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don’t fade away- luke hemmings
deludedesire.txt— aus/fics
☆ = explicit
all the pretty girls- spencer reid ☆
too busy being yours (to fall for somebody new)- sonny carisi
✧ summary: after finally having had enough of your brother’s bandmate and his relentless bullying, you decide to put your foot down. sort of.
✧ warnings: super heavy degradation, kinda bully michael, slapping, restraints, gags, thigh riding, filthy ass dialogue, p in v, fingering, overstimulation. idk if i’m missing anything?
✧ word count: 5.4k
✧ title: hatefuck — motionless in white
✧ author’s note: PUT YOUR PITCHFORKS AND TORCHES DOWN PLEASE!!! i know this IS a democrazy (see what i did there)… but to be fair i may or may not have jumped the gun on the poll and started the michael fic when he was winning, so…
that being said pls don’t fret i WILL be writing for my sexy beast of a man (2015-16 luke) sometime after i finish writing chapter 10 for bite the apple! send in requests pls pls PLEASEE
a special thank you to my sexy yummy wife (you know who you are) for picking my brain about this and thrusting me deep into a michael lane. also thank you to souperbloom for helping me plot this and giving me all these filthy ideas
also another thank you to my friends for throwing so many filthy dirty nasty things to include in this. i love every single one of yall.
lastly, for the two anons that requested this, i hope this is what you imagined :)
so yea it takes a village to write one of these blurbs. not ai. bitch.
anyways, if you’re reading bite the apple on wattpad, chapter 8 is now yours! i post every tuesday
Backstage at a 5 Seconds of Summer show is exactly how anyone imagines it to be. There’s a lot of teasing—a plethora of creative dick jokes that you pretended weren’t as funny as they actually were.
You’re in your brother’s dressing room now, frantically scrubbing away at a stain on your shirt. The stark orange-red of the marinara stain only seems to spread the more you scrub, and you feel tears of frustration start to brim in your eyes.
Another thing that’s unfortunately too common backstage at one of the shows is falling victim to Michael’s lackadaisical attitude toward the world around him. Most of the time, he likes to pretend you don’t exist, and the other half, you end up being an unfortunate casualty of his pranks.
Today, Michael had the brilliant idea to throw a slice of pizza at Calum, who dodged it, barely batting an eye. However, it was you standing right behind him—with lackluster reflexes.
Then, the unfortunate incident happened.
Michael thought it was the funniest thing, bursting into laughter, doubling over and near tears at your startled yelp. The white blouse you wore was one of the few nice items of clothing you owned, and now it was ruined by a bright red stain that would probably never come off.
Biting the inside of your cheek to contain your huff of frustration, you keep scrubbing at the stain with a damp paper towel, but to no avail. The mess only grows, the stain expanding and being joined by small pieces of paper.
You huff, drop the fabric, shut your eyes, and force yourself to take a deep breath.
The door to the dressing room swings open, and Ashton prances in with an easy grin. “Hey,” he greets. At the sight of your furrowed brows and frown, he stops mid-step. “What’s got you on the verge of a breakdown now?”
You let out a frustrated groan, your throat suddenly tight. There’s no reason to cry, but the frustration—paired with the fact that you somehow always end up being Michael’s collateral—feels like the final straw.
Wordlessly, you point at the stain on your shirt, which seems to have doubled in size. Ashton blinks, tilting his head as he studies it.
“That’s a gnarly stain,” your brother whistles. “Whatcha do to get that?”
Another wave of anger surges through you. “Existed around Michael, apparently.”
Ashton chuckles to himself, scratching the back of his neck as he glances around the room. “You’re making that so much worse,” he sighs. “Just change into something else. Trust me.”
You cross your arms over your chest, looking at Ashton with an incredulous expression. “I don’t have a ride back to the hotel,” you start, taking a step closer to him. “And I don’t have a change of clothes. So tell me—are you trying to play fairy godmother here?”
Ashton rolls his eyes, turning on his heel as he rummages through the room. He’s a year older than you, but sometimes it feels like you’re the more mature one.
“Aha!” he cries, waving a shirt in the air like a truce flag. “See? You can wear this one!”
You raise an eyebrow, walking over to him slowly. You eye the fabric dangling from his fingers suspiciously, like it’s bound to burst into flames at any second.
“That’s a muscle tee,” you say slowly. “But it’s not yours.”
Ashton freezes. “It could be.”
“I don’t wanna wear your clothes.”
“Why not?”
You pause, pursing your lips. “Because you’re… you.”
Your brother lets out an indignant squeak, leveling you with a glare that has as much threat as a newborn baby’s. “It could be,” he huffs, then hesitates, biting his lower lip. “But it’s not.”
Narrowing your eyes, you step closer. “Whose is it?” you ask.
“It’s Michael’s,” Ashton shrugs, tossing the shirt at you.
You scramble to catch it, your fingers just barely snagging the corner before it hits the ground. “You want me to wear his shirt?” you echo, incredulous. “You know, most guys tend to be a little more… weirded out by their sisters wearing their bandmate’s clothing.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Ashton turns to the door. “It’s his fault your shirt got ruined,” he calls over his shoulder. “The least he can do is let you borrow one in the meantime. Trust me, it’ll be fine.”
“But he hates me!” you whine, but the complaint falls on deaf ears as the door shuts behind him. You rub your eye with your knuckle hard enough to see colors, annoyance prickling your skin.
Fine. You’ll wear Michael’s shirt. If the asshole has a problem with it, he can take it up with Ashton later.
The fabric is soft beneath your fingertips, the colors slightly faded but surprisingly clean. It smells faintly of old cologne, worn at the edges. It might be a loose fit, but you can make it work.
With a dejected sigh, you grip the hem of your soiled shirt and pull it over your head, letting it fall carelessly into a heap at your feet.
Just as you’re about to slip the new shirt over your head, the door to the dressing room swings open.
“Fuck!” you yelp, scrambling to press the fabric to your chest. Your heart races, adrenaline flooding your veins as you turn to face the intruder.
Michael stands frozen in the doorway, his expression irritatingly unimpressed. His gaze flicks from the shirt clutched against your chest to the glimpses of bare skin.
“Dude, I’m changing,” you hiss, cheeks burning.
Michael snorts, turning away. “Not that impressive, don’t worry,” he mutters. “Why the hell do you have my shirt, anyway? You obsessed with me or somethin’?”
Your eyes narrow as you swallow down your embarrassment. “Can you go five minutes without being an absolute dick to me?”
To his credit, Michael actually turns around. Once his back is to you, you quickly pull the shirt down over your frame.
“Can I turn now, or are you gonna keep crying?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his exasperation.
Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the couch. “Fine,” you sigh. “And for the record, I’m wearing your shirt because you ruined the one I already had on. Payback.”
When Michael turns around, his eyes find you. They widen—almost imperceptibly—as he takes in the sight of his shirt on your body. His jaw clenches, but whatever moment of weakness that was vanishes as quickly as it came.
Traitorously, your heart flutters at the realization.
For as long as you’ve known him, Michael has been nothing but a thorn in your side. Sometimes he barely acknowledges your existence, and other times he acknowledges it way too much.
And every single time, your breath catches when those jade green eyes land squarely on you. Maybe it has some psychological explanation— the way your stomach tightens when he talks down to you with that lazy drawl, but yet you can’t help the way your body responds to his mere existence.
The sliver of attraction is enough for every single one of his jabs to cut deep.
“Still think it’s cause you’re a freak,” he shrugs, throwing himself down on the sofa with a soft groan. He’s avoiding looking at you, it’s obvious by the way he keeps his state fixated on a dilapidated part of the wall.
You don’t move, crossing your arms so tightly around your chest you’re sure you’re about to suffocate.
“Wait no,” he snaps his fingers, sitting up slightly. He leans on his knees, a smirk curling on his pink lips. His red hair is confined by a snapback, few stray strands standing out from beneath it. “I’m not Calum, so maybe you aren’t obsessed with me after all.”
You sputter, eyes going wide at the permanent smirk on his face. He leans back against the couch, arms draped over the top, one leg crossed over the other— the perfect picture of apathy.
“I never said I liked Calum,” you snap, patience wearing thin as you step forward. “You took that and ran with it. I was drunk and wondering if Ashton would have much of a say about me hypothetically liking one of his bandmates.”
Michael hums. “Tomato, tomahto,” he grins, tilting his head. His eyes glint with mirth— that beautiful green, entirely too intense for someone so infuriating.
You watch, annoyingly mesmerized, as his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. The action is thoughtless, but it still sends a shiver down your spine and a thrill through your bones.
“Why do you hate me?” you ask, shrinking slightly under the weight of your own admission. “I’ve done nothing to you in the years I’ve known you— and yet just the fact that I breathe seems to send you over the edge.”
The smirk on Michael’s face falters for a moment before he pushes himself off the couch. When he stands at full height, he towers over you.
“Have you ever met someone so grating that no matter what they do or say, you just want them to shut the fuck up?” he asks, his eyes flicking down your body. For a second, his pupils widen. “It’s nothing you did. It’s just you.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” you gasp, affronted.
Michael huffs, shaking his head. He looks amused—like your outrage is just another joke for him to toy with. Still, after years of passive-aggressive jabs, of always being the punchline, of being ridiculed by the one person you actually want, something in you finally snaps.
“God, you’re so insufferable,” you bite out, hands trembling at your sides. “You think because girls want you—because they scream your name and throw themselves at you—you can just treat me like I’m a piece of shit.”
“Girls do want me,” Michael says easily, lowering his head as a soft chuckle escapes him. The brim of his snapback grazes the sliver barbell in his eyebrow—the one that somehow makes every smirk, every look, even more intoxicating. “You want me.”
You let out a strangled scream. Michael looks unbearably smug, gazing down at you as he revels in every second of your unraveling. Every nerve in your body is lit up—ready to spark at the slightest provocation.
Then you step closer, tilting your chin up until your eyes lock. The breath catches in your throat, your heart stuttering in your chest when you find him already looking at you.
Up close, you can see the faint dusting of hair along his jaw, the exact shade of pink that colors his lips. He’s beautiful, wielding his looks like a weapon—and you’re so willing to get cut it’s almost pathetic.
When your gaze flicks down to his mouth, reason slips away. Pure impulse drives you forward, and before you know it, your lips are pressed against Michael’s.
The kiss is brief—just a brush of lips before the weight of reality comes crashing down. You inhale sharply, jerking back like the contact burned you.
Your stomach churns, embarrassment flooding your skin as your throat tightens. You scramble for an excuse, a joke, a comeback—anything—but your mind is a blank slate.
“I—” you start, but the word dies in your throat.
Michael’s eyes darken, and he exhales a low, amused breath. “I knew you were obsessed with me,” he growls, gripping your chin before crashing his lips back onto yours.
His mouth is hot against yours, and you let out a startled gasp that’s quickly swallowed by him. He nips at your bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth with a soft, deliberate suck as his other hand finds your waist.
Your knees threaten to give out, but you clutch at his shirt, holding yourself upright. Slowly, your lips move with his—matching the same desperate, hungry rhythm you’ve been dreaming of for years.
His hands grip your hips as he backs you against the wall; you hit it with a soft thud, just as Michael’s hand comes up to grip your neck.
You inhale sharply, eyes blinking wide as he pulls away from you. You’re both breathing heavily, his lips kiss-swollen and pink, slightly wet from you.
“So, who knew that was the only way to shut you up,” he growls, dipping his head to kiss a path down your jaw. His lips leave behind a trail of fire, and your head swims. “Should’ve figured it out sooner—could’ve saved me a couple of headaches.”
His hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, the calloused digits leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shiver, biting back a moan—your entire body responds to him like a live wire.
When he reaches the clasp of your bra, he undoes it with a skilled flick of his wrist. The fabric falls to your waist, and Michael doesn’t waste any time taking it off you.
The muscle tee’s arm cutouts are so wide you’re barely covered, and when his large hand returns to your waist, you shiver in anticipation.
“Please.” The word is a gasp, nearly lost in the intensity swirling between the two of you. Michael’s hand rises slowly, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast.
“Poor baby,” he coos. “So desperate to be touched. Do you make a habit of being this pathetic, or is this just a ‘me’ special?”
You’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but the pressure between your legs—and the overwhelming fact that Michael Clifford is kissing you, touching you—is enough to leave you gasping.
You bite your lip, holding back a whimper as his hand finally cups your breast, thumb brushing over your pert nipple. A zap of pleasure races down your spine, and you let out a small mewl.
“No,” Michael tuts. “If you’re gonna embarrass yourself, might as well commit. Be loud—wanna hear you.”
This time, he pinches your nipple, hard enough to make you cry out in a hazy mix of pain and pleasure. You’re trembling in his arms as his lips return to yours, hips rutting into yours mindlessly.
Abruptly, Michael pulls away. You whine at the sudden loss of contact, your head still spinning as you blink yourself back into reality.
Michael walks backward until he’s seated on the couch again, eyes alight with challenge. There’s intent in them—mischief that never really leaves.
He smirks. “Strip.”
Blinking, you fight the urge to cross your arms over your chest. It’s cold, and every drag of Michael’s shirt against your already sensitive skin feels overwhelming.
“Wh-what?” you stammer, breath catching.
“You heard me,” he drawls. “Strip. Everything but the shirt. Then come here.” He taps his thigh expectantly, and the self-assured nature of the motion makes you dizzy all over again.
Shakily, you reach for the button of your jeans and undo it with ease. Michael’s eyes follow your every move, drinking you in like a man starved.
When your zipper slides down, the sound is deafening. Slowly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of your jeans and underwear, peeling them down your legs until they pool at your feet.
You kick them aside, suddenly grateful that Michael’s shirt is long enough to keep you modest. When you glance back at him, you catch the slight shift in his expression—his composure faltering ever so slightly.
You tread carefully toward him, straddling his thigh like he told you, but hover just above it.
“You’d do anything I tell you to, hmm?” he taunts, his hand flying to your waist. Without warning, he forces you down, your bare core brushing against the rough denim of his jeans.
You gasp, hands shooting to his shoulders for support.
“Ride my fucking thigh,” he hisses. “Desperate little thing—work for it. Not touching you until you cry for it.”
“Michael—”
He cuts you off by grinding your hips down, the friction against your clit sharp and intoxicating. You moan, and he grips your face again.
“Don’t talk. Good sluts don’t speak unless they’re asked to.”
You nod, inhaling shakily as you begin to move your hips just like he wants. Each drag against the fabric feels like heaven—but it’s not enough. Your clit is swollen, aching, throbbing with the need for release.
Rolling your hips, you dig your fingers into Michael’s shoulder. He lets out a hiss but doesn’t stop you—one hand gripping your hip, bunching the shirt around your waist so he can see the mess you’re making on his leg.
It’s his other hand that makes you dizzy, trailing up your spine with reverence, rubbing gentle circles—spurring you on. You moan, eyes fluttering.
“Michael—”
He tightens his grip on your hip. “You better make yourself come,” he whispers, the command hitting your skin like ice. “Otherwise you don’t get my cock—not until you shut up and cry pretty for me.”
You whimper, hips moving faster.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Be the pathetic little thing I know you are, soaking my jeans like a needy whore—is that what you wanted, hmm?”
He leans closer, his lips catching on your collarbone. “You’re kind of pretty when you do what you’re told,” he hums, the hand on your hip sliding up to push the shirt higher and expose your chest.
When his lips wrap around your nipple, your mind goes blank. You gasp, grinding harder. The pleasure coiling in your stomach grows with every movement, and when his teeth sink into your skin, you scream.
“You’ll just let me do anything I want, huh?” he smiles—an almost sweet expression. His lips are soft, kissing the tender skin between words. “All that fucking talking—all of that just for some attention.”
You’re getting closer; you can feel the heat building, reaching every nerve in your body and painting it with Michael. He’s fully dressed, looking up at you with something like awe in his eyes.
“You gonna come for me?” he asks, lifting his head. He catches your chin, coaxing you to look at him with a gentle knuckle. “Gonna beg all nice and pretty?”
“Mikey—” you sob, the frantic rhythm of your hips picking up. “Please, I wanna come, just wanna be good for you—”
“Oh, look at that,” he muses. “So eager for me to talk to you like this. So eager to fall apart on my lap.”
His thigh flexes, the muscle tensing just enough to give you the stability you need. In a matter of seconds, your breath stutters, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as pleasure slams into you.
You scream, convulsing against his thigh as every wave of your orgasm crashes over you. You’re a gasping mess, babbling nonsense, your ears ringing with the force of it.
Your chest heaves with every breath as you slowly lift yourself off his thigh. Your legs feel weak, the world almost too bright around the edges.
“Look at that,” Michael says, almost lazily, glancing down at the wet spot darkening the black denim. “What a mess. All that from grinding on my lap? God, you’re such a dumb slut, huh?”
He chuckles, slipping his hand between your thighs. When his fingers find your slick, you let out a hiccuping breath. He collects some of your release, the fluid glistening on his fingers.
“All it took was one orgasm and now you’re brainless,” he tuts, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. His breath hitches at the taste. “Do you even have a thought in that little dumb brain of yours? Or are you just cock-drunk?”
You swallow. “No,” you rasp, voice hoarse. “Just want you to fuck me stupid.”
“Oh, baby,” Michael grins, slipping his hand between your thighs again. “I fuckin’ plan to.”
He flips you without warning, your back landing on the couch with a soft thud. He hovers over you, silver chain dangling above your face like a threat.
“But first,” he murmurs, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your face, “I want you to thank me. I didn’t have to make you come, y’know? Could’ve just fucked you—used you like the hole you are to me. But I was so nice.”
His fingers wrap gently around your neck—delicate, almost tender—but the intention is unmistakable.
“Say thank you, Y/N,” he urges. “Say, ‘Thank you for letting me come on your thigh like a pathetic whore.’”
The words are humiliating, so demeaning that under any other circumstance, you’d spit in Michael’s face and tear him down without blinking. But something stops you—the heat blooming in your belly again, the way his thumb softly caresses your jaw.
“Thank you,” you say slowly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “For letting me come on your thigh like a pathetic slut.”
His hand snakes between your legs, two fingers teasing your entrance. “Already wet again?” Michael smirks. “Of course you are. You’re pathetic.”
You whine, but it isn’t long before he plunges his fingers inside you. Your back arches off the couch as he curls them, hitting that perfect spot that turns your brain to static.
“Who knew dumb little things like you had such pretty little cunts,” he hums, his thumb circling your clit. “All swollen and dripping, and I’ve barely even touched you.”
Faintly, you hear the clink of a belt buckle being undone. You blink through the haze, trying to focus past the overwhelming pulse of pleasure from his hand.
He’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you fast, his thumb keeping perfect rhythm on your clit. With his other hand, he works his belt free from the loops, pulling it out in one smooth motion that shouldn’t look as devastatingly hot as it does.
“Keep fucking yourself on my fingers,” he says.
It takes a few seconds for the command to register in your brain, but then your hips begin to move, picking up the pace as Michael drops his hand. Every pump of his fingers is intoxicating, his free hand roaming your leg, his head dipping occasionally to kiss your overheated skin.
Somehow, that seems to affect you more than anything else.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks. “Want me to stretch you out, see how this greedy cunt swallows me whole?”
You nod.
Michael withdraws his fingers, and the sudden loss is so jarring your body goes cold. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he walks over to your discarded pants and untangles your panties from them.
You blink, body spinning with the possibilities. Michael walks back to you, crouching until your faces are level. His pupils are blown wide, and a faint flush colors his cheeks.
He leans in, catching your mouth in a kiss so tender it steals the air from your lungs. Your hand rises to cup the back of his head, fingers threading into the red strands.
He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours for a beat. “Open your mouth, princess,” he whispers, breathless.
You obey, anticipation curling through you. Gently, Michael lifts your discarded underwear and stuffs it into your mouth.
The act is surprisingly tender, but still, you’re stunned. You gape at Michael as he stands above you, carefully undoing his jeans.
“Look at how pathetic,” he murmurs, leaning down just enough to catch the hem of your shirt and lift it slightly. His finger traces the planes of your stomach, drawn tight with excitement. “Laid out like a whore, practically begging me to do something.”
You whimper, the sound muffled and catching in your throat as he withdraws his hand. He tugs down his jeans, followed by his underwear, until he springs free.
The thick length of him is enough to make your eyes threaten to roll back in your skull, but you stay carefully still.
He wraps a hand around himself, pumping lazily as he circles you like a predator, waiting to strike. When his thumb brushes over the tip, he lets out the most delicious little hiss—one that you feel all the way down to your toes.
You almost whine when he lets go of his cock, picking up the belt he left forgotten on the couch. He wraps the studded leather around your wrists, snug enough that you can’t fight it.
“You’re gonna lay there and take this fucking cock like useless hole you are for me,” he climbs onto the couch, lowering himself enough to tease.
Michael nudges your legs apart, exposing your slick core. You’re clenching around nothing, drenched in desperation as you wait for him to do something.
He leans over you, one hand braced on the couch cushions beside your head. Carefully, he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, groaning.
“God all it took was for me to be mean to you, and you're already a fucking mess,” he toys with your entrance, the only sign of him being affected is the slight rasp beneath his words. “My fucking mess to do as I please with. Isn’t that right?”
You nod, lifting your hips as you desperately search for some kind of release.
Michael doesn’t waste any more time, thrusting into you fully with a harsh snap of his hips. You cry out, back arching off the couch at the brutal stretch, the sound muffled behind the fabric stuffed in your mouth.
He pulls back just enough for you to feel the unbearable emptiness—only to slam back inside with a filthy moan that makes you groan past the gag. Michael’s eyes flutter as he sets a brutal pace, hips snapping into yours with purpose.
“Gripping me so fucking right,” he grits. “It’s all you’re good for—milking my cock. God knows you don’t have the brain for anything else.”
He collapses over you, nosing along the side of your jaw. “Look at you,” he pants. “All ruined, all spread out for me, taking my cock like you’re meant to. Bet you’d let anyone do this, hmm?”
When he shifts angles, hitting that devastating spot inside you that sends your vision to static, all his filthy words only push you closer. You clench around him involuntarily.
