#my writing habit is to write smut about guys i think are hot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 23 days ago

Note

omg I LOVE your writings, its my first time ever requesting one, hope u can write it (if u dont like it i would completely understand)

i was thinking about some lando thing, where his girlfriend is reading some spicy book and he accidentally reads some lines and the room gets hot lol, and when everything its done he is just the fluffiest boyfriend of the world

hope u are doing good🩵

By the book | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I genuinely had so much fun with this one, thank you so much for the request. Hopefully this is a nice first experience 😉🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── When boredom leads him to a new world, intense and full of possibilities, Lando wants to prove to his girlfriend that despite the perfect moments in her erotic books, the real deal is still better than fiction.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, established relationship, fluff & smut, descriptive language, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, swearing, edging, teasing, roleplay elements, Max F. cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.7k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 19, 2024

𐙚 a/n ��─── Guys! I’ve got a couple more one-shots coming your way before the year wraps up, and I just wanted to thank you all so much for your patience and support. It means the world to me 🤍

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THE FAINT GLOW from Lando’s monitors is the only light in the room, casting faint shadows over his side of the bed. It’s pretty late — later than it probably should be for him to start a streaming session — but Max insisted, and Lando figured it was either this or mindlessly scrolling through his infinite feed until falling asleep. His headset lies next to his keyboard, untouched, as he waits for his best friend to finish whatever pre-stream rituals he’s currently busy with.

From the en suite bathroom, the sound of running water echoes like ambient noise, muffled by the walls yet delicate, while his girlfriend showers. He glances at the door, thinking about how she had kissed him on the forehead just a few minutes ago, hair piled on top of her head in that messy bun he secretly loves. She had told him to have fun streaming, flashing him a sweet smile that made him wish she weren’t about to leave him alone to his boredom.

Lando sighs, spinning slightly in his chair, his gaze randomly falling to the nightstand on her side of the bed. A stack of books rests there unbothered, as it always does, each spine a different color. She goes through them so quickly that he can never keep up with what she’s reading now versus what she finished last week, that's why, normally, he doesn’t pay them much attention. But tonight, in the thick silence, with Max still not ready and the hum of the bathroom as his only company, he reaches for the book at the top of the stack.

The cover is intricate and inviting — soft, watercolor-like strokes of flowers in muted tones frame a bold, serif title. There’s no hint of what it’s about, and when he flips it over, the description on the back isn’t much help, either.

“Vague as hell,” he mutters under his breath after reading it.

He flips the book open, thumbing through the pages, noticing that she's halfway through it, with a scattering of sticky tabs peeking out from various places. A glance at the pages confirms his girlfriend’s habit of underlining sentences and jotting tiny notes in the margins. He smirks to himself, picturing her curled up on the couch, pen in hand, diligently marking her favorite parts, as she always does.

He stops at one of the tabs — a pink one — curiosity getting the best of him. The text beneath is neatly underlined, with a couple of notes scribbled faintly in the margin. His eyes skim over the words, and then he freezes, blinking at what he’s just read.

His hands roamed my bare skin with a deliberate slowness, mapping every curve, every dip. I gasped when his fingers dipped lower, teasing just enough to make me squirm beneath him. “Patience, my love,” he murmured against my neck, his voice rough with desire. “I'll give you what you need.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, while his eyebrows shoot higher on his forehead. His fingers tighten slightly on the book as his eyes dart to the highlighted lines. She’s underlined “I'll give you what you need” and scrawled something next to it — he squints to make it out.

‘OMG. The tension here is insane,’ it reads, followed by ‘On. My. Knees’.

His pulse quickens, and he feels a flicker of heat low in his stomach.

Suddenly, Lando realizes how intimate it is to rummage through her annotations, as they are pure, unfiltered emotions, evoked by scenes that obviously awakened something in her when she read them, and now he feels way too guilty to continue.

But not enough to stop.

He flips ahead, stopping at another pink tab, as if he's on autopilot, guided by sheer curiosity alone.

My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between us. His mouth was everywhere — on my lips, my collarbone, the sensitive skin of my nipples. I trembled as he kissed his way lower, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I moaned his name, breathless, as he looked up at me with a smirk that promised more.

Lando swallows hard. He shifts in his chair, hyperaware of the heat creeping up his neck. He tells himself to stop, to close the book and put it back, but he can’t seem to help himself.

“You liked that, don’t you?” he asked in a whispered tone. I whimpered in response, my nails digging into his shoulders as my body arched into his touch. “You did, my good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Keep being good, and you'll get to cu—”

He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping the book closed. His mind betrays him, conjuring images of her beneath him, her breath hitching the way it does when he teases her, her hands clutching at him as she whispers his name in pleasure.

His jaw clenches, and he drags a hand through his hair, all too aware of the way the air has changed inside the room. Luckily, the vibration of his phone on the desk jolts him back to reality. He startles, nearly dropping the book in his lap.

Scrambling to grab his phone, he sees a text from Max:

“Shit,” Lando mutters under his breath.

He rushes to put the book back where he found it, his movements momentarily clumsy. He’s acutely aware of the way his body feels now — tense, restless, hot — as he makes himself more comfortable in his chair, tugging his headset over his ears.

The monitor flickers to life as Max joins the call, his voice loud and cheery in Lando’s ear. “Finally, mate! Thought you fell asleep or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando replies, his voice a little strained. “Let’s just get started.”

By the time she's done with showering and coming out of the bathroom dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and towel-drying her hair, Lando is fully immersed in his racing game. She pauses in the doorway, watching him for a moment with a small smile on her face, and he catches her eye briefly, following her as she crosses the room, the t-shirt swallowing her frame entirely. He gives her a quick nod before returning his focus to the screens, while she climbs onto the bed and grabs the book from her nightstand, settling in against the pillows to read.

At that, Lando finds himself smirking.

It’s hard not to, knowing what’s tucked between those pages now. His fingers twitch on the steering wheel, but he keeps driving, throwing himself into the rave to avoid getting distracted.

“Mate, you’re lagging behind,” Max calls out through the headset, breaking Lando’s focus.

“Yeah, mate. Don't worry, I’m here,” he replies, steering his car to catch up.

Time passes in a blur of laughter, strategy, and the occasional curse as he and Max trade wins and losses. At some point, she gets up from the bed, her book left open and facedown on the comforter. Lando watches out of the corner of his eye as she pads over to him, stopping just out of frame.

“Want some tea?” she asks quietly, her voice careful not to interrupt his live stream.

Lando glances up at her briefly, his lips curling into a small smile. His hand leaves the steering wheel, trailing to the back of her thigh, his fingers traveling up slowly, squeezing the soft curve of her ass.

“Yeah,” he whispers, the word leaving him on a smirk.

Her breath catches in her throat at his touch, and she shoots him a pointed look, though the pink dusting her cheeks betrays her.

She swats his hand away lightly, protesting quietly, “Behave,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

TWO HOURS LATER, the game session finally winds down. Lando thanks the chat, throws a parting joke at Max, and shuts down his stream with a satisfied sigh. He swivels in his chair to find his girlfriend still awake, her book now resting on her stomach while she scrolls idly on her phone.

She glances at him and smiles kindly, watching as he heads to the bathroom, but when he gets back a few minutes later, he’s wearing nothing but a fresh pair of boxers and a wide smile. His skin glows faintly from the shower, and water droplets cling to the sharp angles of his collarbone.

Lando approaches the bed slowly, his gaze fixed on her. She looks up from her phone as he slides in beside her, his presence warm and familiar. Without a word, he takes the book from her stomach, his fingers brushing hers lightly as he closes it and sets it back on the nightstand. Then, he leans down, brushing his lips over hers in a kiss that’s soft but full of intent — definitely not the kind that he uses to send her to sleep. Quite the opposite. It makes her hum against his lips, her hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest as she kisses him back.

“You’re still wet,” she notices, pushing Lando lightly to look at him.

When he pulls away, his voice drops, small but teasing. “We can both be,” says Lando.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Yeah, not tonight, buddy. You took too long, and I’m sleepy from all the reading.”

“Come on, just wrap your legs around my waist, and pull me closer, until there is no space left between us,” he murmurs the words deliberately.

For a second, her heart skips a beat, her eyes widening slightly as she registers his sentence. Blood rushes to her cheeks and beyond, her pulse quickening.

“What?” she asks, giving him a puzzled look.

Lando’s smirk deepens. He leans closer, letting his breath fan over her ear as he continues, his tone overly suggestive. “What? You don’t want my mouth everywhere? On your lips, your collarbone, the sensitive skin of your nipples?”

Her breath hitches, and her lips part in surprise. Her mind starts spinning as the words he’s quoting — the ones she underlined so carefully in her book — fall from his mouth.

“Lando,” she says cautiously, her voice shaky.

“Hm?” he asks innocently, his fingers ghosting over her hip beneath the t-shirt. “I hope it's okay, I’m just trying to remember what you liked so much. What else was there? Something about… good girls?”

She swats at his chest, but there’s no real force behind it. “You’ve been reading my stuff!”

His laughter is quiet, but there’s heat in his gaze as he leans down to kiss her again, this time deeper, as if he has a purpose.

When Lando pulls back just enough to catch her gaze, his eyes are glinting with mischief. His hand trails up her side, his thumb slowly brushing the soft curve of her waist through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“And? What’s that about, baby?” he asks. “Don't you want to be my good girl?”

She lets out a soft laugh, a mix of flustered and amused, and presses a hand to his chest. “For the record, you’re not allowed to touch my books anymore,” she says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, leaning closer, his lips brushing her skin. “I think I learned a lot. Like how you’re into being told what to do, and being touched like this,” he continues, tracing the pads of his fingers up and down her body.

“Lando,” she protests, but her voice wavers, her breath hitching when his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath her earlobe.

“You marked all the good bits for me,” he says, his mouth trailing along her neck, placing soft, lingering kisses there. “Made it so easy, really.”

She shakes her head, trying to maintain her composure, but the warmth of his lips and the purposeful way his hands roam her body make it impossible. “You’re being ridiculous,” she whispers.

“And you’re so cute when you’re blushing,” he counters, his lips hovering just above hers. His tone shifts, teasing, giving way to something more profound. “Just know that if you ever want to recreate something from your books... all you need to do is ask, yes?”

Her breath catches as Lando’s fingers find the hem of her t-shirt and tug it upward. She lifts her arms without hesitation, letting him pull it over her head and toss it aside.

“And if you can't tell me, just underline the scenes,” he continues, smirking down at her. “I'll figure it out.”

“Lando…” her voice is much softer now, her eyes searching his, but he silences her with another kiss. Slow and lazy, his tongue dancing with hers on a rhythm only they know.

His hands move over her bare skin, stopping on her waist, then continuing until one of them curls around her neck, “My good girl,” whispers Lando against her lips, echoing the words from her book. “What should I do with you?”

She laughs softly, but it turns into a gasp as his lips leave hers, trailing down over her collarbone, while he squeezes lightly at her neck. He pauses to nip at the delicate dip at the base of her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She smells like her vanilla body lotion, a faint scent that drives him wild.

“You don’t—” she tries to say something, but his mouth moves lower, and her words dissolve into a soft moan as he presses kisses across the swell of her breast, moving his hand on top of it to squeeze the flesh there.

“Relax, baby,” he says, looking up at her briefly, his expression a mix between adoration and pure need. “Just let me play by the book, yeah?”

Her cheeks burn at the intensity in his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. Her hands find his shoulders, holding onto him as his kisses travel lower, across her stomach, his tongue darting out to trace wet patterns against her skin.

When he reaches the waistband of her shorts, he glances up again, his fingers toying with the elastic. “Can I?” he asks softly, his voice full of want.

She nods, her breath shaky, and lifts her hips to help him slide them down her legs.

Lando kisses along her inner thighs, taking his time, savoring the way her body reacts to every little, torturous touch. She’s already trembling under him, anticipation coiling in her stomach as he hooks his arms around her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

“So ready for me, hm?” asks Lando, reaching for a pillow, and sliding it beneath the small of her back, adjusting her gently until she’s perfectly positioned for him. “Every time I open your pretty legs, fucking hell.”

She nods, chewing on her lower lip as she feels his hot breath falling over her skin. The first swipe of his tongue along her slit has her gasping, her head falling back on the mattress, unable to keep her eyes on him. Lando groans, the sound reverberating through her, his movements teasing, as always.

Her hands find his hair, threading through the damp strands as she arches toward him, desperately wanting to feel the heat of his tongue on her.

He looks up, his lips glistening while smirking. “Better than your book so far?”

“Mhm,” she breathes, her voice catching as he dips lower, his tongue working in a rhythm that has her eyes rolling.

He breathes heavily as he runs his tongue over her clit, teasing her hole with the tip. It's too much for her, yet still not enough to make her body shudder, but only ache for more instead. Luckily, Lando doesn’t stop, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place as he gives himself entirely to her, the soft sounds she makes driving him on.

Patiently, he brings his fingers between her folds, opening her even more, little by little. When he pushes in the second finger, she moans his name again, which encourages him to curl them inside her, feeling her pussy tighten around him, the sound alone making him so painfully hard.

Lando’s mouth doesn’t leave her for a long while, drawing every gasp, every shudder from her as if it’s his life’s purpose. His tongue flicks, teases, and presses, his movements confident and practiced but still reverent, like he’s savoring her in a way words could never describe.

She’s close, and Lando knows it from the way her thighs tighten around his shoulders, and the way her fingers tug at his hair, grounding herself as the pleasure builds higher and higher. It makes him hum against her wetness, the muffled sound forcing a loud gasp out of her. But right when she approaches the edge, his mouth pulls away, leaving her breathless and shaking.

“Why did you—Lando!” she starts to protest, but her words are cut off when he moves up her body, kissing a heated trail along her stomach, her breasts, and up her neck.

“Patience, baby,” he whispers, the word heavy with intent. “Isn’t that what your book said?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath hitching as she remembers the very scene he’s playing out now. “I couldn’t care less about my book right now, Lando.”

He smirks, his hand sliding between her legs to tease her hole again, his fingers brushing over her sensitive heat with a featherlight touch. “Tell me what you want, then. I want to hear you say it.”

Her heart pounds, her mind is spinning, and the tears are so close from slipping out of her eyes. He's still quoting her stupid book, when he should be fucking her into oblivion instead. Even though now those words feel entirely different coming from his mouth, spoken in that low, rough voice that sends shivers down her spine, only makes her cry in protest when his fingers keep playing with her clit. The pressure he applies is measured enough to just keep her on the edge, but never pushing her over it.

“I want you,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Need you, please.”

“And if I ask you, pretty please, to say it again, will you?” his soft voice forces another moan to slip from her lips, his fingers dipping into her pussy, slow and teasing, feeling her walls constricting around them.

She nods, swallowing hard, “You,” she repeats, louder this time, her hips rolling against his hand. “I want you.”

Lando hums in approval, his lips curling into a satisfied smile as he leans down to kiss her, his fingers moving with more intent now. “So good for me, aren't you?” he asks against her lips, and the words make her whimper, heat pooling in her belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to position himself between her thighs, his body fitting against hers like they were made for each other. Unfortunately, he takes his time, teasing her with his length, dragging himself over her wetness, his eyes never leaving hers.

“So good and needy, is that why you read those books?” he asks, mostly curious than anything. “You need something to keep you stimulated all the time? Because if that's the case, we can—”

“Please, Lando,” she begs, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, while breathing heavily.

He chuckles, satisfied, “I've got you, baby, you know I do.”

His restraint snaps at her plea, and he pushes into her hard yet measured, his gaze locked on hers as he fills her inch by inch. Her head falls back, a broken moan spilling from her lips as he bottoms out, his hips flush against hers.

“Fuck, you wrap around me so good,” he mutters, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He waits for her to adjust, his hands running soothingly over her thighs, her waist, and her breasts.

“Move,” she whimpers, her voice breathless as she drags her nails over his back.

He obeys, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that has her arching beneath him, her body responding to his every thrust. He leans down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s as much about love as it is about hunger — a desperate desire to show her that he can be whatever she needs him to be.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes against her mouth. “Every inch of you.”

Her body rises to meet his with every thrust, their movements fluid and desperate as the tension coils tighter and tighter. His name falls from her lips like a prayer, and he drinks it in, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on her neck once again.

“Lan…” she cries out, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper inside her.

“Yes, baby. Wanna hear you,” he continues, his hand slipping between them to find the bundle of nerves that has her crying out again, her body trembling beneath him as his thumb circles around her clit. “Let go for me, come on.”

She shatters beneath him, her release washing over her in waves as she clings to him, her nails raking down his back. He follows moments later, her name a rough groan on his lips as he spills into her, his body shaking with the force of it.

This will always be better than anything, she realizes — better than any fantasy, any scenario, and any book. Just them, sharing each other in every possible way, then taking their time to come down. Together.

Their bodies are still tangled when Lando asks, “So? Was it better?” his voice is rough, but playful as he brushes a strand of hair from her face.

She laughs, her cheeks flushed, and pulls him down for one more kiss; of course he knew what she was thinking about.

“I think it might’ve been,” she teases.

“Oh? Might’ve?” Lando scoffs, his grin widening. “Guess we’ll just have to try again and make sure, then.”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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leclerc-hs · 1 year ago

Text

capsize - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader summary: in which charles is an idiot and you decide to make him suffer for a little bit warnings: smut, angst!, exhibitionism (kinda?), breeding kink!, language, 18+!, bad french!!! (please correct me and i'll edit), barely proofread (sorry if there’s mistakes my eyeballs hurt) word count: 5.9k (LENGTHYYYYY) author's note: had to give us some angst obvi....but also smut bc single dad charles is so hot. let me know what you think! I can't believe it ended up being this long but it felt like it was impossible to end. xoxo. please blow this up bc the effort I put into writing this took 100% of my brain power away lmao. also I got an anon request to write about nanny getting a internship with a fashion company which is included in this! french edits made by the lovely @dannyramirezwife (idk what I would do without you)

part 1 part 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 52,789 others yourusername welcome to miami 🐚🧡 view all 1,321 comments yourbsf but how do you kill it every time??? landonorris mmmm papaya looks good on you🍊 charles_leclerc how do I dislike a comment? liked by yourusername and 7,829 others yourusername 😂 user guys omg. user charles is NOT having it charles_leclerc beautiful. but please stick to red ❤️ user CRYING user lando is def on his shit list user lando wants her so bad lmaoooo

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 78,992 others yourusername luigi follows only the ferraris 🏎️🏁 view all 4,391 comments scuderiaferrari as you should! ❤️ user OMG SHES IN MIAMI!!!! user does this mean his daughter is there!!!! user i would hope. unless she's not doing her job lol user we need baby leclerc content!!! charles_leclerc damn right ❤️ yourbsf miami looks gooood on u. wanna move? yourusername 😏 charles_leclerc absolutely not user charles gtfooooo user what does charles just stalk her comments?

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, arthur_leclerc, and 1,582,817 others charles_leclerc special guests this weekend ❤️ we’ll keep pushing as always. view all 5,717 comments scuderiaferrari the most precious guests EVER user literally. user guys he’s using plurals again!!! user it has to be about @/yourusername too user crying they’re so cute carlossainz55 can’t wait for her to design my next helmet 🌶️ charles_leclerc OUR* yourusername sweet baby girllllll 🩷🧸🎀

lando.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 274,892 others lando.jpg mrs. 305 tagged yourusername view all 3,672 comments user omg. user are her and lando dating? user i hope not user they would be so cute carlossainz55 damnnnnn 🌶️🥵 lando.jpg don't poke the bear @/charles_leclerc charles_leclerc 😒 yourusername don’t ever let me take another tequila shot again lando.jpg should i cancel the ones i just ordered to your room? yourusername you BETTER be joking charles_leclerc is that why i opened the door to shots? charles_leclerc mon dieu user no like she's so pretty user they're sharing a room!??? landonorris tagged yourusername in a story!

seen by charles_leclerc, yourbsf, carlossainz55, and 900,281 others yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, and 65,428 others yourusername who let lando behind the dj booth last night???? tagged landonorris view all 2,318 comments maxfewtrell he’s such a 🐍 user omg her and lando?? user lando has been in love with her for so long user can we just take in that charles didn’t like this post? user charles has a habit of not liking any of her posts with other men 👀 user ariana what are u doing here user where is charles?? user prob with his daughter bc she clearly isn't lol user it's HIS daughter landonorris i'm so lucky user WHAT!!!!!!! user GUYS HELP user IS HE CONFIRMING?!!!? yourusername you need to stop trolling the internet lando user DJ LANDOOOOO HAS RETURNED

YOU BEGIN TO wonder whether the universe harbors some inexplicable grudge against you. Because really, you always make sure to check in on your friends often. You always make sure to pay your bills on time, if not earlier. Heck, you even make sure to donate to a different charity every month. Yet, as the jet encounters heavily turbulent skies on the way to Miami, the persistent question echoes in your mind ‘why me?’.

Luckily, a bundle of joy rests on your lap, cupping your face in her hands, and playfully squeezing your cheeks. A sweet distraction from the terror you feel inside. It’s adorable how earnestly she tries to impact calmness in you, even though her eyes are half shut with sleep.

“Ne sois pas effrayé,” Don’t be scared. Her voice maintains its gentleness as she swiftly loses interest in your cheeks, redirecting her tiny hands to play with the ends of your hair. “Je suis là avec papa.” Me and papa are here.

“Chérie,” Charles coos at his daughter, picking her up from your lap and resting her down on the bed. “Repose-toi bien," Get some rest. He tucks her into the bed, a space far too vast for her tiny body, nestling her favorite fluffy bunny stuffed animal by her side. You observe in admiration as he plants a gentle kiss to her forehead, then tenderly strokes her hair in a soothing manner.

“J’ai besoin qu’elle me borde, papa,” I need her to tuck me in. Her tiny fingers point to you and your heart instantly tightens. With a slight shake in your steps, you make your way to the bed, sitting on the side of it. “Bonne nuit, ma petite.” Goodnight, little one.

“Bonne nuit, maman,” Goodnight, mom. The words were mumbled with sleep, but it was the name that couldn’t be ignored.

For a brief period, both you and Charles experienced a suspended moment, a pause in time. Never had she referred to you in such a way, and you certainly didn’t want Charles to assume you influenced her perception in any manner.

“I don’t know why she said that.”

Caught like a deer in headlights, you pivot your head to face him. Panic courses through you, eyes widened, heart pounding. Yet, as you turn to Charles, he appears nonchalant, offering only a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“C’est bien.” It’s okay.

In a hushed pause, the both of you remain motionless aside from turning your head back to the sleeping toddler, entranced by how peaceful she looks. However, Charles finds it hard to divert his gaze from you. His eyes focus on the serene scene of his daughter’s fingers delicately entwined with yours, even in the depths of sleep, acknowledging the profound connection between you two. In these tranquil moments, where your presence is indispensable for tucking her in, Charles not only appreciates the nurturing care you offer but also recognizes the profound love and solace you impact. He can’t help but feel incredibly fortunate to have you in his life.

Only when Charles’s gentle hands tenderly squeezed the back of your neck, providing a subtle massage to your tense muscles, did you become acutely aware of the extent of your own exhaustion.

“Allez, dormons un peu, d’accord?” Let’s get some sleep, yeah? His lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, followed by a tender kiss on your temple, guiding you toward the other bed on the jet. Wrapping his arms snugly around your body, he let the both of you fall onto the mattress. While pulling the covers over both of you, your face pressed against his chest clad in a soft t-shirt. As you planted a gentle kiss above the neckline, you could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat.

Despite the passing of a few months since that initial kiss, your connection with Charles retained a serene simplicity. In the quietude of your shared moments, you found solace. Deliberately, you resisted the temptation to let your mind drift into the what if’s, choosing instead to remain in the present moments.

However, within his mind, thoughts raced at a million miles a minute. Regardless of the casualness of your relationship you both claim to have, he couldn’t stop picturing you with swollen breasts and a swollen belly. The moment his daughter called you ‘maman’, an almost feral instinct surged within him. It was a wild and untamable force. He couldn’t stop imagining you pregnant. Full of his kid. Full of him. The need to fill you up with all of him was all but surging through his veins. All the blood was rushing to his cock, and he knew he needed to get these thoughts out of his head.

“Bonne nuit,” Goodnight. His voice sounded so rough as his arms tightened around you and you easily fell into a quick slumber, feeling so safe in his arms from the turbulent skies.

The abrupt touchdown of the jet resonated through the cabin, rousing you from slumber. A ballet of movement ensued before your eyes met the scene: Charles had migrated to one of the plush seats, his daughter perched upon his knee. The ambient hum of the aircraft formed a backdrop to the unfolding familial vignette, a delicate interplay of affection. As Charles tenderly pinched his daughter’s cheeks, childlike laughter following their hushed whispers.

Charles shifted his gaze towards you, now upright on the bed. Your tousled hair framed a face adorned with the lingering softness of sleep, and your eyes, slightly puffy with remnant of slumber, held a captivating allure. Despite your disheveled state, he couldn’t help but find that you remained the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Bien dormi?” Sleep well?

A gentle smile played on your lips as you rose from the bed, indulging in a languorous stretch that showcased the contours of your body. The fabric of the t-shirt clung momentarily, revealing the subtle canvas of freckles adorning your stomach to Charles. His gaze involuntarily flicked away, a reflex triggered by the flooding memories, thoughts of you pregnant resurfacing in vivid detail. The mere glimpse of your stomach had him internally spiraling.

“Uncle Lorenzo and Auntie Char want to see you bébé,” baby. A ripple of excitement danced in his daughter’s eyes as she clapped her hands joyfully at the mere mention of her uncle. Lorenzo and Charlotte had made their way to Miami a few days prior, cleverly disguising their visit as an opportunity to vacation while supporting Charles in the impending race. This strategic maneuver afforded you and Charles the luxury of solitude in the days leading up to the event, a rare and treasured gift compared to the last few months.

“Merde,” Shit. He grunted as his head fell back against the headboard of the shared bed. His green eyes watching you with flushed cheeks as you worked yourself over his cock. “This is where you belong, yeah?”

The morning sun peeked through the curtains of the hotel room. Eliciting a warm glow in the hotel room as you sunk down onto him deeper than before. Your pussy fluttering around his length, appeasing the ache that he created before you even opened your eyes.

You nodded your head repeatedly. “Mon dieu, yes.”

His hands cup your ass, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate layers of your skin, leaving an imprint as if searching for a connection beneath the surface. Controlling your movements, he urges you to move more frantically. The feeling of your hot, wet, pussy squeezing him was almost too much for him to handle.

With each passing second, the pressure of his fingers increased, creating a sensation of both command and invitation at the back of your neck. His touch was a deliberate grasp, not just holding but asserting dominance. Your lips met in a symphony of desire. His tongue slipping into your mouth instantly, brushing against yours as he held you against him. Your nipples flushed against the toned muscles of his chest as you leaned in, and the pound of his hips fucking upwards into you, had you all but mewling into his mouth.

“C’mon mon ange, don’t make me wait.” My angel.

You’re not sure if it was the pet name or the fact that you loved to please him. Or maybe the brush of his body against your clit. But your orgasm came quickly after while the tears spilled slowly from your eyes. He swallowed every moan you gave him like it was his own source of oxygen before flipping both of you over and pushing you face first into the mattress.

Every moan you gave him was like fuel to the pound of his hips. He was completely lost in the feeling of you. “Take it all,” he grunted as he pushed your body into the mattress deeper than before, his eyes not moving from the sight of his cock coated with you and slipping into you.

You were begging and pleading him to give you more, more, more. You don’t know what more he could give you; you just knew you needed it.

“So pretty like this,” he muttered, “like you were made just to take my fucking cock whenever I need.” His thrusts began to slow, but the speed didn’t alter just how good they felt. No, he pushed himself even further, hitting all the spots just right. It was as if he was trying to become one with you. Like he wanted merge you two into a singular existence.

“Cha,” You moaned out his name and you couldn’t see but his eyes widened. His heart clenched at the nickname. He pulled out quickly, provoking a complaint from your lips as he began scooping one of his arms under your stomach and flipping you onto your back. He took a second to just look at you, a shine forming in his eyes as he observed you. You look absolutely fucked. Cheeks flushed, hair all over the place, eyes glossed with satiation, and red marks all over your neck from his fingertips.

“Needed to see your face,” he answered before you could ask, slipping his cock back into your needy hole. The confession making your heart clench and the stretch of his cock had your stomach doing flips. “Besoin de voir tes yeux.” Needed to see your eyes.

His gaze was unwavering and fixed upon you. It was as if sought to etch the intricate details of your face into the canvas of his memory. He wanted to capture every nuance, every curve, and every expression that you made.

“Merde, let me cum in you.” His eyes trailed down your face, to your neck, to your breasts. The bounce of your breasts from the force of his hips had him in a trance, thoughts of you with swollen breasts came back to mind. When he felt your pussy clench around him at the phrase, a smirk formed. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up sweet girl?

“S’il ti plaît,” please. You were pleading. You wanted nothing more. “J’en ai besoin.” I need it.

Charles’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at your confession. His groaning and grunting increasing in volume as he pounds into you harder, every inch of his cock pressing against your velvet walls as he releases into you, making you feel all warm inside.

“Tu es parfaite.” You’re perfect. He collapses beside you; his voice was so low that you almost didn’t hear him mumble the words as he pressed his lips to your collarbone before resting his head on the pillows. You felt your cheeks redden almost instantly, brushing off the compliment with a smile and small laugh.

“Je dois prendre une douche.” I need to shower. The mixture of his and yours cum was oozing down your leg. You could still feel the warmth of it. Charles mumbled a soft “mmmm”, already drifting off into a slumber.

You weren’t sure what changed in the few minutes you were in the bathroom, but you could feel the unease build in your stomach as you emerged with a towel wrapped around your frame and skin flushed red from the heat of the water to Charles pacing around the room, a knuckle in between his teeth.

He was agitated to say the least. He felt betrayed by you.

A subtle smile played on Charles’s lips as the sound of the shower resonated in the room, accompanied by your soft hum of a song he couldn’t name. The ambiance of the hotel room cocooned him in a profound sense of peace, and in that moment, he wished he could stay here eternally with you. Kissing you, touching you, inside of you.

When he heard the buzzing of a phone on the table beside the bed, he instinctively reached for it without glancing at the screen, presuming it to be his own. Given the context of it being a race weekend, early morning phone calls were expected.

“Bonjour?” Hello? He let out a cough, clearing his throat from the sound of sleep and satiated desire. The subtle rasp carried with it the traces of his happiness.

“Ah bonjour, hello, this is Camille with Christian Dior.” The woman’s voice echoes into Charles’ ear. He sits up immediately, back against the headboard. His first thought was ‘why is Christian Dior calling me?’ but it wasn’t that abnormal either. Companies reached out to him all the time for collaborations. “I am calling regarding the application we received for the internship and wanted to schedule and in-person meeting.”

Charles felt his stomach twist in knots as he listened to Camille chatter into the phone. Application? Internship? Moving the phone from his ear, he looked at the phone realizing that it was in fact yours and not his. This call was for you, not him. Camille’s voice was muffled as it was pulled away from his ear.

A wave of nausea coursed through Charles, the unexpected revelation at the possibility of you leaving hitting him hard. How could you just apply for another job like that? He felt himself growing antsy and restless as thoughts swirled in his head. Camille, who was confused by the silence, mumbled something about calling back later due to the lack of response from Charles.

He dropped the phone onto the duvet of the bed, standing up and pacing the room while he felt himself begin to question everything. Questioning why you would leave. Does he not give you enough? Was it too much to handle? As his thoughts droned on, taking a turn for the worse, he began to feel angry. Angry that you considered leaving this job. He began to see red.

“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” What’s wrong? You were cautious, not standing too close to him to give him some space. His head whipped in your direction almost too quickly.

Your attention was drawn to the wrinkle lines etched on Charles’s forehead, marking the aftermath of his furrowed eyebrows. The subtle creases and wrinkles, usually absent in is carefree demeanor, painted you a picture of his current inner turmoil. When you shifted your gaze to meet with his narrowed eyes, the cautious padding of your bare feet seemed to echo.

It was an unfamiliar sight to witness Charles engulfed in such a storm of emotions. The stark contrast to his usual carefree and joyful demeanor. He was blinded by his rage as he muttered the next words.

“Es-tu idiote?” Are you stupid? His jaw was clenched. A soft gasp left your lips as you clutched tighter onto the top of your towel, feeling rather exposed now. “Demande à Christian Dior.” Ask Christian Dior. His spat out the name Christian Dior with such disdain. As if it were dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

Your eyes widened, everything clicking. You weren’t sure how he knew, but he was answering your internal thoughts before words could form on your tongue.

“Ils t’ont appelé. J’ai répondu par erreur.” They called you. I answered by mistake. He let out a loud sigh as he leaned against the dresser across from the end of the bed, his forearms flexing as he gripped onto it tightly. You noticed the definition of his muscles and veins forming on his arms. He was squeezing the dresser, trying to gain some relief from such anger swirling within him.

At first, you wanted to argue him for answering your phone. But you knew him. You knew he wasn’t snooping. He said it was a mistake, so you took his word for it.

“Qu’ont-ils dit?” What did they say? You weren’t sure how to approach this conversation with him. You especially were not expecting it to go this way, with you wrapped in only a cotton towel.

His eyes narrowed to an almost imperceptible slit, the vibrant green drained from any warmth of presence. “Are you serious?” The exasperation in his voice reverberated through the room. Your question seemed to strike a nerve, leaving him incredulous. Was that all you had to say? The absence of an explanation hung in the air, adding more tension to the charged atmosphere between you two.

“Ne me crie pas dessus.” Don’t yell at me. You felt your own anger building at his attitude. Who did he think he was? You padded back to your suitcase, grabbing whatever outfit you could without paying attention. You weren’t sure what you even grabbed or if it even matched, but you didn’t care. You were too busy listening to Charles raise his voice.

“Don’t walk away from me.” He pushed off the dresser, trailing behind you. “What is this internship you applied for?”

You didn’t answer right away, instilling more anger within Charles. “Answer me. You’re just going to leave like always?” His tone struck you with disbelief, the harshness leaving an unexpected sting. The air was too intense. You needed to get some air.

