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lokis-army-77 · 7 months

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Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy.

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight.

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception.

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out.

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself.

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum?

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.”

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well.

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum.

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

And then the live is over.

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed.

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class.

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you.

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang.

He apologizes before making his introduction. He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you.

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence.

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention.

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O.

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen.

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand.

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone.

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes.

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself.

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad.

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans.

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat.

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes.

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth.

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one.

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off.

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs.

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length.

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?"

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound.

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth.

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect."

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit.

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level.

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast.

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy.

"Oh fuck," you cry. Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions.

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized.

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core.

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end.

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.”

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated.

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight.

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure.

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week.

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you.

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you.

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space.

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?”

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.”

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it.

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students.

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job.

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay.

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition.

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together.

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster.

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer.

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen.

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

…

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean.

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not.

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand.

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered.

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised.

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans.

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly.

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin.

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out."

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved.

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself."

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped.

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long.

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to.

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it.

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen.

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head.

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut.

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him.

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls.

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more.

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does.

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.”

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises.

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark.

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see.

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf.

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear.

“Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret.

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?”

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer.

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking.

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head.

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful.

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down.

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.”

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.”

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips.

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours.

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does.

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank.

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine.

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work.

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it.

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise.

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster.

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg.

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you.

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt, uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin.

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs.

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds.

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are.

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you.

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him.

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster.

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight.

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.”

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.”

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions.

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room.

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half.

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part.

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again.

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans.

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow.

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.”

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits. He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either.

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight.

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice.

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit.

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!”

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.”

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed.

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out.

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time.

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy.

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin.

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened.

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you.

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.”

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again.

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.”

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on.

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground.

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader #camboy!eddie #camboy!eddie munson #soft!dom eddie

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mcflymemes · 1 month

Text

PROMPTS FOR FAKE DATING & GOING UNDERCOVER * assorted dialogue for muses going undercover as a couple and having to maintain the illusion that they're dating, and all the chaos, feelings, and whatnot that come with it, suggested by dollhidden, adjust as necessary, send "reverse" for the reversal of action prompts

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

come on. at least pretend that you like me.

if we hold hands, that'll sell the illusion even more.

what petnames do you think we'd use if we were actually dating?

please don't make this too difficult on me.

stop letting go of my hand.

you're going to pay for this later.

that was way too close of a call.

[petname]? that's what we're going with?

could you at least look like you like me for an hour? is that so hard?

admit it. i'm not half bad.

didn't think i would enjoy this as much as i am.

did you take acting classes growing up?

excuse me! i'm just trying to sell the illusion!

do you think they bought it?

you don't look like you love me. you look like you're constipated.

way to lay it on thick. i think you might have done too good of a job.

pretend to laugh at one of my jokes.

i guess i didn't expect you to dress up for this. i'm impressed.

you know, if you treated me like that on the regular, i might actually start falling in love with you.

they have to believe we're together. how hard can it be?

quick, pretend like you're about to kiss me.

you clearly care more about the tiny appetizers than you do me.

i'm just here for the free champagne.

you clean up nice.

that honestly wasn't as bad as i thought it would be.

they're looking over here. quick, say something funny.

that... was surprisingly smooth of you.

you don't date much, do you?

we should pretend to date more often.

hey! my eyes are up here!

shit, they're coming. kiss me.

ACTION PROMPTS all of these are written as if both parties are fake dating and going undercover at some specified event, but feel free to add your own scenarios if you'd like!

[ hand ] sender quickly takes receiver's hand in public to avoid getting caught

[ waist ] sender quickly slides an arm around receiver's waist in public to avoid getting caught

[ propose ] sender stages a dramatic fake proposal to further sell their relationship to the crowd, catching receiver completely off guard

[ fake fight ] sender and receiver stage a coordinated fake fight/messy breakup in front of the crowd

[ kiss ] realizing they need to sell their relationship to an important person/people, sender and receiver kiss for the first time

[ coat ] noticing receiver is cold, sender gives them their coat

[ entrance ] sender and receiver approach the entrance of the secret event and discuss their plans for selling their fake relationship to the crowd

[ slip away ] sender slips away from receiver in order to take a break from pretending, and receiver goes to find them

[ off limits ] sender and receiver are exploring an off limit portion of the event space, get caught, and are forced to try to explain how they got lost

[ the big kiss ] to conceal the fact that they're exploring an off limit portion of the event space, sender kisses receiver dramatically once they're caught

[ introduce ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to a very important (and potentially dangerous) person at this event

[ family ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to their family, who just so happens to also be at the event

[ lost ] sender loses receiver in the crowd and rushes to relocate them before their cover is blown

[ flirt ] when someone else shows interest in receiver, sender steps in and makes it clear they're "taken"

[ exit ] sender and receiver have successfully accomplished their goal, and now must sneak out of the event as covertly as possible

[ spill ] sender accidentally spills their drink on receiver and rushes them to the restroom to clean them up

[ private ] in a brief moment of privacy between the two fake daters, sender admits to receiver that they don't think receiver is as bad as they thought

543 notes · View notes

moonjxsung · 7 months

Text

Where the Storm Looms

*This fic is part 2 to “When the Rain Stops.” You can read part 1 here.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 13k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, mention of cheating, mention of masturbation, mention of casual sex, brief mention of calories, nipple play, unprotected sex, bulge kink, creampie, squirting

Synopsis: Now living in the city he despises, Minho is determined to find you again- despite the sacrifices he’ll have to make.

18+. mdni!

•

They say if you love something, you have to set it free. And if it comes back to you, it’s yours.

So what implication can be drawn if you go searching for it- for three months and 13 days straight?

Minho isn’t sure.

The city is just as grimy as he remembered it- teeming with the sounds of pushy street vendors, bumper-to-bumper traffic and conversations of plummeting stocks at every corner. The coffee is overpriced, and the people dress in gray slacks even on laundry day. The girls are pretty- they’re decent in bed, they work good jobs and they can carry a conversation well as long as it involves their respective companies or an ex-boyfriend.

But none of them are you.

Minho feels stupid for thinking about it this extensively. A random hookup in his bar as a result of bad weather conditions- one you never even bothered saying goodbye to him after, and yet he’s still hung up on you.

That stupid game. He should've never let you fix that arcade game. Maybe then you wouldn’t have stayed so long, wouldn’t have kissed him back even though he’s the one who initiated it. Wouldn’t have let him fuck you on the pool table, moaning his name over and over again like a prayer permanently etched into his memory. But he didn’t stop any part of it- in fact, he didn’t want to. Minho knows he wouldn’t have been able to deny you anything you asked for that night, not with the way you looked at him through wide sparkling eyes, scared you’d angered him, when all he really wanted was to keep you safe. Safe from the storm, safe from people with ill intent. He’d pour you a hundred cups of Diet Coke on the rocks if you asked, or be a chance card in another game of pool you’d inevitably lose at. He’d make love to you repeatedly on any surface inside the dive bar, kissing you every chance he got like it would be his last. Because you changed something in him that night- and he’s determined to find you again.

“Still waiting on that garlic bread. And we have another order for fettuccine.”

Minho nods once, drizzling a pan with olive oil and prepping the ingredients that sit in disarray on the counter in front of him.

Tales from the hotel kitchen.

So maybe getting his job back as a private chef was a harder feat than he’d originally anticipated it to be. But Minho’s sudden assimilation back into city life meant he had to make adjustments- sacrifices. And although he’s still technically the owner of the little dive bar 6 hours out of the city, he recently signed co-ownership off to Jeongin, who’s been practically running the place while Minho does some soul-searching in the city.

Of course, the soul he’s searching for is nowhere to be found.

Coffee shops, bookstores, convenience shops, dive bars... Minho recently read there are nearly 2 million people in this godforsaken city at any given moment of the day. That’s a 0.0000005% chance he’ll run into you again. Coupled with the fact he’s already run into you once before, and slept with you, the odds are considerably lower. But nonetheless, the objective remains.

Sometime after the initial run-in, Minho also realized he knows nearly nothing about you. You never spoke of an occupation, or a significant other, or even your favorite color. He does know you live in the city, you’re vulnerable against married men and you can use a screwdriver like a cellphone. The rest is left to his wandering imagination.

