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enhard · 8 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ monster | lee heeseung

: when two rivals in an entertainment company turned late-night lovers, no strings attached… or is it something else?

pairing: ceo!l.hs x fem!reader

CW: smut, enemies to fwb to lovers trope??, pwp (3 smut scenes omg), hate sex, age gap: heeseung is 29, reader is 24, usage of condoms, riding, oral sex (both receiving), cum eating, some pet names, insults?, lots of profanity lmk if i missed anything

notes: couldn’t stop thinking about this while listening to monster by gaga. crazycrazy

wc: 7.3k words (MDNI)

There was only one thing you hated more than useless things in your timetable. It was the asshole of the whole company, Lee Heeseung. The more conversations you heard his name in, the more you despised his existence.

His ego was so high it could hit a plane, the way he would talk about his compositions made you wanna throw up. He praised himself so much, and you started wondering if he was just a huge narcissist or if we were insecure of his writing skills. Luckily, you never saw him around often as you were really caught up in your own work. Having to compose songs all the time for singers was not an easy task. Your chairman was an even bigger asshole than Heeseung, always giving you all the work. You had to not only compose songs from start to finish, but you also had to edit and mix the voices, help the singers use the right tones and so much more stuff that wasn’t originally included in your job plan.

Usually, you would stay at the office overtime, your eyes darkened with tiredness. It was a miracle you haven’t fallen asleep all this time.

You looked at the time,

[01:54 AM]

“Great.” You sigh. Your shift ended at 12 AM. What the fuck are you still doing here? It’s quiet in the whole building, only clicking sounds can be heard from your keyboard. You’re all alone with a few bodyguards left in the company. You groan, your head pounding from the intense light of your pc. All you want now is to get back to your apartment just to greet your cat Juno. He’s your only best friend in this cursed city of New York, he’s a soft and fluffy black and white cat, with heterochromia eyes, left eye blue and right eye brown. You talk to him all the time, even though he can’t hold conversations he’s the best listener you’ve ever encountered. Better than your ex-boyfriends, that’s for sure.

As the clock reads [02:29], you’re more than ready to go home. You gather all your things, wish a great night to all the security people there and finally get out of that stupid building. You get your car keys out of your bag, driving home in your black i8. When you get home you feed your cat, finally plopping in your bed and falling asleep instantly.

You woke up due to your phone ringing at around 10 am with the hugest headache you’ve had. You palm your forehead, grabbing your phone with your other hand. Your co-worker, Yena, is calling you. You pick up as fast as you can, moaning into the phone due to being exhausted out of your mind.

“Yeah… Yena hey….” You say with half a mouth.

“Hey girl, are you coming to work? Today’s the showcasing, have you forgotten?”

Oh, fucking hell. You totally forgot.

A showcasing happens when all composers need to show the work they did in a few months’ time. You need to turn in all the songs you’ve made in this time, whilst competing with your other co-workers to be the best one, getting the title of the best songwriter of the month. Your company likes making leaderboards, only adding onto your stress of being the best. Of course, last month’s songwriter was Heeseung, but you thought the judges were so biased over him… you knew you could take him down this month.

“Right… I’ll be there soon just let me get ready.” You say, already dreading the idea of getting out of bed.

She hangs up, letting you wash up quickly. You fix up your hair, put on your suit and do a bit of makeup. You get your badge with your name on it and out you are. By the time you arrive at the company you’re already late… the higherups there scolding you for it.

“Please try to make it on time, you know how important this is.”

You sigh. How could they expect you to be there early when you went home at almost 3 AM last night?

“Okay, okay I’m sorry. I’m here now.” You add.

After you come out of your office to get your suitcase that had your files, you bump into the last person you wanted to see there. He throws you a cheeky smile, not even apologizing for giving you a shoulder.

“Oh, if it isn’t the famous miss L/n! Ready to get your dreams crushed by my songs again?” you scoff at him, crossing your arms. “Yeah right, like I’d let a scumbag like you take my title. I don’t have anything to prove to you, stay in your lane.”

He raises his eyebrows at your response, as you would normally walk away if he told you anything. “Oh is it miss complaint now? Let me actually show you how this job is done, im your ceo for a reason.” he suddenly stops smiling to give you a glare.

“You don’t intimidate me Mr. Lee, right on the contrary, you make me want to laugh.” you say and turn around, not wanting to waste your time with such a man. His sleek smile creeps back onto his face as he walks into his own office.

A few minutes later, you get back to the front, everyone already waiting there with their work. You stand next to Yena, holding the tank of papers in hand tightly.

Yena could tell you’re nervous, so she extended one hand up to yours just to squeeze it, calming you down a bit. Your other co-workers were not a threat at all, but Heeseung was the one person you wanted to bring down. You wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face. After much judging and testing, with recitals and rehearsals for the songs, the judges finally decided the points accorded to the candidates. The others already had way too little points to worry you, but you, Yena and Heeseung were left.

“Choi Yena, 127 points.” She sighed of relief. A sizeable number overall, but now it depends on what you and Heeseung did.

“Lee Heeseung, 140 points.” His eyes widen. There is a chance that you might win. You might take him over… You might take his place. No way, right?

After a good minute of silence, they finally list your points.

“L/n Y/n, 139 points.” You almost fall to your knees. Out of all chances, how could this happen to you?? You close your eyes and cover your ears before you go insane.

You let him win, again.

“Therefore, our winner this month will be Lee Heeseung, the winner of the last 3 months as well, Congratulations!” all you hear is buzzing in your ears. You grow sour of his name, of his voice, his face. You can’t stand his dumb mouth, dumb face, dumb voice. You can’t stand him at all, and you would do anything to see him fired or something. You know that won’t happen and it drives you crazy. Heeseung smiles, taking his prize in hand once again, his portrait remaining on the fame wall. He shakes hands with the judges before taking a good look at you.

You cannot look at him anymore, you just lower your gaze trying not to burst into tears. You worked so hard for this, yet he took away all your hope for a win. You storm out the room, sitting down at your desk to throw your head down on the wooden table.

One point. Seriously. This is ridiculous.

Well, you take a deep breath and continue with your shitty day. At some point in time, you get a knock on your office door. “Come in.” you say as you raise your eyes up to see who it is. “Oh Yena, hey.. sorry for not saying anything earlier…” you bite your lip.

“Don’t consume yourself over it, hey, that dude is a douche, okay? Do not let him get to you. You are better than him anyway.”

“Am I though? I mean… What if he is simply better than me. What if his songs are better than mine? What if his lyrics have more meaning than mine?”

“He is not better than you, and even if he will be proven to be, which I doubt, don’t ever let him know you think that.”

“I can’t be a narcissist just like him, Yena. If I am not as good as someone, I will take the responsibility on my shoulders and admit it.”

“See you’re already better than him, he would never” She laughs. You laugh back, although in your soul goes a fight between your ego and sincerity.

. . .

After the day ends, you finally go home early, not giving two fucks about what they might say or think, it is your right after all. Too bad that you get a message you dreamed of never getting, too bad it happened.

HELIX ENTERTAINMENT

“Good evening, members of the company. We are delighted to announce that tomorrow there will be a collaboration project between each other. The groups are arranged by the organisers, and they follow the lines of:

Now scrolling through all the pages, you search for your name. Oh, what are the chances.

Lee Heeseung & L/n Y/n”

Of course this had to happen, it would not have been you if it were not for your amazing luck.

“Oh, suck on it seriously.” You look at your phone in disbelief, while making yourself tea. “Juno can you believe this? This man is going to ruin my image and my life. I can’t stand him anymore I swear I might kill someone if this keeps happening.” Juno meows, probably because he wants a bit of peace, but you still took that as an agreement to what you said. “I know, I know. I guess it will be okay… hope he doesn’t ruin my career for life with this. I do not trust him.”

The next day, you shake your head while getting out of your car, glaring at the tall building with huge windows. You always glare while looking at it, but somehow this time was different. It wasn’t because you hated your job, it was because you had to see your partner. All the people who greeted you in the halls got a cold response, or no response at all. Might have been a shitty thing to do but honestly you weren’t in the mood for anything anymore. You just wanted this day to be over.

When you get into Heeseung’s office, seeing him rummaging through his papers, you just stood in the doorway… waiting for him to finish his work. He raises his head to look at you, his mood getting insignificantly worse when his eyes met yours. Before he gets to sigh, you cut him off.

“The feeling is mutual. I usually try to act nice, but I just cannot stand you no matter how hard I try.” You cross your arms while he goes back to his papers. “Then take a seat.” He responds in the coldest way, only making you furrow your eyebrows at his tone. “Okay damn…” you say under your breath while grabbing a chair to sit in front of his desk.

There are a few moments of silence, but you decide to ask him about the collaboration, same reason you’re here right now.

“Heese-” “It’s Mr. Lee for you.” You clear your throat annoyed. “Mr. Lee, I am only here to ask you about what we must do, can we focus on that?”

“Why would I make a project with someone as bad at writing as you?” he looks up at you again. You bite your cheek, barely being able to stand him anymore. You just look down to your thighs, grasping your palms together anxiously. Yuna told you to never be weak in front of him, but how could you not when he was so right?

“Please refrain from insulting my work and just take the organisations words, they put us together for this, so we need to do it.”

“If I let you work on this, you will just embarrass me in front of thousands of people. How about you just let me handle this? Go home, enjoy your days off. I’ll give you the credit.”

“You cannot just do everything alone; I do not care about days off I just want to work on this too. Please Mr. Lee.”

That is the first time he’s ever heard you say please to him. He hated your presence just as much as you hated his, why must you be at each other’s throats all the time? Simply because of rivalry or did other frustrations arise from both parties?

He licks his lips, finally giving in. “You can work on it with me Y/n. Just don’t disappoint me.”

“I promise I won’t. This matters so much to me.”

You follow him to his studio; he lets you get in first and that is when he locks the door behind you. You both sit down next to each other while you work on the song. He keeps acting weird throughout the recording and editing process, changing poses multiple times in a few minutes, sighing and fidgeting with his fingers. Halfway through the song you place your hand on his while looking at him. “Mr. Lee, are you feeling okay?”

That is when he sighs, snatching his hand away from yours and turning the pc off. He turns to you, keeping his eye contact consistent. “Y/n… i’ve just been feeling frustrated. Just forget it. Let’s focus on the song.”

Now you cannot say that you care about him, but you’re still curious to see what this is about. “Oh, is that so? Frustrated in what kind? Someone like you has feelings?”

He glares at you. “Not in the way you’d think, anyway.” You tilt your head. “But how? Tell me now, i’m curious.” “Maybe you should learn to keep your mouth shut, it’s none of your business.” “Just because you’re my superior does not mean you gotta talk to me like that, bastard.” He clenches his jaw. “Oh, that’s it.” He suddenly grabs onto your neck, pulling you closer. He’s still so gentle but it’s enough force to make you struggle to talk. “Is this what it’s about...? A... are you sexually frustrated…?” You tease. He releases the grasp on your neck and looks down at his hands. “I.. I’m sorry. It’s hard being alone when you’re pushing 30 you know.”

You had no idea what was happening right now, but you definitely enjoyed the attention you got. You were equally as touch starved as he was, and it was making you want more.

“You know, we could do this. But I really don’t like you dude.” You raise your eyebrow at him. He nods. “You don’t make yourself all that approachable either, would you really be down? I mean, just… fuck buddies… nothing else?”

“Mr. Lee, you know we both aren’t ones for relationships. But what’s in it for me?” “Oh, you want payment now?” “Well, you knew I wasn’t gonna give you myself for free, did you?” He laughs. “Fair, then how about I give you a raise?” “Mm… Anything else?” He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay uhh. A raise and no more staying overtime, you get paid if you leave work early and… free coffee for life.” You ponder a bit. “Alright, I accept.” “Oh, not so quick, you need some rules to you too. For this to work you have to come help me anytime I need you.” “Libido that high, huh?” He shushes you and you giggle.

“Well okay, but if you’re really frustrated right now, shall we start today?” He looks back at you, visibly cringing from you being so direct with him, but he doesn’t mind. “I mean if you’re down.” “I am, but do you have any condoms?” That’s when you see him reaching for his wallet, taking out about 3 condoms out. Your eyes widen a bit, smacking your lips at his professionalism. “Oh, wow you’re ready.” “3 is a bit much…” “Who knows, i’ll end up using all of them and then end up going raw cause we are left with none.” “Yeah, don’t know about that.” “Im messing with you, dumbass.” He rolls his eyes, letting you get on top of his lap. Your lips finally make contact with his, getting to taste him in your mouth, the feeling lingering down to your stomach.

As you begin making out, your hand travels down to his forming bulge, squeezing and massaging it to the best of your abilities. As you’re doing that, he squeezes your ass with his palm, making you flinch from the sudden pressure. You playfully slap his face, pulling away from the kiss a bit. “You’re such a dick.” “I know, wanna feel mine already?” You give him one last kiss before pushing his head back on the chair to kiss his neck, insisting on his prominent adam’s apple. You suck on his sensitive skin, forming hickeys along his whole neck. “Fuck, Y/n, you’re not bad at this.” “I know, but you are.” “Oh shut up, I barely got to do anything.” You sigh, pulling away from his neck. “Let me ride you, m’kay?” “Do whatever you want to me.” He smiles coyly. “Could I kill you?” You pout your lips. “Not until you get your raise.” “Oh, fuck off.”

You start with unbuttoning his pants, not even taking them off before placing your hand on his boxers. You press his dick a bit, his groan appearing right after. “Mhm, that’s what I love hearing.” You nod to yourself. “Right from my mouth?” He teases too. “Oh, you know what I mean, I might need to stuff yours, so you shut up more often.” “Could you stuff it with your pussy?” That keeps you quiet for a bit, his response making you clench around nothing. “… I might, if tape doesn’t work.”

You don’t even take his pants off when you pull his boxers down with his half-hard dick springing out. You grab the base, stroking it a bit to get it as erect as you can. “You’re so big.” You point out. He just smirks, looking at you up and down. You leave his dick alone for a bit just to take your panties off, as you were already wearing a skirt, the embarrassing wet stains on them being visible for Heeseung to see as well. “You got this wet already? And you’re the one saying i’m horny.” “Shut it.” You throw your panties to the other side of the room, finally ripping one condom out the packaging, putting it well onto his dick. After you give him a few more strokes you position yourself on his dick, slowly lowering yourself on his length. It takes you a few good seconds to adjust, then you slowly move your hips back and forth on him. He already throws his head back, the feeling being so familiar yet so distant. Your walls clench around him every time you move on him, the feeling already getting unbearable. You change your routine a bit, starting to bounce instead of grinding, the sound of your thighs touching echoing through the room. You try leaving out as little moans as you can, but it’s still impossible for you, as it feels so good. You leave out small desperate noises as you bounce on him. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” He smiles up at you. You glare again. “Fuck you.” While speeding up. “This.. doesn’t mean anything. I’m just.. helping.. you get rid of a boner.” You say out of breath. “And it’s working, keep going.”

You ride him as well as you can, his swollen tip getting so deep inside you it’s hitting your sweet g-spot. He needed to fuck with someone desperately, the fact that it was you was pure coincidence. Your mouth parts, leaving sounds that only his ears can hear. “Holy shit… I might cum soon… please” you cry, grabbing onto his shoulders with your nails bedded into his skin. He looks up at you, his hand resting against your ass, giving it a few squeezes here and there. “You’re gonna cum for me? Hm? Come on, cum all over me” He whisper shouts, helping you bounce on him faster and faster.

The knot in your stomach quickly snaps, your orgasm washing down over you with a few loud moans. You cum all over his dick, with each thrust forming a white ring at the base of it. “Your pussy so good, Y/n… I can’t take it any…more” he grunts, throwing his head back more with each bounce of yours. “Cum already, come on you’re... doing so well” you encourage him, and he immediately obeys, his semen spilling into his condom, making it fully white by the time you pull away from his lap. He pants and moans before you finally take the condom off his dick, the cum spilling back onto it. You stroke him a few more times, getting your hand messy but that finally makes him lay on the chair more relaxed, his high calming down.

“Damn it you’re good.” He says while smiling, his head thrown backwards. “I know, that’s why I agreed to help you.” You slightly grab onto his neck, giving it a few playful kisses. “Now should I send you back to your work? You’re finished here.” He teases. “Oh right, right. Maybe I should focus on my actual work, rather than this work.” You say, grabbing onto his dick one last time, leaving it alone after wrapping your hand around it.

He grabs your wrist, flicking it away now. He looks up at you while raising his eyebrow. “Get the fuck out of here.” You scoff at him, cleaning yourself up a bit and fixing your clothes back on before turning around to leave. “Suck my pussy.” You say annoyed while heading to the door.

As you open the door you hear a “Might do that too” and that’s when you get out the door, leaving him a middle finger before closing the door behind you.

Heeseung finishes the project for both of you, and you end up winning it together. Of course, he kept reproaching you that you won because of him, and you got into a heated argument that you just stopped talking for weeks. So first he says he’ll do it for you but when you do… he argues that he did all the work?

What an asshole.

After another day of no contact at all, you get passed a flyer at work, so you quickly read it.

“It gives us immense pleasure to invite you to a special gathering in honor of Lee Heeseung & L/n Y/n to celebrate their remarkable achievement of winning the collaboration project contest first place.

Date: [7th of December]

Time: [7 PM to 12 AM]

Venue: HELIX ENTERTAINMENT VENUE & BAR

Dress Code: [Semi-Formal]

We look forward to celebrating this special moment with you.

Warm regards,

HELIX ENTERTAINMENT”

After reading, you immediately put the flyer down on your desk, covering your face with your hands. “I don’t wanna see that man ever again.” You avoided him for a few weeks, how could you meet again now? You sigh to yourself, thinking that it’s just one day, it’ll be over, and you can continue ignoring him again.

On the day of the event, you buy yourself a nice and luxurious royal blue dress, it’s long and it hugs your body so well. It has a pretty big cleavage, but you know you looked attractive in it anyway. You get ready, grab your hand purse, and get to the venue. As you enter the big ballroom you notice Heeseung right away, talking to some higher ups while having one hand in his pocket, and the other in the air, moving it around while talking. He’s wearing a tight black suit on, with a deep v-neck that perfectly shows his collarbone. His hair a dark velvet and slightly gelled. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. He always wore that dark aura to him, and that pissed you off. It’s like he was pulling you in despite you trying to pull away. Even if you said you hated him, your palms got sweaty when you saw him, your heartbeat got faster and you eyes slightly widened whenever you saw him. It wasn’t because he was your boss, it wasn’t because he could fire you at any moment… there was something else. And he knew it.

You breathe in one last time before going up to them. As soon as Heeseung sees you he can’t stop looking at you. How perfect you look, you elegant you came here yet so sexy. The way your boobs sat in your dress and how they looked at Heeseung first, that’s what he claims anyway. You don’t say anything to each other, you barely dare to make eye contact. But at one point the others leave your conversation, saluting both of you for now... And when you expect it least, he pulls you aside.

“Are you trying to tempt me with those tits?” He whispers. “Excuse me?” You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of confusion and anger. “I mean, look at you. Who did you come here for? Where are you going after this? Is there anyone else with you?” He launches this set of questions so weirdly, making you cross your arms which makes your boobs squeeze even tighter against each other.

“I’m here alone, Heeseung. I just liked this dress and came here with it. What’s your problem, even if I dressed up for someone?” You look angrily at him. “Because nobody can see… all of this… except for me. You’re my fuck buddy remember?”