Michael growls and yanks the belt tighter, using it as leverage to drag you down on him harder. Each thrust rocks the couch, your breasts bouncing with every sharp snap of his hips.
“You don’t even look human,” he mutters, sweat slicking his brow. “Just something for me to fuck and throw away. Isn’t that right?”
He punctuates the cruelty with his thumb pressing to your clit. One leg jerks in response, the tight, filthy circles he rubs making the pressure inside you mount unbearably.
His hips piston against yours, the obscene sound of skin on skin filling the room. One hand presses to your lower stomach, and the weight of it makes you choke on a moan.
“Can feel myself here,” he groans. “Bet that’s why you’re so needy. Never had your pussy stretched properly.”
You’re close—so close—body shaking, nerves shot, the build-up like fire licking beneath your skin. You sob behind the gag, the edge creeping nearer with every relentless thrust.
“Gonna come for me?” he asks, his thumb moving faster in tandem with his hips. “Gonna do the only thing you’re good for and soak my cock?”
You manage a shaky nod, tears slipping down your cheeks as your orgasm barrels toward you like a freight train.
“Cry all you want, baby,” he growls. “I’m not stopping ‘til you’re dripping with me.”
With one sharp thrust, he pushes you over the edge.
Your legs lock around him, your hands pulling against the belt as your orgasm rips through you. The studded leather digs into your wrists, the sweet medley of pain and pleasure only heightening every wave of release that crashes over you.
Your blood feels like molasses in your veins, and you heave for breath. The fog behind your eyes begins to clear, and slowly, you come back to yourself.
But Michael doesn’t stop.
You’re oversensitive, still twitching from the aftermath of your orgasm. Fresh tears blur your vision, and Michael grips your chin.
“You’re not done until I say you’re done,” he grunts.
He lets go, his hand caressing your cheek—then suddenly slapping it. The sting lands like ecstasy, and you clench around him.
Michael takes that as a green light to do it again, slapping you once more. Your back arches off the couch, and you're still crying. The cool tears trail down your overheated skin in stark contrast.
He releases the belt, your arms dropping limply at your sides. But he doesn’t slow—his hands slide under your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest.
This new angle makes everything deeper, sharper. You haven’t stopped crying, but you haven’t stopped moaning either. Michael’s spurred on by the sound of your slick, by the way your cunt flutters around him.
A choked sob escapes you, and despite the overstimulation, you feel it building again—another orgasm curling in your belly like fire.
“That’s right,” Michael growls. “You’re gonna come again for me. Bet I don’t even need to touch your clit, huh? Bet you can come just from my cock like a good little whore.”
He grins down at you, eyes wild and shining. The tears have started to pool beneath your head, soaking the couch. Your skin is slick with sweat, your whole body trembling, but the pleasure only builds.
“There she is,” he breathes. “My dumb little thing. Just needed to be fucked stupid, isn’t that right? Needed someone who actually knows what to do with you.”
Your hand shoots up to grip his arm, nails digging into the taut muscle of his bicep. He doesn’t flinch. His thrusts grow more erratic, but every one still finds that devastating spot inside you.
“Come for me,” he urges, voice going sweeter, coaxing. “C’mon, be good f’me, baby. Come for me so I can fill this pretty pussy up the way you need.”
And finally—you break.
The world drops out from beneath you, leaving only the white-hot spiral of your orgasm tearing through you. You wail around the gag, body shaking violently beneath him.
Michael’s hips stutter, and he lets out a ragged moan. “Oh, fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he groans, head dropping. “Gonna come—shit—”
The strangled moan that claws out of his throat is the only warning you get as Michael empties himself inside you. He keeps up the shallow thrusts, twitching as you wring him dry.
You’re both shaking now, sweaty and high on adrenaline. For the first time, your mind starts to clear. Panic spikes when the weight of the situation settles in—when you catch sight of your discarded shirt and pants.
Your cheeks heat, and you’re about to scramble for a response when there’s a sharp rap at the door. “Stage in fifteen,” someone calls.
Michael freezes, looking down at you for a moment. “Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to get off you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ashton is so gonna beat my ass if he finds me here.”
He lets out a hiss as he slips out of you, hastily pushing off the couch as he hops back into his skinny jeans. He tucks himself into his pants without preamble, scanning the room for anything he might’ve missed.
When Michael’s eyes land on you, you half expect him to make a mean quip or just ignore you. Instead, you’re surprised when he leans forward, presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips, and hands you a half-empty water bottle.
He looks down at the plastic bottle, a little sheepish. “Uh, I’ll find you after the show,” he says, pulling his belt back through the loops as he gets up.
When Michael reaches the door, he turns back to you. “Sorry I can’t help much, but, uh—” he picks something up from the floor and throws it at you. “Yeah. Okay, see you.”
He shoots you an awkward smile before slipping out the door. You sit up, wincing slightly. Your body is tender from the events of the day, raw in the best of ways.
Part of you is a little smug, too—satisfied after seeing the sudden shift in Michael. Gone was the vindictive, sharp-tongued guitarist who seemed to have girls falling at his feet at every turn.
The only thing left was the fading façade—revealing the obsessed, but almost adorably flustered boy beneath the mask. You didn’t miss the subtle tenderness in his actions, and for a second, you wonder how the aftermath would’ve played out if he hadn’t had to be brisked away.
You shake your head, feeling the sticky mess of your releases beginning to seep out of you. When you grab whatever it was Michael had thrown at you to clean up, your eye catches on a bright red stain.
how i imagine thigh riding w the guys would go. afab!reader.
calum
it happens when you’re sitting on the couch, aimlessly watching tv, curled up together.
his hands make their way to end of your sleep shorts, the ones he has a half a mind to rip right off you. your hand is absentmindedly rubbing his upper thigh, and he’s watching you out the corner of his eye. even though he thinks you can’t, you feel his eyes on you immediately. whether right next to you or across a crowded room, you always could.
you squeeze at the place where his thigh meets his pelvis, smiling slightly at the breath he lets out. the movie is long forgotten, your attention solely on the beautiful man below your fingertips. what started out as a tease morphs into a bit of an obsession. your nails are scraping the mass of muscle, mind whirling with endless scenarios. when your hand starts to inch higher and higher, calum stops you.
“if you wanna do something, then do it.”
it’s all the encouragement you need before you’re climbing halfway into his lap, his thigh slotted between your legs. the pressure makes your head spin, and you look up at him through hooded eyes. the way he looks in the low light of your living room, green and blue hair tousled and bushy eyebrows drawn— it makes wetness pool between your legs almost immediately.
“wanna try something,” you whisper, placing a kiss on his pulse point, which makes his hands fly to your hips. “let me?”
he nods, dark eyes curious. “anything.”
its instantaneous, the motion of your hips. slow, experimental thrusts. the friction between your flimsy shorts and the denim he’s wearing making the familiar heat rise in your stomach.
calum’s strong hands are moving you faster and faster, watching you fall apart with rapt attention. he can’t take his eyes of you— his girl— fucking yourself against his leg like it would kill you any minute to stop.
he’s laser focused on the puff of air leaving you; the way you throw your head back, the way you grip his bicep at a particularly slow drag he guides you through. it’s better than drugs he thinks, the way you look absolutely wrecked off nothing but his fucking thigh.
his mouth is parted as your orgasm hits you, a long whine falling from behind those pretty lips. he doesn’t stop moving you, not even when you slump forward, chest heaving.
“cal, fuck—“ its torture, you think. you fucking love it anyway.
after a minute he stops, deep breath leaving him. you look up, confused. it takes all of ten seconds before you’re flipped around, splayed on your back underneath him, back pressed firmly into the couch.
his eyes are molten. “you’re a fucking vision, you know that? using my thigh like it belongs to you.” your mouth falls open as he shoves a hand down the front of your pants. “let me show you exactly what belongs to me.”
ashton
you’d been running around the city all night, and by the time you get back to his apartment, you’re practically begging for ash to touch you. he’d been teasing all night; skimming his hand along the small of your back, gripping the flesh of your thigh underneath tables. it made you a live wire, wound tight and desperate for something. anything.
ashton sits on the edge of the bed, watching as you take off your clothes, eyes trailing down your body with greed. he gestures you over with one hand, “come here.”
when you’re standing in front of him in nothing but a skimpy black set, he tugs you forward, making you collapse in his lap. you wrap your arms around him as he fuses your lips together, hands on either side of your ribcage. his thumbs skim the underside of your breasts softly.
it has you out of breath and desperate, whining into the kiss and clenching around nothing. “so needy tonight, yeah?”
it drives you crazy, the way he’s looking at you, smirk wide and eyes full of mischief. you nod, moving to reattach your lips, but he leans back, moving his body further up the bed and subsequently moving you to sit on one of his legs.
“so take what you need, baby.”
you stare at him, alarmed, waiting for him to touch you. only he doesn’t, just leans back on his elbows, eyebrows raised. “ash-“
“you heard me, pretty girl. use me.”
the lightning bolt it sends down your spine makes you breathless. you know he’s enjoying seeing you squirm, but you couldn’t give less a fuck. not with his huge, muscled thigh pressed against your center like an open invitation.
you drag your hips back and forth against him, moan clawing its way out your throat at the feeling. ashton bounces his leg slightly in time with your thrusts, grinning wolfishly at the mewls leaving you. he’s rock hard in his slacks but it’s not important to him. what’s important is you, half naked and pretty as ever, fucking yourself against his thigh like it was where you needed to live.
“oh- fuck- ash I’m gonna-“ it’s too much, between the look on his face and the pressure on your clit. you’re rutting helplessly, chasing your orgasm like a woman deranged.
when your hips lock and your breathing splutters his hands are on you, holding you in place pushing you down as firm as possible. your jaw goes slack and vision turns white as you climax, and you slump forward, right into his chest.
it’s quiet for a second, and then,
“didn’t think there was anything better than seeing you come on my cock. guess I was wrong.”
luke
luke is a little bit different. it’s carnal and raw in way that knocks the wind out of you both. clothes have been ripped away, throw haphazardly across the room. you’re a mess of teeth and tongues clashing, lips trailing against collarbones and hungry hands.
his back is pressed against the headboard, blonde curls wild against his forehead. curses are falling out of his kiss-red lips, eyes wide and blown.
“need to feel you— now.”
you nod fervently, grabbing the base of him and lifting up to sink on to him. he stop you and you gasp as your eyes connect. he looks ravenous and his hold is bruising. “no,” his voice is coarse. “want you on my thigh.”
there’s no time between the words tumbling out his mouth and your pussy slapping onto the meat of his thigh. you both moan immediately at the contact. the feeling is other worldly, and you feel like you’ve ascended to the highest plane possible. luke doesn’t let a beat pass before he’s dragging you back and forth with a quickness, eyes transfixed on the way your wetness coats his skin.
“god you’re so wet for me— I can hear it.” he whimpers against your mouth, trailing kisses to your jaw, biting down slightly. the moan that rips from the deepest parts of your chest echoes around the room.
“luke— I can’t,” you sob. his pace is unrelenting, jutting you back further and pulling you in closer every time. “it’s too much.”
“you can,” he’s words are slurred on the pleasure, voice strained. “please baby, give it to me. wanna feel you soak my thigh. please.”
your orgasm hits you like a wrecking ball, and at the same time you’re arching into him, he’s coming too, thick ropes hitting his stomach and your arm.
it takes a minute for the both of you to screw your heads on right. chests heaving, sweat coating every inch of your bodies.
luke looks up at you, fucked out smile and bliss transforming his face.
“we’re definitely doing that again.”
michael
michael’s a little bit of a wild card. it’d be something you didn’t see a mile away, but appreciative of nonetheless.
you’re sitting in a corner booth in the back of a crowded club, at an album release for a one of his friends. everyone’s gotten up; to go the bar, the bathroom, to dance— you couldn’t remember exactly. mostly because you’re sitting on his lap, his back pressed up against you and thigh slotted between your own.
the last person had gotten up and it was immediate, the way his large hands latched on to your hips, lips at your ear. “if I can’t fuck you the way that I want right now, I’m gonna need to see you fall apart.”
you go to look over your shoulder at him but he keeps you from turning. “eyes forward, baby.”
when he starts to move you, you choke on your own spit, startled moan tumbling out of your lips. he squeezes you, pressure making your brain turn to mush.
the whole ordeal is slow and deliberate. every stroke, every drag, every stutter. right when you’re almost there, he stops, bringing you back down before starting up again. “look at you, so good for me.” his voice is sugary sweet, almost in awe. “sliding against my thigh, fuck, you’re soaked. I can feel you.”
his filthy words do nothing but wind the coil in your gut tighter and tighter. you’re a mewling mess, pleas falling breathlessly out your mouth. “please, mike. please, please, please.”
he groans, moving you faster against him. the music in the club is deafening, but you’re focused on nothing except the friction between you both. it’s exhilarating and terrifying, knowing anyone could come back or even simply just look, and you’d be caught. it’s when he sinks his teeth into the skin of your collarbone that you’re a shaking, whining mess in his lap. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
when you come down from it all, you look back at him, eyebrows raised. “where the hell did that come from?”
he shrugs, grin wide and eyes sparkling. “well with a dress like that, did you expect me to keep my hands to myself?”
You remembered it like it was yesterday, the day you laid your eyes on him.
You grabbed your bags— one backpack and one stuffed to the brim duffle— tugging with haste as annoyed passengers huffed behind you. You’d been a lot nicer back then; didn’t know how to deal with the finicky attitude people in LA seemed to have. You smiled sheepishly at them, hand up in apology.
The air was crisp when you finally get your big ass bag down the steps of the bus, low sixties seeping into your bones as you stretched your limbs. Everything seemed bright, back then. No looming presence, no expectations and so full of hope.
A feeling started to bloom inside you at the realization that you’d finally made it. Away from small-town living, from small town gossip. You were nobody here. And it felt perfect; the opportunity to be anyone you wanted.
You looked up and around, eyes overwhelmed with the scenery. There were so many people moving languidly, like they had nowhere in the world to be. You watched as two teenagers skate by a couple feet ahead, tearing their way through a couple with laughter. It shouldn’t have made you so happy to see, but it did. Everything was different. Everything was right.
You looked down at your phone and back up again, trying to make sense of the street signs in front of you. You’d left home with nothing but two bags of clothes and enough money to rent a small room for three months until you (hopefully) figured your shit out. It wasn’t the most glamorous, but it would do. It was the start of something. The start of everything.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you craned your neck slightly, trying to make out the cross street in front of you. You huffed and whirled around to check the other side. You hadn’t realized how fast you’d moved, or the fact that you were in the middle of the sidewalk.
The body hit you like a train, knocking the wind out of you momentarily. Your duffle went flying, landing with a hard thud on the concrete. You looked up in alarm, just to find a mirroring expression on the face of the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen.
You gaped, stupidly, completely unmoving as he rushes to grab your bag from where it’d been thrown. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” he said, and you could feel your heart melt at the way his honey-sweet voice cracked slightly.
He was tall, really tall. He had blonde hair; soft looking tendrils that framed his face and stopped right at him jaw. He was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt, leather jacket shaping his arms nicely. He held out a hand with your bag in tow, bright blue eyes on yours, sunglasses pushed into his hair.
You finally managed to act like a real person. “No it’s- it’s totally my fault.” You felt your cheeks heat as his finger grazed your own. “I should probably get the fuck from the middle of the sidewalk.”
He laughed, a short but full sound that makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. Now that you’d come back down to earth, you noticed the headphone dangling from one ear. “And I should probably look at where the hell I’m going,” he gave you a sweet, almost shy smile. “Especially if I’m gonna barrel down pretty girls.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, and the same bashful smile spread on your lips. You don’t say anything to that, because what the hell could you say to the hottest boy you’d ever seen calling you pretty? You hadn’t been as bold back then; definitely less brave. You tucked your hair behind your ear and glanced once more at your phone in confusion.
“Need help with something?” The blonde asked, voice earnest. “I can promise I won’t almost kill you again.”
You chuckled, fiddling with the strap on your backpack. “I’m tougher than I look.” You said, and gestured to your unhurt body. “Barely a scratch.”
There was a twinkle in his eye of sorts, or maybe that was just the hyper-dream state you were stuck in while looking at him. You handed him your phone, directions you couldn’t make sense of on your screen.
In hindsight, it definitely wasn’t smart. Your address not only on full display for a stranger, but said stranger being the one to direct you to it. He was as kind as possible though, voice gentle as he listed the steps you needed to take to get to your destination. When you looked at him blankly, he laughed hard again, “Don’t worry. If you open your notes, I can write it down for you.”
The whole interaction was sweet; more than you could’ve ever expected. You weren’t naive enough to think every person you’d meet here would be like this, but this blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel being the first person you’d encountered really eased your nerves.
You went to thank him just as his phone rang, taking his attention fully away from you. He sighed, before giving you an apologetic look. “I gotta go. Sorry, again, for running you over. I hope you get where you’re going safely.”
You’d barely had time to get the words out before he’s walking away, clearly arguing with someone. You watched as he got further down the street, disappearing around a corner.
There was no second thought, not really. Not then. You’d just taken a deep breath, and started the trek to your new home. You followed his directions down to the letter, thanking every god above when you saw the apartment building ahead.
And when you got there, you greeted your roommate, who looked a little too worn for welcome, and slinked into the room you now occupied. There was no ache, no daydream. You went along with your life and across the city, he went along with his, never giving that day a second thought. It wasn’t like you’d ever see him again.
it started seven years ago; stepping off the bus in LA from your hometown, ready to take on the world when you bumped into a guy that had no business being so tall. it started when you both apologized profusely, shy smiles and warm eye contact pulling you in. it didn’t last though, just a fleeting moment you thought about from time to time. you didn’t see him again. until—
it continued six years ago; at a random bar on a thursday night when the same guy walked in with his slightly shorter friends. you’d thought you were crazy, knew there was no way he’d remember you. but he did. you had a night you’d never forget, but a night that was frozen in time, not meant to have substance. and it didn’t. until—
it happened again, five years ago; when you were a little bit older and he was a little bit wiser. you saw him at a park this time, reading a book you weren’t sure he really understood, but looked like he was trying hard anyway. you took a chance then, and you both fell. hard. it was magical. until—
the worst happened, three years ago; when everything started to fall apart. he was distant and you were bitter. he was mean but you were meaner. suddenly, the man you knew had morphed into a man that looked like a stranger. the kind of stranger he’d been four years ago, when you knew life without him. you had to get out. and you did. until—
the reckoning happened, two years ago; when he called out the blue and you’d come running. when you realized it was better to have half of him than none at all. when he realized that despite what he couldn’t give you, he couldn’t live without you. short lived but every bit of the same intensity, the same love and the same hurt from all the years before. it was enough. then it wasn’t. and you wanted, needed out—for real this time. you needed him gone. and he was. until—
now, it’s two years later from the last time you spoke to him, but it’s all come back around. he appeared at your front door like a ghost, haunting your every feeling and looming behind every hand that’s touched you ever since. he knows what he lost now, knows what he needs to get back. you tell yourself it’s not the same and it won’t work. that you’re different now and he’s still the same. he has to be. but it doesn’t matter; it never has. you’ve always occupied the most important place in him, and he’ll do anything to remind you his place in you.
chapter one: couldn’t see you coming
chapter two: a mouth i would kill to kiss
chapter three: you and i, we’re alive
chapter four: on the floor, watch me bleed
chapter five: breaking all my rules
chapter six: reminisce your memory (what did i choose?)
chapter seven: can we start over?
epilogue: to be decided
warnings: full of angst and yearning. explicit sexual content. mutually toxic relationship. warnings will be more specific on each chapter. 18+
✧ summary: after one too many hurtful comments from your boyfriend, you find comfort in your volatile fireboy of a best friend.
✧ warnings: passing mentions of child abduction, mentions of conspiracy theories, passing mentions of human experimentation, passing mentions of torture, graphic sexual content, michael is a virgin, p in v, manual stimulation, sweet fluffy sex, this sounds a lot darker than it actually is guys oops.
✧ word count: 5.3k
✧ title: something i can never have — nine inch nails
✧ author’s note: HEAR ME OUT PLEASE! while the tags look a tiny bit daunting, i promise you it’s actually a really sweet and cute blurb, but michael is a very complex character— he’s a superhuman after all. this is part of a bigger world, another fanfic that maybe one day will see the light of day. would you believe me when i say that it’s actually a luke fic? there’s a mention of him in here… but not in the way you think!
anyway, this is inspired by gen v and the boys as well my general love for the DC universe. i hope you guys enjoy!
oh also, make sure you check my spotify playlist for the fic titles because whenever i start a new fic, i put the title there, so a fun little easter egg??
make sure to check out my luke fic, bite the apple
Your throat is tight with unshed tears as you curl up on the narrow bed. It’s barely big enough for one, maybe two if they pressed in close—skin to skin, breath to breath.
You have no business crying. Especially not over a boy. You’re the goddamn leader of the Eclipse Division — a highly classified, highly elite unit of superhumans — and you’re not even superhuman. You’re human. Just human, but still fucking unbreakable.
You’re Dovetail. The hero with the iron memory. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, negotiation. You speak seven languages and can disarm a bomb blindfolded. You’ve walked into war zones with nothing but a plan and walked out with your whole team intact.
And here you are. In bed. Fighting back tears because of something stupid a boy said.
Really, Eric hadn’t meant any harm with his words. Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time training, you’d be a little more… womanly.
You scoff, even though there’s no one around to hear it. More womanly, sure. You look like a woman—he’s acting like you’re some unrecognizable mass of muscle. Sure, maybe your arms and legs are defined, and your chest isn’t exactly voluptuous, but that’s just genetics.
There’s a knock at the door—wild and insistent. You know who it is before it even swings open—because of course Michael doesn’t believe in privacy.
You barely glance up as he prances into the room, still wearing the same shorts and muscle tee from training. His red hair is wild, his eyes an unnaturally bright green as he flops onto the bed beside you.
“You missed training,” he says—not quite a question, more an observation. He’s staring up at the ceiling, toeing off his sneakers. If you had the energy, maybe you’d scold him for kicking them aside so carelessly.