“Minho, your bread is burning,” a voice interrupts, and he snaps out of the daze he’s in to lower the heat on the oven. Minho’s sous chef Seungmin sighs in irritation, practically pushing Minho aside to retrieve the loaf from the oven himself.

“Do you want me to take over for the evening? You seem really distracted and we’re super busy out there.”

“No, I’m fine,” Minho says, his eyes darting briefly to the window across from him.

Dark rain clouds loom over the afternoon sky, but it doesn’t rain- in fact, it hasn’t rained once since that night. At first, he sees it as some sort of blessing, attributing the mostly-clear skies to your presence somewhere in the city. Perhaps where you go, the sun follows.

But he quickly realizes that it’s more of a curse, this constant storm looming over him, taunting him with promises of darkened clouds and rainfall, only for the nighttime to bring clear skies once again.

It never rains anymore. Sometimes Minho thinks he imagined you, that night in his bar.

Maybe he imagined the rain, too.

The ceiling of this apartment is in desperate need of some TLC, Minho thinks, as he lays in bed that night with hands folded over his chest. It’s riddled with cracks and imperfections, running along the drywall like a design choice. But it’s not a design choice- it’s a result of the shitty architectural integrity of this crowded city. Everyone’s so desperate to live out here they’d put up with leaky roofs and cockroaches before they’d live in the suburbs. Minho thinks back to his apartment in the suburbs, where his three cats are currently being taken care of by a friend, and the biggest pain point is patching up thumbtack holes when he moves things around. It’s spacious, a lot bigger than this dump, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.

There’s no set time Minho has dedicated to being out here. “When the time is right, I’ll leave,” he told his friend, averting his gaze to avoid raising suspicions about his intentions out here. But to most, it’s clear Minho is going through something. His hair is visibly longer, the silky ends of it now resting just above his shoulders. He can’t be bothered to care about what he wears, knowing very well that he doesn’t blend in with the other city-dwellers when he’s in jeans and a baggy t-shirt. But without the bar to dress up for like he used to, he doesn’t find reason in trying.

Minho’s also well aware that he looks like a complete lunatic, coming out to the city like this to search for a hookup. If your paths do cross, there’s a likelihood you’ll call the police and have him arrested for stalking. You could also have zero recollection of who he is, or that you ever hooked up with him. You could have a boyfriend, be married by now, or just not interested in Minho. Maybe you regret that night. Maybe you lied about being from the city. You could be on the other side of the world by now, and he’d have no clue.

But he feels it- he feels you, in this city, at every corner he turns. He sees traces of you in the people who smile at him when he passes them by. He sees you in the people who hold doors open for him, the baristas who make foam hearts in his lattes every morning, even the businessmen when they catch themselves admiring the beauty of the buildings on a smoke break. He sees you in all things good, when he’s reminded momentarily that the world has more to offer than boxing him in the confines of a dark bar out in the suburbs. And while he’s not completely in love with life all over again, it’s a start.

The hotel patrons give their compliments to his cooking, and he’s reminded of his days as a private chef again, chasing the sweet high of people fawning over his entrees and desserts. When he calls Jeongin to check up on the bar, he remembers the view out the window by the kitchen- nothing but a parking lot, empty most days, or plagued by truck drivers and prostitutes.

Sure, his apartment window in the city faces a brick wall, but he can escape at any given moment of the day to be part of the towering skyscrapers and city lights that stay on all night. It’s then that he feels bad for Jeongin, who doesn’t have the same luxury all the way out there.

Of course, Minho also remembers the sex from that night. It plays in his head on a loop, often echoing in his brain at the worst of times. The way you’d called out his name was all but intoxicating, chanting it in the empty space of the spare room like you’d done it a hundred times before. Your fingers looped through his hair, massaging his locks in praise while your moans did the rest. Your lips on his, smiling when he teased you about the game of pool- teasing him back, like the complex woman he knew you were.

He remembers the way your hardened nipples felt between his fingers, memorizing their feel with his nimble hands while he pressed his third erection of the night against you, a confession that this is what you do to me.

The way you took him with complete ease, undoubtedly craving him, too, gushing with arousal as he fit so perfectly inside you.

“You’re so big,” you’d said to him, and Minho isn’t sure he ever felt confident in his girth until it was inside of you, thrusting in and out like he was trying to make his semen catch, painting your walls white while you squirted on his still-hard cock.

He can’t get off with girls from the city unless he’s thinking of you and him, in the bar, bent over the pool table. He also avoids the spare room of the bar now, getting hard almost instantly at the sight of it.

It’s embarrassing, and he knows it, tucking his now-softened cock back into his boxers and reaching for tissues on his makeshift cardboard box nightstand. The shame washes over him as he folds his hands over his chest again, eyes locked with the shitty drywall ceiling. Have the cracks gotten bigger? He’s not sure of the large one to the left, caving in toward the window in the shape of a backwards L. If it rains, the roof will surely leak. How do you fix a leaky roof? Is it ever going to rain again? Where are you?

On a random Tuesday in the middle of the month, Minho runs into Jisung again.

He’s out by one of the tall buildings in the financial district, one hand shoved in the pocket of his suit while the other brings a turquoise-colored vape up to his lips.

Of course he vapes, Minho thinks. He’s just as predictable as he’s always been.

“Is that the Lee Minho?” Jisung says, blowing a cloud of strawberry-scented smoke into the air. Minho shrugs, saying nothing as he approaches Jisung.

“What are you doing all the way out here? Lost ownership of the bar or what?”

“No,” Minho replies, a stoic expression on his face. “I’m living here.”

“You’re living here? You? Avid hater of city life and all things that inhabit it?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, counting black spots on the concrete below him. “Not permanently. Just looking for something.”

“What are you looking for?”

Minho swallows momentarily. He knows he could bring up your name, and Jisung would probably know where to find you. After all, the two of you bonded over your love of the city before you almost went home with him that night. But he refrains, suddenly feeling a little jealous and overprotective. It’s the reminder that Minho was technically a second choice- maybe you’d just slept with him to get some relief for the sexual tension you felt with Jisung. You did lecture him when he cockblocked you, after all.

“Seeing if the apartments are better out here,” he settles on saying. “They’re not.”

Jisung chuckles. “Yeah, well, I could’ve easily told you that.”

He slides his vape back into the pocket of his suit, adjusting the buttons as he begins to speak again.

“When was the last time I saw you, anyway?”

Minho blinks nervously. His mind races with options of what to reply, but Jisung is faster.

“That storm!” He finally exclaims, clapping enthusiastically. “When we were stuck there while it rained fucking cats and dogs out there. You, me and Miss ‘hard to get’.”

“Right,” Minho says, his pulse quickening a little at the mention of you.

“Can you believe she backed out like that? I went back to that hotel with blue balls like you wouldn’t believe. I bet she’s a good fuck, too, the way she’s persuaded so easily.”

Minho grows irate, doing his best to refrain from lashing out at Jisung to defend you. The way he speaks about you like you’re disposable, like you weren’t only swayed by him because he puts on this act, one where he’s single and nice. Both polar opposite of the sleazy man standing in front of Minho right now.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jisung says. “I ran into her like a week after that, anyway.”

Minho feels his heart stop. He finally makes eye contact with Jisung, voice hitching in the back of his throat as he searches for words to say. What were you doing? What were you wearing? Were you with anyone? Did Jisung try to pursue you again? Was there any trace that you were as changed by Minho as he is by you?

“You did?” Minho queries.

“Yeah. She remembered me, for sure. Said she googled me and found out I was married. That’s the problem with women these days- they fucking google you. Who does that?”

Minho observes the way Jisung snorts with laughter, shaking his head like he’s not a serial cheater himself.

“Where was she?” Minho asks, quickly aware of the way the question comes off as a little too bold.

“Uh… I can’t remember. Think we were in the parking garage off 7th. She was all dressed up like she was going to work or something. Must be a private investigator with the way she stalks her potential hookups.”

Minho laughs internally at the irony.

“Why do you ask?” Jisung chimes in again, sounding a little skeptical of Minho’s behavior now.

“Nothing,” Minho says quickly. “Just curious.”