“So? I thought friends with benefits meant something else for you. Don’t care what you think about my outfits. Just stop staring weirdo.” You rest your arms alongside your body, before turning to leave. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close to him. “Look, I don’t want to be constantly ignoring you. Can we be just like we were before?” your lips part. “You mean…. hating each other?” he sighs. “You know what I mean. Hating each other but helping each other with things.” You click your tongue. “Oh yeah, speaking of that… you never gave me my raise… or my coffee.”

“What? you can take as much coffee as you want, and I want you to help me with something before I give you the extra money.”

“And what’s that? amaze me.”

“Could you act that you’re my fiancé for tonight?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

“I don’t want you around me, at all. But It’s so annoying when people keep asking why i’m not married at my age.”

“Did you tell them that you’re a bastard? and that’s why you’re single?” you look at him pissed.

“Oh fuck off, just tell me if you want to help me or not.” you contemplate. “Maybe. If I finally get my raise, and some good sex out of you.”

“It’s on then. Let’s go meet some people here, they’re old and rich perverts but they give hella good sponsors. You might wanna cover up. I don’t want them looking at you.” he grabs your waist. “What a coincidence, that sounds like a perfect description of you in a few years.” you roll your eyes, walking with him while struggling to put on your jacket.

“Hello, Mr. Lee, and who is this beautiful lady?” they start right off the bat looking at your body and all, despite covering yourself as well as you can. You feel so uncomfortable with them but Heeseung makes sure to cover you with his body instead. “This is Y/n, my dearest fiancé. She’s a bit shy, so please talk to me instead.” You throw a slight smile while looking at him, his gesture making you really happy.

After you were done with these men, you leave to a more reserved area. “I can’t believe i’m saying this but… thanks for having my back earlier.” “Don’t fret, I saw how uncomfortable you were. Hate you or not, I can’t see you with that expression on your stupid face.”

You take your jacket off while nodding your head. “Wow, what a compliment from you mr. Lee. I acted enough; now can I stop being your dog following you everywhere?”

“Of course, you can leave too if you’re busy.”

“Hey, what about my payment? remember?”

“You want your money now? What do you wanna buy? I’ll give you my card.” He says, pulling out his card to hand it to you. “My pin is 1510. Use however much you want.”

That just stunned you. “W-What no I don’t need to buy anything. Keep your card…” you push it back to him. “I meant… you know.”

“The good sex part?” he says softly.

“Yeah. That.” you say a bit embarrassed now. “Stop making it so awkward, you’re being too quiet for your own good.” you continue.

“Why do you think that? Is my mouth too big to keep quiet?” he smiles. “Obviously, you never seem to shut up but right now you’re eerily quiet.” “I’m just thinking whether I should just eat you out like you deserve or fuck you too on top of that.” His response already gets you hot and bothered, not caring about the people who might be there or might pass you two. You get even closer to him, sliding your hand down his v-neck to touch his pecs and collarbone. “What’s stopping you from doing both? Please Heeseung. It’s my turn to be needy is it not?”

“Of course, it can be your turn whenever. Surprised you’re craving my pleasure when you can’t stand me.” “You’re still fucking hot with this suit on, personality or not.” He smiles, pulling you into a heated kiss, the butterflies rummaging through your stomach. You grab onto his hair, pushing him a little while making out. You pull away after a bit, finally unbuttoning his shirt. You touch him all over his body, barely being able to stop.

“Did you always look this good?” you say, moving your hands on his abdomen. “Were you always this desperate for me?” he smiles, letting you do whatever you want, until he begins undressing you too, sliding that dress off you in a hurry. He slips your bra off taking one tit into his mouth while kneading the other. You let out desperate sounds, wishing he would just eat you out already. His breath hot against your nipple makes your whole body shiver, inevitably making you whine. “Heeseung just suck on my pussy like that please stop teasing me damn it.”

He laughs against your skin, giving your boob one last kiss before pulling away. “Okay, okay, sit down on this couch.” You do, and he gets on his knees to slide your panties off. He makes you spread your legs for him, keeping them apart with his hands. He starts off with small kisses around your core, taking his time enjoying his meal afterall. “This is the second time you’re dripping wet for me, is it a pattern now?” you grab onto his hair to keep him there. “Shut up and just help me get through this.” He listens, starting to eat you out to the best of his ability. Hollowing his cheeks, shaking his head to suck on your folds. He puckers up his lips to kiss you all over, giving it a few sweet licks all over the slit. Once he reaches your clit, he glues his mouth on it, sucking on it leaving the nastiest sounds known to man. While he’s focusing on your clit, he sneaks his fingers to your wet hole, sliding one finger in at first, pounding it into you at a steady rate. You cannot stop moaning loudly, the pleasure being too much for you. He inserts another finger in, curling them inside you, reaching your g-spot easily.

“Oh, right there, Hee. Don’t you dare stop or you’re so dead— oh my fucking god that’s so good.” His hand speeds up, he pulls his mouth away to flick his tongue on your bud faster and faster; matching the rhythm of his fingers. “Fuck!” you cry out. “Heeseung i’m gonna… cum please … keep going.” You lose your mind. He speeds up even more, destroying your pussy with his fingers, actually giving you hope that he’s gonna let you finish. Once you get as close as you’ve ever been, he pulls out and away completely, making your body shake. You groan suddenly opening your eyes in disbelief. “What the fuck..?” you say angrily. “You thought I was just gonna let you cum like that from something so simple?” You glare. “You’re so fucking annoying, I had such a good orgasm forming.”

He caresses your cheek. “Stop pouting, let me make you cum forreal now, okay?” you still look mad, but you grab onto the hem of his pants, pulling them down in one second; his boner is quite visible already. You pull his dick out, stroking it while he gets a condom out his wallet again (Somehow he’s always ready). You keep stroking him, squeezing his tip with your fingers until he leaks precum everywhere. You stop that to pull his boxers down further, letting him put his condom on. He strokes himself a few more times before positioning himself to penetrate you. He slowly pushes his cock in, making slow movements at first, slowly speeding up to fuck you good. “You’re taking it so well, and you feel so good..” You hum, slowly wrapping your legs around him. “That’s amazing… keep going..” you whine, letting him fuck you til you lose your mind.

He slightly moans at every thrust, managing to get deeper and deeper with every thrust. You feel him so deep inside, hitting your g-spot again with his swollen tip. The sudden zap makes you grab onto his biceps with your hands, digging your nails into his skin while moaning louder. “Mhm…. That’s the spot. Don’t stop please…” He finally listens to your pleads, pounding into your sweet spot over and over as you leave red scratches all over his arms. Your hands move up to his upper back, scratching him like a wild cat. He hisses multiple times at the pain, but he lets you react this way just to see all your reactions to him destroying you once again. You tighten around him as you’re about to cum.

“Hee...please let me cum... plea—oh that feels so good please…” you say as you start crying, small tears running down your cheeks shutting your eyes forcefully. “Who’s crying on my cock now? You love getting fucked like this don’t you slut?” he says while speeding up even more, making you squirt on him on the spot. His words buzz in your ear over and over while you lose your mind completely. Your legs shake on his lower back, getting his dick wet with your squirt. “You’re so messy when you cum.” He groans, getting close to his release too. “Oh fuck you… you know you like it… cum already…. come on.” A few more thrusts in and he pulls out to take his condom off his dick. He gives himself a few more strokes before releasing strings of cum all over your stomach. He holds onto your thigh with his other hand while continuing to stroke himself. You look down to your stomach just to see, biting your lip at the scenery. “That’s a new one… you look damn hot doing it.” He slightly smiles at you. “Figured we’d both get messy.” You both quickly clean up the best you can, trying not to get caught by anyone despite how loud you both were the entire time.

“Is this the good sex you were talking about?” he says in a sly manner. “Obviously, if that even means something to you. If there’s one good thing about you it might just be that dick.” You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my, should I feel honored?” he says sarcastically.

You both get out of there, having no intention of staying after what both just did. He gives you the rest of the evening off and gives you your very awaited raise. He was generous with his numbers, that good time really helped. might despise you, or that’s what you think, but he took that raise seriously and you couldn’t stop smiling at your bank balance.

A few days later, you get a text at work from none other than Heeseung. You never gave him your number, so it was a surprise.

“hey y/n”

“Who is this?”

“the guy you fucked 2 days ago”

“ugh what do u want”

“i’m your boss, don’t text me that way”

“whatever, why are u texting me and where did u get my number”

“yena, i just wanted to give you some extra work today”

[1 attachment]

The photo he sent shows his lower body sitting on a chair with his legs slightly manspreading, a thick bulge layering on his dark grey pants while his left hand is gripping the said bulge. Multiple veins are seen branching down from his hand to his arm.

The moment you saw the picture your eyes scattered throughout the pixels in your phone without being able to stop. The photo he took was so damn attractive to you for no specific reason but the way his hand looked, the way you just knew that bulge in his pants was throbbing, begging to get out the tight bottom wear. Still, you decided to be a little cold to him as you always were.

“oh why should i help u? i already got my raise”

“do u want this to be your only one?”

You leave him on seen for a minute or two.

“where r u”

“in my office, tell my bodyguard i called you in here”

“🖕”

You get up, fixing your makeup a little before leaving your office to get to his. After you close the door behind you, you both have a moment of intense eye contact, just to break it off by looking down. “You got here fast. Missed me that much?” you smack your lips. “It’s not like you threatened me or anything.” He laughs softly. “You know you missed me already. Did you touch yourself to the picture I sent, too?” He slowly walks towards you.

“What? No. You’re not all that Heeseung. Your mouth moves too much though.”

“Oh yeah? Then let's see what yours can do.”

He grabs your chin, pulling it up so you can only look into his eyes. There are a few seconds of silence where your heart skips a beat… then in his lowest tone you hear him say...

“Get on your knees.”

He releases the grasp on your chin, letting you lower yourself, finally making eye contact with his bulge. “Aren’t we gonna get caught here?” He shakes his head. “No one can enter without my permission. No one can leave either, like you here.” He smiles. You squeeze your legs together at his words while sliding his pants and boxers off in one move. His hardened cock springs out, bouncing off his navel. You start with small pecks to his red tip, slowly moving down to his entire length. He looks down at you, admiring your sweet moves to bring him pleasure. “You’re adorable like this, did you know?” he chuckles. ��Eat a dick.” He slaps your cheek. “Too bad you’re eating mine right now.” You glare up at him before taking his tip in your mouth, stroking him with your hand. You have your other hand resting on his right knee, as you bop your head back and forth little by little. He smiles at you, grabbing your hair into a ponytail just to keep your head in place and to be able to fuck your mouth a bit.

You unwrap your hand from around him cock, letting him completely take control, going at his desired pace. He moans at the feeling, throwing his head back for a second. “Fuck yeah... I see this mouth is better at doing things other than complaining all the time.” His thrusts are making you slightly choke on his dick, getting harder and harder to breathe. You grab onto his thighs, trying to at least make him slow down, but to no avail. It feels too good for him to stop now, your mouth wrapped so tight around his dick; sending him waves of bliss with each thrust. After a good while he pulls away, letting you breathe again. “I fucking hate you.” You say, looking up at him. “Don’t talk to your superior that way, brat.” He grabs the base of his cock, slapping the tip onto your lips multiple times.

You take him in your mouth again, bopping your head up and down faster than before. You try using your tongue against as well, caressing the sensitive spot between his tip and length with the tip of your tongue.

“That feels so good. Don’t pull away.” He whispers. You leave little hums to confirm that you won’t, letting him get closer to his release with those emitted vibrations. After a few more sloppy bops, he moans like hell, grabbing onto the back of your head to push you deeper onto him. “Y/n i’m— gonna cum… hold on…” he moans out, his eyes closed shut. You keep going, wanting him to cum right in your mouth. “Mmm…hmm.” Is all you can let out, before he cums deep in your throat, automatically swallowing all of it. He leaves out a small groan, pulling out your mouth after he’s done. A string of saliva links his tip and your tongue as he pulls away further.

“Good girl. You swallowed all of it.” You give him a little smile, standing up while wiping your mouth. “Might’ve been the best i’ve ever had, come here.” He says, grabbing your waist with his arms. He leans in to give you a genuine kiss, not a lustful one, definitely not. He keeps you in that deep kiss for a while, pulling away only to pull you in again. “Where... is this … coming from?” you chuckle a little, asking between kisses. “I don’t think… I can stand… completely hating… you anymore…” your eyes widen a bit. “Was my mouth that good?” you say jokingly, and he shakes his head. “Not just that, not just sex. You have a crazy charm to you, I don’t know if you can feel it.”

“That’s crazy coming from you Lee Heeseung.”

“I want you in my life Y/n, you can be mad all you want but it doesn’t change things between us.”

“You’ve already been in mine way too long.” You smile.

“Exactly, I want you to be so sick of me, no medicine would be able to treat you.”

“I guess we can make it work… you’re crazy hot, still might need to tape that mouth though.”

“Is that a secret kink?” He laughs.

“Oh, shut up.” You push him slightly. You can’t lie, being his girlfriend now was tempting, no matter how much you tried to hate him, he attracted you more and more without even realising. Every time he was in your presence your subconscious was happy to see him. Your mind played tricks on you, and you hated how much you adored him.

Dating Lee Heeseung, your boss, was one of the best decisions of your life. Turns out he’s sweeter than it seems, he would give his life for you, and you would too. You didn’t need anyone else, only your soulmate and your cat. You ended up moving in together, always cooking dinner together, going on vacations together and just enjoying eachother’s presence. He was such a sweet guy, something you never expected to see from such a man. Yena definitely judged you when she first found out about your new relationship, but quickly came along with the idea. Thing is, Heeseung acted this way with others but he was so sweet with you. He only loved you. His sparkly bambi eyes always stare at you with such admiration when you walk in the room. He can’t stop admiring you all the time.

I guess he wasn’t that bad after all.

———————————————————————

a/n: thank you so much for reading this!! I spent a few days on it and it was definitely experimental. reblogging/liking would be very much appreciated < 3

#kpop #kpop bg #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung lee #heeseung #enhypen x reader

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heartkaji · 4 months ago

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★ HEART-EATING SPIDER BOY !

(n) — kinich & the iconic upside down spider-man kiss.

the gloss on your lips tastes like miel de coco & hearts in a gutter.

you hope kinich will like it—you think he will. you think that he’ll like it so you sit cross legged on the floor of your bedroom with concealer on your nose & menthone on your tongue. your cheeks are swathed in cherry blush & your lips are bruised & aching. you hope to god that kinich will kiss it better.

kinich is late.

it’s fifteen minutes past midnight & the gloss on your lips is beginning to dry. this isn’t right—kinich is never late. you’ve stared out your bedroom window three more times than you’d like to admit. the ache in your chest is grueling.

your mascara is pouring.

down your cheeks, not out the bottle. you’re not crying but there’s blood in your throat so you’d like to think you will soon. your chest feels like cotton & your limbs feel like bone marrow & there’s a pounding in your ears and—

“y/n ?”

kinich comes like a thief in the night. he’s hung upside down outside your window while you sit pretty in a pool of powder & blood. your cheeks are red tinged & your eyes are burning—“y/n ? are you okay ? let me in.”

at least you think that’s what he’s saying. you can’t really tell through the double glazed glass. you make for the window sill with red bruised knees & legs that shake like jello.

you sniffle, he frowns.

his eyes are hazy & there are scratches on his nose. his lips swell like fresh peaches. you think there’s a twig or two in his hair but it’s hard to make sense of anything in the nighttime black. you want to kiss him silly.

“are you crying ?”

“no,” you lie.

kinich blinks, your lips falter. your mouth is smeared in a strange peach jam & he’d like to think the new hue is just for him. it’s hard to believe you’d do that for his sake though so he buries the thought in the grave of his chest.

“did you think i wasn’t coming ?”

you nod.

“is it because i was late ?”

another nod.

you bite your lip. kinich stretches a gloved hand to your cheeks & the fresh heat makes your skin crawl. you’re a good little thing so you won’t move an inch & you let him trace your face till she’s bruised & swollen.

“can i kiss you ?”

another nod. his lips, your mouth.

his touch is shy & it burns your skin a thousand shades of pink. he’s still upside down hanging by the tension of his hook but his inverted lips fit perfectly over yours. his mouth tastes like copper & sugared teeth & you can feel his tongue slip past your molars. the taste of your gloss seeps into his saliva & all of a sudden he tastes like crushed strawberries & fake honey. you hope his lips will trace yours forever.

he pulls away for a breath of air. your eyes are still wet & your chin is peach sheened & your lip is busted but god above you are so fucking beautiful.

“sorry,” he clears his throat while gloved fingers strum your lips, “for being late.”

a sigh leaves your lips & he kisses you again.

idea from this post by @lotusnerd

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teojira · 4 months ago

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[Click Click Boom] [Shadow x Reader short stories]

Summary: You're set to be Shadow's companion to keep an eye on him and keep him in line, a courtesy from the goverment for him saving the world with Sonic and the others.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Can be read as platonic or romantic! Shadow/reader romance is implied though! You're human in this, age is vague but you're meant to be in your 20s.

Disclaimer: Shadow is an adult, and as for the furry debate, he's literally an adult who can consent and is sentient, don't like? Don't read!

A/N: I've literally been obsessed with this fucker since I was a literal child and it's the first time I've written for him!! The trailer yas me going insane. This is written well before the movie has come out, literally all I got to work with is Shadow in the trailer and the bits and pieces of info I psychoanalized so I don't wanna hear shit about it not being accurate tbh, this is self indulgent!!

Shadow isn't the worst task you've been assigned, you both are more akin to awkward roommates more than anything.

I'm talking randomly lingering in the corners of the room, his bright red eyes glowing and they always seemed to be locked right onto you.

You screamed the first dozen times, but now you just glare at the black hedgehog and spit out a "fuck you." and go about your business.

He'll never admit that it brings him infinite amusement, it's hard to tell, but the huff he lets out is evidence enough.

Shadow will never admit he cares for you, he loses everyone he cares for, and humans don't live that long. It's terrifying to think about how much he's come to like you.

He's not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.

You're sitting down at the dinner table, typing away on your laptop, editing the mission report from the other day when Shadow makes his way towards you. Sending him a nod in his direction, you don't think of anything when he moves in close.

A huge slam takes you off guard though, jumping damn near out of your skin as you twist your head to look at him.

"What the fuck-"

"Take it."

It's one of Shadow's guns, his emblem being engraved along the stock.

"What? No, I have guns." You raise an eyebrow at the hog, his face is perfectly still, eyes locking onto yours as he waits for you to grab the heckler.

"Your guns are worthless, you need something better."

"Well excuse me, I so happen to like my guns." You try and joke back, but the offense is taken.

Shadow rolls his eyes so hard you're scared that he's gonna blind himself. Jutting his chin towards the table once more to get your focus back onto it.

"If you have one of mine, I know you're safe." He doesn't elaborate. Not that he needs to.

"...Thank you, Shad."

All you get is a grunt in response, and he's on his way back to his room.

Gingerly picking up the weapon, you take in how pristine it is, a thumb caressing your small initials that you missed on the other side of the stock.

With Shadow saving the world, the reeking of havoc makes it to where he's limited to what he is allowed to do in the public eye.

Not that he listens, he isn't supposed to be out after curfew. But to be fair, it is extremely hard to keep a teleporting hedgehog confined to a meager two-story house.

You can hear him teleport above you, he's on the roofs of the nearby building, leering down at you.

It was a small errand you were on, simply stocking up on the essentials for the house.

Namely, snacks for Shadow, he doesn't ask for a lot other than coffee beans and Doritos.