Like always?

You turned and faced him. “Are you asking me as my boss or my fuck buddy?” You knew it was a low blow, but it was so unfair for him to be this mean to you. It wasn’t even necessarily his words but his tone that bothered you most. He spoke to you as if you were a child who needed punishing.

You had a shirt half-way over your head and black leggings on. “It’s just a summer internship. I didn’t even do the interview yet, but you seem to know that already.” You waved him off, rushing around the room to get your stuff. You needed to get out of here. You weren’t going to sit here and let him berate you.

“You can’t just leave.” He followed you to the door, gripping your wrist to pull you back towards him. You yanked your arm out of his grip.

“You’re just like everyone else.” His words tumbled out incoherently, much like uncontrollable word vomit. He could feel the panic rising in him as you made your way towards the door. “Right. Use me and then leave. It’s all I’m good for.”

His words twisted your stomach, and you chose to overlook the burning ache in your heart.

“Fine. Just go fuck your ex-boyfriend or something. Or Lando. I know he wants you.” He stood there, chest heaving up and down with his heavy breaths. You pulled the door open, standing in the frame, you took one last glance at him.

“Va te faire foutre.” Go fuck yourself. And with that you were out the door.

“Je n’arrive pas à le croire!” I can’t believe him! “C’est vraiment un connard.” He’s really such an asshole.

“Babes, you’re g’na need to speak in English for me to understand,” he laughed before taking a sip of his beer, “you muppet.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at Lando, seated across from you in the elegant ambiance of the hotel restaurant. Adorned in a snug black dress, every curve of your figure accentuated, the crystal jewels meticulously tracing the contours of your breasts. The garment displayed a subtle dip between your cleavage, adding an enthralling touch. It was safe to say you looked fucking good. Or as Lando said, “holy fucking shit, you took the air out of my lungs.” Which in response, you couldn’t resist a playful shove to his shoulder.

In the aftermath of the argument with Charles, you found yourself in the company of Lando, driven partly by Charles’s mention of him. Despite the strained circumstances, your connection with Lando remained strictly platonic. However, Lando’s penchant for flirting was a constant, adding a playful dynamic that colored your friendship. Thankfully for Lando, he was the reason you were able to even get a change of clothes seeing as you left the hotel room earlier in complete disarray. It was still your day off, one that was originally supposed to be spent with Charles. Lorenzo and Charlotte were still taking care of Charles��s daughter, leaving your night wide open.

“Martin’s driver is picking us up soon,” Lando declared, drowning the remainder of his beer and emphatically slamming the bottle onto the table. There was still two more days before the race weekend began, meaning Lando wanted to go out to which you agreed easily. Meanwhile, you maintained a composed sip from your glass of wine. With a playful glint in his eye, Lando added, “Get your dance moves ready muppet.” The prospect of the evening ahead seemed to carry a promise of lively escapades.

Your laughter echoed, creating a buoyant atmosphere as you seamlessly fell into a comfortable conversation with Lando. His easy-going nature and banter helped soothe the lingering nerves from the earlier argument with Charles. In that moment, you felt nothing but gratitude for Lando’s presence.

The vibrant lights of the club painted the atmosphere in a kaleidoscope of colors, while the unmistakable scent of alcohol lingered in the air. The club pulsated with energy of the intoxicated crowd, bodies swaying to the vibrations of music surrounding them. It wasn’t until you reached the DJ booth that you felt a wave of reassurance wash over you.

The night unfolded with a multitude of shots, some in which you had to pretend to take, just to save yourself from vomiting on the floor. The music provided a lively group, thus creating a joyous atmosphere. You surrendered to the rhythm, dancing through the hours, deliberately steering clear of thoughts about the brunette Monegasque who typically occupied your mind.

As you slid out of the booth, making your way to the bathroom, you finally pulled your phone out of your purse. The screen was littered with missed calls and multiple messages, most from nonetheless Charles.

from Charles (dilf) Where are you? 18:45 You’re such a brat. 19:19 Really? You’re with Lando? 22:47 Could your dress be any fucking shorter? 22:51 Tu essaies de me tuer 01:27 You’re really testing my patience 01:46

You didn’t answer. Feeling triumphant as you snickered to yourself at his messages, him clearly struggling with the concept of you being out with Lando. Slipping the phone back into your purse, you continued your night, leaving all worries behind. Because if you didn’t, the mere reality of the argument with Charles would have you vomiting on the floor.

It was honestly insane how the sun was just beginning to rise. Yet, you and Lando were just stepping foot into the hotel not even a few minutes ago, drunken laughter between you both as you exited the elevator to Lando's floor. No doubt, pictures of you and Lando surfacing all over the internet tonight. But you weren’t worried about that. What you were worried about was the angry brunette standing outside of Lando’s hotel room door, his arms crossed, and eyes tired as if he didn’t sleep the entire night.

You and Lando both sobered up quickly from the sight of him, brooding in front of the hotel door. Charles opened his mouth, utilizing both of your native tongue to exclude Lando from the conversation.

“Tu es putain de sérieuse?” Are you fucking serious? The harsh tone he used drew you back to the argument that had occurred earlier in the day. Or should you say yesterday?

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here?

He rolled his eyes, teeth gritting as he looked over to Lando smiling beside you with his hotel room key in hand. “Muppet, are you sleeping over, or no? I’m tired.”

Charles didn’t afford you a moment to respond before swiftly shutting him down. The gaze he directed at Lando carried a lethal intensity, a silent warning that spoke volumes. “Absolutely fucking not.” Charles’s grip tightened on your arm, an assertive pull guiding you down the hallway toward the elevator. Surprisingly, you didn’t resist, allowing the momentum to carry you forward. You looked back at Lando who had a smirk on his face and winked at you. What a fucker.

The elevator enveloped you both in an oppressive silence, interrupted only by rhythmic beeping accompanying each floor you ascended. Charles maintained a deliberate gap between you, yet his hand remained firmly clasped around your wrist. In the mirrored surface of the doors, your eyes locked onto each other, breaths syncing. As the doors finally opened, Charles propelled you out with a gentle push, his body behind yours.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the hotel room that Charles unleashed a torrent of emotions upon you. His voice, thick with a mixture of anger, jealousy, hurt, and worry, carried the weight of the pent-up emotions he had been harboring. He had seen the stories, the posts, and even the photos of you at dinner, images captured by fans.

The way you smiled at Lando in the pictures had him throwing his phone. And don’t even get him started on the dress. The fucking dress.

“Do you like Lando?” He sneered, jealousy bubbling inside of his chest.

And because you felt like stirring the pot even more, you smirked. “Yes.” And although it was the truth, it wasn’t what Charles thought. You felt bad as you saw his face fall, but he deserved it just for a little bit at the very least.

You could feel all the thoughts racing through Charles head before he pulled you both towards the balcony, staring at the city skyline instead of at you. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice thickening with emotion, “What about me? What about us?”

“As a friend.” You finally announced, turning your body to fully face Charles. “I like Lando as a friend, Cha.” You confirmed, a groan leaving your lips. “Do we have to do this right now? I’m so tired and my feet hurt.”

“Oui.” Allowing no room for further complaints, Charles pulled you into an embrace, his arms enveloping you and effectively trapping you between the warmth of his body and the balcony railing. He nestled his head in the crook of your neck, finding a moment of relief in the reassurance that you were back, and in his arms. The tight hold on you spoke of relief.

“You’re mine,” He states. “Label or no label.” He's possessive in the way he speaks and touches you. Like he needs to get his point across. You feel him laugh as his fingers trail around your front side, trailing down until he can slip them up the front of your dress, pressing his fingers to your lace covered core. It was almost too easy. The dress was so short.

The desperate ache in the pit of your tummy grows with each swipe of his thumb along your covered clit. You began to forget why you were even fighting in the first place, his hands on you felt too good. You lulled your head back against him, making more room for his lips to attack on your neck.

Your ability to articulate words faltered, your legs turning to jell-o under his embrace. With one arm securely wrapped around your waist, he became your anchor, ensuring that you remained standing.

“You want my fingers?” His lips are hot on your ear. He slips his fingers beneath your underwear, feeling just how wet you really are. It was almost too easy. “So fucking wet and warm, mmm.” He groans as he slips one finger inside of you, moving it so slowly that you began to get frustrated with the pace. Your hips rut, trying to speed up his fingers, but he holds you in place removing your ability to move.

Your body begins to tremble as he increases the pace of his finger, inserting another one and curling it, hitting the spot you ached most. You want to cum so badly; you want to soak his fingers and tremble around them. “So greedy.” He takes your ear lobe in between his teeth, nibbling gently on it before trailing his tongue down the rest of your neck. “Taking my fingers so well.”

You groaned, his words pushing you towards your climax quicker than anticipated. He could tell you close with the way you were squeezing his fingers so tightly, and the way your words were almost incoherent. As soon as your arm reached back, your fingers brushing through his hair, he pulled his fingers out of you.

“No!” You half-shrieked at the loss of contact, pulling his hair in the process. Your face blushed and eyebrows furrowed from the loss of his fingers.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He flips your body around, your back flush against the balcony railing now. The breeze continues to blow your hair around, no doubt making a mess of it.

“You tell me you’re mine.” You bite back, refusing to say it first. Charles began laughing, it reverberated in his chest.

“Oh, mon ange.” He ignores what you say, trailing his eyes down your body. “This fucking dress.” His words are sharp as he begins gripping the ends of your dress and shoving it upwards, exposing you completely to him now. He placed a quick slap of his finger tips to your clit, the shock and sting of the slap turning you on more than you could imagine.

He pulls you forward, hands squeezing your neck, the area right under your jaw line to be more specific, lips immediately pressing against yours. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was hot, messy, and wet. A clashing of teeth and tongue as he sucked on your tongue. Leaving you almost no room to breathe in the process. But you didn’t mind, his kisses were intoxicating.

The firm presence of Charles’s hand on your neck persisted, the subtle pressure from the pads of his fingers inducing a dizzying effect. It was a tactile reminder of his control, a touch that left your head spinning, and wanting more. “I’ve always been yours.” He doesn’t let you respond before he’s pulling your lips back to his. This time, his fingers slip back into your heated core, assaulting and curling them just how you needed them. You breathed hotly into his mouth as your orgasm crashed over you. It was quick and hot. Charles could’ve sworn he was going to cum right in his pants at the feeling of you squeezing his fingers, coating them in you. He’s never been more jealous of his fingers in his life.

He flips you around again, fumbling with the button of his pants as he shoves them down, them falling to a pile around his ankles. He wasn’t slow, rubbing the tip of his cock through your slick folds, he teased you both for a little bit.

When he finally slipped into you, you swore you were going to cum again. You had to squeeze the railing harder to prevent yourself from doing so. You wanted to cum with him.

“Squeezing me so well.” He moaned, the wind picking up and the only glimmer of light was from the sun barely peeping over the horizon. You couldn’t believe you were doing this, out in the open of a hotel balcony, but the thrill of it made it that much more exciting.

“Tu aimes ça, hm?” You like that? He pushes you forward so that your chest was pressed to the railing, your head dangling over the edge as you looked down from the height of the building. Everything looked so small from this height. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine.” He continues.

“Want to fill you up.” You clench hard around him, soft moans escaping your lips into the air in response. Charles couldn’t help but feel his heart pound as he muttered the next words. “Want to fill you up with my cum, want to fuck a baby into you.”

At first, he was nervous muttering the words aloud. But the clench of your pussy around his cock only eased his nerves. Your moans increasing in volume told him just how much you liked that too.

“Merde,” Shit. You were mewling into the open air, the increase in pace of his hips had you seeing stars.

“Are you gonna let me?”

“Yes!” You were yelling it repeatedly. His fingers crawled their way around your body, slipping into the dip in the front of your dress and pinching your nipples. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“C’mon donne-le moi.” Give it to me. And boy did you. You both came with a loud cry, the sound of his hips slapping into your backside a faint noise compared to the moans. The warmth of his cum seeping into you for the second time in less than 24 hours. Although, you were on the pill, you still liked to play along with the idea of being pregnant. The idea of Charles filling you up turned you on like no other.

You both took a few seconds to recoup, trying to catch your breath. He pulled out slowly, but brought his fingers down, pushing the mixture of both of your cum back inside you. He didn’t want a single drop of it to go to waste.

He turned you around, bringing your lips to a sweet kiss.

“Je suis désolée.” I’m sorry. His eyes hold your own. “I should’ve said it sooner. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. The idea of you leaving had me freaked out, you didn’t deserve any of it. You..”

A small smile graces your lips as you see how genuine he is and you lean up on your tippy toes, bringing your lips back to his. Essentially shutting him up, his hands wrap back around you, lifting you off the ground as he carries you back into the hotel room, both of you collapsing into the bed.

“Even if I got a new job, I’m still yours.” You started. “But actually, there’s this great nanny job I heard about.” Charles feels panic forming in his chest again. But you continue on, “It involves the cutest little girl ever. I also heard that the dad is so hot and cool. Did I mention he’s single?” You joke, laughter erupting between the both of you as he cradles you into his body.

“I don’t think he’s single.”

“Yeah. He definitely isn’t.”

And that was all he needed to hear.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #don't wake the kids cl16 #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x oc #charles leclerc x you

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heavenlyvision · 1 year ago

Text

Bare

Word count: 9.3k

Pairing: Liu Kang x F!Reader

A/N: This is a bit different to my other works so far, at least it feels different! I am stoked about the people who encouraged me to write this!! You guys have been the kindest to interact with and really encourage me to keep writing <33 (P.S. If you're having trouble picturing the position in the smut scene, it’s pretty close to the full nelson, hopefully you can picture it with just my description though 😅😅)

Summary: Through a series of unfortunate events, you find yourself befriending a God and making his life more difficult, it’s just a bonus that he’s friendly, kind, and really hot.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, grinding, p in v sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, Liu Kang might be a little ooc and I am sorry but he’s hot and I had to write for him.

Living in the temple with Liu Kang is an odd feeling, you’ve been here for a while now, but you still feel out of place. Maybe because there isn’t any real reason that you’re here, you know he has plans and is a Fire God and something about a tournament with another realm, but you don’t fit in to any of that. You’re just some person he felt bad for after making friends with and is now allowing you to stay in his temple????

To be fair, he didn’t really befriend you, he asked if you were okay and then you held him verbally hostage. He looked friendly and so you started talking to him, something you would usually be too reserved to do. Having conversations with strangers isn’t something you’re in the habit of, and you especially don’t start them, but you’d had a series of unfortunate events happen to you in the course of a week and he looked nice. You think he was too polite to ask you to stop talking to him, but he eventually engaged in the conversation.

It was a little cafe not far from where you used to live, Liu Kang had been there by chance, he tells you now that there was something he had to take care of in that area, but he kept coming back after that first encounter. Every time you were there, he was also there, and he listened to you.

When you first met and spoke with Liu Kang you complained about how your partner broke up with you but actually he was cheating on you and had been for months, so you had to leave his apartment, which was originally yours before you were both on the lease. But you didn’t leave by choice, he locked you out and left your stuff in front of the building, which obviously, some of it was missing.

Whether he kept it or if some of it was taken by strangers you aren’t sure, but it sucks either way, you didn’t tell Liu Kang that last thing at the time though. Being kicked out of your own apartment and cheated on was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to know you were also robbed.

While visiting that café everyday hoping to see Liu Kang, your personal circumstances kept getting worse, you didn’t keep bombarding him with your issues though. He was nice and funny in a polite way, and he was becoming a friend to you. So, you didn’t say anything to him but the friend you had been staying with turned out to be who your partner was cheating on you with, so you had to rush to find another place to stay, which you managed. And things would’ve been okay from there if you hadn’t lost your job due to cutbacks in that same week, so not only were you living off your quickly depleting savings, you were also trying to find a job, while living in a shitty, tiny apartment, an apartment where, if you had all your furniture, you wouldn’t be able to see the floor.

The only thing you looked forward to were the afternoons in that café talking to and getting to know Liu Kang. It was unfortunate luck when your ex-friend and ex-partner walked in and saw you talking with him. They didn’t mind their own business, and that was how Liu Kang had found out how much worse things had gotten for you in the few months you had been meeting with him.

After he learned about the extent of things he brought up living with him at the temple, he said it would be more for him than for you, claiming to need help and that you were perfect for it. But you knew he didn’t really need any help; he’s a literal God and you’re just a person. So, you kept declining, he’d bring it up once a month and you would tell him no every month, determined to make things work for yourself.

But eventually, you were fed up with all the dead-end jobs and being dismissed after only a few weeks, you were looking down the barrel of eviction and you caved, asking Liu Kang for help. Something he was more than happy to provide.

It felt odd, making friends with a stranger, only to find out he was a God and then that God feeling so bad for you that he offers to make your life easier by letting you live with him at his temple. You can’t help but feel pitiful about giving up all your responsibilities and running away but there wasn’t anything left for you in that city.

Staying by Liu Kang’s side has introduced you to so much beauty, it’s expanded your small world, and you don’t feel even a little bit of regret for leaving, not anymore. Though you still feel out of place, your heart is at peace.

Currently, you’re drinking tea with Liu Kang, it’s something you two do every afternoon and it reminds you of the café. Even though he’s busy, he always has tea with you, every afternoon.

Conversing with him always starts the same way, you say something completely random or make an observation and he sighs at your inability to sit in silence for more than a minute at a time.

“You know, I think he still has my favourite book.” You say in reference to your ex.

There’s a book you owned, and it was a classic, not worth anything, but you had annotated it to high hell and the love you have for it is shown in your scribblings and all the sticky notes. It’s something you immediately noticed was missing but never said anything about.

He has a confused look on his face, “What? Why didn’t you ask for it back?”

“He’d just say that I lost it, or that it got stolen when he left my boxes outside the apartment,” You shrug at him.

“He… left your belongings… outside of the apartment, where strangers could rifle through them… and steal from you?” He questions, his tone is calm but the pauses in his sentence display contempt.

“Did I not tell you that?” You wonder.

He’s looking at you, eyes squinting, scrutinising you and trying to determine if you were purposefully keeping that from him, “No… you have not mentioned it.”

In all honesty, you thought you had already told him that. You aren’t trying to hide it anymore, it’s already done. You just feel a bit sad about your favourite book, you’ve been wanting to reread it lately and you like reading the notes you’ve made previously as you do.

“I was just thinking about the book, it was annotated,” you sigh.

“I can take you to go get it, if you’d like?” He offers.

“He probably won’t even admit to having it, let alone give it back but thank you.” You offer him a smile, he’s always so kind to you, a gentle God.

He considers you for a moment, “I have some books, if you’d like to read them.”

“I found your library months ago, read a bunch of them but it isn’t the same.” You appreciate his suggestion, but other books can’t compare.

He sips at his tea, before saying, “You’re picky.”

“No, it’s just that I cultivated that book with all my thoughts and feelings on the story and now it’s gone,” you huff out.

Liu Kang frowns a bit, thinking about your words, “I do not like him.”

“Neither,” you laugh, “You know, he wasn’t even worth it, never made me org–” you stop abruptly, realising what you were about to say… to a God, “Uhm what I actually mean is, he was a… bad partner, not… attentive?” It comes out like a question, but you aren’t asking anything.

He chuckles and shakes his head at you; he always seems to find you amusing, “That’s a shame,” he mutters.

You want to question him on what he means but he speaks again, “Why did you stay with him?”

“After a while, I felt… trapped,” you sigh, “He was kinder in the beginning of our relationship, but he grew colder, meaner, he didn’t talk to me… he didn’t like talking to me, always saying I talk too much,” you give him a wry smile.

He hums, “I like listening to you.”

You feel flush at his words, he does this sometimes, says something innocuous without realising how the kind words have you falling for him. But, it’s a feeling you don’t let yourself indulge in, for a number of reasons but mostly because you feel unremarkable compared to him. You feel small and your feelings feel unimportant, so you don’t entertain them, not wanting them to grow stronger with nowhere to put them down. He makes it hard though.

“I like talking to you,” you reply.

Relationships aren’t something you’ve had much success in, your only one that lasted longer than a couple weeks being the one where you lost your apartment, belongings, friend, etc etc.

“I sometimes wonder if he ever loved me,” you confess to Liu Kang.

You stayed out of obligation and convenience, leaving was too much effort, but why did he stay for so long, only to do what he did. Sometimes you feel sick thinking about it, because if he never showed you love then what does it look like? And are you capable of recognising it in someone else? In yourself?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, “I can hear you thinking from here, stop it.”

“You can hear thoughts??” You’re a little worried as you say it.

He restrains himself from rolling his eyes at you, “Not what I meant; I cannot actually hear your thoughts.”

“Oh thank god, don’t say things like that.” You place a hand over your beating heart.

“Why would I be able to read minds?” He queries.

“I dunno, you’re a God, you can’t say stuff like that, I’ll take you literally,”

He hums, “Noted.”

Both of you sit in the silence, normally you would say something else but for once you’re a little lost for words. Still wondering if you’ve ever been loved, properly. An ache fills your heart, and you aren’t really sure what it means.

Liu Kang’s grip squeezes on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him, “If he never loved you, then he is a fool.”

And there it is again, something meant as comfort said so tenderly to you that your heart feels like it might implode.

“Thank you,” you say, hand coming up to rest on top of his.

He looks deep in thought for a moment, “I think you should learn self-defence.”

It’s abrupt, the way he brings it up, you pull your hand away and turn so you’re facing him properly, “Why?”

“I think I would feel better about you being a part of this world, if you could defend yourself.”

You consider his words, your lips pouting in thought, “I’d rather not.”

His response is to frown at you, “Why not?”

“I’d rather not, just ‘cause I don’t wanna have strangers train me or whatever, don’t like the idea of being touched by them,” you say it flippantly, waving a hand as you do.

You know he would want to take you to that academy or have someone specifically train you, but you aren’t fond of strangers, and you especially don’t like the idea of their hands positioning you and such, it’s a very uncomfortable idea.

Your face must be betraying how much you dislike the idea, “Stop making that face,” Liu Kang sighs.

“Sorry,” your face drops into a neutral expression, you hadn’t realised you were making one.

“Things are going to pick up soon, I would feel better if you’d consider it.”

You frown again, this time on purpose.

He looks into your eyes, it feels like he’s trying to stare you down, “That won’t work, I don’t like being touched,” you remark.

He raises a brow at you, “You let me touch you.”

You look away from him and mumble, “That’s different.”

“How?” He inquires.

How nosey of him, “It just is…” you shrug at him.

“What if I teach you self-defence?”

You look back to him, “Maybe.”

If you had a choice, you’d rather not be taught any kind of self-defence, but you guess if it’s Liu Kang teaching you, you could be amicable to that, eventually.

Both his brows raise, “Are you going to make this difficult for me?”

You repeat your previous answer, sly smile on your lips, “Maybe…”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been almost a full week since that conversation with Liu Kang, you keep putting off training with him. He’s a patient man but you think you’re slowly chipping away at it. His concern for you growing the more you put it off.

You understand that things will be changing soon, with his champions and what not, but he keeps you fairly separate from all that anyways. You know of the Lin Kuei and their involvement, along with the brothers but you’ve not met them, and he’s not asked you to. So, you aren’t really sure why he’s become so caught up on getting you some kind of training.

It’s late in the evening and you’re walking to the library, which maybe you shouldn’t be, but you feel the need to read something. Get your mind off of everything that’s been happening. Maybe you’ll find a new favourite book and annotate that.

But because you have the luck of someone who’s broken a mirror every day, it starts bucketing down rain. Usually, you enjoy rainy weather and a good book, but this isn’t that. You’re walking the temple grounds one minute and the next you’re fully drenched, down to the bone. Clothes soggy, shoes filled with water, and to top it off, the torrential downpour is making your visibility awful. You can’t make heads or tails with all this rain; it would probably be just as bad even if it wasn’t dark out.

Just your luck, there isn’t much you can do but stumble blindly through the grounds, hoping you’re going the right way. But predictably, that is not a good idea, you’re about as wet as a person can be, shaking from the cold breeze, you need to find shelter somewhere soon.

Some of the buildings are recognisable, you think? You can’t really be sure, but you think you recognise the building Liu Kang resides in. Hobbling up to the door, you knock on it, hoping that some higher power takes pity on you and that Liu Kang is home… and also awake.

And wouldn’t you know it, he’s not home, the only solution you can think of is to sit under the small shelter surrounding the building, to at least prevent yourself from getting any more wet, not that that’s even possible at this point.

The rain doesn’t stop, the rate at which it’s coming unchanging. Spending all night here is not a feasible option, sadly, you will have to move again and hope you find your own quarters or somewhere open you can tuck into. It’d be embarrassing to sleep on Liu Kang’s doorstep only for him to trip over you in the morning.

You decide to try knocking one last time, maybe he didn’t hear you. Wrapping your knuckles against his front door, you knock harder, wishing for him to be home and that your first knocks went unheard.

Waiting a moment before you give up, he’s obviously out doing some God business or whatever, you don’t really question his movements. Turning your back to his door, you look out at the rain, working yourself up to going back out into it.

Just as you step out into it again, you feel a hand grab your upper arm and pull you back, bending your head back to look up, you realise it’s Liu Kang and a relived smile breaks out across your face. You turn around to face him properly and he lets go of your arm.

The look on his face is one of complete confusion, “What are you doing out in this rain?”

“I was looking for the library but then it started raining… and I got lost but I recognised your building, and I knocked a couple times, but I thought you were out, so I was gonna look for somewhere else to try and get warm.” You’re shaking like a leaf in front of him, teeth chattering as you talk.

He frowns at you and grabs you again, pulling you inside. The escape from the unforgiving wind is very welcome to you.

“Why were you out this late to begin with?” His eyes are firm as he looks at you.

You look away from him, feeling like you’re being scolded, “I… wanted to read a book… can’t stop thinking and I can’t sleep.”

You’re standing in front of him and staring at the floor below you, still shivering involuntarily, a puddle of water being created on the wood, “Do you have a towel, your floors getting wet.” Your head nodding downwards to the puddle.

“I am not worried about my floors,” he sighs, “Come with me.”

You shuffle down the hall after him, you feel like a wet cat who got caught outside when they’re meant to be inside. There’s a trail of water droplets trailing after you, you feel bad getting his floors all wet, you’ll have to remember to clean up for him.

Following behind, you properly look at him and notice his upper half is bare, only in pants for bed, you can’t help but stare at his large frame and muscular back. It’s a very human display, for him to be shirtless and in sleep pants, his hair down, he looks good, but he always looks good. You feel like a silly mess.

He leads you into his bathroom and hands you a clean towel, “Have a shower, get warm.”

You stand there looking at him for a moment, “What will I wear?”

Liu Kang walks past you and further down the hall, you briefly wonder if you’re meant to follow him or start showering. You decide to pull off your jacket and slip out of your shoes while waiting.

His footsteps are coming back towards you, “Here,” he offers you some of his clothes.

You think about whether the shirt would even close, he’s always wearing shirts that show his chest and they don’t exactly look like they’d offer you any modesty, even if you do it up. You unfold the shirt and you’re thankful to see it will, in fact cover you.

“Something wrong?” He asks.

Shaking your head at him, you say, “No, I was just wondering if you gave me one of those shirts that doesn’t actually close properly.”

He sighs at you, “Have a shower, then we will talk.”

You drop the shirt down from in front of you to look at him but he’s already walking away and shutting the door behind him.

The showers heat is what you imagine heaven feels like, or maybe getting really high. Muscles that you hadn’t even realised were tensed finally relax and you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the shower floor. You hadn’t noticed just how cold you were, if you had stayed out all night you might’ve actually turned into a popsicle.

After you’ve washed and dried yourself off, you look at Liu Kang’s clothes, he gave you pants but you’re worried they won’t fit. Which is troublesome because you can’t put on your wet underwear, not unless you wanna squirm in place all evening.

Closing your eyes, you huff out a sigh, considering your options. Telling him that you have no underwear is a mortifying thought. So, you pull his shirt on and do up the buttons, it comes down pretty far on your body, which shouldn’t be shocking; he is a large man but seeing it come more than halfway down your thighs makes you remember the size difference.

Considering how far it comes down on you, you wonder if you even have to say anything. You decide it might be better not to say anything, the risk of whatever conversation would ensue undoubtedly would embarrass you to death.

Which, before you met Liu Kang, you never really got all that embarrassed but the effect he has on you makes you feel self-conscious of all your choices and little mannerisms.

Padding down his hallway, you meet him in his living area, he’s sitting on his lounge. Rounding it, you hold onto the hem of his shirt, you feel nervous; like he’s about to give you the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ talk. It always worked on you as a kid, it’d probably work now too.

When he looks up to you, his eyes skate up your body slowly before he meets your gaze, “What’s wrong with the pants?”

“Don’t fit,” you mumble.

He nods at you, and you go to sit next to him.

“You smell like me,” he notes.

You had noticed that, his scent is overwhelming you, making you feel warm.

You change the subject, “Thank you, for the shirt and shower... and for letting me in.”

He looks concerned, “Why would I not let you in?”

You shrug at him, you aren’t really sure why you said it, maybe it’s the being locked out of your own apartment memories haunting you again. You fidget in your seat a bit, uncomfortable from both not wearing underwear and this conversation.

You change the subject, “Do you have a mop or another towel, I can dry your floors.”

He shakes his head at you, “You do not need to do that, I’ve already done it.”

He readjusts his position, moving to the side, one leg crossed on the couch and an arm coming up to rest on the back of the couch. He’s facing you completely now, you’re sitting forward with your knees touching, looking into your lap and toying with the hem of his shirt, conscious of the fact you aren’t wearing underwear.

“I would have done it,” you mutter.

“I know, that is why I did it first.”

You don’t say anything, which is out of character and it’s starting to concern Liu Kang.

“What were you going to do tonight? If I hadn’t answered my door,” he questions you, his tone concerned.

Your lips pout and you look away to the side, staring at his now very interesting wall.

“I dunno, I mean, I was planning to go back out and try and find my place or somewhere else warm at least, I wasn’t just gonna sit on your doorstep all night,” you shrug, still not facing him.

The couch cushions move as he shuffles a little closer, “That would have been reckless, your lips were almost blue before, you need to have more concern for your wellbeing.”

“I care about myself,” you turn to look at him, he had moved closer than you expected, you stumble over yourself a bit at his proximity, “…I do care, I didn’t know what to do and I made the best choice in that moment, it’s not like I wanted to go back into the rain… I knocked again… just in case you didn’t hear the first time…”

He looks at you intensely, it’s making you nervous and you look away from him, eyes turning downwards to your lap again, legs rubbing against each other as you continue to squirm.

“Look at me,” he says gently, you turn your head to look at him properly, he continues, “I am so aware of how human you are, and I worry about your safety because of it, you do not inspire confidence in me when you do stuff like this.”

“I think you’re taking this too seriously; I didn’t know it was going to rain and–”

“–That is not my only concern,” he gives you a pointed look.

“And we are back on this?” You ask.

He nods in response.

A deep sigh is pushed out of you, “You know, you are quite persistent… pushy even.”

“If you give in now, it would save us a lot of time,” he replies, making his stance clear, this is not something he is willing to compromise on. At least, not any more than he already has.

“I don’t understand why you want me to do this so bad? You’ve kept me separate from everything so far, so why would I need any kind of training?”

“For my peace of mind,” he says, rather abruptly.

Taking a deep breath in you let it all out at once, “You really aren’t going to let this go?” You ask, double checking.

“No,” he confirms.

“Then… I suppose… I will allow you to train me,” you huff, you’d cross your arms, but you’re worried about his shirt riding up your thighs.

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

You hum noncommittally, “This is such an unlucky night for me.”

He chuckles at you while getting up from the couch, “I am going to put some tea on, can you watch it?”

“Yeah,” you also get up from the couch and follow him to his kitchen.

Opening cupboards, he pulls out everything and puts the kettle on, then he wanders down the hallway leaving you to watch it. You don’t really know what he’s gone off to do, you’re a little peeved that you’ll have to be training for a possible threat, not even a tangible one. Plus you think he’s not telling you everything, but he seems to be a bit touchy right now, so you won’t push it.

Especially since you seem to be the reason why he’s being a bit short. But everything that happened tonight was just a series of unfortunate events, which at this point is par for the course for you. You don’t want to try and argue your case again though because, well, you were walking around an area you aren’t completely familiar with in the middle of the night, so you might be a little in the wrong.

Mindlessly, you watch the kettle, it feels a little ironic considering that old phrase, ‘a watched pot never boils’. From behind you, Liu Kang’s footsteps stop, you turn around to look at him.

“What were you doing?” You ask him, before you realise he’s holding all your wet clothes, including your underwear, the underwear that you are currently not wearing. Underwear that you should be wearing.

“What are you wearing underneath my shirt?” His gaze is even, unreadable.

“Uhm, well… like, r-right now?” You ask for clarification, your eyes wide.

“Yes, right now,” his tone is equally unreadable.

You suck on your teeth uncomfortably, “Well, right now… in this moment… I guess… nothing.”

“Right, thought so, considering I found these,” he holds out your underwear with one finger, showing them to you, “amongst all your other clothes.”

“Okayyyy, but you see…your pants didn’t fit and well, I didn’t want to put on wet underwear…” you avert your eyes from his, feeling exposed, “so, I decided, not to wear any…” You trail off, not really sure where to go from here.

He hums at you in understanding, “So, while I was telling you to care more for yourself…you were sitting on my couch, squirming because you chose to forgo underwear, is that right?”

You look upwards, feigning deep thought, “Mhm, pretty much, yeah…but I wouldn’t say I was squirming.”

“You were squirming, I thought it was because the conversation was uncomfortable.” He retorts.

“Well, it was…just in multiple ways,” you smile innocently at him, “Uhm, can I have those?”

“Are you going to put them on?” He asks.

You nod at him, “I was considering it, wearing wet panties has to feel better than this.”

His eyes close momentarily at your words, he intakes a breath. You feel ashamed to admit that this conversation is working you up, it would probably be for the best if you cover yourself properly.

Walking over to him you go to grab your underwear, but as you reach up to pluck them from his hand, he reaches further up. Not completely out of arm’s length but if you do reach up, you would be exposing yourself completely.

“That’s not nice,” you huff.