Jisung nods slowly, not taking his gaze off of Minho. He’s visibly tense, thoughts circling his mind as he tries to recall the buildings on 7th.

“I should get going,” Jisung says, pulling his vape back out to take another hit, much like the nicotine-addicted cheater Minho sees him for.

“Good catching up,” Jisung finishes, exhaling a cloud of smoke into his face. “Catch you later.”

And as Minho leaves, he turns back around to Jisung, pausing momentarily before speaking again.

“Oh, Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

Minho cocks his head slightly.

“Your wife really deserves better.”

The parking garage on 7th is a shithole. It’s a narrow, almost cylindrical building, filled back to back with rows of fancy cars. Minho remains parked on the third floor, sat in his car like he’s staking out the place, eyes darting over every passerby in hopes you’ll be one of them.

But they’re all middle-aged folks, blabbering into their cellphones with briefcases in hand, no sense of purpose for the life they’re living aside from money, and maybe their fancy cars.

He sighs, reaching for a cigarette and cupping his hand over the lighter to set it ablaze. Smoking is a recent development. Minho doesn’t think he’s chain-smoked like this since his culinary school days, when he’d spend late nights preparing for exams and practicing his plating techniques. It’s not that the cigarettes relieve him, nor does he even care for the flavor. But he does it as a form of sacrifice. The city keeps you from him, and consequently, he’s pulled back largely from things he actually enjoys, choosing to mirror the actions of the city-dwellers. Smoking, casual sex, drinking, dressing down, hardly ever eating full meals. He’s become reduced to a product of the disdain he feels for himself, spiraling further with every cruel reminder that you’re not his.

When his car stakeout passes the three hour mark, Minho is all out of cigarettes. He’s also starving, and dying for a beer. So he pulls out of the lot, most of the spaces vacant now, anyway, and starts the painful trip back to his apartment. The streets smell like sewage with his windows rolled down, but his own car reeks like a cheap casino. With one hand hanging loosely over the door of his car, Minho speeds down the crowded streets, groaning when he’s promptly halted by a red light. Cars press their horns impatiently as nobody seems to move. Minho glances to the right of him, scanning the streets that begin to darken as night falls. And then he sees it- a dive bar. It’s a city dive bar, of course, tainted by its rustic gentrifying decor and teeming with hipsters. But he’s sure you’re in there, knowing you probably regularly finish work and hit up the nearest bar to down Diet Cokes and chicken wings. In a frantic motion, Minho puts the car in reverse, using one hand to steer as he makes an illegal u-turn. The cars around him honk angrily, shouting profanities and pulling up to fill his spot. But he crosses several lanes to reach the bar, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside him already.

The place is much fancier than Minho’s, albeit much smaller. An open bar makes up most of the dive bar itself, a sleek laminate wood finish surrounding the series of draft beer dispensers. The wall above the bar is plastered in license plates from all different regions, and the patrons around all appear to be tourists judging by the way they take photos of it. There are several bartenders working tonight, the nearest one to Minho being a heavily tattooed gentleman with bleach blonde hair.

“What can I get you?” He asks enthusiastically, holding a pen and pad in his hand. Minho’s not sure he’s ever seen a bartender write down an order for a single beer.

When the bartender makes his way to the tap, Minho sits on one of the circular red stools. They’re a little too tall for his liking, swiveling around erratically while he catches his balance and glances around at the patrons. He’s the only one alone here, standing out even more in his loose jeans and an old jersey.

“That’s $12,” the bartender says when he returns.

“Can I just run a tab?” Minho asks, scoffing internally at the steep price.

“First drink’s upfront payment,” the bartender replies, flipping a tablet around to Minho for his payment details. Minho swipes his card and confidently smashes the ‘no tip’ button, earning a little eye roll from the bartender. These bars are nothing like his back home.

When the bartender moves away to attend to another patron, Minho swivels around on his stool, scanning the bar for a sign of you. There’s not a single cup of coke on any of the tables here. Everyone’s happily sipping away at whiskeys and vermouths, their drinks clutched closely in hand as they chat about their boring lives. Minho tunes in briefly to a conversation about someone’s broken toe and sighs, wishing so badly he had you to converse with. You’d probably laugh at all of Minho’s jokes about the people here, agreeing with his presumptions of them. See him? He’s definitely compensating. That guy there needs to cool off the vodka seltzers. She’s definitely not interested in him.

As he takes a sip from his mug of beer, it suddenly catches his eye. The arcade game, tucked away in the back of the bar like a little secret. It’s neglected, probably no one around old enough to know how to operate the thing. Minho rises from his seat, making his way to the game and smiling at the sight.

It reminds him of you, the giant black display of Galaga, decorated with whimsical drawings of aliens and Galaxian Flagships. He pulls out a quarter, slotting it in the machine, because of course you have to pay at this one, and slots it in, waiting for the thing to start up.

Only it doesn’t, the game not even emitting so much as a hum from the monitor. He smacks it a few times, partly in efforts to start it up, and partly to reclaim his last quarter. But it’s a moot effort- the game is completely dead.

Minho makes his way back to the bar, frustrated at the deja vu of broken arcade games and the memories they bring back to him.

“Your game’s broken,” Minho says to the bleach blonde bartender.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That thing’s been dead for months now.”

“I put a quarter in. Swallowed it and won’t spit it out.”

“Yeah, it does that. Sorry, man.”

“Sorry? You should be. That thing shouldn’t be down here if it isn’t working.”

The bartender narrows his eyes as he mixes another drink for a patron.

“Yeah, well, people don’t usually try it. Again, sorry man. Not really anything I can do about it.”

Minho is angry now, his ears flushed a crimson shade as he speaks, not in any mood to reason with the bartender.

“Look man, just give me my quarter. Can’t you key the machine or something?”

“We don’t have access to it. It’s from some local vendor. You’re welcome to go find a few pennies on the ground if the 25 cents means so much to you.”

“What the fuck kind of behavior is that for a bartender?”

The other patrons and bartenders have noticed now, quieting down as they watch Minho down a few more sips of his beer angrily.

“Look man, you’re gonna have to leave. I can’t have you in here acting like this.”

“I want my quarter.”

“I can’t get your quarter, dude. It’s gone. Get out before I call the police.”

“Why don’t you hire someone to fix the machine, then? There are people in the city who do that, you know. I know someone who’d get it fixed in seconds. She’d be able to get the fucking quarter out, too.”

“Call the police,” the bartender says to another, and Minho raises his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, I’m leaving.” He chugs the rest of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as the other patrons look on in shock. Nearby, a different bartender has a phone clutched in his hand, ready to dial the cops like they’d requested.

“Tell me one thing,” Minho says before turning around.

The man says nothing, eyes narrowed in fear as he waits for Minho to finish.

“You guys sell Diet Coke here?”

The bartenders look around at each other nervously, confused at the question.

“We only have Pepsi,” one chimes in.

And Minho nods, understanding.

“Take care,” Minho says, waving them off as he finally exits the bar.

“I need you to come back for a little bit,” Jeongin says into the receiver one morning. He sounds panicked, like he might break down at any moment. Minho knows he wouldn’t request this of him if it wasn't something serious.

“Okay,” Minho replies. “What happened?”

“The place was robbed last night. By a group of guys. Nobody’s hurt, but they did have a knife on them. Cleared out one of the registers.”

Minho sighs, suddenly feeling awful about being out here. What is he doing out here when the business he owns is being threatened? Even worse, putting Jeongin and the other staff at risk while he embarks on the futile task of searching for what’s already gone? There’s no good explanation for it. It’s selfish- sure, he’s finally chasing after what he wants, but it’s a selfish task nonetheless.

“I can be there this evening,” Minho says, already mentally preparing himself for the six hour drive out there. “Just close up for the day. Make sure everyone gets home safe and knows they’ll be paid for the day anyway.”

Jeongin understands, hanging up on his end of the line and closing up the bar.

As Minho tosses his cell phone aside, he looks around the apartment, sighing heavily when he observes the state of things. His stuff is still stored away in cardboard boxes, the apartment looking more like a showroom than a space lived-in by him. The walls remain bare of any form of decorations, the tiny excuse for a kitchen is void of dishes and cutlery, even his toiletries are in travel bags, like he’s ready to go home at any given moment. And he just might be, after this week’s events.

