#hopefully not. I can’t keep doing it. it’s infuriating

[hamilton-here]

heyyy i hope youre doing fine now :))) before i forget this (lol) can I request a reader x lewis with a comfortxangst that whenever lewis is on the track he doesnt mind if he can get injured or hurt while reader has been telling him to be careful and theyre always arguing over it and when he gets into a nasty crash reader reveals that she's pregnant and he'll be more careful now i just think this will be a reminder that f1 is a highly dangerous sportttt u can do this anytime u feel like it thank uuuu

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hey everyone, I'm alive! I will be opening requests later tonight. Though I still have three to do after this one. Hopefully this meets your request. I hope you're all well. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton learns to race to come home after discovering he’s going to be a father.

Warnings: angst, mentions of swearing, mentions of crash

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲��᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You had always known that loving Lewis Hamilton came with risks.

It wasn’t just the time zones or the endless race weekends. It wasn’t the relentless moving, the constant packing and unpacking, the brief kisses goodbye that always tasted like he was already half gone.

It was what he chased. The high-speed danger of Formula 1. The knowledge that every time he stepped into that cockpit, he was gambling with gravity, dancing on the edge of control.

And still, you loved him.

You loved him because he was that person. Fearless. Passionate. Relentless. A man who didn’t know how to step back from a fight, who didn’t know how to race at anything less than the limit.

But that edge, the one that had drawn you to him like a moth to flame, had started to scare you now. It used to be thrilling to watch him thread the car through gaps that didn’t exist, to see him make impossible moves look effortless. You used to sit on the pit wall with your heart racing, smiling through your adrenaline-soaked nerves.

But now?

Now the thrill had warped into dread.

Lewis was older now.

In his Ferrari era, wearing the red that somehow made him look even more untouchable. The fire still burned in him, maybe brighter than ever but it had changed. He wasn’t chasing numbers anymore. He wasn’t chasing records.

He was chasing something more personal. Legacy. Purpose. A mark that no one could ever erase.

You had admired that. You still did. But lately, you’d started to hate what it could cost.

You.

“Be careful today,” you said softly, your fingertips grazing the tattoo on his chest as he zipped up his race suit, the Ferrari crest sitting proudly over his heart.

The Maranello red suited him. Too well. Like he’d always been meant to wear it. Like he was born to be exactly here, in this era, fighting for something only he could see.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and smiled - that easy, boyish smile that always seemed to dissolve your nerves. It was infuriating. It was comforting.

It was Lewis.

“Always am.”

You shook your head, pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling. “That’s not true.”

You sat down on the edge of the hotel bed, wringing your hands in your lap as the words gathered thickly in your throat.

“You take risks you don’t need to. You push when you don’t have to.”

His back stiffened just slightly as he adjusted the collar of his suit, eyes flicking down to his gloves as if focusing on something else would make this conversation pass quicker.

“It’s what I do,” he said quietly, not looking at you. “It’s who I am.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s racing.”

“And racing can kill you.”

The words came out harder than you’d intended, but they were sitting on your chest like a weight, and you couldn’t hold them in anymore.

You needed him to hear you. Really hear you.

He turned toward you slowly, his expression softening, like he’d expected this argument but still didn’t know how to solve it. “You can’t think like that, baby. If I go out there scared, I won’t be me anymore. I can’t race like that. You know that.”

Your fingernails dug into your palms, your skin pinching painfully, the only thing grounding you in this moment. “Then what am I supposed to do? Sit here every weekend waiting for the phone call that you’re not coming back?”

His face dropped just slightly, a flicker of something like guilt, maybe shadowing his eyes.

“You’ve never gotten that phone call,” he said softly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“But one day I could.”

The words landed like a crack of thunder, final and brutal.

You’d both been tiptoeing around this truth for too long. You couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t clawing at you, waiting at the edge of every race weekend. The silence that stretched between you was suffocating. It thinned the air like you were both standing at the top of Eau Rouge, hearts in your throats, waiting for the drop.

Lewis finally crossed the room, crouching in front of you, his warm hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Look at me,” he said gently, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin. “I know you’re scared. I know. But I need you to trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing.”

You looked into his eyes, those deep, familiar eyes that had always made you feel safe.

But this wasn’t about trust. It was about probability. Followed about the brutal, unforgiving statistics of a sport that took as much as it gave.

“You’re not twenty-five anymore, Lewis,” you whispered, your voice tight and trembling. “Your body can’t bounce back the way it used to.”

He exhaled a soft, almost amused laugh, but you could see the flicker of frustration tightening his jaw. “You sound like my physio.”

“Maybe she’s right.”

His hands squeezed yours, as if he could physically press reassurance into you. “I’ve got this, love. Don’t worry so much.”

But you did. You always did.

You worried through every corner, every pit stop, every time the camera cut to his onboard view, and you saw him chasing every millimetre like it was oxygen.

You worried because you loved him.

And the worst part? You didn’t even know yet that you were worrying for two.

However, it kept happening. Race after race. Argument after argument. Like clockwork.

You told yourself it was just the pressure of the season and the weight of Ferrari’s expectations pressing against his shoulders. Or the noise of the media questioning if he could still deliver at this stage of his career, the brutal self-imposed bar that Lewis never stopped raising.

You told yourself it was temporary.

You told yourself he would slow down.

But the more you watched him, the more you realised this wasn’t new at all.

Lewis had always raced like he didn’t care what happened to him.

And the terrible consequence?

You’d fallen in love with him because of that edge.

The way he danced so close to the line no one else dared to touch. The way he made you feel like the impossible was always just within reach.

But love changes things. Love rearranges your priorities. What used to thrill you now terrified you.

It was after the Spanish Grand Prix when the next argument exploded.

You waited for him in his driver’s room, the race replay still playing on mute on the little screen in the corner, but neither of you were paying attention. You’d seen it all live.

You’d seen him fight tooth and nail into Turn 3, holding a defensive line most drivers would’ve abandoned, forcing the other car wide, balancing on the edge of disaster.

You’d seen him almost lose control.

You’d felt your lungs collapse in that split second.

You’d felt your heart stop.

“You could’ve gone into the wall!” Your voice cracked, the panic still clawing its way up your throat, your whole-body trembling with leftover adrenaline.

“But I didn’t,” he said simply, pulling off his gloves, peeling away his sweat-soaked balaclava like it was just another Sunday.

“You didn’t this time.”

He turned to you sharply, exhaustion painting his features, his patience threadbare. “What do you want me to do? Let them pass me? Sit back and wave them through?”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I want you to come home.”

His jaw clenched, his mouth flattening into a hard, unreadable line. “You knew what this was when you met me.”

“I didn’t know it would kill me slowly like this.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Stifling.

His voice dropped to something low, something brittle. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake every time I get in that car? I’m not stupid.”

“Then why don’t you drive like you care whether you come back?”

His head snapped toward you like you’d slapped him. For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you blinked. You felt like you’d crossed some invisible line.

His voice cracked. “I have to race like this. I can’t back down. If I start thinking about what I could lose, I won’t be me anymore.”

You stepped closer, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “You wouldn’t lose me, Lewis. You’d keep me. That’s the point.”

His shoulders sagged like something inside him had caved in. “But I’d lose me.”

It hit you then, like a gut punch. You weren’t just fighting for his safety. You were fighting against the very thing that made him him.

The argument fizzled out, not because you’d resolved it, but because you both knew there was nothing else to say.

That night, when you finally crawled into bed. Lewis wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling you so close it almost hurt, as if holding you would stop the ground from crumbling underneath him.

You pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, right over the flutter of his pulse. “I’m sorry I keep bringing it up.”

His lips brushed the bare skin of your shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry I keep making you.”

You both meant it.

But deep down, you knew you’d fight about it again. Because what else could you do? Except keep loving him and praying that one day, he’d finally want to stay.

What neither of you knew then - was that soon, he’d have more to lose than just himself. And you didn’t know it yet, but that knowledge was already beginning to grow inside you.

It started small. So small you barely noticed.

The first time it hit you, you were standing in the kitchen of your Monaco apartment, the pale morning light spilling through the open balcony doors, the breeze carrying the faint scent of saltwater and sun-soaked pavement. You were making coffee just like you always did and pouring Lewis’s favourite beans into the machine, savouring the quiet hum of routine.

But when the coffee began to brew, the bitter familiar aroma suddenly twisted your stomach into tight, unforgiving knots. The sharp nausea hit you so hard and fast you had to grip the counter to steady yourself.

It passed quickly, but it left you shaken. But you brushed it off.

Maybe you hadn’t eaten enough. Maybe you were just overtired. Maybe it was the stress of the season building to a breaking point - the endless race weekends, the airports, the arguments that seemed to linger in the air long after they’d ended.

Maybe it was the weight of loving someone like Lewis Hamilton.

But the nausea didn’t fade. It returned the next day. And the day after that. It lingered when it shouldn’t have, curling around your mornings like smoke, settling in the back of your throat.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were being dramatic.

Until you couldn’t tell yourself that anymore.

The exhaustion crept in slowly too.

It wasn’t just tired but was bone-deep, dragging your body down like gravity had doubled its pull on you. No amount of sleep seemed to fix it. No amount of quiet seemed to refill the empty places. You found yourself lying awake long after Lewis had fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting absently over your stomach as though some part of you already knew before you dared to say it out loud.

You’d been keeping track in the back of your mind, but you hadn’t wanted to really look at the dates. You hadn’t wanted to connect the dots. Because what if you were wrong? And worse, what if you weren’t?

Until one quiet Wednesday morning.

Lewis had gone out cycling along the Monaco coast - a ritual, something he always did when the pressure got too loud in his head. He’d kissed your temple before he left, his curls still damp from the shower, his skin warm and real beneath your fingertips.

You’d told him to be careful, like you always did. And he’d given you that same soft, teasing smile the one that said Don’t worry about me, love. I’ve got this. The one that never really settled the panic rising in your throat.

When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt impossibly silent.

The echo of the ocean drifted in, soft and distant.

You sat on the cold marble floor of your shared bathroom, your legs folded tightly beneath you, your hands trembling violently as you clutched the little plastic test like it might burn you. Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.

You’re just being paranoid. Or you’re just late because you’re stressed.

It’s just your body playing tricks on you.

But then the lines appeared. Two of them. Bold. Bright. Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

The word slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave. Eyes widening. Pregnant.

You whispered it aloud, your voice breaking as the syllables slipped from your lips like they didn’t belong to you. Like you were watching this happen to someone else. You stared at the test, waiting for it to change, to fade, to dissolve into something deniable. But it didn’t. It stayed. Steady. Unmoving. Certain.

The seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Your knees ached from the cold tile pressing into your skin, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe properly. The air felt too sharp, too thick.

You should’ve felt happy. Maybe you did, somewhere beneath all the static.

But it was buried under something bigger. Something heavier -

Fear.

Not of the baby. Not of being a parent. Not of how your life would change.

But of what if he doesn’t come back?

What if he never meets them?

The thought hollowed you out, cracking something inside you so fast the tears came before you could stop them. You sobbed into your folded knees, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to keep the whole world from falling apart inside your chest.

You weren’t afraid of becoming a mother. You were afraid of becoming one alone. Afraid of raising a child who would only know their father through old race footage and stories told in past tense. Afraid of what it would mean to love someone so fiercely and still not be able to keep them safe.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, protective already, desperate to shield something so impossibly tiny, so fragile, from the storm you knew was coming. From the father you loved more than anything in the world, who didn’t know how to love himself enough to stay.

You should tell Lewis.

You should call him right now.

But the fear lodged in your throat, thick and unmoving. Would it make him more careful? Would it pull him back from the edge you’d watched him balance on for years?

Or would it push him harder - make him race with even more desperation, as if he needed to outrun time, to win faster, to lock in a legacy before the window slammed shut?

You didn’t know which answer terrified you more.

So you kept it to yourself. For now.

You folded the secret into the quietest places of your chest, tucked it beneath your ribs like maybe, if you just waited long enough, the right moment would come.

After the next race.

After the next fight.

After he’d shown you just once that he could choose to be careful. That he could choose to stay.

But Lewis didn’t slow down.

Not in Japan, Spain or Canada. Not when he skimmed the wall in Austria so close your knees nearly gave out watching the onboard.

You told him to be careful. Again. You begged him. You fought more than you ever had before. You screamed, sobbed and pleaded.

But nothing changed.

And the terrible, suffocating thought began to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your heart like something you couldn’t unthink -

Maybe he wouldn’t ever change.

Maybe nothing would be enough.

Not until something broke. Until the thing you feared most finally happened.

And you prayed desperately that it wouldn’t take a crash to make him finally understand what he was risking. That it wouldn’t take twisted metal and a red flag for him to see that there was more on the line now. That there was someone else on the line now.

But Formula 1 isn’t a sport that hands out second chances so easily.

You knew that. It was always going to break before he listened. The only thing you didn’t know was how much it would shatter you too.

The Spa weekend always terrified you.

There was something about it - a weight in the air, a shadow that lingered over the circuit no matter how bright the skies pretended to be. It wasn’t just the layout, the speed, the razor-thin margins. It was Spa’s reputation. Its history. The corners that swallowed cars whole. The weather that changed in minutes. The ghosts that never really left.

Lewis loved Spa. He always had. He loved it the way he loved anything that challenged him, anything that dared him to go further. And you hated it for exactly the same reason. You hated it because you could feel how alive it made him, how the danger seemed to call to him louder here than anywhere else.

And tonight, sitting in the hotel room the night before the race you hated that you were running out of ways to ask him to stay.

Your voice shook more than you wanted him to notice as you watched him pull on his compression shirt, the muscles in his back still tight from the long, gruelling practice sessions. “Lewis, please,” you whispered, standing by the edge of the bed like you could hold the whole conversation together with just the force of your desperation. “Just promise me you’ll be careful tomorrow.”

His gaze flicked toward you in the mirror, soft but distant, like he was already mentally walking the circuit. “I’m always careful, babe,” he said, pulling the shirt over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his chest.

You felt the words lodge in your throat, sharp and unbearable. “You’re not,” you choked out, your fists clenching at your sides. “You’re fast. You’re smart. But you’re not careful. Not when it matters. Not when you’re in the car.”

His sigh came hard, his jaw tightening, the same familiar frustration rising between you. “We’ve been through this -”

“No, you’ve dismissed this,” you cut in, stepping forward, grabbing his arm with both hands like you could physically tether him to the ground, to you. “Every time I bring it up, you act like I’m asking you to give up who you are. But I’m not. I’m not asking you to stop being Lewis Hamilton. I’m asking you to survive.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching there, his body taut like a coiled spring. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked, the ache in your chest breaking loose. “Because the way you’ve been racing this season. It’s like you don’t care what happens to you anymore. Or like you’ve stopped believing you’re mortal.”

His eyes softened, just for a second, but when he pulled his arm away, it was gentle, final. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” You were trembling now, your heart hammering in your ribs, your throat thick with everything you hadn’t yet told him. “And I can’t watch you go out there tomorrow and race like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you do. You have me. You have us. And -” Your breath faltered, your whole body bracing under the weight of the truth clawing its way to the surface. “You might have more than that soon.”

Lewis blinked, a frown knitting between his brows as he slowly turned to face you fully, finally hearing something in your voice that didn’t match the fight he thought you were having. “What do you mean?”

You almost told him. The words perched right there, aching to be spoken.

Almost.

But the fear twisted in your chest like barbed wire.

What if telling him changed nothing?

What if telling him made him race harder, like he was running out of time?

What if this new pressure only added fuel to the fire he’d never learned how to put out?

You swallowed hard, the moment slipping through your fingers. “Nothing. Just please.” Your voice cracked, desperate and hollow. “Please don’t make me regret tomorrow.”

His features wavered something caught between defiance and something softer, something that almost looked like he wanted to fold into you, like he wanted to end the argument right there and choose you.

But then his guard slid back into place. He reached for his cap, tugging it over his curls, angling it low to shield his eyes. “I know you’re scared. I get it. But you have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” you whispered, your voice barely holding itself upright, “but I don’t trust the sport.”

His hand lingered on the door handle, a silent beat stretching between you like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross. “I can’t race scared,” he said quietly.

“And I can’t love you without being scared,” you whispered back, your voice splintering around the truth.

Silence again. The kind that left you hollow.

“I’ll see you after quali,” he said, soft but firm, stepping out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. The finality of that click shattered you.

You sank to the bed, your hand falling instinctively to your stomach, the tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered to the tiny life inside you, the secret you’d been carrying like a glass heart.

“Please come back to us.”

Spa had always been cruel.

But you never thought it would be cruel to you.

The next day felt like moving through wet cement. You stood by the pit wall, the headset digging painfully into your ears, your heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the chatter of the engineers. Every breath felt borrowed.

Lewis had qualified third. He was in the fight. He was always in the fight.

But today, his driving was different - aggressive off the line, elbows out, like he was still chasing something invisible, something just out of reach. He’d found something this season with Ferrari, something that made him push like he was twenty-five again, like the weight of his body didn’t matter, like time was still bending to his will.

And you hated him for it. But at the same time you loved him for it. Therefore, it was tearing you apart.

Every lap felt like a gamble you hadn’t agreed to. Every defensive move felt like a warning you couldn’t shake.

Please, slow down. Please, don’t prove me right.

Lap 17. Raidillon.

You felt the sickness rise before it even happened.

The onboards flicked to him fighting for position, side by side with another driver, the track tightening, the line disappearing.

You knew what was coming. You felt it in your bones before the camera even caught it. No margin for error.

The car clipped the kerb. A heartbeat, desperate correction, brush of wheels. Lewis’s car was airborne. It twisted violently, flipping unnaturally, shrapnel spinning across the runoff as the Ferrari slammed into the barriers, skidded, bounced, then crumpled to a halt at a sickening angle.

The screen cut away.

“Red flag. Red flag. Session suspended.”

Your headset slipped from your ears and clattered to the ground, the sound of the paddock dissolving into static. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

The words hammered through your skull.

He’s not moving. He’s not moving. He’s not moving.

You bolted from the pit wall, shoving through engineers, security, the blur of people shouting at you to stop. Let me through. Let me through. Let me through.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the salt hit your lips. Didn’t realise you were screaming until your throat burned.

By the time you reached the medical car, they were pulling him from the cockpit, his head slack against the halo, the medics stabilising his neck with clinical precision.

“He’s conscious but disoriented,” one of them said, his voice like a distant echo. “Heavy impact, possible concussion. We need scans immediately,” another called.

But you couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar in your ears. You fell to your knees beside the stretcher, your hand finding his glove still on, limp in yours and you sobbed, your body folding over like the weight of him might pull you under.

“Lewis,” you cried, clutching his fingers like they were the only thing tethering you to this earth. “Lewis, I’m here. I’m here. Please - please stay with me.”

His eyelids fluttered, unfocused, the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You always…worry too much,” he slurred weakly.

“I told you -” Your voice cracked, the tears falling faster now, splashing onto his red race suit, “I told you this would happen.”

“I’m okay,” he whispered, but his voice was thin, as if even he didn’t believe it.

“You’re not.”

The medics ushered you into the ambulance, and you rode the entire way to the medical centre gripping his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, the panic thrumming under your skin like a second heartbeat.

The scans. The blood tests. The neurological checks. You watched all of it through a haze, your body present but your soul still trapped on that corner still watching him fly.

They confirmed a mild concussion. Bruised ribs. No spinal injury. Lucky. They kept saying he was lucky.

But it didn’t feel like luck. It felt like you’d just watched the universe take a coin toss with his life. And one day, you wouldn’t win that toss.

When they finally let you sit with him alone you crumpled into the chair beside his bed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, your voice raw, each word clawing its way up your throat. “You can’t keep making me watch you destroy yourself.”

His tired brown eyes flicked to yours, soft, heavy with guilt. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You always scare me,” you sobbed, your whole-body trembling. “Every race. Every qualifying. Every lap. I can’t do this again.”

His hand found yours, weak but warm, his thumb brushing across your skin in tiny circles, as if that alone might fix all the broken pieces between you.

“I can’t lose you, Lewis,” you choked out, the truth finally too big to swallow. “Not now. Not when -”

Your voice faltered. But you couldn’t stop it now. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed swallowed the room whole. His chest stilled. His lips parted but no sound came. His fingers tightened, the realisation anchoring him back to the present. “You’re serious?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “We, we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, your tears flowing freely. “I found out before this weekend. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it would change anything. I thought maybe you’d still race like you didn’t care. I thought maybe nothing would be enough.”

His hand cupped your cheek, the weight of his touch soft, trembling. “I didn’t know I was gambling with so much more.”

“You weren’t just gambling with yourself,” you whispered, leaning into his palm. “You were gambling with me. With us. And now with them.”

His other hand moved to your stomach, resting there gently like the world was holding its breath. His eyes filled, his voice thick with something you’d never heard before a vow.

“I have to change,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I have to be more careful. I have to come back to you. To both of you.”

Your sob broke loose, your forehead resting against his as you finally let yourself believe him. This wasn’t just his life anymore. It was all of yours. And he finally realised he had everything to lose.

Lewis spent three days in the hospital.

Three long, agonising days where time moved in molasses and every beep of the machines laced a fresh layer of panic through your chest.

You never left his side. Not once.

You slept in the stiff, narrow visitor’s chair, curled up in impossible angles, your hand always laced with his like it was your lifeline. The dull ache in your neck and spine didn’t matter. The cold fluorescent lights didn’t matter. The dry hospital air, the stale taste of coffee you could barely choke down - they didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was Lewis, breathing in the bed next to you.

Every time his heart monitor spiked or dipped whether from shifting in his sleep or reacting to pain you jolted awake in terror, your pulse skyrocketing as your hands shot out to steady him. The doctors assured you over and over that he was okay, that his injuries, though painful, were not life-threatening. But they didn’t understand that it wasn’t just his body you were terrified of losing, it was him.

It was the part of him that laughed. The part that loved you. The part that wanted to come home.

When he was finally discharged, you helped him into a quiet car waiting at the hospital entrance, both of you wearing hats pulled low and oversized sunglasses to shield from prying cameras. The media storm had erupted the moment the crash replayed on screens around the world with Ferrari issuing statements, journalists speculating, fans flooding social media with hashtags and heartbreak.

But you didn’t care about any of that.

You just wanted to get him home. Home to Monaco. Home to safety. Home to you.

The flight back was a blur, the low hum of the engines lulling him to sleep in the seat next to you, his head resting carefully against your shoulder while you traced slow, comforting circles on his thigh.

You didn’t let go of him once.

When you got back to your apartment, the world felt oddly still. No race noise, pit wall calls or tension threading through his body. Just soft linen sheets, gentle waves brushing the rocky coastline below the balcony, and the two of you bruised, but breathing.

The first night home, you helped him into bed like he was made of glass.

Every movement was slow, delicate, your hands ghosting over his ribs as you tucked the sheets gently around him, as if the fabric itself could offer protection. He watched you, silent, his usually strong, self-assured frame now resting heavily against the pillows.

You went to step away to grab him some water and get his medication, but his hand caught your wrist. “Baby?” His voice was raw, still cracked around the edges from the lingering pain and the adrenaline crash.

