#bigkeepup

[lewsnumerounofan]

dirty pt2 (theodore nott x reader)

summary: theo wants u back. that’s it.

notes: theo pov-ish, boy is grovelling, unedited, angst, mentions of smut

+ really wanna do a filthy smut oneshot of them as like a pt3 kinda what u think

+ part one

Theo couldn’t find you anywhere. It was like you’d disappeared off the face of the fucking planet and left him alone, sulking through the cold castle hallways.

Ever since the party—the party where he’d left you like the idiot he was—you’d been a ghost. Even after rumour spread that you’d broke up with your golden boy boyfriend, you’d stayed away.

In your place, all Theo had done was miss you. It was stupid. He was stupid—a right git Mattheo has said—for what he’d done. What he’d been doing, really. Months of hook ups had given him plenty of time to talk to you about his feelings, about the two of you. Instead he’d squandered all his chances on you, on feeling you, on the pretty sounds you made under him. It had been hard to resist.

Except now it meant that he’d let all his longing and jealousy boil over into one cruel, ill-timed statement.

Isn’t that what you have your boyfriend for, ama?

Yeah, brilliant move Theo.

He exhaled harshly, watching his breath on the cold winters air. Tugging his coat tighter he took another drag of his cigarette, idly thumbing over the lighter in his other hand.

Where could you be? You only shared one class, and lately you’d taken to skipping it. He’d checked the library, the courtyard, and just about every other fucking room in the school. Bloody nothing.

And then, as if carried to him on the lightly falling snow, and idea. A memory, really.

It’d been a few months ago, after a particularly tricky exam. He’d seen you leave class crying and hadn’t been able to stop himself from following.

To ease his own conscious he’d promised himself it was just so he could ask you for the notes on a previous days lecture (notes he had, as always, already stole from the Ravenclaw he sat behind). Not because his chest tugged at the sight of your teary eyes, and certainly not because he had been feeling the ever growing urge to lay into whoever—or whatever—had your pretty eyes all glassy.

So he’d trailed you through the castle, winding up and up and up until you’d emerged onto a secluded balcony. Shrouded with shrubs and small, intricate statues, the small patio looked over much of the castle and grounds; to the west the river rolled heavy and full.

You hadn’t even looked surprised to see him. Just let your arms fall across his shoulders as you’d hugged him tight.

He hadn’t gotten the notes that day. He’d just held you up there on the terrace until the sun went down, all the while carting his fingers through your hair and muttering that you’d be just fine.

The boy stamped out his cig, doing his best to shake off the memory. No use dwelling on it if you never even spoke to him again.

He cut curtly across the grounds, quickly winding his way through the stairwells and hallways. Paying no mind to Draco and Blaise who tried to wave him down by the great hall, Theo did his best to clamp down on the worry hounding him.

What if you weren’t there? Worse: what if you were? What if you wouldn’t talk to him, or if you did only to tell him that it’d all been a mistake? That leaving you there had been the final straw and you never wanted to see him again.

The boys face grew graver with each thought. His clear eyes clouded with anxiety and his brows tightened. Students in younger years hurried to clear a path as he strode through them. No one much wanted to be on the receiving end of Nott’s hexes.

Finally he arrived at the correct landing. This area of the castle was largely deserted. And besides, most people were already prepping for bed on their dorms.

But you’d had trouble sleeping since September. And it was a crescent moon tonight, your favourite. So you’d be here, despite the snow.

Theo wanted to laugh at himself for all theses stupid, mundane things he’d gathered about you. Every time he’d laid next to you after you’d fucked, every bit of tucked away conversation. He’d remembered.

Hidden in the shadows, he shook himself.

Get over yourself, Nott. Get over yourself, and get her back.

He gave himself no time to think before stepping onto the snowy balcony.

At first he didn’t see you, tucked up behind the thick white hedges. But against the heavy stone railing you perched, slender hands holding an unlit cigarette of your own.

You didn’t look surprised to see him. In fact, when your eyes met you seemed almost… expectant.

Theo settled beside you. His heart was running embarrassingly quickly at your snowy lashes, at your eyes—shining in the moonlight.

“Theo.”

It was even more embarrassing the effect your saying his name wreaked. Without fail it had his breath hitching. When he had you spread under him, when you sobbed his name and gripped his curls when he ate you out-

Theo tried hard not to let his cheeks go red.

You were staring out towards the moon reflecting off the water through the clouds.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t let his hand shake as he lit your cigarette either. When you finally locked eyes with him he said, “I wanted to apologize.”

He could tell the words gave you pause. Theodore Nott was most definitely not the type to apologize. Sulky, prideful and sarcastic, the boy typically wouldn’t be caught dead saying such things to anyone.

But you weren’t anyone, certainly not to Theo.

“I- I don’t know what I was thinking. Honestly. It was stupid to leave you at the party. All of it was stupid, how I treated you was wrong,” he said.

You’d never heard him speak so many words at once. And you’d never seen him look… nervous? The Theo before you was someone entirely new. His hands ran through his hair anxiously, and he bit at his lip harshly to keep any more rambling from spilling forth.

Keep it together, Theodore.

“What we were doing was wrong-“

“You mean the cheating? Or the whole bloody relationship, Nott?”

He wanted to curse himself. Perhaps if he’d spent a bit longer thinking about something intelligent to say and a little less about your eyes and your fucking smile he wouldn’t have to be facing your harsh scowl now.

Nothing was coming out how he needed it to, and Theo was painfully aware of your mounting temper. But he couldn’t blow this. Not if it meant what he feared; no more hallway glances, no more intimate touches, no more you.

“It wasn’t a relationship-“

“Brilliant Theodore, thanks for rubbing that it.”

“And that was the problem,” he said.

Frustration brought the two of you closer, until you stood, jabbing a finger into his chest. You had to crane your neck back to meet his gaze, dark and heavy in the moonlight.

“What?” you asked.

You mapped his sigh in the frosty air as Theo exhaled heavily. Steeling himself.

“It wasn’t a relationship. That was the problem. I treated you like a hook up for months and it wasn’t right.”

“But that’s what it was, Theodore. I had a boyfriend-“

He was shaking his head, taking your cold hands in his.

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. I had so much time to change that. To fight for you and what I knew I wanted. I was just too jealous and scared to do it.”

Your eyes were wide at his confession. Jealous, sure. But scared? Before you could question him Theo continued, words coming fast and desperate.

“I was terrified that if I did something—if I changed our relationship at all—I’d lose whatever part of you I got. Even if that was broom closet hookups and nothing more… I wouldn’t—I couldn’t lose that. And it took me until now to realize that you deserve better than that. You deserve everything.”

He took a deep breath, chest moving heavily.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you go without telling you that.”

Baby blue eyes on yours. Around you the snow fell in heavier swaths, blanketing Theo’s shoulders with the palest white. He looked like your own personal prince in shining armour.

“And can you give me that?” you asked, soft as the falling snow.

Words seemed to fail the boy in front of you.

“Everything?” you prompted.

“If… if you’d let me,” he said. Voice low but steady. Gaze on you, even while his hands shook.

You almost wanted to laugh at the whole beautiful scene. At the snow and the moonlight. At the grumpy boy who’d found you and talked to you in ways no one ever had before. At the absurdity of it all. At how his thumb traced over your knuckles like he was checking you were real.

“If I say yes, it means we fuck in real beds from now on. Okay?”

In disbelief Theo laughed. He pulled you closer. He let his forehead fall to yours. He thought, how did I get so fucking lucky.

“If you say yes we can fuck wherever you want.”

You wrapped your cold hands up in his curls. Kissed one rosy cheek, then the other. His birthmark.

“I have a condition too,” he murmured.

Barely pulling away enough to hum you let him take your face in his big hands.

“Don’t ever fucking call me Theodore again.”

You laughed as he kissed you, snowflakes melting on your lips.

-

taglist from pt1

@b00kdiary @peony-haze @hisparentsgallerryy @unclecrunkle @devotedlycrookeddonut

[lewsnumerounofan]

dirty (theodore nott x reader)

summary: in which theo seeks to remind you who you really belong to (hint: it’s not your boyfriend).

notes: fingering (f receiving), cheating, kinda dick theo, kinda jealous theo, angst, 1k words, smut

+ part two

His eyes—dark, haunting—trailed you through each room and interaction. Well, trailed you and your boyfriend.

All was fine until your boyfriend went to get you both drinks. As soon as he disappeared from sight the Slytherins tall presence appeared at your back.

Despite your protests, Theo managed to drag you from the crowded dance floor, down the hall and into a dark bathroom, all the while avoiding your curses and flailing elbows.

“Let go of me, Nott. Are you fucking crazy dragging me out of the party like that? He could have seen,” you hissed, trying to break for the door. He beat you to it, coming to stand squarely between you and your escape route.

This boy, you thought. He drove you mental—had done since the first time you’d laid eyes on him. It was only a matter of time before one of you had slipped, boyfriend or no. Since then it had been long months of broom closet hook ups and secret astronomy tower rendezvous.

But you had sworn all that off. Your boyfriend was nice. And Theo was… well, Theo.

“Come here,” he said.

You scoffed and focused hard on the bathroom tile to your right.

“I fucking said come here,” Theo repeated, but now his accent was thick and his voice was loud. Lip curled he waited for you to slowly stand before him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead watching as his chest rose and fell with angry breathes.

“You can talk about your boyfriend all you’d like, principessa,” he spat, “but I’m the one fucking you, hm?”

His crude words had you forgetting your fear and raising your chin to argue. There was no need to make this messier than it already was—and who was he to talk? He seemed to have a new girlfriend every other week.

But Theo didn’t give you the chance. He was in your face in an instant, backing you up until you’d hit the opposite wall.

“I’m the one you call when you’re horny or lonely. I fucking own you.”

Your faces were almost touching. Theo angry was something you could never forget—his eyes were almost black as they incessantly tracked your movements. Mouth in a permanent snarl he kept your body caged in with his long arms, even as you tried weakly to pry yourself away. His voice changed too; every time he yelled his Italian accent became stronger, words sometimes reverting back to his native tongue. It made you dizzy.

“Theo-“

“Boyfriend or not, you’re mine. Sei mia,” he said, this time crushing the words onto your mouth.

Blood bloomed in your mouth as his lips slanted over yours. Theo was always rough with you, but now he was angry. And that proved to be wholly different.

Hands harsh on your skin, he pulled up your skirt. Not a second thought was spared for your lacy (expensive) underwear; Theo barely pushed them aside enough to fit two long fingers into you.

He handled your body deftly, taking what he wanted and doing so roughly. You tried to be mad at his obvious disregard, but something about the clench of his jaw and the heavy heat of his mouth made protest impossible. Thought of any form seemed beyond you; as he forced a long leg between yours you ground down, whimpering at your own vulnerability.

“So pathetic. Look at yourself,” he murmured, lips kissing along your neck. Indeed, it was a rather indecent picture. With your skirt ridden up and your underwear pushed away you could easily see where he was touching you. The slick on his long fingers, the flex of his arms as he pushed into you. The stutter of your hips along his thigh, pants already wet.

