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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥déjà vu (m)

↳ One year after the fulfillment of a particularly raunchy agreement with your best friends husband, the three of you once again find yourselves together over a bottle of pinot noir, an appetizer, and an unforeseen question laid out on the table:

If you could do it all again, would you?

kim doyoung x fem!reader — friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [21k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, restraints, impact play, slapping, dom-drop+aftercare, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

In the dimly lit ambiance of the swanky restaurant that you and your present company currently reside, and over the dull, pleasant hum of the chatter of the surround patrons, you suppose you can't help but reminisce, just a little bit.

One year.

Not on the dot, a few weeks give or take since the beginning of one such agreement, but nevertheless a time in your life that you've found yourself recalling perhaps a few more times than you'd care to admit. Admit to yourself, and especially to aforementioned present company.

You bring yourself back from the thought just in time to make eye contact with the man across the table from you — a knowing collection of features gracing his face, of course, he doesn't know the ins and outs of whatever it is that happens to take your attention in the moment, but rather, just that there had been something to stir you away from the present. The ringing laughter of your best friend just next to him finally coming into earshot to let you know that the two had been engaged in some other conversation that you must have tuned out slightly, you watch her snake an arm around his as his preoccupied one continues to top off your glass of red wine.

Thankfully, third-wheeling with the couple has become far more comfortable, though, you suppose you know what the reason for that may be.

Mina, with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail and a black sweater on — it must have been the evening for couple outfits, as Doyoung sports just about the same, minus the blonde hair, instead sporting his usual black with seemingly no interest in ever changing his look.

"I'm so annoyed I have to go on this business trip at all," Mina huffs, across the table and next to her husband. "But they did say that I would need to be gone like this occasionally when I took it, so hopefully it can be done and over with as quickly as possible, at least."

"How long was it, again?" You ask, fork gently pressed between your lips to clean it off.

She rolls her eyes as the response begins to leave her. "A month. I don't know what he's going to do without me."

Playful in nature, Mina cozies up with Doyoung next to her as she says it, to which he merely offers a roll of his own eyes before audibly inhaling to response. "Surely I can manage."

"He'll probably just work the whole time, anyways," You add. Your friend nods knowingly. "Aren't you writing a book?"

Lips to his glass, he begins speaking into at the tail end of his sip before placing it back onto the table to carry on with the thought. "It's finished. Loose ends here or there but mostly done. Back to the usual workload, now."

Humming, you carefully shovel another forkful of pasta into your mouth before your vision catches on Mina — a certain gleam in her eye that you know all too well by now to mean that the woman be up to no good, you slow in your motions as you maintain your eyes upon her in wait for what it is that she almost certainly be about to unload on either of you in the middle of this far-too-expensive restaurant.

"Actually," she starts with a jingle to her tone. Eyes now averted from either of you, she still maintains the wicked upturn of the corners of her lips as she hesitates only slightly before finishing the sentence with little more presented to either of you. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about something—"

"Who?"

The word drops from both you and Doyoung simultaneously, and as a result, pulls a resonating chuckle from the woman.

"Well, both of you."

Uh-oh.

Doyoung, once having had his head turned towards his wife, now slowly pulls his vision ahead again, but not without narrow, questioning eyes still remaining to his side as if suspecting her being up to no-good. For good reason, as well, because you maintain the same amount of surveillance on her in wait for what it is that she's about to bestow.

Like a villain sitting in her evil, hands twisting within themselves for all of the devilishness that be about to transpire as a result of her.

"I have an idea."

"Well, that much we can tell, you only get like this when you have one of your ideas," Doyoung can't help but quip back immediately. A man lovingly fed up with all of the nonsense that his wife bring to his life, while no doubt being a large part of the reason that he love her in the first place. "So, what is it, then?"

"No fun, as usual." She sighs before taking a hastened sip from her own glass of wine. Then, her attention turns almost exclusively towards you, as if equally fed up with the way that her husband be behaving in regards to her unknown genius. "Since I'm going to be gone so long, I was thinking — why don't you come stay at the house?"

A shocked, resounding ‘what!?’ coming from both you and the husband in question, once again.

Of course, Mina only laughs at the response from you two with a gentle shake of her head to top it off.

You don't entirely know what to make of the offer, and frankly, you're a little bit too afraid to ask. Instead, you're thankful for Doyoung's bluntness, and perhaps also his familiarity in navigating these particular waters with his wife — because you think you know what she's suggesting, but he most certainly will be the one to ask the question out loud.

"Are you suggesting another arrangement while you're gone?"

"Yeah, why not?" She chimes back as if it be the most normal thing in the world. That it be bizarre for anyone to so much as question it further. "It's a whole month, darling."

"Fairly certain I can keep myself busy enough to not die without having sex for a month."

In ways, this conversation not really involve you currently. Should it play out a specific way, suppose then your input be necessary, but for now: this is between the betrothed.

Mina finally turns in the booth to face him better, but Doyoung insists on maintaining his calculated stature in facing forward and staring out towards the nothingness of the restaurant. He's difficult to read in moments like this; unable to discern if he's upset by the proposition, the potential implications of it, or if he's interested and just unwilling to come of all too eager, and especially in front of you.

After all, the last time sure did end off with a bang, of sorts.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks cutely, as if knowing the answer already. A woman who knows her husbands buttons well, as he turns to give her his full, undivided attention almost the moment that the last syllable drops from her mouth.

"No! I'm not mad, it's just," he pauses, thinking through his word choice carefully as a result of present company, you're sure. "I thought we all agreed that it was a one time thing."

"Then say you're not interested and I'll drop it."

For a split second, Doyoung's eyes catch your own, but he pulls them back and away from you nearly just as swiftly.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this. So...flustered?

Swallowing so hard you watch the lump in his throat bob, Doyoung cocks his head to the side once as if stretching for the marathon of a conversation that his acquiescence to this may just result in. A marathon, indeed, because there would certainly be a whole load more negotiations to take place for a month of who-knows-what-really.

Hesitancy to admit that he's interested in the arrangement. Reluctance to admit it outright without seeming all too eager to re-engage. Tricky waters for the husband in question to navigate, certainly.

Eyes fluttering shut, he sighs. "I'm not against it, just...surprised."

And unfortunately, that means it's your turn now.

Both of their attention now turning to you just as the waiter comes and brings the bill to your table, you feel the heat of embarrassment rush to your face — as if this stranger be privy to the topics ongoing currently — you chuckle nervously as you take the paper in hand, only for Doyoung to just as swiftly tear it away from you before you have so much as a second to consider paying it yourself.

"Well?" Mina questions, chin resting inside of her palm as an elbow settles against the waxed wood of the table top.

For whatever reason, you choose not to acknowledge the man any further as you think through your answer. Assuming him far too busy calculating incredibly simple math especially for someone with a career in finance, all you are capable of is simply thinking him all too enamored in that to be paying any interest or mind to what your response to this question could be. So, with eyes glued to the table in front of you, you muster up all of the courage that you can, while simultaneously biting back the bubbling excitement that you're not too proud of having, before finally giving your best friend your full attention and giving the answer that you think be the one that everyone at the table be looking forward to hearing from you.

"Yeah. I'm down."

Three weeks later, you bring your belongings for your extended stay over to the house that you find already to be comfortable.

There's a certain air about it: a place that you've already spent countless days and nights at, but knowing the circumstances under which you're back inside of their humble abode offering a new set of eyes that you have long since abandoned since a year or so back. Kitchen countertops and upstairs walls that serve as reminders of all sorts of goings on between you and the man of the house — perhaps things you may find yourself revisiting as well as new, unexplored areas with him — there's an excitement within you that now takes the place of any uncertainty or reluctance the first time around.

Because you know Doyoung, and you trust him completely.

Dragging a large suitcase inside, as well as an over-the-shoulder bag and a laptop bag for work, you carefully set your belongings down on the white, marble flooring of the home as you listen for the nearing sounds of footsteps hurrying down the upstairs hallway and towards you. Mina tips over the railing with a bright, cheerful smile — somehow the happiest of the three of you about the way that things are going to carry out for the next thirty days.

"You're here! Doie! She's here!"

Of course, you don't hear from the man, and instead your friend rushes herself down the stairs and into your arms with a wide, tight hug.

"I'm also hungry, I hope there's food in this house," You playfully respond, but before Mina has the chance, Doyoung retorts plainly from the same railing that Mina had been lovingly doting on you only minutes before.

"Suppose I'm expected to keep you fed then, as well."

"Yes, dear," Mina dryly answers with a huff over her shoulder. "Feed and fuck her, that's the agreement."

It being so simply discussed out in the open perhaps something you may never grow completely comfortable with, and with eyes glancing upwards to gauge the mans response as a result of his wife’s words, Doyoung's eyes only roll before sauntering down the stairway just the same as the woman had.

"Are you going to make dinner tonight?" Mina questions as he arrives just behind her. Hands in pockets, he shrugs rather nonchalantly, as if it make no difference to him either way. "I could."

He meets eyes with you, a single eyebrow raising. "Should I?"

"Uh, yeah," you hesitate in response, arms still wrapped around his wife as the conversation carries on. "That'd be really nice."

"I'll go prep then while the two of you say your goodbyes."

And before exiting the scene, Doyoung leans forward and around to kiss Mina — her still very much attached from you, it results in a very full, somewhat-intimate moment that you're all too included in. Unsure if they simply not be aware of your proximity or just as much not care, you swallow and glance away until they're finished — Doyoung's eyes once again catching onto your own before he pulls away from the blonde woman and disappears inside of the kitchen just down the hall.

Shortly there after, Mina separates herself from you, as well. Bags already packed and set aside by the door, you ask her if she need any help in bringing her things out to while she protests, and simply tells you to go and enjoy your stay...

...as well as 'all of the things that the stay has to offer.'

You're not sure if you should feel guilty for the amount of anticipation you've been holding back ever since the initial conversation, but you can't help but wishing for the woman to hurry herself out of the residence, even just a little bit.

You love her, of course, and if her being there instead were an option you would happily choose that ahead of your own interests.

But it's not an option, and frankly, you want to fuck her husband again. No real need to beat around the bush about it, this time.

Two hours after the wife’s departure, the scent of dinner brewing emanates throughout the lower level of the residency that you're now expected to call 'home' for the next month. Surrounded by familiar, white walls and granite countertops, the tall man within be laid with the multitasking of dinner-making while you carry out the finishing touches of table setting. One hand carefully cupped around the tip of the last candle, you hold the lighter against the wick for the fire to catch, and pulling away, you glance over the handy work that you've done in the meantime as you wait for the food to finish cooking. With a heavy sigh coming from Doyoung, you glance over only to find him missing momentarily — popping up from his presumed kneeling position in front of the small, compact wine cooler with a bottle of white in hand.

"Are you going to get changed?"

His expression is somewhat deadpan, which you suppose is to be a bit expected of him, but the question definitely coming from out of left field given your lack of knowledge of even being expected to wear something other than what it is that you had arrived in.

Was this...a date?

Stammering slightly, you do some quick, on your feet thinking about anything that you may have easily accessible in one of your bags that not require a whole lot of putting together in the last minute. "Yeah, give me a second."

Nearly jogging out of the dining room, you hear the man loudly and in your direction. "Make it quick, dinner's in ten."

Pulling a loose, casual dress from your bag and quickly bringing yourself upstairs and into the guest bedroom that you're now to call your own, you can't help but divert your attention down the hall to the shared bedroom of the wedded couple, with one, main rule bestowed upon you by Mina days before your arrival. Her only request of the two of you and your adventures together while she be gone:

Never in their shared room.

No interest in breaking such a rule, instead, you think it charming as you disrobe quickly to change into something more fitting for the evening together. That even in all of the things the couple be willing to share in their marriage, some things still remain off limits, and only for them.

As you re-enter the kitchen area, you catch Doyoung as he pull his apron off from around his neck. Long, thin finger deftly working at the tie around his small waist in a way that reminds you of precisely the way that the mans body look: broad shoulders cinching so snugly at the middle — accentuated by the way fitted trousers and belt hug him and pull at the loose fabric of his button down shirt — he catches you looking well before you find enough awareness to bring your eyes away, and a flush of heat settles at just the tips of your ears as a result of being found out in such a way.

He says nothing, however, instead carrying on with the task of setting the discarded item onto the back of a chair and nodding towards the glass dinner table. "It's ready."

Walking steadily behind him, you realize that the close proximity of the both of you in such a way having long since reignited a sort of burning passion within you for the man — with eyes cascading over his shoulders and back as he bring himself forward, you feel the first, all too evident throb of arousal between your legs that you know, for a fact, you can't possibly place blame on anything else.

When the original agreement had come to a close, you accepted as much happily. A good, positive, growing experience for you in so many ways, but more than that, you were satisfied. Not just sexually, but with your relationships, your life, and your choices. Within the closure came a certain kind of acceptance of yourself in ways that you had never had the opportunity to find before, and now with the re-opening of it, what you really hope to find is more of that.

More acceptance, more trust.

In ways the nature of such agreement never truly able to be just about sex. You can't speak for him, but for you, so much more to be learned and experienced.

Reaching the clear end of the table, majority of the things residing atop it placed further down to accommodate the fact that only two people be sitting there this evening, Doyoung stops so abruptly in his tracks that you nearly collide straight into him — hands coming up to steady yourself and set space between the two of your bodies, it turns into a bit of a whirlwind, however, when you feel the familiar grip of fingers coming around one of your wrists and pulling you forward and in front of the man.

You don't get much more time between then and the few seconds following: expertly placed up and on top of the glass with your legs pried apart to make room for the man between them.

The first kiss comes equally hard and fast, as well.

Nipping into your bottom lip, you don't need much help navigating these particular waters as your hands already make quick work of his belt, followed shortly thereafter by the button and zipper of his black trousers — with such little time passed and a palm pressed against the front of his pants, you find only the beginnings of an erection forming, enough to have you groaning into his mouth with promise of what's to come all of the same, however.

A master of his craft, Doyoung having already pressed the majority of the length of your dress up your hips upon hoisting you onto the table, he dips a single finger down the front of your panties and between your folds, as if to test the waters already. From your position, it's easy to feel the ease in which he glides against you due to the slickness already presented to him — your reward thus far? An absolutely wicked groan of his own through teeth that bite down just a little bit harder into your lip.

"God, how long have you wanted this?" He says with a low tone, words delivered directly into your open mouth as you gasp for air at the feeling of him rubbing gentle circles into your clit just the way he knows you like it. "You're so wet already. You still think about it, huh?"

Less interested in playing games and more willing to be a far more active participant this time around — leaving behind the shyness and apprehension that came along with the completely uncharted waters of the first time — you tilt your head back just slightly and grin, taking in the feeling of him all over again.

"Yeah, I do," you answer with airy confidence. "Don't you?"

"Fuck yes I do."

Words coming through in nearly a growl, Doyoung drags his mouth down along your jaw to suck into the skin all of the way down your neck before settling into the juncture of your shoulder. Pointed sucks and nips into the skin there as if a man truly starved for your touch, you feel him pull you forward and tilt you back just slightly — adjusting the angle of your body so that the fingers teasing you can slip down further — middle finger gliding so easily inside of you, he gives you three pumps of it before adding a second to see how much you need to be prepped for him.

The answer is very little.

Barely any resistance brought to him as he fucks you open with his fingers, you lean back with one palm against the glass behind you to remain stable as the other fishes out his length from behind the confines of the fabric holding it. Long and beautiful, just like you remembered, you run the palm of your hand up the underside of his shaft before delicately wrapping fingers around him and offering him a few lazy strokes; for no other reason than to hear the way his breath hitches just beneath your ear as his mouth carries on its journey back up that way.

As the man carefully creates enough space between your bodies to hook fingers into the sides of your undergarment and pull it down your legs, as he quickly presses his own pants down his thighs just enough to not be a deterrent, you can't help but notice the palpable urgency that this instance carries: a man known for his intensity and ability to maintain stoicism even in the face of erotic desire, this time you find him nearly unrecognizable from any of the times before. No roles between you, no power dynamics at play.

Just two people and raw, sexual desire.

Forearms hooked up and under your legs for leverage, you reach down to him to angle and ease him inside of you with one, smooth drive of his hips — sinking into you with heavy, contented sighs dropping from the both of your mouths at the feeling of each other. Rocking into you shallowly two, three times, it's only then that Doyoung reach his hand up to grasp the side of your neck as if to hold you there, in place, and with all eyes on him, as well.

Pulling the leg still in his grasp up and tightly against the side of his body, he offers you a quick, hard, snap of his hips that finally has you feeling exactly how it is that you want him to make you feel.

Crying out, he settles his forehead against your own, looking you dead in the eyes as he offers another hard drive of his cock into you. The angle is just right for him to graze your g-spot with intense pressure, and already, you feel your thighs quaking around him at the sudden onset of it.

He starts slow, but is quick to find his pace against you, all the while holding you firm in his gasp for just the right amount of leverage that every forceful thrust into you be received with the utmost impact.

You had forgotten how easily he's able to have to falling apart under, and around him.

Electric intensity coursing through every nerve ending, toes curling as your moans quickly dissolve into pathetic whimpers, you feel the prickling of wetness threatening your tear ducts as you bite hard into your bottom lip in an attempt to bring yourself back, even just a little bit.

It's the first time, and relatively vanilla, at that. This man can not have you withering like this already, it's humiliating.

With his jaw tight and teeth gritted as he stairs down towards you, you whine out as the hand around your neck snakes up just ever so slightly and into the hair at the back of your head — fist clenching tight within the strands, and it's only then that Doyoung break his gaze with you and trail hot, dry lips down to the shell of your ear.

"Thought I forgot what you like?" He asks with a drop of venom to his tone. "Don't want to ruin you just yet, we still have dinner to eat."

There's that nasty mouth you had grown to love a year ago.

With impending orgasm on the horizon that no doubt that man inside of you can feel, he trades in shorter, quicker drives into you for fuller, longer ones — offering you the feeling of the entirety of his cock with every snap of his hips, and it's really then that you realize that Doyoung have your likes a little bit too under his thumb for your liking.

But only as far as ego goes. Physically, you already find yourself lamenting the day in which this must once again come to an end.

Walls clenching down around him, Doyoung hisses into your ear as you bite back the full, long moan of an orgasm that's soon to shake you, and dipping down only long enough to nip and suck into the skin below your ear, he brings his mouth back up to it right as you're on the verge of your release.

"How about you make me come, so that I can lick it out of you for dessert."

And that will certainly do the trick.

Yelling out so loudly that you're happy to know that the two of you home alone and on a plot of land large enough that neighbors not be a concern, your orgasm rips through you, so desperate to grip onto something that one hand come up to curl fingers into Doyoung's forearm as he hold you by the hair in place for him to fuck into. Bringing his head up to look at you, as if the unsure about the motion and having to check in on the goings on visually — happy with the scene as your eyes roll back into harshly knitted eyebrows, you hear him groan from the chest — full-bodied and throaty as he comes as well with only a handful more drives into you before burying his cock entirely to empty his load inside of you.

The familiar twitch of him as he comes — mouth delicately hung ajar and looking down at the place where he disappears inside of you — a simple man who enjoy all of the carnal pleasures that sex offer him as much as any other. Prim, proper, put together on the outside but when given the chance, a man willing to say and do the the nastiest, filthiest things to and for a partner...for the both of your enjoyment.

The wetter, the messier — the better it is, for you and him, alike.

And as the two of you sit together for dinner only moments after, discussing the trials and tribulations of adult, workload life — with his cum dripping from your cunt and soaking into your panties, you know one thing is for sure, and that is that whatever is left of it inside of you by the time you two are finished here, he most certainly will be making good on his promise of dessert.

Waking up in the morning feels strange, even under the circumstances of a fake-dating agreement.

On one hand, it makes sense: preferring to sleep in the comfort of ones own bed, but as you lie awake, staring at the while ceiling above and listening to the hum of the dehumidifier that stand tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, you can't help but feel something. Some way about it.

However, it is early into the scenario — only day two, so perhaps it best to allow these feelings of uncertainty lie dormant for just a little while longer — given time to manifest into something if they ever are to, before bringing it to the attention of the man of the house.

Would it be a strange request? All things considered and through all of the other goings on, could something as quaint as the request to be slept next to be one unspoken hard limit for the husband in question?

A single, hard blink has you putting the thought out of your mind in exchange for rolling over to face the window as the delicate blanketing of morning rays wash over your frame. Snagging your phone from off of the nightstand, you check the time only to be be shocked by how early it is — only a bit past six — you come to realize that it explain the sound of rustling from downstairs that you originally thought to be nothing but the typical sounds of a house in the night.

For a moment, you contemplate attempting to go back to sleep, rolling onto your back once again and sprawling across as much of the expanse of the much-too-large furniture as you can possibly manage. Instead, it's the sound of the espresso machine ringing loudly through the residence that has you reconsidering your options.

Footsteps climbing the stairs, you can't help but listen in on the way that the man moves about when not in the company of you or others. Sounding as if he is, however, you hear him on the phone to someone or another — displeased at best, as well, given the strength to his voice despite being unable to make out the words. Shuffling around his office briefly only to disappear back down to the lower level, you decide then that you much too curious about Doyoung in a way that you hadn't quite expected: him as a person, him as an employee, him detached from sexuality almost entirely.

Feet into slippers and a light robe over your shoulders, you quietly tip-toe your way down to the kitchen where it seem that the majority of the early morning happenings be taking place — as you make your way closer, the distinct scent of coffee brewing and and continued sounds of an irritated man, none too thrilled about the conversation taking place, but it's only when you reach the nearest entryway and your presence demands his attention, that you feel as though you may have been walking into more than you had thought to be signing up for.

Black hair styled and slicked back with a gray suit adorning him — it would appear normal, given his occupation, if not for one, glaring, difference to the typical business attire.

No shirt worn underneath the jacket, instead, you find yourself faced with the expanse of smooth skin that you're already well acquainted with, sure.

But not like this?

Your being there appears to fluster him slightly as he turns his back towards you quickly and cusses under his breath despite still being on the phone. Informing the person on the other line that he'll call them back, you watch with a sort of innocent enjoyment as Doyoung pulls the jacket closed before turning to face you again.

"What are you doing awake?" He all but stutters out, a good attempt at maintaining his vocal balance through his embarrassment, you have to give it to him.

With a single eyebrow perked upwards, you offer him nothing more than a gentle grin at first, slipping through the doorway finally and pulling a mug down from one of the higher cupboards to pour yourself a cup of coffee. "I don't sleep so well in new places, it'll take a couple of days to get used to a new bed."

You can't be sure if ignoring the elephant in the room be what he desire right then and there, or if instead it only lending to more awkwardness — so, you make a judgment call then and there as you turn to seat yourself at the kitchen island and hopping into one of the tall stools that reside there.

"So—"

"Don't." He immediately interjects with screwed shut eyes and a palm up towards you.

A small giggle escapes your mouth at his insistence, but beyond that, you choose to let it lie as you quietly scroll through your phone. Doyoung, however, not as easily placated — shuffling around nervously in place, and if you didn't know any better, you might think him to be irritated at your lack of insistence further.

"It's not what it looks like."

Glancing up towards him, you blink once. "I assure you that I have no idea what it looks like."

It's the truth, because after all: what the fuck?

Rolling his eyes and accepting defeat, the man grabs his mug from behind him and seats himself across the way from you with phone in hand as if waiting for a call that he intend on answering the absolute second that it begins coming through.

"So, you know I wrote a book."

You nod.

"Publisher wants me to do some promotional photos for it, now I get word last minute that the photographer isn't coming and they're having a hard time finding someone who can make it all of the way out here in time."

"Is there a reason that they want you to be dressed like a Chippendales dancer for a book about business and finances?"

Groaning and tossing his head back so abruptly you think he might send the entirety of himself barreling backwards and out of his chair, when he comes back upwards, he looks approximately as pained about the whole ordeal as you might expect him to.

"Something about selling more books."

A questioning hum into the rim of your mug, you would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy having a bit of the high ground over the man for once. Tables turned briefly as he sits across from you nearly nervously sweating the wax out of his perfectly styled hair — when the call begins to come through finally, Doyoung jumps up and out of his chair to answer it — hurried and excited at first, only to find himself sounding just as annoyed and despondent as you had heard him earlier on.

Guess it's not going well.

Turning to you once again as he ends the call and setting his phone onto the granite countertop with a heavy sigh, he tilts his head backwards with eyes closed as if in silent prayer for some sort of answer to this conundrum from some sort of higher power above.

Luckily for him, the answer only need fifteen more minutes to wake up and another cup of coffee, first.

"Did Mina ever tell you I got pretty into photography a few months back?"

