All's Fair in Smut and FanFiction

It wasn’t even late at night, only 6:30 pm, but the neverending hell that is a midwestern winter casted the sky in inky, black darkness. It seeped into the small apartment, chilling your skin with a coldness that only Lars could help. He should be home at any second, and you would be waiting for him patiently in his bed, a soft sweater draped over your body as if you were a piece of art. 

He would lose it. 

It was only moments later when the click of a lock sounded throughout the living room, followed by the opening and closing of the door. His soft, soothing voice echoed down the hallway, announcing his arrival. Adjusting yourself on the bed, you remained silent, using it to coax him down the hallway in search of you. Footsteps trail closer, growing in noise before the door clicks and opens slowly, prevailing you to Lars. 

“Oh!” 

The door slams shut and Lars releases apologies, not understanding how intentional the exposure was. 

‘I’m sorry! I should’ve knocked, I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Lars, baby, it’s okay. Come in I have a surprise for you.” 

The door squeals back open painfully slow, revealing the blushing, mortified face of Lars. He stands still, biting his lip as his eyes pinch open and closed. You can see it, the way he adjusts his hands to cover himself in embarrassment and shame. The growing bulge almost looks painful as it presses against the front of his jeans. And you watch as he shimmies, palming himself down as his eyes look at anywhere but you. 

“Lars,” his eyes flicker towards yours, “look at me, baby.” 

His chest heaves as his eyes take in your body, trailing your exposed legs and landing on his sweater- only his sweater. A stutter of surprise escapes his lips as his mouth falls open, pathetically gaping at your exposed body, so tantalizing sweet and teasing. 

“Come here, Lars.” 

He takes timid steps closer, never breaking contact as he stands in front of you. A single button comes undone at the top of the sweater, exposing the swell of your breast to him. He whines and leans forwards, hands clenching as his sides as he stares. 

“Is… i-is that my shirt?” 

“Yeah, baby it is…. do you want me to take it off?” 

“No!” 

“No?” 

There’s no reply from him and you sigh, bringing your hand up to palm his soft, thick thigh. It twitches under your hand before he groans loudly and leans over further, looking you in the eyes as he silently asks for permission. He captures your lips with his immediately, sighing and moaning into your mouth as he moves against you. It’s desperate and messy, your teeth clacking together as spit beings to drip down your chins. 

Your hand moves up, grabbing him by the tie before you pull him down on top of you, relishing in his weight pressing down and warming you. Moans and gasps escape his lips as his tongue slips out, moving with yours as he ruts into your bare leg, desperate for contact against his aching cock. 

“P-please…” 

Desperation looks so good on him. He’s shaking on top of you, kissing you like a man starved as begs for more. There’s no reply so he takes things into his own hands, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of spit as he kisses and sucks at your skin. It draws wanton moans from you and, without realizing it, you buck against him, pressing his large, aching cock against your core. 

It’s then he notices you aren’t wearing anything else.

He groans loudly and his head snaps up, looking up at you with lidded glassy eyes. Cold, hands grasp at your legs, pulling them open as he settles in between them, still maintaining eye contact. Without missing a beat, his hands move up, unbuttoning the sweater completely and exposing your breast to the chilly air. Your nipples harden in the air and he can barely resist, taking one into his mouth as he suckles and moans around the bud. 

“Lars!” Your hands thread into his hair, pulling and kneading as he bucks into the bed. He loves it when you play with his hair, especially when he draws such pretty moans from your lips. “Lars, please!” 

A wet pop echoes through the air as he moves back, shifting up your body as he meets your lips again. The kiss is even more desperate than last time and he thrust into your core, his clothed cock slipping against your dripping folds. 

“C-can I? Please!” 

“Yes, please Lars” 

He doesn’t even bother removing his clothes, only zipping down his pants and freeing his red, flushed cock. It probes at your entrance for a second, gathering slickness on the tip before he sinks in slowly, moaning and whining at your hole clenching around him. When he’s fully seated inside of you, he pauses, panting against your mouth as he twitches and shakes. Your eyes flicker open, watching as a single tear escapes his lips before he moves, slowly pulling back before roughly thrusting back in. 