Instead, you roll onto your back. The bed is so small that Michael ends up pressed right beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
“I didn’t feel like it today,” you sigh, picking at the threadbare shirt you’re wearing. It’s Eric’s—which is annoying all on its own.
Michael doesn’t pick up on the sadness in your tone—at least, not yet. He just hums in acknowledgment, lifting his hand as a flame flickers to life in his palm.
His bright green eyes reflect the warm glow, and he lets the fire dance lazily across his fingertips. “Ashton passed out again,” he says casually. “But Calum beat his state time—twenty seconds to run through all of Virginia. Isn’t that cool?”
A small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. Updates on your team always get to you. Ashton, Calum, and Michael had been with you for over five years now.
They were the sole survivors of the Virex massacre. To this day, most of it remains a mystery—who destroyed the facility, who killed every scientist inside, and why. Your father had a theory: a superhuman with the ability to control blood.
Virex had been created during the Cold War as part of Project Monarch. While some branches of the project focused on breaking children’s minds, Virex took the other route—breaking their bodies.
Due to the lack of meaningful progress—and growing controversy over the project’s ethics—the government pulled its funding, hoping Virex would simply fade into obscurity.
What they didn’t expect was that Virex would relocate to Australia, backed by the funding of several enemy nations.
There, the program thrived. It began kidnapping unsuspecting children and turning them into something beyond comprehension.
Among them: Ashton, Calum, and Michael.
Blackstar. Redline. Flashpoint.
Their powers are all different. Calum has super speed, Michael can control flames, and Ashton can control dark matter. It’s surreal to see them work on a daily basis, but it wasn’t always like this.
Calum doesn’t speak—he refuses to. The horrors from Virex are entirely too much for him. Ashton’s body can’t handle the full scope of his power—if he overexerts himself, he could die.
And Michael—Michael burned alive every time he used his powers.
For the first two years after their rescue, Michael’s power was pure agony. His skin would look fine, but he would feel every second of it. The pain would drive him mad—so scientists assigned to the Eclipse Division worked tirelessly to find a way for him to use his powers. It took a while, but they figured it out.
Now, it’s just about rebuilding Michael.
“How did you do?” you ask, watching as the flame takes form—mindless shapes in the air.
“Set some shit on fire,” he replies.
You crack a smile for the first time since you saw Eric, sitting up against the headboard. Michael shifts, blinking owlishly at you. His eyes are so intense—they used to scare you, back when you first met, but now you find comfort in the intensity.
“Can you set Eric on fire, too?” you ask, bringing your knees up to your chest.
Michael raises an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? He’s your boyfriend.”
“He’s a dick.”
Michael sits on the bed, folding his legs as he faces you. He tilts his head, eyes darkening slightly. “What did he do?” His voice is soft, entirely too cautious, but Michael has always treated you with more gentleness than you feel like you deserve.
You look down, scratching at your cuticle hard enough to sting. “It’s not just one thing,” you confess, the sadness plaguing you quickly morphing into something bitter, hotter, livid. “He just never fucking stops.”
Michael raises an eyebrow. “Stops what?”
“Talking,” you groan, sliding off the bed as your limbs grow hot. Your mind replays every little dig, every comment that made it feel like he actually doesn’t care about you at all.
“He always has something to say!” you pace around the room, Michael’s eyes following you with rapt attention. “You’re too work-oriented, you don’t talk enough, you’re too stern, your fucking tits are too small.”
Your hands shake at your sides as the rage builds inside you. The fucking nerve. Your job takes time—it takes effort, skill, and dedication. You have to be secretive, confined to the compound because the Eclipse Division is supposed to be a secret. Which means you never meet any good men. Not outside the three you spend most of your time with, anyway.
There’s a beat of confused silence before Michael speaks up. “But they are?”
“Michael.”
“Sorry!” He throws his hands up in surrender, a sly grin forming on his pretty lips. They’re so pink, so plush, you’ve thought about them more than you’d ever like to admit. “It’s not a bad thing, Y/N. You’re hot anyway. What’s his problem?”
You drop back down on the bed. “Not hot enough for him.”
“He’s right about it all,” Michael says. “You’re determined. You’re stubborn. You’re work-oriented. You’re you. I don’t think you realize that’s why we all love you so much.”
He scoots closer to the edge of the bed. “You’re really, really fucking great.”
His words worm their way into the deepest parts of your heart, slowly walking you back from the edge. He’s looking at you with so much sincerity in his eyes, it’s almost easy to forget that half the compound is convinced he’s a sociopath.
Michael’s never been… quite right. Years of living in constant pain warped something in him. He doesn’t think—he feels. And he often feels too much. He can’t control his anger, and with flame-based powers, that makes him dangerous.
He’s also confined to the compound, like you. But unlike you, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You really know how to cheer a girl up, huh?” you laugh, sitting beside him and elbowing him gently in the ribs.
Michael laughs—a bashful sound that sends a rush through your chest. “You’re the only girl I talk to, so I wouldn’t say I’m a female connoisseur.”
He pauses. Then, more softly, “Besides. You’re different. Always have been. You’re not scared of me. I still remember when you first wandered into the lab, you and your sad eyes. Even then, I didn’t scare you.”
You cup his cheek. “You could never scare me, Mikey.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips. He’s hesitating, which you find strange. Michael is not the kind of person who hesitates—he blurts out whatever he feels without thinking twice. This new side of him makes your breath hitch.
“Can I ask you probably the saddest, weirdest, most out-of-pocket question I’ve ever come up with?” he rasps, licking his lips.
You let out a startled laugh, stomach tightening in anticipation. Your hands clutch the bed beneath you as you nod, suddenly incapable of forming words with the butterflies erupting in your chest.
Michael takes a deep breath. “Can I… can I see you?”
The words settle in your chest like a rock, making your breath catch. “Wh-what?”
“I want to see you, Y/N,” he repeats, softer this time. “It doesn’t make sense to you, and it doesn’t exactly make sense to me either, but I feel like I can agree with everything Eric said except…”
He trails off, eyes dropping to his socked feet. “I’ve never seen anyone like that before,” he adds quietly. “Don’t think I’d trust myself to, anyway. You can say no, obviously. I don’t want to do anything—I just want to see you. Not Dovetail. Not the hardass. Just… you.”
There’s no salacious edge to his words. No heat. No pressure. He won’t even meet your eyes. Your brain scrambles to process it—not because it’s too much, but because it’s not.
Once upon a time, everything about Michael made your head spin. Turns out, that once upon a time never really left. The remnants of your childhood crush make this moment feel surreal.
“You want to see me naked?” you whisper, as if saying it any louder would shatter the fragile little bubble forming around you. It isn’t even about Eric anymore. It’s about the fact that this—Michael—means more to you than it could ever possibly mean to him.
He rubs his hands up and down his thighs, like he’s trying to wipe the nerves clean off his skin.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think I do.”
It feels too real now, and you swallow hard. Your pulse thuds in your ears, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. There’s something so intimate about the question itself—and you already feel stripped bare before him anyway.
Michael is breathing slowly, like he’s terrified of breaking the fragile bubble you’ve both slipped into. He’s usually so on edge, wound tight like a coil ready to snap—but now, he just seems… vulnerable. Maybe he’s even more naked now than you’ll ever be.
“You know what that means, right?” you ask, your voice hushed.
“Technically yes,” he nods. “But also technically not. Do you?”
You shake your head. He’s got a point. Everything feels entirely too complicated now, and whatever decision you’re about to make will change everything. You’re with Eric. And no matter how you try to pretend otherwise, this is still cheating.
But it’s Michael. So in a way, it feels like coming home.
“Okay,” you say, turning to him with a serious expression in your eyes. “But—just… don’t be mean. Don’t—don’t touch, okay?”
Michael nods. “I don’t need to.”
You take a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of the weight of Michael’s gaze on you. Sliding off the bed, your bare feet hit the cold stone floor. A shiver runs down your spine, but you know it’s not from the temperature.
You don’t turn to face him—you don’t dare. He’s quiet, like he’s lost the ability to speak, and you don’t want to see the look on his face when he finally sees you.
You’re not an insecure person. You never really have been. With your life, there was no room for it. Still, Eric’s words hit deeper than you expected.
With shaking hands, you grip the hem of your hoodie, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Your shirt follows. Then you hook your fingers into the waistband of your leggings and pull them down.
There’s nothing seductive about the way you strip. Your hands tremble too much, and when you finally turn to face Michael, you don’t meet his eyes. There are only two things keeping you from being completely bare before him.
Finally, you force yourself to look at him.
His hands are resting at his sides, clutching the mattress like he’s afraid he might float away. Slowly, your hand reaches behind your back, and you unclasp your bra.
You slide it down your arms, biting the inside of your cheek before letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes. Then, before you can think too hard about it, you hook your thumbs into your panties and slip them down your legs.
Lifting your chin, you push your shoulders back and stare straight ahead. If you can fake some semblance of confidence, maybe it’ll make you feel less exposed.
Michael’s eyes go wide. His mouth parts in a silent gasp. He doesn’t say anything at first—his gaze flits from your thighs, to your hips, to your chest, before finally settling on your face.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “I figured. But— I don’t know. You’re… pretty. Real.”
You blush, fighting the instinct to cross your arms over your chest. “It’s just a body,” you mutter, an awkward laugh slipping out.
Michael shakes his head. “No,” he tilts his head. “Not to me.”
He stands, hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, you worry he’s fighting the urge to burst into flames—but he seems to have it under control. He stops just a few inches in front of you, never touching.
“You have really strong legs,” he says, voice low. “It’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I do leg day.”
Michael purses his lips. “And for the record,” he adds, smiling—soft and sincere—“your tits are not that small.”
This time, a real laugh escapes you. For a moment, you forget you’re standing naked in front of one of your best friends—who is definitely not your boyfriend.
“Oh my god, shut up,” you grin.
Silence falls between the two of you again—comfortable, but charged. You can see the war raging inside Michael, the way his eyes keep darting from yours to your lips, to your chest, your hips, cataloging every detail.
His jaw clenches, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s holding himself back.
“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, the question ricocheting off the walls like a bullet.
Michael’s head snaps up, and he swallows thickly. “You said no touching,” he replies. “I don’t—”
“I can change my mind, Mike.”
Michael stills, his entire body stiffening in front of you. He’s tall enough that you have to crane your head to look up at him, but you don’t feel small.
“I don’t know how,” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear. But I do want to touch you—I just don’t know if you want me to.”
Carefully, you wrap your hand around his wrist. “I do want you to,” you say with a small smile. “And for the other thing… I can teach you, if you want.”
“Teach me what?”
A breath. “Anything.”
Your blood rushes through your ears as you wait for Michael’s reaction. Slowly, he unclenches his fist. You can see the small crescent-shaped marks his nails left in his palm.
“Okay.”
You smile and let go of his hand. For a second, you expect it to go straight for your chest—like everyone always joked he would. But instead, his hand settles on your waist.
He gives a light squeeze, just enough to feel that you’re real, before letting his fingers drift across your stomach. You tense as he traces a single finger down your abdomen, goosebumps rippling over your skin at the contact.
His fingers travel up to your sternum, carefully sliding between your breasts. He traces the shape of your collarbone, the slope of your neck, before finally cupping your face.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone—a featherlight touch that somehow burns like fire on your skin.
And just for a moment, you remember. Four years ago, in the common room of the compound. The two of you had been watching a movie—though you spent most of that time watching Michael, completely captivated.
He’d been curious about what it felt like to kiss someone. So, like any stupid fourteen-year-old with a crush, you offered to help. It was awkward, clumsy, but it became the only thing you thought about for years.
Even now.
You smile, nodding slightly, and Michael exhales a shaky, relieved breath. You barely have time to blink before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against yours.
You let out a startled gasp at the enthusiasm behind it, but you lace your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You have to rise onto the tips of your toes to reach him—but you don’t mind.
Each press of his lips—messy, uncoordinated, inexperienced—sends jolts of electricity down your spine. His hand slips from your cheek to your hips, tugging you flush against him.
Now, his hands roam a bit more freely. His palms glide up and down your arms, tracing the expanse of your back. His touch is warm—almost too warm—but it feels good against your skin.
Michael catches on to the rhythm much quicker than you expected. His lips slow, savoring every movement. You tangle your fingers in his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper against your mouth.
He pulls away, panting, and rests his forehead against yours.
“You can touch me anywhere,” you whisper, breathless. “Please.”
Michael leans back slightly, taking a ragged breath. “I don’t know how else to.”
You grin—for the first time, a thrill surging through you. Slowly, you guide one of his hands to your ass, the other to your chest.
Leaning forward, you breathe against his ear, “You squeeze. Gently… but not too gentle.”
“And if I hurt you?” he gasps.
You bite his earlobe, drawing a startled moan from him. “You won’t,” you murmur.
His hands grip you like his life depends on it—greedy, desperate, kneading mindlessly before he catches your lips with his again. You can feel him straining against his shorts, but he doesn’t make a move for relief.
“What do I do now?” he asks, voice rough with want.
Carefully, you guide his fingers to your nipple. “You can pinch—just not too hard. Or… you can use your mouth.”
At that, Michael’s face lights up. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, gently turning you and walking you backward until you sink onto the bed.
His mouth moves down your neck, trailing heat across your skin until he reaches your chest. He pauses, eyes flicking up to meet yours—seeking permission. You give him an encouraging nod, and then he wraps his lips around your nipple.
You gasp, arching into the sensation. Michael’s skin heats beneath your touch, and his teeth graze gently over your sensitive nub.
“You’re so strong but so… soft,” he murmurs between kisses, fascination dripping from every word. “I knew boobs would be great, but fuck.”
You grin, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Do you want to keep going?”
Michael nods eagerly. “Fuck, I do.” He’s panting now, pupils blown wide. “I wanna know how to make you feel good. I hear Ash talk about it all the time—even Calum knows, and he doesn’t even talk.”
You snort. “I think Calum knows because he doesn’t talk,” you say with a grin. “But yeah, I can teach you. I can teach you… everything.”
Michael’s eyes shine like he’s just been handed the secrets of the universe. He shifts beside you, sliding off your body to lie next to you. Shakily, you spread your legs. Michael follows the movement with reverent curiosity, his gaze tracing every curve of your body.
You take his hand again, guiding it lower. “Is this okay?” you ask, voice soft, almost shy.
Michael just nods.
Carefully, you place his index and middle fingers just above your clit. “Here,” you whisper, pressing them down a little more firmly. The pressure makes you choke on a whimper. “This is what makes me feel good. All you have to do is rub little circles—right above it.”
Carefully, like he’s disarming a bomb, Michael’s fingers begin to move. You’re so pent up that every touch sends a gasp tumbling from your lips, your hand reaching out to clutch at his shirt.
“Fuck, you’re so warm,” he mutters, awe threading his voice. “Does this really— is this what you like?”
Biting your lip, you nod. “You can go faster,” you pant—and he does. You throw your head back, arching into his touch as pleasure rolls through you. One thing about Michael: he’s a fast learner.
“You sound so pretty,” he groans, kissing along your chest. “Every time you moan—fuck, I might accidentally set your bed on fire.”
Despite everything, you laugh. “Please don’t,” you say, voice breathy from the pleasure. “I really—fuck—I really like this bed.”
“No fire,” Michael echoes, grinning. “Just fingers. Got it.”
The pleasure builds fast, making your vision swim. You squirm, hiding your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.
“Is that it?” he whispers. “Am I doing that?”
Your legs start to shake, and a soft cry escapes you. “Keep doing that,” you pant. “But you can put a finger inside me too.”
Michael’s breath hitches, but he obeys. The two fingers working your clit pause—just long enough for your mind to clear—before he’s sliding them past your slit.
“Holy shit, you’re so wet,” he groans, voice wrecked and awestruck. He watches his fingers disappear inside you, completely enthralled. “I can feel you clenching around me.”
“Michael,” you whine, nearly delirious. “Use your thumb. Curl those two fingers like you’re asking me to come.”
You hear him snicker. “I am asking you to come.”
Then he does as he’s told, and your vision goes white. You’re squirming again, moaning despite your efforts to stay quiet—but the sensation is too intense, too overwhelming to contain.
“I’m doing okay?” he asks, voice raw. “I need to know, Y/N. Please tell me I’m making you feel good. I just wanna make you feel good—I just wanna make you happy.”
“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please, don’t stop.”
His fingers keep moving at the perfect pace, sending your mind spiraling. All you can register is the slick, obscene sounds filling the air, your body arching into his touch, desperate for release.
“I wanna see you,” he says again, voice breathless. “Please—let me see you fall apart. Let me know I did that.”
At his words, your body goes rigid, the first wave of pleasure crashing through you. You moan—something that sounds like his name—as you ride out your orgasm on his fingers.
Spots dance across your vision. Your thighs shake, and you clutch at Michael’s arm for stability as aftershocks ripple through you. Slowly, you come back to yourself, chest heaving, blinking up at him with wide-eyed awe.
He looks stunned. Reverent. He gently withdraws his fingers and brings them up to his face, studying the slick that coats them. He separates them slightly, fascinated by how it clings.
Then, with zero hesitation, Michael wraps his lips around them, licking them clean.
“You taste good,” he says, pulling his fingers out with a pop. “Human… but good.”
You don’t say anything. Instead, you pull him down for another kiss. He lets out a startled sound of surprise but melts into it quickly, kissing you back just as intensely. His hand cups your cheek again, and you reach for the hem of his shirt.
“I wanna see you too,” you gasp between kisses. “All of you.”
Michael nods, chasing your lips like a starved man. He doesn’t protest as you tug his shirt up, only breaking the kiss long enough for you to pull it over his head.
You push him onto his back and throw a leg over his waist, settling on top of him. He’s so hard beneath you, the heat of his length pulsing against your bare core.
“I’m gonna show you what sex is like,” you whisper against his mouth, your teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Do you want that?”
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, throwing his head back. “Please, Y/N… if it’s gonna be anyone—I need it to be you.”
Frantically, you tug at his shorts, trying to get them down his hips before your entire body combusts with need. He lifts his hips to help, and with one final pull, he kicks them off—underwear and all.
He sits up, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you flush against him. Your lips collide again, hungry and breathless, as you slowly grind your hips against him.
Michael’s cock is warm—too warm, just like the rest of him—and big. It twitches with every drag of your hips, the most needy, helpless whimpers falling from his lips.
“Fuck, I need you,” he groans, hands tightening on your waist. “I’m gonna come like a fucking virgin if you keep doing that.”
You smile into the kiss. “You are a virgin,” you tease.
“Not for long, I won’t be.”
You reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. Michael chokes on a moan as you stroke him slowly, savoring the weight and heat of him.
With your free hand, you grip his chin, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “If you want to stop,” you murmur, “you say it. I’ll stop everything. No questions asked. Got it?”
His eyes flutter, dazed and wide. “I don’t think I’ll ever ask you to stop.”
“I don’t care,” you say firmly. “Mike—please—just promise me.”
When he opens his eyes, that radiant green nearly knocks the air from your lungs. “I promise.”
Nodding, you lift your hips, hovering over the tip of his cock. Michael’s breath hitches as he feels the slick warmth of you.
Slowly, you lower yourself onto him.
His mouth drops open in shock as the tip pushes past your entrance, a startled gasp escaping his lips.
You moan, sinking down further, relishing the stretch. And the entire time, you keep your eyes locked on his, your thumb brushing his bottom lip.
“Fuck—oh my god, you’re so fucking tight,” he rambles. “So warm, so—Jesus, what the fuck have I been missing out on?”
You laugh, but it’s cut off by a sharp whine as he finally fills you completely. He’s big—definitely bigger than Eric—but more than that, it’s Michael. That alone makes everything feel impossibly more intense.
His head drops forward, resting against your chest. You cradle him close, your fingers sliding into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp while he clings to you like a lifeline.
“Are you okay?” you ask, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.
Michael lifts his face, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I’m so okay,” he whispers. “Please move.”
You smile, bracing your hands on his shoulders before slowly lifting your hips. Michael inhales sharply, then lets out a needy whimper as you slide back down.
You begin to move in earnest, setting a slow rhythm—bouncing gently on his cock, grinding down on every descent. Michael is an absolute mess beneath you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, his face buried against your chest, moaning like you’re the first thing that’s ever made him feel alive.
Every movement sends shivers down your spine. The bliss is overwhelming—better than anything you’ve felt before. Your hips drag the sweetest cries from his throat, so earnest they nearly bring tears to your eyes.
He presses sloppy kisses along your collarbones. “Does it always feel like this?” he pants, another broken moan escaping him. “Please don’t stop—I think I’m gonna die.”
“No, baby,” you say with a grin, breathless. “You’re just being fucked.”
Michael’s hips buck up to meet yours—erratic but so, so earnest. He releases your waist, hands roaming your body with greedy wonder. He grabs your ass, then moves up to pinch your nipple, just like you showed him.
You pick up the pace, riding him with purpose. The wet sounds of him inside you mix with the slap of skin on skin. Michael screws his eyes shut, a low growl building in his throat.
Without warning, he flips you over. You gasp as your back hits the bed, Michael hovering above you, breath ragged. He’s still inside you, nose brushing yours.
“I want you to be fucked too,” he says—then draws his hips back and slams into you.
The force makes the bed shake. You arch into him, crying out as pleasure splinters down your spine.
Your nails dig into his back as he finds a rhythm. It’s sloppy at first, but you don’t mind—not when he’s looking down at you like that, like you’re everything.
A faint sheen of sweat coats his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead as he thrusts into you, deeper and faster. “Does that feel good?” he asks between kisses to your neck. “Please—please—I wanna make you feel good. I’m so close—”
You wrap your legs around his waist, helping drive him deeper, helping him fall apart with you.
“Come for me,” you urge.
Michael collapses forward, face buried in the crook of your neck as he chases his release. Your chests are pressed together, and you can feel his heartbeat syncing with yours.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” you whisper. “Such a good boy.”
Michael cries out, voice stuttering. You feel his cock twitch inside you—and then a sudden surge of heat blooms beside your head. He spills into you, gasping your name as he thrusts a few more times, riding out every last wave.
