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cerisereids · 3 months ago

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𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗛𝗶𝗺 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗠𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- early seasons!Spencer Reid x bombshell!Reader

Summary- You’re completely and totally enamored with Spencer Reid. When you have to flirt as part of a case, he is not happy.

Contains- not proofread we die like men, fem!reader, mention of reader's boobs and ass, the most unhinged work place flirting you've ever seen, Spencer is Horny, the case isn't rly canon compliant but fuck it we ball, nasty suspect who reader has to flirt with, Spencer gets insecure, they make-up and make out on the jet

A/N: divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

The soft, golden glow of sunlight filters through the window. The glimmer coats the BAU in an extra layer of warmth from the early spring chill. You adjust your light pink blouse as you approach the desk of your favorite coworker, Spencer Reid. You prop yourself up on his desk, your floral skirt pulling taut around your hips as you settle.

You swing your legs playfully, waiting for him to turn his attention away from his case file and on to you. A small smile curves his lips, and you know you got him. A heeled foot hooks behind his shin, running along the length of it until his gaze finally finds you. His eyes shine when they meet yours, a large hand moving to grip your ankle and bring it to his knee. He keeps it there, a soothing thumb rubbing the expanse of the skin there.

Your heart flutters at the action, his own cheeks tinting pink at his temerity. This has been a recent update between the two of you, Spencer's touch, his affection. Since you started at the bureau, only a few short months after him, you've been fascinated by the genius sitting beneath you now. At first, he was shocked by your immediate friendship, not used to such affection without having to earn it. In the past few months, though, his hands will graze your waist, his hugs lingering a moment too long. This change in behavior sparks a flicker of hope in your chest. Hope that, maybe, he sees you the way you see him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, he looks nothing like me..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

He shivers as you move off his lap, settling into his side as you begin to descend on Quantico. A flight home has never felt so long.

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girl-lostconnection · 5 months ago

Note

YOUR FRUIT BAT READER HAS MY WHOLE HEART 😩😭🫶🏻 any more thoughts to spare… no pressure tho i absolutely adore your writing <333

- @beloveds-embrace

For @beloveds-embrace. Some not the most appropriate thoughts about Price and Reader for you, friend

I’m thinking about fruit bat!Reader x Komodo Dragon!Price whom it takes some time to get to their core.

Price who’s uncharacteristically careful, feeling like a right twat after realising he doesn’t know much about their new addition to his team. New addition to his boys.

Price returns to your file and starts noting what can he do to do better. It’s not proper for a leader to know this little about their subordinate. It’s not proper for the leader of the pack not to welcome you like he should’ve.

Price who starts taking fruits during breakfast just to pawn them off to you a minute later, rumbling that he forgot he can’t eat this much.

(The man does it every bloody morning, does he think he’s actually sneaky with that?)

But no one says anything and he hums in satisfaction when you gobble down an orange or an apple he gives to you. Lizard part of his brain pleased to see you fed and happy with his offering.

Lizard part of his brain has already switched to proper courting without him catching up on it up until he finds himself massaging the nape of your neck.

Fingers digging into tense muscle, fingers sliding lower to the base of your wings, to the additional back muscles only you and Kyle have. He knows these are the places you can hardly reach yourself.

He knows that it’s usually reserved for pack to touch there — too vulnerable of a place, too easy for someone of his size to tear out the tender thin wing off your back.

But you don’t move away, deliberately not looking at him. Like if you pretend he’s not there you won’t need to explain why you are letting him this close.

Price hums massaging your back, warm palms sending shivers all over your body, your ears burning when he leans forward, beard tickling your neck.

He’s close enough to bite down. Close enough to close his jaws around inviting slope of your neck, to force you down.

But he doesn’t. There is no need for this.

You are not growling Simon, you are not cheeky stubborn Soap, you aren’t even Kyle with his habit to test waters until John pulls him under it.

You are you.

John presses small, soft kiss behind your ear, fingers tracing the skin of your wings, fingers melting you into nothing.

“Tha’ okay, love?”, he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your neck, his smile wide wicked thing full of teeth when you give him a shaky nod.

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart”, John is not used to this but he finds he rather likes to have a pretty bat like you being this good for him. Such a sweet little soldier, making his mind hazy with want to lick all over you.

Leaving saliva and his scent, marking you proper. Not right that you don’t smell like them yet.

John pulls you in, cradling in his hands, eyes warm and heavy. Komodo dragons fight to prove they are worthy of being at the top. Komodo dragons need to know that they deserve what they have.

John knows that for now he didn’t prove that he deserves you, your trust, your bond.

That’s alright. Just means he will need to put in some much needed hard work.

John presses his face to your neck and breathes in, smiling when your wings give him a small flutter. Sensitive little thing.

“Come on, love. Think I saw some mangoes dropped in with re-supply . Gonna have a feast today”, he grumbles, eyes crinkling with pleasure when your eyes light up.

Yeah, both of you will feast alright.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #fruit bat au #task force x reader #task force 141 #john price x y/n #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #price cod #john price #captain price

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minswriting · 5 months ago

Text

UNKNOWN TERRITORY - A.H x Reader x S.R

About: Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

A/N: this didn’t come out exactly how i wanted it to but i have so many ideas on this dynamic lol. so feel free to send aaron x reader x spencer requests! credit for border goes to cafekitsune on tumblr!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, office sex, unprotected sex, oral (f), getting caught, voyeurism, masturbation (m), whiny Spencer, whiny reader, making out, Spencer’s a virgin and receives a handjob

Word Count: 1.5k

Working late at the Bureau wasn’t one of your favorite things to do, especially after working a really long case. No one else was at the Bureau except you and Aaron, everyone had already gone home. You were exhausted and just wanted to go home as well. But you also didn’t want to be alone. You wanted to be between Aaron’s sheets as he fucked you into a blissful state. Instead, you were sitting on Aaron’s desk, thoroughly distracting him from the work he claimed he absolutely had to do, as he was on his knees with his face buried between your legs.

Your legs rested on Aaron’s shoulders as his tongue lapped around your cunt, coating his tongue with your juices. Your hands gripped the desk as you let out the most beautiful noises, soft moans with quiet whimpers. Aaron’s tongue dipped to your hole, causing his nose to grind against your clit. You gasped, moving a hand to Aaron’s head as your eyes fluttered shut. You gently tugged at his hair, causing Aaron to groan against your pussy. The sound sent vibrations through you, making you buck your hips in response.

You knew exactly when this sexual relationship began with Aaron. About four months ago, the two of you were forced to share a room in the rural countryside in Vermont for a case with only one bed. So naturally, you ended up with your face buried in the pillow as Aaron fucked you into oblivion. And you had absolutely no regrets.

Aaron worked meticulously at eating you out. He loved when he could just bury his face between your thighs. The amount of times you’ve woken up with his tongue inside of you was more than often whenever he slept at your place. Your pussy was like his happy place and he never failed to show you that. He moved his lips against your cunt, slurping as he sucked on your clit.

You whined, still gripping Aaron’s hair. You opened your eyes to look down at him, only to see someone standing at the door. You gasped. “S-Spencer,” You said, eyes widening.

Aaron stopped his movements, looking up at you with confusion. “What?” He deadpanned.

You pointed a shaky finger at the doorway. “Spencer,” You said again. Aaron turned his head, seeing Spencer standing in the doorway with a file in hand. Spencer was frozen, shocked at the scene in front of him. His lips were parted, his eyes wide like a deer, his cheeks were pinkened, and he was sporting a very obvious hard-on.

Nothing was spoken between the three of you for a good few seconds. You were still exposed, your pants sitting comfortably on Aaron’s couch in his office. Your legs were still on Aaron’s shoulders. You thought Aaron would stop the whole ordeal, being the most logical person in the room because he was your and Spencer’s boss. However, instead, he looks at Spencer and then at you and says “Reid, if you’re going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door,” before diving back into eating you out.

The action caused you to gasp and moan, your hand going back to Aaron’s hair. Spencer quickly walked into the office, closing the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the room, watching the scene before him. He bit his lip, watching as Aaron ate you out. The way your body reacted to Aaron’s touch, the way your lips parted in an “o”. You looked as though you were in Heaven, basking in the pleasures that Aaron bestowed on you. And Spencer couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. Spencer’s never done anything remotely sexual so his experience is very much nonexistent. What better way to learn to pleasure someone than to watch it happen right in front of you?

The look you were giving Spencer as Aaron ate you out was one that Spencer would likely jerk off to frequently. He had expected that you would look at Aaron as if he was the one pleasuring you but instead, your lustful gaze met Spencer’s doe eyes, as though you wanted him to join. And as you let out a loud moan, biting your lip when Aaron sucked on your clit, you made a come here motion to Spencer. Spencer was quick to walk over to you, placing the file that was in his hands on Aaron’s desk before taking a seat next to you on the desk. He looked at you, waiting for you to say or do anything.

You tilted your head towards Spencer, looking at him. “Kiss me,” you breathed out.

And Spencer didn’t need to be told twice as he put his lips onto yours.

Aaron glanced up as he continued eating you out, his hands on your thighs. He saw you and Spencer kissing, unable to help the small chuckle that escaped his lips against your cunt. The action of itself caused you to moan against Spencer’s mouth, allowing his tongue to explore you. Your kisses with Spencer were slow but hungry. Both of your hands were tugging at Aaron’s hair.

You could feel yourself getting closer. With the way Aaron’s tongue kept moving around on your pussy and how his nose would brush against your clit. The way Spencer’s tongue moved inside your mouth as he kissed you. The little cherry on top that sent you over the edge was the way Spencer had tentatively put a hand on your left boob, massaging the flesh through your shirt. You came with a loud moan that was muffled by Spencer’s mouth. Your thighs clenched around Aaron’s face, shaking as your orgasm overcame you.

When you finished, you pulled away from the kiss to look down at Aaron, breathing heavily. He pulled away from your cunt, taking your legs off of his shoulder as he stood up. His face was glistening from your juices. He took the back of his hand, wiping his chin before licking his lips. It wasn’t long until the three of you were undressed and moved to Aaron’s couch.

Spencer was sitting on the left side of the couch while Aaron had you bent over on the rest of it, his cock thrusting into you hard. Your eyes were rolled back as Spencer watched you. He had his cock in his hand, stroking himself with his fist. He thumbed the tip of his cock, spreading around the precum that had accumulated, causing him to let out a whine.

That noise sent a shiver down your spine, causing your pussy to flutter around Aaron’s cock. “Oh you liked that didn’t you, baby?” Aaron groaned, giving you a particularly harsh thrust, eliciting a sharp moan from you.

“Yes,” you whined, looking at Spencer.

Spencer really couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He knew it should’ve been wrong. The fact that you were his coworker and Hotch was his boss. And yet, he could hardly find himself caring when you looked so pretty getting railed by your boss. Spencer began stroking himself a bit faster, pumping his cock in rhythm of Aaron’s thrusts. But when your hand moved to wrap around Spencer’s, helping him jerk himself off? Spencer almost came right then and there. “O-oh fuck,” Spencer whimpered out, throwing his head back. His eyes met with Aaron’s as he turned his head to the side as Aaron gave him a smirk.

Aaron’s thrusts became more frenzied, chasing the pleasure that you both craved. The office was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, moans and whines from both you and Spencer, and the low groans that Aaron was letting out.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to cum. His hips began meeting your fist and he was done for. His cum landed on his chest and stomach as Spencer let out the most beautiful noises you had ever heard.

The heat was building in your abdomen from Aaron’s thrusts. You were close and Aaron could tell. “Go ahead and cum for me, baby,” Aaron said, grabbing your ass and massaging it. His breathing was harsh just like his thrusts.

You came with a high pitched noise that was surely pornographic, a noise that will live in Spencer’s dreams frequently. You buried your head into the leather cushion, cumming from Aaron’s cock. Aaron continued his pace before letting out a loud groan, burying himself deep inside of you as he came.

Harsh breathing filled the air as the three of you came down from your highs. You looked at Spencer who was moving his gaze between you and Aaron. None of you spoke. But there was change in the way the three of you interacted from now on. This fateful night marked the night when Spencer became part of your dynamic with Aaron. It was uncertain as to where it would go or what would come of it. But all that mattered was teaching one another and exploring each other’s bodies.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminals minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader x spencer reid #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchreid #heid #hotchreid x reader

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invoncible · 3 months ago

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FAILSAFE ✧˚. 00 / PROLOGUE There's only a handful of people with the skillset to raise a gifted child.

knock, knock

Debbie stopped in her tracks. She just closed the door on a potential nanny who was, unsurprisingly, working for Cecil. Was he so desperate to keep tabs on her and her family that he would send these poor employees to wait at her door day in and day out?

She rolled her eyes as she turned around, walking back to the front entrance. He could send as many as he wanted. She wasn't going to budge—and she'd show him by sending away the next agent he put on her doorstep.

"Hi! I'm April Howsam, here for the nanny position?" The woman greeted cheerfully. "This is my aide, Y/N."

You peeked out from behind your mentor, offering a small wave and polite smile.

Debbie's tired eyes darted between you both but before she could put her foot down, April spoke up.

"Before we begin, you should know that Cecil sent us. Now, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I think it's unacceptable to mislead a potential employer." April clutched her files close to her chest, her brows furrowing. "Especially one looking for someone to take care of their child."

Your gaze landed on Debbie's face, studying her shock with a hopeful heart. A moment of silence passed, but it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, rather... like an understanding was being shared.

"Please come in." Debbie stepped back, her eyes holding onto a shred of suspicion but clearing the way for you and April to enter her home nonetheless.

You both smiled at her as you shuffled in, the scent of a clean home infiltrating your nostrils almost immediately. Everything was in place—pillows, rugs, art... It was clear Debbie ran her home diligently.

The door clicked shut behind you, Debbie joining you in the foyer. April handed her the file with your resumes.

"As you can see, I have extensive experience working with gifted children ranging from newborns to late teens." April explained as you rounded the corner.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing the baby in question; the cutest little grape-colored boy crawling on the ground. Your lips broke into a smile, mouthing a little hi! and fluttering your fingers in his direction.

He raised his head to look at you, tilting in confusion slightly before crouching lower to the floor like a lion cub about to pounce. He pushed himself up to his feet and returned his efforts to his excursion across the living room.

"So you know that Oliver is..."

"Half Thraxan, half Viltrumite." April answered. "I also know that Nolan Grayson is Oliver's father, and your son, Mark, is Oliver's half-brother."

"You've been thoroughly briefed, I see." Debbie's eyes lifted off the pages in front of her to glance at you and your mentor.

"Yes, we have," April turned to you with a warm smile, reaching an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into the conversation.

"And—I'm sorry, what's the purpose for both of you?" Debbie asked.

"Thraxans are known to grow quickly. I can foster Oliver's learning and mental abilities just fine, but he'll need someone younger who can keep up with him should he want to play outside, for example." April gestured to you. "Which is where Y/N comes in."

"Ah." Debbie's head tilted in acknowledgment, her lips pursing in thought.

"While I don't have the experience April does, my whole life has been centered around taking care of kids." You piped in, glancing at April for reassurance. She nodded kindly.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"

"19." You answered quickly. Debbie's face fell just a smidge but you quickly continued, "Finished school at 16, spent the years since learning April's trade. You can rest assured I am well equipped to handle Oliver."

Confidence restored, if only a little bit, Debbie smiled. April waved to Oliver as he approached you.

"My philosophy on child-rearing is simple. Encourage a child's natural curiosity," April bumped your shoulder, handing you a teething toy and nodding towards Oliver. "while giving him structure and a safe space to grow."

You swiftly caught up to him, gently holding onto his wrist before he pulled out a pair of scissors from the plant pot. He whined, but you dangled the toy in front of him as a peace offering.

"How about this one?" You hummed. He grabbed it without any fussing, ditching the scissors. You watched him waddle away with a small smile and handed the scissors back to Debbie.

"I also play a mean lullaby on the ukulele." April joked lightheartedly.

Debbie sighed, putting the scissors away at a safe height before dropping onto the couch. "I appreciate your honesty. I just don't want a GDA agent in my house running interference for Cecil on how to raise Oliver."

"There's only a handful of people in the world with my skillset." April flattened her hand over her chest emphatically. "And I'm choosy with who I pass those skills onto. This allows me and my mentee freedom from government oversight. We work for you, Ms. Grayson. Not Cecil."

"You're the boss." You emphasized. Your attention was drawn to Oliver who was sat at Debbie's feet, toying with the teething ring.

"Mama boss." He chirped, twisting to look at her. Debbie instantly smiled, scooping him up in her arms.

"See? Oliver knows who's in charge." April's eyes closed as she laughed brightly, leaning back slightly in her chair. You couldn't help but go awwww at the endearing sight. You had worked with many kids over the last three years, but none as young as Oliver yet.

Debbie smiled, a low sigh passing through her lips. "Let's do it."

[]

Debbie left you both to your devices, deciding to take a meeting with her company to see how she could integrate her way back into her full-time schedule. She still kept a close eye on you, setting up on the kitchen island while she took calls.

"Alright." April cooed, pulling the coffee table out of the way to free up more open space in the living room. "What do you say we assess your abilities, Oliver?"

He babbled happily and April chuckled sweetly as she pulled out her checklist and notepad.

You sensed a break in Debbie's meetings, getting up and strolling into the kitchen area. "Do you mind if I grab a glass of water?"

"Oh, not at all. Help yourself." She smiled over her computer, fingers clacking away at her keyboard.

You thanked her, opening the fridge and pouring a glass. The fridge door swayed shut, revealing Debbie on the other side. You jumped slightly at her sudden appearance, eyes snapping to where she was just sitting.

"You're the same age as my son, you know." She began.

"Yes," You answered smoothly, refilling the pitcher and shelving it back in the fridge. "Mark Grayson. Invincible's a pretty big name right now."

"Ugh, I know." She groaned, a bitter glare focused on the floor.

You cast her a quizzical look before she quickly shook her head of her frown, clarifying, "I'm so happy for Mark, really. But I just worry sometimes. He's working so hard, and Cecil doesn't make it any easier for him—"

You laugh softly, calming her ranting to a stop. "Oh, believe me. I get it. Cecil doesn't make anything easy for anyone."

She smiled appreciatively. "It's so... refreshing to have people I can talk to about all of this, even the GDA."

The Graysons were a popular name at the GDA, what with Omni-man's betrayal, Mark's penchant for attracting the worst kinds of enemies, and now the new baby. You were well aware of Debbie's situation, her burden—it was one of the reasons you jumped at the offer for this case.

"Like April said, we don't work for the GDA and we have a wide skill set." You leaned against the countertop beside her. "Whatever counseling you need, or if you just need to vent, I'll listen. Nothing leaves this house."

She paused, considering your words. Debbie was smart. Even smarter to be naturally distrusting of anyone who is a part of her or her sons' lives. You and April were convincing enough, though, to make her lower her guard just a little bit.

"Yeah." She whispered, eyes creasing with a genuine smile. "I'd... I'd like that. I tried something and... it didn't really work out." Her face drooped, her waterline growing glossy as she recounted trying her luck with the support group.

Her moment of reminiscing shattered when her phone buzzed. "Uh... another time. Rain check?" She chuckled, rounding back to her station and answering the call.

"Of course." You smiled politely when she met your eyes, sipping from your glass.

You wondered how long it would take them to find out you're lying through your teeth.

[]

Mark wanted to drop dead after spending hours trying to do the exact opposite. But no—he negotiated with Cecil for a few days off so he could spend time with Amber. He wasn't going to crash when he had to prepare for their date tomorrow. He wouldn't forgive himself if he slept in.

Dusting off his sweater and pants as he flew back home, he quietly slipped in the back of the house. It was dark, as expected. His mom was usually asleep during this time, Oliver included on a good day.

It seemed to be a good day.

He wiped his shoes on the mat at his feet, trudging into the kitchen for a quick snack before bed. He had to be up early if he wanted to beat the crowds at the Comic Convention.