“What would your boyfriend think if he saw you, hm baby?

You wanted to scream. Possessiveness laced every flux of Theo’s voice, and his dead eyes were black as they watched you.

“Theodore-“

He tsked. His full lip curled, thigh pressing hard between your legs.

“Don’t call me that.”

You desperately tried to shift away from the pressure he forced on your clit, whining gently.

“Teddy,” you corrected, “Teddy please. Need you.”

The boys ego exploded at your words. Your boyfriend didn’t have you saying things like that, he was certain. Only he made you feel like that. Only he would ever make you feel like that.

Theo let his thumb replace his thigh between your legs, rubbing back and forth. Almost desperate to get away from the growing tightness below your stomach, you shifted your hips back and forth for relief. Feelings were too close and warm���sparks seemed to tense the muscles of your limbs over and over as Theo worked you meticulously.

“Cmon now, doing so good,” he said. His voice was raw with lust and admiration as he watched your face crumple.

“Teddy Teddy Teddy Teddy,” you were saying. Name a ceaseless prayer from your lips, body strung out he kissed you hard. That was all it took; your orgasm broke through you, bringing tears and pitiful moans. You clutched at the boys shoulders, breaths heaving through you.

“Teddy.”

A whisper this time, onto the fair skin of his neck. He held your limp body gently in his big hands. You started to shiver, but urged your trembling fingers to find his belt.

“Wanna feel you,” you said. But your hand was pushed away.

“Isn’t that what you have a boyfriend for, amore?”

And just like that he brushed past you, not sparing a backwards glance as he left the bathroom.

You didn’t move for a second, orgasm-fuzzy brain trying to process what had just happened.

Theo had left you. Theo had left you here after making you cum on his fingers.

You felt cold all of a sudden. Cold and dirty, you realized, as you tugged your underwear back into place. It was still damp—because of Theo, because of the way he mocked you and rolled his fingers in you.

Tears were quick to gather in your eyes. Fuck Theo and his stupid comments and his stupid, stupid eyes for leaving you here.

Fuck Theo for making you feel like this—like something to be used and mocked and discarded.

As you wiped fiercely at the hot tears tracking your cheek you promised yourself no more of the brooding Slytherin.

No more Theodore Nott.

[lewsnumerounofan]

party foul (jeremiah fisher x reader)

summary: so what if you're in love with your best friend, jeremiah fisher? one drunk kiss won't change anything. right?

notes: not biblically accurate conrad, teen drinking, kissing, 3k words, reader previously dated co**ad, angst/miscomm., not proof read at all

+ part 2

+ i never keep the same tense i'm so sooryim gooo fuckjuhnbsorry oh my god and dw abt the header image!!!!!! it's okay!!!!!

kissing jere was easy.

it was the first thing you noticed. how easy it was to let his lips slant over yours, to tilt your head back at the greedy request of his hands, to forget about the party and conrad and the house.

it was just him and the feel of his mouth on yours.

you hadn't expected this, to say the least. in fact, you'd been bracing for an awkward and mostly miserable night. ever since conrad and you had split back in june, things had been awful. the breakup had been bad itself--getting ditched at prom without explanation was one thing--but watching conrad get back with nicole a week later was even worse.

so you were pleasantly surprised with yourself when you decided to go to the fisher's goodbye party, despite whatever tension there might be between you and conrad.

if you were being honest with yourself though, you mostly had jeremiah to thank. you two had been best friends since childhood, but ever since his brother had broken your heart, jere had been there for you. all the time, really. he'd drive down on weekends to check up on you. and when susannah had gotten worse, you'd driven up to make sure he was eating and sleeping too.

so of course he'd been able to convince you to come stay, waving off your concerns about conrad. i want you there, he'd said. i really want you there. and so you'd come. you arrived late, tired from the hours of highway driving. already the house was packed with hap hazardously parked cars and drunk teenagers. the music was loud even on the warm streets outside, and you couldn't help but feel excited as you pulled your bag out of your car and started towards the party.

taylor was the one who opened the door for you. she launched herself into a hug, giggling and shrieking as you two swung around.

"oh my god. you have no idea how happy i am to see you," she yelled, dragging you into the crowded house.

together you fumbled upstairs, eventually breaking into one of the larger rooms. various assortments of air mattresses and water beds covered the floor. jere had called you as soon as they'd gotten back from the boardwalk about julia's suprise moving. it wasn't often you heard him so... defeated.

"you can drop your stuff wherever," said taylor, "but the one in the corner is jeremy's."

she didn't even bother to hide her grin as you slapped her arm. nothing, not even your best kept secret, made it past taylor.

"shut up. you can't say anything to him or i swear i'll kill you," you promised, only half joking.

"oh please. he hasn't stopped talking about you the whole trip. it's disgusting."

you tried not to smile at that--jere talked about you? i mean, he'd called you just about every day for the last few months. more, on days when things were hard. but still, you felt almost nervous at the thought of seeing him now. of what it might be like between you.

your thoughts were cut off by a shout of your name. running into the room was belly. well, not running--rolling.

"oh my god bell what are you wearing?" you asked. it was too late though, because she was wrapping you up in a wobbly, crushing hug.

"roller skates? duh? they're an old pair of susannah's," she said.

you'd missed belly. she looked fucking adorable in her little vintage number, and you hugged her again just because. over her shoulder you could see steven grinning, and conrad too. you waved to the later while steven strode over, ruffling your hair before taking your bag from you.

"long time no see, city-girl," he said.

"yeah yeah yeah. just be nice to my bag, okay? it's got some very delicate presents," you said. steven raised his eyebrows but did as you said, placing your bag onto the bed taylor had indicated earlier. jere's bed. taylor and steven met eyes and winked--uh oh. the last thing you needed was them trying to set you up with your best friend. your best friend who you're in love with, something inside you said. you tried your best to strangle it.

"hey."

this time it was conrad, who was sporting a pair of atrocious sunflower sunglasses on the top of his head.

"hey. i like the glasses," you said, doing your best to smile. it was weird to talk like this to him. you were so angry and embarrassed and sad because of him for so long, and now there was just... nothing. and it felt okay.

"uh, yeah. nicole--nicole got them for me."

he looked sheepish, blushing in a way that used to have you fawning. now you just did your best to nod, saying, "well, she's certainly got a good eye for fashion."

you were saved from the conversation by steven's cough. he stood by the doorway, impatiently waving you towards the party.

"cmon guys, can we hurry this up?"

"yeah, gimmie one sec," you promised. returning to your bag you pulled out the liquor you'd secured on your way there, the bottles heavy in your hands.

"see," you said, turning back to your friends, "presents."

-

downstairs was even louder than you thought it would be. belly had gone all out for the party--strobe lights blared in every room, a kegger was set up outside, and a dj (was that cam cameron??) was spinning in the living room. you had to admit it: you were having a good time. a really good time. except for, that is, one thing. or person, really. jere was nowhere to be found. he'd even missed out on the group shots you, steven, taylor, belly and conrad had downed first beside the pool and then by the kitchen. jeremiah never missed group shots.

a little more than drunk now, you pushed off from your spot on the counter to find your bestfriend.

"city-girl, where you going?" asked steven.

"i'm gonna go find jere. i haven't seen him since i got in."

"i'll come with you," a voice spoke up.

it was conrad, who looked between you and the floor nervously. you didn't miss the questioning looks that pass between taylor and belly. you shrug at them--a little nervous, but not enough to turn him down in front of all your friends.

"uh, yeah sure."

so you and conrad made your way back through the party, scanning couches and corners for jeremiah. by the time you hit the stairs you were both sweaty and annoyed. you had come all this way to see him, and all of a sudden he'd disappeared.

"he's not picking up any of my calls," said conrad, pulling his phone away from his ear.

"me neither," you admitted, letting yourself swing around the banister to sit at the bottom of the staircase. cautiously, conrad gestured to empty landing beside you.

"mind if i join?"

you nod, scooching over to make room. conrad looked bigger than last time you'd seen him. he looked stronger too. for a while after susannah died he'd looked like a corpse--pale and skinny and only half there. even you could admit you were glad to see him doing so much better.

"hey, look i didn't really tag along to search for jere," conrad said, glancing back at you. shocker.

"i uh," he cleared his throat, "i mostly just wanted to apologize. for how things ended. i know i messed up really bad and i wanted to say i'm sorry."

in the hazy blue and purple's of the dance floor below, conrad's steel-blue eyes were genuine. for the first time that night they held yours steadily.

"i was hurting, and let myself fall on you for comfort even when i knew you weren't who i wanted. who i needed. and it wasn't fair to you. i know that now, and i'm sorry it took me so long. i'm really, really sorry."

huh. you hadn't really expected that one either. but it was nice to hear him say those words. you liked conrad. he was a good guy who'd had a rough hand delt to him. and yeah, he hadn't done right by you. but like susannah had always repeated:

"no harm no foul," you said, and let yourself smile at him. he looked relieved as he smiled back, no doubt recognizing the reference to his mother.

"you're happy now, i take it? with nicole?" you ask.

"yeah. more than happy, actually. don't know what i did to deserve her."

you're happy for him, in that moment. really happy.

"what about you? you finally stopped messing around and admitted your feelings to jere?" he asked.

"huh?" you drop, mouth open. there's no way.

"what," he chuckled, grinning harder at your shocked expression, "like it's not obvious you two are crazy for each other."

you can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks now, stomach skipping at his words. so they all knew, you realized. does jere?

"he doesn't--you didn't tell him, right?" you said, panic rising.

conrad shakes his head, still looking amused.

"no, but he'd be a fool not to see it. you guys are perfect for each other. really."

"thanks, conrad."

and you mean it--it's been months of awkwardness between you. and now you just feel... good. you feel like you've got your friend back. so you lean over and hug him, letting yourself remember that before your fling you were friends, and returning back to it feels comforting and warm.

"thank you, for hearing me out. i'm glad we can be back to normal now," he said into your shoulder.

"friends again?" you ask.

"definit--"

"what the fuck?"

-

it's jeremiah. he stands at the top of the stairs, eyes wide. he's wearing the ariana grande merch you'd gotten him. he looks the same and yet--

and yet something in your chest fizzes and your stomach starts running circles as you look at him. you missed him. and not because he was your best friend.

"jere--it's not what it looks like," said conrad.

and then you realized he did look different. the jeremiah you knew was always grinning about some secret joke, or making fun of belly or steven. he never looked... betrayed like this. and he certainly never looked at you with disgust. with anger.

"what the fuck are you guys doing?" he asked again, but this time he didn't even look at you.

"nothing, jere. we were just talking," said conrad.

you cringed at his words. they might be true, but they sure didn't sound good.

"yeah, sure," laughed jere. you'd never heard him laugh like that. it made your skin prickle.

"c'mon, you know i'd never do that-" conrad started.

jeremiah was faster though. he was up in conrad's face in a second, pushing him into the wall. you'd never seen him like this. he wasn't an aggressive guy; even when the brothers fought it was never violent.

