#Angry Overlapping Voices | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 15 days ago

Note

PLSSSS part 2 to this time tomorrow but it’s a year or so later and he’s dealt with his grief and guilt and happily ever after pls

Same time yesterday | MV³³

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪

*can’t be read as a standalone.

✦ summary ──── It’s been eleven months since she left, and her absence haunted every aspect of Max’s life.

✦ pairing ──── Max Verstappen x she/her reader

✦ rating ──── explicit

✦ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, feelings of unworthiness, emotional angst, isolation, themes of guilt, grief and self-doubt, panic attack with descriptions of physical symptoms, struggles with self-worth, insecurity and personal trauma, healing through intimacy, smut, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, pet names, praise, multiple orgasms, overstimulation.

✦ word count ──── 8.5k

✦ date ──── Jun. 12, 2025

✦ a/n ──── This is not very I don’t do part 2s of me, but the amount of people requesting it made me feel guilty, so here we are. YOU WIN (ILY) 🙄. All jokes aside, writing this healed something in me. Goodnight 🤍✨

MAX DIDN’T EXPECT her to actually leave.

In his stubbornness, he hoped that he’d find her back in his apartment once he returned from work a week later, when her mind would clear up and the adrenaline of the breakup would be long gone. But when that didn’t happen, and he came back to an empty place, he slowly began to panic. On the inside, of course. Because Max is the kind of person who rarely ever displays his feelings out in the open, and when he does it, it’s usually his ruthless side that comes out. He would never admit in front of anyone that he has weaknesses. The only time he’s ever done it was in front of the mirror, in those mornings when everything became too heavy to carry for a pair of shoulders already weighed by the burdens of the past.

He did not expect her to leave.

Not after everything they’d said to each other, not after the way she’d touched his face the night she walked out, and the way her lips lingered on his cheek like a goodbye she didn’t want to make real. Not after she whispered that he knew where to find her. That she was still willing to give them a chance, but this time, they as a whole had a price. And he needed to cover it in its entirety.

When her absence has finally caught up to him, Max got angry.

Not at her, but at the hole she left behind. At himself for not begging her to stay, even though that goes against everything he is as a person. At the way grief still had its claws in his chest even when he thought he’d buried it deep enough to allow himself to love again.

She said she understood. She acted like she did for so long. But then she left. She promised she wasn’t asking for more than he could give, and then she still walked away when he couldn’t give it fast enough. It felt like betrayal to Max, twisted and misplaced, but real.

After that, he threw himself into work like he always did: training, simulation, back-to-back race weekends. Late nights at the gym, longer ones behind the wheel. But no matter how many laps he ran, no matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t outpace the noise inside his own head. At times, it felt as if it tried to deafen him completely. And sometimes, there were so many voices in there that they overlapped and he had the impression that he could go mad.

It got worse when doubts started creeping in.

What if he’d ruined something good once again?

What if she was right, and he never actually moved on, not from grief, not from guilt, not from his dead wife?

He couldn’t trust himself anymore. The same instincts that made him a four-time World Champion now betrayed him on track. He second-guessed overtakes, overcorrected in turns, and crashed into his rivals on purpose.

The paddock noticed it, so did the press. Max Verstappen didn’t make mistakes, until he did. And the worst part of all: he stopped caring.

His despair was subtle at first. It bled in during the long flights, in the lonely hotel rooms, and in the silence after a shitty race. He tried texting her a couple of times, but it was always short, dry, and empty. She responded kindly, as usual, but never let it go further. Though Max hated it, he respected that, because he respected her, even if he thought it was bullshit. All of it.

It wasn’t until one particularly sleepless night, many months after she left, that the loneliness finally did what the anger couldn’t: it made his mind quiet. It made him sit with himself and be brutally honest. Realistically, he realized that no trauma will ever completely heal. A shadow of guilt will always follow him, no matter who he ends up becoming, what he achieves in his career and who’s going to be there with him.

That night, Max stood in front of the mirror, the ring on his finger slightly sparkling in the bathroom light. It somehow looked dull, like it, too, got tired from being worn by a man who didn’t know how to let go. Only this time, he didn’t see his wife. Instead, he saw the woman who stayed even when he didn’t have the words to explain himself, the one who kissed him like she was pouring pieces of herself into the cracks of him, the one who left not to hurt him out of spite, but to save them both. Or at least try.

And he understood that the ring didn’t remind him of grief anymore. It reminded him of who managed to give it a whole another meaning. It reminded him of what he stood to lose if he didn’t start choosing life instead of loss. And just like that, still panicking on the inside, he figured a new way of feeling the pain and owning it without hurting so much.

Max’s fingers trembled, but he took it off. He took. The damn ring. Off.

And something about the silence cracked open the moment he did it. At first, it was a strange numbness, like his skin and limbs and even his thoughts didn’t belong to him. Then the trembling turned into tremors. His hands shook so badly that the ring slipped from his palm, clinking against the sink like a warning. He had a tiny impulse to put it back, but he didn’t. His breath hitched, chest rising in short bursts that couldn’t catch enough air. The walls of the room seemed to press in, tighter and tighter, so he gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. His heart thudded violently between his lungs, and he could hear it.

Then his knees gave out, and he collapsed to the cold tile floor, curled onto his side, eyes wide and unfocused as his mind raced with fear — am I dying? Is this how it ends? All alone…

He didn’t call anyone. He didn’t move, because he couldn’t. He just lay there, whispering to himself that he deserved this. That maybe this was part of it: the punishment, the penance, the cost of finally letting go. But he’d chosen grief so long, it felt wrong to be free of it. And, ultimately, he ended up convincing himself it was better that way, but every time he looked at the empty space on his finger, he wondered how long she’d wait. If she was still waiting at all.

He couldn’t stand the thought of her saying no after that, so he never texted her again.

IT’S A RANDOM Tuesday when Max is in the pet aisle, squinting at a row of identical cat food cans, wearing an old Red Bull hoodie from the early 2010s. The hood is up, casting a shadow over his face, a subtle shield against the world.

He isn’t expecting anything. Maybe a fan or two who may recognize him. But not her. However, the second she walks through the automatic doors, pushing her cart slowly, head tilted like she’s scanning the shelves for something specific, he sees her. Her hair is a little shorter now. Her coat swings open as she walks, and she’s humming softly to herself, unaware.

Until she turns, and her eyes meet his. Time doesn’t stop, but it does slow, just enough for Max’s chest to go tight. And they both realize it at the same time: they’re going to have to choose. Quickly. A nod and a half-smile, play it off like strangers passing in the middle of something ordinary.

Or talk.

Max does it before she gets the chance to. He doesn’t even glance at the shelves again. His hand reaches out and grabs two random cans of cat food, the labels facing the wrong way, something he wouldn’t normally touch. But it’s not about the cat food anymore.

It’s about how she notices the way Max squeezes the cans in his hands, and how his left hand, in particular, molds around the circular container, making her heart stop for a beat.

“Your hand’s all naked,” her mouth talks without her permission the moment he gets close enough for him to hear her; the fact that it’s the first thing she tells him doesn’t come as a suprise for either of them.

Max smiles a little, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Uh, yeah,” he says quietly, looking down at it like he hadn’t realized it himself until now. “It’s been for a while.”

They stand there, hands full of domestic normalcy, bodies not quite knowing what to do next.

“Hi,” her lips curl slightly into something that isn’t quite a smile, but not quite neutral either.

“Hi,” he echoes, voice a little raspier than he’d like. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” adds Max, glancing around like maybe the store has changed since he last looked.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, looking anywhere but at him.

There’s too much unsaid between them to make small talk feel right. Too many memories that exist in kitchens and beds and mornings with whispers and kisses. And yet they try.

“You look good,” Max says, his eyes flicking up and down, unsure of where to land. “Shorter hair suits you.”

She nods. “Thanks. You look…,” her voice trails off, checking him out from head to toe in order to find something nice to connect with, but when she can’t do that, she chooses to be honest instead. “Tired.”

Max smiles, but looks defeated as he does. “Not sleeping much.”

“Work?”

He hesitates. “And everything else.”

They both look like they want to leave but can’t quite make their feet move. It feels like there’s too much air between them, and yet, too many things have already been said, cried out, and broken open like bones that never healed right. Max can feel it rising in his throat. It’s bitter and sweet all at once. The fucking guilt. The longing. It’s her, actually. Right here, in front of him again, after eleven months and three days of not seeing her. Of only surviving her through old texts and ghost limbs.

His fingers twitch around the cans.

She’s standing like she’s braced for impact, but her eyes finally land all over him: his face, the hoodie she actually wore a few times before when she was waiting for him to come back home, his hand, his left hand. His bare left hand.

“This is weird, right?” Max finally asks, his voice sounding like he hasn’t spoken a single word for weeks.

She lets out a sigh. “A little, yeah,” she agrees, nodding.

And still, neither of them moves.

“You know, I almost didn’t come in,” she admits, fingers curling tighter around her cart. “I was parked outside for, like, ten minutes just sitting there. Because I realized this is your neighborhood and I’d risk seeing you,” she adds quickly.

Max feels his heart racing again before he even understands it. His throat goes dry, and when he speaks, he sounds hurt. “You didn’t want to see me?”

She blinks, startled, like she hadn’t expected the question to come out that way. “No,” she breathes. “No, Max, that’s not what I meant.”

He holds her gaze, and this close, he can see the sheen of emotion swimming in her eyes. There’s no anger in there anymore. Just, maybe, a little ache.

“It’s nice to see you,” she says. “I did want to see you so badly that I almost turned the car around, because I wasn’t sure if I could handle it.”

Max’s chest caves inward, his brows drawn together like the weight of all those lost months just landed right between his ribs. “Well, I think you’re handling it very well,” he jokes, but she doesn’t laugh, which makes his smile fade a little, not knowing if he crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

She looks down for a moment, biting at her kower lip, then back up. “I think you do, too.”

They both go quiet again, surrounded by fluorescent lights and grocery store music and the quiet chatter of other people, but none of it registers. The world has narrowed down to just them in the shortest time, like it always did. Knowing someone so intimately does that to a space, no matter how big or small.

Max rubs the back of his neck, like he’s trying to release the tension lodged there. “Listen, I don’t want to do this here. In front of the cat food and the Goldfish treats.”

His words earn the smallest smile from her, just for a second. “And what is this, exactly?”

He stops, looking around in order to get his thoughts together. “If you’re not busy, I was about to order a pizza for dinner,” Max hesitates, then adds quickly, “I swear, I just want to talk. I just…” he runs a hand over his jaw. “I haven’t been able to say anything that matters in a long time, and I want to. I owe you.”

She swallows, wary. “You don’t owe me anything, Max. Not anymore.”

He shakes his head. “I owe you my time.”

He sees the way her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her face, and Max knows she doesn’t understand what he means by that. And he can’t quite tell her that he means all the months he spent with her while only giving her a fraction of himself, because the most part was still buried in grief, clinging to a past he couldn’t change. He means the smiles she gave him that he didn’t return fast enough, the quiet ways she showed up for him while he kept one foot in a world that no longer existed. He means every second he spent being afraid to choose them, and every moment he let that fear win. What he owes her is his precious time, the kind that’s undivided, intentional, and fully present.

The time he should’ve been spending loving her without hesitation. Without conditions.

The time he still hopes to give, if she’ll let him.

THE MOMENT HE turns the key in the lock and nudges the door open, the apartment comes alive with a flurry of soft meows and pattering paws. Jimmy is the first to appear, coming out from the hallway with the usual cheeky air, followed by Sassy, who practically chirps in recognition when she sees that her owner is not alone.

The girl barely has time to step out of her shoes before the cats are circling her feet, tails high, meowing as if they’ve been abandoned for weeks. They don’t hesitate, don’t even sniff to confirm, yet the purring starts instantly, the kind of sound they only made when she used to come home late and curl up with them on the couch. Both cats cling to her like she’s their mother, like home walked back through the door after years of waiting.

Max watches it all unfold, frozen, with the cans stacked on top of the other still in hand.

“Fuckin’ assholes,” he complains under his breath, shutting the door behind him. “The only reason I even left the apartment was because they wouldn’t shut up about being hungry. And now they won’t even look at me,” adds Max, a little irritated.

She looks up with a smirk and gently takes the cans from his hand. “Allow me,” she says with a mock bow, brushing past him on her way to the kitchen with the ease of someone who still remembers exactly where everything is.

Max leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching her open the cabinets to pull out the tiny cat dishes they once picked together at a pet store in Italy. Her movements are fluid, the muscle memory guiding her every gesture; the clink of the spoon against the dish, and the way she splits the food evenly, as if it still matters that Sassy used to pout when Jimmy got more.

The remembering. That’s what gets to him every single time. The way it all looks like she wasn’t away for months. The way his own pets remember her scent and presence — more than that, they crave it. And they’re not the only ones, he figures.

Eventually, Max leaves her to it and goes to order the food he promised, knowing that he will be ignored anyway, at least until the cats eat and get bored of playing. The pizza arrives just as she finishes washing her hands, and they settle on the couch like they’ve done a hundred times before, the box open between them, the cats finally dozing at their feet.

For a moment, the quiet sets peacefully around them and it almost feels like they never fell apart at all. Their legs don’t touch, but the distance isn’t as wide as it used to be. Between bites, their eyes meet, without causing unnecessary tension, just a bittersweet quiet wrapped in intimacy. He watches the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and she catches the way he still wipes his fingers on his thighs, like always.

Finishing his second slice, Max finally decides to disturb the peace. “Thanks for giving them some attention,” he says, pointing at the cats that are now back in their donut beds. “They’ve been such jerks lately.”

She glances at the cats, her gaze softening. “You know they treat you like you treat them.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lift. “I’ve been nothing but an endless fountain of joy around them since you left, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her smile falters the second his sarcasm slips out. And suddenly, the guilt wraps around her ribs like a vice, because she had no idea just how lonely it must have been. She tried to imagine it a few times, sure, but the truth is always harsher.

“Back at the store,” she begins, a little hesitant, “You said it’s been a while since you took it off.”

Max takes a moment before he nods, not immediately meeting her gaze. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you… you know,” she says, gesturing at his hand. “I thought that was our agreement.”

He swallows, running his fingers over his jaw, which he often does when he’s struggling to think of the right thing to say. “And say what? Thank you for waiting, I’m ready to finally offer you more than the bare minimum?” he says in a sarcastic tone, shaded by a trace of anger. “You deserve better.”

She doesn’t speak right away. Just watches him with those eyes that always made him feel seen. Like she could read the gaps between his words, without needing anything else but him.

The girl shrugs. “That would’ve been a start,” she says casually, taking the pizza box and putting it on the coffee table in front of them.

Max almost flinches at the thought. It tastes so wrong in his mouth, because he doesn’t want to act as if the time they spent together was just a draft. He wants what they had and what they were. The laughter in the kitchen. Her voice humming in the bathroom. The weight of her body curling toward his in the middle of the night when she thought he was asleep. The way she used to look at him like he wasn’t broken beyond repair.

“I don’t want a start,” he insists. “I want what we left behind.”

Her brows lift slightly, her expression unreadable, but her lips part like she’s about to speak. He beats her to it.

“It’s been fucking awful,” the words come out unfiltered. “Missing you, I mean,” he explains, like the thought has been sitting on his brain for months, maybe since the second she walked out of his life. “Not just in passing. Every day.”

His hand moves without thinking, crossing a distance far greater than the space between them, and when his calloused fingers curl gently around hers, all those months of pain fade somewhere into a distant past. Her skin is just as he remembers, warm and soft like silk. The touch is tender, Max’s thumb brushing the back of her hand like he’s reminding himself that she’s real, and not just a figment of his twisted imagination.

He doesn’t want to go beyond the invisible line they’ve both drawn, but when she squeezes him gently, it’s more than a confirmation. It’s her equally strong desire to return to their own normalcy. And after that, it takes almost nothing, maybe just a look and the smallest shift in the air, and he pulls her in his lap.

Her legs straddle him, fitting there with maddening ease. Her hands wrap around the back of his neck, fingertips threading into his hair, playing with it absentmindedly like it’s second nature.

The sudden closeness forces him to breathe in sharply, inhaling her scent that fans across his lips.

“Max...” she whispers, her face tilting toward his, eyes dropping to his mouth as if kissing him is inevitable.

But he can’t have that. What good thing has ever come so easily in his life? Twice.

Max’s hand presses against her waist to push her away, and his head turns as a response. At that, she stills in his arms, eyes searching his face.

“Liefje?” she whispers again, hurt and confused.

He shakes his head, still avoiding to look at her. “I can’t.”

She frowns. “Why?”

Finally, Max’s eyes flick to hers as he swallows the lump in his throat. The blue in them is dark and faded, and it scares her a little. They’re glassy, full of things he’s never been good at saying out loud. “Because I don’t... I don’t deserve it,” he says, quiet like a confession passed through gritted teeth.

Her hands slide from his neck to either side of his face, forcing him to keep his gaze on her.

“Look at me,” she demands when he tries to look away again, but it sounds almost pleading. She can feel the way his muscles are tense beneath her, how hard he’s trying to stay composed. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t want to?” she asks.

His mouth opens, shuts, then opens again, “How could you possibly still want this?”

Her thumbs brush along his cheekbones, pressing closer, her nose brushing his. “Because you want this,” she replies simply. “I left because I thought you didn’t want us, and that hurt the most.”

Max flinches, “I did,” he nods, “Want us.”

“The ring on your finger told a different story at the time,” she smiles, a trace of sadness shadowing her face.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all he says.

She tilts his chin slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth, careful. She understands that, after all, this is their dynamic. She’ll always have to wait for him, one way or another. Do everything at Max’s pace. It may not be ideal, but it has worked in the past, when the tallest walls separated them.

He lets out a trembling breath, arms circling her waist to bring her closer.

“Please,” she whispers, “Let me kiss you.”