He froze when he heard Oliver's sniffles. His head twitched to the side, tuning out the low buzz of the fridge to listen in. He heard a voice—light and sweet, comforting, but most definitely not his mother's.

Panic snaked its way around his heart and tugged, his breath short as he bolted up the stairs. He stood tensely in the hallway, peering into his mother's room to see her untouched bed.

His brows furrowed as he burst into Oliver's room. "Oliver—?"

You and Oliver both flinched at the sudden intrusion, staring up at Mark with saucers for eyes. Oliver giggled happily, reaching out for his brother.

Mark lunged forward. Not to embrace his brother, no—his hand curled around your throat instead, driving you into the wall behind you.

You gasped sharply, eyes screwing shut as the force knocked the wind from your lungs. You clawed at his arm, feet kicking helplessly with nothing to stand on. "Wait—"

He hovered over your squirming body mercilessly, squeezing to watch you splutter.

"Who are you?"

#invincible #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible show #mark grayson #invincible x gn reader

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flux1563 · 2 months ago

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The Best Beast Party

Words : 11k

Minju opened her eyes first, the light from the crack in the curtains piercing the darkened room. Her vision was blurry, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. She took a deep breath, the pain of her bruised ribs reminding her of the night's events. Chaewon's hand was still in hers, a silent testament to their unspoken pact to face this week together.

Slowly, Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes fluttering open. She took in the room, the mess of discarded clothing and the empty bottles scattered around, a silent monument to their endurance. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a musky aroma that clung to their skin like a second layer.

"Last night was fucking wild," she murmured, her voice hoarse from screams that had long since turned into whimpers. Minju couldn't help but chuckle, the sound strange and foreign in the quiet aftermath. "You can say that again," she replied, her voice equally ravaged by the night's excesses.

They stumbled back to the bed, their legs barely holding them upright. As they collapsed onto the clean sheets, the reality of their situation began to sink in. "I think our holes are broken," Chaewon whispered, her voice tinged with a mix of humor and horror. Minju's laughter was cut short by a wince, her own pussy feeling the truth of those words.

The silence that enveloped them was strange, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the party outside. The villa was their sanctuary, a place where they could recover before the next round of debauchery began. But as Minju lay there, her thoughts began to race. What would this night bring? Would they be able to endure another round of relentless fucking?

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and the local men filed in, each one carrying a small, gourd-shaped bottle filled with a traditional potion. The room grew quiet as they approached the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and something else - something primal. Chaewon's hand tightened around hers, a silent warning.

"What's this?" Minju asked, her voice trembling slightly. One of the men stepped forward, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "It's a local aphrodisiac," he said, his accent thick. "To keep you ready for the night ahead."

Chaewon's eyes grew wide with apprehension. "Another round?" she whispered. The man's smile grew wider. "Oh no," he corrected her, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "This isn't just another round. This is the main event. We are going to fuck you both, non-stop, until the seventh night."

Before Minju or Chaewon could protest, the men grabbed their heads, forcing the potion down their throats. The liquid burned, a fiery path of desire that seemed to ignite every nerve ending in their bodies. They coughed and sputtered, trying to resist, but the men were insistent, holding their mouths open until the bottles were empty. The potion was unlike anything they had ever tasted, a mix of sweetness and heat that seemed to pulse through their veins.

As the last drops slipped down their throats, the women felt a strange energy fill them. It was as if every cell in their bodies had come alive with a newfound purpose, a hunger that went beyond the physical. Their eyes grew wide with shock as they felt their muscles tighten, their sore pussies contracting with need once again. The room spun around them, the air thick with anticipation.

The local men wasted no time, their cocks already hard and eager as they descended upon the two friends. The moaning started almost immediately, a symphony of pleasure that grew louder with each passing moment. Minju felt her body stretched to its limits as she was filled in every way possible, the sensations overwhelming her senses. Her pussy clenched around the cock inside her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

The cameras rolled, capturing every second of their degradation. The flashes of light pierced the darkness, a silent reminder that they were not just giving themselves to the men, but to an audience of unknown faces. Yet, in that moment, it didn't matter. All that existed was the pleasure, the pain, and the overwhelming desire to come.

The men took them in every conceivable way, pushing them to their limits and beyond. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt a cock slide into her ass, the stretch making her scream. The potion had done its work, and she could feel her body's natural resistance melting away, leaving only the need for more. The golden shower rained down, the warmth of the urine mixing with the stickiness between their legs as they squirted in unison.

The night grew wilder, their bodies a canvas for the men's desires. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the sounds of their moans and the slapping of flesh echoing through the room. They were no longer roommates, no longer idol. They had become something else entirely, creatures of pure, unbridled lust.

The potion's effects grew stronger, their bodies responding in ways they had never thought possible. Each orgasm seemed to fuel the next, a never-ending cycle of pleasure that left them both breathless. Minju felt herself being passed from one man to the next, her pussy and mouth never empty, the taste of cum becoming as natural as the salt in the air.

The room grew blurry, the faces of their lovers indistinguishable in the strobe light of the cameras. Yet, through the haze, she felt a strange sense of belonging, a connection to each and every one of them that went beyond the physical. It was as if they had all become part of a single, pulsating organism, each beat of their hearts a testament to their shared desire.

The night was an eternal loop of fucking and moaning, the line between pleasure and pain blurring until it was impossible to tell one from the other. They were the entertainment, the prize that every man sought to claim. Yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their friendship the unspoken bond that kept them anchored to reality.

As the men took them, the two friends held onto each other, their eyes meeting in silent communication. They were in this together, surviving this week-long gauntlet of sexual excess. Each time one of them screamed, the other would whisper words of encouragement, their intertwined fingers a silent promise that they would not be broken.

And as the night grew long, as the men grew tired and the potion's is work, the room grew quiet. The cameras were still rolling, but the applause had died down to a murmur. Chaewon and Minju lay there, their bodies sticky and bruised, their hearts racing with the aftermath of their experience.

Minju's eyes searched the darkness, the flicker of the candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. "I can't believe we're still going," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a raspy croak. Chaewon's response was a weak smile, her eyes glazed over with exhaustion. "The potion," she murmured, her body twitching with the aftershocks of another orgasm. "It keeps us... alive."

The local men had taken them to a new level of depravity, their hunger for the women insatiable. Each night brought more extreme acts, more men eager to claim their prize. The fourth night was no exception, as the gangbang continued with an intensity that seemed to defy the very fabric of their beings. They had become sexual marionettes, dancing to the tune of the potion that coursed through their veins.

Their screams had long ago turned to whimpers, their bodies no longer their own. They were the living embodiment of desire, their every hole filled without pause. The men took them in every conceivable way, their hands rough and demanding. The air was thick with the scent of sex, their cries muffled by the pillows shoved into their mouths.

The fourth night grew longer, each minute stretching into an eternity. Their bodies were a tapestry of bruises, their spirits waning, yet the potion's power held them aloft. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more punishing as the night wore on. The camera flashes pierced the darkness like strobe lights in a nightclub, capturing every grimace and tear. Yet, through it all, the two friends remained intertwined, their bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat.

Minju's eyes grew glazed with pain and pleasure, her mind a haze of sensations. She had lost count of the men who had claimed her, of the ropes of cum that filled her to the brim. Chaewon, equally spent, lay beside her, her body a mirror of Minju's own. The men took turns, switching between the two, ensuring that neither was left without attention for too long. Each thrust brought a new wave of agony, yet it was an agony they had come to crave, a testament to the depths of their transformation.

Their pussies, once tight and untouched, had been stretched to their limits, the delicate folds now gaping and sore. Yet, the potion kept them lubricated, their bodies responding with a hunger that seemed never to be satiated. The men's faces were a blur of lust and determination, each eager to leave his mark on the two sex-crazed goddesses. They whispered sweet nothings in their ears, praising their stamina, their beauty, their willingness to submit.

The room was a sea of writhing flesh, the air thick with the scent of cum and sweat. The mattress beneath them was soaked, the sheets sticking to their bodies like a second skin. They were no longer the shy, reserved women who had arrived at the villa a week ago. They had become the embodiment of sexual excess, living out the darkest fantasies of their guests. And as the night grew quiet, the only sound the heavy breathing of the exhausted men, Minju and Chaewon clung to each other, their hearts pounding in unison.

The fifth night brought with it a new level of intensity. The men had heard whispers of their legendary endurance, and they were eager to test it to the fullest. The room was filled with a mix of locals and partygoers, each one eager to have his turn with the infamous duo. The air was charged with excitement, the tension palpable as the first cock slid into Chaewon's willing mouth.

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and exhilaration as she watched her friend, her own pussy already being filled by two other men. They had become a well-oiled machine, their bodies responding almost instinctively to the needs of their partners. The potion had not just heightened their desires; it had transformed them into sexual beings who knew no limits.

The men took them without mercy, pushing their bodies to the brink of exhaustion. They were used in every way conceivable, their screams a siren's call to the next round of eager participants. The cameras rolled on, capturing every moment of their degradation. Yet, amidst the chaos, their eyes met, a silent promise that they would not break.

The night grew darker, the candles flickering with each new round of lust. The air was thick with the smell of sex, the sound of their moans a constant backdrop to the rhythmic slapping of flesh. They had become the heartbeat of the party, the pulsing center of an orgy that seemed to have no end. Each orgasm brought with it a mix of pain and pleasure, their bodies trembling with the force of it all.

And as the fifth night bled into the sixth, the men grew bolder, their eyes gleaming with a feral hunger. The potion had not just given them endurance; it had also stripped away any semblance of humanity. They were animals now, driven by a primal need to breed. The local men had become their handlers, their bodies a playground for the guests' desires.

The women were pushed beyond their limits, their cries of pleasure turning to screams of pain as the men grew more brutal. Yet, even as their bodies protested, the potion kept them coming back for more, their pussies clenching around the cocks that filled them. The room was a blur of faces, each one more depraved than the last.

But amidst the chaos, there was a strange comfort in the familiarity of each other's touch. Chaewon's hand in hers, the taste of her cum on their lips, the feel of their bodies moving together. It was a bond that could not be broken, a friendship that had been forged in the fires of passion.

And so, they continued, their bodies a battleground of pleasure and pain. Each new day brought with it a fresh round of challenges, as the local men pushed them further than they ever thought possible. Minju and Chaewon had become the heart of the party, the main attraction that no guest could ignore. They had transcended beyond mere entertainment; they were now the essence of the event, a living embodiment of carnality that drew everyone in.

Their eyes met often, a silent conversation that spoke volumes. They had become a single entity, a beacon of desire that drew the men to them like moths to a flame. Each thrust, each slap, each bite brought them closer to the brink, yet they never fell. The potion had made them more than mere mortals, their endurance a thing of legend.

The days blurred together, a never-ending cycle of fucking and cum. They had lost count of the number of men who had filled them, the number of times they had come. Their bodies bore the marks of their triumphs, bruises and bites that painted a map of their journey into the abyss of pleasure. Yet, with each new dawn, they rose from the bed, ready to face whatever the night had in store for them.

The sixth night was the most brutal yet. The men had grown more daring, their appetites whetted by the sight of the two friends' unbreakable spirit. They were no longer content with mere penetration; they sought to claim them in every way imaginable. The women were bound, their bodies contorted into positions that defied logic, their cries of pain echoing through the villa. Yet, the potion held them aloft, their bodies responding even as their minds begged for respite.

The local men had become more than just their handlers; they were now their protectors, ensuring that no one took things too far. They whispered to the guests, their voices low and commanding, setting the boundaries that even in their most debauched moments, Minju and Chaewon could not. It was a strange, twisted dynamic, but it was one that kept the two friends safe amidst the sea of lust that threatened to drown them.

As the sixth night drew to a close, the local men gathered around the bed, their faces a mix of awe and concern. They had never seen anyone last this long, never seen a woman take so much and still crave more. The potion had transformed them into something otherworldly, something beyond human understanding.

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their latest orgy. The candles had burned low, their wax pooled on the floor like the cum that surrounded them. They were exhausted, their spirits frayed, yet the potion's warmth kept them from succumbing to the darkness.

The local men spoke in hushed tones, their eyes on the two friends. They had seen the change in them, the way their bodies responded even when their minds were spent. They knew that the potion had unlocked something deep within them, a power that could not be contained.

The final night approached, a crescendo of desire that had been building for a week. The partygoers were eager for the grand finale, their whispers of anticipation filling the villa. The local men had planned something special, something that would ensure the women's legend would live on long after the party had ended.

Minju and Chaewon lay side by side, their bodies a canvas of bruises and cum. They had become more than just sexual icons; they were the very essence of the party, their endurance a symbol of what could be achieved when one embraced their deepest desires.

The final act was one that would push them to their absolute limits. The local men had concocted a potion even stronger than the last, one that would make the final night a testament to their power. They would be taken by every man at the party, their bodies offered up in a ritual of lust that would leave them forever changed.

The two friends looked into each other's eyes, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Could they endure one more night.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" Chaewon's voice was a whisper, the exhaustion clear in her tone. But Minju's gaze was steely, a mix of determination and something else, something that scared Chaewon more than the thought of the men's brutal embrace.

"We've come this far," she murmured, her own voice hoarse from days of screaming. "We can't stop now."

The final night began with a frenzied energy that seemed to electrify the very air. The local men had concocted a new potion, one that promised an intensity that would dwarf the previous nights' excesses. As they were led to the makeshift stage, their wrists bound together, the crowd grew quiet, their eyes glinting with anticipation.

The first cock slid into Minju, and she gritted her teeth, bracing for the pain. But it never came. Instead, she felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of power that made her body quiver. The second cock followed, and then the third, filling her completely. Her pussy stretched around them, welcoming them in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Chaewon watched, her heart racing as she felt the potion's effects take hold. Her pussy clenched in anticipation, her body already responding to the sight of Minju's plight. And then, it was her turn. Two cocks pushed into her, the feeling of being filled so completely washing away any last vestiges of doubt or fear.

They were both mounted, the local men taking turns, their thrusts synchronized to an almost balletic degree. The camera flashes were a constant, blinding reminder of their newfound status as sexual icons. The air was thick with the scent of cum and sweat, the only sounds the grunts of the men and the wet, slapping noises of flesh meeting flesh.

The night went on, each hour more intense than the last. They were fucked by two cocks at a time, their pussies stretched to the brink of pain and beyond. Yet, the potion kept them coming back, their bodies responding with an unquenchable thirst for more. The crowd watched, their eyes glazed with lust, as the two friends were claimed by the men, their cries of pleasure a symphony of surrender.

But as the twelfth hour approached, the local men had a surprise in store for them. "It's time for the final act," one of them murmured, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The potion was administered again, this time with a twist. They could feel it coursing through their veins, a burning sensation that grew stronger with each passing minute.

The men positioned themselves, two at each of their asses. Chaewon felt the first cock push inside her, the sensation so foreign and yet so right. She gasped as the second cock followed, filling her completely. The pressure was immense, the pain sharp and intense, but the potion's power kept her going, her body responding to the intrusion with a hunger she had never known.

Minju felt the same, her ass stretching to accommodate the two thick cocks that claimed her. The pain was exquisite, a white-hot brand seared into her very soul. Yet, she knew that this was the culmination of their journey, the ultimate test of their endurance. They had become more than just sexual playthings; they were now the embodiment of the party's dark desires, the living proof of what the potion could do.

The men took them without mercy, their thrusts growing more urgent with each passing moment. The room was a whirlwind of sensation, their asses pounding in a rhythm that matched the beat of the music. They had become the heart of the orgy, the focal point of everyone's lust.

And as the twelfth hour approached, the local men grew more daring. They had pushed them to their limits, and now they wanted to break them. The potion had changed them once again, their bodies now craving the most extreme acts. Chaewon felt the pressure building inside her, the need to come unlike anything she had ever felt before.

The room grew darker, the only light the flicker of the candles that surrounded them. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the sound of their bodies colliding with the men's a cacophony of desire. They were no longer just roommates and business partners; they had become sexual beings, living and breathing for the pleasure of others.

The men grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as the night reached its climax. The pain was almost unbearable, but the potion held them in its thrall, their bodies responding with a fervor that seemed almost supernatural. They were no longer in control, their every move dictated by the men who held them down.

The twelfth hour struck, the sound of the clock echoing through the villa. And with it, the final act began. The men pulled out, their cocks glistening with the girls' juices. They had one last challenge for them, one last act of debauchery that would seal their fate as sexual icons.

The local men lined up, their cocks hard and ready. The two friends were lifted, their asses presented to the eager crowd. And then, without a moment's hesitation, the first man pushed his cock into Chaewon, followed quickly by the second. The room erupted in cheers as they both took them, their bodies quivering with the intensity of the sensation.

Minju felt the same, the pressure in her ass unlike anything she had ever experienced. Yet, she pushed back, eager to take more, to feel the full force of the men's desire. The potion had changed them, made them crave the most extreme acts. And as the final hours of the party ticked away, they gave in to the darkness, their bodies a testament to the power of lust and the endurance of the human spirit.

The local men had one final act in mind, a performance that would be remembered for years to come. They whispered to each other, their eyes gleaming with excitement as they lined up before the bound and exhausted duo. Chaewon felt the first warm stream of piss hit her face, the sting of it shocking her out of the haze of pleasure and pain she had been lost in. She gasped, her eyes wide with surprise, as the second and third streams followed, the men's urine mixing with the sweat and cum that already coated their bodies.

Minju's eyes snapped open as the same warmth hit her, the sensation jolting her back to reality. She had never felt so humiliated, so utterly used. And yet, she found herself pushing back into the streams, the sensation of the warm liquid on her skin strangely arousing. The crowd roared with approval, their cheers and claps urging the men on.

The men took turns, pissing on them as they lay there, their bodies writhing with the last vestiges of pleasure. It was a moment that would be etched into their memories forever, a symbol of their complete and utter surrender to the party's dark desires. The potion had made them more than just sexual icons; it had transformed them into creatures of pure carnality, their every move a dance of debauchery.

And as the last stream of piss fell upon them, the local men stepped back, their cocks still hard. They had one final challenge for the two friends, one that would push them to the very edge of their limits. "You will come," one of them growled, his voice thick with lust. "You will come for us, or the potion will not release you."

The room grew quiet, the anticipation palpable. The two friends looked at each other, their eyes filled with a mix of terror and determination. They had come so far, endured so much. They would not fail now. With a shared nod, they focused their energy, their bodies responding to the challenge.

The men took their places, their cocks sliding into the girls' open pussies once more. The sensation was overwhelming, the mix of pain and pleasure almost too much to bear. But they pushed through, their bodies moving in time with the music, the rhythm of the fucking becoming a part of them.

And as the sun began to rise, casting a golden glow over the villa, they felt the potion's power wane. The room was still, the men waiting with bated breath. And then, it happened. Chaewon's body tensed, a scream ripping from her throat as she came, the orgasm so intense it was almost painful. Minju followed, her pussy contracting around the cock inside her, her eyes rolling back in her head.

The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and applause, their cries of "More! More!" echoing through the room. Yet, the local men held back, their eyes on the two friends, their bodies still, their breathing ragged. They had achieved the impossible, survived the week-long orgy, and had come out the other side, forever changed by the experience.

The potion had done its work, the final act complete. The local men stepped back, their job done. The two friends lay there, their bodies spent, their hearts racing. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come back for more, their friendship a testament to the power of desire and the strength of the human spirit.

As the partygoers slowly dispersed, leaving the villa to the quiet of the morning, Minju and Chaewon remained bound to each other, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and cum. They had become more than just sexual icons; they had become the embodiment of the party's deepest, darkest desires.

The sun peeked through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room that seemed to illuminate the stark reality of their situation. The potion's grip on them was loosening, the warmth of its power slowly fading from their veins. The quiet was a stark contrast to the cacophony of the night, a gentle reminder that the world outside continued to turn without them.

With a silent nod of understanding, Minju and Chaewon managed to untangle their bodies from the mass of limbs and discarded ropes, their movements careful and deliberate. The sticky mess of cum and sweat that clung to their skin made their skin crawl, but the potion's effects still held sway, their pussies contracting with a need that was almost painful. They stumbled to the bathroom, their legs unsteady, their eyes glazed with a mix of exhaustion and the lingering haze of pleasure.

