press against the top of your core. He gathers some of your juices on his fingers and slips them into his mouth, grinning around the pads of his fingertips. You moan loudly, never in your life having felt so desired and turned on. 

His fingers come back down to play with your clit, the stimulation making your vision go blurry. You reach for his arm, attempting to stop him but he's so much stronger than you. You can't. 

"Geralt, I'm gonna-" he presses himself down to kiss you harshly as you feel yourself explode.

Your vision goes spotty and white, pussy clenching down on him and threatening to suffocate his throbbing cock. He keeps moving within you, helping you ride out your orgasm. 

You feel yourself continue to flutter against him, his dick pushing into you, thrusts stuttering as he grinds himself as deeply into you as he can. Geralt nearly shouts as you feel him erupt within you, painting your walls white with his sticky cum. 

He can't seem to catch his breath, and you guide his head down to rest against your breasts. It takes a few minutes, but finally you feel him relax and soften within you. 

Kissing you chest, Geralt sighs above you. The feel of him so heavy on top of you is by far the most comfortable and safe thing you've experienced in years. A large part of you never wants him to get up,  but you know that can't happen. 

As if he hears you, Geralt rises. His cock slowly slips from between your thighs and he lifts himself off the bed. You can feel him seeping out of your folds, and you sigh at the loss of contact. 

It doesn't last long, and as your eyes begin to droop you feel something wet stroking your thighs. It moves up to your core, and you hiss at the overstimulation.

Your legs try to shut, but Geralt forces them open.

"Geralt, I don't think I can." He gently massages the inside of your thigh, coaxing your legs to remain open for him.

"I'm only cleaning up, kitten. It appears I've made a mess of you." Realizing that he's taking care of you in such a pure way causes your heart to beat a little faster. You allow your legs to fall open, the wet cloth slowly wiping up the visible signs of your lovemaking. 

Was that what this was? Lovemaking? You don't know and you're far too tired to let it plague your mind tonight. 

Geralt disappears again, this time coming back with a blanket that he pulls over the two of you as he lies down beside you. 

Bringing you to rest against his chest, Geralt's eyes fall shut as your fingers brush against his skin. For once, he is completely calm. 

"Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning." His voice is low and rumbling, like a thunderstorm making it's way over the horizon. The vibration lulls you to sleep, but not before you let out a quiet, "promise?" 

Geralt kisses the top of your head, pulling you even closer to him. 

"I promise."

“You’ve been out here before, Agent Khan?” you ask the driver, making yet another attempt at friendly banter. “I’ve never travelled much, personally, so getting to travel for work is kind of amazing.”

The agent’s eyes don’t leave the road. Apparently, you’re the only person in the car who didn’t get the memo about staring straight ahead in stony silence. “I did surveillance in Vegas once,” he says. “It was a long time ago.”

“Man, I really want to see Vegas.” You turn to Loki again; the agent sitting next to him in the backseat is just as expressionless. Honestly, with the dark glasses he’s wearing, he might actually be asleep. You haven’t heard a peep out of him for a few hours. “What do you think, Loki? Think they’ll let us go to Vegas?”

“I doubt it.”

His words are clipped, and you huff in frustration and settle back into your seat, letting the window back up before all of the cool air manages to escape. None of these people seem to appreciate just how cool their lives are.

You turn up the radio. Neither of the agents seem super thrilled about it, nor does Loki, but if they’re just going to sit there and not say anything, then you figure it’s only fair that you keep yourself sane with some music. 

Pop can only keep you entertained for so long, though. You’re antsy, you’re hungry, and you could use a rest stop ASAP. “So,” you say, “how far are we from the dig site? Think we can squeeze in a break sometime soon? Getting kinda stiff and crampy. Hey, maybe there’s a pizza place out here in the middle of nowhere.” You twist around to grin at Loki. “In the mood for some lunch, Mischief? Maybe it’ll help your mood.”

“I’m in an excellent mood,” Loki says.

“Right.”

“We’re four hours from the dig site,” Agent Khan tells you. You notice his thumb tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. “How badly do you need to stop?”

“Pretty badly. If you hadn’t taken my phone, I could see what’s down the road.”

“You brought an unapproved device on a secret exploratory mission,” he says. “It was trackable.”

“Sure it was.”

You’re almost tempted to put your feet up on the dash. It’s like you’re trapped in a soup tin. You get that S.H.I.E.L.D. is trying to stay relatively incognito, but the tiny, ancient-looking car seems a bit much. If anyone manages to glimpse inside the car, they’ll see that it’s all fancy and high-tech inside, anyway… and the agents are dressed like they just stepped out of Men In Black, so they aren’t exactly low-profile, either. 