“It isn’t nice showing up on my doorstep just to get into my clothes and then sit on my couch with nothing underneath them.” His eyes are full of mirth.

“Can I just have my underwear…please?”

He pretends to be in deep thought, mimicking you from earlier, “Do you really want to put on wet underwear?”

“…Yes.” No. You don’t really want to, but not wearing underwear around someone who knows you aren’t wearing any is…horrifyingly revealing.

“So, you were fine not wearing any underwear when I didn’t know, but now you’d rather be uncomfortable in wet panties, instead of being bare?”

“You’re asking me too many questions,” you’re frowning at him, but he doesn’t seem to find it menacing, his eyes still playful.

“You normally enjoy talking,” he jests.

A scowl is pulling at you lips, “Liu can you please just,” you look away and huff, “give me my underwear,” you mumble it out.

“Is there a specific reason that you need them now?” His implication is heavy, and you are not admitting to anything, you’d sooner die.

Rolling your eyes at him, you grab your clothes from his other hand and walk over to his dining table. You place them over the back of his chairs, so they have the chance to dry.

He shows mercy and moves to you to give you your underwear. As you hold them you make a face of displeasure, they’re soaked still, and you really don’t want to put them on.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow raising.

“Nothing,” you lie.

He pushes, “Put them on then.”

This situation is too much for you, this side of Liu Kang paired with his bare skin is making you dizzy, your pussy getting wetter by the second. It’s incredibly embarrassing that, him knowing and teasing you for not wearing underwear, is making your skin hot and body yearn for him. Even more embarrassing that he seems to have some kind of inkling about your arousal for him.

“I will,” another lie, you are not putting these on.

“You know, your facial expressions are incredibly honest,” he observes.

You try your hand at a poker face and it has him smiling in response.

Giving in, you confess, “I don’t want to put them on, they’re too wet.”

His face is bright, pleased at his victory, “You are an odd person,” he teases.

You’re exasperated, “Can’t you just pretend to not know?”

“I can try.” He shrugs and gives you a sweet smile but it doesn’t feel sweet, not after what he just put you through.

You put your wet underwear on the chair next to your other clothes, preferably you would clean them but they’ll do for getting you back to your room tomorrow.

You huff past Liu Kang as you walk to sit on his couch again, still holding onto the hem of his shirt as you sit, not wanting it to ride up. Not willing to risk it, especially since he knows how bare you are underneath.

He makes the tea and brings it over to you, both of you sitting in silence. You can’t help but squirm a bit in your spot. Wanting to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief but that would be way too obvious. So, you try focusing on your tea, the flavours of it, the smell, the warmth.

But then your thoughts wander, and you’re thinking about Liu Kang’s arms, his chest, his tattoos, his hands, the playfulness in his voice, his eyes as he looked at you. The stern voice he used on you earlier, everything about him sets you alight, you huff in annoyance next to him.

You hear him sigh lightly beside you, “You’re squirming again.”

“No, I’m not,” a boldfaced lie.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing,” you take another sip of your tea.

He grabs your mug from you, placing it on the table, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t need help,” you scowl at him.

His expression is dubious and not believing you for a single second, “Come here,” he pats the couch between his spread thighs.

Your face is shocked, “What for?”

He rolls his eyes at you, “I was not born yesterday, do you want my help or not?”

You argue, “Still don’t need help.”

Both his brows drop, “You’re sitting there, bare and squirming on my couch.”

“You’re supposed to pretend not to know,” you comment.

“I can only ignore so much,” he retorts.

You look at him for a bit, his expression unchanging, seemingly steadfast.

“How are you going to help?” You’re curious now.

“Find out,” he pats the couch again.

Looking upwards and away from him, you consider it for a bit, this might not be a great idea but he’s really hot and offering to help you, so against your better judgement you move over to him and sit between his spread legs. He moves forward, chest pressed to your back, his lips right by your ear.

“Can I touch you?” He checks with you.

“…Yes, please.”

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your body, resting atop one of your thighs.

Tapping it, he says, “Open your legs.”

Your skin feels hot but you listen and open them, the outside of your thighs touching the inside of his.

“Perfect,” he mumbles beside your head.

His hand slides down, caressing your inner thigh now, his other arm is wrapped around your torso, keeping you still. The hand on your thigh slowly inching closer to where you need him most, it feels like everything he’s doing is taking a million years. He’s taking his time to tenderly touch you, working you up more than you already are.

Your own hands come up to the one wrapped around you, holding onto his forearm, “Can you just… touch me please?” You ask him, voice the slightest bit breathless.

“In a moment,” his hand moves further away from your aching heat, instead tickling up the length of your inner thigh.

Your body feels like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin, his barely there touch turning your brain into mush. Slowly, his hand travels back up your thigh, and he cups your pussy, his two middle fingers slipping between your folds.

His chest rumbles with a groan behind you, “How long have you been this wet?”

You turn your head away from him and to the side, trying to avoid his words in your ear. It doesn’t work, if anything he can get closer, his head leaning down and breathing hot air onto your ear. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine in response, your teeth biting into your lower lip to supress the small sound you almost make.

“Probably when I confronted you, right?” He hits the nail on the head.

His fingers keep running through your folds, spreading your slick all over your pussy, the tip of his middle finger pressing into you the slightest bit, you cant your hips in response and he pulls away, instead repeating his previous motions of rubbing his fingers through your folds. His teasing pulling a huff from you.

“You know how I know?” he probes.

You shake your head at him, you’re a little bit curious as to what gave you away.

“I know because you are so honest, your facial expression, your movements, your eyes,” he practically purrs in your ear.

You shuffle against him, whether to get him closer or get yourself free, you aren’t sure but he holds you still against him. His fingers making a mess of your pussy, he moves them to your clit, giving you only the slightest amount of pressure. It has your hips rising to chase the sensation, wanting his fingers to be firmer. The arm around your torso pulls you back to him, holding you steady.

“You’re still squirming,” he comments.

“It’s –hah– your fault,” you quip.

“Mmm, is that so?” He wonders out loud.

Finally, he adds more pressure to your clit, the stimulation almost knocking the wind out of you, a small whimper falling from your lips involuntarily. Liu Kang hums appreciatively at your reaction to his touch. His nose runs up the length of your neck, tickling you.

“You seem to enjoy being touched right now,” he breathes the words against your neck.

He rubs circles into your clit, firm and even, never picking up or slowing down. Your hips wriggle against him, you want more, want him inside you.

A breath of air is pushed out his nostrils, amused at your movements, “Need something?” He’s still holding you firm, “If you do, you need to ask.”

“Want you to touch me,” you request.

Tone serious but his words have humour behind them, “I am touching you.”

“Want your finger, inside,” you whine at him, hating how desperate you must look and sound. No man ever having pulled you apart with such minimal contact but he isn’t just a man, is he?

His chest vibrates under you, his fingers slipping down to your pussy hole, middle finger pressing into you slowly. His large finger a stretch for you, his thumb rubs at your clit, trying to coax you into relaxing enough to take it.

“I don’t think you could be any tighter,” he murmurs to you.

Your hips are wanting to wiggle down onto his finger but you’re being held in place, when he does get his finger fully inside you, it has you instinctually trying to close your legs. Liu Kang tsks at you in disappointment, the hand around you briefly moving to place your legs over tops of his. You’re completely spread on him, the crook of your knees resting over top of his legs.

“This is embarrassing,” you mutter.

His hand moves back to hold you around your middle again, “You won’t mind soon.”

This man is going to be the death of you.

The finger inside you crooks up, stroking at your inner walls, the pleasure has your body writhing in his hold again. He pulls you back into his chest further and looks over your shoulder, down to where his finger is seated inside you. As his finger draws back from you, wet sounds follow the movement, and when he pushes it back inside, your cunt clamps down on it; a gasp jumping out of your throat.

He fucks his one finger into you continuously, your slick dripping from you, hips jumping against him. Eventually, you want more, want to feel fuller.

You pant out, “More, Liu – hah.”

He obeys, pressing his ring finger into you, his pace slowing to make up for the stretch, the small amount of pain not enough to bother you, your arousal outweighing it. Your hips grind down onto his fingers, taking the both of them deeper. His thumb rubs at your clit again as he fucks both his fingers into you, your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes glazing over.

“Getting all fucked out on my fingers, that’s cute.” He observes.

His fingers are completely seated inside you; your hips grind into his hand. He allows you the small moment to rock your hips back and forth. Before he suddenly starts fucking them into you, pulling them out and slamming them back in, the tips of his fingers brushing something devastating. The feeling has your body shaking and whimpers falling from your lips, he hums in delight at your reaction and targets the one spot. Fucking his large fingers into it over and over again, wanting to have you falling apart for him.

Your insides start twisting in on themselves, panting breaths coming quicker, an odd feeling overwhelming you. You go to warn Liu Kang, “Feels weird.”

Liu Kang can feel your walls clenching down on his fingers, “It’s fine.”

You huff out at him, both from the feeling and his response.

“Poor girl, her ex-boyfriend didn’t only never get her to cum, she’s also never orgasmed before, mmm?” He questions, taunting.

If that’s what this is then you guess you really haven’t orgasmed before, you could’ve sworn you had but it never felt like this.

You gasp at his words, uncharacteristic of him and also really hot. Your brows knit together as his fingers keep moving inside you, his pace picking up slightly. The wet squelching of your wet cunt prominent in the otherwise quiet house.

“Stop fighting it love, just let it happen,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. He leaves wet kisses against it.

Your skin heats up in reaction to the pet name, your pussy spasming around his fingers, a whiny gasp of his name ripped from your chest. You go to keel forward but he holds you to him.

“There you go,” he purrs into your skin, “Doing so good, love.”

Your thighs are shaking on top of his, small whimpers leaving you as he continues fucking his fingers into you, prolonging your high. Aftershocks wracking your frame, jolting in his hold, slowly his fingers come to a stop, your head had dropped forward during your orgasm.

His unoccupied hand comes up to press against your forehead and pull your head back to his shoulder, you’re panting against him. Chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes unseeing for a few moments after.

When he pulls his fingers from you, he holds them up to marvel at them, admiring the way your cum has sticky strings falling from his fingers when he parts them.

“Look at that,” he says with the brightest tone, genuinely enamoured by the sight of your cum on his fingers.

You shy away from the display, turning your head to the side, unfortunately for your self-consciousness, you see the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks your cum off of them. The shameless display has your skin burning you from the inside out. After he’s sucked them clean, he wipes his spit off on your inner thigh.

“Can’t believe you were with a man who couldn’t make you orgasm for that long,” he says, almost out of nowhere.

You don’t respond, still embarrassed and a little fucked out, you don’t feel present in your own body. Wiggling against Liu Kang, you feel his very pronounced erection dig into your ass.

You mumble to him, surprised, “You’re hard.”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” he’s confused by your shock.

You remark, “You didn’t get any pleasure from that.”

“Love, I got so much pleasure from that.”

His response makes you blush.

“Your ex is some piece of work,” he claims.

You lift your shaky legs up and off of his, back to your previous position of outer thighs to his inner thighs. He lets you lay on top of him for a bit while you collect yourself, but you want to look at him.

Clumsily, you get up and shuffle around, climbing on top of him and straddling him, now face to face. You sit back a bit on his lap so you can see him properly.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks, feigning exasperation at you.

You don’t reply, instead lazily taking in all of his features, your eyes zero in on his lips. Wanting to kiss him but unsure if that’s crossing an invisible line. You don’t move, but you pull your eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eyes again.

Lightly rolling his eyes, he huffs out a sigh, his hand comes up behind your neck and pulls you towards him. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and sweet. At least it is until you shuffle forward and sit right on top of the bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of his hard cock pressed up against your bare cunt, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

His tongue explores your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hand holds onto your neck, keeping you in place for him to kiss you how he pleases. It’s is unlike any other, you’re realising now, you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed with so much desire, need.

Groans are pulled from his chest at the way you’ve started mindlessly grinding against him. His free hand coming up to encourage it, appreciating the friction. Having been hard for far too long with no relief. Your hands move to his shoulders, holding onto his warm skin.

You keep grinding clumsily onto his cock, back and forth along the length of it. He keeps his mouth on yours, his groans and your whines shared in it. When you pull back to breathe, his hand comes away from your throat and holds onto your other hip, using both his hands to drag you up and down his cock more forcefully.

You’re huffing out whimpers every time the head of his dick grazes your clit, Liu Kang is getting lost in the feeling of you soaking his cock through his pants. His head dropping back on the couch, you’re getting desperate on top of him. His dick is twitching under you, feeling him jerk against you has you rutting into him.

“Liu,” you call out to him.

“Mmm?” He hums to you.

“Want you inside,” you whimper.

His head shoots up to look you in the eyes, his hands stilling your hips causing you to whine pitifully. His cock jumps under you at the sound.

“Are you sure? Could barely take my fingers,” he’s double checking before getting his hopes up.

Nodding your head at him, you say, “Mhm, need it.”

His chest rumbles with a guttural groan, before he’s tapping the side of your thigh, asking you to stand on your knees for a moment. You lift yourself up and he pulls his pants down, enough to get his fat cock free.

The size of him shocks you slightly, his hands grab your hips again, pulling you down to sit on it. He starts the previous rhythm, grinding you down onto him, his cock slips between your folds, your pussy getting his dick wet and ready for you.

Gliding up and down his cock has your slick leaking from you and as you slide up, the head of his dick catches on your pussy hole, the feeling catching you off guard. You can’t help but push down onto his cock, stretching yourself on him, Liu Kang gasps at the feeling. His hands gripping your hips harshly, grounding himself.

Frustration grows in you at the difficulty of getting him inside you, so you force it and drop down quickly, more of his big dick filling your small cunt. The feeling too much, not so much pain but a large shock, your hands grasp onto Liu Kang roughly. His own body jerking forward, hips moving up on their own accord, a woosh of air exiting him like he’s been punched.

You whimper as your pussy contracts on his cock, right on the verge of an orgasm out of nowhere. Liu Kang realises this; his thumb moves to your clit and rubs quick circles into it. You’re cumming embarrassingly quick on him, his dick only halfway inside you and your eyes are teared up, your pussy creaming on him.

He growls enthusiastically at the sight and feeling of you cumming on him, only stuffed half full.

“Look at that,” he hums, “for someone who’s never had an orgasm, you cum easily.” He remarks.

You’re spasming around his cock, thighs shaking from holding yourself up.

“Sit down,” he says.

Taking a deep breath, you keep going, overstimulated and worried that him breathing on your pussy would have you cumming again. But you persevere, sinking down on him slowly, taking all of him in carefully. Eventually, you’re sitting on him, taking him to the hilt, the full feeling makes you dazed. Liu Kang’s head is thrown back slightly, his own gaze looking a bit fucked out, just from you sitting on him.

You can’t help but grind down into him, hips moving back and forth with him fully seated inside you. His big cock brushing against spots you didn’t know existed, it has you quivering on him. Your grinding gets desperate, and he lets you rut against him how you please, head leaning back and watching you squirm against him devotedly. Small grunts and moans escaping him every now and again. Your own noises more frequent and louder, your hands press into his pecs, using him as leverage.

His own hands leave your hips and instead come up and rest behind his head, holding it up. He’s leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock however you need. The sight of his torso stretched out and watching you blissfully ride him makes your pussy clench. Your clit grinding into his pelvis over and over is eventually what undoes you, cumming with a drawn-out whine, Liu Kang groans at the feeling of you cumming on him again. His self-control waning thin but he wears a large smile as you cum on him again, nonetheless.

“It’s my turn now,” he murmurs.

He manhandles you off of him, turning you so your back is to his chest, then he’s re-entering you from this position. The way he easily manoeuvred you has your heart beating and cunt leaking.

He feels different from this angle, feels delightfully deep. His arms come up and under the crook of your legs, holding them in his elbows. You’re spread so open for him; he slips deeper inside you and it has you keening. His hands hold your tits, playing with them, tugging at your nipples over his shirt. You’re practically immobile in this position, making you feel helpless.

His hands leave your tits and hold onto the front of your shoulders, his hips draw back, his cock slipping out slightly, before he’s shoving himself back inside you all at once. He repeats the motion over and over, fucking up into your immobile body, taking what he needs from you now. Your head falls back on his shoulder, whines and pants freely falling from your lips. Hands scratching at his thighs, grappling for some stability.

It shamefully doesn’t take you long again to finish, not with the punishing pace he set and the sounds spilling from his mouth right by your ear.

“Cumming again? Already?” His words are teasing but he seems overjoyed at your third orgasm on his cock.

His words have your cunt drooling on him, creamy ring at the base of his cock from all your orgasms. You’re silent when you cum this time, more pants than anything else, your pussy strangling his dick. He groans at the feeling of you shuddering on his cock, he continues fucking you through it, not stopping and holding you open.

The brutal pace he’s set is a lot for your abused cunt, the overstimulation getting to you. The pleasure shooting through you is sharp and you jump every time the head of his cock bumps up against something heavenly inside you.

“One more for me?” He asks you, feeling you getting close to the edge again.

You shake your head at him, “Too –hah– much.”

“You can take it.” He encourages, determined to throw you off the edge if you won’t go willingly, “Just one more, love.”

His words, his voice, it sends you over the edge, your orgasm is sharp and sudden. Punching you in your gut, a needy whine spilling from your lips, you’re shedding actual tears from the force of it. Liu Kang is still fucking up into you, pace picking up, chasing after his own high.

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” it’s barely coherent when you say it, you aren’t capable of actual speech at the moment, effectively fucked dumb by him.

A large and guttural groan is ripped from him, you can feel it in his chest. He’s cumming hard, releasing it all inside of you, he pushes you down as he fucks up into you. Holding your cunt to the base of him, grinding against you as he finishes. The sensation of being filled by him has your cunt fluttering around him.

You gasp at the feeling of his dick twitching violently as he releases inside you. He holds you to him for some time as he comes down from his own high, and then he’s gently untangling your legs from his arms. He slumps back into the couch, you’re careful to keep him inside you. Not wanting to ruin his couch more than you already have.

You feel limp against him, “You’re gonna get cum on your couch,” you warn.

He groans at you, disapproving of your observation, “Just keep me inside you.”

“That’s not gonna work…” You feel bashful as you add, “It’s leaking out around you.”

He pushes himself up and looks down from over your shoulder, wanting to see it for himself. A satisfied hum leaves him at the sight of his and your cum leaking out of you and down the base of his cock.

“Liu,” you press him.

His hand moves to your cunt and holds there as he slips out of you, holding your pussy, stuffing what’s leaking out back in. You thought he was going to keep his hand there so it didn’t get on the couch but this is the opposite of that, he’s scooping it off his pants, your thighs and the couch and then stuffing it back inside of you.

“You’re making an even bigger mess,” you worry, brows creased.

“It’s fine,” comes his nonchalant reply.

Eventually, after he’s satisfied with what he’s stuffed back inside you, he puts his dick back in his pants and picks you up. He carries you into his room and places you on his bed.

You sigh, “I would be more comfortable with a pair of underwear.”

“I have some boxers that would probably fit you,” he mentions flippantly.

“Why didn’t you offer that from the start?!” You exasperate.

“You didn’t ask, and then you asked me to pretend your bare pussy wasn’t on my couch,” he shrugs at you.

He grabs a pair of boxer briefs and hands them to you, he stands next to you so you have leverage when you stand up yourself. Your legs feel like jelly, you stand there struggling to even stand on both feet let alone one to put the boxers on.

He huffs at you, amused at your struggle, “Sit down, I’ll put them on.”

You sit back down and he slips them over your legs, after he’s gotten them up as far as he can get them while you’re sitting, you grab onto him and stand so he can tug them up the rest of the way.

You mutter at him, “Can’t believe this was always an option.”

He smiles softly at you as you crawl into his bed, you sit up against the headboard. On his bedside table you notice something.

“What’s that,” you ask, nodding your head at it.

“That’s for you,” he says, grabbing it and handing it to you, he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. Watching your reaction.

And when you realise what it is, you feel like you might cry because it’s the most perfect gift. It’s your favourite book but Liu Kang has gone through it and annotated the pages with his thoughts and feelings. It makes you ridiculously happy.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile.

“Would have preferred to get your copy back but I thought this was the next best thing,” he says.

You shake your head at him, “This is better.” You’re excited to read your favourite book again but this time with all of Liu Kang’s thoughts filling the pages.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A/N: Thank you for reading!!!! I had trouble with my characterisation of Liu Kang so I am sorry if you guys feel like I didn’t do him justice, but I appreciate any and all support!!! <333 I am down bad for this man atm so I had to get him out of my system. I have an idea for a miniseries of sorts or a part two at the very least, so if you guys like this one, I’ll write the next part <333 Requests are always open, that also goes for if you have any questions in general about me, my blog, or specific fics :)))

#liu kang x reader #liu kang x reader smut #smut #mk1 smut #fanfic #liu kang #liu kang smut #mk1 2023 #liu kang x you

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years ago

Text

Just The Three Of Us

TW: femxfemxfem. Smut. Language. Overstimulation.

SUMMARY: a threesome with Kiara and Sarah after you're caught getting a bit overheated.

WORD COUNT: 1600

REQUESTED

hey hun, absolutely love you’re work.

I was just wondering if you would write another sarah and kie smut story.

I absolutely adore your last one and I need another.

🫶

Just The Three of Us

You have spent the last three months with only your fingers for company. Your recent breakup with some boneheaded Kook enough for him to threaten anyone near you to have to face his fist. And the one time you managed to get anywhere with a tourist, it was lackluster at best. But that was three months ago and you were desperate for an orgasm that wasn't a let down. Even your vibrator lost its appeal with how often you forgot to charge it, left waiting, and ultimately falling asleep. Nothing was working.

Except today.

Alone in the hottub at the Chateau, you leaned forward until your back to get a tan before the jet hit your clit just right. You were thankful to be alone for the plea it pulled from your lips. And this was what brought you riding against its pulsation with slow vigor. Of all the times you gave JJ shit about buying the Cat's ass, right now you would gladly blow him for it. That thought was just another reason your orgasm was rushing hard against you.

Climbing.

Cresting.

Pulsating.

Oh God... It was gonna be good. But you still needed more. Your fingers weren't anywhere near enough but it brought you to that edge so you could convulse to a release. Thankful enough to be too blissed to notice the fact you had an audience.

Sarah was the first one you noticed as she pushed her sunglasses through her flaxen hair. The sound of a crunching bag flashing your eyes to Kiara as she rolled it closed and crossed her arms.

"Well that's one way..." She teased as you flushed, swallowed hard, and moved back from the jet. Mentally promising to make a habit of riding it whenever you could get time alone.

"You do that a lot?" Kiara asked while moving closer as Sarah followed closely behind, both girls leaning on either side of you. Kiara's fingers dipped into the water, so close to your breasts that were begging for her touch.

Wait. No.

She was one of your best friends.

But so loving. And spirited. And beautiful. Molasses skin that always smelled so damn good it made you wet again just to think about.

"Was it good?" Sarah's question made you blush as your eyes moved to her lips. Full and tempting. But not more than her breasts spilling effortlessly from her bikini top you'd gladly suffocate in.

You chalked it up to being horny. They were your best friends. They never even-

"Kie-" You gasped at the fingers circling your nipples over your suit.

"That was so hot I'm soaked through my panties..." Sarah nodded, doing the same to your other breast but with more effort. Where Kie pulled softly at your nipples, Sarah took your entire breast. Kneading it as you moaned.

"I'm actually jealous..." Sarah added. "You sounded better coming from that jet..." Her hand descended down between your legs. "Bet I can make you louder..." Before you could fight it, not that you would, she sunk a finger into you. Kiara now favoring both of your breasts.

"What about...the guys..." You moaned to the second finger and soft waves made by her soft jerking motions that increased her speed.

"They don't need to know how good we can make each other feel...it's all experimental..."

"Sarah?" Kie chuckled.

"She's gonna come...oh my God...she feels so tight, Kie...she's riding my fingers and I fucking love it..." Your eyes rolled before Kiara was suddenly in the water.

"Not before I get to touch her..." Taking turns, Sarah pulled away and Kiara's fingers replaced. The absence edging you as they took turns with their fingers and you began to plead by only the use of their names. Kiara set you across her in a straddle.

"Aw, you wanna come again? So fast?" Kie teased as you nodded before Sarah unlatched your bikini top.

"I've always wanted to play with these..."

"She never shuts up about it..." Your eyes widened.

"You guys have..."

"Oh yeah...when John B can't get me off...Kiara makes me squirt..."

"And between shifts when I'm tense, Sarah helps me in the backroom..."

"Oh my God!"

"She loves it!" Sarah narrated as you straddled Kie while rolling your hips.

"We almost got caught last week when JJ came into the chateau...was actually your fault..." You gasped to Kiara nibbling at your naked breast as Sarah reached around and proceeded to finger fuck you in perfect but slow precision.

"You came here wearing that little bikini we wanted to tear off of you. I saw you watching me with John B but I didn't know if you wanted this..."

"She's throbbing..."

"Good...she's gonna come so pretty for us...isn't she?" You nodded.

"Loud too. She's a screamer and I love it..." Kiara spoke between breasts before you were pulled back against Sarah.

"She's better with her mouth..." Before you could deny it, Sarah spread your legs and Kiara was under the water working your clit. The waves you made came drastically over the sides of the hot tub as nobody cared.

"Wait until she does both-" you gasped as Sarah massages your thighs and Kiara came up for a breath before kissing your breast and coming back down this time with two fingers pistoning your inner walls and against your g-spot.

"Oh she found it...good girl...let her make you come...it's so fucking beautiful..."

"Oh God...Sarah..."

"I'm expecting it louder...it's better isn't it?"

"Fuck yeah..." You moaned moving against Sarah as she kissed your shoulder and widened you more, holding you up even wider for Kiara.

"Let her tongue feel how wet you are...ooh...yes...like that..."

"I'm gonna come...I'm gonna fucking come..."

"Not without telling us..." She tapped for Kiara.

"She wants to come quietly, Kie...after you worked so hard doing so well..." They kissed and fondled each other long enough to make your hand drift between your thighs.

"Maybe we should torture her a bit? Maybe come?"

"I'm gonna have to soon or that jet has my name on it..." Sarah cocked a brow before pulling Kiara's shorts down.

"Use it...I'll use the other one..." Both girls were nude from the waist down and gripping the sides of the tub as the water sloshed as they rode against the jets.

"Fuck!" Kie cries first.

"Touch me...please..." Sarah lost her dominance and became needy. The begging making you clench and finger yourself wildly over your clit.

"I like when you beg..." You explained as Kiara wanted you, nodding.

"It is pretty, isn't it?" She moaned, knuckles white as she pumped two fingers into herself.

"Please play with my nipples..." She turned and nearly mauled you as the jet at your back came against your ass. The expression made Sarah beam.

"You like it here?" Your ass was parted as the jet shot at your delicate hole.

"Kie!"

"I'm coming!" Sarah hovered over your lips.

"Look at Kie..." She jolted and bent over the tub while Sarah widened your ass. As Kie came down, you pressed a soft kiss to Sarah's lips. Her tongue quick to claim your mouth before Kiaras fingers came between your legs.

"I'm making her come like this ...it's so fucking hot..." Sarah explained when the kiss broke. Kiara took over your lips while Sarah rocked you against the jet and harder against Kiara’s fingers.

"Fuck..." You whimpered as both girls nodded. Aware Sarah hasn't come, you cupped her naked pussy and set two fingers as she had done to you.

"Yes! Like that! I'm already close...just bend a little-FUCK!" She shattered for you as Kiara kisses her neck enough to make her grin.

"Yes!" She exclaimed with contentment.

"Forget it...you're gonna fucking squirt..."

"But I..." Before you could deny it, you were positioned between both girls. Each of your bare asses in a seat with your backs pointed to the Chateau as Kie held down one of your legs and Sarah held the other.

"Louder than with the jet or I'm gonna take it as an insult, okay?" She grinned as her fingers worked hard and fast.

"Slow down, I'm enjoying her expressions..." Kiara traced your face and kissed your lips, jaw, and neck, before the girls took turns with that role.

Kiara was softer with her thrusting fingers but deeper as Sarah was quick but rough. Sarah kissed leisurely with a teasing tongue and Kiara bit your lip to make you moan. Both girls gave equal affection to your breasts. But it would be the vicious trade of fast fingers fucking you that had you on that edge.

"Yes..."

"It's so good! I've never-"

"I figured...but it's okay...I'll make you for me."

"And me." Kie added.

Kisses. Thrusts. Dirty promises. Everything collected to that crest.

"Fuuuuuck..." You warned.

"Better hurry. The guys are back..." The Twinkie sounding up the gravel made you tighten.

"You're coming whether they see or not..."

"Please come for us...I don't want them knowing our little secret..." Kiara kisses you quickly as it was her soft lips and Sarah's rough fingers that made you finally expire. Jolt after jolt of your hips as her fingers rode you through it. The convulsions of her inner walls set off as sparks while you recovered.

"This is just for the three of us..." Sarah smirked while sucking you off her fingers. And you nodded, aware the promise you made earlier to the jet was also true to your two best friends.

This would be happening whenever you had the chance.

TAGLIST: @rafesmoon @maybankslover @puzziepoppin @gillybear17 @onclouds999@penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf

MASTERLIST

SARAH CAMERON MASTERLIST

KIARA CARRERA MASTERLIST

#sarah cameron #kiara carrera #sarah cameron smut #sarah cameron fanfiction #kiara carrera smut #kiara carrera fanfiction #madelyn cline #madison bailey #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outerbanks #outerbanks fanfiction #outerbanks smut #obx #obx fanfiction #obx smut

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bouncybongfairy · 9 months ago

Note

hey uhm this is my first time requesting so i hope i explain it well😅

could u write a zuko smut with both of them being banished seperately from the fire nation and they both have to search for the avatar and first they are rivals but then when they both join the gaang (gosh i hate that word) and somehow end up together in a cave with crazy sexual tension and one thing leads to another

if youre not too uncomfortable with it could you put in zuko having a saliva fetish

thanks for reading all this my first language isnt english so the grammar is probably horrible sorry for that

Matching Angst

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: After you and Zuko fell off Appa while fighting, you find shelter in a cave. After making up from the argument, things get heated.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Oral Fixation, Saliva Kink. <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Zuko and you were currently sitting inside a small cave, trying your best to dry off. While you were all flying on Appa, you’d fallen while pushing Zuko who also plunged into the water below. Luckily nobody was hurt but unfortunately that meant you were stuck with Zuko for the night. Anng and Katara came to get both of you but decided that you both needed to work out whatever problems you had with each other. So now you were sitting next to the fire, happy that your clothes were finally dry. Resting your chin on your knees and watching the fire grow. The fight was over directions; so stupid and you guys had already apologized to each other. Old habits die hard and because you both spent so long searching for the Avatar for your honor's sake, it was easy to slip back into that attitude. It was getting colder and even though you had an unlimited fire, the same couldn’t be said for kindling.

“Don’t make it weird,” he said, coming up and wrapping one of his arms around you.

“It’s freezing,” you pointed out, holding onto his arm.

“We’ll be out of here soon,” he said, making a makeshift bed for the two of you to sleep in.

“I just feel like it’s my fault, if i hadn’t started that argument this wouldn’t be happening,” you said, kicking some of the dirt into the air.

“If it makes you feel any better: you were right about the directions. I figured it out while we were arguing but felt too stupid to admit I was wrong. Let’s just call it even,” he said, laying on the bed and gesturing for you to join him.

“Sharing a bed?” you asked, sitting next to him.

“Yeah, normally I would make two but I figured because of the temperature it’d be safer to share body heat through the night. I mean- not that I would oppose sleeping next to you even if it was hot or-” he started to ramble.

“It’s okay, I knew what you meant,” you giggle before laying down.

It was nice enough for a night, not the best either. You knew there was no way you’d be getting any actual sleep. He was spooning you, using his arm as a pillow; the other arm was draped over your waist. He was breathing into your ear, snoring just a little. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back. Your stomach would flip every time his lower stomach made contact with the arch of your back. Zuko could sleep anywhere no matter what, an ability you wish for. You were admiring how muscular his arm was; without thinking you start tracing one of the veins with your fingertip. He stirs in his sleep and pulls you closer to him. Pressing his erection against your ass, making your back involuntarily arch. Your breath hitches and you hope he doesn’t notice. Goosebumps covering your skin, like any contact he made with your skin felt like fireworks.

Testing out the water, you start grinding yourself against him. Feeling a mixture of relief and excitement once he started rocking himself against you. He started pressing kisses against the back of your head as things started to heat up further. Not satisfied with the lack of friction, he yanks your shorts down. Pulling his member out and pushing it between your warm thighs. Everytime he trusts, his tip would glide against your slit. Spreading your wetness all over himself, loving how your body reacted when he brushed over your clit. Everything about you was driving him crazy. The way you were trying to hide your face in his arm. How hot your sex felt pressed against his length. His hands were exploring your body, starting at your chest. Pinching and kneading your breasts while groaning in your ear.

He had to stop himself from cumming too early. Getting up and changing both your positions and shedding the remaining clothing. Now laying on your back and he was towering over you. The fire was burning out behind him, the sight making you melt and burn with anticipation. He leaned down lining himself up with your slit. Using one of his elbows to support his weight, resting it by your head. Bringing the other hand to your face; his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Such pretty fucking lips,” he cooed while burning his length deep inside you.

He maintained hard eye contact with you while pushing his thumb past your lips. Pushing your tongue down and feeling around your mouth. He started slowly thrusting, fucking his thumb in and out of your mouth to match pace with his hips. You curled your tongue around his digit which his hips snap forward involuntarily. The sudden fullness made you cry out, groaning and whining while arching your back. He started smearing your drool over your lips and down your chin slightly. Gripping your jaw and starting to pick up his pace. Nuzzling his face in your shoulder and pounding into you at an intense rhythm. You wrapped your legs around his waist and raked your nails down his back.

“Fuck!” he loudly growled in your ear as you bucked your hip up.