Minju reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort of turning it. The cool water sprayed out, the droplets hitting their bodies like a slap in the face. The potion's warmth dissipated instantly, and with it, their invincibility. They fell to the floor, their legs giving out beneath them, the tiles cold and unforgiving against their bruised flesh. The room spun, the walls closing in around them as reality set in.

Two of the local men, their faces gentle and concerned, stepped forward, immediately recognizing their distress. They scooped the girls up with surprising care, their strong arms cradling them like precious cargo. Chaewon felt a strange comfort in their embrace, the touch of skin against skin a reminder that she was still human, still alive. They carried them to the massive tub in the center of the bathroom, the water already drawn and scented with soothing oils.

The men lowered them into the warm embrace of the water, the heat enveloping their abused bodies like a soft blanket. Minju let out a sigh of relief, her eyes closing as the water caressed her bruised flesh. The local men stepped back, allowing them privacy, as they whispered words of praise and admiration in their native tongue. The respect in their voices was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the brutal passion of the night before.

For a moment, there was silence, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the water and their own labored breathing. The potion had worn off, leaving them feeling as if they had been run through a gauntlet of lust. Every inch of their bodies ached, a symphony of pain that was a stark reminder of the week's events. Chaewon leaned against Minju, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces, each one bearing the marks of their shared ordeal.

As the warm water soothed their abused flesh, the reality of their situation began to sink in. They had survived the week-long sexual marathon, their bodies pushed to the brink and beyond. The friendship that had brought them here had been tested, stretched to its limits, and emerged stronger than ever.

"It is 7 pm, 12 hours since your brutality moment," Chaewon murmured to Minju, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the harrowing night that had just passed.

Minju's eyes snapped open, focusing on the reflection in the mirror. The once pristine bathtub was now a cesspool of cum, a stark reminder of the relentless pounding they had endured. Their bodies were a canvas of bruises, each mark telling a story of the unbridled passion they had experienced. They stared in horror and disbelief at the sight, their eyes wide with shock.

"I...I can't believe it," Minju managed to murmur, her voice trembling. "We did this."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought. "Yeahh, we're so shocked," she echoed, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air.

The water around them grew murky, a testament to the excess of the night. It was a strange feeling, floating in a tub filled with the evidence of their shared experiences. The cum that surrounded them was a tangible reminder of their endurance, a symbol of the unyielding desire that had fueled the week. Minju's hand gently traced the curve of her belly, feeling the slight bulge that remained despite the countless men who had emptied themselves into her. The feeling of fullness was both disturbing and oddly satisfying.

They had become living embodiments of sexual excess, and as the water grew warmer, so too did their thoughts of the week. The potion had heightened their desires to a level that seemed unattainable, a realm where pain and pleasure had become so intertwined that they were indistinguishable. Chaewon's hand followed suit, her fingers ghosting over her own bruised flesh, feeling the sticky residue of the potion's aftermath.

"Look," she whispered, her voice a mere breath, "the water is contaminated by the cum inside us." The words were a stark reality check, a reminder of the depraved acts they had willingly participated in. Despite their exhaustion, the potion had left a lingering ache, a hunger for more that was insatiable. The tub was a stew of their collective lust, a physical representation of the carnage their bodies had endured.

They watched as their abdomens gently bulged and contracted, the last remnants of the potion's power pushing the excess cum from their bodies. It spurted out of them in thick ropes, staining the once-clear water a murky white. The sight was both repulsive and fascinating, a grim testament to their endurance. They had become living vessels for the men's desires, their bodies a canvas for the darkest of fantasies.

"Look at us," Chaewon murmured, her voice filled with a strange mix of pride and horror. "We're still full of their cum, even after all this."

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the memory of the countless orgasms that had left her feeling both drained and oddly powerful. The potion had done more than just drive them to sexual heights they had never known; it had changed them on a fundamental level. The sperm didn't come all out, it was a part of them now, a part of their shared experience that had bound them tighter than any friendship could.

With trembling hands, she spread her legs, revealing the gaping, bruised hole that had been her pussy. It was swollen and red, the edges stretched to the point that it was barely recognizable. Chaewon's gaze followed, a mix of shock and awe etched on her features. "Look at this," Minju whispered, her voice cracking with a mix of pain and pride. "So wide...so open...I never knew it could be like this."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes meeting Minju's in the mirror. "Yeah, mine too," she said, her voice a barely audible murmur. She spread her legs as well, displaying the mirror image of Minju's condition. Their pussies were a stark contrast to the pristine marble of the tub, a silent declaration of the depraved ritual they had endured.

With a deep sigh, Minju pulled herself from the tub, her body leaving a crimson trail in the water. She stepped onto the floor, the cold tiles sending a shiver through her body. She was covered in a thick layer of cum and sweat, her bruises standing out like a dark map against her pale skin. Chaewon followed, her movements just as tentative.

They stumbled into their bedroom, the sight before them a testament to the wildness of the night. The bed was a tangled mess of sheets and discarded clothing, the floor littered with condom wrappers and used toys. The smell of sex was overpowering, a heady mix of sweat, cum, and desire that seemed to cling to every surface.

Minju reached for her phone, her hand shaking as she dialed the number of one of the local men who had been attending to them all week. "We need clean clothes," she managed to say, her voice hoarse from the night's screams. "Please, something to wear."

The man on the other end of the line responded in a calm, soothing tone, his voice a balm to their frazzled nerves. "Of course," he said, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I'll bring some shirts for you both."

The door opened, and in walked two of the local men they had grown to know over the past week. Their eyes took in the scene before them: Minju and Chaewon, standing in the center of the room, their legs shaking, bodies trembling. Despite the horror of their condition, the men's gazes held a hint of admiration, a nod to the unbreakable spirit that had driven them through the relentless marathon of sex.

They approached the women with gentle steps, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance that held them upright. The men took in the sight of their wide open pussies and asses, the cum still spurting out of them in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. It was a sight that was at once disturbing and fascinating, a testament to the potion's power and their unyielding desire.

The men knelt before them, offering soft cloths to clean the sticky mess that covered their legs. Their touch was tender, almost reverent, as if they were caring for a pair of fragile, precious dolls that had been played with too roughly. Chaewon took a deep breath, her chest heaving as she leaned into the touch, the sensation of the cloth against her skin sending a shiver down her spine.

The men worked in silence, their movements efficient and practiced. They had seen this before, had been a part of this ritual countless times. Yet, there was something different about Minju and Chaewon, something that set them apart from the other women who had come before.

As they were being tended to, the friends couldn't help but exchange a look of disbelief and awe. They had pushed through the most intense week of their lives, and somehow, they had emerged on the other side, still standing. The potion had broken them down, reshaping them into sexual goddesses, but their bond had remained unbroken, a silent bastion of friendship amidst the chaos.

Finally, the men stood up, offering them shirts that hung like oversized dresses, covering their bodies from neck to thigh. The fabric was soft and cool against their skin, a soothing balm after the relentless assault of the night. They pulled the shirts over their heads, the material sticking to their cum-drenched skin, but the modesty was a welcome change from their earlier exposure.

"Thank you," Minju murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The man nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You did well," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that seemed out of place in the aftermath of their weeklong ordeal. "You are truly the most... incredible women we have ever seen."

The compliment brought a hint of a smile to her lips, despite the pain and exhaustion that still lingered. Chaewon looked over at her, her eyes still filled with a mix of shock and horror. "Yeah," she managed to croak out. "Thank you."

The two friends looked at each other, their eyes speaking volumes. They had come to this island seeking escape, but what they had found was something else entirely. They had pushed the boundaries of their friendship, their bodies, and their very selves.

As the men left the room, the weight of their situation settled heavily upon them. "What do we do now?" Chaewon asked, her voice shaking.

Minju took a deep, shuddering breath. "We go home," she said firmly. "We've done what we came here to do."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the reality that awaited them outside the villa's walls. The party was over, and the world they had left behind was beckoning them back.

The man returned, his expression serious. "I think it's best if we take you to the airport," he said gently. "You need to leave before the effects of the potion wear off completely. It's not safe for you to stay any longer."

The gravity of his words sent a chill down Chaewon's spine. They had become too much a part of the island's dark underbelly, too entwined in its depraved rituals. It was time to leave, to return to their lives, forever changed by the week that had just transpired.

Minju nodded, her resolve unwavering. "Yes," she agreed. "Take us home."

The man nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. He knew what they had been through, knew the depths of their depravity. And yet, he treated them with a gentle respect that seemed almost out of place.

They gathered their belongings, their bodies moving slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the fragile illusion of normalcy that had been cast over them. The clothes clung to their bodies, a constant reminder of the excess they had indulged in.

The drive to the airport was a blur, the scenery outside the window a stark contrast to the chaos they had just left behind. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the island that seemed to belie the darkness they had just experienced.

As they boarded the plane, their bodies still sore, their hearts heavy with the weight of their memories, they held hands, a silent promise that they would get through this together. The flight home was a blur, the hours passing in a haze of pain and reflection.

When they finally stepped off the plane, the cool air of home a stark contrast to the tropical heat, they looked at each other, their eyes filled with a mix of relief and regret. They had survived the week, but the scars it had left on their souls would take much longer to heal.

The man who had brought them to the airport had given them a small vial of the potion as a parting gift, a reminder of their time on the island. They had hidden it in their luggage, unsure if they would ever be brave enough to use it again.

As they walked through the bustling airport, their heads held high despite their bruised and battered bodies, they couldn't help but feel like they had left a part of themselves behind. The potion had changed them, made them crave the very things that had once repulsed them.

But as they disappeared into the crowd, their friendship stronger than ever, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, forever bound by the unspoken truth of what they had endured.

The flight home was a silent journey, the weight of their experiences heavy in the air between them. They clutched their carry-ons tightly, the hidden vial of potion a silent reminder of their shared secret. The cabin lights flickered on, signaling that they were about to take off, and with trembling hands, they each took a swig from the small bottle, the potion burning a path down their throats.

As the aircraft climbed, the potion began to take hold. Minju felt a familiar warmth spread through her body, the same sensation that had fueled their week of excess. She looked over at Chaewon, her eyes questioning. "Are you still squirting a little bit right now?" she asked, the words barely a whisper.

Chaewon nodded, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. The potion had left them with an insatiable need, a hunger that gnawed at their very core. They had become so attuned to the sensation that even the slightest arousal brought forth a gush of fluid, a reminder of the men who had claimed them so thoroughly.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, they both knew that the potion had not only changed their bodies but had also forged a bond that transcended friendship. They were bound now, in a way that no one else could ever understand. They had shared something so intimate, so primal, that it had redefined the very essence of who they were.

As they sat in the quiet cabin, the hum of the engines a distant lullaby, they couldn't help but feel the potion's aftermath. The sensation of their pussies and asses being stretched beyond their limits still lingered, a constant reminder of the men who had claimed them so thoroughly. They shifted in their seats, the fabric of the airplane chairs rubbing against their sore, swollen flesh.

"I can still feel it," Chaewon murmured, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "Like it's...still open for them."

Minju nodded, her own gaze reflecting the same haunted expression. "Yeah," she agreed. "It's like it's...broken."

The word hung in the air between them, a stark reminder of the physical toll their week of excess had taken. Their pussies, once tight and untouched, had been stretched and pounded until they were nothing but gaping holes, begging for more.

The flight attendant walked by, casting a quick glance at the two women. She couldn't help but notice the way they sat, legs slightly apart, as if their bodies were still trying to accommodate the men who had claimed them so completely.

The potion had left them in a state of perpetual arousal, their bodies craving the very thing that had brought them such pain. They shifted in their seats, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't make their bruised flesh scream in protest.

"Is your pussy broken, too?" Minju asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "Yeah," she whispered. "It's like it's stuck open, begging to be filled."

The admission brought a flicker of something dark to Minju's eyes, a hunger that she didn't fully understand. The potion had changed them, had broken down the walls of their inhibitions, leaving them vulnerable and exposed.

The flight attendant brought them their drinks, her eyes lingering on their flushed faces and trembling hands. She knew what had happened, had heard the whispers of the island's darker rituals. Yet she offered them a small, knowing smile, as if to say, 'I understand'.

As they sipped their drinks, the potion's warmth grew stronger, their bodies responding to its call. The plane hit a patch of turbulence, and their grips tightened on the armrests. The jolt sent a shock of pleasure through Minju's body, and she bit back a moan.

"It's okay," Chaewon whispered, her hand reaching over to cover Minju's. "We're going home now. We'll get through this."

The promise of home was a beacon of light in the sea of darkness that had consumed them. Yet, as they stared into each other's eyes, the potion's grip on them was undeniable. They had become something more than friends, something more than mere survivors.

They had become a testament to desire, their bodies forever altered by the week's depravity. And as they sat there, miles above the world that had no idea of the horrors they had endured, they couldn't help but wonder if they would ever truly be able to leave the island behind.

The potion's effects grew stronger, their bodies betraying them even as they willed themselves to ignore the need. The ache in their pussies and asses grew with every passing moment, the dull throb of pain and pleasure an ever-present reminder of what they had become. They shifted in their seats, trying in vain to find comfort amidst the discomfort, their legs involuntarily spreading wider.

The other passengers on the plane began to cast curious glances their way, the scent of sex clinging to them like a second skin. They were a spectacle, a living embodiment of the darkest of human appetites. And yet, amidst the judgment and the stares, they found solace in each other's presence.

Their friendship had been the only constant in the chaos, the only thing that had kept them grounded in reality. They had become each other's confidants, each other's strength, each other's release. The potion had taken so much from them, but it had also given them a bond that was unbreakable.

As the plane descended, the pressure in their ears mirrored the pressure building in their bodies. The need for release grew stronger with every passing second, the potion's power a relentless force that demanded to be satiated. They could feel themselves getting wetter, the fabric of their shirts sticking to their skin, a silent testament to their arousal.

The potion was like a living entity within them, a parasite that fed on their very essence, demanding more and more. Yet, even as they succumbed to its power, they knew that they would never truly be its slaves. They had chosen this path, had embraced the darkness, and had emerged on the other side, forever changed but still in control.

The wheels touched down, the jolt of the landing sending a bolt of pleasure through their bodies that was almost too much to bear. They stumbled off the plane, their legs unsteady, their hearts racing. The air outside was cold, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered within them.

Minju turned to Chaewon, her eyes wild with desperation. "We can't go home like this," she said, her voice urgent. "We need...something to help us through this."

Chaewon nodded, understanding in her gaze. They had talked about it in hushed whispers during the flight, the fear of the potion's lasting effects a constant undercurrent in their conversation. They couldn't face the world, couldn't go back to their normal lives, not like this.

They found themselves in a small, dimly lit sex shop in the airport's lower level, the neon lights flickering over aisles filled with every imaginable adult toy. Their eyes scanned the shelves, searching for something that could fill the void the potion had left behind.

Minju reached for a display case, her hand trembling as she pointed to the row of vibrants. "We need more," she said, her voice shaking. "One isn't enough anymore."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and desire. "Yeah," she murmured. "I know."

They each picked out four of the largest vibrators they could find, the shiny black surfaces a stark contrast to their trembling fingers. They handed over their credit cards, the cashier's eyes never leaving their faces. He knew the look of desperation, had seen it countless times before.

Once in their apartment, the shirts were the first to go, revealing their bruised and swollen breasts. The pants followed, pooling at their feet like discarded armor. They stepped out of them, their legs wobbly, the fabric sticking to their cum-covered skin.

"Look," Chaewon whispered, pointing to the mess on the floor. It was a stark reminder of the party's aftermath, a puddle of evidence that seemed to stretch from Africa to Korea, a testament to their week-long marathon of sexual conquests.

Minju couldn't help but laugh, a dark, humorless sound that echoed through the room. "Yeah," she said, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and horror. "The sperm from the party didn't end yet."

Their laughter grew, a cathartic release that bubbled up from the depths of their souls. They had survived, had come through the other side, and now they faced the reality of their transformation. The potion had left them with a never-ending craving, a hunger that gnawed at their very core.

They stood there, naked and exposed, their bodies a canvas of bruises and cum. The vibrators they had bought at the airport beckoned from the bed, promising a temporary reprieve from the relentless ache that consumed them.

They looked into each other's eyes, the silent understanding passing between them. They had become more than just friends, they were now partners in a twisted dance of desire and pain.

"Look at you, Chaewon," Minju said, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "Your pussy and ass are so... pathetic," she couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "They're wide open, I can still see the squirt of joy coming out."

Chaewon's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she glanced down at her own reflection. The potion had indeed done its work, leaving her body forever changed. Her once tight, untouched holes now gaped open, a stark reminder of the men who had used her so roughly. Yet, she felt a strange sense of pride in her newfound vulnerability.

"And look at you, Minju," Chaewon retorted, her voice filled with a hint of spite. "You're just as broken as I am."

They both laughed, the sound echoing through the room, a bit too loud, a bit too desperate. The vibrators lay on the bed, gleaming in the dim light, promising an escape from the pain and the never-ending hunger. They were a symbol of their new reality, a tool to navigate the treacherous waters of their transformed desires.

They approached the bed, their bodies moving in sync, their eyes never leaving each other's. The potion had taken them to the brink, had shattered their inhibitions, leaving them open to a world of pleasure and pain they had never dreamed possible.

They picked up the vibrators, their hands shaking with anticipation. The cold plastic was a stark contrast to the heat that still simmered between their legs. They turned them on, the buzzing sound a siren's call to their desperate bodies.

Chaewon took a deep breath, her hand trembling as she guided the two thick toys into her ass, feeling the stretch and burn as they filled her. She gritted her teeth, the sensation both agonizing and exhilarating. With a grimace, she pushed the third vibrator into her pussy, the vibrations echoing through her body, a symphony of pain and pleasure.

Minju mirrored her action, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's. The sight of her friend, so vulnerable and open, filled her with a mix of arousal and protectiveness. She pushed her own vibrators in, the pressure intense, the vibrations resonating through her core. They both moaned, their bodies protesting and welcoming the intrusion at the same time.

The room was filled with the sound of their whimpers and the buzz of the toys as they found their rhythm, their hips moving in a slow, synchronized dance. They had become a single entity, their boundaries blurred by the potion's power.

As they twisted the vibrators, the pain grew, morphing into something almost unbearable, yet they pushed through it, driven by the potion's relentless hunger. They had become addicted to the sensation, craving the intensity that only this extreme form of pleasure could provide.

Their eyes met again, and in that moment, they knew that their friendship had been irrevocably changed. They had become more than just confidants, more than just survivors. They were now a duo, bound by their shared experiences, their bodies forever linked in this dance of depravity.

The potion's grip grew stronger, the vibrations from the toys a constant reminder of the men who had claimed them. Yet, as they pleasured themselves, they found a new kind of power, a control over their own bodies that they had never known before.

Their breath grew ragged, their movements more erratic, as the orgasm built. They were in a race against time, trying to outrun the potion's hold, to find some semblance of release before the pain became too much.

As they neared their peak, the potion's effects began to wane, the vibrations no longer enough to hold off the ache. They could feel the potion's grip loosening, the intense high giving way to a cold, empty feeling.

They stared at each other, desperation in their eyes, knowing that without the potion's power, the pleasure they sought was just out of reach. The vibrators fell from their trembling hands, forgotten relics of a lost world.

"We can't do this without it," Chaewon whispered, her voice laced with despair. The realization hit them both like a ton of bricks, their bodies trembling with the need for something more.

"We have to find a way," Minju replied, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's. The potion had become their crutch, the only thing that could fill the void that now consumed them. But the potion was gone, and with it, the intense pleasure they had come to crave.

The room was filled with the scent of sex, the air thick with the musky aroma of their arousal. They had squirted countless times, their bodies drenched in their juices, but it was never enough. The potion had made them insatiable, their desires a bottomless pit that could never be filled.