You sat back on the edge of the bed, your thumb automatically sweeping across his hand. “Yeah?”

His eyes flicked down to your stomach, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Do you think they’re okay?” His voice was so soft, so unsure, it broke your heart open. “I mean we didn’t even get to talk about it properly.”

You guided his hand to rest over your belly, the skin still flat but warm beneath his palm. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “It’s early, but they’re here. We’re here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as though a weight he hadn’t dared to acknowledge was finally releasing its grip on him. “I want to do this right.”

“You already are,” you said, the words instinctive, immediate.

But he shook his head, his thumb beginning to trace slow, endless circles over your skin, like he was grounding himself to you, to this new future neither of you had been prepared for.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice thick. “I’ve spent my whole career believing I had nothing to lose. That I could risk everything because it was just me on the line. That if I went out, I went out chasing what I loved. But it’s not just me anymore.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his composure finally, finally splintering. “I want to be there for this. I want to be there for you. For them. I want to come home.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring the soft edges of him, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. “You will,” you promised, your voice barely holding steady as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

His arms, weak and aching, still managed to pull you close, as tight as his bruised ribs would allow. “I’ll race differently. I’ll be smarter. I’m not done with this sport, but I’m done pretending I don’t care what happens to me.”

You smiled through your tears, your hands cradling his face, feeling the faint stubble against your palms. “Good. Because we care.”

His lips found yours slow, lingering, tasting of salt and something unspoken, something that tasted like a vow and for the first time in what felt like months, you let yourself believe him.

Lewis wasn’t making promises to the sport anymore. He was making promises to you. To your family.

The next few weeks moved in quiet rhythms. There was no travel. No schedule. No roaring engines. Just you and him, wrapped in the stillness of recovery.

You spent lazy mornings curled up on the couch, your hand resting over his as you flipped through baby name lists that made him groan and laugh in equal measure.

You caught him absently scrolling through baby gear on his phone, pretending not to care but his favourites folder said otherwise.

He went to physiotherapy religiously, never once skipping, never once complaining not because he was in a rush to return to the car, but because he wanted to heal properly this time. He wanted to be fully here, for you, for the baby.

He skipped the next race without hesitation.

When the media demanded answers, Ferrari’s statement was simple, pointed -

Family first.

And somehow, that meant more than any podium ever could.

He told you about the team’s reaction their genuine concern, their relief that he was okay, the way Charles had immediately texted when he heard about the baby.

Papa Hamilton! Charles had written and according to Lewis, he refused to stop using the nickname, even during debriefs, even when it made Lewis roll his eyes.

Angela cried when you both told her properly, her hug tight, teary, like she’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

When Lewis returned to the paddock later that season, something in him had shifted. Something permanent. The fire was still there, the brilliance, the hunger but it burned differently now.

He still attacked the corners, still carved through the grid like poetry, but gone were the reckless dives, the impossible lunges. Gone was the blind refusal to back off. He chose his battles now. He picked his moments. And for the first time, you saw him racing not for the risk but for the return.

Every time he climbed out of the car, the first thing he did was find you whether it was in the garage, in the motorhome, on the pit wall. His hands would find your stomach instinctively, his forehead pressing to yours, his whispered, “We’re good. I’m okay,” easing the weight in your chest.

You still worried. Of course you did. You always would. But now you worried knowing that he was finally racing to come home.

One crisp autumn afternoon, you stood by the pit wall, your hand resting protectively over your now-visible bump, feeling the soft flutter of tiny kicks under your palm as Lewis crossed the finish line.

He finished P4 that day. He didn’t force the podium. He didn’t throw the car into a gap that wasn’t there. But pulled out of a risky move on the final lap, a move the old Lewis would have taken without thinking.

And when the checkered flag waved, and the cheers rippled through the paddock, all you could feel was pride. Not because he won, but because he chose to be careful. When he returned to you, his fireproof suit still clinging to his skin, sweat still beading at his temple, he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you softly, deeply, as if the whole world had narrowed to this moment.

“You saw that, right?” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled, tears gathering in your eyes. “Yeah. I saw.”

It was never about making him stop or making him want to stay.

And now?

He did. He wanted to stay more than anything.

The labor came fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

You were supposed to have more time - weeks, maybe. Time to pack the hospital bag properly, to finish the nursery, to slow down and breathe before life as you knew it was rewritten. Time to walk hand-in-hand with Lewis through those final, quiet moments of just the two of you.

But life doesn’t always give you time.

Your water broke just before sunrise. The early Monaco sky was painted in soft lavender and streaks of gold, the peaceful morning breeze slipping through the cracked balcony door. You’d stirred awake, your hand resting instinctively on the gentle swell of your belly when you felt the sudden, unmistakable gush.

You gasped, sharp and panicked, sitting upright in bed as adrenaline punched through your chest. Beside you, Lewis jolted awake in an instant, blinking in confusion, his fresh curls messy and sticking to his forehead. “What - what is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His hands were on you immediately, frantic, searching, like he could physically catch whatever had just changed. Your wide, terrified eyes met his.

“It’s happening,” you whispered, breathless. “She’s coming.” For a man who could handle a Formula 1 start with ice in his veins, Lewis unraveled spectacularly.

“Okay. Okay. Okay right.” He launched out of bed like he was sprinting to the grid, grabbing the hospital bag, dropping it, grabbing it again. “Wait did I pack enough? Where’s the list? Where are your shoes? Babe, where are your shoes? Do we need the charger? I need -” He trailed off, spinning in circles, pure panic on his face.

You groaned through another wave of pressure, squeezing his hand so tight you felt his wedding band bite into your palm. “Lewis. Shoes later. Baby now.”

That snapped him out of it. He all but carried you to the car, his hands trembling as he buckled your seatbelt, his lips brushing your forehead in between whispered apologies and frantic reassurances. Every red light, every roundabout, he muttered under his breath. “Not too fast. Not too slow. Can’t risk anything. But shit what if we don’t make it?”

When you got to the hospital, the world around you blurred. The midwives, the beeping monitors, the sterile smell, the tidal waves of pain that crested through you none of it stuck the way his presence did. He never left your side. Not for a second or a breath.

He whispered encouragement through every contraction, his voice shaking but steady enough for you to hold onto. His thumb stroked your palm in soothing circles, and when the pain became unbearable, you clutched his hand like a lifeline, his knuckles paling from the force of your grip.

When your strength faltered, when exhaustion tugged at your edges, Lewis pressed your hand to his lips, kissing your skin like it might anchor you both. “I’m here,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

And when the room finally filled with the sharp, piercing cry of your daughter. When the midwife placed her, tiny and wriggling, on your chest – you watched Lewis fall apart in the most beautiful way.

Tears streamed down his face, falling freely as his breath came in shallow, overwhelmed shudders. His hands trembled when they cradled your face, his forehead pressing tightly to yours as his words tumbled out in a desperate, joyful rush. “She’s here. She’s here. Oh my God. You did it. You did it, baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

When they finally placed her in his arms, she seemed impossibly small, her whole body barely the length of his forearm. He held her like she was the most fragile thing the world had ever made, his fingers trembling as he stroked the soft down of her hair. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw, reverent. His tears dripped onto her blanket, his thumb tracing tiny circles over her curled fist. “Look at her. Look at what we made.”

You leaned against him, exhausted but full, watching the man you loved melt entirely for this little life. “What do you want to name her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Lewis smiled through his tears, still staring at his daughter like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. “Something strong. Something beautiful.”

You spoke the name you’d both circled for months. The name that had felt right in your heart from the moment you saw those two lines. He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. “That’s her. That’s my girl.”

Your girl. His daughter. His reason to stay.

And from that moment, you knew there would never be a corner, a podium, or a championship that could matter more than coming home to her.

When the season resumed, Lewis returned to the paddock with something new stitched into his race suit - something that changed everything.

Her name. Embroidered in small, delicate letters, right over his heart.

It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for the media. It was for him. For you. For her.

A quiet promise stitched into the fabric of his second skin. As well as a reminder of who he was racing for now.

For the first few races, he didn’t bring her. He told you he wasn’t ready not because he didn’t want to, but because the idea of exposing her to the flashing lights, the relentless cameras, the noise. It overwhelmed him.

“I just want her to be ours for a little longer,” he’d said one night, his arms wrapped protectively around both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder as your daughter slept peacefully on your chest. “The world can wait.”

But by the nearing of the season ending, the wait became unbearable. He wanted her there. Needed her there.

And so, that morning, you stood beside him at the track a place that once felt like the enemy, now softened by the weight of your shared history and the little life you both cradled between you.

The soft hum of the Ferrari garage wrapped around you like a familiar rhythm. The buzz of air guns, the shouted calls between engineers, the smell of petrol and rubber hanging thick in the air. It used to make your heart pound with anxiety, your pulse synced to every movement Lewis made, every corner he dared to dance around.

But now? Now it felt slower. Softer. Safer. Because this time, she was here.

Your daughter was strapped snugly to Lewis’s chest, tucked into the tiny carrier you’d agonised over choosing. Her oversized baby headphones sat slightly askew on her head, her small hands occasionally batting at them with innocent curiosity.

Her big brown eyes - his eyes darted around, wide and unblinking as they followed the bright colours, the glittering cars, the rhythm of the track life she’d somehow inherited.

Lewis leaned his chin gently against the top of her head, his thumb resting protectively over the curve of her back. He swayed on instinct, rocking her softly, like she was still fragile in his arms. “First race day, huh?” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe, like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real. Like the weight of her against his chest still grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.

“She’s probably wondering why so many people are fussing over just one car,” you teased, sliding your sunglasses up into your hair, watching the way his entire body softened around her.

“She’s going to love this one day,” he murmured, brushing his hand over her soft curls, his eyes not leaving her face. “It’s in her blood.”

“She might end up wanting to drive one of those cars, you know,” you said, raising your brows, unable to hide the amusement dancing in your voice.

His head snapped toward you in mock horror. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Piano lessons. Ballet. I’m buying her a library. She’s not touching a race car.” You laughed, resting your hand over his. “She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“She had me the second I heard her heartbeat,” he said softly, his thumb brushing tiny circles over the carrier strap, his heart so open, so vulnerable.

The team fell in love with her instantly. The Ferrari crew kept their distance at first, unsure if Lewis would want the attention. But when he knelt down to show her to them with proudness beaming and his eyes shining any hesitation dissolved.

One of the mechanics gifted her a miniature Ferrari cap, the brim too big for her tiny head. Another knelt beside her, gently tickling her toes as she stared, fascinated by his bright gloves.

Even rival drivers wandered over to meet her, their usual competitive edges dulling in the presence of something so pure. Lando made faces at her until she giggled. Carlos tapped his chest and whispered, “Future Ferrari champion.” You gave him a look. Lewis gave him a harder one.

Charles, of course, grinned the second he spotted them. “Papa Hamilton looks good on you LH,” he teased, ruffling the baby’s dark curls with brotherly ease.

Lewis just grinned, bouncing her gently against his chest, his whole face softening in a way you’d never seen before. “Yeah. Feels good, too CL.”

The media kept their distance for now. Ferrari had made it clear this was private, sacred, not for headlines.

When it was time for the formation lap, Lewis lingered by your side, reluctant to pass her back to you. He kissed your temple, slow and warm, then pressed a lingering kiss to his daughter’s head, his lips brushing against the soft baby hairs that had started to curl just like his. “You gonna cheer for Daddy?” he whispered to her, his voice low, sweet, full of reverence. “You’re gonna bring me good luck, huh? I race better when you’re here. You know that?”

She babbled back at him, clutching the edge of his chain with her tiny fingers, completely unaware she’d just rewired her father’s entire universe. You watched him pull on his helmet, watched him settle into the car but this time, the weight that used to crush your ribs didn’t settle in your chest.

Because Lewis still raced fiercely. But now he raced smartly.

As he tightened his gloves, as the roar of the crowd built, his gaze flicked across the pit wall right to you and your daughter, his entire world standing just beyond the barrier.

He tapped his chest twice, right over the stitched name.

For her. For you. For all of you.

When the lights went out, you didn’t feel fear.

You felt pride and love.

Because this was the balance you’d fought for, the life you’d built together. He had everything to lose now, and finally, he raced like he knew it.

And you knew now, without a single doubt -

He was always coming back to you.

[idontknowwfc]

Well it’s been a journey… but I think it may be over now

[esote-rika]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 | 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!Reader Category: Smut 18+ MDNI Summary: You have several (stereotypical) assumptions about your nerdy coworker; he proves how wrong you are about them. Content: 3.2k, early season dom!Spencer Reid, bratty reader, reader has hair that can be put in a ponytail, brat taming, BDSM dynamics, sensation play (feather tickler hehe), reader is ticklish, spanking, making out, thigh riding, coworkers hooking up (are we even fucking surprised), hopefully still soft and sweet and hot. a/n: Listen I know I keep saying I’m taking a break but unfortunately I’m ovulating HARD; this is the last one for May, but there will be a part 2, I’m already planning it. I wrote this completely piss drunk (my friends can probably share screenshots as proof oops) and then sobered up enough to edit (might have missed some stuff). Based on a request that Tumblr ate 😭 but basically, BAU reader teases Spencer about sex only to find out he's a kinky BDSM dom. Hope u enjoy!

“What would you know about BDSM?” The question, spoken with a carefree laugh and just a hint of condescension, is directed at your coworker, who is currently stirring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee beside you. 

Dressed in a tweed blazer that overwhelms his slight frame, Spencer Reid only tilts his head to the side, honey eyes keen and flashing with something you can’t quite place. You lean against the counter in the pantry, intrigued by his response. You’d expected a blush, chin tipping down, hair falling over his pretty eyes, lips uttering bashful, stuttering words. 

Not… this. Regarding you with a frank, unblinking calm that has you shifting in place.

“Oh, right,” you roll your eyes teasingly, unwilling to let him see how easily his nonplussed reaction has fractured your easygoing facade, “You’ve read about it extensively, haven’t you? What do psychology textbooks have to say about whips and blindfolds, Dr. Reid?”

“Quite a lot,” he replies with a serenity that unnerves, “Some attribute it to the feeling of being safely back inside the womb.”

You scoff, “Right, because thinking of your mother during bondage is so sexy.”

“But,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you, patient but warning, “There’s often explanations that go hand in hand with biology. Deprivation of one sense tends to heighten the other. Physical restriction offers the same feeling, which then leads to altered states of pleasure. In a more emotional sense, surrendering your power to a partner communicates the highest level of trust, offering a deeper sense of intimacy for some people.”

So he does know a lot about it. Still, you don’t drop your teasing grin as you reply, “God, how do you manage to make BDSM sound so clinical?”

“Because it is a little clinical, if I’m just explaining it in polite conversation. The communication is better enjoyed if the actions match.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm hmm,” he smiles, dimples flashing, a show of innocence. A mask. 

“And this information is from experience?” you tease.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His tone carries implication and it settles upon your stomach, heavy and warm. That makes you perk up, but you fight the urge to show your intrigue. Instead, you scoff, “As if there’s anything to know.”

He’s quiet. Sipping at his coffee, honey eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug. It’s infuriating.

“No way.” you huff, finally breaking. The lightness of teasing leaves your voice, shifting to something darker, more accusatory, “You expect me to believe you have experience? In BDSM?” 

“Announce it to the entire office, why don’t you?”

You pause, looking at him almost in betrayal. Really, how could you not? Spencer Reid, who looks like his nose would start bleeding from the slightest sexual attention from a living, breathing person, has BDSM experience? The man who wears sweater vests and slicks his hair back like he’s a seventy year old librarian? You survey him today, in all of his rumpled, mismatched glory, trying to find one hint of his apparent favored pastimes.

He looks almost smug as he meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side.

“No way.” you repeat.

“You possess an awfully limited vocabulary for today.” 

“Shut up, stop pulling my leg,” your eyes narrow suspiciously, still in disbelief. 

“I’m not pulling your leg,” he says, allowing a small, almost imperceptible smirk to curve up his lips for one split second, before his face gets hidden by the coffee cup again.

“Prove it, then.” 

The words startle both of you, but you’re stubborn enough to see it through. Meeting his gaze with a confidence that would seem sincere to the untrained eye, but Spencer has worked with you long enough to know it’s all bravado. 

He looks at you, unsure. “Prove it?”

“Look who's vocabulary is limited now.”

He scoffs and lowers his voice, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I know what I’m getting into, I’m a grown woman, thanks.” 

“Then I’ll fax you a copy of my rules. If they still seem like something you’d want to try out, come to my apartment Saturday night—that is, if we aren’t called in for a case.”

You shrug, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Great, sounds like a plan. Don’t forget to fax.” You both know he wouldn’t.

By some universal twist of fate, that Saturday is devoid of any last minute cases. You spend the whole morning poring over the sixteen-page document that Spencer had sent over on Friday, reading through the risks—a lot of which you already know from your own research—his specific set of rules, and what he’d normally allow for a beginner. You don’t have the same perfect memory he does, but you’re sure you’ve memorized everything by the time you knock at his apartment.

“So you came,” he says, offering you a cool glass of lemonade, looking perfectly at ease as he leads you into his bedroom. 

“Of course,” you say, looking around as you sip on the drink, taking it all in, “I was serious when I said prove it.” It’s dim, but nothing else is inside that rouses suspicion. It looks completely normal—a neat bed, a messy desk, haphazard piles of books—until your eyes land on the items on the dresser. 

Silk ties. A paddle. Something that looks similar to a feather duster, but you assume it’s made with a different activity in mind. Your cheeks are aflame.

“You know the safe word?”

“Yes. Jupiter—you’re such a nerd, by the way.”

He laughs, taking you half finished glass and setting it down. “Do you have any objections to the terms I’d laid out? Additions?”

“I just need you to make a promise.”

“For what?”

“That this stays between us.” You face him, searching his eyes for any deceit. It’s always a risk, being a woman and engaging in anything that could be considered deviant, especially in an environment like the BAU, which is honestly a glorified boy’s club.

“You have my word. Everything that we do stays in this room.” he vows, stepping closer.

“And,” you bite your lip, “No sex, right?”

He shakes his head, “None. We’ll focus on sensations tonight, just to let you get a feel for things.”

It seems more intimate, just trusting him to tease and play with your body, but you’re glad that the boundary is set in place. Spencer seems to have gotten a lot of experience at this, and briefly, you wonder just how many other people has been in your place.

You push the thought away and smile at him. “Okay. Then that’s all on my end. I accept all your terms, and I remember the safe word.”

He hums, turning you around. Standing so closely behind you, his heat warms your back like a gentle fire. Long, elegant fingers that carry the lingering musk of old books and coffee gather your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. He secures it with a thin elastic, before leaning in, breath whispering goosebumps into your skin. 

“Strip.”

There’s a sudden loss of heat as he steps back. You’re surprised to miss it, already, but even more surprised by his command. “What?”

“I said strip, angel.” he says, walking to your front with an expectant look on his face, “Down to your underwear.”

You sputter, looking up at him incredulously, but his face is serious. Patient, but serious.

“Do you need your safe word?”

You don’t reply, realizing that it’s begun and this is exactly what you agreed to do. To submit to him and his commands. The weight of this reality sinks in, rendering you mute and frozen, and he immediately softens. 

Hands cupping your cheeks, Spencer looks at you with concern, “Hey, we can stop.”

“No,” you reply, forcefully. Stubborn pride pulsing through your veins—no way you’re stopping before you’ve even done anything, “I don’t want to stop, it’s okay. I just—okay. Strip.” you step back, nodding and muttering to yourself, “Okay, yes, I can do that.” Looking down, you fumble at the buttons of your blouse, undoing them with clumsy, unsure fingers.

He steps back to the dresser, retrieving the bundle of feathers, never averting his gaze. Wide brown eyes take you in as you lose your shirt, and then your pants, standing before him in matching lace underwear. A slow grin spreads over his lips, “You dressed up for me?”

You feel your cheeks burn, “No.”

“So you just wear expensive lace sets for no reason, even on Saturdays?”

“You don’t know what I like.”

A step closer, “I’m about to,” he says in a low, smug tone that has your breath catching, “Stay still.”

Stay still. Easy enough. Your eyes follow his movements, the way he brandishes the feathers in his hands. Your head cranes back as he circles you, and he tuts in disapproval.

“I said stay still,” he murmurs, hand cupping your jaw and adjusting your head forward.

“But—”

“But?” 

“Nothing.” you squeak as you look ahead again. Your heart makes itself known, drumming in an exaggerated, hurried way that makes you want to shift. But Spencer said stay still, so you do.

A small part of you wants to scoff—why are you following Spencer Reid’s orders? This is ridiculous. Say the safe word and this would all be over. He’d never mention it to anyone else, like you both agreed earlier. You can get out, and you know for a fact that Spencer wouldn’t judge or protest.

But you don’t.

Because a larger, more significant part of you finds this whole thing incredibly hot.

Several seconds pass. Agonizingly slow. He’s drawing it out, you realize, testing how long he can get you to stay still. Or maybe he left. No, he wouldn’t—couldn’t, you’d hear his footsteps.  Finally giving in, you look over your shoulder, brows knitted in confusion.

You’re met with a disapproving look and a shaking head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

“You’re taking too long,” you pout.

“That’s the second time you’ve disobeyed me, angel,” he tuts. The heat of his body envelops you as he steps into your space again, his chest pressing to your back. A hand skims over your side, warm and firm as it finds the swell of your hip, and sits there. A warning. “You know what’s going to happen when you do it thrice, don’t you?”

Your mind flashes back to the conversation and the list, the rules he laid out so painstakingly for you. Thoughtful and attentive, Spencer had made you read through pages of what he expects from this dynamic, the rules you must follow as his submissive, the punishment that will be enforced should you disobey.

Three strikes and you get spanked.

“I do,” your words drift out the most delicate breath, heart hammering even more now. “I remember.”

He hums when you are finally still. Lips land on your bare shoulder, chaste and warm, while his hand travels up your side, featherlight and teasing. They skim up your ribcage and you can’t help but gasp, fighting every cell in your body to keep from moving. Your compliance is rewarded by another satisfied hum, and then finally it touches you. 

The feather. 

Crawling up the back of your left thigh, soft as a whisper. 

Ticklish.

“Fuck,” you gasp, jerking away from his grasp in surprise. You find yourself missing the feel of his hand on your waist before you realize your mistake. 

“That’s the third.” he says, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t expecting it on my thigh!” you snap, suddenly feeling so exposed. To shield yourself, your arms cross over your shoulder defensively, voice lowering by way of apology, “I’m ticklish!”

He considers it for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, but his eyes remain trained on you. Gauging your reaction, the same way he’d talk to a skittish witness. You find yourself shifting again, unused to being on the receiving end of such a stare. When he speaks, his voice is calm, as if he’s soothing a ruffled creature, “You’re welcome to say your safe word.” 

The easy way out. But you’ve already gone this far, stripped out of your so-called armor, down to your lace underwear and allowed him to regard you in ways far too intimate for coworkers. It would be such a waste to back out now. Besides, he said the punishment would just be spanking, how bad could that be?

“No,” you reply finally, voice breaking through the silence that settled and swelled in the room, “No, I’m okay, I’ll—I’ll take the punishment, like I agreed to.”