“Did you see that cactus?” you cry. “That thing didn’t look like it belongs on this earth. Just think, Loki - if you hadn’t tried to kidnap me that one time, we’d never be having these crazy adventures together.”

“Perish the thought,” Loki says. The dry tone doesn’t fool you; you know he’s amused.

You and Loki have a complicated relationship.

In all fairness to him, he did try to kidnap you in a very polite, gentlemanly way, and he’d promised to return you home once you helped him pinpoint the location of a very ancient star-map he’d been hunting. You’d kind of had fun on the whole misadventure. 

Too much fun, according to the agents who showed up to ‘rescue’ you.

The increased governmental oversight into your daily life isn’t quite as fun, of course, but you get to spend a lot of time hanging out with a sexy Norse god, so at least there’s that.

“Find somewhere to stop for my frail mortal underling,” Loki says, haughty as always. 

“I don’t think so,” the agent beside him replies. You feel a little guilty that you can’t remember the dude’s name, even after being in the car with him for hours on end. “We’ve got deadlines to meet.”

“I could always teleport us somewhere, instead...”

Agent Khan looks at the rearview mirror. “I thought you couldn’t do magic with that collar.”

You don’t have to turn to know that Loki is smiling, and that it’s probably that blade-thin, wicked smile of his, the one that makes you feel all kinds of things that you probably shouldn’t feel. “I can do all sorts of things,” he says.

And so, when a gas station appears, the car stops. 

Loki lets his hand rest on the small of your back while you peruse the chip selection. Marking his territory, you think, laughing to yourself. Does he think he’s being smooth and subtle? Does Loki - brilliant, clever Loki - really think that the tough-guy act has you fooled?

He’s got a crush. You’re sure of it. It’s reciprocated, too… but you aren’t going to admit to that until he makes a move. He’s got enough of an ego without giving him anymore ammunition to use against you.

“Split a lemonade with me, God of Mischief?”

He scowls. “Lemons are the sour things?”

“Yeah, but lemonade is sweet. You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Loki always acts like he’s making some grand concession when you convince him to try something ‘Midgardian,’ but you think he secretly enjoys having the excuse. He’s a curious guy, and even if he doesn’t like to admit it, the modern human world is a strange, fascinating place.

“Y’know,” you say as you settle back into the car seat, “I’ve spent my whole life complaining about humidity, but this is actually so much worse. I feel like there’s no moisture left in my body.”

“Pedialyte,” Agent Khan says. It’s the closest he’s come to engaging in friendly conversation. “That’s my secret.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sun is still up when you reach the dig site. You’re torn; you’re eager to check it out, but you’re also not really in the mood to haul yourself down into the canyon in the blistering heat. You’re starting to feel like there might be a connection between the cave they’ve unearthed and the unusually brutal heat-wave. You shove your water bottle into the side-pocket of your backpack and stretch as you exit the car, waving at the armed guards lining the canyon rim.

“What do you guys think?” you ask Loki and the agents. “Think there’s really a dragon down there?”

“There’s certainly… something in the air,” Loki replies. “Some lingering taste of a magic that did not originate in this realm.”

“Exciting.”

The agents continue to frown - nothing unusual there.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” you say, and you slip on your sunglasses and head down the dry, cracked path into the canyon.

As usual, you get caught up in your work almost immediately. You’re completely fixated by the mystery of it all, examining the proto-runic carvings that line the deep sinkhole that has opened in the bottom of the canyon. The official word is that it’s a sinkhole, that is; you’re convinced it’s some kind of portal. 

Your knees are starting to ache, and you stand, dusting your hands off on your shorts. You’re parched, too, and you feel like you should probably head back to refill your water bottle and slather on another layer or three of moisturizer. Besides, it won’t hurt to check in with Loki, who’s supposed to be looking over some electromagnetic readings collected over the past few days.

Knowing Loki, he might not be sticking to the plan.

Your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. It isn’t pleasant. You can’t even manage to work up a good sweat, since it seems to evaporate almost immediately. You wish you had another gallon or two of lemonade.

When you crest the rim of the canyon, you’re pleased to see that Loki appears to be playing nice with the S.H.I.E.L.D. techs, though it’s a little comical how much of a distance they’re keeping from him, even though they’re crammed under the shade of a tent with all of their equipment. He’s good at keeping people at arms’ length.

Your nose starts running. Weird, you think, and you wipe it with the back of your gloved hand… only to realize too late that you’re having a very inconveniently-timed nosebleed. Great.