"don't fucking lie, con. you were just waiting to take her back weren't you? waiting until you knew it'd hurt me the most, huh?"

you felt his words viscerally, like they were being penned onto your skin. hurt him the most? it was the closest to a confession you'd gotten, but it all felt wrong.

by now, partygoers on the main floor had started to notice the commotion. people were pointing, some even starting to pull out their phones. great.

"jere," you called. he paused, bright blue eyes on you. even now, fighting with his brother, jeremiah looked beautiful. maybe you had had a bit too much to drink.

"jere, please let it go. conrad isn't a part of this," you murmured. though you didn't break eye contact, you could see his hands loosen around his brother's shirt in your peripheral. jaw clenched, he heeded your wishes, giving a final shove to conrad before breaking away. he walked quickly down the stairs and into the throngs of people below.

"jere, wait up!" you call, desperately trying to follow the broad shape of his back through the crowd. jeremiah didn't bother trying to accommodate your smaller strides, and you almost lost him a few times in the packed house.

"would you please slow down? jere," you said again. by now you were out of the house, dodging pool floaties and scattered drinks. the blonde made no indication of hearing you as he kept striding towards the beach.

"jeremiah!"

finally he whipped around. he still looked mad--the set of his jaw, the notching of his eyebrows--but under all of it, he just looked sad. you hated seeing him upset, and you hated knowing you might've been the cause of it.

"jere, please. what's going on?" you asked, this time softly. he was close to you now. you could see his heavy breathing, could smell the perfume he always wore.

"how would i know. you're the one who's looking all close with your ex--my brother--conrad," he spits. he swallows hard, like he's checking himself.

"it was always you and conrad. even when we were kids it was that way. i was stupid to think it could've been any different."

he turned away from you, gaze hard. oh, jere. you have no idea, you thought. it was him--how could he not see that? how could he really think it was conrad you cared about?

you couldn't deny it any longer: you loved jere. and you definitely weren't about to let him walk away thinking otherwise.

quickly, without letting yourself dwell on it, you grabbed jeremiah's hand. he turned back, eyes wide. and you kissed him.

kissing jere was easy.

it was the first thing you noticed. how easy it was to let his lips slant over yours, to tilt your head back at the greedy request of his hands, to forget about the party and conrad and the house.

it was just him and the feel of his mouth on yours.

and then everything was static. everywhere he touched you--the long, lean press of his body to your front, the sharp slide of his jawline under your palm, the firm press of his hands at your waist. every sense was filled with him and his warmth and the way he smelled.

you were gasping into the kiss, hyperaware of the small noises he made when you pulled on his curls. of just how tall he was, how much he had to lean down to hold you like this.

you barely broke away enough to say, "jere, nothing happened with conrad. we were talking about you-"

"don't care," he said, voice rough. because he was too busy lifting you onto one of the wooden boardwalk rails, muscled arms flexing in the distant party lights.

you barely had time to settle before he was kissing you again, sloppy this time, like he owned your mouth and wanted you to know it. you felt hot everywhere, as his hands pulled apart your thighs and he crowded his broad body into you.

you'd kissed once before for a game of truth or dare. it had been sweet and short, and you both had been teased about it for years afterwards. this was different.

wholly different, you realized, as jeremiah's lips sought out the hot skin of your neck. there was no place except where he touched you; the noise of the party, the lull of the waves on the beach, the quiet way he murmured against your skin.

"jere," you said, because there was no room in your mind for anything or anyone else. he hummed as his canines bit lightly at your ear. jere.

greedy for more, you took one of the tan, strong hands holding your face and brought it lower, lower until it rested over your frantically beating heart. jere had pulled away to watch your ministrations, cursing softly as his hand fell over your chest.

"you sure?" he asked, and his voice sounded hoarse.

"yeah, course jere. it's you."

something behind his eyes sparked at the trust you promised. it's always been you. kissing you once more, gentler this time, jere let his hand run up and under the vintage bathing suit top you'd stolen from your mom for the party.

skin on skin, jeremiah was soft and warm. he was breathing heavy as you as he felt you up. forehead to yours, gaze keen as he watched you pant and squirm.

"this okay?"

you could only nod, eyes drawn tight at the sensation. he kissed you again, his touch more confident as you clung to his shoulders.

you'd messed around with conrad a few times. it had felt good. fun, even. but he'd never had you reeling like this, never made you feel like everywhere he touched was fire. that feeling was reserved for jere.

and as his thumb circled your nipple and his teeth pulled at your lip, you realized you were burning and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it. best friend or not, jere was the only one who could make you feel like this. ever.

you pulled away from his mouth. he looked concerned, and you could feel him move his hands away from you.

"sorry if i..." he started, blue eyes near scared as he watched you.

"no, jere it's not that. it's, it's just that i-"

"hey, there's my man! where the fuck were you dude?"

it was steven. fucking steven. on his arm was taylor, who grinned manically when she saw your mussed hair and blushing expression. please not now, taylor. please don't mess this up any more.

but drunk as they were, the pair didn't notice your nervous expression. instead, steven laughed and said, "so did you finally tell her you're in love with her or what?"

-

jere's face dropped. whatever softness you'd shared moments earlier was gone. his mouth set flat, hands that had been mapping out your body now closed into fists.

"fuck you, steven."

taylor's eyes were on you now, finally recognizing the tears you tried to blink away. with a hand on his chest she held steven back, some wordless communication passing between them. if you hadn't been feeling your own heart break you would've been trying to tease them about it.

instead, you chased after jeremiah's retreating figure.

"jere, will you please listen!" you called. but he was stubborn--you knew this better than anyone. one more time you tried, shouting his name over the stupidly loud party.

he whipped back around, blue eyes sharp.

"just stay away from me, okay? why don't you go find conrad to wipe your tears," he snapped. for a moment, jere looked shocked at his own words too. but then he was shaking his head, tearing his gaze away from yours as he continued through the crowds towards the house. away from you.

and this time, as people collapsed into the space all around you, their yelling and singing drowning out even your thoughts, you knew there was no use calling for him.

[lewsnumerounofan]

party foul part 2 (jeremiah fisher x reader)

summary: so what if you're in love with your best friend jeremiah fisher? one drunk kiss won't change anything. right? (spoiler: it does)

notes: not biblically accurate conrad, kissing, smut, unprotected oops, somewhat public, 3k words, reader previously dated co**ad, angst/miscomm., not proof read at all

+ part 1

+ i fucking hate htis one its so bad i'm so sooryim gooo fuckjuhnbsorry oh my god and dw abt the header image!!!!!! it's okay!!!!!

your phone hit voicemail again. it was the seventh time you’d tried calling jere, but still no luck. 

“maybe he’s staying at a friends place,” belly supplied, but she looked worried too. ever since you and jere had kissed the night before, he’d been mia. steven, you, conrad and belly had all taken turns trying to reach him with no success. at first it had been expected, but it was now rounding out on 24 hours since he’d left, and worry was starting to permeate amongst everyone. well, everyone except taylor. she wasn’t too worried about it. he’s probably just moping around feeling sorry for himself, she’d said. 

unfortunately, you couldn’t quite master taylor’s level of nonchalance. in fact, you felt awful. for a few minutes, everything had been perfect. you’d been kissing the boy of your dreams–the boy you were in love with. and then…

“yeah, he kinda checks out when he’s upset. he did the same thing after mom died.”

conrad, this time. him and nicole had just come back from driving through town trying to find him. you nodded, but a tightness was slinking into your chest. jere hadn’t ‘checked out’ after suzanna died. he’d called you, and together you’d talked for hours as he wandered the streets of boston. never before had he shut you out like this. it made you worried. more than worried; it made you feel scared.

“i think i’ll try him again, just in case,” you said. because you couldn’t not do something. because you were scared you’d messed things up permanently, because jeremiah had never, ever ignored your calls.

“okay, well i’m ordering pizza. jere disappearing or not, i’m fucking starving,” said taylor. she’d hopped off her place on the counter and now started flipping through the take out flyers stuck to the fridge. steven and belly sounded their agreement. 

“i can pick it up,” you offered, “it’ll give me a chance to go look for him too.”

you were out the door soon after, steven and taylor’s argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza still lingering in the background. feeling a bit better now that you had something to do, you let the warm summer air breeze through your car windows. jere was out there somewhere, probably doing just fine. it’s not like he’d do something dumb or get himself hurt. if you were honest with yourself, he’d most likely just crashed at an old hook up’s house. there were plenty of those around in cousin’s, and they’d likely all enjoy having jere back. you tried not to think about it. 

-

the pizza place was a 20 minute drive from the fischer’s, and you took the long route along the beach. it was a perfect summer night: seagulls called off shore, the sunset lingered to the west, and couples lazily strolling back to their cars. it was the type of night jere loved.

you were a couple minutes early for your order, so you decided to make the most of it and join the sparse crowds decorating the beach. you pulled over and parked, grabbing a light sweater for the evening weather. 

amongst the waves and people’s quiet chatter, the beach possessed a lingering hum. it was a sound that accompanied many of your fondest childhood memories, and you took comfort in it’s familiarity and peacefulness. you couldn’t help but think of jere–think about what had passed between you last night, mostly. 

did you finally tell her you're in love with her? 

you hadn’t been able to get steven’s words out of your head. the thought of jere ever liking you was one thing, but love? it felt too good to be true. 

and besides, it’s not as though it would matter if you never even got to see jeremiah again. for the first time, you almost felt annoyed at his vanishing act. he’d left you confused and frustrated and wanting more.

just then, as if you’d conjured him yourself, you noticed jere on the beach before you. his curls were unmistakable–almost the same colour as the sand. his hands were tan and strong as he leaned back on them, sun-bleached bracelets wrapped around his wrists. you wanted to take a picture of him there. keep this precious moment of discovery and summer immortalised forever.

and then he turned around, blue eyes catching yours. 

you could see the moment worry set in by the tight line that furrowed over his brows. he started to rise from the sand and you moved towards him, carried by adrenaline and anger and a little bit of excitement. halfway down the beach you caught each other, but before you could speak jeremiah was shrugging past you.

“you shouldn’t have come.”

the waves and gulls seem to mock you then–the whole perfect august night laughed in your face as you stopped, stomach sinking. it took a few moments for his words to register, and a few more for you to whip around and catch up to him. he was almost past your car when you finally managed to grasp onto his sleeve. deja vu hit you hard enough that you almost stumbled. just last night this same action led to jere’s lips on yours, his mouth hot over your body. today’s jere must have seen the memory on your face because he scoffed, pulling back sharply.

“see? you can’t even think about what happened without looking disgusted,” he said. his voice was low but convicted. closed. you hated it. 

“jere, what are you talking about? you wouldn’t know anything about how i feel–you ran away last night and no one’s been able to contact you since,” you tried. he made an attempt to keep walking but you didn't let him, this time coming to stand between him and the road. ridiculous.

