tags: boss/assistant, piv, fingering, spanking, office sex, picking up the phone mid-sex, name calling
“Are you a virgin?”
You asked Nanami once when you were two hours past your shift to which he dodged the question.
It's nine in the evening on a Saturday night. You were supposed to be in the club with your girls, but here you are instead. Stuck in the same old boring office waiting for his signal for you to clock out.
Nanami seems to have other plans for you these past few days. You're supposed to leave work after ordering his dinner but lately he's been keeping you longer than your usual work hours and it's been pissing you off.
This happened for about four days now. And you might just know what it means but you don't want to assume too much.
You could see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren't looking. Or how he always offers to give you a ride home so you won't have to take the train.
He seems pretty invested in whatever work he's doing, so you asked random questions to gain his attention and to kill time.
“Where is this coming from?” your name left his lips like some kind of foreign language. He usually kept a stoic face, not showing much emotion. You could never tell what mood he's in.
But this time though, you could see his facial expression shift a little.
A smirk crept up your face.
“So you are a virgin.” you confirm your assumption. Nanami shut his eyes as he placed his fingers on his temple, tired dealing with whatever nonsense you're onto.
The man is in his late twenties and spends most of his days and nights in his crappy big office with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city view.
He probably spends more time with you than anyone else.
Does he even have a life outside this office?
“This is—” Nanami pauses to think of the right words to put out. “quite personal for work hours, yeah?”
“I got off work two hours ago.” you were just waiting for your signal to clock out and you are losing your patience.
He ignores you. But you poke him more.
“So you are a virgin, huh.” you repeated it like it's the prophecy written in the stars for him. You walked up to his desk and placed both hands on the desk. He finally lifted his head from his laptop.
“I had some experiences, yeah?” he gave in. His eyes went back to his laptop. You could feel his breathing shift, like he's more nervous.
He's definitely a virgin.
If you were to describe Nanami with just one word, you couldn't think of any words that fit him.
A workaholic, maybe. You could see his eyebrows furrowed when he's on the phone call with his clients.
He doesn't laugh at anything, takes everything way too seriously, and is way too focused on his company.
At some point in your life as his assistant, you thought that this man was going to die alone and that's a really sad reality for him.
Does he even have a life besides working? Is he even dating? Most guys his age have dated already at least.
He's just straight out boring and takes away the fun in everything. The age difference between the two of you isn't even that big, so you wonder what is considered ‘fun’ to him.
Probably working.
You nodded at his answer and just stared at him, trying to read what's on his mind. You have to admit, he does look hot, especially in his suit. Bet he looks even better without it.
You shake that thought away. Why are you even fantasizing about that? He's your boss.
“Do you have a wife?” you continue to ask away. This time you walked your way to the massive window displaying the glowing city on the horizon.
No answer.
You turned to face Nanami who seemed to be typing something on his laptop.
“A husband?” you tried again.
You could tell it was a rough day for Nanami by just the way he sighs. And you're probably making it even worse by asking him these weird personal questions.
You just want him to call it a night and kick you out.
“What?”
“It's okay, I don't judge you know, there's nothing wrong—”
“No.” he cuts you off.
You just stared at him. There are some white strands of hair visible on parts of his hair. Probably from all the stress he's carrying.
Maybe he could use a little stress reliever.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” you made your way next to Nanami and leaned closer to take a peak on what he's working on.
That was it. Something inside Nanami just snapped.
He walked up to you at full speed and pinned you against the window. The kiss that follows was desperate, like he's been waiting for this moment for his whole life.
You kiss him back, clinging your arms around his neck. This is it. The moment you've been waiting for. You knew he wanted you, you just don't know how to prove it.
He unbuttons your blouse and yanks off your pencil skirt in the blink of an eye. You did the same to his clothes, struggling to undo the buttons with your shaky hands.
Soon enough, both of your clothes are discarded on the floor and he's kissing you hungrily.
He tucks some strands of your hair behind your ear and trails down to your chin, lifting it up to make eye contact with you.
“Nanami—”
“Kento.” he corrects.
“Fuck me, please, Kento.” you tried to press your weight to his. He just smirks at you in return.
“Beg for it.” he turned you back and pressed you to the window and you could almost feel the entire city watching the two of you inside the skyscraper.
“Make me.” you responded, not wanting to obey another order from your boss.
The thrill of getting caught in the act made you even more excited. Your heart rate rises when he pulls your hair, making you arch back. His other hand cupped your left boob making you whimper.
“I’m not gonna repeat myself.” he leans closer to you and whispers to you, kissing your ear that makes you tingle. “Beg. for. it.”
Anyone from the outside could catch the two of you if they looked close enough. The thought of it makes you even wetter.
Right now, all you care about is what's happening from the inside and tonight, you decided that you're not clocking out until you get to fuck Nanami Kento.
“Please, fuck me. I need you, Kento.”
That's all that he needs to hear before he proceeds to bend you down on his desk.
Your stomach felt the cold desk immediately but you didn't have enough time to react because Kento’s hand reached out and pulled your hair, making your body weight shift up from the cold desk.
“Let this be a lesson for you to stop being such a brat.” his hand spanked your ass and you jolted, not expecting he'd do that. You let out a muffled sound.
His fingers find their way to your clit and circle around it. Soon enough, his index finger slips inside you, then another.
You let out a satisfied moan when he curved his fingers. Once you are wet enough, Kento grabbed his hard cock and started pumping it before he angled his tip on your dripping opening.
“Are you sure about this?” he gives you one last chance to back off before it's too late. You nodded your head.
“Use your words.” he spanks you again.
“Yes, I'm sure—”
That's all Kento needed to hear before he grabs your ass and thrusts into you. You swear you almost escalated to heaven. For a moment, your vision turned white and the sound you let out was utterly embarrassing.
He smacks your ass again, “You like that, you brat?” he thrusts even harder, hitting every sweet spot of yours. You let out a long embarrassing moan.
Your hand grips the edge of the desk, holding it for your dear life.
“What? Cat got your tongue now?”
You moaned in response, head too foggy to think of what to say. He spanks you hard.
“Yes, just like that!” he continues to thrust deep in you, pulling you hair as he places kisses on your shoulder. He made sure to leave some marks. For the memories.
The sound of a phone ringing from a distance didn't make Kento stop.
“Keep quiet.” He flips your body and how you're laying on your back. You lift your legs and place it on his shoulders. He continues to fuck you like a ragdoll.
He answers the phone and your eyes widened.
His hand massages one of your tits and pinches your nipple in between. You covered your mouth, trying your best not to let your moans escape your mouth.
Hot tears burst out from you trailing down your cheeks. You could see Kento's mouth moving, uttering out words you can't seem to make out.
Each thrust makes it even harder for you to contain your moans.
He hung up the phone and threw it somewhere on the floor. And you lost control, letting the moans out as you cried. You prayed that no one would pass by the office to witness this scandalous behavior of yours.
“I'm close.” you cried out. your hands gripped the edge of the desk right as you curl your toes.
The paperwork and things on his desk have long been scattered down on the floor. You couldn't care less.
“Together yeah?” he orders. He speeds up his thrusting. You didn't even notice your legs were shaking uncontrollably until he grabbed them.
You arched your back and his weight crashed down to your, shooting out white fluids on your stomach.
The adrenaline has slowed down and your brain has finally registered what you had just done.
Fuck.
Literally.
At least you got your answer.
Nanami Kento is definitely not a virgin.
a/n: please lmk what y'all think about this lololol thank you for reading!
Sometimes he forgets just how big he is, but you never fail to remind him.
He remembers everytime you sit next to him and you take up half of the space he does, smaller thighs pressed to his.
Everytime he tugs on your tactical gear to make sure everything’s in place before a mission and you glance up at him wide eyed, dwarfed in his shadow.
Everytime you chose him as your sparring partner and he pins you under his muscular thighs, pelvis pressed to your ass purposefully.
You like it, he knows you do. It’s apparent from the way heat radiates off you in waves when you’re next to him, from the way your lashes flutter and your lips part when he stares down at you, from the way your legs twitch together for something more anytime his larger hands touch you.