"Ahh, I'm squirt again," Minju moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and frustration. She looked down at the growing wet spot on the bed, the evidence of her body's betrayal. Her pussy spasmed, trying to clench around the vibrator, desperate for the fullness she knew she could never achieve without the potion.

Chaewon nodded in silent understanding, her own body trembling with the effort to control the potion's aftermath. She inserted another vibrator, feeling the stretch as it pushed past her bruised and swollen flesh. "Me too," she managed to gasp out, her voice strained with need.

Together, they continued their frantic movements, the sound of their wet bodies slapping against each other a rhythmic counterpoint to their desperate moans. The potion had turned them into sex goddesses, but without it, they were mere mortals once again, trying to fill a void that seemed insatiable.

But as the potion's influence faded away, something else began to take its place. The pain and pleasure had left a mark on them, a hunger that could never truly be satisfied. Yet, with each passing moment, the realization grew stronger—they didn't need the potion anymore. They had become addicted to the intensity of their shared experiences, and that was a high that no amount of potion could replicate.

They collapsed onto the bed, the vibrators still lodged inside them, the buzzing now a distant echo of the ecstasy they had once felt. The room spun around them, the darkness closing in as their bodies succumbed to exhaustion. But in the midst of it all, they felt a strange sense of peace, a calm that came from knowing they had survived the week's depravity together.

Their breathing slowed, the air thick with the scent of their desire. They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still pulsing with the potion's aftershocks. The pain was a ghost now, a fading memory that lingered in the shadows of their minds.

Minju's eyes fluttered closed, the vibrator inside her pussy buzzing a gentle lullaby that seemed to resonate through her very soul. She felt faint, the effort to maintain control over her own body now too much to bear. The vibrator slipped from her trembling grasp, the buzzing a fading whisper in the quiet room.

Chaewon lay beside her, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, her chest heaving with the exertion of their desperate search for release. The vibrator in her ass remained lodged, the constant throb of pleasure a reminder of the potion's cruel trickery. Her eyes rolled back, the world fading to black around her.

Minju's vision swam, the vibrator in her pussy pulsing a gentle goodbye as she succumbed to the potion's aftermath. Her limbs felt heavy, the weight of their week's indulgence pressing down on her. The vibrator slipped out, landing with a wet thud on the floor, a silent testament to their futile attempt at normalcy.

Three days passed, the apartment a silent tomb to their excess. The potion's final gift was a deep, restorative sleep that seemed to stretch on forever. When they finally awoke, the stench of their desires hit them like a wave. The air was thick with the smell of sex and squirt, a constant reminder of the week that had claimed them.

"Did we just squirt while we slept?" Chaewon said, her voice filled with shock. She sat up in bed, her eyes wide with disbelief as she surveyed the stains on the sheets. The evidence was undeniable—the potion had left them with a persistent reminder of their ordeal, an ever-present ache that no amount of rest could ease.

Minju stirred beside her, blinking sleep from her eyes. She took in the sight of their discarded vibrators, the remnants of their desperate attempts to find relief, and the wetness that had seeped into the mattress. "I think we did," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The reality of their situation hit them like a sledgehammer. The potion had changed them, made them crave the extreme. They had become sexual creatures, bound by their shared experiences, forever altered by the week of depravity.

They looked at each other, the weight of their transformation heavy in the air between them. The shock slowly gave way to something else—a newfound sense of camaraderie, a bond forged in the fires of their darkest moments.

Their friendship had evolved into something more intimate, a partnership of shared pain and pleasure that no one else could ever understand. They were linked now, bound by a desire that was both a curse and a gift.

They knew they couldn't go back to the way things were before. The potion had taken too much from them, had claimed them in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. But as they lay there, entwined in the mess of their new reality, they also knew that they didn't want to.

The potion had given them a taste of power, of control, and they were hungry for more. The week had been a test of their endurance, but it had also been a revelation of their desires, a door that had been thrown wide open to a world of pleasure they had never known.

They climbed out of bed, their legs shaky, their bodies sore. The ache between their legs was a constant presence, a reminder of the emptiness that now consumed them. But they moved with purpose, driven by the hunger that had become a part of them.

They showered together, the warm water cascading over their bruised and cum-stained skin, washing away the last traces of the potion. They touched each other gently, tenderly, as if afraid of breaking the fragile bond that had formed between them.

The water turned pink as their bodies cleaned, the evidence of their week-long marathon swirling down the drain. Yet, even as they scrubbed themselves clean, they knew that the potion had left an indelible mark on their souls.

They stepped out of the shower, their skin pink from the hot water, their hair plastered to their faces. They dried off, the towels rough against their tender flesh, and looked into the mirror.

"Look, Chaewon," Minju said, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and horror. She parted her legs, showing the gaping hole that was once her vagina. "My pussy still can't close."

Chaewon's eyes widened as she stared at her friend's reflection. The sight was a stark reminder of the potion's power, the way it had transformed them both. Her own bruised and stretched pussy was a mirror to Minju's, a silent testament to the week's events.

"We're...different," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. The words hung in the air, a mix of awe and fear.

Minju nodded, her gaze unflinching. "Yes," she said. "We are."

The words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding that had grown between them. The potion had taken their innocence, their self-control, but it had also given them something else—a bond that was as raw and powerful as the desires that now consumed them.

"Do you think we'll ever be normal again?" Chaewon asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Minju looked down at the gaping hole between her legs, a silent nod to the potion's lasting legacy. "I don't know," she replied, her eyes filled with a mix of doubt and resignation. "But I think our pussies need at least a month to recover."

Chaewon's gaze followed her own reflection, her fingers tracing the swollen edges of her labia. "Maybe longer," she murmured, her voice filled with a hint of sadness. "They're... so stretched out."

Minju's eyes narrowed, a fierce determination burning within her. "We'll find a way to fix it," she said, her voice firm. "We've come through worse."

They dressed, the fabric of their clothes sticking to their still-damp skin. The world outside their apartment was a blur, a haze of memories that seemed both distant and all too real. They had survived the week on the island, but now they faced a new challenge—how to live with the aftermath of their sexual odyssey.

Minju lay her body in bed, laptop in her chest, her eyes scanning the screen as if it held the answers she so desperately sought. Chaewon perched on the edge of the bed, her hand idly playing with the edge of the blanket. The silence between them was filled with the unspoken questions of what came next.

Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the email. It was from one of the men from the party, a video attached with a subject line that sent a thrill of terror and excitement down her spine: "Nights to Remember." She knew what it was before she even hit play. The thumbnails alone told a story, a story that had unfolded in vivid detail over the last week.

The video played, and there they were, in all their glory—the nights of unbridled lust that had claimed them both. Minju watched in horror and fascination as the screen revealed their every move, their every scream of pleasure and pain. The camera had captured it all, and now it was laid bare before them, a reminder of the power that had held them in its thrall.

Chaewon leaned in, her eyes glued to the screen, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. They watched as the men took turns, their faces a blur of ecstasy and agony as they were claimed over and over again. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion—horrifying and impossible to look away from.

The videos were a stark reminder of the potion's power, the way it had turned them into creatures of the night, craving the very thing that had brought them such pain. They watched as their bodies stretched and contorted, their pussies swelling and gaping like hungry mouths, begging for more.

"Is that from the camera that night?" Chaewon's voice was a whisper of horror and fascination as she pointed at the screen. There it was, the moment they had lost themselves to the potion's will, their eyes glazed over with lust, their bodies writhing in ecstasy as the men took them in every conceivable way.

Minju nodded, her throat tight with emotion. "It's all there," she said, her voice a hoarse rasp. "Everything we did."

They watched, unable to tear their eyes away, as the scenes unfolded before them—their desperate attempts to find relief, the men's faces twisted in pleasure, the endless stream of cum that had filled them to overflowing. It was a record of their descent into madness, a visual diary of their most intimate moments.

The images were graphic, a raw testament to their week of depravity. They saw themselves, lost in a sea of sweat and cum, their bodies stretched to the breaking point. They watched as they pleaded for more, their voices hoarse from screaming, their eyes wild with an unquenchable hunger.

"Look at that," Minju whispered, her voice filled with a strange mix of excitement and horror. "Our faces, they're full of ecstasy even when we're fading."

Chaewon's hand drifted down to her still-swollen pussy, her fingertips grazing the tender flesh. The sight of their past selves, lost in the throes of passion, had stirred something within them—a hunger that seemed to have no end. "We were so...so desperate," she murmured, her eyes glued to the screen.

Minju felt the same stirring within her, a heat that seemed to radiate from her core. Her hand followed suit, her own fingers probing the gaping hole between her legs. "It's like watching someone else," she said, her voice filled with amazement. "But it's us."

They inserted the vibrators, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat that filled them. The buzz was a comforting presence, a reminder of the power they had once wielded so freely. Two in their asses, two in their pussies, they lay side by side, the pulsing rhythm of the toys a silent testament to their shared addiction.

Their eyes remained glued to the screen as they watched themselves, their bodies moving in time with the images before them. The vibrations grew stronger, the buzzing a symphony that matched the tempo of their racing hearts. The potion's power had been captured in digital form, a siren's call that drew them back into the abyss.

And as the videos played on, they gave in to the urge, their bodies responding almost involuntarily. They squirted, their juices mixing with the lube and the remnants of the potion that still lingered. The vibrations grew more intense, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to build with each passing second.

The room was filled with the sound of their wetness, the squelching of their bodies as they moved in unison. The videos had become a guide, a map to the heights of ecstasy they had once known. They watched, their breaths coming in gasps as their bodies climbed towards climax once again.

The images on the screen grew more extreme, their past selves pushed to the brink of human endurance. Yet, even as they watched, they felt their own desires building, the potion's legacy a living entity within them.

"I can't believe we did all that," Chaewon murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She pushed the vibrator in her ass deeper, the stretch exquisite and terrifying. "But it feels so...good."

Minju nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen. "It does," she agreed, her own vibrator buried deep within her. "But we're in control now."

They moved together, the vibrations echoing through their bodies, a reminder of the potion's hold. They had survived the week, but the aftermath was a beast of a different kind—a hunger that no amount of vanilla sex could ever satiate.

Their bodies grew wetter, their pussies pulsing around the toys. They watched the depravity unfold before them, a silent nod to the monsters they had become. Yet, in the safety of their own home, they could explore the depths of their desires without fear of repercussion.

Their orgasms hit them like a tidal wave, a shared crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundations of the apartment. They came together, their bodies shuddering with the force of it all, the vibrations sending shockwaves through their abused flesh.

The videos played on, a silent judge and jury to their newfound addiction. Yet, as they lay there, spent and trembling, they knew that this was just the beginning. The potion had changed them, had shown them the darkest parts of themselves.

And as they lay in the aftermath of their climaxes, their eyes met in the mirror above the bed. There was a spark there, a determination that had not been present before. They had survived the week, but they had also discovered something within themselves that could never be ignored.

They had become sexual beings in a way that defied explanation, and as they lay there, their bodies still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, they made a silent pact. They would not let the potion control them again, but neither would they deny the desires it had unleashed.

Their friendship had become something more, a partnership born from the ashes of their innocence. They had been to hell and back, and together, they had come out the other side changed, forever bound by the dark secrets of their week on the island.

The vibrator inside Minju's pussy slipped out, the buzzing a final farewell to the past. She turned to Chaewon, a knowing smile on her lips. "We're going to need a lot more of these," she said, her voice filled with a newfound sense of purpose.

Chaewon nodded, her own vibrator still lodged inside her. "But we can handle it," she replied, her eyes gleaming with the promise of a new chapter in their lives. "Together."

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #gg smut #izone minju smut #izone smut #minju smut #chaewon smut #le sserafim smut #le sserafim #izone

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honestsycrets · 2 years ago

Text

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

13K notes · View notes

mocharyc · 3 months ago

Text

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 2 ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ A distance night with Mohawk ♡ ☆ Pt. 1 ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ First Watch ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 4k+ [Part 2]

☆ TW: Major Fluff ♡

☆ Authors Note: Mohawk acts like a turd but I believe he's good at heart. (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ He's just on the cusp of a broken mind, def the one to talk to himself for comfort.

–––––––––––––––––– ♡ Mohawk Marks p.o.v ♡

Six fucking hours.

Mohawk Mark stared down at Y/N's unconscious form, still hardly believing she was real. The cabin felt too small, too quiet after the others had left—each of them casting lingering glances at Y/N before departing with thinly veiled reluctance. He caught Sinister's black and yellow suit from the corner of his eye, the demonic bastard's lips curling into that signature psychotic grin that made Mark's blood boil.

"Yeah, fuck off," Mohawk had sneered as they filed out, making sure to flip off Emperor Mark's retreating back, the yellow and blue-ish gray fluttering around him like he was some kind of goddamn royalty. "She's mine for now."

When the door finally closed, leaving him alone with her, the gravity of the situation hit him like a cement truck. She was here. Actually fucking here. Different universe, same face, same everything—but alive.

Not dead like his Y/N. And from that fight she'd put up against all eight of them, she was fucking strong. Stronger than his Y/N had been.

"Shit," he muttered, running his hand through his now-drooping mohawk, the black tips falling limply over his forehead. Dismissing his tattered suit, he looks around the cabin. "This place is a goddamn mess."

His eyes fell on the crumpled body of the cabin's former occupant, still leaking blood onto the rough wooden floor where Sinister had left him. The old man's eyes stared at nothing, his throat a gaping red smile courtesy of Sinister's unnecessarily theatrical kill. The crimson puddle spread across the uneven floorboards, seeping into the cracks between the planks, filling the musty air with the coppery scent of death.

"Fucking drama queen couldn't just snap your neck, could he?" Mohawk grumbled, grabbing the corpse by its ankles, lifting the man like he weighed nothing. "Had to make a whole production out of it. Typical Sinister bullshit."

He carried the body toward the door, the blood trailing, leaving a dark smear across the floorboards. The dead weight was nothing to him—he could bench press a tank without breaking a sweat—but the awkwardness of maneuvering the stiffening corpse through the narrow doorway had him cursing up a storm.

"Motherfucking!—Tiny-ass—backwoods—piece of shit—CABIN!—" Each word punctuated with a violent tug of the fat man's body through the door frame, not wanting to destroy the cabin. Finally, with a sickening snap of ligaments, he just ripped the man's arms off and easily pulled the torso outside, blood spattering across his blue and black suit.

He stood on the small porch, taking a moment to breathe in the nice crisp cold night air. The forest surrounded them, ancient pines stretching toward a star-studded sky, their silhouettes black against the deep blue canvas. No fire, no blood-curdling screams or destruction… His life felt instantly peaceful, now that he had Y/N back in it. A foreign feeling after eighteen months of rage and pain.

He sighed softly, scanning the dense forest surrounding them. No witnesses, no neighbors, nothing but trees and wilderness for miles. Perfect isolation.

With casual disregard, he hurled the corpse as far as he could, making sure to yeet the two severed arms as well, sending the body parts arcing high above the treeline miles away before disappearing into the forest with a distant, muffled crash.

"Rest in pieces, old timer," he snorted at his own joke, wiping his bloodied hands on his thighs. "Nothing personal. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong universe."

Back inside, he surveyed the cabin with critical eyes. It was rustic, to put it kindly—a single room with a small kitchenette in one corner, its countertops stained with years of use, cupboards hanging slightly askew. A bathroom barely large enough to turn around in, with a shower that probably hadn't seen hot water since the Cold War. And a bed that had probably been new when Nixon was president, sagging in the middle under a faded quilt that smelled of mothballs and regret.

"This is bullshit," he muttered, kicking at a worn rug that might have once been colorful but now was just a sad, faded thing covering even sadder floorboards. "She deserves better than this shithole."

His eyes returned to Y/N, still lying motionless where they'd placed her on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her face serene despite everything she'd been through. The angry red marks where the collar had dug into her neck stood out in stark contrast against her skin. A permanent scar burned into her delicate skin, a constant reminder of the GDA's cruelty.

"Fuck," he breathed, anger bubbling up inside him like magma. "I'll kill every last one of those GDA assholes. Turn their fucking building into a crater. Make them wish they'd never even thought about putting a collar on you."

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked, before forcing himself to focus. She needed rest, comfort. Not him raging uselessly about revenge.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than the fucking floor," he said, kneeling beside her. His hands—hands that had crushed throats and shattered bones—hovered uncertainly above her for a moment before he gently steadied one under her head, the other beneath the small of her back. It felt strange being so careful—he'd spent most of his existence breaking things, not cradling them.

He laid her on the bed, but immediately grimaced at the musty smell that rose from the ancient mattress, picking her back up and gently tossing her over his shoulder with one arm. "Jesus Christ, this thing reeks worse than Prisoner Mark's armpits. And that's saying something—dude smells like he bathes in toxic waste."

On impulse, he stripped the bed, yanking off sheets that might have once been white but were now a dingy gray. They came away with a cloud of dust that had him coughing and cursing.

"Fucking disgusting," he spat, bundling the offending bedding and tossing it out the window, the glass shattering with a spray outside at the immense force. "Great, what now, genius?"

He searched through the cabin's sparse storage, finding only one spare set of sheets that didn't look much better than the ones he'd discarded.

Still, he struggled to make the bed, wrestling with fitted corners that refused to stay put and a flat sheet that somehow ended up more wrinkled than when he started.

"How the fuck does anyone do this shit?" he growled, giving the sheet a violent snap that nearly took out a lamp. "Is there a goddamn degree in bed-making I missed? No wonder Viltrumite Mark has that stick up his ass if this is what 'domestic life' is like."

After ten minutes of increasingly creative curses, he'd produced something vaguely resembling a made bed. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than the floor.

With exaggerated care, he placed Y/N on the fresh—well, fresher—sheets, arranging her limbs in what he hoped was a comfortable position.

Her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare at her bruised face, so peaceful in unconsciousness, so heartbreakingly familiar.

"There you go, sleeping beauty," he murmured, his usual harsh tone softening despite himself. "Not exactly five-star accommodation, but it's safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you here. Not while I'm around."

He stared at her face, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. Same full lips, same curve of her cheekbones, same tiny scar above her right eyebrow. His fingers itched to trace that scar, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, to reassure himself that she was real and not some cruel hallucination.

"Not gonna be a creep while you're knocked out," he told her unconscious form, shoving his hands to his sides, pinching at the fabric of his suit. "I'm an asshole, not a fucking monster. Though Sinister probably would've—" He cut himself off, unwilling to even think about what that psychopath might have done if left alone with her.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to move away from the bedside. Instead, he dragged over the cabin's only chair—a rickety wooden thing that groaned ominously under his weight—and sat down to keep watch. The fading light cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her jaw.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking off the seconds of his six-hour vigil. Outside, daylight was fading, golden light barely painting the darkened sky, filtering through the dusty windows and painting long shadows across the uneven floorboards. A tiny beam of sunlight caught particles of dust, making them dance like tiny stars in the otherwise dim room.

"So," he said to the silence, his voice oddly loud in the quiet cabin as he tapped his fingers together.

"Guess I should introduce myself, huh? I'm Mark. Well, obviously I'm fucking Mark—you've seen eight of us now, poor bastard. But I'm the best one. The rest are just cheap knockoffs."

He chuckled humorlessly, dragging his hand through his mohawk again, trying to reshape it into its usual spiky glory without much success. The blue and black ends stuck out at odd angles, making him look more deranged than usual.

"They call me Mohawk Mark. Creative as shit, right? But in my universe, I'm just... Mark. Mark who fucked up. Mark who couldn't save you."

His voice caught on the last word, raw emotion surfacing before he could shove it back down. Memories he'd tried to bury came flooding back—her smile, her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes at his worst jokes but laugh anyway. The way she'd been the only one who saw past his bullshit, who wasn't afraid to call him on it.

"You died," he said flatly, the words falling like stones in the quiet room. "In my universe. You fucking died, and it was my fault..."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at his bloodstained hands. Hands that had failed to save her when it mattered most.