This time, his lips crash into hers with a desperate need. Her attempt was soft, but there’s nothing gentle in the way needs her. It’s heat and hunger and all the months of silence and aching compressed into one kiss. His fingers move to cup her face, and he groans against her mouth, finally letting go.

She shifts as the kiss deepens, slowing down until it becomes worshipful.

“I missed you,” he says again.

She smiles through the ache in her chest. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Her hips move unconsciously, but it’s enough for Max to catch her meaning. The girl slides forward and presses down right where he’s already hard beneath her. The friction hits hard between them, and they both still for a moment. Max breathes in through his teeth, and a silent gasp stutters out, all distance suddenly dissolved.

She traces down the curve of his neck, over his collarbones and lower, palms gliding across the fabric of his hoodie. It’s soft and worn, but it hides too much for her liking. So she hooks her fingers underneath it, pushing up, and Max doesn’t stop her. He lifts his arms, helps her peel it off, and the warmth of his skin underneath makes her breath catch in her throat. The muscles of his torso flex as he breathes, tight and lean, built by years of control and discipline.

But right now, he’s giving her none of that control. He just looks at her like he’s ready to rip his heart out and give it to her on a silver platter. With a smile on his face.

Her blouse is next, coming off in a smooth motion. And then, before she can say anything more, he shifts quickly underneath her. In a blink of an eye, he has her on her back, stretched out along the couch, his body poised above hers.

She barely has time to register the change in position before his mouth is back on hers, as possessive as it used to be, like the last kiss wasn’t nearly enough. Max’s lips trail down over her jaw and neck, leaving heat in his wake. Patient, he kisses along the edge of her bra, then he looks up at her. His pupils are blown wide, but there’s still that sliver of restraint behind them.

“Can I?” he asks, a tiny smile blooming in the corner of his mouth, because he already knows the answer.

She nods. “Yes.”

Swiftly, he unclasps her bra and slips it away, tossing it somewhere behind him. His hands slide down her sides as his mouth drops to her chest, breathing her in deeply. The first touch of his tongue on her nipple makes her inhale sharply, her hands flying to his back, gripping and squeezing. Max groans quietly against her skin when she arches up into him, and his hands weld themselves to her thighs to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist. After that, he changes his position just slightly and grinds down into her, swallowing her whimpers with his mouth still latched onto her breast.

She closes her eyes, allowing herself to feel everything, all at once. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, teasing, sucking, and she pulls him closer and closer by the shoulders, as if she can’t get enough of his weight. His presence. Him.

“Can you stay like this for a sec?” she asks in a trembling voice, the emotion evident in every word. She keeps him pressed down against her with her arms locked around his shoulders before Max can even process. “Just stay here, please.”

He lifts his head to search for her eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Then, he kisses between her breasts, and rests his forehead there, listening to her heartbeat decrease in intensity with each passing second. His weight is warm and secure around her, his breathing slowing, too. She brushes his hair back with one hand, and the other strokes his spine.

“I missed you, too,” she finally says. “So much it started making me sick.”

Max’s eyes flutter closed, but he’s content to just listen, offering her the space to speak her mind.

“I had to buy a weighted blanket,” she chuckles shyly. “I couldn’t sleep, either. My anxiety was so bad I felt like I was floating out of my skin.”

Max blinks, then slowly pushes up on his forearms to look at her fully. There’s concern etched into every inch of his face, and he sounds stern when he speaks again, “You never told me it got that bad.”

She shrugs, trying to brush it off. “Didn’t want to make you feel worse. You already blame yourself for everything else.”

His jaw tightens, fingers twitching against her ribs. “That’s for me to worry, right? You should’ve told me.”

With a small sigh, she shakes her head as if it doesn’t even matter anymore. “I’m telling you now.”

Her words settle into the air between them like a sudden change in gravity, and it makes Max still completely. It takes him a second to process what she’s said, and not just the meaning, but the weight of it. That she hurt too. That while he was spiraling in silence, buried in self-loathing and racing to outrun emotions he couldn’t face, she was also falling apart as quietly.

His forehead presses against hers, but this time, the tension in his shoulders give away the war he carries in his mind, the guilt and regret in his soul, the anger, and the fear that he might still mess this up. He chokes on a breath, the kind of harsh inhale you take before something breaks and can’t be stopped.

She can feel him slowly but surely detaching, so she doesn’t hesitate to bring him back to the present moment with her. She kisses him all over, not just his lips. A sweet series of soft, scattered kisses along his cheek, his temple, his nose. His shoulders. His collarbones. She kisses him as if that would cure him of all his guilt, insecurities and self-hatred.

Max lets out a broken laugh, unexpected yet warm, as she keeps going, clumsier now. “That’s how you used to kiss Sassy when you stepped on her paws,” he reminds her. “You didn’t break me, baby,” he assures her. “It’s not your fault.”

The words hang there, heavy with understanding, because he can see she feels guilty, as if his pain is somehow hers to fix. Even now. His heart cracks at the thought of her carrying that weight, but it also warms at her tenderness and the quiet way she’s trying to make everything stop hurting. For both of them.

He sighs. “Maybe we should just finish the food, hm?” Max offers, his tone laced with hesitation, trying to give her an out, without putting too much pressure.

She shakes her head instead, then stares at him for a second. While continuing to maintain eye contact, her hand moves down between them with purpose. The metallic sound of his zipper being undone slices through the air like a whip in an empty room, and Max’s body responds instantly, looking like he’s suddenly struggling to breathe, as she pushes his pants lower over his hips.

“I’m hungry for something else,” she says, smirking at him.

The last of their clothes disappear in a blur of heat and touch, the space between them closing until it’s completely gone, and not a speck of dust can seep in. Their bodies press together, skin on skin, making Max curse under his breath, his hands roaming her waist, thighs, and ribs, remembering the shape of her all over again. After taking the ring off, he convinced himself that being alone and deprived of her entirely was the new punishment. But now, he’s surprised to find out that no amount of penance could ever be worth losing her again.

She gasps when his lips catch her off guard, kissing her deeply, hand sliding south, slipping between silk folds already wet with want.

“Shit,” he whispers through gritted teeth, barely able to contain himself. “I forgot how soaked you get from a little nipple play.”

She moans faintly into his mouth, hips lifting with ease toward his touch. His fingers stroke through her slowly, savoring her sounds, while his middle finger presses in. Just the tip, to test her patience and give her all the time in the world to open up for him.

As if he’s under a spell, Max watches her face, completely transfixed. “I swear you’re trying to kill me,” he praises her deliriously, pushing his finger deeper. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” she hums, her nails digging lightly into his back, leaving faint love scratches behind.

At that, he smiles a little smug, and starts pumping his finger with much purpose. He’s on a mission now, intending to relearn every twitch and tiny flinch, because for some reason, making her come like this has become his new life’s purpose. And the fact that she’s obscenely wet, encourages him to keep going, gliding his finger in effortlessly, the slick noises echoing between them like he’s already halfway inside her with his cock instead.

“I fucking missed it, too,” he admits, voice cracking at the way he feels her clenching around him. Every time his finger strokes against that soft, spongy spot inside, her thighs lock around his wrist like Max is her puppeteer, hips canting up, chasing more. “There it is,” he says with satisfaction.

Without pulling away, he eases in another finger, curling them with surgical precision, dragging against that same spot until she’s shaking. Her tiny gasps turns into broken moans, high and breathless, her palms squeezing his shoulders harder. Max starts scissoring them in the way he knows it’ll make her see stars, stretching her open, happy to watch her squirm and melt because of him.

“Want me to keep going until you can’t think straight?”

She tries to answer, but all that comes out is just another pathetic whimper. Her slick coats his knuckles, dripping down his palm, earning a low hum from Max while driving his fingers faster.

“So tight and desperate,” he says mostly to himself. “Let me see you,” his thumb finds her clit, rubbing delicious circles as his fingers keep fucking up into her, stretching her sweetly.

Her reaction is immediate: her whole body jerks, thighs quivering as her pussy fights to hold him in, harder than before.

“Max,” she tries to warn him in a shaky voice.

He doesn’t even hesitate. Instead, he pulls his fingers out and dives in on instinct, burying his face between her thighs like a man starved. His tongue replaces where his fingers had just been, fucking into her with messy, greedy strokes. Max grips her thighs, making sure to groan loudly into her, wanting her to hear exactly how much he’s enjoying this. She keens, hands flying to his hair as he eats her out with a kind of reckless devotion that leaves her gasping for air.

Her orgasm crashes over her with an unexpected loud cry. Her hips arch off the couch, body convulsing as she soaks his face, a warm flood dripping down his chin and onto the cushion beneath him. Max agrees satisfied, like he lives for this, licking her through it until she’s shuddering and whimpering and very much not thinking straight, trying to push him away from overstimulation.

He pulls back with a glossy mouth, chin dripping, and eyes blown wide. That clear blue has finally returned, contrasting beautifully against the bright pink of his flushed face. His hair is a mess, and he’s breathing hard like he just came. She wishes she could paint him like that, but she knows that no brush would ever do justice to the beauty she sees in him.

“My god, Max,” she laughs, still breathless, reaching up to pull him toward her. She wipes his chin with her palm, eyes half-lidded, before tugging him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. “You’re such a show-off.”

He smirks, resting his forehead to hers. “Well, I am a professional.”

“Oh yeah?” she teases, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Did they add that as part of your pre-race routine?”

Max shrugs with a deceptively serious expression on his face. “Helps with focus. And finger control.”

The girl chuckles. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re perfect,” he replies quickly, leaning in to finish their kiss.

His lips are soft and plumped, and they give her the second she needs to breathe before the air shifts. Max’s hand cups her cheek, and when he looks at her, his voice drops, eyes filled with a tamed concern.

“You okay?” he asks, the kind of okay that means are you still with me?

It’s the care behind his voice that gets to her. The one that she only saw a couple of times in him, when Max really let her see the purest version of him. The version that’s not on any screen, nor the version that walks out the door everyday to go to work. This Max is too soft, afraid, and weak. Or so people would say if they’d know.

She finds it hard to speak, instead, she reaches down, fingers curling around his cock. She nudges the thick head through her folds, dragging it up and down in maddening passes, not letting him in, just coating it in the mess he made of her. It’s a sweet tease, a challenge, and a bit of revenge from her side, that gets the expected reaction out of him: Max whines, and his hips twitch in anticipation.

But before she can do it again, he bucks forward just enough to slip between her lips. Not inside. Just there. Nestled. Pressed. Bothering.

“Shit,” she gasps at the drag of his cock against her folds. Is too much already, yet not enough, her body betraying her before she can play it cool.

Max laughs at her failed attempt, dragging himself up her slit again, slow and sticky. “What do you think you’re doing, schatje?”

She moans, frustrated. “Nothing.”

He keeps going, rubbing himself through her wetness, teasing her entrance, but never pushing in. After all, she just showed him how to, didn’t she? It’s punishment for both of them, his cock is throbbing, coated in her, and every pass just winds them tighter.

“You feel that?” asks Max in a quiet whisper. “That’s how much you want me,” he continues, finally pushing in. The stretch is sweet, tight and wet and warm, and the moment he’s fully inside, everything goes still. He lets out a relieved sigh, his head dropping to her shoulder, “And this is how much I want you.”

Perfection in just the right amount. Being inside her like this shuts his brain off and, soon enough, the silence inside his skull becomes addictive.

The first thrust feels like coming home.

The second thrust brings all the memories back.

The third thrust makes her eyes roll, her hands clutching at his arms, hips trying to chase every retreat he makes.

Max has to grip her tighter to keep her in place, and gently pushes her thighs apart wider. He watches the way she spreads, how easily she welcomes him, and it lights something heavy in him, but also devastatingly tender. It pushes him to slide in again and again, deeper and deeper, and the sound she lets out has the power to knock the breath out of his lungs.

It’s not difficult to find their rhythm. That perfect pace that makes it feel less like fucking and more like a love language only they understand. Every push and pull is a new promise. Every moan, a certainty that they will keep those promises this time. As the pleasure builds, they understand it’s more than that. It’s healing. With every stroke and every breathless sound between them, they’re stitching something back together. Something they thorned and fractured because they didn’t know better, now is slowly mending, making them stronger than they’ve ever been.

Max fucks her like he’s never going to get another chance to be this whole again. Like this is the last time it’ll ever hurt, and the first time they’re finally allowed to live. Their bodies slap together, the sounds echoing like music against the walls; it’s hot, thirsty, a song made by them, just for them. He keeps her open, holding her thighs in place because he wants to see all of it. The way she takes him. The way she glistens for him. The way she gives herself so fully, without flinching. And if she can do that — if she can give him this —, then maybe he’s not broken beyond repair.

He fucks into her harder, hips slamming and claiming. It’s like his darkest side cracked open and poured out all the ugly through need, hope, love, all tangled in sweat and skin and moans and and and.

“Fuck, Max. Yes, you feel so good,” her praise makes him sob, hips jerking like he’s being praised for something holy.

He leans down to kiss her, but they’re both too far gone. It ends up being just open mouths, shared breath, moans between lips that can’t quite meet, not with how their bodies are still colliding, over and over.

“Mine,” Max spits out breathless, as he feels her start to tighten around his cock, fluttering repeatedly like her body is begging to fall apart with him.

Her hands curl around his biceps in order to be able to meet his thrusts halfway, nails digging in. “All yours,” she wails.

He shifts her legs higher around his waist, his hand sliding beneath her knee to angle her just right, and when he thrusts again, her whole body jolts. “Right there?” he asks, watching her eyes closing shut, her mouth falling open. “Ja, that’s it. That’s how my baby needs it.”

Her entire body shakes with pleasure, panting with every thrust as he drives into her with a need that’s no longer just physical. It’s every moment he missed her, every second he hated himself for letting her walk away, instead of ripping that ring off his hand, finger and all.

Max’s voice breaks against her skin, “You have any idea what you did to me for eleven months?”

She nods, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Of course you do,” Max smiles into her neck, maintaining the pace, sweat dripping from his brow as her walls spasm around him, pulling him deeper. “You know I jerked off to the thought of you every night,” he continues, the confession nearly unraveling him. “Couldn’t touch anyone else because your pretty face was everywhere I looked.”

Her fingers slide into his hair, pulling gently. “My good boy,” she purrs, and the sound he makes in response is feral, like it strips him down to his most basic instinct.

Max cries out, thrusts faltering for a second before he slams into her harder. “Say that again,” he demands in a pleading voice.

“You’re my good boy,” she whispers, then kisses his cheek, smiling as he loses himself a little more. “You always were.”

The words wreck him. He breathes wetly into her neck, almost embarrassed by how much he needs to hear it, and how much he actually craves being her good boy. Beneath his though exterior, there’s always been a constant need to belong to someone entirely. Not out of weakness, but out of a desire to be seen and chosen. To be loved, treasured, and protected like he mattered. Because as a kid, those things came rarely, if ever. And though Max learned to survive without them, part of him never stopped longing for that kind of love. The kind he once found and lost, the kind he almost recklessly pushed away. The kind she gave him, without asking for anything but his love in return.

“I didn’t let anyone else touch me, either,” she continues, breathless but determined to let him know, her fingers now tracing down his spine. “Told every guy that hit on me I had a boyfriend waiting for me at home. Did I lie, Maxie?”

He moans louder, his body surging forward like something inside him just snapped. His thrusts grow rougher, driven by the need to prove her right. To remind her that she is, indeed, his, and no one else can ever make her feel this way.

“No,” replies Max. “You’re mine,” he pants, “My little kitten, ja?”

She laughs, half-sob, half-moan, body shaking as she clings to him.

Somehow, his lips find her breast again, latching onto her nipple like it’s instinct. He sucks on it a little rough, making her head bury further into the couch cushion with a soft whimper. She’s obsessed with The Feel of Max — his weight, the way he pushes into her and how his skin presses into hers, the sound of his breath against her chest. Every cell in her body burns for him, a deep fire that’s been waiting to reignite since the moment she did one of the hardest things: removing herself from her heart, because she had to choose herself for once.

His left hand reaches for hers blindly, pulling her out of the dreamy state she’s fell into. Max threads their fingers together and pins them above her head against the cushions. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she clutches his hand tighter, her stomach flipping with emotion. Her eyes fly open, not from surprise but from the intensity of it and how light it is. It’s impossible not to feel the difference; that tiny missing weight that used to sit there like a wall between them.

Max notices the shift in how she exhales, in the way her body clings to his. He doesn’t ask, but he knows.

“I see you,” he says. “I fucking see you, baby.”

She sobs out a sigh, something between a moan and an overwhelmed yes.

“You feel so good. So good, my love,” repeats Max again and again, like he can’t say it enough. “I’m never letting anything come between us, I swear.”

His honesty is poured into every thrust, every kiss against her jaw, her mouth, her neck and shoulder. Everything she needed to hear, he’s saying now, as if he finally realizes that she’s been waiting. And he knows she believes him. He feels it. Feels it in the way her walls flutter around his length faster, needier. Sees how her hips lift to meet his and how her chest expandes rapidly.

Her stomach coils tight, pleasure rising sharp inside her, “Max, if you don’t shut up,” she cries, “I’m gonna fucking come all ov—”

He laughs softly against her lips, silencing her, but he doesn’t stop. “Make a mess for me then,” he encourages her, thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ve got you.”

He does. He always did.

With Max’s name on her tongue, his hand in hers, and every part of her clinging to him like gravity isn’t ever going to be enough again, she lets go. Her climax sends him spiraling, soaking everything, from the couch to his thighs and cock, with the kind of release that leaves no question how much she needed him. He wraps one arm around her waist in order to keep himself present as he shoves in deep one last time and stills, body shaking.

“Fuuuck,” Max chokes, forehead falling to her collarbone.

His cock throbs as he empties himself into her, her body welcoming every drop from him. His heart is hammering against her ribs, and he needs to breathe her in a few times before lifting his head, eyes glazed as they drop to where their bodies are still connected.