So, when he finally gets you spread around his fat cock after months of you staring at him with hunger in your eyes, it’s amusing the way you protest like you don’t like it, like you haven’t been imaging him stuffing you full, haven’t been imagining how easy it would be for him to pin you down and make you take it.
“Ghost ‘s too much— too big.”
Your words are broken between choked breathes, tears framing your lashes, pawing at his hold on you like he’s suffocating you and he’s barely half way through. His hands engulf your waist, fingers touching at the small of your back as he pushes you to take more.
Your glassy eyes and tinged brows are a sight, but the way your tight cunt stretches thin around his girth is even better.
summary: könig has never properly orgasmed before, so you decide to help give him his first.
tags/cw: sub!könig . handjobs . overstim . femdom . praise kink . first orgasm . masturbation . dry humping . light d/s . pet names . nipple play
notes: posted this awhile back on ao3! let me know if any cw(tags) are missing! warning: i use a lot of google translated german, sorry if any of it is incorrect.
wc: 3.7k
The mission was a success—just barely. After a narrow escape from death, you returned a hero. Had you not been with your team, or even just missed that final turn, everyone would be injured, maybe even fatally. Everyone on base jumped at the chance to celebrate, eager to turn your team’s hard-won victory into an excuse to get drunk and hit the club. Not that you minded. After a mission like that, there was nothing better than poisoning yourself with a lovely bottle of vodka.
“Ah! There you are, unsere Heldin,” a familiar voice boomed behind you. Already smiling, you turn to him. “König! Glad you’re feeling better, buddy,” you gleam, lightly punching his shoulder. It was rather funny: despite being an absolute mammoth of a man, he was sick the entire mission due to food poisoning. He still did his best, mostly sniper work from afar, since he didn’t need to be moving too much. It was great to see that he is in fact human and not some mythological god; that he gets sick too. And he is quite sassy when he’s ill, for that matter.
Königs eyes crinkle beneath his mask, you assume he’s got a wide grin plastered on his hidden face. “Ja, danke. Look, I brought presents.” Your eyes trail to his lifted hands, they carry four shot glasses filled with clear liquid. They rest between his large fingers, two in each hand. He holds them tightly yet confidently, knowing he won’t let them spill or drop.
You smile and clap your hands before taking two of the four shots from him. Tilting your head towards an empty booth, König nods and follows. You sit side by side, shoulders touching, and knees bumping. Sliding the glasses on the wooden table before you, you realize some of the liquid had spilled on your hand. Not wanting it to get sticky when it dries, and not wanting to get back up to go to the bathroom, you mindlessly darted your tongue out. König watched as you quickly lapped the tip of your tongue against a corner of your palm. It was quick, done in a second, and you met his eyes. Rolling yours, you huff a laugh and explain, “I spilled some.” He already assumed so, so he nodded and smiled.
You always enjoyed being around König. At first he was quite intimidating and kind of a dick, but you accumulated that he’s just a bit shy and would rather come off as an arrogant asshole than an anxious coward. Of course, you’ve never seen him as such, even as he learned to grow comfortable with you. Now he was your greatest friend, comrade, and ally.
“Let’s drink!” You beam. Quickly grabbing one of the shot glasses, you hand it to König, then hold one up for yourself. König clinks his glass to yours and says, “auf ex!” He lifts his mask just above his lips before quickly throwing the shot back. Simply staring, your eyes trail over his now bare skin. The scars that litter his skin, one a clean line across his throat. The light stubble that was forgotten to be shaved. His head drops back down, the fabric of his hood conceals him once again. With eyes studying you with slight confusion, he asks, “why did you not drink?”
Blinking, you awkwardly chuckle. “Sorry, I just… forgot that you actually have a face under there. Or half of it, as far as I know.”
With an amused huff, König looked away. “I am not a monster, Mäuschen.” His thumb playing with the rim of his glass.
You raise a brow, “really? So who was that on the mission with me? Y’know, the one who was being a total ass.”
“Du bist lustig,” he laughs, shaking his head.
Still holding your shot, you raise it to him before tipping your head back and relaxing your throat. Fucking gin. You make a face and König nods his head to question it. “Gin, Seriously? You knew I hate that shit, you ass,” you laugh as you punch his shoulder lightly. Even if you hit him as hard as you can, you doubt he’d be in much distress. With his hands up in mock defense, he shakes his head. “Nein, I did not know! Versprechen.” Clicking your tongue, you roll your eyes and stand. “Well I’m going to get more drinks—ones I like—you want?”
König quickly fishes through his pockets and pulls out his wallet, handing you a black card. Raising an eyebrow, you twirl it in your hand. “It’s my fault you did not like your drink. So I must make it up to you.” You almost squealed out loud before clearing your throat and giving the card back, “no it’s okay. You didn’t know.”
Suddenly he towers over you. You furrow your brows but are cut off to speak when he does instead. “I will go,” he pushes you to sit in his place. “What drink do you like?” You answer, giving him a few of your go-tos. “Warte hier, don’t move.” And he’s off.
Your eyes tail him, watching as he carefully navigates through a small group of people. It’s like he changes completely when he’s around you, because as you watch him now, he seems uncomfortable. Awkward. Maybe even annoyed. Not at you, that you know. Maybe the bartender is saying something he doesn’t like? König has been ordering for a bit now. Finally, he turns away from the waiter, his eyes scanning around before meeting yours. You give him a wink which he mirrors. Though he slightly stutters? He accidentally blinked harshly twice before getting a successful wink. You roll your eyes in a laugh while he turns back around to pick up the drinks.
With new drinks on the table, you quickly begin sipping on your favourite. “We must celebrate you, ja? Unsere Heldin,” his eyes smile at you. You bite your lip in a grin and nod, “of course! But let’s be considerate with these drinks, I’m quite the lightweight. Wouldn’t want to blackout for our party.” König nods and picks up his drink, pulls his mask up, and drinks slowly. He knows you’re staring, a curious little thing, so he gives you a few extra seconds. And when he finishes, he doesn’t let his hood fall immediately, instead he flashes a smile, mouth flush and scarred with crooked teeth, but rather cute. You mirror his expression, and he finally lets his hood down.
You have no idea how you ended up back in your room, but here you are. Flat on your stomach, clothes scrunched uncomfortably, with sweat beads daring to leak down. You sit up, your hands darting around to feel for your phone. Unsuccessful, but at least every room gets a clock. You peer up at it after turning on the light, around two in the morning.
Not even thinking of the possibility of going back to sleep, you decide to just shower and look for your phone.
All cleaned up and dressed in new clothes, you slip on some slippers and leave your room. Taking a step toward the break room, you immediately swing around. You decide to visit König. After all, he would’ve been the only person to know what happened all night. You don’t remember much of anything after he brought your drinks. You even doubt he’s asleep, recalling the time where he confessed he struggles with sleeping, and only gets a few hours a night if any.
You’ve never been inside his room, only by the door when you came to relay messages or converse. His room was a bit more private, farther down the hall from others due to his higher rank. You wouldn’t be surprised if his room was bigger, as well.
Finally, you’re met with said room. But before your fist meets the wooden door, you freeze. Strange noises litter behind the door. You could hear frantic movement as well as sounds of… pain? You were unsure, but a bit alarmed. You had to intervene, right? You wanted to be a good friend and be there for him. You know he would be there for you. Your worries are subsided when Königs voice whines, “scheiße. Bitte, bitte, b-bitte…” More sounds of frantic shuffling evoke before he lets out a quiet sob and goes quiet.
You deem it incredibly weird for you to be standing here listening to him doing… whatever it is he’s doing. Cursing yourself mentally, you turn to leave. But of course the flooring decides to let out the loudest creaking sound. Rolling your eyes, you keep walking forward, slowly to not make so much noise.
“Maus?”
Fuck. You spin around to see his poked out head in front of his door. He has a black tank top on, with his hood, of course. You can’t see his lower half, though. You click your tongue and give him a deer-in-headlights look before masking it with a soft smile. “Uh, hey.”