"We were... together. Not just fucking—although that was pretty goddamn amazing—but really together. You were the only person who didn't take my shit, who pushed back when I was being a dick. Which was, you know, most of the time."

A bitter smile twisted his lips.

"I was such an arrogant prick. Thought I was invincible—ha, get it? Fucking hilarious—thought nothing could touch me. Or you, because you were with me. But then this asshole came along, this nobody with a grudge and some Viltrumite tech he'd stolen. Didn't even see him coming."

Mohawk's voice dropped to a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away.

"You pushed me out of the way. Can you believe that shit? ME. The guy who can stop a bullet with his fucking eyelash, and you... you just..."

He broke off, the memory too vivid—her body, broken and bleeding, in his arms. The way the Viltrumite tech had torn through her like she was made of tissue paper, leaving a gaping hole where her heart should have been. The way her blood had felt, hot and sticky, pouring over his hands as he tried desperately to hold her together. The light Instantly fading from her eyes as he screamed for help that wouldn't come in time.

"There was so much blood," he whispered, his voice cracking. "All over me, all over the ground. I tried to stop it, tried to hold you together, but it just kept coming. And you—you looked up at me, and you fucking smiled. Like you were happy it was you and not me. Then you tried to say something, but there was blood in your mouth, and you just... you just stopped. Right there in my arms."

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"You died protecting me. Me! The biggest asshole in the universe! The Invincible one! Who does that? Who throws away their life for someone like me?"

He stood abruptly, the chair skittering backward as he paced the small confines of the cabin, too much raw energy coursing through him to stay still. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, a counterpoint to the ticking clock.

"I buried you myself," he continued, the words pouring out now. "Wouldn't let anyone else touch you. Dug the grave with my bare hands, six feet deep in that spot by the lake you loved. Covered it with those wildflowers you were always going on about. And then I hunted down the fucker who killed you. Made him suffer. Made him beg. And when I was done, there wasn't enough left of him to bury."

He paused, staring out the window at the setting sun, its dying rays painting the forest in shades of gold and red.

"And then this multiverse bullshit started, and Angstrom found me. Said I could take my anger out on another world, another universe. Destroy a place where nothing mattered because it wasn't my reality. Sounded like a pretty sweet fucking deal at the time."

He stopped at the window, his brown eyes staring out at the darkening forest. The first stars were beginning to appear, tiny pinpricks of light in the deepening blue.

"But then we found you. Or I found you, I should say. Those other dipshits would've just zapped past you if I hadn't recognized you first. Would've missed you completely, the blind bastards."

He turned back to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable, all pretense and bravado stripped away.

"And now I don't know what the fuck to do. Because you're not her—not my Y/N. But you look like her, sound like her. And those assholes out there?" He jerked his thumb toward the door.

"They're going to try to take you for themselves. Each one of them. Emperor Mark with his 'I rule the world' bullshit. Viltrumite Mark probably wants to breed a whole army of super-soldiers with you. Phantom Mark might seem nice, but he's just as fucked up as the rest of us. No-Mask can't shut up about his friend William, but he'll want you too. Omni mark may seem mature and collected, but he's got a dark mind beneath that fucking stoic face. And Sinister?" He shook his head, a shiver running down his spine. "That guy gives me the creeps, and I'm not exactly squeamish."

He returned to the bedside, carefully perching on the edge of the mattress. The bed creaked beneath his weight, but held firm.

"But I found you first," he said, a possessive edge creeping into his voice. "And I'm not letting you go this time. No fucking way. I'd rather tear this whole universe apart."

He tentatively reached out, finally allowing himself to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle for hands that had torn through concrete and steel. His fingertips lingered, barely touching her skin, as if afraid she might shatter like glass.

"We should've had more time," he whispered. "In my universe, we should've had years. Decades. Instead, I got eighteen months, two weeks, and four days."

The specificity of the number hung in the air between them—every day counted, treasured, mourned.

"This time will be different," he promised, his voice hardening with determination. "I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Including those alternate versions of me. They didn't protect their Y/Ns either, so they don't deserve you any more than I do."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"I sound like a jealous psycho, don't I? Guess that's what losing you did to me. Made me fucking crazyyyy. But I don't care. You're here. You're alive. And I'm not letting you go.”

Outside, twilight was deepening into night. Through the window, stars were beginning to appear, pin-pricks of light in the growing darkness. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Mohawk Mark settled more comfortably on the edge of the bed, his large frame incongruous with his gentle movements.

"Not gonna lie, this is gonna get messy," he told her unconscious form. "Eight Marks, all with their heads up their asses, all thinking they have some special claim on you? Recipe for disaster. Especially sinister…" He shook his head, a soft groan running through him. "Better if you stay far away from that psychopath."

He sighed, rubbing his slightly bruised face with both hands.

"And me? I just want a second chance. To do it right this time. To keep you safe."

His eyes drifted to the clock. Five hours and twenty-three minutes left of his watch.

"You know what's really fucked up?" he said conversationally, as if she might answer. "In those shitty romance movies you used to make me watch, there's always some speech about how 'if you love someone, let them go.' But that's bullshit. I let you go once—not by choice—and it broke me. So this time?" His jaw set in a determined line. "This time I'm hanging on. I don't care if it's selfish or wrong or whatever. I get a do-over, and I'm taking it."

He reached out again, his fingertips barely brushing against her hand. Her skin was warm—alive—and the contact sent electricity shooting up his arm. How long had it been since he'd touched her? Since he'd felt anything but rage and emptiness?

"I just need you to wake up," he whispered. "Wake up and remember me somehow. Not likely, I know, but hey—a multiverse exists, so anything's possible, right? Maybe there's a version of you that remembers a version of me."

Outside, an owl hooted softly, its call carrying through the still night air. Inside, Mohawk Mark settled in for his vigil, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face, as if by sheer force of will he could bring her back to consciousness.

"Take your time," he said softly. "I've got five hours left, and I'm not going anywhere."

The cabin creaked and settled around them, the wooden beams contracting in the cooling night air. Moonlight now streamed through the window he'd broken, casting eerie shadows across the floor.

In the silence, his thoughts wandered, memories surfacing like bubbles in still water.

"Remember that time we went to that shitty carnival?" he asked her sleeping form, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You made me ride that ferris wheel even though my legs were too damn long for the seat. When it stopped at the top, you kissed me and said you liked seeing me vulnerable for once."

He laughed softly, the sound strange even to his own ears. When was the last time he'd laughed without bitter sarcasm?

"Or that night I came back from that fight with those Dinosaurus, all bloody and fucked up? You didn't say a word, just cleaned me up, bandaged what needed bandaging, then tore me a new one for being reckless. Said if I got myself killed, you'd find a way to bring me back just to kill me yourself."

His voice caught on the last word. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Guess I'm the one who found a way to bring you back…"

He glanced at the clock again. Four hours and fifty-seven minutes.

"Sinister's got next watch," he muttered darkly. "No fucking way am I leaving you alone with him. Guy's more unhinged than I am, and that's saying something. The things he did in his universe..." He shuddered. "Let's just say even I've got lines I won't cross."

Mohawk stood up, restless energy making it impossible to sit still any longer. He paced the length of the cabin, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

"You should see Emperor Mark," he continued, needing to fill the silence. "Strutting around like he owns the fucking multiverse. 'I am the supreme ruler of Earth,' blah blah blah. Bet you'd have knocked him down a peg or two. You never did have patience for that kind of bullshit."

The memory of her standing up to him, hands on hips, not backing down even when he towered over her, made something twist painfully in his chest.

"You were never afraid of me," he said quietly. "Everyone else—even other heroes—they'd flinch when I got angry. Not you. You'd get right up in my face, tell me to stop being a dramatic asshole." He smiled, a genuine one this time. "God, I loved that about you."

The word 'loved' hung in the air, and he froze, suddenly aware of what he'd said. Loved. Past tense. Because his Y/N was gone, and this woman on the bed, no matter how identical, wasn't her.

"Fuck," he whispered, running both hands through his hair. "This is so fucked up."

He moved to the kitchenette, rifling through the cupboards for anything to distract himself. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he uncapped it and took a long swig, grimacing at the burn.

"Tastes like piss," he muttered, but took another drink anyway. The alcohol wouldn't affect him—his metabolism was too efficient for that—but the ritual was comforting in its familiarity.

A sudden sound from outside had him instantly alert, the bottle forgotten as he moved silently to the window. His enhanced vision cut through the darkness, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. A deer stepped cautiously into the clearing, ears twitching, and he relaxed marginally.

"Just Bambi," he said, returning to Y/N's bedside. "Though with our luck, it's probably Bambi with a grudge and a nuclear warhead."

He settled back into the chair, bottle dangling from his fingertips. For a while, he just watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest hypnotic in the quiet room.

"You know what scares me?" he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "That you'll wake up, take one look at me, and see a monster. That you'll run screaming. That you'll hate me for what I am, what I've done."

He took another swig from the bottle.

"I wasn't always like this," he continued. "The hair, yeah—that was a rebellious phase that stuck. But the rest? The violence, the rage? That came after. After you died, after I realized that all my power meant jack shit when it mattered."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I killed him slow," he admitted, voice flat. "The guy who took you from me. Made it last days. Kept him conscious the whole time. Told myself it was justice, but it was just... emptiness. Trying to fill a hole that couldn't be filled." He laughed bitterly. "Pretty fucking poetic for a guy who didn't graduate high school, huh?"

A soft moan from the bed had him instantly on his feet, bottle clattering forgotten to the floor. Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but didn't open, her face slightly contorting in pain.

"Y/N?" he whispered, heart hammering. "Can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly, a frown creasing her forehead, but remained unconscious. He exhaled slowly, equal parts disappointed and relieved. He wasn't ready yet—didn't know what he'd say when those eyes finally opened and looked at him without recognition.

"Not yet, huh?" he murmured, gently adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. "That's okay. You've been through hell. Take your time."

He retrieved the bottle from where it had rolled under the bed, setting it on the nightstand.

"When you do wake up," he said, sinking back into the chair, "things are gonna get complicated. Eight Marks, each one thinking they've got dibs on you? It's gonna be a clusterfuck of epic proportions."

He studied her face in the moonlight, memorizing every detail all over again.

"But I'll be there," he promised. "I'll keep you safe from them, from the GDA, from whatever other bullshit this universe throws at us. Even if you don't remember me. Even if you never..." He swallowed hard. "Even if you never feel about me the way my Y/N did."

The clock ticked on, marking the passing minutes. Three hours and twenty-two minutes left.

"I should probably talk strategy," he said, switching gears. "Sinister and Emperor are the obvious threats. They'll try to use you, control you. Viltrumite's more subtle, but just as dangerous. No-Mask and Prisoner are wild cards—unpredictable. Omni should be okay for now, he's a wait to the last second type of guy. And Phantom..." He frowned. "He's the one to watch. Plays the sympathy card, all 'I miss my mom' and shit, but he's got an agenda. They all do."

He stood up again, too restless to remain seated.

"Only safe Mark in the bunch is me," he declared with dark humor. "And I'm a complete psychopath according to most psychiatric evaluations. So that's saying something."

As if in response to his self-assessment, Y/N's fingers twitched, curling slightly into the sheets. He was at her side in an instant, his eyes glued to her hand, then her face, back to her hand. watching intently for any sign of consciousness.

"Y/N?" he whispered, hope creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "You with me?"

Nothing. Just the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "Now I'm seeing things. Get it together, Mark."

He retreated to the window, staring out at the moonlit forest. The night was clear, stars scattered across the black velvet sky like diamonds. In another life, they might have been lying on a blanket somewhere, her head on his chest as she pointed out constellations he pretended to be interested in.

"You used to love the stars," he said softly. "Could name all the constellations, all that shit. I never got it—they're just balls of gas burning billions of miles away—but you'd talk about them like they were magic."

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"After you died, I couldn't look at them anymore. Kept thinking about how the light from some of those stars takes years to reach us. So maybe, some of that light started its journey when you were still alive. Like some part of you was still out there, somewhere."

He laughed at himself, the sound hollow in the quiet room.

"Pathetic, right? Big bad Mohawk Mark, getting all philosophical about starlight." He shook his head. "The others would never let me live it down if they heard me now."

The thought of the other Marks sobered him. Each one was dangerous in his own way, each one a twisted reflection of what he might have become under different circumstances. And each one would want Y/N for himself.

"I won't share you," he said, turning back to face her. "Not with them, not with anyone. They can have this whole fucking universe to tear apart, but you? You're off-limits."

He returned to the bedside, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. His hand hovered above hers, wanting to touch but hesitating.

"I know it's selfish," he admitted. "You're not my Y/N. You don't know me, don't owe me anything. But I've spent eighteen months in hell without you, and now you're here, and I just..." He exhaled sharply. "I just need a second chance."

Finally, he allowed himself to take her hand in his, engulfing her smaller fingers in his palm. Her skin was soft, warm—alive. The simple contact made his chest constrict.

"When you wake up," he said, voice rough with emotion, "you can tell me to fuck off. You can run as far from me as you want. But until then, I'm staying right here. Keeping you safe."

A memory surfaced—Y/N in his kitchen, attempting to cook something complicated, cursing colorfully as smoke billowed from the oven. He'd laughed until she threw a dishrag at his head, then pulled her against him, still laughing as she pounded her fists against his chest in mock outrage.

"You used to say I was the worst boyfriend in the multiverse," he recalled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Turns out you were right, just not in the way you meant. There are literally seven other versions of me, and every single one of them is fucked up in their own special way."

He glanced at the clock again. Two hours and forty-five minutes.

"You know what? Sinister can go fuck himself. Emperor too. I'm not leaving when my time's up. If they want to try and move me, they're welcome to try."

He shifted, carefully arranging himself so he was sitting with his back against the headboard, her hand still clasped loosely in his. For the first time since she'd died, a flicker of something that might have been hope kindled in his chest.

"Wake up or don't wake up," he told her. "Either way, I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Outside, a wolf howled, the sound echoing through the trees. Another answered, then another, a chorus of wild voices in the darkness. Mohawk Mark settled in, Y/N's hand still in his, to wait out the night.

"Take your time, sleeping beauty," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."

–––––––––––––– Next chapter may be freaky, or just crazy lol. haven't decided yet ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Pt.1✧ ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Pt.3✧ Pt.4✧

Pt.5✧

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lanf1an · 6 months ago

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SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.1 - january 5 2025 The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

hope people will find this, made a sideblog for this, havent used tumblr in a while, feel free to send any suggestions to improve the lay-out/blog etc. Also let me know if you think this chapter is too long. I've already written many parts so will update regularly if people like it.

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 2322

The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

You hadn’t seen your twin brother and Pietra in weeks, since they had decided to spent the holidays in Brazil, and you were itching to catch up. You also hadn’t seen the whole Norris family since Abu Dhabi, which had been an absolute blast. You’d meet up with Flo and Cisca regularly in London, having spent Christmas and New Years together, but the whole family being together was a rarity. This year felt extra special, though—it was the first time Dylan was coming along.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year had fit seamlessly into your life back home, and now he was finally meeting the entire crew. Max already got along with him like a house on fire, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet everyone else.

“Stil the same old place. Can’t wait to hit the slopes” Max said looking around with a grin. “You better teach me some sick board tricks this trip Dyl” he continued. “Only if you’re ready to fall on your ass,” Dylan shot back with a laugh. “Careful, Max is competitive,” you teased, they all laughed, Dylan was actually a professional snowboarder, making it that much funnier.

The Fewtrells had arrived at the lodge first, giving you a chance to show Dylan around before everyone else got there. The house was as you remembered—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and warm fires crackling in every hearth.

“This is where you grew up skiing?” Dylan asked as you led him upstairs, his snowboard bag slung casually over his shoulder.

“Pretty much. Max and I used to share this room—” you pushed open a door, looking at him slyly, excited to share the room with him this time. The room smelled faintly of cedar, its twin beds still adorned with the same plaid comforters you’d had as kids.

“It’s nice,” Dylan said, setting his bag down and pulling you into his arms. “Cozy. Definitely feels like you.”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed yours, a warm and familiar kiss that made your heart flutter as his hands brushed through your hair, leading you towards the bed. Before things could go further, a loud voice broke the moment. “Fewtrell!” Cisca called from downstairs, followed by Flo’s laughter.

You turned, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Let’s go. You’ll love this chaos.”

Downstairs, the Norris family was filing in, luggage and snow-dusted boots piling up in the entryway. Lando appeared last, hauling a duffel bag with one hand and ski equipment in the other.

“Landooo!” you and Max called out in unison, both running to greet him.“Can’t even drop my stuff first?” Lando teased, dropping the bag with an exaggerated groan as you pulled him into a hug.“Ah, our world champion has arrived,” your dad said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Lando. Well-deserved break, eh?” “Something like that,” Lando said, grinning as he accepted the handshake. “Nothing beats this place, though.”

“Lando, this is Dylan,” you said, gesturing between them. Dylan extended a hand. “Good to finally meet you. She’s told me a lot about you.” “All good things, I hope,” Lando replied with a polite smile, shaking his hand.“Mostly,” Dylan teased, earning a laugh from everyone. Max threw an arm around Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re in for it now, Lando. Dylan’s a beast on the slopes. Red Bull-sponsored and everything.” “Oh, so I’m not the only sponsored athlete here?” Lando said, his tone light but with a playful edge. It was a miracle Max and Lando hadn’t killed each other yet, being as competitive as they are. Dylan grinned. “Guess not. Maybe we should race to see who’s faster.” “Careful what you wish for, even beat Red Bull this year” Lando shot back.

That night, as wine flowed and the parents went to bed early, the kids stayed up playing cards, laughing over inside jokes, and planning the next day’s ski routes.

—

The next morning, you woke to the sound of muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen and the faint smell of coffee brewing. Dylan was still sound asleep, his arm draped over your waist. Careful not to wake him, you slid out of bed, threw on a sweater, and made your way downstairs.

Max and Lando were already up, bundled in their ski gear, arguing over who would get to claim the fastest run of the day.

"Morning," Lando said, looking up from lacing his boots. His grin was warm and easy, the kind of smile that had been the same since he was a kid.

"Morning," you replied, grabbing a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter. "You two sound like you're gearing up for a war, not a ski day."

"It is a war," Max declared dramatically, waving a spatula he’d been using to flip pancakes. "Do you remember the incident of 2016?"

"How could I forget?" you said, laughing. "Lando sulking for hours after you beat his time."

"Exactly. Redemption arc starts today," Lando shot back, a playful glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. It was moments like these—carefree and full of banter—that reminded you why these trips meant so much.

After breakfast, you, Dylan, and the rest of the group gathered outside, ready to hit the slopes. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the snow pristine under the morning sun. The energy was contagious, with everyone laughing and joking as they strapped into their skis or boards.

You and Lando split from the main group, both opting for skis while the others took their boards, eager to get tips from Dylan.

“Still as bad at snowboarding as you were at 12?” you teased as the two of you rode the lift up the mountain.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy like you,” Lando quipped, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I’d rather stick to what I’m good at—like beating you down this run.”

“You wish,” you shot back, nudging his arm as the lift slowed.

When you reached the top, it was as if no time had passed at all. Skiing with Lando had always been your thing, a tradition as old as the ski trips themselves. You raced down the slope, weaving between trees and laughing like kids again. At the bottom, you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning.

“Still got it,” Lando said, brushing snow off his jacket.

“I let you win,” you replied, but your smile gave you away.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, lying back in the snow.

“What, losing to me?” Lando teased, throwing a handful of snow in your direction.

You took a break at a skilodge for drinks, glad it wasn’t crowded, texting the rest of the group to join them if they were close.

“It’s so weird how we haven’t actually caught up properly since Abu Dhabi,” you said, getting comfortable and sipping your drink.

— Abu Dhabi december 8 2024

The club was electric—music pulsing through the air, bodies packed tight, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was the kind of night where everything felt larger than life, McLaren world championship, even as it blurred at the edges.

Lando wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had. Enough that the world tilted slightly, enough that his usual sharp instincts were dulled to a pleasant fuzziness. He wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just letting himself float with the energy of the room.