“no calls, no texts, nothing. do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?”

at this jere’s eyes blazed and he took a step forwards, letting his head lower as he spit the words into your face, “yeah, i’m sure you and conrad were just about worried sick huh.”

it took quite a lot of effort on your part not to roll your eyes. what was with this boy. had the kiss not been enough? did he really think, after all this time, conrad stood a chance?

“you’re such an idiot sometimes jere,” you said, regretting it as his chest shuddered under a heavy breath. 

he laughed and looked away. his eyes were bright in the dwindling sun, his jaw harsh as he fought to control himself. slight smudges under his eyes, extra tangled curls, slightly red eyes. now that you were up close, jere looked a mess. heart hurting you reached for him, wanting to smooth back the stray hair falling over his cheekbones. to smooth over this, over him, to let him know everything was alright. he caught your hand. even this, even his firm grasp on your skin, had your body lighting up. awakening in a way it only would for jere. 

“you sure know how to make it hurt. why can’t you just fuck off and we can pretend this never happened, okay?” he hissed, but you knew jere. the way he blinked more and the way his voice changed. “just- just please go home. it hurts me to look at you right now. it hurts.”

his voice broke and he dropped your hand. you couldn’t stand the look on his face. you didn’t let him turn away from you though. this was your boy, the boy you’d been in love with every day for a year. and you wouldn’t have him thinking otherwise.

your pulse raced as you said, “it’s you, jere. it’s you and it’s always been you. not conrad. and it would hurt me if you thought anything otherwise.”

he flinched at your words but there was something in his face that changed. something small, something that took you having to know how he breathed to notice. hope. 

“jere, look at me. look at me,” you said. and he did, his eyes wide and blue. the same eyes you dreamed of. 

“i love you. i love you, jere.”

you folded the words onto his lips as you kissed him. wrapped them in sugar and pressed them onto his mouth, begging him to understand. to see what had been obvious every night you’d called him, every time you’d hugged him, every time you’d smiled at his dimples.

“i love you.”

and then you couldn’t say anything else because he was cupping your jaw, tilting your face and running his tongue over your teeth. panting as he consumed your gasps. pulled the air from you. 

jere shuffled you back until the cool press of your car met your hips. under him and the way he kissed at your neck, you had no notion of what surrounded you. no idea of anything except the heat of his tongue against your throat. your ear. your lips. 

“up,” he mumbled. that was all the warning he gave before lifting you onto the hood of your car. the metal was cold beneath you but his hands were burning as they circled your thighs, coaxing your legs apart until he could press himself against you. 

he was so big in front of you. the wide span of his shoulders, the strong shape of his hands. he was kissing like he’d hurt if he didn't. you felt feverish, you felt elated. jere broke away enough to rest his forehead on yours, chest rising and catching.

“need you,” he said. his voice was tight.

“what?” 

“said i need you.”

“here?” 

you were incredulous at first, but jere didn't even bother to look embarrassed. his gaze was level with yours and you had to blush and look away.

“we could- i mean, we’ve got my car…”

he grinned as he pulled you down, and the giggle came before you can stop it. around the vehicle and into the back seats you were both trying to stop from laughing. it was such an encapsulation of being a teenager. of sneaking around and driving each other crazy and being in love. the feeling had you collapsing onto his lap as he pulled the door closed, huffing onto the tan skin of his neck.

“this is so stupid,” you said. the grin jere gave leaves you breathless. your fingers pressed over his smile, tracing the red line of his mouth. the car was warm and dark and protected. 

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he said, “waited for you.”

you wanted to laugh again but his hands were pulling up your shirt. goosebumps followed the path of his thumb over your bra, under your bra; when he put his mouth on you you moaned. in this little space you’d made the sound was a feeling and jere grinded into you at its touch. focused as he toyed with you, painting your chest red and purple with his lips.

baby, baby, you were saying as strong hands held you close. even as you tried to pull away–push closer?–from the intensity of his kisses. of having his curly hair fall against your chest and stomach. of his eyelashes brushing over your collarbone. you molded your palm to the thick muscle of his shoulder, watching it shake as he took his time drawing you out.

“please, jere.”

he knew what you meant. off comes his shirt, crumpled on the ground beneath the drivers seat. outside the sun had set. gulls still called from offshore, quiet on the other side of the car’s window. 

neither of you bothered getting fully undressed. after struggling with both your pants, he tugged down his boxers enough and helped your trembling fingers pull aside your own underwear. he was whispering you’re sure? even as you raised up on both knees, murmuring in your ear until you had him notched inside you. 

except for your stuttering breaths, it went silent in the car. jere’s hands were at your back, gently gathering your hair into a loose ponytail. he was shaking too then. 

it almost doesn’t seem real–that moment. the press of warm, bare skin. that just days ago you were best friends, and hours ago you weren’t sure you’d have a relationship at all. and now you were here on top of him, having sex in your car at the beach. you wanted to laugh again, but you were seeing white as jere filled you.

you couldn't keep your head up. you were dizzy as you fell forward into his warm chest, taken over by the stretch of him, the perfect fit. he found his breath again, enough to murmur that you were taking him so well. that you felt so good. 

“jere,” you said as his hands found your hips. nodding, kissing the top of your head, he guided you forward and then back, transfixed as he watched where you two fit together. 

it was a tight fit in the car. you had to bend over him so as not to hit your head, and jere’s long legs pressed against the back of the front seat. you don’t care much though, not when you could grind down and watch him tense up, muscles in his neck tight. it should have be criminal to look that pretty. his hair, slightly damp from fucking, curled tighter around his temples. his eyelashes were long over his cheek bones as he tilted his head back, eyes closed. leaning down to lick his adam’s apple you listened to him groan.

“can’t believe ive been missing out on this,” he said. his voice was breathy and quiet and warm on your face and you drew even with him. you wanted to arch into his hands, to bend yourself around him until every piece of your skin was held by his. you felt crazy. 

talking to him like this, when he was still inside you, when you were riding him, made you clench. already you were aching for it. jere knew it too. he was watching you, watching the movement of your body and your face like it was a special act just for him. like you were beautiful.

“jere,” you said. it was just about the only word you can remember.

he shifted beneath you, one hand coming to map the side of your ribs, the other between your legs. the rhythm changed as he began to meet you with his hips, and every breath became hinged on a moan. the way he thumbed over your clit, the way he mouthed at your tits. control was slipping away from you. fast. 

the new angle was almost too much, and as jere buried deep you gasped. your body was liquid and you almost tipped backwards, grabbing at his shoulders. like a man possessed, jere didn’t even pause. his large hand gripped the front headrest above you as he laid you down over the armrest between the front two seats. 

lying prone and naked half in the front of your car, you realized something quite quickly. your back windows were tinted. the front ones most definitely were not. 

“someone could see, jere!” you said, attempting to lift yourself up. most beach-goers had cleared out after the sunset, but faintly you could still hear the sound of people playing in the surf. jere’s tan hand on your chest stopped you.

“we’d better be quick then.”

before you had time to try reasoning, jere was pushing back into you. unable to argue, unable to say anything, you found his hand and laced your fingers together. it was all you could cling to as he fucked into you, as the heat of his body spread over you. it was warm and close and dark and when you finished, together, he stopped breathing. just for a second. then, while your mind was still hazy he pulled you back onto his lap and kissed you. hard. 

holding you there, safe in his arms. at some point he found his sweater and pulled it over your head. warm against his chest, body and legs aching. he whined when you clenched, absently, around him. still pressed inside you. it’s funny so you giggled and he groaned again and threw his arm over his face.

“don’t do that,” he grit out.

“why not?”

you were teasing. his eyes found you, tongue already in cheek. you couldn't look away from his red mouth.

“because i’ll get hard again.”

it amazed you how ready you were at the possibility. your spine already straightening. you don’t think you’ll ever stop wanting him.

but, faintly, you heard your phone ring. it was beneath a pile of clothes and it was on the last ring when you finally managed to snag it. 

“hello?” you said. jere watched you lazily, still smiling. 

“hey, uh where are you?”

you pulled the phone from your ear. the caller id read conrad. shit. pizzas. you’d gotten a bit… distracted. jere caught the name too and though his expression faded slightly, his gaze remained on yours. you smiled at him and couldn't help but kiss him. quickly. 

“yeah sorry about that conrad. listen, bad news is the pizza might be a bit cold,” you could hear groans from the other end of the line, “but uh. good news is i’ve found jere.”

you didn't bother to listen to the response, instead you leaned up to the boy you loved. kissed over his cheek and his dumb grin.

“i found my jere.”

[lewsnumerounofan]

interrogation tactics (rafe cameron x reader)

summary: you and rafe are trapped in singh’s mansion. rafe needs to know where the diary is, and he’s willing to do just about anything to find out.

notes: nsfw, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), consent is a bit like mmm (??), idk the obx plot well so factual details might be wrong…., maybe a bit of fluff like so little, ~1k words

+ check out other works here

“Tell me,” Rafe says, and your eyes roll back as his fingers press into you harder, stretching you until you’re gasping. Under his ringed hand your hips buck and twist, burning from the way his tongue moves over you, inside you.

“Rafe please I don’t know anything-“ you try, but he’s locking your hips down harder and fitting another finger into you. The strong band of his nose keeps nudging into your clit, his tongue passing over your folds. He’s like a man starved as he devours you, grunting as you buck against him.

The shaking legs around his head are already bruised with hickeys. He’d spent long minutes marking you, nursing out the dark blooms of purple and red on the soft, private skin of your thighs. In case you forget, he’d mumbled as he’d nipped softly your hip bone, who you belong to.

“Rafe please,” you say and your voice cracks as he meets your eyes. From between your legs his gaze is dark, drowsy off the taste of you. The tan arm banded over your hips flexes as you grind against him, shameless now in your pursuit of another orgasm.

Rafe only bares you open further, drawing back to watch your abused cunt flutter in his absence. It’s almost impossible to breathe as he lets his thumb drag down from your bellybutton. Brazen as he pushes over your swollen clit, you whimper at the oversensitivity, at the arrogant, semi-sadistic smirk that tugs at Rafe’s swollen lips. He loves you like this. The snarky, sarcastic mouth you usually reserve just for him is long gone. Now he’s got you begging—begging—beneath him, body marked and abused by his tongue and teeth and crying out at every touch of his fingers. For the very first time he feels the heady rush of power at owning you, at owning your body and your pleasure.

“Tell me about the diary baby. Tell me or we just keep doing this,” Rafe murmurs, voice low and hot on your skin.

The diary —the diary. You’re supposed to know something about the diary, about where it is and who has it (do you have it?). But Rafe is so strong over you, the smell of his cologne so strong that you can’t think. Can’t form the words to tell him.

He clicks his tongue and leans back from you, just far enough that he can grind onto your core at an aching, lazy pace. The friction of his rough dress pants has your head tipping back, hands desperately finding purchase in the thick linen sheets. Rafe repeats the action again, his eyes dropping down to watch where you connect. It feels so good—the heavy weight of him over your center, the bruising grip of his hands on your waist, the exhale of breathe over your neck as he groans out your name. Even the thick shape of him through his pants has you keening, writhing against the bed.

“Rafe, Rafe.”