The drive home is as excruciating as he remembers it. Exiting the city means sitting in miles of traffic, alongside impatient city-dwellers who somehow voluntarily make the commute everyday for their jobs. Minho briefly wonders if you’re in the traffic, too. You’re a little impatient, he remembers, thinking about how you demanded a phone charger from him that night in the bar. Only your impatience is something he’d gladly put up with in traffic like this, probably taking the opportunity to play his favorite songs for you and listen to you talk his ear off. He sighs to himself, wishing so badly you could fill the empty leather seat next to him, currently inhabited by empty cigarette boxes and discarded takeout boxes.

Six agonizing hours later, the sun’s beginning to set as Minho pulls into the familiar parking lot of the bar. Waning beams of sunlight reflect off the old bar sign, almost luring Minho inside as the nighttime chases closely after. When he unlocks the door and makes his way inside, it’s like he never left. The red booths are vacant, the peeling vinyl of their seats still scattered across the floor like he remembers. Bottles of alcohol neatly line the shelves behind the counter, which don’t reside far from the shiny mugs and glasses inside the cabinets. Minho runs a finger over the counter, well impressed with the state of the bar since Jeongin’s taken over. It’s impeccable, almost better than it was when Minho first left.

“Minho?” A voice calls, and a figure peeks from around the corner.

It’s Jeongin, who looks different in casual wear for the day, sporting a pair of sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt. He’s wearing his signature pair of thick framed glasses, running a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on one of the barstools.

“It was this register,” he says, gesturing to the one closest to Minho. “I think it was roughly $300 in there. They all had dark jackets and I couldn’t see their faces.”

Minho nods, opening the register to investigate, and then slumps back in the stool behind the counter.

“I’ll take the remaining cash to the safe. Let’s stay closed for a few days while I file a police report. They’ll probably want to poke around in here, and I don’t want any of the patrons to panic.”

It’s Jeongin’s turn to nod, making a mental note of Minho’s instructions. After a brief pause, he speaks again.

“How’s the city?”

“The city is…the city.”

Jeongin chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

“Are you working?”

Minho nods. “Not my private chef gig. But it’s a restaurant. I have a sous chef, which helps. It’s nothing special, though.”

There’s a moment of silence as Jeongin traces the table pattern with his fingers. He wants to ask more from him- he wants to know why Minho’s out there in the first place, why he even agreed to sign co-ownership off to Jeongin when this was his bar he was so proud of for all those years. But there’s seemingly no courteous way to go about it- any which way, he feels like he’s overstepping. Minho is usually on the quieter side, only confiding in his colleagues when it’s something that affects the business.

“Minho, are you…” he begins, his voice wavering in fear that he’ll unintentionally offend.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Minho is silent, and for a second, it’s hard for Jeongin to gauge his reaction. His eyes remain locked on Jeongin’s pupils, trembling in discomfort as he thinks back to you. He thinks of the city, of the bar fight, of the hours spent in a dingy parking garage and the cracks in his apartment ceiling.

Jeongin begins to take back his question, disappointed in himself he’s even chosen to utter the inquiry. But Minho finally does give an answer, albeit a vague one.

“Not yet,” he replies, swallowing nervously before continuing. “You’ll be the first to know.”

When Jeongin leaves, he takes the cozy atmosphere of the bar with him, and the place now feels colder, more unfamiliar. Minho looks out the window at the darkness that envelopes the parking lot, feeling a sense of unease in knowing he’s going to leave it all behind again. This bar needs him, it needs stability. It needs someone to look out for the people who are vulnerable to sleazy married men or robbers. As he pockets the cash to transfer to the safe, he glances at the yellow Pac-Man game, sitting proudly where it has for the past three months since its repair. Little ghosts dance along the display screen, prompting users with ‘press A to start’.

Minho simply walks past it, knowing very well there’s little joy in a game that only brings back painful reminders. He makes his way to the back office, where the red leather couch and desk still remain. The cash is deposited in the safe, and the keys in the file cabinet- third drawer from the top.

Minho feels a gravitational pull to the spare room upstairs- he knows he shouldn’t, very well aware that he’s only hurting himself by picturing you up there. But still he does. Hands shoved in his pockets, he makes his way up the creaking stairs and through the little hallway.

The room is just as suffocating as he remembers it. The same old pool table sits in the middle of the room, and at the back where the arcade game previously lived, there’s a rectangle on the carpeted floor where it once sat, contrasting a bright untouched green to the older, worn down carpet. Minho doesn’t leave the doorway; he just stands, observing the room in all its mundane appearance. His eyes remain on the spot you’d previously hoisted yourself up to sit on the pool table, and he can almost see himself looming over you, too. From this angle, it doesn’t feel like it ever happened. It plays more like a cheap movie where a famous scene was shot. Like a figment of his imagination.

Have you found what you’re looking for?

He hasn’t, not yet. But seeing the potential of this old room, in the bar he owns, Minho knows it’s finally time to stop searching.

Back in the city, Minho’s days are numbered by the countdown. Two days until he’ll leave all this behind, for good this time.

The kitchen is busier than normal on this gloomy Thursday, more staff than usual working floor while others make trips up to hotel rooms for delivery.

Minho drizzles pans with olive oil in between plating a shrimp scampi, tonight’s special. The air is thick and fragrant with seafood and Parmesan cheese.

“I need a lava cake for room 302!” Seungmin exclaims to Minho in a rushed tone.

“On the cart by the door. Second row.”

Cooks work diligently in their respective areas, and Minho wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. It’s a stressful role, no doubt, but he still feels a sense of sadness knowing he won’t be back to cooking like this once he’s back in town. He tries to mentally prepare himself for days of mixers and signature cocktails again.

“Minho, get out of here and go take a lunch,” Seungmin says as he reappears from behind the door. “That way the schedule doesn’t rearrange.”

Seungmin is a blunt sous chef, but he’s dedicated to his work. Minho knows he’ll have no problem working his way up to a head chef role one day. He appreciates his attention to detail and ability to work with difficult patrons, and he’d certainly entertain the idea of bringing him to work at the bar back home if he liked.

“On it,” Minho says, already pulling off his apron.

“Oh, and can you bring a Diet Coke to table 6 out there? I brought regular on accident.”

“Yup,” he says plainly, grabbing a clear glass from the clean stack and filling it at the fountain.

Minho thinks back to his apartment- this might be his last day at work, but he still has a generous amount of packing to do when he gets home. He’s relieved he kept most of his stuff in boxes, or else he’d easily be stuck here another week.

Minho counts boxes in his head, balancing the glass in one hand and his apron in another as he exits the kitchen to the seating area. He’s seldom out here, only really passing through when he gets in for the day. But he’s not in charge of serving guests, and the whole thing suddenly feels a little uncomfortable to him. Quiet jazz music plays overhead as tables fill the room with noise of their conversations, everyone dressed up with legs crossed neatly under white tablecloths.

Minho looks around frantically as beads of condensation on the glass wet his hand- where the hell is table 6?

A family sits at the back, every member paired with their drink of choice. An older couple sits closer to Minho, two cups of coffee steaming in front of them.

And by the window, two women deep in conversation- one of them passionately sharing tales of work or perhaps a lover.

And the other one, you.

Minho thinks he’s hallucinating for a moment, when he first observes you sitting there. You’re nodding as the other woman talks, a smile pulling on your face as she exaggeratedly makes a hand motion during her story. You’re not dressed like the other city-dwellers here, looking starkly more beautiful in a sweater and a pair of jeans. You’re the only one in here wearing jeans, aside from Minho. He smiles when he takes notice.

Another server passes Minho in a rush, shoving by him with a tray of food in hand.

“Oh sorry,” he says, eyeing him a little confused. “Did you want me to take that? I know you’re on lunch.”

Minho grips the coke firmly in his hand, shaking his head almost immediately. He’s never refused something so fast in his life before.

“No, I got it,” he says, finally taking the first step toward your table.

Minho glances down at his appearance briefly, fixing the collar of his shirt as he approaches you. He’s a little more dressed up for his last day here, a pastel blue button-up tucked into his jeans, his now long hair parted down the middle. He wishes he could tuck back into the bathroom and see himself more clearly, but he knows he’ll lose you if he doesn’t make his move now.