"I'm sure she mentioned it."

Slow on the pick-up.

"I brought my stuff with me because you guys live in sort of a good area for landscape photography," you continue on, and thankfully by now the mans eyes start to pick up and raise towards you as you speak. "I don't really do people but it doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to be all that picky."

Quietly taking another sip from your cup, you sit by and wait for the reluctant acceptance: because he's a man out of other options, and you don't really have anything better to be doing this early in the morning, either.

"Fine." Doyoung sighs, tipping his own drink all of the way back to finish it off as if downing a shot of liquor to prepare him for the morning going forward. "Just make sure I look pretty, would you?"

"Of course, darling."

Snapping a few test shots, you pull your camera down from your eye and take a look through the display to check the turn out — given, it's a bit of a rough shoot with no lighting equipment and not much else to help you along your way, but you figure with what you're getting here currently that someone far more talented than yourself be capable of fixing anything decent you get in post.

Looking upwards again and towards your subject: laid out on the white flooring of an otherwise unfurnished room that the happy couple haven't had the time to get around to just yet, Doyoung keeps his attention turned well away from you as you cycle through the photos to determine any better way that you can make this work.

You think, perhaps, that he's still a bit bashful of the circumstances.

Leaning back against his elbows and forearms, you watch him glance towards the ceiling just briefly before finally looking at you.

"Well?"

It's a little bit funny how little he wishes to be doing this right now. Karma, perhaps, for years of subtle torment.

"They look good enough," you admit with a slight nod, sounding almost surprised at the fact. "I think we can get a few good shots pretty quick and have you back in your office writing boring reports, or whatever it is that you do, in no time."

"I'd much rather be doing that." He huffs, turning his attention away again. The movement gives you an excellent shot of the angle of his jaw, however — thus, you bring your camera back up to take a few more pictures before gracing him with a reply.

"I've never met a man so dismayed by being attractive."

"You think I'm attractive?"

You bring the camera down again, a slightly annoyed but playful cock of your head to the side that silently says 'really?', because frankly, it's a stupid question. This is a fact that Doyoung knows, as evidenced by the smirk that takes his lips as a result of your reaction to it.

"It's not the 'being attractive' that's bothersome," he continues on with the thought, offering you an honest response now. "Just don't really need or particularly enjoy this kind of attention on myself. It feels bizarre, especially as someone in my line of work."

It makes sense, and snapping a few more shots, you opt out of a verbal reply and only hum of acknowledgement, instead.

"I'll be happy to have it over with, and now I know, no more books."

Without pulling up from the camera, you carry on with your direction. "Look towards me."

Head turning slowly and eyes settling deeply into your own even through the lens, Doyoung settles into his new pose — a smoldering look to him that really would have you thinking that something like this be his chosen line of profession after all, but shaking it off, you press a few more clicks of the button and check in the view finder once again for how the photos are turning out thus far.

Doyoung's gaze, however, remaining firm on you as you do.

Jacket open again and chest fully on display, you make a good effort of attempting to ignore the flesh before you. Of course, it's far from the first time that you've seen him — and really, you've seen him in far less clothing and far more intimate scenarios, but something about this, you find, doing a little bit extra for your visceral attraction to the man.

Even worse, it's about seven in the morning. Who tries to fuck their best friends husband at seven in the morning?

You do? Maybe?

Mind wandering to the thought of whether or not it's something that is also on his mind, you figure it not too far from the realm of possibility: after all, the relationship between the both of you be almost strictly a sexual one, what else is there for either of you to be fantasizing about whilst in each others company like this?

"Is it good?"

The wording is a little strange, and that's because you know it to be a question with a hidden agenda behind it. A question he often asks you while buried deep within your body, as your eyes fall to his and your camera falls away from your face just a bit, you can quite easily see the sinister curl of one corner of his lips. Knowing, playful, a man with an agenda, indeed.

"Yeah," you answer cooly, not willing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing about your growing arousal. "They look good."

It's then that one of Doyoung's hands slowly glides up and to the front of his trousers — watching on as he expertly unbuttons and unzips them all the while maintaining perfect eye contact with you — there's a part of you deep down that is pleased with the non-verbal communication between the two of you and how far that it has come, even with so much time between the last time and now.

There's also a part of you that's willing to beg to have him in your mouth right now, but you'd rather not make that one so obvious just yet.

"Why don't you come get your reward then?"

Well, so much for the 'not making it that obvious' plan.

Slowly and gently setting the camera down on the only, lone dresser in the entire room, you just as carefully shrug off the robe you had been wearing — long, loose sleeves tending to be a bit of a detriment for these sorts of activities, best to be nimble and able to do whatever it is that you need to do.

The fact that you don't know what that is yet quite possibly the most enticing part of it.

Spending more time with the man in casual settings, you find it charming as well as that much more sexy to see the way he so easily slips into that dominant role. Not that long ago flustered and shy about you catching him in the kitchen in the same open suit coat that he adorn now.

Closing the distance between you and carefully settling down onto your knees between his legs, you watch as his hand slip down and beneath the fabric that still offer coverage from your sights — palming his growing erection just under, and worse than that — still maintaining that devilish eye contact with you like nothing capable of pulling his vision from yours.

"What do you want?" He asks with a sultry groan to him.

And still maintaining that initial desire to not completely give in to his whims, you instead decide on a bit of turnaround. Biting your lip, you look him straight in the eye to deliver your reply. "What do you want?"

It does give him a bit of pause perhaps — a single eyebrow perking up at the slight bit of defiance you dangle before him, but rather than deter him, he leans into it in full.

And you had not calculated the risk of being told precisely what it is that he wants from you accurately, either.

"I want you to spit on my cock, and then I want to watch you gag on it until I come."

It's a total knockout of a response, just like that. Throat running dry and heart thumping hard in your chest at the promise of exactly that, Doyoung's eyes remain on you as he offers you nothing more than a small shrug at your inability to properly digest the information.

"You asked," He adds with a much too sly smirk.

Hand shifting to be removed from his pants, Doyoung runs his thumb over the tip of his length to gather the bit of precum that's since gathered there, and upon its exit, he whispers a simple "come here" as he extends it towards you and presses the digit between your all too accommodating lips to suck him clean. Wet and wrapping around it, you run your tongue around him and offer a gentle suction before the man hooks into the corner of your mouth with a deeply wanting groan.

"Get what you want, then."

Taking his hand back from your face, you waste little more time before hooking your own fingers into the sides of his trousers and giving them a tug — hips lifting off of the flooring for just a moment to allow for the shift — you bring the fabric down just enough to be out of the way, watching as his cock springs free and the tip of it lie against his exposed abdomen. Perching over Doyoung's hips, you take him into one hand, a few languid strokes to feel just how hard he already is before dipping your head down and taking him into your mouth with the swirl of your tongue.

Breath hitching in his throat at the feeling of you, it's one of your favorite things about sucking him off — always just a little bit on the verge of falling apart beneath you entirely as you do so.

Pulling off of him for a moment, you glance back up the length of his body to make eye contact with him once again before allowing the lewd display of saliva to fall from your puckered lips and messily onto his shaft in hand. Then, it's back to business, taking him deeper and fuller into your mouth with light suction and long, slow bobs of your head around him.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," Doyoung whispers out, head falling back to take in the feeling just briefly before bringing his gaze back up to watch the way you work him — not wanting to miss a moment of the show. "Love my cock, don't you? Can't get enough?"

Moaning around him in affirmation, the words cause you to stroke him just that much faster — enjoying the way he sounds when you have him like this.

"Think you can take it all this time?" He asks, voice slightly broken already. "Bet you practiced while we were apart, didn't you? Sucking other cock just in hopes that you can take mine that much better if you were to get the chance."

Throbbing between your legs far from dull at this point with a man never relenting in the dirty talk, you once again groan around him as you also feel yourself falling apart despite being wholly untouched thus far. You can't see him, but you feel the shift of his weight to free one of his arms for movement, followed by the familiar feeling of his fingers collecting loose strands of hair as he intertwine them into the collection of it at the back of your head.

Leverage.

There's truth to his words, though. Not so much about sucking off ever Tom, Dick and Harry in town just to practice for the inevitable resurrection of your sexual relationship with Doyoung specifically, but you had seen other men since then, and you had sucked some of their dicks.

You're a little proud of the progress made, sure.

Bringing yourself up enough that only the tip of him remain between your lips, you take a deep breath in preparation for what's to come — the gentle, careful press of his hand down against the back of your head to force more of his cock into your mouth...slowly, inch-by-inch and with no rush to have you take the entirety of him in one go, when he reaches the back of your throat you focus on steadying and relaxing yourself for him. Hissing through his teeth at the feeling of burying himself so deeply within your mouth and throat, as he ventures further, you feel the welling of tears in your eyes at the light discomfort of it.

It's not bad, and far from enough to not want to keep going — rather, the excitement of having so much of him far outweighing those things, anyway.

Slipping into your throat delicately, Doyoung instead opts for short, shallow thrusts into you for the rest of the way, and once he feels your nose against his pubic bone, he can't help the breathy moan that escapes from his lips.

It's heavenly, hearing him so desperate beneath you.

Pulling you back up and off of him slowly, the two of you look at one another — you with teary, wet eyes and swollen, red lips — you think that the darkness in his eyes deepens just that much more at the sight of you destroyed on his cock before him.

"Think you can take it again?"

"Yeah."

"Such a good girl. Go ahead then, swallow me down."

Repeating the previous motions, before your nose settles against his skin, Doyoung instead opts for slow drives of himself into your mouth — gently throat fucking you with dizzying, incoherent sounds melting from his lips as you take just about all of him inside of you like this. It takes very little time before you hear and feel the familiar notions of him reaching his peak, a few harder, deeper drives of his cock up and into your mouth through his attempt to maintain his composure that have you gagging around him ever so slightly, and just as promised.

"Fuck, you take it so well now," he all but whines, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted tightly together as he shallowly bucks his hips up into your mouth to chase his release. "Wanted to earn my cum, didn't you?"

You can't grace him with an answer, and he knows it well enough — the dirty talking is for you, really, knowing the way that every word pools between your legs — an unrelenting throb there now and unknowing if you'll be offered the same release that the man under you be about to experience.

In a way, you almost don't even care if you cum.

Suddenly, Doyoung pulls your head up and off of him completely to instead replace it with his hand — quickly stroking himself to completion only to empty his load on the expanse of exposed skin along his abs and sternum with a hot, heavy, whiny vocalization.

Catching your breath for only a second, in one, fluid motion you dip your head down to lick the white-translucent fluid off of his body as his chest heaves just above where you work.

Turning your head to grant you the ability to look up at him, the two of you make eye contact once again as your tongue dips out to collect his cum. Head falling back, he lets out an exasperated moan at the sheer sight of your desire for him.

"Ride my face," he suddenly demands, hands reaching down for your arms and already pulling you up and towards him. "Now. Come on my face."

A dizzying request from him and not one you had factored into the potential possibilities, you don't bother inquiring further as you struggle to your feet and discard your garments as quickly as possible before wobbling over to him and kneeling above his face with creeping uncertainty.

Doyoung wastes no time, however, digging fingers into the flesh of your behind and pulling your soaking cunt flush against his mouth — digging his tongue firmly into your clit and offering you the much needed relief you had been hoping for. Whimpering in his grasp, he goes at you hard and fast straight from the get go in a way that has you reeling with the threat of an orgasm that you knew wouldn't be all that far off from the horizon, anyway.

"Doyoung, fuck—"

Moaning against you, the vibration tickling your sensitive nub just that much more as he quickly circles over it with far more than just expertise, you find yourself thankful for the close proximity of the wall just behind him as you fall forward slightly and find leverage against it. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—"

You sound somewhat surprised by the fact, large in part because you are. Not that you anywhere near able to follow the flow of time, rather, you know that it certainly hasn't been long since having made your way up here, and already Doyoung is having you tumbling over into orgasm.

In the last moments before you cum; grinding down hard against the mans mouth as he groan up into you and fingers digging into you flesh to hold you in place — you look down ever so briefly to find his eyes — narrow, lustful, and with a job to fulfill right before you come with an embarrassingly high pitched shriek, thighs quaking around his head as you bite the tail end of your yell back and indulge in the feeling of him sucking any coherent thought that you could ever possibly have in that moment straight out of you through your pussy.

And as you wind down from the exhaustion of your early morning escapades, you shakily crawl off of him, clumsily falling to the floor next to him and heaving in the afterglow of ecstasy. The two of you enjoy the silence for just a moment before Doyoung turns his head lazily to allow his eyes to fall upon your weary form.

"Breakfast?"

Huffing out an exhausted laugh, you can't help but smile at the nonchalance of it all as you grant him a nod. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool," he says, bringing himself up and to his feet to shrug off the suit jacket entirely and leaving it bunched up on the floor next to you. "You suck my dick like that again and I'll cook you a six course meal every day until Mina gets home."

"Good to know."

With your nose buried in your laptop and comfortably sat in the lavish living room with no company other than yourself, you tab away at your keyboard to answer work emails and respond to other such employment related inquiries. Approximately a week into your stay at the current residence, you find yourself quite easily settled in by now: the two of you working on your own for the majority of the day, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or the hallway as either you or Doyoung come to and from your standard whereabouts, and, if given the free time at a whim — a quickie where ever either of you wish to have the other.

The entire circumstances fundamentally erotic — your entire being there at all deeply erotic in a sense — but with a week down and more rounds under your belt than days spent there already, you can't help but find that the simplicity of domesticity already setting in, in a way.

When Mina had suggested a sort of 'fake-dating' scenario, you hadn't anticipated it being so on the nose.

Because it truly does feel as though you and Doyoung are dating: engaged in a relationship beyond just the sexual, despite being intensely sexually charged and the entire surroundings of it being build off of that. You eat together, you chat together, you shower together occasionally — for all intents and purposes, you are, as Mina had suggested, dating; in some way, shape, or form.

It's not boring, but a sense of excitement and luster has already worn off in a way that you can't help but acknowledge. Of course, you still desire the man viscerally just as you always had the very moment you began your physical relationship with him...but the fact of the matter is just that: it's different now.

Upon sending out your last email at just before four in the afternoon, you shut your laptop in tune to the sound of Doyoung treading down the upstairs hallway and making his way down the stairs. Glancing up towards him, the two of you make eye contact, giving him pause for just a second before he continues his way down to the floor level of the home.

"What do you say about ordering in tonight, I don't feel like cooking again."

Dramatically throwing yourself back along the length of the couch, you swing your arm up and across your face like a damsel in distress at the mere thought of not being personally catered to. "What ever will I do? What's the point of even being here?"

He rolls his eyes at your overacting. "I'm going to order a pizza. I'll order two so that there are leftovers for tomorrow, then I can really punish you if I have to."

"Kinky," you quip back playfully as you bring yourself back up to a sitting position on the black leather. "Then what?"

Bringing his hands to settle on his hips, Doyoung simply stares at you with his head cocked to the side.

"If you think I'm going to be your tough, hard dominant boy-toy your whole stay then sorry to disappoint, but I'm only one man, I need some rest too, you know."

Of course, the banter is part of the fun of it. Something that the two of you have always engaged in, but as of late with the comfort of living together established, a new level of it unlocked. Easier and more fluid. Where once upon a time there be perhaps more truthful venom behind comments or words, instead now rest an adoring familiarity between the new faux-couple.

"Endlessly disappointing, aren't you?" You sigh in response, unable to fully hide your grin.

"So I've been told," he's quick to admit. "But if you're good tonight then there is something you might be pleased to discuss over dinner."

An intriguing promise of what's to come, and entirely unknowing of what it is that he be referring to, you find your curiosity to most definitely be piqued. Eyebrow quirking upward at the sly comment, you're mindful of the mischievous glimmer in his eye that you know to only present itself when the man have something very particular, and particularly raunchy, at that, in mind.

As the both of you settle into the smaller living room area just next to the dining room — fireplace lightly crackling in the not too far off distance and a cheap bottle of white wine opened and set on the tiny coffee table, as the television in front of you sounds off to fill the room with sitcom chatter and laughter, you glance over to the man just next to you: sitting with legs crossed in front of him and his plate balanced onto his lap as he bite into a slice of cheap, cheese pizza. It's a sight that you come to realize in the moment that you're unfamiliar with, all things considered: a particularly raw and true level of domesticity where Doyoung exist as just some guy, in the best way possible. You realize in this moment as well, that it's times like this that are likely cause for Mina's falling in love with him. A good man, after all — and more than that, seemingly perfectly well-rounded in all ways, as well.

Even so, as the flicker of illumination dances across sharp, pretty features — round, framed glasses perched upon his nose and rather unkempt hair in the front from a hand running through it numerous times that day — the conversation mentioned earlier weighs the heaviest on your mind with promise of, well, you don't quite know yet; but you sure would like to find out.

"So," you chime, semi-awkwardly on purpose and for effect. It's enough to garner his attention already, a man not all that wrapped up in the show carrying on before him to begin with. "About that talk."

"Right," he quickly responds with a single nod, setting the food down onto the plate in front of him and bending forward to set it onto the table between the both of you. "About that. I was curious how much of this...arrangement you were looking to explore in our time together."

The inquiry brings pause, finding the wording of it slightly difficult to navigate, because what does he mean by that?

You suppose your hesitancy is telling, however — Doyoung chuckling lightly under his breath before rephrasing the question more clearly.

"I mean...the first time we started sleeping together you were interested in exploring a rather dominant and submissive power play scenario. I'm wondering if you're wanting to explore that further."

'Further,' you think, being the operative word, and yes, yes you do.

Reaching forward for your glass of wine, you take a sip before answering him confidently. "Yeah, I've thought about it. I had done some exploring this past year but—"

Hesitating to think through your words carefully, Doyoung interjects with the thought you had been leaning towards anyway, and in a way, it proves your point just that much more.

"—Haven't established that level of trust with anyone?"

"Yeah, that."

He nods, finally spinning himself in place on the couch to fully face towards you. In a way he appears particularly earnest, as if even now still vying for that level of trust necessary to engage in the even harder, darker sides of BDSM as implied.

"Then," he says a bit more seriously than you would have ever really expected. "Tell me what you want."

You suppose that as far as situations that require a more serious touch, this be at the top of his list.

It's not something that you've spent all that much time thinking about, however. No list of 'things to try' on hand or a bullet pointed note on your laptop of all of the ways in which you wish for him to have you. Rather, they be fleeting, passing moments that you find yourself fantasizing about in private, discarded just as quickly as they find themselves making way into your mind.

But you do know that they still lie embedded in there somewhere, you just have to dig them back up.

As well as relay them to him in plain, simple words. It's not only an admittance of desire, but one of confession: 'this is all of the ways I've wanted you even since then.'

You swallow down the bubbling humiliation though, knowing that if not capable of bestowing upon him precisely what it is that you want of him that he be in no position to grant it to you.

He needs to know everything, because he has to have a plan.

"Restraints," you begin, inhaling deeply after the word leaves your mouth. "Orgasm control, impact play...basically all of the same but turned up a notch."

Doyoung nods, reaching towards his own glass of wine and sipping from the rim. Then, after thinking through your words, he offers another nod of understanding.

"Okay, then here are my rules: first, the same safe wording system will remain in place, we both know it and are familiar with using it so I think that's best. Second, no renegotiation mid-scene, it makes it difficult for me to be able to have an understanding of where you are and also gives me cause to have less trust in your word—"

Pausing again and with his head tilted down towards his lap, he glances up through his eyelashes at you for explicit eye contact in that moment.

"—And if I'm going to hit you, I need to be able to trust your word of when it's just enough, or too much."

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool," he finally sighs, dropping the tough and serious exterior to once again fall back into the Just A Guy role he had previously been enjoying. Doyoung slumps to the side and against the back of the couch with a contented grin as he finishes up his thought. "Tomorrow evening, then? Doesn't have to be then—"

"No!" You nearly shout, already thrilled with the thought of all that's soon to come to you. "No, tomorrow is good, perfect."

Standing to his feet, the man reaches down to take both of your plates into hand with intention of heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to head to bed then. Long day, tomorrow will be longer now — try to get some good rest tonight."

Needing no verbal response, you sit back comfortably against the large cushions of the couch as he begin to head towards his exit — it's then, that a sudden thought comes to mind in an instant, and before your window for negotiation truly closes, you have to put it out there, now or never.

"Oh! Doie? One more thing about the scene tomorrow?"

He hums in acknowledgment of your words, merely glancing back and over his shoulder at you in wait for what it is that you wish to add.

"When you hit me...leave your wedding band on."

Snorting through his nose with a chuckle, the man playfully shakes his head at the thought and the implications behind it — just as quick on the uptake of one of the joys of kink exploration within the confines of this arrangement.

No one is cheating on anyone, doesn't mean we can't pretend, though.

"Kinky minx," He responds coyly, dumping the dishes into the sink and disappearing into the darkness of the otherwise unlit household.

"Shall we?"

Doyoung's voice is calm and pleasant when he asks the question. There's a hint of knowing within it, a playful nuance in regards to what's to come from here on out that already has anticipation pooling between your legs in a relatively unexpected way. You were excited for tonight, of course, but a physical response as a result of him merely alluding to it not exactly something you had foreseen in your future.

You recall Mina telling you how good of a dom he is a year ago.

The evenings festivities call for a one drink maximum: a rule implemented by the man himself to ensure that the parties involved be well aware of themselves and within the grips of their own feelings and boundaries enough to ensure safe play. One drink offering plenty to take the buzz of nervousness edge off, after all.

Dinner is light. Enough to keep the both of you fed and fulfilled without weighing either of you down, especially when you can't be sure when or if you're to be gagged — and beyond that, on what, you'd rather not take the risk of throwing up all over him — at least, minimize it as much as possible.

None of this is all that new to you, though. You've played before, partaken in kink and gone to parties before. Engaged in such things with people who are not Doyoung in between then and now — but as you quietly follow him downstairs and into the basement below, you find yourself so much calmer with him that with any of your previous play partners before.

It's not a matter of poor vetting and even poorer partner choices: you've had fun, it's been safe, and everyone has left satisfied. However, there just be something special about your play partner now — a level of trust and understanding between the two of you that takes an edge of uncertainty from the back of your mind and discards it entirely.

You don't have to worry about him, not even a little bit. As a result, you don't have to worry about you, either.

"I can't believe you two have a dungeon, how cliche," You sarcastically quip as your foot lands onto the floor at the end of the stairs.

Doyoung glances at you briefly from over his shoulder and shoots you a roll of his eyes. "It's not a dungeon, we just wanted to keep the upstairs bedrooms available for guests. We had no other plans for the basement, so—"

"—So, you turned it into a dungeon," You finish for him.

Walking over to a small, unceremonious table, Doyoung pulls out a tube of hand lotion from one of the old, brown drawers and squeezes a small dab of it into palm. "If calling it that gets you off, then by all means."

As the man settle in and begin preparing for the activities, you take it upon yourself to glance around and take in the sights. Truly, it's nothing like the fancy, mommy-porn movies: no huge rigs or handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. Rather, it's sort of just a regular room — obviously re-done since moving in to serve this purpose specifically, you take notice of the king sized bed off at the furthest end of the rather small underneath of the home — satin, royal blue sheets and a single pair of restraints hanging from one of the golden bedposts there.

"Have you ever played submissive?"

It's a question that's rattled around your brain for a while now, suppose now is as good a time as ever to sate the curiosity. Doyoung comes up from behind you so quietly that it nearly startles you with another pair of wrist binds in his grips, and as you glance back and the two of you make eye contact, he reaches out for your hand — slowly fastening one of them to your wrist before answering the question.

"If you must know, yes," He says, tightening the restraint against your skin just firm enough for a good hold, and without causing pain. "One of those...'you gotta try it once' sort of situations."

"How did that go?" You ask further as he spins you in place to face him, fastening the other half of the tan leather to you. Doyoung offers you a sly grin first, slowly stepping you backwards on your heels and towards the bed, before gently tipping you and causing you to fall flat on your back to the mattress below.

"Didn't take."

While restraints, you find, aren't typically your thing, it's a situation in which you feel comfortable with him. You question momentarily if there be any other person in the world that you would be willing to be in this current scenario with: bound and laid out against the sheets of someone's basement bed, and the answer is a quite easy and resounding 'no.'

"Recite back the safe word system," He demands, tone dropping in a way that you know this be the beginnings of the scene at hand. You watch him as he rolls up the sleeve of his white, button down shirt — more or less still dressed up from the work day just before — sort of the archetype of the CEO dominant man that while typically you don't find yourself creaming yourself for...this time, it's sort of working for you.