And it’s too late to escape with some dignity, because Loki’s already making a beeline to your side, his lips set in a tight, disapproving line. Great, great, great. You’re starting to feel a little woozy, and you haven’t had a nosebleed since you were a kid, so you don’t exactly remember what you’re supposed to do about it. Tilt your head back, maybe?

It’s too late to salvage your glove, so you hold your nose with it, swaying on your feet. 

“What has happened?” Loki demands, seizing your shoulders.

“Nothing. Nose. Dry air.”

“Don’t lean back,” he says, and he moves your hand away and pinches your nose for you, tilting your head forward. His fingers are ice-cold. It feels wonderful. “The air did this?”

“Mhmm.”

“Mortals really do find the most creative ways to—”

“Don’t criticize,” you interrupt. “I feel bad.”

“You are terrible at taking care of yourself.”

“I know.”

“I find it immensely frustrating.”

“I know.”

Loki wraps his arm around you and steers you to the tent, ejecting one of the techs from his folding chair so that you can sit in it. He chases away all of the concerned onlookers; you figure he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing him acting all sweet and gentle. 

He’s still pinching your nose, too. “Head down,” he reminds you. “You don’t want the blood in your throat, do you?”

“No.”

He pats your head. “I will get you more lemonade. Will that make you feel better?”

“Mhmm.”

“Also,” he continues, “we’re sharing a trailer.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since I found out I’m not allowed to be ‘unsupervised’ at night. Besides, you seem like you could use some supervision of your own.” Your nose is freezing and a little numb, but the bleeding seems to have stopped. Loki appears satisfied with his handiwork, and he scoops you into his arms, bridal-style. “My shirt is ruined.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. With any luck, the bloodstains will make me look even more menacing to these mortal fools.”

“You are pretty menacing,” you reassure him, and you lean up to kiss him on the forehead as he kicks open the door to the trailer and carries you across the threshold. “You know what would make you even more menacing?”

“What’s that?” Loki asks.

“If you made me dinner.”

~

Literally Anything Taglist: @1800-fight-me @aerinvel @melstarry @sleep-deprived-things @magic-in-your-bones @cozy-the-overlord @mtdewamazon @falconfeather23435 @flowerpersephone @rue-gi-oh @the-feckless-wonder @kitkatd7 @kangaroobunny @butterfly-writes @historian-in-pearls @solonglivesthis @emmm-ily

“I like Y/N. She’s a hell of a woman just because she has to put up with you.”

You turn your head when you spot Morgan stepping out of the changing room followed by Doctor Reid. They’re sipping on his coffee, enjoying the dark liquid that is supposed to wake them up after last night’s event that took place in a very weird karaoke bar.

You haven’t exactly slept because you came home with Spencer at five in the morning. Both of you decided not to go to bed. Instead, you took a shower together, you had a very slow but delicious breakfast in bed and then headed to work.

Spencer and Derek are too busy talking to each other to notice you lingering in the hallway with your cup of coffee in your hands and JJ by your side. She’s talking to Penelope inside the breakroom as both of you wait for her to finish making her cup of tea, but you’re eavesdropping on Spencer and Derek’s conversation.

“I keep her at bay, you know.”

Raising your eyebrows at your boyfriend’s sentence, you cross your arms to your chest. He keeps you at what?

“Her? She’s wild, Reid. I don’t believe you can.”

“You don’t know me that well then, Morgan. You may think she’s in control of our relationship but clearly, she’s not.” - says Spencer, a little laugh leaving his lips - “You remember last night, don’t you?”

Derek’s nose twitches, his eyes finding yours for a split second. You’re staring at him with a smirk over your lips but your expression says everything he needs to know: either Spencer is lying, or you’re a very good actress.

You raise your cup of coffee as a way of waving at him and Derek touches Spencer’s shoulder with his, pointing to your direction. Your boyfriend turns around and when he notices you’re standing not too far from where he is, he blushes.

Ah, poor baby. He doesn’t know what’s in store for him!

“Give me a second.” - you tell JJ, touching her elbow - “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving her side, you start walking towards Spencer and you can see him squirming in his own spot. Morgan leans against the wall of the hallway and takes a sip of coffee, hoping the sugary and dark liquid gives him the strength not to laugh at the scene you’re probably going to cause.

Once you reach the two of them, you put a hand over Spencer’s shoulder.

“Good morning Derek, good morning love.” - you press a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek - “What are you guys talking about?”

Spencer doesn’t open his mouth, the grip you have on his hips tightening. Your fingers are digging into the soft flesh of his waist covered by his smooth shirt, knowing exactly he loves being touched like this by you. He can’t let Morgan know that you have some kind of control over him right now - always.