You could tell he was nearing his orgasm because his rutting was becoming more erratic, going in and out of rhythm. Sweat was dripping off both of you while using each other’s bodies to cum. Your lower stomach was burning; almost searing as your abdominal muscles started to contact. Clinging onto him and digging your nails into his shoulders while you rode out your orgasm. Seeing you completely cock-drunk, and letting the nastiest cries coming out of your mouth made him cum. Fucking his cock so deeping inside you, your back began sliding forward. Moaning in your ear as he shot ropes of cum into your belly. Pressing wet kisses all over your forehead and cheeks. Slowly rocking his hips, enjoying the feeling of cum leaking out of you.

#prince zuko smut #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #fire lord zuko #prince zuko x you #prince zuko x y/n #prince zuko live action #prince zuko fanfic #avatar the last airbender

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usmsgutterson · 6 months ago

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Exactly Where I Want To Be - S.R x gn! reader

Okay!! Second Spencer Reid fic I've written and posted in less than a week, and I kind of feel like I have a bit of a winning streak--when I've not been binging criminal minds or crocheting, I've been writing for Spencer or thinking about it.

My requests are wide open to him so if you have any ideas, send them in and I'll be happy to write them out!! Smut is welcome but might take a little longer (smut for some reason takes me longer to write than other genres do) and I'm willing to write anything within reason!

Fic type - this one bounces all over, but it's primary genres are fluff, angst, and hurt/comfort

Warnings -there are mentions of criminal minds canon typical violence and as such, guns are mentioned and depicted in use. Other warnings include mentions of stalking, depictions of being shot, and mentions of being in a previous relationship that was manipulative (reader was with a guy who was a total ass pre-BAU and it's mentioned he wanted more arm candy than actual person to be in a loving relationship with), there are mentions of dementia and alcoholic dementia as well as a few of the symptoms, mentions of alcoholism, drug dependency and addiction, and this is really, really long. It runs at 13k post-edits.

TWENTY-TWO / TWENTY-THREE

You join the BAU just a little while after Spencer does—three months, one week, and four days. Spencer counts it during a particularly boring afternoon, after he’s zoomed through most of the files sitting on his desk and has just about nothing else to do. Your desk is across from his and he’s remembered the date you’d joined the team since you waltzed into the offices, so it’s pretty easy to count it out.

He’d joined on July 22nd, 2001, whereas you’d joined on November 2nd of the same year. You’d been only a year younger than he and you proved, rather quickly, that you were among the only people who could keep up with Reid on a consistent basis. The only other people who could really accomplish that were Elle, Gideon, and Hotch, but it served to make yours and Spencers bond stronger as you settled in.

Spencer knew he had a habit for going off on tangents without really meaning to, but unlike the rest of the team, you seemed fairly unbothered by it, and even if you were reading a book or knitting or doing something else when Spencer had started, it was clear to him that you’d been listening by the end.

You’d been Hotchs mentee, so to speak, and your aptness for listening to Spencer when it seemed nobody else was listening was something Hotch picked up on whip quick, bringing it up to you in what feels like both rightly subtle and unconsciously unsubtle as the two of you walk stand in the elevator.

“If you like him and it goes anywhere, you do realize you’ll no longer be able to be partnered up while you’re in the field?” Hotch asks, his voice quiet. “You won’t be eligible for a promotion of any kind, either, as it’s not permitted for bosses to date their subordinates.”

You snort. “It’s not like that,” you say, because right now, it doesn’t feel like it is. “You don’t have to worry, Hotch. I like him, but—platonically. I look at him with such a platonic set of eyes that even the best of friends envy it, I promise.”

“If--and I say if because Gideon has taken to saying when while Spencer and you aren’t in earshot—it does happen, you need to file the appropriate paperwork and ensure that at least Gideon and I are aware as to the goings on.”

You laugh.“It’s not like that,” you repeat. “Spencer doesn’t look at me that way, and I don’t look at him that way, either. Like I said. So platonic it’s envious.”

Hotch cracks a small smile, something you never really see but are glad to nonetheless because it cuts the tension like it’s a freshly sharpened knife.

“Five bucks says he’s gotten you a tea and set it on your desk,” Hotch says. “I don’t make bets, but if I did, I think I’d win that one.”

You glance at the hot chocolate you hold in your right hand, the one that is certainly not for you, but for your coffee-resistant friend with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, and crack a smile.

“I do, too,” you admit. The elevator doors open and the two of you go inside, going your separate ways as Hotch heads for his office and you go to your desk, intending to hit the ground running because you have a long day of paperwork in need of doing.

You set the hot chocolate down on Spencers desk. He doesn’t look up as you sit across from him at your own, but you hear his usual “thank you, Y/N,” as he grabs for it with his left hand, the pen he’s using to fill out the paperwork still in his right.

“Yeah,” you respond, shrugging and catching sight of the tea he’d bought you, sitting right next to the pile of paperwork you intend to spend the next eight hours tackling. “No problem. Are we still on for our Doctor Who marathon tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer confirms as you wheel yourself over to the left corner of your desk. You keep the files there, so that they’re right within your vicinity, and it’s always where Spencer places the tea he gets you so that you can grab it along with the first piece of paperwork on the pile you so meticulously assemble. “Yeah. Picking up from where we left off with doctor number six.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Thanks for the tea.”

“No problem,” Spencer says. He looks up as you take the first sip, and the smile that comes after is almost contagious to him. “I got the right place?”

The two of you have a thing going on and have had it from the first month after you’d joined the BAU and had learned of each others drink preferences—every single time you got each other a hot chocolate or a tea in the morning, you did it at a different spot. In the three years since you’d joined, you’d gone to dozens of different spots in and around the Quantico area, and both of you had developed favorites.

Yours was Izzies—their London fog lattes were like nothing else, just caffeinated enough to give you the boost you needed throughout the day, and you’d learned that they made an iced London fog that was just as good, if not even better.

Spencers was the one with the cutesy kind of name, something Derek occasionally made fun of him for—I Love You A Latte was the name, and they made a hot chocolate that was super smooth and a lavender tea that could will Spencers body into sleep like just about nothing else was capable. It was run by a sweet old lady from West Virginia who’d known both you and Spencer by name and was occasionally at the tills when you were there to pick up a hot chocolate for Spencer.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Izzies is the best for their tea.”

“I Love You A Latte makes the best hot chocolate on this side of Virginia,” Spencer says. “Thanks again, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “Thank you, too.”

Spencers response comes in the form of a nod, and that’s the end of your interactions until you’re two minutes out from taking lunch, setting your pen onto your desk and shaking your hands out.

You tend to grip pens, pencils and the like the same way you hold onto a crochet hook or knitting needles—with a grip so tight that your knuckles get a few shades lighter, usually without you even realizing. As a result, you deal with hand pain on a semi frequent basis, and shaking your hands out every time you’re going to lunch is a habitual thing for you now.

“Going to lunch?” Spencer asks, eyes flitting up from his file. You nod.

“My mother sent along some money for my birthday last weekend, which means that I have a date with a box of garlic fingers and an alfredo pasta breadbowl from Antonios,” you grin. “I can never eat the garlic fingers in full, though—they give you what they call half-plates, and I can usually only eat my way through half of the half. I’ll bring it back for you, if you want?” You offer as you grab your bag, stand, and walk over to his desk.

“That’s not necessary,” Spencer says. “I--you don’t have to do that.”

“No fun facts about the passage of germs through food?” You joke, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. I’ll bring you what’s left, and I’ll make sure it’s as not-germy as possible.”

Spencer smiles at you in a way that almost makes you want to forget the words you’d told Hotch earlier. You want to be the opposite of platonic, if you’re being honest with yourself, which you have a tough time doing on even your best days.

You leave, heading for your car with an almost gleeful way about you because of the thought of Antonios. You wonder what Spencer is thinking, linger on the idea that he’s thinking about you for three seconds too long before you let it go. Platonic is the best way to be with your coworkers, and despite how much you wish it were different, it’s the best way to be with Spencer, too.

A week later, Gideon is leaving the office as Spencer is readying himself for another late night. Gideon stops at Spencers desk just for the sake of checking in, catches him on the tail end of a giddy “thank you!” bubbling up from your lips after Spencer had made you an earl grey tea while he was making himself some hot cocoa.

Gideon smiles knowingly, in a way that almost has Spencer convinced he can see right through him.

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says. “These late nights will do you a lot more harm than good in the long run, Spencer. Are you sure you can handle this?”

Spencer nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Just have a few more files I’d like to get done before my weekend off, is all. Don’t worry about it, Gideon. I’m fine.”

“And you’re totally not here for—other reasons--?” Gideon looks pointedly at you. Spencer follows his gaze on impulse and is completely unsurprised to find you engrossed in a file, using your mug of tea as a paper weight while you fill it out, your non dominant hand clutching the mug like a heat seeking missile.

Spencer shakes his head. “Just want to finish the last of my files so I have less work on Monday,” he answers. “Nothing like that, I swear.”

Gideon shakes his head like he doesn’t believe him, and Spencer has no rebuttal because he’s being completely honest. When Gideon claps him on the shoulder as he moves to leave, Spencer is the closest to relieved he’s ever gotten in a situation that borders on that level of intensity.

“Everything okay, Spence?” You ask, gaze not moving up from the file in front of you.

“Everything’s fine, Y/N/N,” he says. “Gideons just—he's being weird.”

“Hotch has been weird lately, too,” your voice goes soft. “I think it’s just an office old man thing. I dunno—thirty-eight is hardly old, but Gideons climbing up to fifty. He might be going senile a little earlier than what’s written on the docket.”

“Gideon? No,” Spencer laughs. “And, anyway—dementia isn’t commonly developed until the person with the disease is at least 60, although there have been cases of people developing it as early as 30 years old and there’s a case of childhood dementia with one in every 2900 babies globally. I won’t worry about dementia in Gideon until I notice his memory starting to falter or his communication starting to change, or any of the other symptoms, and even then, for his wifes sake, I’ll hope It’s origin can be treated with modern medicine.”

“I thought dementia was an incurable disease?”

“It is,” Spencer nods. “There are treatable causes for it, not that the disease itself can be cured—treatment is always an option. It can stem from a lot of different things, such as diabetes, a traumatic brain injury, or substance abuse.”

You nod. “My grandfather got hit with it from the excessive booze drinking,” you say. “I wasn’t around him a lot—my mother didn’t want me to be, didn’t want me to know a drunk when I was that young. He died when I was fifteen, and in that time, I’d only seen him twice. Dementia is pretty damn heartwrenching, I think.”

Spencer nods, eyes going back to the file in front of him. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t imagine it. I hate thinking about that sort of thing—the idea of forgetting anything that I’ve learned is enough to scare me into an early grave.”

You laugh. “Okay,” you say, nodding. Spencer knows it's your not-so-subtle way of moving the conversation along, but he's grateful for it because if he talks anymore about dementia he'll probably cry himself to sleep. “In other news, I picked up a stray cat I found in the parking lot of a Joanns the other night.”

Spencers eyes widen, his gaze moving to you. “You found a stray?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes meeting his. “I took her to the vet this morning—it's why I was late coming in. She’s got a perfect bill of health, surprisingly, and she likes my apartment a lot. Loves the windowsill.”

“Does this stray have a name yet?”

“I named her Megatron,” you laugh. “She’s so small, and I love ironic names like that. If I ever adopt a Maine Coon, I’ve already decided their name is gonna be Tiny.”

Spencer laughs, and the both of you go back to focusing on your files, and Spencer loves it.

He loves how simplistic things feel between the two of you—conversations can stop and start again after hours without talking, and it just feels easy, inherently, being in your presence. It’s not anything Spencer has ever felt with anyone else, but after three years, it’s one of the few things in his life that he has and actively cherishes.

When he leaves, he doesn’t do so without making you another tea. He uses it as a means of bidding you good night when he knows you’re planning to stay for another hour, at least, and when he hears your shouted “Night, Spence!” as he goes, he dips his head to look at his shoes and barely manages to hide his smile.

TWENTY - FIVE / TWENTY-SIX

“Megatron, I’m home!” You sing-song as you unlock your apartment door and step inside. You’re home from a particularly tough case, and Spencer is with you because it’s just one of those nights and the idea of either of you being alone makes both of you want to suffocate.

Megatron, a cat with brown fur everywhere except her paws and chin, comes running at the sound of your voice, but when she sees Spencer, she bypasses you and runs right up to him. She gets on her hind legs so that she can headbut Spencers hand as he shuffles out of his shoes, and as you take off your coat, you laugh at the sight.

Spencers momentarily distracted as he gives her some of his undivided attention, and it doesn’t surprise you, how quickly Megatron starts purring.

“You’re her favourite person,” you laugh. “One would think, three years gone, it’d be me, but alas, Dr. Spencer Reid takes the cake.”

Spencer shrugs as Megatron lets him do his thing and chooses to approach you instead. “I think we both tie for first in her little brain.”

You bend down to give her some lovins and laugh at the way she aggressively headbuts your forehead, a clear demand for forehead kisses. You give in as Spencer takes off his coat and hangs it on your coat rack, happily doting on her as she always expects you to when you come home after being gone for a few days.

“You want to order some pizza?” You offer as Megatron goes to her food bowl. Spencer crosses through to the dining room, where he unceremoniously sets his messenger bag onto the dining table. “I’m completely biased in saying this, but Antonios makes the best pizza this side of Virginia. I’ve been a regular since I first moved here, right when I was joining the BAU at 19. They’ve got good pasta and bread bowls, too, and it’s fairly cheap, considering.”

Spencer nods. “Pizza sounds nice,” he says. “Could I use your shower, by chance?”

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it. “There’s a pair of sweats and a shirt you can change into after in the guest room, and towels are in the linen closet.”

Spencer nods, having heard this spiel before. You recite it to him pretty much every time he spends the night at your apartment, first as a just-in-case thing and now as a habit.

As he showers, you turn the kettle on and grab two mugs. Spencer, ever the insomniac, likes himself a little bit of lavender tea in the evenings because it helps him relax when he otherwise wouldn’t be able to, and relaxing helps ease his mind into sleep.

You’ve known that since he first spent the night and asked if you had any, which, thankfully, you did. You’ve made it a habit to have some lavender tea at your apartment since then, just in case, and it hasn’t failed you yet.

You’re more of a chamomile with half a tablespoon of honey kind of person—you've been dealing with insomnia since some unknown cause spurred it on when you were eighteen, and in the seven years since, while not a lot had really helped you get to sleep the chamomile and honey always did. The tea always seemed to work the best when you were coming back from a case, your nerves still pushed all the way over the edge and your body on high alert.

Spencer comes back out into your kitchen after fifteen minutes, his hair towel dry and curly in all of the right spots, but his smile warm. He approaches the dining table and grabs his glasses from it, changing from his contacts to his glasses as you turn on your hotplate and use the back side of a spoon to squeeze most of the water out of the teabags before you chuck them into your compost bin and finish making the teas.

You set the mugs on the hotplate and let them marinate for a few minutes as you call Antonios and order your usual—a large chicken Alfredo pizza, two Alfredo pasta bread bowls, a box of garlic fingers and two cans of iced tea—and Spencer puts his contacts back into their case.

He looks so absurdly good in the glasses that it’s never going to cease to borderline upon mind boggling.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling gently. “Thank you—for letting me use your shower, and everything.”

You shrug. “It’s no problem,” you say as Megatron the cat headbuts the back of your calves until you side step with your right foot and she can worm her way into the gap between your feet. “It’s never been a problem, Spence. Are you feeling okay?”

That case had been a tough one, for both of you. It’d taken you, as many cases do, down to the Florida area. The killer was a 20-something white guy attending the local community college, and he crossed all lines with regards to socioeconomic status, risk, and gender. The guy didn’t have a type, really—at the start of his assaults, he’d killed two high risk victims in the vicinity of three days. The week after he’d gone for medium risk victims and then the third week, at which point you and the team had landed in LA, he’d broken into three separate homes, all low risk victims, like he was climbing down some weird totem pole, and his MO never stayed consistent.

In the end, Derek had almost gotten shot, and you’d wound up with mild bruising on your arms, but thankfully, nobody else had been scathed in the aftermath.

“I’m fine,” Spencer nods. “Yeah--all good. Are you? You’re the one I think I need to worry about, never mind myself.”

You bite your lip. “A little sore but I’m okay,” you respond. Megatron abandons her spot between your feet and jumps up onto the counter instead, eliciting a surprised laugh from Spencer as he eyes her carefully so as to make sure she doesn’t get so close as to be able to step on the hotplate. “The bruises only really hurt when I touch them. I’m not shaken up or anything, I don’t think.”

You turn to grab the milk from your fridge, bending briefly to grab it from the bottom shelf on the side door, careful to avoid the fridge touching any of your bruises as you set the milk on the counter and close the fridge in the process.

You take the mugs off of the hotplate and turn the hotplate off, grabbing Megatron and gently ushering her away from it as you pass the milk to Spencer. You grab the honey and measure out just a tad bit more than half a tablespoon into yours, ever one to measure in the metrics of your heart. You stir the honey with one of the teaspoons that you keep in your cutlery drawer specifically for the occasion of making it, passing one to Spencer as he slides the milk your way.

You add a splash of milk to yours before you put it into the fridge and hear the doorbell. Spencer goes to get it despite your protests, pays for the order because “you’re letting me stay at your apartment, Y/N. I’ll get it this time” and brings it back into the kitchen, sets it on the dining table.

You grab paper plates and eat, the affair mostly silent, even as Megatron sniffs around and tries to get bites at your food.

As is usual whenever you or Spencer stay at each others places and order Antonios, the pizza and garlic fingers wind up unfinished. You set them aside in tupperware containers and label one with Spencers name, as he would do for you if you were at his place. It’s a conscious decision at this point—you order more than you can eat so that you have food to take into the office the next day or to just reheat in your microwave if you get the chance to take the day off.

The two of you migrate to the couch as you drink the teas that, despite your efforts with the hotplate, have gone lukewarm.

“I just—I was just thinking about it on the jet back, is all,” Spencer says. He’s referring to a book you’ve read recently and just cannot, even if it’d save your life as a gun was pressed to your temple, stop thinking about. “Read it the other night, and—yeah. It’s not my usual thing but you do make a few decent points about it.”

“It’s not usually my thing, either,” you confess. “I don’t read young adult and I haven’t much read it since I was one, but it was on a table and I read the back, and—c'mon, Spencer. A book written from the perspective of death itself. How much more intriguing can you get, really?”

Spencer shrugs. “Pretty intriguing, I guess,” he says. “It was a really good book, Y/N. I can see why you’d find it an interesting perspective to read from—death is one of lifes many unanswered questions, and the prose was written really well.”

“Thank you,” you laugh. “You’re the only person I can really talk about books with, if I’m honest. I mean—I like to use books to shut my brain off and you like to use them differently, but—you're the only person who gets it, I think.”

This brings a grin to Spencers face. “Yeah,” he says. “Did you read the book I told you about? The one by--”

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” you nod. “A Study in Scarlet—it was really good, which I did find a little surprising because I’ve always kind of found Sherlock Holmes a little gimmicky. I am the first to admit that I’ve never really liked any of the screen adaptations, but I love the way that he writes. Genuinely some of the better stuff I’ve read from that era, and I’ve read a lot of books from that time.”

“Sherlock is hardly gimmicky,” Spencer rebuts. “I mean—one has to ignore all of the mediums and ways in which it has since been adapted, but—it's not as gimmicky as it could be.”

“’Not as gimmicky as it could be’ implies that you’re acknowledging how gimmicky Sherlock can get,” you retort. “It’s good writing, Spence. As someone who has read and reread several books I haven’t liked in the name of a PhD in lit, it’s really good writing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, but the original version of the work beats out any and all adaptations by default for me because the original version of Sherlocks story is the only one I have so far enjoyed.”

Spencer shrugs, takes a sip of his tea. “You make a point,” he concedes. “You’ve gotta read the other books in that universe, though—I'll lend you my copy of the second book.”

“I can just buy and read it on my Kindle,” you respond.

“I’ll lend you my copy,” Spencer says again. “Digital is crap, and we know it.”

You snort, grabbing your own mug and taking a sip thats bigger than you mean for it to be but fine nonetheless—you love your tea when it’s hot or warm, even, but lukewarm and moving into cold territory is only good when it’s what you’re looking for, and it never is what you’re looking for when you’re drinking your chamomile.

“Fine,” you relent, laughing. “You can lend me your copy.”

Spencers grin turns triumphant, and for half a second you’re sure he’ll start cheering.

“And, for the record,” you say. “Digital is not crap all the time—only with regards to books. I just like my Kindle because it lets me bring four or five books along with me wherever I go, and they’re like, two taps away. It’s easier to have four books on what’s essentially a tablet instead of stuffing four of them into my go bag.”

Spencer shrugs. “You make a fair point,” he says. “This time, anyway. I’ll prove you wrong somehow.”

You laugh, and you catch a very specific look in Spencers eye.

It's there for all of two seconds, tops, and then his smile dims and it’s gone, but for those two seconds, he looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

He looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be, sat across from you on your couch with his legs criss-crossed and a lukewarm mug of tea tucked in between his palms.

“You might,” you concede. “For now, though—topic switch! Uh—has Gideon seemed a little off to you, lately? Like he’s thinking about retiring or something?”

“No,” Spencer answers. “I think you’re watching him too closely and overthinking it. He’s fine. So is Hotch, if you’re worried about him.”

You laugh. “I know Hotch is fine,” you retort. “He’d tell me if he weren’t, but I just—I know how much Gideon means to you and I hate the idea of him leaving when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Spencers face softens up a little, and there it is again—the look in his eyes that was so fleeting that you almost didn’t catch it.

“He might’ve been the one who brought me down to Quantico and helped me get the job I have, but—he's not the reason I’m here here,” Spencer says. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Y/N, but I’m exactly where I want to be right now and Gideon staying or leaving will do absolutely nothing to influence that.”

You grin at him because the words did what they were supposed to by providing reassurance and you can’t think of anything more to say.

Spencer gets to standing. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says. “I’m assuming you’re going to stay out here for another hour, maybe wallow in your anxieties a little bit?”

You laugh. “You, Spencer Walter Reid, know me too deeply.”

He shrugs. “Good night, Y/N,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nod, and it’s only after his back has turned and he’s headed in the direction of your guest room that you have an epiphany.

You look at Megatron as you hear her tiny little footsteps approaching, and when she climbs up onto your lap and headbuts your shoulder, the realization sets in bone deep. It becomes something you can't ignore anymore, not like you have been for the past three years.

“Oh, Meggy,” you whisper as you press your forehead against hers. “I’m in it deep, aren’t I?”

She meows like a kind of confirmation, almost, and the thought sets in, spoken into your mind like a voice through a loudspeaker.

I’m falling for him. I am falling in love with Spencer Reid.

Another thought occurs, just as loud as the first.

Oh, God.

You finish your tea, rush to the kitchen with Megatron on your heels and set your dirty mug in the sink. You go to bed and it takes you a stupid amount of time to fall asleep even though Megatrons loud purring is enough to get you knocked out after a while.

Spencer places a London fog onto your desk in an almost wordless manner about a week and a half later. You’re chatting away with Penelope, who’d stopped at your desk to deliver to you two of the carrot muffins she baked and you adored.

You turn your attention from Penelope as Spencer settles back in at his desk, mug of black but still sweeter than fiction coffee in his non dominant hand, pencil already tucked into his dominant one.

“Thank you!” You chirp gratefully. You love any and everything earl grey and it’s been like that since before you started with the BAU.

“You’re welcome,” Spencer responds. Your attention turns back to Penelope and his goes back to the file at hand, and the time passes with ease. Spencer focuses on his files and does so until he’s down to two and you’re down to one.

“I were a bettin’ man,” you start. “I’d say there’s no way you can finish both files before I get my last one done.”

“I have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words a minute,” Spencer says. “If you made bets, you’d lose this one.”

“Sometimes, you make a bet while knowing you’re probably going to lose it,” you answer. “I mean, shit—When I was sixteen, I bet I wouldn’t live to see my nineteenth birthday. Thought for sure I’d win that one, but on the morning of my nineteenth, I walked to the local bakery, bought half a dozen carrot muffins and stuck a candle in one. I lit it, I blew it out, and I lost the bet I’d made with myself three years prior.”

“You thought you’d win,” Spencer says, ignoring how achy your subtle admission makes his chest feel.

“Well, there have been others,” you laugh. “I was two weeks away from joining up with the BAU and I still thought I’d never do it, let alone at nineteen years old. I made that bet figuring I’d lose it, figuring I’d walk in here on my first day and just know I was where I was meant to be, and I did. I lost that bet knowing I’d wind up losing.”

Spencer shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Game on, Y/N. If I win, you owe me one answer to a question of my choice.”

“Deal,” you respond. “If I win, I want the same but in reverse.”

Spencer nods, and for the next thirty minutes, as Derek occasionally glances up and watches the two of you with a not-so-hidden smirk, all that’s really heard is the sound of pens and pencils on paper.

Spencer winds up winning, and it’s after he wins that Derek decides he’s done for the day and the two of you are the only two in the office.

“You get one question,” you say. “Go on. Out with it.”

Spencer knows a fair bit about you—you were born and raised in Maine, had an IQ on a similar caliber to his own but didn’t really use it the same way he did. He knew you had a past you didn’t really like talking about and he usually didn’t pry, but just this one time, he tells himself, he’ll ask a question that it’s been sitting in the back of his mind since you joined and the tidbits about who you are as a person started coming in.

“What’s the biggest reason you left Maine?” He asks.

You laugh. “You and your tea claims to love me but here you are, asking me a question that I’d only ever willingly answer after nine o’clock. Smart move, Spence,” you say.

Spencer shrugs. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I left Cape Elizabeth for realsies for the last time when I was nineteen,” you answer. “Hotch had been trying to get me to let him mentor me for a few months, and—well, there was this shithead ex boyfriend who just wouldn’t leave me alone for the longest time. I left when Hotch asked me if I’d at least come down for a few days, and I haven’t gone back since.”

Spencer blinks. “That explains a lot,” he says.

“It explains why I don’t really have a social media presence,” you say. “And why the only evidence I’m working in law enforcement is my employment article, which doesn’t even list an active phone number. He never stalked me, and I doubt he’d have the fucking gall to do it even after I’ve been gone for six years, but it still spooks me big freakin’ time. Ask me another question, please.”

Spencer laughs. “Favorite pastry?”

“Pain au chocolat, easy,” you answer. “Next one. Dig deeper this time, Spencer. I’m hopped up on caffeinated tea and will tell you just about anything that’s deeper than surface level.”

“Why do you like crocheting and knitting so much?” Spencer asks.

“It turns my brain off,” you confess. “I hate working with straight needles—don't understand how my grandmother did it for so long but I respect it. I love crocheting because it works as good as my anxiety meds when I don’t have them on hand, and I love knitting because, yeah, it’s more labour intensive and takes longer, but the end product is just gorgeous every single time. Color work is easier in crochet, though. Crochet tapestry is amazing. I tend to use crochet for anxiety and dopamine because it works up whip quick and stuff like cardigans won’t take me 140 hours. Knitting is the kind of thing I do when I want to put that work in, though. I don’t really do it as often as I’d like to but when I do do it, I’m really meticulous about the pattern I use, and the yarn I choose for the project, and—you'll know I give a damn about you when I knit you something.”

“You’ve knitted me a few cardigans,” Spencer says. “A purple one, and a navy blue one recently.”

You grin. “I give a stupid number of damns about you, Reid,” you say. “Also Penelope. I’d knit more for Derek if I thought he’d wear what I made him, but he doesn’t seem the type. Hotch accepts the wall art and stuff I make for him when I can find the time but I doubt he has it displayed anywhere. Hotch is an odd case, though. He cares about me but does so from a kind of distance, almost.”

Spencer shrugs. “Gideons the same way,” he says. “When I was dealing with my addiction, he was like an absent kind of parent—there sometimes, but not often.”

You nod. “Everyone was that way with you,” you say. “Gideon especially so, but—nobody really knew how to address it.”

“You did,” Spencer says. “You’re freakishly good at that kind of thing.”

“Alcoholism runs in the family,” you shrug. “I’ve been to many-a intervention, and I know how to spot the signs of addiction from a thousand miles away point blank. I’ve had to pull myself together and narrowly avoided addiction a few times, though not to anything like Dialaudid.”

“I feel like this is going somewhere deep,” Spencer confesses. “When I asked you about Maine—I wasn’t trying to get you to open up to anyone before you were ready. It was fifteen minutes ago but I was an asshole.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I was going to have to open up to someone eventually,” you say. “The fact that it was you is incredibly fitting to me.”

Neither of you have any work to do, but you’re not moving to pack up or do anything. You’re using overtime in order to talk with each other when there is absolutely nobody else in the office, even the likes of Hotch and Gideon having gone home.

Spencer shrugs, grabs the mug that has long since been repurposed, switched out from coffee to tea, and takes a sip from it.

“The boyfriend who drove me to leavings name was James DeLuca,” you say. “He was a trust fund kid who thought he beheld all the power in the world in a town where it sometimes felt like everyone knew everyone. We dated for eight months before I broke things off, and he hated me for it. I just—I hate the idea of being some rich white guys trophy spouse, y’know? If I’m going to get married or continue a long term relationship with someone, I’m going to do it because I love them, not because I want their money. I’m marrying someone on the merits of love or I’m not doing it at all, no matter what some idiot trust fund baby thinks about that.”

You sigh, and Spencer tilts his head.

“I think he’s got a wife now, a kid or two?” You say. “I dunno—I get Garcia to check on him every year or two, just to make sure he’s not gone on to do something that’ll wind up in VICAP and to make sure he’s not made his way to Quantico. I feel safer knowing he’s not here, and that’s probably me overestimating him, but he seemed capable of murder last we talked, and it scared the shit out of me.”

“If he does come around here, the team has got your back,” Spencer says. “We’ll protect you as best we can, Y/N, you know that.”

You nod. “I routinely trust you guys with my life and I really wouldn’t have it any other way,” you respond. “I just—I don’t know. It’s a stupid anxiety that’s been keeping me up at night for the last six years. I’m sorry to vent like this, Spence. It’s late, and we really should be getting home, right?”

“Y/N,” he says as you bend to pack your things. “Y/N, stop.”

You’re not listening to him, though. You’re too buzzed, the caffeine in your system and the anxiety making a cocktail that Spencer knows to be an awful, devilish little thing.

He stands and before he can think about it, his hand is on your arm. When you turn to look at him, your eyes are slightly wide but you make no move to ask him to stop or to force him away.

“Spencer?” You ask.

“You don’t need to apologize for venting,” he says. “Seriously--I was paranoid for months after the stuff with Tobias Hankel, and that wasn’t entirely the drugs or the withdrawal. If this guy comes after you, we’ll get to him before he can even so much as look at you the wrong way, and I promise you that.”

You lean forward and it takes all of three seconds for Spencer to register your forehead against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate or feel awkward about the touch, which is surprising given how sudden it seems, but he instead welcomes it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and Spencer huffs a laugh because he knows it’s habitual. “I mean—well, you know what I mean at this point, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “I know what you mean, Y/N. Are you sure you’ll be okay to go home alone tonight?”

You pull away, looking up at him and nodding. “The drive is fifteen minutes, and it’s 9:30. I should be fine til I’m in my apartment, and once I’m there, Megatron and her weird ability to sense when something is off with me will do wonders.”

Spencer smiles softly, and he sees what almost looks like love in your eyes. “Get home safe, Y/N.”

“Are you not leaving?”

Spencer shakes his head, ignoring the sudden burst of unfamiliar fondness that pokes at his chest when he looks your way.

“Nah,” he says. “I figure I’ll be nice, do a file or two of Morgans so that he has less to worry about tomorrow.”

“Do you want Derek to have less of a workload, or do you just want to stay here and think?”

“I always think clearest when I’m at my desk,” Spencer shrugs. “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Night, Spence,” you say, gathering up the last of your things. Spencer walks over to Morgans desk and plucks two files off the top of his paperwork file as you leave the office, settling into his own desk thereafter.

He stares at the unopened manila folder for a long five or so seconds as the reality that he’s been holding off for at least a year and a half truly sets in.

It makes him laugh.

“I’m so screwed,” he says to himself.

Every single time Derek has accused him of being smitten since he was halfway through twenty-four, he’s been right. It only hits him then, and Spencer feels like just as much of an idiot as Derek has claimed him to be.

TWENTY - NINE / THIRTY

As you run through the only abandoned psych ward within a twenty mile radius of Cape Elizabeth, you have a moment wherein you realize just how stupid you really are.

“James DeLuca, I’m Y/N L/N with the BAU!” Like he doesn’t already know your name and place of employment.

Hotch, of course, disagreed with your plan entirely, but you had been so determined and so convincing that he had agreed to it in the end, as long as there was back up for you posted at the front and back entrances at the first sign of trouble, and as long as you caught him while you were within the first four of eight floors total. If he’d gotten anywhere past the fourth you were to chase him back down within range or talk him down and then call for immediate back up, without firing your gun unless he fired his.

All of it—James’ MO, his signature, even the ways in which he behaved, tied back to you. All of his victims looked like you did in the lead up to when you’d left Maine for Virginia. All of them had similar hobbies, but you doubted the victims would’ve been half as dumb as you were being, going after James like you were.

The psych ward was part of his signature—he took his victims to one of the only abandoned psych wards within the entirety of that town and the next. You could remember why vividly.

Back when you’d initially broken up with him a decade prior, you’d, in a moment of frustration, told him he ought to be admitted into a psych ward if he was going to keep acting so fucking insane. He’d threatened to take you to the very one you were running through, gun and flashlight aimed and ready, and kill you in response.

“James DeLuca, drop your weapon and surrender to the police! This is over, okay? It’s done.”

You turn a corner and bump right into him, like he'd been laying in wait for you that entire time.

“I’ll drop my weapon if you drop yours,” he says. “And only after we’ve had it out. I have shit to say to you, Y/N.”

You take six large steps back, fighting your anxiety off as what remains of it is replaced by adrenaline.

“Okay,” you shrug, figuring that keeping your cool is the best thing you can do around him. The minute he senses you’re even slightly off kilter, he’s liable to go completely off the rails. “Say whatever it is you need to say to me, James, but put the weapon down first. I won’t lower my gun until you lower yours.”