You are choosing to ignore the fact that he eats the coffee beans straight up, the crunch echoes through your head and it sends a shudder down your spine.

He was adamant against you leaving the house this late, standing in front of the front door.

"No."

"Fuck you mean no?"

"I said no."

"....I don't listen to men."

And you weaved around him to leave the house, ignoring his shout of disapproval.

That leads you both to here now, you pretending you don't see him trailing you from the rooftops as you walk your way back home from the small shopping center.

You feign surprise when he opens the house door for you, begrudgingly sticking a hand out to help you with your bags.

"Oh! Thank you my knight in shining armor~"

"Shut it."

He's never told you his birthday, which you can understand, living for 50 years and not having your family around must be hard. No matter how he may fake that it doesn't bother him.

That doesn't stop you, not in the slightest really. You damn near kick him out of the house for the day, shoving him over to Tom and Maddie's house so he can be with the others. Despite how much he protested.

"I don't want to go over there. Not with that blue fake."

"You don't really have a choice bub, I need you out of the house."

"I don't understand why I have to-"

"Keep arguing with me and I will make it a point to not buy you shit next grocery trip."

It's an empty threat, but he grunts nonetheless.

"...."

"That's what I thought."

When he finally gets home from his long and admittedly overstimulating day with the Wachowskis, he's ready to recharge in his room.

He teleports through the house door, sighing and rubbing at his temples as he moves to kick off his shoes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd chastise him for not doing so.

Something about tracking dirt and rocket fuel into the carpet.

Whatever.

After trying to massage his brain through his fur, he opens his eyes up to see a colorful banner strung across the mantle.

'Happy birthday!' It screams, in its disgustingly neon color palette.

Shadow wracks his brain for any information of it being your birthday, he knows for a fact it isn't today. A friend you're throwing a party for? Well, that makes no sense, he knows very well you don't have many friends, especially any that you'd invite your house up for.

You're antisocial to a fault, not that he has absolutely any room to talk.

He hears you before he sees you, turning the corner into the living room, carrying some balloons in your hands. A stupid little party hat on your head.

"Shadow! What are you doing back so early?"

Kicking off the last shoe, he stands at his full height, staring into your eyes with a shrug.

"I wasn't aware I had a time."

"....fair enough, anyways, fuck, goddamnit. Stay here. Okay?"

And you're off, running into the kitchen, his ears flick at the slamming of the fridge door, followed by the cabinets being no doubt, hip nudging it shut way too forcefully.

He's awkwardly standing there still until you yell for him to come in.

Shadow has half a mind to ignore you and go into his room, but curiosity kills the cat, so he takes in a deep breath and makes his way to you.

He finds you sitting at the little kitchenette, a nervous smile spread across your lips as you gesture to the plate in front of you.

The smell is apparent, it's a coffee cupcake.

The hedgehog feels his ears flick again, staring down at the desert, then trailing his eyes back to meet your own. Wordlessly asking you what was going on.

"You've never told me your birthday, but it's been a year since you've been here, with me. After the whole trying to destroy the world shit. So since you won't tell me, we can kinda treat this as it?" You keep rambling, eyes flitting around the room, very clearly nervous as to his reaction.

Shadow doesn't say anything, or move even. Just staring down at the cupcake.

It looks amateurish, the frosting is lopsided, and the toppings on it look messy. But you made it for him. You even added a big black "1" candle in the center.

He doesn't know what to say, he can feel heat rush through his body, rushing to his ears and his face, and his fur feels constricting.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

You go to open your mouth again, no doubt to apologize, but he beats you to it.

Moving to scoop up the treat, he gently sniffs it before taking a cautionary bite.

A beat passes between the two of you.

"...it's good."

Shadow does his best to ignore the smile that blooms across your face, not wanting to remember just how pretty he finds you like this.

Disgusting.

Shadow doesn't like touch, you know it, he knows it, and everyone knows it. He's threatened to break Sonic's wrist for even so much as patting the older hedgehog on the back. Baring his sharper fangs and hissing out to not touch him ever.

He avoids group hugs from Team Sonic, avoids Tom and Maddie like the plague, dodging every invitation to be a part of the family, it makes him sick to think about it.

With you, it's a little different.

You're not like them, you don't push him to change, you don't have a problem with how closed off he is, giving him space, never once pushing his very strict boundaries.

Something churns in his chest at the sound of you crying in your room, you probably think you're being incognito, holding a pillow to your face to drown out your sobs.

The internal debate is heavy, Shadow used to be able to comfort, to provide warmth, but he hasn't done so in years. Flashes of memories where he would comfort Maria on her bad health days, letting her run her fingers over his quills, to lend an ear to Gerald when he was frustrated about treatments not working.

It's not to say he is replacing you in their place, but it's scary. To open himself up like that again. He can feel his anxiety rising as he goes over the pros and cons of crossing this line. Eyes squeeze shut forcefully as he tells himself he doesn't care about you, that you're an adult, and you don't need to be babied.

His ears twitch when a pathetic little whimper drops from your lips, and his resolve cracks.

You don't look up when he makes his way in, too stuck in your bubble.

Startling a little when two, much stronger and larger hands grab at your own, peeling them away from the pillow. Your puffy bloodshot eyes looking at the hedgehog in front of you, his face set as it usually is, stoic. But his eyes are different, and his body language is different, when has he ever looked at you so softly? It's jarring.

Oh, he's moving closer. Okay. Weird.

"Shadow? Uh, I'm ok-"

You try and lie, it's a pitiful attempt. Your voice is scratchy and the tear tracks down your cheeks aren't helping your plight.

"No, you're not."

He shuts you down immediately, hands sliding up your arms to drag you into him.

The instant your bodies touch, you feel a fresh wave of tears well up in your eyes again.

Shadow has you resting against him, your head resting on him as he wraps himself loosely in your arms, giving you the space to move away if you so choose.

It's the first time he's allowed you to hug him, the first time he's ever initiated contact with someone in years. A fact that you both are well aware of.

A sob works its way up your throat, immediately tightening your grip on the hedgehog, curling into him as you shake.

Shadow doesn't say anything, doesn't make fun of you as snot pours from your nose, doesn't point out that your mascara and eyeliner are getting everywhere, just sits there and lets you cling onto him like he's your only lifeline.

He thinks that this is okay, he's strong enough for you both, and you don't need to worry when he's here.

#IS THIS ANY FUCKING GOOD LMAO #I have no clue but i love him so bad hes been a comfort character my entire life #no one loves u shadow like i do #promise #teddy loves shadow ☆#shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sega #sonic 3 #sonic the hedgehog #shadow

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nereidprinc3ss · 4 months ago

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hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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rose-petles · 2 months ago

Note

Pls can you make a pt 2 to the 니키 - ruined make-out sessions -> N.NK fic where niki is teased by the members

니키 - ruined make-out sessions -> N.NK [ P.2 ]

Warning → none!

Paring → Clingybf!Niki x SoftieGfFem!Reader

Synopsis → Its been two months since he has kissed your lips.

He whined as you dragged him into the bathroom to get ready, already craving your kisses again. “But I miss you I wanna spend time with my love.. can I not..?”

You sighed, “We are already going out with your bandmates, lets go love..”

Niki sighed and followed you as you dragged him out of the room to the lounge area.

After jake had left the room a smirk spread across his face as he watched you kiss, his mind already running through all the teasing he was going to give Niki later.

When Niki arrived to meet his friends at the restaurant a little while later, he was instantly met with raised eyebrows and knowing smirks. Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, looking at Niki with mock seriousness.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Sunghoon said, tapping his fingers. “Must’ve been a really good excuse for being late.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Did you have something better to do than hang out with us, Niki?”

Niki shifted, immediately suspicious. “What’s with the attitude?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But the red tint that rose to his cheeks betrayed him.

Jake finally let out a loud laugh, clapping Niki on the shoulder. “broo. Saw you and Y/n having a very romantic moment.”

Niki’s face turned even redder, and he groaned, dropping his head. “Jake, why didn’t you just walk away quietly?” he muttered, eyes closed in embarrassment.

Sunoo leaned over the table, clasping his hands dramatically. “A kiss, really? On the bed? How cliché,” he teased, earning a laugh from everyone.

Jungwon laughed, pointing a finger at Niki. “Our little Niki is growing up so fast! Who knew he’d be the romantic type?”

Even Jay joined in, winking. “Next thing you know, he’ll be planning a candlelit dinner.”

Niki buried his face in his hands, his muffled voice reaching them. “You guys are the worst. Seriously.”

Heeseung gave Niki a light shove, grinning. “Don’t worry, we’re just happy for you, man.”

Despite the teasing, they all flashed him supportive smiles, and Niki couldn’t help but laugh with them, knowing he’d never hear the end of this.

But when he looked back at his friends, their laughter mingling in the air, he knew it didn’t matter.

At the end of the day, he had you—and they’d always be there to remind him of that in the most embarrassing ways possible.

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fairene · 6 months ago

Text

one of your girls / ln4, part two

lando norrisxfem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

part one

a/n ⋯ I LIED IT'S COMING OUT NOW!!! i sat down for 'bout four hours after work and a family dinner to knock this the fuck OUTTTT. it's shorter than i expected, but this was the best way i could wrap up this supposed 'oneshot'. i hope you all enjoy it. and remember, it is up to YOU for what you are wearing, clothes are intentionally vaguely described for your own viewing pleasure. and tbh, i did not proof read this...don't sue me!!! I JUST WAnted it out asap for everyone@!!! pls don't let it flop!!!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, possession, jealousy.

wc ⋯ 13.7k (unedited!)

he hadn’t heard from you in weeks. weeks. it was driving him fucking insane. he didn’t know that the girl would come back, he didn’t know she would be a bitch, and he certainly didn’t know you would react that way. to his ultimate surprise, it was a comfort knowing that you did care. however sick and twisted it was, it told him without using your words, that you wanted something.

things had been left unsaid between the pair of you for a long time. too long. he was never in the business of guessing your feelings, assuming that you felt one way or another about him. and neither were you. both of you were too fucking stubborn for your own good. neither of you could see what was right in front of you–

each other.

and that was the worst part for lando. it had him pushing himself harder. faster. to be better to perhaps catch your attention. to win you back through his ability to race. but you didn’t care about that. you didn’t care about how fast he drove his car, didn’t care about the number of podiums he got. you cared about him. but you never let the words fall upon his ears, and that was your first mistake.

it was the weekend in spain. warm, but not too humid, you traveled with alexandra and the rest of the ferrari hospitality team. you had gotten close to carlos’ girlfriend, rebecca, as well. they were both great company and more times than not, lando had slipped from your mind completely.

but not for him.

he was a mess. a wreck without you. guilt consumed him night and day, and he would feel eternally wrought with what could have been. he’s called you, texted you, even had oscar reach out to you, but there was nothing but radio silence and the bolded words ‘read’ beneath his sent messages. it hurt more knowing that you saw him suffering and did nothing about it.

but he deserved it. he deserved this treatment. he wasn’t going to fight you. he would roll over, belly up like a good boy for you. pay attention to me, his actions would scream. look in my direction. but you didn’t even view his stories on social media anymore. didn’t even like his posts.

the british driver would be found pacing back and forth, staring hunchback at his phone. oscar would watch him from across the room, legs dangling from the papaya barstool. he hated to see lando this way, but he knew what he did. lando was honest with oscar, hoping to maybe seek advice in his own girlfriend. but lily simply shrugged her shoulders and her expression said enough.

you did this to yourself.

but little did you know is that he threw that girl out the moment you left. okay, not literally, but in ever metaphoric way possible. he never contacted her again. he hadn’t contacted any girl, in fact, these past few weeks. he would be isolated with his PR team at every occasion, refusing to even entertain the thought of hitting up a new girl.

his loyalty to you was suddenly unwavering, but it was too late.

“mate,” oscar said from where he sat. lando didn’t look up, just hummed, staring at your last text to him.

‘you’re too sweet,’

too sweet. what would you say now? you had replied to a set of merchandise he saved for you, special edition for miami’s grand prix, and that had been it. from you. he had to scroll down through the text chain to reach the bottom. his endless apologies, desperate words, and more apologies. he felt nauseous. sick that he ever treated you that way.

his favorite girl. his girl.

“she’s here.”

what?

lando’s head snapped up, looking frantically around. but there was no sign of you.

“with alexandra. ferrari paddock.” oscar gestured his phone towards lando. he snatched it from him, letting his eyes fly across the photo. it was a picture of you, rebecca, and alexandra. posted on alexandra’s instagram story.

you looked…

happy.

he…

he didn’t know why he was upset by that. he wanted you to feel the same level of anger, sadness, distress, even. but here you were– looking absolutely beautiful with your bright smile. so fucking beautiful. he remembers he was there when you picked out that top. and god, he was right, it’s meant for you.

lando threw oscar’s phone back at him, and knew this would be a long fucking weekend.

barcelona’s air had been clean. much cleaner than miami, new york. the decor of the paddock, too, had you thinking and trailing your fingers over the textures. you had done that more– feeling the things around you. you used to do that with lando. but now he was gone, and you had to suffice to other obscurities to lay your fingers upon.

gone. the word echoed in the chasm of your mind. gone. you didn’t realize the depth of lando’s absence would impact you this much, but that had been a mistake on your part. clearly. an oversight of your intimate relationship. that, eventually, it would end. it would end in flames, crash and burn, and ultimately never recover. as much as you thought, anyways.

you heard your name being called from the other side of the couch. you glanced up.

rebecca stared at you expectedly.

“sorry,” you breathed. “what did you say?”

rebecca huffed, but repeated herself regardless. “i said that i have a friend with me i want you to meet.” you raised your brows quizzically. “i think you’ll like him.”

him? him? oh, fuck, here we go.

as much as you wanted to breeze past what happened in lando’s monaco apartment, you couldn’t. your feelings, as heavy as they were, weighed you down into the abyss of lando norris’ wellbeing.

you didn’t sleep with anyone since him. you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. it didn’t feel right, and your own attempt at an orgasm was ultimately futile.

but you said nothing when rebecca turned, pulling a man from conversation with carlos. he looked confused, but let his eyes settle on you. he relaxed.

he was a handsome chap. dark hair, dark eyes. tanned skin. fit. he had a grecian nose, one that was slim and curved. not like lando’s, you thought, but brought yourself down to earth and stood. you greeted him with two kisses on the cheek, and his name was raphael.

“so you are…” his spanish accent was thick and attractive. you couldn’t deny that. “friends with rebecca?”

“that’s right.” you nodded, bringing a bottle of water to your lips to cool down. “you, as well?”

he shrugged, giving you a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “carlos, really,” you let out a soft ‘ahh’ and soon realized, too, that this would be a long fucking weekend.

the day of free practices came and went. so did your time with raphael. he wasn’t a bad conversationalist whatsoever, you were simply not interested. but you made a promise to rebecca this weekend that you would try. try and branch out instead of looking insatiably bored on live television. she was right. you needed to get over this and move on, because lando must’ve, right? he must’ve slept with that girl, given the fact that he didn’t go after you.

did you expect him to?

you weren’t sure. you weren’t fucking sure of anything. you weren’t a mindreader for fucks sake. but you saw his text messages. all of them. you made yourself sick with despair every night, rereading them to yourself like the fucking bible. what did you expect him to do for you? crucify himself? maybe. just maybe.

as you were walking down the pit lane with alexandra at your side, you felt the wafting air of an oncoming storm of people. you glanced around, but alexandra was the one to point it out.

“uh oh.”

the papaya suits could be seen from anywhere. it’s not like they were subtle.

you bristled and stood up straight. fuck, okay. this was happening. he’s walking this way. was he coming toward you? no, don’t be so foolish. but you hoped that he would.

lando was approaching you, but his eyes were set forward. but when you weren’t bothering to look, he had been staring at you the entire way here. he could spot you from miles away with your countenance, your undying beauty.

but he didn’t stop to look at you.

you didn’t either.

but your hands–

god your hands

they brushed past one another when he swept past your shoulder. his pinky desperately latching to yours before you let him go. you gasped lowly and he heard it, his ears twitching with the sound. but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t.

if he stopped to turn, he would kiss you out in the open.

you dared him to.

but you both kept on your way, and the interaction had you fuming. why can’t he care to show up? texts, calls, whatever, didn’t compare to the ability to show up. you knew he was in monaco. you knew exactly when he was there. it wasn’t a fucking secret.

fuck him.

you didn’t care if you were being a brat. you knew what you put at stake, but you opened your heart to him. and you believed that maybe, just maybe, if that girl hadn’t interrupted, the two of you would be in a very different situation. maybe. but you didn’t let that thought linger. you couldn’t.

“what was that?” alexandra whispered to you as you both kept walking.

“nothing.”

and that’s what you promised yourself it to be. nothing. when in reality, it had been everything. lando had seen you, spotted you from what felt like a mile away with a man lingering at your side. fuck. reality set in for him that you were looking. you were looking elsewhere from him for companionship. it made him fucking sick to his stomach, and he knew that had to change. he was a man on a mission now, a conqueror ready to pillage.

it was the evening when you found yourself locked away in your hotel room. it was well past ten o’clock, and you were exhausted form today. alexandra had invited you out, but you just couldn’t bring yourself. rebecca prodded away at you, too, insisting that you and raphael hit it off today. he said that he wanted to see you again.

you had thought about it. you really did.

but you couldn’t.

you’d been sucked into a tv melodrama in your hotel room when you felt your phone vibrate. someone was calling you.

you checked the time and raised a brow, lifting your phone to see the all-too-familiar contact card lighting up your face in the ambient lighting of the room.

lando

you hesitated.

suddenly your heart was racing, beating rapidly against the cage of your chest, and you felt like a prisoner to your anxiety. you felt it drop to your stomach, feeling queasy, but hit ‘answer call’ anyways. you lifted your phone to your ear, and let out a soft breath.

“what?”

your words were bitter, but quiet in the solitude of your room.

“didn’t think you’d answer,” came his raspy voice from the other end. he was breathless, as if he had been running. or fucking some girl. fuck you, you wanted to bite out, but held your tongue.

“neither did i.”

that earned you a cheeky laugh from him. he hesitated, too, before breathing. “are you at your hotel?”

you were confused by the question. “yes.”

“can i see you?”

his words hit you hard. you fell back against the pillows of your bed, hand coming to rest over your forehead. you sighed with a grumble. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

you could practically feel him wince through the phone.

“please.”

fuck him and his soft words. his desperate tone, the pity that you felt for him grew. the fact of the matter flew from your head, disappearing with a singular plead from his cracked vocals. he sounded honest. that he truly wanted to see you, and a small part of you wished to reconcile whatever was happening between the two of you. you were not a woman of small touches– you wanted it all, or nothing.

“okay.”

lando cleared his throat, choking on his breath, exhibiting his initial shock. “i– okay, okay, what room are you in?”

“610.”

he hung up before you could let out a breath. your phone fell onto your nightwear– a simple baggy shirt and spandex. they were what kept you most comfortable at night.

your hands raked over your face, pulling your eyelids with it. what were you doing? engaging with him, talking with him over the phone. the long text chains of read messages you had banished him to sat idly on your screen, staring you down with an ambivalence that you quivered before. was this a mistake? should you just pretend you’re–

there was a knock at your door seconds into your thoughts.

you jumped from your bed, hands raking through your hair. how did he get here so fucking quick? you scrambled around your room, checking yourself in any reflection you could find. fuck, why were you so nervous? how could he possibly make you so riddled with anxiety in a matter of seconds? your heart was in overdrive once again, and you wondered just how much you could take.

he said your name through the door. weak, pining. you dropped the brush you grabbed in the bathroom instantly, feet soaring over the hardwood floor to open it. when you did, you were face to face with the british driver.

he wasn’t drunk. that’s a first. the thought crossed your mind only briefly, thinking that you were just a booty call in the late hours of the night. it wouldn’t be the first time.

lando was disheveled, messy, and the white shirt he wore was ruffled. upon his head was a mclaren hat, concealing his identity from the outside. most importantly, though, that you noticed was how his face was glazed in a sheath of sweat. you cocked a brow at him.