That’s when he saw her.

She was by the bar, her hair catching the lights in a way that felt achingly familiar. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him toward her. The closer he got, the more the resemblance struck him.

“Hey” he called softly as he approached.

The girl turned, and for a moment, he was convinced it was her. But then she smiled—wide, flirtatious, not the kind of smile she would have given him—and he blinked, the illusion shattering.

It wasn't her. Not exactly. But the resemblance was uncanny enough to send a strange shiver through him.

Still, they started talking. She was funny in a way that felt effortless, her voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music. It wasn’t long before they moved to the dance floor, their movements fluid, fueled by alcohol and the frenetic energy of the night.

Somewhere in the haze of music and lights, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but intoxicating, her lips soft and eager. For a moment, Lando let himself sink into it, into the rush of the night, the distraction she provided. But something far away tugged at the edge of his drunken consciousness.

“Lando!”

He pulled back sharply, turning to see Max weaving through the crowd toward him. His expression was one of mild exasperation but mostly confusion.

“Mate,” Max said, his voice slightly slurred, though his amusement was clear. He looked from Lando to the girl, then back again, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, putting his hands up in the air, suddenly self-defensive.

Max gestured at the girl, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you were kissing my sister! She looks like my sister. Like, exactly like my sister. But—” He looked at her again, his grin faltering. “Also not. It’s weird, mate.”

The girl frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, rude.”

“No offense,” Max said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re gorgeous, but I mean, come on.” He turned to Lando, shaking his head. “How drunk are you right now?”

Lando blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He looked at the girl again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Now that Max had pointed it out, the similarities felt too stark, too deliberate, explaining why it had felt weird.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Max cut him off.

“Relax, mate,” Max said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I get it. Long season, wild night. Just...you know, maybe cool it before you confuse yourself more.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting a drink.” She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing there.

Max watched her go, then turned back to Lando, his grin softening into something more understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, still in a confused haze.

Max tilted his head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Let’s go find my real sister,” he said, steering Lando toward the other side of the club. “She’s way better company than, uh...that.”

Lando didn’t argue, but as they walked, his thoughts remained tangled. Max was right—the resemblance had been unsettling, bothering him for a moment until Max handed him another tequila shot.

—

Lando smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? You disappeared halfway through the after-party. Left me stranded with Max and his endless tequila shots.”

You laughed, holding your drink in both hands. “I didn’t disappear! I was there—you just didn’t see me because you were busy being... you know, Lando.”

“Excuse me,” he said, mock-offended. “What does that mean?”

“It means you were too busy making rounds like the social butterfly you are. Max told me you didn’t even remember half the night.”

Lando groaned, tipping his head back. “That’s fair. I think I blanked out the moment Christian Horner started karaoke.”

You grinned. “See? That’s why I disappeared. I had better things to do, like chatting with some of the Red Bull team.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy,” Lando teased. “You’re lucky Max didn’t disown you.”

“Oh, Max was fine. But you know what?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was this moment… when I was talking to a certain very famous actor.”

“Who?” Lando asked, curious.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. “Not telling. But for just a second, I thought, Wow, if I weren’t with Dylan, this would be my chance.”

Lando froze mid-sip, raising a brow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Totally kidding,” you said quickly, though the grin didn’t falter. “Kind of. I mean, it’s not every day you get hit on by a Hollywood A-lister.”

Lando set his glass down, leaning forward. “Okay, now you have to tell me who it was.”

“Never,” you said, laughing. “I’ll take that secret to my grave. But don’t worry, Dylan has nothing to worry about. Besides, you were the one getting up to trouble that night.”

“Trouble?” he asked innocently.

You gave him a knowing look. “You know, with that girl who looked like me.”

Lando’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Max won’t let me live that down. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who said she looked like you. He did.”

“Still, Lando,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “That’s a bit weird, even for you.”

“Hey, I was drunk,” he defended, running a hand through his hair. “And she didn’t look that much like you.”

“She could’ve been my long-lost triplet!”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I wasn’t exactly seeing straight. You can blame Max and his tequila shots for the whole situation.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. But if Max thinks you’re weird, you know it’s bad.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”

“Because you love me,” you quipped, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clinking his glass with yours. You settled back into your seats, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, both of you enjoyed, relaxed, content and tired after skiing.

—

Let me know what you think!!

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lacydollette · 6 months ago

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TOP SECRET ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: bf!sam x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, pure smut, lots of teasing, touching in public, dean being fed up with you two, explicit language, exhibitionism, degradation, praise, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, nsfw 18+

“oh god, sammy..” you whined out as Sam’s strong hands held your hips down while he buried himself deeper inside you, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust. “that’s it, hun. doin’ so good, y/n.” sam growled against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as your cunt sucked him in eagerly, the feeling driving both of you insane.

As you felt yourself getting close to releasing and relax into his touch, sam kept on repeating your name. At first he growled it, the letters falling from his lips breathlessly, but then it turned more serious. and just then his voice faded, words softening. Suddenly it was Dean’s voice that was calling your name, over and over again, trying his best to get you out of whatever daze you were currently in.

Your cheeks flushed as you snapped back to reality, your vivid daydream evaporating like smoke. You blinked, taking in the scene; the sticky vinyl booth, the diner's bright red led lights, and the faint smell of grease and coffee. Dean was glaring at you across the table, his arms crossed and his face filled with impatience.

"Have you even been listening?" Dean asked again, clearly irritated. You nodded quickly, even though you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Your heart was still racing from the spicy fantasy of Sam—his lips on yours, his big hands on your body. And yet, there he was, sitting right infront you in his perfectly tailored FBI suit, his slicked-back hair making him look like a walking daydream.

Of course he always looked unbelievably good, but today something about him was driving you insane. Maybe it was the suit, maybe the way his cologne mixed with the natural musk of his skin, or maybe it was the way he'd been stealing subtle glances at you all morning, his hazel eyes warm and inviting. Dean let out a heavy sigh. "This case isn't gonna solve itself, you know."

Before you could respond, you felt Sam's hand sneak under the table, his large, warm palm resting on your bare thigh. Your breath hitched as his fingers gave your leg a gentle squeeze, his touch sending heat to your core. You turned to him, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a sweet, knowing smile that made your heart flutter. "Sorry, Dean," Sam said, his voice soft but laced with amusement. "We're focused. Right, y/n?"

"Y-yeah," you stammered, voice a little breathless. You tried to compose yourself, but the arousal pooling between your legs made it nearly impossible. How could you focus on some boring small-town case when Sam was sitting so close to you, his touch and presence making you crave him more with every passing second?

Dean groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. "Can you two keep it in your pants for five minutes? Just until we talk to the sheriff?" You couldn't help but smirk, leaning over the table. "Sorry, Dean. We're just really in love," you teased, voice dripping with playful sarcasm as you pressed a sweet kiss to your boyfriends lips.

"We'll behave," Sam promised, though the mischievous glint in his eye told you otherwise. Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure you will."

As the three of you finished your coffee and pie, Dean quietly grumbled about "unprofessional behavior" while you and Sam exchanged sweet smiles and secret touches, it was all so thrilling.

As soon as you walked into the police station you were greeted by the sheriff, a stocky man with a thick mustache. He was quick to give you a rundown on the case, deeply buried into the files. You tried your best to focus as the sheriff pulled out more photos of the crime scene and directed you all to the security footage room, but your mind was stubbornly uncooperative.

All thanks to Sam. He made it almost impossible to focus.

At first, it was subtle; his hand lightly brushing yours as you flipped through witness statements. Then, as you leaned over a desk to examine a video log, he moved closer, letting his hand settle on the small of your back. The heat of his palm burned through your shirt, sending a wave of desire through you. When he spoke to you, his voice low and close to your ear, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You tried so hard to suppress the images that flooded your mind—Sam gripping your hips, hands so eagerly pulling on your clothes, his weight pressing you against the wall—but they wouldn't stop. You could feel the tension building between you with every touch, like an electric shock, your skin tingling with the anticipation of his next move. And then it happened again.

Sam leaned over your shoulder to look at a monitor, his muscular chest brushing against your back, his breath warm against your neck. It was just too much. You clenched your jaw, determined to stay professional, but the way your body reacted to him made it clear that you weren’t going to win this game.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Clearing your throat, you stepped back and addressed Dean and the officers. "Excuse me, but I need to talk to my partner in private," you said, voice calm but firm. Dean raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, but he didn't have time to question you. “Fine," he muttered, turning back to the sheriff. "But make it quick."

You immediately grabbed Sam by the hand and tugged him down the hallway, ignoring his surprised chuckle. "y/n, what's going on?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement. "You'll see," you said curtly, your tone leaving no room for argument. You quickly scanned the corridor, eyes locking on a small janitor's room at the end. Perfect.

You pulled him inside, shut the door, and locked it in one fluid motion. Before Sam could say another word, you turned and crashed your lips against his hungrily, pulling him even closer by his tie.

Sam responded instantly, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed you against the door. His lips moved with yours, fierce and passionate, and his hands roamed your body, exploring curves he knew by heart. He groaned against your mouth, and the sound sent shivers down your spine. "Baby, wait—" he murmured, his voice thick as he pulled back a little. "Are you sure about this? Here?"

"Sam," you whispered, your hands clutching his shirt as you kissed him again. "I need you. now." Of course you both knew it was hella risky, but it only heightened the thrill. The station was full of cops, Dean included, and the thought of someone walking in on the two of you only added to the excitement.

Your hand slid down to his belt, and you felt him shudder under your touch. You could tell that Sam's control was slipping, and you loved it. As he let his pants drop to his ankles you could already see the bulge in his boxers, his cock springing free immediately after you pulled them down.

He was rock hard, precum already dripping from the tip. You were just about to reach for it when he suddenly pushed up your skirt, the fabric sitting on your waist as he swept you off your feet, earning a deep growl from Sam as he realized that you weren’t wearing any panties. “You planned this, didn’t you?” He smirked, fingertips brushing over your already dripping folds, making you moan.

Sam was quick to line himself up with your cunt, running the head of his cock through your folds to coat himself in your arousal. Pressing his lips to yours he tried to muffle out your moans as he pushed himself inside, your tight walls embracing him perfectly.

“Fuck, sammy. You’re so—“

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He muttered into the crook of your neck as his hips slowly started to rock back and forth, taking long and deep thrusts. You whimpered, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as he kept you pressed against the cold metal door.

You tried so hard to keep quiet, but the way he was talking to you so softly while ramming himself inside your weeping cunt with an ungodly force, made it almost impossible.

“Shit—you have to keep quiet or someone might hear.” Sam whispered into your ear, which immediately send filthy images to your head. The thought of someone actually walking in on you two was crazy, yet it made your cunt clench harder around Sam, the sudden tightness making him go insane.

“Fuck, you would like that, wouldn’t you? Someone hearing your pathetic little whimpers, or seeing what a cockdrunk slut you are, letting your boyfriend fuck you in public.”

You couldn’t even respond to his words, your brain going all fuzzy, while his desperate thrusts send you into a state of bliss, knowing that you weren’t going to last long. His arm wrapped itself around you tighter, holding you in place as he thrusted into you mercilessly, chasing after his own release.

“S-sam!” You moaned out, the band in you stomach snapping and your orgasm rushing through you, your walls squeezing his cock tightly. Just then you felt him twitch inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and moaning out as hot ropes of cum filled your plush walls. “Shit..”

Your legs nearly gave out as he removed himself from you, his arms still keeping you steady as both of you tried to catch your breath, your body twitching. “You okay, hun?” He asked, brushing some strands of hair out of your face. You just nodded, the palms of your hands still resting against his chest. “Mhm, I’m good.”

You watched Sam pull up his pants, buckling the belt before he helped you pull down your skirt, holding onto his shoulders before carefully stepping out of the room.

As the door to the janitor’s room clicked shut, you and Sam tried to compose yourselves. You smoothed down your shirt and ran your fingers through your tousled hair, while Sam tugged at his tie, attempting to make it look as if you hadn’t just fucked in the middle of a police station.

“Do I look okay?” You asked, glancing up at Sam. Your lipstick was smudged, cheeks flushed, and your hair was still sticking up in all four directions. Sam chuckled softly, his hazel eyes glinting with affection. “You look beautiful, but you might want to…” He gestured to your lips. You quickly wiped at your lipstick, laughing quietly. “You don’t look too put together yourself, mister.” You reached up to fix his tie, fingers brushing against his chest in the process.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway suddenly snapped you out of your shared moment. You turned to straighten your jacket as Sam ran a hand through his hair. Just as you two stepped into the corridor, looking as innocent as you could, Dean rounded the corner.

He stopped dead in his tracks, taking in your guilty appearances. Your slightly messy hair, Sam’s crooked tie, and both of your flushed faces told him everything he needed to know. His eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched in what could only be described as a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean said, crossing his arms as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me you two didn’t just do what I think you did. In a janitor’s closet? At a freaking police station?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Dean said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because walking out with your hair looking like that and Sam looking like he lost a wrestling match with his tie is totally normal.” Sam cleared his throat, his expression somewhere between sheepish and amused. “We just needed a moment to… strategize.”

Dean let out a bark of laughter, throwing his hands in the air. “Strategize? Is that what we’re calling it now?” You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “You’re one to talk, Dean. Don’t act like you haven’t done worse.”

“Not while we’re in the middle of a case!” Dean shot back, though his smirk betrayed his annoyance. Sam failed to suppress a grin, his hand resting lightly on your back. “Sorry, Dean. It won’t happen again.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure it won’t. And I’m the Pope.”

You couldn’t resist a mischievous smile as you leaned into Sam, voice soft but just loud enough for Dean to hear. “He’s just jealous he doesn’t have anyone to strategize with.” Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Can we please focus on the case now?”

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before nodding in unison. “We’re focused,” you said together. Dean shook his head as he turned on his heel, muttering something that sounded like “idiots” under his breath. As the three of you walked back to the investigation room, you couldn’t help but feel a little victorious. Sure, you had a case to solve, but sometimes a little detour was worth it—especially when it involved Sam.

links: sam masterlist

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @deansbite @figthoughts @nuemanfilms @sammyluvr @deansenvy @rubyvhs @samwinchesterswifu @mxltifxnd0m @chevroletdean @cosmicanakin

#works ₊˚⊹♡#spnfandom #supernatural #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam x reader #sam smut #sam winchester

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blairenqs · 4 months ago

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୨୧ STORAGE ROOM SHENANIGANS ✧ SPENCER REID

───── IN WHICH you and spencer get carried away in the bau storage room and suffer the consequences !

𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖿!spencer 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟣.𝟤𝖪 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ 𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

THE BAU WAS A FAMILY, a family in the fires of late nights, depressing cases, and all trauma bonded for life—among that family, you and spencer reid were the youngest members.

from the minute you joined the team, it was clear you and spencer had an uncanny connection.

you were just as smart as he was—chatty with your knowledge, sharp with your logic, and often very prone to rambling about random facts. the team loved to tease you both for it, naming the two of you the “bau brainiacs” or, as morgan would call it, “unit of the nerds.”

it was all in good teasing of course, but little did they know there was far more to your relationship with spencer than banter and battles of who’s the smartest.

you and spencer have been secretly dating for months now—the bond between you grew naturally, beginning with long conversations about case theories and late night cups of coffee in the precincts.

the night it became official, you two had stayed up talking until the officers literally had kick the two of you out, and spencer had kissed you after walking you to your hotel room—softly, hesitantly, as if he were testing the waters. —READ MORE!

from that moment on, the two of you were quite literally inseparable—but you both agreed to keep it a secret from the team.

it wasn’t about fear of losing your jobs or professionalism—it was about keeping this one sacred thing just between you two. besides, watching the team try to “ship” you together, so completely unaware of the truth, was much too entertaining to pass up.

it was a quiet and uneventful day at the bau when hotch approached your desks.

“i need those old case files from the storage room,” he said, handing spencer a list. “it’s a long list, so you should both go. faster that way.”

spencer nodded. “got it.”

“be quick,” hotch added, although his tone was more amused than serious.

as soon as the elevator doors closed, you shot spencer a nervous look. “do you think hotch knows we’re dating?”

“i doubt it,” spencer replied, grinning. “i don’t think he would send the both of us alone to the storage room if he did..”

you let out a humoured giggle as the elevator dinged, and you followed spencer into the dark and eerie storage room.

it was a barely lit space with rows of wooden shelves and rows of filing cabinets. the buzzing of the creepy lights filled the room, adding to the already creepy atmosphere. “alright, let’s get started,” you suggested with a sigh, scanning the list. “you take a through m and i’ll handle n through z.”

spencer gave you a sarcastic salute and headed to the opposite side of the room—you were halfway through your section when spencer yelled out, “found the first batch!” you turned to see him holding a stack of folders, a teasing smile on his face. you couldn’t help but smile back.

“such a show off,” you joked, walking over to him.

“it actually wasn’t that hard,” he said, though his voice was tinged with pride. you rolled your eyes affectionately, stepping closer. “you’re so impossible, you know that?”

spencer’s smile softened, his doe eyes locking with yours. he had that look again—the one that made your heart flutter every time.

without thinking, you closed the distance between you and kissed him. it was gentle at first, his lips warm and soft against yours—but as his arms slid your waist and pulled you closer, the kiss deepened.

spencer kissed you as if he was memorizing every detail about you, his fingers tracing slow, tingly patterns along your back—your hands found their way into his hair, tugging gently, and he let out a quiet, almost desperate sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

the folders slammed onto the floor as he pushed you gently against the filing cabinet, his lips moving with more urgency. the cold metal pressed against your back, but the heat of spencer’s body made you forget everything else.

“spence,” you whispered against his lips, your voice breathless at this point. “hm?” he replied, not pulling back. his lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses in their wake.

“we should—” you gasped as he found a sensitive spot just below your ear. “—be working.”

“we are working, love—” he mumbled, his voice heavy and desperate. his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

your laughter faded as he kissed you again, slower and softer this time but the tensity still held. it was rare to see spencer so bold, so utterly lost in the moment, and it made your heart race.

and unfortunately, neither of you heard the door open.

“ahem.”

the sudden clearing of a throat made you both freeze—you turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and found hotch standing by the doorway, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

spencer stepped back so quickly he nearly tripped over the discarded folders. his face was a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “hotch—i—we—uh—”

hotch held up a hand, silencing him. “i don’t need an explanation,” he said, though his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “i assume this has been going on for a while?”

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “this is so embarrassing.”

“it’s fine,” hotch said, his tone gentle as he felt your embarrassment reflecting across the room. “i just hope you’ve both been keeping this out of the field.”

“yes sir,” spencer blurted, his voice higher than usual.

hotch nodded, his expression softening. “good. because the team already thinks you’re secretly married with children, and this will only confirm it.”

you ran your fingers through your hair, whining as you tugged in frustration, “they’re never going to let us live this down.”

“probably not,” hotch agreed, a rare smile breaking through. “but i think you can handle it.” he turned to leave, before saying one last thing, “don’t forget the files. and maybe try to keep the pda out of the storage room next time.”

the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you and spencer both stunned in silence. when you finally made it back to the bau office, morgan and garcia pounced onto you both immediately.

“what took you two so long?” morgan asked, his grin teasing and glowing on his face. “don’t tell me,” garcia said, holding up a hand to her mouth dramatically. “you got lost in the romantic atmosphere of the storage room!” you groaned, burying your face in spencer’s shoulder—done with everything at this point. he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you.

“something like that,” he said, a small smirk playing at his lips.

morgan’s jaw dropped. “wait—you two aren’t denying it?”

hotch’s voice cut through the chatter as he stepped out of his office. “leave them alone, morgan,” he said, his tone dry but amused. “they’ve had a long day.”

the team burst into laughter again, and you whined, “hotch, you’re supposed to be on our side!”

hotch just smiled faintly before retreating into his office, leaving you and spencer to endure the teasing—despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile. you had spencer by your side, and all the teasing in the world couldn’t ever ruin that feeling.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

✧ 𝑓. can u tell i love this trope LOL 😭 spencer reid as my bf would solve all my life problems like somebody switch me to the criminal minds world plz 🧘‍♀️

𓂃ㅤ 𝓉𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ୨୧ @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @lcvealwayss @viennasolace ♡ thank you so much for joining !