“Do you want to come in?” He asks tilting his head. You feel embarrassed, caught. Like he knows you stood behind the door for a few minutes listening at the odd noises from within. But you purse your lips and nod nonetheless, “sure.” He leaves the door cracked open before slipping back inside. When you make it in, you notice that he’s putting pants on, and immediately turn to the wall. Feeling your face heat up, you divert your attention to some of his decor, or lack thereof. There is nothing but a singular book on his shelves, that, deodorant, and cologne. Simple man, it seems. “Entschuldigung. I am finished.”
Turning around, he’s right in front, towering over you. You feel awkward, you practically spied on his private time, standing there like some pervert.
“Did you hear me, Mäuschen?”
Oh, okay. You feel cornered. He knows. You know he knows. He knows you know he knows. It’s just a spiral, and you’re twirling right in it. You worry he’ll take it as a breach of trust, that he’ll be disgusted with you and put the walls he let down back up.
“Es ist okay, I am not mad,” he reassured. Your eyes finally meet his again, a guilty smile resting on your face. “I’m really sorry, I just came to talk to you and I didn’t realize you…” With a shake of his head, you don’t finish your sentence. “Ja, I am not upset. I am a little embarrassed, however.” Your head immediately begins to shake, “no, really, you shouldn’t be. I mean, you were in your private room, it was my fault,” you ramble on.
“Nein, it is not about that. I know that I must have sounded… bizarr,” he stutters out. His hands clench and unclench frequently, and his eyes dart all over his room. You choose your words carefully. admittedly being curious, you decide to ask: “why did you sound like you were in a lot of pain?” Maybe it’s a dumb question and has a super obvious answer, but you have never heard a man make noises like that. Honestly, you haven’t met a man who made noises at all, so this all confused you a bit.
König lets out a huff before dropping on the edge of his bed in front of you. You don’t move, just stare at him. “I am…very sensitive. It is not painful, just… überstimulierend—too much.” With his big hand rubbing the back of his neck, his big blue eyes search yours. Maybe he thinks you’ll be disgusted, that you’ll think ghis is too far away from strictly professional. But you don’t pull away, in fact, you bend to sit next to him. You’re curious, that much he can tell. Hoping to answer your question, he further elaborates, “when I’m close, I can not keep going. My body becomes hard to control—too much.”
Taking in his words, you kind of feel sorry for your friend. You wonder how weird it’s felt all these decades without releasing. Or maybe he has? “Have women… or men, not been able to make you… finish?”
König scoffs, turning his head the opposite direction. “Women laugh. What good is a man who is unable to control himself, they say. What good would I be to please a woman if I can not even please myself,” he chuckles. “Ich bin verflucht.”
Before your mind even begins to think about anything, you blurt out, “let me help you.”
An amused exhale leaves him, yet he shakes his head. “Sag das nicht, Maus. It is not your job to help me.”
You shake your head and put a hand on his shoulder. Yeah, it’s a little weird. Maybe a lot. Not him, but the whole situation, plus you offering to help. But why not? It shouldn’t be too hard, right? “I really wouldn’t mind. I would never judge you either.”
He takes a moment. Two moments. Three. Then he nods. “Okay, w-we can try.”
Smiling, you nod and stand up in front of him. “Lay down on the bed.” He obliges, and you take the moment to pull off your sweatshirt. Now simply wearing a tank top and sweat-shorts. Your nipples poke through the thin fabric, instantly grabbing Königs attention. His eyes jumped from your peaks to your eyes over and over before he clears his throat. “So… what now?”
“I want to see what happens when you do it to yourself.”
He stills momentarily, a nervous laugh peeling from him. “I told you…” Embarrassment floods his eyes, as he grows vulnerable before you.
Shrugging, you move to straddle his thighs, just missing his half-hard erection. Or maybe he isn’t hard at all, and is just that big. Who knows. Königs eyes trace your hips around him, his arms glued to his sides. “How can I figure out how to help if I don’t know exactly what the problem is? Unless you don’t want my help?”
Shaking his head, he refuses and quickly assures, “nein, I am happy you want to help. But to do what you ask I need to be… erregt.” You nod and scooched closer until you sit right onto his member. He lets out a huff at your actions before hesitantly lifting his hands to wrap around the sides of your waist. Big and rough, the bare skin seeps warmth into your body. You both move slowly in all your actions, treating this situation as a live science experiment that could potentially blow up in your faces.
Leaning in closer, you carefully pull his hood up just at his nose. He allows you, though his body stiffens slightly. Big blue eyes analyze your face meanwhile, watching how carefully you touch him. With his lips now bare, you stare at them shamelessly, and lick your own. His eyes follow your pink muscle darting out to wet your lips. “Imagine I’m a pretty girl that you want to have sex with, that should help get you… going.” Your eyes meet his for a second before you lean down and meet his lips. It’s gentle, slow, and testing. Though not chapped, his lips feel a lot more rough against yours, scarred skin shifting against your smooth one. His fingers slightly shift up and down against your waist and hips, spreading warmth. Letting out a soft sigh, you pull away.
“You are a pretty girl,” he mumbles. You watch his lips as the words leave, seeing his sharp canines poke out. What he said starts a flutter of softness inside you, your pulse slightly fastening. You feel a bit flustered, so instead of responding you just meet his lips again.
This time, he seems a little more needy. Instead of the slow tempo you had set moments before, he moves faster now. His tongue darts into your mouth to explore, which you allow. Meanwhile, you slide your arms to grab his hands, bringing and placing them onto your clothed breasts. He freezes fully for a second before his hands hesitantly squeeze your flesh. Still connected by mouths, you let out a soft moan. This causes König to squeeze again before simply kneading and toying with your breasts.
Slowly, you start to grind back and forth on him. To stimulate him, but also yourself. With just that one slide of friction, König let out a moan with a buck of his hips. Shit, he wasn’t lying when he said he was sensitive. You move again, pressing down harder against him. Whimpering, he pulls away from your lips to catch air. You freeze, allowing him to calm down. His fingers toy with your nipples through the fabric, pinching and rolling the hard buds. He feels impossibly solid beneath you, so you ask, “you think you’re ready now?”
Quickly, he nods. You stand up and begin to pull down his pants as well as his boxers. As his cock springs out, your eyes grow wide. Thick, long, and wet. With a swollen red tip and pale veined skin, it stands tall before hitting Königs stomach. Clearing your throat in attempt to pull yourself out of your trance, you go back to straddle his thighs. From this position, you can basically see how far into you his dick would go, and it sends butterflies thrashing through you.
”Okay, go on,” you instruct. König obliges, his hand wrapping around himself before you. He already lets out a whine. Fingers squeezing himself tightly while he runs his hand from the tip to base. His legs shift a lot under you, tensing and twitching. With eyes glued to your chest, you decide to go a bit further for him. Slipping out of your tank top, you sit half-naked on him. “Scheiße, so schön, Maus,” he moans.
With his hand pumping himself quickly, he already feels his orgasm building. His body starts to spasm, his back arching, hips bucking, and arms straining. The noises he makes are pathetic, whimpering and sobbing as pleasure engulfs him. “You’re doing so good, keep going,” you encourage. He whines at your words, his mouth resting agape.
“No. Nein—too much,” he moans as he reaches his peak, he suddenly lets go of himself as his body twists and turns. His arms move to grip the bed frame behind him, his knees bend, and he tries to fold himself completely. Sounds of sobbing mixed with whimpering leak out of him while he tries to calm down. Instead of ejaculating like he had needed, more pre-cum spit out of his pulsing tip.
As much as you feel bad, you can’t help but drink in the sight before you. A mammoth of a man whining and moaning because he can’t make himself cum. Instead of relishing your newfound desire, you comfort him. “It’s okay, I’ll help you.”
Finally calm, König stretches out his limbs once again, and meets your eyes. “Please,” he whispers, his pink lips pursing. His hands squeeze at your thighs before running up and down your hips. With big doe eyes staring at you, you smile softly.