He scoffs. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he says. “Even with all of your FBI training and how long you’ve been doin’ this for, you don’t have what it takes to kill someone.”

“The rule of thumb within all areas of law enforcement is to avoid shooting unless absolutely necessary, and to be frank, I’d prefer to avoid all the paperwork that’ll come my way if I do shoot you, now put the gun down.”

James is a more adult-y version of the one you can remember—he looks vaguely like a young Timothy Olyphant, if Olyphant had jet black hair, a patchy beard, and was on the stockier side in build. James is a little taller than Spencer, standing at an even 6’4, and shit, fuck it all if he’s not just as scary as he used to be.

James, thankfully, relents. He drops his gun. You holster yours.

“Put it down,” James says, his tone gravelly and demanding.

“From what I can remember of my teen years, you had a pickpockets hands and quick reflexes,” you say. “I’m not going to leave myself absent of a weapon when I know, for a fact, that you can have yours in hand, cocked, aimed, and the safety off within eight seconds. No fucking way, James. That is not how this works. You want to have it out, say what you need to and then we’ll see where this goes after all is said and done.”

“Even if I do shoot you, we’re on the third floor,” James says. “I’ve got my escape route planned, Y/N. I rush down the stairs, make it to the tunnels, and I’m a free man until they realize there are tunnels under this place. They don’t show up on any blueprints because they were dug by miners after the building was abandoned, and there are only two ways to get to them in the building, both of which are well hidden secrets for only those brave enough to look to find.”

“The second you shoot, there’ll be FBI agents swarming the place. You won’t even make it to the second floor without being caught.”

“I have a silencer,” James says, patting his pocket. “I’ve planned this one out, Y/N. Waited a decade to do it, after all.”

You breathe in deep, but don’t request back up yet despite your instincts practically demanding it. It, you decide, is too early.

You nod. “Okay, so you have it planned out, Just—talk, please. Before I get sick of your voice, preferably.”

“I loved you, Y/N,” he says. “I’d bought a ring by the time you left. I was going to propose that weekend, you know that?”

“You loved the idea of me, James,” you say. You’re trying to subtly back up towards the open window. The hallway you’re in faces the front entrance, so if you get shot, the team is going to see it and know what’s what. “You didn’t love me for me. You demeaned me all the time and when you weren’t being demeaning, you were being an asshole. You wanted a trophy spouse, not someone with whom you shared a genuine connection. Is that why you married Rachel? She wanted your money and you wanted some decent eye candy to hold onto your arm at all of your bullshit charity galas?”

James, unfortunately, catches onto what you’re doing. He picks up his gun and carries it as he follows you. You redirect, going back the way you came.

“That’s not it!” James shouts insistently. “That’s not it!”

“Yes it is,” you say, turning the same corner you’d turned only minutes before. “Yes it is, James, and you know that. You just wanted a bangmaid at the end of the day, and saying that is being generous.”

“Are you asking to die?”

“Y’know, you’re the second person to accuse me of being suicidal with regards to this case in the past two weeks,” you retort. Being sarcastic is a bad idea. You know that. You should be trying to talk him down. You know that. But you aren’t, and even if it gets you shot, then at least James will have finally gotten to do the one thing he’s been aching to for a decade. “I’m really gettin’ sick of it. Feels like between you and my boss, I’m hearing a lot of people singing the same fucking tune.”

James laughs. “You are asking to die,” he says. “I dunno if I wanna give you this, knowing it’s what you want from me. Are you still with that pipe cleaner? The one who wears his gun weird.”

“Where did you get the idea that I was ever with him?” Maybe it was four years of unrequited love starting to seep through the cracks to a point of noticeability? “No. It’s never been like that, and don’t you dare bring him into this.”

“He’s got a name,” James taunts. “Dr Spencer Reid, a man with at least three PhDs, two BAs, and an absurd amount of education for someone his age. He's as smart as you are, and if how easily you’ll go down is any indication, I feel like I could shoot him a good thirty feet away and still get the aim right.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say it through gritted teeth, the mere idea of Spencers life being on the line enough to scare you well past your wits end. “You’re making a mistake by bringing him into this, James. My team will go down for me if they have to, but Spencer will make it the opposite of easy for you to kill him, and Garcia will drudge up every ounce of online criminal activity she can find on you just to give the judge more charges to add to your bit.”

“Threatening me now?” James asks, grinning wildly. “Yeah. That’s a mistake.”

You watch as he grabs the silencer and equips it. Because of your adamant refusal to shoot first unless necessary—in pursuit of avoiding more paperwork than the absolutely necessary amount—you start running backwards to keep your eyes on him while minding your footing.

“You tryin' to watch me equip the gun that’s gonna kill you?” James laughs. “You’re more sadistic than I thought, Y/N.”

“You do realize what charges come with the murder or attempted murder of a federal officer?” You respond. “James, don’t be stupid. I know you are inherently, but you’re acting abnormally so today. Please just stop.”

He laughs again, and as you, in a moment of admitted idiocy, turn around to sprint the rest of the way down the hall, he aims his gun.

He lands four shots in your torso in the last three seconds before you turn the corner.

“I’ll come and find you in a decade, Y/N,” James calls. “If you’re not dead of blood loss by the end of the day. If you make it out, we’ll repeat this every decade and my aim will get better each time.”

Your knees buckle, and you pull your phone out as you crawl towards a window. You dial Garcias number as you hear James’ heavyweight footing running in the other direction, towards the stairwell that’s farthest from you.

“Garcia, call an ambulance and send them to 9981 Lilibet Grove,” you say. “Tell them—tell them officer down. Four bullets, two to the chest, one to the hip and one to the—ow, fuck—to the lung.”

“Oh--oh my God!” Is Garcias response. “Are you okay? Please tell me he didn’t shoot you! Please, Y/N--oh my God!”

You’re still ambling toward the only open window, and getting to your feet feels almost impossible, but you do it.

“Agent down, I meant,” you correct. “He shot me, Garcia, and—tell Hotch and the others that James DeLuca is running for the tunnels. Tunnels are under the entire building and he’s intending to use them to escape.”

You collapse when you’re two feet away from the window, but you push forward until your fingers can grip the ledge and drag yourself the rest of the way. You hoist yourself up just enough that Spencer can see you, and you see the fear in his eyes in the last second before you scream his name and collapse harshly onto the tiled ground below your waist.

“Spencer!” You scream, Garcia still on the line.

“Okay,” Garcia says. “Calling the ambulance and patching Spencer through in the meantime, okay? You—don't you dare die on me, you idiot!”

“I’ll do my best,” you say as you listen for the sounds of government issued SUV doors slamming shut. When you hear it, a sense of hope dimly registers in your chest. Your team isn’t going to let you die, and they never would.

“Spencer, talk to Y/N while I call 911 and please do your best to keep them awake the meantime,” Garcia says, voice tinged by a sense of anxiety you’re all too familiar with.

“Y/N,” Spencer greets. “You’re covered in blood.”

“You saw me, then,” you grin, pressing your head against the cold tiled flooring. “Two GSWs to the chest, one to the lung and one to my hip. This fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, it would,” Spencer nods. “You were shot.”

“I should’ve woken up today and made better decisions,” you laugh. “Ow--hurts. I’m on the third floor, about fifteen feet from the western stairwell. James headed east, and I remember that the blueprints indicated there was a stairwell that way, which means that he’s headed for it if he’s not already there. Getting shot is exhausting, Spence.”

“Keep talking,” Spencer says urgently. “I need you awake until they get here, okay? Awake awake. Not awake and quiet, awake and babbling like I do whenever you bring up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“You were complaining about making a blanket out of single crochets before the case started,” Spencer says. “Did you finish it?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Again with the laughter—fuck, Spencer. It really fucking hurts.”

“I know,” Spencer says, tone briefly taking on an empathetic underbelly. “The blanket. Tell me about it, tell me anything.”

“Almost every crocheter does it and lives to regret it,” you laugh. “I figured—I've been crocheting since I was nineteen, why haven’t I done it yet? I gotta.”

“Are you relieved that it’s done?”

“So relieved,” you nod. “Yeah. If I ever have to do a foundation chain of the length of a queen sized bed ever again, I need to you to kill me the second I voice the idea.”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I won’t do that, but I’ll happily talk you out of it. Why did you hate it so much?”

“Single crochets are objectively the easiest stitch—in my heart they’re called single crochets because you only have to yarn over twice counting pulling up a loop but technically once because you only have to yarn over once when you have the two loops on your hook. They’re the smallest crochet stitch next to slip stitches, which I will never ever ever make a blanket out of, unless someone pays me what I make in a year,” you respond. “Imagine doing sixty-inches wide of single crochets and then continuing down until you have 80 inches of single crochets in length. One monotonous step over and over again for a long ass time.”

You hear the stairwell door open. “Also, the Bernat blanket formula is fucking terrible,” you laugh, clutching your side when the same pain kicks up again. “I’m really tired, Spencer.”

“I’m--Y/N, I am thirty feet away from you. Don’t you dare lose consciousness on me.”

“Garcia?” You ask. “Are you back yet?”

“Here and at the ready,” she says. “Ambulances ETA is eight minutes. Was sixteen but you are not allowed to die on me, Y/N, and you certainly aren’t allowed to die on Spencer, so don’t even think about it.”

“You crochet, right?”

“A little,” she says.

“Never make a blanket out of single crochets,” you laugh, clutching your side a bit more intensely in turn. “Ow--I really have to stop doing that.”

“I promise I won’t make a blanket out of single crochets,” Penelope says. “You have my word on that, okay? Which stitch do you recommend?”

“I like granny squares,” you say. “Anything involving a granny stitch? I’m all over it. They’re amazing, Garcia. They’re like the Spencer Reids voice of crochet stitches.”

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Spencer says.

“That good, hm?” is Penelopes rebuttal. “I’ve seen granny square afghans, and they’re gorgeous, so I don’t blame you for that. Spencer, is Y/N within your line of sight?”

“I’m fifteen feet out,” Spencer says. “I’m going to get off the phone. Keep them awake for the next minute, please.”

“Will do,” Penelope says. “Okay--so—the Spencer Reid comment. Are you in love with him?”

“I am delirious, Penelope Grace Garcia, and that is totally unfair,” you snort. It’s followed by a wince and you don’t even try to mask your grimace. “I have four bullet wounds. Ask me once I’m in the recovery unit, please.”

“When you’re in the recovery unit, you’ll probably be doped up on morphine.”

“I’m going to refuse pain medication.”

“You’ve had—what? Four interactions with this guy in the past two weeks, Y/N, three of which have left your ribs bruised or broken, one of which has left four bullet wounds in you!”

“Your point?”

“You will take the pain medication they give you and you will do it with a smile or so help me--”

You feel Spencers hand on your shoulder. “Spencer is here. Ambulance soon?”

“Quicker than you can say ‘Spencer Reid is probably totally the love of my life’, my dear,” she says. “You hang on for us, okay? I’m sure Hotch is going to give you an earful, but—it's because he cares. Rossi does, too.”

You sigh, letting Spencer turn you to face him. “I’m gonna end the call now,” you say. “Thank you Garcia.”

“I’ll be at the hospital when you wake up!” is how she says her goodbye.

You look at Spencer pitifully. “I’m an idiot,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but you're normally smart so I'll let it go just this once,” Spencer laughs. “You’ve seen better days, Y/N. I’ve gotta lift you so I can get you back downstairs.”

“How mad is Hotch?”

“Angrier at himself than at you,” he says. “Being a bit harsh, but he’s got a pass. Are you okay, everything aside?”

“Its all my fault,” you respond. “Eight families are mourning because I left him a decade ago, and—before you try and tell me it’s not, that this would’ve happened no matter what, that’s just not how it is. I left Maine and I did so without so much as a note, and now, a decade later, he’s killed eight people in three months and their blood is on my hands.”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his tone cautious. “Their blood is not on your hands—your delirious. We can have this conversation when you’re in the hospital.”

“James--I think he’d been stalking me for a few months and I hadn’t realized,” you responded. “Like, he was that good at it maybe? I dunno. He asked if I was still with you, in a romantic sense and I just thought, for a second, why would we ever?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, moving to gently hoist you into his arms.

“It--I’ve loved you since I was twenty five,” you respond. “Since that night when we were talking about A Study in Scarlett. I realized it after you’d gone to bed. Maybe that’s just when it set in but you looked at me like you were exactly where you wanted to be and it just—when a pretty boy looks at you like that? It’s very hard not to fall in love on the spot. I happened to do so, which is kind of my own fault.”

He lifts you into his arms and you rest your cheek against his shoulder on impulse. “We’ll discuss this at the hospital,” he says. “For the record—it's not unrequited. Just to get that out of the way.”

“I’m really tired, Spence,” you respond. “I just—I just wanna nap. For a minute.”

“Y/N L/N, don’t you dare,” he says sternly. “Nope. No naps allowed. You can sleep in the ambulance, when they’ll actually have the tools to keep you alive if you end up dying.”

“Spencer,” you whine because you’re exhausted and you can’t help yourself. “Please. Just a minute.”

You hear the door open, and then it’s impossible to sleep because of much Spencer is jostling you around as he rushes down the stairs.

“Asshole,” you grumble when you finally reach solid ground and stay on it for longer than the ten seconds it took Spencer to turn from one flight to the next in between floors.

“Sorry for jostling you around,” Spencer says. “Well--not really. Kept you awake, didn’t it?”

You grip the collar of his shirt in your fist and press your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re gonna owe me a lot of Jell-O once I’m in the recovery unit.”

Spencer laughs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Cherry?”

“It’s the best kind,” you respond nonchalantly.

When you hear the wail of the ambulance sirens, you don’t panic. You hold onto Spencer as tightly as you can and it’s only when you feel yourself being transferred from his arms to a gurney that the anxiety sets in.

You reach out blindly, trying to find him as most of your head gets lost in the noise. “Spencer--please come with me! Please don’t go. I need someone I know I can trust. I’m too scared to do this alone.”

You feel Spencers hand gently grasp your arm, then dimly register the sound of his voice as he asks to ride with the paramedics. You hear their agreement, then just as you’re being lifted into the back of the ambulance, it’s lights out. You fall asleep before you can even register that’s what you’re doing, and the last thing you see before the exhaustion takes over is Spencers panicked face, blood staining his shirt and vest.

You wind up needing to be put into a coma, and a week later, when Spencer goes to visit you bright and early on his day off, he finds you awake.

It’s been a very long, very tough, week. Not just for him, though—Hotch had been harder on the team as well as himself in the aftermath of your being shot, and even though Rossi tried to help him gently, it ended in a shouting match wherein Rossi outright demanded he go easy on himself and the rest of the team.

Penelope had spent every single day of that week in your hospital room for at least an hour, wanting to be there when you woke up. Derek had gone for long runs before coming into work, and Emily and JJ had both been on edge even while they were filling out paperwork and not in the field.

Spencer was as he always was when he was going through something—sarcastic and snippy as all hell. It got on Hotchs nerves and he and Hotch had yelled at each other a few times that week, but Spencer had forced it to glide off his shoulders. He was there from the minute he got off work til visiting hours were done every single day, and on his day off, he comes in thirty minutes after visiting hours begin to find you awake, an exhausted look on your face as a nurse fills you in on your condition where she’s able.

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet as said nurse goes from explaining the ins and outs to checking your vitals. “Has it been a week? Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Garcia is going to be here in half an hour, and I told Hotch I’d call you when you woke up, but—it can wait two minutes.”

“Yeah, it can,” you nod. “How was it? An entire week without me around to bug you for the first time in a decade?”

“Terrible,” Spencer laughs. He approaches you finally, sits on the edge of your bed as the nurse leaves. “I kept getting into fights with Hotch, and it was just—oh my God, please never get shot at like that again. Please never put yourself in that scenario again.”

“I had a thought, as I was running down the hallway on the third floor, about how dumb I was,” you admit. “Even thought about calling for back up but didn’t because it felt a little too early. I promise, Spence, I will never be that stupid again.”

He smiles gently, reaches out and runs his nimble fingers over the scope of your hands. “Good,” he says. “For the record—it was stupid, what you did, but we don’t fault you for it. Emily joked a few days back that she’s made dumber decisions. How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” you respond. Spencers gaze flits to yours, examining your face without meaning to as he looks at you. “Really sore, honestly. Hungry, too.”

“I’ll call Garcia, ask her to stop at the coffee shop you like so you don’t have to eat hospital food,” he says.

“I love you, Spencer,” you respond in what Spencer knows to be a slip up. Even knowing this, his eyes still widen, fingers stopping in their tracks as he traces one word after the next against the soft skin of your forearm.

“Do you remember what you confessed when you were half dead?” He asks, broaching the subject very, very gently. “Because--I do. I have an eidetic memory and I’ve spent the last week unable to stop thinking about it, Y/N.”

You nod. “I do,” you say. “I’ve been known to have better timing than that. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“Do you remember what I said?” Spencer asks.

“You said we’d discuss it at the hospital and that—oh my God,” you press one of your palms against your face. “That it wasn’t unrequited. Oh my God, Spencer. We both had terrible timing on that one, didn’t we?”

Spencer laughs, nods wordlessly. “We did,” he says. “You said it was the night we’d been talking about A Study in Scarlet, but for me, it was different. I realized I’d loved you twice but pushed it down the first time, figured it’d be more of an inconvenience.”

“Tell me more,” you say. Spencer resumes his ministrations, tracing letters that’ll form words with a feather light touch to your forearm. “About the first time, and then also the second.”

“The first time I realized, I was twenty four,” he says. “I dunno—you were talking about Jane Austen with Elle, and it just kind of hit me as I happened to look over at you. It’d been building for a few years at that point, bubbling just under the surface. I buried it, buried myself in my paperwork, and eventually, I thought I’d buried it well enough that it didn’t exist anymore.”

“And the second?”

“It was the night you told me about James,” Spencer shrugs. “I can’t pinpoint what spurred it on, honestly, but I know it was that night. I appreciated—still appreciate—how vulnerable you and I were with each other. You left as I grabbed two folders from Dereks desk and as I sat down to do them, it hit all over again and I just thought: yeah. I’m a goner, aren’t I?” and I’ve been like that ever since.”

You grin. “Okay--” you laugh a little. “Hotch warned me when you were twenty-three and I was twenty-two, that we’d have a shit ton of paperwork to fill out if our dynamic ever took this turn. Now, that’s all I can think about.”

Spencer laughs, shakes his head.

He keeps tracing words over your forearm, and when he kisses your forehead, your eyes are on his ministrations.

“We can’t command our love, but we can our actions,” you whisper. “That’s something Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. I can’t remember what it’s from, but--”

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” Spencer provides, his lips still pressed against your forehead. He kisses it again, and when he pulls away, he sees an unmistakably overjoyed look in your eyes to go with the smile that graces your lips. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but the action I’m going to take is whichever one keeps us together. Even if it means paperwork, or no promotions, or no longer going out into the field together. We’re always better when we tag team geographical profiles, anyway, and your desk will still be across from mine. Only difference now is that when I bring you tea, there might just be a forehead kiss to accompany it, provided Hotch isn’t in the bullpen.”

You grin, and when Spencers phone goes off, you let him answer it.

“Hi!” Penelope greets. “The hospital told me they didn’t have to call you as you’d already shown up and you were the first on their emergency contact list, but I am on the way! I’m bringing everyone else and also bagels. Is Y/Ns favorite place for tea still Izzies?”

“It’s been their favorite spot for ages and I don’t think it’ll ever be subject to change,” he answers. “Is everyone okay?”

“Hotch and Rossi look relieved for the first time in literal days,” Garcia laughs. “But yeah—everyones okay. Is Y/N?”

“Y/N is tired and hungry but otherwise fine,” Spencer says. “Sore, I think, too, but that’s not confirmed, just an assumption.”

“Did you tell them yet?” Penelope asks, and he can practically hear the eyebrow quirks in her question, the smile in her tone.

“That has been discussed to an extent,” Spencer says.

“What kind of extent, boy genius?” Derek calls from somewhere near Penelopes phone.

“We’ll both have some paperwork we'll need to do once they’re back in the office, and we won’t be able to go out into the field anymore or be eligible for promotions, but—worth it. So freakin’ worth it.”

He smiles at you, and you grin in response.

“Yay!” Penelope shouts. “I am going to bring Y/N the biggest London fog I can get from Izzies, as well as bagels and the rest of the team. I’ll see you guys in a bit?”

“See you soon, Penelope.”

He hangs up the phone and looks at you, sees the exhaustion in your eyes as you reach over and press the morphine button.

“What happened to ‘I’m not going to ask for pain meds’?”

“Getting shot in the chest hurts like a motherfucker,” you murmur. “Now--c’mere. Please. You’re so warm and I’m so cold.”

Spencer laughs, watches you scootch over a little in the bed and make room for him.

In the end, Spencers back is on the mattress and you’re curled up, minding the wires and tubes connecting you to an IV and your pain meds, on his right. Your head is against his shoulder and as you fall asleep, your breathing evens out. Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content in the entire thirty years he’s been alive, doesn’t want to know if it can get any better than it is.

THIRTY - THIRTY-ONE

You're laughing along with a joke Rossi makes, sipping the glass of wine you've been nursing for ages, when you feel Spencers hands on your shoulders.

"Hi," Spencer greets just before he kisses the side of your head. Rossi grins at the display of affection, his smile warm and almost fatherly.

"I didn't know the two of you back when you started," he says. "Hotch did, though, and he told me the other night, he'd seen this coming from a mile away. Was shocked it took you guys so long, but wasn't surprised it happened."

You shrug. "His IQ is 187 and mine is close to it," you say. "That doesn't quite mean we're exempt from our moments of idiocy."

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he says. "Plus, the idea of the extra paperwork was a little daunting, at first." He jokes, kissing your temple again.

"Worth it?" Rossi asks, and both of you nod.

"I wish I'd done it a lot sooner, personally," you admit. "I kind of hate that I told him I loved him while I was half dead, but life gave me a lemon and I made lemonade, so it all worked out."

You let yourself melt into Spencers embrace as Rossi walks away, catches JJ and Will and decides to talk with them for a while. You sip your wine as Spencer shoots off at the mouth about how lemons are man made and were developed through years of creating hybrid citruses, grateful to be standing at that event, in Spencers arms, at all.

Spencer grins at the sight as Megatron curls up on your chest. It’s the early hours of the morning and neither of you have work, but Spencer has woken up at 6:30, regardless of the day of the week, since he started working at the BAU.

She’s been extra loving with you since you were shot and wound up in a coma last year, has become somewhat co-dependent but only really displays these traits when it’s after dark or you’re asleep and she’s able to be affectionate without you poking fun at her.

She sprawls out over your chest and somewhat onto your stomach, and when she starts purring, she purrs at the noise level of a freight train, per usual.

“Morning, Meggy,” Spencer greets, running a finger along her chin affectionately. He’s doing anything he can to avoid starting his day because, since you’d started dating and spending the night at each others apartments more regularly, Spencer had discovered how nice it really was to curl up in bed and just kind of waste the morning away. He’d never seen the point in it while he was single or in love with you but doing nothing about it, but since your relationship had started, he loved spending his off days like that.

He, rather begrudgingly, climbs out of bed. He goes to your bathroom and uses the spare toothbrush you keep for him to use whenever he spends the night, tidies up the dining room from the previous nights dinner and washes the dishes used before putting them onto the empty drying rack. He heads back into your bedroom after taking the necessary steps to make your life just a little easier, and when you wake up an hour and a half later, it’s eight thirty and you greet him with an exhausted smile.

“Hi,” you greet. “Anything from Garcia yet?”

“She called me around midnight,” Spencer confesses. “You’d been asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What’s the news?”

“James DeLuca was caught in the maritimes, along the Canadian coast,” Spencer says. “They’ve brought him back to the states, and right now it’s looking a lot like he’ll get the death penalty.”

You curl up against him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Spencer knows it’s because the news feels like a bit of a relief. A year since he’d narrowly evaded arrest, and the man who almost killed you has been caught. It has to feel like a supermassive weight being lifted off your chest, and Spencer himself was relieved to hear the news when Garcia had phoned.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses his lips to your forehead. You’d spent a year looking over your shoulder and yielding no results, but now you never would have to do that again.

“He’s behind bars, Y/N,” he says. “He’s not a threat anymore.”

He feels your smile against his neck and can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine. Megatron, ever observant and attention-seeking, plops herself onto the centre of Spencers chest, to your amusement.

“I never have to worry about him again,” you whisper. “That--that’s wonderful.”

“Mhm,” Spencer says. “Now, I don’t really think either of us need to get out of bed, per se, until the afternoon. I say we just relax for a while, soak it in and maybe give Megatron some tummy rubs.”

You laugh. “I really like that plan,” you say. Spencer kisses your forehead again.

He soaks it in—how good it feels, to be with someone he cherishes so deeply. It feels amazing to not have anything on his plate, not a stressful case or some stupid argument with Derek that he’s overthinking.

It feels amazing to be in your presence, to only really have to worry about how painful it’ll be when Megatron inevitably gets up and puts all her weight into her two front paws when she leans forward and aggressively headbuts Spencers jaw until he gives her what she wants or how, when you take to wanting a forehead kiss or otherwise, you’re liable to press your forehead against his shoulder until he gives in.

It feels amazing because this, right here, in this moment, is exactly where Spencer wants to be. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, is so happy with you and Megatron that he’s almost drowning in it.

It’s a feeling that, before you’d started dating, rarely came about, but one he’s always going to cherish, no matter the circumstance.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid x reader

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heli-writes · 11 months ago

Text

Seven summers, part 6.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

Summary: Every summer, Draco and y/n meet. First, by pure coincidence, then intentionally. Unbeknown to Draco, y/n's a muggle who has no clue he's a wizard. With the rise of the dark lord, how long can this go well?

Disclaimers: Make-out session, allusion to sex, no full-on smut (they're still minors, y'all!)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sixth summer, July.

The weather in England has been cold and rainy lately. It doesn't seem to be July at all. Y/n longs for those warm, long summer nights outside in her parents' garden, playing cards and drinking bubbly lemonade. Instead, she's clinging to her umbrella and making herself as small as possible so that she doesn't give the wind too much space to attack her with its whipping water. She's waiting for Draco near the entrance of Diagon Alley. She watched several wizards enter and leave the place, but no Draco so far. Y/n wonders if he will actually show up. They've been exchanging letters via owl, as usual. At the beginning of the school year, Draco's letters have been arriving quite frequently but there were less and less letters the last few months. Y/n knows there's been some arguments with his rival Harry and a new teacher. Draco was appointed a certain position in a Club or something. He didn't really tell her what's it about but ever since he's been more reserved than before.

Y/n waits for almost an hour before she gives up. She walks through the pouring rain back to the bus stop. She stops by a Costa and treats herself to a hot cup of tea on the go in an attempt to warm herself up. On the bus, she plugs in her headphones and stares out of the window. She tries really hard not to cry and hopes that none of the other passengers notice th water dwelling in her eyes. When she gets off the bus, her head's pounding from the oppressing of tears. Y/n walks straight home and up to her room, without taking off her jacket and boots. She can hear her mother complaining about the water on the floor, but she doesn't care. She's just dropped onto her bed when she hears the soft clank of Draco's owl on her window. Y/n gets up and sniffs. This guy has some nerve, she tells herself as she walks up to the window. She takes the letter from the owl and throws some dried meat in its direction, a habit she picked up a while ago. She leans back on a chair and reads.

Dear y/n,

I won't be able to make it today. I'm really sorry but there have been some issues in my family recently and my mother needs my support. I hope the whole situation dissolves itself soon.

I'll send you a letter when it's possible to meet again. I hope you can understand.

Draco.

Y/n folds up the letter and puts it in a box beneath her bed where she keeps all of Draco's letters. She writes a quick response and hands it to the owl who is patiently waiting outside. She watches the owl fly away. I must've just missed his message, y/n thinks. Yet still she can't shake the feeling that something is off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco lets y/n wait for two weeks. Y/n got antsy with every passing day without hearing from him. Eventually, he sends her a letter and proposes a meeting in Windsor Great Park for a stroll and coffee. Y/n is nervous all morning and has to redo her makeup twice after ruining her eyeliner. Again, y/n is the first to arrive. She walks up and down the entrance of the Savill Garden.

"Hey", she suddenly hears behind her. Draco is standing right next to her with a loopy grin on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes, y/n thinks. She smiles at him nonetheless and opens her arms to hug him. Almost hesitantly, Draco hugs her back. It's a bit awkward. "Do you want to go inside?", y/n says and points to the garden. Draco nods. They take the tourist route but there aren't many other people around. It's probably because of the grey clouds that hang low above their heads. They walk along the path between rows of bushes and other plants.

Draco doesn't make an attempt to start a conversation, so y/n does. "So, how's your family? Everything alright? Your letter sounded quite serious.", y/n asks him. Draco shrugs and doesn't answer immediately. "I guess, we're alright. Things haven't been resolved but it will be ok.", he tells her. Y/n nods reassuringly but she feels that Draco does not really believe that last part. "If you don't mind me asking... what happened?", she asks carefully. Draco kicks a stone out of his way. "My dad has been involved in some stuff. He's temporarily contained.", he tells her. Y/n stares at him with big eyes. "Like jail?", she blurts. Draco gives her an angry look. "Yes. My mother did not take it too well.", he replies. "Oh.", is all that y/n manages to say. They walk in silence for a moment. "What about you? How do you take it?", she asks him. Draco shrugs again and does his best to look somewhere far ahead. "Draco...", y/n mumbles and touches his arm. "I'm fine.", he says harshly, "My mother needs all the support she can get. I can't be weak in a situation like this". Y/n steps a bit closer to him and rests her cheek on his arm while taking his hand. "It's not a weakness to feel bad about a situation like that. It only shows how much you care about your parents.", she tells him. Almost instantly, she can feel Draco's shoulders slump down. He turns to her and finally pulls her close. He hides his face in her hair. "I must do everything I can to clear my family's name. One way or another.", he points out. Y/n thinks about this for a moment. "It's not your responsibility. Support your family as much as you can, but don't let the weight of it pull you down.", she replies. Draco shakes his head. "You don't understand... my mother...", he starts. "...is an adult. We're only sixteen, Draco. There's only so much we can do. Somethings we must let the adults handle.", she points out. Draco shakes his head again. "No, my mother can't handle this. I'm the one who has to fix things. I've been chosen.", he tells her. Y/n frowns. "Chosen? By whom? For what?", she asks him. Draco lets go of her. "It doesn't matter. The point is I'm going to handle this. Don't worry.", he says coldly. Draco walks a bit ahead and y/n stares after him. She's got a really bad feeling about this but it's clear that Draco isn't ready to talk about this.

She jogs after him. "Alright, let's not talk about this anymore. We haven't seen each other since Christmas and I really am happy we're spending time together today.", she announces and gives him a bright smile. She holds out her hand to Draco and looks at him expectantly. Draco sighs and then takes her hand. They continue their stroll and y/n tries to distract Draco with silly stories about school and her friends. She updates him on Olivia's situationship and manages to pry some stories about Blaze and quidditch out of Draco. The atmosphere loosens up a bit and soon she finds Draco genuinely smiling again. They wander deeper into the garden and don't notice how the clouds above them get darker and darker. They're laughing about one of y/n's stories when the first drop landed on y/n's cheek. Draco wipes it away carefully. They look up and notice how armageddon is right above them. Within seconds, it's pouring. Draco pulls her close and uses his wand as an umbrella. However, the wind whips raindrops onto their sides. They rush along the path, deeper into the rows of trees ahead of them. They're almost soaked when they finally find shelter in a stone pavilion.

Y/n is shivering but glad there are still some parts of her that are dry. Draco sits down next to her and puts an arm around her. Y/n nuzzles closer into his side. Draco leans his head against hers. They don't speak and when y/n finally looks up, she immediately meets Draco's gaze. He must've been staring at her for a while now. Immediately, he leans close and they meet in a kiss. For a moment, everything outside the pavilion seems to stop existing. Y/n kisses him back feverishly and grabs his collar. Draco's hand is tangled in her hair and his other hand wanders down her side. Y/n presses her upper body closer to his and Draco pulls her onto his lap. They kiss until they can't breathe anymore. Y/n leans her forehead against his as both of them catch their breath. There are no sounds besides the pouring rain outside.

"Draco?", y/n breathes. "Hm?", he mumbles in response. Y/n's heart leaps in her chest. It takes all her courage to say: "I think I love you". Draco leans back and looks at her with surprise in his eyes. Clearly, he didn't expect a confession of love. Immediately, y/n feels embarrassed. She wishes she could take the words back. "Y-you don't have to say it back. I just thought...", she rumbles but doesn't get to finish her sentence. Draco puts his hand onto the back of her head and pulls her lips against his again. He gives her a deep, longing kiss which leaves y/n breathless once again. When he lets go of her, he looks at her longingly and strokes over her cheek. Then he presses a kiss on top of her head and pulls her into a hug. Y/n feels warm and fuzzy inside and she almost forgets that Draco did not return the confession.

They stay in the pavilion until the heavy rain fades into a soft summer drizzle. Only then, they start wandering back to the entrance of the garden. They part ways rather quickly since the rain started again after some point. However, y/n proposes that he should come visit her soon. Her parents will be visiting her grandparents all the way up in Keswick and will be gone for a couple of days. They put y/n under house arrest for the time being (considering what happened last year), but allowed to have a friend over. They probably thought about Olivia but when y/n asked her, Olivia immediately declined saying that y/n simply must invite Draco. Draco is a bit hesitant to accept the invitation and says that he will have to see how things at home. They both decide to write soon.

On her way back to the train station, y/n has mixed feelings. On one hand she's over the moon about meeting Draco finally again, on the other hand, she's also worried about him. Having a father in jail is already troubling but it sounded as if Draco was ready to do anything to fix that. She wonders if that included more than giving a testimony in front of a court. One way or another, he said. She hopes Draco is smart enough to not do anything stupid, or illegal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sixth summer, a few weeks later.