The sight nearly makes him come again.

Her thighs are trembling, spread wide, their slick mixed with his cum, smeared across her skin and his cock and the ruined couch. It’s absolute chaos, and he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Satisfied, he collapses onto her fully, letting his weight sink into her just like he knows she needs. The girl sighs, breath tickling his temple, her hands finding his arms, scratching soft patterns along his skin. Goosebumps rise in waves, but Max doesn’t move. He just melts into her, letting her touch soothe him.

Her body acts before her brain has time to process. Gently, she lifts his hand and presses her lips to each knuckle. One by one. Then soft pad beneath his thumb. His palm, and the faint scar across it. She remembers how he caught the knife by the blade that night, and all the blood that spilled into the sink.

“Come home,” he whispers, voice cracking from the effort of saying it aloud. “Please.”

When there’s no answer, Max’s hands grip her waist, but he can’t find the strength to get up and look at her.

“Please,” he repeats. “I want to cook for you. Fight with you over stupid shit. Watch you fall asleep on this couch again. Just… let me love you right, baby.”

She closes her eyes, breathing in deeply. Max’s scent clings to her skin, to her hair, to the air around them, and that mix of sweat and sex drives her insane. It’s in the crook of her neck, on the inside of her thighs, behind her knees, soaked into her very inhale and exhale. It’s impossible to tell where she ends and he begins.

“What did you do with the ring?”

Max stills. Not the soft kind of stillness that comes from rest after sex, but the rigid kind, where his muscles lock and his breath stops short, like her words caught him mid-step somewhere deep inside himself. And unfortunately, she feels it in the way his touch pauses, not pulling away, but no longer moving forward either.

Her heart sinks into her stomach.

She hadn’t meant it to feel like an ambush, or a test she didn’t even want the answer to in the first place. But the silence stretches just long enough that fear creeps in. And her mind is relentless, thoughts flying around, mean and uninvited: It still means something to him. Maybe more than you ever will.

But then Max’s voice cuts through all that, pushing all the dark clouds aside.

“I gave it back to her,” he says. “Took it to her grave and—”

“I’m sorry,” she cuts him off, fighting the tears in her eyes. She reaches to cradles his face in her hand, thumb sweeping gently across his cheek. His skin is warm beneath her touch, his stubble coarse. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

It’s his turn to interrupt her this time. “It’s okay,” Max assures her. “You were right. I needed to let it go if I wanted to be here. With you. It’s just… I am sorry it took so long.”

“No,” the girl shakes her head. “We can’t get mad at time for doing its thing,” she says gently.

Max’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t realize how badly he needed to hear that until it lands in him, like puzzle pieces falling into place. His eyes drift, settling on the digital clock glowing faintly on the wall. At the same time yesterday, he was lying in a cold bed, silence drilling through his ears louder than anything else. Swallowed whole by a grief so dark it didn’t even feel like sadness anymore. It was just a big hole of nothing.

A day later, he’s pressed against her, inside her, held by her. Breathing the same air as her.

Even though she didn’t say yes yet, even though he still has troubles sleeping, he’s content with the fact that the clock has reset itself for him. And for the first time since he got that call, he’s at peace.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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

526 notes · View notes

orangeocelotmartyn · 2 months ago

Text

(explosion noise) Gem: (turning to Scar) What did you do?! Scar: (laughing nervously) I promise I didn't do that. Gem: (laughs) Wh-uh-- Scar: Dude, Bdubs is go-B-uh, Every time-- Gem: I'm getting flashbacks. Scar: --Every time I come into this base, something happens, Bdubs just appears. And be like, (poorly imitating an angry Bdubs) "What did you do? To my Etho?" (normal voice) And I'm like, "I didn't do anything." Etho: Bdubs is just protecting me, okay? He knows what's best for me.

---

Etho: Hm. Scar: Alright-- Etho: Did you-do you have the carpet, cause Bdubs will kill us if we-- Scar: Oh, yep, yep. Hold on, hold on, hold on, we'll fix this, we'll fix this, we'll fix this--okay. Etho: Y'know, he's always got my back, I go-I gotta (overlapping Scar) get his back too-- Scar: Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. Etho: --about that kinda stuff. Scar: I think we're good.

#goodtimeswithscar #geminitay #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #bdubs #mentioned #video #transcribed #hermitcraft #ethubs

626 notes · View notes

jaewritesfic · 11 months ago

Text

Melon!AU

Actual writing now, based on this post:

“What,” Tim breathes out faintly, “the fuck is that?”

Language, Bruce thinks faintly, though he doesn't manage to get it past his lips.

He is a man who prides himself on being ready for anything, but he most certainly didn't expect something like this when responding to the Batsignal tonight.

“That is a Pit Demon,” Damian's voice asserts through comms, grave in a way that betrays his collected mask. He's unnerved. “There is nothing else that could be.”

Bruce is unnerved too, though he refuses to show it.

Gordon had half the block cordoned off so no civilians would come through by the time Bruce and Tim - the closest at the time - had arrived on scene. The alley itself is blocked in by police cruisers, though the officers are staying very firmly behind the line and not approaching.

It's no wonder why.

The…thing backed into a dead end alley looks like it's made of smoke and shadow, all long sinuous lines and dangerous angles.

It's vaguely Humanoid in the sense that it has a long torso, arms and a head. The arms are too long, the fingers curved and wickedly sharp. The face is a well of deep shadow, a smooth slate broken only when it opens its jagged mouth to show off a full arsenal of fangs.

The only other facial features are the solid, glowing Lazarus green eyes. Wide and lamp-like, they give the distinct feeling that the creature's sights will not miss anything.

There are no legs. Just the sinuous curves and overlaps of a long smokey tail. It whips about with agitation.

Floating like mist on the water is a head of white hair, edges fuzzy and undefined like it can't decide whether it's a solid or a gas.

The creature lays with its chest nearly flat to the ground, propped up only by those horrifically sharp hands and poised like a predator ready to push off into a sprint.

Glowing Lazarus water seems to pool slowly beneath it, streaked here and there as evidence of past movement.

Bruce finally finds his tongue to question Damian. He can see his youngest standing on the opposite roof of he and Tim, the two buildings that form the alley their perch.

“You've seen something like this before?”

Damian hesitates. “...no. But there are stories of things coming out of the Pits. I doubt I need to explain why this seems to be one of them.”

With that color green shining out of its face and streaked across the alley? No. No, he doesn't.

“Do your stories have any clues on what to do when one shows up?” Tim asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the creature.

Damian scoffs. “Close your eyes and hope your end is quick.”

“Lovely,” Tim bites out, voice a little higher pitched than normal.

“We won't be doing that,” Bruce responds dryly, two taps coming through the comms notifying them of Black Bat's arrival.

Bruce looks up and has to search for her for a few seconds before he can make her out in the shadows of Damian's rooftop.

“I'm still five minutes out,” Dick comms in. “What exactly are we looking at here? Can Oracle give a visual with any cams?”

“I wish,” Oracle chimes in. “Even through the mask footage I have no idea what they're seeing. The feed is corrupted to hell and back whenever it's in frame.”

“Really? In person it looks like-”

Tim is cut off when the officers below make some kind of movement the monster clearly takes issue with, the snarl that almost physically ricochets off the brick walls making everyone wince.

It's like TV static and the crackle of lightning striking a tree, like glaciers cracking and shifting underwater all rolled into one.

The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands on end.

“Fuck. It's like a living shadow, but all sharp and wrong and angry-”

“No,” Cass cuts in quietly, silencing everyone.

“...Black Bat?” Bruce questions lowly.

“Not angry,” she responds, as sure as ever when assessing a target - no matter what kind of target.

“Scared, hurt. Guarding chest, trying to hide it. Wants to scare us away, but making no move to attack. Posturing.”

The thing about Cass is that they trust her reads implicitly - her reads of people.

She wouldn't speak up if she wasn't certain, and she wouldn't be certain if she didn't see something painfully human in the creature below.

“...what do you suggest?” Bruce asks after a moment of tense silence, trying to reassess the creature and see what she sees.

He at the very least wants her opinion, so they can weigh it in formulating a plan here.

Cass keeps looking for a long moment, before she looks across the gap at him. “Needs help. Reach out - at least try.”

Masterpost

#melon!au #dc x dp #jaewritesfic

2K notes · View notes

tedmustache · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! I wanted to send a request for Dr. Abbott. Reader and Abbott are married and she is also a doctor, they’re both on shift together and a particularly angry person assaults reader. Abbott is absolutely fuming but also is extremely worried about his wife, as she struggles with not only her injuries from the patient but also if she wants to continue working in the hospital after the horrible couple weeks she’s been having there. Thank you in advance!

Healing Wounds

Pairing: Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Warnings: slightly angst with happy ending, reader being hurt (not by Jack), fluff, protective!Jack

Summary: When an attack shakes Dr. Y/N Abbot, Jack helps her heal while she questions her medical career.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

The emergency room buzzed with its usual controlled chaos. Monitors beeping, nurses rushing between beds, the low hum of overlapping voices. Dr. Y/N Abbot adjusted her stethoscope and exhaled slowly. It had been a brutal shift, and the past few weeks had drained her more than she wanted to admit.

Across the room, her husband, Dr. Jack Abbot, glanced at her, his eyes softening at the exhaustion in her posture. He flashed her a small, reassuring smile before turning back to his patient.

Y/N loved medicine, but lately, the weight of it all pressed down on her. The sleepless nights, the relentless pace, the occasional hostility from patients who didn’t understand how hard they were trying to help.

And then, it happened.

A man, broad-shouldered and red-faced, stormed into the ER, shouting at the nurses. Y/N stepped forward, her voice steady. "Sir, please calm down. We’re here to help you."

"Help?" he snarled. "You call this help?"

Before she could react, his hand shot out, shoving her hard. Y/N stumbled back, her hip slamming into a cart before she hit the ground. Pain flared up her side, but the shock of it was worse.

The room erupted.

Jack was at her side in seconds, his hands gentle as he helped her up, but his expression was dark with fury. He turned toward the man, his voice dangerously low. "If you ever touch her again—"

Security was already pulling the man away as he shouted curses. The noise faded as Jack’s attention snapped back to Y/N. His hands trembled as he cupped her face.

"Where are you hurt?" His voice was rough, not with anger, but with a raw and ungarded fear

Y/N swallowed hard. "I’m okay," she whispered, but her voice wavered.

Jack’s jaw tightened. He guided her to an empty exam room, away from the chaos, and checked her over with careful hands. A bruise was already forming on her hip, and her wrist was tender.

But the worst of it wasn’t physical.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she looked at him. "Jack… I don’t know if I can keep doing this."

His heart cracked.

Jack knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"The stress, the hours, the way some people treat us like we’re the enemy…" Her voice broke. "And now this? I love being a doctor, but I don’t know if this hospital is where I belong anymore."

Jack pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another to her temple, his lips lingering. "You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he murmured. "But whatever you decide, I’m right here with you. Always."

Y/N buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. The familiar scent of antiseptic and his cologne, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms around her were an anchor, solid and sure.

Jack tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You’re the strongest person I know," he said softly. "But you don’t have to be strong alone. Not when you’ve got me."

A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. "Even if I quit tomorrow?"

"Even if you quit tomorrow," he promised, kissing her forehead. "Though I’d miss working beside you."

She laughed weakly, leaning into him. "I’d miss it too. Just… maybe not the part where I get shoved to the ground."

Jack’s expression turned serious. "That’s never happening again. I’ll personally ban every rude patient from this hospital if I have to."

Y/N smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "My hero."

He grinned, that boyish, lopsided smile she loved. "Damn right."

For the first time in weeks, the weight on her shoulders felt lighter. Because no matter what she chose, Jack would be there. Not just as her husband, but as her partner in every sense of the word.

And that was enough.

#the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfic #the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x ofc #jack abbot x you #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader

714 notes · View notes

lovecoatedwords · 5 months ago

Text

Bad nights (part one)

poly marauders x reader

summary: Remus got clingy cuz of the full moon, James lost a match, Sirius has problems with his parents and you aren’t well. How Will this situation turn out? *************

The night had been long. The full moon had crept across the sky like a bloodstain, pulling Remus into his darker self. You hadn’t slept much, instead staying by his side, calming him through the transformation, holding him when the worst was ovre. You'd always been there for him during the full moon, to comfort him when he was at the lowest. But the aftermath was always the hardest.

As you slipped out of bed that morning, the sharp ache in your lower stomach was already making itself known. A quick hand to your forehead confirmed the faint but persistent headache you could feel creeping in. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You had always hated when your fate overlapped with the moon, but you were persistent and keen on keeping Remus comforted.

Remus was still in a haze, soft curls sticking to his forehead as he lay sprawled across the bed, his breathing slow but steady. You gently stroked his hair, making sure he was comfortable before slipping out of the room.

James was already up, in fact he hadn’t slept at all, pacing in front of the common room window, his Quidditch robes hanging loosely over his frame. His shoulders were slumped, and his usually bright eyes were shadowed with the frustration of the previous day’s loss. g his competitive nature had been bruised, and you could see it in every frustrated sigh he let out, each muttered curse under his breath.

he grumbled as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to you before returning to the window, "Can't believe we lost. We should’ve had that match. I—I don’t know what happened out there."

You let out a sigh, crossing the room to where he stood. The air between you was thick with the unspoken tension of a day that was already setting itself up to be difficult.

"James, you played well," you offered quietly, your voice softer than usual. You needed to conserve your energy today. The last thing you wanted was to get caught in his spiral of selfloathing.

James shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "No, I didn't. Not good enough. I'm supposed to be team captain. I’m supposed to—" He cut himself off with an exasperated sound, turning to face you, his eyes wide and hurt. "I let everyone down."

The words were biting,and you could see his frustration beginning to shift into anger, an energy that was heavy and stormy. You stepped closer, reaching up to place a hand gently on his arm, trying to soothe him, but before you could speak again, the door slammed open, and sirius came in looking angry. He stormed into the room, his black hair wild and his eyes full of anger. His jaw was clenched tight, and there was a harshness to his posture that you hadn’t seen in a while.

"Merlin’s bloody beard!" he snapped, throwing his robes down on the nearest chair. "She’s done it again. That vile, disgusting woman." He glared at the empty space as though it had personally offended him, his voice low but full of venom. "I swear I’ll hex her into next week if she don’t stop—"

"Sirius, you interrupted, your voice breaking through the tension. "What’s happened? Who’s did what?"

He turned toward you, frustration written all over his face. "My mother," he spat the words like they were poison. "She—" He broke off with a frustrated growl. "She's spreading more of her lies. Calling me a disgrace. I don't care what she says about me, but it's the way she talks about you, about all of us. She doesn’t know when to keep her damn mouth shut."

You could see the frustration etched in every line of his face, the fury he was barely containing.

"She doesn't get to say those things about us, not about you—" Sirius began again, but before he could continue, Remus appeared in the doorway, a little disoriented but still with that familiar, warm look in his eyes. The transformation had left him weak, but the gentle way he looked at you was a comfort.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still rough from the remnants of the full moon, his body swaying slightly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

You smiled softly at him, but the heaviness of the room was starting to press in on you. "I'm fine, Remus. Just dealing with everything." You gestured to the others, who were now standing near each other, the tension between them palpable. Sirius, full angery, James, sulking and looking down at the floor, and Remus, who was still far too clingy for your liking, though you loved him, the constant need for contact, for reassurance, was draining, especially when there was sm going on

Remus slowly shuffled over to you, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I know you’ve been up all night,” he murmured, his touch warm and familiar as he leaned his head against your shoulder. "But I'm... I just need you close."

You felt the weight of his need, the way his exhaustion made him cling to you even more than usual. Remus, after the full moon, was always a little more fragile—more in need of comfort, You didn’t have the energy to refuse him, so you let him rest his head on your shoulder, but the pressure of his presence felt like an anchor, keeping you stuck in the moment. His body heat radiated against yours, a contrast to the coldness that was between the others.

Sirius scoffed, his eyes flashing as he watched the scene unfold. "Do you really have to do that now, Remus?" he bit out, his voice sharp. "She’s already dealing with James’s little pity party and now you're draping yourself all over her like a bloody blanket."

James shot Sirius a dark look. "Sirius, not now. We’re already having a bad enough day without you making things worse."

But Sirius, already on edge from his mother’s words, wasn’t about to let it slide. “And you,” he snarled at James, "stop blaming yourself. You lost. Fine. So what? You don’t see me running around crying like a bloody baby." He turned back to Remus, his voice rising. "You’ve been through worse too, mate, but that doesn’t mean you get to turn her into your personal cushion!",

Remus pulled away slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion, but the words struck hard. He looked between the two of them, his hand still resting on your arm but his face now drawn tight with exhaustion and hurt. “I just—I don’t know what you want from me, Sirius,” he said softly, a bit too emotionally raw for his own liking. "I’m just trying to get through the damn day." His emotions all over the place from the exhaustion and pain.

You could feel it—everyone was breaking at the seams, and you were stuck in the middle, trying to pick up the pieces without anyone knowing just how much you were struggling too. The ache in your stomach intensified, but you bit your lip, trying to hide it, not wanting to add another layer of complication to everything already unraveling around you.

You caught James’s eyes as he stood there, his expression distant and hurt. He was disappointedt in the situation, in the way everything had turned out. The way the room felt as if it were closing in around you.

Sirius was still glaring at Remus, and James was still looking at you like you were the one thing left in the world that made sense.