"Green is good to keep going, yellow to slow down and lighten up, red is full stop to the scene. If unable to speak: two taps to someone's body is effectively a yellow sign, and three is a red sign."

"Good girl," he chimes, squatting down to the edge of the bed between your legs and hooking fingers into the sweatpants you're wearing. "Scene renegotiation?"

"Only to lessen, never to strengthen."

Pulling the fabric down your legs, panties and all, you feel the rush of cool air against your flesh in a particularly stark way — your body temperature seemingly already flaring up at just the mere discussion of the rules from here on out, you find this to also be an unexpected turn out of tonight's engagements.

"Sit up," He then requests; a near impossible task for you alone given your bind. He knows this, naturally, and reaches for the center of your restraints to pull you upwards and seated just as he desires.

Cold fingers just grazing the flesh of your torso as he grabs at the hem of your shirt and brings it up over your head, it's electric — felt through what you think could be every nerve of your body with barely any physical touch at all.

A worrying trend for your resolve tonight.

With you fully disrobed, Doyoung pushes you to lie back again, dipping down into his previous position and hooking his arms under your legs to pull your bottom to the edge of the bed. It's exciting already: the anticipation of what's to come and what he will do with you — relinquishing all power and ability to be an engaging participant in your activities in a way not yet engaged in since your time arriving in the home.

It's then that he dips a single finger between your folds — the touch is delicate, barely offering you any sort of stimulation at all, and as a result, you're already keening and attempting to melt yourself into his touch. This, of course, gives him great pleasure at the sight of you already so needy and wanting for him — evidenced on his face as he looks up at you from between your legs and gives your clit the lightest feathering of a swirl with the tip of the digit present there.

"In a rush?" He asks teasingly, still circling the collection of nerves between your thighs.

A dizzying offering of almost nothing to your body despite knowing how you crave his touch.

"What do you want?" Doyoung questions as if speaking to no one in particular, finger dipping down towards your opening and shallowing pressing inward as if intending to penetrate you. "I take it you want me to fuck you open with my hand?"

With a small whimper dropping from your mouth, he hums inquisitively. "Feel my tongue on you? Taste you like you have the last cunt on earth?"

"Yes," You finally whine in reply, but the response from you garners nothing from the man in question.

Instead, and in a rather surprising turn of events, Doyoung gives you just that: carefully slipping a single finger into you, slowly fucking into you with ease as a result of the ample arousal already having pooled there. It's shallow, slow, and far from enough to get you anywhere you're wanting so desperately to go, but better than nothing — a moment later, you feel the heated waves of breath across your labia as he brings his mouth mere centimeters from your mound.

Nearly instinctually you attempt to grind yourself down and against his hand and face, but it results in little given your lack of mobility. A light chuckle offered from him as a result of your wanting, you feel him press his lips lightly against your lower ones, but only to speak.

"You think I'm going to let you come?" He questions, offering one, long, stripe of his tongue through your slit finally and giving you the warm, wet, contact that you've been silently begging for. "You still want it even though you know I won't, that's how desperate you are for me, isn't it?"

Whining out a breathy affirmation of the fact, he serves you another press of his tongue against you for what you can only figure is 'good behavior.'

"I can always make you come so quick like this, can't I? Like your pussy was made for me—" He carries on the thought, pausing long enough to drag his tongue over you languidly and pulling from you the most desperate whines each and every time. "Body made for me, isn't it? Your mouth, your throat, your cunt, your ass...all mine for the taking, aren't they?"

The moan that tears from your throat at the words is nothing sort of humiliating.

"Answer."

"Yes, they are," You force yourself to reply through a breathy, broken voice.

"I know, you're so good for me. What a perfect little toy for me to come inside and toss aside until next time, aren't you?"

You don't have a chance to respond before his mouth is attached to you, tongue digging firmly into your clit and the sound of him sucking into you resonating through the otherwise empty basement. Eyes screwing shut, you only have a second of self-awareness to realize that he really might be able to make you come in record time at this rate. Curling his fingers up into you and running his tongue across you in just the way that he knows gets you there, you whine out loudly — back coming up and off the bed as he seemingly tries to get you there already.

"Fuck, fuck—" you breathe out as your body finds itself on the precipice of orgasm, but as a man all too good at what he does; expert hands and mouth bringing you just to the brink before pulling back from you entirely and watching your body tremble at the feeling of the loss. "—Doyoung please, please please."

"And what have you done to earn it, hm?" He asks, leaning forward and over your body to take your bound hands into his grasp and sit you upright at the edge of the bed before him. Still shaking lightly from the feeling of a ruined orgasm, hair strewn about your face and eyes glazed over from the need — Doyoung looks down at you with a gentle cock of his head as if charmed by the sight of you already so fucked out with so little having taken place yet.

Hands reaching down for his belt and subsequently releasing his erection from the confines of his black trousers, you're forced to watch him lightly palm himself just in front of your face.

How familiar a sight it is.

"You know how to earn it, don't you baby?"

You nod, although it's not enough for the man before you. "Answer."

"Yes, I can earn it."

"Good girl," he says, angling the tip of his length down and to your lips, only lightly dragging across before gently tapping you with it as a signal to open your mouth for him. "Though, suppose this is a bit of a reward in and of itself, isn't it? You love my cock, isn't that right?"

With only the tip of him presented between your lips, you're able to still speak around him. A simple "I do, please let me earn it" falling from you before you're able to even register the words and the meaning behind them.

It never gets old the way this man can have you falling apart with ease.

Hand dipping to the back of your head, Doyoung pulls you forward and sheathes as much of himself inside of the warmth of your mouth as he comfortably can at first — just like the last time, there's no aim for discomfort or pushing any particular limits this time — rather, he understands yours and your abilities well enough by now to know precisely the best way to go about having you, and equally as much, allowing you to have him.

Lips firmly wrapped around him, with each pulling back of your head, you look up at him to meet eyes — narrow, dark ones staring down at you to watch the way his cock disappears inside of your body.

"Fuck, that's it baby," he whispers out as he begins to gently drive himself into your face. "Such a pretty face, just made for me to fuck."

But for as much as Doyoung knows you and your body, the same can be said for you and his — you know this sort of engagement to be his weakness, and for all of the chiding he does at your inability to hold out on him, the very same can be said for him in these situations.

Bringing his hand forward and from the back of your head, he instead grasps your jaw, prying it open forcefully so. "Open, swallow it down. Take it all."

Giving you little time to adjust, you feel him press his hips forward and as a result, begin the drive of his cock down into your throat. Gagging around him, he pulls off quickly. "Color?"

"Green."

And with that, he serves you another, direct press of his length down into your throat. Easier this time, but the sound of your heaved breaths and gurgling around him as your nose meets his flesh going straight to that place deep within him that you can tell makes him want to come at a moments notice. As a result, he pulls back and from your mouth entirely — giving you a moment to catch your breath before grabbing at your chin once again and forcing your mouth open for him.

"My little cockslut has gotten so good at that. You sound so pretty when you're gagging around my dick."

Leaning forward, he allows a small dropping of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours before once again pressing his length between your lips and shallowly fucking your mouth with a few, quick, thrusts.

"You want my come?" He asks firmly, stepping away only enough for the tip of him to rest against your mouth.

"Yes."

And then it comes: one light, open-palmed snap of his wrist against the side of your jaw.

"I don't believe you, make me believe it."

"Yes! Yes, please come in my mouth, please let me taste you, Doie."

Tightly gripping your jaw again, he holds you in place to rub the mess of saliva and precum thoroughly around your face — so wet that it's nearly dripping from you — Doyoung smiles down at you at the sound of the pet name leaving your mouth.

Because that's when he knows you're really fucked up for him.

Another, slightly harder tap of the inside of his fingers to your jaw — it doesn't hurt and it's far from jarring in any way, but the implications of it within the scene driving you absolutely wild in the moment, you're happy you asked for this in particular.

The glimmer of his wedding ring still present on his hand, all the while.

"So nice of my wife to offer me such a compliant play-thing to use as I wish while she's gone," he says, finally dropping his pants to the floor entirely and beginning the unbuttoning of his shirt as if to soon discard it entirely. "Suppose now I get to decide which hole I want to take, don't I?"

You nod, and as a result, Doyoung lands the hardest connection of his hand to your face that he's given you thus far. This time, enough to actually cause your head to move a bit, as well as the slightest sting to the skin.

"How many times do I have to instruct you to answer? Are you already so fuck-dumb that you can't remember one, single rule?"

"No! I know it, I'm sorry!" You quickly amend with a shake of your head. "You can have anything you want from me."

"I know," he plainly responds, as if already grown tired of the discussion at hand. Simultaneously, Doyoung pushes you to the side and back against the bed, only this time pulling you up by the hips and displaying you bent over and lewdly spread open for him at the edge of the bed. "I'll take what I want, that is your purpose here, after all, isn't it?"

"It is," You quickly answer this time as to avoid punishment.

Feeling the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, you hear the man chuckle from behind you at the sight before him. "Your messy little cunt is practically dripping. Begging to be filled with me. Pathetic."

The words garner a whimper, and pathetic is correct as you feel him drag the length of his cock up and down your folds in a simulation of fucking you. Slow, concentrated drives against you, but not into you, that have you keening and attempting to push back and onto him in a way that is far beyond humiliating — a new low for you, even given your previous encounters. You don't think you've ever needed to feel him this badly, and worse than that, you know that he knows it, too.

You're thankful when he readjusts his position, feeling the tip of him pressed at your opening again followed by the smooth, easy glide of his full length into you. A dizzying feeling of being so full of him after what feels like an eternity of being denied him in so many ways, Doyoung sinks into you from behind and sits flush against your ass for only a moment before leaning forward and harshly gripping his fingers into your hair.

Followed with a hard, rough, snaps of his hips into you that has you nearly toppling forward at the momentum of it.

"You thought I was going to fuck you for you?" He breaths out, venom lacing his tone as he delivers another, harsh, thrust into you. "You're nothing but a hole for me to fuck, and come in."

Pressing your face into the mattress, the man then focus entirely on his own pleasure: chasing his release as he fucks you hard, quick, and selfishly. No concern for the proximity of your orgasm as a result of him.

The irony being, of course, that after so much lead up to this moment, you're just about there, anyway.

Stopping briefly and much to your display, Doyoung comes around to the side of you to release you of your restraints, but as he settles in behind you and sinks into you all over again, you feel him lean forward to retrieve both of your wrists and twisting them behind you — new, better leverage for him to use your body with like this.

"God, your cunt feels fucking heavenly," he groans through rough drives into you and over the sound of your pathetic, fucked-out babbling just below. "Useless bitch not good for anything but taking my cock, guess you're good for something, after all."

"Fuck, Doie—" you whine out at the culmination of words and the feeling of him relentlessly pounding you.

"Yeah? Is the little whore gonna come anyway? Even when I just try to use your body to dump my load in, it still gets you off, that's how much you love it, huh?"

He's right. This one might keep you up at night in the future.

"Yes—" you whimper breathlessly, dangling on the edge of your now inevitable release. "Yes, yes, yes, please I'm gonna come—"

"Fine," he hums, similarly close to his own peak. "Come then, want to feel you milk me when I fuck my load into your messy little pussy."

And so you do. Your orgasm ripping through your body hard and quick — shrieking loudly against the mattress as Doyoung continues to pound you through it — shaking and clawing at nothing attainable as it tears through every inch of your body. You're barely aware enough to hear him groan out from behind you as his own takes him: cock deeply buried into your walls as he unloads inside of you — cock so hard and deep that you feel the pulse and twitch with every rope of cum that he delivers to your insides.

Slowly, carefully pulling from you, listening for the way his breaths are heavy and worn from the scene having just played out to perfection, as you fall to your side to lie flat against the bed to catch your own you feel the gentle, careful dip of the mattress from just beside you as he settles in just the same.

Silence blanketing between the two of you, you inhale to speak — only to be cut off by words of his own in an entirely unsurprising and frankly, shocking way.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

The snap question comes out before you have a second to even really mull over what it is that he could be apologizing for, because frankly, everything went on without a hitch. It was everything you had wanted and maybe even more, and now he's apologizing for it?

Arm slinging up and over his face as if to hide himself from you in a way, Doyoung sighs. "You know I don't mean that stuff right? About this being the only reason you're here? I feel kinda..."

"You're dropping right now," you interject suddenly, reaching over to take his hand into your to offer him some seemingly much needed soft, physical comfort. "What do you say we head up to that big tub you guys have in the upstairs bathroom and take a nice, cozy bath?"

With a delicate squeeze of your hand, you take it as an accepting of terms — not even bothering to dress before escaping the basement and wobbling yourselves up to the next scene on the agenda: aftercare.

"When did you know you wanted to marry Mina?"

Sat up against one end of the tub with Doyoung's back to you, you run soapy fingers through messy, black strands — nails gently grazing the flesh beneath in such a soothing way that you all but feel the man melting into you presence, he hums at the question before sighing to answer it.

"Quite early in our dating, actually," The man replies confidently, head tilting back so that you can lather him up better. "Maybe three, four months in I felt like she was going to be the woman I spent the rest of my life with. Of course, we were kids so we dated for a long time before taking the step, but I knew."

A charming side of him that you typically find yourself unfamiliar with — listening to him muse about the love of his life, your best friend, and the ease in which he does so even in the most intimate company of yourself.

"Cute," you whisper from just behind him, wetting your hands again before setting them back within his tresses. "Who knew you were such a soft romantic?"

"Hey! I have many sides to myself!"

Happy with your cleansing, you take the shower nozzle into hand and instruct him to dip his head back towards you even more to gently rinse the suds from him, and once rid of them entirely, you delicately press his head back upwards to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Planting a kiss to an exposed shoulder blade, your lips linger there as if to speak directly into his skin. "Have you ever dropped like that before?"

Doyoung chuckles at the question, as if slightly humiliated by the answer as he nods his head in affirmation of it. "Yeah, Mina could tell you plenty a story about coddling me after a particularly rough dom drop."

But rather than shameful, you find it adding a new level of humanity to the man that only allows for you to appreciate him and the role that he take on just that much more.

"You did well," you offer him in solace with a squeeze of your arms that encompass him. "It was amazing. I couldn't imagine playing like that with — well, anyone who isn't you, I suppose."

Reaching to find your hand, he takes it into his and presses the back of it to his lips for a small peck.

"Good, I'm glad. I had fun, too."

After drying off and heading back down to the kitchen for a late night, before bed snack, as the both of you head into your separate directions for sleep, it crosses your mind to ask him to spend it with you.

You find in the next two weeks that the majority of the time is spent much like the first: working from the home and occasionally meeting with your live-in partner for silly activities when the time should meet and the interest strike: the occasional blowjob in the kitchen, or being eaten out against the upstairs railing of the hallway — and if time really permits, bent over the back of the couch where you typically work from. Suppose it can be chalked up to the excitement of a sort of honeymoon phase shared between the two of you, after all, this just be yet another arrangement with an end date, and if the effort is to show, then you both have every intention of getting your proverbial moneys worth.

In the midst of a particularly slow work week for you, and a much heftier one for Doyoung, you find him out and about much less — earlier so offering you the handling of his credit card to order food to the house as you see fit on account of him having little to no free time to do any of his usual cooking — you accept it with a bit of a dropped heart. Sure, there's joy in having free reign of a rather full bank account not belonging to yourself, but more than that; the enjoyment of spending time with him now cut incredibly short and on a whim.

Your relationship together has shifted. It's not necessarily just sex (although that still be a large portion of it), but rather, the two of you melding together in a way that you figure neither of you had really seen coming. Enjoying the company of each other in non-sexual settings — in fact, you come to realize that dinner be one of your favorite times of the day as you wind down from working hours and instead just chat about normal, everyday things. Goings on in the world, work, maybe even some gossip about friends — a bizarre realization, and so far into your time spent here now: you and Doyoung are friends.

Sure, friends that viscerally enjoy the body of the other, but still just friends aside from that.

Waking late one night on account of what in particular — you can't be so sure — you grab your phone from next to you to read the time: a quarter past three in the morning. Having grown accustomed to the bed in which you currently lie, you settle your head back into the pillow to once again meander off to dream land; that is, before you hear the familiar clattering of keyboard typing from down the hall.

It's not that you can't sleep through it, you most definitely can — the sound not carrying far or loud enough to disturb you all that much — rather, it's the thought that Doyoung be up still, this late at night, and to work, at that.

Kim Doyoung is many things. Workaholic high on the list, certainly.

Slipping your robe on over your shoulders like so many times before, you once again carry yourself down the hall quietly — as if meant not to awaken anyone despite being the only two people in the home — as you reach the doorway where his study reside, you listen in for the sound of the keyboard again before entering and disturbing him in full.

But instead, you're met with silence.

You know what you've heard, though, and turning into the door, you suppose you can't be all that surprised by the sight that greets you: a man slumped back in his chair, head tilted back and against the headrest, utterly unconscious as the bright, blue light of the monitor before him illuminates his handsome features.

At the very least you're happy to find him comfortably dressed for late night engagements like this — gray sweatpants and a matching gray pullover sweater with the name of the widely regarded college that he had attended years back — you take it upon yourself to step towards him and with a gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, you slowly shake him back to his senses.

"Doyoung," you whisper, an attempt to pull him back into a conscious state with as little startling as possible. "Doie, wake up."

Thankful for the ease in which he comes to, picking himself back up to sit straight and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Doyoung blinks hard towards the screen before glancing up and towards you. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," You quip back, hands into your hips like a disappointed mother figure. "Let's get you to bed, Mister."

"Mom—" he drawls, playing along with the scene, but saving his work and shutting the machine down all of the same as he stands to his feet. "I don't wanna."

You sling an arm around his waist as his finds your shoulders — realistically the man have no problem walking, of course — but you find the scene charming all of the same. As you turn to your left in an attempt to take him to his bedroom, he fights the movement, instead pushing towards the right and down the hall towards your own bedroom.

"Lemmie put you back to bed, first," Doyoung insists, still motioning that way with his body weight against you. "It's the least I can do for you saving me from the grips of Excel spreadsheets."

A bit of a charmer.

Relenting, the two of you make your way down the darkened path and back into your bedroom. He lags behind you next to your bed, nimble fingers reaching into the neckline of your robe to help remove it from your body as you once again lie yourself in bed and cozy up within the sheets — still warm from your presence just earlier in the night.

Doyoung kneels down next to you, arms crossed against the edge and chin pressed into them as he gazes up at you.

"You're the most boring man I know," you start with a breathy chuckle. "Staying up late to do spreadsheets."

"Yes, I know," He willingly admits with a pleasant cock of his head. "Do you want me carnally?"

Reaching over your own body to playfully slap his arm, you opt out of answering the asinine question. Largely due to your awareness of it being rhetorical, but also in part to the both of you knowing that yeah, obviously you do. Embarrassing.

"Get some sleep." He finally says with finality to his tone, standing to his feet with intent to leave.

You figure, now is as good a time as any.

"Actually—" you start, the word coming out a bit more meekly than you had hoped when thinking it through in your head. You suppose it's the possibility of rejection that has to reeling with this sort of lack of confidence that is relatively unfamiliar to you. Still, you push forward with the inquiry; a disservice to yourself not to. "Would you sleep with me? Like, spend the night with me?"

The question gives him pause, and as a result, has you second guessing yourself, too.

"You don't have to, I mean, I don't know if you're not allowed or just don't want to, it's just—"

"—I'm allowed to sleep with you," he interjects suddenly to cut off your anxious word-vomiting, a small smile pulling at his lips as he continues the thought. "The only rule is we can't do anything in the shared bedroom, but yeah, I can spend the night with you."

"Oh," you whisper, perhaps the largest part of you not having anticipated this response after all. "Okay."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, kind of." You answer with a tiny nod.

Instead of engaging in the conversation about it any further, Doyoung takes it as an opportunity to accept your terms and disrobe for the evening: you watch him intently, taking in all of the ways that his body move as he pull the shirt up and over his head to toss it aside — toned chest that you've seen so many times before now only visible through the slivers of illumination granted by the moon through your blinds — it feels intimate in a different way this time: like normal lovers. People not involved in an 'arrangement,' people who are simply dating and might even have sex with each other because often times, that's what people who are dating and attracted to each other do. Falling asleep in one another's arms in the afterglow of it, or maybe just falling asleep in one another's arms as the grand finale of the evening together.

His pants go next, and before you have much of a chance to think further on it, you feel the man slip into your bed and under your covers as you scoot across the mattress to the other side to accommodate for his figure.

"I picked out this mattress," he proudly chimes. "Good, right?"

"No wonder I sleep so well here, thing probably costs an arm and a leg."

"Yeah, it kind of did." Doyoung chuckles, turning to his side to face you.

Silence blanketing the room, with such little light shone in you find it difficult to keep track of where he is, or what he's doing whilst beneath the sheets with you. A gentle rustling of the fabric, you can't tell what he's doing until fingertips feather across the skin of your face to brush stray strands of hair from you.

He must have better night vision than you, and with even more of a shift of his body, you're met with the feeling of warm, minty breath on your face as he dips further into you for a kiss.

You meet him eagerly, maybe even too much so with teeth lightly sinking into his bottom lip and eliciting an ever so slight groan from him at the feeling. He's happy to meet your advances, however, mirroring the motion before parting lips and pressing his tongue into yours.

Barely creating space between you, he instead opts to speak directly into your waiting mouth. "This why you asked me here? Doesn't seem like you're trying to sleep."

You had been originally, but plans do change.

Rather than offering him a verbal reply, you slip a hand down and between your bodies to wrap fingers around his length — already attentive to the stimulation in part — and pumping him gently, you revel in the way his sighs into your mouth; choked and broken groans caught in a dry throat at the feeling of you palming him so deliciously like this.

You're thankful for your night vision finally coming to you, and allowing you to take in the sight of half-lidded, wanting eyes staring back at you.

"It's late," Doyoung whispers first, a lazy reasoning as to why you shouldn't be wanting to partake in such lewd activities currently. But rather than engaging in the banter with him, you bypass it entirely with the one thing that you know will make the man putty in your hands.

Firm, long strokes of his cock in your hand, you once again bite into his lip with a breathy moan against him. "Doie—" you all but whimper into his mouth. "—please."

You get little time between the moment the word drops from your lips and when you find yourself pressed back against the mattress with him hovering over you. A grin of victory splashing across your features as you feel him tug your panties down your legs and toss them aside without much of a care, just as quickly coming back up to bring his mouth to your own with a bit more hungry intent behind it than before.

Reaching down between both of your bodies to position himself to enter you, Doyoung drags fervent, hot kisses down your jaw and to your ear that bring the temperature of your body up just that much more. A once dull throb between your legs now impossible to ignore and full of want as he rub his cock up and down your slit to spread your wetness around before attempting to penetrate you.

"You drive me crazy."

As his hips press forward and his cock begin to sink into you — with a lack of foreplay you find a particularly pleasurable burn that come along with the resistance he's met with upon entering a body not quite made to be ready to take him. Jaw hung ajar at the feeling of him prying you open slowly with shallow, timely thrusts, you exhale heavily against his face as he once again meets you eye to eye.

Seated flush between your legs, he pauses for a moment to kiss you deeply — rocking into you with little withdrawal in a way that has his pubic bone continually bumping against your clit — you whine into his mouth as he drinks it down between dips of his tongue into you.

Cock nearly fully buried inside of you at all times like this, you feel impossibly full of him as he grinds against the apex of your thighs. One hand brought down and gripping firming into your waist as if to hold you perfectly in place to take him, he feels suffocating in a whole new way that you find you've never quite experienced before: in the absence of immense dirty talk and power play — sex with Doyoung be just as intense and enveloping, all the same. A man all too in tune to the needs of your body and mind.

"Feel good?" He finally whispers against your face. You think him to be well aware of the answer already, though.

"Feel so good, so good," you whimper in an airy, stifled tone. "You feel so big."

"And you take it all perfectly."

The words send your brain buzzing, the coiling of release beginning in your abdomen as a result of the relentless pace he has set against your clit — thinking of how far, how deep his cock is buried within you a dizzying thought as he continues to rock against you with just the right rhythm that can have you sent over the edge in no time.

"I want to feel you come around me, baby. Can you do that?" Doyoung asks in a whisper against your cheek as he trails pecks of his lips across your hot skin.

Teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you try to bite back the sounds that threaten to rip from your throat as your orgasm looms on the precipice.

Nails digging into the flesh of your waist as he attempts to drag you down harder against him for more friction, it's just enough while his lips and teeth simultaneously suck into the skin of your neck to decorate you with pretty marks to send you barreling over the edge. Doyoung feels it more than anything as a hedonistic groan drops unexpectedly from his mouth at the feeling of your walls gripping down on his cock still buried well within you as you come.