It was his turn to moan at your desperate babbling. He shook his head, eyes closed and jaw locked as he fought to control himself. With his shirt halfway unbuttoned and his pretty lips and jaw decorated with smudges of your lipstick, Rafe looked a mess. Something about it, something about how ruined he just from touching you, had you shuddering and whimpering anew.

“I know. I know baby,” he said. His voice was ragged as he shifted down again, folding you open and putting his mouth over you.

You could barely speak now, barely think past the warm, rough tongue lapping at the hot skin between your legs. You ached from the orgasms Rafe had already forced from you, ached from the way he was moaning into your slick legs. It was too much, but still he didn’t let up, shoulders broad as they kept your legs from closing.

“Rafe please I can’t,” you begged.

When he spoke his words hummed into your skin.

“Tell me you have the diary.”

You couldn’t help the tears the gathered in your eyes at his demand. There was no way you could take much more of this. But still Rafe’s fingers worked you, his tongue pushing into you as you writhed and begged. It was so close—your stomach was tight with it, eyes shut hard against the dizzying proximity of another orgasm. You needed it. And then Rafe’s ringed hand was moving, brazenly passing over nipple and closing around your throat. You were a goner.

“Mr. Sunn. John B gave him a copy, please Rafe please, please.”

You were incoherent. Delirious off the both the possession and lack of oxygen bestowed by Rafe’s hand. Below you, Rafe smirked into your skin. His eyes were almost wholly black as he gazed at you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured. And then he was pressing harder at your neck, his large hand sure to leave you with a necklace of bruises. Doubling down, his tongue worked you harder, fingers sure as they circled your clit. Everything went hot as you looked at him. The strong breadth of his shoulders and his tan golden skin. The glint of his rings and you on his fingers. His pretty swollen lips, still grinning at you. And then your vision went and you were bowing into him, desperately clutching at his hand, at his fingers as he slid them into yours.

“That’s good baby. Did so good for me,” Rafe panted as he held your reeling body, shifting up beside you. Rings glinting as they cupped your flushed cheeks.

“So good,” he murmured again, letting his lips press over your brow.

[lewsnumerounofan]

late last night (lh x reader)

summary: lewis flies you out for a fun weekend, and maybe something more.

notes: nsfw, established hu to smth more?, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), tiny bit of angst. 2k words. did i change tense halfway thru? yeah i did. we dont talk abt it tho. all heavily inspired by @lewisyellowhelmet !!!!

+ check out other works here

+ was too lazy to fix formatting issues. oops

-----

The text came in just after midnight. In typical Lewis fashion it was short, to the point.

Come get away for a few nights. Promise I’ll make it worth your while.

And then a plane ticket, first class.

You tucked your phone into your chest, eyes scanning the street in front of you. He always did this. A late-night text and plane ticket, a promise for a fun weekend. And it was fun -- visiting Lewis’ expensive hotels under a fake name, eating lavish meals in the private rooms of the most esteemed restaurants, touching him quietly, secretly under the table. But Monday always came around and you’d wake up to an empty suite, cold coffee and a note from Lewis thanking you for a good time. 

Sighing, you texted back, fingers clumsy with cold.

Cant. Work is busy.

You closed your messages and made to head back inside when your phone lit up again.

A photo this time. It was poorly lit, but you could tell that whatever exotic timezone he was in had him in bed, shirtless, tattooed fingers resting easily over a white sheet. A white sheet that sat dangerously low on his taught hips. Though his face was cut out, the compass stretching over his muscled chest was unmistakable.

Even now, hundreds of miles between you, you felt a slow curl of heat between your legs.

And then: See you tomorrow

Cocky bastard.

-

It was mid-afternoon by the time your flight touched down, and the heavy race-weekend traffic ensured it was almost sunset before you arrived at the hotel. The man at the desk handed you a key and a knowing smile when you gave him your name.

The lobby was full of people, well-off couples preparing for a night out. You had to look away from a pair giggling together on one of the high-backed love seats, the brush of their lips intimate and familiar.

-

Lewis answers the door on your first knock. Doesn’t wait to help you drag your suitcase in, only cups your face and let his full lips slant over yours. Everything slips away as he holds you so reverently in his tattooed palms like you were the most precious thing in the whole world.

“Missed you.”

His voice is rough as he speaks, sleepy almost in its comfort. You smile at him, turn to kiss his wrist, bite it quickly.

You hear him groan as you shift back to your suitcase, pulling it inside the high-ceilinged room. You can barely concentrate on the dim candle-lit interior with Lewis’ hot body at your back, but you let your eyes linger on the twinkling sky line for a moment -- the stray lights of other lives, so far away.

And then Lewis, all pressed up behind you. Hands around your waist, pulling you back to him, back on him.

“Lewis...”

“Missed the way you say my name.”

You let him shuffle you to the couch, low set and plush, soft on your cheeks.

His hands on your jeans, eager but not rushed as he pulls them down. You shiver at the cold, at the glaze over Lewis’ eyes as he watches you squirm. A hot, wet kiss to your thigh, quick as he kneels between your legs. Kneels for you. Your lips part as his big hands wrap around the outside of your hips and tug you to the edge of the seat. Eyes on you, he tucks a finger into you, knowing you want more, need more. It’s too much and you look away, afraid he’ll see the vulnerability you’ve been biting back since he first opened the door. But he tuts and forces you back with a hand on your jaw.

“Eyes on me. Want you to watch what I do to you.”

And then he’s tugging your underwear off too, leaning down to replace his fingers with his tongue. You arch into him, trying to get away, trying to get more, but his hands are solid on your hips, keeping them open and splayed out for him.

“Lewis-”

He doesn’t bother responding, too busy fucking his tongue into you and circling your clit with his calloused thumb.

“Lewis, Lewis, Lewis.”

A prayer now, as you tug at his braids. Already your core is clenching, legs twitching on either side of his head. The sinful image of his ringed hand pressing into your stomach to pin you down --

You can’t stop yourself from tipping over the edge when he looks up at you, cheeks rosy, mouth red, tongue still working you. 

Hazy as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. The hotel now rests in a dark navy. Your breathing is loud in the quiet of the big room. Laying you down, Lewis kisses your forehead once, twice. A firm press of his lips. You feel him shift away and catch his wrist as he goes to stand. He can see the question in our eyes.

“Gonna get you a cloth to clean up,” he says, real soft and low.

You have to swallow before you speak again, quiet like it's a secret.

“You don’t have to. I mean, I want you. If…”

You’re flustered now, heat rising on your cheeks. Lewis’ sharp eyes don’t move from your face. He cuts you off with a kiss, harder this time. I want you too, it says.

“Okay,” he mumbles against your lips.

He’s moving over you now, the strength in his shoulders, his arms, making the predatory advance up your body easy. But he’s gentle as he nudges you back like he too can feel the shift.

The sheets are cool at your back, a stark contrast to the feverish heat from where your bodies are joined. You can feel him heavy and thick at your thigh even with his pants. Fumbling, almost desperate through kisses you unzip him, palming him once over his briefs before slipping your hand under to touch him.

He curses into you, breaking from your lips to rest his forehead on yours, eyes shining as they watch where you grip him. You’re aching to take him into your mouth, to finally taste him like you’ve been dreaming of for weeks, but Lewis has other ideas, instead going to fully remove his shirt and pants.

Seeing him like this always takes your breath away. The steady strength of him, the dark markings of his tattoos, the hard length of him. Looking at you from under a few escaped braids, Lewis looks like a god. A god intent only on worshipping you.

He’s crawling back up to you, groaning into your mouth as you brush together. His tongue claiming you, running along your teeth. He draws back quickly, pulling your thighs apart deftly to spit on your cunt. You throw your head back, gasping -- too tight, too frenzied at the feel of his spit coating you.

And then he’s back over you, crowding you. All Lewis, only Lewis.

“Okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, hands already leaving marks on his muscled back. Tomorrow, in the paddock and in the car, he’d feel them sting and think of you. The idea was enough to have you clenching on air, begging him to let you take it.

He only laughed, a lazy smirk revealing the tooth gap you loved so much.

“So needy for me, huh princess.”

And then he was forcing into you, even the tip a stretch, filling you up and more, more, more. You bit down hard on his shoulder as he sank into you.

“So good. S’always so good.”

His hips finally resting flat against yours, and the pressure of him inside you was more than you could bare. Lewis slipped his hand down -- down to press on the bulge in your stomach where he was now seated, chuckling roughly again when you cried out.

“You take me so well.”

He tongues the words into your mouth, finally moving inside you. A long drag out and then a snap of his hips and you knew you wouldn’t last. Not with him watching your lips with half-lidded eyes, jewellery glinting from the city’s lights, mouth open and red.

“Lewis.”

He shivers mid-thrust, burying his head back into your neck, kissing up your throat.

“Lewis,” you gasp, watching the push and pull of his back as he moved in you, the bunching of his shoulders and quick, timed rhythm of his hips. His hands on your leg, forcing you wider, taking more. Mouth wide as he bites at your neck, forces you back into the pillows. It’s too much, too good -- the clench of you around him, the moans he keeps spilling onto your skin.

“Lewis, I’m gonna-”

A slightly different slant to his pelvis, the hard slide of it over your clit as Lewis bottoms out inside you and you’re cumming, vision white as you gasp into his chest.

“Almost there baby. ‘M so close.”

Everywhere he’s touching you is fire, the overstimulation casting stars across your vision.

“Almost there,” he murmurs again, so low and husky. You can feel the stutter in his thrusts, hear the break in his voice as he pants above you.

“Finish in me.”

It’s a plea more than anything else but you know as soon as you speak the words that there’s nothing you’ve ever needed more.

“Cum in me Lewis, need it.”

His whole body tenses, eyes near savage as they meet yours.

“Yeah?”

You nod once, whimpering as his pupils blow wide, darken. His thrusts pick up again, harder this time. Vaguely you’re aware of the clock being knocked off the nightstand beside you, but you’re too busy watching Lewis to care.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you mine, only mine.”

And then he’s cumming, pulsing in you as his hips weakly stuttered through a last push. Your weave your hands into his hair, place soft kisses over his nose, forehead, cheeks. He’s lazy as he kisses you, his full weight boring you down, keeping your legs open and aching. Only when his heart stops pounding does he pull away, a hoarse groan leaving his parted lips as he slips out of you. Not even self-respect could stop you from reaching for him but he stayed kneeling before you, big ringed hands parting your knees.

“Lewis?”

His hot gaze on your core, he drops two fingers down to push his cum back inside you. Arching against the mattress as he watched, mesmerized, as you fluttered around them, desperate for him again already.

“Need my cum inside you, yeah? Need me marking you.”

God. What was he doing to you? So desperate -- for what? What more could you take? But then he was moving again, tucking his semi-hard cock back inside you, pushing his cum deeper.

“Lewis,” a half sob this time, nearly drooling at the press of him, the sensitivity.

Tears in your eyes as he kissed you.

“S’okay. You can take it.”