Slowly, your hands trace his inner thighs lightly. It causes goosebumps to form on his pale skin, prickled hairs sticking up. “Bitte, no teasing,” he pleads. You shift to sit beside him, rather than on his thighs. “You’re gonna be okay, just let me take care of you,” you soothe before promptly wrapping your hand around his dick. He moans, hands shifting all over to find something to hold before grabbing the pillow under him. “Try not to move so much, I know it’s hard. Just try your best.” He nods, “ja, o-okay.” Gripping the pillow, he lets his head fall back and his eyes screw shut. His body still twitches and shuffles, but not as much. His hips, however, still buck rather wildly.
You run your hand up and down his length, circling your thumb on his tip when you reach it. You didn’t even need any lubrication as he’s been leaking this whole time. “Good boy,” you coo, “you’re doing so well.” You stop moving your hand, instead allowing him to thrust into it on his own. Shuddering and shivering, he whimpers. “Bitte, ich brauche mehr,” he mutters. You watch as his still revealed lips part and his teeth sink down into it. His thrusts grow messy as his legs move frantically and randomly. So, you begin moving your hand again, this time at a much more rapid pace.
König almost screams, a sound of a sob-like moan leaving him instead. His body contorts as if he was trying to pull away from you, fight you. You weren’t planning on stopping, though, eager to give him what he needs. His arms tighten around the pillow while he moans. “Ich kann nicht. Bitte hör auf,” he stammers.
You can tell he’s close now; his eyes rolling back before screwing shut. Lips going from being bit, to licked, to tightened. His whole body twitching, shuddering, and shivering at every passing second. And the sounds he’s making, god, you can practically feel what he is.
You whisper praise after praise into his ear.
”You can do it.” “You’re being so good.” “Such a pretty cock.” “Good boy.”
Finally, you can tell he’s at the same point he was earlier, before he stopped and practically edged himself. His body jolting over and over, trying its hardest to get away from you. Sobs leaking out of him as he begs you to stop. “Es ist zu viel, bitte hör auf. Bitte—Bitte! Too much!”
You sped up, squeezing tighter as you pumped his length. Your other hand reached under to fondle his sack, earning a yelp from him. “Let go. You can do it, it’s okay. Cum for me.”
With eyes rolling back, mouth agape, and arms suffocating his pillow, he obliges. His hips buck up wildly, his back arching, he lets go. “Oh, yeah—Scheiße,” he moans. Rope after rope of hot white fluid spurts out of him. His head thrashes left and right as he rides out his orgasm. When it’s over, he lays still and spent, breathing wild and eyes heavy. His arms loosen and his legs flop down.
You quickly let go of his softening penis, “good boy. You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
König lets out a sigh and turns his head to you. Softly, he presses his lips against yours. Swollen and warm, they move slowly. Leaning in closer, you hold his jaw in your hands, tracing your thumb back and forth on the scarred skin.
Pulling away, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, lingering. ”Thank you, mein Schatz.”
Summary: Y/N spends the day deliberately provoking Natasha with bratty behavior . Natasha finally snaps and gives Y/N exactly the rough discipline and domination she was craving.
Warnings: MDIN! Dom/sub dynamic, Impact play (spanking with riding crop), Explicit sexual content, Overstimulation, Consensual "Brat" dynamic
Word Count: 1,767
Natasha had put up with it all day. The eye rolls. The sarcastic comments delivered with that particular smirk. The way Y/N had "accidentally" knocked her coffee mug just close enough to the edge of the table to make her catch it, then giggled when Natasha's reflexes kicked in.
It was deliberate. Every single moment of it.
Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. She'd been pushing buttons since breakfast, escalating through lunch, and by dinner she was practically vibrating with the need for attention. The bad kind. The kind that ended with her exactly where she wanted to be.
"Something funny, malyshka?" Natasha asked, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that made Y/N's stomach flip.
"Nope." Y/N popped the 'p', grinning around her fork. "Just thinking about how patient you are. All day. With my little… accidents."
Natasha set her own fork down with deliberate care. The sound of metal against porcelain shouldn't have been threatening, but somehow it was. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Calling what?" Innocent eyes. Devil's smile.
"Get up."
Y/N's pulse jumped. She stayed seated. "I'm not done eating."
"Now."
The command hit like a physical thing. Y/N felt her thighs press together under the table, felt the heat that had been building all day spike dangerously. She made a show of sighing, of rolling her eyes again, of pushing her chair back slowly, so slowly, before standing.
Natasha was already moving, circling the table with that predatory grace that had nothing to do with her training and everything to do with knowing exactly what Y/N needed.
"You're being difficult on purpose," Natasha observed, stopping just inside Y/N's personal space. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her, not close enough to touch.
"Am I?" Y/N tilted her chin up, defiant. "Maybe you're just… sensitive today. Getting all worked up over nothing."
"Over nothing?" Natasha's hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Y/N's jaw not rough, but firm. Possessive. "You've been begging for this since you woke up. Since you decided to be a brat instead of using your words like a good girl."
Y/N's breath hitched. The grip on her face, the disappointment in Natasha's tone, it was exactly what she'd been fishing for all day. "Maybe I don't want to be good."
"Oh, I know." Natasha's thumb traced the curve of Y/N's cheekbone, almost tender despite the tension crackling between them. "You want to be punished. You want me to make you behave because you can't do it yourself."
"I don't-"
"Don't lie to me." The hand at her jaw tightened just enough to sting. "You've been dripping wet since breakfast, haven't you? Every time you talked back, every time you made me chase that mug or 'accidentally' brushed against me in the hallway, you've been hoping I'd finally snap."
Y/N's face burned. Denial died on her tongue because Natasha was right, because she could feel the evidence of it between her legs, because being called out so bluntly made her knees weak.
"Words, Y/N."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I've been… I've been thinking about it. All day."
Natasha's smile was sharp enough to cut. "There she is. Finally honest." She released Y/N's jaw only to grab her wrist, pulling her toward the bedroom with ungentle urgency. "You want to act like a brat who needs discipline? Fine. I'll treat you like one."
The bedroom door clicked shut and Natasha was on her, pressing her back against the wood with a thigh shoved between her legs. Y/N gasped at the pressure, at the sudden hardness of Natasha's body against her softness.
"Strip," Natasha ordered, stepping back. "Now. And if you take too long, I'll add to your punishment."
Y/N's fingers fumbled with her buttons, her earlier bravado evaporating under the heat of Natasha's gaze. She'd wanted this, good god, she'd wanted it but the reality of being stared at like prey made her hands shake.
She closed the distance again, batting Y/N's hands away to tear the remaining clothes off herself. Fabric ripped. Buttons scattered. Y/N gasped as cool air hit her skin, then gasped again as Natasha's palm connected with her ass, sharp and sudden.
"That's one," Natasha said, spinning her around and marching her toward the bed. "For the coffee."
"Nat-"
"Quiet." Another smack, harder, on the other cheek. "Two. For the attitude at lunch."
Y/N was bent over the edge of the mattress, her face pressed into the comforter, her ass exposed and already stinging. She heard Natasha moving behind her, heard the slide of a drawer, and whimpered in anticipation.
"Three," Natasha continued, and Y/N felt something smooth and cool trace down her spine, a riding crop, she realized, her arousal spiking. "For looking at me like that at the briefing. Like you wanted to be bent over the table right there in front of everyone."
"I did," Y/N admitted, her voice muffled.
"I know." The crop tapped against her thigh, gentle. Teasing. "And four…" It pulled back, whistled through the air, cracked against her skin with a sound that made Y/N cry out. "…for making me wait."
The pain bloomed hot and bright, transforming instantly into something else, something that made her push back for more even as she gasped. Natasha didn't make her wait. The next strike landed on the other side, then another, establishing a rhythm that had Y/N clawing at the sheets, her hips rolling helplessly.
"Stay still," Natasha commanded, and Y/N tried, she really did, but her body had other ideas. Every impact sent electricity shooting to her core, and she was soaked, embarrassingly so, her arousal dripping down her thighs.
"Please," she whined, not even sure what she was asking for. More? Less? Release?
"Please what?" Natasha paused, the crop resting against Y/N's heated skin. "Use your words, since you have so many of them."
