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Trust him.
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WARNINGS: Reader has trust issues, HURT/COMFORT + SMUT, sweet smut tho, praising, pet names ("baby", "good boy"), cumming early, sexual undressing(?), Luke doesn't cum in this but he will in the next one, kinda non-beta read
WORDS: 1,170+
PAIRING: Luke Alvez x M!Reader
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·a/n - Comments/Reblogs are appreciated! I love feedback!
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You follow Luke's guidance, letting him push you onto your back, surprising yourself with how close you're letting him - emotionally and physically. You feel him slot between your legs, his lips brushing against yours delicately, as if he was making sure to treat you with care, as if you were something fragile. In his mind — You are fragile. You own a heart shattered enough to cut somebody's foot if they were to step on it. The sight of blood would be anything but foreign to you.
His skilled fingers start working on your shirt, pausing about halfway down the line of tan buttons. “Are you okay with his?” You hear him ask, though your mind is so clouded with anxiety and fear you're unsure you can even verbally respond without betraying yourself in some way.
You don't know if you're okay with it. You have to ask yourself if you truly want this, though end up giving yourself no better answer than when he asked. You love him, and you think he loves you. But with how many times somebody has told you that then ended up hurting you, you're not sure if he's being truthful.
Luke notices the empty stare you have, the slight tremble in your hands as you think of the worst that could happen. You've trusted him enough that you stayed in this relationship with him for seven, coming up on eight months now. You've let him in enough that he can tell the nod of approval you gave him was forced. He leans back, looking down at you. “Baby.. we don't have to do this if you don't want to, y'know?” He says while rubbing your hip, the touch meant to be soothing.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking him up and down as you conjure up reasons to trust him this deeply. Your mind runs in circles for a few minutes, your gaze directed at his face, trying to read any hidden meanings behind him trying to get in your pants. Your heart begs for the deep connection, wanting nothing more than to be his and have him be yours. Your fear-riddled mind has no chance against your heart, but it does have you whispering “Spare my heart, please,” as you pull him down to meet your lips again.
Luke's own heart aches at your plea, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He can't help but mumble soft words of reassurance, saying, “I'll heal that heart of yours” before he lets his tounge slip between your lips.
The kiss is gentle. It's soft and slow. Something you're not used to with past relationships. You lean into it, sighing quietly and falling to your back, this time bringing him with you, letting the weight of his body press you down into the couch.
His hand moves up your side until it finds your hands, your fingers interlacing as he presses it down next to your head. Luke definitely isn't pinning you, scared that you're too mentally fragile to be restrained in any way shape or form during sex, he's simply holding your hand for comfort. You feel him give it a soft squeeze, which you do back to reassure him as well.
Luke adjusts himself, and for a minute you think he's simply straddling your leg before you feel his knee press up against your crotch. Your eyes immediately open from the foreign feeling of it, a boyish moan slipping past your lips and drowning in the kiss when he starts rocking his knee against you. You squeeze his hand tight, feeling your heart begin to pound in your chest while your cock hardens in your boxers. You start to squirm beneath him when his lips find their way to your jawline.
You give him a mix of a moan and a whine as you start rocking your hips to meet his knee, the movement slow but feeling good anyways. Heat rises to your cheeks when you hear him mumble a praise, the words “good boy” and “keep going” slipping from Luke's lips before he can even think about it. You pull your hand away from his to wrap your arms around him, pulling him even closer than he was before. He takes the opportunity to resume unbuttoning your shirt, working off the other half of buttons he hadn't before. You feel your cheeks burning, feeling on fire from being so exposed to him.
You close your eyes, not sure if you're ready to see the look on his face when he sees you like this. He works off the last button, the loose brown material sliding off and getting splayed out on the couch beneath you. You feel him start to pull off of you, letting your arms drop so he can sit up. You feel his eyes on you, making your breath hitch as you wait for some kind of degrading moment. But nothing comes. The silence hurts. More than if he were to be calling you ugly. His knee has stopped moving, your hips protesting the absence of friction with a rut against him.
Luke stares at you like you're a work of art, his hand coming up to ghost along the bare skin of your waist, causing you to flinch and whine. He soothes you with a kiss, his tounge finding it's way into your mouth as he resumes the movement of his knee, grinding it against your hardened cock.
“You're gorgeous. So.. fine.” He mumbles against your lips, his hands resting on your chest so he can focus on providing you with more friction, more pressure against your aching cock.
You can barely hear him with how much you're paying attention to the feeling of it all. His knee moving against you, his tounge brushing over yours, his hands on your chest causing goosebumps to rise. You whimper as your hips buck involuntarily, your hands shooting to grasp at his sides, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You have to pull back from the kiss, croaking out a weak warning of “If you don't- if- I'm gonna-”, only to cut yourself off with a pant or whine each time.
Luke seems to take this as a challenge, hearing you're about to cum just from his knee alone makes him want to moan. His hands slide from your chest to your hips, purposely brushing over your nipples to earn a gasp. He grabs your hips and starts guiding their movement, making sure you don't have to lift a finger to get what you need. The second he hears you start to beg, involuntary “please”’s falling from your lips, he knows you're just about there. He makes sure to keep the same slow but deep rhythm of his knee, not wanting to pull you off the path to your orgasm.
He encourages you almost absent-mindedly, praising you for each noise that you let out, praising you for each drop of cum that soaks into your boxers. His knee grinds into you even as you let go, making you moan louder than you ever thought you'd be comfortable with. You squirm, you moan, you cry, as you cum. But you find yourself not caring one bit. Because Luke is the one making you do it.
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