“Nothing much, bunny.” - says Morgan, using Spencer’s favourite nickname for you - “Your boyfriend was just telling me how much fun you had last night at the karaoke.”

You hum, taking a sip of your coffee. “I had, yes. We should do this again! Isn’t that right, love?”

Spencer bites his bottom lip, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You try not to furrow your brows when he pushes his body against you, turning to look at you with his sweet little smile on his lips.

His smile will turn into a fucking frown when you get home.

You’re not going to let this pathetic act slide.

“Definitely! Next time we’re going to force Rossi to sing something for us. - says Spencer, completely ignoring your eyes on his face - And to buy us all drinks.”

When the conversation ends and you walk back to JJ, you sit next to her behind your desk. She’s telling you and Penelope what she did last night instead of going out with the rest of the team, but you’re not paying attention at all.

Your eyes are following Spencer the whole time. You’re plotting your little revenge on his scene, replying his words in your brain over and over again. He said he keeps you at bay when he knows damn well you can have him on his knees for you, eager to please you, with a single snap of your fingers.

You don’t know why Spencer lied to Derek and pretended as if he was in control of your relationship. Maybe he doesn’t want Derek to know how much of a whore Spencer actually is, or how he spends most of his nights crying out your name and begging you to touch him because he craves you, because he needs you, because he has to have you somehow.

A part of you is tempted to walk to Spencer’s desk and put both your hands on his neck, leaning forward and whispering something dirty in his ear. You know he’d get all worked up for nothing, because you’d simply reject him and tell him to wait until you go home. The other part of you, the more rational one, knows that you can’t play this game at work.

You should be focusing on the case you’re consulting on with JJ but your mind is elsewhere, stuck on the man sitting right in front of you behind his desk. Crossing your legs, you tap your fingers over the cold surface of your table and you let out a sigh.

JJ touches you on the shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts for a moment. “Come to my office whenever you’re ready.”

You nod your head with a smile, watching her walk away.

When she’s far enough from you and Derek is nowhere to be found, you turn to look at Spencer, who’s already working on something on his computer. You notice his eyes fidgeting between the screen and your face, so when you catch him in the act of gawking at you, you give him a gentle smile.

A gentle smile that hides every dirty thought you could possibly gather in your mind.

He’s not ready for tonight. You can’t wait to show you who is in control.

Who keeps the other one at bay.

You step out of the car, closing the door with a loud thud.

It’s been a very long day at work and you couldn’t wait to get home, ease your mind off the creepy images you had to witness with Penelope and JJ for the case you were working on. Spencer, on the other hand, looks as fresh as a rose. As if he has done nothing but read at work, even though he worked on a project with Rossi for one of his lessons.

You wonder if he’s ready for what you have in store.

Well, you wonder if he realised he’s in deep shit for what he said this morning.

“Do you want to order some take out for tonight? - asks Spencer, opening the door for you and allowing you to step inside his apartment - You seem tired, I don’t want you to...”

You shrug, leaving your bag on his couch. “Take out is fine.”

Your boyfriend takes off his coat, hanging it behind the door. “Anything in particular?”

“Surprise me, Doctor Reid.” - you answer, walking towards him and giving him a kiss on the cheek - “Care to join me in the shower?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, nodding his head and whispering to you he’ll be right there once he has ordered your dinner. He seems so clueless about what’s going to happen and you can’t wait to surprise him with what you have in mind.

Unfortunately you’re not at your apartment, which means you don’t have all the toys you actually want to use on him. Unless he has them…

He doesn’t.

One day you’ll bring him to a sex shop and you’ll tell him to get whatever he wants.

You’re curious to see what he’d pick for both of you.

Stripping off all your clothes, you get inside the shower and let the water wash away all the stress gathered within you. Your muscles are relaxing and you feel much better even if you haven’t washed your hair yet - it’s so comforting to be right there.

When you hear the shower door opening, you turn around. Spencer joins you with a huge smile on his face, his hands immediately finding your cheeks and bringing your face closer to his until your lips meet.

The kiss is brief because you pull away first.

Tonight he has to earn the privilege of touching you, kissing you, feeling you.

Spencer frowns, his hands still not leaving your face. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, love. - you tap his chest, a signal for him to step away from you - I’m just not in the mood, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to have sex. - he says, his voice sounding so sweet - I just wanted to kiss my girlfriend because I hadn't done it the whole day.”

You wait for a few seconds, then you speak up.

“Ah, the same girlfriend who doesn’t have control in this relationship.”