"Please… please fuck me. I've been good-"
"You've been terrible," Natasha corrected, but there was laughter in her voice now, fondness mixing with the dominance. "But you've taken your punishment well." She tossed the crop aside and Y/N heard the slide of fabric, the click of a clasp. "So I'll give you what you really wanted."
Y/N tried to look back, to see, but Natasha's hand pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her pinned. Then something hard and smooth was pushing against her entrance, sliding through her wetness with embarrassing ease.
"Look at you," Natasha murmured, working the strap-on in slowly, torturously. "So desperate you could take me dry, but you're dripping. All that attitude, all day, just to end up here. Spread open and taking my cock like a good little brat."
Y/N moaned, her fingers gripping the bedding as Natasha bottomed out. The stretch burned in the best way, the fullness exactly what she'd been craving. When Natasha started to move, so slow, deep thrusts that hit every sensitive spot, Y/N's legs nearly buckled.
"Is this what you wanted?" Natasha asked, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Me inside you? Making you behave?"
"Yes, yes-"
"Couldn't just ask, could you?" Natasha's pace increased, each thrust driving Y/N harder against the mattress. "Had to be difficult. Had to make me work for it."
"I'm sorry-"
"You're not." A sharp smack to her thigh. "But you will be when I'm done with you."
Natasha fucked her like she was trying to prove a point, each stroke deliberate and punishing, angling to hit that spot that made Y/N see stars. The sounds were obscene, wet skin on skin, Natasha's occasional grunts, Y/N's broken moans. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint lingering scent of Natasha's perfume.
"Touch yourself," Natasha ordered. "I want you to come around me."
Y/N's hand slipped between her legs, finding her clit swollen and sensitive. Two strokes and she was trembling, three and she was gasping Natasha's name like a prayer. The combination of the stretch, the friction, the knowledge that she'd been thoroughly claimed it was too much.
"Natasha, I'm… I'm gonna…"
"Come," Natasha commanded, slamming into her hard. "Come now, brat. Show me how much you needed this."
Y/N shattered, her orgasm crashing through her with enough force to blur her vision. She clamped down around the toy, her whole body shaking, her cry muffled against the mattress. Natasha didn't stop, fucking her through it, drawing it out until Y/N was whimpering, overstimulated, tears pricking at her eyes.
"One more," Natasha said, not a request.
"I can't—"
"You can." She pulled out, ignoring Y/N's disappointed whine, and flipped her onto her back. "And you will."
Y/N stared up at her, at the sweat on Natasha's forehead, at the dark flush on her cheeks, at the intensity in her eyes. She looked wild. Beautiful. Y/N reached up, fingers tracing Natasha's jaw, and was rewarded with a softer expression, a brief moment of tenderness before the dominance returned.
Natasha pushed back inside in one smooth thrust, and Y/N's head fell back, her second orgasm already building despite the sensitivity. This angle was different, deeper, more intimate and Natasha leaned down to capture her mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory.
"Mine," Natasha growled against her lips, snapping her hips. "Even when you're being a brat. Especially then."
"Yours," Y/N agreed, arching up to meet her. "All yours."
They moved together, Natasha's rhythm faltering as she watched Y/N chase her release, and Y/N watched her face, memorized the way she looked in the moment before she came eyes blown wide, lips parted, beautiful and wrecked.
Y/N screamed out as she fell over the edge, her voice cracking, and breaking to a moan of pure ecstasy.
Natasha buried her face in Y/N's neck, for a moment they lay there, breathing hard, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat.
"Still feeling bratty?" Natasha asked eventually, her voice rough.
Y/N considered. Her ass was sore, her thighs were shaking, and she felt thoroughly, completely claimed. "Maybe a little," she said, smiling against Natasha's hair. "Might need another lesson later."
Natasha laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Oh, malyshka. You have no idea what you've just signed up for."
She pulled Y/N close, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and Y/N settled into her arms exhausted, satisfied, and already plotting tomorrow's misbehavior.
A/N: Did I just get a seasonal fic out on the day it's meant to come out? I think I did, motherfuckers!
###########################################
Sword in hand, shield on your back, you descended the stairs into the basement. The landlord had been complaining about hearing noises this morning when the tavern opened. Getting rid of rats in a pub basement is the perfect way for an adventurer to cut their teeth.
Edging down the creaking wooden steps, you could hear why they wanted a sellsword. It must be a few huge rats, not the small ones you’d either learn to live with or put down some traps for. Your grip tightened, whatever it was, you’d put an end to it.
When your boot touched the stone at the foot of the stairs, you reached into your coat for a necklace. The only piece of your kit not begged or borrowed, an amulet of light. Closing your eyes for a moment, you touched the pendant with your mind. Tiny pinpricks of light started to float from the trinket. Your heart dropped. The noise wasn't rats.
A thousand black eyes were looking at you. Forming the core of a great mass of mottled greyish tendrils. You started up the stairs again, hoping to outpace it. You weren't that lucky.
The moment you looked away, a tendril wrapped around your waist, pulling you back. Fingernails clawing at the rough stone, you slid backwards. You screamed for help, only to get another slick tendril wrapping around your face, covering your mouth and nose.
More set to work, dextrous feelers undoing buckles where they could, splitting seams where they couldn’t. In seconds, your lower half was bare. Exposed to it, kicking and struggling as your lungs burned. You clawed at your face, stealing thick-smelling air through fleeting openings. Both of your ankles were wrapped now, forcing your legs apart against your straining to keep them closed. A thin tendril trailed slime over your slit. It burned where it touched the sensitive skin, hot and desperate. Your grunts of exertion changed, a note of arousal to match the spreading warmth in your loins. Your mouth hung half open, letting more of the slime flood your senses. The desperate need to be filled flowing down your throat.
You weren’t struggling now.
Holding yourself open for it, feeling the tip of a tendril probe your folds. The slime mingling with your slick, teasing you, almost tasting you before it finally found the opening.
Your body tensed in waves, hands clenching, toes curling, cunt pulsing. You almost doubled over, if not for the strong limbs holding you. More of the slime oozed from the tip, spreading deeper inside. The tip nestled against your cervix, a dull ache mingling with the prickly, tingling heat. You felt it probe against the entrance to your womb, sliding against the tight opening before making purchase. Squirming against your muscles, sliding through until the tip plunged deeper inside than any man could reach.
It waited, throbbing, oozing more of the mind-melting ooze deep inside. Your belly ached, your thighs twitched. It held you like a ragdoll, no longer restraining you but holding you up so it could better reach your fertile holes. Another tendril probed your winking asshole, yet another slipped into your mouth fully. They slid in effortlessly, well lubricated by the drugged mucous driving you insane. Languidly slipping through your body, nestling deep in your guts.
They started to twitch and pulse, thickening within you. They rearranged your insides, stretching out the soft tissues, growing hard and stiff. Then you felt it.
Through the drugged haze, you could feel the thick masses travelling through the tendrils, stretching your already plugged up holes, nestling in your belly and your womb. Your body wanted to cry out, to scream in orgasmic release, but you couldn’t so much as make a noise around the thick breeding plug in your throat. All you could do was hang there, tears streaming from your eyes, feeling yourself twitch and writhe against the slick arms stretching you out.
Your belly began to swell, bloated by the volume of the eggs finding their way inside. Another, then another, then another, until you looked as pregnant as you were. By the time the creature was done with you, you couldn’t move. Holes stretched, belly distended outwards, still leaking juices and twitching with aftershock orgasms.
Summary : When you realize that Spencer likes the way you play with his hair more than you initially thought, you decide to experiment a little.
Word count : 4.2k
Notes/CW : Smut, fluff, hair-pulling, sub Spencer Reid, Oral (r!receiving), reader has female anatomy, no further description of reader, no use of Y/N, idiots in love, plot what plot, lots of mentions of Spencer's hair and eyes because of, course have you seen him??
This can be read as part of the Leaving on a jet plane universe, but it's not a series in any way and you don't need to have read it to read this one.
This is my first time writing smut, and I debated posting it, but think I like how it turned out. As usual, let me know what you thought (especially with this one) and I hope you enjoy ! <33
My masterlist
The same fic on ao3
Leaving on a jetplane
Your attention was torn from the movie playing on the screen by the hushed voice of your boyfriend.