A chanting whisper against the heated skin of your neck, "Fuck, that's it, just like that."

Riding you out properly through your orgasm, it's only then that the man release his grip on you: opting now for long, fluid drives of his cock into you to bring him to his own end. It doesn't take long after the feeling of you all but milking him for everything that he's worth only moments before — once again burying deep inside of you with the twitch of his length to release warm, wet, ropes of cum deep inside of your now dripping heat.

Head coming back up from your neck to gaze into your fucked-out eyes, his vision dances over your features for just a moment — taking in the sight of you before once again greeting you with a deep, adoring kiss.

Wincing from the stimulation of having just come as he drags his softening cock from you, Doyoung flops to the side of you with a heavy exhale — a hand mischievously finding itself between your legs once again to play with the mixture of cum and other such wetness left behind in the aftermath of your unplanned rendezvous.

"So," he sighs out as the tip of his middle finger drags up and against your all too sensitive clit. "Those spreadsheets, huh?"

How cruel the world is — the most exquisite cock being attached to the most insufferable man you could ever know.

As the last day at the residence finally comes around, you spend the days just prior expecting it to be bittersweet, in ways. Naturally, you're thankful for Mina's return as well as yourself reentering a life of normalcy compared to the rollercoaster of a getaway as you've spent the last few weeks — rather, you're none bitter and all sweet for all of those aforementioned reasons.

Of course, your relationship with Doyoung has reasonably shifted. A man that once only served as a mark of unappreciated and relatively unwelcomed contention, now having morphed into one of your most trusted and perhaps even in ways, adored, people in your life.

You contribute it mostly to the little things. The ins and outs of living an everyday life alongside the man — allowing to view him in a new way, and maybe even the way that Mina does — that casts him in a brand new light. Hardworking, thoughtful, and above all else: trustworthy.

Putting your care and well-being: emotionally, mentally, physically — in his hands, and not only coming out on the other end just as well as you had gone into it, but in ways, even better.

But don't tell him that, it'll go to his head.

On the last evening and after that aforementioned six course meal that you had never actually expected to come to fruition, as you find yourself comfortably seated on the loveseat in front of the television and just next to the warmth of a crackling fireplace, you gaze over the back of the cushioning: watching the man with rolled up long sleeves as he pop a last bottle of some expensive wine he got from who-knows-where as a sort of parting gift only shared between the two of you.

Two glasses in hand, Doyoung hands you one and you share a light tapping of rims before taking your first sips as he sits down next to you.

"Excited to get back home?"

Mulling over the question momentarily, you hum into the edge of the glass before taking another, small sip and setting it onto the table just in front of you.

"Yeah, I feel like I've been on vacation too long being here, it feels weird."

Chuckling, he matches your action before leaning his head against the couch to look at you. "You've been working this entire time, hardly a vacation."

"That's true."

"Imagine my surprise finding out that you do have a job that isn't simply being friends with my wife!"

Tossing your head back as if in utter disbelief that he really be bringing this joke back, you whine out your response to him. "Are you really going to do this again?"

"Have to keep things interesting still," he starts with a sly grin, reaching for your arm and lightly taking it into his hand by the wrist. "If I'm too nice to you, you won't want me viscerally anymore."

The physical touch serving as a motion to have to closer to him, you follow his lead — pushing yourself across the furniture and pressed up against him with your side. Playing mad, you choose to ignore the way his fingers feel against your skin, but harder than that: ignoring his breath against your ear as his face dips down and closer to yours.

More than aware of his ability to feel your skin raising beneath his touch, you instead make an attempt to bring attention away from it.

What's the harm in a little hard to get fun on the last night, anyway?

That is, if you can hold out long enough to make it such.

"Am I supposed to still want you after this is all over?" You ask firmly, as if none too affected by the proximity of his body to your own. "Like knowing that your wife’s best friend desires you sexually or something?"

"Sure," he admits without missing a beat. "Doesn't everyone like feeling desired?"

You opt out of responding, but your lack of one does not offer the reprieve you had hoped as he continue on with the thought.

"The taboo nature of the husband and the wife’s best friend—" he whispers into you, hand on your wrist now long since abandoning its position and moving across to your thigh.

Yes, you had worn a skirt on purpose knowing the plans for the evening. Plans to only play hard to get, after all. Not actually make it all that difficult to acquire.

"—Plus, you already admitted you still thought about it long after the first arrangement ended. Am I supposed to believe you just needed a month to get it out of your system and thus you've now grown tired of me?"

"I could go off it just fine," You continue the ruse, tone pointed and unaffected as his fingertips feather up and under the hem of the garment laid across your legs.

As the tip of his middle finger edges just up against the front of your panties, you delicately attempt to squeeze your thighs shut, only for the man to take notice and disallow it immediately.

"Spread your legs."

Of course, you do as you're told. Not yet relinquished from the grip that he has on you.

The problem lie in how electric his touch is — knowing just the right way of engaging with you physically, pressing all of the correct proverbial buttons that time and time again has to coming undone for him as quickly or as slowly as he would like, depending on the circumstances — with his hand curling into your underwear and a single digit pressing against your slit, you can just about feel the way his lips turn upward at your compliance for him even now. Until the very end.

"Is that so?" Doyoung finally says in acknowledgment of your obvious lie. Eyes thin and intent on you as you try your best to not make your want for him so damn obvious. "Well, you're going to have to, after all. I can't help but wonder, though—"

Pausing the thought as he gently penetrates you with a single finger and you subsequently melting in his grasp at the feeling of it — you know you've lost, but suppose even in that there is victory.

"—Who's going to make you come the way I do? Who's going to have you a whimpering, begging mess for them the way that I do? Who will you be able to relinquish all power and control to the way you do with me?"

You know that he's using it as dirty talk in the present moment, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been asking yourself the very same questions these last few evenings spent at the marital home.

Who is going to replace Doyoung in your life?

"We'll have to find you someone nice to play with," he begins again, pulling from inside of you and turning his attention to your clit with the very same finger, instead. "Well, not too nice."

'We.'

The idea that Doyoung will be by your side, aiding you in finding and vetting any future play partners because not only is his safety important to him, but your enjoyment, as well. The idea that although it brings him great pleasure to be that sole person in your life capable of bringing you to that level of sexuality, that he knows your arrangement unsustainable long term, and him not wanting you to miss out on it just because of his unavailability.

Guess you really do have to hand it to your bestie, she really landed a keeper.

As the first, small, whimper drops from your lips, the familiar feeling of Doyoung smiling against you returns again as he meets it with praise, as always. "There she is," he says, as if having been working to summon the version of you that lie dormant and waiting to fall apart for him as he see fit.

"Come here," he whispers against your ear, low and up to no good, you're sure. "Why don't you come sit on it?"

So much for playing hard to get, the promise of being full to the brim with him one last time all too enticing to play games with, Doyoung pulls his hand away quickly to shove his pants down his legs and out of the way as you bring yourself to a knelt position atop the cushions. Turning to face him, it's a sight that you think may never get old, and that you'll likely have carried with you forever should you be able to maintain it: Doyoung's slanted lean against the back of the couch in wait for you to straddle him — long, beautiful cock in hand as he lazily strokes himself in preparation to penetrate you, and eyes gazing straight up and into your own — always granting you his full and undivided attention.

Wobbling slightly as you position yourself over his thighs and gently bear down against him, the man angling his length just right for you to impale yourself upon him, as you begin your descent and enjoy the barely-there string of his stretch, Doyoung brings his other hand up to your face to pull you down and close to his own — lips just lightly meeting — as he speaks in hushed, hidden, words.

"Sit on it before my wife gets home, yeah?"

It's something that the two of you had ballparked playing with the entire time: the infidelity that not be taking place, but rather, the illusion of it. Roleplaying.

Vaguely dabbled in at the end of your first arrangement, you suppose it only fitting to close off this one, as well.

Sinking down on him slowly, you whine into his mouth at the words. Kissing you delicately at first — more teeth and tongue added to the mix with every inch of him you bury inside of your heat — as you comfortably settle down and into his lap in full, the both of you let out an exhale that neither had been aware of your holding as your eyes meet once again before resuming any movement.

"Good?"

You nod.

Lips grazing down your chin and jaw as he sucks gently into the skin just below, Doyoung barely presses his hips upwards and against you, only enough to pull a threatened hiss from your mouth at the feeling of him almost too deep inside of you.

"Gonna have to be quiet," he whispers into your skin at the reaction of feeling him. "We don't want the missus to hear, now do we?"

"God, you feel so big right now," you say, unable to help breaking character in the moment at how impossibly full you feel. The commentary pulls a breathy laugh from the man beneath you and a small shake of his head in reaction.

"I'm trying to do something new and you just want to default back to that old shit, huh?" He jokingly chastises, hands snaking around to grasp onto your hips as a silent beckoning to begin moving. "Yeah, I get it, it's big, can we move on!"

With the both of you laughing now, the mood feels a tad bit lost — perhaps the initial one, but not the whole mood entirely. Instead, it feels perfect an ending for such a long, sexually-charged, exploratory month — full of growth and understanding and...maybe even some love there, yeah.

Maybe it's not impossible that there be space in your heart for love for him, given everything. Not romantic, or platonic, or familial — but somewhere in between. All of them and none of them simultaneously.

"Fine, geez, never met a man so upset about hearing how big his dick is," You respond with playful annoyance, finally grinding your hips down and against him to garner just that right amount of friction from inside of you that has you both groaning out in tandem at the feeling.

Bringing one hand up from your lower body and making quick work of your blouse, Doyoung palming the mound of flesh that sit eye level with him as you ride him steadily — leaning forward, he wastes no time circling one of the sensitive buds with his warm, wet tongue before fully clasping around it with his mouth and continuing the motion as you fuck him from what might typically be considered for the majority of your engagements: switched positions.

Groaning into your flesh as you find the perfect rhythm for yourself — fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip as he desperately attempts to fuck up into you and match your movements, as he pulls his mouth away from you and you both make eye contact, you realize that perhaps for once you're not the one at the mercy of the other this time, and rather, it's him.

Whining out with eyes clenched shut and dropping his back down against the sofa again, it's a simple "fuck" that escapes him, and nothing else.

But you're pretty sure you know what that means, and for once, you're not even close.

"Already?" You ask, somewhat curious, but somewhat with intent to be a little bit annoying, as well. It works just as expected, eyes flashing open and at you with the most despondent expression you could have imagined.

"Don't be like that, God."

With his jaw clenched so tight you can nearly hear the sound of his teeth gritting, you bear your weight down onto him harder — taking his cock as deeply as you can before switching to full, lengthy, bounces of your hips atop him. The switch immediately has the man beneath you moaning, and with a little bit too much proverbial pep to your step, you lean down to close to distance between your mouth and his ear just as quickly as the thought comes to you.

It's not a whisper, you don't bother making it such: really, who is going to hear?

"Gonna have to be quiet, don't want the missus to hear, do we?"

"Hear what?"

The sound of a third voice feeling a bit like how time feels the seconds before a car crash happens — the sounds of tires screeching before the crunching and clanging of mangled metal — you can't even help the shriek that resounds from you as your eyes immediately pull up at glance over at the entrance to the kitchen from the doorway hall.

Throwing yourself off of Doyoung in a fit of humiliation of also due in part to feeling as though you've been caught fucking your best friends husband (for good reason, you suppose), the man only flings his arm up and over the back end to grant himself enough leverage to turn himself to look at the sight you've only just laid eyes on.

"Saved by the bell, welcome home, honey."

"You guys are so fucking weird!"

The screech coming from you, obviously. Pulling your clothing back into place hurriedly as Doyoung does the same in a much more lackadaisical fashion, you hiss towards him as if still trying to avoid allowing the missus to hear the both of your goings on. "Did you know she was coming home tonight!?"

"No," he chuckles. "But thank God she did, huh? Things were getting a little out of hand!"

With a light tap of your ass, Doyoung stands to his feet to go greet Mina — bags still in hand as she stand with a wide, adoring grin splashed across her face.

"Have fun while I was away, darling?" She asks knowing all too well the answer. Of course, Doyoung happy to play along. "She's incorrigible, my love. Not a moment spent free from her evil clutches."

"I'm sure," Mina replies, kissing him lovingly as he walks past her and into the kitchen, all the while feigning his dismay.

"Are you going to come say 'hi'?"

"Ideally if I wait here long enough I will simply melt into the couch cushion and cease to exist."

Mina rolls her eyes at the dramatics displayed by you. "You do know I already knew you were here fucking my husband all month, right? Like, it was my idea and everything?"

Sighing, you flop around on the sofa like a child throwing an uncontrollable fit. "I know! But it still feels so weird that you...saw it! Why do I feel weird and you don't?"

"Because standardized monogamy and societal assumptions and traditional versus non-traditional relationship models; I don't think you actually want me to explain to you why but — it's fine. I caught an earlier flight in, I kinda knew there was a chance I might catch you guys. I had texted him but you know how he is with his phone."

Silence. Mina sighs.

"Can you say something? Please don't melt into that loveseat it was almost ten thousand dollars."

That being the thing that has you jumping up and off of the furniture in shock and horror, you finally look up at your best friend from across the room — taking in the sight of her gentle and loving smile and in that moment, you accept this snapshot in time for everything that it is, just the same as all of the previous ones this month.

A reminder to take people at their word. To believe what they tell you if there is love between you. To have the bravery and respect to trust someone when even in the shroud of doubt — they tell you that it's okay.

And so, you run your palms over your blouse and skirt in a rushed attempt to clean yourself up ever so slightly, and with one footstep towards the woman that you've held dearest to you for so many years, you swallow down all of the nasty feelings that no one but you and the heavy weight of unrelated parties expectations cast upon you: because after all — that has nothing to do with the three of you, right here, and right now.

"Welcome home, Mina."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is part 2. part one [here].

#doyoung smut #doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung x y/n #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct x you #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic

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prettymrswright · 9 months

Text

private project

pairing: shuri x black!fem!scientist reader

content: fluff, smut!(18+), m@sturb@ting, s3x!toy, oral (both receiving), strap, f!ngering, crying, begging, dirty talking, slight humiliation, praising, pillow!princess/bratty reader, soft-dom!shuri, reader is a shy, timid, obedient, madly in love, (DOWN BAD), pillow princess, shuri is an oblivious brainiac.

background: for the couple years you had been working for the scientist, you’ve been crazy about her. you were such a shy and nervous wreck, that you didn’t know what to do about it. in all your desire, you decide to make a personal ‘project’ in the very lab you were taught everything you know, by her. although you intended for it to be forever a secret, it didn’t quite pan out that way. an: wheeeew, baby!! i thought about this this morning, half sleep, and ideas was just flowing, idk why my whore brain was on this morning but let's just roll with it! as usual, i hope this satisfied y'all lul slutty hearts & taglist sign up pinned to my page! @dejaonline @inmyheadimobsessed @vampzxi @venusdraco @shuriszn @shurislover @vixentheplanet @pinkwright @saintwrld @abenomeiiii @ventingfanfics @msplayas @naomis-daydream @sapphicvqmpires @tishsrealwife @6-noir @pocketsizedpanther ꨄ︎

2 years. You had officially been working for the Royal Udaku family for 2 years, and never would it get old for you. Since you were a young girl, you dreamt of making powerful creations and using them to change the world around you for the greater good. It was no doubt, you had a burning passion for science, not to mention, you were damn good at it. But you also had to admit, it felt good to be in a space among other legends, utilizing those skills right next to them. Especially Shuri. Shuri Udaku was a sight to see; in more ways than one. She had such an astute-being of a brain, and beautiful heart to match. She could arrive at any and every solution for every situation and apply it with ease. And although she may think she's such a tough-guy, she had the most caring heart. She treated all of her team as family, just as she would her mom or her brother. You were always taken care of. And as one side of you was admiring under terms of wanting to uphold such a stellar stature yourself, the other one was admiring in desperate need to be desired by someone of that same stature. No one got Shuri how you did. There was nothing she could hide from you. Your burning desire for her and her love and affection made the most meniscal details unavoidable. She hated that you could read her that way. But you cared so deeply for her. All you wanted was for her to be happy. And for her to be happy, with you.

Out of all the ways you could read her, romantic aspects were a code you just could not crack. You weren't even sure what she was into, or better yet, who. She was so buried in work and royalty duties, any emotional cards she had were held very close to her chest.

Each day that went by, watching her work sun up to sun down in her lab, you yearned to know how her hand would feel intertwined with yours. How her lips would feel, leaving deep, soft kisses on your lips, on your neck, down your chest. How her fingers would slowly trace across your hips, the circumference between the inside of your thighs, and eventually plunge deep inside your canal, pumping your g-spot until y-- "Y/N." Shuri called out to you, breaking you out of your fantasy of a trance. You quickly jumped up, straightening yourself out, and lifting your chin from your palm, where it previously rested. "Yes, princess?" You responded, eagerly awaiting whatever she had to ask or tell. "Have you made any progress on finishing Project-3280?" She walked up to you, looking down at the paper work she had in her hand, before looking up, scanning your facial expression for an answer. "Yes, princess." You answered proudly, curing her wonder. She lowly chuckled aloud, causing you to furrow your eyebrows, curious as to what about what you said was amusing. "Do you say anything other than 'Yes, princess'?" Your lashes fluttered as you scanned for the words to say, ultimately standing blankly, no words of response to be found.

"I told you, you work with me, not for me. You can speak regularly with me." She says in sincerity, holding the eye-contact, once again making your knees buckle at her commanding nature. "Yes, Pri--" You began before catching yourself in the very correction you were just given. Shuri raised her eyebrows, catching you as well, non-verbally. "I-I mean, okay, Shuri, yea. Got it." She chuckled again once more to herself before we walking off the clean the board she had previously been doing all her calculations on. You sat back on the high chair that stood behind the lab table you were at, scanning her from afar. Your eyes followed her slim frame from bottom-to-top, tracing the tattoo that resided up the side of her neck, to her sharp jaw, and her side profile. You bleakly counted the strands of hair on her head from the undercut, all the way to the curly top. You watched her slim, veined hands as they traveled quickly across the board in a wax-on, wax-off motion. You took note of how firmly they gripped the cloth right in their middle. You couldn't help but to trail your thoughts off into those hands gripping you that way. "Oh, fuck," You breathe out in a whisper, crossing your legs and nibbling at the end of your grey BIC pen. You continued to squirm in your seat as you watched sweat drip down the back of her neck, disappearing into the cloth of her lab coat. "Is it hot in here, to you, Y/N?" She asked, looking back at you. You shrugged your shoulders, quickly flicking your hands up at your side in a fake 'unsure' motion. It was definitely hot in there, but that was purposeful on your part. You had turned off the AC, knowing you'd be in here alone with her. It was just so captivating seeing her move and work so diligently that she would perspire and drip everywhere. You’d love to see those droplets falling from the hard work of another activity, with your assistance of course.

She wiped her forehead dry before pulling up her sleeves and walking back over to you. She was always finding ways to show and expose her hands and her arms. Almost like she knew those very things turned you on. You yourself would like to show her something.

“Okay, I’m ready. Show me what you got,” she rubs her hands together, in eagerness and excitement.

You almost choked on the saliva resting on the back of your tongue.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, taken aback by her statement, not sure if you heard what you thought you did.

“The project,” She pointed down towards the file folders you had right in front of you.

“Oh,” You reply, feeling silly for thinking she was referring to anything else.

You hand her the files, and she flips through them, carefully and attentively reading through each diagram.

You could feel your violently pulsating heart drop into your stomach and join the band of disruption that was previously keeping a concert in there. You had worked fairly hard on this project, and you wanted it to be perfect. More than anything you wanted her to approve. Your nerves began to worsen as you couldn’t pinpoint a reaction of satisfaction nor disapproval.

After what felt like an eternity of silence and confusion, Shuri finally rested the papers on the table and looked at you, a smile slowly creeping onto her face.

“I have to say, I am very impressed, Miss Y/N.” The band of disruption in your stomach finally dismembered, and was replaced with a symphony of butterflies. “Your technique is flawless. It must’ve took you ages to decode this.”

You tried to conceal your proud smile and your flushed cheeks, and failed terribly.

“Only took me 3 days.”

Shuri eyes widened, in an even more impressed state. “You’re joking, surely. It took me 3 weeks during my junior program! Let me find out you’re trying to replace me.” She teased, nudging your shoulder, slightly pushing.

You bit down on your teeth, flexing your jaw, fighting the moan that almost escaped from the sudden contact.

“You could never be replaced, Princess.” You say, more directly that you would’ve liked to. Your faces were separated merely by a foot. The eye-contact between the two of you lingered, until broken by a gaze at your lips, given by Shuri. She glanced back up at your eyes before giving you a smile, sending you a wink, and getting up to finally make her exit out of the room.

Your rivers were flowing so potently, you could slip right out of your chair. She was always so reassuring. Attentive. Gentle. With every word and every action towards you. You wanted to believe she moved that way with you intentionally, simultaneously trying not succumb to injuries of your delusion. With that note, you decided to go back to your quarter and wash off the day. You'd been working exceptionally hard all week, especially today, being that you woke particularly early to put your last finishes touches on the project. It didn't need anymore altering, honestly, but the pressures of wanting to impress the Princess had definitely took over. As you approach your room, you place your palm on the panel beside your door, allowing it to scan your prints for access. You waste no time kicking off your shoes and peeling your clothes off your body, stockings, lab coat and all, letting it drop to the ground and immediately heading to the bathroom to start a hot shower.

ꨄ︎

You lay your towel across you bed and lay on it, not yet ready to have your freedom restricted by fabric. As you lay, you smile to yourself, overcome with gratitude that Shuri approved of your work. To tell the truth, the only reason you completed the project so fast was so that you could get back to your own. A personal project. You felt sort of guilty using the labs specific resources to make such a perverted creation, but you were dying to know how it felt. How it could feel. How she felt. Invading your walls, breaking them down & making you beg for her to repair them, just to break them down again.

As those feelings that were all too familiar began to rise, you decided to put its effectiveness to the test. You reach over to the dresser drawer beside you & open it, pulling out the gadget.

It was a 256T information-stored sex-toy. It may have looked like a regular, fancy-designed vibrating dildo, but stored inside was recollection of every memory of every encounter the two of you shared. The first glance, the first conversation, every accidental bump, nudge, & shoulder brush. Every piece of eye-contact delivered, every advised direction given.

Nervous, yet excited, you let out a hefty breath, shut your eyes, and held the tool up to your pair of lips, which were currently aching at the hands of desire. One click, and off it was set. Soon as the device made contact with your skin, off into imaginal bliss you went.

“Mm,” You moaned at the sensation. It started off as a soft, comforting vibration, and as the memories built, so did the intensity.

“Exceptional work. Welcome to the team.”

“Thank you so much, Princess. I’m beyond grateful.”

“Please, call me Shuri. What should I call you?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” She smiled. Oh god, that smile. “A name fit for a scientist.”

“Oh, fuck,” Your chest began to heave up and down, as you chased the breath escaping from your lungs and out of your mouth.

“Alright team, let’s get a hold on these mission plans.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t just corner the sucker and blow him up with one of those kick-ass Wakandan canons.” A red head boy with circular specs blurted out.

“Would anybody like to tell me why that wouldn’t work?”

“He’d move so fast he’d dodge the blow?” Another scientist blurts out. Shuri closes her eyes and shakes her head in disapproval of the answer.

“He’s the under lord of the sea. He’d drown the surface area and blow out the canon circuit b-before it could even charge up.” You say semi-confidently.

Shuri’s eyes shoot up open and dart in your direction. “Bingo.” she says with a smile. “You’ve been paying attention. Good girl.”

“Ugh, yes!” You cry out. “I’m your good girl.”

Puzzled, frazzled & slightly confused, you stumbled in Shuri’s office, desperately in need of her guidance. You knock and the door slides open.

“Shuri?” You walk in, taking in the scenery, forgetting how beautiful her office really was. You take a minute to scan the ceilings, the walls, all of its intricate design. She had great taste. Walking backwards, you trip over the rug that ran from underneath her desk.

“Oh—!” You began to fall backwards, when your fall is stopped and barricaded by a pair of strong but steady hands, clamped around your waist.

“You’re good, I got you, I got you,” Soft, affirming words entered your ear canal in a slight whisper, coming from a velvety voice you oh-so-loved. It was quickly followed by a low chuckle that sent a riveting chill down your spine.

“Do you always walk backwards and not look where you're going?”

“Oh, Shuri,” your voice began to carry louder and farther. You couldn’t be more grateful for these sound-proof walls, because you were about to let it all go.