“did you run here?”

lando shrugged. it felt, in that moment, that things were normal between you two. that all of this…shit washed over for just a second. you felt at home. comfortable. but you cleared your throat and let him walk in, shutting the door behind you.

you didn’t want to speak to him here. not where he could see your laundry everywhere, pairs of underwear sprawled around so he’d get distracted. not that you expected to fuck him here, though the thought didn’t upset you. fuck, you were in deep.

you brushed past him, leading him to the small terrace just outside your bedroom. you slid the door open and leaned your back against the railing. he slid the door shut behind the two of you, and he took a seat in one of the wooden picnic chairs. he gawked at you, openly, letting his eyes run over your bare legs beneath the oversized shirt.

“don’t do that.” you said, breaking the silence between you two. you seemed to rip him out of his dreamscape with a clearing of his throat.

“do what?” he feigned innocence. though he knew what he was doing. he missed you, lest he verbalize that.

“look at me,” you breathed, “like that.”

his brow lifted, still playing dumb. dumb, as if he didn’t want to take you over this railing, ask you to be his.

“like what?”

you scoffed.

“like you’re in love with me.”

ouch. your words bit harder than he thought they would, blood gushing from an open wound in his heart. he let your words settle before he leaned back in the chair, legs spreading as he fiddled with the skin of his thumbs.

“i wanted to see you.”

“i know,” you answered. “you saw me. now what?”

lando shook his head. “don’t do that.” please don’t do that he wanted to say.

“do what?” it was your turn to play dumb. your turn to pretend that you weren’t doing the same thing. pushing him away was the easiest way to deal with all of your problems.

“act so cold.” he turned his head away from you, glancing over towards the lights of the city. “giving me frostbite.”

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.”

huh? you froze, eyes widening as you straightened upright. did you hear him correctly? it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard an apology. but this was a first to hear it in person, not in begging text messages half way across the world.

“what–?”

“for everything. i’m sorry.” his head fell to his hands as he leaned over, gripping at the curls atop his head. you felt the same urge creeping up your spine, your hands feeling empty. you shifted on your feet, stepping a foot closer.

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant.

“why, now, are you sorry?”

he was speechless. unable to form the words that could answer such a vague question. but you had an idea, so you thought you’d share.

“because i was with someone?” raphael. you know that he saw the two of you talking. chatting. maybe an occasional giggle so you could keep him quiet for the rest of the free practices.

lando began to shake his head. “no, no–”

“really?”

you stepped into his space, wedging yourself between his thighs. he stared up at you, lost in the reflection of your eyes beneath the starlit sky. his hands found your hips and you let him keep them there, at least for the moment.

“really.” he promised you. head leaning forward to rest on your stomach. you felt the perch of his nose dig into your skin. your head leaned back, taking a large breath, feeling tears begin to well.

“what do you want, then?” you said with a shaky breath.

you felt his hands tense against your hips.

“i don’t know.” his words were muffled, but you could make them out. it shattered you to hear the creak in his voice, but it hurt even more knowing that he didn’t know. you wanted something with him. a relationship. but he didn’t feel the same.

your fingers cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. “that’s it, then, huh?” your voice was dangerously soft.

he was confused. again.

“that’s all i’ll be?” he still didn’t catch on, too busy staring at your flushed face, reddened eyes. he wanted to fix it– take back his words. he’d do anything to reverse time. would do anything to revoke the words that spilled from your pretty lips.

“one of your girls.”

you pushed him away, walking back to the railing with your back turned. he said your name over and over. you ignored him.

“i think,” you said, sucking in a tight breath to calm the storm of emotions that were threatening to raise hell. “that you should go.”

“no, no–” lando stood, coming to wrap his arms around you, but you turned, holding up your hand to stop your advances.

“we knew this would happen one day, didn’t we?” you reaffirmed, steadying your breaths the best that you could. but it was difficult. nothing about this was easy. but it had to be done. you were done waiting. done pining for someone that did not feel the same. did not burn the same.

lando breathed your name again. you shook your head. “no. no. we can’t–” you choked on your tears. it felt hard to breathe. “i can’t keep waiting for you.”

lando’s own eyes filled with tears. it felt like a breakup, when you two were clearly never together. you made that clear enough, and he obeyed, just wishing to feel your skin beneath his fingers, fall asleep to your heart beat. so why did he say he didn’t know? fuck, he’s such an asshole. he couldn’t take back his words now, could he?

he tried to explain. words stumbled from his lips, nervous and riling with anxiety, but you would hear none of it. you simply brushed past him and into your room, opening the door from your hotel room for him. you said nothing else, tears sliding down your cheeks, lip caught between your teeth.

“please,” he begged one last time. he had succumbed to his tears, too, cheeks flushed and lip wet. his hands trembled as he made one last attempt to cup your face. you let him.

your foreheads met in both desperation and exhaustion. here, it felt like time stopped. the two of you in sync with your racing hearts, trembling hands, voracious blood churning through your veins. you looked up at him through your wet lashes and he met your gaze. it only had you sobbing harder.

he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“please,” he said your name on his trembling tongue. the sound had your knees trembling, but you resisted. you had to. you couldn’t keep doing this anymore. there was a life out there, waiting for you to take hold of. “don’t make me go.”

you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head.

“you have to.”

lando hiccuped. his fingers were still shaking, and he finally accepted your rejection. though he supposed he signified it first. that was his first mistake. he couldn’t take back his words without sounding like a dick, so he was trapped. trapped utterly in this pit of mayhem.

he exited your hotel room with his tail between his legs. defeated.

you shut the door behind him and slumped against it, your back sliding down until you hit the floor. your head fell into your hands as you attempted to stifle your sobs.

little did you know, that he had done the same thing, fallen limp against your hotel room door. your sobs were in unison as you began to unravel, whilst he coiled into knots. forever entwined amidst your inability to be vulnerable with one another. toilsome, but ultimately true.

you didn’t know how long you stayed there. he didn’t know how long he stayed there. the two of you stayed in parallel behind a closed door, mimicking each other’s beating heart, for you knew that they would never be one.

when you woke, you were still slumped against the door. you stood, stretching out your painfully aching muscles, arched your back, twisted your neck. your eyes were swollen raw with your epidemic of tears the night prior, and you rubbed the crust away. the memories flooded through you. lando was here. he was here, and you had to haul his ass out.

you thought he was going to kiss you.

but he didn’t. your lips would remain untouched by his own.

your fingers ghosted over your mouth, shivering at the memory of him so close to you. you could feel his breath fanning over your face– the heaving, desperate puffs of air– and he felt yours, too, with the same amount of anxiety. you were a wreck before him, and he was too.

in no time you found your phone, grimacing at your battery, and the plethora of texts from rebecca and alexandra. it was still early in the morning so you had time to pull yourself together, but you had a big day with them today. qualifying was happening, and rebecca had set you up.

she set you up with raphael for the day. you knew she meant the best. and maybe it was. this was your opportunity to uphold your promise– to move on. you had to, or else you would be strung dry for the remainder of your life, with dreary hopes and aimless romantics. you would not drown in the ocean of lando norris, despite how cumbersome he gripped on your ankles.

you fixed yourself for the day. showering quickly, styling your hair to your liking. you threw on a formal chic outfit, perhaps trying a bit hard today to catch raphael’s eye– or someone else’s, by chance. but you left the unattainable at the back of your mind today, heart far too raw to be ripped open again.

you would stick with something safe. someone safe. raphael was your answer in the short term. you were sick of playing the long game, bested to your knees in the face of whatever conspired between you and the british driver. you were convinced it was for the best. it had to be. these emotions couldn’t be for nothing.

it couldn’t be for nothing.

when you arrived to the track that morning, alexandra was quick to meet your side. she had an impenetrable amount of questions for you, yearning for your answers, but you only gave her a brief overview.

“we’re done,” you said as you walked through the pit lane. “he doesn’t want me like that.”

she was clearly taken back. her hand flew over her heart, obviously distressed for you. you admired her care for you. you would do the same for her. “really?”

you nodded, gulping down the lump in your throat that was tempting to choke you.

“it’s okay.” you reaffirmed her. she made a move to speak over you, console you to the highest degree, but you stopped her. “i’m fine. swear. let’s have a good day, shall we?” you plastered on a fake smile towards her, but you knew she saw through you. but she would accept this for now when you were approached by carlos, rebecca, and raphael.

you smiled brighter when raphael came to kiss both your cheeks. you gripped his bicep. engaging in conversation with him felt easier today, and you weren’t begging for an out. you’d catch rebecca’s eye here and there, and she glowed with happiness. if you weren’t doing this for yourself, you could at least say that you were doing it for her.

raphael was not a bad man whatsoever. he smelled good, had good hygiene, and had a glowing smile. but he didn’t smell the same. didn’t have the same musk. didn’t have the harsh pricks of a stubble that burned into the skin of your neck.

fuck. you missed the feeling of that stubble.

you clung to raphael’s side for the rest of the day, a burning itch between your thighs undoing the morals of your mind. if you wanted to get over lando, you’d have to truly get over him.

it was never a ‘string’s attached’ relationship, was it? you were free to fuck whoever you want, when you want. so why would it be so bad if you wished to see raphael bend down for you?

or you wanted someone else, but raphael was the closest you’d get.

the rest of the day went by smoothly. for you, at least, but not for lando.

he had come into the mclaren paddock looking absolutely awry. his hair messy, eyes dreary with sleep and emotion, whereas you…you looked beautiful. untouched by your emotions from the night before. so much so that you were cuddled against that same fucking dude, which had lando’s blood bursting to life.

you were across in the pitlane observing the car, arms folded over your chest. that fucking guy’s hand rested on the upper part of your back, rolling soft circles with the pads of his fingers. he clenched the rim of his helmet in his hands. his teeth grinded inside his mouth, sawing down the enamel. for you, he’d have no teeth. for you were the only world he wished to bite, and even then you starved him of it.

“y’alright, mate?” oscar’s voice interrupted his thoughts. lando broke his stare from the pair of you, ripping his eyes away.

but you had turned, then, and let your eyes linger on his back.

“fine.”

that evening was no different than any other. for lando, at least, he succumbed to his hotel room for the night. he had no interest in going out. if he saw you with that spanish prick, he’d only lose himself even more. the guilt of losing you had been overturning, divulging into what a psychologist would declare as madness.

but you were the opposite. you were out on the town, clubbing with rebecca and raphael. carlos was there, too, but was saving his energy for the race tomorrow. he held no drink in his hand, but you did. you were downing shot after shot.

you were swaying your hips, grinding against raphael with a steady pace. he was into it. his dick was aggressively hard against the back side of your dress, but you weren’t scared by it. it enticed you further, in fact, and had you drawing new sensations of pleasure through you.

finally, you thought, a break from him. from lando. but the voices echoed inside the back of your mind. it bounced off the walls; he couldn’t compare.

lando would have his hands drawing up the sides of your body. fingertips scathing the fabric of your dress, teasing touches that would have you writhing in his hold, desperate for him to fuck you in the back.

lando would have his face nuzzled into your neck whispering bittersweet praises into your ear. he’d squeeze your hips with anticipation as the both of you would move in sync. always in sync. the two of you were one on the dance floor, one when you fucked one another senseless in your less than private moments. when he was particularly desperate for your touch, he’d go as far as taking you in the bathrooms at any club. he had no shame; not when it came to you.

but raphael was tame. and maybe you appreciated tame. maybe this was a new start for you. fresh and free of any unknowns.

“you’re beautiful, hermosa.” he would whisper to you, body trying its best to keep up with you. he did, for the most part, but you moved to your own beat. lando would know. he knew every inch of you. were you really prepared to be strangers?

you spun around in raphael’s arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you offered him a cheeky smile. this wasn’t you. “and you’re handsome!” it was alcohol talking. you would never be seen so exuberant. not like this.

it had raphael laughing, though, and it was enough for him to take you back to his place.

the entire way back to his place you were giggling, latching onto his tanned skin. his hair was soft, sheen, and luscious. your hands never got lost in the strands of his hair– it was too combed, not curly enough. nothing was curly enough.

and then he had you against the wall of his flat. your hands pinned against your head, and he met your lips with his. fuck, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been kissed. but the worst part about all of it was–

you hated it.

you tugged his head down to your neck, letting him work the sensitive skin with his tongue. your lips felt hot. blistering with a heat you haven’t felt in a long time. it felt…it felt…

raphael’s tongue found the meeting part of your underwear and skin, “can i?” he asked with a timid voice. you let out a soft moan and nodded. he tugged the fabric down, your dress still hanging off your body. you didn’t even remember if he left kisses along your neck, your breasts, you guessed his lips weren’t that memorable.

and then his tongue was against your slit. you weren’t wet enough. clearly. you could feel the chapped parts of your cunt, disappointed in your body that you couldn’t ‘get it up’ for him. whereas he was practically jacking off in his pants, you were left like a desert. it wouldn’t be like this with lando.

he explored your cunt with his tongue, narrowly dodging your clit ever so slightly. he thought your noises of pleasure were noises of distress, so he avoided touching your clit as much as possible. so he tongued you through and through, until you began to become irritated.

you couldn’t even feel tight in your stomach. the feeling couldn’t be outmatched. maybe your sexdrive had died. maybe you could never cum ever again. this was to be your fate– dry and lonely. fuck. you let your head fall back against the wall, which he took as a good sign, and kept going. instead, you threaded your hands through his hair, rolling your eyes.

you let out a few soft, faked moans. you felt guilty– of course you did– but apparently it was an olympic sport to make you cum. he certainly wouldn’t make the playoffs.

after another minute of this, you were fed up.

you tightened your cunt on command, which took a lot of fucking work, thank you, and began to heighten the sound of your moans. the award for best fake orgasm goes to: you!!! you surged forward to grip onto his shoulders, even pretending to be shaking.

you deserved an oscar.

“didn’t think i was that good.”

an egot, maybe.

you let out a soft sigh, a faked chuckle, and let him lead you to his bedroom. he fell atop of you on your back, holding himself up with the strength of his forearms. he dipped his hand down, scathing over your irritated cunt. you gasped at his hand finding your slit once again, drenched in only his spit, and without warning slipped a finger inside of you.

your mouth hung open, lurching at the sudden contact. you felt sinched beneath his weight, taught with tension. he even curled his finger inside of you. he grazed your bundle of nerves that had your squirming. squirming for more pressure. he kept hitting your spot until he pulled away. you looked confused at first, wondering where exactly he was going.

and…then he was pulling his cock out. fuck. you really weren’t going to win here, tonight, were you? not in the slightest, it seemed. he looked down at you with a knowing smirk. the same one where he thought you came beneath his tongue.

he thought you came.

fuck!

“are you ready?” he asked when his cock pushed against the skin of your lower belly. he was a good size, you admit, but you had a inkling that you weren’t going to find a sweet release with his hands. you nodded, forgetting your manners, but raphael said nothing.

he pushed into you with a discerning pace. you scrunched your nose out of his eyesight. he was too busy fucking himself into your pussy. he couldn’t even open his eyes to look at you. and, for the record, he didn’t use a condom. dick. at least you had a form of a contraceptive. you’d make sure not to let him finish inside you. that’s for fucking sure.

he slid in and out of you with the lubrication of his spit and his own precum. you didn’t move. you laid there, bored, faking a moan and gasp here and there.

the whole time you thought about someone else. and you didn’t feel guilty about it. you were able to find yourself comforted by the dreaming thought of lando’s voice in your ear. the phantom touch of his stubble. the amount of moles that you could count on his face.

with a grunt, you felt raphael push off of you, cumming onto his own sheets. he laid there, panting, and you…”did the same.”

he turned to face you, smile on his face. “did you finish?”

you nodded with an itching smile. he seemed triumphant. though you couldn’t be drier than a haystack.

your exit from his flat quickly. it’s not like he even took your dress off. he insisted that you stayed, but you retorted that you had an early morning with alexandra. whether or not that's true, you didn’t seem to care. he didn’t fight your statement and seamlessly let you go, clearly too exhausted from his evening to even see you out the door.

you hailed a cab from your hotel shamefully. you felt icky. your lip sneered when you caught a cab and tipped the driver once you arrived back. the elevator ride never seemed so tantalizingly long.

when you swiped into your room, you threw your belongings on your bed and turned on a hot shower. while you waited for the water to heat, you opened your phone.

no messages from lando.

did you expect any?

maybe.

you decided to call him. you didn’t fucking care. it was the alcohol talking.

ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…

no answer.

you left a voicemail.

“heeyyy…!!” you surged into the phone as you began to untangle your dress from your body. “i–uh, i dunno i just…wanted to call you… because i…” you swore under your breath as you couldn’t get a strap off. “sorry i…” you stuttered, laughing to yourself. “i think i miss you, lan.”

and then you hung up, singing yourself into the shower. the hot water panned over your body, fingers trailing over the mounds of your breasts. the soft skin of your abdomen.

but with your whimsy, came a price.

lando was there. he just didn’t answer your call. he had been awake, wondering what you were doing, since you were absent on almost all forms of social media. so when he got your call, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it.

then the voicemail came.

he must’ve played it over a dozen times. hearing your soft voice, amicable and kind. you had been drinking, clearly, and he could hear the sound of the shower running in the background. he held his phone against his head, other hand running through his hair. he was a wreck over you, and you were as well. drunk dialing was never a thing between the two of you.

especially an ‘i miss you.’

and how ‘lan’ slipped past your lip with such ease. the name was meant for you to use. only you.

he found himself stroking his cock to your words, the temptress in your voice. he knew she was there, baiting him, and he was no better than a fish to bite. he fisted his cock with your name on his lips, and a reminder that yours was on his.

with a pounding heartbeat and ringing in his ears, all he could think about was you. and more or less, you the same.

your fingers trailed down your navel in the shower, coming to nib at the lips of your clit. how swollen it was, angered and annoyed, that such a man could ignore it. by association, you.

a hand rolled over one of your breasts, twisting your nipple in hand. you gasped at the sensation you provided, flicking your clit between your fingers. you truly needed no more to make yourself cum, except the thought of lando’s voice in your ears.

‘come on, baby,’ he would say to you, fingers gliding along your drenched slit with ease. you clenched around nothing, whimpering to yourself in the hum of the hot shower. ‘little more for me, yeah?’ he would always talk you through it. never once would you be alone when you came. he was always there, lingering, a shadow against the walls.

you slipped a single finger inside of yourself, curling it expertly as lando taught you to. ‘just like that, sweet thing.’ he’d mutter against your shoulder as he’d fuck you on a chair facing a mirror. you could never make yourself cum before his “lessons.”

your back arched against the marble of the shower walls. your thumb and forefinger worked just like his would against your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves until a coil inside of you snapped, and you came all over yourself with his name on your lips.

and he could feel it. amongst the cosmic plane. he had been grudgingly fisting his cock, grunting your name over his lips. it was sinful, the way that his cock was spewing cum in only a matter of minutes at the thought of your voice. ‘lan, lan,’ you would say to him, ‘need it. need you inside,’ you’d whimper against him, begging for his cum to seep out of you.

he’d never deny you a pleasure. so he shouldn’t deny himself. he came in a matter of seconds over the palm of his hand, your name flustering his tongue. and he’d lay there, soaking in his milky cum, eyes blown wide at just how much of an effect you had on him; mind, body, and soul.

you stood there in the shower, flustered from heat, the slick running down your thighs. your hearts beat in unison at that moment, miles apart, on the same wavelength.

the shower wasn’t the same after that. you felt dirty, but so good. the namesake of lando’s voice in your ear was enough to have you cumming on your own fingers, but the touch of another man made you ill. what a shock that was to you. or maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all.

clean to the best of your ability, you slept easy that night. the best sleep you’ve had this weekend, in fact, with lando frolicking through your dreams. and you in his, whispering soft ‘i love you’s’ which had him writhing with pleasure. you infested every part of him, and he did the same to you. you’d never be free of lando norris, and the thought began to settle. it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but you couldn’t forget his words.