The first thing you register is the smell of singed fabric.
Michael notices it too. He lifts his head, eyes flicking to where his hand is braced on the mattress.
You prop yourself up to look—and sure enough, Michael’s handprint is seared into your sheets. The two of you exchange a look.
Then, you both burst out laughing.
“You said you wouldn’t burn my bed,” you whine, breathless from both the sex and the laughter.
Michael is still inside you, groaning when your giggles cause you to tighten around him. “Please don’t do that,” he pants. “It’s—woah, it’s a lot, and I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”
You grin as he slowly slips out of you, both of you hissing at the overstimulation. He collapses onto his back beside you, sweat cooling on your skin as you both catch your breath.
Shifting onto your side, you turn to look at him. “Are you okay?”
Michael blinks up at the ceiling, then raises his hands in front of him. He studies them, turning them over like he’s expecting them to look different. A small flame flickers to life at his fingertips—then snuffs itself out.
“I really liked that,” he says, voice low with wonder. “I don’t really know what Eric has to complain about.”
You sigh. “Men will be men.”
Michael turns to you. “Was I—” he cuts himself off, hesitating. “Was I okay?”
You take him in then—the kiss-swollen lips, the wide, searching eyes, the flushed cheeks. Beneath it all is that same intensity you’ve come to know so well. The same wild, radiant spark that’s always burned just beneath his skin.
“You were more than okay,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again—slow and lingering, tasting the remnants of lust still clinging to his tongue. His lips are impossibly soft, heartbreakingly familiar, even now, even like this.
“You were on fire.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
let me know what you think of this little superhuman world and if you’d like to see any more of it in the future
luke has had a larger than life personality since the moment you met him. he’s obnoxious, loud and too cocky for his own good. you decide it’s time to knock him down a few pegs. little did you know just how much he’d be begging for it. afab!reader x secretsub!luke
warnings: sub!luke, hair pulling, choking, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f recieving), degradation kink if you squint, unprotected p in v sex, taunting (?), creampie. I think that’s it but if I missed something let me know
this is filthy, but I’m a sucker for men whining, begging and pleading. 18+ as usual, enjoyyy
The music is too fucking loud.
You think as you shove past yet another leaning body, too intoxicated to function right. Wall to wall is filled with bodies, this party going from quaint to unrestrained faster than you could blink.
It shouldn’t have been a big surprise; Luke Hemmings never does anything small.
Everything had to be dripped in gold and wrapped in grandeur to make it suitable for the self-proclaimed king of the city. He was ridiculous. And reckless. And-
“We’re taking shots in the kitchen, people!”
You look over, seeing Luke with his long arm slung over Calum, his black silk shirt barely buttoned. Typical Luke— leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
And so fucking hot.
You ignore the thought, slinking your way through the crowd. Luke’s house is huge, high ceilings and sleek black color wheel. Everything of value has been hidden away, save for the extravagant things he pulls out for people to fawn over. An eye roll turns into a scowl suddenly, cursing as some guy steps on your foot just as you break through the swarm of people.
You can see Michael sitting at the large bar, low eyes almost as red as his hair. He looks eons away. “Hi, Y/N.” His smile is lopsided and entirely sweet. You squeeze Calum’s arm in greeting as you pass him, slotting yourself into Michael’s side.
“Hey, Mike.” Your smile is amused. “Someone’s having fun.”
He says nothing, grin just growing in reply. Someone else speaks instead. “Everyone has fun at my parties.”
You turn towards Luke, expression unimpressed. His signature smirk is laced with arrogance, head tilting slightly as he looks you over. “I don’t get a sweet hello?”
You ignore him, nodding your head at Calum. “Where’s Ash?”
“Loser passed out like an hour ago in Luke’s bathtub.”
You snort, making a mental note to snap a picture before you leave. “He’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning.”
Calum laughs, taking a swig of his beer. You look next to him, staring down the tall blonde expectantly. “I thought you said there’d be shots in here?”
“Your wish is my command, princess.” If you could roll your eyes any harder, they’d fall to the ground at your feet. You move closer to the bar, switching places with Calum. You’re watching with curiosity as Luke dusts the rim of your shot glass with sugar— never salt— pouring tequila to the top. He cuts a thick wedge of lime, just how you like it, before sliding it across the bar with a smug smile.
“How the hell did you remember all that?” It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility; you were around Luke more often than not. With Michael being your best friend from diapers onward, and Luke being his bandmate, you’d become accustomed to having him in every space you walked into.
You think briefly back to when you met him, freshly twenty and absolutely gobsmacked that your closest friend’s dream was actually taking off. You’d been away from home for quite some time at school, and suddenly Michael was touring, on the cover of magazines and every teenage girl’s ultimate fantasy. Calum and Ashton had welcomed you with open arms immediately and over time, it felt like you’d known them all your life too.
Then there was Luke. It wasn’t that he was unwelcoming; the exact opposite actually. He was too friendly. He was a cocky bastard back then too, red fuckboy snapback and a million and one pick up lines. More or less the same as he is now, maybe a little bit more subtle. From the second you appeared in front of him he was on you, pushing your buttons but always managing to make you laugh. It was weird, but the dynamic between you two had always been unconventional. Toeing the line between frenemies and something deeper. There’d always been an attraction there and you both knew it, despite the insults you sent his way or the blank look perpetually etched on your features at everything that fell out his mouth.
And what a pretty mouth it is.
You’re brought out of your thoughts when Luke is right in front of you, raunchy glint in his eye. “Cause I pay attention, sweetheart.”
He clinks his shot glass to yours, briefly tapping it against the counter before throwing it back in one go. His eyes don’t leave you as you circle your tongue against the rim of the glass, gathering the sugar before mimicking his previous actions. Something dangerous pushes its way into his gaze, sending a shiver down your spine as you bring the lime to your mouth.
“Jesus Christ, you two,” Calum chimes in, incredulous look on his features. He has a cigarette behind one ear and joint behind the other, eyes darting between you and Luke quickly. “You might as well swipe the counter and fuck right here.”
“Alright, relax,” you scoff at the same time the demon next to you says, “That’d be so fucking hot.”
You send him a look that says ‘Really, dude?’ but he just shrugs in response, taking a sip of the seltzer he’d seemingly conjured up out of nowhere.
“Whatever, I’m going to dance,” you snatch the can from Luke’s unsuspecting hands and drain the rest of the liquid with a smirk. You’re walking backwards as you address the two of them. “Gonna put your stupid fucking open floor plan to use. Come get me when you light that.” Calum salutes while Luke stays silent, eyes following your retreating form.
There’s a shitty indie track playing, but you don’t care. The room smells like liquor and those stupid plug-ins Luke keeps in every outlet, the ones you make fun of at every chance. You don’t pay attention to the mirage of influencers, D-list celebrities and models moving around you, completely content with keeping to yourself. A guy you recognize from social media keeps trying to get next to you, so you laugh right in his face. That pretty much puts a stop to it.
Just as the song changes, something raunchy and with bass that reverberates off the walls in your head, you feel a large hand across your stomach and lips at your ear. Unfortunately for you, you recognize the voice immediately.
“Look at you,” Luke breathes, body too close behind you. “Having fun, sweetheart?”
You chuckle, lifting your head to look up at him. “I thought everyone had fun at your parties? Insecure, much?”
Luke pulls you flush against him, other hand squeezing your hip lightly. “Always got something to fuckin’ say.”
Neither of you says anything at the new position, and maybe the shot you took was doing more damage than you thought, but you didn’t mind it. You move to the music against him, swaying side to side with your hand on the back of his neck. It’s intimate, but innocent enough to stay on the right side of the line between you.
Luke’s grip is tightening by the second, especially when a guy passes and tries to talk to you, not noticing that you were definitely not alone. You laugh at that, looking up at him. “Scaring off the competition, huh?”
It was meant to be a joke, and as the song changes, you shake off his hold, intending to check if Calum, the greedy bastard, had lit up without you. Luke’s hand latches on to your wrist before you’re completely gone, spinning you around and causing you to come chest to chest with him.
He licks his lips, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear his eyes were few shades dark than before. “Didn’t realize I was even in the running,” He says, face right in front of your own. His lips are right there, so close you can almost feel the cool metal of his lip ring. “You should know by now that I always win.”
Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. One of Luke’s hand slide down to the very dangerous place right above your ass, the other toying with the waistband of your pants. It’s different than it ever has been, the way he’s touching you. Usually it was a teasing hand across your back or a hand at your jaw, lifting your face while saying something utterly ridiculous with a stupid grin on his face. Then you’d roll your eyes and go about your business.
Now though, his face is devoid of any humor. It’s startling. The razor thin line between what your dynamic usually is versus the moment you’re in now getting thinner and thinner. You don’t know what possesses you to, don’t even know why you’re entertaining it, but you wrap your arms around his neck, thoughtful look across your features.
“Maybe it’s about time somebody humbled you.” You say, voice dripping in velvet. “It’d do your personality some good.”
Luke hums, short, airy laugh leaving his nose. He kisses a spot on your jaw, sending a bolt of heat that was definitely new to your stomach. “Too bad I’m a sore loser.”
The hand that was resting on your ass comes up to grab the space between your ear and shoulder, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. His grip is iron like, firm. Like he’s trying to prove something; trying to let you know he’s serious.
He leans forward, and you lean back a bit, breath mingling between you and lips brushing against each other hotly. It’s a bad idea, letting the never ending rubber band between you snap, but the way he’s holding on to you is making you so lust-drunk you can’t think about anything else. It takes a long second and a brief flash of his eyes, ready and wanting.
He smirks, knowing he’s got you. It’s annoying, the way he seemed to be able to read you so well. It irritates you. So in typical you and Luke fashion, all you want is to wipe the smug look off his face. You tear yourself out of his hold, seeing his face drop considerably. You turn around, starting to walk away wordlessly.
You take about five paces before turning to him. He looks like a wounded animal, wide eyes and pitiful look behind his eyes. If you weren’t absolutely buzzing with the need to be touched, you probably would’ve laughed in his face. Instead, you save it for your thoughts and raise an eyebrow at him. “You coming or what?”
He’s behind you faster than you could even blink, hand on the small of your back and weaving your bodies expertly through the crowd. Your lips lift into a secret smile, enjoying the frustration rolling off of Luke in waves at the amount of obstacles blocking his path to the stairs.
Finally, as he shoves the last person out the way, he’s pulling you up the stairs, taking two at a time. This time you can’t help the laugh that leaves you. He pulls you into his bedroom, slamming the door and shoving you up against it.
“Somebody’s eager.” You can’t help but quip. His hands are underneath your shirt, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.
The look on his face is deathly serious, a little out of place in the moment. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve waited to get you into my bed.”
It catches you off guard, the way he says it and the kisses he trails on your neck in tandem. You bring your hands to clutch at his shoulders, breath coming out in short spurts. Luke kisses all the way from your collarbone to the corner of your lips, pausing in front of you. There’s a fire in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it ignites one of matching ferocity deep in the pit of your stomach. The room is more charged than a lightning storm; like the second you touched him, the effects would be detrimental.
The sentiment passes between you both, knowing that as of right now, you could turn around and walk out unscathed. It was fine; you hadn’t done enough to change anything.
But you knew there was nothing in the world that could make you leave this room. And Luke looked like he’d rather die than take his hands off you. You were both goners, you were sure of it, as if it was written in the stars.
The thought spurs you forward, finally crashing your lips against. It’s enough to make him moan, so you lick your way into his mouth, curling your tongue around his own. Hands are pushing and pulling, grabbing anywhere they could reach. It was too much while simultaneously not nearly enough.
Luke rips— yes actually, physically rips— your shirt, tearing it down the middle like it offended him. His eyes grow impossibly darker at the sight of your breasts sitting in your lace bra, tracing his tongue against the seams. You arch your back off the door, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head. “You’re fucking paying for that.”
Luke clearly doesn’t care, placing a hot, open mouthed kiss over your clothed nipple. You moan, tightening your hold on him. “I’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want, sweetheart.”
The words alone pull another noise from you. When he lays his tongue flat against the hardening bead under your bra, it feels so good that you can’t help the way you yank his hair, jerking his head back.
What happens next makes you freeze in your spot.
Luke whimpers, a loud and deep sound, sending a lightning bolt directly to your core. You look at him in surprise, red beginning to dust across this cheeks.
You’d never, in the eight years you’d known him, ever seen Luke blush. He was quite literally the most shameless person you knew. Never embarrassed and never apologetic for how he was. This was new.
And again, so fucking hot.
A wicked smirk spreads across your mouth, giving another experimental tug, sharp and quick. He whines this time, kiss-swollen lips parted. He looked so perfect like this; pliant and waiting for whatever you did next. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass you by.
“Waited so long for me, yeah?” You question, leaning forward and trailing wet kisses along his jaw. Craving another one of those pretty little sounds, you nip at the base of his throat, sucking on his Adam’s apple harshly. It’s feels like heaven on earth when the same intoxicating sound leaves him. “Show me how bad you want it.”
You connect your lips again, urging him backwards until he falls into a sitting position at the end of his bed. You’re standing in front of him, towering over him with primal kind of desire that threatens to consume you. He looks so fucking beautiful, looking up at you like he was at your beck and call; like he’d burn down every building in the city to give you what you wanted.
You think you could’ve came at the sight alone.
Deciding to test these new waters a little more, you bring his hands to your waist band. “Undress me.”
He fumbles with your button for a moment, hands trembling slightly. It’s a fascinating sight, really. Luke Hemmings; the ever obnoxious, arrogant, king of the world, falling apart at your feet. You step out your pants when he pulls them down your legs, kicking them somewhere you’re unconcerned with. He stands, unclasping your bra with ease, letting out a big breath at the sight of your tits.
Luke rubs his thumb over your nipple, making your eyes flutter shut. He leans down to attach his lips to you, tongue swirling the pebbled bud, hands kneading your other breast. You allow yourself to be lost in him, momentarily. When one of his hands wanders down and cups you through your panties, you stop him.
He looks at you, eyes practically begging you to do something. So you do.
You push him back into a sitting position, turning and pulling his desk chair directly in front of him. His stare is questioning; confused, as you sit down. You’re about a foot away from him, legs spread and feet planted on the bed, pressed against each of this thick thighs.
He’s staring directly down at your clothed pussy, mouth agape and eyes unmoving. His hands are palming himself through jeans, almost as if he couldn’t go any longer without some sort of relief. He places one of his hands on your ankle, but you shake him off.
“No touching,” you chastise him. He snaps his eyes back to yours. “I want you to sit in front of me and make yourself come.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But-“
“But what?” You bring your fingers to your own naked chest, tweaking a nipple and arching up a bit. Luke licks his lips. “I want you to show me how good you can be. Prove to me how bad you want this.”
Your voice drops, low and filthy. “I want you to earn it.”
Luke’s eyes glaze over, hastily moving to undo his pants. When he’s in just his boxers he pauses, looking at you for confirmation. You nod, watching him with rapt attention. It’s like Christmas you think, the way he unwraps the pretty, thick cock that had been straining against the fabric of his underwear. He’s so hard it looks like it hurts, swollen and bright pink tip leaking. It makes your mouth water, almost forgetting the task at hand because of the staggeringly intense need to have your mouth on him.
You watch as he wraps his hand at the base of himself, tugging roughly. It makes him groan, hips stuttering. His eyes are screwed shut, teeth gnawing at the skin of his bottom lip as he fucks up into his fist. The sight makes you burn all over, sliding a hand down your body to your clothed clit. It feels almost too good as you press down, stomach clenching. Luke’s a mess in front of you, soft pants falling from his lips at every jerk of his hand. You’re sliding your underwear to the side then, cool air hitting your center, making your body curve in on itself.
“Luke,” it’s breathless and song-like in tune. He opens his eyes, transfixed as he sees a finger disappear into your hole. “Eyes on me, baby.”
A loud, wrecked moan falls out of his mouth at the words, his hand speeding up. The noise in the room is sinful; obscene. You can hear how wet you are, fingers working in over time to unfurl the ball of heat in your abdomen that’s growing bigger by the second. Luke’s obedient eyes never leave yours, whimpers floating across the space between you. All it does is add fuel to the already unmanageable fire inside you.
“You’re doing so good for me, Luke.” You moan out, grinding down onto your fingers. You press the palm of your hand against your clit firmly, body short circuiting. “Do you wanna come for me? Wanna let it all out?” You’re being cruel now, condescending and fake sympathetic.
“Please,” Luke begs, desperation clinging so sweetly to his voice. His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling like his heart was about to fly out and hit you square in the face. “Please let me come. I-I’ll do anything.”
The moment is dizzying in a way you’d never experienced before. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this turned on, if ever. Luke chokes out a sob, a broken, inebriating sound. You’re more drunk with this moment than any drop of alcohol you’d ever consumed.
Your hand speeds up, pleasure officially too debilitating for you to put off any longer. “Come for me, Luke.”
It’s instantaneous, the long ropes of come that shoot out, guttural moan ripping out of his throat. His body is twitching as he jerks himself through it, head falling back. It’s enough for your vision to go white and your orgasm to steam roll through you. It feels like you’re floating, soul disconnected from your body as you slump in the chair, release soaking the seat beneath you.
Once you catch your breath, you find Luke’s eyes on you. It makes you clench around nothing, how absolutely fucked out he looks. Eyes rimmed red, plump lips an angry shade of red from him biting down repeatedly.
You don’t even know what to say when he’s on his knees in front of you, nosing your legs open. “Fuck-“ he says, voice hoarse. “I need to taste you— please, please let me taste you. Wanna make you come.”
Your heart thumps painfully in your chest. He’s pleading with you, looking up through his long lashes, placing open mouth kisses on the skin of your lower thigh. “Think you can?” You card a hand through his hair, wrapping a blonde ringlet around your finger.
He nods fervently. “I just wanna make you feel good. Anything.” Who would you be to deny a wish like that?
You scoot down in the chair, spreading your legs further for him, feet now firmly placed on the floor. He kisses up your thigh before he stops an inch away from your center, breath fanning against you. You’re watching him like a hawk, eyes glued to his every movement. Your hips jerk when he places a chaste kiss against your clit. You’re about to tell him to stop teasing, to just get on with it because you can’t take it anymore, but he’s flattening his tongue and licking a stripe from your slit upwards before you can. He groans at the taste, the sound vibrating deliciously against you.
Your hands fly to his head, pressing him harder against you. He welcomes it, devouring you like he’d waited his whole life to taste you. It’s relentless, the way he laps at your pussy. Luke moves down to dip his tongue in your hole, nose bumping against your clit in unison. You feel like all the air has left your lungs, chest burning. You can feel the pressure building all over again, Luke’s movements never faltering.
“Fuck, Luke.” He moans at the way you say his name. “You’re doing so well. Making me feel so fucking good.”
He slips a finger inside you in reply, pumping fiercely. He adds a second before you have time to catch your breath, mouth open and watching you in absolute awe. It makes your heart stutter when your eyes lock. You cry out loudly as he curls his fingers, long and thick fingers pressing that spot inside you that feels like the gates of heaven are opening up. You’re rutting against him shamelessly, chasing your second orgasm with vehemence.
The trembling is a slow build; it starts in your calves, making its way to your thighs and all the way to the cord inside your stomach, wound so tightly it feels like it could devastate you when it snaps.
You clamp your thighs around Luke’s head as he reattaches his lips to your sensitive bud, cunt spasming maniacally underneath him. You come with a shout of his name and he takes everything you have to give. He slurps every bit of your release, not stopping until there’s nothing left and he’s licked you clean. You vaguely register the feeling of his own come hitting your leg, but the thought that he came completely untouched, solely from getting you off is too much pleasure to bear.
You’re in a daze as he comes up for air, your legs dropping from around his head heavily. Every part of you feels spent, the force of each climax ripping you apart from the inside out. Loose limbed and faint of heart.
Luke gives you one last kiss on your clit, so with every bit of energy you have left, you pull him up with you as you stand, settling your lips over his. This kiss is different. Different than every single one you’ve had so far. There’s a tenderness to this one, an intimacy that hits you just as hard as both of your orgasms tonight. Your lips are moving languidly, words and thoughts you can’t even process filtering between you.
Still fused together, Luke wraps his arms around your waist, carefully pulling you both on the bed. You’re straddling him and despite feeling like you had nothing more to give, you feel yourself get wet at the feeling of his cock rubbing against you.
Luke bucks his hips, disconnecting your lips to gasp out. “I need to be inside you.” It makes you shudder, picking up the pace of your hips. “Just wanna feel you.”
You nod, beside yourself. You’re stricken with a feeling so deep that you know after this, you’ll never be the same. Luke Hemmings has wretched you open, he’s ruined you.
A slight change in angle makes Luke slip in between your folds, causing you both to moan at the feeling. He’s completely hard again, both your slick and the precum oozing out of him aiding in your grinding. It feels juvenile, almost. Grinding against each other like you don’t know what to do next, how to handle what you’re feeling.
You reach down between you, fisting him shortly, before lining his cock up with your weeping entrance. He slides in with no resistance, your walls constricting as you sink onto him. You can feel him trembling beneath you, and something terrifying roars in your chest. Warning bells are ringing in haste, but you can’t focus on anything but this feeling. Anything but this boy.
Luke whimpers your name, and you don’t even have it in you to taunt him. “I know, baby,” your voice is thin and raw. “I- fuck- I feel it too.”
You sit up slowly, the image below you one only present in the most breathtaking dreams. Pretty as a picture, Luke is looking up at you like you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand. It’s such a strange sight to see, him overwhelmed with emotion. And maybe it’s just for the moment; maybe it’s because you’ve fucked each other so intensely that your brains are nothing but mush and unintelligible thoughts blending together. Or maybe it’s none of those and this really is as stupefying as it seems.
Either way, you start to move, slow and deliberate. Luke’s fingers have a death grip on your hips, so much so you’re sure there’ll be bruises come morning. Your hands rest on his chest, short tufts of hair tickling your fingertips.