Your body began to vibrate under the pressure, and your juices began to coat around the circumference of the tool.

When you realized you stumbled into her arms, you began to get flustered, stealing a response from both your lips and your brain.

“I’m just messing with you. But what’s up, you okay?”

“I just— I��

“What is it, Y/N, what do you need from me? Let me help you.”

“Fuckkk, Shuri, just fuck me already, please!” You desperately buck yourself up against the toy, in attempts to fully immerse into your fantasy world. Your eyes began to flutter right to the back of your eyelids as one of your hands violently gripped the sheets beneath you. This is the closest you've ever gotten to feeling her and if you weren't so overcome by bliss right now, you'd be hella impressed at its successful function. On other side, a lengthy pair of footsteps paced by your door, alarmed, yet intrigued by the sounds emerging from your room. Shuri had been passing your floor, on her way back to her office, when the sound of your voice in what sounded like pleas stopped her in her tracks. She leaned her ear up against your door, making sure she didn't hear what she thought she was hearing. "You feel so good inside me, Shuri, fuck." Her body immediately heated up at the melodic sounds of your moans, but her heart dropped to the ground when she heard her own name attached to those lewd things you were saying. "Y-Y/N?" Your name fell faint from her lips as she tried to circle in on her own confusion. "Fuck, I'm cumming for you, Princess." You began to make a sloppy, slippery mess as you pumped the toy inside of you, sloshing around all your juices, pushing your orgasm way past your regular limits. "Fuck," Shuri sighed out a frustrated breath, mood switched from confused to turned on. Is this what you did in your free time? Is that what you really wanted? Losing the battle to her impulsive thoughts, she placed her palm on the dual-accessed panel and let herself in. She quietly leaned back on the wall, watching you from across the room, with intent. She watched your sexy frame fluidly squirm around in its place, riding out all its sensations. A smirk creeped across her face, compliments of her new feelings of arousal and her now enlarged ego. Her entrance was so silent, so swift, you continued your pleasuring without noticing the invasion. You sent yourself over the edge, imagining her tall, slim figure, hovering over you, working your body out, kissing across your jaw, whispering commands in your ear. Tell me it's mine. "It's yours, Shuri," Your eyes began to flood with tears, clouding your vision even with slightly cracked open eyelids. "It's all yours, baby." "You mean that?" You hear that familiar voice project itself from across the room, and somehow, even through all your deluded fantasy, you realized how real it sounded. Too real. You opened your eyes and were met with the pair of chocolate brown eyes you so often got lost in, but this time, they were shadowed with lust. You jumped so high, you could've jolted right out of your skin. "Shit!" You sat up, fighting to catch your breath, partially from all the work you had be exerting, partially from the jumpscare you had just encountered. "Shuri, what the fuck are you doing in here?" You grabbed your towel quickly from underneath your body and wrapped it around your naked figure. Her eyes widened, and she threw her hands up in defeat, shocked at your choice of words. She had never heard you speak so profanely. "Well, it kind of sounded like you wanted me in here just a second ago." She replied with her sarcasm and razor-sharp wit, slowly walking towards the edge of your bed, a hand behind her back. You nervously swallowed, fighting to coat your now dry throat, backing up further into your headboard. "I don't understand, H-how did you--" Shuri took her closed fist from behind her hand, lowering it and opening it, showing the kimoyo-bead you had left on the wall during your daily spy on Shuri's studies. Realizing what you had done, you were so embarrassed you could disintegrate right into the ground. "Your eavesdropping has failed you, today, Miss Y/N." In this moment, you wish you could disappear. Not only did you just get caught touching yourself aloud to the thought of your boss, you got caught eavesdropping as well.

How could you slip like this? I mean, after all, you had your secret admiration games down to a science, no pun intended. It was only one thing left to do.

“I-I’m so sorry. I had no intent of disrespecting you or your home like this. I’ll be out of here by dawn.” Each word you uttered cut through you like glass. The pain of having to resign from your dream job & possibly tainting whatever upstanding image the love of your life had of you all because you couldn’t control your sexual urges was enough to crush you.

Before you could lift up to collect your belongings, The Princess held a hand out to stop you.

“Nonsense.” She rises to her feet, staring down at you with a glare you can’t recall seeing before. It was demanding, but not condescending. It was almost, dare you say, an eagerness. "I just wish you would've told me sooner." She says, all seriousness in her tone of voice. "We could've solved this a long time ago." You could hear your heartbeat thumping, directly through your eardrum. The subtle implication spun your mind in every which direction. You didn't want to assume, but if she meant what you thought she did, this would change everything as you knew it. "What are you saying?" You decided to play dumb. You knew what she was getting it, you just needed to hear her say it. "I'm saying," She pulled you by your hips, down to the edge of the bed, causing you to gasp from sudden movement, and hovered over you, grounding both hands at each of your sides. "If you needed some loving from the Princess, I would've happily obliged." As turned on as you were, you couldn't hide the look of shock on your face. You had to be dreaming. "Don't act surprised. I'm like a baby around you. I can't even focus when you're around." You melted underneath her at her confession. All these burning desires and you could've had it with little to no effort. Silently you were cursing your shy and awkward nature. "Bullshit." Your shocked expression grew into a flirtatious smile. You were beaming inside, but you couldn't help to tug a little more. Shuri lowered herself to your lips and crashed into them with her own. Her tongue swiped across your lip asking for permission of entrance, and you accepted. You placed your hands and the sides of her jaw, deepening the passionate kiss between you two. You both moaned in each other's mouth, overwhelmed by the intensity. The heat between your bodies began to generate just like a furnace. You've never felt so much passionate energy before this very moment in your life. After what felt like minutes she finally pulled back from you. "I can give you exactly what you need." She said, staring directly in your eyes, careful not to leave any room for doubt. "But you gotta ask me." You could crawl into a ball and disappear. You were too much of a nervous wreck for this. Ask her? Were your cries and pleas heard from the other side of the door not enough? Truth be told, you wanted her so bad, you were wiling to do anything. You were so stuck in awe, it would take a minute for you to even be able to register the moment. "Come on, baby." She cooed, attempting to coax you out of your silence. "You were so vocal before. I know you know how to use that pretty mouth." You shivered at her forwardness and a moan involuntarily slipped out of your mouth, once again stroking her ego. "Shuri, please," You whined, making an attempt of getting out of the humiliation. "Please?" She mockingly raised her eyebrows, waiting for you to cave. "Please, fuck me. I need it, I need you." You managed to spill out. It was no turning back now. A warm yet sinister smile graced the royal's face. "Now, was that so hard?" She came up from over you, pulling you up with a firm but gentle squeeze around your throat. She pecked your lips a few times more before releasing her grip. "I'll do you one better." Curious to what she was referring to, you could feel the blood rushing through your veins. This was so unpredictable, she was so unpredictable. But it excited you. She took off her coat and her shirt, only being left in a crisp, white tank, bra-less. Though you wouldn't expect that from her, you weren't complaining. The more she revealed, the more beautiful she became. You could see the definition in her figure. You decide to help her undress, unbuckling her slacks and peeling them down to her knees. You reach for her boxers and she pops your hand. "Someone's a little excited, then?" It was so much teasing being given by her, and as much as it pissed you off, secretly it fueled your fire. She hopped up off the bed, slipping out her pants fully before hoisting you up by your lower back, sitting you on her hips.

You wrap your arms around her neck and tighten the grip of your legs around her waist.

She walks you over to the long, metal table you do all your procedures on, currently covered by a tablecloth and all your tubes & tools.

“You’re done with this. Right?” She takes the cloth and roughly yanks it off the table, knocking everything over, even breaking some things.

“Shuri! What the hell!” You nudge her shoulder in complete shock.

“I’ll replace it, don’t worry.” She lowers the table and lowers you down on your back, gently, making you arch and hiss from the contact of the cold metal.

She then begans leaving soft sensual kisses behind your ear, down to your neck and across your chest, while massaging your outer thigh.

You exhaled in attempt to relax, feeling like you were floating from the touch you so badly craved from her. It was like taking a hit of your first drug. Every touch left you feeling waves of intoxication. And there was no sobering up.

“Is this okay?” She asked looking up you for reassurance.

Through glossy eyes and a bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you nodded.

She continued her trail of kisses, traveling lower and lower, until eventually she made it to your promised land.

“Well, how pretty is she?” She asked rhetorically, gliding her two fingers across your clit, purposefully making a connecting line from your heat to her lips.

“Mm,” She moaned. “And tastes as good as she looks.”

Now impatient, you hooked your ankle over her shoulder and pulled her closer to you, leaving her centimeters from your dripping sex.

“Stop fuckin’ around, Shuri.”

“Oh?” She pretends to be taken aback. “I don’t know if I like your attitude. You waited 2 years, you could wait 2 more minutes, can’t you baby?”

She spread your lips open, exposing your pulsing and fully erect hood. Harshly, she spat on it, watching it drip down between your folds.

“Shhhit,” You moan out, dually in pleasure and in agony of this push and pull game. “No, no I can’t, please.”

“Plea—“ She began to mock you again and you interrupted before she could even continue. You no longer wanted to repeat yourself, so you give in.

“Please, just put your mouth on it, please, I’m fucking dripping,” Exclamation and grit all throughout your voice. Without hesitation she attaches her lips to your aching middle, and deeply french kisses it.

“Yes!” You cry out, grabbing onto the sides of the table for some sort of control. “Just like that.”

Moaning from your flavors, she hums, sending vibrations all through you. She alternates between soft and rough sucks, using your button as a pacifier. Her tongue spoke all 5 languages of love, making every reaction you give and sound you make a translator.

“Fuck, baby, you do it so well,” You were spitting out endless praise, overwhelmed by the pleasure you were feeling.

Pleased by your praise, she locks your thighs in place with her forearms, and flatten her tongues against you & rocks it up and down your center. You could feel every warm sensation, every round tastebud wrapping you up into a blissful embrace.

You lean up on your forearms and watch her every move with a dropped jaw and a set of furrowed brows, in dire need of catching this moment. You had the most beautiful, astounding, most talented girl giving you intense pleasure that she herself had be thinking of doing.

You felt your stomach begin to form knots, a clear indicator of the rise of your climax.

“Shuri I’m about to..to” You could barely get the words out, but even still, she wasn’t ready for you to just yet.

“Mm, mm.” She refused, coming up quickly. “Not yet.”

Before you knew it, she had pushed two fingers deep inside you, immediately reattaching her lips to you. With a steady rhythm she pumped in and out of you while attacking your clit with her tongue. She hungrily stared into your eyes until yours decided to make a detour into the back of your head.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tears began forming again. “I can’t!”

You grabbed a handful of her curls and tugged them backwards, and instead of it holding her back, her grip became even stronger. She quickly replaced her fingers with her tongue and began fucking you with it, gripping your hips and knocking you into her. Your warm, soft juices coated the entire circumference of her mouth and then some.

You couldn’t control your moans nor the volume of them as you blurted out broken whimpers and your body began to shake. You released into her mouth and with one last peck, she thanked you.

“You did so good for me, Angel.” With enamored eyes you grab her by her neck, roughly kissing her and cleaning yourself from off her lips and her face.

“Come here,” To her command, you move over to her as she straps up. She picks you back up, making you airborne once more, and holds you up by your cheeks before sliding her length into you.

“Fuck!” Immediately you fall weak, legs giving out as soon as your walls were accompanied.

“It’s okay baby, you’re okay. Hold onto me,” She instructed you and you wrapped your arms around her neck with no sign of letting go.

Her slim, & veiny hands lifted you up and slid you back into her, primarily slow and steady. Each pump given to you was at a pace faster than the last. She was buried so deep inside you, your vaginal walls began to twitch, and the way she had you restricted, there was no way to run. She drilled inside you as you screamed bloody mary, sacral glands squirting out from underneath you.

“This is what you wanted, hm?” She taunted you between huffs and pants. “For me to fuck you like the slut you are?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes,” The way she was turning you inside out had absolutely nothing on what you had seen in all of your dreams. She was fucking you silly. You were starting to believe the desire wasn’t one-sided.

Reaching your limit, your medium french-set buried themselves into the skin of her back, sure to be leaving what would be a few scratches and welts in the AM.

You mustered up the strength to pull yourself to her, staring into her eyes, still moaning and singing her praises. You wanted her to know how good she was making you feel. And possibly how much you loved her, if she read deep enough.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Y/N,” She compliments, as she watches every face you make.

Grunting and groaning, her thrusts became sloppy, leading you to believe she was almost at her finish line. Before she could, she lifted you up off of her dick and placed your feet back onto the ground. You were entirely too weak to stand, but you’d quickly find out, you standing weren’t in her plans anyway.

With one quick motion, she turns you around and pushes you down back into the table.

You gasp heavily, the cold metal now being met with your hard and sensitive nipples. She holds her tip up against your entrance and rubs in between, subtly dipping in and coming back out every few rubs.

“So,” She leans down to your ear. “You like eavesdropping, do you?”

Your face gets hot from humiliation. You thought you were past this.

“I— I don’t.. I didn’t mean to—,” You try to plead your case but you were a stammering mess.

“Well,” She picks a kimoyo-bead off her bracelet and slams it down onto the wall. “Let’s see how much the others do as well.”

“Shuri, please,” You plead for her to change her mind.

“Aht, aht.” She hushes you. “Save it for the audience, baby.”

You felt your entire body heat up, so rattled by every emotion, in dire shock of what was actually happening rat the moment.

“Fuck you, Shuri.” You spat, so consumed by humiliation, you weren’t considering your possible consequences.

A cold silence runs after your statement and you could feel the switch in energy. She smooths your hair up in a ponytail with one hand and pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at her.

“Gladly.”

Shuri forced herself up into you, still craning your neck to look at her.

“Shit! Wait!” You immediately regret your actions.

Not letting you plead your case, she continued to eagerly rock herself into you, making your ass cheeks ricochet off her hips, creating violent smacking noises.

“Ohhhh, unh!” Your moans began to amplify the more you fought to conceal them. The hold she had you in was making your hovered nipple tips graze across the cool surface, sending you further into overstim.

“That’s it, baby,” Her sweet, soft lips sing your praises. “Let me hear you.”

You were whimpering and pleading in a blabbering mess, it was pathetic to say the least. But she looked so good, she felt so good.

“Tell everybody how good you feel. Tell them who’s making you feel this way.”

These sentences turned a switch on in you that was completely irreversible. Good. Everybody does need to hear. All those snickering, hair twirling, low life bitches, finding any reason to flaunt their bosom in her office. Any reason to touch her, any reason to bombard her with irrelevant questions.

They gave you looks whenever you were with her, they whispered wishes of your demise. With this realization, you completely surrendered to whatever outcome you would be given.

“Fuck, Shuri, you feel s-so good inside me,” You confessed. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Every few strokes she sent a stinging smack up your backside, making you yelp. She reached one hand down over your clit and begin making medium-paced circular motions, while still ramming inside of you.

“Shuriiii,” You stretched her name out as far as she had your lips stretched. “Yes!”

“My name sounds so much better off your lips.” She confessed.

You begged harder, deeper. She obliged your every wish. As you sobbed out overcome with emotion, she leaned down further kissing your sobbing lips. Even in sex, in her roughness, she was gentle.

What seemed like an ever-flowing stream of your release began dropping down both of your shaky, achy legs.

The royal moaned at the sight of you, literally pouring out for her. A few more strokes before she arrived at her own release and she was out of you and kneeling underneath you. She licked you clean, with a wide and flat tongue, from your ankles up to your center, going back in with sweet, passionate swirls and flicks of the tongue on your clit.

The sensation was so sweet and full of care that although you were crying from pleasure, you were also crying from the overwhelming emotions you were feeling.

She made you feel on top of the world. You wanted to make her feel like that.

She stood up and turned you around to face her. She placed a palm on your cheek, thumb rubbing it, admiring your fucked out facial expression and the adoration in your eyes.

You pulled her into you, smashing your lips into hers, dying to feel the safety of them again, and tasted yourself off her lips.

“See how good you taste, nkozsana?” She asked, piercing you with her eye contact and sending chills down your spine with her native tongue.

“I want to taste you.” You blurt out, desperately.

“There’s no need. I just wanna make you feel good.” She replied.

“That would make me feel so good.” You slur your words with full intent of seducing.

You rub your palms across her shoulders and down her chest, lifting the tank once you get to the bottom of her torso. You kiss all down her now exposed skin, kissing around her chest, down her rib cage, down her navel.

“Please, baby?” you looked up at her from your new kneeled position. You felt her shiver between your hands.

She looked down at you and almost melted where she stood. She had such a soft spot for you. She nervously swallowed before caving in and nodding her head, yes.

You smirked to yourself before standing up and taking her hand, leading her to the bed and lightly pushing her back. You instructed her to move back to the middle of the bed and you crawled up to her.

Your acrylic nails aided in the separation of the skin of her waist and the rim of her boxers. You tugged them off her hips and slide them the rest of the way off her legs.

You took a moment, admiring her beauty. For the first time, you saw Shuri Udaku get flustered. Her ‘too cool for school’ nature seemed to take a leave of absence.

Without breaking eye contact, you lowered yourself to her lower stomach, leaving kisses across it. Seeing her squirm under the delicacy of your touch avenged your yearning soul.

You traveled further and further down til you were hovering over her enterprise. From your view, you could see every sticky droplet of sweat, every hair follicle, every sacred part of her being. She sat up on her forearms, watching your every move, tank still folded and breasts still exposed.

You spread her open further with one hand, pinning it in its place and you began your endeavors. Your tongue slowly but efficiently exploring all of her surface area, nothing going untouched. You paid extra attention to her bud, gently sucking and flicking, switching up your speeds.

“Bast—“ Shuri breathed out, in awe of your talent. She reached down to push you off, and before she could you interlocked your fingers with hers and pinned both of your hands to her chest.

“Y/N,” She began to cry out your name, not knowing it was only your ammunition to continue. With feverish pleasure, you spelled your name in cursive across her sensitivity, mentally claiming her to be yours. You wanted this forever. You wanted her forever.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, nkoszana,” Her chest heaved up and down, legs beginning to shake. She had never experienced a sexual favor done so passionately, it began to overwhelm her.

You rubbed the sides of her thighs, non-verbally encouraging her to ride it out, while you continued attacking her clit, moaning to send consecutive vibrations into her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she bucked her hips up, sending herself further into your trap.

Gasping for air, she lets go into you and you clean her up with pride.

As you came back up, she looked at you, astoundingly, in disbelief of what she, 1, allowed you to do to her, and 2 how good you were at it. You smiled nervously, not being able to conceal your chuckle.

“Come here,” She grabbed your arm and tugged you, making you fall directly on top of her. You giggled at her assertiveness.

“Yes?” You ask still smiling down at her.

She pulls you down to her lips, kissing you with the intention of making you feel her gratitude.

“Thank you.” She speaks onto your lips.

You look up at the alarm clock resting on your nightstand, and she positions her neck backwards from underneath you, following your eyes.

“It’s 5 AM.” You start.

“Shit. I gotta go back to my office and set up for the rest of the day.” She says hurriedly, beginning to lift up.

“Can’t you just stay for a little while longer?” You ask her sweetly, purposely putting on the voice that you now know is her weakness.

“Don’t do that to me,” She says fighting off her urges. “I wish I could, but I have a nation to lead.”

“Even Princess’s take vacations, you know,” You reply in a jokey tone.

“Do they?” She chuckled. “I’ll have to invest in one another time.”

Defeated, you began to pout. She lifts up and kisses your lips.

“Put your lips back where they were,” She laughs, teasing you.

You lift up off of her and help her up before she gathers her clothes and puts them back on. The two of you walk back to the door, and she turns around to face you, leaning against it.

“How about I come back tonight?” Shuri asked, holding your hands.

“Hmmm, I don’t know, Princess. I’m a very busy girl.” You tease her.

“Oh, are you?” She chuckles, eyes quickly scanning all of the broken glass materials that lay just a few feet from you both.

You roll your eyes at her sarcasm. “Very funny.”

“You can come back whenever you want.”

“Mm.” She hums. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Well what if you can’t come back tonight? I thought tonight was your presentation night with the board?” You ask, semi in panic. You really needed to see her again.

“Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry, nkoszana.” Her eyes paced around, in thought, as if she was searching for a solution.

“Well, you could always come to my office. There’s always some work for you to do.” She says with a slick tone in her voice. “Actually, you have some paperwork you haven’t finished that’s past it’s deadline.”

You smiled brightly at her insinuation, knowing very clearly where this was going. “Oh, no, how could I let that happen?”

She shook her head and gave a tsk, tsk, tsk, in her cosplay of disappointment. “I don’t know, but i’m not very pleased with you, Miss Y/N. You will have to make that up to me.”

“Tell me how to fix it,” You say lowly, your arousal slowly building back up.

“Be at my office at 4pm, sharp.” She lifts your chin and lowers herself down to your ear. “And don’t be late. Or that’s an extra penalty.”

She returned back to her above eye level position before kissing your lips once more.

“Yes, Princess,” You promised, impatiently waiting for this day to speed up.

She grabbed the kimoyo bead from off the wall and placed it in her lab coat pocket.

“You give a great performance.” She winked at you before sliding the door open and slipping out, disappearing into the rest of her day.

Smiling from ear to ear, you turn around, and you’re met with the mess that was made earlier, bringing you down from your high.

You quickly open the door and yell down the hall.

“Hey! Come clean up this mess!”

#shuri black panther #shuri x black!reader #black wlw #shuri x you #shuri smut #shuri x y/n #black sapphic #prettymrswright hot ficpic

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whiskeynwriting · 11 months

Text

Uncommon Intimacy

Black Noir x Female Reader

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Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Dirty talk, praise kink, male and female masturbation, phone sex/sexting, descriptions/mentions of oral (m and f receiving), sub/dom dynamics, established relationship, some fluffies, ASL usage.

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A/N: Baby baby BABY I MISSED YOUUUU

Also, thank you @thesleepingmusicneek for beta-reading 😊❤️

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“Noir, baby,” Huffing out a dramatic breath, you toss your head back. “Please.”

Pathetic in nature, both your small sound and theatrical movement, you know it does nothing to win him over. Noir’s shoulders jerk slightly, rising and falling from the humor he finds in your current state. But he doesn’t judge you, he adores you.

“Baby, can I take off my panties?”

Lifting your head, you’re met with the incredibly erotic sight of him, yet again. Sitting in that black office chair, surrounded by nothing but the basic amenities of his hotel room. As usual, that second skin is on, his hardened suit and sleek, black armor. Although, one piece is missing.

“Please?” Asking again, your eyes focus on his hands, watching intently.

He’s made himself comfortable, laying back in the chair and slouching slightly as he touches himself. Noir always started out with a gradual pace, fisting himself with long, slow strokes. He looks so full, and if you watch for long enough, you’re sure to see him throb. His tip is already leaking, small droplets of precum sliding down his shaft in a way that makes your mouth water. And you stare openly, wantonly; you’ve missed him far too much to be shameful of your needs.

“Don’t you want to see me?” You plead, breathing heavily. You’re rubbing your palm over the space between your legs, he’d allowed that much. The only fabric between you and your hand is that of your panties and it makes you ache, the wet spot on the very center of them only growing with each passing moment.

“Don’t you want to see how wet you make me?”

At this, Noir tilts his head. You should know taunting doesn’t work on him.

With a defeated and aggravated sigh, you throw your head back again. Even when you’re not looking at him, you can hear the subtle squelch as he moves his hand. Using his gloved thumb, he spreads the clear liquid around his head, taking advantage of the natural lubrication as he speeds up his motions, drawing your attention again.

“Baby…”

Reaching down with his other hand, Noir cups his scrotum, rolling the tender flesh in his palm while his head drops back with a light groan. He does this while he continues to fist himself, his hips bucking slightly from the stimulation.

Tonight’s call started with just a few small texts; you telling Noir how much you missed him, asking about the conference and what he had been up to.

Shifting slightly, he readjusts in his chair, slouching back more and in turn shoving his hips closer to the screen. His head is still back, both hands continuing to work his most sensitive parts. And he does it all through his laptop, touching himself while you watch through your screen.

You’re aching for something and still, you wait for him, you’re always such a good girl for him. Whatever he asked of you, you did. You touched him just how he liked, when he liked. You undressed yourself when told to, you touched your tits when told to, you pushed one and then two fingers past your slippery lips when he told you to. And when you’re like this, it makes him proud.