And for the first time, you didn’t know how to fix it.

do you want to be added in the tag list for the next part? Comment or dm or send in an ask <3

#marauder #marauder era #marauder fanfiction #marauders angst #poly marauders x reader #poly marauders x you #sirius black x reader #remus x sirius #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james x reader #James x Sirius #sirius x remus #Sirius x reader

855 notes · View notes

urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

Text

DC COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

DC Comics Characters with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth & Zatanna Zatara

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

- Bruce Wayne is a man who understands silence better than most. He does not mistake your quietness for weakness, does not see your hesitation as something to be corrected. He knows what it means to live inside one’s own mind, to wrestle with shadows no one else can see. And so, when you struggle to meet the world’s gaze, he does not push—you need only glance at him, and he understands.

- He shields you from Gotham’s prying eyes without ever making you feel fragile. At galas, where the air is thick with wealth and expectation, his hand remains at the small of your back, a silent promise that you are not alone. If the press grows too bold, if whispers turn sharp, one glance from him is enough to silence them.

- If someone ever mocks you for being reserved, Bruce does not raise his voice. He merely turns, his presence shifting the air itself, and in a voice so calm it is almost cruel, he asks, “Do you truly believe your words matter to me?” They never speak to you again.

- When anxiety claws at your ribs, Bruce does not try to solve it like a detective hunting answers. He does not drown you in reassurances. Instead, he stays beside you, steady as Gotham’s skyline, his presence an anchor when the storm inside you rages.

- At night, when the weight of the world is too much, he lets you curl into his warmth, his heartbeat slow and certain beneath your ear. “You are safe,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You are mine.” And for the first time in your life, you believe it.

Kal-El (Clark Kent / Superman)

- Clark Kent loves gently, patiently, with a kindness that feels like sunlight on a winter morning. He never rushes you, never asks you to be more than you are. He simply loves you as you exist, without condition, without hesitation.

- He notices the way your breath quickens in crowded places, the way your hands tremble when too many voices overlap. And so, he stands beside you, tall and unwavering, his presence a shield against the chaos of the world.

- If someone speaks cruelly of your quiet nature, Clark does not glare, does not threaten. He merely tilts his head, a smile so warm it almost burns. “I think she’s perfect the way she is,” he says simply. And somehow, that is more devastating than any punch he could throw.

- When your anxiety spirals, when the world feels like it is closing in, Clark holds you close. “Breathe with me,” he murmurs, his voice like a lullaby. And as he inhales and exhales, slow and steady, you find yourself matching his rhythm.

- At night, wrapped in his arms, the world does not feel so terrifying. “You are my heart,” he whispers, his lips brushing your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong.” And in his embrace, you believe it.

Barry Allen (The Flash)

- Barry Allen moves faster than the world, but never too fast for you. He sees the way crowds unsettle you, the way words sometimes fail you, and so he slows—just for you, always for you.

- When the world overwhelms you, when voices are too loud, Barry takes your hand and grins. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” And in a blink, you are elsewhere—on a rooftop overlooking the city, in a field where only the wind can hear your thoughts.

- If someone mocks your quiet nature, Barry does not get angry. He simply smirks, vanishes for a moment, and returns with every embarrassing childhood photo of the offender that has ever existed. “Oops,” he grins. “These might just end up all over the internet.”

- When your thoughts spiral, Barry does not try to talk you out of them. He distracts you, making you laugh, filling your world with so much joy that your fear does not stand a chance. “I love you,” he says between kisses, “just the way you are.”

- At night, he holds you close, his heartbeat quick, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin. “No rush,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ll wait forever for you.” And in that moment, time itself seems to slow.

Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman)

- Diana is a warrior, a goddess, a force of nature—and yet, with you, she is the gentlest thing in existence. She sees the way you hesitate before speaking, the way the world feels too big sometimes, and she does not ask you to be louder. She only asks that you let her stand beside you.

- In crowded places, Diana ensures no one speaks over you, no one diminishes your presence. And if they do? Her eyes turn to steel, her voice a blade as she says, “You will not disrespect her.” No one dares challenge her.

- If anxiety grips you, if your hands shake, Diana takes them in her own. “Breathe, my love,” she whispers, her voice like a hymn. “You are stronger than you know.” And somehow, you believe her.

- When the world overwhelms you, she takes you somewhere quiet—a temple, an island, a place where the air itself is soft. “You do not have to fight the world alone,” she tells you. And in her presence, you never do.

- At night, wrapped in her arms, you feel invincible. “You are a wonder,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you finally see yourself through her eyes.

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

- Arthur is the ocean—vast, untamed, and fiercely protective of those he loves. He does not need you to be loud, does not need you to be anything other than who you are. “You’re perfect,” he says gruffly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

- He notices when the world feels like too much, when your breath quickens, when you shrink into yourself. And so, without a word, he takes you to the sea. The waves crash around you, drowning out the noise, leaving only the two of you. “Better?” he asks, and the answer is always yes.

- If someone ever mocks your shyness, Arthur does not threaten them. He simply raises a brow and says, “Say that again, and you’ll find out how long you can hold your breath underwater.” They never speak to you again.

- When your anxiety consumes you, Arthur does not try to fix it. Instead, he pulls you into his embrace, his strength steady, unwavering. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. And with him, you never do.

- At night, as the waves sing their lullaby, Arthur holds you close, his voice low and sure. “You’re safe with me,” he whispers, and in his arms, you finally believe it.

Hal Jordan (Green Lantern)

- Hal Jordan is a man who burns bright, a force of willpower that does not waver. He is reckless, headstrong, loud in every way you are not. And yet, he never makes you feel small. When you hesitate, when words die in your throat, he does not push—he only grins, nudges you playfully, and says, “Take your time, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

- Crowds do not faze him, but he sees the way they unsettle you. At galas, where the air is thick with arrogance, he throws an arm around your shoulders, his presence a barrier between you and the world. If someone speaks over you, dismisses you, he leans in with a cocky smirk. “You wanna try that again?” They always back down.

- Hal does not pity you. He does not try to change you, does not see your quiet nature as something to fix. Instead, he makes the world easier for you—deflecting attention when you need space, filling silences with easy laughter, standing beside you when your voice shakes.

- When anxiety tightens its grip on you, Hal does not give speeches about courage. He simply takes your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and murmurs, “You’re the bravest person I know.” And somehow, coming from him, you believe it.

- At night, as you curl into his warmth, he strokes your hair absentmindedly. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong,” he whispers. “You already light up my whole damn universe.”

Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

- Oliver Queen has a voice that can command a room, a presence that demands attention. But with you, he is softer, quieter. He sees the way your fingers twitch when too many eyes are on you, the way your breath quickens when conversations turn sharp. And so, he keeps you close, a steady hand at the small of your back.

- He is fiercely protective, but never suffocating. If someone mocks your shyness, he lets them speak, lets them dig their own grave—before utterly dismantling them with a smirk and a well-placed remark that leaves them stunned and humiliated.

- Oliver is patient. When you struggle to find words, when anxiety makes your voice small, he does not interrupt, does not rush you. Instead, he waits, his gaze steady, as if what you have to say is the most important thing in the world.

- When the weight of your own mind is too much, Oliver pulls you away from the noise. “Come on,” he says, leading you to the rooftop, where the city stretches below like a painting. The wind tugs at your hair, the sky swallows the world whole, and suddenly, breathing is easier.

- At night, when you lie beside him, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin, he murmurs, “You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart.” And in his arms, you realize—you never want to.

John Constantine

- John Constantine is a man of shadows, of smoke and sin, but with you, he is something else entirely. He does not mock your quiet nature, does not sneer at your anxiety—he understands it. He knows what it means to battle demons no one else can see.

- If someone dares to speak down to you, to make you feel small, John does not waste words. He simply tilts his head, lights a cigarette, and smirks. “Say that again,” he drawls, voice like gravel. They don’t.

- He does not try to fix you. He does not drown you in reassurances. Instead, he is simply there—a hand on your back when the world is too loud, a sarcastic quip to pull you out of your own head.

- When anxiety suffocates you, when your thoughts turn sharp, John does not ask you to explain. He simply takes your hand, murmurs, “C’mon, love,” and takes you somewhere quiet, somewhere the world cannot touch you.

- At night, as you lie tangled together, the scent of smoke and magic in the air, he kisses your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be powerful,” he murmurs. “You’re already the strongest person I know.”

Roy Harper (Arsenal)

- Roy Harper is fire and recklessness, all sharp edges and easy grins. But with you, he is soft. He sees the way you hesitate before speaking, the way crowds unsettle you, and so he fills the silence, keeps the world at bay.

- He notices everything. The way your hands tremble when too many voices overlap, the way your breath quickens in unfamiliar places. And so, he stays close, his presence a quiet promise—you are not alone.

- If someone ever mocks you for being shy, Roy does not hesitate. He steps forward, his usual smirk gone, his voice lower than usual. “Say that again,” he challenges. They never do.

- When your thoughts spiral, when anxiety makes your world small, Roy does not try to talk you out of it. Instead, he takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and says, “I got you.” And somehow, that is enough.

- At night, tangled in his embrace, his voice is softer than the wind. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” he murmurs. “I love you exactly as you are.”

Koriand’r (Starfire)

- Koriand’r is warmth itself, a sun given form. She does not see your quiet nature as a flaw—she sees it as something beautiful. She marvels at the way you observe the world, the way your eyes say more than words ever could.

- She is fiercely protective. If someone ever speaks cruelly of you, her lips part, and suddenly, she is explaining—in the most diplomatic yet devastating way—why they are entirely incorrect and should reconsider their life choices.

- She does not try to change you. She does not ask you to be louder, does not demand that you match her energy. Instead, she meets you where you are, her love a steady, unwavering thing.

- When anxiety grips you, when your hands shake, she takes them in her own. “You are safe,” she says softly. “You are loved.” And with her, you believe it.

- At night, wrapped in her arms, she presses a kiss to your forehead. “You are a star, my love,” she murmurs. “Even the quietest lights shine the brightest.”

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

- Kara Zor-El is sunlight and boundless energy, a force of nature that cannot be contained. She soars through life with a confidence you admire but do not share, yet she never makes you feel lesser for it. She finds beauty in your quiet nature, in the way you observe before speaking, listen before acting.

- Crowds do not unnerve her, but she sees how they weigh on you. So she stays close, her presence a shield, her voice filling the silences you cannot. If someone tries to talk over you, she steps forward, her bright blue gaze unwavering. “They weren’t finished speaking.” The world listens to Supergirl.

- Kara has a way of making you feel safe. Whether it’s wrapping you in an unbreakable embrace after a long day or placing a hand on your back when anxiety grips you too tight, she reminds you that you are never alone.

- When your thoughts spiral, she does not push. She simply takes you flying, carrying you high above the earth, where the air is clear and nothing matters but the way she holds you close, whispering, “Breathe, love. Just breathe.”

- At night, as you lie in her arms, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong,” she murmurs. “You already hold my whole heart in your hands.”

Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)

- Slade Wilson is a storm contained in a man, all precision and ruthlessness, a blade honed to perfection. He is not gentle, not with the world—but with you, he is something close to it. Your quiet nature does not confuse him; he sees it for what it is—a mind sharper than most, a heart too big for the weight it carries.

- He is not a man of comfort, but he learns for you. When your hands tremble, he stills them with his own. When your voice shakes, he listens. He does not fill silences unnecessarily, but he makes sure you always know he is there.

- If someone mocks you for being shy, Slade does not waste words. He simply turns, fixes them with a stare as sharp as a knife’s edge, and says, “Do you have something useful to say, or are you just wasting my time?” The fear in their eyes is answer enough.

- He does not coddle you, but he protects you fiercely. He teaches you how to steady your breathing, how to hold your ground when the world presses too close. “You don’t have to be like me,” he tells you, voice low. “But I will make sure no one ever makes you feel small.”

- At night, when the world is quiet, he pulls you close, his lips ghosting against your temple. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs, “and I don’t need you to change. I like you exactly as you are.”

Kent Nelson (Doctor Fate)

- Kent Nelson is wisdom incarnate, a man who has seen beyond time itself. He carries the weight of eternity, yet somehow, he still finds wonder in you. He marvels at the way you move through the world, at the quiet strength you do not realize you possess.

- Your anxiety does not unsettle him—he understands the weight of a mind that never quiets. When the noise of the world becomes too much, he takes your hand, leading you into the sanctuary of his magic, where the air hums with ancient power and silence is a comfort, not a void.

- If someone dismisses you, speaking over your soft voice, Kent does not need anger to command attention. He simply tilts his head, the air shifting around him, and says, “You will listen.” The room stills. No one interrupts you again.

- He teaches you how to anchor yourself, how to breathe through the storm in your mind. “There is power in stillness,” he tells you, guiding your hand over an old tome, letting you feel the hum of magic that does not need to be spoken aloud to be real.

- At night, when the weight of the universe is momentarily lifted from his shoulders, he cradles you close. “The quietest souls are often the strongest,” he murmurs against your skin. “You do not have to be loud to leave an impact.”

Rachel Roth (Raven)

- Rachel Roth is a paradox—darkness and light, fire and ice, distant yet deeply feeling. She does not flinch at your social anxiety, does not misunderstand your silences. She simply accepts them. With her, you do not need to explain yourself.

- She knows what it is to be overwhelmed, to have emotions too large for one body. And so, when anxiety grips you tight, she takes your hand, grounding you with a simple, whispered “I’m here.”

- If someone speaks unkindly of you, Rachel does not raise her voice. She does not need to. The shadows around her shift, the air thickens, and suddenly, the offender stumbles over their words, swallowing their own cruelty.

- She never asks you to be anything but yourself. If words fail you, she does not demand them. She understands the language of glances, of fingertips grazing against fabric, of the way your breath catches when the world feels too much.

- At night, as you curl against her, she murmurs against your skin, “You don’t have to change for me.” And in the hush between words, you realize—you never want to.

Zatanna Zatara

- Zatanna Zatara is effortless charisma, a woman born from magic itself. She commands attention wherever she goes, yet she never expects you to do the same. She sees the beauty in your quiet nature, the depth in your silences.

- She does not push you into the spotlight, but she always makes sure you know you belong. If a room is too loud, too overwhelming, she leans close, murmuring soft reassurances in a language older than time, words that hum with warmth and comfort.

- If someone mocks your shyness, she does not lash out. Instead, she smiles sweetly, tilts her head, and mutters a single backward spell that ensures they trip over their own feet every time they try to speak.

- She teaches you that magic is not always about grandeur. Sometimes, it is in the smallest things—in the way she always seems to know when you need space, in the way her fingers brush yours before lacing them together, in the way her voice steadies yours when you feel like disappearing.

- At night, as the world fades into quiet, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her voice soft as a spell. “You don’t need magic to be special,” she whispers. “You already enchant me just as you are.”

433 notes · View notes

exeerrorscript · 3 months ago

Text

pay my dues; worship you

mature

prompt: riding connor until he cries

“Please, please, please!” He begs and pleads in his jerking state beneath you, but it does nothing to sway the smirk on your face.

“You look so pretty, baby.” Blowing at the wet tip gently, you giggle at the look on Connors face as he takes everything in with his shiny new sensors.

The thick saliva you gathered and dripped onto his new Heart sanctioned dick went from slightly warm to impossibly cold under your breath.

His hips jerked and he cried, but the stars holding his wrists together was custom made for their headboard, for their marital bed.

The dick was your gift to him, you’d been crafting it meticulously in the lab for an embarrassingly long time, you’d never admit it even if you were strung from each joint- much like Connor is right now,

“The prettiest I’ve ever seen. You’re gorgeous, it’s- it’s-” you lightly grabbed the base again and stroked gently with each work; you keep motion with your wrist while springing forward to whisper in his ear, “positively filthy.”

He cried your name, sobbed it in such a pretty cry your toes curled on instinct. You’re so glad to have played a parfait in crafting his face, building him, breathing in a small piece of your life.

You felt guilty for a long time. It ate away at you nearly each time, had you weighing your words and doubting your boundaries. Even after the revolution ended you didn’t know what to say. That was something you’d have to apologize for as well.

Connor, your precious Connor, hasn’t brought it up once. It was well within his rights to, he could do more- be angry, question you, doubt you, but he doesn’t. Instead he shudders at your voices.

He lets you trace the curve of his ear with your tongue, and he shudders when you dip the tip of it inside.

“Please,” he really does look desperate now, hips jerking constantly to meet your flicking wrist and eyelids in a permanent mini flutter.

You press a kiss to the center of his forehead, “My good boy. I’m so glad you like it, I worked so hard on it for you.” You kiss his cheek, “Just for you.” You kiss the other side, “My sworn favorite.”

He wines again, shuffling beneath you. Swinging a leg over both his thighs, you finally cease your feather light torment. Taking his jaw in each hand, you meet his soft, fucked-out brown eyes-

you could cum just from whatever feeling Connor is showing you through them, if you could only name one that would fit it. You wish you were an android, could screenshot your vision and save it forever

-and finally lower your lips to his. It’s incredibly gentle, his lips were synthetically smooth and gave kindly to your pressure. He parted first, taking your lip between his teeth and biting lightly; he ran it apologetically on each side before tracing the rigid tops of each individual tooth.

The apologetic kitten licks were likely a ploy, but you shivered in delight all the same. When he tired of the teeth, Connor began to explore the grooves of your hard palate. Your sweet Connor was so worried he’d hurt you, so hesitant, but the gentle pressure on the roof of your mouth brings tears to your eyes.

You shudder, hips ground hard as you try to pull away. His mouth chases you just enough that you linger, his tongue beginning to bashfully move against yours. Another apology, likely another ploy. He really was just so damn cute.

Your lips still burn where he tasted you, the soft glide of artificial warmth barely cooled by the ambient air between you. His eyes, those unbearably rich brown pools of puppy love, flicker with some unreadable expression—too many emotions overlapping, spilling through the cracks of his manufactured restraint.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words curling in the space between your lips and his, brushing like silk against his synthetic skin. You kiss him quickly once more so you can say it again, “I love you.”

His fingers twitch in the restraints, at first you used human ones; you liked knowing he could break out if he really wanted to. Connor insisted, swore it was for him that you get the android-specific model. He even had them specially reinforced just for his strength level.