--

The weekend was over before you knew it. Another win for Lewis. You watched from the hotel TV, suddenly feeling so very far away from him. The sticky lingers of champagne you licked off him when he got back.

This time was different somehow. He’d stayed to eat breakfast with you each morning, fingers playing over yours as you cradled your coffee. Or Saturday after a disappointing quali when you’d opened the door and he’d folded himself into you, kissing softly at your neck. You’d fallen asleep to a stupid TV show, room service discarded on the floor, Lewis’ chest rising and falling at your back.

But now it’s Monday. And when you check the clock -- the clock you’d had to get replaced after its untimely demise -- you see it’s late and you know Lewis has already left.

It shouldn’t bother you so much. Shouldn’t make you feel quite so empty. You take your time getting ready, showering but leaving your hair down and wet along your shoulders. It’s only after, when your stomach begins to grumble, that you leave the bedroom and the lingering smell of Lewis.

Except at the kitchen counter, clicking through data sheets and absentmindedly sipping at a steaming mug of tea is Lewis, sweats low at his hips, braids drawn back.

“Lewis?”

You wonder if you've got your days wrong, if you’d somehow dreamt up the glory of yesterday's win.

“Hey sleepy head,” he grins, twisting to watch you. You’re confused. He knows it too, tries not to flush as he clears his throat.

“Uh, I know I promised the weekend only. But my favourite caffe is only open Monday to Friday, so I thought I’d stay another day and we could go together.”

He’s not looking at you, hands twisted quietly in his lap. The seven time world champion sat before you blushing like a school girl. Oh, Lewis.

“We don’t have to though, I know you’re busy so-”

“What about tomorrow?” you ask.

Hi eyes are on yours now, brow furrowed.

“Tomorrow?”

You bite your lip, smile. You can’t help yourself as you move towards him, dragging your palms up his muscled legs.

“Yeah, what're we gonna get up to tomorrow?”

He’s grinning back at you now, all tooth gap and eye-crinkles.

“I’m sure we can come up with something. Okay?”

You're leaning into him, pushing up onto your tippy toes to kiss him, to fold the word into his mouth:

“Okay.”

[lewsnumerounofan]

team bonding (lh x reader)

summary: you may work as a personal trainer for lewis, but that doesn’t mean the two of you have to keep your relationship professional.

notes: nswf, coworker relationship, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex kinda??, maybe choking?, 1.8k words, !!!!not!!!! edited

masterlist

+ i wrote this while playing hay day and also i don’t know how past/present tense works and i’ll never learn. i’m sorry. was sorry. will be. idk.

“Lewis we can’t-”

Your words are cut off by Lewis’ full lips slanting over yours, his hands already rucking up your flimsy athletic top. He’s got you pressed up against the wall in a matter of seconds.

“Lewis we’re in public,” you grit out, but he’s already pulling off your shirt, ducking beneath your pushing arms to tongue at the exposed skin of your breast, your neck. He’s so warm against your skin, so needy that you almost let him. Do let him, for a moment. But when you look up from Lewis’ mouth you’re met with your own dazed reflection in the mirrored wall opposite you. Already your neck is marked purple and red, and you look disheveled under the frantic hands of the man almost on his knees before you. This is wrong. More than that, it’s wrong in the Mercedes training center, where anyone could come walking in at any moment.

“Lewis, stop.”

Lewis pulls back, his hands lighting delicately on your hips. Brows furrowed with concern he follows your eye-line to the mirror. You watch as his expression changes to one you’d grown all too familiar with--he doesn’t even both to hide his smirk as he rounds on you again, teeth biting into the plush skin of lip.

“What, you don’t like watching?” he asks.

Of course he’s not thinking about getting caught. Or maybe he is, maybe he likes the idea of it. After all, he did make a career off adrenaline.

“No that’s not-”

“So you do like watching,” he says, and the teasing heat in his voice makes you blush and turn your face away. He loves winding you up like this. From the first day you met he’d been trying to press your buttons, trying to see just how far he could push the quiet new staff member. You couldn’t really blame him--Lewis was curious by nature, so when you had arrived to temporarily stand in on Angela’s personal training duties, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away. It had started off innocently enough. A few private glances during team debreifings, a few unnecessarily long touches when correcting his workout form. Eventually though, it had landed you here. Pressed to the wall, his muscled thigh thick between your legs.

“We can’t do this here, Lewis. We’ll get caught,” you say, but he only raises an eyebrow, letting a lazy grin curve across his face.

“What, you don’t want our coworkers seeing you like this?” he coos, pressing his hands flat to the exposed skin of your breats, the tender marks he’d left. Under his tattooed fingers your breathing becomes quicker, a fact he notes with a quick click of his tongue. His hands trail lower, fingers slipping deftly under the waistband of your shorts and leaving you fighting for words.

“Or even worse… like this,” he says, and then Lewis is tugging you around until you’re facing the mirror. You both groan at the image reflected back; you, shaky legs and bruised chest, and Lewis, one arm banding around your middle and the other down the front of your pants. You couldn’t look away from his liquid gaze, heavy and languid in the mirror. Even as his fingers dared reach lower, brushing through the brazen heat of your core.

“Lewis…” you say, but this time you’re begging him to keep going rather than stop. Every part of you is narrowed to the big fingers playing between your legs, touching you everywhere except where you need them most. Desperate for something --anything-- you let yourself grind back into the hard shape of Lewis at your ass. He hisses, his grip on you tightening.

“Playing dirty, huh?” he says, but his voice is hoarse and you know his resolve is wearing thin. He keeps you there for a moment longer before finally circling hard on your clit. You whine into him and you can’t help but buck your hips because Lewis is taking up every sense in your body, legs going weak as he licks up your neck. To satisfy the needy sounds you’re making he pushes two fingers into you, murmuring you can take it as the stretch becomes the only thought in your head, the only thing you can feel. You can barely stand as the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, leaving you gasping and shaking until--

“Open your eyes.”

Lewis’ command cuts through your hazy world of pleasure and you force your lazy gaze back to the mirror, to the sight of Lewis’ strong arms tensing around you, to the wrecked view of you; cheeks rosy, mouth bitten and red. You watch Lewis finger fuck you--watch as his dark eyes practically devour your writhing body. The result of Lewis’ fingers runs down the insides of your thighs, and the image is so intimate, so filthy it has you cumming.

Lewis barely gives you time to breathe before he’s jostling you over to one of the many weight benches scattered across the room. He navigates your wobbly limbs until you’re on your knees, elbows planted on the plastic-leather of the workout equipment. Behind you now, Lewis slows long enough to trace mindless, gentle patterns on the smooth skin of your back. He looks thoughtful, caring, almost, as you turn back to watch him. But then his head lifts and he catches your eye. Smirks. Bastard, you think. The soft touches from before disappear, replaced by his rough hands dragging down your shorts and then his own. You don’t care that he can see you staring as Lewis pulls his thick cock from his boxers, tip already sticky with precum.

For a split second you consider crawling around to taste him, the sudden urge to have him fat and silky in your mouth overwhelming. The smell of him, the way he would talk you through relaxing your throat around his cock. The small, breathy noises he would make when you hum.

Lewis, though, has other ideas. Through the mirror you watch him spit into his palm, rubbing it over his length before notching himself into you. Here he pauses, tattooed chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You okay?” he checks. You respond by pushing your hips back, desperate to feel him inside you despite the heady overstimulation from your last orgasm. You need this--need him--in a primal, untamed way you’ve never expeirenced before. Every part of your mind constricts to where he’s touching you. The warmth of his big hands on your hips. The press of his knees inside yours, pushing your legs open and wide for him. And then--the slow, steady press of his cock as he forces you open. You can’t do anything but take him, mouth open and gasping as Lewis stretches you, fills you, completes you. Doing so good for me, he says, words tight and edged with a moan as he gives you more, more, more. You can’t think past where you’re connected. When he finally bottoms out neither of you move, too consumed by pleasure. You manage to crack open your eyes to see Lewis, chest gleaming faintly with sweat, lip between his teeth.

“So good,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him becuause you’re watching his arms flex as he readjusts his grip on your hips.

“S’always so good with you,” he murmurs in your neck as he leans forward to kiss up your spine. The change of angle has him even deeper, has you both moaning as Lewis buries himself in your hair.

“How do you do this to me. Everytime,” he says, and all you can say is baby, baby before Lewis is pulling out and slamming back in, rocking himself into you with enough force that the bench moves. You hardly manage to keep yourself propped on your elbows as he fills you up over and over, his own groans spilling into your ears. Already the knot in your stomach is back, accompanied by a dull ache from your previous orgasm. As Lewis winds a hand through your hair, he loops his other underneath you to again rub over your swollen clit. The sensitivity has your legs clenching uncontrolably, your vision blurring with each new pass of his fingers.

“Lew, it’s too much,” you try, but he only redoubles his efforts. He covers you completely, lips tugging at your neck, hand slowly closing around your throat, hips still pistoning into yours. You’re intoxicated by the power he has over you, the complete way in which he weilds it. The fingers gripping your neck are more a show of dominance than anything else, Lewis’ way of saying you’re mine. If you were any less helpless you’d consider fighting back, giving him the sass he loved so much. But you’re drunk on his cock, on the way he knows your body. And when he bites at your ear and repeats his words from earlier you’re helpless.

“Open your eyes.”

In the dim remnants of day light Lewis rises from behind you like a god, the deep cuts of his shoulders and chest carved from shadow. Below you, his arm disappears fully into darkness as he works at your clit, muscles appearing and reappearing as he moves. He’s got you all pressed up against him, leverage gained by the big, tattooed hand splayed like a necklace across your throat. Still thrusting, Lewis locks his dark eyes with you and you can’t look away, even as you feel yourself tipping over the edge.

“Lew, I’m gonna-”

“I know, I got you,” he’s panting, and then you’re both collapsing onto the bench, gasping at the heat of him finishing inside you, the mind-numb clench of your second orgasm.

“Lewis, Lewis.”

Tears pool at your waterline as your legs keep shaking.

“I know. I know, I got you,” he repeats, and he grabs for your hand, squeezing it tight as the two of you lie there, breathing.

Quiet. For a little while it’s just quiet as you collect yourself and feel the drip of Lewis down your thighs. You could live and die for this, you decided. These moments with him. And then he’s shifting, drawing himself up and retrieving your clothes, moving slowly in the low light. You’re cold without him.

He comes back to you though, kissing at your shoulder, your knee, your cheek as he insists on dressing you himself. Only when you’re tying up your hair does he at last relent, settling to trace doodles over your the exposed skin at your ankle instead.

“Told you,” he says. You glance at him, at the mischievous smile he’s failing to hide.

“Told me what?” you ask. You can’t help it, but you find yourself smiling too as he pauses his finger-drawing to look at you.

“Told you we wouldn’t get caught.”

“Shut up Lewis.”

[lewsnumerounofan]

when in france (lh x reader)

summary: you bump into your ex, lewis, at a club in france. what’s the worst that could happen?

notes: nswf, ex-relationship, unprotected sex, oral (m/f receiving), little bit o’ angst, 4.6k words, not edited

+ check out other works here

+ switched the tense halfway thru again. but im too lazy to change it rn!!! sry!