It’s like that for a while, both of you enthralled with the way he feels inside you, to the hilt. It’s only when Luke gets desperate again, when he thrusts into you at an angle that makes you gasp sharply, do the feelings swirling inside you shift back to unbridled, carnal desire.
You pick up your pace as he fucks into you. The sound of skin slapping is pornographic in nature, effervescence gripping you tightly. The need to shift control back envelopes you, making you grunt at him, clenching around him unforgivingly. You slide your hand from his chest to his throat, applying light pressure. Luke’s eyes roll back, groan squeezing out.
“Who would’ve thought,” you breathe a delirious laugh, lifting higher and slamming back down onto his cock with every word, “hot-shot Luke Hemmings is such a needy whore in bed?”
You grab his face, shoving your tongue inside. You’re barely even kissing at this point, simply breathing against each other, mouth to mouth. It’s messy, spit smearing across your lips and his cheek as the feeling gets too much to handle. “You feel that? How well we fit? It’s perfect, Luke. Perfect. I’m gonna fucking ruin you for anyone else.”
All he can do is sob, a choked, pitiful noise. “Love seeing you beg for me,” the words are flying out of you uncontrollably, brain not even cognitive of exactly what you’re saying. He’s drilling into you persistently, meeting you in the middle every time. The ache is blistering, all consuming in the same way as the others. “So pretty for me; all fucked out and desperate.”
He’s a blubbering, pathetic mess under you, no rebuttal present. “Nothing to say now, hm?” You lean down, sucking brutally at his pulse point. He’s putty in your hands and you both know it, but you’re just as gone as him. It’s overwhelming, the need to let go, to feel him unload inside you. The thought makes you hot all over.
“I’m so- god,” It sounds like the words are impossible to ground out for him. “I’m so close.”
“Me too.” You reply. Luke’s hair is wild, fanned out beautifully against his dark pillowcase. You feel primal, animalistic, seeing him so open. His pupils are blown, heavy with the aching need he has for you. You shove damn near your whole hand into his mouth, pulling his jaw down with your grip. “Gonna come all over your cock, sweetheart. Is that what you want? Hm?”
“Please, please, please.” His thrusts become sloppy as do your movements. You’re both frenzied. It’s so close; you can se it the distance like the banner at the end of a race.
“Don’t stop- Luke, I swear to god, do not fucking stop.” You sound crazed, unrecognizable. “Want you to fill me up. You’re so deep, I can practically taste you.”
In a burst of desperation, Luke presses his thumb to your clit, circling hard. It happens in slow motion right after that. You feel Luke’s body seize up at the same time your body collapses forward, distraught. Your head nestles in the crook of his neck as your pussy clenches repeatedly around his cock, orgasm tearing through you like a riptide.
Luke’s mouth is parted in what looks like a silent scream, heaving breaths leaving him. You’ve never felt more full than right now, his hot, thick come painting the inside of your walls. You milk him dry, til he’s rutting inside you in phantom release.
The room is quiet then, save for the quick, deep breathing from both of you. You feel his dick soften inside you, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Every movement feels like swimming through molasses, bones achy and limbs heavy.
Luke’s hand is rubbing up and down the length of your spine, feather-like touch eliciting a deep, content sigh. As if he knows there’s no way you can move yourself, he lifts you gently, both of you hissing at the feeling of him slipping out of you. You hate how empty it leaves you.
Laying you down next to him, Luke leans over and grabs the same silk shirt he was wearing tonight, spreading your legs to clean you up. It’s delicate, the way he handles you. You find your infuriating need to be in control dead and gone in this moment, relishing in the way he takes care of you.
When he’s done, he throws the shirt on the floor, which you scrunch your nose at it in disgust. Luke pays you no mind, tugging the comforter around your naked bodies.
It’s awkward for a split second before-
“I think you broke my dick.”
You turn your head, staring at him blankly for a full second. He looks incredibly serious. It’s uncontrollable really, the laughter that bubbles up. You laugh hard, not noticing the grin he has at the sound. Only Luke, you think fondly.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Says you, miss dominatrix,” you roll your eyes, because of course you do. “I knew you had a mouth on you, but jesus fucking christ.”
“I didn’t see you complaining. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were begging for i-” Luke cuts you off with an embarrassed huff.
“Shut up.”
“Aww,” you reach up using all your might, to pinch his cheek. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Hemmings.”
“You’re so fucking annoying.” He says, absolutely no bite to it. His eyes are shimmering brighter than you’ve ever seen.
It makes an awful, wonderful, addicting feeling bloom in your chest. You grin back just as beautifully as you say, “Never would’ve guessed you were such a sub. I enjoyed it, though.”
He scoffs. “That’s it?” Disbelief lacing his tone. “That’s all I get? “You enjoyed it”? Y/N, that was literally like, the best sex of my entire life.”
“And god knows you’ve had a lot.”
“Are you calling me a slut?” Luke gasps, fake offense clouding his features.
You laugh. “No, I’m calling you a- how did I put it? A needy whor-“
His lips shut you up. It’s nothing special really. There isn’t even any tongue. Just your mouths melding together, his hand on your waist, pulling you closer. Your heart speeds up, this time in a completely different way.
Your hand comes up to rest on the side of his neck, thumb rubbing at his jawline. Your eyes are soft, almost adoring in nature as you pull away, but only barely.
“You did, you know.” Luke murmurs, eyes scanning your face like he’s committing it to memory.
You furrow your brows, confused. “Did what?”
You’re both whispering, but you have no idea why. Maybe because this feels like a separate moment entirely. It’s pivotal somehow; significant.
“Ruin me.”
It’s simple, soft. Hitting you with the same force as a punch to the gut. You can’t even begin to wrap your mind around the implications, but you don’t have it in you to care. Your hands tighten around him, lips finding his again in delighted urgency. “Me too, Luke.”
You’re both acutely aware that everything changes after this. That tomorrow you’d wake up with questions. Have to answer to your friends. To yourselves. It fucking terrifies you, what all this will mean. Terrifies you that there was a possibility that Luke will wake up and move on with his life easily, while you were stuck with an ache between your thighs and the inside of your chest.
The static in your head quiets down when he rubs his nose against yours, giving you the most breathtaking smile yet. A real, genuine smile that has you thinking that maybe it won’t end as badly as you’re afraid of. That maybe he feels the exact same way as you.
And for tonight, that’s enough.
BONUS:
With a groan, Ashton flexes his stiff muscles, blinking his eyes open, trying to recognize his surroundings. His head pounds a painful reminder that he drank entirely too much last night. It’s unforgiving, as is the bright sunlight that filters in through the window. It’s Luke’s bathroom, he realizes. Ashton vaguely remembers coming in here to use the bathroom, getting dizzy and sitting on the bathtub to steady himself. It goes black after that. Clearly his night ended great.
He stands, joints popping and bones cracking with every movement. “Fuck, I’m getting old.”
Carefully, he climbs out the large tub, facing himself in the mirror and grabbing the mouthwash Luke has on the sink. He swishes it around, hoping get rid of the rancid taste in his mouth. Once he rinses his mouth and pats cold water on his face, he feels a little better, ready to wake up Luke so they could debrief with the guys.
Only, he’s stopped short as soon as he opens the bathroom door, unbelievable sight greeting him. He almost thinks he’s still asleep, or that maybe he took something stronger last night than shots.
There, in the middle of his bed is you and Luke, sleeping peacefully, limbs intertwined sweetly. It almost makes him smile, before he takes in the surroundings. The room is a mess and it smells strongly of sex and bodily fluids, too much for his sensitive stomach to handle right now. He’s on his way out the room, leaving the two you to rest before he pauses, turning around in horror.
“Oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking god,” the screeches make you and Luke stir. When you’re fully awake, Ashton points an accusatory finger at you.
“You mean to tell me that you motherfuckers fucked like rabbits while I was passed out in the next room?”
You blanch, completely forgetting what Calum had mentioned to you early in the night. You look at him, apologetic.
in which reader meets luke and they spend the night drenched in sin. gn!religious!reader x punkband!luke
so… ex-catholic here. I’m well aware that if it’s real, i’m definitely going to hell. that’s really my bad. they’re in their mid-late twenties btw. this is very much x-rated and my blog is 18+ so read at your own risk.
"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been 6 months since my last confession."
The words reverberate across the pristine walls of the confessional. The air is still as you wait for the response from behind the gated screen with bated breath.
Head hung in shame, fingers picking at the frayed end of a wilting shirt. The wooden bench is uncomfortable underneath your body, ache between your thighs serving as a reminder for your indiscretion.
"I let my lust overpower me. I abandoned my faith and acted selfishly for temporary pleasure. I used God's name in vain." Your throat tightens, memories flooding through you at the speed of light.
"Is that all, my child?" The soft words rattle the organ in your chest as you exhale.
"No, father..." you can't help but close your eyes. All you see is him. "I've come to confession as a plea. I'm weak in the face of temptation. I've come because..."
You're back there; in that room, in that space, in that sin. "Because I'm sure it'll happen again."
You're staggering through the bustling crowd, body jerking back and forth at the force of their movements. You've been trying to find a break in the crowd for longer than you'd like to admit, slithering through with muted urgency. You've received more than enough dirty looks, and the air is so humid it makes you sick.
I shouldn't be here, you think, anxiously nibbling at the skin of your thumb. Your friends have been lost long ago, phone close to dead in your pocket, filled with unanswered texts. There's a band you couldn't name if you tried on the make-shift stage, scary looking makeup contorting their faces. The music is loud— much too loud.
Finally breaking through, you slump your frame against the wall, trying to catch your breath. You're dizzy and dehydrated, you realize, but heave a sigh as you see the bar on the other side of the room.
Something, or more accurately someone catches your eye before you can make your way over. Across the room there's a man being illuminated by the dark red lights. Your mouth falls open at the intensity of his stare, eyes never leaving yours. His hair is platinum blonde, too much so to be natural, and he has pretty curls that fall against his forehead. He's tall and pale, broad shoulders clad in a leather jacket, eyes highlighted by the ring of black on his waterline.
You stand frozen, probably wide eyed and alarmed, but it seems to excite him. His full lips stretch into a cheshire grin, eyebrow raising ever so slightly. There's a foreign feeling floating through you, hot and heavy. He looks dangerous. Like...
Like temptation, the ever-present voice in your head warns you. Like the devil.
The thought is enough to make you turn on your heels abruptly, breaking the trance he had you in. You close your eyes, starting the prayer engraved in your head from childhood.
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,
Staying on the outer edges of the crowd, you finally find yourself at the bar tucked into the corner of the already too-full room. There's no seats, not that you'd trust them enough to sit anyway. The bartender tends to you instantly, bored look and irritated eye roll when your soft voice stutters out your request.
You take the water bottle and slink to a nearby wall with a view of the stage, hugging it as if to shield your body from energy moving through the air. As the music dies down, the crowd can still be heard. Chattering loudly, excited hollers bouncing off the walls and piercing your ears. Everything about the atmosphere feels wrong; dirty somehow.
There's a loud cacophony of sounds suddenly, causing you to look up, the man from before appearing. The lights are flashing as him and three other men begin singing an awful tune. The bass has wormed its way into the cavity of your chest, making you feel like your heart is beating in time with the drums.
As uncomfortable as the moment makes you, you can't take your eyes off of him. The way he moves, precise and sultry, arms wound around the microphone stand like a snake. The low tone of his voice calls to you, making your blood thrum in your veins. He connects eyes with you, unwavering, as he whines into the mic. It stuns you, and despite your abhorrence to everything you've encountered this night, it makes you burn.
There's a strange buzzing filtering through you, from the tips of your toes upwards. A heat churning in your stomach so disgraceful it makes you stagger. The prayer continues, rattling around your head in angst. Your fingers grip the cool metal of the cross around your neck.
and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments,
The man takes the mic off its place, eyes pinning you to your place. The audience is lively as ever, spurring him on happily, not having an inkling of the events truly happening. You aren't sure why you stay; why you look back with rapt attention, not missing a second. But you do, regardless of everything inside you begging you to turn and run. Begging you to focus your mind and act as you so righteously should.
but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,
You can feel the air begin to shift into something dangerous. You struggle harder and harder to remember what line comes next. To remember your truth.
The song is over in a clash of cymbals and hard guitar chords, but even as the man stands straight, his eyes never leave you. The applause is deafening, but your senses have failed you long ago. Your heartbeat is racing inside your chest, deep breathing doing nothing to squash the devastating guilt that consumes you. It'd never been this hard to quell the urges. The dark thoughts you'd locked away forever ago. You'd thrown yourself at the mercy of the church, the mercy of your faith. You tamped down any desires you'd had because it was necessary. It was the right thing to do. Because good Catholics don't fall for the deceit of the unholy.
Your eyes close.
who art all good and deserving of all my love.
There's a pause. A moment of solace.
Then you feel it, the presence. The way he settles in front of you, his formidable energy wrapping around you like a vice. You haven't opened your eyes yet, you can't. It's daunting and impure, the thoughts that come in rapid succession.
"You look like you're lost," His voice makes your eyes open involuntarily. Low enough for you to have to strain to hear him and hypnotizing enough to draw you in. He's prettier up close, his bright eyes juxtaposing his dark ambience. "how'd a pretty thing like you end up in a shithole like this?"
The words are caught in your throat, unwilling to come out. You stare at him, eyes wide. He has a drink in his hands, straw resting on his bottom lip as his eyes drag down your body. The heat in your stomach starts to spread.
"I'm not supposed to be here." You manage. He brings his eyes back to yours as he raises a brow.
"So, why are you?"
He didn't even realize how many times you'd asked yourself that same question. "My-" you stutter, picking your words carefully. "My friends didn't tell me what kind of concert this would be." Your fingers subconsciously tug at your necklace as he leers over you. "I wasn't anticipating... this."
The man chuckles, but the moment is anything but funny. He's in your space suddenly, crowding around you. He smells like cigarette smoke and something sweet, a scent you can't quite place. The buzzing starts to rise, centralizing in a place that knocks the wind out of you. You start to feel further and further away, like somehow your sanity has detached from your soul.
He's gone as quick as he came. You glance at the trash can to your left, understanding dawning on you. You don't have time to gripe with the overwhelming disappointment you feel when he's gone. "So you are lost," he hums. "Need someone to take care of you, sweetheart?"
The buzzing intensifies. It metastasizes, gnawing at the lining of your soul. An electric current is sent straight down your spine, begging you to fall into the moment. To fall into the sinful compulsion of a man that looks like he was tailored to lead you into temptation.
"Pardon?" It's the only word your mouth can get out.
"So polite." He purrs, stalking closer. He's looking at you like prey; a lamb being led to slaughter. It's almost as if he can tell that he's got you under a profane spell. "I'm Luke."
You test it on your tongue, watching closely at the way his body bristles at the sound of your voice. The thought that you had an effect on him, even half as powerful as the one he had on you, was addicting.
"What's your name?" You answer him, unable to resist. The environment hasn't changed; shouts are traversing the room, loud music— now from speakers instead of instruments— envelop the space, jagged and rough. You can't help but think that you don't mind it as much as before.
Luke reaches up, brushing a stray hair away from your forehead. The contact feels like nothing you'd ever known; something you wanted to chase.
"Do you want to leave?" The sentence breaks your haze, reality crashing around you as you're presented with a choice. One that will surely make or break the definitive walls of salvation you'd stayed within your whole life.
I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more
Luke's impenetrable gaze picks you apart from the inside out. Depravity meets trepidation as he searches your eyes, slow smile forming on his lips. He looks like already knows the answer; like he's sealed your fate before you've even gotten a chance to decide it. He stretches his large hand out to you.
and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.
There's no telling why this is affecting you so much or why you don't feel even half of the hesitance you should. Warnings rush through your mind, ringing unwaveringly like bells of the church. The voice, that indelible, constant voice that keeps your transgressions in line is loud. He's a stranger, it says. Nothing good can come of this, is next. You mustn't stray from your path, follows.
Another voice, however, one you'd learned to subdue, calls to you. It's simple, forthright and unyielding. Go.
You slide your hand into his, nodding.
Lord, forgive me.
An apartment deep in the city is where you stand, half an hour later. Your phone has long since died; it feels heavy in your pocket. Serves as a reminder of the place you're in and the people you'd lost in that dingy room hours ago.
You're sitting in Luke's bedroom, a large space with a black and blue color palette, silk sheets wrapped around a king sized mattress. The bed rests atop of a large, black plush rug, hardwood beneath it. There's not much decor, save for a few posters of bands you'd never heard of. The odd piece of clothing is strewn across random places of the floor.
You're sitting on a soft chair against the opposite wall, posture rigid and mind racing. You'd been criticizing yourself since the moment you'd stepped beyond the threshold of the venue doors. This wasn't you. You didn't throw caution to the wind. Never had you made such a bold and impious choice. It was more freeing than you ever thought possible.
Luke returns, handing you a glass of water. One hand tightens around it, hoping it can ground you, even slightly. The other subconsciously plays with the necklace sitting on your chest.
"You've done that a lot since we met," Luke observes, eyeing you in a way that makes you shift in your seat. He sits on the edge of the bed in front of you. "I'm making you nervous, yeah?"
It's not really a question nor is it meant to be comforting. There's an edge to it; a cockiness. You don't know what to make of it.
"Yes." You say timidly, taking a big gulp from your glass. "I-I don't really know why I'm here."
He tuts, arms crossed and biceps flexing. Your mouth dries at the way his legs spread. "You do," he confirms. "You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."
You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at the words. "I don't know what you mean."
He hums, standing. "You're here, because you want to be." It's simple, unwavering. You stare back at him, silently urging him to keep going. He does. "Because you wanted something different. Something more."
He moves forward until he's right in front of you, thumb coming to rub at the skin of your cheek. It makes you shiver. By the way he smiles, you know he didn't miss that.
"I think you've been wanting for a while."
Had you been so easy to read? Had your inner monologue been on display for him this whole time?
His thumb is at your lips, brushing against them. You part them, making space for the digit as it grazes the bottom row of your teeth.
Your throat constricts, whatever sentence you'd wanted to say dying on your tongue. Luke pulls your body up, drawing you closer. He looks different in the low ambient lighting of his bedroom, but the smirk he wears is all the same. Wicked.
Hands wander until they find a home on your hips, squeezing slightly. You preen at the touch. It's too much, too good, too wrong.
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,
Your mind is scrambled, trying to sort through the rubble of every teaching you'd ever absorbed.
and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments,
Luke leans closer, bending significantly to place his lips at your ear. "Tell me what you want, angel."
You almost scoff at the name. You felt anything but angelic, standing in the room of a man you'd met an hour ago, desperately craving something you shouldn't.
but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,
"I-I don't know." You'd done this once, with a nice boy from church that you spent an entire summer exchanging soft smiles with. It was clumsy and awkward, but sweet nonetheless. You were young, too young to understand the gravity of the sin at the time. You'd let your desires overpower your faith, and as soon as it was over you'd cried your heart out. You went to the church that night to confess. Swore you'd never do it again until it was with the man you'd marry.
You didn't know how to navigate this. It'd been too long. Luke was picking the lock to Pandora's box, pushing and urging you to let go of your thinly veiled restraint.
"Yes, you do." A sirens song. A soft command, lulling you into compliance. "Tell me what you want."
His hands have moved to the bottom of your chest now, leaving goosebumps in his wake. When you still can't find the words to say, he flicks a hand over your clothed nipple. A cross between a startled gasp and a desperate moan leaves you.
who art all good and deserving...
"Y-you," he's repeating the motion, now on both sides. "I want you."
The blonde ghosts his lips over your pulse point, and your knees go weak.
of all... of all my love
"Want me to what?"
He's having fun torturing you, it's evident in his voice. You close your eyes, making one last feeble attempt to grasp back onto your sanity.
I firmly resolve...
You collapse against him when his gentle rubs turn to scornful tugs. Your entire body is hot, bristling with an intensity so deep and so raw, you know you're done for.
I'm sorry.
"Anything," you breathe. "Everything."
His lips are on yours before you finish the word, moving with a firmness that makes your limbs feel like jelly. You're wanton in his grip, not an ounce of fight as he slides his tongue into your mouth, inspecting the cavern with fervor.
The contact stays as he turns the two of you around, walking back until the back of your knees hit the end of the bed. Your body bounces slightly, peering up at him in anticipation.
He lowers himself on top of you, gently. It's too slow, too delicate. Your body has burned with feelings kept bottled up for too long and if this was going to happen, you need him to wreck you. It had to be worth it.
"Luke," you say, "please."
He trails his lips down the column of your neck, kissing and nipping the skin. "So impatient," he chides, warming bite distracting you from the hand that pops open the button of your jeans.
The same hand comes back up your body, stopping to squeeze your neck. You arch into him, needing him closer. Luke taps his index finger against your lips, "Open."
As soon as you do, he shoves two of his fingers inside, bright eyes turned dark, watching you intently. "Suck."
You moan around his fingers before you can help it, curling your tongue around the digits, hollowing out your cheeks. Luke groans, removing his fingers before moving them right between your thighs.
"Oh- oh my-"
"You can say it," he says as he rubs at you, tip of his finger circling teasingly at your hole. "Call me by name, angel."
"Luke-"
He removes his hand instantly, causing you to whine. "Wrong answer."
Your position changes in the blink of an eye, Luke's back against the bed with you on top of him. Your eyes widen, unfamiliar with what to do from here. You look at him for guidance but he only stares back, not blinking.
You hesitate, and as if he can feel your nerves, he clamps his hands on your hips, pushing them forward. The sound that flies out of you makes a dirty grin spread slowly on his face. The heat in your stomach builds as he repeats the action, dragging you forward just to push you back again, lower halves flush with each other.
Your breath is leaving you in short bursts of air, taking pieces of your soul along with it every time. By the time Luke's hands stop their movements, your hips have taken a life of their own. Rutting against him with persistence, you look down at the man beneath you, moaning at the sight.
Luke is staring up at you leisurely, hands clasped behind his head. If you weren't so hell-bent on getting a reaction out of him, you'd have seen the desire pooling dangerously behind his eyes. The tent in his pants keeps getting impossibly larger, spurring your lower half to keep going. The feeling is nothing you'd ever experienced. You feel drunk off him, this demon below you, and he'd barely had his way with you. Yet.