He sits up straighter, “Are you sure?”

A gulp. “Yes.”

He pats his lap, “Come here then.”

You’ve lost count of how many times you felt warmth at your cheeks, but this feels like a wildfire has started now, smoothing over your face before spreading all over your body in an all consuming blaze. Flashes of those kinky magazines and news articles you’d rolled your eyes over flit through your mind, the models now replaced by the image of you and Spencer. He’s asking you to bend over on his lap to receive your punishment.

With a nod, you join him on the bed, your torso draping horizontally over his lap. Your legs are laid on the bed, and you hold yourself up by your elbows. From this position, he has perfect access to your ass, a large hand smoothing over one cheek. 

You squirm, “Your hand’s cold.” 

He laughs, “God, you never stop complaining, huh? I should add another one just for that.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

He sighs, “I know. You’re doing fine, all things considered. I’ll just do three, okay? For every time you moved.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to count.”

You inhale so sharply you almost choke on nothing. That had no business being as hot as you found it. His hand is on your ass again, and you have to dig into your brain to focus and answer, “Okay.”

The first strike comes quickly, a sharp sting followed by a cool, gentle hand soothing over it. You exhale a gasp along with the word, “One.”

“Good girl.”

Jesus Christ.

Another smack, this time on the other cheek. “Two… three.”

It’s over before you know it, barely even lasting three minutes, but it’s still managed to take your every breath away. You find yourself wishing he had added another strike, just so you could feel the sharp sting again. 

“Are you okay?” his voice pulls you from your reverie, hands helping you sit back up beside him, “Do you need a break? I could get you some lotion—”

You tune him out, staring as he offers different ways to soothe the stinging. His hands keep making lazy strokes up and down your arms, eyes completely focused on you. Words are flying past his lips, attempting to reach you through this haze, solutions and probably another reminder of your safe word, but all you can think about is how close he is, how pretty with his earnest brown eyes and pouty lips, but also how hot and since when was Spencer Reid hot? 

A familiar sensation settles low in your belly, slickness between your thighs, and oh my god you just want to kiss him.

So you do.

His lips are soft, pausing mid sentence for just one moment, before he’s kissing you right back, open mouthed and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head, tilting it up so his tongue can dive deeper into your mouth. You moan, kissing him back with just as much fervor, scrambling forward in an attempt to get even closer. He tastes like mint and cinnamon, the oddest combination that has you sucking on his bottom lip, eager for more.

An arm wraps around your waist, and you find yourself on his lap again—no, on his thigh. Singular, straddling it with nothing but a tiny scrap of lace and his trousers in between your skin. Two degrees of separation. You moan again, biting down hard.

“Wait,” he pulls back, breathless, thrown off, “Wait this isn’t part of the agreement.”

You laugh, “I’m sorry, I don’t really care about it right now.”

Soft brown locks tickle your jaw as he ducks his head. Lips run over your collar, moist and gentle as he speaks, “I wasn’t really prepared for this. I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” you seem to deflate in his arms, despite the incessant pounding in your chest, the buzzing at your fingertips.

He looks up, surveys you like a puzzle to be solved. On his thigh, with barely anything on, practically throwing yourself at him. Muscle flexes and shifts beneath you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. It moves again, just as his hands hold onto your hips and keep you in place. 

Your lips fall open, “Oh.” you repeat, but this time, it’s a low, breathy moan. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you with a small smirk, “Move those hips for me, angel.”

You don’t need to be told twice, pressing down hard onto his thigh. The pressure gives your clit enough stimulation, pulling another moan from your lips. Louder this time. Loud and pretty, as his hands keep you steady, and your arms wrap around his shoulder, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Oh god,” you gasp, staring right at him, at those intense hazel eyes that have turned nearly black. You ride his thigh shamelessly, finding a rhythm that you know will have the pleasure snapping within minutes. Paired with Spencer’s praise, the sweet kisses he’s laying on your jaw, you find yourself trembling in his arms as you rub yourself along his muscular thigh. 

All of the anticipation seems to have built up to a fever pitch, his teasing, the spanking, it all floods back until your orgasm hits you like lightning. Razor sharp, every nerve of your body seems to sing and tremble from pleasure as Spencer keeps his thigh gently moving, helping you come down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, burying your face into his neck. 

He laughs, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay.”

Slender fingers card through the back of your head, tangles into your hair, “You did really well. We went a little off script, but it seems like you found it pleasurable, which is always the goal.”

Pleasurable is the understatement of the century, but your only response is a breathless chuckle. At the moment, that’s all you’re capable of. 

“Okay,” you whisper into his neck, losing all ability to extricate yourself from him. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his hold on you just as tight, free hand rubbing warm circles over your bare back. “Okay, you’ve proved your point. You seriously are a dom.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“What? You can’t believe it? I literally just gave you one of the most hands on demonstrations anyone could ask for.” he says with a laugh. It rumbles through his chest, and the feeling makes something in your stomach clench pleasantly. 

You lift your head, finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes flash with mischief when you reply, “I don’t know, I might need another one to fully understand it.”

He smiles back, wide and catlike, “Well then, I think that calls for an encore.”

Thank you for reading!!! also if you could give me some encouragement for my thesis that’d be much appreciated i’d give you so much brain kisses MUAH.

[justwonder113]

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🎧 Shutting you up mid argument with a kiss - Hyung line edition 🎧

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Maknae Line

📖 Summary:  Basically what the title says 🤭

⚠️ Warnings:  Cursing as always; Arguments; kissing; fluff; angst but nothing too extreme; Suggestive ending at Chan's part. NOT PROOFREAD

🖋️ Author’s Note:  Saw a gif of a man shutting a girl up with a kiss and got inspired so hopefully you'll like it. Will do a reverse version too so stay tuned~

📝 Word Count:  3k

📜 Masterlist: | ☕ Ko-fi:

💬Reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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Chan

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To say that you were pissed off would be an understatement. On a broad daylight in front of you this bitch had the nerve to flirt with your boyfriend! Even worse, apart from ignoring your whole damn existence like you meant nothing she made him uncomfortable!  

Like you just wanted to enjoy a peaceful meal, a peaceful evening with your sweet, overworked, always busy boyfriend and instead of that you were now practically seething in your seat while Chan awkwardly but still firmly rejected the girl. 

“Baby you’ve not touched your food in a while. We can go home if you want?” Chan’s concerned voice brought you back from angry and mean things you were thinking about a waitress you were doomed to be served by today. 

 You felt bad. “No...” - You started unsure of what to say. “You wanted to try this place for a while. Let’s just eat okay?  I promise I’m fine.” 

Chan didn’t look convinced.  You saw his eyebrow rise in question but he didn’t say anything and as if sensing  your inner turmoil he started rubbing your hand with his thumb, He hadn’t let go of your hand since you first sat down here. Sometimes it infuriated you how perfect he was. How handsome, kind, gentle, loving, understanding... Even now he was the one feeling uncomfortable but the first thing on his mind was to check on you.You alsmost felt bad feeling angry. 

Almost. 

To be fair you really tried to keep your cool but you were human after all. 

“It’s just some people have no shame! I mean I was right here! She just ignored me! You were holding my damn fucking hand! Of course it means we’re dating or do we have to start making out for her to get a hint?” You grumbled out all annoyed.  Looking up at Chan to take your side you noticed that the expression on his face had changed. Instead of an awkward smile he had on he was now gazing at you with amusement written all over his face. His eyes like a crecent moons and his adorable dimples showing.  

It wasn’t fucking fair he looked this damn good! 

“Don’t smile at me like you aren’t in fucking trouble!”  You watched as confusion washed all over his face. 

“Why am I in trouble?” 

“Oh I will tell you! You are too kind!” You point it out like it’s a huge problem which sounds ridiculous but unfortunately for both of you it is. 

“How is me being kind a problem? Isn’t that a good thing? Should I be evil?��� Despite Chan’s playful tone and his amused smile confusion was as clear as a day on his face. 

“Shut it I’m still talking and you’re on thin ice!” The glare you gave him instantly made him shut up. 

“Sorry darling, please continue.” Softly kissing your hand he straightened up and tried to look serious. Tried being the key word. You really tried to keep your composure. 

“You can’t just smile at everyone like that, Chan,” you snap. “That waitress was eating it up. You were practically handing her your number with those puppy eyes.” 

Chan blinks, caught between confusion and guilt. “I was just being polite—” 

“That’s the problem!” you cut in, voice slightly rising against your better judgement. “You’re too polite. Too nice. Too—you. And you don’t see it, but people take advantage of that. You think they’re being friendly. I see it as them testing boundaries.” 

You sighed. “I shouldn't have to sit through a meal watching someone throw themselves at you while you smile and thank them for it like it’s normal. I trust you. I know you won’t betray my trust. It's just... Fuck I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want someone to make you uncomfortable like this. It’s not just about me getting pissed.” 

You exhale sharply, half-angry, half-exhausted mostly grumbling like an old cartoon character. “I should just—I don’t know—write ‘taken’ on your damn forehead in permanent marker or something like mark you up or some shit like that.” 

Chan’s expression shifted at that — something flickered behind his eyes. And then, without a word, he leaned forward over the tiny table, cupped your jaw with one hand, and kidded you. The kiss was firm, sure, leaving no room for argument — just the press of his lips saying everything he hadn’t yet taking your breath away just like that. 

When he finally pulled back, he murmured, breath warm against your skin, “Then I guess I’ll just have to show everyone I’m already yours.” Another short but loving peck, and you’ve already forgotten just what had you worked up anyway. “Is that good with you darling?” The teasing glint in his eyes and the smug grin he was barely hiding made you snap back to reality. 

“Oh fuck you!”  How did he manage to always fluster you was beyond you. He was taking advantage of how much you loved him really. What a tease. Made your heart throb and everything...

God you loved him. 

“Later baby.” He leaned in and sealed your lips again, not that you were against it. Also, you just loved how sour the mood of a certain waitress got after Chan’s very much public display of affection. A win was a win. 

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Lee Know

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The day started out great. You had a day off and you had spent it all day cuddling with your boyfriend and his adorable fluffballs till noon, you had a great breakfast and you two even went out to hang out with the guys. You decided to have a game night. There were also few other close “friends” invited.  

The thing is you and Minho were always a team whenever you played because both of you tended to get overly invested in games and usually it resulted in chaos. But today others had an interesting idea. Since there was an even amount of you Felix and Jisung came up with the idea to randomly split into pairs. That’s how you ended up being paired with Minho’s biggest enemy- Kim Seungmin. Not that you had anything against him, in fact you loved that chaotic little gremlin, the literal chaos incarnate.  

Minho didn’t seem to appreciate that at all. 

At first you thought that he was sulky because he and Innie lost to you and Seungmin in many games, declaring you the winner of the night. But now as you two were heading towards your shared house the atmostphere had really shifted. 

Even the air felt heavy in the car. It was quiet. Too quiet. Like the storm was brewing.  

After you felt Minho glance at you for the nth time this whole ride you just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. 

“Okay what is the problem? You had been sulking since we left.” 

Minho looked at you for a second, his face unreadable. “I’m not sulking.” Flat, so dry. 

Yeah right. 

“Please like I’d miss something like that after knowing you for years. You’re literally pouting Min! You only do that when you’re annoyed...”-You poused for a second-“or jealous.” 

“I’m not pouting.” a displeased scoff from him.

Ypu scoff in return. Yes, it's very mature..“Oh please like you can fool me.” 

"I’m fine.” 

“Minho. Why are you upset” 

He laughed now dryly.

“What is funny?"

“It’s funny you noticed, considering you were too busy all evening laughing at everythingSeungmin had said, like he’s the funniest person ever. You didn’t even bother to look at me from time to time. What a cute little pair you were." Minho's voice was cold, so cold it made you shiver. He never talked to you like that.

How dare he?

“Are you fucking serious right now?"

Another glance

“Completely” 

"So what? Am I not allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke? What if my boyfriend takes it as me flirting? What do you not trust me now"

"You think this is about trust?" Minho asked after stopping a car in front of your house. He looked at you, he really did. For a first time in the last 2 hours. "No. It's about the fact that you know exactly what you do to me when you smile like that—and then you go flashing it at everyone else. So fuck me I guess." 

"Excuse me? I’m not yours to—"  

You barely desipher the click of his seatbelt before his hand is firmly on your jaw and his lips are on yours. The kiss so raw and passionate speaking so many things at once. "Yeah, you are." He whispered against your lips before connecting them all over again. You swear you feel like you’re melting.   "You're mine."

“You won’t get out of this with a kiss you know.” 

"If you don’t want me to kiss you, don’t look so damn kissable when you’re angry." Only Lee Minho would he able to say this in the most nonchalant way.

Still it made your heart flutter.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes." You grumbled as you avoided his gaze. You didn’t want him to see how flustered he got you.

“You love me.” 

“I do.” 

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Changbin

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You loved your boyfriend. He was your love, your joy your happiness. He meant everything to you. Like there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But sometimes you just felt like strangling him. Like the way Homer Simpson strangles his son Bart. Or at least smack him. 

You two were supposed to have a date in this fancy restourant that recently opened up. You barely managed to make a reservation it was already packed for next 3 months.

Well, you were supposed to go and enjoy your date. The key word being supposed.

 Because he didn’t show up.   

You waited and waited. 15 minutes he didn’t answer your call. 30 minutes. Still no answer and no call. An hour- nothing. The pitiful gazes from the restaurant staff and other people around you became too much, but you still waited. An hour and a half... You just couldn’t take it anymore, so you left. 

You had barely taken a few steps from the restaurant when you saw him running full speed at you. 

“Baby I am so sorry!” You heard him huff out between laboured breaths. 

“Forget it, let’s go home.” The sound of your voice sounded so foreign to you. So emotionless. So empty. 

Changbin quickly caught up with you and stopped you by gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. “Baby please!” He sounded desperate but you didn’t care. You were fed up. You just wanted to go home. 

The desperate call of your name made you stop. And something in you snapped. ”Unbelievable! You forgot! Again! And now you act and sound like you’re the one hurting?” 

“Baby please, listen to me for a second.” He pleaded but you were done listening, 

“Do you even care Changbin? Or am I just some afterthought in your schedule?” You finally asked it, you really did. 

"I—No, I do care! I just lost track of time. I was in the studio, and-” You didn’t let me finish. Scoffing you started to talk. You were done being forgiving and understanding. This time you would speak up for yourself. "Studio. Right, always the studio. Always work. Always something more important than me! You didn’t even text, Changbin! You could have at least warned me instead of making me look like a pathetic fool in front of all these people! You could have fucking answered one of the many fucking calls. “ You knew that his schedule was a nightmare, but you weren’t asking for much. You knew that his mind was occupied with work, but would it kill him to think about you from time to time? 

Changbin looked like he was physically hurt by  your words. "I know. And I’m sorry, I really am!” 

“Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I was sitting there alone, waiting for you! I looked like an idiot, Changbin! Do you even know how...” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, you barely even had time to realize what was happening but one second you were pouring your heart out to Changbin in the middle of nowhere and the next second he was kissing you so desperately like you were the air he needed to breathe.

like you were his lifeline.

He held you like he was afraid you would disappear. 

The kiss itself was so raw, so desperate, so passionate and urgent. You didn’t even know how to react. Your whole body begged you to reciprocate to return the passion. It begged you to hold onto him and never let go, but at the same time you heart ached so much...  

His hands were so warm and gentle holding your face. His whole body was warm. All you wanted was to nuzzle against his strong sturdy frame. But what frightened you more is how weak you were for him. It’s like you could physically feel how the frustration, the anger- all melt into the heat of the kiss as the seconds passed. 

Eventually he leaned back. His eyes  glistening  like he was seconds away from crying. You don’t even realize when you started crying yourself. You only realized when Changbin gently wiped them away. “I messed up. But please, don’t say I don’t care about you.” He took your hands in his and kissed every knuckle making your skin crawl in anticipation. Not breaking eye contact. His eyes speaking for himself , in the language only you two could understand. Something just you two. “You’re my heart.” Another kiss, on your wrist now. And your heart leaped in your ribcage.  

“I love you so much baby.“- He muttered against your skin as he now migrated and kissed both of your cheeks. His touch purely electrifying. “Please trust me on that.” A broken voice and a final kiss on your forehead and you finally give in. 

“You’re on thin ice...” You finally mutter out after a few seconds of silence and Changbin looking like a literal sad puppy instead of a dwaekki. 

A biggest grin comes up on his face immediately. “I won’t break your trust again bunny! I promise.” 

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Hyunjin

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It starts the same way it always does. 

You said something—something important, something you needed Hyunjin to hear—and he just nodded, absently, like your words were some kind of background noise to whatever thought was occupying his head. 

Like now. 

You were sitting across from him, watching, waiting for even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. But instead, he was staring at the floor—no, not even staring. Spacing out. 

You could feel your fingers tighten around your drink. Your heart clenching in pain from being ignored yet again. “Hyunjin.” You called out agan but somewhat you already knew you would be ignored again.  

And there it was - Silence. 

Your heart sinked further. 

“Hyunjin.” You called. His head jerked up, eyes wide, almost guilty. “Huh?” 

Oh, there it iwas. The proof that he wasn’t listening. 

Your voice sharpened, your tone cold. “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” 

“i’m sorry darlin I must have spaced out. What were you saying?” There it was. He asked you to repeat yourself like it was nothing special. Did he even realize just how much he tuned you out? Were you not interesting for him anymore? 

“God Hyunjin you always do this.” It’s like you could feel the headache manifesting. 

“What? What did I do wrong?” He fully sat up now. God was he serious? 

“Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s the problem, Hyunjin—you don’t listen! 

Hyunjin looked taken aback for a second but he quickly started to defend himself. “That’s not true, I...” You didn’t let him finish. 

“It is! Every time I try to talk, you brush it off. You nod along, say, "Yeah, yeah," like it’s nothing! Like I’m some background noise in your life!” You paused a second to take a deep breath. You felt like you could cry any second now. You felt so fragile like you could crack any second.  “It really hurts Hyun...” 

Seeing your defeated state he paniced " I swear, I...” 

"No!”  You interrupt, quite harshly also. “No, don’t just "I swear" me! Because the moment I get serious, the moment I actually need you to listen, you always...” 

Hyunjin moved. Quick, decisive, like he already made up his mind before you even finished your sentence. His lips crash against yours mid-rant, stealing your words, your frustration, your breath. The world tips upside down and all that's left is him—his touch, his warmth, his absurd, infuriating way of handling things. He pulls back just enough to whisper—soft, teasing, smug in the way only Hyunjin can be and get away with - “See? You’re not arguing anymore. Perfect balance.” 

You’re actually speechless. It was like the anger and sadness evaporated but now all you felt was confusion. Being in a relationship with him sure was a rollercoaster. You were flustered, scandalized, fuck you would be clutching your pearls if you had any on.  

You were dizzy. You could barely stand on your two feet. Your heart was going absolutely crazy in your ribcage!

“That—That doesn’t help your case at all you asshole!” Not able to stop yourself you smacked his arm which made Hyunjin giggle. 

Leaning in he wrapped his arms around you and gently brough you to himself. “I’m sorry my love I promise I will be more present from now on.” As if to make his point come across, he laned in to kiss your forehead gently. 

Bergundigly you wrapped your hands around his waist.

As if you could stay mad at him. 

“You better Hwang!” 

Hyunjin flinched like you slapped the shit out of him. “Baby! Not my last name!” 

Served him right. 

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✧･ﾟ: Thank you for reading! :･ﾟ✧ 

If you enjoyed this story, reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. 💬🖤 

📜 @annie-boleyn @velvetmoonlght @notastraykid @pixie-felix

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☕ Ko-fi — support my writing 

Any support is deeply appreciated and helps me keep writing more stories like this💌

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Yue Qingyuan has hanahaki. He accepts he’s going to die. He keeps quiet about it and quietly arranges for the sect to be taken care of when he’s gone. The sickness is getting worse and worse though and one day someone catches him coughing up flowers. The rumors spread. Soon everyone in the sect knows the sect leader is dying of the flower sickness. He loves someone so much it’s killing him.

Shen Jiu shows up furious and demands to know who Yue Qingyuan loves. Who did Yue Qi deem worthy of his affection. He mocks Yue Qingyuan when the man doesn’t answer and cruelty says that whoever it is obviously wise to not want to live such a moron. Yue Qingyuan begins to have another coughing fit and Shen Qingqiu jerks back upset, before storming away.

Yue Qingyuan’s condition steadily worsens and Shen Jiu is tearing the sect apart looking for whoever it is that rejected Yue Qingyuan. The other peak lords keep trying to convince Yue Qingyuan to have the flowers removed but he just shakes his head and says it’s fine before coughing some more. When Shen Jiu hears of this, he flies into a rage and corners him in his bedroom so he can shake sense into Yue Qingyuan, demanding once more to know who it is. They both know Yue Qingyuan’s time is almost up. He’s dying. He won’t live much longer.

“You’re going to die,” Shen Jiu snarls at the other man, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Yue Qingyuan smiles softly as a shaking cough tears through him once more. He shrugs. “I know.”

“No.” Shen Qingqiu is shaking with fury. “NO.” He slaps Yue Qingyuan hard. Yue Qingyuan's head snaps to the side, face plastered in wide eyed shock. Shen Jiu shoves him against the wall glowering at the stunned man before him. Yue Qingyuan gingerly touches his reddened cheek and stares up at Shen Jiu, his eyes bright with glossy tears. Shen Jiu snarls down at the moron's guileless expression and grabs the front of Yue Qingyuan’s robes, yanking him in close as he looms over him threateningly. “You don’t get to leave me,” he seaths. “WHO IS IT?”

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan breathes with a wheezing cough, chest heaving as he continues to stare up at him in a morbid, twisted awe.

“WHO!” Shen Jiu shakes Yue Qingyuan again, his knuckles going white. There’s a rattling sound coming from Yue Qingyuan’s chest and it’s infuriating. “Tell me who,” he demands, shoving his face in close to Yue Qingyuan’s.

“You. Are. Mine.” Shen Jiu snaps. “You don’t get to leave me again.” He drags Yue Qingyuan into himself and crowds him hard against the floor, pressing a bruising kiss hungrily against the other's mouth. Yue Qingyuan lets out a strangled groan and goes pliant under him.

Shen Jiu growls against Yue Qingyuan’s lips, “Mine. They can’t have you.” Yue Qingyuan hums lowly in agreement and presses into the kiss with a moan. He shudders under Shen Jiu and tugs at Shen Jiu’s robes, trying to pull him closer.

Shen Jiu pulls back and grabs Yue Qingyuan’s jaw forcefully, jerking his gaze to meet his own. “You will forget about them. You belong to me.”

“It’s as Xiao Jiu says,” Yue Qingyuan murmurs, dazedly, a slight smile tugging at lips.

Shen Jiu’s grip on his jaw tightens and he scowls down at the serene face. “You will forget about them,” he promises threateningly. “You are having those roots removed.”

Yue Qingyuan blinks up at him in infuriating befuddlement. Shen Jiu glowers and leans in close again, “They. Will. Be. Removed.”

Yue Qingyuan blinks. “There’s no need.”