‘i don’t know,’ he spoke into your stomach. his nose pinched you. the words sliced clean. your stomach coiled not with pleasure, but anxiety. why didn’t he want you that way? why did he hesitate?

you weren’t taking his rejection well. that was clear.

but he wasn’t taking this any better. he was going through his own emotional turmoil of trying to make this up to you. it would be the last thing that he did.

when you woke that morning with a groggy headache and a sore ache between your thighs, you couldn’t help but groan. what the fuck were you doing last night? you perhaps had the most disappointing sex of your entire life, and now, as you looked in the mirror you were nothing more than mortified.

littered on your chest, above your breasts, were a few specks of bruises. hickey’s. fuck. fuck. that was one thing that was always far too intimate. kisses and hickeys. what did this mean, then, that you belonged to raphael? your fingers trailed up the bruises on your chest, the flesh tender beneath your soft touch. you winced at the memory of his cocky face, thinking that he had you finishing more than once. if at all. you leaned over the sink, washing your face off with cold water.

your hands rested at the base of your neck. your reflection stared back at you, pitiful, the bruises beneath your eyes reflected a tiredness that the word ‘exhaustion’ could not begin to fathom. you were disappointed in yourself. that much was clear.

a sigh escaped you when you finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. for the race today, you decided on a long dress. one that covered your chest, but hung on your shoulders. it was a beautiful piece. you’d been saving it for this weekend, and you were more than thankful that the universe seemed to be looking out for you.

you tidied up your appearance the best you could and slid on a pair of heels, grimacing at the sore ache from the night before. raphael didn’t have a valet, so you had to walk across four blocks with his hands wandering down your sides, desperate to fuck you in an alleyway. ew. you shivered at the memory, but continued on from your hotel room.

though, you took one last glance before leaving, and let your eyes rest on the balcony. it felt like a dream to see lando sitting there, his face resting against the tender flesh of your stomach. his stubble itched through the cotton of your shirt, but it rather tickled. and then he said he didn’t know what he wanted with you, and your whole life slipped right through your fingers.

he slipped through your fingers.

you shut the door.

lando’s morning, on the other hand, started off stellar in comparison to yours. he had stayed up a while longer, wondering if you would call him back, but you never did. there was a faint pang of disappointment, but much more guilt that he let you slip away so easily. he should’ve refused to leave your hotel room that night. refused by any force you attempted on him.

but he’s just that much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? when he left for the paddock early that morning, he glanced at his phone one last time. one missed call, and it was from you last night. and then suddenly, his heart was warm, and there was a smile on his face.

all this told him was that there was a chance. you called him. you called him whether or not you were shitfaced. blackout drunk. in your vulnerable moments you thought of him. reached out for him. fuck, he was in love with you.

in love

he paused when he shut the door behind him, frozen in place. what? is that what this was? love?

anxiety churned in his stomach. this feeling had been there for a while. a long time. and only now he was just realizing it. shit.

he fiddled with his phone in his hands. thumb hovering over your contact card, he let it fall.

it rang twice before he heard the line connect.

“yeah?” you said, demure and quiet. he knew you were exhausted. he’s heard this tone before. the tone you had when you were viciously hungover. it had him chuckling. “what?”

“good morning to you, too.” the words rolled easy from him. he suddenly felt calmer with you on the other end, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

“good morning.” you said, like you were shocked that he was calling you to say good morning.

“fun night?” he asked, stepping into the elevator and hitting the ‘lobby’ button. a few members of his team were already waiting for him.

but you had froze up in the car ride to the paddock. what? how could he know? did he know that you were with raphael? you cleared your throat. “what– what do you mean?”

“you called me.”

shit.

if you weren’t fucked already, you were royally now. your hand dragged over your forehead as your head swarmed with anxious thoughts, completely forgetting about calling him and then…touching yourself in the shower to the thought of him. yikes! what a little freak you were. but lando would enjoy it.

“i–” you stuttered, voice caught in your throat. “i’m sorry…i was just…”

your voice trailed and you could hear his childish laugh from the other end. “no, no. it was cute.” you heard the elevator ding from his end, but it hard to focus on when there was a deep blush flustering your cheeks.

“i didn’t mean to bother you,” you quickly said, finding the need to apologize over and over again for disrupting his night. it was embarrassing enough as is that you had the worst sex of your life, but you called the one man that didn’t want you for consolidation. what a conundrum that was, wasn’t it?

“you didn’t.” his words were firm this time, no traces of playfulness. you perked up at this, finding yourself laughing.

“must’ve said something dumb, didn’t i?”

there was a pause.

“yeah. yeah. something dumb.”

there was another beat of silence. you shifted in the uber, the pass around your neck.

“i’ll see you there?”

you heard him suck in a tight breath, then release it.

“yeah. yeah, ‘course you will.”

you smiled. he could feel it.

“okay. bye, then.”

he said your name softly on the other end with a salutation, and the line went flat. you slammed your back against the leather seats of the car, hands rolling over your face. you rubbed your eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming.

it wasn’t fair that he could make you this way. that he had you in tears just a few nights before, and now your fingers shook with excitement. fuck him. fuck him for making you feel this way, and yet, there was no trace of annoyance on your face.

just a bright smile.

your name was called when you swiped into the paddock. it had you whipping your head up to see who it could be, but you already knew that it was alexandra. she wasn’t trailed by anyone else, thank god, and she flung her arms around you for a hug.

you sang a soft greeting towards her, and she looked up at you expectantly. you raised a brow.

“so…!?”

you narrowed your eyes.

“your night with…!” her voice dropped to a whisper. “raphael.”

you shushed her, looking around, before you held one of her hands in yours. “you want the truth?” her facial expression dropped, but she nodded anyways.

“awful.”

she groaned, head rolling back in disappointment. “i told rebecca it wasn’t a good idea.”

“the sex was…horrible. just…i mean, what the fuck?” alexandra burst out into a laugh as the both of you joined side by side towards the ferrari hospitality. you dreaded going, given the unanswered texts for him, you didn’t want to be confronted with…anything.

“most importantly…” alexandra stopped the two of you before you entered. “are you over him?”

him. the inevitable.

you swallowed.

and nodded your head.

alexandra was only slightly pleased and gave you a reassuring smile. boy, this would be a long day.

before the race started you were wandering around the pitlane with your miniature crew of ferrari girlfriends and their friends. raphael had found you, eagerly, with a prideful smile on his face. out of kindness, you returned the gesture, and let him linger around you for the day.

ferrari’s pit was next to mclaren’s. you couldn’t help but stare.

lando was there. in his papaya race suit. he was speaking to his engineers, and never glanced your way. look at me, you wanted to shout. please, your mind begged. but you stayed firm at raphael’s side.

he dared to stretch out his hand to let it loiter on your waist, but you shimmied out of the contact with an awkward smile. he noticed, but didn’t say anything.

lando did too.

but not what you wanted him to see. he saw you with raphael’s arm around your waist. you were smiling, laughing, in their presence. whereas he couldn’t even bear a night out without the cumbersome thoughts of you constricting his mind. he thought of nothing but you. and here you were, haphazardly dangling this spanish prick in front of his face. fucker.

you turned to look at lando again, free of raphael’s touch. he was staring.

your heart beat faster, eyes widened. your palms were sweating– why were they sweating? he looked pissed, frustrated, but you didn’t know why. your brows upturned with a soft expression that he yearned for, and his envy flushed away.

it was that easy. your gentle features. the concern ridden in your face.

you even gave him a small wave, twiddling your fingers. he was bashful in response, and returned it with a small twist of his own fingers.

but his eyes carried down. towards your chest. you blinked, realizing that part of your dress had slipped further. there was an obvious bruise making an appearance, and you felt guilty. guilty as if you had cheated on him, but you were never in a relationship to begin with.

you saw his jaw tightened and his hands flex before he turned, leaving you speechless.

and then you were dragged away, just like that, into the viewing panel for the race. they were about to start their formation lap, yet you could barely focus with your racing heart.

it past with ease. raphael tried to get closer to you, but you found excuses to stay huddled at alexandra’s side. she noticed, and even wrapped her own arm around your waist. the two of you were a picturesque vision of divine femininity. you felt untouchable at her side, incomparable to any girlfriend you’ve ever had.

lando was fighting hard. he was aggressive on the straits, pushing past the limits of his drs. your hand traced over your chin as you watched the tv intensely, frightened when you saw him make contact with one of the mercedes drivers.

“what is he doing…” you muttered under your breath. your nailbeds were being hacked on by your teeth, chewing them down to the stump. parts of your thumbs streamed with blood.

little to your knowledge, your reaction had been broadcasted. alexandra’s face unfurled with a cheeky look, realizing that she had been played by your deception from earlier. you were not over him. in fact, you were entirely worse than before. your concern was ebbed through the power of media, and that wouldn’t be forgotten.

“are you okay?” came raphael’s voice. you didn’t even look at him.

“fine.”

he took your cold tone in earnest, realizing that there was something more at stake here.

you couldn’t be more grateful when lando passed the checkered flag. your hand found the column of your throat, finding comfort. you let your face be consumed by a smile, one similar to raphael’s when he thought he made you came. stupid man, you thought, glancing towards the spaniard. you had a new priority now.

you had to prove that you wanted lando. but how? everything felt like it was becoming too complicated. your fates were intertwined via an invisible string.

and you didn’t even go to his podium.

he looked for you, sweat dripping down his forehead, but didn’t see you. it had him grow weary, agitated. he raced this hard so he could prove himself to you. prove that he was better than some lowlife.

but he fears he lost you.

the hickey’s on your neck spoke volumes. you fucked him. fucked that stranger. his fists curled around the trophy, break-necking the medal display.

did you come?

no. stop that. it’s none of his business to ask–

she didn’t. you couldn’t.

the pieces began to fall in place in his head. the phone call. you called him…when you needed him most.

it suddenly made holding this trophy all the more worthwhile, and he even donned a smile on his face when he raised it high above his head. this, he thought, was victory.

the night came as swiftly as the day went. you were getting ready to go out, alexandra reminding you to schedule your uber. you did. the dress you wore this evening was short. one of your favorite colors, and had a high neckline. for obvious reasons. you were entirely mortified that raphael felt the primal need to mark you like some bitch. it had your stomach twisting with anger, fingers pulsing with a punch.

but your violent urges stayed dormant when you met up with alexandra, charles, rebecca, carlos, and…raphael. jeez, what a lot you’ve surrounded yourself with. raphael was at your side in an instant when you climbed out of the uber, refusing to give you a morsel of space. it had your lip curling, grimacing down the vomit that curdled in your throat.

you barely spoke a word to him tonight. there was nothing more to say to him. if you were to say anything, it would be a rotten lie.

alexandra tugged you along through the doors, charles at her flank, which you gladly let her do. anything to get away from raphael would be best for you, given how much you didn’t want to confront him. it was just for the weekend, right? no strings attached.

no strings attached, echoed through your mind. flashes of lando’s hands on your hips, the phantom embrace that tensed around your flesh, seeped into your head. your heart plummeted against your will, looking around futilely for his bright smile amongst the sea of oncomers.

it didn’t take you long.

but you wish that it did.

he had his arm slung around some girl, hat backwards, first few buttons undone on his white dress shirt. hands clamming up, you tightened them together over your front, letting your eyes gawk at such a beautiful pairing. it was a different girl than the one you had rudely met in monaco.

another one of his girls.

your mind begged you to let it go. but your heart chained itself to lando, refusing to let go this…infatuation that had you sick to your stomach. what did she have that you didn’t? was she nonchalant? was she a cool girl?

your staring lasted too long. lando saw you. he felt your eyes– your heated stare, beckoning his attention. he answered your call, glancing directly at you. but he did not wave.

neither did you.

the urge thwarted you to look anywhere else but him, tugged your attention elsewhere, but you stayed firm on his freckled face, sharp cheekbones, his daunting stare. you felt the beat of his heart from across the room, the bass boosted rap, his irritability when raphael came to rest a hand on your hip. but you did not turn away from this fight. your arsenal was loaded, and so was his.

lando glanced at raphael, first to break eye contact, and swug the rest of his cocktail in hand. he let the glass slide across the counter of the bar before tugging the girl at his side to his front, the pair of them dancing with one another.

fine, if he wants to play, then you’ll play.

you were handed a cocktail by raphael. you thanked him sincerely before you downed your own in one gulp. raphael gaped at you with a slack jaw. you wiped the loose drops from your jaw, and offered him your hand.

“dance with me?”

raphael didn’t need to be asked twice when he took your hand. you led him deeper into the club, the led lights brightening both your faces. in this light, you supposed that he was irrecoverably handsome. and the thought slipped through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had a good life with him. that in some universe that you could get over this feud with a man who doesn’t want you, you’d have a well-earned chance at happiness.

but the thought left just as quickly as it came.

your hips were against his. ass against his crotch, grinding in a rough series of movements. he began growing accustomed to how you moved, and that much you could be thankful for. no longer would the two of you be awkward on the dance floor, fragile hands trembling against your body. he felt more confident, but you could tell there was something brewing behind those big brown eyes of his. but you honestly couldn’t care less, not when you were distracted.

not when your eyes were entranced on a man who treated you like garbage. who cried in your arms, begged for your presence. then, left your hotel room with tears streaming down your face.

his hands were tightly wound around the girls abdomen, cocky expression glazing his face. he spoke to a few of his buddies here, too, amply looking like a douche. one that who knew exactly what he was doing to girls. fuck.

you were just one of his girls.

this enraged you. but it shouldn’t. but it did. there was no excuse for your fray of emotions. they simply existed, and you were going to deal with them. not in a responsible way. no, you were far too gone for that. alcohol warmed your throat, your palms, your chest.

you let your head lean back onto raphael’s shoulder, your mouth coming to his ear. “you can touch me.” you encouraged him. he seemed to lighten at this, becoming bold enough to let his hands trail up your body. he’d indulge in your shape, letting his fingers imprint against the globes of your breasts, the lining of your panties beneath your dress.

a light giggle left you when you let your head rise from his blades, and were met with an aggressive, terrifying, stare from across the room.

your lips puckered.

lando’s head was resting on the girl’s shoulder, his hips swaying with hers, but his eyes were trained on you. you, you, and more you. he was glaring at the man behind you, his gaze so bitter that it soured even your own tongue. it was the miniscule amount of guilt that flustered your head, but you shoved it down.

lando retaliated, beginning to kiss on the girls neck. she leaned against him, a gorgeous smile lighting up the room.

you grumbled, turning your head to meet raphael’s eyes. your eyes pleaded with a language of seduction, one that any man could understand.

raphael took the bait.

his lips trailed down your ear, down the column of your neck. all whilst your back was pressed against his front, you felt the outline of his dick. your palm tightened at the memory of how he attempted to fuck you, but you had to remain composed. you couldn’t fail now.

your lip caught between your teeth for dramatics. like you were holding back a moan.

lando was watching. in fact, he never stopped. he was drunk on the addiction of watching you. watching you grind your hips on that fuckin’ guy, not even wince when his lips were glossing over the sensitive flesh of your neck. could he make you wet with just his mouth?

the british driver could feel his end nearing. if this progressed any further, he’d drag your ass to the bathroom and fuck you like you’d deserve. he didn’t give a fuck. not anymore. not when your lip was bitten by your top row of teeth, an illusive point to how that guy was pleasuring you. he felt fucking sick. though he was starving to the same degree.

his chest was aflame at your teasing touches on your own body. he could see the outline of your panties, the lack of a bra. your nipples were pinching against the fabric that confined them, and he had to stop himself from drooling. you were so fucking sexy.

the girl at his front was growing bored of her lack of attention. he, honestly, didn’t even remember her name. but he’d suffice it with a swirl of his tongue around the skin of her jaw. it was a critical move, since he knew that you’d never let yourself be kissed. you wouldn’t risk such intimacy with a man you’ve only known for a few days–

except you would.

this was war, wasn’t it?

watching lando suck and slurp on that girl’s neck had you desperate to come up with an alternate idea. an approach that would crown you victorious without a second thought. it was cruel, you knew this, but you were out of options. you had something to prove. prove that you were over him. though, you knew that this would end in one of two ways;

him, fucking you.

or, him leaving.

you much preferred the latter.

with enough fury boiling in your bones, you lifted your head to meet raphael’s eyes. with your pointer finger, you let it roll over his chin, connecting with your thumb. you glanced at his lips, your tongue wetting your own, and pulled him to meet you.

raphael said your name into your mouth, nervous to even let his tongue explore yours. you sucked in a tight breath, lip curling to reference a snarl at how much you despised the sensation. it was messy, wet, and you felt instantly disgusted with yourself for even letting him touch your lips. you felt like you jumped too far into a relationship with raphael, even though you were certain that you didn’t want one.

“be my girlfriend,” raphael breathed into your mouth. you hummed a laugh, thinking that he was joking. but he moved to separate you too, staring at you with a brazen thoroughness that you never wished to see again.

“i’m serious. i want–”

“‘scuse me, mate,” you knew that voice. you knew that voice too well. your head spun around to see lando leering dangerously close to raphael’s face, the heat of his body emanating onto your own. he stood only a few inches from you.

you felt his hand ghost over the small of your back, and you suddenly felt desperate to feel it. with your lips raw from that kiss, your fingertip glazed over the flesh, your eyes lost in lando’s tense expression. his jaw was tightened, chest doing it’s best to keep his heated expression under control. however, that control was slipping with every passing moment that you were in raphael’s arms.

raphael turned his attention to lando, suddenly pissed. “need something?”

lando gave him a hoarse chuckle. “yeah. can i borrow your lady for a second?”

raphael made a move to shake his head. “no, we were just—”

“thanks, mate.” lando gripped your back with his fingertips, digging into the skin without mercy. you felt his anger rolling off of him in tense waves, the urge to consolidate him overwhelming. he led you through the crowds of people with an insurmountable force, jaw tightly clenched the entire way. you could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another.

he said nothing until he opened– no, broke the door– to the bathroom. it was a single stall– no one was in there. he allowed you to enter first, stretching out his arm as a much needed signal. you waited a moment, arms crossing over your chest.

his eyes didn’t relent. he would wait here all fucking day before you decided to go in. and you did. he locked the door behind the two of you in an instant.

“what the fuck are you–” you began to scold, back turned to him as you approached the mirror and the sink. you were interrupted when he spun you around, hand place firmly on your hip. the contact had you gasping, glancing down at his hand.

“so, what?” he said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, blown pupils. his heart was electrified, hidden behind his cage of ribs, and one hand flexed as it gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. he hummed, “hm? he your boyfriend now?”you gaped at him. “you’re serious?” you stifled a laugh, unbelieving of his attitude. “what’s it to you, lando? hm?”

his shoulders tensed. “you shouldn’t be with him.”

you rolled your eyes. lando gripped your chin, demanding your attention. “why not, then? ‘m i supposed to be your whore forever?”

his thumb rolled over your bottom lip. “you never were,” he tsked. you were bewildered. brow raising, however difficult to focus when his hand around your hip began to swirl circles on your skin.