Helplessly, you whimper, inadvertently pulling him back to the most magnificent memories. You’d been apart for weeks and on nights where you fell asleep before he came back to his hotel room, they’re all he was left with when allowing himself release. He never liked to look at any pictures or videos that weren’t of you. There was one specific memory that he’d gone back to far more than the others; the night you had together before he left. He’d stripped you bare, cupping your tits until he nodded at you, telling you to lay down and play with them. It intrigued Noir, seeing how you liked to be touched. He grabbed your thighs while you did it, wrenching them apart before his fingers played with your lips. Specifically though, he’s thinking about what happened before this, just before he’d pulled you into your bedroom to have you. When he got home that day, you were already waiting for him. You’d been dressed in a simple, black lingerie set he’d bought you a while back; it’s his favorite one, it looks stunning on you. The sight alone made his knees weak, and when you took him by the hand to lead him over to the couch, he all but crumbled at your feet. He sat back, legs spread wide while you removed the armor around his pelvis. One of your best sexual talents was oral, he’d never met anyone who swallowed him like you do. And you loved to play with his balls, too, not dissimilar to the way he’s playing with them now. You loved to hold them while you sucked on his tip, fondle them with your fingers and palm while going down on him. One of his favorite moves was when you lowered yourself to suck on them, jerking him off in your hand while staring up at his mask. That always made him cum, and thinking about it now makes his hips rut up into the hole of his fist.

Noir can see the dampness on your panties when he lifts his head, groaning when he watches you rub yourself again. It seemed a little oldschool, but Noir loved doing this on your laptops; it gave him the quickest opportunity to send a message if and when he wanted to. Which he does right now.

Wider.

“Yeah? You want to see more?” Tilting your head with a small, almost bashful grin, Noir watches as your legs shift. But they don’t spread.

Impatiently, he releases himself, now using his hands to communicate with you. He often did this when becoming irritated, at least in these situations. He wasn’t asking anymore, he was demanding. And while Noir lacked the ability to offer facial expressions, using his hands to communicate could still be effective in certain instances. Repeating the word with his physical motions, Noir brings both fists toward each other, his pointer knuckles extended a bit. His left hand is then sternly dragged away, almost as if he were pulling an invisible string straight across his chest.

It makes you shiver, seeing his biceps bulge from it, those gloves fingers wrapping around himself as he settles down again. Doing as he says, you part your legs, now wide enough for him to fully see your dripping secret. And as soon as you do it, he’s grabbing himself with both hands, chest tightening from your promiscuous act. Running two fingers down your center, you can practically see Noir’s moan, can see the heavy dip in his chest as it runs up through his throat. He then takes one hand away, keeping one on his cock while gently squeezing the tip.

“Baby, I love watching you do this…”

For someone that didn’t speak, Noir was surprisingly good at dirty talk. The messages he sent you made you wet for him daily, and it also helped with getting to know what he liked. For instance, you know he likes when you play with your wetness, showing him what he’s done to you. He likes seeing the clear strings connecting your fingertips to your pussy when you finally pull them away. He loves seeing your ass, seeing it move and jiggle, watching you bend over and feeling it slap against his pelvis when you ride him. Noir also liked when you whined, he told you how tiny and helpless it made you sound.

For just a second, Noir lifts his dominant hand, leaving himself completely unattended. His erection sits against his armored stomach, twitching once while it waits. Briefly, you wonder what he’s doing, but then you hear him spit. The sound is forceful and wet, and when his hand returns, you can see the saliva on his glove. Your airy moan hits the air when he does it, watching his fingers wrap around his swollen length once again. But then he sighs, the end of it turning into a dark groan. Moving backwards slightly, he allows you to see him fully. While he’s still entirely suited, there’s something different about seeing all of him on the screen. The breath he inhaled is released slowly, firmly, his head tilting down as his eyes zero in on you. The air of your encounter shifts.

“C… can I?” You repeat, this request more timid than the ones before. His gaze is no less than terrifying and intimidating.

Noir waits for a moment, and so do you, before he finally nods. All at once, relief and excitement flood your body. While pulling your legs up you also reach down, grabbing your panties and sliding them down your legs. You make a little show out of it, your happy smirk visible as you remove them slowly, much slower than he would have done himself. And when they’re off entirely, you plant your feet on either side of the keyboard, displaying your center perfectly.

Beneath his mask, your lover’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. You’re fucking dripping for him. Your lips are shiny and pink, and he knows you must taste like heaven right now. Usually, you smelled like it too.

“Thank you,” Comes your breathy expression of gratitude, fingers swirling around your little, reddened bud.

At this point, your eyelids are dipping, only able to focus on the screen while pleasure and excitement begin to consume you. And you know exactly what he means when his next message comes through.

Let me see it.

The laugh you exhale is light and playful, keeping your eyes on him while dipping a single finger inside. And as soon as your expression changes, he rolls his eyes, head lolling to the side. Removing your finger, you slide them over the seam of your sex before pulling them away, showing him the glistening strands. Christ, you looked so magnificent like this.

“Baby,” Your sudden whine prompts his head to shoot up, looking directly into your eyes. “I miss you, miss having you in my mouth.”

At this, his hand picks up again, moving quicker than before. His deep groans and shallow grunts now begin filtering through the speakers of your laptop, a subtle prompt for you to continue.

“Love the way you taste on my tongue…” Gently, you rub yourself, applying light pressure in the exact way he would.

And it’s true, having Noir in your mouth made you satisfied like nothing else. The taste of him on your tongue, his girth weighing heavy as it leaked into your throat… his smell just beneath your nose, thick patches of curls tickling your face whenever you choked. And more often than not, he’d hold you there, only needing one hand to keep you in place.

In a display of weakness, of emotional vulnerability, Noir whines. His free hand lifts, pointing to his chest and then his chin, before extending that same finger out to you. And inside, your heart bursts for him. He misses you.

“Tell me, baby.”

I mis ur beautifl mouth

His words make you grin - you know when there are errors in his typing, it just means he’s losing focus, getting too wrapped up in the moment, in whatever wondrous activity he’s doing with you. In your mind, it’s almost like he’s stuttering.

“Ugh,” With soft motions, you sway your hips, sliding a second finger inside and trying to reach as deep as you can.

Sometimes, Noir could be so sweet with you. He has a plentiful amount of loving nicknames that he used regularly with you. And when he was home, he was ever the doting partner. Everything you could ever want, he gave you. But more important than that, Noir gave you his time, his patience, his love. Things that ran low within him. But he saved every ounce of those traits for you, only you.

“I need you.”

Soon.

Your lover’s moans then become louder, longer, pumping himself with a rapid fist while watching your fingers disappear between your legs. He can see the tendons in your arm flex when you curl them, the ripple in your thighs when they tense. And he wants nothing more than to grab them, squeeze your sweet flesh and smack your ass until it’s tingly and red.

“Ngh,”

The sounds Noir makes force your heart rate to skyrocket, and you wish so desperately he were here to feel it, hear it. Noir loved to nuzzle into your neck, rub his nose over your pulse point and listen to your natural reactions with his heightened senses. Moments such as those created a safe space for uncommon intimacy between the two of you.

Want my mout on yyo

“I want that, baby. Fuck, I miss you. I want you so bad, Nori. I’ve really needed you.”

And when he hears these words, hears the emotion behind them, he almost can’t get to the keys fast enough.

I know baby. I know. I’m here, and I’ll be home soon

Home, the space you share with him, the space that lets your walls fall. Not just your own but his; that scary demeanor, cold and dark and ruthless to most. A terrifying shadow but to you, he’s your shadow, your protector and lover and everything good this world has to offer. When Noir is with you, it’s easy to feel safe and cared for; doting on you comes naturally to him.

“Promise?”

In response, your love lifts his left pointer finger to his covered lips. Then, he brings that same hand down to his other, landing on its open palm in a chop-like motion.

“I love you.”

I love you sweetheart

And then, there’s a pause. The heavy rise and fall of his chest draws your attention, his deep breath, the way his fist tightens around his shaft.

Now, let’s see my princess cum.

Thank you for ready lovelies!

Some noteworthy considerations...

I am very new to ASL (American Sign Language), but thought introducing it with Noir would be an interesting way to not only be more inclusive to my audience, but to challenge my writing style, too. Please let me know if I got anything wrong, or if you think I could have described something better in a different way! I want to be respectful to the Deaf Community and ASL users as a whole!

Lastly, all ASL interpretation pictures were made by me 😊

#Black Noir #I really need you #Noriiii #you're so sexy and cute #Black Noir x you #Black Noir x reader #Black Noir x female reader #Black Noir smut #Black Noir fluff #The Boys #The Boys fanfiction

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chadillacboseman · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Homelander x F!Reader Warnings: Well, it's Homelander. He's fucked up, he's irredeemable, etc etc. We fuck monsters here. Violence, a little bit of a praise kink and some rough fucking mentioned. Homelander is a bit of a creep.

"What's your name?"

You had dropped the documents you were carrying, sending papers and folders flying in the cramped hallway. A towering figure in dark blue had stopped to help you, had knelt down beside you and swept the documents into his hands before straightening.

Homelander.

You told him your name and he repeated it with a shark-like grin. His canines were just a little too sharp, his eyes just a little too blue.

"How have I never seen you before? You should be front and center here."

You worked for Vought, a low-level secretary and a glorified "gopher" as Stillwell had so often called you.

But suddenly, you were front and center. A promotion came the day after he had stopped to help you. A new desk that overlooked the city awaited you on the 18th floor. "Supe Coordinator" they called you- the person who arranged their press appearances and made sure they were prepared for the media.

Deep, you learned, had a fear of public speaking. Black Noir, despite his silence, loved a good joke.

And Homelander, oh, Homelander. He was every bit as charismatic to you as he appeared on TV. He doted on you, always telling you how wonderful you were, how much better you were than the others at Vought.

"I think he likes you."

A coworker gestures to the Supe in blue and giggles behind her hand like a schoolgirl.

"He looks at you- like a lot."

Oh, does he look. His eyes linger on your every move, watching as your hands touch the other Supes. He thinks of breaking Deep's neck when he makes a crude joke about you.

Homelander isn't used to feeling like this- humans are below him. But he aches for you, wants to make you his. He wants to parade you around like a trophy at his side.

He envisions a perfect life with you at his side- a kid, a dog, a fucking picket fence. The whole works.

A stroke of luck for him comes at your expense.

In the parking lot, a madman rants, holding a sign that decries supes, calls them evil. He's waving a knife. He's blocking your car.

Homelander hears your shriek from the top floor.

He bursts through the window, sending a spray of glass to the pavement below. In an instant, he has the man by the throat, shoving him into a nearby car.

Homelander looks like something from a horror movie, shark teeth bared, eyes glowing red. He snaps the man's neck and drops him to the ground without flinching.

You're shaking, trembling like the helpless, powerless human you are. He scoops you into his arms, holds you tightly against his broad chest and takes flight, delivering you home despite your protests at leaving your car behind.

You don't think to ask him how he knows where you live.

After the parking lot incident, Homelander keeps you close.

"Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"I'll protect you."

An excuse to have you by his side- to fly you home every night and bring you to work in the mornings. He's insidious like that, isolating you from others before they can warn you about him.

One night as he flies you home, you finally ask the question that has been burning in your chest like a coalfire.

"Why do you do this?"

He makes a sound, like a rumble deep in his chest, before glancing down at you. In the darkness, his features are even more striking, his blue eyes boring into yours.

"I like you."

Your stomach does somersaults that have nothing to do with the flight.

After that, you're his before you even realize it.

Headlines abound-

"#1 Supe Settles Down"

"Homelander Finds Love in a Surprising Partner"

He brings you on press tours, keeps a protective gloved hand on your thigh as they ask you questions.

"What's it like being with the most powerful man in the world?"

The hand tightens. He's smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"It's amazing."

The grip loosens once more.

"Say it. Say you're mine," Homelander's hips snap against you and you cry out, head lolling back as he fucks you.

"Say it," he commands between thrusts, his hand coming to your throat in a warning.

"I'm yours!" you wheeze as his hand tightens on your windpipe.

"Good girl," he croons, "Such a good, good girl."

He releases your neck from his grasp and focuses instead on your breasts, hands wandering over them like he's committing them to memory.

There's something about your fragility, something about the way he could so easily hurt you if he felt compelled. It drives him, makes him feel like an animal.

He cums inside you over and over until you're so sore you're almost begging for reprieve. He pulls back to examine his handiwork, eyes hungry as he drips from you.

He isn't always this rough.

There are times when he finds you in your apartment, defeated and longing. Times when all he can do is lie back while you ride him, begging for your praise.

And you give it to him.

You use his real name, run your fingers through his hair while you sink onto his cock.

"John," you whisper and he's putty in your hands, whimpering and burying his face in your chest, "My good boy. My Homelander."

And he is yours- so completely and totally that it frightens him.

You're a target now- a target for not just the media, but for his enemies too.

Billy Butcher smells blood in the water the first time he sees you at the Supe's side.

"We could use this. Use her."

Butcher threatens your life and Homelander sees red. He vows to go scorched earth, to kill him and his "Boys" if they ever lay a finger on you. He's ranting, pacing the floor of your apartment, his cape billowing in his wake.

"I'll crush his fucking skull-"

"John, please," you're pleading, wringing your hands in desperation.

"I'll rip his throat out!"

"John!"

He snaps back to reality and clutches your hands in his, kneeling before you in a stunningly human gesture.

"No one will ever hurt you," he promises, steely blue eyes never wavering from yours, "Ever."

You believe him.

#homelander x reader #ns/fw #homelander #the boys fic #this is all over the place sorry lol

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sci-fi-disney-prince · 2 months

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Garrett Hedlund Character Masterlist WIP

In honor of March Madness, I created this master list of Garrett Hedlund character fanfics and may update it even after March. This may not be mobile/tablet-friendly.

Note: This may not have all of the stories posted on Tumblr and/or elsewhere since I am only one person and could only find as much as I can and unfortunately get distracted by Garrett along the way. Also, these do not belong to me. These stories belong to these lovely fanfic writers credited below and to the people behind the original source material. Do keep in mind that many of these fanfics are targeted for 18 years of age and older, so reader discretion is advised.

Tagged: @the-blind-assassin-12 (the person behind March Fic Madness 2024)

Key: ❤️‍🔥 = Smut(ty)/Explicit 🍬 = Fluff ❤️‍🩹 = Angst

Updated as of March 25, 2024

Special Events

@/triplefrontier-anniversary (A fanfic and art event to celebrate Triple Frontier's 5th anniversary which is run by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime that goes from March 1st-March 14th. Take out the slash to go to their page)

Masterlists

Mitch Keller x F!OC Waitress Oneshot Masterlist by @marmie-noir [Content warning: violence, sex, and 18+ content] ❤️‍🔥

TriFRambles’ Masterlist by @triframbles

Delta Landscaping Mainlist by @rhoorl ❤️‍🔥

Benny Miller Masterlist by @dameronscopilot [some 🍬, some ❤️‍🔥]

Garrett Hedlund Masterlist by @dameronscopilot 🍬❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹

Benjamin "Benny" Miller Masterlist by @musings-of-a-rose [Some Fluff, Some Angst, Some Smut, some all of the above]

FishBen Rec List by @thirstworldproblemss [Some fluff, some angst, some smut, some all of the above]

phoenixhalliwell Masterlist by @phoenixhalliwell [includes Triple Frontier guys x Gender Neutral!reader]

more TBA

Individual Stories

Triple Frontier

"Every Kiss Begins With A Mistletoe" by @kittyofalltrades [Santi and Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"Not So Silent Night" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Office Party Love" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader] 🍬

Sleepy Benny by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] 🍬

"I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] ❤️‍🔥

"An Unexpected Discovery" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Benny's Favorite Librarian" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️‍🔥

"Before I Go" by @cowboystokes (deactivated) [Benny x Black!Reader (Co-Parents)]

"Drunk Poetry" by @violentdelightsandviolentends [Benny x female reader - Content warning: cursing and alcohol mention] 🍬

"I see my shot" by @writefightandflightclub [Benny x female reader - Content warnings: alcohol, mildly steamy making-out, swearing, “unrequited” feelings and implied possible public sex acts (fade to black).] ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🔥

"I've loved you three summers now, honey, I want them all." by @bullet-prooflove [Benny x Reader]

"Disinhibition" by @busycryin [Benny x Reader - Content warning: Injury, bad words, mentions of sex] 🍬

"Slow Motion" by @miss-beep-beep [Benny x Viet!OFC - Content Warning - some cursing and kisses] 🍬❤️‍🩹

more TBA

Four Brothers

"Hopper saves a boy’s pieces, Joyce puts him back together" by @imeanwhynotbruv (Jack Mercer Stranger Things AU/crossover - TW: abuse)

"Number" by @jackmercerenthuiast (Jack Mercer x Reader - Content warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, suggestive language, and gang violence)

more TBA

Tron: Legacy

"Masks" by @ivorydragoness44 [Sam Flynn x Reader] ❤️‍🩹

"iii. morning kisses. waking up next to your significant other and pulling them up and capturing their lips to yours." by @solar-siren [Sam Flynn x Tron] 🍬

more TBA

Tulsa King

more TBA

More from other movies/shows/projects soon

#benny miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #jack mercer #four brothers #garrett hedlund #tron: legacy #sam flynn #tulsa king #mitch keller #four brothers fanfic #Tulsa king fanfic #marchficmadness24

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princesssmars · 1 year

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late night visitors

a ladynoir x reader

most people don't get visited by paris's notorious superheroes at night. luckily, you're not most people.

wc : 1982

contains : fluff. just a bunch of fluff ngl. polyamory. mari and adrien's ages arent stated but they grew up with me in my head so they're about 17/18 here idc.

f/f - favorite flowers

a/n : we love starting a fic and not finishing it until a year later <3 i made this short (?) and sweet before i went overboard. enjoy :)

one thing paris didn’t get enough credit for was its quietness. during the day the city bustles, each arrondissement’s streets filled with tourists and families enjoying the city of love. but you loved it at night. the air grows cold and the roads are deserted, only a few stragglers walking about. the city lights twinkle against the skyline and blend into the clear night sky to create your favorite sight.

you had spent a while sitting on your balcony and just enjoying it, having finished your homework and chores and ready to just be. you let all of your worries about school and friends and villains go and finally relaxed, staying outside for an hour before heading off inside for a night of rest.

tap tap tap.

you grumble, slowly rising from your sleep at the sudden noise you've heard at the other end of the rom. sitting up and rubbing at your eyes, you look around your bedroom to pinpoint where the disturbance came from. from what you can see in the dark nothing fell from your bed, and your closet and bedroom doors are closed so that only leaves one other spot.

tap tap tap.

letting out a huff of air through your nose, you rise from your bed and throw on your robe, quickly noting the alarm clock on your dresser telling you its already past midnight, before moving to the window that looks into your balcony.

not able to see anything, you carefully open the door, shivering and only stopping for a second to again look at the beautiful view of paris before looking around your balcony, only to see a small flower pot that rose had gifted you knocked over.

figuring it to be some dumb bird or a stray, you turn back towards your room just to see a giant pair of bright green eyes staring right into your soul.

it’s pure luck that you're able to muffle your short scream in your hands to not wake and alarm your parents and half the of the arrondissement. unluckily, paris’ beloved hero chat noir is on the brink of laughing his stupid leather-covered ass off.

he somehow manages to calm down, but that means now he’s talking. and god help you when chat noir decided to speak.

"i knew you could be jumpy when scared but you leaped higher than a startled cat! you should've seen it!"

he makes more jokes and lets out little laughs as you stand still in front of him, glaring at him in your pajamas. the fact that your bottoms were covered in pink cupcakes didn't help your case.

“if you seriously woke me up at midnight just to tease and laugh at me so help me god chat,” you squint your eyes in a warning, barely noticing the figure cloaked in red and black sliding up to your side.

“nope, we brought something else,” you hear whispered into your ear. not flinching this time, be it because you were too pissed off or less on edge from the last time. you turn and smile softly when soft baby blue eyes meet your own. “how was your day, mon cheri?”

you hum as your hands find their way around her shoulders and hers wrap around your middle, “better now that you're here, can't say the same for others though.” ladybugs body rocks with a silent laugh as chat looks at the two of you shocked.

he goes off into one of his usual dramatic rants about how the “loves of my life have left me behind for each other! the stereotypes are true!” as you both watch him in amusement.

“alright fine, you big oaf. get in here,” you sigh, moving your arm from around ladybug to open in his direction. he puts on his model-worthy blinding smile and rushes into the hug, squeezing the both of you and raising you off the ground. sometimes you forgot how strong they could be.

during the day, marinette and adrien were the pinnacles of perfectly normal teenagers. it’d been an honor to not only see them grow up from stumbling middle schoolers bestowed with unfathomable power to where they are today.

when you first met mari you thought she was weird, to put it frankly. you’d reflected on how nervous she would get around you and adrien and how you caught her following you a few times, much to her embarrassment at the memories. but after giving her a chance at the behest of alya you found out how amazing she could be. she was incredibly smart, excelling in her studies and being the group's designated tutor. it was only during one of your late-night tutoring sessions, the blue-haired girl smiling at you sweetly and praising you when you got a problem wrong, that you realized you had feelings for her.

and adrien was so radiant it was scary. you figured since he was rich and childhood friends with chloe bourgeois of all people that he’d be another snob for you to ignore. but then that day happened when chloe was jealous of all the attention you were getting on your new hairstyle and dumped a tiny carton of milk on your head. normally you didn't let her get to you, but you couldn't help but tear up and run to hide in an empty classroom. it wasn't until a little later that a soaking-wet adrien sat down next to you, telling you he was sorry for what chloe did, and said “if she’s going to bully my friends, she’ll have to do the same to me.”

after that, it was hard not to harbor feelings for the two of them, and you were so glad when they confessed not only to each other but to you as well. you weren't expecting the whole superhero reveal thing, though. but it warmed you inside to know they trusted you enough with this secret.

“let’s head inside, its getting colder and i don't want you to get sick.” ladybug pulls out of the hug, holding the back of her hand up to your head.

“i’m fine, bug,” you assure her, pulling her hand away and smiling at the way her cheeks tint pink. “what’d you bring me?”

ladybug waves her hand to chat, the boy coming up behind you before your vision goes dark with his hands covering your eyes. you hear the sound of ladybug’s yoyo, then the familiar whssh of her body traveling through the air.

“can you give me a hint at least?” you plead. its been a solid three minutes of waiting for marinette to come back and the excitement is making you antsy. not to mention your leather-clad boyfriend standing right behind you.

“no can do, babe. we both know you'll figure it out and then ladybug will figure out that you've figured it out and then she figures out its because i told you and then-”

“ok ok! i get it! ill wait patiently.”

luckily you don't have to wait long, chat removing his hands to show you marinette standing in front of you holding a bouquet of f/f and a box of your favorite pastries.

“i made them this morning so they'd be fresh in case something happened, thank god we only had to deal with some thieves.” marinette hands you the flowers, the pair of them thankful when you bring them up and take in a deep inhale of their scent, holding them close to your chest.

“i wouldn't call ten men breaking into the louvre just any regular thieves, my lady.” chat chuckles.

ladybug shrugs. “didnt seem so tough to me.”

she shrugs. “didnt seem so tough to me.”

“c'mon you two, lets head inside before some insomniac catches a picture of you two.”

they follow you inside, the both of them able to sneak well after years of practice. you put the flowers in a spare vase on your dresser, gently placing them inside with a smile. you hear a slight smack followed by a 'ow!’ and a laugh. you turn to see your girlfriend scowling at your boyfriend, whose mouth is stuffed with one of the pastries.

“i made them for y/n! at least let her have the first one.” ladybug chastises him, setting the box down on a coffee table before sitting on your white chaise.

chat ignores her, too entranced by the deliciousness of her baking. “whatever you say, buggaboo.”

you smile, loving to watch how they interact with each other. they worked so well together, and sometimes when you admired them it seemed like they were made for each other. if it wasnt so sweet you’d be more jealous, but they never made you feel excluded.

“ill go put these in your kitchen so you can have them for breakfast.” chat puts some of the pastry on a napkin and leaves it on the table for you before picking up the box and slinking out of your door with a wink.

you send him an appreciative smile, looking to the side to see ladybug still slightly pouting.

“its fine bug, i appreciate it no matter what,” you sit down next to her, reaching up to take her mask off as her baby blue eyes look at you fondly. “ill have to repay you somehow. just tell me what and its yours.”

mari looks at you silently for a few seconds more before brining up her hand to cup your face and bringing you in for a sweet kiss. mari's kisses were some of your favorites, the girl always making sure to assert herself as ladybug and it travels into her intimacy.

you pull away reluctantly, her looking at you with a lovestruck grin.