“What the fuck do you mean there’s no need?” Shen Jiu’s voice burns with unconcealed fury.

“There’s no need,” Yue Qingyuan says again, smiling softly. His hand tightens in Shen Jiu’s robes, tugging him down slightly. “Xiao Jiu’s cure works best.”

Shen Jiu stares. “What?”

Yue Qingyuan blinks up at Shen Jiu earnestly, cheeks flushed a light pink. “Xiao Jiu’s cure is effective.” Yue Qingyuan glances away nervously and wets his lips. “Xiao Jiu could keep curing me if he wants?” he says hopefully, embarrassment coloring his voice.

“What?” Shen Jiu blinks at Yue Qingyuan’s flushed face in angry, bewilderment. “Roots were just suffocating you to death. What do you mean there’s no need.” He yanks at Yue Qingyuan’s jaw to force their gazes together again and watches in bafflement as Yue Qingyuan’s throat bobs and his flush gets deeper.

Yue Qingyuan gives him a bright smile, “Xiao Jiu needn’t worry about it. Xiao Jiu has the best cures.”

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper —

sunghoon x reader

getting your cherry popped by your enemy

mature content featured, read at your own discretion

note: i know i know i said a writing schedule but this is my issue — i just want you all to read what i have planned so bad! i’ll start the schedule soon, ignore my last updated post

“you are infuriating!” you screeched, stomping your foot to the ground like a child.

“no, you are!”

“for goodness sake, you both are infuriating!” your professor interrupted your arguing with park sunghoon.

your worst enemy since middle school. now both ready to graduate university soon, nothing has changed.

you and sunghoon turned to your professor with looks of disgust towards one another. your professor has had you both in her classes for 3 semesters as you both shared a major.

“i’ve dealt with you two for too long! always arguing before, after, and during my lectures! you two can’t even stop bickering long enough to enjoy this nice class trip!” the professor rambled.

“professor, i really was trying to enjoy this trip—,” the professor cut you off

“no you haven’t! any given moment you started an argument with mr. park, knowing he will argue back. you two leave me no choice, you are to stay here in your rooms at the hotel, my assistant will be staying on the floor if you two need anything. he’ll most likely try to find a bonding exercise for you two.”

“if we stay here, that means we miss the exhibits!” sunghoon exclaimed, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion, hurt, and anger towards you.

the professor shrugged. “hopefully it’ll teach you a lesson like i teach my children.” she scolded, waving her finger at both of you.

you and sunghoon stood in the hallway of the hotel dumbfounded that you would be missing the exhibit you both were so excited to view. three months you’ve been waiting for this trip!

you groaned in annoyance, “you just have to ruin everything, huh?”

sunghoon turned to you wide eyed, “me? you’re the one always starting shit between us two!”

“you could just ignore me.” you shrugged trying to place the blame all on him.

“ignore you? i’ve tried, and you never let it go. you keep pestering like an annoying little bug until i reply to you.”

your lip turned up, “listen here you little—,”

“finish that sentence and i’ll ask the hotel to make you clean toilets.” your professors graduate assistant snapped.

you and sunghoon turned around to face the young guy who couldn’t be more than 3 years older than you.

“faked being ill because my girlfriend happened to come down to the city to see me. haven’t seen her in four months as we live apart,” the assistant began explaining, “but now i have to babysit two annoying little young adults who can’t get along for nothing!”

“man, you don’t have to babysit us. we can care for ourselves.” sunghoon stated.

“and risk you two sneaking off?” the assistant shook his head.

you crossed your arms, “so what do you want us to do?”

“the hotel is low on staff in the kitchen. they just need help with dishwashing and putting together cutlery.”

“no way! i don’t want my fingers to turn into raisins!”

“that’s why gloves were invented, cherry.”

you narrowed your eyes, ready to stab sunghoon if you could, especially at the nickname he’s given you for the past year.

“you two, kitchen, now. you can go to your separate rooms afterwards. don’t snitch on me, help the kitchen out, and i’ll tell the professor you two got along well enough to be able to join in on the activities tomorrow.”

“deal.” both you and sunghoon agreed.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

it was all going well—decently well for you and sunghoon until you dropped a plate in the sink, causing the water to splash both you and him.

he splashed water back, so now you and him were banned from dishwashing and instead wrapping cutlery for future hotel guests.

about an hour later, you both were only half way done through the giant bucket of clean dishes.

“this is exhausting!” you sighed. “my neck is starting to hurt.”

“stop whining and just keep going.” sunghoon replied quietly.

“what’s got your panties in a twist?”

sunghoon dropped the fork and spoon he was holding. “mhm, i don’t know, maybe you? always starting arguments with me.”

“you’re the one who started it, park sunghoon.”

“when did i ever start? you are the one who started it back in middle school.”

“middle school? sunghoon, i never even talked to you in middle school until that day you said my hair bow was ugly.” you reminded him.

that’s when sunghoon became your enemy. maybe for a stupid reason, but as a young girl, you had tried a new hair style with a hair bow after your mom made you get a hair cut, that the salon butchered.

you were insecure about it for a while, but it only really unsettled you when sunghoon came up to you one day during lunch telling you that your ‘hair bow was ugly, and nothing can make your hair look pretty again.’

since then, you’ve always sought out to ruin park sunghoon. whether it was getting better grades, to become top of the class. becoming class president so he’d be class vice president.

or even childish things like a whoopie cushion, taking a picture of him picking his nose in private, and even starting arguments over small things.

but the biggest would have to be when you started dating his friend second to last year in high school, you two only ending the relationship a little over a year ago.

kang taehyun.

it was a sneaky move to date your enemy’s friend. but it worked in your favor as just your presence annoyed sunghoon. he started to dislike you even more then.

but it wasn’t like sunghoon and taehyun were best friends, they just happened to be in the same friend group.

sunghoon remembered the day he called your hair bow ugly. he actually didn’t think it was ugly, but he was upset about what he overheard you and your friends at the time saying about him.

then when sunghoon found out you were actually dating taehyun, he couldn’t believe it. he would tease you and only bring it up to taehyun the reasoning for you to date his friend was to annoy him.

sunghoon used to hate seeing you around all the time when he just wanted to be with his friends. he especially disliked whenever taehyun would be too handsy with you.

“i only called your hair bow ugly because you and your friends made fun of me.” sunghoon sighed deeply. his lips went into a thin straight line as he went back to his deep thinking, focused on wrapping the silverware.

you looked at him surprised and confused. “sunghoon, when did my friends and i ever make fun of you?”

sunghoon sighed once more, wanting to forget the whole incident, but knew now was probably a good, but very late time to confront you about it.

“i overheard you all laughing at the fact i was a figure skater at the time, and said something about me being feminine.”

you stood there, too much in shock. your brain racked old memories and conversations, trying to remember that exact time. as you stood and stared, sunghoon continue on with the kitchen chore.

then it hit you, and you slightly chuckled. “sunghoon, we weren’t laughing at you. we were admiring you. the fact you was a boy doing figure skating? we were so impressed! and the feminine thing was a compliment, i promise! i swear as young girls we were jealous because you had a nice body we were jealous of at the time.”

sunghoon snapped his head toward you, observing you for any chance of a lie. he saw none as you stood there and smirked.

“you really called my hair bow ugly, to upset me, because you misheard my conversation with my friends?”

sunghoon scoffed, “well i mean, as a young boy, it was hard enough being a figure skater. i was just, don’t know, very introverted and shy.”

which he still was most times.

“you aren’t introverted or shy around me, sunghoon.”

“because i can’t be. you drive me up the wall on my nerves.”

you laughed. sunghoon liked the sound. he always did.

then he asked, “did i really hurt your feelings by saying your bow was ugly?”

you nodded. “yes you did. that started a war.”

“a war between us that i think we can now end?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

after another hour, you all were close to finished when the kitchen staff let you go. rubbing your neck, you complained, excited to shower and just lay around for the rest of the night.

it was only 6 in the evening, and the exhibit went on until 9 pm, and you both were sure the professor and classmates would be off doing their own thing for the rest of the night as curfew wasn’t until 1 am.

“wanna watch a movie?” sunghoon asked, startling you. “i mean, there’s nothing else going on for us, and we could, maybe, keep each other entertained?”

you shrugged. “sure. just let me shower first. my room or yours?”

“mine. my friend and roommate, heeseung, snuck in some beer.”

you smiled. “perfect.”

half an hour later, you both were showered, in comfy clothes, and in sunghoon’s hotel room, sitting on the couch at the end of the beds watching a movie.

two drinks in, sunghoon was feeling bold. “why did you date taehyun?”

being caught off guard, you slowly turned your head, then tilted. “uh, why?”

“did you only date him because of me? to make me mad or jealous?”

“more to make you mad.” you teased with a wink.

“well congrats, you made me both mad and jealous by dating my friend.” sunghoon snickered, sipping his bottle of beer. he was no where near drunk or even tipsy. just a bit of extra courage running through his veins.

it was him watching you out of the side of his eye that got him this way. your laugh, your smile, the smell of you, so intoxicating.

you were more shocked and confused than ever. “sunghoon, what?”

sunghoon leaned down to look at your face, “taehyun used to bitch and moan that he could never get in your pants. that you would tease him, only willing to dry hump with him.”

you swallowed but rolled your eyes as well. taehyun always did complain that you never let him have sex with you. it never really bothered you.

taehyun knew you were a virgin. what he didn’t know was that whenever you thought about finally being intimate with him, all you thought about what sunghoon. all you could see was sunghoon. your thoughts were consumed of sunghoon whenever you thought anything sexual.

“why wouldn’t you have sex with your boyfriend, cherry?”

“why do you call me cherry?”

“answer me first.” sunghoon placed the bottle on the floor bedside him so he could turn his body to face you once more.

“uh, well i just didn’t want to have sex with him.” you shrugged one shoulder.

“why not?”

“eh eh, i answered you, your turn.” you tsked.

sunghoon bit his lower lip, staring at your lips as he replied, “because of that cherry lip gloss you always wear.”

you were wearing it now. not only did it look good against your skin, it tasted good too, whenever you got your nervous antics and chewed on your lip.

sunghoon always observed you putting that cherry lip gloss on your lips. it started with the cherry chapstick in high school, but just a little over a year ago you started wearing the cherry lip gloss.

“now answer me.” sunghoon demanded.

you took in a deep breath wondering how much or little to tell him. “well,”

“—was it because he wasn’t me?” sunghoon interrupted, your eyes going wide.

“sunghoon, no, what would give you that idea?”

“he told me he heard you calling out another guy’s name while playing with a toy of yours. he looked at me with anger and disbelief as if i had something to do with it.”

your eyes still wide, mouth shaped into an ‘o.’ you laughed nervously waving sunghoon off, “ah, he probably misheard me, that’s all.”

“i don’t believe you cherry.” sunghoon stated, standing up from the couch only to stand directly in front of you. eye level now with his crotch, you looked at him with innocent and confused eyes.

“sunghoon—,”

sunghoon stopped you mid sentence just by his thumbs hooking to the hem of his sweats, only pulling them down a little, teasing to pull out his cock.

“have you only kissed and dry humped him? what else have you done with him while thinking of me?” sunghoon clicked his tongue.

you shook your head. “sunghoon you’re mistaken!”

“sucked taehyun’s dick while thinking of me? mhm, even dry hump him thinking and wishing it was my lap you were rocking against?”

each sentence, sunghoon leaned in closer, mouth inches from yours. he could smell the cherry lip gloss of yours. excited to taste it finally.

you closed your eyes because—it was the truth. all of it. you blurted, “i never had sex with him because i’m a virgin!”

sunghoon chuckled, raising to his full height again. with a smirk, “mhm so my cherry was waiting to get her cherry popped by her enemy.”

you tightened your legs closer together for friction, but also to prevent yourself from becoming any wetter at just his words.

your movement didn’t go unnoticed from sunghoon. he got down on his knees in front of you. “has my cherry thought about getting ate out from her enemy? have you imagined it was me instead of taehyun going down on you?”

you shook your head, wanting to not believe this was happening. it wasn’t until you felt sunghoon’s teeth bite your thigh through your own bottoms, you snapped your eyes open.

“what was that for!”

sunghoon laughed, “be honest baby.” then, you nodded. “guess i’ll have to make your imagination become reality, huh?”

quick and easy, he got your bottoms off of your legs, and used his thumb to tease your clit through your underwear. a wet spot already beginning to form.

sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with neediness and excitement. he got up from his knees, you internally protesting, until his lips captures yours into a searing kiss.

he whispered against your lips, “so tasty, cherry,” as he continued to intensely work his lips against yours, loving the cherry lip gloss against his own lips.

he soon fell back to his knees, kissing up your right thigh before he moved your underwear to the side, poking his index finger to your cunt. he was met with tightness and some resistance, but only because it was a new feeling, new fingers for you. long, fingers to be exact.

sunghoon poked his index finger in your hole, followed by his middle finger, your legs opening wider for him, head rolling to the back of the couch with a groan. your hands gripped the couch, fingers digging into the cushions.

sunghoon then added a third finger, his ring finger, and your right leg went to hook over his shoulder, him holding your left wide open for him.

it was so much you wanted to snap your legs closed. sunghoon rocked his fingers in and out a few times, until your wetness covered his fingers, and he pulled out, quickly undressing you of your underwear. but just as quickly as his fingers were gone, it was replaced with his tongue and lips.

“sung—hoon!” you sang into a moan, left hand gripping his locks.

he moaned into your cunt, lapping up the juices you had to offer to him, occasionally using his k-9 teeth to nibble on your folds and clit. when his lips found home onto your clit, using his tongue to swirl, teeth to nibble, three of his fingers entered back into your cunt, no warning or teasing. he began rocking his fingers in and out in a medium pace, his tongue flicking your bud.

your chest and stomach began to tighten, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, head rolling onto the back of the couch from left to right. he removed his lips, fingers still, only to spit on your cunt, and got right back to work as if he didn’t pause to begin with.

this orgasm was about to be intense. taehyun never gave you mind blowing head like this. he was always decent, though. but sunghoon’s tongue was magic and had you coming way too soon.

“hoon!” you moaned loudly, hoping no one outside the door could hear you. “i’m—hoon, i—come—my goodness!” you babbled.

sunghoon used only his tongue while you came down from your first orgasm of the night.

your body jerked from the overstimulation, you pushing sunghoon’s head away.

“taste so good, cherry. better than i imagined.” he whispered once again, against your lips, before kissing you, his tongue poking through to find yours.

while kissing him, sunghoon grabbed you by your thighs so he picked you up and held you, turning around so he sat on the couch with you straddling him.

your wetness immediately started to stain his sweats, but he didn’t care. “hump me, cherry.”

“like this?” you asked. he wanted you to hump him? you bare below, him with his sweats?

you squealed when a palm of his came down to your bare ass. “it wasn’t an option, cherry.”

you nodded, biting your lip, as you began to rock your hips back and forth and in circles around his cock which was imprinting through his sweats. your cunt could feel the outline of him, getting wetter with each movement.

soon, you were on your way to your second orgasm. sunghoon’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as you became more sloppy, only worried about reaching your second orgasm.

“that’s it cherry, use me like you’ve always wanted.” fuck sunghoon’s words were not (but was) helping.

your hands gripped his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as your movements increased as your orgasm was approaching.

your thighs started to become wet from your own juices, a big spot covering sungoon’s outline.

sunghoon pulled you closer as you came, he began sucking and kissing your neck, sending you over the edge even more.

your movements slowed down, as his hands stayed glued to your hips. your breathing became heavy against his collarbone, you giving it a peck, leaving a lip mark.

you’ve had two orgasms, sunghoon none. you leaned back to look sunghoon in the eyes. “what about you coming?”

sunghoon’s lips perked up, “cherry, i’ll come, don’t you worry.”

sunghoon from underneath, pulled down his sweat pants, your thighs and cunt somewhat hovering over him. you felt his tip brush against your folds, your body shivering with excitement.

you only hoped your toys prepared you enough for this moment. sunghoon pushed his sweats off as far as he could, down to his ankles. his shirt came off next, along with yours, leaving you both completely naked.

“cherry, i hope you used a dildo big enough.” he stated as he pulled a condom out from between the couch cushions. you were to entranced to even comment on that.

you bit your lip, “i hope so too, hoon.” you sighed against his lips, kissing him, as he helped you ease down on his hard cock after he put on the condom.

you bit down on his lip when he fully pushed you down on his length, a loud moan coming from you both.

“fuck, so tight cherry.” sunghoon groaned, head leaning back against the couch. “those toys did nothing to prepare you for me.”

you stayed still, both in a comfortable position. “i’m scared to move.”

“just go slow, okay?” sunghoon’s fingertips ran up and down your spine to comfort you. with a sigh of pleasure, you lifted your hips to the tip only, to slowly push back down.

you were sure you felt him in your stomach. slowly, you kept a rhythm of up and down on his length, occasionally rocking your clit forward for friction.

soon your thighs were starting to tense and become tired. “hoon, can—can you take over please?” you sighed against his cheek, nose resting in his neck.

without even removing himself from in you, sunghoon stood up from the couch, your wetness dripping in between the both of you. he carried you over to his bed, your legs wrapped around him.

he laid you on the bed, again, never slipping from inside you. his hand found one of your hips, the other resting against your cheek.

“let me know if it’s too much.” sunghoon stated before he pulled out completely only to push back with such force, your cunt squelched, your eyes shutting, a loud moan leaving your lips.

“fuck! sunghoon!”

you wasn’t expecting that. but honestly, you wasn’t expecting or even wanting him to be gentle.

for the next however long, which felt like hours, sunghoon rutted his cock in and out of your cunt with ease, your wetness spilling out on your thighs and his.

his thumb came down to your clit, rubbing left, right, up, and down, stimulating you just right to bring you to your third orgasm of the night.

“that’s it cherry, baby come on my cock. come on your first cock. fuck!” sunghoon moaned. “such a dirty slut thinking about your enemy while with that ex of yours.”

“hoon—sorry,” you apologized for no reason at all. why was you apologizing?

“wanted me to be the one to pop your cherry? got your wish.” sunghoon sighed, his pace of thrusts speeding up and becoming sloppy as he was chasing his first orgasm. “fucking whore thinking of me while playing with your toys. imagining it was me eating you out. kissing you. all while with—,”

with a loud, explosive moan, you cut sunghoon off as you came for the third time. no squirting involved, but you did have so much wetness dripping out of you, anyone could be mistaken.

sunghoon released into the condom with a low, throaty, growl-like moan, collapsing on top of you before rolling off.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

sometime in the middle of the night, you heard hush whispers. you didn’t move an inch, only somewhat, subconsciously listening.

“sorry man, i can ask her to leave?”

“absolutely not! i’ll go bunk with her roommate for this trip. once i tell her why i need somewhere to sleep she will be more than thrilled.”

it was heeseung, coming in after 3 am. once he saw you and sunghoon in the same bed, he didn’t even ask questions, only smiled.

about damn time you two fucked the anger out of one another.

sunghoon crawled back in bed next to you, your body only covered by a shirt of his. sunghoon stared at your sleeping figure with a smile.

you were finally his.

[retireddaddyric]

“You still hate me?”

(“You’re nobody” pt II)

Synopsis: (y/n) is again the journalist who always talked shit about Daniel Ricciardo but after having had sex with him she can’t get over it. And destiny brings them together once again at the Redbull Anniversary ceremony.

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact please. Toxic relationship, enemies to lovers vibes, fingering, unprotected sex, public place sex.

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors.

Hotel Hermitage Montecarlo.

Redbull racing f1 team anniversary ceremony. Big chandeliers, smoking suits, sea view, heels, oysters, champagne.

The last place you expected to see him again was here, surrounded by polished carbon fiber, faux nostalgia and too many people pretending not to miss him.

You’re walking on your heels and pulling the hem of the dress down to cover your thighs since the clothes Gucci gifted you are too revealing.

He’s laughing when you see him.Of course he is.

Standing beside a race winning car from a decade ago, champagne flute in hand, dark suit jacket tossed casually over his shoulder like he’s still the face of the grid.

The spotlight doesn’t know how to forget certain people. And he knows it.

He is smiling at the flashing cameras, photographers shouting his name like the whole paddock used to do when he walked around.

You freeze. Not visibly, hopefully. But something shifts in your chest like a gear grinding at the wrong speed.

Fuck. You said you wouldn’t care if you saw him again. You said he meant nothing.

But he looks better than he should. Maybe it’s the tailored cut of his shirt or the way the stubble’s grown in just enough to look like he doesn’t give a shit, when you know for a fact he cares about everything. Especially control. And for a split second, his eyes flick toward you.

He sees you. Of course he fucking does.

And then he smirks. Not a full smile—just that infuriating tilt of the lips that says ‘I remember everything you said… and everything you didn’t.’

You hate him all over again. And above all you hate the way your thighs clench just standing there, remembering.

Because he was unforgettable. A whole month and you still feel him giving you backshots and talking dirty into yout ear.

Two hours later, you’re trying to leave. You’re done with champagne and fake laughs and the way every conversation keeps circling around legacy, records, “what could’ve been.”

He was always the ghost at the edge of these things.

Now he’s the main event.

You open the door to the back hallway near the place where the buffet was held an hour ago, half-expecting it to be empty.

He’s there.

Of course.

Leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets like this is a fucking coincidence.

“Looking for something?” he asks, voice low, rough.

“A place to breathe,” you shoot back. “Didn’t realize you were haunting bathrooms now.” You say pointing at the toilet sign next to him.

He chuckles. “Come on. You knew I’d be here.”

“I didn’t know you’d be waiting, I saw you leave ten minutes ago.”

“And you’re counting seconds.”

“You should count yours.”

“You pictured me like a dead man in that interview already.”

He takes a step forward, and your back straightens before you can stop it. That same goddamn gravity he had in his house. The same he has everywhere. With the others he is sweet and polite. With you he’s different. Arrogant, magnetic, dangerous.

“Didn’t think you’d still be writing fluff pieces about men you hate.”

He says taking your hand and pulling you inside the restroom.

“Didn’t think you’d still be desperate for relevance,” you snap.

He tilts his head. That smile again, slower this time, quieter.

“You think that night meant nothing, don’t you?”

“I think you’re very good at making everything feel important… until you disappear.”

He’s in front of you now. Close enough that you can smell his cologne, something fresh, expensive, familiar. Your stomach turns, sharp and tight.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he says.

“I haven’t.”

“Liar.”

His hand moves to your waist, and you don’t stop him. You should. You want to. You wish you wanted to. But all you do is exhale sharply, like your lungs remembered him before the rest of you did.

“You don’t get to just touch me like that.” You whisper.

“Funny. You didn’t say that last time.”

You slap him. It’s not hard, but it’s real. It’s all the frustration you feel towards your needs.

And it makes his jaw clench, the smile vanish for half a second.

But then he gets it, you wanted to slap tourself, not him.

His mouth crashes into yours. You’re kissing like enemies, all teeth, tongue, bruises forming with every pull. His hands are already under your dress, rough and sure.

“Still wet for me,” he growls against your lips as he soakes his fingers in your arousal, your thong pulled to the side.

“Maybe I just needed to get off.” You moan low.