Minho’s thought of this moment so many times, replayed the conversation in his head like a speech he’s been waiting to give. He wants to proclaim his adoration for you, giving you a romantic explanation of how he’s searched for you all these months and never stopped thinking of you. And in an ideal scenario, you’d say the same, kissing him in front of all the restaurant-goers here and leaving back to town with him to live happily ever after.

But he’s never considered the idea of a friend being present. Or being crunched for time on a 30-minute lunch break. It’s all happening so fast, and his head spins with anxiety as he approaches you.

You’re still in conversation when he sets your Diet Coke down at the table a little too hard, hoping to get your attention. You don’t so much as look his way as he does, and he lingers by your table for a moment as he thinks.

“Do you need a straw?” Minho asks, eyes darting over your face briefly. Your hair is a little longer, too, but you look the same. He’s sure you’re not a hallucination.

“No thank you,” you say, finally glancing over at him to give a small nod.

And just like he’s lost for more words, you seem to be too, lips parting slightly as you keep your gaze fixed on his.

“Thank you for lunch,” you say to your colleague at the end of the meal, who’s been passionately talking about her recent project at work for the last hour.

You tuned her out after the first 15 minutes, being completely awestruck when the server delivered your requested Diet Coke to your table.

Either the brain fog from work is finally starting to catch up with you, or you’re simply too tired. But the server looks exactly like Lee Minho, the bartender you slept with a few months ago. Normally, you’d tuck away and hide at the sight of running into a hookup again. But Minho wasn’t just a hookup to you.

He’s lingered amongst your thoughts for the better part of those three months, the polite action of protecting you from sleeping with a married man and letting you seek shelter in the storm remaining some of the nicest things someone’s ever done for you.

He wasn’t just a hookup, not with the way he spoke of his hopes and dreams and asked about all of yours. And then he fucked you like a husband, the feeling you got from him bending you over the pool table like that still sending chills down your spine.

Your colleague pulls her scarf and coat on, nodding as she gestures to the door. The lunch rush has died down by now, and most of the tables are vacant as the streets bustle with people returning to work.

“I’m gonna grab a meal to-go,” you tell her. “I’ll meet you back at the office. Thank you again for lunch!”

Fortunately for you, she doesn’t question it, leaving you to order as she heads back to the office.

Minho is nowhere to be seen, only one server present on the floor as it’s more empty now.

“Can I help you?” A voice asks, and you’re met with the warm smile of the singular server.

“I… I wanted to give my compliments to the chef,” you say, sounding a little unsure of yourself.

“I’ll be sure to do that, thank you very much,” he replies, bowing when he finishes.

“I meant my personal thanks,” you clarify, and he furrows his brows in response.

“Uh… sure, I can ask him. Do you know if it was the head chef?”

“His name’s Lee Minho,” you say with a smile. “He’s probably the head chef.”

Minho’s sous chef runs his kitchen like the navy, you quickly learn, as he ushers for you to leave soon after Minho exits the kitchen due to the impending dinner rush.

There’s no time to catch up with him, only being able to utter a short “thanks for the meal,” as he waits for you to speak.

But he recognizes you, his gaze staying on yours a little too long as he nervously bows.

“Y/n,” he says in response, the action saying nothing and yet so much at the same time.

And you smile back at him, relieved he still remembers.

As Seungmin calls for him a second time, you pull a pen from the pocket of his apron, scribbling your address on a napkin from one of the tables.

He nods back at you, napkin clutched in hand, as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

And for a brief moment, neither of you can make out the implications of the action. An invitation for sex? A date to catch up? The details are blurry to both of you. But you hope he shows, and Minho already knows he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

As you fix your hair in front of the mirror that evening, memories of Minho play in your mind like they did after the night you spent together. You know you had to leave- it wasn’t something you decided lightly, but you and him are fated for different things. And who are you to intervene where the stars align? Minho deserves someone who will be available for him, someone uncomplicated and willing to inhabit the place he loves so dearly.

You, on the other hand, have a historical bad run with men, and so pursuing Minho would be uncharacteristic. But also unfair to him. It’s clear from that night that your worst traits will always remain the most significant parts of you- impatience, judgment and naivety. And while Minho comes off as curt, he’s anything but. He’s too good for you. You’re just a byproduct of this city- everything he despises. It would be over before it even started.

Minho shows at exactly a quarter to nine, knocking twice at the door as he waits out in the hallway for you.

When you unlatch the door, he perks up from nervously staring at the carpeted floor, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat. He looks more casual than you’ve probably ever seen him before, in a striped gray and black top, layered with a black collared shirt and dark ripped jeans. He also looks particularly handsome tonight, but also different, noticeably thinner in his face where his cheekbones protrude generously, his hair a little longer now.

“Hi,” Minho says plainly, his gaze fixated on yours in an almost trance-like state.

“Hi,” you reply, unsure of where to start. “Come in, please.”

You step aside, ushering him into your apartment and shutting the door behind you both. Minho looks around, impressed with the state of your apartment in comparison with his. There are cherry wood bookshelves lining the walls, filled top to bottom with stacks of old novels and textbooks. Colorful modern paintings decorate the walls, which are admittedly much taller than his own, and cozy lighting fills every room in the space.

Minho bows a little, handing you a bottle, and you smile in amusement as you scan the contents. A single liter of Diet Coke.

“You remembered,” you say, endeared by the simple action.

“So you don’t waste your calories,” he replies with a small smile, echoing the statement you told him so many months ago.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you tell him. Minho takes note of the shakiness in your voice, a little relieved that you seem to be as nervous as he is. It’s certainly not a matter of picking up where you left off when you both have your walls up like this, but he prefers the silence to your absence any day.

You disappear into the kitchen, pouring both of you glasses of Diet Coke as Minho settles on the edge of the couch. He folds his hands in his lap and blinks nervously, trying so hard to remember everything he’s wanted to confess to you since returning here. But in this proximity to you, in your own home, everything suddenly seems like a bad idea. He feels dramatic, overbearing, trying to make sense of this. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

When you return, Minho takes a deep breath, quietly thanking you for the beverage when you place it on the coffee table in front of him. And then as he feared, a silence washes over both of you.

You take a sip of your coke, waiting for him to speak, and similarly, he waits for you. You’d forgotten, briefly. That Minho is inherently a quiet guy. It’d been you who brought his walls down, challenged him to a game of pool and even instigated the argument when he told Jisung to leave the bar. As he blinks at you a few times, you realize it may be his way of asking you to do it again, to help him feel comfortable again.

“Your Italian food is on par with your chicken wings,” you say to him, finally breaking the silence. “Think you need to add shrimp scampi to your bar menu.”

Minho smiles, and the whole room seems to brighten up when he does. His eyes turn to little crescents, his grin flashing you the skewed front teeth you were so endeared by when you first met him. His presence feels like the bar did- safe, familiar.

“It’s not my best work,” he replies. “It’s just a temporary job. But I do have a sous chef here, which is a plus.”

“The one with the nice smile? I know, he almost kicked me out for asking to see you. He’s very deceiving.”

You and Minho share laughter, recalling how Seungmin yelled at you several times at the restaurant today. When your laughter dies down, he swallows nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“Thanks for… giving your compliments today,” he says. He really wants to say ‘thank you for seeing me again’.

“I knew I recognized you,” you say back to him. “I was surprised to see you here in the city. I guess I just wanted some confirmation it was really you.”

“It’s me,” Minho says sheepishly. You smile at him, feeling a little sorry at the way his tone sounds so unsure.

“What are you doing in the city, anyway?” You ask.

Minho isn’t sure what to say. In an alternate timeline, he’d like to tell you he came for you. But he knows he’ll come off as a creep, and the last thing he wants is to lose you again.

“Just wanted a break from the suburbs,” he settles on saying.

“Do you like it?”

He toys with a frayed hem on the throw pillow beside him, shaking his head a little hesitantly.

“If I say no, you’ll think less of me.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, not wanting you to think he came here for you to pity him. In fact, the reality is quite the opposite.

“I would never think less of you,” you assure him with a gentle smile. “You’re allowed to have your opinions.”

Minho nods, not entertaining the subject anymore.

“How’s the bar?”

“It’s okay,” Minho says, sighing a little as he thinks back to recent events. “It was robbed just the other night.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say to him with widened eyes. “Is everyone… okay?”