Your perfect Connor. You raise to your knees, stretching tall in all your glory and it’s bliss how he looks at you. You take his generous new addition and let his tip slowly part your lips.

His lips part, but no sound comes. Just a breathless stutter in his throat, like his vocal processors are failing to reconcile everything at once. A glitch in his system, a disruption in the equilibrium of calculated responses. He’s always been so careful—so aware of every modulation of his voice, every fraction of expression. But now, under you, because of you, he is unmade.

Isn’t that worship?

Ever so often you lift the head to your clit, just enough that your grip would tighten and he would shake just so slightly.

Your free fingertips skim his jaw, the line of it sharp, refined—a design choice you once agonized over for weeks, obsessing over symmetry, over softness and severity in equal measure. The memory lingers beneath your skin, the weight of creation and consequence. You’d meant for him to be perfect, but you never meant for him to be yours. Not like this.

Connor’s body tells a different story.

The tension in his muscles, the way he leans into every touch, the unfiltered rawness in his expression—he wants. And not because of programming. Not because of some pre-coded function buried deep within his systems.

Because it’s you.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice barely a whisper, frayed at the edges.

You tilt your head, nails skimming lightly along his throat, feeling the quiet hum of his thirium pump beneath artificial flesh. Too fast. His body is working harder, compensating. Overwhelmed, overheating, undone.

“Say what again, sweetheart?” you tease, and his whole body trembles at the endearment.

His breath catches—his mouth opens and closes once, struggling to keep up, to hold himself together when everything is unraveling so beautifully.

“Please,” he gasps, like it’s been ripped from him, like it’s all he has left to give.

And God, the way he says it.

It drips from his lips like a prayer, reverent, aching, desperate. His voice cracks around it, like it’s the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

Your grip on his jaw tightens just slightly, just enough to feel the give of artificial muscle beneath your fingertips, just enough to hold him there—and sink onto his ten inch cock.

Trapped in the moment, in the need, in you, Connor cries the sweetest you’ve ever heard him, so you wait just a moment before saying what he wants to hear.

“I love you,” you breathe, and his whole body jerks, the binded pull of his wrists sending a sharp gasp from his lips, but he bucks up into your velvet heat unapologetically.

It’s too much, you think. Too much and not enough.

And you don’t know which one of you is closer to breaking first.

Your name is warm in the air between you, still trembling on Connor’s lips like something sacred. You watch as it lingers in the depths of his eyes, behind the rapid flickering of his LED, somewhere between a malfunction and pure devotion.

“I love you,” his words are shaky but he stays still; it may be his first time but he knows even you will need time to adjust.

You let him tremble. Let the heat simmer beneath his synthetic skin. Let the bindings keep his hands from reaching for you, from clawing at you in desperate, unscripted need. You wonder if he even knows how much he’s changed—how far from his original programming he’s strayed.

Or maybe this was always there, buried deep, waiting for you to bring it to the surface.

You stroke your thumb over his bottom lip, pressing just lightly enough to feel the soft, yielding texture. Synthetically smooth, yes, but warm, pliant—so perfectly imperfect that it makes your stomach twist. He parts his lips just barely, just enough for his breath to ghost against your fingertip, warm and shuddering.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, but Connor hears everything. He always does.

He swallows hard. You can see the artificial tension ripple through his throat, the subtle flutter of muscle beneath synthetic skin. His LED pulses in rapid succession—yellow, yellow, yellow—processing at speeds beyond human comprehension, yet he’s so utterly lost.

And he loves it.

“You—you are—” He tries, but his voice breaks, and you can’t help but smile.

“I know,” you whisper. And you do.

You dip your head, just enough to press your lips against his jaw—soft, reverent. The sigh that leaves him is so human it makes your chest ache. You trail lower, tracing the column of his throat, feeling the static-hummed heat radiating off him in waves.

“I want to touch you,” he confesses, his voice breaking somewhere between a plea and a demand.

You glance at his wrists, bound so prettily above his head, the glowing threads of the custom-made restraints casting faint halos of light against his skin. He strains against them, but only just—only enough to feel the pull, the reminder that he is at your mercy.

You press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, feeling the way he shudders beneath you, the way his body jerks involuntarily, a system pushed to its limit. “I know,” you say again, and this time, you kiss the pulse point just below his jaw, where a human’s heartbeat would be.

He gasps sharply, the sound catching at the back of his throat, something unfiltered, raw.

“So- so hot,” he panted, “so much.”

He is so close.

Not just to this—this moment, this breaking point—but to something deeper. Something neither of you have words for yet.

Your fingers slide down his chest, slow, deliberate. Every touch is a choice. Every press of your fingertips is an unspoken promise.

And Connor, your perfect machine, your perfect Connor—

He is waiting to be undone.

You lift your hips, taking in his precious look of abandonment before seeing it crumble to pieces when you slink back down.

“Don’t worry, baby; I’ve got you.”

You ball your fists and place them on Connors stabilizing pecks, thanking his muscles for letting you set a brutal pace.

He lurches and shouts your name, letting it echo through the room as he thrashes beneath you.

“So pretty, you cry so fucking pretty, Connor.”

He sobs at that, and you really think this cheeky brat is playing the part; you can’t prove it and it kills you.

Finally comfortable in the rapid clench onto his cock as it pierces into you, crushing your cervix, and rising in a rock, you let your fingers splay on his chest.

He whines and shakes his head as you prod his nipples gently, circling the rim and pinching until they’re hard beneath the pads you press against them. Coyly, probably because he’s crying so very much, you take one between your front teeth.

You close your lips around and suck, lavishing in how his face morphed into despaired pleasure. Connor was practically a puddle of tears, spit, and cum.

“My pretty baby, you’re doing so good.” You kiss him again, holding his face with one hand and the back of his head in the other.

He begins to rock up into you, and you feel your tits drag against his chest with the force of it.

“Ah, ha!” You hiss.

“Can’t stop,” he calls your name like a desperate plea, “i’m sorry, so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

He continues on like that, all the while fucking up into you. You grab onto his shoulders, thank god you can get a grip on his muscles like a rock-wall.

“Guhh-” He fucks you high enough that you can catch a breath and mentally get a grip. Sitting up straight, Connor can fuck much deeper up into you.

From this angle, though, you can glare disapprovingly down at him.

“Naughty thing.”

You pinch his nipples sharply, rolling your hips and keeping pace. You let one hand trace to where his thirium pump is- tap it lightly.

“God you are gorgeous though. So pretty, pretty enough you could get away with anything. I didn’t get it before, why people hated pretty girls so much. Now I do.”

You lean into his ear and see him shake, “My pretty girl.”

Thick bursts of warm liquid saline fills you and, as it hits your cervix, you only let the grief of his inorganic origins hurt you for a second before you shudder and kiss all over his face.

“You did such a good job, you were perfect, Connor.” You pet through his hair, soft and kind while he comes back to earth in his own time.

You keep up the constant stream of praise and coos while you release him from his restraints, making it all the way into his arm before he seems to click back to consciousness.

He turns onto his side to mirror you, taking in your face with a serious look all over his face.

“You didn’t orgasm.”

“Ha!”

Even as he pulls away you press tight against his chest. “We’ve been in a one-sided sexual relationship since the start. Let me pay my dues, love, please?”

He ducks his head something shy and pretty, looking up at you through thick lashes; “It wasn’t one-sided.”

You take his chin in your right hand and lift it so you can kiss him hard, “God, I love you.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him properly now; legs intertwined and your head tucked neatly in his neck. “I love you, too.”

#dbh #dbh connor #connor rk800 #dbh rk800 #rk800 #dbh x reader #connor x reader #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human #detroit become human x you #dbh smut #dbh x reader smut #detroit: become human #detroit: bh #connor smut #connor rk800 x reader #connor rk800 x reader smut

372 notes · View notes

allgoodnamesrgoneee · 9 months ago

Note

i love your virgil smut so much, dominant and size kink 😫😫 wondering if you could write the one that is similar for jude too please ❤

I know this one took me forever to upload but I had to make sure it was perfect for you guys. After 3 rewrites, I present to you...

After Hours

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — the one where you are his only desire.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 10.5k.

Warnings! FLUFF! He's down badddd, NSFW! SMUT (18+), size kink, protected vaginal sex (stay safe), oral sex (f receiving), hot sex, multiple orgasms, dom!Jude, sub!reader.

The Penthouse was alive with energy. Trent's birthday had drawn out the kind of crowd that made it impossible to move without brushing shoulders with someone.

Laughter spills over the booming bass of the music, blending with the distinct smell of alcohol and food wafting throughout the house. A mix of conversations buzz in every corner of the house—loud, overlapping, and relentless.

Jude leans against the far wall of the living room, eyes half-lidded as he sips from a drink he barely cares for. He wasn’t really a fan of these gatherings; too many people, too much noise. But Trent was a friend, and bailing wasn't an option.

At least not yet.

He was giving the party until midnight before making his excuses and heading out. It's 11:57. Almost there.

His gaze flickers to the clock mounted over the TV, then around the room at the partygoers. He spots Trent across the room, laughing and hugging a group of people, and smiles. He's happy his friend is having a good time.

He checks his watch again, making a silent vow to himself to stay put for at least two more minutes. He exhales quietly, thinking of how easy it would be to slip out unnoticed. He's already halfway to deciding on an exit strategy when something—someone—catches his attention.

There you are.

Standing on your tiptoes, trying—and failing—to grab something from the top shelf in the kitchen. Your brows furrow in concentration, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you stretch as far as your short frame would allow, but it's no use.

The cup remains tantalizingly out of reach, and it looks like you'd been at it for a while, silently battling the shelf like it was some kind of cruel joke.

Amused, Jude can't help the smirk tugging at his lips. The scene is oddly endearing.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on your curvy figure before he sets his drink down, the thought of leaving slipping from his mind. His legs move before he can stop himself, carrying him across the room with an easy stride. It takes him a second to cross the living room, dodging a couple of people on his way before finally reaching the kitchen.

Jude pauses just behind you, his height towering over your small frame. You don't notice him at first, too focused on your mission to retrieve the elusive cup.

A grin plays at the corner of his mouth as he reaches up with ease, his long arm grabbing the cup that had been giving you such a hard time.

You finally notice him, head snapping around, eyes widening as you take in his presence. You're flushed, whether from the exertion or embarrassment, Jude isn't sure, but the sight made something warm bubble up in his chest.

“Need a hand?” His voice is low, teasing, his smirk not fading.

You blink at him, brows furrowing slightly before a small, sheepish smile pulls at your lips. "That obvious, huh?" you mutter, voice soft but laced with a hint of humor. Your cheeks are a little pink, but you don't seem angry, just mildly exasperated.

Jude raises an eyebrow, his smirk still firmly in place. “I don’t know, you were getting pretty close. Maybe another few inches and you would've nailed it.”

You roll your eyes at him, embarrassment fading into something lighter. “Oh, shut up. Are you going to give me the cup, or are you just here to gloat?”

He chuckles, lowering the cup to your level. “Maybe a bit of both.”

You snatch it from his hand with a dramatic sigh, but the small smile you wear tells him you aren’t really upset. “Thanks... I guess,” you say, tone playfully begrudging. You set the cup down and turn to him, raising your eyes to his face.

There's a pause between you both as you take him in. He can see it, the way your gaze drags down his chest, over his arms, and back up again. His body responds to the attention, a spark of attraction lighting up inside him as he watches you study him.

He likes that. The way you look at him like that. He wants to see it again.

“So...” he says, interrupting your stare. “What's the occasion?” His eyes flick to the cup on the counter. “Late night tea party for one? I didn't know those were a thing.” He's not sure why he says it, maybe just to keep the light banter going. It feels like he should say something.

He watches you raise an eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curling into an amused smile. “I needed a drink. Thought it was better than bothering the bartender.” You shrug, picking up the cup and sauntering over to the fridge. He follows you with his eyes, taking in the sway of your hips, his heart rate picking up a little as he thinks of how much fun he could have with your curvy little body.

“I can make one for you if you want,” Jude offers, his voice still teasing, but there’s a new edge to it, something more playful, maybe even flirtatious. He leans against the kitchen counter, eyes following your movements as you reach into the fridge, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You glance back over your shoulder at him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "You? Make a drink?" you ask, amusement dripping from your tone.

He chuckles softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been known to make a decent one or two. What are you in the mood for?”

You pause at the fridge, considering his offer for a moment before shutting the door without grabbing anything. Turning to face him, you lean back against the counter, mirroring his stance. “Surprise me.”

Jude grins, pushing off the counter as he steps closer, now standing directly in front of you. The space between you narrows, not quite enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough for the tension to feel palpable. He reaches up to grab a couple of bottles from the liquor cabinet above the sink, and you watch him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“So, do you always rescue people from their beverage-related dilemmas?” you ask, your tone light and teasing, though you can’t help but admire the ease with which he moves. There’s something effortless about him.

Jude smirks, eyes flicking to yours as he pours the first drink. “Only when they look as helpless as you did.”

You gasp, feigning offense, and lightly swat his arm. “I wasn’t helpless! I was just… strategically challenged.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, it drowns out the rest of the party’s noise. “Right. My mistake,” he says, handing you the drink with a smirk that makes it clear he’s not sorry at all.

You take the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, and you feel the electric tingle of the contact. It’s subtle but undeniable, and you wonder if he felt it too.

“Thanks,” you say, bringing the glass to your lips. You take a sip, the cool liquid soothing as it slides down your throat. You meet his gaze over the rim of the cup, noting the way his eyes seem to darken slightly as they lock onto yours.

“No problem,” he replies, voice quieter now, almost intimate despite the noise surrounding you. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for a brief second, it feels like the rest of the party has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you standing there, locked in this moment.

The drink is strong, but surprisingly good. You raise your eyebrows, impressed despite yourself.

“Well?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter with a smug expression. “Do I pass?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one. It’s decent.”

"Decent, huh?" Jude’s grin widens, a flicker of something playful lighting up his face. "I'll take that as high praise."

You shake your head, laughing softly as the tension between you both begins to shift into something easier, more comfortable. “I didn’t mean that as praise,” you tease, taking another sip from your drink.

He chuckles at the light jab, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Of course not.” Jude glances at his watch, raising his brows slightly as he notices how late it is.

He hadn’t planned to stay for long, but he was having too much fun chatting with you to leave right now. It wasn’t like him to enjoy a conversation so much, especially at a party like this. There was something about you that drew him in, made him want to stay and learn more about you.

“Are you leaving?” you ask, seeming to notice his attention on his watch.

He raises his gaze to meet yours, blinking. He shrugs, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “Was just about to leave, actually.”

Your smile falters slightly, just for a second. “Already? But the party’s just getting started.”

“Not really my scene,” Jude admits, glancing back toward the crowded living room.

You nod, gaze flicking back to the drink in your hand as you swirl it absentmindedly. “Well, glad you did. Otherwise, I’d probably still be standing here, struggling for that cup like a fool.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, come on. You were laughing at me.”

“Not laughing,” he corrects, a teasing edge to his voice. “Just…observing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, lips twitching with a grin. You arch an eyebrow at the response, but the playful teasing has you smiling again.

“So,” Jude says, suddenly changing the topic. “How do you know Trent?”

“He’s my sister's boyfriend” you reply, “You?”

“Wait! You're Y/N?” He blinks at you, realization dawning as he takes in the information. “Right. I should’ve made the connection earlier.” He laughs softly at himself, shaking his head.

You look exactly like your sister, with people sometimes mistaking you for twins. Your height was the only way for people to distinguish you sometimes. With her being 5'5 and you being 5'2.

You smile at his confusion, seeming amused by his reaction. “Yeah, that’s me. How do you know her?”

“Trent brought her to my New Year's party.”

“Oh, yeah...” You frown at him, as though remembering something. “You’re Jude, right? I think my sister has mentioned you a few times.”

He smirks at the memory, feeling something warm in his chest at the mention of your sister talking to you about him. “That’s me.”

A small silence falls between you both, the tension growing less easy now, but not quite uncomfortable. He thinks of something to say, but before he can open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“Do you want to step outside with me for a minute?” you ask, already setting your drink down on the counter.

He blinks, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. He was about to ask you to grab another drink with him when you mentioned going outside.

“Sure,” he replies finally, picking his drink up from the counter. “Lead the way.” He follows you through the crowded house, almost losing you a couple of times as you seem to disappear into the crowd. Damn, you're short.

The balcony is quieter than the inside, a couple smoking in the corner, but otherwise, it's fairly empty. The sounds of the party are muted now, a muffled background noise. The cold air feels like a welcome relief after the heat of the crowded living room.

“Nice out here,” he says as you sit down at a lounge, nodding to the empty spot next to you as he lowers himself onto it.

You smile, settling into your seat as you pull your jacket a little tighter against the chill. "Yeah, it's nice to get some air. Gets a bit suffocating in there."

Jude nods, glancing back toward the house where the sounds of the party still hum faintly through the walls. He’s relieved to be out here, away from the chaos, but more than that, he's glad you're here too. Conversation feels... easy with you, even though you've only known each other for a few minutes.

"So, you do this often?" he asks, leaning back in the seat, watching the way you absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair between your fingers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What, escape to the balcony?"

"No, I meant..." He gestures vaguely with his drink, smirking a little. "Come to these kinds of parties."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Not really. Trent's parties are... something, but my sister drags me along sometimes. I think she feels bad leaving me home alone." You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance in your tone, just affection.

Jude studies you for a moment, noticing the way your expression softens when you talk about your sister. There's a warmth in your eyes that he hadn't seen earlier, and it makes him curious, wishing you would look at him like that.

"Seems like she cares about you," he says, tone a little softer now.

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, she does. It's kind of nice, even if I act like it's annoying sometimes."

Jude nods, thinking about his own brother for a moment before turning the conversation back to you. "So, what do you do when you're not at parties you don't really want to be at?"