If anything, Lars is a gentle man. However, in the moment he forgets his strength, deliciously fuckign into you with unrestrained power as he desperately seeks his own pleasure. 

“Oh my god, Lars!” 

He growls and shoves his face into your neck, breathing loudly as he pounds into you like an animal. It’s so good, it makes you see stars, no matter how pathetic and cliche that sounds. He’s fucks like a man starved and desperate. Desperate to make up for years of lost touch and love. 

“Lars, please… p-please kiss me!” 

A whine escapes his lips and he moves back up, capturing your lips with cold, soft lips- panting and moaning into you. He can only hold it for a second before he breaks, resting his sweaty head on yours as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously. 

The coil builds and you cry out, hands scraping along his clothed back, searching for something to hold onto. He recognizes your cries and he leans backward a fraction, moving his fingers down to circle your clit. It draws a squeal from your lips and  you clench around him, cumming around his cock as you scratch at his back. It draws a loud groan from him and he whines as he cums, spilling his seed into your pulsing hole. He whispers and growls through it all, praising you and declaring his love as his face slips into your neck. 

“I love you, y/n. I l-love you, I love you.. I love you.” 

He doesn’t remove himself, instead enjoying the feeling of your walls fluttering around his softening cock. Touch may have  hurt him in the past, but he relishes this feeling of pleasure now, after so many years of endless pain.

“I love you too, Lars.” 

Lips press against your neck, gently worshiping your skin. Hands trail up your waist before they shift over, his fingers playing with the open edges of his sweater. He pulls back and looks down at it, eyes trailing over your exposed chest, barely covered by his clothes, and then down towards where the both of you are still connected. 

It’s soft and reverent. 

Without saying anything, he leans back down and presses a kiss to your sternum before nuzzling in, closing his eyes as he lays his full weight against you. You don’t say anything, only play with his hair as the both of you bask in the afterglow of sex. 

He loves your hand wrapped around him, but he can only deal with it for so long before he needs a break so it gets really frustrating for him. He loves when you guide his hand on himself too, which is easier most of the time, but it’s still touch, and he rarely comes because it just gets a little too overwhelming.

He’s heard about fleshlights from Kurt at work, so thinking about it one night after another failed attempt with you, he orders one online wondering if it’ll feel better than his own hand, if it’ll feel more like your touch, but manageable.

When it arrives he rips the box open, pumps some lube into it and then just… touches it for a while… his thick fingers tracing the shape of the entrance, wondering if that’s anything like the way you might feel. He’s touched you down there, sure, but briefly and only over clothes.

Swallowing hard, he slips a finger inside, pumps it a few times, the lewd sloshing sound and the wet feeling around his finger causing his cock to twitch. He pushes another finger in.

He wishes he could do this to you right now. The longer he plays with it, the more it starts to feel wrong somehow.

He unzips his pants, the slick opening pressed to his glistening tip, but he can’t bring himself go through with it. He needs you.

So he calls, tells you in a needy, husky voice that he needs to see you as soon as you can get to him — and of course you arrive within the hour, finding him red faced and a little shaky, unable to meet your eyes as he kisses you, intense but brief, and whispers, ‘There’s something I want to try.’

Handing the fleshlight to you, he sees your eyes light up as you look it over and dip an exploratory finger inside it yourself. You ask if he’s sure he wants this, and he nods desperately and whines out a desperate little Please-

You hold it still while he guides himself inside, relief relaxing him against you as you start to move it gently, careful at first, to let him get used to the sensation.

It’s not the same as your hand, and he imagines that when he’s ready to fuck you for real it won’t be the same as this either. But for now it’s squeezing around him just right, tight and warm and wet with lube, and you’re here, and all he wants is to chase the feeling.

After a minute or so he’s fucking into it hard, face buried at your shoulder, fingers gripping at your clothes, moaning and panting and whining so prettily until he comes so hard he cries out loud enough for the whole town to hear. You’re sure Karin’s curtains will be twitching at the very least, but you’re safe here, inside with the door locked and the drapes closed.