Anxious. That's how y/n feels as she waits for Draco at King's Cross. Y/n and Draco have been writing back and forth for the last couple of weeks. Draco's been really quiet about his father's situation and y/n didn't push too much. However, whenever y/n brought up Draco coming over, he kept saying it probably wouldn't be possible and that too many things were going on. Which clearly indicates that things haven't been resolved. Surprisingly, Draco sent her a letter a few days ago saying that meeting her would be possible after all. Apparently, his mother and his aunt visit a family friend, giving him a chance to slip away. When y/n got Draco's letter saying that he would be visiting after all, she immediately called Olivia who immediately rushed over. Giggling, they wrote lists and prepared the house for what y/n's parents assumed was a sleepover. It also leads to her parents being quite relaxed about leaving y/n alone for a few days.

Right now, y/n is waiting for Draco to arrive at King's Cross. Obviously, Draco does not take a muggle train. He arrives via floo powder somewhere close but they agreed to meet at the station from where y/n would take him home. Y/n nervously scans the crowd in front of her. Suddenly, she feels a tap on her shoulder. "Hey, there pretty girl.", she hears Draco say behind her. When she twirls around, he is mere inches from her face. "Draco!", she laughs and throws her arms around him. Draco almost drops his bag while trying to keep his balance. Y/n quickly retreats. "Sorry!", she says. Draco puts down his bag. "That's alright.", he tells her and pulls her close by her arms. He hugs her close and hides his face in her hair. Y/n's heart skips a beat. When he lets go of her, he looks over his shoulder nervously. Distractedly, he says: "So, uh... is your house close by?". Y/n tries to see what's behind him or what he's looking for but when he turns back to her, she gives him a bright smile. "We'll have to take the bus.", she tells him and takes his hand. Draco sighs behind her. "You don't happen to have a fireplace, do you?", he mumbles. Y/n laughs. "No, sorry! We have central heating.", she says as she pulls him along with him.

While Draco feels visibly nervous in the station, he relaxes once y/n and him have entered the bus. When y/n asks him why, he tells her that there are probably no wizards here who could see them. Y/n nods understandingly. It's a short walk from the bus station to y/n's house. Her house is one of these terraced houses with white, wooden windows and a small front garden. It's nothing special really but her parents had to save up for it for quite some time and they're really proud to call themselves 'homeowners'. Y/n thinks it's a bit ridiculous but then again she's never bought a house and doesn't even know how much it would cost. Y/n pulls out her keys and opens the door.

She holds the door for Draco. "Ladies first. You can put your shoes over there.", she tells him as she quickly pushes him inside. Ever since they made a turn into y/n's street, she's been the one looking over her shoulder. Can't have the neighbours see her sneaking a boy in. She's pretty sure that the nosy old lady from across the street would just love to tell her parents all about that. Y/n quickly closes the door behind her and pulls off her jacket. Draco is standing in the hallway looking around and feeling a bit out of place. Y/n points past him. "Go on, straight through that door. There's the kitchen", she tells him. They enter the kitchen together and y/n quickly puts the kettle on. "C'mon.", she tells him and leads him to the room to the right. It's the living room which has a small conservatory attached to it. It's her mother's favorite room since it's always bright and open. In the middle, there's a large couch with pillows and blankets. On the left is the telly and a coffee table. "It's cozy", Draco notes as y/n leads him to the coach. "Sit down. I'll make the tea.", she tells him as she rushes off back to the kitchen.

She prepares a tray with tea, mugs and some biscuits. When she enters the living room again, Draco still sits in the same position as she left him. I guess he feels a bit awkward, she concludes. After she pours him a cup of tea, she asks him: "So, what do you think? Is this how you imagined muggles to live like?". Draco laughs and rubs his head in embarrassment. "Actually, I'm not sure what I expected. But it's really nice. I like this room.", he says and points to the conservatory. Y/n pulls one of her legs under the other and takes her tea cup. "Hm, you really had no image in your head how I live like?", she asks. Draco shakes his head. "How do you imagine I live like then?", he replies. Y/n thinks about that for a moment. "I guess I imagine a big house, maybe a villa. An old one, maybe Victorian? I imagine a big staircase right when you enter. Old, but classic and high-quality furniture.", she explains. Draco looks at her surprised. "That's actually not that far off.", he tells her. "I can't imagine your room though. I feel like I can imagine your dorm room better than your room at home.", she says. Draco takes a sip from his tea. "Do you want me to describe it?", he asks her. Y/n nods excitedly. He crooks his head. "Let's see. My room is upstairs, in the East Wing. It has a window facing the East as well so that I can see the sunrise every morning. My walls are painted in a greyish-blue. My furniture is black. When you enter the room, you're standing in front of my bed. Opposite the bed is the window and in front of it is my desk. To the left of the desk, is my wardrobe which is always messy and to the right are some shelves with books.", he describes. Y/n tries to imagine the room. In her head, the room is kind of empty besides the furniture Draco described. "Is there anything else in the room?", she asks. Draco names some quidditch equipment and some other tokens that y/n has trouble imagining. Draco tried to explain quidditch to her one time but y/n fails to truly understand the game. Probably, because she's never seen a person riding a broom.

"Would you like to see my room?", y/n proposes and Draco nods. They walk back to the hallway and up the stairs that are on the left. "My room is all the way up, beneath the roof.", she tells him as they climb up the stairs. Y/n's room is the only room on the last floor. When she opens the room, there's her bed to the left and behind the door is her closet. Right in front of the door are three windows. In front of the middle one, is her desk. On the left is a little reading niche and on the right is a dressing table and a cupboard. A chain of lights is strung from one side of the room towards another. Y/n makes some space for Draco to enter. He looks around the room in silence. "So, what do you think?", she asks. "It suits you. I don't know how I'd imagine your room but this fits you perfectly.", he tells her. Y/n giggles and drops onto her bed. "You think so?", she says. Draco nods and turns around in her room before joining her on the bed. Y/n thinks the sight of him in her room is a bit strange. Like he doesn't quite fit into it. He's dressed in black (like always) and her room is dominated by beige and pastel tones. "Yeah, it's bright and warm. And girly. And cozy.", he replies. Y/n snuggles up to him. "You like it?", she asks him. Draco pulls her closer to him. "Yes. Actually, I like your whole house. Everything is very home-ly.", he murmurs and kisses the top of her head. He pulls her back and they fall on top of the comforter of y/n's bed. Draco turns to his side, pulling her closer to him. Y/n takes in his scent and puts her head on his chest, just beneath his head. Draco's hand finds its way into y/n's hair and he scratches the skin of her skull a bit. Y/n feels how the three magical words lay heavy on her tongue again, begging her to speak them out loud once more. She swallows them down quickly, however. She doesn't want to make a fool out of herself once again.

They lay there for a while and y/n is not sure whether or not she may have dozed off a bit. The room's colour faded to grey indicating that the sun was about to go down. Draco stretches next to her and sits up. "Are you hungry?", y/n asks him. Draco shrugs but y/n knows him well enough that that means yes. They end up ordering pizza and watching y/n's favourite movie. Setting up the telly, Draco is fascinated by the technology and asks a bunch of questions about how it works without magic which y/n definitely can't answer. She lets Draco choose a movie afterwards and they spend the evening rotting on the couch. Eventually, the titles roll and y/n sits up stretching. She peeks over to Draco whose eyes are closed. Did he really fall asleep?, she thinks and pokes his cheek. He wrinkles his nose and opens an eye. "Sleepy? Wanna settle for the night?", y/n asks and Draco yawns and nods. They get up and climb up the stairs to y/n's room. After brushing their teeth, they climb into y/n's bed and Draco pulls her close. Y/n leans her head against his and lets her hand rest on his chest. Draco gently strokes over her back and places soft kisses on her forehead, her cheeks and her nose. Y/n crooks her head and meets him in a soft kiss. It's slow and sweet. Draco puts his hand into her hair and pulls her face closer to him, deepening the kiss. Y/n's heart starts beating faster. They kiss like this for a bit until Draco rolls her over so that y/n lays flat on her back. Draco hovers over her while continuing to kiss her. Y/n puts her hands behind his neck and one of Draco's hands runs up and down her sides. Y/n feels goosebumps forming all over her body. Draco's hand finds the hem of her shirt. His fingers dip under it, softly circling the skin of her hip. He leans his head back for a moment. "Is this okay with you?", he asks. Y/n nods breathlessly, not trusting her voice to say yes. She's expected it to happen tonight. Hell, she kinda hoped it would. Draco pushes his hand under her shirt exploring the warm, naked skin underneath it. Y/n lets her hands run down his back and pulls his shirt up a bit. Draco sits up for a moment and pulls it over his head. Y/n stares up at him in awe. He looks even more pale than usual with the moonlight hitting his skin the way it does at this moment. She sits up a bit and runs her hand down his chest. Draco gently pulls on the neckline of her shirt, silently asking for permission to take it off as well. Y/n swallows. She's nervous. "We don't-", Draco starts but y/n cuts him off by pulling her shirt off as well. Draco doesn't say or do anything for a few seconds. Then he slowly traces a line from her shoulder over her collarbone down to her chest. He leans forward again, kissing her deeply while finally cupping her chest with his hand. Y/n lets herself fall back on the pillow.

She won't worry about anything tonight. Not about her parents or Draco's parents. About whether or not a wizard and a muggle can be together. By the time Draco's hands wander down to her pants, she has forgotten about most of it.

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#harry potter #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #wizarding world #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n

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devilat-thedoor · 1 year ago

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Best Bad Habit

🤍Hey Babes🤍

Took a small break from HTY today… So this is just a little something that I wrote up in like an hour after listening to this song and thinking about Sammy baby🫠 Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it💖

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Warnings: Smut(18+ Minors DNI), Oral (f receiving), Mutual Masturbation, Unprotected Sex. i think that’s all!

Craving your touch, yeah I need a fix // Of all of the things that are bad for me, you’re the one that I don’t wanna kick.

“Oh eat shit, Sam!” You stood in the middle of the full parking lot, screaming at him. “Yanno, you can be a real asshole sometimes!”

He countered your claim, “I can be an asshole?” He scoffed in disbelief, “You’re acting insane, Y/N!”

“How am I acting insane? Hmm?” You stepped closer to him, pointing past him towards the neon illuminated bar, “Because I’m upset that you’re eye fucking and flirting with every woman in the bar?” You turned to walk away, not interested in his response.

Sam was hot on your heels, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to face him, “I don’t know what you want from me!” He was shouting now, frustrated at your attitude, “You made it clear that there’s no label on this, Y/N! You wanted to keep your options open, so fucking excuse me for doing the same!” He dragged his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated.

Your spat was garnering the attention of arriving patrons, making their way into the barroom. “Fuck you, Sam… You want options?” Your voice was barely a whisper now as you drug your keys from your bag and gestured between the two of you, “Have them all. This is done.”

“Yeah okay…” Sam stayed planted in place, watching you walk to your car. “Don’t come knocking on my door with that innocent smile the next time you miss me and you’re looking for a quick fix!”

You got into the car, slamming the door shut. God he fucking sucks. You didn’t need him, there were plenty of guys out there. Sure, Sam was a good fuck… Maybe the best you’ve had, but everything was replaceable. Wasn’t it?

You made it through your front door, tossing your keys into your purse and dropping it on the floor. It was only 9pm. You didn’t plan on being home until at least midnight. Sam ruined everything. Deep down, you knew the blame wasn’t all on him, but in your stubborn state of mind, you couldn’t be bothered to accept responsibility. You could always just go back out, hit a different bar, find a different man… But you chose to stay in. You poured yourself a large glass of wine and loaded a vinyl into the turntable, letting the smooth music carry your frustration away.

After a third glass, your body was feeling warm, but something was still missing. You knew what it was, but you didn’t dare admit it to yourself. You craved his touch. The electric feeling his fingers left on your skin wherever they roamed. The way he knew just where to kiss you to make you melt in his hands. The ends of his hair, brushing over your face, tickling you, when he was atop of you. You grazed your fingers over your bare skin above the tank top you were wearing, imagining that it was him. Setting the wine glass on the table, you stood from the couch and stalked into your bedroom, straight to your nightstand. You opened it up, digging through it for a moment to find your vibrator wand. It was tucked in the bottom, buried away from not being used for so long. Returning to the living room, you slid your shorts off and settled back into the couch. You kicked your feet up on the coffee table, letting your legs fall apart slightly. You flipped the switch on the toy, unsure if the battery had any life left in it, but smiled to yourself when the rapid buzzing sound filled the air. Leaning back, you let your body rest against the back cushions as you brought the vibrations to your covered clit. The first touch made you jolt, sending a shockwave to your belly. “Shit.” Adding a little more pressure, your head tumbled back as your breathing picked up. Your free hand traveled across your stomach and up to your breast, squeezing it through your shirt. You were almost there, just a little more… Before your orgasm had a chance to bloom, there was a knock at your front door. You shot up straight, fumbling to click the toy off. You thought you may have imagined it, but then the gentle knocks came again. Taking a second to regain some shred of composure, you tossed the vibrator behind one of the pillows to hide it and stood up. It was well after 11pm now, who was at your door? You shuffled over, cracking the door open a bit to get a glimpse.

“Baby, let me in…” Sam peered at you through the small opening, a pleading look in his eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh and pulled the door open, “What do you want, Sam?” Your tone was harsh. Mostly because you were still pissed at him from the argument, but also because he just interrupted your impending orgasm.

He didn’t make a move to come in yet, “I’m sorry…” His eyes flicked down to your bare legs and slowly raked back up to meet your stare. “I was being an ass… But I can’t stay away from you, baby. You know that.” He took one step over the threshold. “I know you don’t want me the same way and I know I’m gonna get hurt…”

“Sammy…” You wanted to tell him that you did want him the same way. Nobody else compared to him. He was the first thought in your brain when you woke up and last before you fell asleep. Everything about him was intoxicating. Like the finest wine on the planet. But you were afraid of being hurt too.

He shook his head, stopping your mouth from moving, “You’re like a drug that I just can’t get enough of.” His hand reached out, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I’m at your mercy, Y/N.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You caved, grasping his shirt and pulling him into a kiss so heated that you thought you might combust. He rushed you backwards, giving him space to kick the door shut and lifted you, bringing your legs around his waist. Your fingers weaved through his hair, holding his lips to yours as your tongue dove into his mouth. He had one arm wrapped behind your back while the other held your ass. You moaned into the kiss, grinding your hips against him in search of friction. “I want you, Sammy. Only you.” He looked at you, brows drawn together in question, silently asking if you were saying what he thought you were. You gave a quick nod, brushing your nose with his. “You and me.”

“Fuck, baby…” He came to the couch, sitting the two of you down. Grazing his fingers over your cheek, he pulled you back in for another kiss, slotting between your legs and pushing you to lay down. He grabbed the pillow behind you to make room for you, but his eyes caught something, causing him to pull away from you. Before you could protest, he reached over you and picked up the vibrator, holding it in front of your face. “Is this what you were doing when I knocked?” The smirk on his face was devious, “Is that why your cheeks were flushed when you opened the door, sweetheart?”

Your eyes went back and forth between him and the toy in his hand. “I needed you. Craved your touch… But you told me not to come back…” You chewed on your lip, watching his eyes darken.

He flipped the switch, the buzzing filling the air once again. “Show me how bad you needed me.” He placed it in your hand and scooted back, sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “Go on. I wanna see how you take care of yourself when I’m not around to satisfy her.” He nodded to your core. You were already a soaked mess, but the way he was gazing at you turned you to a puddle. You slowly brought the toy back to the front of your panties, but before you could make contact, Sam stopped you. “Take them off. I wanna see how wet she is.” His eye never left yours as you shifted, sliding the cherry red thong down your legs and dropping it on the floor. You sat back against the arm on your end of the sofa, letting your legs fall apart to give him a full view. His gaze dropped, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “So fucking beautiful.”

You finally guided the wand to your clit, already so sensitive. “Mmm. Sammy…” Your eyes fluttered as your hips worked to grind against the vibrations. The whimpers that flowed from your mouth mixed with the music playing quietly in the background and Sam would swear it was the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” Sam’s voice was raspy, dripping with lust. You bit down on your lip, giving him a nod in response. “Use your fingers, Y/N.”

You obeyed, flipping the switch and discarding the toy. You pulled your middle and ring finger into your mouth, sucking on them until they were coated in your spit. Your eyes stayed locked with his as you withdrew the digits and trailed them from your neck, down your torso and over your clit, a shiver ghosting through you. You allowed them to travel lower, gathering up your arousal and pushed them inside of yourself. “Fuck.” Your brows pulled together as you curled your fingers, moving them in and out at an achingly slow pace. Your head rolled back, soft moans pouring from your throat as your eyes fell shut.

“Such a pretty girl, fucking yourself. Putting on a show for me.” Sam let out a groan, prompting you to look up. Your eyes immediately landed on his hand, wrapped around his cock and stroking it lazily. “Can you get yourself off, baby? Hmm? Make yourself cum like a good girl and I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to stop.”

You couldn’t stop watching his hand, twisting and winding over his hardened length. All you could offer was a hum as you worked your fingers deeper into your cunt, using your free hand to rub circles on your clit. You picked up your speed, wanting to finish as fast as possible so Sam would just touch you. Finding the perfect spot inside of yourself, you brushed over it repeatedly. Your body was writhing, “S- So close, Sammy.” You were about to topple over the edge as you squeezed your eyes shut. But right before your orgasm could hit, Sam yanked your hands away. As you were about to scold him, he dropped down, attaching his mouth to you. “Oh, god… oh fucking christ.” Your mouth hung open as your fingers tangled in his hair. He smirked against you, flicking his tongue over your throbbing clit, and pushed his long middle finger into you. With a single curl of his digit, you were done. Your legs snapped shut around his head as your body shook. He lapped at you, carrying you through the climax with ease.

Once the tension dissipated and your body relaxed into the cushions, Sammy sat up and pulled your legs so that you were laying flat across the couch. “I’m gonna make sure you see stars.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he flipped you over in a swift movement, now flat on your tummy. He gripped your hips, lifting them slightly and drove into your dripping core. “She’s so wet for me, baby.” His hand cracked across your ass cheek, leaving a sting. “This pussy loves me. Loves the way my cock fills her up, doesn’t she?” He was moving at a relentless pace, his skin slapping yours as he panted. When you didn’t respond, he grabbed a handful of your hair, turning your head to face him. “Doesn’t she, Y/N?

“Fuck.” You could already feel another orgasm building, “Yes, Sammy. She loves it… Feels so fucking good, baby.” You knew the confession satisfied him by the way he groaned out loud.

He pushed your leg to bed at the knee, giving him access to go deeper. “Yeah, I know she does. I can feel you getting closer…” The hand that held your hair loosened enough for him to put his palm flat to your head, pushing it into the cushions. He held your head in place and pulled your hips up higher, fucking into you at a new angle. “Nobody will ever know this pussy like me. No one could ever fuck her like me. She’s mine.” His cock brushed over your g spot, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “Tell me, baby.” Sam’s thrusts were becoming erratic, “Tell me she’s mine.” He almost sounded desperate.

You mumbled through strangled whines and moans, “She is, Sammy. All yours. I promise, it’s only you. Shiiiit.” He hit you with a particularly pointed stroke and your eyes rolled back. Everything went black as your mouth fell open, nothing but panting breaths escaping. Your orgasm exploded into a sea of colors behind your eyelids as they squeezed shut. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d make you see stars.

Sam was right there with you, hips staggering as he collapsed onto your back, filling you with his release. “Oh fuck, baby.” His warm breath blanketed your skin as you both allowed yourselves to come down.

He stayed nestled inside of you, his body weight draped over your back. When you felt his lips press into your shoulder blade, you picked you head up to peek at him, “I meant it, yanno…” Your voice was a mere whisper.

“Meant what?” Sam pulled out of you then and flipped you onto your back before laying atop your body again.

You pushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead, a smile curling your lip. “It’s only you. I don’t want anybody else.” Your fingers danced over his cheek with a featherlight touch, “It was never about having options, Sammy. I was afraid of getting hurt… Afraid you’d find someone better.”

He caught your hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a kiss on your knuckles, “I’ve only wanted you, nobody else…I’ve been hooked on you since the first taste, Y/N.” He allowed you to pull him into a soft kiss before laying his head on your chest. “I couldn’t quit you if I tried.” You rubbed your hand down his back, letting his words sink in. “You’re my best bad habit, baby.”

#sam kiskza #sammy baby #greta van fleet #gvf #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka fic #sam gvf #gvf fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fic

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spookykoolkat · 1 year ago

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the red j.m. | chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR: NO GOOD

series masterlist | main masterlist |

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: you've been in jackson for a month now and things are still a little rough. you haven't found the right crowd to fit into yet, and thought maybe you might have to settle for the family of four you already know, until you meet your patrol partner, tyler. unfortunately, joel doesn't seem to like the idea of you with any other man but him.

warnings: 18+ age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, sexual language, teasing, touching, slight jealous!joel, x-rated descriptions, crude language, perv!joel, creepy!joel, mean joel not too mean tho, MDNI!!!

wc: 6.2k

na: HI! thank you for alllll of the love oh my god my little gothic heart is so full i love you guys!!! i hope this series is everything and more to you guys bc i love this so much! hopefully as chapters go by, i get better in my writing and hope everyone enjoys it! i appreciate all of your kind words and interactions with me and making me feel welcome since i am new to writing on tumblr and kind of took a six year break from writing oneshots/fanfictions LOL. anyways please enjoy this chapter things are g3tting a little hot and heavy :P I CANT WAITT i hope that my writing is cathartic for my big girls we do not get enough representation for us in stories and writings!please enjoy! smut coming soon fr fr LMFAOO

i appreciate all reblogs, likes and comments feel free to do any one of those things or ALL! if u think its deserved :P

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DECEMBER 21ST, 2024

YOU

you’ve been in jackson for a month now. you couldn’t believe it, you truly had every doubt about staying even a week. but, it’s probably the calmest life you’ve lived in a very long time. you enjoyed it and you truly felt you’d made the right decision, it didn’t take much convincing either. but, you still haven’t unpacked the items maria gave you and continues to give you. just in case.

the neighbors are learning your name, as you are with them, and they actually care. as much as you let them. you felt quite bad because you found yourself still not clicking with anyone around you. and you’ve tried. the people your age find you boring, almost a dark cloud over them, bursting their bubbles. younger kids only approach you because of ellie, asking for advice on stance and grip. the older group, around tommy and joel’s age, finds you a bit much.

your language, your lack of social awareness–sometimes it gets embarrassing. saying something old heads wouldn’t necessarily like, being too blunt and a little explicit. joel figured you should hang around your age group, yet you didn’t really click in with the rest. he was far from embarrassed being around you, you just said the things he was thinking out loud.

you only found yourself clicking with joel. in many ways, as much as he let you. he was standoffish most of the time, barely cracking a smile at your weird habits and the noises you make when you’re passed out on the couch. he refused to let you break him, this wall that he had up to survive. do not get attached. he thought, maybe the less he knew you the less it’d hurt to have anything happen to you. but it seems even as little as he does know you, he’s still feeling that tug at his heart laying his eyes on you.

it was too late. whoops.

joel doesn’t want to address that feeling, and he doesn’t want to call it as it is. he actually cares about you. he had no choice but to call it that, because why else would he lie to you about finding cassettes in the house?— so that you didn’t know what he really did to get you whatever he could get his hands on.

he didn’t want you to know that he actually smuggled in goods that he and his family needed, and while bribing, stealing, trading and selling for necessities, he made it a mission to find at least one cassette tape for you. he didn’t know you actually saw him red handed, and you still didn’t know where those boxes were coming from. he figured if you knew, you’d bring it up.

he made it his mission for two whole weeks, after your first week of staying with him, and finally got his hands on some actual music for you. joel hadn’t made efforts like this in a long time, and he knew that denying the fact that he at least cared for you would mean he was being delusional.

but he was always worried about you. you were his object of affection and he craved to find a way to get you out of his mind. he actually felt guilty for thinking about you in ways you’ve probably never been before, he felt guilty for wanting nothing but to make you feel good—however that was.

you doubted it strongly of course, shaking the feeling off as your own delusion and insanity, but you always hoped. hoped that maybe his generosity and southern hospitality was actually him caring about you in a different way, but he was a grown man. you tried to off yourself in front of him–you were insane to think he’d even look at you as anything but a liability, he hardly looked your way as it was.

at least you thought so.

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joel paid attention to every single thing he sees and hears. he doesn’t show it, he doesn’t acknowledge it—all he does is observe. some more than others.

you didn’t talk to him unless he talked to you, you kept your distance like he wanted, but somehow he knew everything that was going on. he didn’t have to talk to you to know you, and that’s what he was ashamed of. he watched you.

he was a creep, he felt like someone who was abnormal and making things weirder than they had to be. he was studying you and you didn’t even know. he picked up on what made you smile, which cassettes you listened to the most, which just so happened to be the ones he was ‘holding on to.’ and in the midst of observing you, he checked you out any time he got.

when you weren’t looking mostly, but even sometimes when you were talking to him about something not so important. he realized that if you did see that his eyes wandered over you, you were probably gaslighting yourself into thinking he wasn’t doing exactly what you thought he was doing. he loved your body. and he loved the way you dressed your body, the way the shirts you wore always clung to your heavy breasts, how even when you dressed in baggy clothes he still wanted to ruin you like that.

sick. you’re a sick old pervert, ya kno’ that? he knew. what joel didn’t know is why you made him feel this way, why you drove him to do the things that he does for you. why he acted feral every time you bent over, why he would storm out of the room when you got on your hands and knees to pick something you dropped up off the floor.

but he also studied you because he wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling how you felt the night you woke up in jackson, to make sure you weren’t feeling depressed or like you didn’t want to be here anymore. just talk to her fucker. he couldn’t. he would never admit it, but he’s eavesdropped near ellie’s garage to hear conversations between the two girls.

“ellie, i mean it, you cannot tell joel.” you hushed as you glanced towards the door, back to ellie.

she scoffed. “like i’d tell him, lay it on me.” you noticed the irritation in her eyes when you brought up joel, asking yourself if maybe there was something that wasn’t being said. you just put a pin in it.

“okay. one, i’m finally allowed a gun and i got my patrol route.” you cheered in a hush and joel almost pressed his ear into the door.

ellie rolled her eyes, grabbing the piece of paper. “no fucking fair. good looks, telling me bad news first. what’s two?” she joked.

“i met my patrol partner. his name’s uh, tyler? i think. yeah,” you looked down and nodded, assuring yourself. joel made it a note to tell ellie how thin her walls were, not right now though.

“tyler… tyler m?” joel thought of every man in this town named tyler with the letter M as his last name. instantly made a mental list of five tylers.

“i don’t know. but he asked me for a drink. tonight, he was gonna meet me here but i told him i’d meet him there. lesson number 5, always have a way to leave anywhere you are if you need to.” you said. you figured it’d be best to teach her as much as you could, telling her things she needed to hear to survive.

that’s how joel knew immediately what was happening when he heard your soft singing from your cracked door. you were getting ready for him. he actually hated it. he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that heat in his chest, biting the tongue—it wasn’t until his face turned down into the old familiar feeling, what he recognized as jealousy.

who was he to be jealous? for what? it was a saturday night, most people were off of work, and everyone was settling in the town’s circle to drink and watch movies. everyone but joel. he was now classified as a bitter old man, with a dark whiskey in his glass. maybe now a bitter, creepy old man as he knocks slightly on the cracked door and you invite him in.

you were fixing the laces on your shoes, simple black converse, and his eyes made his way up from there to your face. a deep v neck shirt that looked like a second skin from how tight it was, and faded black jeans with tiny holes from being lived in that hugged the fat of your thighs. he never noticed the gold dainty necklace that sat in the middle of your chest, but it sits right between the curves of your breasts. were they always that big? he felt like a kid, ogling and asking stupid questions.

“hellooo? joel?” you called to him as you rested your palms on the width of your thighs. he saw your lips, coated in a sheen and your hair split down the middle instead of being in a pony tail or bun. creepy old man. you’re being creepy joel!!! he shook his head.

“headin’ to the circle?” he asked. if he were close enough you could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“yeah i-,” you thought for a minute. joel didn’t trust the next person as much as you did. you saw his protectiveness through ellie, you felt maybe he’d feel the same for you. even if you were a bit delusional.

“-was gonna catch a movie with ellie, most likely be back around 12.” you said as you glanced at the clock, 9:32.

“‘s that right?” he said suggestively, like he knew something you didn’t. he did.

“yeah. that’s right,” you stood firm, even shot him a dirty look. “why don’t you enjoy the night, joel. you got the house to yourself, ain’t that what you’ve been mopin’ around for?” you stood up and grabbed your gun to put in your waistband behind your shirt, sticking a knife in your high top converse and one in your jean pocket.

maybe you got too defensive, but you were right in a way. he looked miserable around the house, storming in just to grab a beer and lock himself in the library or room.

“that’s right,” he was just smug. so smug you couldn’t stand it, you wanted to slap him.

“whatever joel,” you wanted to be right so bad. you wanted to prove to even yourself that you were right. but neither of you were buying into this act you played, and you knew it. he was making you nervous with his stare, the hard shell you had was practically ripped off of you when he grabbed your wrist before you left the room. he held you, shoulder to shoulder and looked at your face, down your neck and to your chest.

“if you need anythin’, you let me know darlin’.” darlin’? it was so foreign to you, so alien that you didn’t even have time to process it before your mouth moved to say a small alright and taking your arm from his grip. when you did, it was cold and you could feel the print of his hand around your wrist down the stairs.

it was so different, something that leaked off of his words when he spoke to you. and you wanted to hear more of it, explore that with him.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

before you could psych yourself out of going through the bar’s doors, you heard someone call for your name and turned your head to the left to see tyler, walking towards you with a big grin on his face. tyler was just two years older than you, someone you met while you were in combat and patrol classes, and didn’t acknowledge until he approached you, re-introducing himself as your partner for the first two weeks. you couldn’t be cold and shoo him away, you just smiled and introduced yourself, really looking at him.

he was not joel miller. tyler’s skin wasn’t as tan as joel’s but he wasn’t pale, and he was actually a bit lanky even under the thick coats he layered. you noticed that his chest wasn’t as broad and strong as joel’s, hell his arms were smaller than yours. he was a skinny tall thing, while you were a bit short and thick everywhere. and when he embraced you lightly at the entrance of the bar, you just felt cold. no warmth, no comfort, you felt like you’d break him.

“hey, i was hoping you’d actually come.” he breathed in as he pulled away, still, it wasn’t feeling right.

“why wouldn’t i?”

“cause you’re out of my league,” he said with a seductive smile and you wanted to believe him. wanted to enjoy the night as it comes and maybe have a few drinks, talk. but your mind was on a bitter man who sat in a house all by his lonesome.

the thing about ‘dates’ now is that small talk doesn’t happen anymore. what’s your mom like? she’s dead actually. really? mine too! it was pointless. if you ended up here, you knew that you were alone.

it wasn’t long before you and tyler were sitting on two stools, side by side. your knees were in between his as the two of you talked, flirted, gave simple touches. you were having fun. doing what would seem normal at a bar, just enjoying the company of someone who actually liked you.

“how come you’ve never hung out with anyone else? i never see you with anyone.” he said, his fingers tapping on your knee.

“mmm, i’m just not for everyone.” you flirted, covering his fingers with yours. you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, but you’d like to live in it just a little longer. the touch of a man, someone who desired you even if it wasn’t how you wanted. something you started to crave from joel.

“maybe you’re just for me then?” he suggested, and you decided to just play into it. it was kind of hard not to when you were thinking of joel, you needed to act out on it.

“i doubt that, honey,” you said, tugging at the collar of his shirt. he smelled like tequila and grass, something not that appealing but you ignore it. you wanted something out of him tonight, because for some reason the words joel spoke to you kept ringing in your ears. if you need anything, you let me know darlin’. the words rumbled through your body and straight to your core, because if there’s anything you need he could definitely be of help.

you didn’t know how long you stayed at this bar, teasing and touching each other until you felt the ache in your core, aching for a touch that you’ve had once before. but you didn’t give a shit about purity or virginity, you wanted the ache gone and you knew tyler was the best bet.

“tyler,” you whispered in his ear as the bar started to empty.

“yes, beautiful?” he answered and slid his hand up your thigh.

“show me how good you are with your fingers, yeah?”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

he followed you back to joel’s, hand in hand as you turned the key to the house and softly opened the door to prevent the creaking. granted, you didn’t think this through, like everything else. maybe you should’ve gone to his. you cringed a bit, walking inside.

it was dark inside, nothing but the sizzle of a freshly put out fire. you put your fingers to your lips to shush him, taking him slowly upstairs and to your room. you couldn’t help but find yourself glancing at joel’s door, which is cracked open.

you finally made it to your room with the lanky man groping your body and trying to slither you out of your jeans, letting him.

“only want your fingers, okay? if not you can leave.” you established as you stood in your panties and tight shirt.

“fuck, yeah that’s okay,” tyler himself was craving a woman’s touch, he didn’t even care if he got off. he just wanted to see you, a woman’s body, to feel you.

“can i touch you? like anywhere?” he asked as he sat on the edge of your bed, his cock already hardened against his pants. it didn’t sound right coming from him. you wondered what it’d sound like with the texas twang you craved to hear from a certain man.

it still made your core twinge a bit, remembering the last time you were this vulnerable. you couldn’t lie, even if it wasn’t what you wanted, you fell in to the odd touch of the man desperately trying to touch you.

“anywhere. keep your dick in your pants, i’ll touch as i go if you want me to.” you moved over to him and crawled into your bed, and he slipped in next to you as he propped himself on his elbow to look at you.

“you’re so pretty, really.” he said, genuinely and you smiled. your stomach even fluttered a bit. it’s been a long time hearing that, hearing desire.

“touch me, please.”

tyler took his time, a little more than you’d liked but he was busy distracted with the way your tits pushed up to your chin, like you were suffocating. touching and teasing, his touch felt good but it still didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel heartstopping. maybe you’re expecting too much.

but he didn’t talk to you when he dipped his hand in your panties, you just heard his whimpers and panting as he rutted his hard on into the side of your fat thigh, barely focused on you. you weren’t feeling it anymore, your wetness wasn’t even directed towards him really. everything you did with him was what you wanted to do with joel. you weren’t interested anymore and it started to feel wrong, it never felt good because tyler wasn’t worried about you. just his nut, and you didn’t like that. you didn’t like to feel used.