“what the fuck are you saying, then, lando? you need to–”

“you let him kiss you.”

you froze.

“never me. why?” his restraint was slipping. his forehead edged closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your face.

“why?” he asked again, his nose brushing against your own. you shook your head ‘no,’ lip beginning to quiver beneath his body. his chest pressed against your own as he got closer. he needed to be closer. “he fuck you better? hm? that it?”

you shuddered when you felt his fingers lower from your hip, trailing circles towards your navel, the slit of your dress that met your upper thigh.

“go on,” he urged, his voice tense from gritting his teeth. “tell me. tell me, and i’ll stop.”

you stayed quiet except for the whimper that left your throat when his fingers curled against your panties, a dampened spot ruining the fabric. there was a deep chuckle against your face, lando’s forehead still against your own. you tightened your lips together, not daring a word to spill.

“tell me, and i’ll let you go party with your new boy.”

“fuck you,” you bit out, seething with your desire, angered with his jealous antics.

“yeah? yeah? you want ‘ta fuck me?” there was no way of hiding his cocky grin. it could be seen from miles away, even when his face was millimeters from yours.

“you’re an asshole,” you heaved, your hips bucking when he began to slide your underwear to the side. your breaths were harsh against his cheeks.

“must like ‘em mean, then,” he cooed, followed by a deep chuckle. “‘cause you’re drippin’ for me.” you felt your slick seep around his fingers as h grazed the puffy lips of your cunt. your head was thrown back against the concrete wall, smacking against the surface. lando was quick to adjust your head, his fingers tugging into your hair.

“fuck,” you sighed, finding his pleasures undeniable. he was so on edge from seeing you kissing raphael, that he was lost in his madness. this pent up lust was bursting from its locked away jar, pouring its fury onto you. “touch me, lando. please–”

with a swift motion he perched you onto the porcelain sink, your head lolling against the mirror, supported by his palm. he tugged you forward so your glossy cunt stained the front of his black pants. the wet spot was pertinent, your face flushing with embarrassment. you were supposed to hate this. why did you love it?

“‘am touchin’ you, baby.” his middle finger teased you, blessing you with a split moment of euphoria of grazing your clit. you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “look at me,” his hand tightened in your hair. your eyes flashed open, face to face with his crooked, loving smile. “look at me when i make you cum.”

you nodded, whimpering rapidly. he grinned harder at your desperate, pleading tone. though you spoke no words, he could tell just how badly you needed him.

“inside,” your begging didn’t cease, especially when he was still refusing to slide a finger inside of you. “please, please—”

your words were cut off when his middle finger curled sweetly inside of you, eliciting the sweetest pleasure you have felt in weeks. the moan you delivered was guttural, deep, and most of all, primal. lando’s dick pulsated in his pants, his fingers twitching at your lewd voice.

a hand reached out to grip onto his bicep, your head falling into the crook of his neck. you felt undeniably at ease in his hold, despite the hurt that he’s caused you.

his finger began to slide in and out of you, scissoring you to high hell and back, and you were putty in his hands. moments like these is what he favored most with you, but he would take anything to be in your presence. he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he swooped you up from that asshole’s arms, leaving him shocked and disrespected. lando was keen enough to twist his head over his shoulder when he led you away, watching as raphael’s face contorted with disappointment. it had his jaw tensing, resisting the urge to smirk.

“come on, baby,” lando’s voice cut through your high, your naval tightening with a hot pressure. “know you’re close. can feel it.”

he added a second finger, using his thumb to roll over your sensitive bundle of nerves. the stimulation was overwhelming, your throat raw with the carnal moans he drew from your depths. he’d be the only one to hear any of these ever again. he promised himself that much.

your orgasm was imminent, the coil in your belly snapping with a hopeless yearning you’ve been deprived of for what feels like an eternity. slick covered the palm of his hand, and your eyes had locked onto his. he watched as you trembled with desire, legs twitched around his waist. with one quick move he brought his two fingers to your lips.

you knew what he wanted.

you’ve never tasted yourself before. but your lips parted, and he lathered your slick over your tongue. you sucked in earnest over his calloused digits, lips puckering, cheeks hollowing. you swallowed, letting your tongue linger over his fingertips.

“now you know,” he whispered, clutching you tight. “why i can’t stay away.” for a brief moment, you thought he was mentioning because of the taste of your cunt. but with the deep look in his eyes, you knew it meant more. you were made for him. both in spirit and sensuality.

lando spun you around from your seat atop the sink, having you flipped, staring at your reflection in the mirror. you look disheveled, and downright fucked. your feet met the ground, the palm of his hand spreading over the expanse of your back, flattening you to a ninety degree angle.

“lift your hips for me, love,” you obeyed without second thoughts, rising to your tip toes as he ran his fingers along the underside of your thighs, pulling down the fabric of your panties. they hit the floor, and your cunt went rigid with the cold air. but you heard lando making fast work with his belt, his jeans, and you sifted back and forth. you even turned to look at him over your shoulder, lashes batting unintentionally at the spring of his cock against his lower belly.

“missed this,” he breathed, saddling his hand at the base of your neck. you pushed into his hold, deepening the connection.

your exhaustion didn’t impede your ability to get fucked. that was for sure. lando wasn’t going to spare a single effort on your behalf. he was riled, pent up, and now he wanted to see tears in your eyes as you were split open on his cock. it was a promise.

“missed you.” you mumbled. lando’s hand tightened around the frontal base of your throat.

“what was that?”

you whimpered. “missed you!”

“atta girl.” he was pleased with your higher volume, and awarded you by edging the tip of his cock through your folds. you lurched forward, gripping onto the dish of the sink. a deep groan left you, and he gave you a grace period to adjust. but it took too long. you wanted him deep. bottomed out. until there was nothing else for you to give.

“show me,” you grit your teeth. “show me he’s not good enough.”

your words seemed to ignite a flame inside of lando that couldn’t be ignored. you felt him huff air, the sensation tickling your spine, and he thrust himself inside of you. forget a grace period, you were going straight to heaven.

you moaned, his cock stimulating a perverse area inside your cunt that no man could ever reach. lando was out for blood to prove that he was the only man that could truly fuck you. and fuck you he would.

the sound of skin slapping echoed through the bathroom. your moans intertwined with his mewls, creating an atmosphere derived from both of your pleasures alone. nothing would ever compare to this feeling. how he curved deliciously inside of you, how you tightened so mercilessly around his cock. he’d let himself run dry so he could feel your tight walls each night.

the pressure of his hand around your throat didn’t relent. with his index and thumb squeezing at every point he bottomed out, you swore you were seeing stars. you were an irrecoverable mess in lando’s arms, and that’s just the way he wanted you. in the reflection of the mirror stared the fading marks that fucker left on your skin. but he was determined to make his own. and it was different that you’d let him. without a doubt, he could bite through your skin, make you bleed for all you fucking cared.

“who’s fucking you this good?” lando asked, hand tightening briefly for your response. you were lost in your haze, unable to truly focus on his words. your brows furrowed.

“you,” you said, breathless, clenching onto the sink with all your prospective might.

“who?” he prodded further, opposite hand coming to rub at your clit. you seethed, breath tightening in your throat. tears burned at your retinas, the skillful work of his fingers bringing you to an oncoming orgasm. lando felt it, and paused his fingers.

you whimpered, then looked at him in the mirror. he loomed like no man you’ve ever seen. darkened eyes, sweaty hair. fuck, he’s so hot. “you!”

his fingers returned their assault on your clit, and you could feel the burning heat once more. you grinded hopelessly against the palm of his hand, which he responded as to pinching the bundle of nerves atop your cunt to with more pressure.

it didn’t take long before you were keeling over the sink, his hand around your neck forcing you to arch before him. with your unbearably tight cunt, he came with you, filling you with hot ropes of cum. the feeling of him warm, vested in your walls brought you a comfort like nothing else.

lando’s head fell forward with his heaving chest onto the base of your neck. his heart was beating so fast, you could feel it. you lifted yourself from the downward angle of the sink, his hands coming to steady you despite his exhaustion.

“i lied to you before,” he spoke into the skin of your neck. too fucked out to really process what he was saying, you turned slightly to catch one of his eyes. “you aren’t a favorite.”

you frowned, still confused, heart feeling ripped open once more.

“you’re the only girl.”

you turned fully this time to face him.

“what?”

“you heard me.” you did. that was true. but what you didn’t believe was true, was his words.

“don’t…” you begged. “don’t play with me anymore, lan…” the nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. “i can’t…i can’t wait for someone who doesn’t…” love, “want me the same.”

lando brushed a stray hair from your forehead. he let himself lean into you. your bodies fit together perfectly.

“what do you want, then?”

your voice was caught in your throat. there was a million things you wanted, but there was only one thing you needed.

“i need you.”

need cut through his body like wild flower to barley. need was the mending his heart needed. need was the remedy of his uncertainties about you.

his face upturned into a smile.

“i can’t do this,” he said, taking a breath. “any of this, without you. need you here, with me,” with his forehead touching yours, you could feel his lashes against your browline.

“lando…”

he shook his head. your name was soft on his tongue. “please, please, stay with me. i should’ve never left that hotel room. never.”

your cheeks were wet. but they weren’t from your tears. his. his lip was quivering when you opened your eyes, his own shut as if he were too afraid to face you.

and instead of answering him with words, you tilted your head up, and let your lips collide with his. torn into shock, lando’s eyes flew open, unbelieving of what was happening. you were kissing him. your lips on his, intimate. you wanted to be intimate with him, not just fuck him.

his eyes fluttered shut, and his hand came to wrap around the back of your neck. he returned your kiss, tongue eager to explore the cavern of your mouth, and you let him. you had been afraid to let him kiss you, fearful that you would become addicted to this pleasure.

you were right in your fear. there was never a universe where you wouldn’t be drunk on his tongue, craving his teeth clashing with your own. it was an ensued battle with your mouths, one you weren’t going to relent easily. but he remained victorious and let his tongue run over yours. the two of you were inseparable, body and spirit.

there was finally a blasted knock on the bathroom door, which had you jumping. lando turned his head over his shoulder, and was quick to drop to his knees to roll your panties back up.

“like you down there,” you commented from him on his knees. he turned to look at you with a knowing smirk, and kissed the skin of your thighs. when he stood at his full height, he adjusted his own pants, looking presentable enough.

“beautiful.” he complimented, leaning in for a plethora of kisses. he kissed all around your mouth, your nose, your jaw, before he landed on your mouth.

“i love you,” he blurted out against your lips. you gaped at him and he was worried you wouldn’t feel the same. but the two of you knew this answer for a long, long time.

your brows upturned. “i love you too.”

his hand fell on your lower back, guiding you out of the bathroom. “guess you’re my girl now, yeah?”

you slapped his bicep. “we have a lot to talk about, but for tonight…” you nodded.

he was happy enough with that answer.

“gotta let raphael down easy…” you mumbled as lando held the door open for you.

“oh…!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “that’s what his name is.”

taglist

@sofs16 @strengthandstay @mybluesoul1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

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lovegalor333 · 2 months ago

Text

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

love faces

summary: you break up with your shitty boyfriend and paige makes you feel better 🤭

content warnings: nsfw smut fingering thigh riding

inspired by love faces by trey songz and this edit right here 🙂‍↕️🧎‍♀️

“I’m so done with you, Noah. I can’t take this anymore.” You scoffed at your boyfriend as you grab the few belongings you had with you, stuffing your phone into your purse.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard that one before.” Your boyfriend mocked from his couch where he lounged back, eyes focused on the video game he was playing.

“No! I mean it this time. I’m done.” You insist before storming out of his apartment.

You had plans for a romantic dinner with Noah tonight, but of course he forgot so when you showed up to his place, dressed to the nines, excited for your evening and you were met with a peroxide blonde feeling up on him, you lost it. You’d turned one too many blind eyes to Noahs ways in the past because you thought loved him but you were over being treated like you didn’t exist.

“Hi Azzi, I’m sorry to do this but I need a ride. I think… I just broke up with Noah.” You explain to your best friend over the phone, hoping she’d be able to come and pick you up from the off campus apartment complex.

Azzi wasn’t home, she was out for dinner with her family that were in town but she told you to hang tight, she’d sort out your ride home.

As you wait on the side on the road, you contemplate going back to the apartment and just ignoring what you saw, like you had many times before. Noah was your first boyfriend, your first everything and you loved him, at least that’s what you thought but maybe it wasn’t him you loved, maybe it was just the thought of him. Either way, you never imagined you’d be the one to break up with him, he always said you’d never have the guts to leave him and maybe he was right.

You were about to swallow your pride and go back up the stairs when you saw a set of highlights heading your way. It was dark so you couldn’t make out the car until it was in front of you, it was Paige.

Paige was Azzis best friend, a different type of best friend than you. You’d known Azzi your whole life, practically grew up as sisters where as, she’d met Paige later on down the line at a basketball tournament. You’d met Paige yourself not long after that tournament and you’d grown to know her well so it wasn’t weird that she was the one to come and pick you up tonight.

Paige beeps the horn of her car a few times when you don’t move and you know now, it’s too late to go back. You and Noah were done.

“Hi, thanks for coming.” You say slipping into the passenger seat, your short dress that clung to your thighs riding up slightly.

“No problem ma, Azzi told me situation. Sorry to hear.” Paige sympathised, giving your exposed thigh a comforting rub.

“It’s all good. Was about time.” You say knowing exactly how your friends thought of Noah and the way he treated you.

“Well I didn’t want to say it, but good riddance.” She jokes and she begins to drive you home.

Paige invites you back to her and Azzis place, saying it’s best you’re not alone tonight and you agree, being with the two girls will stop you from calling Noah and going back on your word.

You and Paige sit side by side on the couch, Azzi still isn’t home and won’t be for a while and your mind strays back to the first time you met Paige and the way she enticed you. Her perfectly chiselled features that have only grown more perfect the older she got, her eyes like pools of water from the freshest part of the ocean that locked onto yours so easily and made you feel like you were the only person in the room when she spoke to you. You always thought her and Azzi would end up together but they’ve made it clear, on multiple occasions, their relationship is strictly platonic.

“You were too beautiful for a jerk like Noah anyway.” Paige pipes up, capturing your attention and you clear your throat, glad mind reading isn’t a thing because then Paige would know exactly what you were thinking about her and the way her body language made your heart palpate.

“Thank you, P.” You say and fight the urge to lean your body into hers despite how much you wanted to. You didn’t want Paige to feel like a rebound. Was she a rebound? Shit, even you didn’t know at this point. You had just broken up with your boyfriend, you thought you’d be crying your eyes out but you’re clenching your thighs at the thought of the girl next to you.

Paige fidgets beside you and you look at her, daring her to say something, anything to break the tension that was slowly building between you both.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Y/N. But when I said you were beautiful, I really meant it. I’ve thought it since I first met you.” She admits looking at you with that God forsaken eye contact that makes your stomach flip.

“Really?” You ask but you believe her, you can see it in the way she’s looking at you.

“Really.” She says, her fingers coming to your thigh to softly draw shapes on your skin.

“Come closer.” She rasps almost asking for your permission and you comply, scooting your body along the couch so you’re as close to Paige as you can get.

Her hand travels further up your thigh leaving goosebumps along your skin in its wake, she reaches your waist and you gasp at the feeling, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” She say seriously but you shake your head, “Don’t stop.” So she leans her face into yours, your foreheads touching first before her lips press to yours.

You both pull away at first and just look at each other, both asking the other is this what we want without actually saying it but the way your lips find each others again, in a hungry, needy kiss, gives you your answer.

It doesn’t take long for you to be on your back, Paige on top of you, hands exploring every part of your body, fingers digging to your hips as her tongue danced in your mouth.

“Not here.” She says breathlessly, breaking the kiss and standing up.

Paige takes your hand and leads you down the hall to her bedroom and once the door is closed behind you, there’s no stopping your frantic movements, ripping each others clothes off, kissing inbetween the shedding of each layer. Your head is fuzzy at the thought of what’s about to happen and you feel drunk off the adrenaline of feeling Paiges bare skin against yours, her toned stomach under your finger tips, her lips on you neck.

You’re layed on your back, legs spread as Paige in kneeled in between them, you feel exposed in a way you’ve never been before but your body is begging to be touched. Paige trails her fingers along the inside of your thighs, teasing as they get closer and closer to your already soaked folds.

“So fucking pretty ma.” She breathes out and you squirm at her light touch, you want it deeper, firmer, you need it.

“Paige, please.” You moan bucking your hips up towards what you so desperately want.

“I want to take my time with you, be gentle.”

“You can be gentle,” You say, this is your first time with a woman and Paige knows that, “but fuck taking your time. I need you, now.” You whimper which quickly turns into a moan as Paige slips a finger inside you.

“Shit.” She pumps in and out of you before slipping a second finger in and then a third and you try to close your thighs at the feeling of her slender digits stretching you out but she holds your legs open with the hand that isn’t curling up inside of you, hitting your g-spot.

“Holy fuck, P.” You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Does it feel good baby? Tell me how it feels when I touch you.” Paige cooed from in between your legs and hearing the word baby come out of her mouth so low and breathy made your head spin.

“So-ugh good. Oh my-fuck!” You let out a loud groan as her thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing tight circles over the already sensitive spot, you were about to cum, you could tell by the way your walls contracted around Paiges fingers, plunged deep inside you.

“Gonna cum- shit Paige, I’m gonna-“ You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle the cries you were about the let out.

“Nuh uh, I wanna hear you ma, don’t be shy.” Paige tells you applying more pressure to your clit, pushing you to the very edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there, P. Shit.”

Your legs are twitching and spasming and everything cuts to white noise for a split second as you come to your climax, releasing all over Paiges fingers, your juices seeping out onto the mattress below.

“Look at you.” Paige breathes out lifting her hand to show you her soaked fingers and you lift yourself up, slightly light headed, your once perfectly curled hair, stuck to sweat droplets on your forehead and you open your mouth for Paige to stuff in her fingers into.

You run your tongue along her fingers then slip it through the middle of them, tasting yourself and moaning at the flavour. Paige pulls her fingers out of your mouth, replacing them with her tongue taking in whatever was left over in your mouth.

You’re both knelt on her bed, face to face, you finally coming down from your high and you dip your head peppering kisses along her neck and chest, your tongue peeking out to flick at her perky nipples, she moans as you take it in your mouth, sucking gently.

You manoeuvre your knee inbetween her thighs, pressing teasingly at her pussy and the sharp intake of breath tells you she likes it. She begins to grind on your knee, her hands falling to your shoulders for support as you continue tracing your tongue over her tits.

You press your knee further into her, feeling her slick leak out onto you and you glance up from her chest to see Paige already looking down at you latched onto her nipple, her bottom lip clenched in her teeth as she rocks her hips on your knee.

“I wanna ride your thigh ma. Can I ride your thigh?” Paige practically begs and you nod helping her position herself over your thigh, her wet pussy warm against your bare skin.

Her hands find your shoulders again and your grip onto her hips as she gets back into the rhythmic thrusting and her knee naturally finds itself nestled between your legs and with her bouncing on your thigh, your clit is being teased once again so you lean into her and match her pace and speed, both of you grinding and rubbing against each other.