"Can I ?" Spencer asked, gesturing at your lap.
A smile graced your lips as you understood what he was requesting. You'd been together for a few months now, and his displays of affection evolved every day. Recently, he'd discovered the joys of using your lap as a pillow, and the bliss of not having to say anything in order for your hands to explore his soft and messy hair.
As soon as you nodded, the young doctor scooted to adjust his position, before pressing his cheek to the top of your thighs. He curled into himself on the couch, a hand resting on your knee, thumb swiping gently across the fabric of your pants.
When he finally settled, your fingers found their usual spot tangled in his brown curls, twisting gently, absentmindedly, as your eyes went back to the screen.
When you'd first met him in that coffee shop, you'd taken note of his impossibly soft looking hair. The first time you'd kissed him, your hands had flown to the curls, satisfied by the knowledge that they felt exactly as you'd imagined they would.
After the first few weeks of dating, you'd realized just how much he actually enjoyed the contact, the light scrape of your nails on his scalp. You noticed how his breath slowed, how his shoulders relaxed, how his eyes closed. Soon enough, he started falling asleep, the action lulling him into such a deep state of comfort, of calm, that sleep just claimed him within minutes each time.
This time though, you'd suggested the movie, and you, albeit a little selfishly, wanted him to see it. So when his eyelids started drooping, you gently withdrew your hands.
Your periphery vision caught the way his brows furrowed, the way his face turned to find your gaze.
"Why'd you stop ?" he asked, unable to keep the whiny quality from his voice.
His tone made you bite back a chuckle, "You were falling asleep baby," you replied simply.
Spencer huffed, a petulant child being denied candy, and his brown eyes turned pleading.
"I won't fall asleep, just keep going," he took one of your wrists and guided your hand back to his scalp, "please ?"
Of course, the profiler had figured out long ago that you were defenseless against his pleas and puppy eyes. He never failed to use it to his advantage, as long as it remained reasonable. So, unsurprisingly, you relented.
"Just keep your eyes open then," you insisted as your fingers found his curls again.
"Mhm," he hummed contentedly as he turned his attention back to the screen.
As the movie kept rolling, your eyes flickered between the tv and your boyfriend's face, making sure he stayed awake.
To his credit, he did look like he was trying his best. That's when you noticed that when he didn't close his eyes immediately, they rolled back into his head. The sight had no business being as erotic as it was. Spencer Reid, completely putty in your hand, pressing against your fingers like a cat, eyes rolling back in pleasure at the feeling of your nails against his scalp.
Intrigued by the sight, you decided to experiment a little more. Untangling your hand from his curls, you combed his hair back, making him crane his neck to follow the movement, exposing the column of his throat.
Whenever his eyes would close, you'd pause your movements, your tone disapproving.
"What did I just tell you ?"
Spencer's eyes fluttered open to find yours, a flush coloring his cheeks, "I- To keep my eyes open-"
"Right. So keep them open. I'll stop if I have to ask again," you hummed sweetly.
He just nodded, trying his best to keep his attention from drifting. Soon enough, his honeyed eyes started getting lost under his lashes, and it was your own attention that left the screen. You moved your fingers expertly through his curls, keeping track of the spots that made him follow your hand. The sight of him so entirely at your mercy was causing a warm feeling to bloom into your abdomen. Seeing him like this was making you realize some things about yourself, and you weren't sure how you felt about those. The only certainty you had was that you didn't want to stop.
You clicked your tongue when his eyes started to close, and his ears turned bright pink.
"Sorry-" he whispered quickly, but your hand had already stopped moving.
"Are you ?"
The young doctor nodded, his eyes pleading, as if willing your fingers to start moving again.
"If you're incapable of staying awake when I play with your hair, I might as well stop." you taunted as your hand moved to the armrest of the couch.
"No- please, I'll keep my eyes open, I promise-" Spencer sat up and moved to face you, his fingers finding yours and lacing through them.
Turning your head away, you sighed.
"I don't know Spence, you said that twice already, and look where it got us," you picked up the remote, "maybe you're just too tired for movie night."
The tv switched off just as he tugged at your hand, "I'm not too tired- I'm sorry, it's just- I just really like it when you play with my hair, and I- I didn't mean to fall asleep-"
Your lips curled into a soft, amused smile as your gaze found his again. You cocked an eyebrow at his pleading expression and tilted your head to the side.
"I'm not mad," you brushed your fingers up his arm, "I just think maybe you need practice." knuckles brushed the line of his jaw, and you saw the shiver that ran up his spine.
"Practice ?"
"Yeah," your hand splayed against the back of his neck, "at staying awake," he drew a sharp breath as your fingers combed through his hair once more, "I can help with that."
From the furrow of his brow, your intentions weren't getting across. Deciding actions spoke louder than words, you tangled your fingers in his curls and scratched his scalp gently.
"Just keep your eyes on me baby."
It took him all of ten seconds to start struggling again, his irises fighting to keep steady.
"Come on," you hummed, "eyes on me."
Spencer let out a soft groan, feeding the growing heat in your abdomen. His eyes grew lidded as he tried to will them to stay on you, a light fog glazing them over. God, he looked so pretty. And to think he had no idea of it, it drove you mad.
Your nails traveled through the curls, caressing, until you noticed his eyes rolling back again. Your fingers twisted in the strands and you tugged slightly, just enough to make his breath catch in his throat.
You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, and his gaze focused again. His lips had parted slightly, and it was taking everything out of you not to lean down and kiss them. You kept your hand still in his hair.
"Please," he whispered, "keep going,"
A huff of air left your nose as your lips curled cruelly, "Say it again,"
Your eyes followed as his Adam's apple slowly moved, the urge to catch it between your teeth almost strong enough to stop playing your little game.
Almost.
"Please," he breathed again, the soft caramel of his eyes never leaving yours.
"There you go," you cooed as your nails found his curls again, dragging slow against his scalp, coaxing a low hum of pleasure out of him.
His eyelids lowered, but before you could remind him of the instructions, his mind seemed to do it for him, eyes going wide once to push the slumber away. Once you were satisfied with how long he was holding on, your fingers found the hair just behind his ears, and he followed the shift like your touch was the only thing tethering him to reality.
Once again, irises disappeared past the line of his brow, and you tugged again. The sound that escaped him prompted a soft giggle out of you, his eyes shooting open, face red.
"Sorry–" he turned his head away, and your free hand found his chin, guiding him back to face you.
"Don't be. I want to know how I make you feel."
Your voice made him shiver, and though the flush didn't leave his skin, he gave you a sheepish nod. Tracing a path through his curls, you found the shorter hair at the base of his neck, and he pressed his lips together to muffle a quiet moan.
"You like that baby ?" you cooed, leaning in as he tilted his head back to follow your hand. He nodded quickly, and you tutted, "Tell me."
"Yes–"
"Good boy," the words sent a shock through his veins, and he turned his head so that his cheek pressed into your palm before his eyes found yours through his lashes.
"What do you want Spence ?" you hummed, knowing all-too well, if he felt even half of the burning between your thighs.
"Just– you– I want–" the genius mumbled, his lack of coherence making your smile sharpen.
"Oh, sweetheart…" you leaned in and kissed the skin just below his ear, the hand that held his chin now diving back into the brown tangle of tresses, "Come on, I know you can do better than that."
His breath hitched at the contact, and his own hands found your waist, grabbing fistfuls of your shirt like they could anchor him to you.
"I– I want–" his voice shook in tandem with the beat of his heart against your chest, "I want you–"
"Yeah ?" your mouth traced his jaw, and he leaned closer into the touch. When you reached his cheek, your nose caught the flutter of his eyelashes as they closed, "What exactly do you want ?"
"Kiss–" he turned his head slightly, and your lips caught the corner of his mouth, "Please– Kiss me."
You smiled, breath fanning over his lips, "You want a kiss ?" he nodded quickly and tilted his head to meet you halfway. You pulled back just enough to hear him whine.