“Everyone’s okay,” he affirms. “Just lost some money. I’m working with the police on it, so hopefully we’ll have someone arrested if we’re lucky.”

You nod at his words, feeling disheartened at the mention of the robbery. Although you’re not particularly fond of the suburbs, the bar is a sacred space for you, and knowing he and the staff were put in that situation makes you uneasy.

“How’s work?” Minho asks, and you chuckle at the question.

“Nothing special. I did get a promotion last month, but I’m only making a few dollars more than I was last time we met. Nothing to write home about.”

“We’ll congratulations anyway,” Minho says, raising his glass of Diet Coke. “Well deserved.”

“Thank you,” you say, clinking your glass against his and letting the cool carbonated beverage soothe the nerves still present in your demeanor.

“Oh, you’ll never believe it! I ran into Jisung out here,” you say to Minho with a scoff. “He tried to pursue me again, the bastard. I’m pretty sure he was even wearing a wedding ring this time. I had to tell him I found out he was married on-”

“On Google,” Minho finishes your sentence. “He told me.”

“You saw him too?”

“Yeah, just the other day. He’s just as obnoxious as he was three months ago.”

You smile at Minho, briefly reminded of the way you were able to bond with him as a result of Jisung’s antics.

“I never got to say thank you,” you say a little quietly, averting his gaze. “For that night. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there to help me.”

He looks down, pondering your words for a moment.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to. Trust me. But I figured…” your voice trails off, trying desperately to decipher how to word your sentiment politely.

“Figured what?” He says, looking back up at you. His eyes tremble a little in anticipation for your reply.

“I figured we’re just different people.”

Minho nods, pursing his lips together as he replays your words.

“And by that you mean that you’re a successful member of the city, and I’m just a bartender.”

Your face drops at his words, suddenly panicked that he’s come here because he’s angry at you. You would never think less of him for being a bartender- hell, you wouldn’t even think less of him if he was unemployed. You’re not sure you could think less of him if you tried.

“That’s not what I mean. And you know that.”

Minho narrows his eyes a little, challenging you.

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you begin, sighing before continuing to speak. “That I’m everything you despise. I let people down. I’m not inherently a good person, the way you are. You know how I stormed in there demanding a phone charger? Fighting you at the bar because you wouldn’t let me sleep with a married man? That’s the kind of person I am. I’m impatient, and naive and I’m nothing like the girls you’re used to.”

“How do you know what I’m used to?”

“Come on, Minho,” you say, and the conversation finally begins to sound a little more natural between the two of you. “You said it yourself- I’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible. Who’s to say that doesn’t apply to people, too?”

“You’re nothing like you say you are,” Minho interrupts, and you can feel yourself getting frustrated at his words.

“How would you know that? Because you slept with me in a bar? I’m not this dream girl you think I am, Minho. I was looking out for you. You deserve better.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, swirling Coke around in his cup and watching the bubbles fizzle away as they hit the rim of the glass. He shakes his head a little to himself, and then he begins to speak again.

“You want to know why I came out here again?”

You remain silent, already knowing what he’s going to say. But to your surprise, his answer is a little more complex.

“I came out here because I wanted to. I wanted to work as a chef again. I wanted new colleagues, I wanted a different view and I was tired of being stuck in that little bar.”

You don’t reply to his statement, waiting for him to continue.

“And do you know why finding you was something I held onto so dearly?”

“Why?” You ask, the question coming out in a shaky tone. He takes a deep breath before he answers.

“I wanted to thank you. I wanted to tell you all about it. To tell you that you were right- sometimes, simple isn’t better. Sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again. I wouldn’t have done any of this if someone really cool didn’t walk into my bar and make it clear to me. I guess part of me just hoped you were changed by it, too.”

Your expression softens at his words, feeling awful for the way this conversation has gone so far. It’s not your intention to hurt him- in fact, you feel particularly protective of Minho.

“I came looking for you, too,” you say after a moment of silence, and Minho perks up at your words.

“You did?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “I visited your bar. Twice since that night. I asked for you both times. The guy said you weren’t there anymore. I think after the second time, I took it as a sign to stop trying.”

“Jeongin?” Minho says, furrowing his brows together in visible confusion.

“He was blonde, a little small. Freckles.”

“Felix,” Minho says, chuckling lightly. “He’s a new hire. Jeongin would’ve told you differently. I have co-ownership with him now.”

You nod, folding your hands in your lap.

“I was changed by it,” you say, finally letting your gaze meet his. “I never stopped thinking about you. But it scares me. In so many ways, you’re everything I tried to run from when I left the suburbs. I don’t think I was ever good enough for any of it- all I cared about was money, and my work and finding an apartment with a nice enough view of the city. I didn’t care about the memories I made there, or that there’s genuinely good people. I didn’t even visit my parents very often. You reminded me that there’s more to it than just that. There’s more to the past than its negative aspects. So thank you, too.”

Minho is quiet for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do- how to keep you around. But in this moment, it’s clear to him- he has to let you go. He said what he had to say. He’s done the search, all three months of it, and he found you. He validated his own emotions and made sense of yours- you were just as changed by it as he was. But maybe that’s enough- perhaps the rest is just wishful thinking.

“Looks like we felt the same about it, then,” he says with a small smile, sitting up from the sofa and making his way to peer out the large glass window in your living room.

“And by the way, you definitely succeeded with the view out here. Mine’s just a brick wall.”

You chuckle, making your way over to the window and standing next to him to take in the view, too.

“It’s nice, right? All of the east side is visible from up here.”

“See that down there?” Minho points. “Visited that dive bar the other day. It sucks if you’re wondering.”

“CJ’s? Yeah, it’s kind of a shithole. They don’t even serve Diet Coke.”

Minho chuckles lightly, a little sadness evident in his tone.

“You know, maybe if you swung by and fixed their little arcade game, they’d supply you some. Probably something to do with all the ABC’s.”

“The what?” You query, furrowing your brows together and chuckling as he speaks.

“The little gidgets inside. You know, with the pins.”

You pause to think for a moment, mentally mapping out the circuit inside.

“The EPROMs,” you say finally.

Minho feels his breath hitch in his throat as you utter the acronym. It sounds so unfamiliar, and yet so familiar to him at the same time. He suddenly remembers that night, in the spare room, hearing you say it for the first time.

“The what?” He replies gently, not removing his gaze from the window.

“The EPROMs,” you clarify, a little louder this time.

“Say it again,” Minho breathes, a small smile painted on his face now.

“EPROMs?” You question, turning to face him, visibly confused.

“Yeah, those. What’s it stand for, anyway?” Minho finally asks, turning to face you. You face him, too, endeared by the curiosity he’s displayed for that game repair since the first night you met.

“Erasable programmable read-only memory,” you explain, aware of how close he is in proximity to you now. His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back up again, his plump lips pulling into a knowing smile as you speak. He knows he’s wandering into dangerous territory now, but he can’t help it- not when it’s you who makes him feel like this.

“God, it sounds so sexy when you say it,” Minho says sheepishly.

And he knows he shouldn’t entertain it- he’s well aware that his intention is to walk out of here and get on with his life, comfortable with the knowledge that you’d sought him out, too. But he can’t help himself when you’re this close to him, talking circuit repair so intelligently and erotically.

So without another question to stutter, or a fight to be had, he closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips onto yours and kissing you one last time.

You don’t protest the action, instantly tangling your hands in his tresses and reciprocating with the same hungry, passionate kisses he delivers. Maybe it’s the long hair, or the ripped jeans, but part of you also wonders if he’s been dying to kiss you tonight as badly as you’ve been craving him. The flavor is reminiscent of the bar to you, on that pool table like the first time you kissed him. He tastes like mint, enveloping your tongue with hints of Diet Coke while he nibbles on your bottom lip between kisses.

Without any sort of end goal in mind, your hands snake down to his collared shirt, which you tug on hungrily, and then begin to push off his torso. Minho smiles into the kiss, reaffirmed that you want him just the same, and he pulls away momentarily to complete the task of pulling off his button down.

Underneath, his striped t-shirt is cut off generously at the shoulders, completely exposing his arms to you. You almost gasp at the sight of his toned arms jutting out, veins running along his forearms and flexing with each movement. Minho chuckles softly when he takes notice, amused at your reaction.