“Then let me help.” He whispers sexy in your ear, his lips touching tour earlobe.

He lifts you up like you weigh nothing and sets you on the marble counter. The cold shocks your thighs but you barely notice. You’re already unbuttoning his pants like you’ve been waiting for this. And maybe you have.

“Make it fast,” you mutter, breathless. “Before someone hears us.”

“You like being heard.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Not when I-“

And then he’s inside you, fast, deep, ruthless.

You gasp, biting his shoulder through his shirt. He grunts, fingers digging into your hips like he wants to leave a mark, like he needs to. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s you two, two people who never figured out how to want each other gently.

He looks at himself in the mirrorbehind you as he ravishes you and you cling to him.

“You still hate me?” he whispers against your neck.

“Yes,” you lie.

“Good.” He thrusts harder. The sound of skin on skin fills the space between breaths. You’re already close. Too close. You hate that he knows exactly how to touch you, how to fuck you like he’s unraveling something he doesn’t want to look at directly.

He rolls his eyes in the back of his head when your walls start to flutter around him.

He doesn’t look into your eyes, he just watches your back in the mirror.

This time you come with a silent scream, your nails clawing at his back through his shirt. He follows seconds later, breathing hard, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

Neither of you speaks.

Not for a long moment.

Then: “You gonna write about this too?” he mutters.

“You’re not that interesting anymore.” You say looking away.

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Bullshit.”

He helps you down. Straightens your dress like he has any right to be gentle.

He tries to look at you, to really look at your eyes but you walk past him.

As you open the door to leave, you don’t look back.

But you hear him behind you while he buckles his belt. “Not over,” he says. “You know that, right?”

You don’t answer. But your heart beats like it already has.

(Part three here!)

[thursdayinspace]

Unexpected day off means writing longer smut! I'm really enjoying writing these little things right now.

She knows he isn’t even aware that he’s doing it, he’s so completely oblivious to the effect he has on other people sometimes. She’d been good—or mostly successful—tuning it out before they started sleeping together, but now, watching him like this just reminds her of all the wonderful things he can do with that mouth of his. And she has no idea what prompts it, but some days, he just won’t stop doing the most infuriating things with it when there’s nothing she can do but watch. It’s bad today.

He must have gone through half a bag of sunflower seeds by now, lips and teeth and tongue working on them absentmindedly as he reads through reports. He puts things in his mouth to hold them while his hands are busy—pens, paper clips, the fucking coffee stirrer…which he then just keeps there to chew on it. He bites his full bottom lip, runs his fingers over it as he carefully studies a picture in a file, and she’s going crazy. He won’t stop. He just won’t stop. He just keeps going. In their office, in the car, at a fucking crime scene they’re investigating, in a meeting with five cops, Skinner, Kersh, and several other people whose names she didn’t get because she can’t think straight.

She’s sitting at the conference table clenching her thighs together, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. Her underwear is soaked and still she can’t stop looking at him, throwing sideways glances at him in the chair next to her. He’s chewing a hangnail on his index finger, his tongue flicking out occasionally to soothe the spot, and she considers excusing herself and finding the nearest bathroom or closet or any empty room to take care of herself. It would take no time at all; she feels like she’s been on the brink of orgasm for hours and it’s not going away.

When they finally, finally finish for the day, she doesn’t even spare anyone a single glance, doesn’t say anything, just speedwalks straight to the elevator to get down to the basement. Their tiny bathroom down there is her best chance of not being caught. Mulder will hopefully stay upstairs, talking over details of the case with…whoever all these people are. God. She needs to come so she can finally form a single clear thought in her head.

Unfortunately, Mulder seems to have no intention of hanging out with anyone up here, instead comes running after her, catching the elevator door with his arm at the last moment, joining her in the small metal box where she can’t get away from him.

“Scully,” he says, a little out of breath. “Are you okay?” He sounds so concerned and she wants to groan in frustration. She manages a deep breath instead and nods, keeping her eyes straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m fine.”

He puts a hand gently on her shoulder and she can’t stop herself from shivering under his touch. “You were fidgeting in your seat all through the meeting and you didn’t say a word. If you’re not feeling well…” He touches the back of his hand to her forehead as if he’s checking her for a fever and she closes her eyes, breathes through the fresh spike of arousal. “You are a little hot,” he says. “And your face is flushed. Look, I can handle this, if you wanna go home—”

“I’m fine,” she snaps and wants to cry. She needs to get off so badly, and now here he is, standing so close to her she can feel his body heat, and he smells so good, and she can’t remember ever being this turned on in her life. All because of his stupid mouth that, right now, just won’t stand still.

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard lately. It’s really no big deal, I’ll tell Skinner that you’re—”

“Shut up,” she growls at him, and the last thread holding her together finally snaps. She spins around and shoves him up against the elevator wall before grabbing his head in both hands to pull him down into a fierce, hungry kiss, moaning as she manages to get his thigh between her legs. The sudden pressure against her aching clit feels amazing and she pants against his lips as she rocks into him. She feels lightheaded with relief.

“Scully,” he says, surprised, but then his hands are on her ass, pulling her tighter against him.

“Your mouth,” she groans. “All, fucking day, god, Mulder, do you know what you’re doing to me?”

He needs no time at all to catch on, and his teeth grazing her neck is almost enough to push her over the edge. But the elevator stops with a slight jolt, the doors sliding open, and she doesn’t protest as he lifts her up by the backs of her thighs. She wraps her legs around him, lets him carry her down the short hallway to their office, the promise of release pushing her arousal to new heights.

“I didn’t know,” he says right into her ear, voice low and full of something that makes her shiver.

“Would you have stopped if you did?”

He sets her down on the edge of the desk, and his eyes are dark, the bulge at the front of his pants unmistakable. “Probably not,” he admits, and sinks to his knees.

She can’t stop looking at him, her heart speeding up at the look on his face as he works her out of his skirt. There’s something dangerous in his expression and she wants him, she wants him. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t speak as he rips her pantyhose, pushes her underwear aside, and buries his face between her legs.

Her head falls back and she cries out, hoping nobody followed them down here, but honestly, she wouldn’t care, would beg him to keep going, even if the whole crowd from that meeting were watching. Shit, she’d let him fuck her on that conference table in front of everyone right now.

He swipes his tongue through her folds and moans. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, and she wants to answer, wants to tell him it’s all for him, but he sucks her clit into his mouth and she forgets how language works. Her legs are hooked over his shoulder, his hands holding onto her thighs, and he’s eating her out like his life depends on it. She thinks her life might actually depend on it.

The ferocity of her need is unbearable, every cell in her straining, burning, her mouth open in a voiceless scream as she feels her body reaching it’s breaking point. Her orgasm rips through her violent and fierce, a ruthless current of electricity that shatters her into a million pieces.

He rises to his feet and she vaguely registers him unzipping his pants and shoving them down his legs. He’s so big, she thinks, so hard it looks painful. She does her best to wiggle out of her panties as he pulls them down her legs and off. She can’t do anything but let him take what he needs, and she’s wrecked, boneless, helpless as he steps in between her legs and finds her opening. He thrusts in hard enough to lift her off the surface of the desk. And she wants him, she still wants him, aftershocks rippling through her, and they’re not done, not yet.

He picks her up, carries her over to the wall with his cock deep inside her, and she clings onto him as he starts fucking her with a feverish urgency that leaves her breathless. God, she loves it when he needs her, loves it so much she’s not surprised when she feels a second orgasm building inside her. She clenches hard around him as he pushes in with amazing force again and again, her back arching off the wall as she comes a second time. He keeps going, teeth sinking into her shoulder as his moans rise in volume, and she’s on the verge of discomfort when he slams into her one final time and stills, his moan deep and broken, his fingers digging into her thighs hard enough she knows there will be bruises.

They sink to the floor together and she curls into him as he pulls her close. “Did that help?” he asks, and she laughs, her voice hoarse and tired.

“It helped. For now. Thank you.”

“Hey,” he says. “Anytime. By the way…” He kisses her hair and rests his cheek on the top of her head. “You can just ask next time. You know, instead of zoning out on an entire meeting.”

“Yeah,” she says, “you may have to catch me up on what we were actually talking about up there.”

“In a minute,” he promises, and she’s fine with that.

[azzibuckets]

For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 4/10]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi take the next step in their fake relationship

a/n: this one’s pretty long, hopefully it’ll tide y’all over for a bit 💋

word count: 2.6k

masterlist w/ all parts

“I don’t know, I guess we just kinda grew on each other.”

Paige and Azzi stood weakly under the scrunity of their entire team, hands interlocked. Paige hoped the younger girl couldn’t feel the sweat in the palm of her hand. Lying to Geno was no issue, but to her best friends that knew her almost as well as she knew herself? Damn near impossible.

After aggressively interrogating the new “couple” with question after question, the team finally seem somewhat satisfied by their answers and stopped the barrage, leaving Paige and Azzi alone in the locker room.

“Holy hell,” Azzi breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as the last of their teammates left the room. “Good thing we went over our story like a hundred times. That was rough.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t hurt you to practice lying a bit,” she remarked, wiping the sweat off her brow with a Gatorade towel.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek. She hated when Paige made infuriating offhand comments like that, making her feel so inferior without even trying. “I’m sorry I’m just not naturally good at deceiving others,” she snapped.

The other girl stared at her before turning around to rummage through her locker. “I’m carrying most of the weight of this whole act, and you know it.”

The tension between the two of them returned, and they both changed in silence. Azzi mentally kicked herself. They were supposed to be on the same team now. No one on the team would keep on believing their act if her and Paige were always picking fights with each other. She might as well attempt to become friends with Paige, or as close to friends as she could get, so that their plan wouldn’t get ruined.

“Look,” Azzi sighed, breaking the silence, “we should probably like go somewhere and do something together.” Seeing the confused look on Paige’s face, she rushed to forge towards. “Not like a date, you know, but no one’s gonna believe we’re dating if we’re being nasty to each other. We should probably get to know each other and stuff.”

Paige nodded. It seemed like she was understanding Azzi’s idea until she said, “so you wanna get all up on me?”

“Oh my god, Paige-”

Paige’s eyes twinkled in amusement, having gotten the reaction that she wanted. “I’m messing with you. Yeah, that sounds fine.” She checked her watch. “Actually, you free right now?”

Azzi looked at her in surprise. “Why? You wanna go now?”

Paige threw her shoes in her backpack and zipped it up. “The sooner the better, am I right? Your car or mine?”

“I’ll drive,” Azzi offered. She figured she might as well take as much control over the situation as she could. It would be a lot easier for her nerves to quiet down if she had the wheel in her hands, literally and figuratively.

————————

Azzi rolled down her window, trying not to steal too many glances at Paige. They were painfully silent - the only sound in the car was some terrible country music filtering in from the radio. Azzi had initially connected her AUX, but decided that she didn’t want Paige to judge her music taste.

After a few minutes, Paige had had enough. “Bro, can we turn this shit off or play something else?” she begged, her tone dripping with annoyance.

“A please would be nice,” Azzi griped, resisting the urge to turn the volume up louder just to irritate Paige even further.

Paige folded her arms, hitting her head against her seat with an exaggerated thump. “Who even listens to the radio anymore?” she muttered under her breath. “It’s like I’m in a car with my grandma.”

“I’m not putting my playlists on just so you can shit on that too,” Azzi responded dryly.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Paige muttered. Then in a louder voice, “Can I play my music then?”

“We’re almost there. You can’t sit for another two minutes?”

Paige huffed. “Where are you even taking me?” She made a show of looking around their surroundings at the streets.

“Relax, it’s a good spot. They have good tacos.” Azzi smiled at the thought of biting into one of those mouth watering, juicy, shrimp tacos with the lime salsa she loved so much. Even if Paige was being an ass, at least she’d get to eat well.

When they reached the location, Paige was pleasantly surprised. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been this. They were at an outlook on a hill, a little green park with some old town restaurants and stores nestled in the corner. The hill overlooked the city below, the entire atmosphere bathed in a soft pink light from the setting sun.

“Damn,” Paige whistled, taking it all in. “You did good for our first date.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed a light pink and she look away, tucking in one of her braids behind her ear. “This isn’t a date.”

Paige bit her lip. She loved when she got Azzi all flustered. Not because she thought it was cute, Paige reminded herself. She just liked to annoy her. “Oh really? I was gonna pay for your food, but I guess not,” Paige joked, dodging when Azzi tried to hit her.

Paige didn’t really know how the two of them so easily switched between frosty exchanges like the one on the car and then light-hearted moments like these. You guys were fickle.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Both of you had gotten your tacos, and were sitting at one of the picnic tables scattered next to the Mexican joint.

“I mean, we already got our story done.” Azzi carefully drizzled her tacos with salsa. “I think it’s the chemistry part of all it. We have to really sell that we’re dating through our behavior.”

Paige nodded in agreement. “Yeah. But we should probably set up some boundaries first.”

Azzi’s heartbeat quickened at that. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of the extent your fake relationship would go to. She’d already accepted hugging and hand holding and other basic forms of PDA - they wouldn’t be able to sell their act without it. But she shivered at the idea of there ever being a situation where you guys would have to kiss.

“I’m a pretty touchy person,” Paige admitted. “The whole team knows that. So you’re gonna have to deal with a lot of contact, or else they’ll know something’s up.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Azzi muttered. Paige looked up at her, studying her with a small smile on her face.

When she kept on smiling, the dark haired girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige was full on grinning now, as if Azzi had just the funniest joke ever. “Come here,” she motioned her head to the spot next to her on the bench.

“Go there?” Azzi rumpled her eyebrow quizzically. “My seat right now is perfectly fine, thanks.”

“Don’t be annoying.” Paige said. “Just come here.” Knowing how stubborn she was and that she likely wouldn’t stop bothering her until Azzi agreed, she gave up, pushing her food to the other side of the table and walking around to join Paige.

Easeinf her way onto the seat, she made sure to leave a gap between them. “Now what?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to the gap inbetween them and she rolled her eyes. “Why are you so far? Come here.” She reached out and wrapped her arm around Azzi’s waist, easily moving her so that the entire sides of their bodies were now flush against each other.

Azzi felt slightly lightheaded, but she blamed the feeling on the fact that she wasn’t a very touchy person in general and wasn’t used to this much contact with anyone in general. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m basically on you?”

“If you wanna sit on my lap, just say so,” Paige teased. When she was met with nothing but raised eyebrows, she said, “We gotta practice the public displays of affection and stuff. It needs to be able to come out of us naturally. We can’t be just be awkwardly holding hands, you know?”

Paige was smarter than Azzi gave her credit for, but she still didn’t like this feeling she was getting, all riled up with her heartbeat quickening from touching Paige. They were so close that Azzi could smell the perfume that the blonde must have sprayed on her neck, all sweet and fragrant.

They ate like that, without a single inch of space between them. It wasn’t as awkward as Azzi had thought it would be. It almost seemed natural, the way their bodies were so intimately pressed together. It was nice, Azzi thought, the warmth of someone next to you. She could understand why some people’s love languages were physical touch.

“Hey, are you Azzi Fudd?” Two giggly girls had approached their table. The one who had spoken had wide eyes and a breathy laugh.

“I am,” Azzi gave them a small smile. She agreed happily when they asked for photos and a signature; she loved UConn fans, and it was nice being recognized out in public every once a while. It made the sweat and tears that she’d dedicated to her sport worth something.

The girls were excitable though, and every time Azzi tried to end the conversation, they brought up another thing. Azzi could feel Paige fidgeting behind her, itching to get away from the curious but increasingly nosy questions of the girls. She tapped her foot against the pavement and sighed loudly. But Azzi ignored her, enjoying Paige’s growing exasperation.

But finally the girls seemed to take a hint, thanking Azzi profusely as they left. She looked over at Paige, who had already started throwing away her food and heading back to the car.

Furrowing her brow, she started to jog after the blonde. “Thanks for waiting,” she joked sarcastically once she caught up. Paige pursed her lips and continued walking, this time at a faster pace. “Are you trying to run away from me? Have you forgotten we’re heading to the same place?” Azzi puffed out, trying to keep up.

“You know, people don’t usually spend half of a date talking to someone who isn’t their date,” Paige responded, the harshness in her tone catching Azzi off guard.

Then realization dawned on her. Paige Bueckers was jealous. It surprised her somewhat - everyone knew Paige enjoyed being the center of attention. She just didn’t know that Paige could be jealous when it came to her attention. And she didn’t necessarily hate it.

“Hold up, Bueckers.” Azzi’s lips quirked up. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Paige snorted. “You wish. It’s just that the whole point of coming here was to work out any holes in our plan, yet we didn’t discuss it at all.” She sped up even faster, and Azzi grabbed her elbow, forcing her to spin around to face her.

“Are you mad?” Azzi asked, amusement still lingering in her eyes. When Paige didn’t respond, she stepped closer, brushing a blonde strand behind her ear. “Did you wanna practice, Paige?” She said, voice a whisper now. Deciding to have a little fun, Azzi let her gaze drop down to Paige’s lips before looking up at her through her lashes.

Paige visibly swallowed, and Azzi relished in the effect she was having on the girl. She was used to making Paige mad, making her voice rise and cheeks flush in frustration, but she could get used to this - making Paige nervous, making her heart race.

“Practice what?” Paige rasped out. Her eyes were focused on Azzi’s lips, so Azzi wet her bottom lip, letting her tongue slowly run over.

“You know,” Azzi purred, now bringing her hand up to run her fingers up Paige’s bicep. She danced her fingertips Paige’s skin, not letting it stay in one place for too long.

Paige exhaled, moving to bring Azzi closer to her before Azzi burst out with a laugh. “Oh my god,” she cackled. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

Paige stepped back, her jaw clenched. If Azzi didn’t know better, she would think that Paige looked hurt, with her eyebrows dipped down and expression rigid, but she brushed it off. There was no way Paige cared enough about kissing her to actually be disappointed.

“I guess my flirting skills are getting pretty good, eh?” Azzi teased, but the other girl didn’t even look at her. This continued the entire way home, Paige staying silent while staring out the window, their dynamic now back to its fluctuating state.

“Are you mad or something?” Azzi asked once she had parked outside of Paige’s apartment. Paige ignored her, trying to open the door. Azzi smirked as she saw Paige struggle with the handle before realizing that she’d turned child lock on.

Giving up, the taller girl crossed her arms. “No.”

“Then why are you being all moody? Is this cuz I was flirting with you?”

Paige sucked in a breath, her cheeks hollowed. “What do you want me to say?” It was a genuine question, because even Paige wasn’t sure of why she was feeling like this. Her entire body had thrummed when Azzi had looked at her lips, and for some unknown reason she’d wanted to bring Azzi closer, to see what she tasted like. It was completely and wholly alien. Up until now the only thing she’d wanted to do to Azzi was bounce a basketball off the side of her head. And now Azzi’s pretty pink mouth was stuck in her head, had been burning in her mind the entire ride back.

Azzi shrugged, and that’s when Paige decided to take back the wheel. “You were right, actually. We should practice kissing,” she announced, feeling satisfied once Azzi’s eyes widened.

“Why?” Azzi stuttered.

Paige leaned over the console, a fiery look in her eyes. “You were all confident back at the park. What happened?” She challenged.

Azzi swallowed her nervousness. Cocking her chin, she said “I’m just scared you might pass out. You were a little bit too disappointed back there when I pushed you away.”

The girls’ eyes locked in a staring contest, both of them refusing to back down.

Until Paige opened her mouth, and blurted out, “I’m going to kiss you.” Azzi stared at the older girl, shocked by the abrupt bluntness of her statement. They both continued to look at each other, and when Azzi didn’t say anything, Paige leaned in, pressing her lips to hers.

Instinctively, Azzi brought her hand up to Paige’s cheek, and Paige tilted her head slightly, leaning into her warm touch. Paige’s lips parted, and Azzi took that opportunity to brush her tongue against hers.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion. Paige couldn’t even believe that she was kissing Azzi, the girl she’d gotten into more arguments with than she’d ever had with all of her teammates combined. Azzi, who always made her head spin and blood pressure rise. Azzi, who was annoyingly good at basketball, who knew how to get under her skin and press her sensitive spots. Except now she wanted Azzi to press different sensitive spots.

Paige was gentle and her lips so much softer than Azzi had expected. As they kissed, she let her fingers slip into Paige’s hair, feeling its soft silkiness. Her nails scraped Paige’s scalp, eliciting a soft groan from the blonde’s lips.

After what seemed like forever, they broke apart, panting and staring at each other in disbelief. Azzi licked her lips, now swollen, studying Paige, whose pupils were dilated and hair slightly mussed up from Azzi’s hands. Paige’s eyes, so pretty and blue, fluttered closed for a second before she reached for the handle of the car. “It’s getting late,” she swallowed. “I should probably go.”

Without a word, Azzi unlocked the car, watching as Paige hurriedly gathered her things and left. She walked briskly away with her head down, not looking back once. Once she’d disappears into the building of her apertment, Azzi groaned, letting her forehead rest against the wheel. What the fuck had they just done?

[sirjaketkiszka]

Jake One Shot: Party Planning

You and Jake are tasked with decorating the house for Sam’s surprise party. Problem is; you can’t stand each other. With tensions high, there’s only one way to fix that.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Jake x Fem!Reader

Word count: 5,163

Warnings: 18+!!, smut, unprotected sex, slight edging, degradation, begging, dirty talk, oral f!receiving, fingering, cursing, light overstimulation, cream pie, and, of course, mediocre writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

Jake One Shot Masterpost

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Sam’s surprise party is tomorrow, and the rest of us are finally setting up last minute in Sam’s house. He’s staying at Josh’s house tonight, hopefully clueless as to what is conspiring in his own home. Jake and I, unfortunately, have been tasked with putting the decorations up.

“Okay, Danny and I are heading out to the grocery store for the party!” Josh yells from the front door, “You two behave!” He adds, leaving with Danny, the door slamming behind them.

We won’t, but not for the reason you’d think. I’ve always butted heads with Jake; we’re both stubborn, we both need to be in control, and he’s just the most irritating person I’ve ever met in my life.

Just as I’d expected, Jake is lounging on the recliner in Sam’s living room, definitely not putting up any decorations. He’s lazily strumming on an acoustic guitar that Sam keeps lying around, but never plays. “Really, Jake?” I let out a frustrated sigh, my hands resting on my hips.

“What?” He asks, playing stupid.

“You know what,” My voice grows irritated, “We’re supposed to finish setting up tonight, Jake. The party is tomorrow!”

“I did my job already,” He says with a nonchalant tone, not even looking at me. He’s mouthing quiet words as he plucks the guitar’s strings, carrying a familiar tune.

“Bringing the decorations doesn’t count,” I huff, stepping closer and grabbing the neck of the guitar, halting his strumming, “Come on, Jake, it’ll be quick.”

“Say ‘please’ then,” He replies, finally looking up at me from the chair.

“Okay, forget it,” No fucking way am I begging him to help me, “If you’re not going to help me, why are you still here?” I ask, releasing the guitar neck and stepping back, resuming my previous stance with my hands on my hips.

“What? I can’t enjoy your company?” He teases.

“Absolutely not.” I say, rolling my eyes. “We don’t ‘enjoy’ each other’s company.”