"Ah-ah, I want you to ask again." your fingers tucked stray hair behind his flushed ears, "I need you to give me a reason."
Spencer frowned, confusion and a hint of frustration weaving into his brow, "I've been– I've been good," he whispered, "I've been good, and I want your lips on mine. Is that enough of a reason, your highness ?" he jabbed, though his tone was too strained for it to sound snarky.
You yanked his head back in response, the gesture earning you a grunt. You planted kisses along the column of his throat, "Come again ?"
A breathy moan left him, and he lifted his head again, "Would you please kiss me ? Please ?"
You chuckled in response and eased the grip on his hair, "See ? Wasn't that hard, was it ?"
"I know you're using those words on purpose, love," he huffed, and you grinned, leaning closer.
"Stop complaining and kiss me."
He didn't hesitate. In an instant, he was on you, a mess of lips and tongues as his hands pressed against both sides of your jaw. You responded immediately, your fingers tightening in his hair again as he moaned into your mouth. His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, pressing into the skin of your waist as you settled against the back of the couch. His lips left yours to trace a path down your neck, and you kept scratching gently at his hair as he went.
His fingers tightened around your thigh, and you chuckled as his nose brushed the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Pulling his head back just enough to look at him, you tucked loose curls behind his ears and cupped his cheeks. His pupils had swallowed the sweet brown of his irises, and the sight left you aching.
"You're adorable baby," you grinned, making him whine softly, "what is it ?"
He swallowed slowly and you felt his thumb trace circles against the fabric of your trousers, "Nothing, I just– I want to–" he dug his teeth into his bottom lip sheepishly.
You tilted your head in a question, fingertips caressing along his burning cheekbones, "You want to… what ? Are you too ashamed to say it ?" you teased.
"No– I mean maybe. Can I just show you instead ? I just– it feels strange to say it out loud." he admitted.
"Sure. Though I might make you say it anyway," his pleading eyes found yours again and you couldn't help but laugh softly, "Just show me and I'll decide then."
Nodding slowly, he pulled away from you, pushing himself to his feet with his hands pressed to your thighs. Then, he sank down to his knees in front of you, his hands skimming back up your hips and settling over the bone there. Your fingers trailed up his jaw and dug back into his hair, pushing it out of his face.
"I think you can ask me that," you whispered, "I'd love to hear you ask me that."
Spencer's brows furrowed in gentle frustration, and his reddened ears seemed to almost glow. He took a deep breath, his fingers anxiously picking at a loose thread from your waistband.
"It's embarrassing" he whispered, and you leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"It's just me here." you responded just as quietly, "It's just the two of us. There's no one to impress, or to feel ashamed for." you pressed a second kiss to his temple, "Unless you like that."
He let out a huff of laughter, "I have no idea if I do. But not… Not right now, that I know."
"If it's too much, you don't have to say it. It would be a bonus if you did, because as I said, I'd love to hear you say that." you assured him, "But there's no obligation, and I'd understand if you didn't want to."
To your surprise, he shook his head, "No, no you're right, it's just you. I want to be able to say it."
You caressed his hair soothingly, "Alright. Well, you can always change your mind."
He nodded, and after a few moments, he seemed to have gathered enough courage to try. After swallowing slowly, he tried again, his voice slightly hoarse in the way that always made your heart stutter.
"Can I…" he took a breath and looked up at you, "Can I taste you ? Please ?"
A satisfied sigh left you as a smile snaked its way to your lips. Tilting his chin, you leaned in and kissed him again, feeling his fingers tightening around your hips as you dragged your tongue over his. Only once your lungs started to burn did you pull away again.
"Yes baby," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the lack of air, "you can taste me."
In what felt simultaneously like seconds and hours, Spencer helped you out of your trousers, and you lifted your hips to assist him. His fingertips trailing up your bare legs sent a shiver creeping up your spine, and you could feel his breath fan over your thighs as he looked up at you with those perfect brown eyes of his. You'd do anything to have those eyes on you forever.
Your fingers threaded through his hair as he kissed your inner thighs, eyes closing as your nails dragged over his scalp. His thumbs were hooked under the waistband of your panties over your hipbone, awaiting your approval. Tugging at his roots, you directed him where you wanted him, and you heard his breath hitch as his nose made contact with the wet patch in your underwear.
"Jesus," he breathed before looking up at you.
You chuckled and brushed a curl away from his brow, "See what you do to me ?"
He nodded, a little incredulous look etched into his expression, lips parted, and his eyes flicked back to your hips.
"Can I–" instead of finishing his question, his thumbs gave your underwear a gentle tug.
"Well, if you say the magic word," your smirk earned you an amused eye roll, but he didn't protest.
"Please ?" you'd swear his puppy-like eyes would be the death of you.
As soon as you nodded, the garment was off, and the cool air felt sharp over the heated area. The temperature shock didn't last long though, before Spencer's fingers found their way to your core.
"Jesus–" he whispered again, and you huffed a breathless laugh.
"I don't think he's here honey," you tucked his hair behind his ears, "why don't you call out to me instead ?"
A quiet sound escaped him, and his free hand slipped under your shirt, lifting it enough for his lips to find the plump skin of your stomach. His palm pressed against your side, caressing its way to your spine, as his mouth found your ribs.
"Are you teasing me darling ?" you asked quietly, a smile stuck to your lips, adoring as ever.
He shook his head, nose brushing against your navel, "Not teasing," he whispered, "worshiping."
The word fully undid you. Fingers leaving his head, you lifted the shirt up and over your head, tossing it in the same direction as the rest of your clothes.
"Well in that case," you breathed, "go ahead."
Hands wrapping around your waist, he pulled you closer until his torso was flush between your thighs. His lips latched onto your breast, and you arched your back against him, breath catching in your throat as you closed your eyes. Once he'd managed to pull a few soft moans out of you, his fingers found your cheek and he lifted his chin to meet your lips, which you did without protest.
"Love you," you hummed into his mouth, nails finding his scalp again.
"Love you too," he whispered before going back to where he'd started, pulling your hips to the edge of the couch cushion as he settled back between your thighs.
Brushing curls back and holding them there, you looked down to find his eyes already on yours, searching for confirmation that you wanted this. And oh did you.
"Go on baby," you hummed, "show me worship."
The shaky breath had barely been torn from his lungs that his lips were already on your core, and with them his tongue. It flattened against the wetness, gathering it slowly as he hummed and closed his eyes like you were the one pleasuring him. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring himself as he pressed closer to the warmth, making you throw your head back against the backrest of the couch. Your own hand fisted in his hair, pulling at the roots as you moaned.
He was careful, meticulous and deliciously deliberate, as he was in every aspect of his life. He explored your folds like you were a book he'd just opened, drinking your words like you were scripture.
Your grip on his hair tightened, and you worried about hurting him until you felt the vibration of his moan against your core.
"God– Look at me baby–" you panted, and the sight of his eyes lifting to meet yours, fighting against the urge to roll back, nearly had you finishing on the spot.
"You're so good– Doing so well–" you cooed as your fingers tangled in his curls, pulling him as close as you could while your hips stuttered against his face.
He whimpered at your words, and his irises disappeared behind his eyelids as he sucked on your sensitive bud. The room filled with only the symphony of your filthy sounds and the drumming of rain drops against the window.
"Spence– Eyes on me darling–" you hummed, your words slurring with the growing blur of pleasure. When his eyes didn't open, you gave a sharp tug, rewarded by a low groan that rumbled all the way up your spine.
"Eyes on me," you repeated, and he looked up through his lashes. The sight of him was sinful, cheeks and ears flushed with heat, irises drowned out completely behind his pupils, eyelids barely open enough to look up. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, and the moan that escaped you was equally due to the sight than to the feeling of his tongue.
"There you go– There you go baby, good job– Oh–" your head bobbed to the side, your neck going slack with pleasure as he continued devouring you like a man starved, "Doing so good for me– so good– Wanna make me cum baby ?"
He nodded quickly against you, not letting up. His eagerness made a chuckle bubble in your throat, though you weren't sure if it actually sounded like one once it left your lips.