You snort softly, bringing your knees up to rest your feet on the edge of the lounge. "Oh, you know, just saving the world, one cup at a time."

He chuckles at your sarcasm, but there's a twinkle of genuine amusement in his eyes as he leans forward slightly. "Seriously though."

"Okay, okay," you relent, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I'm a med student, so I guess you could say I'm learning how to save lives."

Jude's eyebrows lift, impressed. "Wow, that's... intense."

You shrug, though there's a flicker of pride in your expression. "It is, but I love it. Always wanted to be a doctor."

"That's cool," he replies, leaning back again. "I bet you're great at it."

You glance at him, something in his tone catching your attention. He sounded sincere, not like the typical empty flattery you sometimes got. It makes you smile.

A comfortable silence settles between you both as you sip your drinks, the night air crisp but not too cold.

Jude watches you for a moment, noting the way the moonlight casts a soft glow on your face, making your eyes seem brighter in the darkness. There’s something calming about being out here with you, something grounding. It’s not what he expected when he first spotted you struggling with that cup, but now that you’re here, he’s not in any rush to leave.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low but warm, “this isn’t a bad way to spend the night after all.”

You glance over at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I guess it’s not.” You pause, meeting his gaze. “I’m glad you didn’t bail at midnight.”

Jude grins, feeling that familiar warmth bloom in his chest again. "Me too." He leans forward, resting his arm on the back of the lounge chair. "I mean, it would have been a bummer to leave right when I'm just getting to know a woman this beautiful." He smiles softly, his eyes sparkling in the faint light.

You flush, dropping your gaze to your drink as you fidget with the glass. “Um... thanks, I guess.” Your cheeks are hot, but you can't help the flutter in your chest at his words.

Jude notices your blush though, and it brings a smirk to his lips. He enjoys the way you fumble with your drink, clearly nervous at the compliment. He leans back again, sipping his drink quietly for a moment before looking over at you.

"You’re cute," he says, voice dropping down into something softer, lower, more intimate. “Especially when you're embarrassed.”

The flush deepens as you look away, your eyes skipping to the floor. "I'm not embarrassed," you say, but the fact that you're avoiding looking at him says otherwise.

"Sure you’re not," he replies with a chuckle, leaning forward again.

You fidget in your seat, eyes still down. Your cheeks burn, and you’re glad for the dim lighting out here that hopefully hides it. "Stop it," you mutter, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

Jude laughs softly, reaching out and sliding his hand into yours. His hand is warm, calloused, bigger than yours, and his fingers wrap easily around yours. "Can't help it," he says, squeezing your hand lightly. "You're too cute."

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry as your eyes dart to his hand in yours. He's holding it loosely, not gripping it tightly, but it's enough to feel possessive somehow, enough to make your heart race and your cheeks flush with heat. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you like this, let alone with such intention.

Your gaze snaps to Jude's, eyes wide and slightly nervous. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated, his mouth curved in a low, satisfied smile. His thumb presses into the center of your palm, the pressure soft, light, sending goosebumps down your arm.

You swallow again, trying to form words, but coming up with nothing. The air between you feels heavy suddenly, thick with heat and tension, your heart pounding in your ears. You glance back at the house, wondering if anyone can see, if anyone notices, but the windows are empty, the party still going strong inside.

Jude chuckles, low and soft. "You good?" he asks, voice dropping into something lower, husky.

You swallow hard again. Your eyes dart back to his, finding his still locked on yours, his gaze intense.

"Yeah, I'm good," you finally manage to get out, though your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

Jude's smile widens, and he shifts closer, your thighs now touching. "Good." His hand tightens a little around yours, squeezing lightly. "Good," he repeats, his voice dipping into something even softer, more intimate before placing his now empty glass on a nearby table along with yours.

His eyes are still locked on yours, and the way he's watching you, it feels like he's looking right through the layers you’ve carefully built up. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable. In a way that feels… thrilling.

You bite your lip, the warmth of his hand grounding you even as your pulse races. There’s a tension now, something thick in the air that wasn’t there before. It crackles between you, electric, and you don’t know whether to pull away or lean into it.

"Jude…" you start, but your voice trails off. You’re not sure what you’re trying to say. You can’t even think straight.

He tilts his head, watching you carefully. "Yeah?"

You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, though your stomach twists in nervous anticipation. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your chest, like you’re standing at the edge of something new, something you can’t quite name. "What are we doing here?"

He smirks, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a slow, deliberate motion. "Just talking," he says, but the way he says it, the way his eyes darken, suggests that there’s a lot more simmering beneath the surface.

You laugh softly, a little breathless. "Is that what this is?"

His grin widens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He just watches you, studying the way you shift nervously in your seat, the way your lip trembles slightly as you bite it. Finally, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "What do you want it to be?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You can feel the weight of the question hanging between you, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place. Something that makes your skin tingle, makes your heart beat faster.

"Jude..." you start again, but again, your voice dies off.

His grin softens. "Yeah?" His hand squeezes yours lightly, his fingers brushing over your wrist as his eyes dart to your mouth.

You feel your cheeks heat all over again, and there's a sudden ache between your legs that you can’t ignore. You fidget, trying not to think about it, trying to focus on the conversation instead. “This is a little... intense, isn't it?"

He chuckles softly, leaning in even closer, his lips just inches from yours now. "It doesn't have to be." His voice drops to a whisper as he looks at you. "I promise. Whatever you want."

For a moment, you don’t speak. You just look at him.

The dim light casts gentle shadows across his face—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a slightly crooked smile that adds a touch of roguish charm to his otherwise serene expression. His lips are full, inviting. And his eyes. Oh, how beautiful they are. There’s a way he looks at you that makes you feel like the only person in the world. You want to stare into them forever.

He's beautiful.

Slowly, you reach out with your free hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your mouth. Smell the subtle scent of his cologne—a hint of something warm and musky, with a touch of something fresh—mingling with the crisp night air.

Jude lets out a low exhale as he leans in the last few inches to meet you, pressing his lips softly against yours. They're warm and firm, gentle as they slide against yours, teasing a little with each movement. He doesn't rush it, just lets the kiss play out slowly as his hand squeezes around yours, pulling you closer.

You sigh against his mouth as he slides his tongue over your lower lip, a low noise of pleasure slipping from your throat. He groans softly at the sound, his hand shifting from yours to wrap around your side and pull you into his lap, your legs falling to either side of him on the lounge chair. You go willingly, letting him slide his arms around you, feeling him against you now.

Jude breaks the kiss after a moment, leaning back to look at you. "You taste good," he murmurs, his voice rougher now, deeper, his words sending heat flooding through you.

You flush, your cheeks warming again as your eyes drop to his mouth. "You too," you reply, barely above a whisper.

He hums softly, his fingers trailing along your side to brush against your waist. Your breath hitches at the light touch, and his hand moves again, his palm sliding down over your hips. "So fucking soft," he mutters, a smile playing on his lips. "I want to feel every inch of you."

A shiver runs through you at his words, desire burning inside of you at the promise in his voice. "Do it," you whisper, leaning in again to brush your mouth over his.

He groans, his hand pulling your crotch down to meet his. Jude's arms tighten around you, and you feel the hard length of him pressing against your core. You gasp against his mouth at the feel, your hips twitching slightly as he pushes you tighter against him. You both moan softly, your fingers tightening around the back of his head as you grind against him.

Jude pulls back with a chuckle, looking at you through his lashes. "Fuck, baby. You're going to kill me." He leans in again, pressing his mouth to yours as his hands slide underneath your skirt to cup your ass. He kneads your flesh gently, his hands rough against your skin as he squeezes. "Fuck. I knew you'd feel this good." He groans low in his throat, his tongue sliding over your lips once more.

You whimper into his mouth, heat burning in your lower belly as you rock against him. You're wet already, his touches, his words lighting you on fire. His hand shifts, one still cupping your ass as

the other slides between you to press against your clit through your panties.

A choked moan escapes you as you grind into his hand, your hips twisting against him. "Please," you breathe, breaking away from his kiss to lean against his shoulder. "Jude. Please." Your nails dig into his back at the pressure of his fingers through your underwear, his thumb sliding over your clit with each movement of your hips.

Jude lets out a harsh breath, his mouth running along your neck as his hands tighten around you. "God, baby," he groans. "I can't. There's too many people." He nips at your throat, his teeth sliding gently over your skin. "I don't want to share you. Not for one fucking second."

You cry out softly at his words, your hips bucking against his hand. "But I want you," you murmur, rolling your hips into his touch, your teeth sinking into his shoulder.

Jude's hands pull away from you, one cupping your jaw as you lean back against his arm, panting. "Look at me," he rasps, his eyes dark as they meet yours. "There's no way we're going to be able to do this right here." He trails his hand over your breasts, cupping them gently as he murmurs. "I need you too fucking bad, and there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to get you out of your pants before someone realizes what the fuck is going on."

He groans, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. "Come back to my place," he whispers against your mouth, his hand slipping over your hip once more. "Let me take care of you."

You flush at his words, his touch sending fire shooting through you. Your hand wraps around his arm, fingers digging into his skin. "Okay," you agree, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes slipping closed.

"Jesus," Jude breathes out, pulling you against his chest as he leans his mouth against your forehead. "If I take you home like this," he says, his voice low in your ear, "I'm not going to let you leave my bed for the rest of the night."

You bite your lip, swallowing back a whimper. "That sounds good," you breathe out, heat flooding your body at his words.

Jude’s breath shudders against your forehead. The night air feels colder now, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. You can’t help but shiver slightly, but it’s not from the cold.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low and urgent as he starts to stand, lifting you with him. His grip on you is firm but gentle, as if afraid you might disappear if he holds too tightly. You smile a little at the thought, letting him guide you back inside.

As you walk, his hand slides to your lower back, his arm still wrapped around you. Your smile deepens, and your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you notice the way he’s staring down at you. “What?” you ask, a giggle bubbling up in your throat.

He smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he replies voice barely heard over the music. “I just like looking at you.”

You blush, biting your lip as you turn your gaze. A few of his friends glance at you, their gazes flicking to Jude’s hand wrapped around you before they turn back to their conversation.

He guides you through the crowd, his hand never leaving the small of your back, making sure you’re close to him. He stops by a group of friends, his mouth moving as he talks to them, but you don’t hear his words. You’re too busy looking up at him, taking in the hard planes of his face, the way his eyes flicker between you and his friends.

You don’t notice when he pulls out his phone, a smile on his lips as he types something out quickly. He slips it into his pocket, turning to wrap his arm back around you. His eyes flicker over your face, a grin playing on his lips as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “My driver is here,” he says softly. “Want to go?”

You nod quickly, heat burning inside of you. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you through the crowd again as you make your way to the door.

Jude holds your hand as he opens the door, stepping back to let you exit first. You do, walking out of Trent's penthouse and into the cool night air. The Porsche is parked at the curb, its doors already open as you step out. A driver stands next to it, his hands clasped in front of him as he waits.

You get in first, feeling like royalty as you slide into the smooth leather seats. The door closes behind you, and Jude slides in beside you. You catch a glimpse of his smile as he slides his arm around you, pulling your legs over his lap as he leans against you.

The car glides smoothly from the curb, heading down the highway toward the city. You lean back against the seat, feeling Jude's hand slide up your leg, his fingertips ghosting under the hem of your skirt. You turn to face him, grinning as you play with the collar of his shirt.

His eyes flick to your hand, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as you tease the fabric. "What are you thinking?" Jude murmurs, his voice thick with that same low, gravelly tone that sends shivers down your spine.

You shrug, feigning innocence. "Just wondering if you always wear shirts this nice," you tease, brushing your fingertips against the fabric again, trailing lightly along the edge of his collar.

Jude chuckles, low and deep, leaning his head back against the seat as his fingers slide further up your thigh, sending a wave of heat crashing through you.

Your breath catches, and you can't help the way your body reacts to his touch. The closeness, the heat, the tension—all of it coils tight inside of you like a spring wound too tight, waiting to snap. You glance down, watching his hand inch further beneath the fabric of your skirt, teasing but never fully satisfying.

The city lights outside blur as the car speeds down the highway, a soft hum filling the silence between you. The world seems distant, fading away as you lose yourself in the moment, in him. Jude’s hand pauses, resting just at the top of your thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth lazily over your skin. It’s torture, slow and deliberate, making your body crave more.

"You have no idea what you’re in for, baby," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You grin, the anticipation coiling tighter in your belly as you press your mouth to his jaw, kissing along the sharp line there, tasting the faint hint of cologne on his skin. Jude’s hand shifts, sliding up to rest on your lower back, his fingers splayed wide as he presses you closer against him. His breath is ragged, his pulse quick under your lips, and you know he’s as affected by this as you are.

The car slows to a stop, and you glance out the window to see the entrance to a sleek high-rise building, all glass and steel, gleaming under the night sky. Jude doesn’t waste a second. He slides out of the car, his hand still gripping yours as he helps you out, pulling you close as he leads you toward the entrance.

The moment you step inside the building, the atmosphere shifts—quiet, intimate. The lobby is dimly lit, modern, and elegant, with polished floors and soft lighting. You barely register any of it, too focused on the way Jude’s fingers are laced with yours, the heat of his hand grounding you in the moment.

An elevator door opens, and Jude pulls you inside, pressing you up against the mirrored wall the second the doors close. His mouth is on yours in an instant, the kiss hot and urgent, all of the restraint from earlier gone in a flash. You gasp against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair as you kiss him back just as fiercely, your body arching into his.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, sliding up your back, gripping your hips. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, making you weak at the knees. "I’ve been waiting all night for this," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and full of need.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your breaths coming fast, your heart pounding in your chest. "So have me," you whisper, your voice breathless, your fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Jude's eyes darken, his grip on you tightening as the elevator dings softly, signaling that you've reached his floor. He doesn't say another word. Instead, he grabs your hand again, pulling you down the hall toward his apartment, his pace quick and purposeful. Your pulse quickens with every step, the anticipation thrumming through your veins.

The door to his apartment swings open, and before you can even take in your surroundings, Jude pulls you inside, his hands already sliding under your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

His mouth crashes down on yours again, the kiss rough and demanding, full of the same need that's been building inside you all night.

You arch against him, your arms looping around his neck as you pull him closer, kissing him back with just as much passion. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist tight as he presses you harder into the wall, his hips grinding against yours.

You can feel the hard length of him through his jeans, his cock straining against the fabric, sending a jolt of arousal through you. A whimper slips from your lips, and Jude growls low in his throat, his teeth grazing your jaw, your throat, making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking sexy." His hands shift, sliding up under your skirt to grip your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he lifts you up, his hard cock pressing right where you need it most.

You cry out, your head falling back against the wall, your breath catching as he grinds his cock against your pussy through the fabric of his jeans, the friction making your body clench tight with anticipation. His mouth is relentless, licking, sucking, and biting its way down your neck, sending waves of heat through you.

"Jude," you gasp, his name slipping from your lips on a moan.

He makes a rough sound, deep in his throat, and lifts you higher against him, his hands rough on your skin, his grip bruising. "Your ass is perfect," he mutters, his mouth traveling back to yours as he presses your hips harder into the wall, the thrusts of his cock against you almost enough to send you over the edge.

You're panting, gasping, your body trembling as the tension winds tighter and tighter inside you. Jude's hands are everywhere, groping and teasing as he devours your mouth, his tongue thrusting in and out in a rhythm that matches the thrusts of his hips.

The pleasure is almost too much, the anticipation threatening to boil over at any second. But then Jude suddenly stops, pulling back just a bit to look at you. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with lust as his chest heaves with heavy breaths.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asks, his voice still low and rough, but his eyes locked intently on yours.

You nod, breathless. "more than anything" you answer honestly.

He nods once, then presses your body flat against the wall again. "Good," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again. It's hard and fast, almost brutal. Then, before you even know what's happening, he lifts you away from the wall and carries you away.

Jude’s grip is steady, firm as he carries you effortlessly through the spacious apartment. You barely notice the surroundings, too consumed by the fire between you, by the way his touch sets your skin ablaze. His lips find yours again, devouring, urgent, as he moves with purpose down the hallway.

You don't care where he's taking you as long as he keeps going. The feel of his hard cock against you is addictive. You arch your hips, pressing closer against him as he walks.

The next thing you know, your back hits the soft surface of his bed, and you land with a bounce, your skirt riding up your thighs. Jude stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking you from head to toe as he begins to pull off his shirt. The fabric ripples down his torso, revealing a chiseled chest and abs, taut muscles flexing beneath his skin.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding harder in your chest, anticipation burning through you like fire.

He’s bigger than you in every way. His hands are twice the size of yours, his biceps thicker than your thighs. He’s not a huge man, not overly muscled, but there’s a raw power in his body that’s undeniable. And you’re so tiny compared to him — so small that your head only comes up to his shoulder.

It’s not something he usually thinks about, but in the moment, it becomes a living thing. The size difference between the two of you is so apparent, so obvious, it’s hard to ignore. And for some reason, it makes Jude’s cock even harder.

Your eyes are locked on him, dark and dilated, as if you want nothing more than his hands on you. He steps closer, reaching for the fly of his pants. Your gaze tracks his every movement, your breathing quickening as he unbuttons his jeans.

You wet your lips, sitting up to lean forward on the bed. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed with heat as Jude’s pants fall to his feet, revealing his boxers, the shape of his cock straining thickly against the fabric.

You lick your lips again, your eyes drifting up to his as he kicks his pants away, standing at the foot of his bed in only his boxers. The room seems to grow hotter.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," he promises, his voice low, husky, making you whimper with need.

The way he says it makes you want to agree, to give him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You bite your lip, your pulse throbbing in your ears as he steps closer to you, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck.

He hauls you close, your thighs parting automatically as his knees hit the mattress and he comes down on top of you. His mouth finds yours, his lips coaxing yours open as he slides his tongue into your mouth. His kiss is hot and wet and everything you want in this moment.