His chest heaves as he comes down, collapsing into you and whimpering a little at the sensitivity. But he recovers pretty fast. After all, he has years of this feeling to make up for.

And with that, he suddenly has the confidence to slide a hand inside your pants, tentative at the waistband, fingers pausing as he asks, ‘Is this ok?’

∘₊✧ Sierra Six

Although it takes Six a while to trust, when he does, it becomes quickly apparent that his kink is relinquishing control. To him, this is the highest form of intimacy – completely baring himself to you. While it doesn’t come easily to him, when he’s able to let you take the lead, sex has never felt so good. The way he moans and whimpers, it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard from him before as you gently instruct and guide him through his own pleasure, and teach him about your own. He sheds a tear as he comes undone, harder and more intensely than he can ever remember, and will just want to be held afterwards, snuggling into you feeling safe and loved.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Holland March

Holland is partial to a spot of edge play. It doesn’t always work out; sometimes he can’t keep it up, sometimes he comes after no less than one edge. But it’s all in good fun, and it’s not all about him – he loves to keep you simmering all day if he can. He  teases here and there until he’s fingerfucking you in the kitchen just right, and as you’re about to clench around those slender digits he’ll slip them out, lick them clean and go make a sandwich. Only when he’s finished his impromptu lunch will he pick up where he left off and so the day continues on that way. Then there’s those nights he’s just fascinated with your pleasure, switching between eating you out, fucking you, fingerfucking you, and stopping short every time until you’re shaking and absolutely begging for him. He’ll always make you cum in the end, though, more than once, hard and preferably screaming his name.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom

Lars is a sucker for role play. He’d never have thought it himself, being so shy and all, but it turns out that playing pretend isn’t only fun, it can be such a turn on. He can lose himself in the story or the character, slowly worrying less about himself and what he might be doing wrong, loosening up to really enjoy the sensations instead of focussing heavily on fear of his touch hypersensitivity spoiling the moment. Of course, that’s still very real and something to be considerate of, but role play helps him feel comfortable enough that it doesn’t completely consume him. He loves it when you dress up like one of his favorite characters – it feels so naughty and only makes him want you more. And when he does the same for you, he feels closer to you than ever. It’s a really intimate way to get to know one another, a shared little secret for only the two of you that strengthens your bond further than anything he could have imagined. Lars feels very warm and loved when he thinks of all the nights you share planning out and acting on your secret ideas together. Although he doesn’t realise it can be classed as a kink, auralism is another one that applies to Lars. Hearing you moan for him sends him to Heaven and back every time. Sprinkle in some dirty talk for him and he’ll all but pass out on the spot.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Ryland Grace

Katoptronophilia is Rylands vice. He realised he came harder when he watched himself jerk off in a mirror and learned the word for the kink after searching online forums to see how common it is. When he wants to explore this kink with you, he will sit you on his lap, legs spread, his long fingers spreading your folds and dipping inside while he bites and sucks at your neck – all in front of a full length mirror so you can see exactly what he’s doing to you. After you cum, he’ll watch your reactions in the reflection as he fucks you from behind, losing himself in the visuals.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Driver

Of course, Driver has a kissing kink. He isn’t even really aware that it’s a kink, he just knows what the feeling of soft lips and a warm, wet tongue against his does to him. Especially when there’s intention behind it, romantic subtext… mmh. He gets lost in those kinds of kisses to the point of coming in his pants, sometimes even just from fantasizing, and he’s perfected kissing to the point that he can get you pretty close, too. He also likes to watch or listen, learning about what you like purely from observation. He’s patient, and he isn’t above listening through the wall, but when you finally get together, he will guide your hand between your legs and lift an eyebrow at you, silently asking for you to show him what you like while he memorises every part of your pleasure, mostly for when he’s ready to fuck you so good you’ll forget anyone who came before him, but also partly for himself – he’ll jerk off in the shower about it later, imagining that you’re listening to him though the wall, now.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Henry Letham

Henry enjoys a little pain. It’s not the same when he does it to himself, that’s for different reasons, but if you were to put a cigarette out on his bare skin after a heated kiss, he would moan so prettily. Wax play comes into this too, although that’s more about feeling anything rather than feeling pain. The contrasting heat and cool sharpens his breath and has him suddenly in tune with every sensation in his body. He sees it almost as art, pouring the burning liquid onto your flesh, watching you pour it on him like paint on a masterpiece. The intense sensations help him to know he’s really here, and the psychological edge makes it extra thrilling. It's all a little bit messy and dark, just like him.