"Yeah ? Well keep it up and you will– Fuck–" your own eyes rolled back in your head, and your hand tightened in his hair again, making him moan against your throbbing core.
His nails were dragging down your painfully arched back, and this time, when you lowered your eyes to his face again, he was already looking up at you. His gaze was so reverent, it made you dizzy. Or maybe it was the way his tongue was circling your bud.
You could feel the knot in your lower abdomen tighten dangerously, and you couldn't control the way your hips were grinding and rutting into his face. His grip moved to hold them in place as he continued, eyes fixed on the way your body writhed with pleasure.
"Fuck– Spence– I'm–" both of your hands were fisting in his hair, and you'd make sure you hadn't ripped any of his wonderful curls later.
He hummed in approval, dedicated to keeping the same rhythm as he watched you, eagerly awaiting the way you threatened to come undone. The tightness in your belly only grew, pressing down onto your every senses as your thighs clamped around his head, quickly parted again by firm hands. Suddenly, the pleasure was white-hot and the feeling in your abdomen turned to magma, erupting from you with a cry. Your ears filled with a buzzing that colored your fingertips and your toes in equal measure as you fell back into the couch.
Coming down from your high, you found Spencer looking at you with adoring eyes, his cheek pressed against your thigh. His lips and chin were still glistening with wetness, and you ran a hand through his hair tenderly as your free hand wiped his chin.
"Jesus…" you breathed, your chest still heaving.
A delicious smirk found his lips, eyes sparkling with mirth, "I thought he wasn't here ?"
You huffed a laugh, "Well, he isn't. But I also told you to call out to me instead, so I guess you were only half listening."
He pushed himself up with his hands on your thighs, "I wasn't exactly able to call out to anything," he argued, before his smirk turned devilish, "but you did call out to me."
Pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt, you kept him an inch away from your lips as you murmured, "Don't get cocky now, I could still ruin you."
The playfulness in his eyes made way for the wonder of having you this close, but it didn't leave entirely as he whispered, albeit a little sheepishly, "I'm afraid there isn't much ruining left to do sweetheart."
With a questioning lift of your eyebrow, you lowered your gaze to find a dark spot on the fabric of his trousers. His cheeks grew even redder when a chuckle escaped you.
"Don't laugh…" he complained, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.
"I'm not laughing at you–" you grinned, pulling his head back to look at him, your hands finding his cheeks, "I was just surprised, but it's honestly really hot."
Scoffing, he turned his eyes away from you, "It's not hot, it's ridiculous."
Your laughter found his ears again as you kissed his nose, "Baby, you came from just eating me out while I pulled your hair. It's hot. You don't get a vote on that."
Another huff escaped him, and you didn't wait for his retort before kissing him. This one was slow, tender in the way the last ones had been more impatient, a gentle caress of lips, breaths mingling as your thumbs traced circles on his cheeks.
As usual, he needed air before you did, and you reluctantly let him pull back. It was adorable how flushed and breathless your lips on his always made him, albeit a little frustrating when all you wanted was to kiss him forever.
Letting your foreheads press together, he brushed his nose against yours and chuckled with you. You let the quiet settle softly, just the sound of your breaths harmonizing with the rain outside, the gentle caress of his hands on your waist anchoring you to reality.
He was the first one to break the silence, his voice barely over a whisper.
"I love you."
You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, twirling a loose curl around your finger.
"I love you too."
Lmk what you thought ! I'm a little nervous to post this ngl. Likes don't do a whole lot, so I'd be super appreciative of any reblogs and comments ! Hope you enjoyed my lovelies ! <33
Ayy Azzi scored 20 and first thing I ran to was here…. CYFABH snippet let’s goo!!!
Chapter 11 is coming along… you can all thank @peach4pazzi for the snippet choice and the advice to just get drunk to write all the smut, and @dripanddrive for the immense edits to said drunk writing 😭😭
—Michael era: I like to think off the wall. ❀WC: 894
blurb: You noticed Michael celebrating his 19th birthday at the club tonight, and couldn’t help but to flirt with him. It was too fun to get underneath the poor man skin.
────୨ৎ────
Studio 54 has been the place ever since it opened in 1977, and you made sure to attend every night. It was open to the public, but you mostly saw a bunch of celebrities there. You noticed all of them, but only one caught your eye.
Michael Jackson.
Celebrating his nineteenth birthday here, you couldn’t help but find it quite adorable. You were just turning twenty one, you noticed the age gap, but it wasn’t that big.
You bit down lightly on your straw as you watched him from across the club, dancing with no care in the world. Everybody around him moved with him. The disco lights hit everybody's face, as if everybody was getting a hint of the spotlight.
Michael felt as everyone matched here, no one higher than the other. No one is worried about autographs, just wanting to dance. And that’s all he wanted to feel like, to feel he fit right in.
His afro moved with every step, the only thing you could clearly track in the middle of the crowd. Your eyes scanned on what he was wearing, it was a red and black satin shirt that shimmered underneath the club lights. Layered with a dark vest, with the right tailored pants that fit him well.
You put down your glass and stop staring and decide to make a move.
“Girl where you going??” One of your girlfriends asked, you bit your bottom lip and glanced back, already smiling.
“To talk to the birthday boy..” and with that, you slipped onto the dance floor. Fitting with the other bodies around you.
Michael had his eyes closed, completely entranced in the music. Until you slipped right into his space. When he finally opened them. He looked from your feet to your face, and flashed a nervous smile. “Happy birthday…” You told him a little loud trying to speak over the music.
“Thank you..” He responded trying to speak over the music, but you pretend you couldn’t hear, so he could get close. So you could smell what Michael smelled like. “Huh?” He leaned in closer, warm breath brushing your ear and sending shivers down your body. God, of course he smelled good, he smelled sweet with a mix of sweat. But you didn’t mind it.
“I said thank you!” He pulled back, still smiling, sweet, a little shy, like he wasn’t used to being looked at the way you were looking at him.
Then you grabbed the edge of his vest and pulled him in just slightly, making sure you two were close. His eyes finally scanned you. He saw you wore a halter top with some high waist jeans, and your hair was resting upon your shoulders as if you just took rollers out just for this night.
The way your curls bounced every time you moved, he couldn’t help but find you attractive.
He looked at you like he was trying not to get caught staring. Just noticing that made this fun. He was easy to read.
You wanted to play a little cat and mouse. So you backed away. You saw his hands reached back out for you, but your back was already turned as you walked off. You went back to your girlfriends, as they couldn’t help but giggle. They watched the whole scene go down, the way you grabbed Michael towards your body as if he was just a delicate feather. Once you made your way back to your friends, they grabbed your shoulders. Asking what happens, if you made a move, or did he even decide to notice you. You just gave off a wink. “He’s a little shy.. he might not come to me now—“
You thought wrong, you look behind seeing the lean figure looking at you with his big eyes.
You giggled, and he slowly inserted his hands in his pockets as he stood there nervously. “I—I hope I’m not interrupting.” He nervously spitted out, your friends decided to walk off leaving you two alone. You shook your head, he looked down at his feet for a second.
“I was just wondering if ya.. uh. I don’t know..—“ he thought he practiced his words enough before he came over here.
You waited for him to spit it out, and he asked “do ya come here a lot?” You waited before you answer, trying to spark up some nerves in him. It was fun watching him wonder if he said the right thing or not. “I do. Is that all you wanted?” You asked boldly, he shook his head, and his gaze kept moving around. Not leaving his gaze on you.
You sighed a bit, “I think conversation doesn't go as well if there isn't no eye contact, don’t you?” Michael immediately snapped his head back up trying to stare at you. “Okay okay, don’t try too hard damn.. gonna make your eyes fall out or sum..” You joke, and he let out a small breathy laugh. Finally, the tension he brought onto himself is gone.
“Do..ya wanna get out of here Michael?” You asked and he nodded his head, every question you asked he responded immediately. Was he really this easy?
When grabbing his hand, and feeling it slowly wrapped around yours. It was confirmed.
He was that easy.
You guided him out of Studio 54, knowing that you have Michael for now, for the night, almost made you want to scream out to the world that..