You watch Paige intensely as her eyes flutter shut and her head tips back a low groan escaping her mouth, “Fuck, you feel so good under me.” She mummbles. You loved the way Paige looked, getting off on your thigh, eyes screwed shut in pleasure caused by your body. Her hands moving from your shoulders, into your hair tugging at the roots. The sharp feeling only turned you on more and you wanted Paige to feel the same way so you dipped one of your hands down to her clit and moved your fingers in the perfect pattern, her grip tightening on your hair as you did.

“Shit ma, you’re gonna make me cum. Ugh fuck- keep doing that.” She moaned, pressing herself further onto your fingers.

“I want you to cum on me P.” You purred digging your fingers into her hips forcing her to move faster.

“Shit baby, cum again with me.” She says, her eyes flicking down to where you were working yourself on her knee.

“T-touch me.” You plead, head falling to her shoulder and she wastes no time matching your actions, dropping her hand down to tease your throbbing clit.

You work in sync bringing each other to splintering climaxes at the same time, shockwaves ripple through you both and Paige throws her head back, mouth open as she moans out your name. Your head is still rested on her shoulder as you cum for the second time that night, legs shaking and gasping for breath.

You dissolve into a pool of pleasure, entangled with Paige, skin clammy and cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Paiges hair that was slicked back at the beginning of the night had loosened and stray strands framed her face. You looked different compared to the beginning of the night too, your lipstick was smudged and mascara had run but none of that mattered after what you just experienced.

Your chest still heaved as you laid together, Paige absentmindedly trailing her fingers down your bare back and you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for you both.

“Paige…” You tried to broach the subject but she cut you off, “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Azzi will be back soon and we better make ourselves look presentable before that.”

“I just want to you to know, this wasn’t rebound sex. I wouldn’t do that to you.” You say fiddling with the chain around her neck.

“Good, because I’d really like to do that again.” She replies taking your hand in hers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You clean yourselves up and change Paiges messy sheets just before Azzi walks in the door.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Azzi says pulling you into a tight hug, “I hope Paige looked after you.” And you can’t help but smirk into your best friends shoulder, “Oh, she did.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: happy (freaky) friday 😚

#paige bueckers #wlw #lgbtq #oneshot #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers imagine #paige x reader #blurb #fanfic #paige bueckers smut #smut

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beomcoups · 4 months ago

Text

Legal Briefs

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lawyer!Dokyeom x fem!reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, corporate au, 18+, non-idol au 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, riding, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names, slight exhibitionism, oral (m. receiving), clit stimulation, squirting 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.1k 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dokyeom is stressed out over his case, and you use your brain in more ways than one to help him relax.

AN: Thank you to @miabebe for beta reading this for me at the last minute and @miniseokminnies being lovely. This is a repost, as this fic was originally written for another idol. I have decided to edit it and make it fit Dokyeom more. I hope you enjoy it <3. Also, tagging @onlyseokmins because that's your man, duh, lol. If you want to be tagged in future fics, sign up here🤎

Dokyeom is one of the most prominent corporate lawyers in your country, and you understand how hard he works daily to maintain that reputation. You were a lawyer when you met him, so you know the ins and outs of the legalities and how stressful it can be defending clients. Your first time seeing him was at a kickboxing gym you both frequented and then on the opposite end of the court, duking it out to protect your clients involved in a breach of contract. You may have won that battle, but in the end, Dokyeom won your heart, and you left the corporate life behind to be a housewife.

You walk into the swanky thirty-floor office building, and the security guard greets you as you approach the elevator. You are holding Dokyeom’s favorite lunch, pizza with cheese sticks, secured in a heated lunch box. You also brought fruit and juice, which he has been into lately. It’s a nice day outside, and what would be better than spending lunch with your husband?

You hum your way up to the 20th floor, greeted by the receptionists as the elevator doors open. The anticipation is building, and the excitement and butterflies in your stomach are brewing as you make your way to his office. You speak to everyone that makes eye contact with you. Everyone knows you as the boss’s wife, a hotshot lawyer, giving it all up for love.

“Hi,” his secretary greets you nervously as you approach her desk. “He seems a bit stressed out today. That case with the pharmaceutical company isn’t going well, and I’m pretty sure I heard papers flying around.”

This concerns you, as it is different from Dokyeom to lose his cool like that. You thank her and tap quietly on the office door, waiting to hear his voice before entering.

“Yes?” His smooth voice makes your heart jump.

You open the door, and your eyes widen at the scene before you. There are papers and folders all over the floor. Dokyeom is lying on the sofa, his suit jacket covering his face and his arms folded on his chest.

“I take it you’re having a bad day?” You ask gently, setting the lunch down on his desk.

His face lights up when he lays his eyes on you, jacket falling to the floor as he jumps up to greet you.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” he replies before getting up and kissing your cheek. “I would’ve cleaned up.”

“And miss all this drama?” you tease him. “Come on, I’ll help you put everything back.”

You survey the papers and put the files back in their folders. You know where everything goes because you helped him set up his file system to make his life easier. You may not be practicing law right now, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t had to use your expertise a few times to help your husband win a few cases. You initially quit your previous firm because you felt burnt out and needed a break. Then, when you got married, you wanted to spend time being a new wife and try for a family. Dokyeom supported you in all of that. He never made you feel inferior or less than for stepping away from your career to be at home. Now, it’s been two years, and the children haven’t come yet, but maybe it’s just not time, as lately, you have been missing practicing law.

Dokyeom helps you and profusely apologizes. “You don’t need to apologize,” you wave him off. But this is not like you; what happened?”

His expression changes, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. He takes a deep breath before putting the last envelope into the bookshelf.

“I am missing a critical piece of evidence, a part of a contract that proves my client’s innocence,” Dokyeom begins, clutching onto the desk. “I know who to subpoena, but the judge is being a real asshole and won’t allow me to access those documents. So my client might lose, and then they’ll drop me, which means bye to our house.”

He removes his tie and takes a sip from his water bottle, his Adam's apple shifting as he gulps. Your very frustrated husband is also very hot, and it’s taking all your willpower to stay on task.

“Listen,” you redirect your focus to his problem. “There’s no guarantee that you will lose this case, and we definitely are not losing our house. Why don’t you eat the lunch I brought, and we will figure it out, okay?”

He nods and kisses you on the forehead, his way of saying thank you that still makes you feel warm inside. You watch him take out his lunch, and you start to eat yours, making small talk about your day as you dig through the cheese sticks.

“When did you order this, babe?” Dokyeom asks, mouth stuffed with pepperoni and cheese. “You were cleaning up when I left for work.”

“I ordered it right before I came up here,” you say proudly, feeding him some of your pizza. “I got tired of eating lunch alone and wanted to see you. Looks like you needed me too.”

He gives you a kind smile that soothes your soul like a warm hug. You talk more about the case as you clear out your food containers. Dokyeom mentions that he has been trying to get the evidence to no avail for the past week. Watching him stressing himself out bothers you, as you know how hard he has worked on this case, and you want to see him succeed. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, skimming over everything to find a possible loophole. You can’t help but take in how handsome he looks, focused on his work, his jaw clenching as his frustration mounts.

So, you came up with an idea.

“Hey, babe,” you get his attention, removing your cardigan. “I’m going to help you relax, okay?”

He nods, his shoulders still tense up from reading over the paperwork. You move behind him, relaxing your hands on his shoulders before you massage them, making him feel more at ease. You start unbuttoning his shirt, reaching down to rub his chest while leaving kisses on his neck.

“Well, this is one way to do it,” Dokyeom hums, setting down his pen. He moves his head and kisses you deeply, his hands gracing your face softly, pulling you deeper into his rapture of love. You make a move to sit on his lap, taking off your tank top and exposing your favorite bra that pushes up your breasts just right.

“Was this always the plan?” He smirks, leaving kisses down your neck. His lips suck on your sweet-tasting skin, his tongue trailing down to the valley of your breasts.

“And if it was?” You move in front of him, sitting on his lap, and your skirt hikes over your hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

He chuckles and kisses you more, removing your bra and throwing it across the office. You lift and reach down, undoing his pants and lowering his briefs, feeling the growing bulge hardening along your slit. “No panties? Aw, baby…”

“What?” You smiled coyly. “Do you want me to leave? I can just get up—”

“W-what? No, no, it’s not that,” his cheeks turn pink in a panic. “I hate to rush, but I have to be in a meeting in twenty minutes,” Dokyeom’s breathing hitches as his hand touches his manhood, stroking his thick girth to your naked breasts and exposed ass. You lower yourself until you are on your knees, moving his hand away as you take over. You kiss his dick just the way he likes it, his legs tensing up as you take him in your mouth. His thickness takes over your mouth as you suck him good, your free hand playing with your clit as you watch him cock his head back and curse softly.

“Baby, you are so good at this,” he murmurs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He gently fucks your face, pacing himself so he doesn’t blow his entire load down your throat. Your eyes lock with his as you take him in deeper, drops of saliva spilling out of the corner of your mouth. Dokyeom is ashamed to admit it, but he likes it when you look like this: the makeup on your sweet face ruined with tears because you sucked him off so well. You would never tell him this, but you love how he tastes. The way his smooth cock hits the back of your throat makes you dripping wet, and if you keep up any longer, you will cum on this floor.

“H-honey,” he sputters. “I have 15 minutes. Get on top.”

You slowly take him out of your mouth with a pop, lifting yourself and positioning yourself to sink into him. You both groan in unison when you are entirely on his lap, your nails digging into the armrest of his chair.

“This won’t take long, I promise,” you mutter, giving yourself a few seconds to get used to his size before slowly grinding on him and enjoying the feeling of him being inside of you. His body tenses at your movements and his fingers massage your clit softly. You unexpectedly let out a loud moan, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

“I know this feels good, bouncing on my hard dick, but you are going to have to keep it down, princess,” he grits.

Dokyeom knows what that does to you, calling you princess as he fucks you into an earth-shattering orgasm. You’re a squirter, and he knows that, so it was unsurprising that your lower halves were covered with your essence. Your eyes never leave each other, whispering I love you and trading meaningful kisses. Dokyeom’s head rolls back, whispering songs of praise as you continue to ride him on his office chair.

“Baby, I’m close,” he whines, his hands gripping your hips. You grind on him hard, finding your clit and releasing again shortly after. Dokyeom follows right behind you, spilling deep inside of you as his head buries deep into your neck. As he slows down, he kisses you lovingly, making sure your cunt is full of his cum before pulling out. You're still trying to catch your breath when you climb off of him to clean yourself up.

“Mr Lee?” His secretary’s voice booms through the speaker, startling you both. “Your meeting starts in five minutes.”

“O-okay.”

You can see the time on his laptop, and the 5-minute reminder before the meeting stops flashing wildly on his screen. You find your bra and hurriedly put it on, with Dokyeom already dressed and holding your tank top and cardigan.

“What?” You catch him staring at you curiously.

“You are so bad.” “Well, isn’t that why you fell in love with me? Aside from me beating your ass in court, of course.”

You finish getting dressed, helping him put his tie back on, and kissing him goodbye before heading out the door. You catch a photo you missed picking up earlier, and something catches your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Babe.” You pick up the photograph and inspect it thoroughly. “What’s the name of the judge?”

“Judge Choi,” he responds, preparing himself for his meeting. “Why?”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the judge in the 17th court, would it?

You pull out your phone and look him up, confirming your suspicions.

“Okay, I know that look,” Dokyeom comments, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s up?”

“This judge used to give me shit when I was practicing, but I always found a way to get around him,” you start. “There was talk about him being a crooked judge and being paid off by companies, but I could never confirm it until now. Look at the picture.”

You show him the photograph of the rival company at an event, pointing at the missing piece of the puzzle: the judge and the company’s CEO, arm in arm, taking a picture. “That’s why the judge is shutting you down, babe,” you confirm. “He has ties to the other guys. Judge Choi should have recused himself a long time ago.”

Dokyeom looks at you, amazed that his wife could figure out why he had this roadblock. “God, what would I do without you?”

“You’d still be losing to me in court.” You kiss him goodbye again, letting him prepare to attend his meeting. You close the door, and his secretary smiles at you and motions for you to come closer to her.

“You should be more careful in there, dear,” she advises. “The whole office heard you.”

901 notes · View notes

bunni-v1 · 20 days ago

Note

how do you think lighter would handle the reader after learning it is going to be their first time aka a virgin reader x lighter

Lighter and Virgin!Reader

🍓Yayay! I wanted to really take my time to write this one, so sorry that I didn't get it out super quick. Wrote it while listening to Christmas music btw, probably gonna write smth smutty for Christmas now. I've never written full-on smut outside of an RP setting so... apolocheese if this is cringe. You can throw tomatoes at me, I will eat them like the rodent I am.

Minors DNI

TW: NSFW; First time!; sickeningly sweet lighter; grammar errors probably lol (I promise I edit my stuff).

Info: Lighter x Reader; Nsfw; Fluffy; no pronouns but reader is fem bodied

Lighter is, and always has been, a rather simple man. While he loves you and respects you more than anything in the world, he too has thoughts that any man might have. It was only natural that he found you... mmm... titillating. You were his partner after all, and you were very good-looking if you asked him.

So many times he's found you on his lap, or beneath him whichever comes easiest at the time, drowning in your sweet lips. His hands wandered over your clothed sides, desperate for a taste of the real thing. He was addicted to you, and sweet candies couldn't placate him this time. It was heavenly having you in his grasp, so very close to everything he'd been dreaming about.

The only issue was that you always seemed to have some excuse to push him away. He'd fisted his cock one too many times alone in his room after another failed encounter, and he just didn't get it. You always seemed so eager, so pliant, right up until he slid his hands below your shirt.

The second his fingers made contact with the soft, oh-so-tempting skin there you would jump like he'd burned you. Then you'd push his eager hands down and come up with some lame reason to leave. He understood that maybe you weren't ready, that was okay, but didn't you feel safe enough to tell him? No, surely something else was going on. He could tell, there was something else that was holding you back, and he was going to figure it out.

Tonight would be the perfect chance to do just that. The girls were busy doing their own thing at the bar, leaving him with all the free time in the world to be alone with you. As usual, he had you on his lap, mouths working against each other. His tongue pressed into yours, happily exploring its space as he swallowed up your whimpers and whines.

Fingers press into your thighs like a vice, desperate for all the skin they can get their hands on. As you wind your fingers into his hair, he takes it as his sign to slide his hands up to your hips, slowly pressing you down into him. You jolt a little in his grasp, drawing a low chuckle from the back of his throat. So cute.

You pull back from him, a thin string of saliva keeping you connected, eyes wide and face flushed. Your chest heaves with effort, and your hair is an absolute disaster. It makes his cock twitch in his jeans, another gasp falling from your pretty swollen lips at the sensation.

"Lighter..." You say breathlessly, and he knows its meant to be a scolding remark, but he just finds it too cute.

He cocks his head to the side, "What? Too much to handle?"

You give him an eye roll that is all too endearing, trying and failing to straighten out your messy hair, "It's getting late, I should probably head to mine soon."

His smile falls from his face, disappointed again, like clockwork. He can't even find it in himself to hide it anymore, which makes you frown too. You press a kiss on his cheek, apologetically, "What's wrong? Why is my champion pouting?"

The pet name is almost enough to get him to forget everything, but then you shift on his lap a little and his hard-on screams at him to at least get some kind of answer. So he sighs, patting the meat of your thigh almost sadly, "Why do you always do that?"

You raise an eyebrow, which he mirrors. You know better than to play dumb, Lighter can see right through the schtick. Your demeanor cracks first, and you seem genuinely nervous as you respond, "I don't know..."

"Listen, baby. If you're not ready all you gotta do is tell me--" He tries to soothe you, because he doesn't want you to be upset. There was no shame in just not being ready, but you cut him off before he can finish his reassurances.

"No, it's not-" A grumble leaves your chest, "I want to, I really do I just... I get nervous."

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow at you, sunglasses slanting down his nose as he tilts his head curiously, "What's there to be nervous about...?"

You fluster, looking anywhere your eyes can find that wasn't him. You were awfully cute when you were embarrassed, but he couldn't let himself get distracted. With the gentlest touch to your chin, he refocuses your attention on him. A reassuring smile on his face, urging you without words to tell him what was wrong.

Some kind of war goes on behind your pretty little eyes, and he has to tap your lip with his thumb to center you again. You pout against the finger, and it takes everything in him not to push it up and into your mouth. Finally, after what seemed like ages of waiting, you give another sigh. "I'm... a virgin."

"Oh," he says, automated like a robot. It takes his brain a moment to click the gears together, but once they do, he nods. Oh. That makes so much sense.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, pressing off his chest to get up, but he tugs you back into his lap. Giving you a reassuring squeeze, praying to whatever there was out there for you to give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

It really isn't a big deal to him, not at all. He'd taken people's virginity before - former partners he doesn't even remember the names of - but you. Getting to be your first? It felt like the world had both blessed and cursed him at the same time. You didn't have a good frame of reference, which was great. He'd be the best partner you've had. Yet... he'd also be the only partner you've had, and that was a lot of pressure to put on a guy like him.

"Lighter?" You squeak out, face all nervous and cute in a way that just drives him wild.

A huff leaves him before he can think better of it, causing you to frown a little. His arms wrap around your middle, tugging you closer to him, "That's all? Here you had me thinking you weren't attracted to me all of a sudden."

The response takes you off guard, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Had you genuinely thought that would be a turn-off for him? What do you take him for, some prude? "I- I mean, you know... I don't have any experience, and I figured since... since you had it would just-"

He hushes you, trying his best not to laugh at how ridiculous the thought is. Most guys would leap to be in his shoes, it was a loser's wet dream to take some innocent angel like you and ruin you. Not Lighter, though. Despite how many times he'd fucked his hand thinking about your pretty little body, he would make sure your first time was perfect. He really needed it to be perfect.

"I don't care about that, baby." There's a teasing lilt in his tone that sends shockwaves down your spine, "I just want you to be happy."

It was your turn to be dumbfounded, staring at him like he had spoken forbidden texts in tongues you didn't understand. He tilts your head with the hand still holding your chin, and it's incredibly sexy the way his sunglasses dip a little so you can see the genuineness in his eyes.

"Would it make you happy if I took your virginity?" You give a slow, dumb nod, and he presses closer, "Do you wanna try tonight?"

Lighter watches with thinly veiled amusement as the pieces slip into place for you, face so warm he could feel it at this distance. You seem to have stalled a bit, so he gives you an award-winning smile and taps your lips to remind you to use them.

"Yes. Please." You blurt out, and it's so incredibly unsexy and awkward, but he still bites his lip like you were sex incarnate.

He gives you all but three seconds to admire the (so, so incredibly hot) look on his face before he's picking you up with no effort, hands wrapped under the swell of your ass like they were made to be there. You cling to his shoulders like a lifeline, and his cock strains in his stupidly tight jeans as he imagines you doing so without the jacket between your skin.

"Where are we going?" You ask, voice uneasy.

He smirks at you, "You didn't seriously think I was gonna let your first time be on some dingy outdoor couch, did you?"

You're silent all the way to his quarters after that, warm face buried into the crook of his shoulder. He can feel how nervous you are in the shaky breaths you let puff out onto his neck. He gives your butt a reassuring pat, which only makes you burrow yourself further into his neck.

He doesn't get to see your face again until he carefully lies you on his bed, and he's glad for it too. The nervous shimmer in your eyes would've been enough for him to bend you over any surface in a heartbeat. Your teeth nibble awkwardly on your swollen bottom lip, and he resists the urge to take it in between his own, instead busying his hands with shrugging off his jacket so he doesn't do exactly that.