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking the Ice

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lando Norris x Räikkönen!Reader

Summary: a boy who never shuts up meets a girl who rarely wastes the energy to speak … it doesn’t go as expected (or in which not having much to say runs in the Räikkönen family)

Lando shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting nervously as he awaits the arrival of the other drivers for the pre-season press conference. His gaze darts around the stark concrete room, taking in the harsh lighting and the row of empty chairs on the raised platform.

This is his sixth season in Formula 1, but the thrill of the new year and the prospect of racing still sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

The door opens and you stride in, Valtteri Bottas at your side. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to you, the rookie driver already capturing attention despite your quiet presence. You move with the casual confidence of someone who has grown up in this world, unbothered by the lights and cameras.

Lando finds himself staring, captivated by the way you carry yourself. The famously reserved Räikkönen genes clearly run through your veins.

Before Lando can gather his wits to introduce himself, you slide into the chair at the end of the row, Valtteri taking the seat next to you. Lando blinks, realizing he’s been caught gawking.

Smooth, Norris. Real smooth.

He clears his throat and makes his way over, mustering his most charming grin. “Hi there! Lando Norris. Welcome to the circus.”

You turn towards him, your expression unreadable. For a beat, you simply regard him in silence. Then, “Hey.”

You give a small nod of acknowledgment before turning away, effectively shutting down the conversation. Lando’s smile falters as you refocus your attention on … absolutely nothing at all.

Well, that’s a bit rude. He frowns, stung by the brush-off. So much for breaking the ice. Maybe you’re just shy around new people? Lando decides to give you the benefit of the doubt as the other drivers begin filing in.

He takes his seat a few chairs away, sneaking sidelong glances at you. You haven’t so much as glanced in his direction again, adopting the same thousand-yard stare as the Iceman.

Like father, like daughter, Lando muses with a shake of his head.

When the press conference gets underway, question after question is lobbed at the drivers. Lando fields them with his usual charismatic charm, unable to resist hamming it up for the cameras with comedic flair. In contrast, you remain stubbornly curt whenever the mic is passed your way.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I don’t know.”

Your terse responses draw titters of laughter from the audience and press corps alike. Lando watches in amazement, unable to fathom how anyone could be so … so ...

“Boring?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

You cut your eyes towards him, holding his gaze for the first time since your noncommittal greeting. Lando feels himself flush, suddenly uncertain if he’s been too cheeky. But then the corners of your mouth tug up in an unmistakable smirk before you turn away again, leaving him to wonder if he’s imagined it.

By the time the press conference mercifully ends, Lando has decided you’re definitely an odd duck. But also … kind of fascinating? In an eccentric, robotic sort of way? He’s not sure what to make of his swirling thoughts as you all rise to make your exit.

Lando hangs back, angling to get one more shot at conversation. “Hey, uh, Y/N? I know you’re still getting your feet wet here, but if you ever need any advice or, you know, someone to show you the ropes, I’m always around.”

You pause, glancing back at him over your shoulder. For a fleeting second, Lando thinks he detects … what? Amusement? Disbelief? It’s impossible to tell with your trademark poker face firmly in place.

“Thanks,” you reply, your tone mild. “But I’m good.”

And with that, you pivot on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando to stare after you.

“Huh,” he mutters to himself. So much for breaking the ice.

As the next couple of days of testing wear on, Lando can’t seem to get a read on you. Oh, you’re perfectly courteous whenever your paths happen to cross in the paddock. You’ll return his greetings with a respectful nod or murmur of acknowledgment.

But that’s as far as it goes. You’re polite, but also totally inscrutable. Lando has no idea what you make of him, or really anything at all that might be going on inside that head of yours. All he knows is that his curiosity about you has been thoroughly piqued.

One morning, Lando spies you sitting alone, sipping from a a mug of coffee as you study a stack of data printouts. He ambles over, determined to try chatting you up again.

“Y/N! How’s it going?” His voice is cheerfully upbeat. “That coffee from the hotel? Because let me tell you, it’s rubbish. If you want a proper brew, you’ve got to venture out and find a decent cafe. I know all the best spots around here if you’d like some recommendations ...”

He trails off as you simply look up at him, silent and unblinking. Lando clears his throat, feeling oddly off-kilter beneath your steady regard.

“Anyway,” he blusters on, undeterred. “How are you finding testing so far? Not too overwhelming, I hope? If you ever want to debrief or go over data or anything, I’m happy to lend an ear. Or even an eye, I suppose, since it’s more looking at numbers than listening to-”

“Bwoah.”

The single syllable cuts through Lando’s babbling. You set down your coffee and rise to your feet in one effortless, graceful movement. Lando blinks in surprise as you turn and walk away without another word.

“Oh. Erm. Sure, just … ignore me then,” he mutters, feeling his cheeks flush hotly.

He shakes his head as you disappear around the corner, baffled by your total indifference. But then a wry chuckle escapes his lips as the truth dawns on him with crystal clarity.

You’re not rude or shy at all. That’s just … who you are. Curt, to the point, unconcerned with frivolous chitchat and social niceties. You’ve got laser-focus, and nothing is going to distract you from your pursuit of speed.

In that moment, Lando feels a swell of admiration. He gets it now — you’re carved from the same uncompromising bedrock as your old man. Refreshingly authentic without any affectations or pretense.

Most people would find your blunt aloofness off-putting. But not Lando. No, he finds the prospect of unraveling the mystery that is Y/N Räikkönen irresistibly intriguing.

He grins to himself as he ambles off to get ready for his own session out on track. Just you wait, Y/N. He’s going to get you to crack a smile yet, even if it kills him.

After all, whoever said being a woman of few words was a bad thing?

***

Lando is in the middle of his pre-race routine, trying to center his mind and get into the zone, when you appear out of nowhere and thrust something at him.

“Here,” you say brusquely.

He blinks, puzzled, as he registers the scraggly bundle of wildflowers gripped in your fist. They look like they’ve been unceremoniously ripped out of the dirt, roots, soil and all.

“Uh … what’s this?” Lando asks.

You meet his confused gaze head on, your expression typically unreadable. “Flowers. For you.”

“For me?” Lando repeats dumbly. He glances around, as if expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out at any second. “Are you … giving me these?”

“No, I’m giving them to the other idiot who won’t stop yapping at me every single day,” you deadpan.

Lando feels his cheeks grow warm at the mild rebuke. He knows you’re referring to his persistent, if extremely one-sided attempts at conversation over the past few weeks. All his friendly openings and invitations have been met with a string of indifferent brush-offs and noncommittal hums.

Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? At least he’s being polite, which is more than he can say for-

“Well?” You break into his thoughts, arching one coolly expectant brow. “Are you wooed or not?”

This time it’s Lando’s turn to stare at you blankly. “I’m … sorry, what?”

“Wooed,” you repeat flatly. “You said the girl of your dreams would woo you with flowers or some nonsense. So I got you flowers.” You give the bedraggled bouquet a little shake for emphasis. “Now you’re wooed. Happy?”

It takes a moment for the words to click into place in Lando’s brain. Then a strangled laugh bursts from his lips as he remembers the foolish, offhand comment he made in an interview a few days ago. He’d been prattling on about his imaginary ideal partner, somehow painting the ridiculous picture of himself being “wooed” like some lovestruck Victorian lady.

Leave it to you to take the whole ludicrous scenario at face value. Lando can’t decide if he’s more charmed or bewildered by the fact that you’ve actually gone to the trouble of physically wooing him with … weeds?

“You cannot be serious right now,” he sputters out between residual chuckles.

You simply stand there, utterly unfazed as you hold out the world’s saddest excuse for a bouquet expectantly. “Well? Am I doing it right or not?”

“Doing what right?” Lando shakes his head, chortling again. “This whole wooing business? Y/N, that was just me rambling on like an idiot, as usual. You didn’t actually have to-”

“But I did,” you interject, effectively cutting off his protests. “So. Are. You. Wooed?”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it again as he searches for the right response. There’s no menace or mockery in your expression, just that same intense focus and matter-of-fact bluntness that you apply to everything. Somehow, he gets the distinct impression that you won’t be deterred until he gives you a straight answer.

“Uh … no?” He ventures at last. “N-Not really, I guess?”

You stand there for a beat, Processing his words. Then you give a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Okay. That’s a you problem.”

With that, you turn smartly on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando gaping after you in a stupor. He stares down at the shoddy little bundle of greenery still clutched in his hand, not sure whether to laugh or just shake his head in amazed disbelief.

“A ‘me’ problem?” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Well, you’ve got me there, Y/N.”

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that you respecting him enough to even entertain his absurd hypothetical … that might just be his new favorite problem.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando brings his car across the finish line in fourth place. Not his best result, but respectable points in the bag. He allows himself a tight smile as he peels into the pit lane and kills the engine.

Until the unmistakable bright green and black livery of your Kick Sauber fills his vision, that is.

Lando does a double take, his jaw dropping as the implication sinks in. No way. There’s absolutely no way you’ve … you’ve won this race, right? In that underpowered, aerodynamically-challenged shitbox?

He can scarcely believe his eyes as you glide to a stop behind the large “1” board. The cheers and applause swelling around the track leave no doubt — somehow, against all odds, you’ve just taken the top step of the podium.

Lando scrambles out of his own car, tugging off his helmet and balaclava as he hustles across parc fermé in a daze. The first thing he notices is the sheer confusion and shock etched onto the faces of everyone else milling around. Even the marshals look gobsmacked by this upset for the ages.

In the middle of the chaos, you’re casually unfurling yourself from the cockpit with your trademark nonchalance. Like this is just another ho-hum Sunday drive for Y/N Räikkönen instead of, you know, the most spectacular overachievement in recent Formula 1 history.

Lando stands there gaping at you, unable to fully process what’s just happened. He vaguely registers the rest of the top finishers pulling in around you, their body language radiating bewilderment and disbelief as they all turn to stare, dumbstruck.

No one can quite seem to believe that an underdog backmarker has just eclipsed them all in a car that typically struggles to score points, let alone wins.

For your part, you’re projecting indifference to the chaos swirling around you. You simply grab a water bottle and take a long, unhurried pull, seemingly oblivious to the escalating frenzy.

Then, you casually turn in Lando’s direction and arch one brow ever-so-slightly. A silent question.

“I … you ...” Lando sputters uselessly, his brain still stuttering to catch up. “Did you seriously just ...”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards, hinting at a suppressed grin. “Well?” You prompt him calmly. “Are you wooed yet or what?”

It takes a moment for the light to flicker on in Lando’s mind. Any other time, he’d be delighted by the playful ribbing, eager to keep the back-and-forth banter flowing.

But right now, something else cuts through the haze of astonishment clouding his thoughts.

“Wait … is this ...” Lando squints at you searchingly. “Did you just win this race … for me?”

The words slip out before he can stop them. Because that would be such an impossibly, endearingly you thing to do, wouldn’t it? To dedicate achieving the unachievable all because of an offhand remark about wanting to be wooed?

His heart does a strange little flip-flop at the mere idea of you going to such outlandishly romantic lengths, all for the sake of who-even-knows-what is brewing between you two these days.

For a long beat, you simply stare back at him, your expression unreadable as ever. Then, “What?” You let out a faintly derisive snort. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

The words detonate like a slap in the face, momentarily winding Lando with their blunt force. “Oh. Well, I just thought maybe since I mentioned the whole wooing thing, and then you ...”

You shake your head impatiently, cutting him off. “You’re not the one who won this race, Lando.”

With that, you turn on your heel and stride away, dismissing him with a curt finality. Lando is left speechless, mouth agape as he watches your retreating back.

Around him, the rest of the drivers and crew are still buzzing with perplexed whispers and incredulous looks. No one can seem to wrap their minds around what they’ve just witnessed.

A sudden boom of laughter from Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber garage shatters the tension. Lando glances over to see your grizzled race engineer doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he wheezes helplessly.

“That’s my girl!” He chortles, shaking his head in amazed delight. “Leave it to a Räikkönen to blow the entire fuckin’ field away and just shrug it off like it’s no big deal!”

Lando feels the corner of his own mouth twitch upwards, the pinpricks of embarrassment fading as quickly as they flared. Of course he wasn’t on your mind out there today — you’re a laser-focused competitor brimming with the same single-minded intensity as your father. No thoughts, just pure, unbridled velocity.

You don’t crave grandstanding or glory, you’re simply out there doing what you were born to do, with ruthless, unsentimental precision. No fuss, no frills. Just inevitable, undeniable greatness through sheer force of will.

For now, that’s more than enough to leave him feeling utterly, deliriously, irrevocably … wooed.

***

Lando flops back on the hotel bed with a contented sigh, still basking in the post-race glow. P3 on the podium is a stellar result, made even sweeter by the fact that you claimed second place.

He grins lazily as you emerge from the en-suite bathroom, having shed your team wear in favor of a comfy t-shirt and shorts. Even with your hair tied up in a messy bun and your face scrubbed free of makeup, you’re still the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“There’s the champion,” he rumbles affectionately, reaching out to snag your wrist and tug you down onto the bed beside him. You allow yourself to be pulled into the circle of his arms with a quiet huff of amusement.

“I didn’t win, you dork,” you point out mildly, making no move to extract yourself from his embrace. “That was Max on the first step today, not me.”

“Mmm, true.” Lando hums his agreement, nuzzling against the crown of your head. “But you’ll get there again soon enough. Then we can really celebrate.”

He punctuates the promise with a languid kiss, smiling against your lips as you melt into him with a soft sigh of contentment. These tender, unguarded moments are rapidly becoming his favorite part of any race weekend.

You allow the liplock to linger for a few long, blissful seconds before finally pulling back with a faint smirk. “Speaking of celebrating ...”

Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, you deftly roll off the mattress and sink down onto your knees in one fluid motion, effectively pitching Lando’s heart rate into a gallop.

“Whoa, hey now,” he sputters out a nervous chuckle, propping himself up on his elbows to gawk down at you in surprise. “What are you doing down there, trouble?”

Rather than answering directly, you simply arch one eloquent brow and ask, “Are you wooed yet?”

Lando blinks, needing a second to parse your meaning. Then a bark of laughter escapes before he can stop it, finally realizing where this is going. “Oh my god, you cannot be serious right now. Are we really still doing that stupid bit?”

There’s no missing the impish glint in your eye as you regard him from your knees, clearly quite pleased with yourself for managing to get the upper hand. “Well? I’m waiting for an answer here.”

Lando shakes his head in amazed disbelief, unable to smother his grin. “Y/N, love, you have got to be the most impossible woman on the planet sometimes.” He reaches down to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, cradling your face tenderly. “But lucky for you, it’s impossibly charming as hell.”

You lean into the caress ever so slightly, regarding him with an impish glint. “So? Do you feel wooed yet or not?”

Something warm and gooey blossoms in Lando’s chest as he studies your features — the amused quirk of your lips, the slight flush on your cheeks, the fire dancing in your eyes. You’re such an endearing contradiction, managing to be the most formidably stoic badass on the racetrack while also being irresistibly playful when it’s just the two of you.

“Y/N ...” he starts, a bemused chuckle rumbling from his lips. He presses a kiss to your forehead, relishing your quiet hum of approval. “You do realize you don’t have to keep trying to woo me anymore, right?”

You blink up at him, your brow furrowing slightly as you process his words. “What are you talking about?”

Lando nods towards the pillow behind him, gesturing vaguely. “The flowers. The race win. All the coy banter and teasing.” He grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed at this point, love.”

You continue to stare at him with a blank look, like he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues. The lack of comprehension on your face is so unguarded and genuine that it makes Lando’s grin slowly slip.

Hold on … could it be that you actually don’t realize-

“Hey,” he asks slowly, hardly daring to breathe. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but … I thought after the whole flower thing, we kind of … you know ...”

He trails off helplessly, not sure how to broach the subject in case he’s somehow misread everything completely. Your brow remains furrowed, making him abruptly hyper aware of the fact that your lithe form is literally kneeling at his feet while wearing very little clothing.

A pregnant pause stretches between you, thick with confused tension. Then-

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, your eyes going comically wide as the pieces finally click into place. “Did you think we were … dating? All this time?”

Lando chokes on his own tongue, too stunned to respond right away. He simply gapes at you, feeling like the world’s biggest moron for somehow operating under the wrong assumption for … how long, exactly?

Now that he’s thinking back, neither of you ever explicitly defined what was brewing between you two ... you just sort of started spending more and more time together, growing more and more intimately intertwined until … well ...

Suddenly he’s laughing, helpless peals of mirth bubbling up from his core as the truth dawns on him. All this time, you two have essentially been a couple of awkward teenagers muddling through the beginning stages of a relationship, the wires of communication getting hopelessly crossed along the way.

But oh man, of course it somehow ended up going down like this between you two. Why would he have expected anything less idiotically convoluted?

You’re chuckling too, the laughter rippling through your body in delightfully unreserved waves as you sway back on your heels. And just like that, the last lingering hint of tension dissolves from the air as you surrender to the hilarity of it all.

“So … I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a no then,” Lando finally manages to gasp out between wheezing chuckles.

“Well that would depend,” you shoot back, your eyes bright with mischief. You shift forward onto your knees, leaning in close enough for him to feel the teasing rasp of your breath against his lips. “Because according to you, I’m already spoken for.”

Lando’s laughter cuts off with a soft groan as your nose brushes teasingly against his thigh, his palms finding their way to your hips as if by muscle memory. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” He accuses without any real heat.

“Nope,” you agree matter-of-factly before capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He loses himself in the velvet glide of your mouths for endless minutes, his fingertips tracing maddening patterns across the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting softly, gazes locked in a heated stalemate.

“So ...” Lando murmurs at last, his lips brushing deliciously against yours with every word. “If we haven’t actually been dating this whole time, then what would you call … this?” He sweeps one hand up in a languid caress, hinting at the incredible tangle you’ve both willingly stumbled into.

“Hmm ...” You press another series of featherlight kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, leaving him shivering. “How about … badly in need of remedial communication skills?”

Lando bursts out laughing again — because really, is there any more succinct way to sum up the two of you? He tugs you up onto his lap, cupping the back of your head and crushing your lips back to his in a heated clash of teeth and tongues.

You willingly arch against him with a throaty sigh, hands roaming possessively across his chest. The two of you are a whirlwind of tangled limbs and shared laughter and scorching friction.

It’s all so achingly, impossibly right that Lando can hardly stand it. But as you meet his heated gaze, chests heaving and eyes sparking with unspoken promises, Lando finds he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when the payoff is stealing heated moments like these, all tangled up in each other with boundless laughter and blazing passion.

“Y/N ...” he murmurs reverently, tracing the curve of your smiling lips with the pad of his thumb. “I adore you. You incredible, impossible woman.”

You lean into the caress with a soft hum, covering his hand with yours to hold him there. “So what now?” You arch a playful brow. “Are you officially wooed or do you need some more convincing?”

With a low growl, he abruptly flips you both over onto the mattress in one fluid movement. You let out a startled squeak quickly swallowed by his questing mouth as he settles between your parted thighs, pinning you to the sheets.

You arch up to meet him in a slick glide of fevered skin, clutching him close. Through it all, your soft laughter never ceases — bubbling up in breathless peals of delight that Lando hungrily drinks in.

Yeah, he’s pretty damn wooed all right. But from this moment forward, he’s going to spend every second making damn sure you never have to ask again.