"Keep going, sweetheart. Show me how bad you want it."
Every drag of your center against his own feels like taking steps closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. Your body shudders as it builds and you're moving faster, harder, chasing a feeling that you'd never known before.
"Luke," frustrations seeps into your tone. "I need-" you're on the brink of something extraordinary, but every time you get close enough, it slips away. You need something, anything to push you over.
"What do you need, baby?" The words are velvet coming out of his mouth. He sits up, face so close but too far. You bring your hands to his broad shoulders, grip so tight your knuckles turn white. His hands reach under the hem of your shirt, fingertips dancing across your stomach. He lifts your shirt slowly, and when you slow the motion of your body he bucks up into you. The pressure rips a guttural noise from the base of your throat, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes.
"Just do something." It's more of a plea than a command.
It's less than a second before his mouth is latched on to your nipple, suckling with harsh deliberate movements. It's enough, finally, to bring you to the relief you'd been needing. And it wrecks you.
Full body shudders rack through your body, Luke's hands holding you up as you release. It knocks the wind out of you like a flattened balloon, forehead pressed against his strong shoulder.
You're in a daze as Luke lays you down flat on the mattress. He's on his knees in front of you, watching you like he wants to devour you. The way he looks sends a jolt in between your thighs all over again and even though you felt loose-limbed and barely real, you can't help yourself as you sit up. Your timid hands skim the waist band of his pants, toying with the end of his shirt. You think he'll make you say it, but he simply takes it off in one fluid motion.
There's a trail of bronze hair that disappears beneath his pants, so you lean forward, laying your tongue flat against it and dragging upwards. You look up at him through your lashes and it makes him groan, head lulling to the side.
He tastes like sweat and smells like cologne so strong it's making you dizzy. Luke's hand finds the side of your neck, enveloping the hair there and giving it a firm tug. It brings your head back, staring at him open mouthed and at his mercy.
"Fuck," he curses, before he's out of your reach. Bewilderment fills you at the sudden movement, insecurity momentarily worming into your mind.
It doesn't last long though, because before you know it, he jerks your body up, kissing you like he's trying to swallow you whole. His tongue rubs against your own, both hands on either side of your face. You grab onto his arms to steady yourself, but it's no use. He's animalistic in his movements, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip so hard it makes you throb.
Luke disconnects your lips, filthy line of spit seen in the space between you. "On your knees, angel."
Somewhere in the back of your head, you can hear the accusations of sacrilege, the weeping of the heavens, trying to stop whatever sin will come next. You briefly think about what God thinks of you now, and if you've signed, sealed and delivered your sentence to damnation.
You sink to your knees anyway, mind blank of anything that isn't the tall, devilishly handsome man above you. Maybe hell won't be that bad.
Your fingers fumble, shaking slightly as you unbuckle his belt. The clinking of the metal is echoing in your head like a gong, but you push forward anyway.
Luke places his hands on top of your own, silent assurance clear. It's the sweetest moment the two of you had since you met, but somehow you detest it. You don't want sweet. You want carnage.
You move his hands out the way, popping the button of his pants, before dragging the zipper down. His right hand has made a home in your hair again, massaging the area slightly. Your eyes never leave his as you lower his slacks, placing a hot open mouthed kiss on the front of his briefs.
A growl leaves him, fingers tightening in your hair. You flush with pride at the reaction, repeating the action to see it again. Luke's chest is rising and falling dangerously fast and it makes pleasure thrum behind your fingertips. You pull the last barrier between you down impatiently, but pause at the sight.
He's big, bigger than the only other one you'd seen before, and bigger than you thought was possible. You can practically feel the arrogance rolling off him in waves. You peer up at him, whatever confidence from before knocked down quite a few notches.
"Don't be nervous, baby. I know you can take it all." He moves your head forward, so you take a deep breath, making an experimental lick on the swollen head of his cock. You hear a sharp intake of breath above you, but your focus doesn't move from in front of you.
Your hand grasps the base of him, and he's hot to the touch. It's exhilarating, the way your mouth is watering. You slip the tip into your mouth, sucking harshly. Luke jerks his hips eagerly, making you gag. You release him momentarily, collecting your breathing before sinking back on to him. The hand you have on him starts to move, mouth getting lower and lower until they meet in the middle. It's as far as you can go, but Luke doesn't care, left hand joining his other on the back of your head.
It's messy and wet as you bob your head up and down on him, his hands pushing you further and stopping you for seconds at a time before resuming the motion. You concentrate on breathing through your nose, and when Luke makes a particularly hard thrust, you moan deeply around him.
"My god," the rasps of his voice mixed with the expletive makes your body hum, so much so that you start to clench around nothing, hoping to relieve some of the ache. "You look so pretty on your knees for me, angel." The praise makes you mewl.
The pace gets faster and faster, Luke's grip unrelenting. Spit dribbles out the sides of your mouth, slipping down to the gaps between your fingers, aiding in the fluidity you're jerking him off with.
"I'm so close, sweetheart- fuck- you're doing so good." You take him as far as you can go, hollowing out your cheeks as much as you can. The noises roaring around you are filthy, chokes and sputters, squelches mixed with the intensity of Luke's groans, and it fills you with a hunger so fierce, you don't know how you could ever lock this away again. "Are you gonna be good for me? Hm? Want you to take it all."
You connect your eyes with his again, doing your best to nod with your mouth full. It's all he needs, before he's exploding, hot and heady liquid sliding down your throat. "Every fucking drop." He punctuates every word with a hard thrust.
Luke puts his hand over the one you have on him, jerking with you, squeezing out everything he has to give. You swallow repeatedly, wanting to be good for him. It's more important to you than you can really acknowledge at the moment.
When he finally softens, he takes his cock out of your mouth, licking his lips at the sight of you below him, tears in your eyes and his come still on the sides of your lips. His mouth is parted as he brings his thumb to the corner of your lips, gathering what was left of him and resting it on the top of your tongue. You oblige, wrapping the organ around it, cleaning up every last drop.
"Fucking perfect," he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek affectionately. You wait patiently for his lead, soft but impish smile toying on your lips.
He pulls you up once more, mouth covering yours. The taste of himself on your tongue makes him moan, and you swallow it greedily. He disconnects only to step out of his pants and briefs, fusing you back together in haste. Kissing Luke feels heavenly, despite how everything he does is laced with obscenity.
The two of you find your place in the middle of his large bed once again, him on top of you. His hand makes expert work taking off the rest of your clothes and it's not long before you're breathing hard, completely bare beneath him.
Luke stares down at your body, eyes glimmering with depravity. "All this for me?" His smirk stirs that ball of heat in your stomach. "Talk about a blessing."
You know he's doing it on purpose, all the references to your faith. You thought it'd bother you like it usually does, but the feeling never comes. Instead it feels... raunchy. Serves as a reminder that you're breaking every oath you've ever taken, contradicting every prayer you've uttered. It burns through your body like the gates below have opened up, swallowing you in flames that are somehow still no match to your salacious needs.
His fingers are back between your thighs, brushing against your hole briefly. Luke leans back a bit and he does something that leaves your mouth gaped and your pulse thumping painfully. He puckers his lips, letting a mound of spit meet his fingers against you, taking the opportunity to slip one inside you.
The pressure is uncomfortable at first, but Luke waits, letting you slow your breathing. You nod as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for your approval. His finger picks up speed, thrusting inside of you. Just when the pain starts to subside he adds another, causing you to whimper.
"So good for me, angel." His voice is gruff. "You're taking my fingers so well. Can't wait to feel you." The thought is almost too much. The pain has successfully been replaced with a foreign pleasure, which in turn makes you grind down on to his digits. He scissors the two and you stifle your groan, turning your head to the side. The feeling consumes you, making you want lean in but also run away. Luke adds a third finger, eliciting the loud moan from you yet.
"Eyes on me," he commands. You can't even picture what you look like, but you imagine it's similar to him. His eyes are blown- more pupil than iris- lips kiss-swollen and raw. You take back your previous thought. You definitely looked more torn apart than that. "Don't hide from me. I want to hear you," his lips suck a bruise on your collarbone. "I want to see you," his fingers find it, that spot inside you that's never been pressed. Your body jerks as he presses against it, clenching around his extremities. He moans your name, making your brain go completely and utterly stupid. "And I can't fucking wait to feel this around my dick."
"Please," you beg, self-respect nonexistent while cradled in his hands. "Please, Luke."
The calm, suave demeanor Luke had encompassed throughout the night is gone. Replaced with carnal desire wrapping around you like barbed wire. He's frantic it seems, hand that isn't busy with your pleasure touching anywhere he can reach. He straightens back at the same time he shoves three of his fingers into your waiting mouth. It's messy and frenzied, but he loves it, watching you with borderline feral hunger.
Once the fingers in your mouth are drenched, his touch everywhere else is gone, leaving you feeling empty and helpless. He jerks himself with his wet hand before lining up with your entrance, eyes on yours before slowly pushing inside.
If you through the stretch of his fingers was jarring, his dick is positively tearing you in two. He waits with thinly veiled self-restraint, trying to give you a second to adjust. Shuddering breaths are leaving you, hands clawing at the sheets below you. You let out a half-sob and Luke leans down, dusting kisses across your face.
"I know baby, I know." His voice is strained, choked. "Take your time, angel."
His mouth envelops yours in languid kisses, doing his best to ease your stress. You grip his biceps, needing something sturdy to brace yourself with. "What do you need? What can I do?" Your chest is constricting with the mix of searing pain and raw pleasure, but you can't articulate it properly. Luke asks if you want to stop, voice gentle and breathy in your ear. You shake your head fervently. You can't explain it, but the pain is addicting. It makes you feel more alive than you ever have.
"You can move," you choke out. He pushes forward, inch by inch. It feels like climbing Everest with a weighted vest, but you're determined to get to the top.
Finally, finally, he bottoms out, and you both stay like that for a moment. He's still placing kisses all over you, whispering sweet encouragement in your ears. Your heart swells at his caring, it fills you with a feeling very different than anything else you'd felt tonight.
When Luke feels you relax, he pulls back a bit, then thrusts back in. It helps the tiniest bit, to dissolve the pain. He repeats this over and over, until one particular thrust rips a loud moan from your chest.
"Oh, my fucking God," The words are wretched from darkest parts of your psyche. Your voice is foreign to your ears, and you can't believe that had possibly come from you.
Luke looks entirely different in this position. The color that you can see in his eyes is several shades darker, wild expression contorting his face in a delectable way.
"There you are," he says, darkly. "Been waitin' for you all night."
He pulls out of you completely before thrusting all the way in, and you can't help but sob at the feeling. His hips snap to yours at an unforgiving pace, one hand on the valley of your chest, tugging roughly at your nipple.
You're a bumbling mess, nothing coherent coming out. Your hands have found themselves attached to his back, nails digging into the flesh mercilessly. You move like a body possessed, pulling his head down for a kiss. It's disorganized and harsh, teeth clashing with an awful clink. It doesn't matter and you couldn't give less of a damn. You're biting at his lips aggressively, making him moan directly into your mouth.
Luke angles himself differently, ramming his cock to the hilt, tip of him pressing deliciously on that bundle of nerves from before. Your mouths drop open in unison, jagged breaths melding into each other. You feel otherworldly. Like maybe heaven isn't a place but a feeling. Like maybe the only God worth worshipping is a six foot something, blue eyed man, intent on making you come undone.
"Luke," your voice is weeping, "I'm- I can't- please—" you don't know what you're asking for, but it works. Luke reaches in between you and squeezes you where you need him most. Your back arches further than before, body flush with his. It hits you like a train, your release wrenching you open. You're cracked down the middle, soul on display.
Luke grunts as he reaches his own climax, hips stuttering. Your mind and body are beyond this plane of existence, and you're unable to tell what's up and what's down. Luke slows his movements but doesn't slow them completely, drawing whimper after whimper from you. It's too much; too good, too right.
When he decides he's tortured you enough, his softening member slides out of you, emptiness making you frown. "Come here," His voice feels far away. You can't move, so you whine, but Luke pulls you up anyway.
"Look at that," he says, voice trembling but proud. You look below to see his come leaking out of you slowly. "Look how pretty you look with me spilling out of you."
Luke is transfixed with the sight, so you lean into the degeneracy happily. You bring two fingers to your weeping hole, gathering the mess. Luke is mesmerized, watching you like a hawk. "Open," you say, wickedly, mimicking his words from earlier. His mouth falls open and his eyes glaze over. "Suck."
And he does. It's makes the hunger build all over again, the way his tongue curls over your digits. The parallels of the moment invigorate you. You drop your hand after a minute, pulling away, but Luke catches your wrist. He jerks you toward him, dropping your arm and placing the hand on your neck instead, grip tight.
You're about to question him, but he slots his mouth over yours before you can. You gasp as you taste the mixture of you both on his tongue. It's filthy. And you fucking love it.
You would willingly be denied salvation over and over again if this was how good it felt to be doomed.
"Are you still with me, my child?"
The words bring you out of the memories. You can feel sweat collecting at your hairline while your stomach clenches. It's so wrong, so incredibly blasphemous; trying to confess and absolve yourself of your sin while yearning for the exact thing that brought you here to begin with.
"Yes, father." Your breath is shaky. The priest must think it's at the weight of your guilt, because he reassures you kindly.
"In order to be forgiven, you must open your soul and let God live within you," the feelings are clawing their way up your throat. "You must open your heart to the Lord, stay loyal to your faith and most importantly want to leave your transgressions behind. Are you ready to do that?"
The differences between this time and the last are glaringly different. Years ago, when you wept inside this very wooden room, you wanted nothing more than to be saved. To be absolved; be forgiven for your indiscretion and move forward down the righteous path. You'd been filled with immeasurable guilt and regret.
This time, despite everything within you telling you to, there was no regret. No sleepless nights, no misery coating your bones as you moved through the days. There was only want.
"You're here, because you want to be."
"Because you wanted something different. Something more."
It leaves you breathless, leaves you broken and leaves you hollow. But it builds something inside you; something sturdy, something strong, something new.
"I'm sorry, Father."
The priest starts to speak, but you can't hear him. Your feet are moving faster than your brain. You throw open the black curtain in front of you, running as fast as you can. Past the alter, past the pews and through the stained-glass doors.
Once you're down the steps of the church, you take a shuddering breath, body filled with a feeling of freedom you never once thought you'd ever feel. You're no longer weighed down by expectations, by endless rules. You can just be. You shove your trembling hands into your pocket, barely registering the number you click.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Just when you start to rethink your entire life, the ringing cuts, comforting yet intoxicating voice rewarding your ears and soothing your spirit. "Hi, angel."
The familiar haze that only comes when he speaks engulfs you. "Can you come get me?"
You hear the jingle of keys on the other side of the line.
in honor of one of my favorite albums of all time turning ten.
prologue: i walk the line
chapter one: hurricane
chapter two: new americana
chapter three: colors
chapter four: castle
chapter five: young god
chapter six: garden
chapter seven: ghost
chapter eight: coming down
chapter nine: colors pt ii
chapter ten: drive
chapter eleven: gasoline
chapter twelve: hold me down
chapter thirteen: control
chapter fourteen: strange love
chapter fifteen: roman holiday
chapter sixteen: haunting
epilogue: is there somewhere?
warnings: cursing, violence, alcohol use, implied drug use, club settings, explicit sex, unprotected p in v sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), dirty talk, angst, will be updated as this progresses
“I needed him to fall apart from the inside out. Needed him to believe I was his salvation; exactly what he needed to be alive. I wanted him to burn like I did, wholly and absolutely. He needed to feel what he made me feel. And I needed it ruin him.”
too busy being yours (to fall for somebody new) sonny carisi x reader
carisi and reader have danced around each other for far too long.
wc: 5.3k
a/n: yes there will be a part two. yes it will be smut. happy reading!! let me know what you thinkkkk <3
It’d been two years since you met him— Dominick Carisi.
Or Sonny, as he insisted you call him. The name fit him perfectly. He was sunshine personified, all bright smiles and boisterous laughter, tied together with the brightest baby blues you’d ever seen.
He was radiant, and to be completely honest- and unfair- you kind of hated the bastard for it. His unwavering ability to light up any room he walked into, or crack a joke, terrible, terrible jokes by the way, that made the tension dissipate.
You were somewhat close; as much as you could be with Fin being your partner and Amanda being his. You enjoyed talking to him. With every story of his huge but endearingly chaotic family or random things that the two of you could blabber on about forever, it was nice. It was impossible not to like him. To not be charmed by him. Not to mention, Sonny was a flirt. And you loved to dish it as much as you loved to take it.
It was almost annoying, the way he’d buried himself into your chest cavity, his smile like flashbangs behind your eyes. How you couldn’t get his stupid nimble fingers or his stupidly soft looking hair or— fuck—those mile long legs, out of your fucking head. And god help if anyone mentioned that stupid fucking mustache that had been the inspiration behind more of your late night, self induced orgasms than you could count.
Sonny Carisi was a bug you could never get out of your system, whether he knew it or not.
***
You didn’t know when the fuck the small but strong desire you had to rip off Sonny’s clothes had morphed into a full blown crush, but you do remember the day you realized you were in trouble.
You’d walked into the squad room late, not unnoticed by Liv, sanity hanging on by a thread. Your car was in the shop and you’d had to take the subway; you hated the subway. Even worse, you’d forgotten the lunch you’d packed right there on your kitchen counter and spilled obnoxiously hot coffee down the front of your shirt within forty seconds of being at your desk.
As you grumbled all the way back from your locker, slightly too tight button down now hugging your frame, you watch as a pretty rookie cop hands Sonny something, only to linger next to his desk. He smiles his signature smile, and immediately you see the blush creep onto her cheeks.
Your skin bristles with something you’d rather not admit, eyes never leaving the god awful sight in front of you. It’s the first time it clicks. You not only wanted to ride Sonny Carisi until the wheels fell off— you liked him.
The thought made you slam a drawer in your desk a with a little more force than necessary. So much so, Fin threw you an amused look from his neighboring desk.
“Something on your mind?” It’s like he had X-ray vision or some shit, the way he looked from you to Carisi, who was still flirting, back to you.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Not a thing.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, that would definitely hold up in court.”
You’re about to flash him a middle finger, but Liv stepped in and let the team know there was a lead to chase at a costume store in Queens. “Y/N and Carisi, you’re up. And make sure you check neighboring stores for surveillance footage.”
You resisted the urge to groan out loud, instead nodding stiffly and standing. Carisi, the harlot, had finally come back down to earth and met you as you were speed walking to the elevator.
“Do you wanna drive or— Christ you’re fast,” You didn’t slow down or acknowledge him in the slightest, just hurrying into the elevator. He just barely managed to slip in before the doors closed.
“You okay?” You hated the way his brows furrow with concern. The way he cocked his head to the side in question, mimicking a puppy. Your eyes slide momentarily to his rosy, kissable lips. You wanted to punch him.
“Peachy.” You grumbled, continuing your unrelenting pace once the elevator opens.
Now prepared, it takes maybe three seconds for Sonny to catch up and even pass you, holding the door to the building open for you. When you finally reached the car, he puts a large hand over yours on the handle, which caused you to finally look up at him. He was closer than you anticipated, causing your skin to heat up just a bit.
You forced an indifferent look on your face to mask your quickening heartbeat, “You gonna move or are we gonna stand here all day?” And because you just can’t help it, “Or would you rather spend your time charming any woman that walks by instead of doing your job?”
It was the wrong thing to say, clearly, because Carisi’s mouth tipped upward slightly, eyes sparkling a little too bright for comfort. He ducked down, just enough to be eye to eye and then—
“If you want some of my attention, all you have to do is ask, Doll.”
He’s stepping out of your space and walking around to his own door before you can even process what to say. You chose avoidance, not even dignifying his absurdity with a response.
You did, however, spend the entire drive trying to ignore the warmth that spread through your stomach.
Fuck.
***
Dominick Carisi had always had an affinity with new, shining, seemingly unattainable things.
Coming to SVU was one of those things. Something he knew was completely out of his depth, but he was determined to try a change from Homicide anyway. When the opportunity arose, he jumped, wanting nothing more than to explore something new.
Becoming a lawyer was another one of those things. Late night classes at Fordham Law accompanied by long shifts at the most heart wrenchingly rewarding job, which over time he realized was kind of kicking his ass. People had told him it was a pipe dream, that he should stick to being a cop, and from time to time, he wondered if they were right. One thing about Sonny Carisi though; he never backed down from a challenge.
Which brings him to the last and possibly most unattainable thing— you.
From the moment you’d walked into the squad room two years ago, Carisi had been enamored. Between your sarcastic armor, brooding nature and the prettiest doe eyes he’d ever seen; he was gone for you before you even opened your mouth.
And when you did, it was to tell him that his mustache was stupid. It didn’t matter that the entire room started to laugh at his expense, or that he must’ve looked like a schoolboy looking at his first crush, he knew right then and there that he wanted to crack you open. He wanted to see you and that tough girl exterior fucking shatter underneath him. He wanted to see you come undone, wanted to ruin you, just to put you back together and take you out to fucking dinner.
***
It had been a slow night, just one of finishing paperwork after a hell of a week, the first time he’d felt it. That green monster rearing its ugly head. You were in Liv’s office, something about a progress report, and he sat at his desk, talking to Fin and Rollins mindlessly.
Amanda stretched, old chair creaking slightly under her shifting weight. When you and the lieutenant walked back into the room, she perked up. “You guys up for a drink?”
It wasn’t uncommon, the five of you unwinding in a bar. It was actually some of Carisi’s favorite moments— when there was no tragedy, no person hurting and he just got to be around some of the best people he’d ever met.
He nodded enthusiastically, ready for a drink or six after the week they’d had. Fin agreed, as long as there was promise of food, and even the lieu decided to join, stating that her sitter could stay a little longer. Carisi’s eyes were on you the second you walked into the room, waiting for your confirmation. The thought of a night filled with talking your ear off while you kept that faux annoyed look on your face, though your eyes were always soft. The thought of staring at your full lips while they either insulted him or shot back the same subtly suggestive things he gave you, well that sounded pretty much like heaven.