You look near terrified when he climbs on top of you, so leans down to kiss your forehead, and in the gentlest voice he can muster whispers, "We'll go slow, but we gotta take our clothes off if we wanna do anything, m'kay?"

You give him a slow nod, slowly drifting your eyes down to his tight-fitting t-shirt. Once you seem to calm a little, he leans down and starts right where you left off. Capturing your lips in a soft kiss, slowly easing back into the passion from earlier. His hips press into yours, but they remain still against your heat. He would let you decide when you were ready for that again.

His hands eagerly slid around your thighs, squeezing the fat between his fingers and sighing as they sank against his touch. Always so malleable, it was addictive, but he couldn't get ahead of himself. This was all about you, after all.

Slowly, he inched his digits up to the edge of your shirt, pooling the fabric between them. You give a little jolt, pressing against his crotch a little harder than he expected drawing a hiss from between his teeth. He rubs his nose against yours, "Can we get rid of your shirt?"

Another slow, unsure nod, and he's easing you up just enough that he can tug the offending fabric up and out of the way. (No bra, thank god, he sucks at removing them.) The sight it reveals better than Lighter could've begun to imagine. Your chest rises and falls with your breath, mesmerizing him. You give him an unsure smile, nodding your head along with it, and he thinks he might genuinely die tonight.

He does not suddenly go into cardiac arrest, so instead his hands glide over your stomach, and it's everything he dreamed of and more. The skin is like heaven beneath his calloused fingertips, and the light whimpers and whines you give him are honey in his ears. You shift with every touch, jerking away and then easing into his touch. Unsure, but oh so willing and wanting.

He maps out each inch of your skin like he might lose his way exploring it, tracing all the way to the final destination of your chest. Your nipples are hard already in combination with his touching and the cold air around you. He gives you one last look, one last chance to tell him no, and then he runs his thumb over the tops of them.

The sound you make is delicious, something between a moan and a strangled choking noise -- almost confused at the pleasure you are feeling. He rolls them in his fingers a few times, watching your face intently as he does so. Your confused moans melt into sighs of contentment, so he decides to try his luck with his mouth. With your head rolled back, he ensures you can feel his breath before he presses his tongue to your skin.

You shoot up, gasping in surprise, but you don't make any move to push him away. No, instead you rake your fingers through his hair, pushing his shaggy bangs back so you can really look at him. Those emerald eyes lock with yours, making a show of slowly kissing his way back up to your chest. Along the contours of your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, and finally right down to your perky bud.

Lighter takes a moment to really appreciate just how nice it looks up close, rather than through the fabric of your tank tops. Just the perfect size for sucking on, he thinks right before he engulfs the needy thing in his mouth. You throw your head back, chest hefting with your cry of "Fuck, Lighter."

He hums, only making it so much worse for you, the vibrations sending a shock through your body that makes you twist your hips just right. He takes his sweet time with your breasts, alternating between the two until you're a messy puddle below him. He hadn't even gotten past the waistband of your pants yet, and you were already so far gone. It was an ego booster, to say the least.

His free hand draws its way down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your pants. They dance their way along your abdomen, just itching to be let in, but not willing to disrespect your boundaries. Lucky for him, they don't have to wait long, and your own join him and carefully aid him in their removal.

It's then that he finally gives your chest a break, pulling back to tug your pants down your legs. Giving himself the time to finally admire you. He'd left... more than a few purple marks along your chest, all of which he thinks look incredibly nice in the light of the moon. His eyes trace their way down your stomach, just like his hands had, and land on the underwear you still had on.

They weren't particularly cutesy or sexy, but on you, it was the hottest thing he'd seen in years. They had a sizable wet spot in the middle, right where he wanted- no, needed to be. The only thing standing between him and tasting you was that thin piece of fabric.

A tug at the hem of his shirt draws him out of his daze, meeting eyes with your cute, nervous ones. It takes him a second to realize you wanted his shirt off, but once he gets the message, he wastes no time in shrugging it to the ground. Following it with his pants, leaving him in his boxers.

Your eyes trace their way along his figure, over his shoulders, across his stomach, and settle shyly on the outline of his dick. It only occurs to him then that you might find him just as attractive as he finds you. With eyes blown wide and distracted as you drink him all in, it's hard to avoid how much you're admiring the view right now.

He has the decency to act embarrassed, despite how he was practically drooling all over you just a few moments ago. He shivers when you reach up and trace your fingers over a scar, breath catching in his throat. "They're so pretty," you mutter, completely unaware that you had said that out loud. It could honestly make him cry. The way you look at him like he's some kind of art piece. So much love and admiration in your eyes. He can't handle it for long, even though you seem to be content just admiring his scars.

He grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers together as he presses you back into the mattress. You let out a huff as he pressed his forehead to yours, pouting now that he had interrupted your show. He gives you a few apologetic kisses, smiling at your pouting.

"Are you sure you wanna keep going, we can stop now if you want," he whispers, soft and gentle.

You nod, confident this time, "I'm ready. I wanna do this with you, Lighter. Not anyone else."

That makes his heart swell, sending the feeling right down to his dick, throbbing and reminding him he needs to prepare you. He wasn't usually one to brag, but he knew he was big, and it would be a tough take for your first time. If he wanted you to enjoy it, he'd have to take care to loosen you up first.

"Okay," he hums, reaching over to grab the lube and condoms from his nightstand, setting them nearby for when he needs it, "I'm gonna have to loosen you up first, and it's gonna hurt. You sure you can take it?"

He feels your muscles contract as he trails gentle, feather-light pecks along the edge of your underwear. "You'll take care of me, just like you always do..." Ah, you were gonna be the death of him tonight, he just knows it.

He hooks his fingers over the sides of your underwear, carefully tugging them down your legs like unwrapping a present he didn't want to ruin. What a gift he received as he threw the useless fabric to the floor, your pretty little cunt already drooling for him.

"God..." He mutters out, enchanted at the very sight. He adjusts his position one last time, making sure he is perfectly positioned in front of your gorgeous pussy. The view is something straight out of a porno, Lighter's messy hair shadowing his eyes as they stare into your very being, big hands gripping at your thighs -- like he was readying himself to consume you whole.

"You ready, baby?" He asks one last time, though it's painfully hard to do so now that he was literally right where he wanted to be, "Cause if you're not you better say so now, I don't think I could stop myself once I start, angel."

You give him the slowest nod known to man, followed by a timid little 'yes' and he's gone. His strong arms wrap under and rest atop your thighs, carefully pulling your folds apart to reveal the shining pearl he'd been dreaming of. Involuntarily he huffs out a hot breath, causing you to squirm a little in his grasp, and then he leans down and kisses your clit.

You jolt at the new sensation, another awkward breathy moan leaving your lips. He pulls back to give you a second, watching your expressions and committing them all to mind, and then he licks his lips and leans down for another wet kiss against your neglected bud. Then another, and another, and another, and at some point his tongue joins the barrage but you have no idea when. Too caught up in how good he's making you feel. So much better than your own fingers.

Lighter is in heaven, completely surrounded by nothing but you. Your little sighs, your skin, your sweet smell, and of course your juices dripping down his chin. You tasted so amazing, better than all the candies he ate. He swallowed you like a man starved, arguably more desperate for your pleasure than you were. Your little whines of his name only fueled him to suck on the little bud like a sweet treat, humming at the taste.

He wondered how many more moans he could get out of you if he added a finger... He had to stretch you out anyway, seems like now was better a time than any. One hand unwound itself from under your leg, snaking along the sheets right up under your bum.

Without taking his eyes or mouth off you he gently traces around your hole with his middle and index. Your hips grind up into his mouth, and he feels the way you clench against his fingertips. A smile grows on his face, god you were adorable, weren't you? He presses the tip of his finger into your heat, and you squeeze around it sucking him in like nothing.

"Shit..." He groans against you, the grumble going right through your nerves drawing a delicious moan out of you. He slowly pumps his finger at the same pace as his tongue, when it rolls across your clit, the finger presses up into you again. The white, hot pleasure that curls up your spine and through your body makes you arch your back. If he kept it up like this, you would cum faster than you ever had before.

Unfortunately, he pulls back and you whine like a needy child. He presses his thumb to your clit instead of his mouth as compensation, rolling in sweet little circles. Not nearly as pleasurable, but still enough to make your head spin, especially when you watch him press his cheek to your thigh to watch his own ministrations.

He is mesmerized by the way your hips jerk into his touch, his finger disappearing and reappearing over and over awfully stimulating for his relatively blank mind. His eyes lazily roll up to yours, smirking when he sees you watching him with lidded ones. "You like it, baby?"

You mutter an incoherent sound of approval, head falling back to the pillows, but that doesn't do it for him. He grabs your face with his free hand, focusing your expression on him yet again. As he does so, he eases a second finger in and you let out the most sinful moan of his name he's ever heard. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh, encouraging you to keep making those pretty noises.

He keeps on watching you, eyes having trouble focusing on both your face and your messy cunt. They're both such a good show, how could he be expected to pick which one was better. All the while he was sucking marks into your inner thigh, adding to the growing coil below your naval.

It was all too much for your poor little untouched body. His eyes watching you so carefully, the sting of his teeth on your thighs, his calloused thumb rubbing delightfully perfect circles against your swollen clit. You couldn't even think about anything other than how nice his fingers felt with circular motions right against that spot that your fingers could never reach.

"Lighter..." Your voice is so much more airy than you thought it would be, "I'm-"

He hums, understanding you without you needing to say anything at all. He removes himself from your thigh, climbing over to press his forehead against yours without stopping his movements. He wanted to see the face you made when you cum clearly. Wanted to have it etched into every corner of his brain so he could never dream of forgetting it.

"Go on then, I've got you," He encourages, and that's all it takes for the tight ball in your stomach to burst, and the flood of pleasure to take its place. You spasm around his fingers, juices coating them and dripping down his wrist. It's a beautiful thing to Lighter, watching the way your face scrunches up and then melts into pure pleasure. That was a face he could never forget, not in a million lifetimes.

He keeps his fingers moving at a slow and steady pace, easing you back down from your high. Only pull them out when you stop clenching around them, sucking your essence clean from them with a groan of satisfaction. "Delicious," He whispers, easing you back into the sheets, limbs soft and limp with the pleasant aftershocks of your orgasm.

Lighter is still there above you, watching with all the admiration in the world as your gaze refocuses on him. It's an infectious look that you subconsciously mirror, cradling his face in the palm of your hand.

"Feel good?" He asks, playing with a loose strand of your hair.

You nod, pressing a kiss to his nose, "Wonderful, actually. I don't know what I was so scared of."

He chuckles deep and warmly from the back of his throat, "I'm glad."

He presses gentle kisses across your cheek, nosing along your jaw and following with soft presses into the sensitive skin. You scratch his scalp appreciatively, more than happy to accept the affections.

"You wanna call it there?" He murmurs against your throat, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, "Don't wanna push you too far."

You shake your head, frowning down at him, "No, no. I wanna keep going. It's not fair of me to leave you like... that." You gesture to his still rock-hard dick pressed against your thigh.

He comes back up to look at you, caressing your face with utmost care, "Don't worry about me, I can live without getting off."

"I know," you giggle, and it's such a sweet sound to him, "I want to, Lighter. I want you. Please indulge me just a little longer?"

He really can't argue with that, not with how you're smiling at him. "Alright," He sits up, grabs the condoms, and rips the box open with practiced ease, "but it's not gonna feel good to start."

"I know," You answer, sitting up to watch him slide his boxers down. His cock springs out, tip an angry red and bleeding precum down the shaft. It was an incredibly hot sight to see him slide the condom over himself, his muscles flexing from the much-needed attention. "I definitely know."

He smirks, settling between your legs again as he picks up the lube this time. "Enjoying the view?"

"Too much," you respond, enraptured as he tugs along his member a few times, shuddering at the sensation.

He takes the time to adjust you beneath him, tugging your hips up in an angled position. The manhandling is surprisingly hot, and your heart skips a beat when he grabs at your thigh more roughly than you're used to.

"I hope I can keep you satisfied," he muses, lining himself up with your pussy.

He runs the tip against your clit a few times, spreading a mixture of lube and your cum around, hissing to himself at the feeling. He wasn't even inside and he was already needing more of you, god what did you do to him?

He presses the tip against your weeping hole, hot and desperate against him. It fluttered in anticipation, feeling far too empty knowing what his fingers felt like. It had you praying to know what his cock felt like fully pressed inside. Surely it would fill you up even better.

His emerald green eyes come down to stare into yours, an intensity you've only ever seen from him in fights burning behind them. "Ready?"

You take a deep breath and then nod as assuredly as you can. You had no idea what you were getting into, but as the tip slowly sunk into you, you felt lightheaded. The sting was deep, drawing a hiss of pain out of you, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He wasn't lying when he said it would hurt, but this was way worse than you expected.

He leans down, locking his fingers with yours and pressing loving kisses along your cheeks. His hair tickles your skin and it does wonders in distracting you from the burn of his stretching you. That was just the tip. If you couldn't handle that, how could you take the rest of him?

Lighter doesn't let you worry about it, rubbing his thumbs into your hips. Muttering sweet nothings into your sweaty skin, worshipping you like a god. Like you were his whole world. In his pleasure-fueled haze, that was more truth than it was fiction.

For every stinging inch, Lighter muttered praises and peppered a thousand more kisses across your burning skin. This was the most full you'd ever felt, and the more he pushed inside the more you wanted. He stuffed himself in to the hilt, stopping fully when his hips were pressed flush against yours. You shuddered at the sensation of his tip kissing your cervix. When he said he was big he meant it, and it was everything you wanted and more.

His rough hands slide gently along your sides, coaxing you to just look at him. Your glazed eyes slide over to his face, and you smile dumbly at his expression. His face is red, brows furrowed in concentrated effort and eyes clouded in lust. "You okay? Still hurt?"

You shake your head, chest rising and falling with more effort than you were used to. "It feels good. I like it."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Fuck, he just can't stand it. You were so tight and warm, sucking him in like he was your last meal. He could feel your pussy clench around him suddenly, and he had to bury his face into your neck to stop himself from moaning out loud.

Who could've imagined a few years without sex would make him so weak. Maybe it was actually just you that made him like this. He couldn't possibly imagine any pussy better than yours, it felt like it was molded perfectly just for him. The thought occurs to him, like a stroke of genius, that this was his pussy and it was molded to him. Now that you let him fuck you once, he could do it again and again and again whenever either of you liked.

He liked that idea a lot more than he probably should, his cock twitching a little at the prospect. You squeeze back and he does moan this time, deep and throaty into your neck. It's quite the sound from such a big guy, making your skin tingle excitedly. You had been the reason for it, after all, it was flattering.

"Lighter?" You say, startling him. He looks up at you from his spot against your shoulder, "Can you move? I'm too full with you just sitting there."

He blinks at you, taking in your words carefully and digesting them. Yeah, you were gonna kill him tonight. You had no fucking clue what you were doing to him.

"Whatever you want," He mumbles out, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, before slowly pulling out.

You groan out in tandem, the drag of his cock and a squeeze of your walls more pleasurable than you'd imagined. Then he pushes back in at the same pace and you shudder in his arms. He keeps the pace slow and easy, still able to remember that he wanted to be gentle despite how much he wished to be anything but. First time, he echoed in his head, take it easy Lighter.

Each drag of his cock against your plush warm insides has you gasping out, desperate for more and more. He watches you with an intensity to rival his excitement during a fight, taking in each detail with careful consideration. The way your brows scrunch up when he brushes that gummy spot with his tip, and how your teeth tug on your lips, and the way your eyelashes flutter when his hips lay flush into yours.

Lighter never considered himself an artist, but damn if you weren't his greatest masterpiece like this. You open your eyes and finally look at him, and the intensity in his gaze has you shying away into your palms. He can't have that, he wanted to look, so he grabbed your wrists and set them on his shoulders. They curl into the skin, crescent-shaped marks sure to form in the morning.

You still try to evade his gaze, so he follows with his own face, leaning forward. "Don't hide," he coos, his hands moving your hips with his upper body so he's fully leaning over you now, the new position allowing him to not only look at you but hit much deeper than before. "Lemme see yer pretty face."

A wanton moan is ripped from your throat as he picks up his pace, and you finally look at him when he grabs at your chin. His hair is stuck to his sweaty forehead, breathing heavily as he keeps up the new speed he's set. The wild look in his eyes is enough to make you clench and get to watch in real-time the effect it has on him. Swallowing hard as his eyebrows come together in pleasured surprise.

You were making it so, so hard on him, really you were. Each reaction you had made it so much more difficult to keep himself together. When you clench around him again he lets out a sound between a sigh and a squeak. Your fingers are running along the nape of his neck and through his hair, and it's nearly got him choking on air.

You're no better, hardly even coherent as his hips continue pistoning in and out of you at such consistent pacing. The wet slapping of skin on skin is the only thing you can focus on, everything else is too much for your muddled brain to understand.

The hand that isn't keeping your eyes on him comes down to massage your clit again, fingers splayed across your abdomen to feel himself through your skin while his thumb takes care of you. He was close, and he could tell you were too. Your moans getting more and more desperate, and the squeezing you gave him more and more desperate to keep him moving.

He didn't have it in himself to say anything coherent, so instead he settled on kissing you. Sloppy and uncoordinated and more teeth than anything else, but he still kissed you. Swallowing up every moan like a man starved.

His pace grows sloppy as he chases your highs, both of you moaning unabashedly loudly. He would hear from Lucy in the morning, he was sure of it, but that didn't matter too much to him now. Not when he felt you come undone around him. Your whole body tensed, desperate little cunt squeezing him in a vice grip and moans so delicious that he couldn't help but follow your lead.

He gives one last harsh thrust, and then he unloads into the condom. He thinks for a moment that he wishes it wasn't there but focuses instead on sucking at the juncture of your neck. You writhe under him, fingers raking down his back harsh enough to leave red lines in his skin.

It was better than he had expected it to feel, that was for certain. Even as he calmed down and came back to reality, there were little sparks of pleasure ringing through his body. He kissed his way over the marks he'd left on your body, waiting patiently for you to calm down before he pulled out.

Both of you let out sounds of complaint at the loss, but he knew that he couldn't stay inside you forever (no matter how nice that sounded). He smiled warmly down at you, caressing your face with such gentleness it could make you cry. "You alright...?"

You nod, brushing the hair out of his face so you can look at him properly, "This is probably the best I've ever felt in my whole life."

That gets him to laugh, pressing his forehead against yours, "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Did you-" You start, but he doesn't let you finish before he responds.

"Yes. I did enjoy myself, very much, baby." He hums, washing away any insecurities you could've had with ease.

He eases you up into a sitting position with him, holding you there until he is sure you will stay like that by yourself. Then, he stands and digs around his dresser for a towel to wipe you down with. You take the time to admire how nice his ass is out of those skinny jeans, humming to yourself at the sight.

When he rejoins you on the bed, you smirk at him, "Your ass is nice."

"Yeah," he huffs out a laugh, "Yours ain't all that bad either."

You let him do what he needs to, wiping you of sweat and any fluids that might become uncomfortable after a while. Then he does the same for himself, and the show is rather nice. When he finishes cleaning the both of you up, he crawls into bed and pulls you to his chest.

You take your chance to trace over the scars again, admiring just how pretty his marred skin is. He doesn't say a word, and you have the understanding not to make verbal comments now. The warmth of his chest combined with the pleasant ache in your limbs was enough to lull you to sleep.

The last thing you hear is Lighter mumble a quiet, "I love you." Though you don't respond, you know he knows you feel the same way.

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