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Ken

The first few times with Lars are tender. You take it slow, mindful that the wrong kind of touch, or too much of it, could be painful for him.

He's comfortable enough with you to kiss, to hold hands, to cuddle (with clothes on), but recently you've started to ramp things up a little when you make out.

A handjob over his trousers first, dry humping when he wants to be closer, and eventually his hand slipping inside your underwear while his face turns from a furrowed brow to his eyes almost rolling back at how much pleasure he can bring you with just his fingers. And then when your fingers wrap around his length and bring him off in the softest, most gentle way he could ever wish for, he gains quite the appetite.

Removing clothes is the next stage. It starts with just a few of his layers, but he knows that when you finally go all the way together, he wants you bared to one another. He wants to feel every part of you against every part of him.

And when that time comes, it's a little clumsy and very careful, but it's sweet and unhurried and broken up with languid kisses and breathy, nervous little laughs. It's exactly how you always imagined it would be.

When he finally enters you, cautious, it's just a few thrusts until he's gone, unable to hold back the orgasm tearing through him at how intense this feels. You, wrapped around him, tight and wet and warm, your gentle sighs of pleasure at the way he's stretching you, and the way he feels so safe? Like he can be vulnerable with you? It's too much. It's not enough.

The next time, he lasts longer. He wants it to last longer. He wants you to come while he's inside you, wants to watch your face relax into bliss as he rocks his hips and you ride out your release on his cock.

And thats exactly how it happens. Soft and slow as your breath mingles with his, steaming up the small space between you, and he only lets go when he's safe in the knowledge that he's taken good care of your needs first.

It becomes fairly routine after that. Not in a boring way - rather, a pleasant and exciting part of your routine with him and you wouldn't change it for the world. Neither of you can get your minds off it, and each time you finally get together again, theres a certain anxious tension in the air over dinner, followed by relief when you finally get to washing the dishes and know you'll be dropping one another's clothes to the floor in a matter of minutes, bodies entwining in the most delicate way.

Most of the time, the dishes end up half done and discarded, and one time you just let dinner burn, your appetite for each other much stronger than the fish dinner in the oven.

Then one night, something feels different. Lars seems different, like something is bothering him, but when you ask, he brushes it off even though the concern on his face tells you he can't let it go.

You don’t press, trusting he will work it out in his own time, and if he needs to share, he will. When the time is right.

'Do you trust me?' he asks quietly when he's clearing his little two-seat table by the window.

'Of course,' you reply without question.

He breathes through a nervous smile. 'Would you be okay with me... I mean, could I-' 

He gives up on getting the words out. You avert your eyes to give him space and he disappears into the kitchen.

You give him a minute, hearing him mutter to himself as he rinses the dishes before joining him at the sink.

'Whatever it is, you can tell me,' you reassure him. 'It's okay.'

Lars takes a steadying breath and switches off the tap, turns to you and stares you down with an almost dangerous glittering behind his eyes, one that you’ve never seen from him before.

The air shifts around you as he leans in, the kiss rough and commanding, his big strong hands grabbing to hold you in place as his tongue pushes past your lips and takes complete control.

‘Like this?’ he breathes as he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours.

You feel tiny in his embrace and you’re breathless already, swooning in his arms.

‘Yes. Just like this,’ you agree, and he picks you up so easily, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist while his mouth claims yours again, until you’re at his bed where he places you into position and crawls over you.

He doesn’t let out small nervous laughs or avoid your eyes as he takes your clothes off one item at a time. Instead, he practically tears them from your body before ripping off his own, impatient and… dominant? Two words you never would have associated with your calm, quiet boyfriend. And god it’s hot.