“No can do,” you said, shattering the mirage of Sonny’s imagination in three words. You walked to your desk, bending to retrieve something in the bottom drawer. There might as well have been a magnet in the back pocket of your jeans with how his eyes never left your ass. He felt himself get half hard at the sight, and he had to clear his throat slightly before he questioned your words.
“What? You got a hot date or somethin’?” It was only after the words left him that he realized he hated them. The image of you intertwined with someone else invaded his brain, which caused his hands to tighten around the pen in his hands.
You straightened out, grabbing your coat. “Definitely ‘or something’.” Rollins laughed, cheering for you. Sonny can’t help but shoot her an irritated look because what the fuck was so good about that?
Liv grinned, “Well have fun and be safe. And don’t forget to leave the DD-5 of the Maxwell case on my desk before you leave.”
You nodded, ignoring Fin’s teasing about someone finally ‘melting the ice queen’. Sonny didn’t find it funny.
It’s only when you reemerged from the boss’s office that he grabbed his coat and said, “Let me walk you out.”
You shrugged, falling in step next to him. “So,” he tried not to sound like a prying loser. “You and this guy, is it serious?”
He failed, miserably, but the question is out there nonetheless. You smirked lazily, “Hardly.”
Understanding dawned on his features and the implication made nausea settle in his gut. “Ah, I see.” He searched for something not completely pitiful to say, “Well, I hope you have fun. Although it won’t be nearly as fun as watching Rollins and Fin cuss each other out over darts.”
You laughed, making Carisi smile brightly. He loved making laugh. “Oh, I’m sure. Do me a favor: if they start threatening to throw the darts at each other like last time, get a video before Liv steps in.”
Sonny snorted, “You’re a menace.”
You turned to him, right in front of the elevator, secret smile on your face. He’s entranced by you, so much so that he’d almost forgotten that you were opting for a night with some guy instead of one looking angelic underneath low bar light in front of him. When the elevator dinged and opened, you didn’t move right away, instead you dropped your gaze over the front of him slowly.
If it was anyone else, he doubted they would’ve noticed. But since you’re you and Sonny considered himself a pro at observing you, he did. And it made his body hum quietly.
Your voice was low and seductive as ever as you said, “Oh, Sonny. You have no idea.”
Then the doors shut and you were gone, leaving Dominick Carisi floundering with an active imagination and a tightness in his pants for the second time in ten minutes.
Christ Almighty.
***
“Here,” Sonny says, handing you a scorching hot chocolate as he gets back in the car. The two of you got assigned to a stakeout today and you’re convinced your body has reached dangerous levels of hypothermia.
“Thank fuck.” He laughs as you rip off your gloves, turning the dial on the heat even higher.
“Jesus, what are you trying to do, cook us?” You shoot him a withering look.
“It’s fucking freezing, Sonny.”
He just stares at you, shrugging. His feigned nonchalance might of worked if you didn’t catch the way his hands shook slightly, pressed impossibly firm into the warm cup between them. “I run hot.” He says simply, taking a slow sip, eyes fluttering back to the big brown stone across the street you were meant to be watching.
“Must be nice. My iron’s about as low as your standards.” The laugh that rips from his chest sends a warmth through you, very welcoming in the sub zero weather you’re currently suffering through.
“What could you possibly know about my standards, sweetheart?” Carisi’s dark blonde eyebrow is raised, lips fighting to stay in a set line.
You give him a deadpan look. “Call it a hunch.”
“A hunch…” he says under his breath, but you’re no longer paying attention. You fish your phone out of your coat pocket, not being able to contain the groan that escapes you. This fucking guy, the one with the social cues of a rock and fingers that felt more like a medical exam than a passion fueled tryst, would not leave you alone.
He’d been nice enough; tall, cute and the type of muscular that felt sturdy, strong. You’d been on three dates, and while he may have been nice, he was so painfully boring. You loved a gentleman, but you also needed someone that could take as much as you could give. Someone you could bounce off of. Someone that made every moment exciting.
Someone like Sonn-
“I would say it sounds like your soul is trying to escape, but I’m still not entirely sure you have one.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, looking up from your phone. “Why the long face, doll?”
Though you would rather chew on broken glass than admit it, something about the variation of nicknames Carisi called you made you hot all over. The combination of his thick, Staten Island drawl, plus the way his lips formed around the words always made you squeeze your thighs a little tighter.
“Men are clueless.” You lock your phone, shoving your phone back in your pocket as yet another cringey attempt of a sext comes through. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man that knows what he’s doing.”
“As in…” you shoot him a pointed look, “Ah.” He says, leaning back in the seat and looking you dead in the eye. “So that’s why you’re cranky all the time, huh?”
It wasn’t an uncommon thing for you and Sonny to throw suggestive quips back and forth. Basically all your time together was spent teasing and taunting each other. Yet, there was something about the way he said it that made your heart start to quicken just a tad in your chest.
“Oh, fuck you.” You breathed a laugh, pushing the feelings swirling in your stomach way, way down.
“Bet you could use it.”
The way your head snaps to Sonny is immediate. You must look comical, eyes slightly widened, jaw slightly agape.
Sonny himself looks a little surprised the words fell from his mouth, but the look in his eyes tells you that he doesn’t care to take it back. Underneath all the playfulness, it looked like he meant it.
You regain your composure, huffing slightly. You force it to sound annoyed instead of breathless, because there was no way you’d give him any implication that you definitely could use it. And he could definitely use you.
It’s been too long since you spoke, so he asks you, “Trouble in paradise?”
You don’t know why you tell him what you do. You have no idea how to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth at the speed of light. Maybe it’s because you were annoyed at the dating scene in New York or because you were flustered and halfway turned on by the very man you were speaking to.
“More like purgatory.” You grumble, before continuing. “I’ve been on like three dates with this guy, which were fine— I guess, but he can’t take a hint for shit.” Sonny’s eyes are boring into you with heightened interest, his body now angling towards you as you speak. “After the last time we hooked up, which was a disaster, I told him that it would probably be best to call it. Just leave it at that. Apparently, I wasn’t specific enough.” And with added contempt, “I knew I shouldn’t have faked it that last time.”
Carisi’s eyes are sparkling, almost like he can’t believe that you’re even talking to him about this. It makes you shrink, embarrassment dusting across your cheeks. You’re about to tell him to forget everything you just said, but he’s speaking before you can.
He sucks his teeth, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “You shouldn’t have to fake it. I don’t know what kind of losers you keep coming across, but there are definitely men out there that know exactly what they’re doing.”
The suggestive tone of his words makes you freeze. Your entire being goes still, breathing just a smidge heavier. Sonny pauses, giving a look that pins you to your seat. You don’t know if this is exactly appropriate—talking to your coworker about your sex life while in the middle of surveilling a potential serial killer— but you couldn’t help but listen with rapt attention while he talks. And as you learned long ago, Sonny Carisi will talk, and talk and talk.
“Women are supposed to be worshipped— no, ravished. Pleasure is supposed to be mutual and exciting. Not to mention, it’s supposed to last. Something that consumes you and makes you borderline fucking crazy,” his rant continues. “I can’t imagine getting a woman like you in my bed and not wanting to do absolutely everything to make her fall apart.”
He says the last part like the thought of your lackluster sexcapades made him mad. The way his hands were so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles were turning white. The way he kept running his tongue along his top row of teeth.
The heat in your stomach had since shot directly down to your core, and you clenched around nothing, trying desperately to contain the animalistic urge to drag his lanky ass to the backseat to show you exactly what the fuck he meant.
“A woman like me?” The words feel like sandpaper in your throat. The energy has made a tangible shift from shooting the shit to territory that was new to the dynamic between the two of you. The tension was palpable, settling around you like a fog; thick and suffocating.
His eyes trail your body shamelessly— or maybe unconsciously— and he leans forward slightly. “Yeah, a woman like you. Strong, sure of herself and stubborn as all hell.” You should be insulted, but you can’t even pretend to give a shit. Even though it’s exactly how you’d describe him. “Someone that has it all together, all the time. Anyone that has the privilege of touching you should be making it their mission to make you come undone.”
Jesus Christ. If he kept talking, you were sure you were gonna do something you’d both regret. But because you’d never been one to back down from anything, you shift closer to him, faces only mere inches apart. You tilt your head, giving him a searing look. “Sounds like you’ve thought about the idea of me in bed a lot, Sonny boy.”
Something flashes in his eyes, a piercing blue that you try to convince yourself isn’t getting darker by the second. “Are you supposed to be the all knowing ‘someone’ in this scenario?”
It’s further than the flirting has ever gone. It’s basically a proposition. But the way Sonny’s looking at you makes you want to rip his clothes off, right here, in your work SUV with the blacked out windows. Carisi goes to speak, eyes ablaze and hands inching closer to you. Your blood bubbles under your skin and you think fucking finally, until a flurry of movement catches both of your eyes. The suspect loads a car with suspicious looking bags, before hurriedly climbing in the drivers seat and peeling off the curb.
Just like that the spell is broken, Carisi putting the car in drive and pursuing, you on the walkie, reporting to Fin and Amanda posted up a couple blocks away.
You can’t tell whether you’re extremely grateful or insanely fucking pissed.
***
It’s two months later, at the chief’s birthday party of all places, that things finally boil over the surface.
The two you are stationed at high top table in the bar, talking shit and laughing at the dumbest things. You’re on your second, maybe third glass of white wine, and you can’t even remember how many beers Carisi has popped open.
It was weird, how things had slightly shifted between the two of you. There was this underlying tension, this vibe, that lingered. The eye contact you’d make across the squad room was longer and more intentional. Suddenly, you and Sonny were paired up more often than not, Fin throwing secret glances to Amanda that weren’t subtle in the slightest. If you weren’t so happy with the proximity, you would’ve enjoyed calling them out on it.
Sonny’s telling you a story, something about his brother in law and a hammer that doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well. He’s close; closer than he would’ve dared to get before that day in the car. Leaning into you while he laughs, flushed pink across his cheeks, knee knocking against yours under the table. The short contact makes your body buzz. You lean into him right back, face in the palm of your hand as you listen.
You excuse yourself to the restroom, fanning yourself with your hands once you get inside. It takes a couple minutes, but once you get out, you’re face to face with Rollins, smoothing out her hair in the mirror.
“Rollins! Where have you been all night? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.” You pull your lip gloss out of your purse, reapplying and trying not to make it obvious that you’re adjusting your boobs to make sure they’re sitting right. For absolutely no reason at all, of course.
Amanda smirks, turning to face you. “I think you’ve hardly seen anyone other than Sonny tonight.”
The laugh you let out is louder than you expect. “Well, you know how Carisi can talk for days.”
Once you’re satisfied with your appearance you turn to her. She shakes her head in amusement. “The two of you are something else,” the way she says it sounds like she knows something you don’t. “When that tension finally pops, just make sure you use protection.”
You splutter at her words. She doesn’t even try to hide her laughter as she leaves the room, you hot on her heels. “Okay, that’s just ridiculous—“
Your words die in your throat as you see Sonny at the bar, talking to some redhead, her hand perched on his bicep. You bristle, red hot rage that is extremely too dramatic filling you from head to toe. The sight, along with the alcohol, makes your stomach churn.
Amanda leans over to you, “Whatever lie you were about to tell just completely blew up in your face, by the way.”
You send her a glare, but she only laughs. You’re making your way to the bar before she can say anything else to you.
As you start to weave through the throngs of people, you stop and slow your breathing, trying to think rationally. It’s not like Sonny was your… well, anything. The only definitive title he had was your coworker, though anyone who knew the two of you would call you friends, at least. You had no right to feel any type of possessiveness or jealousy over the smooth-talking, Italian bastard, but goddamnit, you did.
The way the woman kept leaning forward made you want to throw something. How you could see her flirty eyes and dirty smile zero in on him, throwing her head back to laugh at everything he said. You’d been trying to keep your distance, but the dam breaks as soon as she moves her hand down to his thigh. Hell no.
Despite how you’re feeling on the inside, you remain your typical calm and collected demeanor. You walk up, casually leaning against Sonny causing him to stop mid sentence in surprise.
“Hi Sonny,” your hand rests in between his shoulder blades. You feel his body tense for a moment before he relaxes. “Who’s your friend?”
The woman sends an irritated look your way, waiting for him to introduce her. He turns to look at you, confusion in his eyes. “Y/N, this is Carrie. Carrie, Y/N.” You nod, giving her a faux friendly smile. She doesn’t reciprocate.
When it’s silent for a couple seconds, Carisi can sense that there’s something amiss. He watches you stare each other down, and though he’s no expert on body language, he knows a hostile situation when he sees one.
“Carrie works in the DA’s office, she was just telling me—“ Once again, Sonny’s words are stopped short as you slither your hand up to his, plucking the beer he’d been nursing out of reach. You make eye contact with him as you tip it to your mouth, making a show of wrapping your lips around it.
It makes Sonny’s brain short circuit. “Telling you what?” You ask innocently, swiping at your bottom lip with your tongue.
When he doesn’t answer, eyes locked on yours, the redhead continues. “I was just telling Dominick that I’m sure once he finishes his bar exam, there’ll be a place for him in our office.”
You weren’t listening to her, not even slightly. How could you when Carisi was looking at you with a bewildered hunger in his eyes? Your hand was moving at its own accord up and down his back. He was almost feline in his movements, body basically preening at your touch.
You didn’t even bother to hide your triumphant grin. “Uh-huh, that’s all very interesting. Sonny?”
Carisi is snapped out of his daze as he looks up at you, clearing his throat. “Yeah?”
“I’m tired. Share a cab home with me?” You barely finish your sentence before he’s on his feet, flagging down a bartender to close his tab. The woman he’d been talking to scoffs, not bothering to say anything else as she walks away. It shouldn’t have given you the giddy feeling that’s radiating through your body, but it does.
When Carisi finishes, he grabs his jacket and leads you out of the bar with a hand on the small of your back. The contact makes you shiver.
It’s when you’re outside he pushes you flush against the brick, one hand next to your head. “What was that?”
You decide, now that the haze of jealousy has (mostly) worn off, to play dumb. “What do you mean?”
The scoff he gives you is immediate. Like he was waiting for you to deny it. “That. In the bar. With Carrie.”
The sound of her name on his lips annoys you all over again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting such riveting conversation.”
You go to move out of his space, but he doesn’t allow it, keeping his arms caged around you. Time slows down at the proximity, your heart hammering inside your rib cage. The electricity between you feels akin to a lightning storm; big, bright and detrimental.
It was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea, that you wished you never let yourself go through. The tension between you could be cut with a fucking butter knife. You were beginning to realize that whether you meant to or not, you’d just opened a can of worms that would be impossible to close again.
“Would you care if it was?”
The question throws you off guard. You were sure that your cover had been blown by now; no matter how happy go lucky Sonny Carisi appeared, he was far from dumb. And it didn’t help that he could read you like his favorite fucking book.
You don’t answer, instead just gaze up at him through your lashes. There’s a mountain of words between you, but you don’t want to be the one to materialize it; this thing that’s been festering between you since the day you met. You, unfortunately, were stubborn until the bitter end. If this was happening, you’d make him beg for it.
Mind made up, you run your hands up his side, taking note of just how nice his body feels under his dress shirt. He’s staring at you with so much focus it’s making you dizzy. Like if he blinks, you’ll be gone.
Your hands travel back down to the waistline of his pants, tugging at his belt loops. “Would it matter?”
Carisi huffs, hand that rested above your head now on your neck. “Don’t answer my question with a question.” His hold tightens, presence solid and unmoving. You’d always wondered what having his hands on you would feel like, but somehow, it was even better than what you anticipated. The knot in your stomach is growing, unfurling in a way that needed him even closer.
“Or what?” You can tell you’re wearing on his patience, but all it does is excite you more.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. You think you’ve pushed him too far or worse— he’s decided you’re more trouble than you’re worth. The panic hits you fast, crawling up your spine like a pest you can’t get rid of.
“You already know the answer to that.” Sonny says, resting his forehead against yours. Your mouth drops open, breath mixing with his in the cool air between you. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know you drive me fucking crazy.”
A confession of sorts. A stuttered heartbeat. A break in the madness.
There’s a single moment where all you do is look at him, trying to figure out where the hell he came from. It steals every bit of air you have left in your lungs when you see that he’s looking right back, like he can’t even believe he gets to breathe your air.
You don’t move. You don’t blink. You don’t even fucking breathe. How could you?
Sonny grabs your face with both hands, tentative and firm; so much different than the energy surrounding you. His breathing is labored and his face is flushed, chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. “Fuck- Y/N. Can I kiss you?” The sky opens up. “Please.”
Your mouth is on him before the whine completely leaves his mouth. It’s soul crushing, the way you fuse together like you were made for each other. How your bodies slot together like pieces of a puzzle. The way you’re both holding on for dear life, like there’s nothing else that matters than being right here, right now.
“Sonny,” it comes out as a moan, desperate and needy. Carisi groans, pushing himself impossibly closer. You can feel your shoulder blades digging roughly into the exposed brick behind you, but you don’t care. The wounds are soothed by the way Sonny licks into your mouth with urgency, tongue wrapping around your own.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, hands roaming. Your chest, your thighs, your hips. He pulls and squeezes every part he can, though it never seems like enough. You can’t help but agree.
you see him at the at the bar once every so often. he comes with a group of six others, sitting in the circular booth in a tucked away corner of the room. it's safe to say that you've developed a little crush, but you're certain he has no idea you exist. how could he, when every single pretty girl in the place has eyes on him?
inspired by the song all the pretty girls by vera blue
warnings: mature language, sexual humor, mild sexual content (oral, male receiving), hair pulling, teasing, spitters are quitters iktr!
word count: 5.9k
It was a Thursday night, the first time you saw him.
Well, him and the army he seemed to have with him. He sat smack in the middle of the large group, soft smile on his face and gangly legs stretched underneath the table. He took your breath away, just sitting there in all his glory. His honey brown curls reflecting in the low light of the bar, the glint of the two rings on his left hand catching your eyes every time he brought his hand up to swipe at the attractive black man next to him.
You didn't know his name, and since it was a little too far away for you to hear any of their conversations, you settled on calling him Pretty Boy. Seemed like a good enough description in your head. He came with six other people, three of those being women whom were beautiful enough to have you averting your eyes any time your stare lingered a beat too long.
Funnily enough, those same three women came up to the bar often, usually being the ones to retrieve the group's drinks. They were gorgeous, and as much as you tried to tell yourself you didn't care, you couldn't ignore that little seed of jealousy that unfurled in your chest whenever you saw him laugh at their jokes, roll his eyes affectionately, or hug them at the end of the night.
It didn't help that they were possibly the sweetest women in the entire world, either. When they came up to order, they would always make conversation with you, threaten any lingering creeps who gave you trouble, and tipped very well.
It wasn't until the third or fourth time they’d come that you found out their names. "That sexy and plentiful brunette over there is Emily." Emily cracked a smile at the description. "The blonde next to me is our residential hot mom, Jennifer,"
Jennifer smiled at you, rolling her eyes at her friend. "You can call me JJ."
"And I," the eccentric blonde woman said, "certifiably the biggest, besides my chocolate thunder of course, bucket of sex on legs you've ever seen, am Penelope."
You giggled at the women before you. "Nice to formally meet my favorite guests. I'm Y/N."
You remember that as a little over seven months ago. After that day, the women became even nicer, always asking how you were doing, telling you that work too much, and complimenting every new thing you did with your hair. You grew out of your school-girl resentment for them, becoming increasingly fond of them.
You found out that they worked for the FBI, and that their team would make their way here after a particularly brutal case. Which honestly, was a lot. Every once in a while, you would float their bill for them, telling Emily or JJ or Penelope to tell the rest that they deserved a break. They used to make you extremely nervous, but now, in present time, you couldn't wait for them to amble their way to you.
Like right now, as you were drying off a glass, your eyes found your way to that familiar booth in the back corner. You could see Penelope patting Pretty Boy's hand on the table, Emily and JJ sliding out the booth behind her. Emily was the first one to reach you. "Y/N, hi! How are you?"
You grin at her, "Tired. Bored of the same type of drunken idiot coming up here to hit on me. You know, the usual."
Penelope tutts at you, "You work entirely too much, babe." You let out a soft laugh at the same sentiment she gave you every time she saw you. "You should tell that manager of yours to give you a break."
You wore a secret smile on your face. "Yeah, maybe I will, Penny." You line up three shot glasses for them, moving across the space to find the tequila. "And it is so extremely funny that I even consider taking self-care advice from you guys. You three have probably put in more work hours than I ever will in my life."
The three of them knock their shot glasses on the wood of the bar in agreement, before gulping them down. Without your permission, your eyes drift past JJ to their table. And when you do, you take the most obvious, exaggerated double take of your life. Pretty Boy has on glasses today, and you all but gasp at the sight. He looks... different. His unruly curls were still as messy and perfect as ever, but there was something about how he looked that you couldn't put your finger on.
Instead of his usual sweater vest and tie, he wore a cream-colored button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and the first two buttons undone. There was a thick, silver watch on his wrist and the same two rings as always on his fingers. You stare for approximately three more seconds before it hits you. That was the difference; he looked... hot.
The man was attractive as hell, you had always known that. But the way he usually looked made you sigh dreamily, because fuck, he was so pretty. The way his delicate features looked in the calm lighting, the way his eyes would scrunch whenever one of his friends said something. The way his smile seemed to light up his whole face; he was just so beautiful.
Tonight, however, he looked like sex on legs. Your mind, among other parts of you, buzz at the sight, not quite being able to handle such a 180. In the back of your mind, you knew that you probably should stop staring. Like, you really should stop, before the girls, or worse, Pretty Boy himself caught you looking. But you were mesmerized. You wanted nothing more than to replace the glass he held with an iron-like grip, with your neck.
"Y/N? Y/N!" JJ waved her hand in front of your face rapidly, "Earth to bartender."