When his button down shirt is fully off, he kisses you again, hands finding their way to your waist as he pushes himself against you, desperate to feel you against him. You walk backwards, cupping his face between your hands and leading him toward your bedroom.

For a fleeting moment, you’re nervous to take it any further than this, the last person you slept with being Minho himself. You can’t remember which undergarments you wore, or what your bedroom decor looks like to anyone except yourself. But Minho’s kisses shut you up, his lips moving against yours with desire and passion, and you don’t want to do anything except this, right here.

When you’ve made it to the bed, you pull away, crossing your arms over your torso and pulling your sweater off over your head. You’re in a lacy black bra, you realize, because of course you thought to dress for him. Minho blinks a few times, crossing his own arms over his torso and finally pulling his shirt over his head.

It’s then that you realize you’ve never seen Minho without his shirt before- he wore that white button down in the bar, only allowing you to see a generous amount of his collarbones. But standing in front of you like this, he’s breathtaking, his toned torso and his sharp collar bones complementing his sculpted thighs and arms so perfectly.

When he takes notice of you staring at him, one hand flies down to his mid-torso, where he spreads a palm out over the skin, seemingly in an attempt to cover something. You take one step forward, gently placing a hand over his and moving it so that his torso is exposed again. And across his tanned skin, a pale pink scar catches your eye, not very noticeable from your previous distance, but definitely perceptible when you observe his body long enough.

“Minho,” you coo, running your hand along the scar and tracing it with your fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” you say to him after a moment, smiling up at him sincerely.

Minho’s heart almost stops in its place, overwhelmed with his emotions for you, to be here with you, the desire to make love to you eating away at his mind like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

And if it is, he’d die a happy man.

His lips crash against yours again, hands snaking down to your jeans, where he unbuttons them, your hands meeting his to help pull them down. While you take over, he unbuckles his belt, snaking the leather out from around his waist and undoing his buttons. It’s then that he pushes you gently against the bed, hoisting your legs up so that you’re at a comfortable angle, finally propping himself above you and working kisses down your neck. He nibbles your flesh between his teeth the way he did before, beginning to work purple bruises around your throat. And you let him, without protest, because you’re desperate for a reminder that he’s here, that he’s yours. Minho smiles against your neck when he feels you moan softly at the sensation, satisfied with the way you melt at his touch.

“Minho,” you call, and he brings his lips to press a chaste kiss to yours again.

“What is it, baby?” He coos gently, pressing a series of kisses to your lips before you speak again.

“I never should have left,” you reply, toying with a strand of his hair around your fingers in a pleading manner. Your chest is heavy with guilt, tears almost pricking at your eyes as he looms over you like this.

He chuckles softly, kissing you for a moment before grazing his lips over yours again, speaking just above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right where you left me.”

And it’s your turn to kiss him, crashing your lips against his again as tears fall from the corners of your eyes. Minho takes notice when the salty taste of them dance along his tongue, kissing them back up your face and holding you a little closer to him. His hands wrap around the small of your back to find the clasp of your bra, skillfully undoing it with one hand and pulling away from you to discard it on the floor. It’s Minho’s turn to stare, running one hand down your clavicles until he’s grazing your nipples with his fingers.

You feel your breath hitch in your throat with anticipation, before he finally dips his middle finger down over one of your hardened nipples, earning a stifled gasp from you. He works little circles over your nipple with one finger, the gentle stimulation making you gasp into his mouth as he kisses you again.

And then he moves back to your neck, kissing over the bruises he sucked into your flesh, trailing lower and lower until he’s just above your breasts. You look down at him with bated breath, almost clenching at the way his lips exhale little breaths against your nipples, making them even harder. With his eyes on yours, he finally lowers himself, latching both lips around your breast and sucking.

Your back arches up into him instinctively, the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin sending divine shivers up your spine. In a sudden motion, his tongue swirls around your bud, the cold sensation causing you to moan fervently. He smiles with your flesh between his teeth, while your hands tangle themselves in his hair and massage him encouragingly.

It feels so primal, so natural to have his mouth all over you, your legs pressing together to calm the ache between your legs. He takes his time on one breast, only coming up to press a kiss in the valley of your breasts and then moving to give attention to the other one. You could stay here for hours, like this, if it wasn’t for the pulsing reminder in your groin that you want to feel him inside of you.

“Please,” you say gently, pressing your legs together and squeezing in efforts to relieve yourself.

Minho chuckles softly, letting go from your nipple with a gentle sucking sound, a string of spit hanging from his lips as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.

“I want to feel you inside me again,” you admit shyly, tenderly running your nails along the back of his neck. Minho’s lips meet yours again, and his hands quickly find their way to the hem of your underwear, sliding them down and pulling away to discard them on the floor.

He’s promptly reminded of how needy and vocal you are, smiling down at you as you pull his face back to yours and swirl your tongue around his. But truth be told, he’s just as needy as you are, equally reminded of how much he’s touched himself to the thought of this and secretly prayed he’d be able to make love to you again. And now here, his lips on yours, it’s finally happening, his rock-hard erection proof that it’s always been you.

As you arch up into him, one leg wrapping around his to push him even closer against you, your hand snakes down to his erection, palming him through his boxers. Minho groans at the contact, his lips parting a little as he winces in pleasure.

“You’re so hard,” you say with a smile, pleased at his evidently equal desperation for you.

“All for you,” Minho replies, running one hand down your stomach to rub little circles on your clit, causing you to moan in pleasure.

“Ah- fuck,” you breathe out, contorting against him, desperate for him to fill you up. “Please, Minho, want to feel you inside me,” you pant against him, pleading for the second time now.

He remains like that for a moment, working little circles onto your clit as he observes the way your eyebrows arch up in pleasure.

“Want me to fill you up?” He asks, cocking his head with yours as you grasp his forearm.

“Yes, please,” you reply, trying your best to stave off your orgasm until he’s inside of you.

And without teasing you any further, Minho pulls away from you to slide off his boxers, his cock springing up against his abdomen in anticipation for you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, in awe at the sight as he tosses his boxers aside and leans down to kiss you again.

“Lay down,” Minho orders sweetly, and you do as you’re told, exhaling once to calm your steadily beating pulse.

“Is this still okay?” Minho asks, caressing your shoulder with concern as you wait for his next move.

“Yes,” you say, giving a half smile to him when he rubs his thumb along your cheek lovingly. He smiles back at you, giving one small peck to your lips before hoisting himself up and wrapping one hand around his cock.

You watch as Minho wraps his slender fingers around the base of his cock, pumping a few times before leaning down to kiss you tenderly. The sensation causes him to breathe a few gasps into your mouth, Minho also trying his best to stave his release until he’s inside of you.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?” He asks, breaking away to part your thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

But you don’t- not when you’re this wet for him, this desperate to finally feel him fill you up again, like you’ve fantasized for so long.

A strand of his hair falls into his face as he finally guides his cock inside of you, rubbing your clit as he thrusts in fully and bottoms out. You gasp at his size, almost having forgotten just how thick he is, the stretch making your head spin with pleasure. When he gauges your reaction, he begins to move with you slowly, giving gentle thrusts while you wrap your arms around his back.

The bed creaks as he moves in and out of your sopping pussy, emitting lewd sloshing sounds as he leans down to kiss you, your tongues and mouths doing much of the same. You can hardly kiss him back, your lips already dribbling strings of drool in fucked-out satisfaction from him filling you up like this.

“Fuck… baby… you’re so tight,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you breathe back, gripping his shoulder a little bit when he picks up his pace. “No one fucks me the way you do,” you say to him, and his cock twitches inside of you at the admission.

“Fuck,” Minho says again. “I dreamt of you for so long,”

“Me too,” you say, reaching up to move a stray piece of hair out from in front of his eyes between your heavy breathing. “I wish I came looking for you again. God, I wasted so much time.”

Minho kisses you, burying his lips in the crook of your neck to caress the bruises he’s already left.

“I never stopped searching for you,” he breathes out against your skin. “It’s you, it’s always been you.”