“okay, wait, wait—i said wait!” you said and grabbed his wrist, pulling it from your panties and moving off of the bed.

“wait, fuck i’m sorry, i was just so, fuck i’m so sorry.” he said a bit loudly, and you swore you heard a creak in the hallway as you moved to the door.

“it’s okay, i just, i’m not–i’m tired. i think you should go.” you said, hugging your arm as he adjusted himself in his pants and got up.

“i’m sorry, i,-” he tried again and you waved him off.

“it’s done and forgotten, you didn’t do anything you were just really into it. i wasn’t.” you were careful with your words, not as tough as you would be because you’re vulnerable. but he wouldn’t get far if he hurt you, you knew that.

“i’m sorry, goodnight. can we kind of like, forget this?” he asked rubbing the back of his neck and you softly laughed.

“forget what?” you smiled and he returned it, giving a small kiss on the cheek before he left. he was a nice man, a good kid, and he meant no harm. he didn’t need a ruthless beating or yelling, just needed to tell him it wasn’t meant to be. you couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it was, how wrong it felt being tyler touching you.

you knew who you wanted to touch you. as sweet and kind and charming tyler was, he wasn’t what you wanted. the man you wanted was across the hall from you, on the other side of the stairs. sleeping, maybe.

you knew ellie was at a friends house doing only god knows what, so with the hope in mind that joel was asleep in his room, you trotted downstairs braless, and bottomless. you were still in the same tight shirt you left in, but now just in the pink panties that were apart of the gifts maria got you. just new/traded clothing you needed. the shirt hugged you and cut off at the dip of your curve, the fat of your tummy slightly protruding between the shirt and your panties.

you didn’t look towards the fireplace where the sofas were, instead you grab a small cup and let faucet water pour into it, taking a drink.

“work up a sweat?” a deep southern voice said behind you, from a distance. you jumped at the sudden break of silence and turned quickly to the sofas.

“joel? what the fuck,” you breathed and stepped out to walk to the sofas. somehow, you completely disregarded the fact that all you had on was a shirt and panties, standing in joel miller’s living room.

“what made you think it was a bright idea to invite a bastard in my home like that? not only that,” he said. you finally saw the light from outside shining on his face as he stood up, something glimmering in his hand. a gun. “but letting him touch all over you? that prick?”

you had a lot to say, a lot to yell out. but the only thing to say was a snarky comment. “you know he called you the same thing.”

which, he did. but you were too drunk on the flirting and drinks to care or to know why, even though you already knew. joel wasn’t nice to anyone but ellie. tommy and maria even think he’s an asshole, but that’s tommy’s brother and maria’s brother in law. he’s family. but there were things that you didn’t know about joel miller. things he didn’t want you to know either.

“why do you even care? who’s touching me, i mean.” you scoff, feeling less embarrassed about your state of clothing. but being a lot more aware as he steps closer and closer to your curvy figure, putting his gun in the waistband of his sweatpants.

he was intimidating like this. towering over you with his fists clenched, searching your face for something. you felt your heartbeat pick up as his eyes raked over you and fell on your lips. he was drunk off of you, the sight of your fat cunt only being clothed by a single piece of fabric drove him to dig his nails in his palms. the nakedness of your thighs, and the midriff showing—it was going to kill him.

“if you’re gonna fuck these town folk, make sure it ain’t in my house.” he spit, and you just rolled your eyes. you felt like you were in trouble for sneaking out, like a teenager.

“i didn’t fuck anyone. we didn’t do anything. he wanted to, i didn’t.” you defended, feeling small now but still holding yourself tall.

joel just looked at you, not wondering if you were lying or not. he knew you weren’t, he heard it himself the minute he heard something bang against your wall. it was just you shuffling to get up, and he heard you consoling him. you weren’t satisfied.

“why’d you lie to me? bout’ seein’ him tonight?” he asked, your head tilted up to his as he steps one step closer. your chest is almost touch his, and your breathing was getting heavier.

“figured you wouldn’t trust him,” you said, sounding like you wanted to say something else but keeping it to yourself.

he was watching you like you were his prey. like you were something he wanted to take and devour for himself, like you were something for his eyes only.

“smart girl,”

“he touch you wrong?” he couldn’t help but ask, the curiosity killing him slowly as time passes with you standing in front of him with your tight pink panties on. he looked down between the two of you and saw the hardened pebbles that were your nipples showing up through your black tight shirt, down to your tummy that was pressed against his. he liked the softness of your belly, he was practically dying to grip it himself. he wanted to grip every part of you, to palm your pussy and feel how warm you were in his grip. he even found himself hating his own mind as thought of what your pussy would look like sucking him in.

“i, he,” you were stuttering, embarrassing yourself as his hand trailed up your arm, thinking of all the ways he could watch you take his cock for him.

you watched him watch you. how his eyes went dark again, how there was a slight touch of possessiveness in his voice. you didn’t assume though.

“can’t find the words, hm? he wasn’t makin’ you feel good?” he asked softly, watching as you closed your eyes and breathed through your mouth, opening again to see a small grin playing on his lips, his head tilted to the side. his fingers barely left your wrist, and made their way to your fleshy hip, tapping against the bare skin. he was enjoying this. making you squirm. making you nervous.

“fuck off, joel,” you meant it to come out a lot stronger than it did, even you thought you sounded needy. “s’ none of your damn business,” you spit, stronger this time.

and before you could even wallow in your retorts, a smile tugged very faintly at his lips. you weren’t so convincing when you were practically trying to pull him to your body with your fists buried in his sweater. he appreciated the effort though, he's never met someone with as much bite in their bark as you.

he just liked to watch you writhe for him. you wanted to whine with how eager you were for him, how mean he was being to you for no reason. you needed him.

“it’s like you’re not even tryin’, what’s the matter? do i make you nervous sweetheart?” he gleamed in his power over you, the way your eyes searched for him and your mouth parted, just for him. he wanted to ruin you in every way. ruin every man for you, show you how to truly be taken care of.

"go fuck yourself," you retorted and he actually laughed. and he laughed at you. a sudden heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment filling you.

“i didn’t tell you but,” he paused as he leaned into your ear, grazing his cheek against yours and smiling to himself, “you looked real pretty today, ya know that? you look even prettier like this, all flustered for me.”

you had to be dreaming. had to have gone to sleep after tyler left, and this was your wet dream making up for it. there was no way you were this exposed to joel and he was practically pressed up against your body as he told you how pretty you looked. you couldn’t speak, your tongue was tied and joel smiled to himself as he realized he got you to shut up.

“would ya let me touch you, sweet girl? maybe you'd be nicer if someone knew how to touch you,” he asked, his fingers playing on your hip.

you still couldn’t answer. it felt like a trap, like if you let yourself give in to his words, every guard you put up was pointless. you were frozen, and suddenly felt insanely vulnerable but his voice was so inviting, so impossible to not fall into.

“touch me where?” you asked, treading lightly. you wanted to hear it, you wanted him to tell you he wanted you as bad as you wanted him. you wanted to prove to yourself that you hadn't lost your mind yet. but you also wanted to stretch whatever this was as long as possible before you find yourself on your knees for him without even asking.

joel felt like he was out of his body. like he was watching you squirm and move under his presence from above. he was so distracted by how hard your nipples were rubbing against him that he didn’t even notice your fists balled into his shirt, trying to take him in closer. maybe it was the alcohol he drank to ignore the jealousy he felt, or maybe it was the fact that tommy came to tell joel about the boy you were seeing. how the two of you were practically on top of each other before he left, how he was touching you in public–he was angry.

nothing was done, nothing more than joel grabbing your almost bare hip and you tugging on his shirt, but it still felt like something that was crossing a line. a line you wanted to cross.

until he got the courage to grab the hand that was buried in his sweater, taking it in his own and touching you with your hand. he was answering your question. his hand ghosted on top of yours as his eyes watched your eyes train on the sight between the two of the bodies, enjoying how soft and pink you look. you were hot and bothered, and he could get used to seeing you like this.

“first place i’d touch you, baby,” he breathes, his lips practically against your cheek now. he was breathing you in, drinking you in, “is right here,”

his hand guided you to cup your mound, angry that it wasn’t his hand touching you. your breath was shaky while you watched him, your eyes flickering from his moving hand to his eyes, and every time he made sure your eyes latched onto his. he wanted you to know how much he was enjoying teasing you like this, he wanted you to remember the way he looked at you while you panted against him.

“but like this, lemme show you ‘xactly how i’d touch you sweetheart,” he was lost, drunken only on you, ignoring the world around him. “don’t think that boy would be enough for a woman like you, ain’t that right?"

he took his own hand as you were still pressed against his front, his lips now teasing the skin of the crook of your neck and starting to pull your panties away from your skin to dip his hand inside. your breathing was uneven and your soft whimpers were getting louder the more he trailed down into your underwear, and he was loving them.

the second he felt the scruff of your unshaved mound, he heard you release a shaky, sexy breath, and he grew harder against your bare abdomen. even feeling the heat of your skin on his clothed cock made him want to get on his knees and worship you.

"needy little fuckin' thing, that desperate for me huh? you gonna let me feel this pretty pussy how i want?"

he was so fucking filthy. so filthy for someone who hasn't even seen you naked, so filthy for someone who didn't even talk to you before this. it was agonizing, you were melting into his harsh words and wanted to listen to him make you feel small like this all night.

"joel, i swear," you warned as his breath hit your lips with his eyes on yours.

you had a bush, he thought to himself. he really didn’t think that would turn him on of course, but now he pictured you standing in front of him, bottomless. how your belly would look with your curves, the way your breasts would rest at their natural position, your thighs fat and wide all for him, and the pretty fat mound waiting for him to feel and taste. worst time to think all of that of course, because it sent a flood of blood and excitement to his groin, giving him another thing to be nervous about. but god did he want to see it, see all of you laid in his bed, and tugging on the thatch of hair on your mound. he was fucked.

and god forbid you figured out that he’s been picturing you bent and folded in every way just so he could reach to the back of your cervix, if you figured out that his anger towards you is pent up sexual frustration because every time you’re in the shower, he’s thinking of the way you looked lathered in soap, waiting for him to join you. he was a sick man to think of you like this, but all of his desires and fantasies were threatening to barge in, to unleash all of his wants and needs to you.

he was fighting himself to be a respectable man, a man who doesn’t think of women who were young enough to be his own kid in ways that were sinful. he shouldn’t be wanting to fill your throat with his cock when you smart mouth him. he was losing whoever he thought was himself, and letting heart and cock do his thinking.

you couldn't think right, nothing was processing as you felt the heat of his hand on your cunt. you felt another wave of pleasure hit you and suddenly, you could feel your wetness pooling for him in your panties. you had a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that joel actually wanted you too, even if he wanted to put you in your place for once and shut you up.

you didn't care how he wanted you. you were a bitch, but you were desperate for him.

"mmm, you're real scary, baby, threats ain't gettin' you anywhere. you have t' beg me for my fingers," he teased, rubbing the hair on your mound.

"oh fuck off, i'm not begging you for shit," you're putting up a fight with yourself, and you were winning. at leadt you thought so. even if you were letting him touch you this way, you weren't goping to beg him or give him the pleasure of watching you submit to him.

"yeah? maybe i'll jus' make ya," he grinned, his sinister smile forming while he rested his forehead on yours, his hand inside your panties as the two of you watched him tease your lips.

the second joel’s finger moves from your hairy mound to the fat lips of your cunt to spread and feel just how much you ached for him, to tease your hole so you'd be sent into a fit of desperation, the two of you heard the doorknob jiggle and a loud laugh from the outside, meaning it was ellie. joel pulled his hand and body away quickly and nodded upstairs with a hard look, giving you the hint to go before ellie saw you in your panties.

your face expressed everything to him, you needed him. and you didn’t want to let go. he watched as you walked up the stairs, your ass practically eating up the fabric of your panties. it left nothing to the imagination and he groaned, something you swore you heard, before he fixed himself in his pants.

ellie walked in, and you stayed at the top of the stairs out of sight to hear the lecturing.

“are you outta your damn mind, ellie? it’s three in the mornin’,” his paternal instincts were coming out, and you smiled.

“i was down the street. relax, i just didn’t want to stay there.” ellie defended as she slipped her shoes off.

“did somethin’ happen? are you hurt?” he asked quickly, examining ellie to see if he saw blood or cuts anywhere.

“jeez, no joel lay off. why are you up anyways isn’t it like six hours past your bedtime?” she scoffed, annoyed at the father figure lecturing her right now. what was he gonna tell her?

“was waitin for your friend to come home, so i can lock up before bed,” he lied. he was lying and you knew it. you came home an hour ago, and he was still up.

“you’re in love aren’t ya? old man,” ellie teased. her demeanor was a little more playful than she’d been this last month and he shook his head annoyed, but to you it was silent. your lips pinched into a thin line as you heard joel grunt.

“go to be ellie. now.” he ordered and she rolled her eyes, saying her good nights and going to the garage to sleep in her space.

a part of you wanted joel to come upstairs, into your room and to do everything he wanted to do. you didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do, but with the touching and flirting he was doing, it seemed like he wanted you. maybe he was drunk, you could smell it on his breath! he seemed pretty sober talking to ellie. you cursed yourself as you moved quietly to your room, leaving the door cracked open just in case.

but nothing. you heard him trudge up the stairs, and walk directly the opposite direction into his own room. you were frustrated at this point. sexually frustrated if you must say, and the ache in your core was not leaving any time soon.

you felt embarrassed, and you felt like joel was toying with you. all of the sudden this comes up and he's trying to finger fuck you in the living room when you genuinely thought he didn't even acknowledge your mere existence. it was so confusing for you, but the only thing you knew for sure now after a few weeks of deciding is that you craved joel miller.

it was a weird feeling. only because growing up in an apocalyptic world as a teenager and a young adult meant your chances of love and relationships were slim to none, at least for you. but you met joel in times where you had given up already.

as you lied in bed, wondering if joel was asleep or thinking about you too, you felt silly. you were setting yourself up for disaster by having hope that whatever this was with joel was more than that, and not just that. you worried you were getting ahead of yourself, maybe you were taking joel's advances too seriously. what if he just wants an easy fuck? nothing serious, something for pleasure in this dark world where everyone seeks a way to alleviate their pain

you felt like maybe you were geting into your head like you always do. maybe this could be good. maybe this could be your chance to let go, be vulnreable again, let someone make you feel like a teenager again. you had your fair share of crushes when you were in the QZ, you remembered that innocent feeling of liking someone, the shyness that came with it, how nervous you got around them. and with joel, you felt that times one hundred.

the flutters in your stomach, the goosebumps on your skin when he stands too close to you. he made you feel good even without trying.

but nothing good comes from joel miller.

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elsfairy · 2 years ago

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COOKING with Sevika;

I'd love to cook with her, what the fuck?

• At any given point, she will try distracting you. Either that being playing with your hair when you're mixing the ingredients for your cookies. Or taking, and hiding the things you needed.

• Will laugh watching you struggle to find whatever she tries to hide on the top shelf. Not your fault you're short as shit.

• Eventually she will help you.

• Can't help but find it amusing and adorable when you get excited about those stupid cookie cutters she bought you. (you were eyeing them up for weeks)

• Sevika loved cooking with you, but ask that woman to crack an egg she will walk away. She didn't like the feeling of it. The texture made her skin crawl. For you though? she would do it, somehow.

• Has a serious habit of hitting you on the ass with that stupid spatula. You weren't sure why, but she loved doing it. You didn't mind though.

• Secretly enjoys making cupcakes with you more than cookies, but just seeing how happy you are, makes her happy. So she is down to make anything with you. Again, but no touching eggs.

• Has a HUGE habit of rubbing the cookie/cake batter over your face. Literally anywhere she can find space, she is right there with it, waiting. She was indeed a brat when it involved cooking with you.

• "Hey, you look pretty hot with that stuff on your face sweetheart"

• Sometimes it didn't even have to be baking. Sevika was actually a really good cook, so some nights you would just be in the silent kitchen in each others presence, cooking your dinner.

• You can guarantee whatever plays on the radio, Sevika will hum along while adding those stupid (yet cute) sparkles on her cookies. She loved it secretly.

• Cooking and baking always made you miss your family, so she would be right there wrapping her arms around you, reassuring you that it's okay.

• The days you didn't feel like cooking because you weren't feeling okay, Sevika would do everything in her power to at least get you into the kitchen, just to be there with her. She loved when you were around. You always agreed because well, you loved her and loved seeing her happy.

• She was always the one to accidently burn herself when using the stove or oven. Literally every single time.

• "Most scariest woman in Zaun, and you can't handle this?" You always teased her with no doubt.

• She is the type to admire you from afar when you're zoned out in your own world.

• Holds you, even after you're both done with making food.

• Steals more cookies from the tray for later when you're not looking. You aren't that blind though. You know her antics, in & out.

• Tells you over and over that you always make the best food/treats, even though you tell Sevika that she was in fact the better cook between the two of you guys.

• The rest of the night is just spent cuddled up together, eating your cookies and listening to the rain against the window.

Note; I'll be honest. Im slowly losing my shit. As much as i would love to be able to, i cannot fathom on how to write a full 3/4k word fucking Sevika x Reader imagine. For the ever loving Christ, i cannot get into doing one. It starts off fine, then my ADHD will come out, and i will end up writing a bunch of random words and end up stressing myself out. Head canons for me, are easier because this way i can somehow make it make sense? i think, idk. The small imagines are fine but when it comes to actually writing one with a full plot, adding more characters, set fucking scenes? i panic because i am very insecure with my writing, how it looks and sounds. I also fucking suck at writing smut. So there is that :/ Last night i deleted like 5 drafts because it just downright sucked ass. I've been staring at my cooking with Sevika head canon for 3 hours (This one) and im just loosing my fucking mind, because i feel like it's just not good enough but oh well, enjoy it. Sorry for the rant.

#sevika x you #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika headcanon #sevika imagine

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cherryy-slushy · 2 years ago

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I WILL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN- Jason Dean x Reader

TW: Violence, cheating, abuse (alcohol related), smut?, alcohol, drugging, using (using a person for something), bad mental health. (Also I may change to personal pronouns halfway through I apologise in advance.)

(I forgot to add in part 1 that this is set in current time LMAO sorry lads and that the way I’m imagining this is Jamie muscatos JD) Also I’m sorry if these are really short and not very well written 😭 Only experience I have with writing is essay writing when I was in secondary school… AND IF I ACCIDENTALLY SAY “mam” OR “lads” ITS BECAUSE IM IRISH AND I TEXT LIKE THAT SO ITS A HABIT SORRY 💀

Part 3

Part 2!

What did I really expect? That the super hot guy would completely ignore the pretty popular girl and go for a complete nobody like me? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Veronica is gorgeous and I’m just bland. She’s popular and bubbly and I have like 4 friends and boring. She goes to party’s. I stay home and watch horror movies all night. Why am I surprised he likes her more? What I’m trying to say is IM JEALOUS. IM SO JEALOUS OF THAT GIRL. SHE WENT FROM LOSER TO LOVER ITS NOT FAIR.

After I left JD in the English classroom with Veronica I felt sick. Sick to my stomach. Like somebody just punched me in the gut and ripped it out.

I walked down the halls highly aware of everyone around me. I felt weird. Different. This can’t be normal. He’s just a teenage boy that I spoke to for half an hour.

A few seconds later I heard my name get called.

“Y/N!”

I looked back and saw half of my friend group waving me over.

We spoke for a bit before rushing off to 2nd period.

The class went by quick and next thing I knew I was sat at a table with my friend group in the cafeteria.

I was talking to my friend, Erica, and then heard obnoxiously loud laughing.

I turned to see who was making the annoying noise and was not surprised when I saw the 3 heathers and Veronica sat at the table watching Martha dunnstock open a letter and read it. The poor girl goes through hell because of them.

I watched as Martha got up and walked towards Ram Sweeney with the note in her hand. But before she got there Veronica swooped in front of her and started talking to her.

At least the girl has some sort of heart.

Martha then walked past Kurt and Rams table after a few minutes of talking to Veronica. The heathers were not happy.

I watch Veronica start to walk across the cafeteria back to the heathers.

Just then, when I turned around, I was greeted to J.D stood next to me at the side of my table.

“Hey”, he said with a small smile.

“Oh hey, how’s your first day going”, I replied politely with a small smile.

I seemed normal but inside I was screaming and felt like I was about to go bright red.

He was talking to me! He came to me instead of going over to attempt to get Veronica’s attention! Ohmigod Ohmigod OHMIGOD!

“It’s not too bad”, he said.

His gaze then slipped from me to somewhere else in the caf.

I looked to see where.

Of course, sawyer. It was so good to be true hey?

“Hey, what’s sawyers deal? Is she single?”, he asked.

I have two options.

I tell him the truth that Veronica’s single or..

I say she’s either dating someone or simply that I’m pretty sure she’s gay.

Ima go with the gay.

“Oh yeah I think she’s a lesbian”, I say trying to hide the giggle that’s trying to force its way out.

“Oh, right. That’s cool”, he says, clearly faking a smile.

I could tell her was disappointed but it’s giving me a chance I guess.

“Ya wanna sit here? There’s definitely enough room for you to sit here”, I say patting the bench next to me after moving up the bench a good bit.

“Oh, yeah sure”, he says with a tight smile.

I introduced him to my friends and then we went to talking about ms Fleming and her random bursts of energy in class.

Before I knew it the bell rang.

Fuck I have German.

“What’s your next class”, JD asked.

“German”, I said with a groan.

“Well it’s your lucky day because I have German too”, he smiles with a wink.

“Oh my god. Thank Jesus. Let’s go before Ms.Macy shits herself”.

I grab him and walk out of the cafeteria before Veronica can see him.

We spent the whole next class talking about movies.

Horror movies come up in the conversation.

“I can’t handle horror movies well”, I whisper to him.

“Awh come on they’re not that bad”, he whispers back with a breathy laugh.

“How bout after school today we go to my house and we watch one. Sound good?”, he asked.

IS THIS A DATE? No. You’re getting ahead of yourself Y/N calm down.

“Yeah I’m down. My moms working till pretty late anyways she won’t mind”, I say.

“Cool”, he replies with a smile.

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

The school day past quicker than I expected. And next thing I knew I was sat on the back of JDs motorbike. I looked around me. He hadn’t started to drive yet.

“You feel safe enough there?”, he asked.

“I guess..”, I said shifting myself a bit.

“Wrap your arms around my torso when we start driving. And grab on tight”, he said looking back at me with a smile. He gave me a helmet.

“What about you? Aren’t you gonna wear one?”, I asked.

“No. I’m fine. I never wear it”, he said.

I gave a breathy laugh in reply.

In the corner of my eye I could see Veronica staring over. I looked at her and gave her a wave (just to be petty) but made it look real.

She gave a tight smile and waved back.

“Get ready”, he said booting up the bike.

I wrapped myself around him. Tight.

I smiled against his back. It’s not creepy right?

We drove through town really fast and ended up at his house.

I texted my mom to let her know I’d be home later today.

Hopefully she’s in bed when I get home.. I cant put up with her on Friday nights.

#SoundCloud #heathers #heathers 1989 #heathers the musical #tumblr #veronica sawyer #jason dean x you #jamie muscato #carrie hope fletcher #heathers2018 #heather mcnamara #heather chandler #heather duke #moulin rouge #andy fickman #christian slater #winona ryder

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Note

YOUR ASK SUMMONED ME AND I HAVE SO MANY

Eddie

• he is most definitely a physical touch and gift giving guy

• has a terrible habit of feeding strays at the trailer park

• he makes up little songs about anything he does

• I think he loves kids, the younger trailer park kids gravitate towards him and he treats them kindly

• this man has an irrational love for honey combs but hates Honey Nut Cheerios

• he’s a mediocre cook but tries to make sure Wayne has a warm meal/easy meal to come home too

Eddie Smut

• he’s a very vocal man in bed, whines

• definitely a switch, but has a dominant preference

• he really enjoys spooning while it happens, or doing it while facing the mirror. Especially if you’re a bit self conscious. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are, you drive me wild, the body of a goddess”

Argyle

• this man loves skin to skin contact, he’d climb into your skin if he could

• he smells like lavender and chamomile at all times

• he loves to cook but he’s also terrible at it

• everything is a team job with him, he always has to be involved

• he has cats I just know it. An orange one and a Siamese, who he adores

• I think he grew too fast so he’s got stretch marks all over.

Argyle Smut

• he likes to record your sessions and rewatch them when lonely

• this man loves facials, and eats you out like it’s his last meal and he’s on death row

• he’s most definitely a guy who’s interested in anal, I can feel it in my bones bug! My BONES

Addie LET ME TELL YOU I AM WHIMPERING RN

(I’m gonna focus on the smut because I’m a big ol whore)

Eddie definitely makes his self-conscious partner well-aware of how hot he thinks they are. If someone asks him his religion, he simply says, “I worship [partner’s] pussy.”

And then ARGYLE, hnnnggg. I’m currently 1.1k words into a smut fic I’m writing about him so I am absolutely feral. Especially the headcanon of him rewatching your homemade sex tape to get off.

What if you gave him nude Polaroids and then the next week you found them covered in his dried cum? And you just look at him in disbelief but he’s like, “what did you think I was gonna use them for, scrapbooking?” Then he asks for a live performance.

#answered

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whats-wild-to-you · 1 year ago

Note

ok id like to ask for one where the reader is insecure about her thighs being bigger so she has the habit of covering them or moving away when he tries to touch them

then he notices and is all cute and shit and reassures her

then adding in a ”plus… more of u to love while i f--k u“

smut is not needed but greatly appreciated

this ask is so long LOL sorry if its really specific

thank u if u choose to write it (:

why do I feel like Jay might be having a thicc thigh kink? 😏

___________________________________________

"Hey babe, wanna go shopping together?"

Whenever Jay sounded this excited about something, I knew I didn't stand a chance. Resistance was futile, so I nodded and we went on our way.

Strangely, Jay was dragging me towards the women's section of the department store, while I was trying to steer him towards the men's section.

"Wow, look! Isn't this a nice dress?" He asked, holding up a yellow dress that was definitely much too short for my liking.

"When did you start cross-dressing?" I joked in hopes of confusing him.

He ignored my comment and held the hanger in front of me. When I made a disgusted face, he quickly put it down.

"You're right. That's not your color! What about something like this then?" He said more to himself, holding up a pastel green babydoll.

"Not exactly your style, but I bet you can make it work!"

"Be serious for a second!"

"I am! I thought you wanted me to come with you for advice! Had I known you'd be dragging me to the women's section, I would've stayed at home!"

Furious, I stomped off, remembering we had passed by an ice cream place on our way here.

Summer was my personal hell. Not because I couldn't stand the heat, or because I was constantly sweating. No, it was because of my body. My thighs to be more precise.

While everyone told me they were fine, I was always hellbent on hiding them. It worked out better in the colder months, but in the summer I was suffering because of the maxi dresses and long pants I made myself wear.

'Who the eff cares about if your thighs are a little thick?', my best friend would say. 'Nobody's perfect!'

But the thing was, Jay damn near was. How he decided to ask me out on a date when he was surrounded by much prettier girls, would forever remain a mystery to me. But he did. He chose me, and after a while I learned to overlook the nasty, jealous looks I got from those girls. Those with the perfect bodies, not an once of excess fat and thigh gaps. I long suspected that Jay knew about my insecurities, especially since I never let him touch my thighs when we were getting frisky. Anything below my waist was off-limits for his hands.

"Here you are! I've been looking for you!"

"Please! Where else would I be?" There was sarcasm in my voice and Jay sighed before he grabbed my hand and dragged me out and onto the parking lot.

"Where are we going? You didn't buy anything!" Suddenly I felt bad that my immature, insecure self ruined Jay's shopping trip.

"I don't need anything. I wanted to get you something though."

"What? One of those outfits? The only thing you could've gotten me in there were their giant plastic bags."

Jay knew not to cut in when I was going on and on in one of my many self-descructive rants. All he did was place his right hand on my thigh, as he steered through traffic with his left.

Damn, he looked hot doing it! How the hell am I dating that guy? I immediately stopped mid-sentence.

"I think you would look incredible in those outfits! I want to buy them for you! In fact, I'll come back here tomorrow and I will."

"I doubt I'd be wearing such clothes, you know m-"

He squeezed my thigh lightly, which made me shut up once again.

"You're beautiful, your body is perfect. I love every inch of it!"

"Well, I don't."

"You should. I actually had planned the whole afternoon, but I think right now what I need to do is take you back home and up your bedroom, so I can show you what I mean!"

I rolled my eyes at him, but giggled nonetheless. "I mean, you could try!"

#jay park #more soju please #park jaybum #park jaebum #park jaebeom #ask request #anon request

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rivusatrap · 2 years ago

Photo

ONCE BROKEN

by @skloomdumpster

Riven gets cursed by a magical jewel and he must act on his deepest desire in order to break it and live (aka rivusa fuck or die with feelings)

Musa/Riven | Explicit | 21380 words | 2 chapters

Favorite Quote: The entire fucking fic.... Like I my favorite quotes are spoilers and I can’t type them here because I want you guys to react to it in the context of the fic. So yeah, read the fic.

If you like hurt/comfort fics with a lot of feelings and internal struggles and pining, and also fuck or die and amazing smut, you should should read this fic!

READ IT HERE

So I have to start with a disclaimer, Jo, the writer of this fic, is my best friend in the whole world and was the one that got me into writing fics and into making gifs and the whole fandom world. So I might be a little biased with everything she does - even if I think I’m not.

I also followed the creation of this fic, reading it multiple times before it was finished and giving her my 2 cents about it (And making a gif for it). Jo hasn’t written a Rivusa centered fic in a while and I was trying to keep a chill head while internally screaming with excitement that she was writing one - If you aren’t aware, I’m I like Rivusa a bit. Just a little bit.

This was a birthday fic for @gossipqueen2000, another amazing writer and fellow rivusa-stan (totally recommend her fics btw), and Jo first asked Mo what she enjoyed most in fics so this gift would be perfect. I’m not 100% what was in that list because that was a private conversation but boy am I happy with whatever Mo said because the final result was EXPECTACULAR.

This fic. THIS FIC. Ugh, where to even start?

Jo has a way of writing that not only sets the scene perfectly but takes you back and then into characters heads in a way that’s not tireing or confusing or that breaks you out of the plot. Everything happens in the perfect pace, fits right where it needs to fic and flows easily, you could read 100 pages of her writing and feel like you read only 10.

What I also love a lot about her writing, and something I think I struggle a lot with, is showing characters emotions, what they really feel in a way that isn’t “he was sad”, “he was angry”.

You could feel Riven’s love for Musa, not only the romantic love, or the physical lust he has for her, but the true, real love, because of little things like how he knows to keep her ID and her card in his wallet because she has a bad habit of not carrying one, or how he knows the lyrics to her favorite songs- which he also knows not to sing along because she hates when people do that. Details like this, details she adds at just the right place at the right time, show you so much more than what is said, shows the reader characters habits, their history. It gives their feelings depth and it makes it all just feel more real.

And the whump! Jo can write whump. The same way she writes love she writes pain and its so detailed and hurts it makes your heart squeeze. I don’t read a lot of the fics she puts out and I’ve apologized to her tons about it but because she loves hurt and whump and my heart is very fragile, I cry about the most littlest things and when I read a whump fic of hers it literally ruins my day because its all so real and raw and my mind just can’t stop thinking about it.

And the smut... oh boy oh boy... Jo says she’s not really a fan of writing smut but she’s amazing at it, with just a perfect dose of kink mixed it to make it spicy(er). And the smut in this didn’t dissapoint. After reading about, what 19k words of hurt/comfort you finally arrive at the smut and you yell FINALLY! and its HOT!

The plot, which maybe should have been the first thing I talked about but oh well. The plot is... what other word can I use that isn’t “perfect” or “amazing” because I think if Jo were to beta this post she’d say I used these words too much already... The plot is genius (?)

But seriously, Jo could have taken a trope like fuck or die, which is usually straight to the point and PWP, but made it just that, quick and easy. But no, she created a whole intricate universe, a whole detailed backstory, ten years of pining, before she delivered on the prompt. And then instead of making it so they resolve the issue right away, she draggs it over a few days, makes Riven taste the power of the curse, makes him prepared for death as much as he can be because he thinks there’s no way out of it. She makes you yell a the computer/phone screen because RIVEN YOU ARE SO FUCKING STUPID.

I think if I say anything else I’ll be spoiling the fic too much for those who haven’t read. So read it.

And while you’re there check out Jo’s other fics, only a few are rivusa because her main ship is skloom but I 100% recommend them. All of them.

#rivusatrapficrec #rivusa #rivusa fic rec #winxsource #musa #riven #musa x riven #skloomdumpster #fate the winx saga #ftws

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mrspasser · 1 year ago

Text

Two's company, three's a crowd

Sterek fanfic

I'm having writer's block, I'm feeling blue and my period seems to be neverending, so I sat myself down and wrote porn. Not that I really set out to write smut, but I wanted to write something without plot and too much complications. And then this came out: over 7K of smut, lightly sprinkled with possible complications and even the plotbunny decided to hop by. Whatever. Don't judge me.

Read it on A03.

Two's company, three's a crowd

He’s drunk. Not the everything-is-spinning-and-I’m-gonna-throw-up kind, the nice, buzzing kind. However, he’s never hallucinated when drunk before, so that’s new. Luckily it’s a very nice hallucination. Stiles isn’t gonna complain, not when there are red nails tracing teasing patterns on his thigh and equally red lips close to his ear. “What do you think, stud?” the girl asks. It would probably have been a sultry whisper if the music in the frat house wasn’t so loud. Nevertheless, even at normal volume the question sounds plenty suggestive.

Stiles giggles a little at being called ‘stud’. His geeky hipster vibe does relatively well with the college girls, it serves him infinitely better than it did in highschool anyway. The girls at his old school snubbed their pretty little noses at his plaids and Converses. Here, there are girls who dress the same as him to such a degree that Stiles once grabbed the wrong flannel shirt the morning after. When he returned to switch out the shirt, only her roommate was home. Stiles isn’t one to kiss and tell, yet he stayed for two hours instead of the necessary five minutes to make the shirt exchange, if you get what he means. Oh. And he totally told Scott. But Scott doesn’t count. He tells his brother-from-another-mother everything.