“I might.” He says while getting up from the recliner. He carefully sets the guitar back onto its stand next to the brick fireplace.

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.” My tone is dry and sarcastic.

“If you ask nicely, I might just help you.” He smirks, stepping closer to me.

“Forget it, Jake, just go.” My head tilts slightly when he gets closer, but I stand my ground regardless.

“Come on,” He pushes, nearly standing toe-to-toe with me now. “Say ‘please.’”

“No, Jake!” I yell, irritation causing the pitch of my voice to go higher, “Jesus, you are so– so– infuriating! You can’t just help set up for your little brother’s birthday party, can you?”

“Calm down, geez,” He chuckles and puts his hands up in defense, “You get so worked up over nothing.”

He can’t be serious. He started it! My right eye twitches slightly, and my heart rate begins to climb. I take a step back, “Whatever.” I scoff.

“You’re so easy to piss off,” He laughs. He fucking laughs.

“I- God, I can’t stand you,” A disbelieving laugh manages to escape me, “ I swear, it’s like your sole purpose on this planet is to get under my skin.” That makes him frown.

“And you don’t think you get under mine?” He asks and tilts his head to the side, his playful tone dissipating, overtaken by bitterness.

“No, I know I do,” I say, “But not on purpose.”

“Of course, it’s on purpose,” His voice grows a little louder, “Ever since you walked through our front door as Sam’s new friend, you’ve tried getting under my skin!”

“Me?! No, you!” My hand leaves my hip, my pointer finger poking his chest. When did he get closer? “You were rude to me the second I walked through that door!”

“Not true.” He states.

“Jake, you wouldn’t even talk to me!” I’m yelling now, my eyes wide with fury, “You acted like you hated me!”

“That’s not true,” He repeats himself, his brows furrowing as he shakes his head and stares at the ground.

“Then why? Why don’t you like me, Jake?!” I poke my finger harder into his chest.

“Because you drive me fucking crazy!” He yells, his eyes snapping up and holding mine. His outburst causes my eyes to widen further in surprise, and my mouth hangs open for a moment. I take a step back.

“You drive me crazier!” I yell back, scoffing. He’s quiet now.

Taking my finger off his chest, I take another step back, gaining some distance between us. I intend to leave the room, needing some space from him. Just as I turn away from him, I feel his hand grip my bicep, pulling me against his chest. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, his lips are on mine in a firm, angry kiss. A surprised, muffled yelp leaves my throat, and I yank myself off of him.

“Jake, what the fuck are you doing?!” I ask demandingly, my chest heaving from mixed emotions; anger, surprise, confusion, and– arousal.

“I don’t know,” He steps closer, and I don’t move back, “but I don’t care, either.” His grip is still on my upper arm, calloused fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He leans back in, his lips just ghosting over mine, his soft pants through parted lips cascading warm breaths on mine, “Is this okay?” He asks sincerely.

“Yes,” I rush out in a huff.

“Good,” He says before firmly planting his lips on mine. My eyes flutter close, and my arms desperately wrap around his neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss, releasing his previous hold on my arm. My lips move swiftly against his. The kiss is sloppy, hungry, and needy. His hands search every curve; my waist, my back, and my ass before coming up to rest on the sides of my face.

His tongue brushes against my lower lip, and I part my lips slightly, letting him invade my mouth. We both moan when the taste of our spit floods our senses. He tastes faintly of cigar smoke, and rum, the sensation shooting to my heating core.

Our breathing becomes heavy, the air shooting from our nostrils, refusing to break the kiss. Growing impatient, he gathers my lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it then tugging slightly. Needing to breathe, I pull away, resting my forehead on his. We’re both panting with our hands still on grasping at each other.

“Jake-” I begin to speak.

“I need to fuck you,” He cuts me off, his hands traveling from my face to my waist, pulling me so our hips are aligned. I let out a small gasp when I feel his erection pushing against my lower belly. My face flushes, rosy hues forming in my lower peripheral.

“We can’t–” I say, making him frown, “Not here.” I quickly add.

“Yes, here,” He urges.

“But what if–”

“They won’t.” He answers before I can ask my question.

“Okay,” I respond in a single breath, and he doesn’t wait a beat to quickly guide me to the couch behind me, opposite to the recliner. His lips are on mine again as he sits me down. He doesn’t sit down with me, however, because he gets down on his knees in front of me, in between my legs. I break our kiss, “What are you–”

“Take your shirt off,” He demands. Without thinking, my hands immediately fly to the bottom of my shirt, bunching the hem and pulling it over my body. I fling my shirt to the floor and watch as Jake’s pupils dilate. His gaze is fixed on my heaving chest, my bra still on.

Leaning forward, he cups both of my breasts, his face just centimeters away from them. I feel him press soft kisses along my cleavage and sucking on the curves of my breasts. My breath grows shaky when his tongue licks up from my breast to my neck, leaving a wet strip behind.

He gently blows on my neck, the cold trail of spit sending a chill down my spine. He’s leaving sloppy kisses along my collarbone, nipping in all the right places. Sweet moans tangle with heavy breaths when he sucks lightly on the base of my neck, being careful not to leave any visible marks.

Slowly, his kisses trail down from my neck to my breasts, and even lower, to my stomach. He stops above the waistband of my pants, his hands releasing from my breasts as he toys with the button of my jeans. I allow him to unbutton them, but he pulls the zipper down agonizingly slow.

His eyes become dark at the sight of my panties peeking through, his bottom lip catching in between his teeth. “Can I?” He asks, referring to taking my pants off.

When I nod, he wastes no time hooking his fingers into the hem of my jeans, yanking them down. I lift my hips to allow him to take them off, leaving me in my underwear and bra. His eyes slowly rake over my entire body; my chest rising and falling rapidly, my stomach clenching in anticipation, and my legs spread open in front of him.

Placing his hands on the tops of my knees, he leans forward, his head between my thighs, and places a kiss on my clothed cunt. A sharp gasp enters my lungs as my back slightly arches off the couch, a wave of heat rushing to my belly.

“So sensitive,” He says quietly to himself. He turns his head and presses soft kisses on my inner thigh, his teeth nibbling on the doughy flesh in between kisses. My knees twitch beside him, aching to close around his head. He smirks when he looks up at me; no doubt, extremely flushed, a panting mess, and eyebrows knitting together. One of his hands leaves my knee and hooks around the crotch of my underwear, pulling it to the side to expose my pussy. “And so wet.” He adds with amusement on his tongue.

A small whine is caught in my throat as I wait for him to do something— anything. His eyes leave mine when he leans back in, his tongue swiping a long, thorough lick up the slit of my cunt. His eyes roll slightly before closing, and he hums in satisfaction. He’s quick to lick again– an extended sigh passes my lips and descends over my chest.

“Jake,” I whisper his name, my eyelids fluttering at the sensation.

“You taste so good,” His response is muffled between my thighs, “Lift your legs for me.” I eagerly nod at his request, and his other hand leaves my knee, allowing me to pull my legs up to my chest, exposing more of myself to him. His free hand comes to rest on the back of my thigh, pinning me in place as his tongue pokes at my entrance. He looks up at me, watching as my face contorts to reflect my pleasure.

His eyes leave mine once more as he focuses on my needy cunt. He pushes his tongue deeper inside of me, his nose resting snugly against my aching clit. The action causes me to inhale a sharp gasp, his eyes flashing up and lips twitching with mischief.

He starts moving his head in a steady rhythm, each pump nudging his nose against my clit, making my pussy clench around his pointed tongue.

“Fuck, Jake, that feels so good,” I sigh, my eyes closing in pure bliss and my hands flying into his hair. He hums in response when I tug at the roots, encouraging his movements. In a swift movement, he pushes his tongue in as far as it’ll go, slightly shaking his head to nuzzle his nose onto my clit. “Fuck! I’m gonna come!” I cry out, my back arching off the couch.

With that, he pulls away, causing my eyes to shoot open to look at him with a pleased smirk on his face. His lips are a darker shade of pink, and they’re plump. My juices soak his chin and nose, the sight making my pussy clench around nothing. “Do you deserve it?” He asks.

“What?” I frown, a little confused.

“Do you deserve to come?” He clarifies.

“I don’t—” I try to collect my thoughts.

“Ask nicely,” He smirks, recalling his earlier words, “and I might just let you.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, huffing out a frustrated breath.

“Just say ‘please’” He smiles, pressing a kiss to my thigh, “Don’t you want it?”

“Yes,” I sigh, my eyelids fluttering close at his affection.

“Say it,” He continues peppering soft kisses on my inner thighs, alternating between the two. His eyes are fixed on my face, waiting for my response.

“Please, Jake,” I beg hesitantly, opening my eyes to look at him when I say, “Make me come.”

“Good girl,” He whispers, his attention drawing back to my center. He leans in, his mouth immediately on my clit, sucking harshly.

“God, yes,” I gasp, my back arching further off the couch, making my hips grind onto his mouth. They continue to move impulsively against his lips, creating constant friction. I feel the heat pooling in my lower belly, sending knowing pulses straight to my core. “More,” I silently beg.

The hand resting on the back of my thigh comes down to my entrance, and I feel a slight pressure. His index and middle fingers slide in easily, my walls immediately stretching to invite them in. Without missing a beat, he starts pumping his fingers slowly, curling them upward to brush against my G-spot. With the mixed feeling of the pulsing on my clit and his fingers fucking me, my climax is near the edge, waiting to be pushed over.

With my hands still in his hair, they pull him deeper into me, my hips still grinding against him. When I tug harder at his roots, he groans into me, the sensation sending vibrations straight to my clit.

“Fuck, yes, Jake!” I yell, a gasping, panting mess. The grinding of my hips stalls, my orgasm hitting me hard. The tightened coil in my stomach snaps, sending ripples of heat down my entire body. My body spasms, the waves of my climax causing my hips to jerk against his lips even more. Desperate cries leave my lips, my eyes closing and eyebrows scrunching at the final pulses of my release.

His fingers continue to move slowly inside of me, dragging out the remaining bits of my orgasm. He plants a lingering kiss on my swollen clit, pulling a quiet, tired yelp out of me. When he pulls away and removes his fingers, his lips shine with my release, and his fingers glisten.

“Taste it,” He suggests, his eyes watching my curious expression. He brings his fingers to my lips, resting his fingertips on my bottom lip. “Open.” He orders.

Reluctantly, I open my mouth slightly and allow him to push his fingers in. My release immediately floods my tastebuds, and his eyes intently watch for a reaction. When his fingers reach the back of my throat, he holds them there. “Suck.” He orders again, my eyes watering.

I do as he says and suck on his fingers. He pulls them out slightly and pushes them back in, the tips of his fingers resting on the very back of my tongue. I hum, trying to distract myself from the intrusion, and to keep myself from gagging.

When he finally pulls his fingers from my mouth, I try to suck in a breath, but his lips are immediately on mine when he kneels up from his position. I moan into his mouth when he pushes his tongue into mine, chasing the taste of myself on my tongue. When my tongue tangles with his, he groans, needy hands finding and gripping my waist. He turns me and lays me down so that I’m lying horizontally on the couch.

Our lips continue to move against each other with heavy breaths released from our noses. When he lays on top of me, he separates my legs, settling between them. I inhale a sharp breath when I feel his firm bulge press against my cunt, now covered by my underwear again.

His hips grind into me, causing his bulge to rub against my spread cunt. I let out a moan, but the kiss immediately swallows it. He keeps a steady rhythm, and continues to grind as we hungrily kiss each other; nipping and sucking at each other’s plump-kissed lips. The remaining feeling of my previous orgasm adds to the sensation, the overstimulation causing me to whimper.

“Just listen to you,” He whispers on my lips, “so sweet.” He mumbles, firmly grinding his hips again, causing me to swallow a loud gasp.

“Jake,” I whimper.

“Yes?” He asks, a cocky smirk on his lips, “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, please,” I shamelessly beg.

“Yeah?” He grinds again. “Is that what you want, baby?” Baby?

“Yes,” I desperately sigh.

“Since you asked so nicely,” He taunts. His grip on my waist tightens and he flips me around, causing me to rest on my stomach. His hand swats my ass, making me yelp in surprise. I feel his hands move from my waist to my hips, pulling upward so my ass is snug against his hips. I hear a quiet groan come from him, prompting me to look over my shoulder. His gaze is on my backside, his hands absentmindedly rubbing in circles over my hips and ass. “You look so fucking good like this.” He says, now looking at me.

“Please, Jake,” I beg, growing needier.

“I couldn’t get you to say please before,” He teases, “Now you can’t stop saying it.” A dark chuckle leaves his throat. He’s still fully clothed as he’s admiring me, who’s half-naked and trembling with want. Like he read my mind, he swiftly takes his shirt off over his head, presenting his attractive physique. His upper arm muscles flex with every movement, and his soft abs tighten as well. Unable to keep my eyes off of him, my bottom lip catches in between my teeth.

Struggling to reach behind me, I try to slip my underwear off my hips. Although, just as my fingers hook into the elastic waistband, his hands catch mine, stopping me. “Keep them on.”

“But–” I start.

He shushes me, guiding my hands to rest on either side of my head. His hands take their time returning to my hips, gliding over my shoulders, spine, and curves. In the process, he unclips my bra, the straps lying loosely on my shoulders.

The anticipation is killing me when I feel a finger pull my panties to the side, presenting my wet cunt to him. He lets out a heavy exhale, the breath cascading down my ass and arched back. His other hand leaves my hip, and he fumbles with the fly of his pants.

I watch as he unzips his jeans, and successfully unbuttons them with one hand. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down. I swear I feel my pupils dilate and my eyes darken when I see glimpses of his shaft. When he finally frees his cock and pulls his pants down to his knees, an involuntary groan escapes me in a needy breath.

His cock immediately springs upward without the confines of his boxers and jeans. Gripping his shaft, he lazily strokes it. I look at his face but his eyes are already on mine, his mouth slightly agape and eyebrows knitting in concentration. His bicep flexes with every stroke of his cock, and precum leaks out of the tip.

“Do you want me to fuck you, baby?” He asks sweetly, though I’m sure it’s insincere.

“Yes,” I rush out, “Please.”

“How bad do you need it?” He urges.

“So bad, Jake,” I whine, “I need you to fuck me so bad.”

“That’s fucking right,” He nudges his hips forward, his tip pressing against my entrance, “You do.” His strokes on his cock have stalled, and he’s now focusing on rubbing up and down my slit with his tip.

“Just fuck me, Jake,” I quietly cry out, “Please.”

“Poor thing,” He mocks. When his tip swipes to my entrance again, he pauses and lines his cock up with it. My hands clench the couch beneath me when he pushes his hips against me, his cock entering me slowly, inch by inch. I feel my walls stretch around him, the sensation causing me to breathe deeply. A groan of relief exits him when he fully sinks into me, the base of his shaft completely consumed by me. “So fucking wet. Feels so good.” He whispers to himself.

After a moment of staying still, he picks up a slow rhythm, sliding in and out of me thoroughly to allow myself to adjust. With every pump, there is less resistance, and eventually, he’s able to thrust into me with no problem. We’re both panting when he decides to pick up the pace, his hands finding and gripping my hips for leverage.

His hold on me is strong, his grip tightening with each pump, and the sound of his hips smacking against my ass fills the living room. A string of incoherent moans and curses leave my lips, and concentrated grunts catch in his throat.

“Faster, Jake,” I plead.

His pace picks up and the tip of his cock brushes in all the right places. My grip on the couch tightens with the force of his thrusts driving me deeper into the soft cushions. His speed is relentless, his balls slapping against my clit with every grinding force.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” My words come out in a chanting rhythm with the pitch of my voice growing high when my second climax threatens to snap in my core.

“Tell me how good this feels,” He says behind me, his voice straining.

“It feels so fucking good, Jake,” I cry.

“How do I make you feel?” He adds.

“So good,” I whine, “You make me feel so good, Jake.”

“So pathetic,” He mumbles, “begging and whining for me to fuck you.” His chuckle is sinister, “You’ll never be able to forget what it feels like when I fuck you.”

“Jake–”

“Shut up,” He grunts through bared teeth, one hand leaving my hip and pushing on the side of my head, making my head sink further into the couch cushions. “No more talking.”

He keeps his rapid pace, our skin sticking and slapping together. The sounds of him on me and the sounds of his rough grunts fill my ears, the sensation going straight to my gut.

“This will never be enough,” He’s rambling to himself, his disappointed tone carrying through steady pants, “I will always want more.”

His confusing words cause my eyes to drift back at him, his hand still pressing against the side of my face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw hangs somewhat open; similar to what I’ve seen on stage when he plays. A rush of pleasure shoots to my cunt.

He removes his hand from the side of my face and returns to holding both of my hips. His thrusts are becoming sloppier, signaling that his release is soon. He desperately grips my hips, exhausted grunts brushing past his plump lips.

“I’ve dreamt of doing this for so long, baby,” He admits, “You have no idea.”

“Jake,” I say his name because it’s the only thing I can remember.

“It takes everything in me not to touch you,” He adds while panting, “It’s torture being around you.” I moan in response. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His confession weighs heavily on me, but I can’t collect any thoughts as my second climax is right on the edge, “Jake, I’m going to come,” My breath hitches, “Please.”

“Not yet,” He says and quickly pulls out of me. An exasperated groan exits me at the loss of contact.

“What?” I say through an irritated breath.

“I need to see it,” He clarifies, flipping me over onto my back, “I need to see you come on my cock.”

Watching intently and impatiently, he finally removes my underwear and bra, and my legs spread to urge him to reenter me. He discards the clothing, and rests his hands on either side of my head.

With my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms hooked around his neck, his cock pushes back inside of me and we both moan in relief. His thrusts are slow this time, his hips slightly rolling with each pass and pushing deeper inside of me.

“Faster, Jake,” I urge.

“No, baby,” He soothes, “Let me take my time, I’ve waited for so long.”

“Please, Jake,” I beg.

His hands come up to release my hold on his neck and he moves my arms to rest beside both sides of my head. Interlocking our fingers, he holds my hands and arms in my place. He looks down at me, scanning my features while maintaining his thorough pace. His hair falls to one side of his face, the tips of his strands tickling my cheek. He looks magnificent, causing my pussy to clench around him, earning a smirk from him.

My eyes hold his when I finally feel my second orgasm return, my legs tightening aroundhis waist. My hands clutch his as needy sighs escape my lungs. “I’m so close, Jake, please go faster,” I beg again, “Josh and Danny will be back any minute,” I add, hoping to persuade him.

“Who cares,” He smiles smugly, “Nothing is more important than this. How good I make you feel,” He thrusts hard, “How fucking wet you are,” Another thrust, “How sexy you look when you come.” A harder, deeper thrust.

His final push sends me over the edge, “Holy shit!” I gasp. My eyes close and my jaw opens, letting out loud cries.

“Eyes on me,” He begs through clenched teeth, “Let me see you.”

When I open my eyes, his gaze is already fixed on mine. My walls frantically flutter around him, squeezing his cock with each thrust. Then, I feel it. A strained groan gets caught in the back of Jake’s throat and his cock twitches inside of me. His eyes don’t leave mine, though, as we both ride out our orgasms.

His pupils are blown out, and his irises are just barely visible. I feel his hips stutter, spurts of his cum coating my walls. Just when I think he’s done, he resumes his deep thrusts, milking the rest of our orgasms out. I feel his cum gush around his shaft, leaking out of my entrance with each additional thrust.

The final waves of my orgasm cause me to spasm against him with sweet, quiet moans transitioning into tired sighs. His husky groans mix with deep breaths.

He releases my hands and leans back, causing my legs to unwrap themselves around him. His hands rest on my hips as he looks down, watching his cock slide into me, our fluids mixing and dripping out of me. “Fuck,” He whispers under his breath, “Just look at you. You’re such a mess, baby.”

A whimper holds in my throat when he pulls out, but just barely stops when his tip is still inside. When he pushes back in, the whimper leaves my throat, causing Jake to flash a smirk. He does this a few more times as his cock grows soft from his orgasm.

Finally, he pulls out of me, the loss of contact causing my walls to clench. He sits back on his heels, his eyes drifting down my entire body and watching as his cum leaks out of me. He leans down slightly, planting tender kisses on my bent knees.

“Let me clean you up,” He finally says, getting up from the couch. He pulls his boxers and pants up, disappearing to the nearest bathroom. When he returns, he has a wet paper towel, doused in warm water. He intently wipes up his cum from my entrance, trailing down to the couch where my ass rests.

“All done,” He says, getting back up and presumably discarding the used paper towel. When he returns, he grabs my hands and lifts me into a sitting position and sits across from me. Feeling awkward, I reach for my discarded shirt and pull it over my head.

He’s watching me like he’s waiting for me to say that I regret it. I don’t.

Sitting quietly, we both just stare at each other. “Jake-” I finally speak.

“Yeah?” His attention is already, and has always, been on me.

“I don’t think I want this to be a one time thing.” I admit, my gaze traveling down to my fidgeting hands.

“Hey,” He says softly, grabbing my attention, “Neither do I.” He reaches over and pulls me into his side, letting me rest my head on his shoulder, “I meant what I said. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Really?” I smile, looking up at him.

“Of course.” He kisses the top of my head. We fall silent for a moment.

“So,” I pause, “what now?” I ask.

Just as he’s about to answer, we hear the sound of keys jingling at the front door. We both look at each other, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. He scrambles to get off the couch and grabs his shirt as I rush to grab my underwear and pants, forcing them up my legs.

Jake crashes into the recliner, pulling his shirt over his head. Both of our hands fly to our hair as we try to smoothen out any kinks and knots.

We attempt to act nonchalant when Josh and Danny enter the living room, “You guys didn’t get anything done!” Josh says dramatically, looking around the undecorated room.

“Did you guys argue the entire time?” Danny asks, frowning, and disappearing into the kitchen.

“Yep, it's all his fault.” I say, my fingers coming up to my mouth to conceal a smile. Jake does the same as his eyes find mine.

“Well, we really need to get this stuff up, you guys,” Josh declares, “So, get up!” He orders when neither of us move from our seats.

Jake and I rush to stand up, trying to avoid each other while we walk to the kitchen to grab the decorations on the dining table. Danny is busy unloading the groceries into the fridge and doesn’t pay us any mind. We focus our attention on unpacking the decorations, our eyes occasionally glancing up at each other with guilty smirks pulling at our lips.

“Why is there a bra behind the couch?” Josh calls out to us.

Jake and I snap our heads up fully, looking at each other with agape jaws and wide eyes. Danny looks toward us, to the living room, and back to us. His eyes widen as well, and he begins to laugh. Fuck.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

This unfortunately is not my greatest work, so apologies if it’s lacking. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed!

Tags:

[dioslesbianwife]

Heya!! Hopefully this isn't a bother but it's god of the dead anon again, really liked it :)

May I request Kars (or all the joefoes if you'd like) with a pillarman reader? (Who is basically a type of pillarman but adapted for the water.) That is rowdy, chaotic and really bloodthirsty?