His heart drops in his chest.

He didn’t think you heard his conversation with Derek.

“The same girlfriend who’s kept at bay by you.” - you press your index over his chest, pushing him away from you - “The same girlfriend who’s going to make you pay for this, Doctor Reid.”

This is why you haven’t said a single word to him this morning.

You were plotting something and he should’ve known that when you didn’t even look at him when you left for lunch. He should’ve realised you were standing not too far from him and Derek this morning when he said those stupid things.

He shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

And now he knows he’s fucked.

Totally, completely, utterly fucked.

“Y/N, doll, you know that’s…”

You silence him by snapping your fingers, clicking your tongue. “No. Not a word.”

Spencer bites his bottom lip, his legs already shaking in excitement. He can’t wait to see what’s in store for him, to see what you’re planning on doing to him to show him who’s actually in control between you two.

He can’t wait to wake up covered in your marks tomorrow morning.

“Wash your hair and wait for me in the bedroom, love. I’m going to have so much fun tonight, I promise you that.”

You haven’t said “we”, which means only one thing: he’s not going to be able to come unless you’re going to give him permission, and you probably won’t until you’re satisfied.

Spencer gets hard at the thought.

He turns your back to you in order to hide his evident erection, putting a hand over it and closing his eyes. He knows he’s not going to be able to hold back if you don’t give a moment and he’s tempted to touch himself right now, just to see your reaction, but he’s terrified of worsening his condition.

He’s already that desperate for you, he can’t have you make him wait.

“Spencer, look at me.”

A soft whimper leaves his lips as his name rolls off your tongue.

He loves when you call him by name, but he misses the pet name.

Is he not worthy of it?

“Did you hear what I said? - you ask, snapping your fingers - Look at me, Spencer.”

Biting his bottom lip and sliding his arms down his body, he obeys your order. Turning around and finally facing you, you know why he was trying to hide himself from you and you can’t help but allow a laugh to escape your lips.

He frowns at your reaction, heat spreading through his body.

He loves this so much, his cock twitching.

“You’re so fucking pathetic, Spencer. You think you have control over me when you’re… God.” - you shake your head, crossing your arms to your chest - “I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so hard.”

The water is hitting his skin, his chest rising up and down rapidly.

You haven’t touched him if not for pulling him away and he’s so hard.

“You told Morgan you could keep me at bay and now you’re trembling, hoping I’d touch you and give you exactly what you need. - you whisper, leaning forward - But guess what, my love.”

You stand on your tiptoes, your lips barely brushing over his earlobe. Spencer shivers at the light touches of your hair against his skin, his eyes closing as he feels your breath hitting his ear without actually touching it.

“That’s not going to happen.”

Spencer gasps at your words, lowering his eyes before letting out a soft sigh.

He’s really fucked, but he’s so excited.

He wants this more than anything in the world. It’s incredible how your words have such an intense impact on him. He can barely get a word out of his mouth without showing you how needy he is for you.

Your boyfriend craves your hands all over him. He needs to feel your body against him. He’s already going crazy, so he knows it won’t take long for him to jump off the edge of pleasure and allow it to crash through him. However he can’t do it without you, without your permission.

Quickly washing and rinsing your hair from your shampoo, you get out of the shower. Spencer follows you in religious silence, keeping his head down low and never looking at you - if he does, he’ll lose his mind and he can’t.

He wants to but he can’t.

You wrap a larger towel around your body, glancing at your boyfriend. His hands are shaking as he picks up the towel that just fell on the floor, gulping when he stands back up and feels your eyes burning your skin.

“You are adorable when you’re this needy. - you break the silence, opening the door of the bathroom - Stop trembling, Doctor Reid. I’m not going to hurt you, you know that.”

He clears his throat, stepping out of the bathroom. “Maybe I want that.”

You raise your brow, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. You’re just terrified of my punishment but you know I’d never hurt you, baby.”

His pet name.

His plan succeeded, you used it.

“Thank you, mommy.”

Here it is.

A sweet smile spreads over your lips, your heart fluttering in your chest. Maybe you can touch him a little before actually playing with him; maybe you can give him what he needs, but not stopping until he’s panting and writhing and moaning and shaking.

You so desperately want to ruin him.

You want Spencer to beg on his knees for forgiveness.

“Go to the bedroom.”

Spencer doesn’t need to be told twice, dropping his towel and running outside the bathroom. His eagerness makes you laugh and shake your head at the same time, because you didn’t think he’d have the strength to actually do that. If you were him, you wouldn’t be able to move at all, stuck in your own place.