---

“Lewis is here.”

You don’t hear your friend the first time she says it, the club’s music too loud in your ears. But she presses herself up against you the second time, puts her cheek alongside yours and you feel the shape of his name in her mouth as she yells.

Lewis.

You hadn’t expected him here. Sure, it was the night after a big victory -- a Mercedes two-three finish (not that you’d been watching) -- but from what you’d heard he wasn’t partying these days. He keeps to himself, were the words your mutual friend had used. You didn’t ask about him after that, didn’t want to remind yourself that you were no longer familiar with Lewis’ life, with the little things he did.

You pull your head up from the tight-packed dance floor and try to find him -- the tight braids, strong shoulders. And sure enough there is, being led up the wall-mounted staircase to the VIP area. Even from a distance you can see the heavy black cargos, the flimsy white tank top barely covering his shoulders, the dark press of his tattoos underneath.

“He’s so fine,” your friend murmurs. You turn, letting your shoulder shove into hers. Trying to slow your breathing, calm yourself. Lewis is here, in the same club as you. So close, and-

“He’s looking at you.”

“What?”

You whip back to your friend, but she’s suddenly busy dancing with a blue-haired girl, sending you a guilty kiss as the two move away. Some friend.

So it’s just you who has to turn back to where you know Lewis stands, remembering suddenly the time you surprised him by flying in for family Christmas. How his mother had grinned and shushed you at the front door, how he’d started smiling as soon as he’d seen you, how warm his hands had been wrapping under your stupid holiday sweater. You’re here, he’d said. But that had been months ago, before your promotion meant you could no longer spare weekends to watch his races, before he started calling you hammered from parties, other women's voices shrill in the background, before he stopped calling at all.

But when you look Lewis isn’t there. The stairs are empty, the glint of his jewellery nowhere to be found. Probably for the best, you think.

Probably for the best.

-

You manage to work back in with some people you’d met in line, joining them in another round of shots. By now everything is starting to feel a bit hazy, tingly, loose. A tall Frenchman presses at your back, his murmur low in your ear. You can’t hear him, laugh, continue dancing. Lewis is almost passed from your head. One more drink and you’re sure to be clear of him, one more… You part from your companions again, narrowly escaping the hands of your dance partner.

“I’m just gonna get another drink, be right back. Promise.”

Clumsily you make it to the bar, heave yourself onto the counter, admire the sea-glass collection of liquor bottles stacked along the shelves. Your head is slowing down a bit and your feet hurt. You order from the bartender and make to pull out your card when a thick British accent speaks from over your shoulder.

“Make it two. And you can add it to my tab, thanks.”

Lewis.

You let the heavy wood bar press into your back as you turned to face him. The same markings of facial hair at his jaw and above his lip, the same glittering stud in his nose. Same warm brown eyes, even the same chain at his neck -- the chain you’d given him after the horrible season end in Abu Dhabi. Still I Rise carved in small lettering on the private metal beside his neck.

“Hi. I was looking for you,” he says, easy, like the last time you saw each other wasn’t when you packed up your things and moved out of his apartment.

“You found me,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say and the club lighting is throwing soft shadows over his shoulders, his arms. He looks older than you remembered, more mature. You’re not sure how you get the words out -- your throat feels tight, your heart taking up all the room in your body.

Behind you the bartender sets down your drinks and you don’t give yourself time to think before offering one to Lewis, your outstretched arm as much a peace offering as you’re willing to make. Your hands brush as he takes it, nods. His eyes don’t leave yours. He says something to you but you’re too distracted by the shift in his throat as he swallows to hear. Or maybe it’s the music.

“What?”

He grins, flashing the tooth gap you’ve been thinking about for months, leans close enough for you to smell the alcohol on him, the cologne. Your heart is racing.

“Wanna go upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Another grin and he takes your hand. Laces your fingers together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He leads you along the edge of the crowd, the dark skin of his shoulders shifting as he navigates alongside the wall. His rings are warm against your knuckles. You trail up the stairs behind him, know he’s going to stop in the dim landing of the alcove before he does.

He keeps both hands over yours, like he’s scared you’re going to try run away. Between the dancefloor and the speakers of the VIP lounge is quieter. You think you can hear Lewis’ heartbeat.

“I just- I wanted to say I’m sorry for how things ended. Between us,” he says, and his eyes are crinkled and you knew he really cares.

“S’okay, Lewis. It’s okay.”

Hope. That’s the little gleam in his eye as he lets his tongue push out into his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then his hand is cupping your neck, the tips of his fingers already curling through your hair and you can’t help but smile back, rub your face into the soft skin of his palm.

“Wanna get drunk with me?” he whispers, like you’re teenagers again, like this is your shared secret plan.

Yeah. Yeah, you do.

-

You promised yourself you’d call an Uber home but Lewis doesn’t let you. He pulls your phone away and you’re too inebriated and slow to get it back. Too happy and giggly to care. He dangles it just out of reach and you let yourself play, pressing your body against his, stretching until you feel the hot fan of his breath on your neck. His hands settling on your hips, his lips on your neck. Come home with me, he’s saying, and you’re nodding into the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in.

In the car he slides closed the privacy screen between the driver and the backseat. Doesn’t even let you get all the way in before he’s pulling you onto his lap, hands framing your face, teeth biting at your lower lip. When you pull away his eyes are sleepy and wholly black, his mouth quirked up at one side, red from kissing. You want him in your mouth then, want to see if he tastes the same as you remember.

You’d done this once before on the way to some fancy event. There had been no time in the hotel beforehand, and Lewis’ cropped outfit had been irresistible. Hidden between his legs, careful not to disturb the fine fabric of his pants, you’d let him hit the back of your throat every time the car went over a bump. The way he whimpered as you kitten licked him, ringed thumb feeling his own cock through the skin of your cheek. You’d barely finished swallowing and tucking him back into his pants when you’d arrived. He’d kissed you real hard hidden in the privacy of the car. Kept looking over at you during the event speeches. Smiling, looking down, shaking his head. You’d squeeze his hand or shove him. He returned the favour in one of the bathrooms, slight scuff marks on the knees of his suit the only hint as you two returned for dessert.

But this time is different. Lewis doesn’t pick up on what you’re doing at first, whining when you break away from him. His hands are grasping at your shirt but you push him off, shaking your head, grinning.

“Wanna touch you,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. You almost abandon your plans. Almost. Instead you move your legs from around his hips to between them, dropping to the floor of the car. You pull your hair up too, knowing that Lewis will pull at it anyways.

“Oh.”

You give him one more wicked smile before finding the button of his pants, tugging his zipper down. Already Lewis is impatient, muscled thigh bouncing up and down lightly in your peripheral. You slide your hand along it, soothing turning brazen as you continue your path to trace the hard shape of him through his briefs.

He curses, jerking under your featherlight touch. You can see his clenched fists pressed on either side of the seat in a desperate attempt not to grab for you. Not to upset the odd balance that somehow found you at the same club, on the same night, and now on your knees before him.

“You can touch me, Lewis,” you joke, but it comes out slow, sounds sanded down by your inebriation.

His fingers find your hair, tucking back stray strands so he can see your mouth. Quickly, hands fumbling slightly, you pull him out of his boxers. Quiet, pressing kisses to the head of him, the shaft, the sensitive skin of his pelvis. You let the short hair there scratch at your cheek before you lick an unbroken strip up. Above you, Lewis’ chest heaves, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. He’s always been transfixed by this, by watching you. So you look up at him, at his sleepy hooded eyes, as you take him into the back of your throat. He makes a desperate hurting sound, his hand gripping harder at your hair. You hold him there for a moment, letting water collect at your lash line, letting your gag reflex kick in, before humming once and pulling up, spitting into your fist, stroking him.

Lewis is everywhere — his laboured breathe in your ear, the musky taste of him in your mouth, his smell.

Stupid of you to think your memories could be fonder than reality, that the velvet of his skin couldn’t be as all-consuming as you recollected. He is beautiful before you, his powerful thighs and wide, strong torso. The gentle stroke of his fingers at your scalp. You had missed this, missed him. You swipe at his precum with your tongue, savouring the hot smooth skin there, the way he moans under the small gentle touches of your mouth.

The car comes to a stop before you can take him into your throat again, and Lewis doesn’t even bother fully zipping up his pants as he leads you out of the car. His kisses on your neck, shoulder, cheek, murmuring that he’d missed your mouth, that you looked so pretty on your knees. You blush -- not minutes after sucking him off in the back of a car you’re blushing at his praise.

He takes your hand as you hurry through the hotel lobby and over to the elevators. You shush each other, both frantically pressing at the up button and laughing at the fullness of the moment. You’re drunk off Lewis.

As soon as the elevator doors open he’s on you, pressing you back to the mirrored glass wall, licking into your mouth, your teeth. His hands are all over, hiking up your dress, pushing back your hair, grasping and tilting your face to where he wants it.

“Lew-”

He hums into you, reaching between your legs to cup your core. It’s so brazen, so claiming that your legs feel weak. You let your arms fall around his neck, let yourself take everything he gives you.

The elevator pings, the doors open. Lewis pulls off your mouth, forehead pressed to yours so your breathe mingles. His brow furrows and for a second you’re terrified this has all been some misunderstanding. That the next sentence out of his mouth will be this was a mistake. That this was all some horrible attempt to cushion your feelings or not make you feel stupid. 

“It might be a little messy in my room-”

You laugh and blow right by him, ducking under his reaching arms.

“Hey,” he calls, but you’ve already made it to his door and are in the middle of an attempt to take off your heels, catching desperately at the wall for balance.

“Hey what,” you echo back, pulling your head up to find him real close now. Watching you. This is how it felt when we were first falling in love, you think. You want to hide it, keep this precious idea lingering in your subconscious for a little longer but there it is, glaring, almost, in the little smile playing across Lewis’ lips, the crinkle at his eyes.

“Just hey,” and this time he says it onto your mouth as kisses you, spins you around, lets you squeal into his cheek as the carpet and the lights twirl.

Behind you the click of his keycard and then he’s crowding you into the dark hotel suite. You feel up at his face, push your palms flat to his cheeks, stroke first his brow then his full lips with the pad of your thumb. He barely breathes as you move, only watching you from under his long, soft eyelashes.

“So beautiful, Lew.”

You don’t mean to say it, stopping your fingers when you hear your own words. So loud in the new space. But it’s dark too, and Lewis lets his head drop to kiss you again -- slow this time. First your temple, then each closed eyelid, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose. You sigh into him when he slots over your lips, when he traces his tongue over your front teeth.

“Lewis.”

“I know, I know baby,” he practically coos it into your mouth, big hands holding your face.

Then you’re scrambling to find the bed, tripping over suitcases and couches. Lewis wasn’t a messy person -- this weekend must’ve been hectic for him to be leaving his place like this. Or maybe he just doesn’t have anyone to keep it clean for anymore, a voice somewhere in the back of your mind adds. You push the thought away, focus instead on the dim shapes of the wall, the inky black patches that must be doors. You’re stumbling, but Lewis’ hands catch you, forearms banding over your middle. At your back, pressing up against you, kissing into your neck.