(hopefully not too specific for ya :))

im happy you liked it! it's def not a bother- thank you for requesting and hope you enjoy- (also the more specific the better)

First Impressions & Dynamic

Kars is intrigued yet somewhat irritated when he first meets you. He’s the type to appreciate elegance, intelligence, and control- things you lack entirely. You’re a force of nature, chaotic and bloodthirsty, unbothered by the patience and grandeur the Pillar Men usually exhibit.

He watches you wreak havoc, treating battles like sport, reveling in bloodshed and destruction with a toothy grin and wild laughter, and he can’t decide if he admires or despises it. You kill for the fun of it, while he sees it as a necessary step toward perfection.

Your affinity for water is a strange but useful trait. You’re faster and deadlier than him in aquatic environments, which both impresses and irritates him, he’s used to being the strongest, after all. The idea that you could outmaneuver him in some way makes his competitive streak flare up.

Your Fighting Style vs. His

Kars is a strategist- cold, calculating, and ruthless. You, on the other hand, are raw instinct, an unhinged predator who enjoys messy, primal combat.

He watches in disdain as you rip enemies apart with your bare hands, painting yourself in their blood and laughing like a maniac. When he tells you to be more refined, you just grin and ask if he’s jealous you’re having more fun than him.

Your adaptability to water makes you nearly impossible to kill in that environment. When you drag a victim into the depths, Kars doesn’t even bother looking down, he just waits for the blood to surface.

He’ll never admit it outright, but he enjoys watching you fight, there’s a certain raw beauty in your brutality, a reminder of what true, unrestricted power looks like. Sometimes, he wonders if he’s the one who’s too restrained.

Relationship & Power Struggles

You challenge Kars in ways no one else does. He’s used to followers, to reverence, but you? You bite him when he annoys you, challenge his orders, and taunt him when he tries to assert control.

He tries to impose dominance, but you only listen when it amuses you, which infuriates him to no end. He’s used to being worshipped, and yet here you are, playfully dunking him underwater and swimming away laughing before he can retaliate.

When he does try to punish you, whether that be pinning you down or using force, you love it- not in the obedient way he expects, but in the sense that you see it as just another fight to win. You laugh in his face when he tries to lecture you, daring him to do worse.

He eventually learns that you obey in your own way- if he wants something done, he has to appeal to your bloodthirst and love of chaos. The moment he phrases it as a hunt or a challenge, you’re all in.

Affection & Bonding

Kars is not one for open affection, but you don’t care about dignity or appearances- if you want to grab his face and bite his cheek affectionately, you do it. If you want to tackle him into a river just to annoy him, you do it.

You don’t take his grandeur seriously, which is both infuriating and refreshing to him. He’s grown accustomed to fear and reverence, but you? You lick his face and tell him he tastes like arrogance.

He claims to hate your rowdiness, but when you disappear for too long, he gets irritable and restless- the moment you return, covered in blood and boasting about your latest kill, he lets out a long sigh and pretends he wasn’t concerned.

Aside from the other Pillar men, you are the only person who can physically keep up with him, and he adores that, even if he won’t say it. When you fight, it’s genuine, exhilarating, and real- it reminds him of what true strength is supposed to feel like.

Despite his cold demeanor, you force him to loosen up. He never thought he’d find himself laughing mid-battle, but with you, it happens more often than he’d like to admit.

Annoying Kars on Purpose

You poke at his ego constantly. When he’s trying to be dramatic and grand, you blow bubbles underwater to mock him or start clapping sarcastically.

He hates that you treat fights like games- you’ll toy with weaker enemies, dragging them underwater and letting them surface just to see them panic, while Kars watches in irritated silence.

You drench him in water just to see his annoyed face. One time, he was standing on a ledge, giving an important speech, and you hit him with a powerful wave. He froze in place, dripping wet, glaring at you while you howled with laughter.

You flirt in the most ridiculous ways. While he prefers cold, calculated seduction, you just grab his face and bite him. Or worse- you pick him up and toss him into the ocean just to “show affection.”

“I could kill you, you know,” he’ll say when you annoy him too much.

“You’d miss me too much.”

He doesn’t answer, but the fact that he doesn’t argue speaks volumes.

[happy74827]

I came to make present you a proposition: Gideon and Reader but they’re enemies to lovers, you know sexual tension, can’t be away from each other but are always butting heads, ironic but maybe not that ironic flirting completely over the top but neither want to swallow their pride and admit they wanna fuck

Yeah I think that’d be neat

Burning Rage

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You swear you hate each other, but you can't help but find yourselves drawn to one another, despite all the arguing.

WC: 2701

Category: Enemies/Lovers, First Kiss

I'm so sorry this took so long. Life has been HECTIC, but I'm finally getting these fics done. Anyways, you’re absolutely right. This is neat and hopefully you like what I wrote (despite the fact that I am not proofreading it cuz I’m lazy 😁)

『••✎••』

You and Gideon… well, let’s just say your first meeting isn't a pleasant one.

He was a pretentious, egotistical prick with the personality of a bag of wet shit, and you absolutely despised him.

Not only was he an asshole, but he was an asshole who had the most infuriating ability to get under your skin and push all your buttons, no matter what you did to prevent it.

The man was like a disease; you tried to keep away from him as much as possible, but if you weren’t careful, you ended up coming into contact with him, and no matter how much you washed, you couldn’t quite seem to get him off your skin.

The worst thing about it all was that everyone was in love with him. He could do no wrong, and no matter what he said or did, the people around him hung off his every word and were practically tripping over themselves to do what he said.

He was so smug about it, too, the absolute bastard. He knew he had everyone in his clutches, and he reveled in it, basking in the attention and praise he got.

The man thought he was god's gift to humanity, and he made sure everyone else knew it.

It was sickening.

You were the only person he couldn’t quite break down and mold into his perfect little doll. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he said, you never gave him the satisfaction of seeing your cave, even just a little.

No, you were stubborn and headstrong, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his claws into you.

He'd be lying if he said that didn’t intrigue him.

You were the first person who had ever given him the cold shoulder, and it was frustrating him beyond belief. He'd always been able to make people bend to his will, whether it was through his natural charisma or by using the information he'd gathered on them to make their lives miserable if they didn't.

But you... You were a challenge, and he hated and loved it all at once.

It was so different. He had no control over what happened between the two of you, and while the concept was strange and unknown, he found himself becoming obsessed with trying to break you down and get a reaction out of you.

And so, it began.

The flirting started out as a joke. He didn’t mean anything by it at first. He just wanted to get a reaction out of you, see those pretty cheeks flush a deep shade of red, and hear you stutter and struggle to come up with a retort.

You were good, though; you always had a quick-witted reply ready to fire back at him, and he had to admit, it was fun.

It was a nice little game for the both of you, even if it was just to let out your frustrations with each other and try and gain some sort of upper hand over the other.

But then... The lines became blurred, and things got messy.

When you were alone, your words held more weight. Your insults weren't so lighthearted, and the way you said his name had his heart racing. He wondered if you realized how your voice dropped and sounded more breathless when you addressed him.

It was like you were whispering a dirty secret to him, and something about that excited him in ways that made him feel guilty and ashamed.

Your fights turned from petty squabbles to something that was almost... sensual in nature.

The way you stood so close, faces inches apart, the tension between the two of you almost palpable, and the way you looked at him... You were looking at him like you wanted to devour him, and that alone was enough to make him weak in the knees.

Your conversations were filled with hidden meanings and implications, and there was so much sexual tension he could have cut through it with a knife.

He was addicted, and he was certain that you felt the same way, from the way your eyes roamed his body, lingering on his lips, and the way your hands would ghost over his arms and chest whenever he was close.

He wanted you, and he was pretty sure you wanted him, too.

The only problem was neither of you was willing to admit it or give in, and so, the dance continued.

“I swear to god, Graves, if you don't quit following me around like a lost puppy, I'll break your fucking legs," You growled, glaring at the man trailing behind you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Why, darling, you know you don't mean that. After all, I'm sure you'd miss my presence and my company, wouldn't you?" He hummed, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes and scream at him.

"I think I'd be able to find a way to survive without your charming presence," You snarked, turning on your heel and facing him, "Now, go and bother someone else because I have places to be."

You brushed past him, not sparing him another glance, and he chuckled before reaching out and grabbing your arm.

"Don't be like that. I just want to talk. Is that so wrong?" He murmured, his tone low and his gaze dark.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Let go of me, or I'll rip your fucking hand off," You tugged on your arm, trying to pull yourself free from his grasp, but his grip was tight and unyielding.

"You know I'm stronger than you, sweetheart.” He whispered gently, “Don't waste your energy.”

“You—” A sharp yank cut you off, and before you knew what was happening, Gideon was dragging you away from the busy street and into a dark alley.

He didn’t let go of you, not until the two of you were out of sight and away from prying eyes.

He stood with his back to the street, keeping his eyes trained on you, and you mirrored his actions, glaring daggers at him.

There was an uneasy silence, and neither of you dared to speak, too afraid that the wrong words would be the trigger to set the other off.

Finally, Gideon sighed and broke the silence, his tone tired and exasperated, "You never make things easy, do you? Why can't you just let things be easy?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings, Sweetheart?" You sneered, and he shook his head, "Maybe if you weren't such an arrogant, narcissistic bastard, I wouldn't have a problem with you."

"Maybe if you'd just let me talk to you without throwing a hissy fit, I wouldn't have to resort to drastic measures," He shot back, and you glared at him.

"Why should I? Everything out of your mouth is utter bullshit." You stepped towards him, and the two of you were chest to chest, his head tilted down, and your eyes locked on his.

"You're so annoying," He grumbled, and you grinned, "Why can't you be like the rest of the women around here? They’re the ones with some common sense."

"Common sense? If they were smart, they'd stay the hell away from you."

"I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment," He mused. He had a smug look on his face, and you were overcome with the urge to punch him.

"Shut up. I don't want to hear another word from you."

"That's a lie. You love hearing my voice; it's like a beautiful melody. It's what keeps you going, day after day," He drawled, and you could feel his warm breath tickling your face and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “A soft lullaby, a beautiful serenade, that has the power to captivate any audience. I bet my voice plays in your dreams every night, keeping you awake and leaving you wanting more."

"Shut. Up." You repeated, but this time, your words were much less convincing, and he chuckled, his eyes lighting up.

"You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. I could tell you what I know about you and what goes on inside that pretty little head of yours, but that would spoil the surprise and ruin the mystery," He leaned closer, his lips hovering above your ear, "And we can't have that, can we?"

"You're delusional, just like the idea that G-Man Media is the best there is. You're the one who has the delusion and fantasy of thinking the world succumbs to you. You are nothing, Graves; you are a pathetic, spineless, weak-minded man-child who can't even face reality.”

“Listen here, Buddy—”

“Oh, struck a nerve, did I? Do I need to remind you that no one, and I mean no one, wants to work with you? They do it because you have money, and if they want their business to succeed, they have to kiss your ass. But once that money runs out, and it will, you will be a nobody again, just like you were when you were a sad, lonely little boy, sitting in your room, crying and whining, and wondering why no one would play with you."

Gideon’s smooth expression fell, and for a moment, he was stunned into silence, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

"How... How dare you!" He snarled, his voice rising.

"How dare I? You're the one who dragged me down here and forced me to talk to you when I told you multiple times I didn't want to. If you didn’t want the truth, then you should have stayed away." You spat, and he scowled, his face twisted with rage.

"You—"

"I know. I'm an awful, terrible person, but at least I can admit it. Can you?"

He froze, his mouth open, but the words stuck in his throat, and he looked away, avoiding your gaze.

"That's what I thought," You smirked, "Don't worry, Graves, I won't hold it against you.”

You took this as your time to leave. He didn’t have a comeback, and he didn't seem interested in talking anymore. So, with his head turned away and his back to you, you started to walk away.

You were barely five steps away when you felt a hand on your wrist, and your heart jumped into your throat, your fight or flight instinct kicking in.

In one fluid motion, you swung your arm around to strike him, but he caught it with ease and grabbed the other one, his grip on your wrists strong and unyielding, no matter how hard you struggled.

No words were spoken, just a few pained grunts and strained gasps and the sound of shuffling and scuffing feet as you tried to pull away and escape his hold.

But you failed and gave up when you noticed that he wasn’t glaring at you anymore. Instead, he looked conflicted and lost, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions and a troubled frown on his lips.

The two of you remained in that position, standing mere inches apart; the only sound filling the air was the sound of your heavy breathing and the occasional whimper or grunt that escaped one of you.

"Let me go, Graves." You whispered, and his grip tightened on your wrists, and his eyes met yours again, the look in them almost pleading.

"Let me go," You repeated, but your words were softer this time, and your tone was less forceful and more imploring.

He didn’t speak or make a sound, but his grip loosened. If you tugged just a little, you would be able to slip free. He would let you leave.

And yet, you didn’t.

Your body was telling you to leave, to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but your mind and your heart were saying something else entirely.

His touch burned your skin, and it left a pleasant, tingling feeling wherever he touched.

You felt his breath on your face, and it made you shiver and your stomach churn as your brain tried to decipher what was happening and what it meant.

“Gideon…” You mumbled, and his eyes widened a tad, but he still didn’t say anything.

It was the first time you’d called him by his first name, and you didn't know why, but the atmosphere had changed. It was less hostile and more intimate, in a way.

"You're so infuriating," You whispered, "You're a smug, arrogant, conceited asshole, and I can't stand being around you."

"You're not exactly a joy to be around, either." He said, his tone lacking the usual venom and arrogance. His voice was soft, like that lullaby he'd mentioned earlier.

"But you're so..." You trailed off, unable to find the right word.

"I'm so what?" He prompted, but his question was more like a plea, and his eyes were hopeful and shining, a hint of something you couldn't quite identify hidden within their depths.

"You're just... So..." You bit your lip and looked away, unable to meet his intense, piercing gaze, "You're so..."

"So...?" He pressed, leaning in closer.

He was close, so close, the tips of your noses were almost touching, and the distance between your bodies was nearly non-existent.

He was waiting for your answer, his eyes searching yours, and his body frozen in place. He wasn't moving, not an inch, and neither were you.

You were at a crossroads, and no matter which direction you went in, there was a chance it would come back to bite you in the ass later on.

So, you made a decision.

You surged forward and crashed your lips against his, kissing him hard.

He was stunned for a moment, his hands releasing your wrists and his eyes wide, but after a moment, he seemed to relax and kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer.

It was rough and messy, teeth and tongues clashing together, and lips and cheeks being bruised and bitten, as the two of you finally let loose and indulged in each other.

You didn't think and didn't stop to consider the implications of what was happening or how things would change afterward.

The only thing on your mind was Gideon, and the way his hands were roaming your body, and the way he tasted, and the way he made your skin tingle and your insides burn with desire.

You could only focus on the present and what was happening between the two of you as his tongue danced with yours and his teeth nibbled on your lower lip, sending a pleasant shudder through your body.

He broke the kiss and buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, and his hot breath against your skin was making you dizzy and lightheaded.

"Gideon," You whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, on the dark locks as his lips sucked and nipped at your skin, and left a trail of dark red marks in their wake.

His glasses were pressing into your cheek, and he pulled away, his breath heavy and his hair a mess.

"Hold still," He said, and before you could respond, he reached up and pulled the offending articles off his face.

His eyes were a stunning shade of hazel, and they were filled with lust and desire, his pupils blown wide and a deep, dark look in them.

You were mesmerized, and he smiled softly as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

"What did I say? I knew my voice would play a part in your dreams, one way or another," He hummed, a smug look on his face.

"I will break your nose and put you on your knees.” You spoke with your usual amount of venom.

To most, it would sound like a threat, but Gideon was able to read between the lines, and with that familiar smirk on his lips, he pulled you closer, his hands cupping your cheeks and his face inches from yours.

"Is that a promise?"

[yallthemwitches]

Level Headed

Posting @jilytoberfest Day 27, prompt “What if it doesn’t work” “What if it does work” early because I have to catch a train at 5am and the internet can be spotty.

Hopefully this fluffy little piece will make up for the soul crushing sadness of my Day 26....

“Please Lily, be my girlfriend,” he repeats. He’s using her name as ammunition, a clear delineation that they are no longer enemies or even acquaintances. To be fair, he has every reason to: at this point he probably knows her body as well as she does. “We’ve been through this, their is just a lot—” “Yes, I remember,” he cuts in, unwavering. “--and I have deliberated all of the pros and cons. So again, we should become serious.”

AO3 Here

“I don’t appreciate being cornered like this, Potter.”

She would try to gesture around at the tiny enclosed alcove he has shoved them in, but there is hardly enough room for the both of them, much less her extended wingspan. 

“You didn’t seem to mind it the last few times we were in here.” 

She can’t see it, but she can tell he is making that face—the one that is teasing and sexy and infuriating all wrapped into one. 

“Do you plan to tell me what is so pressing that you had to pull me from potions—”

“Be my girlfriend,” he says simply, voice firm. It’s too dark for her to read his face, but something in her desperately wants to know if he’s blushing.

“James—”

“Please Lily, be my girlfriend,” he repeats. He’s using her name as ammunition, a clear delineation that they are no longer enemies or even acquaintances. To be fair, he has every reason to: at this point he probably knows her body as well as she does.

“We’ve been through this, their is just a lot—”

“Yes, I remember,” he cuts in, unwavering. “--and I have deliberated all of the pros and cons. So again, we should become serious.”

“I think you might be a little biased,” she murmurs, arms crossing around her chest. “You always have a knack for simplifying things and this–,” she makes a gesture between them, “is not exactly simple.”

“Ok Evans, hit me. Tell me one complication.”

She sighs. “Well, to start, we fight too much.”

James laughs and the jostle of his body makes their forearms graze.

“Hardly. Since we started snogging we’ve found better ways to deal with that type of energy.”

She feels her face flush but she pushes forward.

“Yeah but you can’t expect every fight to be resolved by snogging, it’s not healthy.”

“Seems better than no snogging,” he muses. She can hear a smile on his face. 

“Fine, ok number two: the whole school will go mad—it will knock off the whole ecosystem.”

“Brilliant, always wanted to be a revolutionary.”

 “James—can we please be serious,” she says, patience running thin.

“Of course—seeing as that’s exactly what I’ve been asking for.”

She scoffs, “you know that’s not what I —“

A set of arms snake around her, tugging on her waist to move closer. Eyes now adjusting to the dark, she can see that his face is unbearably close, taunting her with memories of every other more pleasurable time they have spent in the same spot.

“Think about it,” he whispers, now close at her ear, “ we can hold hands on our way to class…I’ll carry your books…make you tea while you study….give you a kiss good morning the second I see you at breakfast, until the blessed day where I don’t have to wait until breakfast— I can just roll over and kiss you because we don’t have to hide in drafty alcoves, we can just be…..”

She has always fought to not give him what he wants -–because he always gets what he wants—but he’s making a pretty compelling argument.

“You will be an arrogant arsehole,” she whispers, her last feeble attempt, hardly convincing herself. 

“Never. Not if you’re there to keep me level headed.” 

His lips ghost over hers and a hand slides up her spine to find her neck, massaging a pressure point with his thumb. She doesn’t wait for him anymore, letting their lips find each other and the world slip into a familiar, delicious haze.

“Yeah, ok,” she breathes out, barely capable of waiting until they can slot themselves together again. He kisses her with a newfound vigor, and she returns it gladly. 

“But only because we’ve never been very level-headed.”

[hell-drabbles]

Satan and Sitri 1

Summary: Sitri angers you and so does Satan. Just to get them to shut up, you yanked Satan and bite him in the neck.

(Baaarely finished chapter 1 and am going into chapter 2 but uuuugh so many filler battles.)

“Is there any tea you would like, Solomon? Ah wait, I think I know what you’ll like.”

Always with the ‘Solomon’ this and ‘Solomon’ that. Sitri’s eyes shine and that smile of his was certainly gentle, but a part of you wanted him to stop and an even larger one wanted nothing more for him to spill his tears and have his lips wobble.

Grief. You wanted to see his grief, raw and proper. At least then you’ll know he’s finally got it through his head that Solomon is dead and gone, no matter the fact that he’s in your blood.

The problem, unfortunately, lies in the fact that you’re a human. A human who’s bloodline is tied to a very beloved Solomon. Anything you do, be it rage or sadness, the devils will look upon it with nostalgic fondness. Like you could do no wrong.

It’s grating. It’s annoying. Infuriating. Maybe that’s why you refuse to freely share your kindness here in Hell?

When you hear the cup clink on the red table, you don’t touch it nor even acknowledge it.

“Is something wrong, Solomon?”

Everything. All that Sitri’s doing is just, wrong to you. Like nothing truly belong to you. But you can’t say any of it out loud, because then you’ll be responding to a name that’s not yours.

“Ah, could it be that you want a different tea this time? I do recall that you like to experiment with new flavors.” Sitri took the cup back but you didn’t look up from your book. You’re not even registering the words, you just needed something to stare at that wasn’t Sitri. “Perhaps something calming will soothe the harsh beat of your heart?”

The chair besides you was pulled and Satan made himself comfy in it, depressing against it as though the weight of the war was finally lifted from him. It didn’t take him long to regain his energy and lean forward onto the table.

Satan turned towards you, a knowing grin on his face.

“You’re angry,” Satan whispered, like it was some kind of secret you’re keeping.

You’re not in the mood. So you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even lift your eyes. Satan kept wiggling his tongue, clearly wanting you to break and shove him back.

“Ah,” Sitri came back with a new pot of tea brewed, “Your Majesty Satan. Is there anything you’d like to have for a drink?”

Of course he’d say Satan’s proper name. Yours? Didn’t matter for shit.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Satan needs to be quiet. Everyone needs to be quiet, “Well, I’m craving–”

You tossed your book on the table and grabbed a fistful of Satan’s hair before yanking him back. He practically squealed like a pig and even started writhing like one when let your teeth sink into the pliant flesh of his neck.

Satan’s tongue rolled through your fingers when you clasped his mouth shut. You can feel the dumb smile under your palm but you didn’t care for it all that much.

Not when you can see Sitri just standing there, struck dumb with his steaming tray. When you saw him take his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing with emotional conflict, you unlatched yourself from Satan and kicked him off his chair.

Satan tried to get up, but the rush of it all had him shaking. You took a cloth from Sitri’s pocket and wiped your lips.

“I’m going to bed,” you dropped the handkerchief onto Sitri’s shoes.

Hopefully this nap will reset your mood back to normal.

[detectivestucks]

A Jealous Hokage VIII

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Summary: Your work week continues to be a struggle as Obito becomes too busy to keep you company. Kakashi stops keeping his distance, infuriating you.

Warnings: NSFW, Hate Sex, Unprotected Penetration, Slut Shaming

Word Count: 4.5k

Part 7

New Here? Check out Part 1

You watched Obito leave your office and with him he took all sense of comfort. You knew he was busy today so you’d be on your own with Shiho. The shame you felt, seeing your budding career fall to the ground and get stomped on was all consuming. You had a hard time motivating yourself to work on your project. Usually you were just driven. You didn’t have to think about working hard; it was second nature. 

Today was a different story. You thought about quitting. Rejoining the field but you need to finish this project first. The village and the Anbu were counting on the intelligence your team was providing. 