You make sure to take your sweet time as you blow-dry your hair.

You fold your clothes on top of the sink.

You wash your face and take off all the makeup residues.

You put on some strawberry deodorant.

You put your used towel inside the laundry basket.

And when you’re done, you walk back inside his bedroom only to find Spencer sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his thighs. His cock is springing free, hard and leaking precum.

Getting on your knees for him would be perfect.

However, you’re not going to do that.

“Ah, my handsome baby.” - you whisper, getting closer to him - “Have you ordered our dinner?”

Spencer looks up at you, nodding his head. “Yes, I have. They’ll be here in an hour, they’re kind of packed tonight.”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair. “That’s fine. We have some time to kill before they’ll be here, don’t we?“

“Yes! Yes, mommy. Please, I need…”

“No, shut up.” - you put your index over his lips, forcing him to stay silent - “I know what you need from me, baby. Tonight it’s all about me, though, because you made me very angry.”

Spencer whines at your words, biting down his bottom lip as you straddle him with both your hands behind his neck. Your breasts are a little too close to his face and he’s dying to take your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them and giving you exactly what you want from him.

He can’t.

“I’m going to show you who’s really in control.”

His cock is sliding against your slit, your arousal coating it as you slowly grind on him. You want to drive him completely crazy, you want him to start panting and crying because of your actions - and when you feel his dick twitch between your legs, a soft whine coming out of his mouth, you know he’s close.

Already close.

“Is mommy making you feel good, baby?”

He nods, looking into your eyes. “Yes, always. You always do.”

Smirking, you lean forward and tempt his lips with a kiss. He’s shaking under you, the pleasure getting almost unbearable for him as he tries his best not to come without even being touched.

His cock is so close to your entrance, your arousal dripping on it.

He knows you’ll feel fucking perfect around him once you end his misery. He can’t wait for it, because he knows he’ll have the best orgasm - or orgasms? - of his own life.

“Do you deserve to touch mommy and make her feel even better?”

Your boyfriend nods erratically, his pink tongue pokes out of his lips. “Yes, please. I want you to forgive me and I know I can make it up to you. Please, let me…”

With a gentle push, you force Spencer on his back. He lays there, completely helpless underneath your fingers as you manage to straddle his chest until your pussy is right in front of his face - aligned with his mouth.

He knows what’s coming and he licks his bottom lips again.

“I’m going to sit on your face and I want you to put that pretty mouth to use, instead of using it to talk shit and tell lies to your friend.” - you say, your voice sending shivers down his spine - 2You can touch me but make sure not to use them to make me come. All I want is your tongue, do you understand?”

He whines again in frustration, nodding. “Yes, mommy. I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“That’s it, my baby. - you give him a little smile, slowly sitting down - Get to work, you fucking slut.”

His tongue immediately meets your folds, collecting all of your juices before swallowing them down and moaning at the taste. He loves going down on you, he loves knowing that all the whimpers coming out of your mouth now are all his fault - and he can’t wait to make you come all over his face.

Spencer closes his eyes, losing himself in the way you’re rocking your hips.

You’re actually riding his tongue, feeling it slip inside of you before it gets out and swirls around your throbbing clit. You’re tempted to pull his curls but your hands are gripping the headboard of the bed, making sure you stay put on his mouth.

The pleasure is so hot, so intense, so fucking blinding.

He’s doing so good and you’re almost on the verge of forgiving him.

Spencer grips your thighs for leverage, pushing your hips down so that you can’t really get away from his face - but you’re not planning to, wanting to come more than anything in the world.

A wave of heat nearly overpowers you, a soft moan that reminds you of his name slips out of your mouth. Spencer moans as well against you, the soft vibration sending shivers all over your body.

He loves this so fucking much.

You start grinding down on his face, his tongue hitting your clit every single time as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. He’s going to leave marks all over your legs but you don’t care.

The tension is building up in your stomach, tightening more and more.

“You’re so fucking good at this, baby. - you whisper, biting your bottom lip - Apparently your mouth is good at something, not just lying to your friends about this.”

Spencer opens his eyes and smirks at the sight. Your back is arching and your fingers are twisting your nipples. He wants to be the one doing that. He's tempted to run his hands up your body but he can’t.

It’s so fucking frustrating.

“Keep going, I’m so close. - you gasp when Spencer sucks your clit, his tongue swirling over it - Fuck, baby, you’re incredible. Don’t stop.”

Grinning at your broken voice, Spencer ducks back between your legs and closes his eyes. Your breathing is heavy and you can feel your heart throbbing in your chest, ready to jump out of your throat as the pleasure gets hard, intense.