Lars licks his lips when he sees the way you're already so wet for him, and pushes himself inside with one rough thrust. It burns a little as you adjust to his size, used to him working you open for a while first, making you come once or twice before he thinks about his own pleasure, but he’s simply taking what he needs now and you clench around him at how authoritative he suddenly is.

‘You feel so good,’ he whines, moaning at the way you’re wrapped around him. 'Taking me so well- mmh-'

His hands grip tight to hold you still beneath him as he fucks into you, harder and faster than you thought him capable of. Little growls and loud grunts lace his every breath, the headboard slams against the wall, Lars’s teeth scrape at your throat as he kisses and sucks and bites wherever he can reach.

He doesn’t let up until you’re moaning and writhing from within his grasp, when he breathes in your ear, ‘Does it feel good?’ And you can barely formulate a response.

He lifts your legs, moving you where he wants you so effortlessly, pinning you at an angle that makes his eyes roll back.

And he's loud. God, you’re used to his little moans and embarrassed whines, but this? You’re surprised he isn’t alerting the closest neighbours. You suppose he’ll be embarrassed later, but right now it’s so tasty you just relish in it.

And then he moans, ‘Mmh, you feel so good, fuck-’

You clench around him immediately; you’ve never heard him use that word before and it’s so hot you’re not able to hold off your release. You claw at his back as your own arches off the mattress, and Lars fucks into you all the harder to see you through it, a surge of pride and confidence filling him as he watches satisfaction spread through your body.

His own release follows, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he unravels, snapping his hips against yours, slowing as he begins to come down.

He collapses onto you then, almost sobbing as he tries to catch his breath. Your bodies are hot and sticky, he’s still buried inside, and he begins to feel a little overwhelmed and very overstimulated.

You sense it almost before he does, attuned to him as you are, and try to push him up and beside you, gently.

'Did I hurt you?' he rasps as he settles on the bed, squeezing his eyes closed.

'Not at all. Are you. okay?'

He just nods first, then, 'That felt so good.' He says it as though he's done something wrong.

'It did,' you agree. 'You're so hot when you take charge like that.'

Lars's cheeks heat up again, he huffs out a disbelieving breath and you can see he's trying to figure out how to process that compliment.

‘Come on, let’s go shower,’ you suggest, and he finally looks at you.

‘Together?’ His hair sticking to his forehead and off in various directions, and he looks mildly rattled.

You smile. He's so cute like this, you think, but you say, ‘Lars, after that, I don’t think we’ve anything left to hide from one another, do we?’

He can’t help but smile back, although he averts his gaze in that shy, apprehensive way you always found endearing.

‘Okay,’ he says, meeting your eyes again. ‘How about we watch a movie and cuddle after? Y'know, if you want to stay...’

you were kneeling with a box of your things in his apartment. you didn't recognise a lot of it and looking at it was making the wound on your head throb like crazy.

it made you feel so off-put, you didn't know why. your stomach would twist and your mind would scream and it all went straight to stabbing you in the eyeballs.

"baby?" dex's voice came from the other room. the door opened and there he was. he looked worried, ready to chastise you again for forgetting the rule about doors. "why's the door closed?"

you turned, head on the bandage on your head in mind-numbing contemplation. "i forgot," you tried your best at looking apologetic.

closed doors weren't allowed when you were injured, apparently. sure, fine, that made sense. you had been getting dizzy really easily and sometimes vomiting, all side effects of whatever pills you were on and a traumatic brain injury.

yesterday, you had fallen on carpet. you were convinced he was going to chain you to the bed.

he didn't say any more about it, his gaze catching the box. "any luck?" he asked. his hand twitched at his side like he wanted to touch you, comfort you in your confusion. then, he did, still standing above you, his hand moved to press your head to his thigh as he rubbed your head, to comfort you. certainly, this action was for himself, obviously.

his fingers found your scalp, threaded through your hair. he began to rub firm circles, the kind of pressure that usually made you melt. you would assume. you wondered how different you were since the accident.

"nah," you sighed. you let it happen, you didn't hate it. you didn't know what you liked either. "i still don't recognize anything, it's all just... stuff."