It was a little harder than usual to collect everyone’s assignments.  Some of the intelligence officers opted to not complete their parts of the project, trying to leave you to finish their work. 

“Surely the Hokage won’t mind if you let this one slip.”

You quickly retort that “It’s not about what the Hokage wants from us, it’s about what the village and our fellow shinobi need from us.” 

Some of them felt bad and took back their incomplete tasks, others just laughed in your face knowing you’d be up all night doing their work for them. You scowl at them and storm away.

I’ll be sure Obito pays these three a visit.

It still hurt though. Last week every member of your team would have done a backflip had you commanded them to. Now you were lucky to exit the room without someone making more moaning sounds.

As much as you wanted to hide out in your office again today, Obito wasn’t around to bring you lunch. He had given up enough of his time helping you. You would have to go to the lunch room and get it yourself. You asked Shiho to come with, but she had a meeting to go to. 

“Sorry, Y/N. Want to wait till I come back?”

“I can’t, I have a meeting of my own when you’re done.”

You had to suck it up. It’s not like you could hide forever. Maybe it will go better than it did on Monday. They got all their jokes out and Obito left a trail of bruises behind to discourage them from making more...hopefully. 

Shiho gives you a worried look before you leave the office. Upon entering the lunchroom you take a deep breath and without making eye contact with anyone, you step in the long line to wait to order your food.

You stand there looking at the ground. Determined not to lift your face and open yourself up to conversation when a man strides up to you and begins to play with your hair. 

“Ahh the Hokage’s golden girl graces us with her presence. Where’s your guard dog? Hmm? Did you give him the day off?” 

You glare at him while wishing your ninjutsu was invisibility. Some of the nearby conversations cease to eavesdrop on you and your uninvited comrade. From across the room Kakashi stopped his own conversation, looking around to see why the room’s volume dialed back. When he saw you standing with Aoto, he looked over intensely.

“It makes me wonder, what could be so remarkable about that pussy of yours that you can keep the entirety of Team Minato under your thumb?” 

You feel the heat rise in your face. You were both furious and extraordinarily embarrassed. You wanted to knock his teeth out of that smug mouth and after, turn into a puddle and wash down the floor drain beneath your feet.  

“Mind if I take a turn and find out?” he says, reaching for your cheek.

Kakashi moved so fast you blinked and suddenly he was behind Aoto. 

“Touch her again. I dare you.” he hisses, tightly gripping the wrist of the hand that was about to brush your cheek.

“My-my, if it isn’t our fearless leader here to claim his prize.” 

Kakashi twists Aoto’s wrist behind his back, causing his face to crinkle in pain. 

“Kashi, people are staring!” You whisper urgently.

“Yeah, listen to her Kashi” he says, mocking your pet name for him through gritted teeth.

Feeling guilty for further embarrassing you he lets go. 

“See you later” Aoto whispers to you with a wink, strutting away with his friends.

Kakashi inspects your face, “Angel are you okay?” 

“Kashi, he only touched my hair.” you say as he feels your cheeks and neck which are flush with embarrassment. 

You were painfully aware of how many eyes were on the two of you. Kakashi didn’t care. To him the room was empty. He hugged you right there in the middle of the cafeteria for everyone to see. You buried your face in his chest not wanting to see a single eye as they gawked at your relationship. He kissed the top of your head before letting go. Instead of returning to the conversation he abandoned, he slid his hand around your waist and finished waiting in line for your food with you. 

Upon receiving your meal Kakashi turns to escort you to your office when a former classmate of yours, and fellow intelligence officer, came running up to him.

“Lord Sixth!”

“Yes, Jozie, What is it?” he says, keeping a firm grip around your waist.

“I hear you’re looking for new candidates to fill the position for Head of the Intelligence Department.” she says with a snide look in your direction. 

You look at the ground, no longer feeling hungry. Kakashi’s face became stern.

“I hope you didn’t come to tell me you wanted to throw your hat in the ring.”

You were shocked at his reply. Kakashi was always so polite, even when addressing enemy shinobi. Your mouth fell open along with Jozie’s as both of you stared up at him.

“Our most recent candidate knew 27 languages, completed 16 S rank projects, 117 A rank projects and has been requested by name to assist on intel matters in both the Hidden Sand and Hidden Cloud. Last I read your file, you knew 6 languages and exclusively worked on B and C rank intel projects. It would be a severe step down if we were to take your application seriously.” 

His response had you gobsmacked. You never knew Kakashi to be so cruel with his words. You’d be lying if you said your nipples didn’t stiffen hearing him come to your defense. He was so cool and collected while viciously tearing into Jozie for her disrespect. 

Steering you by your waist, Kakashi walked you out of the lunch room and down the hallways to your office. Your body obediently following his lead as your mind reeled from what you just witnessed.

“I’m done keeping my distance Y/N. I’m not going to sit by and watch them disrespect you. I know it’s the last thing you want and I’m sorry but I can’t do it anymore.”

 Kakashi wasn’t sure where your relationship stood but it was irrelevant. He loved you and you could hear the sadness in his voice as he spoke. 

“I made this mess and I’m going to fix it. I don’t know how, but I will.”

When you reached your office he stopped at the door. You walked in and put down your food. He began to walk away when he heard you whisper, “Kashi?”

He turned around to see you in your office doorway. You looked sheepish, not sure how you felt about your relationship but certain you didn’t want him to leave. 

He rushed over to you and hugged you like his life depended on it. 

You could feel him pour all of his regret into the embrace. You could feel how he loved you. If you weren’t cried out from the past few days, you were sure you’d have wept a few tears but the most you could do was softly hug him back.

“Thank you for the soup.” you say in the most musical whisper Kakashi ever heard. “...and the flowers.”

He hugged you even harder. Willing himself to speak, to apologize, but he lost his voice. He didn’t know how to say to you how much he regretted what he did. He didn’t know what words to say or how to form them with his mouth. All he could do is keep hugging you till you let go.

You separate and look up into his eyes. It killed him to see how broken you were and similarly it hurt you to be reminded of how much he loves you. His face said everything his mouth didn’t. You wanted to forgive him. You wanted to make it work but the most you could do was give him a small hug and a squeeze of his hand before heading back into your office.

Sitting at your desk, you could barely put two thoughts together before your mind wandered back to Kakashi and the way he came to your aid in the lunchroom. You found yourself drooling at the memory of how he told off Jozie and how swiftly he appeared behind Aoto. The thoughts were distracting. Generating an ache between your thighs. You quickly realized you weren’t going to get any work done in this state. You had a big project to focus on. There was no time for these mental roadblocks. 

Screw it. It’s not like I didn’t already lose the promotion. 

You slam your fists down on your desk and head for Kakashi’s office. You had an itch he needed to scratch. Similar to an earworm you need to get out of your head by listening to the entire song. 

Standing in front of his office door you begin to breathe heavily through your nostrils bringing yourself to knock before you enter. You stride in, eyes scanning the room to make sure you were alone before locking the door behind you. Kakashi’s eyes widen, shock causing his body to go lame. You stride up to him and tear down his mask. 

“You.” You say with a disgusted look as you straddle him in his chair.

“You have some nerve. Bringing all this scrutiny down on me and then playing hero when you see everyone respond the way I warned you they would.”

Kakashi’s mouth fell agape. Deeply confused by your attitude whilst straddling him. You start to push yourself against him.

“Coming to save me from your own doing.” you snarl into his ear as you begin grinding on his thigh. 

“Holding me in public.” you nip at his ear lobe.

“Kissing the top of my head like I’m something precious to you.” you kiss his jaw.

“Telling off Jozie” You paw at his chest. Rutting against his leg viciously, needing friction.

“Disrespecting my need for space.” Your hands rake through his silver hair as you finally lunge for his mouth. It was at this moment that Kakashi’s paralysis finally wore off. 

His hands lept into action, ridding you of your shirt and bra while you tore off his uniform. 

He kissed down your neck and shoulders while unfastening your pants, stripping you naked in his office, in the middle of the work day. He laid you down on top of his desk kissing you with every ounce of passion he had. His back hunching over to meet you where you laid.

Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. You were so mad at him but you craved him, ravenous for the way he mishandles you. Your legs needily wrap around his waist. His unclothed erection pushing onto your already wet folds. You feel him shudder at the impact. It satisfied you to know how desperate he felt for you. How badly he missed you. How excited he was to touch you again. 

He didn’t care if you hated him in this moment. He’d make you forget why you were mad. He’d make you remember how much you need him between your legs. How, even now, your body craves him. He’d make you remember. 

He had to. 

You arch your back off the desk, pushing your breasts up against his chest while your fingers grip at his back pulling him down. You didn’t care that you were at work. You didn’t care if anyone heard you. You didn’t care anymore. You need him to rid you of this awful ache between your legs. And you need him to do it now.

Locking your lips on his, you push your tongue into his mouth, not asking permission. He gladly lets you in, opening wider to give you all the access you crave. You moan as your tongues entwine while rutting against his exposed length. He involuntarily groans as he collapses on top of you. Everything he needs is right here beneath him. It’s you. Just you. He needs you.

You continue rubbing yourself against him till he finally angles himself so that he slips in. Your lips break free of his as you gasp at the intrusion. It was exactly what you had been craving. Nothing felt better than when he stretched you in the way only he knows how. 

“Ah, fuck!” you cry out as he begins stroking. One hand grabbing behind his neck, the other running through his hair. You begin to berate him.

“Selfish prick. You had to make sure the entire shinobi world knew I belonged to you, huh?” You feel how his swollen head deliciously pulls at your walls with each retreat. “I bet you loved seeing the looks on everyone’s faces.”

“I did,” he sneers. “Every last one of them was envious of what is mine.” Punctuating the last word with a particularly harsh thrust, you groan from his hips meeting yours.

“Taking away 5 years of my hard work just for your own fuckin greed.” you hiss at him before he bottoms out, “Ah!”

“Can you blame me?” he grunts, continuing to thrust into you at an unrelenting pace. “Looking like a damned dream in that black dress. Teasing me and everyone else with your cleavage out. Taunting me with that sexy slit. Whimpering from the vibrator. Wearing my cap! Marking up my back! I still have the scratches there to remind me of your sweet cunt!” 

He loses himself as he remembers the evening. His thrusts become violent as he recalls his favorite memory of you. Stifling your moans in the coat closet, strappy black heels by his face, rug burn on your back, the dress pulled down and bunched around your waist. He can picture it now.

“I can leave more scratches if you like it so damn much” you snarl as you dig your claws into him, causing him pain. But he didn’t care. He deserved the pain. He fed into it, needing to be punished by you. He felt desperate as he began stroking harder. Yearning to please you. He pulled his face back, seeing the fire in your lust-filled eyes. 

It was maddening to not touch you the way he wanted to these past few days. He hungered for you. He craved your touch and attention. Icing him out was the worst punishment you could have given him. 

He grunts with every snap of his hips, not realizing his own volume. His inner wolf bubbling to the surface. You loved when he caved to his animalistic traits. You fist his hair as you throw your head back. Eyes screwed shut from pleasure. A chorus escaping your mouth as his hips roll into yours. 

Sweat begins to bead up and roll down his gorgeous chest, collecting droplets as it rolls down to where your bodies join. The warmth of your insides doing heavenly things to him. He could feel his mind short circuit as he repeatedly buried himself inside of you. 

The two of you grew loud, so caught up in your lustful passions that you both completely forgot where you were. Obito was headed to Kakashi’s office for an update. As he turned down the hall he heard the unmistakable sounds of your lovemaking. His heart shattered at the sound. How could you make up with Kakashi the day after he cost you your career? He lost to Kakashi again. He wanted to be the one making you sing. The one bringing you pleasure. He stormed out of headquarters, feeling oxygen deprived and in desperate need of air. 

Too lost in Kakashi’s arms to care about how needy you seemed, you whine and paw at his chest. He began to growl, his dark eyes taking on a dangerous glint. As much as he wanted to keep looking upon your face he wanted to be deeper. He lifted you off the desk, holding one of your legs hostage in his arms while the other foot found the floor. He slid deeper into you, pushing against your diaphragm, knocking the wind out of you. Definitely reaching that itch you so desperately needed him to scratch. 

Your loud moans, broken up by his thrusts, fill his ears with music. His arms hold your torso against his, pinning you against his chest alongside your leg. Thanking the gods for your flexibility as your sweaty bodies push together. You begin biting down on his collarbone. Panting into his skin. About to spiral into an orgasm. His animalistic grunts became more frequent, resonating from his chest with each stroke.

“That’s it baby, fuck this pussy. Fuck me like the bad boy you’ve been.” 

Lost in passion, he can only grunt in response. Your juices soaking his base and balls, dripping down your legs.

He spins you around and pushes your chest down on the desk, taking you from behind. He rams into you so hard you feel the bruises form on the front of your thighs. He grabs you at the shoulders, making sure he bottoms out in you with every intrusion. Already on the precipice, this new angle had you toppling over the edge. Eyes rolling back, spasming under his grip, he was too far gone to notice how you came undone. 

Chasing his own high inside your walls. He was so close. He lifted your leg onto the desk. You screamed at how deep and how rough he bullied into you. Your mind turned to mush as all the blood left your brain and pooled in your cunny. The athletic stamina of his continuous pounding turned you to a babbling mess. Your anger subsides for a moment as the waves of pleasure wash over you again. Shaking and milking him. He exploded inside of you. The sounds of his orgasm filling the room. 

As soon as he was done emptying himself inside of you, he collected you in his arms, pulling you into his lap as he sat down on his desk chair. You nakedly curled up in a ball, feeling chilled from the sweat rolling down your arms and back. You used his body heat to keep you warm as you nestled your head under his chin. 

He squeezes you tight, inhaling your scent. Memorizing it so he can dream about you tonight. He felt his seed leak out of you and onto his thigh. A satisfied shiver ran down his spine. 

The two of you sat there for nearly twenty minutes. Just existing in each other's arms.  You sat there for so long that the sweat on your skin dried and turned into a salty residue. 

Realizing you have a meeting to get to soon, you take a deep breath and crawl out of his lap. He rummages through his desk and hands you a tissue to clean between your legs before you redress alongside him. 

“I’m still mad at you.” you say to the floor

“I know.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

He swallowed before replying, “crystal”

You quickly redo your ponytail, smoothing the sides as you tighten the elastic. You smooth out your top and wipe the corners of your eyes to make sure there was no runny mascara. 

Kakashi approaches you, hand pushing against the small of your back, pulling you into him, thumb brushing your lip, eyes boring into you. You feel your heart skip a beat.

“Stop that.”

His brows furrowed with a questioning look.

“Reminding me how much you love me. It just makes all this hurt more.”

You turn your face away from him, pushing your hands against his chest as you pull away. You slip on your shoes and stride over to the door, unlocking the knob. 

You pause before you open the door. Tempted to say something but you couldn’t bring the words to your lips. Instead you let out a deep breath and leave his office in silence. 

You reach your office and quickly gulp down your food. You snatch up your notebook before rushing off to your meeting as Shiho returns from hers. 

With shocking clarity, you hustle through your meeting. Finding your drive and your confidence once more. You commanded the room. Anyone who tried to snicker at you found themselves caught under a deadly glare. 

“Do you have something to share?” you would snap at them.

You would have never been ballsy enough to ask that question mere hours ago. With only two days left till your project was due, you finally felt back on track. 

However in the back of your mind, you were still wondering what you were going to do after the project was over. No longer seeing room for growth in intelligence, your mind wandered back to your idea of rejoining the field. Get out of the stuffy office, away from all the scrutinizing eyes of your comrades and away from Kakashi. You decide to talk it through with your cousin Ino at the end of the day. 

***********************************

“I don’t know, Y/N. Are you sure? You love what you do and you’re really good at it!”

“I used to love what I do.” You say ashamed, looking at the floor. “Now I can’t even get through a briefing without someone mentioning I’ve fucked the Hokage.”

Seeing the sadness in your face, your little cousin Ino reluctantly mulled it over. She would have never thought she’d see the day where you’d quit anything. You were the most driven and stubborn person she knew. You were always finding an answer to any problem, no matter how hard it was. You were the queen of solving puzzles and riddles and nothing could ever stand in your way. Yet here you stood before her, walking away from it all. 

“Okay, fine.” 

“Yes! Thank you! And can you please talk to Choji and Shikamaru too? I’d really like to hit the ground running.”

She looks at you with a skeptical raised brow.

“Please?”

“Fine.”

“You’re the best!” you praise with a hug.

Ino was glad to see a smile on your face for the first time this week.

She had noticed how melancholy you’d been since news of your relationship swept the nation. She heard from Shikamaru and Temari about the fight that broke out between Obito and Kakashi. It seemed like your heart had already been torn between the boys and the added stress of your public humiliation and the loss of your promotion was more than you could handle. She had never seen you on the brink of tears ever, yet she saw you cry every day this week. 

She also felt bad for Kakashi-Sensei. He had been alone for so long. She was happy that he was finally in love. The world should’ve been thrilled for him. He deserved a happy ending. Why would anyone want to get in the way of that? If anything, they should’ve respected you more for being chosen by him. 

Of course there were several shinobi who felt like her. Who couldn’t stand how their comrades were treating you. They see how tired Kakashi is; it is obvious he isn’t sleeping. How on edge he’s been these past few days. He was clearly struggling with how the world had reacted to their knowledge of your relationship. It wasn’t fair to him. Not after everything this cruel life has thrown in his path.

Not to mention how many girls Ino had overheard talking shit about you. Saying you weren’t even that pretty. How you were obviously a slut. How you were clearly using Kakashi to advance your career cause ‘all you cared about was work.’ Those jealous hags couldn’t even speak two languages yet you knew 27. 

Ino and some of the others kept finding themselves in fist fights defending you. She wondered if you knew what your friends were going through to defend you. She wondered if that was part of why you wanted to leave. 

She would be right.

“I finish my project on Friday. Can we begin Friday night?”

“Actually I’m in the flower shop Friday night. How about we get together on Saturday?”

“Saturday sounds perfect.”

You walk away back towards your office. If you were going to rejoin the field you were going to do it right. Just like the rest of your work, you had to be superb. It’s not that you were unskilled, but you were sure you were unfit for battle. These days you could only perform sensory ninjutsu in a quiet space. You’d be useless if you needed to use your abilities under duress. You’d essentially become a domesticated house pet with the amount of time you’d spent in an office over the last couple years.

You also needed to find Obito. Thinking back to that horrifying fight between him and Kakashi, you know his taijutsu skills are incredible. But where is he? 

Feeling better than you had since Saturday, you didn’t need him to take you home but you found yourself missing his company.

“Shiho, have you seen Obito today?”

“Not since this morning.”

You felt a bit disappointed. 

I guess it’s fine. He’ll swing by eventually. Maybe I should stay late tonight anyways. Make up for yesterday’s missed hours.

And that’s exactly what you do. You stay all night. Shiho joined you, wanting to help with the project. She stayed till 8:00pm before she left to spend the night at home with her husband. You however, worked till nearly 2:00am. A couple times Kakashi passed your door, spying on you while you did what you do best. He leaned against the doorway reminiscing about the beginning of your relationship. The late night walks, the secret lunches, the first time you tore down his mask and kissed him. His chest constricted as he thought about it all. He tore himself away and headed home, feeling his waterline tear up.

Still you remained in your office. Working away. Eventually drowsiness washed over you. You went to the back of your office where you kept a sleeping pad. After rolling it out, you grabbed the blanket you kept on hand for these very occasions. You’d continue your work once you woke. For now you just needed a little shut eye. After days of agony you finally felt clarity. The only thought plaguing your mind now was where did Obito go?

Part 9 Masterlist

[leonismylove]

Explanation & Boundaries

I’m sorry to all the people that’ve had to read my mean ass vent posts these last few days

I’ve been getting unreasonably upset every time people say they relate to how I feel about Leo, and I’ve been voicing my discomfort, but it all sounds really stupid and petty.

Leo is more than my favorite character, he is my special interest, and has been an ongoing hyperfixation for me for the last 2 years. He’s more than just a character to me, which probably sounds really stupid, but it upsets me to see others believe they love him as much as I do.

Which is, again, really petty and selfish. But it’s how I feel, even if sometimes how I feel is ultimately really stupid

I unfortunately gatekeep how I feel about Leo and get really upset when someone else thinks they love him as much as I do. Maybe they love him, but not nearly as much, and having someone say they relate to how I feel about Leo just makes me think they misunderstood how deeply I meant my words.

It angers me when people say they relate to me in some way, especially this way, because I’ve always been so conditioned to believe that I was different in a way that couldn’t be understood. So if someone thinks they relate to me, then clearly they’re just misunderstanding me again.

I set my boundaries, I kindly told people that I wasn’t comfortable with them expressing their love for Leo on any of my socials, and to keep how you feel about him away from me. The post of which I had to take down shortly after, because everyone was doing what I said not to do just to get a reaction out of me.

I’ve been conditioned to never voicing how I feel because it’s all really stupid. Getting upset over this Is likely really childish and immature, but it’s how I feel. I can’t control how I feel, what angers me, what makes me uncomfortable. So all I ask is for people to respect my boundaries, and maybe not make me feel like an idiot for letting people know how to avoid making me uncomfortable.

I’m in no way angry at anyone who crossed my boundaries without realizing! We all make mistakes and as long as you had good intentions, all is okay. I’m also not angry at anyone who enjoys Leo. If anything, I’m angry at myself for having such intense emotions over things that aren’t that big of a deal.

Who I am angry at, are the few people that proceeded to spam my messages with “I feel the same way”, “I relate to you”s after they’d already seen the post I made stating my boundaries. They did it just to get a rise out of me, and it was disgusting.

Please don’t mock or belittle how I feel about my favorite characters, or my ability to feel like shit over something so minuscule. I’m really trying to manage it, but it’s difficult. I don’t want to think how I feel isn’t valid. Please be kind.

I’m sorry to anyone I could’ve hurt by the aggressive ways I worded my last posts. I just wanted to be respected. I have pent up aggression and resentment towards a lot of people in the rise fandom because of how they’ve mistreated me. I don’t know if anyone is aware of this, but I’m very hated by a good ton of people in the rottmnt fandom for reasons unknown to me. Which hurts, but they clearly don’t care enough to empathize with me. Being told “you just rub me the wrong way” so many times has infuriated me.

Reasonably, being so hated by people I admire has made me very angry and bitter. And I’m sorry for the way I voiced that. I just wanted to be listened to.

I really hope to start drawing bluemelon again once art block eases up on me. It brings me so much joy, and I haven’t been able to pursue it because of how down I’ve felt which really sucks. Hopefully things will be back to normal soon

If you read all this, and you’re willing to hear me out and respect me, I really appreciate you. That means a lot. <:]

My boundaries

Please don’t tell me you relate to the extent of how much I love my f/o. This is going to sound selfish, but I promise you don’t.

Try to avoid talking about how much you love him when having a conversation with me. It makes me feel very gross.

Don’t joke about his death.

Take. Me. Seriously. For the love of god, don’t belittle me

Try and be understanding and careful with my feelings! Please be respectful. I am tired.

Reminder that I am a shifter! I view my f/o as a real person. When you tell me you love him, you are telling me you love my partner like I do. You can imagine it feels pretty disgusting.

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