You put a hand through his hair, tugging on them. “Come on, baby, make me come all over your pretty face. I know you want to, I know you miss me doing it.”

The sound Spencer makes in return to your teases is enough to push you closer and closer to the edge. The wet sound of his tongue touching you and teasing you is driving you fucking crazy.

He’s drooling everywhere, moaning your name and whispering how much he wants you, how he wants to feel your come dripping out of you. His fingers are digging into your skin, marking you over again, and your moans get louder and louder.

They echo inside his room.

You hope his neighbours won’t complain tomorrow morning.

Spencer has always loved going down on you, watching you fall apart because of his tongue, but he knows you’re the one in control. You were able to control your movements, you were able to force him to moan out your name because of the pleasure.

Now you’re trembling, ready to shatter apart and allow the orgasm to take over you.

“I’m-...”

You can’t even finish your own sentence because Spencer wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly on it. Your first orgasm finally hits you like a train, your whole body jerking forward as the pleasure almost blinds you and wears you out.

Putting both your hands over the wall in front of you, you feel your thighs shaking.

You gasp and whine and moan his name, rocking your hips to prolong the pleasure as much as you can. His tongue feels fucking amazing, caressing your slit and then your clit, his drool dripping down your thighs.

Everything feels much stronger.

It’s like your pleasure is amplified, probably due to the fact you have all control.

“Good boy, that’s it.” - you exclaim, your fingers immediately finding his curls - “Fuck, you’re so fucking amazing. I wish I could always have you like this with your tongue buried inside my pussy, always ready to please me.”

Spencer manages to open his eyes, not stopping his movements. He keeps licking at your clit, sucking on it, even after your orgasm has faded and left your body oversensitive, but needier than ever.

He knows you’re able to go further, even if it almost hurts.

Almost.

The pain is deliciously addictive.

“Stop it, baby. You did great.” - you lick your bottom lip, rolling off his body as you lay down on the bed - “Your mouth is one of my favourite things about you.”

Your gaze skips lower as you admire his soft tummy before giggling at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking against his stomach. That seems painful - and fucking delicious, but he doesn’t deserve to be touched.

Well… maybe he does.

After all, he just gave you an incredible orgasm.

“Did you miss eating mommy out?” - you ask, his eyes settling on your face - “Look at you, drenched in my wetness. Did you miss tasting mommy?”

Spencer’s tongue darts out of his mouth, cleaning off your arousal from his lips as he brushes the back of his hand on his chin.

“Yes, mommy. You always taste so good. - he manages to whisper, his voice raspy - I wish I could do it again, maybe later. If you want.”

You nod your head, using your hand to caress his chest. “You will, if you’ll be good for me.”

He’s getting impatient.

Spencer has given you an orgasm and he has been hard ever since he stepped inside that shower, which was about fifteen minutes ago.

It feels like a fucking lifetime.

He doesn’t realise your right hand is travelling down to his shaft until you grip the base of his cock, a gasp escaping his lips. Heat is already pooling in his stomach, fizzing through his body and building, building, building…

“I guess I have to reward you for making me come so hard with your mouth, baby.”

Spencer feels like he has just won the lottery because you’re touching him. He didn’t think you’d give in so easily and he’d love to tease you about it, but he can’t - not when your fingers, slick with his own pre-cum, are giving you so much pleasure.

You roll on top of his body, straddling his thigh as you lean down. The tip of your tongue traces his bottom lip before you give in, the desire you desperately feel for him finally crashing through you. You capture his mouth with yours in a kiss that drives him completely crazy, his hands flying from his hip up to your hair as he pulls you down to him.

Your lips are tender but urgent as he kisses you back, moaning against your mouth as your tongue melts against his. You feel his cock aligning with your entrance but you push it away, gripping it tightly before starting to slowly stroke it.

You don’t stop kissing him, the head of his cock brushing up and down your slit.

Your arousal is coating his dick, making it easier for your hand to stroke him. Spencer knows he’s close when his stomach tenses and doesn’t say anything, forcing himself to stay focused on your lips and not on the pleasure you’re giving him with your own hand.

If he doesn’t stay focused…

“Are you going to come for mommy, baby? Is mommy’s hand making you feel so fucking good?” - your voice crashes against his mouth - “Hold it, baby. It’s not the right time yet, I don’t want you to come.”

You pull away from his lips, watching Spencer. Your eyes are darkening, admiring every little reaction of his body to your touches - and you smile, a wicked smile spreading over your lips as you see the pleasure getting too strong for him.

Your boyfriend is on the verge of coming.