He kisses you deep and slow, his weight pressing you down into his mattress. You moan into the kiss, your tongue moving against his as you roll your hips against him. He groans into the kiss, his cock twitching against you where you're grinding against it.

His hand slides down your body, his palm smoothing up to cup your breast. You squeak as he grabs it and squeezes. He smiles against your mouth, thrusting his hips against you as you mewl and squirm beneath him.

"Fuck," he grunts, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your throat. He nips at your skin, sucking a mark on the skin above your collarbone.

You whine, clutching at his shoulders and he bites harder, making you gasp. The sound turns him on, his hips jutting against you like he can't stop himself.

He pulls back to look at you, a smile twisting his lips. You're flushed pink, your pupils blown wide, lips plump from kissing him.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his expression tender as he looks at you, his hands moving over you in a slow caress. He tugs your skirt down your hips, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your lingerie. His hands come back up to you, running down the sides of your thighs, his thumbs brushing the waistband of your panties.

You moan as he touches you, your back arching. You're desperate for more. He laughs, his touch teasing, light as he rubs his thumbs along the edges.

"Please," you whimper, reaching for his shoulders. His hands slide up, his thumbs hooking into the straps of your bra and tugging it down your arms. He pulls it off, his gaze falling on the curves of your naked breasts. He groans as he takes you in, his eyes hot as they look at you.

He drops his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, making you cry out. His hand finds your other breast, kneading it in his palm, squeezing. You gasp, your hips jolting up at the feel of his mouth on you.

He sucks harder, his teeth raking over your sensitive flesh. You moan, your nails digging into his back as he draws on your breast.

A shiver runs through your body as his hand falls to the waistband of your underwear. He tugs them down your legs and you raise your hips automatically, letting him pull them all the way off.

You're naked now, exposed and trembling with need as he looks down at you, sprawled out on his bed. Fuck.

You look so hot. So tiny and small compared to him, it’s impossible not to feel that urge to use you, to bend you to his will. It’s been there since the balcony, his desire to own you, to take care of you, but right now, it’s almost overwhelming.

"Spread your legs," he murmurs as he runs a finger up the inside of your thigh. You part your knees automatically for him and his hand moves straight up to your pussy. He presses his palm flat against your mound, his fingers slipping through your folds to feel your heat.

"Fuck," he groans, "look at you." You can't help but look. Your body is so much smaller than his, his hands spanning half the length of your thigh.

You gasp at the touch, your head falling back against the bed as he teases your clit. His fingers slide between your folds, rubbing, parting you open to find the entrance to your cunt. He circles it, his finger dipping inside, and you gasp.

You try to roll your hips and he moves his hand, using his palm to press you still.

"Let me play with you," he murmurs. You whimper, your body shivering with the touch. His mouth comes down over your breast again as he thrusts his finger into you with a squelch. "Shit, baby you're so wet." You moan at the stretch of his finger inside you, arching up against him. His teeth graze your nipple, his lips sucking it in his mouth.

You whine at the feel of him sucking on your nipple while his finger is inside you. The dual sensations make you gasp for breath as he thrusts into you, deep, making you clench around him.

His mouth moves to your other breast and he slides a second finger inside you as he sucks on your skin. You cry out, your back bowing as he uses his hand to hold you in place.

He finger fucks you, working your body with his touch as he nips at the curve of your breast, his teeth scraping your skin. He's careful not to hurt you, but you want him to go further.

He seems to realize that as he kisses his way back up your body. He holds his weight off you on one arm, his other hand still buried between your thighs as he works your cunt with his fingers.

You gasp as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking over your g-spot as he kisses your lips. You feel the build of your orgasm in the tightening of your belly, in the way your toes curl and your thighs clench. He rubs you faster, his mouth eating at yours as he drives you higher and higher.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling through your body and leaving you trembling in his hold. You cry out against his mouth as he rides you through it, his fingers working your pussy until it's spent.

He kisses your lips softly as he pulls his hand from you, his cock still hard against your leg. He shifts his hips to the side, sliding between your legs as you lay there, flushed and panting.

His hands move to his boxers, tugging them down his hips as you watch. Your eyes grow wide at the sight of his cock, thick and long and hot. He's so big. Unlike anyone you've had before. You have no idea how he’s going to fit.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jude’s mouth moving over your stomach, kissing his way down your body. His kisses are slow, sweet and you let him, relaxing against the bed with a moan.

His lips move over your hipbones, his tongue licking the skin and you can't help the giggle that escapes. He pauses to look up at you, his eyebrow arched in amusement.

"You ticklish?" he asks. You nod and he chuckles as he moves closer. His mouth drops to your mound and you gasp as his lips place a gentle kiss on it.

"Jude," you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair.

He moans, his lips moving over your pussy. He kisses your folds as he pushes them apart with his fingers and you arch under the touch. Your thighs part, falling open to let him have his way and he takes it, kissing along your slit, his tongue flicking out to tease you. You shiver at the feel of it on your clit and he repeats it, circling your little nub in a teasing caress.

He growls against you as he licks you open. Your cunt is wet and pink and fucking perfect. His tongue is long and rough against your sensitive skin and you gasp, clutching at the bedding as he goes to town. He sucks on you, his tongue pushing inside, licking your taste on his lips as he drinks you in.

His hands come down on either side of your thighs, pressing them open as his mouth finds your clit and sucks. Your body jolts at the feel of his lips, his tongue flicking at you in a quick caress that has you gasping in shock.

You whimper, your toes curling as he eats at you. You've never felt anything like this before. It's incredible, the way his mouth feels on you, his tongue stroking you in long swipes.

"Jude, fuck," you gasp and his growl vibrates against your clit as he works you towards another orgasm.

It doesn't take long. You're so sensitive, so worked up already. His tongue flicks over your clit in quick circles and you burst in a rush, your whole body trembling with the force of it. Your thighs clamp down around his head as he holds you steady, his tongue still stroking your clit through it.

You’re sensitive to the point of pain by the time he eases off, licking slowly as he lets you come down from the orgasm. You whine, your legs still clamped around his head and he gently works you open, his hands soft on your thighs.

His face is wet with your taste as he comes up over you, kissing you deep and filthy, making you taste yourself on his lips.

He's hard as hell against your thigh, his cock pressing into you and you roll your hips up in instinctive need. He groans, grinding his cock against you, rutting you like he needs it.

"I need you," you pant, kissing him, your hands running down his back. "Please, I need it."

His groan is thick and guttural. "Yeah, baby, need that big cock in that tight little pussy? Want me to fuck it? Hm?" He thrusts his hips against you to punctuate his words and you moan. You gasp, your eyes going wide at the way he talks, but fuck, you like it. It makes you hot, his dirty words making you need more.

You nod, your fingers sliding down to his ass, holding his hips tighter to your body. "Yes," you agree, "please, I want it."

"Fuck, you are so fucking hot," he whispers as he leans to the side to reach for a drawer in the bed, pulling out a condom. He tears it open and slides it over his cock, his hands slick with lube as he fists himself, working his shaft. Never taking his eyes off you. Fuck. This is going to be so good.

He drops on top of you, his weight heavy on you as he braces his elbows beside your head. his hands running up your thighs and hooking underneath your knees. He pushes them up towards your chest, opening you wide and you feel vulnerable in his hold, tiny and exposed as he lines his cock up with your cunt.

"You ready for me, baby? Gonna fill you up," he growls, his eyes dark and serious as he watches your reaction.

You can only moan, unable to talk as you feel his cock at the entrance to your body, hot and hard against you.

He stops, his eyes locked on yours as he checks on you. "You okay?" he whispers.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flicker to his. There’s a tenderness in his gaze, cutting through the thick haze of lust that surrounds you both. The way his voice softens when he asks—it's a moment of clarity, and it grounds you.

You nod, feeling the pressure of him right there, so close to entering. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice breathy, lost in the pleasure he's giving you. "I'm okay."

Jude's lips curve into a small smile, one that only deepens the wetness between your legs. His hands squeeze your thighs gently, reassuring you. "Good. I'll take care of you," he promises, and then his eyes drop to where he's pressed against you.

You moan, your mouth dropping open as you feel him press into you.

"Ah," you gasp, looking up at him in shock. Your fingers curl into the sheets, your body not yet adjusted to his size. He's huge inside you, thick, your walls stretching to accommodate him. The burn of his penetration is almost painful and you clench around his cock instinctively.

His breath shudders, and you can hear the restraint in his groan as he fights to keep it slow. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he mutters, forehead resting against yours as your gummy walls squeeze his cock.

You can feel him everywhere. His breath hot on your neck, his hands firm on your legs, his cock stretching you in ways you’ve never felt before.

You're fucking ruined for life. Ruined for anyone else.

You gasp, your body taut and trembling, and he moans as he settles deep inside your body. His eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he gasps.

For a moment, neither of you move. His hips stay locked against yours, the both of you catching your breath. Jude’s hands caress your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there as if to ease you into this. His lips ghost over your cheek, whispering soft words you can barely make out, but you know they’re for you. Only for you.

And then he moves.

It’s a slow, gentle pull out, almost torturous in its pace, followed by a deep thrust back in. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your back arching as you take him.

"Fuck, you're tight, baby," he pants. "Oh shit, I knew you'd feel good." He drops his forehead to yours with a groan. "But this," he thrusts, his cock moving inside you in a slow, deep stroke, "this is better than I imagined." He looks down at you, watching you as he fucks you, your cunt clenching tight around him as he moves in you. His cock fills you full, so full, and you're hot and tight and wet as hell around him, and he fucking loves it. You can see it in his eyes.

"Jude," his name is a moan as he drives deep inside you, hitting you with a thrust that makes you gasp in shock.

"That feel good, baby?" he pants, his hands sliding down to grab at your ass, holding you still as he fucks into you. You clutch at him, your arms wrapping around him. He kisses you deep, his mouth dropping to yours as his cock thrusts into your cunt. "Love you around my cock," he grunts against your lips. "It's so fucking perfect." Your whimpers make him growl.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as he fucks you harder, faster, pounding into you. The bed creaks beneath you, the air heavy with the sounds of skin against skin, of gasps and moans. You’re lost in it, in him—completely undone by the way he makes you feel.

It’s like nothing else matters. Nothing. Right now, all that exists is Jude, his body moving against yours, his cock filling you over and over until you can’t think straight.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking it so well." You can feel his words vibrate in his chest, and it only drives you higher.

It’s too much. Too much sensation, too much pleasure, and you cry out, the sound high-pitched and desperate as you clench down around him. "Fuck, fuck, baby," he growls against your lips as he feels it. "That feels so fucking good. Look at me. Look at me when I make you cum." His fingers move down to rub your clit, your pussy clenching tighter around him and he groans, thrusting into you with a growl as he tips you over the edge.

"Jude, Jude," you pant his name like a prayer, your nails digging into his shoulders, holding him closer. "Oh shit!" You feel your pussy clench and ripple around him, milking his cock for everything.

Your eyes flutter, your head tipping back with a gasp as your body trembles through the orgasm. Your cunt pulses tight around his cock and he groans as he takes you through it. His thrusts become unsteady, deep and hard and fast as he pounds into your little cunt and you take it.

"Oh yeah," he murmurs against your neck. "There you go. Cum on my cock, baby. That's a good girl." His mouth moves to your shoulder, his teeth sinking into you as he grunts, his body shuddering with pleasure.

He’s close. You feel it in the way he holds himself against you, in the way his breaths become short and heavy against your skin. "Fuck, I'm going to cum, baby," he gasps.

You clench down on his cock with a moan, squeezing his length inside you, and his mouth drops to yours in a hot and filthy kiss.

He fucks into you with a grunt, his thrusts quick and hard as he seeks his release. His body moves against yours in rough jerks, his cock thick inside you, filling you. He growls as he fucks, his lips dropping to your neck.

"Baby," he gasps, "fuck," he moans again, his voice so deep it’s almost a whine. You feel him shudder against you, his whole body trembling as he thrusts into you.

"You want my cum?" he growls against your shoulder and you moan at the words, your body already clenching in response.

"Yes," you gasp. "In me, please." He thrusts deep inside you at your words, his groan loud in your ear.

"I’m gonna fill you so full of it," he pants, grinding deep inside you. "So full," he grunts, face buried in the crook of your neck "gonna fill you up and then it's going to drip out of your tight little pussy."

His lips are hot on your skin as he gasps your name, his body jerking into you. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips rolling against yours in a deep grind.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he rides out the pleasure, cumming again for the fourth time that night. He groans, his hips jerking against yours, thrusting his cock deep inside you as he empties into the condom. His fingers curl into you, holding your body close as he fills you, and it’s so good.

The way he feels inside you, the way his cock throbs and pulses as he cums. You can feel it, even through the condom, and it makes you gasp. He thrusts again, groaning as he keeps going, wanting to fuck you through it as much as you do.

And then it’s over.

His body shudders through the aftershocks and he goes still on top of you. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged pants as he holds you close, riding out the aftershocks together.

His face moves back to yours, his lips pressing a kiss against your forehead. "Well, shit," he mutters against you. "You're amazing."

You giggle, your hands running over his back. His weight is comforting on top of you as you come down, your breaths slowing. You let him stay for a moment, enjoying the weight and heat of his body before he pulls out and rolls to the side, stripping off the condom and tossing it into a bin by his bed.

You follow him to the side, turning and pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you let the afterglow wash through you. He smiles, turning to look at you and lifting his arm.

"Come here," he murmurs.

You roll onto your side, pressing against him as he curls his arm around you, pulling you close. He nuzzles into your hair, his fingers running through it as he pulls your body into his. Your leg lifts, your thighs opening around one of his as you curl into him, the softness of the bed and pillows enveloping you.

"Mmmhmm," he mutters, running his hands down your back. "God, I don't want to move. You feel so good."

You smile against him, kissing his chest. "Me neither. I'm comfortable right here."

He laughs, his chest vibrating with it. He rolls a little closer to the edge of the bed, reaching down and pulling up the blanket. He wraps it around you both, tucking it in so that it covers you completely and you're nestled into him, warm and comfortable.

"Better?" he asks.

"Mmm, perfect."

He hums, his arms coming around you again. He snuggles into you, nuzzling your cheek.

"You are perfect," he tells you, his voice gentle as he lets the afterglow take him over. His lips move against your shoulder, his hands rubbing your back and hips. "Thank you for tonight."

You smile, turning your head so you can kiss him. He moves with you, meeting you in it as his hand cups your cheek. His lips are soft and sweet, his tongue teasing yours as he kisses you back.

When you break it, you both smile and snuggle in, holding each other close.

"Mmmm," he says. "I'm gonna want to do that a lot more." His arm curls around your body, holding you close as you snuggle deeper. "Are you alright?"

"I'm great," you tell him. "That was amazing."

He grins, his body relaxing as he holds onto you. His voice drops into a soft mumble, the last of the afterglow pulling him over. "Good. I can't wait to do it again. Best sex of my life." His hand runs up your side, his finger brushing against your breast. "Can't wait for more of that. You're perfect, baby girl." His lips press against the side of your head and he holds you close. "So perfect for me."

His words send a spark of happiness through you and you smile, dropping your head onto his chest. He holds you closer, his fingers rubbing up your back, his hands resting on your lower back and ass.

Then you feel his body pulling away from yours. You mumble a protest, reaching for him, and you can feel him chuckle.

"Shh, baby, I'll be right back," he tells you softly. His lips press a kiss to your forehead and then he's rolling away from you, moving to the side of the bed. "Just need to run to the bathroom for a minute."

You hum, stretching and letting your eyes flutter open. He's pulling on his boxer briefs, moving out of the bedroom. You watch him go with a little sigh, your body still buzzing from the afterglow. You roll over onto your back, running a hand through your hair and smiling up at the ceiling.

God, he's perfect.

He comes back a few minutes later, a warm towel in his hands. You turn your head to look at him as he moves back onto the bed, a soft smile on his face. He runs the towel up your thigh, leaning down to kiss your hip.

"Spread your legs for me," he murmurs.

Your thighs drop open, letting him clean you with the warm towel. His mouth moves against your skin, his tongue licking at your hip as he holds the towel against you. The warmth feels good against your pussy and you let out a soft sigh, tilting your hips into his touch.

"Does that feel better?" he asks. You nod, his eyes lifting to yours.

"Yeah, that feels really good." Your voice comes out breathy and soft as he cleans you again. "Mmmm."

He smiles, his lips brushing against your stomach. His tongue flicks out to lick at your skin as he moves his mouth lower. You shudder a little, wanting to push your hips up, and his mouth lifts to yours.

He crawls over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His lips cover yours, kissing you slowly. His tongue slips between your lips, his teeth catching your lip as he moves his hips against you.

Your thighs lift up around his, holding him close between your legs. His cock is hard again, pressing against your stomach, and he groans as he feels it.

"Again?" he asks you.

You smile and nod, reaching up to kiss him again. He smiles too, his lips covering yours.

"Mmmm," you murmur against him. "Yes."

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham #jude x you

591 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years ago

Note

Hi lovely!

Can you please do one where Hotch and Reader are in a fight and it gets heated and he maybe raises his hand just because he’s shouting and she flinches?

He would be prepared to FIGHT whoever made his honey feel that way 🗣️🗣️

💘

for you my sweetheart. fem, 1k

cw implied past domestic violence

“It was right,” you're saying, on the defensive, your voice molten, “it was the thing to do!”

“It wasn't.” Hotch closes the door. “It wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't even close.”

You realise, under everything, that he's right, but you couldn't help yourself, you had to try and save the day, had to swerve the SUV. Plus, he's done it himself, and you both know that. “If Monikie got out of that exit we never would've seen her again.”

“There were roadblocks on the I–46, and I don't think I have to tell you that you could've gotten a lot of people seriously hurt–”

“You've done worse,” you deny.