“you already repay me by being mine, mon cheri.” she whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your warm cheek. you start to flirt back when a force plops onto the chaise next to you, a mop of blonde hair landing into your lap.

“i second what she said, my love. only if i get some kisses too obviously.” adrien says, his mask now off to show off his dazzling emerald eyes.

you roll your eyes in playful annoyance but relent, leaning down to give him a kiss as well. adrien’s kisses are just as amazing as mari’s but they feel…desperate. not in the way he kissed you when he underestimated a villain and nearly lost his life, rushing back to your apartment and kissing you before holding you in a tight embrace for an hour.

he was desperate for physical touch, the reminder that he’s yours and your his and that you wont leave him. but no matter how much the two of you pretend to be exasperated at his constant touches and flirting, you want to assure him that you’ll always be here for him no matter what.

the kiss ends and you nearly giggle from the sight of his dopey grin and hooded eyes, quickly widening when mari roughly grabs his cheeks and kisses him dramatically.

“there, happy not, kitty?” she asks, the boy laying limp across your lap.

“yup. perfect.”

after a minute of mari teasing chat for his dopey reaction to your kisses and adrien pointing out how she acts the exact same, the time of night catches up with you and you feel your eyes start to droop. just when you feel the lull of sleep taking you away, a strong pair of arms lifting you up and placing you in bed. when they start to pull away, you tiredly reach your arm out to hold their wrist, whispering a quiet “stay.”

thankfully your loves cant say no to you, the two of them resting on top of the covers as they cuddle you from either side.

its quiet as they stay with you, and you’ve never loved the quiet of the city more.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug x reader #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain cheng x reader #marinette x reader #ladybug x reader #adrien agreste #adrien agreste x reader #ladynoir #ladynoir x reader #adriennette #adrienette x reader

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campingwiththecharmings · 4 months

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*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in December, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

Christmas Tree Farm (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Headcanons for Poe with someone shy and quiet - @ivystoryweaver

🔥Santa Baby (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Moon Knight

🔥Somnophilia (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @juneknight

Perks of Being a Wallflower (Jake Lockley x Plus Size!F!Reader) - @soft-girl-musings

Blossoms & Whiskers (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

It's Cold Outside (Steven Grant x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥My Turn (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

🔥Study Buddy (Uni!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

The Old Oak (Jake Lockley x Reader) - @mccn-bcys

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader) - @soft-girl-musings

🔥Divine Nights (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @moonlight-prose

🔥Helpless (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Audible (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @juneknight

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥Always Yours, Never Mine (Yandere Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor (new chapter means it gets rec-ed again 😌)

🔥Scratches and Bites (Miguel O'Hara x Spidergirl!Reader) - @runa-falls

🔥After Dark (Dark!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

Ex Machina

🔥Centerpiece (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Accidental Kiss (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

🔥Kinktober Day 9 (Pegging) (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

🔥(Not) Good Enough (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @midgardian-witch

🔥Sugar & Spice (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Untitled Soft Nathan blurb (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Triple Frontier

🔥Santi & Aftercare (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

Narcos

🔥Tied Together (Javier Peña x Black!F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Mojave

🔥Cruel Intentions (Jack x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Won't Back Down

🔥High Tension (Youth Pastor!Michael Perry x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Inside Llewyn Davis

Untitled Sweet, Fluffy blurb (Llewyn Davis x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

#poe dameron x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #jack mojave x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #nathan bateman x reader #llewyn davis x reader #santiago garcia x reader #javier pena x reader #michael perry x reader #fic rec

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hanasnx · 4 months

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MINORS DNI 18+

BLACK NOIR met his little movie star girlfriend, you, when you played— funnily enough— a love interest in one of his films. An anecdote you like to tell at interviews is how much dirty talk you had to learn in ASL, and it’s only half-true. Mostly a joke because of the lack of need to be overtly explicit, anything that could plausibly pass in a young adult’s movie. The real stuff he taught you when he fucked you between scenes. Leading him to your lavish trailer so he could talk to you with his body, with his hips, with his fat cock tunneling into your tight heat until all you could think about was watching yourself moan in his visor.

It’s not like you planned to be his “love interest” in real life, it just sort of happened. Noir has an uncanny ability to be irresistible. Whether it’s his disinterested appearance that you want to get interested, his head-to-toe uniform that makes you wanna unwrap him, you couldn’t stay away from him. You certainly couldn’t stay off of him whenever you got the chance to ride his dick like a fucking stallion behind closed doors.

There was a whole ship-tag for you and him on Instagram before you started sleeping together, and when Vought got a hold of the projected numbers of a public union, they sat you down immediately. Compensated with another movie deal, the prospect of a possible reality show, and an extra $5k a month on top of your check as a tip for every month you publicly date him, you didn’t have the heart to tell them you and Noir were already a secret thing. Besides, it’s not like you’re paid to be pretty. That extra cash’ll go straight to your beauty piggy bank. Noir likes a full set of acrylics wrapped around his dick.

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wisefoxluminary · 10 months

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Black Noir x Reader

Synopsis | Black Noir spends his first night at your apartment as you settle down and watch a film together. But a particular film brings back traumatising memories for Noir.

Warnings: Panic attacks, PTSD, mentions of abuse and trauma, use of the f word, bloody descriptions/images, love confessions, first kisses

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Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there

With open arms and open eyes, yeah

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there

I'll be there, yeah

- Drive by Incubus

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Noir had accepted your humble offer to move in with you and you couldn't be more happier. You had always been living alone ever since the tragedy that took your dog, wallowing in your own misery as you wondering what being in someone's company would feel like. Being under the watchful eye of Black Noir was probably the most blessed you had ever been. Underneath the mask, he was human. He understood you with absolute clarity and was always there to fill your heart with joy. As a superhero, Noir was depraved of normalcy and he longed to be loved, to indulge in the innocence he had long since buried working with the seven. Now that he was with you, that darkness he cast himself into was slowly fading away and his true self was coming to the light. He may have been hidden in a shell his whole life, but the feeling of love was swelling at his heart. He protected you fiercely and gave you warmth when the emptiness of your sorrow tried to take you away. Noir would always be there for you, no matter how grey the clouds would get, he would be there for you. Moving in with you would give Noir something he never thought he could feel again - happiness.

You opened your apartment door to find Noir standing there, holding up a message that read my home is with you in bold, messy letters. He didn't come with much of his belongings. He was carrying a vought bag with food, plushes and a toothbrush. He looked like he had been running for miles to you by how tired he sounded with husky breath.

"Noir, you came!" You said joyfully, slowly coming to terms with the fact you was going to share an apartment with a supe. It was all too surprising to process. You hugged Noir with tender arms, expressing your bubbling excitement as you helped him carry his belongings into the apartment, which weighed less heavy than you expected. He gave you a box of chocolates and a thank you card as a way of showing his gratitude about letting you stay here as it was a sweet gesture that warmed your heart in ways you didn't expect. Now that your connection had been formed, you just knew your time staying with him would bring many happy memories you would savour.

The gifts had been parted, as you gave Noir a quick tour of your apartment and where he would be sleeping for the majority of his stay. Your apartment was quite small but it gave you the necessities you needed - a kitchen, a bathroom, one bedroom. It was enough for you and your loneliness, but you did your best to make it into a place where Noir felt at home. "This here is the kitchen, and then down the hall you have a bathroom and my bedroom. I know it's small in size but I set up an air mattress in my room to sleep in if you feel comfortable." You opened the door and took Noir into your bedroom, the same place where he showered you with bed and breakfast as you showed the air mattress he would be sleeping in during his courteous stay. Noir looked down at the mattress curiously, fascinating by how homely and safe your apartment felt. He bent down to the mattress's level and traced his gloved hand through the bedding, bringing him comfort and solitary as he just knew he had made the best decision ever. He got to his feet again as he began to write a message as you waited patiently, fearful he'd berate you for how the apartment looked.

Thank you. It's perfect

Once Noir had gotten all of his belongings organised, you took him into the living room to settle down for a bit. He sat on your porcelain blue sofa, posture stern as he looked around the house with piped interest. You went into the kitchen to get you and Noir both something to drink. You couldn't believe your luck to be honest. You had one of the seven's finest heroes in your home and you couldn't but feel more drawn towards him. Maybe it was the gentle, kind way he treated you or the way he brought safety whenever his presence is near. You just knew you would safe under his blinding gaze, that nothing would ever come between you and Noir. You watched from the kitchen as he tried to keep him relaxed, taking notice to her quiet apartment. There was a small living room with a perched window that looked onto the cityscape, book shelves towering over the four walls, with plenty of ornaments and DVDs. What caught his attention the most was the mantlepiece as it had photos of you and your family, all smiles and happy together. He looked at the photos like he longed for a family of his own, a sad glint in his eye. He saw a picture of Felix you had put in the centre of the mantlepiece as a memorial for the dog as Noir felt his heart twinge with guilt at the sight, wishing he had saved the canine from such a cruel yet undeserving fate. He kept darting his head around your living room, lost in the many details of your house. You could see Noir from where you were in the kitchen, taking notice of how new all of this would seem for him, of how he longed for a comforting home of his own. It was like he was talking to someone, moving his head intently like he was in a conversation inside his head. This was the start of something good for Noir and you wanted to give him a place where he felt loved.

You came into the living room, interrupting his train of thought as you wanted to ask him something. "Are you a Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper kind of guy? You asked as Noir was sort of taken aback by the question, staring at the bottles in your hand blankly. He nodded his head towards the Dr. Pepper can in your left hand as you spun the bottle in your hand like it was a shiny new toy. "Dr. Pepper, it is!" You gloated, trying to hide the awkwardness in your voice as you went to give Noir the bottle but he stopped you with a written note.

Can I have a straw please?

"Yes, of course!" You said as you opened the bottle, putting the straw in like Noir asked. You wondered how he would be able to drink with that mask on, but you were sure he'd find a way. You gave Noir his Dr. Pepper as you took the Diet Coke. He slurped on the straw like a child having his first milkshake as you could see the outline of his mouth as he drank it through his mask. You watched in morbid fascination as you drank your own, wondering how the hell he survives with that mask on 24/7.

"So...uh do you wanna watch a movie. I figure since this is your first day staying with me, I thought we'd have a bit of fun." You said, trying to lighten Noir's spirits. He seems intrigued by the idea.

"I love fun" he wrote enthusiastically.

You smiled at his statement as you traced your finger through the shelf of DVDs. You loved movies as you were always an avid collector when you were a kid. It seemed like the perfect time to share the magic with Noir.

"What's your favourite genre action or comedy?"

Noir stared at the long display of DVDs, trying to make out which ones were which. He turned back, note in hand.

I like both. Best when blended together.

You let out a loud gasp at those words, shocked that Noir loved the same genre as you - action comedies. "No way! You love action comedies too! I pratically grew up on them" You explained, excited that Noir was interested in the same things as well. You eventually settled on one of your favourite movies, as it had been a source of laughter and nostalgia all your life. You just knew Black Noir would like it.

"I just found one of the best action comedies ever! You're gonna love this Noir, it is truly amazing!" You scoffed, singing your praises about the film as you kept it close to your chest, too afraid to spoil the suprise. Noir relaxed into the sofa as he waited eagerly for it to start. You placed the disc into the DVD player cautiously as you sat beside Noir, not much distance between the both of you as your shoulders were touching Noir's. You tried to hold back your flustered feelings as you were about to press play.

What movie is it?

"I can assure you Noir, it's a classic!"

You pressed the play on the DVD as the screen came to life, a Detroit city skyline as the title Beverly Hills Cop appeared on screen. Noir felt his heart beat heavily, almost crushing his chest with fear as he realised the film he was watching. It was a film that brought back painful memories for Noir, of a past he would rather forget as he sat there silently, trying to bury the wracking nerves he felt as The Heat is On blared in his ears. His breath was becoming shaky and his fingers were twiddling together in clasped hands. His past was coming back to haunt him, staring wordlessly at the screen as he tried to hide his fear from you, looking at your smile for a source of comfort. You were singing along to the opening credits, telling him what the film was about and how awesome Eddie Murphy was in the role, and of the many trivia that came with it. Noir was trying to listen to your rambling and watch the film with great interest but his fear was holding him back. He was lost in the pitiless darkness of his thoughts, remembering everything he lost to Soldier Boy, how he brought him nothing but pain. He could have gotten that part if it wasn't for him. His life wouldn't have been so fucked up if it wasn't for what he did to him.

Noir remembered his days in Payback, of how he thought being placed in this team by Vought would bring him the respect and recognition he always wanted. He wanted to be a hero that could inspire others, to represent his community who needed someone to look up to. He wanted to be a movie star. The only thing that held him back was his mask. It hid his true self from others and represented a person he wasn't. Vought wanted him to be the mysterious masked hero they could benefit merchandise from. Noir knew that wasn't who he wanted to be, no matter how much glory being a member of Payback brought him. He thought this audition to be Axel Foley in Beverly Hills Cop would be his big break, the fame he had so desperately seeking. But Soldier Boy ruined his chances by telling the producers lies about him, and as a result, he lost the role to Eddie Murphy. He was angry that day as he felt deprived of the success he wanted. But instead of an apology, Soldier Boy gave him a bloody beating. His rage reduced him to a crimson pulp. He was too weak to stand up to the cruel bastard. He was left a helpless but scared little boy with no one to turn to. He suffered abuse at his hand and he couldn't escape from it. Every threat that spilled out of his tongue stabbed at Noir's heart like a knife, every beating left him more broken and hopeless than he ever was before. Noir saw the dark side of Soldier Boy that day. He didn't want anyone to steal his spotlight and would do anything to keep them below them, even keeping them on the ground if it meant they wouldn't stand up against him. Soldier Boy hated anyone who was below him and he would do anything to make them feel small. He kept them down just so he could keep flying.

You think you can be me? You're not a movie star, you're not shit. I see you getting out of line again, trying to move on up. I will put you on the fucking ground. Understood?

By then, Black Noir had enough. He could see the fear of god and hatred in his teammates' faces as Soldier Boy inflicted his cruelty and wrath onto him. He just wanted his pain to be over. He wanted the supe who caused him so much suffering to be gone. So when the mission in Nicaragua came around, he just knew the time was now for them to get rid of him. He and the rest of Payback agreed to Stan Edgar's offer to betray Soldier Boy to the Russians. They told him to conceal his face, but Noir was tired of following orders. He showed his face in spite of Soldier Boy but it was a mistake that costed him dearly. He got his brain burned off by Soldier Boy's blind rage and he was left a man broken beyond repair, a man scarred for life. A man who stood up to his abuser and got himself more hurt in the process. He was no longer Earving, the boy who just wanted to be loved and remembered by the rest of the world, he was Black Noir, an intimidating force of the nature, the man Vought always wanted him to be - dark, mysterious, his soul taken from him. He was forced to wear a mask he hated all because he got his face taken from him. His Payback teammates turned their backs on him because they couldn't stand to look at the man he became. He clung on to his childhood fantasies as a way of keeping the last of his innocence, relying on Buster Beaver and his friends to keep him company. They were the only friends he ever had, and the more he got swept into Vought's antics, he became a more darker version of himself. Joining The Seven was a last resort for Noir as he had to stay quiet and unassuming for others to appreciate his skill. Homelander wasn't like Soldier Boy, he didn't inflict hurt onto him like he did. He admired his willingness to get the job done and considered him a person he could count on.

Noir had no one to talk to, he had lost the ability to speak all those years ago so he could only rely on Buster's voice of reason to get him through the day. That all changed when you came into his life, you understood him better than anyone and saw him for the person he was - an innocent soul who cared about others. Everyday, he just lived in fear knowing Soldier Boy would return and come after him. He was scared of dying at his hand. Scared of dying afraid and without any love.

The intense flashbacks ended in Noir's head as the next moment, he was watching Axel clinging to the side of a truck as police cars were after him. You were happy and too mesmerised in the film to notice Noir's pain as Noir could feel his heart pounding, his vision slowly blurring inside his mask as he was having a panic attack, spurred by his greatest fears. He clutched at his chest, fingers trembling as he tried to keep his racing heart from leaping out of his body. He was struggling to breath, air coming shaky and hoarse from his lungs as he was on the verge of blacking out. He tried to beg for help but his vocal cords were sealed shut, damaged after years of great pain. His body was consumed in paralysing fear and he couldn't break out of the curse. You could hear weak, palpitating breathes as Noir was in great distress

"Noir, is everything okay? Noir, can you hear me?! Noir, what's wrong!?"" You were panicking to see Noir in such an awful state as he was struggling to breath, frail hands clutching onto his still chest. You paused the movie as you tried to calm him down. Whatever was happening to him, it was showing signs of a panic attack. You had them after Felix died, scared of ending up alone as you were planting yourself into further darkness and despair. You saw the pain in his stung expression, unable to escape as his body was frozen in fear. You held onto his shoulders, making sure he was in a comfortable state as you tried to snap him out of it. Nothing would work as you couldn't help but watch Noir suffer with tears in your eyes.

It was scary to watch him spiral like this, to watch the panic take over as his throat was growing hoarse with each raspy breath, his gloved hands wet with sweat. "Fuck....fuck...fuck...everything's gonna be okay, Noir. Just breath, okay" you said calmly, trying to quell his nerves as your heart was throbbing in your chest. Noir could feel tears form in his eyes, bile rising in his throat as he was losing breath rapidly. He held onto you tightly like the only lifeline he needed. You hugged him like a mother would to a crying child. Noir was in a panic that Soldier Boy would get him and his mind was spiralling, fear and agony clouding his thoughts.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me Noir, okay? I want you to put one hand on your stomach and one hand on your chest, can you do that for me?" You pleaded as Noir stiffly nodded, carefully putting one hand on his chest, another on his belly as he began to let out slow, gnawing breathes. "Okay, and then breathe through your noise. Nice and small for me, okay?" Noir began to take a slow, deep breath out of his nose as it exhaled it out of his mouth. He kept on doing it, trying to retain as much calmness as possible. You were rubbing circles gently onto his back, trying to keep him calm the best way you could. "Just keep breathing for me. In and out. Okay? In and out..."

Noir kept breathing, allowing all of the fear and negativity to go away as his breathes became less frantic and more calm, as the sight of your reassuring, warm gaze and sweet voice was enough to bring back to your reality. He could feel your soothing touch, riveting him away from the panic threatening to swallow him whole. You took deep breathes, glad to see that Noir was out of the darkness as your eyes were slowly welling with tears, trying to fight back the urge to cry. You had never known a supe to be vulnerable in front of you, even Black Noir for that matter. It was scary to see him panic like that and you didn't want to lose him again.

"I thought I'd lost you....don't ever do that again, okay....you scared me..."

Noir reached over for his pad and began to write a frantic message to you.

I'm sorry

"It's okay, you have nothing to be sorry for. But why....what caused it...?" You asked, using your words carefully. You understood a panic attack when you saw. Noir had a past, memories that were hurting him. Maybe if they talked about it together, it would hurt less. Black Noir sat there for a moment, trying to regulate his breathing as he began to write intently. It was just you and him, it was okay to open his heart now rather than keep it all bottled up.

I was a member of Payback

"Payback. Like the superhero team from the 1980s? I learned about Soldier Boy in history class."

Think again. Soldier Boy is bad.

"In what way was he bad?"

I auditioned for Axel Foley

"Really!? That's so cool...why didn't you get it?"

Soldier Boy intervened. Eddie Murphy got the part instead.

"So what did you do?"

I got angry at him for it. He beat me.

You felt your heart break for him, a unsteady gulp escaping from your throat. You had an idea where this was going.

He beat me again and again. I couldn't take it anymore so I made a plan with Vought to get rid of him. Payback hated him as much as I did.

"He sounds like a real jackass..." You said through gritted teeth, heavy revelations hitting you. So Soldier Boy wasn't the self-sacrificing, noble hero everyone thought he was. He never died to save the world from a nuclear meltdown. In reality, he treated people like shit on his shoe.

He was. The plan was to sell him to the Russians. It worked but I lost my face to Soldier Boy. Can't speak because of him. I am scarred. I wear this mask to hide it.

Black Noir kept writing, his hand moving at a fast pace as he tried to get all of his feelings down on one page. You sat there patiently, putting your trust and faith in Noir.

I am scared Soldier Boy will come back and kill me. He will go after you. I can't lose you. I am scared of dying alone. Without you.

You took Noir's hand, squeezing it tightly as you tried to take his mind away from his fears.

"Don't worry about him, he will never find you! I won't let him. Even if he comes back, nothing will come between us. I will make sure of that."

Noir stared into your eyes for a moment, relieved to have someone like you by his side. Someone who understood him. As for you, you couldn't help but wonder what he looked like under the mask. You couldn't imagine how the pain Soldier Boy caused him must of felt as you wanted to protect him in whatever she could.

"Can I....can I see your face?" You asked, fearful of being rejected as Noir gazed into your eyes, contemplating this decision. He nodded slowly like he was scared.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you or judge you." You quietly assured him as you placed each hand on the side of his mask. You expected Noir to be hesitant to this kind of touch, but he just sat there, putting his full trust into you. You pulled the mask off his face as you were left shocked by the behold sight.

The right side of his face was heavily disfigured, charred like he had been dragged through fire. His flesh was decaying, black and red molding together. He had a pussy wart where his right eye used to be, the rest of his skin raised into burning scars. His hairline was split into three, a huge sewn stitch on the top of head like someone had been dissecting his brains. It was a tragic sight to look at. It made you feel sad that Noir had to suffer like this all his life. He had hidden all of this pain behind a mask for so many years, and you were the first person he confided to about it. It also made you feel angry that Soldier Boy would do such a thing to him. How could he wrong him in such a unforgiving way? How could men do this to each other?

"I am so sorry..." You said, bursting into tears as Noir bowed his head lowly in shame, trying to hide his scars behind his notepad.

"I'm a monster" Noir had written as you shook your head with a defying no, tears in your eyes.

"No. Don't you dare believe that bullshit, Noir! You had to suffer all your life. You don't deserve any of this. They don't deserve you." You said, showing your sympathy for Noir's scars and all the shit he's had to deal with in the past. She didn't care how many tears fell down her face until Noir understood the message. No one deserves him, not even Soldier Boy. Noir didn't deserve to be treated this way. You loved him for not just who he was, but for his beautiful scars because they made him human.

Noir took his notepad and began to write something

I love you

It was words you had been dreaming of for so long. Something you had wanted to say to Noir ever since that day he gave you bed and breakfast or the day he gave you a teddy bear out of the goodness of his heart. He cared about you with all his heart and he didn't want to lose you. You smiled at him, using your right hand to stroke his face.

"I love you too..." You whispered as you kissed him, the air around the two of you becoming tight as Noir just sat there, shocked to be treated with such tenderness as he kissed you back. Your lips were the warmth he needed for his cold soul. You gave him hope in times of despair. You accepted him when you saw his scars and learned of his dark past. He just knew in this moment of quiet intimacy and interwoven lips, that he would spend the rest of his life with you.

You eventually parted from the kiss, Noir holding you gently in his arms as he wasn't quite sure how to address the situation. "Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there okay?" You vowed, caressing his face lovingly with your hands as he nodded, staring at your soul with a unspoken, warm love. From now on, you had each other hand in hand. You needed Black Noir more than anything, but in the end, it was you he needed the most...

#the boys #black noir #black noir x reader #black noir x you #black noir is just a sweetheart #panic attacks #ptsd flashbacks

178 notes · View notes

nc-vb · 1 month

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞-𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Vergo, a seasoned actor who has won several awards and is always sought out by companies for their films, and you, an aspiring actor looking to get your name out in the world, meet at a party, and Vergo promises you the spotlight-- riches and fame can be yours... at the price of sex.

notes not back off my hiatus yet!! but this was a piece I wrote for the loverly @uminozerol 🥰 with her blessing, it has made it to the big screen (or, your phone screens, and if you've somehow decided to read ff on your tv screen, that's... a choice).

pairing -> actor!vergo x fem!actor!reader

warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), actor au, pw/p, piv sex "under contract", size difference (bc he's massive), oral sex (f!receiving), finger fucking, creampie; alcohol use (not involved w sexy times)

wc -> 5.6k

Contrary to mass naïve belief, the acting world isn’t all smiles and good times. Showing up to auditions and landing every role is a dreamer’s dream; personal sacrifice comes into play when desperation is present. The unspoken truth, the one hidden behind red painted doors to rooms with checkered floors…

But there’s a dark side to every industry.

The entertainment world, with its claws dug deep into society, dominates the public’s view of the world; only the most elite truly dictate what appears in the media, and, who. There’s nothing that speaks “power” like money does. A little investment goes a long way, but there are some actors and performers and entertainers who get away without needing that financial backing for their talents, raw and pure and whole; they do well on their own, beloved by the people.