"that's the amnesia," he said. "things don't feel familiar. it's disorienting. it's supposed to feel wrong."

you didn't respond, moving your head off his thigh to pick up a scarf that you grimaced at.

his hand didn't leave your head, he just moved with you. his thumb brushed the shell of your ear, tender and what you imagine to be loving. "brains are weird and you're still healing. give it time."

you went for jogs most days. if you didn't jog on a given day, you would still walk.

he liked going with you, even if you didn't know it. and didn't know him.

you didn't know him yet, not really.

you'd only crossed paths a few times, he was in FBI SWAT and you were a whole other team. most recently, you smiled at him once, when you were on his floor to meet with someone else. but that's not where it started, it was training. you were at quantico together.

he told himself he was just working up the nerve to speak to you, it had just been a few months of this. watching your routines.

he watched from just slightly down the street as you left your building. you always looked both ways before you started down the street. he would wait ten seconds before following you, at most, he was thirty yards behind you.

you turned onto 11th avenue. the light was red, you looked both ways, like you always did. but that delivery truck came out of nowhere.

he didn't even hear you scream, didn't hear a sound. he didn't know if that was just his body's reaction to seeing you hurt, or if it was the reality of what happened. silence.

blood pooling from the back of your skull, your hand twitched like it wanted to reach for it, but your eyes were fluttering shut. he didn't evne remember running towards you, shouting about calling 911. he almost was ready to pick you up and carry you himself, preparing to run you to the nearest hospital.

the emt almost didn't let him come with you. he thought of you, alone in the hospital. so he said he was your fiancé.

he didn't know why he said it. why didn't he say boyfriend? why not husband?

when you had been unconscious in the hospital, he had went to get a ring. he didn't know why. he didn't know you'd wake with amnesia. maybe he thought he would propose later, take this as a meet-cute opportunity more than anything else.

until they told him you didn't remember him, the man who brought you in, who everyone believed was your fiancé, then another plan formed in his mind.

when you woke up days later, he said he found it where the accident happened and slid it right onto your finger.

"dex... maybe i could sleep in your room tonight?" you had been sleeping in the guest room. for your comfort. you sounded so shy, unsure.

his thumb paused against your scalp and you felt it immediately. but then he started rubbing those slow circles again, steadier this time, grounding himself more than you.

“you wanna sleep in our room?” he repeated.

he was also correcting you about what he wanted to believe. or maybe it was more about what he wanted you to believe. and he was your only tether to the truth of your reality; you had forgotten everything else, and the only things that you knew about your life, your personality, your likes and dislikes, came from his lips.

his room? no. it was our room.

"we could just try it tonight, maybe? see how it goes?" your expression almost turned embarrassed as you looked up at him. "i keep waking up not knowing where i am. maybe i would just feel better if you were... beside me, i don't know."

he stared at you. he imagined you in his bed so many times it made him sick. so many scenarios ran through his head from before the accident, most of them making him stiff in his pants.

when he would watch you through your webcam through the laptop you forgot to close when you passed out, or through your bedroom window. he wondered what the weight of you against him would feel like, what the sound of your voice sounded like at 3 a.m., he wanted to know if you would curl up against his warmth, or turn away from it.

it wasn't crazy for him to think about this. he already knew your coffee order, your jogging routine, among the many other routines in your life he used to mould his around just to catch a glimpse of you.

"yeah," he breathed, a bit too fast. "yeah, of course."

that night, he tries to be perfect. he keeps his distance, careful not to overwhelm you like he hadn't been petting your head like a dog earlier.

the mattress is firmer than the guest room's. the pillows smell like his laundry detergent, like him. you wonder why, if this is your shared room, it doesn't smell you?

he lies down on his side, keeping space between you. "all good?"

you nod, staring at the ceiling, you try to relax, but you feel a prickle on the back of your neck. the same feeling you get when you're being watched in an empty room.

in the middle of the night, you wake up. you feel him, right behind you, his front pressed to your back, one arm draped heavily over your waist. he's breathing slow against your hair, but just a little off. is he pretending to sleep?

his arm feels less like an anchor and more like a lock. when you shift, his arm tightens out of some reflex. his body automatically locks up in panic when you pull away from him. just as quick as his grip tightened, he's relaxing again.