His expression, broadly furious, narrows into something sharper, “And that is my decision to make, but you report to me.”

“You can't seriously want to act like a boss now,” you say.

The room isn't overly large, and so you stand close to one another with no need for shouting, but your voices begin to overlap. Hotch is so angry. It isn't like him to yell at you, his voice strained.

“You can't truly think that the decision you made today was the right one. You need to calm down, and you need to listen to me when I tell you that this was the wrong move. We'll talk about it more tomorrow.”

“You're shrugging me off?” You could laugh. “You can't be serious. Every member of this team has done the same, or worse–”

“But they're not you!” His voice peeks, his hand jolting out in front of his chest, flat-palmed in incredulity.

You're really quite close to each other.

It's not his fault.

You step back, desperate to be away from the movement, the hand, because it doesn't register as his hand, only there's a chair behind you and a table behind that and you bump into the plastic with a creak and screech. You're righting yourself as quickly as you're tripping but Hotch is already moving away. Three steps that feel like a gorge.

Your heartbeat soars.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“Of course.” You breathe out funny. It's not his fault, but there's something wired in your brain now, and it knows that the first strike isn't the last. Your hand shakes as you brush at an itch under your eyes.

“I'm not mad,” he says.

“You sounded pretty mad."

“I've changed my mind.” He gives you a long hard look, and then he moves to the office door to open it before returning to his initial position. He's given you an exit route. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he says.

You put your hands on your hips and bend at the waist, breathing out hard. “Fuck, I know that."

“You thought I might.”

“So profile me,” you say, panicking still, face hot and itchy all over. “Tell me why.”

“Someone's hit you before. Enough to anticipate the second blow.”

“But you knew that already, didn't you?”

Your ears get cloudy like there's water in them and you can't stand the feeling of Hotch's gaze on the back of your head. You force yourself into a standing position and try to ignore what happened.

“You're unfairly angry with me,” you say.

Hotch just shakes his head at you.

“It's… It's not a big deal,” you say, quieter. He already knew because of course he did, every member of the team gets checked. You have records, and he's in a position of power unlike most, he could've read them like the morning paper.

“Why would you say that?”

“I can still do my job.”

“I wasn't going to suggest you couldn't.”

Then why… why is he looking at you like that? You're humiliated enough, and his gaze is so… so soft. So sorry. Tears gather warm behind your eyes and your chest aches like you've been holding your breath. You frown, eyebrows lifting at the starts, not knowing if you should beg him to forget the whole thing or finally give in.

“Come here,” he says gently. Completely optional, his fingertips twitching but stationery at his side.

You stare resolutely at your shoes.

“I'm sorry I scared you, it wasn't my intention. I can imagine how it feels. I'm not mad, honey,” he says. His voice drops to a murmur, “Come here,” he pleads.

You take a clumsy handful of steps and he meets you in the middle, arms going carefully over your shoulders. You'd feel condescended by it if it weren't shockingly nice to be considered in such a way, or if the solid mass of his arms around you didn't soothe. You feel protected rather than boxed in, held, and not restrained.

His hand slides open down the length of your back.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” he repeats, for your ears alone.

“It's not like it was really you that scared me.”

The memory scared you. The flinch was instinctive, less to do with Hotch and more to do with the connection between a moving hand and stinging pain.

He hangs his head by your ear until his nose touches your shoulder, and for a few seconds, it's just you and him together, no fighting, and no fast-approaching hands.

“You didn't scare me,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder instead, forcing him to stand tall.

Incoming footsteps cut your embrace short, but he doesn't pull away too swiftly. His hands grave the lengths of your arms, and he gives you a long, loaded look. Before you can calibrate the action to the man, he's chucking you under the chin, a stroke of his index knuckle, a promise of more to say.

He catches Morgan before he can enter the room and directs him back out. “Take a minute,” he advises you.

You sit in a chair and do as he's offered. Memory is a tricky thing.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

2K notes · View notes

spenceobsessed · 1 year ago

Text

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut with a plot

summary: spencer can't help but despise his "replacement", especially during an undercover mission in a nightclub.

MDNI 18+

“this is insane.” penelope garcia mutters on the other end of the phone call. “there’s no way jeffery was able to absolutely take himself off the internet.” she huffs, the keyboard clicking in the background. “i’m gonna keep working. i’ll be back in a jiffy, i swear!” she says sweetly before hanging up.

the unsub, jeffery hogan had abducted then murdered four young women in los angeles california. the team had been in la for three days now, and jeffery had already killed two more women before they could stop him. all of them were getting antsy and a little angry.

you sigh, leaning back in your chair as the rest of the team begins talking amongst themselves, minus spencer, who had been staring at a map for twenty minutes.

“reid.” you say, catching his attention. he doesn’t look up, but you can tell that your voice startled him slightly.

“hmm?” he says, annoyance lacing his tone. you roll your eyes. he had been an absolute dick to you since day one. the whole team had described him as a saint, yet, you couldn’t see it. yes, he was attractive, but that didn’t distract from how hateful he was towards you. plus, you had been nothing but nice to him when you first met him, doing nothing to get on his bad side.

“did you make a connection between the locations?” you ask curtly. he huffs. “i don’t see you doing anything helpful.” he snaps, finally looking up from his map to glare at you.

“spence,” jj begins, joining the conversation unknowingly. “any connections?” he smiles and turns to face her, like you hadn’t just asked the same question.

“the one common location that overlaps with all the crime scenes and significant places in jeffery’s life is the ‘night owl’, a local night club.” reid says, smirking at you when he finishes his sentence like a teenager. you scoff.

emily gives them a look that says “act professional please”.

“we have no idea what he looks like, we only know bits and pieces of his life that garcia could dig up, how are we going to catch him?” matt asks, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, a coffee in hand.

“i could go undercover,” you begin with a shrug. “most of the girls he abducted have been around my age and have my same features.” emily nods in agreement.

“one issue.” rossi says. “the unsub has always abducted women on dates.” you nod. that’s true.

“i could go with you.” matt says, standing up straight and taking a sip of his coffee. you open your mouth to thank him but emily cuts you off.

“no offense simmons, but what if we sent in reid instead? he closer matches y/n’s age and resembles the victims boyfriends more closely.”

spencer opens his mouth to protest but tara cuts him off with a smile. “great idea, you guys should leave in an hour or so, you better start getting ready.”

you watch as reid fights the urge to say something rude, but is quickly whisked away by emily.

jj helps you get ready in another conference room of the precinct, dressing you like the average clubber.

your outfit is a small, tight, red mini dress, with matching heels and accessories. you had to admit, you looked good. you found yourself wondering what they had put reid in and whether he would find you attractive in this tight dress.

“you look amazing.” a voice breaks you out of your trance as you’re putting in an ear piece. you smile, turning to face emily.

“thank you.” you say softly, using your hands to smooth out your dress. “i think i’m ready.” you add, slightly nervous. emily reassures you that you will do great and asks you to follow her outside.

that’s where you’re met with spencer reid. he looks unfortunately handsome, hot even, wearing the most casual “spencer outfit” you have ever seen: corduroy pants, converse, and a white button down. the white button down was sheer linen (very beachy) and allowed you to barely see his chest. you quickly remind yourself that he is in fact a dick, hoping that will somehow make him less attractive.

you watch as his eyes wander your body. emily seems to notice and clears her throat.

“you guys gotta get going.” she breathes out a smirk on her face.

reid walks over to the side of the car. you smile slightly as he opens the door, your smile fading as he slides in alone slamming the door behind him.

“petty bitch.” you mutter. your heels angrily clicking against the asphalt as you walk to the other side of the suv, ripping open the door and sliding in with your arms crossed. you slam the door behind yourself, eyes glaring into the side of reid’s face.

“look,” you begin, your tone angry. “if this is going to work you need to at least try to pretend not to be a fucking asshole.” he scoffs, turning to face you.

“watch your tone.” he says lowly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. your arms are still crossed and you watch as spencer’s eyes go from your face to your tits, then back up again.

you remind yourself that indeed, he's just a man. he may be a genius but behind that, he’s simply just a man with needs. you were going to make tonight hell for him.

you smirk, eyes glaring into his. “do your fucking job and i just might comply, doctor.”

he turns his head away from you, staring out the window, a new type of tension in the air.

“can you guys hear me?” jj says through you ear pieces. “yeah.” reid says, you can hear how angry he is, just through one word.

the team gives you both a rundown and reminds you both of your parts.

“…remember you’re a couple!” garcia reminds you. the team agrees loudly on the line. “yeah,” alvez says. “pretend to like each other for one night.”

“we’ll try, alvez.” you reply as the suv pulls up in front of the busy nightclub.

you look over at reid. “open my damn door and look like you fucking mean it.” you say through gritted teeth. he doesn’t respond as he steps out of the car, shutting his door quietly and makes his way over to your side of the car. he opens your door with a fake smile on his face, putting out his hand for you to grab. you get out of the car, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“grab my waist.” you demand. he huffs under his breath, reaching his large hand to rest on your waist. he leans in to whisper back. “you will not dictate this night. i have over ten more years of experience than you, on this team. you do not get to boss me around, y/l/n.” he says through gritted teeth, pulling away from your ear with a fake smile on his face. you don’t have time to respond as he says; “let’s go, baby.”

the nickname hits you like a brick, especially the way it comes out of his mouth so effortlessly. in an attempt to control your composure, you smile and lean against him as he rubs his hand lovingly across your waist.

you both enter the night club, the mix of bright lights and darkness temporarily blinds you as you grip onto spencer for support.

“don’t respond, but we see you’ve made it inside. go grab a drink from the bar then hit the dance floor.” emily orders. spencer nods, leading you towards the busy bar.

as you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you both want. “i’ll have a club soda with lime.” spencer says, turning his head to look down at you. “what do you want, baby?” he asks, rubbing circles on your waist softly. you smile back up at him pretending like you don’t want to kill him and subtly dig your ass into his crotch. he sucks in a breath.

“i’ll have a vodka soda.” you say with a sweet smile on your face. the bartender nods going to make the drinks.

you look back at spencer, his jaw clenched and his breathing heavy. you set your phone down on the bar and “accidentally” knock it off of the counter.

“oops!” you say dryly, bending down to pick it up, your ass now rubbing against his crotch. you subtly feel something twitch in his pants.

“y/n.” he warns you. you nod innocently. “hmm?” you hum. he moves his hand from your waist. you look back at him to silently scold him, but he quickly uses both hands to push you away from his crotch. he slides his hands down your waist, to your ass, then pulls down your dress in one quick motion. a man standing to his left begins complaining loudly about how he can no longer see your "fattie". you almost thank him, then remember that its fucking spencer you're dealing with.

he doesn’t say anything and simply hands you your drink, leading you away from the bar and the creepy men, to a nearby table.

you bite your lip to hold back hateful words that dare to spill out. you stand in silence, spencer sipping his drink while you chug yours.

"you look miserable." emily says in your ears. "do something." she adds.

"wanna dance, pretty boy?" you ask him, the nickname falling from your mouth accidentally. you pretend like it was on purpose as spencer looks up from his drink, slightly stuttering over his response.

"y-yeah, yeah." he repeats, regaining his composure. he grabs your hand and leads you towards the crowd of sweaty people dancing, only looking back once to make sure you were still there

spencer scans the crowd as he pulls you into his chest harshly.

"i'm not just some doll you can throw around, reid." you yell over the music, sick of his bullshit. he looks you in the eyes and shrugs.

as the song changes, couples around you begin to make out.

"kiss me, reid." you say, realizing the awkward dancing in a crowd of horny couples would defer the unsub's attention. spencer doesn't seem to hear you. "reid." you repeat, his eyes still scanning the room. "spencer." you say, the first time you've ever said his first name to him. this catches his attention. his gaze finally falls to you, his frame towering over yours as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"i need you to kiss me, spencer."

the usually dick-ish man makes no cocky response. instead, he simply tips his head down capturing your lips in a kiss. the kiss is awkward at first, but quickly turns heated as you press your body against his. his hands, which were loosely on your waist move downward, rubbing circles on your ass and somehow moving you closer to him.

you run your hands through his hair, feeling him moan softly into your mouth. his sweet noises immediately go straight to your now-wet-core. you break the kiss for a second, to catch your breath, your faces still inches apart.

spencer's pupils are blown, his hair is messy, and his lips slightly swollen, tinted red from your lipstick. fuck, you want to devour him.

spencer quickly resumes the kiss, this time you don't have to ask. you easily feel how hard he is already, with his cock pressed against your leg.

you groan softly as you push your tongue into his mouth, eliciting more sweet noises from the handsome man.

"nice job guys, we have a suspect at 3 o'clock." emily says into our ears, reminding us that we aren't alone.

“let’s go somewhere more secluded.” spencer whispers, his breath hot on your cheek. he wants to lure the unsub out. you nod, waiting for him to move. instead his hands are still on your ass, his eyes on you, like he’s taking a mental picture.

“pretty boy.” you say almost inaudibly. “let’s go.” he spins you around so you’re in front now, able to maneuver your way out of the crowd. one of his hands rests on the small of your back protectively as you head towards the back corner of the club, a stark contrast to the way he was treating you less than 10 minutes ago.

“the hypothetical unsub’s eyes are still on you guys but he hasn’t moved, we can’t seem to see his face on camera. you need to get him to move closer.” jj announces in your ears.

“she’s telling us to kiss again.” you whisper. he nods, placing his large hand on your cheek and swiping his thumb across your lips. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into kiss him. he picks you up slightly, just enough to allow you to sit on him as he takes a seat on a random couch.

as he moves from kissing your lips to your jaw and neck, you instinctively begin rocking your hips against his, feeling how hard he is under you.

he groans softly against your neck, his kisses becoming sloppier.

“y/n.” his tone desperate, the use of your first name alarming. “if you keep going i might not be able to maintain professionalism.”

you bite your lip excitedly. “do you want me to stop then, spencer?” his eyes stare into yours, his hands on your hips.

“no.” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him and kissing you again. he moves his hands upwards as his lips move downwards, slowly leaving kisses and rubbing your now-visible nipples through the thin fabric for your dress. you suck in a breath at the new sensation, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

“the unsub moved into the light, it’s jeffery. sending alvez and rossi in now to apprehend him. you guys can stand down, nice work.” emily says, startling them slightly. you pull away from spencer, your underwear undeniably wet and your cunt begging for attention. you awkwardly remove yourself from his lap, sitting next to him on the sofa, noticing that in fact he was hard, an outline of his dick highlighted in the odd club lighting. he squirms in his seat slightly, obviously trying to readjust.

“y/n,” he says, noticing your eyes on him. you hum in response, your eyes moving from his cock to his face. “bathroom.” he says simply.

he doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond, simply getting up and leaving the room. you wait for a few seconds, processing his words and attempting to wrap your head around the fact that an hour ago you hated this man and now you were dying for him to fuck you.

a few minutes pass and you make your way to the bathroom where you don’t even knock, you simply walk in. spencer is there waiting. immediately as you enter the bathroom, he locks it, then attached his lips to yours. you moan softly into the kiss, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. he, however, seems to as other plans as he sets you down on the sink and lowers himself between your legs.

he leaves soft kisses up your thighs, your legs now thrown over his shoulders. “spencer,” you beg, his lips dangerously close to your cunt. “please.”

he smiles as you beg, hooking his finger on your underwear and pulling them down your legs roughly. he lowers his head farther in between your legs, licking a slow stripe down your cunt, causing you to squeeze your legs around his head and moan.

hearing your reaction, spencer moans softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you gasp.

unfortunately the club music had been turned off and if anyone were to walk by, they would probably hear you making sounds. you cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you guys don’t get caught.

he moves his tongue farther into you, the sound of his mouth on your soaking wet cunt making lewd sounds that fill the small bathroom.

you moan into your hand, bucking your hips against his face.

he pulls his mouth away from you and without skipping a beat he inserts one of his large fingers into you, grinding his crotch against the edge of the sink to get himself off.

you open your mouth to tease him but he interrupts you by adding another finger into your pussy. you can’t help but moan loudly, feeling your walls clench around his fingers.

“so good for me.” he says breathlessly, his fingers’ pace rough inside you and his hips fast against the sink counter.

“spencer,” you say in between ragged breaths. “i’m so close!” he smiles at your words, removing his fingers from your pussy with a pop.

you groan softly, hating the feeling of emptiness.

“spencer.” you warn, sitting up to get a good look at him. he has a look in his eye, a smirk on his face.

“what’s up?” he says nonchalantly, licking you off his lips and his fingers. you ask yourself how he can be so calm when he was literally just finger fucking you and eating you out. his cock is still dangerously hard, a spot of pre-cum on his cute little pants. you catch yourself imagining how big he is.

“fine.” you huff, seeing how he didn’t seem like he wanted you to finish. you insert your own fingers into your swollen cunt, pumping them inside yourself like spencer had been only a minute ago.

you over exaggerate your moans watching as spencer begins to rub himself through his now tight pants.

“i’m not going to beg you, pretty boy, but i need your cock inside of me right now.” he smirks at your words, making his way back over to you, hands moving to your face, kissing you passionately.

“i’m pretty sure that was begging, y/n.” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, beginning to unbutton his pants.

however, loud knocks interrupt him. "spencer?? are you in there??" emily's familiar voice, fills the room.

"uh, yeah! i'll be out in a second!" he says, beginning to re-button his pants, his cock still visibly hard. emily says something inaudible from the other side of the door then walks away. you lean forward on the sink counter, resting your head on spencer's shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.

after a second of peace, you hop of the counter in an attempt to fix your appearance, sliding back on your awkwardly soaked underwear.

"can we please finish this later?" spencer speaks up, catching you off guard. you smile, your brain still processing the fact that an hour ago you wanted to kill this man.

"yes, please."

part 2 :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #bau #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fandom #part one #smut #enemies to lovers #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spenceobsessed

2K notes · View notes