And none of this has ever been a secret. It’s just something not many dare to tread on or over for fear of losing their own place under the LEDs. Fortunately for someone like you, a fresh-faced and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all-too-eager to have your name known to and adored by the world. To have your skill acknowledged by the masses, to see them enjoy your work and laud about it to those who’ve yet to witness it for themselves-- it’s an honour like no other.

You’ve yet to fall on hard times from a lack of substantial work (small gigs, commercials and commercial voice overs, and a supporting role in a twelve-episode drama that wouldn’t be renewed for a second season in spite of an overwhelming positive response) but the drain on both your savings and your motivations as an aspiring actor had begun to weight heavy on your heart.

You had the skill set and the experience to be sought after as rookie talent— is there something you’ve been doing wrong? Certainly not even your manager is at fault; you’ve seen first hand just how hard they’ve been searching and fighting on your behalf.

If you could guess… it’d been your lack of networking. And, a lack of a network. You really were a rookie in that sense. All those roles were eaten up because of connections— entertainment is the industry of nepotism, after all. People who know people are how people get places.

You… knew this, too. Even in the beginning. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your vanity, face painted and already dressed in your black evening gown, second guessing everything you’d steeled yourself into doing tonight.

According to your manager, who’d heard through their own contacts, a huge networking event masquerading as a cocktail party was to be happening tonight, and she managed to surprise you with a ticket. A ticket. Which means you’d be going in alone.

The “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be With You In Spirit” line she fed you almost immediately after gushing over the expected attendees put you on edge. Especially considering she’d blurted out the name of your favourite actor: Vergo.

With a voice like butter and the smoothest acting you’d seen in your lifetime, you’d been instantly enthralled; you can recall how he’d been mostly chosen for darker, noir, thriller type roles because of this. You’d always wanted to see him in a romance film, but casting directors seemed to be heavily monopolizing his most infamous skill set. And, he seemed content in doing them.

You were about to be in the same room as your idol, your celebrity crush— alone.

Technically.

The drive to the venue is a quiet one. At the expression on your face, your chauffeur, your manager, couldn’t bring herself to comment any further about the situation, even to fill the silence brought about during the evening traffic (though you correctly assumed it hadn’t been for your glare of “retaliation”, but because of the crease lines that would appear along your forehead; something about “ruining your makeup”, she’d mumbled under her breath that made you relent).

She does send you off with a genuine well-wishing of luck, and a reminder to call her whenever you were ready to leave.

To your surprise, the event is not a private one. Or at least, perhaps it had been, but somehow was leaked to the public. A large security detail outlines the numerous gold and red velvet stanchions, arms spread eagle wide so as to bar the few more wily spectators that pressed forward a little too much toward the doors.

Maybe it never was a private event. Stanchions? A red carpet? This much security? Either someone had been brilliant enough to think ahead for a just-in-case scenario quite like this one, or it’d been a publicity stunt of some design.

Adjusting the chain of the clutch hanging off of your shoulder, you swing it forward to dig out your invitation, and present it to the host at the door. A nod, a brief welcome, you finally enter the building, greeted by a gentle breeze and gold adornments and bold crown mouldings-- from top to bottom, the chosen venue was a good choice. You only wish your heels wouldn’t click so loudly across the checkered floor; you get the point is to be noticed, in a sense, but having this many pairs of eyes on you as you drift further inside only rattles your nerves.

Being that it’s a cocktail event, there is no assigned table seating. Wouldn’t be much of a networking event if you were stuck at one table all night, you reason with yourself.

By suggestion of one of the staff, you check your shawl in. You’d expected the room to be much cooler and brought it just in case, but the sheer number of celebrities, interviewers, and recruiters already in the room brought the temperature to a comfortable enough level. You hold onto your purse, finding it not nearly enough of a nuisance to be rid of it.

Moving aside, you take in your surroundings, properly, no longer overwhelmed and overloaded by them as you’d been on entry. There are a lot of guests. In such a large foyer, you suspect well over one hundred to be in attendance. Your heart swells, recalling your manager’s words from earlier-- yes, the event is invitation only, but you could still apply to receive one, and if the hosts deemed you a fit enough guest, you may attend, yourself. For fresh blood like yourself, this meant everything. The chance to interact, the chance to create a connection, to establish that network; you didn’t have all those fancy business cards made up for them to be used as a paperweight, after all.

You’re able to hand out quite a few of them before you find your battery drained, casting directors and curious producers alike finding you an interesting conversation piece after you tell them the series you’d co-starred in. Some of them even recall your role played and your acting, a very small “some”; you’d appreciated their kind words. But it’d been a long two hours of non-stop chatting and casual drinking. As fancy as the event was, wearing three inch heels (or heels of any height, really) hadn’t been an ideal dress code requirement, and you were beyond parched.

Trying not to sigh too loudly, you let yourself collapse into a plush barstool, immediately noting the velvet upholstery to match that of the rest of the venue’s, and hail down the bartender when you spot them having finished with another guest.

I won’t drink tonight, you tell yourself, thanking them with a nod. They set a glass of water before you a moment later, and you begin sipping gratefully from its straw. Mmm.

Finally having a moment to yourself again, you allow your eyes to wander around the room. It’s gotten a lot fuller since the time when it started… Celebrities and their dedication to arriving fashionably late… isn’t fashionable at all.

You spot a lot of familiar faces around you: the small group of men bickering loudly in one of the furthest corners who’d all recently starred together in a “buddy”-cop movie, affectionately nicknamed on one of their sets as the Three Stooges; the tall raven haired woman who’d brought along a novel to read, a smile on her face while she covets it from a singular lounge chair, Nico Robin; just entering the fray after checking in his coat, a former co-star of yours, Donquixote Rosinante; and, to your right, cradling a tall drink of something clear and violet, sitting several feet taller than yourself and who’d be the one person able to send more than just your heart fluttering--

V-Vergo?! As unnoticeably as possible, you straighten in your chair, shimmying your hips to fit against the backing, and take another sip from your own water.

Now, stage fright was something that you managed to siphon out of your repertoire after the first couple years of acting. It managed to control a lot of aspects of your life and even lucked you out of receiving a couple of good, substantial roles. So being here, for an event meant to help entertainers new and seasoned form connections or start networks or begin partnerships-- it means there’s no time for you to tremble on the sidelines.

The time it takes for you to summon up the courage is embarrassing; Vergo’s already ordered a second drink, and you’re quite sure he’s noticed you glance his way (multiple times) in his own peripherals. If he did, he doesn’t mention it, nor would you have been able to tell with those dark shades he always wears.

You also order a drink -- this time, a half-strong cocktail -- and swivel in your stool, the head of it rotating beneath you. Your eyes rise first, before you’re about to speak, only for your words to catch in your throat. Next to his lip sits a smudge of something soft orange in colour; a cream, of some sorts. You determine it’s one of the dips from the appetizer bar, and wonder how long it’s been there that no one’s said a word to him about it.

“Are you content with simply staring, or is there something you’re looking to say?”

This time, your breath catches in your lungs. He hadn’t even turned your way, still hunched over the bartop. You want to apologize, or maybe, laugh. Instead, you swallow your introduction and reach up, collecting the food sauce on the pad of your index finger. His flinch is subtle, only the shoulder closest to you tensing in surprise at your bold gesture.

“The roasted pepper goat cheese dip must’ve been really good for you to miss your mouth,” you muse, your heart pounding so hard it began to make your throat tighten. You’re about to reach for a napkin, when something otherworldly (you suspect) possesses you to tongue away the cream from your finger. “Yep. Roasted pepper goat cheese.”

“... and you are?”

You hold back another, smaller laugh, this one to cover your own mortification. “Sorry! I meant to introduce myself first.” And you do, though you curse the small stutter that carries along with it. “It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m… a big fan of you-- ah, your work!” You breath trembles. “S-Sorry, I’m trying to be professional here, but…”

“It’s fine,” Vergo says, lowering his cup to the bar. “We’ve all been there.”

“T-Thanks,” you murmur, sipping from yours. “I suppose you came here for the networking bit of the event?”

“That, and the open bar.” You snort. “You’re not familiar to me,” he adds. Although you figured he wouldn’t have seen you in any of your small productions, you can’t help the flush of abashed heat that crawls across your skin. “Have you had any luck?”

“Nothing substantial… Mostly just a lot of “we’ll be in touch with your manager”, but we all know what that means, haha…” His lack of response hints to the contrary. “A-And you? I’m sure you don’t need networking yourself, so… are you building one for your agency?”

“I’m here on their behalf,” he confirms. “Supposedly, my presence brings a lot of attention; we’ve had a lot of applicants over the past few years.”

Wonder where they might’ve gotten that idea from, you think.

Another thought filters into your mind that makes embarrassed heat sweep through you; you chastise yourself for even considering asking something so… vulgar? But you manage to seal your lips to keep it contained.

“It looked like there was something you wanted to say.” Until his decision to ask it out of you was made.

Really, this could’ve been asked to any other person in the room -- but maybe not every person -- and yet, you find yourself blaming the measly half ounce of alcohol for your own perverted curiosities.

“I just… You hear about these kinds of things and wonder if they’re true, right…? And usually, it’s the more established folks who get involved with these kinds of things, or at the very least, know about them…” You clear your throat and lean toward Vergo, who cranes his head down to match your height. “Do people really still try and sleep their way to the top?”

If he’d reacted in any way to your words, you don’t catch it. Rather, he politely clears his own throat, and stares down at you.

“Is this something of interest to you?” he inquires, polishing off his drink a moment later. You flush.

“I, uh, n-not exactly…” You sigh, defeated. “But at this rate, I’d have more luck sleeping with some… executive producer or some superstar actor than landing a role through normal means. It’s just so frustrating. Why did everyone want to enter show business at the same time?”

Eyes stuck, you watch the bartender clear your glasses with a nod of approval from the two of you.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Vergo says. “This stands true, even outside of the script of a movie. Are you asking because you’re considering it?”

Your laugh is light, but self-pitying. “Wish I could lie and say I’m not. It’s… not cheap living in this city and getting few to no call backs. It’s either I get a part-time job as some minimum wage barista or, I don’t know… Whore out my talents, I guess.”

“And you’d do that with some… skeevy executive?”

You grimace. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s kind of gross. Something like that would be the last thing I’d ever want. God, I just wish I could get real, honest work…”

Vergo goes silent. After such a strange turn in conversation -- even though he’d been the one to ask!! you remind yourself -- you don’t blame him for not knowing how to deviate from it; you don’t even know what to say from here.

There’s a bit of shuffling from your right where he sits, and you find him sifting through the inner pockets of his blazer. He pulls out a card clip of his own, filled thick with laminated black and light blue business cards, and a white permanent marker, and begins writing on the bare backside of it.

“Take this,” he says, and slides it across the bar to you. “This is where I’ll be staying for the weekend. My room number.”

“Wh-- why--””A business proposition. One that I won’t speak about in public. Come or don’t come, that’s up to you. I’m not some “gross executive”, but I’ve at least been in this business long enough to tell you that it would be one worth your while.”

You pick up the card with trembling fingers, eyes still wide and glued on him, even as he stands up to adjust his suit.

“I’ll be saying my goodbyes to everyone now. Come at eleven tonight, if you do.”

Eleven… That’s only an hour away now.

You’d called your manager to pick you up shortly after Vergo left. She’d inquired about your lack of conversational skills when you’d gotten into her vehicle, but your mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Vergo, the man you’d only idolized and, if you were being completely honest, simped after for a majority of your teenage and adult life.

You’d reasoned you could only speculate about the business proposal he had for you, but you know exactly what he intends to suggest should you decide to make your way to his hotel. It’s definitely not something he should suggest in public -- it’s not something he should’ve suggested at all considering his very public position in the media limelight. You could’ve taken this information and sold it to one of the paparazzi waiting outside.

Maybe you looked more desperate than you’d meant to come across as. Because prior to your conversation with him, no; you’d never seriously considered “selling yourself” for a role or for fame, let alone to some equally-as-desperate executive. You’re pretty sure a song had been made about that.

It would’ve taken you an hour from your own apartment to reach Vergo’s hotel through downtown traffic anyhow… which is why you found yourself here earlier than you would’ve intended. However he plans to phrase this proposition of his, it’s not like you’ve said “yes” to anything yet. At the very least, you could hear him out.

You’d changed into an outfit more casual, more professional, than the glittering evening gown you showed up in for the networking party-- a pair of loose slacks and a sweater vest-button up combo. Underneath, however, you made sure to wear something a little more… for the occasion.

It’s just in case!! you swear to yourself as you clamber into the elevator, heart pounding. Like I’d be caught dead on any occasion wearing granny panties and a sports bra.

Vergo’s room is on the highest floor, the hotel’s penthouse suite they often reserved for VIP guests such as notable politicians and top names in the media. You hadn’t been sure how things normally work, but you learn that his room isn’t guarded by his security detail (not that you thought he needed it with him having self-defense training and him being built like a fridge) like you expected. It makes it easy for you to walk up and press the video doorbell, despite it being physically difficult. A moment later, the camera clicks on, and without a single word from the suite’s inhabitant, the door clicks, too, and you enter.

You expected nothing short of excellence and minimalist beauty for the room and you aren’t disappointed. The penthouse suite is decked with expensive paintings and high-end leather furnishings and beautiful, shining black lacquer tables and stainless steel appliances-- you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“You came after all,” Vergo's voice echoes through the room as he descends from the second level. If you could afford to own and wear pearls, you’d be clutching them; it looks like he’d freshly showered just before you arrived, and, lucky you, he’d yet to put his glasses back on.

“Hello again,” you greet. Anxious, you shift your weight onto one foot. “I figured I should at least hear out your “business proposal” before I turn it down.”

“I see. That’s very professional of you.” Standing only feet away from you now, you feel yourself shrinking and shriveling before him. “Drink?”

“Uh-- j-just water, please.” Vergo collects two glasses and fills them from the fridge’s cold water depository, handing one of them to you, and gesturing for you to follow him into the common area; a set of four cream-coloured leather couches, all facing each other with those black lacquer tables sitting at the end of each and in between them. You sit, and rather than sitting across from you, or at least adjacent to you, Vergo sits but a couple of feet away on the same couch. You take a drink before setting the cup on the table, swallowing harshly.

Vergo does the same. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve seen filth and I’ve seen good faith. The question you asked back at the party, if it’s all true? Yes. Of course, it is. Only a fool would dare to challenge this fact. Some are lucky, however; sometimes their attempt into “sleeping their way to the top”, as you’d put it, is achieved without a hitch.

“Others, not so much. Years to date, they’re still stuck in a cycle of use and abuse.” Vergo sighs at you. “I can only assume that you might have been joking earlier, about whoring out your talents to some no-good executive. You seem like an earnest young woman. The last thing I wish to see, and to remember being responsible for, is not ridding the idea from your head; is seeing you lost in that same cycle. So, I offer this to you:

“Roles. Riches. Fame. I can ensure you’ll receive it all, in exchange for that one thing.” It remains nameless, but the implication is clear. “As you put it, you’ll whore out your talents to me, and I’ll put them to good, proper use. You’re not without skill; simply, you’re without guidance.”

You decide to name it. “In exchange for sex.”

Vergo nods. “Yes.”

“That was all very straightforward of you.”

“Do you dislike it?”

With almost zero hesitation, you shake your head. “No.” You pause. “Besides the sex, what else are you getting out of this? Because it seems like I’m reaping double the rewards in this deal.”

“Self-satisfaction, perhaps,” he says. “Hm… I was once told I wouldn’t be a good mentor.”

“I’m hoping you’ve never propositioned another rookie like this before to earn that comment,” you muse, and to your surprise, you earn a chuckle from the man.

“You would be the first to ever ask the question you did, so no. I would have had no other reason to.” Another pause occurs between you before Vergo gestures past the kitchen. “If you’d like to freshen up, the restroom is there.”

Even though I also showered again before coming here… “S-Sure. Thank you.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll… be waiting.”

You excuse yourself, stumbling a little on your way past the door frame. You slide the door shut and look at yourself in the long, wall-encompassing mirror.

You’re shaking. Unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, you decide to cool yourself down with a cold cloth to your forehead. Freshen up? What more could you do to prepare yourself for what you agreed to do? A verbal contract to achieve fame and even more, receive a good fuck. How is this going to work? Are you supposed to become signed to his agency? You’d been a freelancer for so many years. How often are you supposed to have sex with Vergo? The image of you as a purse puppy suddenly appears behind your eyes and you have to stop yourself from laughing at it; this is serious. And you seriously wonder if Vergo really has no other agenda or intentions behind this agreement.

You drop the cloth onto the counter and sigh heavily, at the same time the bathroom door slides open again. Spinning on your bare heel, you flinch at Vergo and his long, quick strides over to you.

“I-I thought--!””I apologize,” he interrupts, stopping just before you. He crouches at his knees, his eager hands disappearing under you to scoop you into the air a moment later. You flail, a noise of surprise slipping past gritted teeth when he sets you down on the counter’s edge. “I’m afraid that this is where our agreement begins.”

His movements are hurried, his touch; heavy, but not harmful. You brace yourself while he helps to strip you down; a hand pressed against his chest with the other propping you up from the counter, he works around your lack of balance and lifts both your sweater vest and the blouse over your head, not bothering to unbutton it. Mouthing at your bare neck, he unclasps your white lace bra and tosses it behind him. His lips are quick to travel, to your jaw, to the sweet corners of your lips, parted enough for him, quite alike your thighs, to slot himself between; his lips, his thighs-- he pulls you to the edge of the counter to press one of them into your clothed cunt.

You gasp, the material of your trousers coarse enough and his movements exact enough that it makes you keen forward for more. Vergo's hands, big like the rest of him, smooths along your thighs and up to your hips, his thick fingers dipping with urgency beneath the waistband.

“Lift,” he commands, and you raise your ass from the countertop. Lowering yourself back down has you hissing from the cool chill of the marble, but the look on Vergo’s face has you quickly warming up again. Once more, he drags you to the counter’s edge before dropping onto his knees between yours.

“V-Vergo?” you ask, already breathless. He doesn’t speak again, busying himself with tugging your slacks and panties down past your hips and nipping down along your exposed flesh.

His shoulders are too broad for you to even consider trying to shut your legs; his grip, too firm to be able to free your hands from being pinned down against the counter. If a single swipe of his tongue has you reeling (with nowhere to go but backward, your bare back pressed against the cold mirror to contrast the rest of your body and its burgeon), then the fervent suckling at your throbbing clit would have you utterly convulsing beneath him. Your cries, desperate and passing through clenched teeth, go ignored, save for the occasional glance your way; proving himself an attentive partner hadn’t been something you necessarily expected out of him, but it provided you with just another reason to remain infatuated with him.

Your feet kick out, looking for a surface to catch on and press against, but they, too, had been trapped under him--

“-- Vergo, I-I’m--!”

-- until they weren’t. His release of you is abrupt, as is his ascent to stand as tall as the bathroom itself. You wheeze, not realizing you’d been holding your breath until now.

“Why…”

“Don’t start thinking the night will be cut short,” he says, unzipping his jacket and untying the knot of his sweats. “I’m not a one-round sort of man.” They fall into a heap on the floor beneath him, joining you in the nude. Glancing down where you feel his erection pressing against you is a challenge, especially when you eventually learn that it’s only touching you halfway.

“Oh my god…”

“Come.” He extends a hand to you that you hesitantly take. “You’ll be much more comfortable elsewhere.”

Expecting to slide off the counter and onto your wobbling, fawn-like legs, had been incorrect. The large hand wrapped around yours had only been for your own leverage when he lifts you into his other arm, five feet off the ground, with little effort. You squirm in his hold, made anxious by the extra height, until you feel his fingers prodding at your cunt. You can feel, you can hear, just how wet he’d made it by the merit of his tongue alone as he stirs them along your opening.

“Relax,” he tells you. “You’ll want this done properly before we really begin.”

You make to speak, what likely would’ve been a choked noise coming from you, but instead you squeak, suddenly impaled on two of his fingers.

“Put your arms around my neck.” To the best of your ability, you do, trembling flesh and bones curling carefully around corded muscle. “And put your legs around me.” This, you find, is much harder, and so with his help, your legs curl around his waist.

“Lift,” he says again, and you lean back to glance at him. “I said, lift.”

… you do, a gasp immediately escaping you when you end up falling back onto his fingers. You scramble, weak limbs attempting to free you from their range, only to slide right back down.

“Vergo,” you whine

“Hold on tight.” You do. With every ounce of whatever strength you could muster, you do. The penthouse is a completely private suite, and in a building taller than all the rest around it, you have complete privacy, and yet, being paraded through such an open, exposed space, on your way up to the room’s second floor, you find yourself trying to hide what you can of yourself; a redundant, unfruitful effort.

Having removed his fingers, he has you unlace your limbs from around him to fall onto his bed.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d certainly be taking my time.” You glance down, and find Vergo stroking himself to an even greater length than you’d first seen him. It’s not natural, you begin to panic. He’s huge, a-and his thing’s even bigger, I-- i-it’ll never fit, there’s no way-- “I’d have you coming on my hands and into my mouth three times each before we even got up the stairs.”

Your cheeks burn; your attempt to hide your expression behind your arm fails when he takes both of your wrists in a single hand and pins them above your head. With his other, he grabs himself at his base, and lines him up with your arousal.

“Remember to breathe.”

Instinctively, you do the exact opposite.

Being impaled on his fingers hadn’t even been comparable. Even prior to him undressing, you knew he wouldn’t be small by any means; your mind might’ve still been in a state of shock, even before he thrust into you. “Remember to breathe”? You can barely string a thought together. And whatever breaths make it out of you are punched from your lungs each time the head of his cock meets the depths of your cunt.

Vergo leans down over you, curling his free arm around your waist from behind, and presses his lips into your ear.

“Breathe,” he repeats on the backing of a grunt, his voice a deep, muted whisper that has you clenching even harder down on him. “You’ll -- ngh -- pass out if you don’t.”

Your nails pierce your palms. I’d like… to see you try and breathe… with this shit inside of you!!

“Damn, you’re so tight.” Vergo rocks his hips forward, his own lips parted and letting his own pants escape right next to your ear. “Thought I prepared you enough f’me.”

He no longer eases himself into you, instead snapping his pelvis into yours with little restraint. Hands still wrapped around your wrists, he pulls you up onto your knees, rising behind you and holding your back to his chest; the reprieve of being weighed down by him is short-lived as he impales you once more upon him-- his fingers couldn’t even compare to the fullness plaguing you. You choke on the small doses of oxygen you’re able to take in, and with your free hands, you scramble to find a stance that relieves the pressure; not even standing with the tips of your toes pressed into the mattress spares you.

Instead, you bring a shaking hand down to smack across the forearm locking you against him. “I-I-- haa -- I’m g… onna break… p… lease…! Ver… go…!”

Vergo groans into the crook of your neck, and presses a hand over your abdomen. Your breath hitches; aside from the spasming of your limbs, you still from shock, forced to accept the orgasm he and his cock had bullied you into.

“Then… become broken by me.”

A large hand sweeps forward to turn your head toward him. You can’t stop him, not that you’d try in such a state, when he presses his tongue against your lips to pry them apart. Whines and moans alike, he swallows them all, leaves you breathless and weakly swatting at him to release you. Instead, he releases into you, and you wince at the heat of his spend filling your womb.

Before you’re even out of his arms and laying in the plush sheets below, you find yourself too dizzied to remain upright, and faint against him.

A woman’s laugh drags you back into consciousness.

Eyelids heavy, you blink the bedroom into focus, squinting when your gaze lands on the warmth of the lamp on the bedside table. Body and skin tender, you gingerly roll onto your other side, wincing at the small ache felt across your pelvis.

You’d expected to wake still covered in sweat and spend; a happy surprise it ended up being for you to learn that you’d been taken care of, as the drops of cum you knew flicked up to hit your cheeks were wiped away.

There, Vergo sits, phone in hand and thumb-scrolling down a white-glowing screen.

“W… Was someone just in here,” you mumble, raising the back of your hand to rub blurred exhaustion from your vision. Vergo shakes his head.

“I’m going through available scripts I think might suit your skill set.” He swipes in the opposite direction, “And ones that might pressure you to work a little more,” to show you that he’d been watching an acting reel your manager had uploaded to the web of you. A flush of embarrassment rolls through you, as if you’d just performed for him, not in bed, but on a set. “After all, I need to keep up my end of our bargain, no?”

#vergo x reader #op vergo x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x reader smut #one piece vergo #vergo one piece

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