“I got you. I got you,” he murmurs, and the husky timbre of his voice has your thighs pressing together.

“Lewis,” you whine again, desperate for his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

Shuffling, hand out, Lewis leads you through the door and to the bed, spinning you round to face him before he’s pushing you back onto the soft sheets. With his help you lift and discard your dress and shoes. Already you’re itching to do the same to him, but Lewis only sinks to his knees and pulls you to the very edge of the bed. Such a familiar strength as he tugs at the back of your knees. Easy. Gentle. You could get used to this.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to keep your head silent from now on. But the thought lingers as Lewis mouths slowly at your calf, kissing to your knee, your thigh, licks into the crease of your hip. You jump, watching him hide his smile against the soft skin of your stomach.

“Shut up.”

You let a hand fall lazily to shove at his cheek. He turns, catches your palm instantly -- fast, sometimes you forget how fast he is -- bites at your fingers. You squeak but let him hold you there, considering the flesh and bone. You catch the dangerous glint in his eye immediately.

“Lewis..”

He shushes you, his predatory focus on your fingers indivertable.

“Trust me sweetheart,” he says, and you know there’s no use fighting it. Slowly, as if still thinking the idea over, Lewis turns your hand over, pressing it towards your own core.

“Lewis, I don’t know-”

But already you can feel your pointer and ring finger pressing where you’re overheating, and Lewis is gazing between your legs like there’s something beautiful there.

“Let me do this,” and his voice is practically begging. Cheeks aflame, you can’t watch as Lewis guide your fingers in, in, in. You moan at the same time he does, squirming at the need for more, at the knowledge that Lewis is practically hypnotized watching you finger fuck yourself for him. He guides your digits out with a full tug at your wrist, and then bares them back again, letting the wet sound you make travel up to you.

“Lewis-”

No longer hesitant now, you’re needy for more, for him. But Lewis doesn’t heed any of your whining, only pushing your fingers back and forth at that same excruciating pace, practically eating you with his hungry eyes. He knows the slight humiliation of getting yourself off in front of him keeps you docile so he pushes it -- pushes you -- until you’re practically writhing beneath him. Until you surrender to him like a fever, until he is the only thing, the only shape your mouth can form. Then he relents, pulls your fingers out fully, lets you flutter in their absence, sucks the digits clean, grunts at the taste of you.

You sob his name again and then he’s locking your thighs open and licking you in one long stripe. You’re frenzied after that, breaking quickly into a white washed orgasm, bucking as he works you into you into an oversensitive mess.

“S’okay, I got you,” he’s whispering, moving up your body to handle your limp figure, letting you curl up boneless in his lap. He kisses out constellations on your shoulders, says: you did so good for me baby, so proud of you.

You don’t move for a while, eventually coming to trace the lines of the tattoos on his collar bones. The hotel heater kicks on, huffing quietly across the room.

“I always loved how you’d do that,” he says. Your orgasm has left you cold and you press further into the steady heat of him, the small patches of skin open to you through his clothes.

“Missed you, Lew. Really missed you.”

It’s all you’ll let yourself admit back to him, but he takes your face between his hands, enveloping you, hiding you from the rest of the world and kisses you so gently you think you’ll break.

“Lewis.”

The moon shines through the window and Lewis’ eyes are bright with it.

“Yeah.”

“Have sex with me.”

He sighs, slow and long because he knows this will change things. Then he’s kissing you again, lips delicate on yours, sliding over your jaw, searching out the sensitive spots on your neck. You’re gasping and Lewis is tugging off his shirt.

He goes for his pants but halts under your tracing hands. First the lion snarling, then you’re thumbing over the compass, the hard press of his solar plexus. You kiss him there once, twice, right at the center of him. Like you’re marking him, saying I was here. He shudders and shifts you off his lap to fully strip out of his cargos and briefs. He’s leaking and red, standing out from his stomach.

“Poor baby’s been so neglected,” you coo and he pushes you back into the mountain of pillows at the headboard. You’re joking, maybe. You can never tell with Lewis. He’s sizing you up too, one knee propped on the bed, hand absentmindedly stroking himself.

“Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He’s so much bigger than you, stronger than you, when he talks like this. Reminds you of him in the car, the crude way he’d sometimes talk to the other men in the garage. Your heart rate kicks up, just a bit.

“C’mere.”

He obliges, covering your body and face in shadow as he holds himself level with you. One hand on his bicep --- so solid, so heavy under your hand -- the other to the hot length of him. His mouth open and brow furrowed as he watches you notch him at your entrance. And then just you and him, watching.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

You look again at the tired warmth of his eyes, the smile lines you’d been lucky enough to frequent for years at a time. Lewis and you played around it, letting yourselves get distracted by the petty everyday stress of relationships, dating, fame, but here you were. Back in his bed, back in his arms, back in the same club. You and Lewis were just that: you and Lewis. You were destined to orbit around each other. Perhaps this time you could get away with colliding.

You kiss him, all the answer he needs to start pushing into you. You keep your lips connected until the stretch of him, the size of him, is too much, has you gasping into his shoulder. You’d forgotten the press of him between your legs, in your head, until he was shoving everything else out, only Lewis. Too tight, too big. Your breathing is ragged, tears finding their way past your clenched eyes.

“You can take it baby,” he says as he keeps baring into you, kissing at your tears. You leave red lines down his back. You feel dumb on his cock, on the way it takes up every space in your head. He kisses your temple when he bottoms out, shaking above you. Maybe you are too, but when you open your eyes Lewis is staring at you like he’s seeing you for the very first time, eyes wide. He leans down to kiss you, keeps his eyes closed as he whispers, “I love you.”

And then he’s pulling out, almost to the tip, not letting you reply before thrusting back in. The power in his hips knocks your breath away, only able to claw at his back as he hikes up one of your legs. The angle has you seeing stars with each new push of him, eyes near rolling back into your head as he pants over you. His chain -- the chain you’d given him -- dangles above you. Funny, you think dimly. Even with everything a part of you was with him always. It hurts your heart a little, but then Lewis is shifting, pining your hips down, forcing you to take even more of him and you think you’re tearing apart.

“Lewis, Lewis,” you’re crying his name, desperate as you cling to him, clench around him.

He’s murmuring something at your ear but you can hardly hear him over the growing crush in your ears, twin to the ever-tightening climax knotting in your core. Then: Lewis’ hand, coaxing at your cheek. He tips your face up ‘till you’re looking at him, eyes wide, vulnerable. For you, only for you. One arm is wrapped over his shoulders, the other coming up to hold him, to push back two braids working themselves loose. He’s mumbling it, I love you, over and over, so you kiss him to make him stop, to try slow down this beautiful spinning wheel you two have found yourselves riding.

You’re too hot below him, the heat of his body covering you, pressing at you. He slips his thumb down to circle your clit and you can’t help but buck into his calloused finger. Everything is too much -- Lewis urging you forward a frenzied peak, the stretch of him between your legs, the quiet way he moans into you.

The warm lick of his tongue through your mouth, the way he licks over your mouth like he owns it has you breaking. Finally you’re crumpling over his cock, crying out as Lewis fucks you through it. Eyes closed, you let yourself burrow into him as your senses mute, vision white. Each raw drag of him has you whimpering, keening into the over-stimulation.

“Can I-” he starts to ask and you nod, lock your legs behind him. Something pained flashes over his expression, something you want to kiss away, but then he’s cumming, so hard he stops breathing. You coax him through it. Kiss at his hairline, brow. He slumps into you, letting his whole weight bore you into the mattress. Pressed to the underside of his arm you just hold him, this beautiful creature you’ve found again. He lies there until his breathing settles and you think he's fallen asleep when he rolls enough to eye you -- one drowsy brown shape watching beneath his messy braids.

“Hi Lewis.”

He whispers back, gentle into the sheets.

“Hi.”

You’re smiling at each other softly, like this could be the start of something, like this might not be the end after all.

Slowly, like it’s the greatest effort of his life, Lewis heaves himself onto his back, rolling you with him. His cock is still inside you, but you know his cum will be leaking out soon, a dirty little reminder of what you let him do.

“Have to get up,” you tell him.

His arm tightens at your side, face suddenly closed off in a way you hadn’t seen all night.

“You gonna come back?” he asks.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, heart hurting at the question, how young he sounds saying it.

“Yeah Lew, I’ll come back.”

-

When you return from the bathroom he’s sleeping, chest rising under the thick hotel sheet.

You pad out to the kitchen, marble tiles cold against your feet. You try your best to find a glass without waking him, shuffling quietly through cupboards until you get the right one. Wincing at how loud the sink sounds in the high-ceilinged room. I love you, he’d said. Pushed the words onto your lips reverently, gifted them to you because he couldn’t keep them to himself. Oh, Lewis.

You watch out the high skyline of the apartment as the sun begins to colour the sky, sipping occasionally at your water, thinking.

Your legs are getting cold when Lewis comes out of the bedroom, eyes dark. He doesn’t notice you at first, only breathing hard in the open space of the hotel. He looks -- devastated.

“Lewis?” He starts at your voice, only staring at you for a moment before releasing a hard sigh, starting towards you and stopping abruptly at the edge of the kitchen.

“I thought-”

His voice catches and you cringe at the question in his speech, how his voice wavers.

“I thought you left.” His eyes, searching, scanning yours as you put down your water, trace around the kitchen counter to him. Stand before him, close, almost touching. You take his hand, look at the easy way your fingers connect.

“No, Lewis, I’m not leaving.”

Hope. It was what you’d seen earlier at the club and you knew if you found Lewis’ eyes you would see it again now. You’d made your decision -- made it when you first took his hand at the bar. You catch his gaze then, smile, just for him.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

He’s smiling too, just the beginnings of it, eyes bright again. Over his shoulder the sun breaks the horizon, golden light washing the hotel.

“Couldn’t because I love you, Lew.”

[lewsnumerounofan]

masterlist

...can’t stick 2 a fandom obvs.

* all fics tagged under #bigkeepup

lewis hamilton

late last night - lewis flies you out for a fun weekend, and maybe something more. (nswf)

when in france - you bump into your ex, lewis, at a club. what’s the worst that could happen? (nsfw)

team bonding - being lewis’ personal trainer does have its perks. (nsfw) 

rafe cameron

interrogation tactics - rafe needs to know where the diary is, and he’s willing to do just about anything to find out. (nsfw)

princess - you’ve been rafe’s girl since second grade. now he just needs to make sure everyone else knows it too. (nsfw) [coming soon]

jeremiah fisher 

party foul - so what if you’re in love with your best friend, jeremiah fisher? it’s not like one drunken kiss will change anything. right? 

party foul part 2 - one drunken kiss did, in fact, change everything. (nsfw)

theodore nott

dirty - in which theo seeks to remind you who you really belong to. (nsfw)

dirty part 2 - in which theo wants you back. bad.