It was actually kind of a coincidence that Stiles ended up at this party tonight. He didn’t plan on it, was kind of trying to be a good person and go to bed early, so he wouldn’t be totally knackered for his five hour drive back to Beacon Hills tomorrow for Christmas Break. He just happened to walk across campus when he bumped into one of his project partners and before he knew it, he had a red solo cup in his hand and was chatting up two girls who he thinks he saw in one of his morning classes once. He got to kiss one of them too, the one with the long blond hair and the fancy red nails across from him. She’s not really his type, he’d actually been after her dark haired friend. But her friend already had a boyfriend and this girl, “Lindsay with an a”, proved to be more fun than he initially thought. She kissed like she meant business, that was one thing. And when Stiles found her in another man’s lap after he returned from the bathroom, she surprised him by calling him over. “Stiles, you never told me you had such a hot roommate!” she tittered, wrapping a hand around his wrist to pull him down on the armrest of the slightly ratty loveseat. The leather - or more likely pleather - was sticky with unnamed liquids, not that Stiles really cared. He wasn’t gonna judge someone’s housekeeping skills at a party, or ever, really.

They’d been talking for about an hour before she kindly suggested a game of tonsil hockey, so the topic of Stiles ‘hot roommate’ hadn’t come up yet. Not that he was in the habit of telling girls about Derek first hand; there was only so much competition that a guy like him could put up with. Because Derek was hot. Hot like burning. Supernaturally hot. Those Greek statues in the museum had nothing on him: Derek’s rugged abs put their puny marble abs to shame. Stiles took stock of the situation in front of him through his slightly alcohol addled mind. Lindsay was sitting comfortably in Derek’s lap, one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders, while he had an arm around her waist. “You guys know each other?” he asked, adding the ‘intimately’ in his head when he saw the way Derek’s hand disappeared beneath the hem of her top.

“We do,” Lindsay admitted with a smile. Derek just arched one cocky eyebrow, yet after almost four months of sharing a room with him, Stiles was close to fluent in eyebrow speak. He had to, because some days it was the only way his roommate communicated. At first, Stiles thought he’d gotten the short end of the stick when he was assigned Derek as his roommate. The guy may look hot, but he came across as a grumpy asshole, especially those first few weeks. Eventually, Stiles liked to say, he got Derek to cave to the Stilinski charm and they actually became quite good friends. Derek could be a cocky bastard, but he was also lowkey funny and a lot smarter than his jock looks suggested. The guy actually read Homer for fun, Stiles even checked if he wasn’t reading it for class. To top it off, his snark game was on par with Stiles’, which was something he didn’t often encounter. In short, Derek was a great guy and there were a lot of girls at their campus who agreed with Stiles. Lindsay confirmed his suspicions of them when she told him: “Our Derek here was looking for a repeat of our first meeting, but I said I already had plans with you.” She playfully tapped him on the nose with a finger. “Isn’t that right, Stiles?” Their make out session had been getting a little steamy, until Stiles unfortunately had to take a little break to empty his bladder. Beer always ran right through him. He’d been ready to cut his losses when he saw Lindsay sitting with Derek, but the girl had other plans. “However, I thought that maybe you boys could share.”

Plans that make Stiles’ jaw drop, especially when she whispers in his ear and calls him stud.

“Aww, I made him blush!” Lindsay leans over in Derek’s lap and puts her hands on the sides of Stiles’ face. His cheeks are indeed burning. She pulls him closer until she can drop a kiss on his nose. “You’re so cute! Isn’t he cute, Derek?” Derek is definitely feeling up the underside of her breasts, so that might be why he agrees so easily. Or he might be a bit high; Stiles thinks his roommate’s eyes are a little red, though it’s kinda hard to tell with the blinking Christmas lights all over the room. He’s feeling a little out of it himself, if he’s honest. He can’t believe what’s happening, that is, if what he thinks is happening, is really happening. Lindsay catches his lower lip between her teeth, almost making Stiles topple over. He has to catch himself by putting his hands out, one ends up high on Derek’s leg, the other on Lindsay’s hip. The next thing he knows, Lindsay is licking into his mouth and he’s making out with the girl while she’s sitting in Derek’s lap. “I think we can have a lot of fun, the three of us. What do you think, cutie?” she asks, punctuating her question with little nips on his lower lip.

“Oh my god, you’re serious?” Stiles can’t help but blurt out, which only makes her laugh more. He moves his hand on her waist and bumps into Derek’s hand, which is still underneath her shirt. His eyes go wide when all the implications hit him. “Oh. Wow .”

Lindsay kisses him again and then she turns to Derek, who easily returns her kiss. “Alright boys, here’s how it’s gonna go.” She gets up from Derek’s lap, trailing her fingers down both their jaws. “I’m gonna go tell my friend where I’m going and then we are going back to your room to have a good time, the three of us.”

Stiles stares after her swaying hips in a daze as she makes her way towards the kitchen, where her friend supposedly is. He snaps out of it when Derek suddenly says: “I had sex with her a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles mumbles, looking back at his roommate and noticing he’s now almost sitting in Derek’s lap himself. “Uh…” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Is this… Are we…?” Are we really doing this, he wants to ask. Because it’s one thing to sometimes fantasize about your incredibly hot roommate, but actually having a threesome with said roommate is a whole other ball game. Heh. Balls . Oh, and now he’s staring at his roommate. Who’s sitting way too close. Or, perhaps Stiles is the one doing that, sliding half of the armrest and almost landing in Derek’s lap.

“I’m bi,” Derek suddenly blurts out and his ears turn pink in the most adorable way. It’s the first sign he shows that he’s not all that suave about this; it’s comforting.

“Oh, thank god, me too,” Stiles rushes out to say, even though he’s pretty sure Derek knows that. “And you’ve already seen my dick, so…” It's simultaneously the hottest and most embarrassing memory he has of this school year. Or his life, even. Lydia changing her clothes right in front of him in junior year can’t hold a candle to getting caught jerking off by his extremely gorgeous roommate. Derek had stopped dead just inside the door, staring at him with this unreadable look in his eyes. Stiles froze, one hand on his dick and his other hand gripping his balls, his shirt rucked up on his chest. "I'm going to take a piss," Derek had said after a few tremendously awkward seconds, the words clipped. "You better be done before I get back." He turned around and yanked the door back open. "And put a sock on the door the next time, Jesus." Stiles came like a freight train not two minutes later.

And now his hot roommate is telling him he's not just into girls but into guys too?!

The girl is back before Stiles can process this. If she has second thoughts about their plans, they're unnoticeable. "My friend knows I’ll be hanging out with you guys, let’s go." She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she turns, showing them her frankly magnificent ass.

Derek grins at him dopily. He’s definitely not completely sober. “She’s bossy.”

Stiles grins back. “I know, right? She reminds me of my friend Lydia, in highschool. I had a major crush on her for years.” They both get up and follow Lindsay out the door. “Man, I fucking love college!”

Their dorm isn’t too far from the frat house, but it’s far enough for Stiles to properly freak out. He’s never had a threesome, how is this supposed to go? The only threesomes he watched on the internet were with two girls and one guy. Now there’s two guys and one girl. Are they supposed to direct all their attention to her, or will there also be some boy-on-boy action? Oh my god , he’s gonna see Derek’s dick. Well, he’s seen Derek’s dick before, they practically live on top of each other most of the time. But he hasn’t seen Derek’s dick when it is standing to attention, not full on, at least. Stiles has always politely ignored any signs of morning wood in his roommate’s boxers. And now he’s gonna touch Derek’s dick. Possibly. Probably. “I really have to stop saying ‘Derek’s dick’,” he mutters. Even if it’s just inside his own head.

“What?” Derek looks at him quizzically as he holds the door open for Lindsay and for Stiles to follow.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles rushes to say, relieved to take the hand Lindsay is holding out for him. She molds herself against his side, giving him something else to focus on. Like the way she sucks a kiss into his throat. “Third floor,” he gasps, gesturing towards the stairwell.

“I remember,” she answers, with a flirty wink for Derek. Stiles tries to think of where he was while those two were getting it on, but it’s futile. He’s been sexiled by Derek a number of times; he assumes the sock on the door doesn’t mean his roommate was having some quality time with his right hand, not when Derek looks the way he does. By which Stiles means hot. If Stiles can score in college, Derek definitely can. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because in a few moments he will be getting it on, with two people at the same time. Oh my god . The girl excuses herself to the bathroom when they pass it in the hallway. “I’ll be right with you,” she suggests with a flirty smile, before disappearing behind the door of the communal toilets.

Stiles is opening their door with his key when Derek rounds on him. “Quit freaking out!”

“Wha-? Excuse me!”

“You’re freaking out. You’ll scare her off or something.”

Stiles actually laughs at that. “Dude. She’s been running the show all night. I think she’s confident enough for both of us. Or, the three of us.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek follows him inside their room. “So, you’re scared of her? Is that it? Does she intimidate you?”

“Hah. If anything, that’s a plus.” Stiles thinks of Lydia, who was the hottest and smartest person in his school. She was, like, the perfect girl. At least in his head. Being intimidated by someone didn’t exactly put Stiles off. If anything, fear boners were a thing.

Derek leans up against his desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He shakes his head and Stiles thinks he can detect a slightly fond smile. He has a strong hunch that Derek is checking up on him, in his own rude way. “You can be such a weirdo, Stilinski.”

“Sure,” Stiles admits freely, with an amical shrug. “But it has a certain charm, doesn’t it?” Derek doesn’t answer, not verbally at least. His eyebrows give off a message that Stiles likes to interpret as ‘you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it out loud’. He’s seen it before, for instance when they’re discussing the merits of different Doritos flavors. Or when Stiles argues that socks are the first thing you put on when dressing, not last. He gets cold feet easily, that doesn’t mean he’s not right. “So…” Stiles wants to ask Derek for tips, or directions, or anything that gives him any idea on what to do and how to act when Lindsay enters the room in a minute. He has no idea how to ask that without sounding stupid. From out in the hall he hears the distinctive squeak that signals the closing of the bathroom door. There’s no time for questions now, it’s time to jump into action. Stiles swallows audibly. He watches Derek rifle through the bottom drawer of his nightstand, where he takes out a familiar tin. “Oh, that’ll help,” Stiles sighs in relief.

“Oh, good idea!” Lindsay proclaims as she walks into the room and spots the joint Derek now holds up between his fingers.

Derek offers her the joint and lights it for her, while Stiles quickly locks the door. Their RA will probably see having a girl over through his fingers, but Stiles is not looking to get busted for smoking pot. Not tonight.

When he turns back, Derek has his arms around Lindsay and she’s blowing smoke in his mouth. They kiss, smoke escaping around their faces. Before Stiles can feel left out, Lindsay turns and beckons him over to give him the same treatment. Okay, this, Stiles can do. He slots into place, with Lindsay snaking one arm behind his shoulders, her fingers coming up in his hair. He meets her lips and breathes the smoke in, making sure to blow it out slowly through his nose. He places his hands on her curvy waist, feeling the fabric of Derek’s henley against her back. Derek has his hands on her hips, so Stiles lets his fingers wander upwards, rucking up her top a bit and moving his hands towards her breasts. Lindsay arches her back approvingly and Stiles takes the opportunity to quickly move his hands beneath her top, pushing it up until it exposes her bra. She’s wearing a lacy lilac number and Stiles hopes she has the panties to match. “Pretty,” he breathes in between kisses, gently massaging the globe of her breasts.

“Yeah?” Lindsay smiles. “You like what you see?”

“Very much,” Stiles admits, because now Derek is sucking her neck from behind and it hits him that he has two very pretty people within hands’ reach. His dick twitches in his jeans, eager to continue. He pulls a little at her top, now bunched up high on her chest. “Can we take this off?” She nods and lifts her arms obligingly. Stiles eases her top over her head and arms, taking the joint from her before it sets fire to her clothes or something. Derek has taken advantage of the situation and has one hand fitted between her skin and her bra, cupping her breast. His other hand is splayed low on her stomach, his pinky finger already disappearing behind her waistband.

“You too,” Lindsay says, her voice breathy from Derek’s ministrations. Stiles takes a deep hit of the joint and offers it back to her, proceeding to get rid of his flannel and T-shirt. He’d feel self conscious about getting naked, knowing he’s plenty fit, but can’t hold a candle to Derek’s superior physique, yet Lindsay is humming appreciatively and running a hand across his chest, down to his stomach.

Stiles ducks back in for a kiss, putting his hand on the breast Derek isn’t holding. Her skin is warm and soft and Stiles follows the impulse to drop kisses on the swell of her breasts. Derek’s hand disappears and a moment later there’s no more lilac lace separating her skin from the air and Stiles’ lips. She gasps when he closes his lips around her nipple and her breathy “yes” is all the incentive he needs.

He’s vaguely aware of Derek and Lindsay kissing above his head, but he’s more than happy to give his attention to the soft flesh before him. She’s wonderfully sensitive and it’s not long before she writhes and squirms between them. A sharp gasp makes him look up and then down, to see Lindsay has dropped her head back against Derek’s shoulder and his hand has now completely disappeared inside her pants. Stiles decides to help out and quickly pops the button of her jeans, working her zipper down to give Derek more space. Her panties are made of the same lilac lace as her bra and he moves his hands around her full hips to ease her jeans down. They’re tight, but he pushes them down bit by bit, kissing the creamy skin he reveals. His lips also brush Derek’s wrist, which is partially covered by lilac lace. “This is so hot,” he groans softly, raptured by the sight of Derek’s hand moving against her pussy.

Lindsay’s wearing black ankle boots with a zipper on the side, which are easy enough to remove. Stiles makes quick work of her socks and pants and then the girl is completely naked between them, save for her pretty panties. He stays for a moment on his knees in front of her, running his hands up and down her legs gently while he enjoys the view of two of Derek’s fingers pushing in behind the lace. The fabric is stained dark between her legs and the soft sopping sound makes his dick throb in his jeans.

He surges upwards, his hands moving up along her body until he reaches her face and can tilt it towards him in a deep kiss. From the corner of his eyes he can see Derek, watching them through hooded eyes. The joint is hanging limply from between his lips, the tip no longer glowing red. He breaks the kiss with Lindsay, panting a little. “Let me get that, big guy,” he mumbles, carefully taking the joint from Derek’s lips. He has to move away a little to deposit the thing on one of the desks, but it gives Lindsay the space to turn around and start undressing Derek. He cooperates easily, quickly shrugging out of his henley. Lindsay moves her hands over his chest, raking her red nails through the short hairs. She kisses Derek, pressing her breasts against his chest. Stiles moves in behind them, grabbing her hips and pressing his still clothed dick up against her ass. He should perhaps do something about that, he thinks vaguely, and starts undoing his belt. His pants follow suit and a moment later he steps out of the puddle of his jeans.

“Let’s take this to the bed,” Derek suggests quietly and nods towards his bed behind them. It’s the most logical choice, because he is the one who actually made his bed that morning. Stiles’ bed is still a mess of blankets and pillows. He can’t really be bothered by it, because Lindsay pulls him with her and they both drop down onto the mattress to watch Derek get rid of the last of his clothes. Stiles can’t help but bite his lip at the sight of Derek dressed in nothing but tight black boxers in front of him. For a moment, they make eye contact and it’s not awkward like Stiles feared, but heady and promising. He isn’t sure what the promise is, but he’s sure he’ll find out.

Lindsay takes control again, pushing him on his back and slipping her fingers behind the elastic of his boxer shorts. She doesn’t ask him if it’s okay, probably trusting him to speak up if she does something he doesn’t like or want. Stiles isn’t going to protest, not when she wraps a hand around his hard dick under the watchful eye of Derek, who still stands by the side of the bed. He doesn’t know what he finds hotter: the way Lindsay licks her hand to slick up his dick or the way Derek’s eyes follow the proceedings with obvious interest. When Derek palms himself through his boxers and groans softly, Stiles knows which way the scale tips.

When Derek drops to his knees by the bed, Stiles thinks for a second that he’s gonna get a blowjob from his roommate, but it’s Lindsay who circles her tongue around the head of his dick, while Derek swiftly pulls her underwear off and ducks his head between her legs. It takes a bit of maneuvering from the three of them, but they manage to find a position in which everyone can be fairly comfortable.

The blowjob is sloppy and more than a little uncoordinated, yet Stiles thinks Lindsay can be excused by account of the effort Derek is clearly putting in. The girl is moaning up a storm, evidently loving it. She gives up on his dick and he moves around to suck her nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one gently between his fingers. It’s not long before she convulses underneath him, giving voice to her orgasm with a drawn out groan.

“God, that was good,” she pants, dropping her head back against the duvet. Derek emerges from between her legs with a self-satisfied smirk that Stiles can’t really fault him for. His roommate wipes his mouth with his hand, reaching up Lindsay’s prone form until he can drop a kiss between her breasts. She lazily drops her hand on his head, ruffling his hair. When she looks up at Stiles, it’s easy to shuffle down and catch her lips in a kiss. She cups his cheek to hold him in place. “Sorry about that, stud, I was a little distracted.”

He chuckles, momentarily forgetting that his dick is still hard and wanting. “That’s okay. I think I’d react the same in your place.”

She smiles knowingly and moves her hand to pat his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit back a little and I’ll make it up to you.”

He scoots back obligingly and so does Derek, giving Lindsay the room to get on her knees between Stiles’ legs when he sits with his back to the headboard. She hardly wastes any time to sink her lips around his dick, making Stiles buck his hips. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his hands petting her head and shoulders in apology. In response, she presses down with her hand on his hip to tell him to not do it again. She’s not moving off his dick, so he guesses he’s forgiven.

Now that Derek isn’t eating her out, her blowjob skills are remarkably better. She can’t take him all the way in, but she makes clever use of her hands and she has a wicked tongue. When Stiles feels his orgasm coming on too quickly, he signals her to take it down a notch and she obliges without question. Lindsay looks back over her shoulder to where Derek is running his hands over her back, legs and ass. “Why don’t you join in from your end?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Derek drawls and leans over to open the top drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out some condoms and lube, making quick work of getting himself ready. Stiles watches him get on his knees behind Lindsay, gently moving her in the right position and then lining himself up. She moans around Stiles’ dick when Derek enters her and Stiles moans too, wondering what he did to be rewarded with such a view. Derek holds her firmly by her hips, his abs contracting beautifully as he undulates his hips.

Stiles closes his eyes to the ministrations of Lindsay’s hands, lips and tongue and the feel of the girl’s body rocking back and forth on Derek’s slow thrusts. He doesn’t think it can get any better than this, until he opens his eyes and Derek’s hooded gaze locks in on his. Stiles comes almost without warning; he manages to push Lindsay’s head up at the last second, warm ropes of cum shooting up his stomach. Some of it hits her cheek and he quickly wipes it off with his thumb. “Sorry,” he offers, feeling sheepish.

Lindsay crawls forward, giving him a kiss. “How are you going to make up for it?” she asks with a sly grin. Stiles looks between her and Derek, who is now sitting back on his feet, no longer fucking Lindsay because she moved away from him. Shit. He didn’t ruin everything, did he? Derek doesn’t look all that bothered, though, more expectant, like he wants to see what they’ll do next. What can they do next? Maybe switch positions? Stiles will need about twenty minutes before he’s ready to go again, but he could eat her out while she gives Derek a blowjob? Would that be okay? Before he can make the suggestion, Lindsay speaks up. “You’re gonna eat me out until I come again.”

Stiles gapes at her. “Okay?” He catches sight of Derek behind her, his head cocked in question. Checking in on him, again. Stiles rallies. “Yeah, okay! Sounds good.” And he means it, he’s certainly willing to do it. He’s just not used to the way this girl takes matters into her own hands. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely towards the entirety of the bed, which is very crowded with the three of them.

Lindsay takes the lead, again. She kisses him and simultaneously makes him move out of the way, so she can take his place. She nestles herself against the pillows and spreads her legs for Stiles to take his place between them. It’s only then that he’s aware of Derek behind him, who’s sitting at the foot of the bed. His roommate is following the proceedings with interest, one hand moving slowly up and down his cock. The condom is discarded next to him. Stiles swallows, wanting to touch but not knowing if he’s allowed. So far he’s only touched Derek in a practical way, nothing deliberate.

“Kiss him.” Stiles whips his head back towards the head of the bed. Lindsay grins at him playfully, reclined against the pillows. She lifts her leg and puts the ball of her foot against his chest. “Go on, kiss him. I want to see you guys kiss.” She pushes lightly and Derek is already close, Stiles can feel the heat of his body against his skin.

Derek lifts his hand to cup Stiles' cheek, bringing him closer still. “This okay?” he whispers, waiting for his nod to press their lips together.

Stiles has known he was bi since he was 14. His first sexual encounter was a year later, with a boy: kissing for a drunk dare at a house party led to shared handjobs behind the shed in the backyard. There were more girls than boys after that, the lion share of the notches on his bedpost not acquired until after he enrolled in college. And now he’s kissing Derek, who kisses a lot gentler than Stiles was expecting. His lips are soft, a stark contrast to the ever present stubble. There’s a hint of tongue, just barely touching his lips. Stiles loves it, finds himself sinking into the kiss, into Derek’s touch. He shuffles closer for a better angle, slots their knees together so they’ll fit. When their tongues finally slide together, Stiles almost whimpers. Derek reacts by holding him firmer, the hand on his waist flexing.

When he feels another set of hands on him, ones with pointy red nails that trail teasingly down his chest, he almost startles. He'd completely forgotten about Lindsay, as lost as he was in Derek’s touch. “So hot,” she whispers in his ear. “You boys are getting me so hot.” Stiles lets her break their kiss, claiming Derek’s lips for herself. Derek doesn’t stop touching him, the hand on his side sliding down to palm his ass. Stiles shifts a little into the touch, so Derek’s fingers slip into his cleft, close to where he suddenly knows he wants him. He slides his own hand down the inside of Derek’s thigh, tracing the warm, softly textured skin of his balls with the pads of his fingers.

However, there’s a lady present and she deftly reminds him of his duty to make it up to her by guiding his free hand towards her pussy. The wet slide of his fingers between her folds piques his interest and he easily lets her guide his head between her legs when she lies back again. He puts her legs over his shoulders and starts by kissing the insides of her thighs, mixed with small kitten licks over her clit. He plays with her like that until she starts squirming. “Getting impatient, huh?” he teases, resting his weight on one elbow so he can rub his fingers along her folds, catching her clit between his knuckles with each move up and down.

“She’s not the only one,” Derek remarks from behind Stiles, where he’s sitting astride one of Stiles’ legs. He’s been running his hands up and down Stiles’ legs, occasionally giving his ass a firm squeeze, but that’s about it.

“Oh, shit.” Stiles realizes suddenly that Derek must be feeling left out. “Uhm…” He wriggles in place, pulling one knee up underneath him and meaning to get up, but Lindsay holds him in place with her hand in his hair. And Derek…

“Can I…?” Derek asks, his thumb skirting softly along Stiles’ now exposed rim. “I won’t… I mean, just my fingers,” he adds, sounding hesitant but eager.

“Yes,” Stiles immediately answers, arching his back in anticipation. He’s rewarded by the press of the flat of Derek’s thumb against his hole. It's very hard to concentrate on the job he's doing when Derek is massaging his rim and slowly adding lube until his finger slides inside without resistance. His other hand is massaging Stiles’ ass, a firm kneading that somehow compliments the slow slide of Derek’s finger inside him. Unconsciously Stiles times his licking with Derek’s movements, adding his own finger to Lindsay's wet velvet heat. He adds another finger when Derek does, groaning against the girl’s pussy, his own enjoyment copied in her moans. Derek picks up the pace, curling his fingers inside Stiles and starts fingerfucking him in earnest. Stiles cups his hand, his ring finger and middle finger pressing up inside her, and sucks on her clit. He pushes back against Derek’s hand, wanting more but also trying not to get jostled too much so he can concentrate on the girl in front of him.

Lindsay moans louder, pulling his hair. “Don't stop, don’t stop,” she urges and Stiles doubles his efforts. Mercifully, Derek slows down a little, settling on slow, deep drags of his fingers that make Stiles' toes tingle. He doesn’t know if it’s been twenty minutes yet, but his dick is almost fully hard again and the friction he finds against the bedding starts to lack severely. He wants, no, he needs more. But first… Stiles rubs his fingers in a tiny circular motion, pressing up and licking broad, quick strokes over her clit until Lindsay clenches his head between her thighs and comes with a guttural groan. He laps up the excess moist until she gets too sensitive and kisses her folds one last time before crawling up a little and settling down with his head on her soft stomach. She scratches the hair behind his ear, mumbling some unintelligible praise or even thanks. He would laugh, but is distracted by Derek, who gently guides his knees under him so his ass sticks up in the air. When Derek sidles up behind him, his legs pressing against the back of Stiles’ thighs, he thinks for a second his roommate is gonna fuck him. But Derek said he wouldn’t and Stiles trusts him to check in with him if he wanted to get back on that. There’s the click of lube, a slicking motion and then Derek’s large hands settle on the sides of his ass and Stiles feels the hard, wet heat of his dick slide along his cleft. The head catches a little on his rim, but Derek doesn’t push in and continues to slide his dick between Stiles’ ass cheeks. Derek is searching for his own pleasure, angling his cock down to rub against the back of Stiles’ balls. Stiles tries to press his thighs together as best as he can, wanting to provide Derek with the friction he’s looking for. It works, if the quiet moans he hears from Derek are any indication. Stiles mouths idly at Lindsay’s skin, panting with the effort of keeping his legs firm but the rest of his body pliant underneath Derek’s thrusts. The feeling of Derek’s cock sliding between his legs, hitting his balls with every movement, makes Stiles wish he could put a hand on his own dick, but he’s sort of pinned against Lindsay right now and has no other choice than to just take it.

Derek reaches his climax a few thrusts later, spilling his seed between Stiles’ legs and nearly collapsing on top of him. He presses a kiss against Stiles’ back and then, as if he can read his mind, reaches around to wrap his hand around Stiles’ dick. “Oh, fuck yes,” he groans appreciatively, bucking into the tight clench of Derek’s hand. Derek sets a punishing rhythm from the start and it doesn’t take long before Stiles comes for the second time that evening.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs, Stiles and Derek each on a side of Lindsay so they don’t crush her. Stiles wouldn’t have minded to lie beneath Derek’s weight a little longer, but the hand his roommate still has curled around the back of his leg, just beneath the curve of his ass, makes up for it a little.

“This was fun,” he sighs contentedly, blowing out a breath against the side of Lindsay’s boob. He pretends to gnaw at the squishy flesh, making her yelp in mock horror. The girl giggles and Derek flexes his hand on his leg, making Stiles realize it's a mess of lube and sperm down there. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

“And I need clean sheets,” Derek adds, sounding a little put out about it.

Somewhere in the room a poppy song starts playing. “Oh, that’s my phone,” Lindsay says, pushing herself up. Derek and Stiles roll away from her, trying not to fall out of bed (Derek) or flinch because his back comes into contact with the cold wall (Stiles). Lindsay unearths her phone from her jeans pocket and answers with a cheerful “Hi!”. She bends over to grab her lilac panties from the floor. “I'm totally fine. It was fun.”

“That’s an understatement,” Stiles stage whispers to Derek, even though he said the same thing only minutes ago. Derek merely raises an eyebrow in response, not bothering to hide his content smirk.

They idly watch how Lindsay dresses herself, talking on the phone to her friend. It’s kind of mesmerizing to see how she manages to put her bra on while clutching the phone between her chin and shoulder. “I’ll be right there, see you soon,” Lindsay says and ends the call. Stiles pushes himself up when she puts the phone in her back pocket.

He grimaces when he feels the cold wet spot against his butt, but ignores it otherwise. “Can I walk you home? Call you an Uber?” Maybe he should’ve gotten his ass out of bed sooner, but he was kinda comfy and it only just now occurred to him that of the three of them, Lindsay is the only one who needs to get home.

“No need, cutie,” Lindsay says, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to his lips. “My friend lives on the floor above you guys, I’m gonna crash with her.” She turns to kiss Derek. “This was fun, we should do it again.”

Derek smirks and lets his hand trail meaningfully down her chest, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles returns the kiss she blows him with a smile. He leans back on his arms to watch her unlock the door and disappear out into the hallway.

Derek makes use of the freed up space to move more fully onto his back, intending to get comfortable. He regrets it immediately and makes a face. “Gross. The sheets are all wet.”

Stiles chuckles lightly, feeling more than a little self-conscious. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah.” Derek waves a dismissive hand. “At least some of it is mine.”

“Doubt it,” Stiles admits with a grimace. “Most of that is sticking down the back of my legs.”

There’s a moment of total silence in which their eyes lock and then they both burst out laughing. Derek swings his legs off the bed and lets the momentum get him up, offering Stiles a hand with a grin. “Shower?”

“Shower,” Stiles agrees. They slip into some clothes and make their way to the communal showers on their floor in companionable silence. It’s almost like every other night when they end up going to bed at the same time, if Stiles ignores the fact that he’s scrubbing Derek’s spunk out of his leg hair. It’s not something he really thought about earlier this night, but things could’ve turned sour with Derek real easily if it all hadn’t worked out the way it did. Stiles never would’ve dreamed he would ever end up in bed with Derek, thinking Derek was way out of his league, if not straight. He certainly learned something new about his roommate in this respect. He’s really glad things are still okay between them, he would’ve hated to lose Derek as a friend.

Back in their room Stiles lets himself fall face first on his bed and wriggles himself underneath his blanket. If there’s a reason why he hardly ever makes his bed, this is it: he can just dive right in.

“Scoot over.�� Derek pushes at his shoulder.

“Huh?” Stiles lifts his head from his pillow just enough to look at his roommate. Derek is standing next to his bed dressed in his sleeping pants, chest bare. Just like he always sleeps. In his own bed, across the room.

Derek pulls the comforter up, gesturing for Stiles to move over. He has his pillow underneath his arm. “I’m not gonna change my sheets in the middle of the night. I wanna sleep, so your bed it is.”

“You want to share?” Stiles stares wide eyed at his roommate, who gives him a deadpan look. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Duh,” he stammers. Then he rolls towards the wall, making room for Derek who slides between the sheets like it’s something he does all the time. He settles on his back, with Stiles on his side next to him. Derek lifts his hand to the light switch above Stiles’ bed and the room turns dark. It’s a bit odd to feel nervous about sharing a bed with your attractive roommate, when the guy rubbed himself off between your thighs only an hour before. Yet Stiles can’t help it. They crossed a line tonight and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Derek sighs and probably rolls his eyes too, it’s just that Stiles can’t see it in the dark, but he knows he did. “Will you just go to sleep? You're overthinking shit and it's loud.”

“I’m not,” Stiles sputters, feeling called out.

“You are,” Derek sighs. “Just quit it. I thought you always said I was the one who thinks too much, or something.”

Stiles shakes his head against the pillow. “No, you’re brooding. That’s different. And how come you’re not overthinking anything right now?”

“I just had some really good sex. It helps.” There has to be an obnoxious grin that accompanies that answer, hidden by the dark.

Stiles hits Derek’s shoulder with his flat hand. “I was there, you ass.”

“No, I distinctly remember it being your ass.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles can’t help it, he snorts in a definitely not sexy way and then he dissolves into laughter, pressing his forehead against the meat of Derek’s shoulder. He can feel the tiny shocks of movement that mean Derek’s laughing with him. Or at him. Both’s okay, really, because it helps to take Stiles’ nerves down. When their laughter dies down, Stiles stays pressed up against the side of Derek’s arm. Derek is nice and warm, it’s a good place to be.

“So, that was your first threesome, right?” his roommate asks casually. Stiles thinks he turns his head to look down at Stiles, but he isn’t gonna look up to check.

He nods against Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah. For you?”

“Nah.” Well, that’s not surprising. “First time with a man and a woman, though.”

Stiles smiles. “That’s actually kinda nice to hear. Makes me feel like all my newbie fumblings were maybe less obvious.”

Derek jostles him a little with his shoulder. “Shut up. You did fine.”

“I did make her come,” Stiles hums.

“And me,” Derek agrees easily. Stiles blushes so hard that he’s glad that the lights are off. Though perhaps Derek can feel the sudden burn of his cheeks against his arm.

“Yeah, well, right back at ya,” Stiles answers with a slightly nervous stammer.

Derek rolls to his side, facing Stiles. The change of position has Stiles facing Derek’s pecs, he can feel the chest hair slightly tickling his nose. He can’t make himself move away, arguing inside his head that he’s comfortable beneath the comforter and doesn’t want to move for that reason alone.

“What was your favorite part?”

It’s a question that Stiles should probably answer in a more ‘bro’ fashion, say something like ‘when we filled her from both ends’, but what actually comes out is: “Kissing you.” He huffs a shy laugh. “I mean, the orgasms were nice too, don’t get me wrong, but… I really liked kissing you. You’re a great kisser.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s first response sounds a bit smug, but then he rubs a warm hand up Stiles’ arm and his next words are a lot more subdued. “I liked that too.”

He forgets he’s practically hiding in Derek’s chest hair and looks up. “You did?”

Derek continues rubbing his arm and shrugs slightly. “Well, yeah. Of course I did.”

Stiles would’ve never guessed - or dared to hope - that kissing his roommate was something Derek enjoyed. But now that that’s out there… “Wanna do it again?”

Derek hums quietly, his hand moving up over Stiles’ shoulder, across his collarbone and then gently cupping his cheek. “Sure.” Warm lips press against his. There’s that stubble again, the gentle exploration of his mouth, the ease with which Stiles loses himself to it.

They kiss until Stiles has to yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbles, finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

There’s a peck on his forehead and then he gets tucked into Derek’s side. “Good night, Stiles.”

Stiles drives back the next day to Beacon Hills on about four hours of sleep, three large coffees, the music turned up all the way to ten and the windows rolled down. He smiles the whole way home. He has a new story for Scott and what a story it is!

#writing the logistics of a sex scene is hard #sterek #sterek fanfic #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #smut #ilse writes fanfic #m/m/f

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