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pittsick · 3 days ago

Text

IN MY OFFICE.

summary: anther late case, another night of aaron being worn out at the bureau. so your idea of visiting him with a cup of coffee and some good luck kisses doesn't sound that bad... except when he ends up fucking you in his office. bad aaron, bad!

pairing: aaron hotchner x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 4.5k words. pure smut. age gap. praise. semi-public. power imbalance. overstimulation. orgasm denial. fingering. oral sex (reader receiving). piv. slight dumbification. creampie. aftercare.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @destinedtobegigi, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

The bullpen was almost entirely dark, the overhead fluorescents humming quietly as they flickered over empty desks and untouched case files. Only the soft glow from the corner office cut through the gloom—a lone light burning into the night like a beacon.

You walked toward it, heels muffled on the carpeted floor, holding two paper coffee cups and balancing your purse on your hip. A flicker of nerves tickled your chest—this wasn’t the first time you’d visited Aaron late at the bureau, but tonight he sounded particularly worn on the phone. Something in his voice had made you want to show up instead of just sending well wishes over text.

He didn’t look up when you pushed the door open quietly, his brows furrowed, jaw tense as he scrolled through something on his computer screen. His tie was loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone—just enough to make your mouth go dry.

You tapped softly on the doorframe. “Agent Hotchner?” Aaron finally glanced up, and the second his dark eyes found you, the tension in his shoulders eased—just barely, but enough.

“I thought you could use a break,” you offered, stepping inside. You handed him one of the cups, your fingers brushing his. “Decaf. I didn’t want you up all night.”

He took the drink with a ghost of a smile. “You’re an angel,” he said, voice low, already making your stomach flutter. “You didn’t have to come up all the way here.”

You moved around to perch on the edge of his desk, facing him, shrugging. “What are you still working on?”

He exhaled slowly. “Old case. Reopened it based on a new witness statement. It’s all procedural, but it has to be airtight.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, flexing the muscles under his open collar. “I didn’t want to bring it home.”

You nodded, fingers curling around your own coffee. “You didn’t have to explain. I just... missed you.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as they slid over your face, your body. He looked like he hadn’t taken a breath in hours, and now he could finally exhale. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, baby.” He repeated.

“You sounded tired. And miserable.” You smirked. “And I thought I might be able to cheer you up.”

The look he gave you then was a warning—and a promise. His eyes darkened just a bit, jaw flexing again. You were pushing buttons, and he knew it. But so did you. Because it wasn’t just about cheering him up and he understood the allusion you were making.

“Cheering me up?” he murmured, setting his cup down slowly. “Is that why you wore that?”

You glanced down at your outfit—fitted slacks and a soft blouse, nothing overtly revealing, but the neckline dipped just low enough to invite speculation and the pants were tight on your hips and thighs. You shrugged playfully. “I always dress like this for after-work visits to my boyfriend's government office.”

He stood, stepping in between your parted knees, and the change in proximity made your breath hitch. You could smell his cologne, something subtle and clean, mixed with the faint scent of coffee and stress.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he murmured, one hand bracing beside you on the desk.

“No one’s here.”

“You’re still a distraction.”

“I’m trying to be.”

You tilted your head toward him, eyes soft but full of challenge, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that said he’d been thinking about it all day.

His lips moved over yours gently, savoring every second. One hand slid around to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing against your pulse, and you felt yourself melt against him, the warmth of his body grounding and igniting all at once. The coffee cup in your hand was long forgotten somewhere on your boyfriend’s desk.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. “I shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said, voice raspier now. You smiled, eyes half-lidded. “You say that every time.”

“And every time, you make it harder to stop.”

You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the tight muscle beneath his shirt. “Then don’t stop.”

He watched you for a long beat, like he was weighing the risk versus reward—but his hand was already sliding under your blouse, palm spreading against your waist. “I could lose my job.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, fingers brushing his jaw. “And if you do, I’ll support you. We’ll open a bakery.”

He huffed a soft laugh against your mouth. “You don’t even bake.”

“I’d learn. For you.”

The laugh turned into a groan as he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand moving higher under your shirt, warm against your skin. The age gap between you had never bothered either of you, but you could feel it in how he touched you—deliberate, experienced, worshipful.

His mouth trailed down your throat, lips brushing over your pulse point as he murmured, “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in closer. “Then die happy.”

Aaron’s hand dipped between your thighs, pressing through the fabric in a way that made your breath catch and your hips jerk forward. His fingers rubbed your center just to feel the fabric of your slack dampen. “Already wet?” he murmured against your ear. “For me?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “Been wet since I got here.”

He groaned softly, like it physically pained him to hear that. His fingers slid under the waistband of your slacks and underwear, and you shivered as he found your heat—slick and ready.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, reverently. “You’re perfect.”

His fingers dipped deeper between your folds, slow and unhurried, just barely brushing over your clit—enough to make you squirm, not enough to give you relief. You whimpered against his neck, body instinctively trying to grind into his hand, but Aaron stilled you with the firm pressure of his other hand on your hip.

“Patience,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “You came here to distract me, didn’t you, angel? So let me take my time with you.”

His voice was a low purr, gravel-soft and authoritative in the way that always made you melt. You loved when he slipped into that tone—just shy of commanding, laced with the kind of gentle control that came from years of leading people under pressure.

You swallowed thickly. “Aaron…”

“I know, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re so worked up already.”

He dragged his fingers lower, circling your entrance but not pressing in yet, making you tremble with anticipation. He loved to tease you like this—loved watching you fall apart little by little, every breathy noise you made spurring him on like a reward. “Look at you,” he said softly. “Coming into my office in these tight little pants, acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

“I just wanted to see you,” you breathed, hips bucking slightly. “You’ve been gone all week.”

“And now you’re here.” His voice dipped lower. “And I’m going to make it worth your while.”

You moaned when he finally pushed one thick finger inside you—slow, deliberate, stretching you gently as your body welcomed him. He didn’t rush. He never did. Every movement was measured, made to draw out your pleasure, to keep you just on the edge of despair.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, watching your face intently. “Always so warm. So perfect for me.”

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as he pumped his finger in and out, curling it just right. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him closer, grounding yourself against the thick line of his thigh between yours.

Aaron added a second finger slowly, the stretch making your walls flutter around him.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe for me.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time—less teasing, more possessive. His tongue swept into your mouth, his free hand sliding up under your blouse to cup your breast through your bra. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you moaned into his mouth, everything in you winding tighter.

“Aaron, please…” you whispered.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” you breathed, aching and unsure which craving to give voice to first. “I just need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he said gently, fingers pumping a little faster, curling a little deeper. “You always have me, sweetheart.” Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing friction now, but Aaron slowed again, pulling back just enough to leave you trembling, breathless.

He smirked slightly against your jaw. “Easy,” he whispered. “You’re not going to come yet.”

You let out a soft whine, frustration mixing with arousal. He pressed a kiss to your cheek in silent apology, though his fingers kept up their maddening pace—deep but controlled, hitting just the right spot to keep you teetering.

“I love how sensitive you get,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear. “How you clench around me when I talk to you.”

You gasped when he pressed his thumb lightly over your clit—not rubbing, just resting there, enough to make you shake. “Too much?” he asked quietly. You shook your head immediately. “No—just… more. Please, Aaron.”

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “So polite even when you’re desperate.” The praise made you clench again, and he felt it, lips curling into something smug. He leaned in, kissing just below your ear.

“You like hearing how good you are for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re my angel,” he said, moving his thumb in slow circles now. “So sweet. So good. Always take my fingers so well.” You were practically panting now, every muscle coiled tight. Still, he didn’t let up—didn’t speed up or push harder. He kept you right there, humming on the edge of too much and not enough.

Your thighs shook where they wrapped around his waist, body trembling with the effort to stay still under his slow, steady rhythm.

“I can feel how close you are,” he whispered, fingers still working deep inside you. “But you’re not going to come yet. Not until I say.”

You whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard, trying to stay grounded even as your body begged to come undone. “Good girl,” he said softly, brushing his nose against yours. “Just like that. Take it for me.”

You were soaked, clenching around his fingers rhythmically now, your slick making it easier for him to move even deeper. He kept up that maddening pace—no harder, no faster—just enough to keep you pulsing around him, your arousal steadily building without release.

And when your hips twitched and bucked again, he slowed down even more—pulling you back from the edge with almost cruel precision.

“Fuck,” you whispered, tears prickling behind your eyes, the need in you turning sharp.

Aaron kissed your cheek again, gentle, soothing. “I know, baby. I know. But I want you wrecked when you finally come. I want you to fall apart so completely you forget where we are.”

You whined again, hips lifting to chase his touch. “Then don’t tease me anymore,” you whispered. “Please.” He smiled, hand slipping out of your pants for just a moment—long enough to tug them down over your hips, panties following and off of your legs.

“Lay back, baby,” he murmured, pushing some case files aside to make space on the desk. “I want to see all of you.”

You obeyed, trembling slightly as you reclined across the wood surface, baring yourself to him. His eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of you—flushed, panting, soaked and trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing down your body, starting at your ribs above your blouse and working lower. “So fucking beautiful.” He knelt between your legs, one hand pressing to your stomach to keep you still as his mouth lowered to your inner thigh, just barely skimming the skin there.

And then he paused, lips just inches from your heat, breath warm against your soaked folds.

“I want to taste you,” he said softly. “But if I do… you might come.”

You swallowed thickly. “I won’t… I promise I won’t.” His head snapped up, eyes locking with yours—and something in him changed. “Baby…” he murmured, voice full of reverence.

Aaron didn’t speak again. He just held your gaze as he lowered his head, his lips brushing over your inner thigh—soft, reverent. One kiss. Then another. He took his time, mapping your skin with his mouth like you were a prayer he hadn’t yet learned by heart.

You gasped softly when his tongue finally grazed the crease between your thigh and your center, but he moved away again, teasing you with the promise of contact. His hand, still pressed to your lower stomach, kept you steady, grounded. The weight of it alone was enough to make you shiver.

“I could do this all night,” he murmured. “Just take my time with you.”

You whimpered, hips shifting, but he gently pushed you back down. “Let me enjoy you, baby.” Then his mouth was on you—at last.

He started with a soft lick, one slow drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, and your breath caught hard in your throat. His tongue was hot, smooth, the perfect pressure. He didn’t dive in right away—he savored, tasting you in slow, measured strokes like he was memorizing you all over again.

You let your eyes flutter shut, one hand reaching down to card through his thick hair. The second you tugged—just slightly—he groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“You like that?” you breathed.

Aaron didn’t answer, but he licked deeper, swirling his tongue in slow circles around your clit, teasing it just shy of overwhelming. He alternated pressure—sometimes barely grazing, sometimes flattening his tongue against you until your thighs trembled.

It was too good. You were soaked, panting, every nerve humming. And still, he kept it slow. Intentional. Controlled.

“Aaron, please…” He looked up at you briefly, his mouth glistening with your arousal, and your breath hitched. The sight alone nearly pushed you over the edge.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he said, voice thick with heat. “So sweet. So sensitive.”

He dipped his head again, this time sucking gently on your clit, pulling a long moan from your lips. Your hips arched off the desk involuntarily, but Aaron pressed his hand down firmly to still you. “Easy, angel. You’re so close—I can feel it.” His tongue flicked over your clit in tiny, maddening motions. “But not yet.”

You whimpered, fingers twisting in his hair. “You’re driving me insane.”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “You taste so good like this. I want to keep you on the edge forever.”

He sucked again—deeper this time—and then softened the pressure immediately, keeping you suspended in that unbearable, glorious limbo. Your whole body pulsed with need. You were soaked, your thighs shaking, your core aching for release.

“Aaron—God—it’s too much—”

“No, baby,” he whispered, licking you slowly again. “It’s just enough.”

You writhed on the desk, torn between begging him to keep going and pleading for mercy. He moaned again as he licked into you, nose brushing against your clit just enough to keep the heat simmering, never boiling over.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said softly. “Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“You’re—fuck—you’re teasing me,” you gasped. “Making me crazy.” He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your thigh. “That’s not what I asked.”

You shuddered as his fingers traced lightly over your slick folds, spreading you gently again.

“It feels…” you tried, but your voice broke into a moan as his tongue flicked again. “It feels so good, Aaron. You’re so good with your mouth.”

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“You’re so good at this. I—fuck—I love when you eat me out. You make me feel—like I’m gonna lose my mind.” Aaron groaned against you, licking deeper in response, and you felt the vibration all the way to your spine.

“Such a good girl,” he praised. “You’re so sweet for me. So responsive.”

His tongue moved in tighter circles now, and he slipped one finger back inside you, slow and shallow, just enough to make you clench. “Been thinking about this all week,” he murmured. “Tasting you. Watching you come apart for me.”

“You haven’t even let me come,” you whined, desperate.

“I will,” he promised. “But not until you’re begging for it.”

You were already close. Again. And he knew it—he could feel it in the way your walls fluttered around his finger, the way your thighs tried to close around his head. But then he slowed again, tongue softening its rhythm, pulling you back from the edge for the second—third?—time.

You sobbed, almost laughing from the frustration. “You’re such an asshole.”

Aaron laughed into your heat. “You love it.”

You hated how true that was. How much you craved this kind of attention—this kind of control. You trusted him completely, even when your body was begging for something he kept just out of reach. And when his lips sealed around your clit again, sucking with that same deep, aching tenderness, you arched off the desk with a cry.

But still—he didn’t let you go over the edge. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Almost, angel. You’re so close. I can feel you.”

He slipped in a second finger again, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that made you jerk against his grip. “Fuck!” you cried. “Aaron, please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed the inside of your thigh again. “You’re doing so good. Just a little longer.”

You were sobbing softly now, not from pain—but from sheer, overwhelming pleasure. He was ruining you, and he knew it.

“I need to come,” you whispered.

“I know.” He kissed your clit, so soft it was almost sweet. “And I’ll let you. Just not with my mouth.”

You blinked down at him, dazed, trembling. “What?”

“I want to come inside you,” he said, standing slowly, towering over you again, voice low and reverent. “I want to fill you up while you fall apart.” Your breath caught hard at the thought, eyes wide as he kissed you—deep and messy, his mouth still tasting of you.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” he murmured against your lips. “Can you wait just a little longer?”

You nodded, desperate and breathless. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait. Please just fuck me, Aaron.”

You barely registered the sound of Aaron unbuckling his belt, the clink of metal drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the aching need between your legs. Your thighs were still trembling, wet and wanting, every part of you stretched tight with anticipation.

He leaned over you, one hand braced on the desk, the other gently stroking your cheek. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered. “All needy. All mine.”

You nodded, dazed. “Yours. I’m yours.”

“I know you are,” he said softly, almost reverently. “My sweet girl.” You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he freed himself, and then the head of his cock was nudging at your entrance—hot, heavy, perfect. You whined, legs falling open even wider for him.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, lining himself up. “Just let me in. Let me take care of you.”

He pushed in slowly—achingly slow—giving you every inch with deliberate care, letting you feel the stretch, the heat, the way your body molded around him like you were made for it.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh my God—Aaron—”

“I know,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush against yours, and paused there—deep and still, just holding you. His hands cradled your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, barely able to form words. “Full… feel so full…”

“That’s right,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. “You’re so good for me. Taking me so well, baby.” Your arms looped around his shoulders instinctively, nails digging into the soft cotton of his shirt. You felt floaty—lightheaded and needy, brain half-fogged from how full he made you feel, how slowly he moved.

And when he started to thrust—long, deep strokes, gentle as a caress—you could barely breathe.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered against your cheek. “Just lying back and letting me fuck you. You don’t have to think, sweetheart. I’ll do it all.”

You moaned, the words sinking in deeper than they should have, making your walls flutter around him. You whimpered, lips parting, brain slipping into softness. “Yeah… yeah…”

“You don’t have to think,” he murmured again, hips rocking into you at the perfect pace. “I’ll take care of everything. You just lie there and look pretty for me.” Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, and he groaned at the way you clenched down on him, his pace stuttering for half a beat.

You whined, hands gripping his arms, your thoughts unraveling like ribbon with every stroke.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Just let me hear those little noises, please. That’s all I want from you.”

You moaned helplessly, high and breathy, brain hazy with pleasure. His praise sank in deep, drugging you with every word. Every thrust was slow and deep and patient, drawing you closer without rushing, like he wanted to savor you forever.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed. “So sweet. So pretty for me.”

You couldn’t respond—not with anything coherent. Your body was responding for you—hips tilting to meet every stroke, walls fluttering wildly around him, tears pricking in your eyes from how overwhelming it all was. “Shh,” he whispered, brushing your hair back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me.”

“A-Aaron,” you finally managed, voice wrecked. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed your lips softly. “You’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re taking it so good. Just a little more.” Your legs shook around him, whole body tightening like a bowstring. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me feel you come around me. Let me feel my sweet girl fall apart.”

And with one more deep, perfect thrust, the tension inside you snapped.

Your orgasm hit like a wave—long, rolling, impossible to escape. You cried out, clinging to him like a lifeline as your body shook through the pleasure. Your walls pulsed around him in waves, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“That’s it, angel,” he said, hips stuttering. “That’s it—fuck—you feel so good—”

He buried himself deep with a low, broken sound, and you felt him come inside you, warm and thick, filling you up just like he’d promised. Your pussy clenched around him greedily, milking every last drop.

He stayed there, deep inside you, forehead pressed to yours, panting softly.

“So perfect,” he whispered. “You’re so perfect, baby.” You blinked up at him, still floating, brain fuzzy and slow.

“Can’t think,” you mumbled with a sleepy smile. “You fucked all the thoughts out of me.” He chuckled softly, brushing your hair back again, tender as ever. “Good. That was the idea.”

You sighed contentedly, and he kissed your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose. “I’ve got you,” he said again, voice all honey and heat. “You’re safe, baby. You did so good for me.” You stayed wrapped around him like that, his warmth inside and all around you, his praises soft against your skin like lullabies. You were stretched, full, dazed, and blissfully used—in the best way.

Aaron didn’t pull out right away. He stayed nestled deep inside you, his weight warm over your body, his breath brushing against your cheek. The only thing that mattered was the rise and fall of his chest against yours and the afterglow curling through your limbs.

Eventually, he kissed your cheek and whispered, “You okay, sweetheart?”

You gave a soft, lazy hum. “Mmm. I’m pretty sure my brain’s still on your desk.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You were incredible.” He pressed one last kiss to your lips before slowly easing out of you. You whimpered at the loss, hips twitching. He caught it instantly.

“I know,” he said gently. “I’ve got you. Just stay there, baby.”

You let your head fall back with a soft sigh, basking in the tender ache and warm mess between your thighs. A few moments later, you felt the soft sweep of a warm towel—he must’ve grabbed it from the little emergency kit in the corner drawer. Ever prepared, even after fucking you senseless.

He cleaned you carefully, his touch warm and unhurried.

“You’re seriously the only man I know who stocks his office for post-sex cleanup,” you said, lifting your head just enough to catch his smirk. “It’s technically for spills,” he said, dabbing between your thighs like he hadn’t just creamed you full a few minutes ago. “But I adapt.”

You laughed, and he grinned, shaking his head as he tossed the towel into the trash under his desk and grabbed your underwear and slacks to give them back to you.

“I should bring you here more often,” he added, helping you sit up. “I’ve never seen you this quiet.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Ah ah ah. You’re so unfunny.”

He smiled, pulling your shirt gently over your head, helping you dress piece by piece. The tenderness of it—his hands steady and calm, the way he adjusted your hem like you were delicate—made your heart swell.

Once you were fully dressed and upright, you caught your reflection in the darkened window: hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen, eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked thoroughly ruined. “I look like I’ve been railed in a supply closet,” you muttered. Aaron came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “You look gorgeous,” he said simply. “Like mine.”

You melted.

He kissed the side of your neck, then reached down and laced your fingers together. “Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

“You mean before a janitor comes to clean and sees my assprint on your desk?” you teased.

He chuckled, hand firm in yours. “Exactly that.”

You walked out together into the quiet hallway, his coat draped over your shoulders, his fingers still linked with yours. And though the building around you was silent and clinical and cold, there was nothing cold about the way he looked at you.

Like you were the softest thing in his world.

Like he was already counting the hours until he could get you home and do it all over again.

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