You feel your face start to heat, hanging your head slightly as you placed your dish towel across your shoulder. "Yeah," you clear your throat. "What can I get you?"
The trio had matching looks of confusion at your change of behavior. Emily's stare lingers on you a little too long. It makes your heart beat a little faster, thinking that she could have possibly figured it out, and for a moment, you think she might comment on it. Luckily, she doesn't. "Um, can I get three gin and tonics, two scotch on the rocks, a cosmopolitan and a sex on the beach?"
You bounce back as quickly as possible, throwing a grin at the girls while grabbing the ingredients you need. "Sex on the beach, huh? Which one of you is feeling especially frisky tonight?"
Penelope snorts. "It's not for us. It's for Boy Wonder over there."
You follow the direction of her finger. Pretty Boy. Huh.
"God, these drinks are running through me like water!" Penelope says, grabbing JJ's arm before she can protest. As the two of them make their way through the crowd to the restroom, Emily rolls her eyes. "Mind helping me carry these to the table?"
As if those words were the last ones you expected her to say, you fumble one of the drink shakers, causing it to send a shot glass crashing to the floor. "What?"
One of your coworkers, comes beside you with a small dustpan. You thank them, sending a sheepish look at the mess on the floor. Emily lets out a chuckle. "Is it Hotch you're scared of? I promise you, he's nothing but fluff on the inside."
You stare back at her, mouth opening before closing it into a tight-lipped smile. "Of course not," You take a deep breath, "let's go."
As the two of you walk to the table, hands full of drinks, your mind was fucking buzzing. It wasn't like you hadn't met the team before; Derek had come up once or twice to request a drink, making sure to flirt quite a bit in the process; you'd had a few conversations with the older gentlemen, Rossi, and there had been other times where you'd brought the groups drinks to the table, eliciting a quiet thank you from Hotch, the man with the most tentative smile. But there was one person you had never been in front of before.
Pretty Boy. Boy Wonder, as Penny had called him. The god of a man you've had the most childish crush on for months.
He seemed to disappear every time you were making your way to the table. Whether he'd been in the restroom, or stepped outside, or even been dragged to the small dancefloor by one of his friends, you'd never formally met him.
Until right now.
You trail behind Emily, hoping that your hair didn't look as wild as it usually did during a shift. You had a quick glance down at your shirt, mentally sighing in relief that there were no stains or drink spills.
As you approach the table, you keep your eyes down, not wanting them to accidently stray to the person they eventually would.
"Well, if it isn't the prettiest bartender around," Morgan said, throwing a smile full of charm.
You laugh, "I bet you say that to all your bartenders."
"Just the 23 out of 51 of which have been female in the last five years."
You can hear Rossi huff a laugh at his words, but you can't really process anything he just said. After watching him afar for almost a year, never getting close enough to know anything about him, hearing his voice is paralyzing to you. It damn near anchors you to the spot in which you stand.
Against your best wishes, your eyes shift from Morgan to the source of your desire, who, for the first time while you're looking at him, is looking right back at you.
"You've counted how many women I've hit on in the last five years? Now, that-" Morgan's voice is incredulous. "that's just wrong, Reid."
Reid.
Pretty Boy— Reid, shrugs his shoulders, looking away from you momentarily to throw a cheeky grin at his friend. When your eyes connect again, he smiles. You think you can see a glint of something in his eyes, but you're sure your mind is playing tricks on you.
He leans forward in his seat. "I don't think we've actually met before. Although, I have heard quite a bit about you."
Your heart soars at the words. "Oh? Have you now?"
"You can't be that surprised, Y/N. You know those three are practically your biggest fans." Morgan quips, gesturing to Emily, Penelope and JJ, the latter two just returning to the table.
"We also have to talk highly about the bartender that gives us complimentary drinks," Rossi raises his scotch to you, taking a swig.
Hotch clears his throat. "Yes, and as much as we appreciate your hospitality, you should probably stop doing that. We'd hate for it to get you in trouble with your boss."
You can't help the laugh that escapes you. The team all sends you an inquisitive look. You can feel the smile on your face turn shy. "I am the boss."
The girls' mouths drop, JJ looking at you wide-eyed. "Like... you own the place?"
"Yup..." you trailed off, gesturing around you. "Home sweet home."
"No way," Morgan says, shaking his head. "You've got to be, what? Twenty two, tops?"
You chuckle. "Freshly twenty five, actually."
"That's impressive," Reid says. Your mind goes a little fuzzy at the reminder that you finally know his name. And he's not only talking to you, but complimenting you. "Women account for nearly thirteen million successful businesses in the United States as of today. Even more remarkably, only—"
"Only about twenty percent are in their twenties. And furthermore, only three percent of those fall between the ages of twenty one to twenty five." You'd finished the statistic out of habit. You'd heard it a million times, but it was mostly used as warning or "advice" about whether or not to change career fields.
Emily whistled under her breath, while everyone, even Hotch, managed a surprised laugh. Well, almost everyone.
Reid's mouth was open and his eyebrows were raised. "Did she just hijack my stat?"
"I think she did, genius. Looks like you've got competition."
"What?" You said, "Pretty boy can't take the heat?"
The rest of the group howls with laughter, while you smack yourself internally. You really had not meant to let that name slip. After so long of not knowing his name, it was a force of habit.
Reid gives you very particular look. It was mixed with a whole bunch of emotions you couldn't decipher. The one thing you did know though; it was smoldering. His light eyes were somehow darker, pinning you to the spot you stood.
"Oooh! Even used the nickname!" JJ exclaims, flushed cheeks red from laughter.
You raise an eyebrow. "Nickname?"
Morgan nods, taking a swig of the clear liquid in front of him. "It's one of the many nicknames we have for him." He knocks his shoulder into Reid's. "Pretty boy, Boy wonder, genius, 187, doctor, kid, all those."
Your face heats. They already called him pretty boy?
"187?"
"Yeah, genius is really a, well, genius." Emily laughs. "IQ is 187."
It didn't surprise you somehow. Even though you didn't know literally anything about him, he had a very intelligent aura around him. And god damn him, if you didn't find him infinitely more attractive after that.
"You can just call me Spencer though," He rolls his eyes at his friends. "since you know, that's my actual name. Dr. Spencer Reid."
You watch as he licks his lips, entranced by the sight. "Spencer." Dr. Spencer apparently.
The two of you are trapped in a heated stare. What exactly it's charged with, you can't figure out, but god, his eyes were holding hostage. He leans back against the booth, squinting at you slightly.
Before you did or said anything stupid, you excused yourself. "Well, this has been quite the conversation, o-favorite-guests-of-mine, but I do have to get back to work."
You bid your goodbyes to the lively team, smiling warmly while avoiding Spencer's eyes.
Somehow, you can still feel his eyes on you long after you're gone.
***
The next time you see the team is about three weeks later. It's a themed night, so the bar is more packed than usual. Some people are in costumes, not that you can really tell what they're supposed to be, you smile at the effort nonetheless.
You hear them before you see them, hearing Penelope's animated voice yell to Morgan to dance with her. You let out a small laugh, squatting behind the actual bar to grab some more ice out of the mini fridge below you.
Since more people were up dancing, you don't served anyone a drink up here for a while. You had more waitresses on shift tonight than usual, so when you hear someone walk up, you automatically assume it's one of the three women you're fond of.
"What can I get my favorite ladies tonight?" You say, "Is it a gin or a rum night? By the way I heard Penny screaming as soon as she stepped in, I'm gonna assume tequila, actually." You close the fridge door before popping up.
When you do though, you come face to face with him.
A light smirk is nestled on his lips. "I'm more of vodka man, myself."
You stare for a moment, your brain not being able to catch up with your eyes. When you realize it's been a full minute since he spoke, you kick yourself into gear. "S-straight or on the rocks?"
"Straight," he says, taking a seat. Your eyes widen slightly.
You wordlessly pour his drink, sliding it across the wood. He takes a sip, still holding the drink. You see the same two rings, and your body hums at the sight. His hands are big; veins running from the back all the way down his forearm.
Spencer looks a bit more like himself tonight, light blue button up and a tie loosely around his neck. His face is void of glasses, long curls hanging beautifully around the frame of his face. They look mussed, like him, or worse, someone else, has been raking their hands through it.
What I wouldn't fucking give to pull on those curls while he's-
His voice snaps you out of your dirty thoughts. "Something on your mind?"
You. You shake your head. "Not really."
He looks at you, gaze intense. "You look like you like what you see."
Your mind stops, struggling for a response. "Yeah," you say, taking the towel off your shoulder and wiping an imaginary stain on the counter. "Someone behind you caught my eye."
He chuckles, finally placing the drink down. His hands are clasped before him. "A different pretty boy, I assume."
You still at that. There was no way for him to know that you came up with that in your head before Derek told you... right?
Before you can say anything, a pretty, petite red head comes up. "Spencer," she smiles, leaning her body sideways on the bar, elbow propping her up. She brings her other manicured hand to his shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Melissa."
His eyes drift to the mystery woman. Just past the two of them, you look at your surroundings. Quite a few, well frankly, a lot more than a few women have their eyes on him. They're like lions, you think. Eyes hungry and nails sharp, all waiting to get a chance to pounce on the delicious prey that is Spencer Reid.
It makes you ill. Not that you can blame them, he is quite literally one of the most attractive men you've ever seen, but your crush has made you particularly territorial. Not that he was an object, or even anything you had right to claim anyway.
The woman, Melissa, leans into him slightly. "We've missed you around here."
We? He must be pretty popular with the women here, then. The thought puts a bitter taste in your mouth. You have to hold back a grimace.
"I'm still around," he says. His body language is relaxed, but there's something else in his tone. You try to convince yourself it isn't boredom. Boredom that certainly wasn't there seconds ago when he was just talking to you. Why wouldn't he be enthralled at the beautiful woman in front of him?
"I never see you though," she pouts, red lips turning down jokingly.
"Guess you haven't been looking hard enough."
You try not to laugh at her face. The way it drops slightly, like she wasn't expecting him to seem so distant.
"Well I've found you now," she recovers. "Care to get out of here?"
Spencer's eyes find yours briefly. You look back with a blank face. His lip lifts slightly. "Not really. I'm quite alright where I am now. Sorry."
Your cheeks are warm, your hands are clammy and your heart is beating faster at the words. You try to hide the smile that comes to your face as the woman looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, irritation clear on her face.
For what it's worth, you actually do think he sounds apologetic. Not that it matters much to Melissa.
She tries not to let it bother her, while clearly taking the hint. "Okay, well, you know how to reach me if you ever need a reminder of a fun time."
He nods absentmindedly. Ignoring her less than subtle brush of his arm. You watch as she walks away, glancing over her shoulder hoping to catch his eye. When he doesn't turn around, you see her huff and stomp away.
You look at him with an amused look. "Quite the ladies man, I see."
He breaths a laugh that actually sounds uncomfortable. "Not really. She's an... old friend."
"Right," you say, leaning behind you. "And all the other women who have been staring at you since you sat up here? They old friends too?"
He doesn't even glance around him. "I couldn't possibly know what you're talking about."
You scoff, "What a humble guy."
He only shrugs, finishing his drink. You watch as he tilts the glass back, eyes transfixed on his throat. You think about how pretty it'd look with your marks there.
"Is that what you do when you're not ridding the world of bad guys?" You boldly state, "Wooing multiple women from a small-town bar?"
He smiles, "Not particularly. I'm a one woman kind of guy."
His suggestive tone throws you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, feeling more and more bold with every searing look from him. "Oh yeah? Any one woman caught your eye tonight?"
Spencer leans forward, raking his eyes up your frame. You can feel your heart beat in your ears, among other places, and your stomach swarms with butterflies. "Yeah, actually," he begins. "She's had my eye for quite a while."
You can feel your body temperature rising, and you become increasingly grateful for the structure behind you. You’re sure if it wasn't there, you would've collapsed by now.
"Have you told her?" You say, holding your breath. The air between you has shifted from relaxed conversation to something buzzing with electricity.
"I'm sort of hoping she'll get the memo."
Before you can speak, a very drunk Penelope Garcia and a slightly less drunk Emily Prentiss are beside him. "Boy woooooooonder!" Penny slurs, "Hotch says you have to drive me home. His car is full." Her eyes focus momentarily on you, "Hi, Y/N!!"
"Hi, Pen." You smile, waving at Emily as well.
Emily waves back, before shaking her head, "Spence is drunk too!"
Spencer rolls his eyes. "Not drunk. I only had one. C'mon Garcia, I'll take you home."
He slides off the seat as the two women make their way back to the table. Spencer looks at you. "What time do you get off?"
You gulp, "Two-thirty."
He looks at his watch at the same time you check the clock on the far wall behind him. It's 12:42.
"I'll be here."
And with that, he leaves you standing there, mouth open and pulse humming with anticipation. All you can think is,
No fucking way that just happened.
***
It's just past 2:45 when you've closed up shop. All your employees were gone, the bar was clean and the chairs were up on the tables. Everything had been prepped for opening tomorrow, and you can breath a little easier.
You've been sweeping the same two spots for about fifteen minutes, mind whirling with the possibilities of what could happen when Spencer came back.
If he comes back, your mind reminds you, causing you to dart your eyes to the clock. 2:53, you note. He's late.
You try not to seem so disappointed. You've left the door unlocked, which you never do past closing, just opting for a big We're Closed! sign, just in case a particular person were to stumble back here.
You've changed, discarding your typical bar attire of a black shirt and jeans. You've switched to your typical comfortable attire, leggings and a tighter-than-usual crop top.
And if that was to make your boobs look better... well, you were just glad no one else was around to notice your efforts.
You don't hear him as he comes in, your back to the door. You've bent down to grasp the near-empty dustpan, walking to the trash to throw it away. It isn't until you're washing your hands does he make his presence known.
"All done for the night?"
You whip your head up, finding him standing before you in the same clothes you last saw him in. Spencer's tie is even looser around his neck, and now you can see the navy dress pants he had on, sleek belt around his waist. A quiet smile reaches your lips at his feet.
"Converse? Doesn't seem to fit your whole professional vibe you've got going on," You ignore his question, drying your hands.
He smiles back, "They're comfortable." He shrugs.
Neither of you move, you can't even seem to take a breath without your chest constricting in nervousness.
"So," you start, your tone full of fake bravado, "what made you want to stop by?"
Spencer doesn't speak as you make your way from behind the counter, his eyes zeroing in on your chest. You feel a sense of pride envelope you.
"I'm pretty sure we both know the answer to that." He says, walking towards you.
Your heart is beating out of your chest. You feel yourself slipping into your naturally flirtatious state, not quite as anxious around him. You like that's it's just you and him in the room, in a room that's yours. There's no lingering gazes on him, no drunk friends to interrupt and no noise. Just the sound of both your breathing.
He's directly in front of you now, but still not close enough to touch. You bore into his eyes. "Humor me."
Spencer takes a step, reaching his hand out and tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, hand sliding down your hair and grazing your neck. His touch sends your body into overdrive. The only think you can think is, more, more, more.
"Well," he says, smirk lighting up his features, "there was a pretty girl waiting here that I thought needed my attention."
You damn near growl at his teasing. It makes you realize that he wants you to crack first. He wasn't going to give in too easy. Well, unfortunately for Spencer Reid, you weren't one to back down from a challenge.
Stepping closer, you peer up at him through your lashes. You lick your lips, trailing your right hand up his arm. "Is the illustrious, captivating, Spencer Reid calling me pretty?"
"I could call you a lot more if you'd like?"
You chuckle, your roaming hand coming at stop on his stomach. If you thought Spencer Reid's face was a phenomenon, his body must have been the eighth wonder of the world. He was tall and lean, not overly muscular, but you could tell he was strong. His stomach was taught and hard to the touch, and you had a gut feeling half of that was from him trying to keep his cool.
It excites you, probably more than it should’ve, to know that Spencer was having a hard time controlling himself around you. He was always so poised, so sophisticated. You wanted to see what it looked like when Spencer Reid let go. You wanted to watch him absolutely come undone.
You toyed with his his belt buckle for a moment, smirking as his hand grabbed yours. You peer up at him innocently. "What's the matter?" you leaned forward. "Pretty boy can't take the heat?"
His eyes are darker than you've ever seen them, you can see his struggle to keep his composure. You can tell he's surprised at your change in demeanor. Gone was the fumbling bartender that avoided his eyes. You were a flirt by nature, and now, on your turf, without anyone around, you could express yourself the way you wanted.
Spencer's large hand releases yours, instead trailing the curve of your ass. You're desperate for some friction to your aching core, but you weren't about to give in any time soon. If he wanted you, he was going to work for it.
It takes everything in you not to gasp when he turns you around, pulling your back flush to the front of his body. You feel a smirk of his own as he presses his face into your hair, lips finding your ear. "Dangerous game you're playing, pretty girl."
Your voice is breathy and winded, considering his hand is teetering on the waist line of your pants. "I play to win, boy wonder."
He dips his hand into your leggings, and you swear to god you have to recite the alphabet backwards in your mind just to focus on anything else. His middle finger brushes your center, causing you to arch your back against him. You can feel him hardening under his slacks, practically bursting at the seams.
He hums, brushing against you again. Your body is practically shaking. "Tell me what you want."
You don't speak, eyes closed with your head against his shoulder. He brushes you again, and you can't help but whine at the contact. "Use your words, baby."
You scoff, but it sounds more desperate than anything else. "You're a bastard," you groan. "how are those for words?"
His hands disappear from your leggings, and he turns you around so fast you can't even blink first. His hand is on your throat now, squeezing ever so slightly. "I don't think I like that nickname as much as the others."
Spencer's eyes are scorching, the burn of his gaze settling in your stomach in a beautiful way. You're losing, you can tell, so you rack your brain trying to think of something to up the stakes. Your eyes settle on his tie.
You pull it harshly, causing him to lurch forward suddenly. Your faces are inches apart, and Spencer's hands grip your hip and throat tighter. "You're not the only one who likes to play dirty, Doctor."
You undo his tie, peeling his hands off you. He lets you do whatever you're planning, eyebrow raised in question. You tie his hands together, tight enough for there to be a bit of a struggle, but not nearly tight enough to be hard to escape. You look up at him. "Now you don't get to touch."
His eyes widen slightly as you undo his belt, sliding down to your knees. He groans as you trace the curve of his length, pulling his slacks and underwear down in one go.
He doesn't even get to blink as you swallow nearly half of him down, flattening your tongue underneath him. Spencer moans, a sound that makes you dizzy with pleasure.
"Fuck, Y/N," Your name sounds heavenly falling from his lips. You quicken your movements slightly, one hand at the base of his dick, twisting with every bob of your head. He thrusts into your mouth, groaning loudly at the sound of you gagging on him.
"God, you look so pretty with your lips around my dick." He borderline growls, chest rising and falling rapidly. You bring your lips to the head of his cock, sucking harshly. You swirl your tongue around his tip, and to make him suffer you look up at him while sinking your mouth to the base of him.
He's a groaning mess above you, both your eyes locking. You feel one of his hands, the tie still wrapped around his wrist, make a harsh grip on your hair, and you moan, enjoying the sting. The moan that reverberates through his dick makes him animalistic, snapping his hips harsher, to the point where you can feel him at the back of your throat.
Spencer looks so fucking beautiful in the low lights, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. He's thrusting in time with your mouth, and when you feel his hips stutter, you release his cock with a loud pop.
He looks down at you in alarm, eyes wide and glossy. You almost laugh at the desperation in them. He looked like a wounded animal. "What the fuck are you doing?"
You smile smugly, feeling the spit dribble down your chin, lips wet. "Still down to play? Cause I think I might be beating you, Doctor."
"Fuck that," He yanks your head back, bending down to you. "You win. This time."
That's all you needed to hear before you let him guide your head back to his hard and aching cock. The precum that's accumulated at the head of him is inviting, so you suck on the tip harshly, to add insult to injury more than anything.
Spencer shoves your face back down to the base of him, your nose flush with his skin. You hollow out your cheeks, letting his dick hit the back of your throat repeatedly.
When he's ready to come again, he stills, and you lift your mouth off him momentarily. "Give me all of it, Spence."
It's the last thing he needs before he's shooting into your mouth, warm seed sliding down your throat as a guttural moan rips through him. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Spencer Reid is in shambles. His hair is messy and in every direction, his chest is rising and falling at an alarming pace, and his eyes are scrunched together so tight, the skin is paler than usual.
He looks gorgeous. You can't help but think about how you wanted to see that face every single god damn day.
You tuck his dick back into his underwear, helping his wobbly arms button his pants again. You stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. There's tears streaming down your face, and your throat is tantalizingly raw. You already miss the weight of him against your tongue.
"So that's what you do in between ridding the world of bad guys, huh?" You say, alluding to your previous conversation. "You make all the pretty girls cry?"
Spencer looks at you, face blank, and you can feel your own fall. You'd be absolutely crushed if he wanted nothing to do with you after that. You can't say you didn't expect it though, mostly because you couldn't imagine Spencer having all of the women in the world to choose from and him settling on you.
He wordlessly walks up to you, grabbing your throat and pulling you to him. Your lips collide with fervent desperation, like he couldn't go one more second without tasting you.
His lips are warm and plump, enveloping your own in gentle possessiveness you could get drunk on. One of Spencer's hands is rubbing circles on your hip, and your heart is almost falling of your chest at the feeling. Your hands are in his hair, running through them like you've always dreamed. You want to freeze the moment in time so you can always have this feeling.
"You're incredible," Reid says, pulling back. "I want to do this again. But the right way first." He breathes a laugh.
"The right way?" The hope in your voice is sickening and you know it. Reid's eyes soften, wiping away the excess tears on your cheeks. He places a soft kiss on your lips.
"Yeah, the right way." You share a smile with him. "I actually came to ask you out, not have my soul sucked out through my dick."
You laugh, sharp and surprised. "Well, what a lucky guy you are. I was feeling generous tonight."
"Yeah, I am." He says, seriously. "Have dinner with me?"
You nod, shy smile, heart eyes on full display. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"C'mon," he says. Spencer grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. His smile is warm, blanketing you with contentment and setting fire to your insides. "Let me drive you home."