But he’s holding back, obeying you and desperate for more.

Okay, maybe you’re desperate too…

And what’s the best thing you can do to end his and your misery at the same time?

Doing this will be the end of him.

That’s why you do it.

You put your left hand on his chest and use the right one to push his cock deep inside of you, your body stretching just enough to welcome him in your tight heat. Your velvety walls are clenching around him and Spencer widens his eyes, staring back at you as if you just slapped him across the face.

He wasn’t expecting you to do this.

Your boyfriend wasn’t expecting you to fuck him like that now.

He’s not fucking complaining, because that’s exactly what he needed.

“Oh fuck, mommy…”

That’s all he manages to say, watching you steady yourself on top of him. You don’t give him enough time to register what’s happening because soon you’re bouncing up and down on his cock, your breasts jumping at each move.

A chorus of pleads and moans are coming out of his mouth, his head thrown back against the pillow as you scratch his chest.

You’re so focused on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

It doesn’t matter, you’ll get what you need in a couple of minutes.

“I’m going to ride you until you come inside of me, baby. Am I clear?”

He struggles to even nod his head, his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he grips your thighs so fucking harshly it almost hurts. You don’t stop your boyfriend though, knowing that the tension in his body is unbearable.

He’s crying, tears are streaming down his face.

He’s frustrated because he wants to come.

“C-Close…”

You quicken the pace of your movements, rolling your hips before rocking it back and forth. Spencer’s breath hitch in his throat as he looks back at you, desire and lust flashing right behind his stare - he’s close, he’s so fucking close it hurts.

You try to maintain that same speed, your thighs cramping because of the position.

You’re tempted to interrupt everything and walk outside the bedroom, pretending to be hungry or thirsty just to see his reaction. You don’t want to hurt him though, he has suffered enough today.

Maybe?

Spencer watches your breasts bounce up and down, his hands immediately squeezing them and twisting your nipples between his fingers. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he’s desperate to yell but he can’t bring himself to do - his throat is completely dry.

And he’s…

“I’m c-co…”

“Come on, fill me up. Make mommy proud, baby, give your mommy all your babies.”

Spencer releases the hottest moan you’ve ever heard as he begins to buck his hips up against yours, meeting your movements and allowing you to feel him so deeply inside of you. His length is hitting all the right places, your G-spot stimulated to the point you have tears in your eyes as well.

“F-fuck… You feel…”

Your boyfriend wants to yell.

You feel so fucking good around him, your pussy takes him so perfectly he thinks he can see the stars - or maybe he’s just dead and gone straight to Heaven. Either way, he never wants this moment to end.

“Please, baby, give me your seed. I want it so bad, I want you to give me all your babies. - you whisper in his mouth, your breasts now pressing to his chest - Please. I need it, breed me.”

And when Spencer comes just like you begged him to do, filling you up with his warmth while a soft moan echoes through the room followed by your name, you reach your second orgasm of the night.

He keeps going, moving his hips and allowing his cock to slide in and out of you. His semen is spilling out of your heat, dripping down your thighs and pooling right between his legs.

“Oh God, baby!”

His thrusts don’t stop until he knows your orgasm has worn off, completely draining your body from all the energy you thought you’d have.

Maybe you’re too tired to actually play with him tonight.

You lay on top of him with your face buried in the crook of his neck, his arms now wrapping around your waist to keep you close. He doesn’t want to let you go, he has been away from you for too long today - he has to make up for all the time you’ve lost due to your annoyance.

Sweat is beading his forehead and you can feel your hair sticking to your skin.

Maybe showering before sex wasn’t a good idea.

There are at least two more minutes of pure silence.

You’re trying to catch your own breath while Spencer registers what has just happened, his orgasm still messing with his head. One minute you were touching his cock with your hand with that wicked smile over your lips and a minute later you were bouncing on his cock as if it was your day job.

It kind of is your day job.

There’s not a day that doesn’t start or end with you fucking Spencer.

“Holy shit, Y/N, that was fucking incredible.”

You pull away from his neck, your mouth pressing a soft kiss on his chin. “Weird, I’ve never heard that before from you.”

Blushing, Spencer runs his hands over your back. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for misbehaving. - you give him another kiss, this time on his lips - Next time you want to misbehave, make sure you do it on a day where I’m not exhausted.”

He chuckles at your words, playfully smacking your ass. “Yes, ma’am.”

You place your right hand over his throat, biting his bottom lip. “Tell me, Spencer: who’s in control now?”

He closes the distance between your lips, kissing you again. “You. It has always been you.”

Giggling, you close your eyes and melt into the kiss.