His words make your heart flutter as he continues to thrust in and out of you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust now. Your moans get louder as he picks up the pace, digging his nails into your waist as he holds you in place. Between kisses, he caresses your thigh with his hand, positioning it up and bending your leg at the knee beside him. You moan instantly at the new angle, his length caressing every inch of your pussy, his girth stretching you out with every thrust inside of you and tickling your pulsing clit as he moves against your hips.

“Good girl,” Minho says, smiling against you as he kisses you. “Take me so well.”

Your nails dig into his back as he thrusts a little faster now, the rhythmic motion sending shivers up your spine.

“I’m close,” you breathe out, and judging by the way Minho’s cock twitches inside of you, he is too.

“Will you do that thing again?” You ask in a shaky voice between moans, and Minho lets out a breathy chuckle.

“What thing, baby?”

But he knows very well what you’re referring to, having replayed it in his head every time he got off without you. You don’t respond to him, instead intertwining his hand in yours and bringing it down to your abdomen, where you sprawl his palm across your navel and give it a little push. Minho groans at the feeling of your warm abdomen under his palm, remembering the way you reacted last time. And he’s eager to please you, to do it exactly how you liked it before.

Without teasing you any further, Minho presses down on your stomach, observing the way you moan when he does, and then thrusts a little faster. He can feel his length sliding in and out of you under his touch, locking his gaze on the bulge in your abdomen that appears with every thrust.

“Min, I’m so close,” you say, gasping desperately and digging your nails into his back.

He presses down a little harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck and moving even faster, moaning every time he can feel himself move against your abdomen.

And as he brings his lips up to meet yours, you finally let go around him, making a mess of your sheets as you cum around his cock, your clit pulsing in syncopation with your entrance as he fucks you through your orgasm. Minho finishes just seconds after, emptying his milky white release inside of you, both your juices spilling into each other and coating the bed in your arousal. He doesn’t pull out immediately, slowing his thrusts for a few minutes as he kisses you much gentler this time, your lips still glistening with the exchange of saliva.

When he feels you shiver against him, Minho finally slides out, turning over to lay on his back and catch his breath. The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, catching your breath and wiping beads of sweat off your forehead as you do. After a moment of silence, he turns to you again, a worried expression on his face.

“I promise I didn’t come here to have sex with you,” Minho says. “I wasn’t lying about wanting to tell you all about it. I guess I just happened to-”

“Min, I know,” you say with a small smile. “I didn’t think that’s why you came here.”

He lets out a silent chuckle, and you mirror the action, smiling back at him before laughing silently. The two of you remain sore and wearied, your languid bodies a comfortable distance away from each other on the soiled duvet.

Still, Minho extends a hand out from beside you, palm facing up and shifting his gaze onto yours out of his peripheral vision.

Your hand meets his, intertwining your fingers together, the delicate embrace a reminder that he’s here, right where you left him.

“Can’t you just stay another week?” you say to Minho, leaning down to press another kiss to his already swollen lips.

You lie on top of him as he lays back on your couch, his hands tucking strands of hair behind your ear as he smiles up at you.

“It’s just for a little bit, I promise. I just have some unfinished business out there.”

“I don’t want to lose you again,” you say in a whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your fingertip.

“You won’t lose me,” Minho replies, his tone turning serious at your words. “You’ll never lose me.”

“What am I going to do without you?” You ask him, feeling yourself grow increasingly more panicked at the thought of being away from him again. You’ve spent the better part of three months searching for each other, desperate for some closure to this fleeting thing- and now he’s leaving, and you can’t help but feel like you’re doing something wrong by letting him leave like this.

“You’re going to be the woman you always have been,” Minho says with a smile, stroking your hair gently. “You’re going to work your job, and fix things and be absolutely remarkable wherever you go. And I’m going to finalize a few things out there and then meet you right back here in the city. And we’ll lie on this couch, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

You smile at him through pricking tears, feeling them begin to fall as he reaches a thumb up to wipe them off your cheek.

“Hey,” Minho says to you reassuringly. “You know- I was thinking a lot about the bar.”

You nod at him, trying to hold back the rest of your tears as he speaks.

“We have contract negotiations coming up next month. And I was thinking of… maybe…handing it off to Jeongin.”

You sit up a little, eyes widening at his words.

“Complete ownership? But you love that bar, Min.”

He shrugs a little, blinking a few times as he pauses.

“I want to cook. And I think being out here made me realize I need a change of pace again.”

“You mean like… moving out here? To the city?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, throwing his head back a little before meeting your gaze again.

“Maybe. Just something I’ve been thinking about.”

You chuckle too now, cupping his face in your hands as you sit up to look at him.

“You know,” you begin, thinking for a second before continuing to speak. “This really cool bartender told me once that sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again.”

His lips flicker down to your smile and back up to your eyes as you speak, a visible sparkle in your pupils as you look down at him. “Whatever you decide to do back there, I’m here with you when you go forward again. As a bartender, or a chef, or whatever you decide. I’ll be right where you left me.”

And he doesn’t have to ask you twice, knowing in his heart, you’re already here with him- every step of the way.

Minho leaves bright and early that morning, grasping your hand firmly in his as you make your way down the concrete steps of your apartment building to where his car is parked.

He looks more angelic than you’ve ever seen him, his smile illuminating the space around you as he holds you in his gentle embrace on the sidewalk. The two of you say nothing, only speaking through the tender touches of your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, face tucked in the crook of his neck as he holds you. He presses kisses to the top of your head, reminding you through hushed whispers that he’ll be back as soon as possible. And you know he will, feeling completely enveloped in his loving trust as he holds you, as he promises not to lose you again.

When he pulls away to look into your eyes, tears prick at the corners of your eyes for the third time this morning, and Minho chuckles lightly, reaching up to wipe them away with his thumb.

Before he can say anything, he feels it, finally.

The gentle caress of droplets on his face- not your tears, not his, but the sky above, showering you with little raindrops for the first time in three months and some days.

At first, Minho thinks he might be hallucinating it, when he looks up to squint his eyes back at the cloudy sky. You do the same, feeling the familiar kiss of raindrops on your skin. And then, as if the sky’s taking notice, it begins to pour, warm rain showering you both in the hazy atmosphere of the city sidewalk.

Minho laughs up at the sky, shaking his now damp hair as he looks down at you again. All this time he’s waited for the rain, thinking maybe he’d imagined it that night in the bar- the same night he ran into you. But as the raindrops graze his skin and glisten under the light of the city, he realizes it was very much real, as are you, standing right here in his arms. And like everything falls into place, so does the rain over the city, washing away the doubts he held onto for so long.

“It’s finally raining!” Minho exclaims, holding you closer to him as he tilts his face up to the sky again.

You watch him in admiration, laughing at the way he embraces the sudden downpour, also remembering the first night you met him because of the storm like this.

The city-dwellers around you begin to seek shelter under the cement roofs of the high rises, but you remain there on the sidewalk, warm in each other's embraces, content with the sudden turn of the weather. When he looks back down at you, his hair is now completely soaked, stringy pieces falling into his face as he continues to laugh.

“Minho,” you say through gentle laughter of your own. The rain comes down violently now, drenching the two of you as he holds you closer to him.

“Where have you been all my life?”

And he smiles down at you, the familiar beam of his giggle instilling the same safety and comfort as the first night you met in his bar.

“Right here,” Minho replies, leaning in to kiss you again.

“I’ve always been here.”

This time, you make no effort to escape the rain, comfortable in the way it looms over the city, much like how Minho looms over you- fortuitous, and with promises of new beginnings.

#skz smut #Lee know #Lee know smut #Lee know fic #stray kids hard hours #skz #stray kids #skz scenarios #stray kids x you #Lee minho #lee know scenarios #Lee know x reader #fanfic #smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #Spotify

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neteyamsyawntu · 4 months

Text

Avatar Headcanonsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Sucking off the A:FOP men

WARNINGS: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, oral male receiving, vulgar language, dirty talk, slight p in v, slight corruption, smut

NOTE- These are my own personal headcanons, everyone is free to their own opinions🌿

So’lek:

So’lek would return to the resistance after nearly a month of being away hunting down members of the RDA using the rosters you had traded him.

You wouldn’t even give him the chance to properly adjust to being back with the resistance, pulling him away from any intruding gazes, having been so needy without him around, but he doesn’t mind. So’lek is just as desperate to feel you all over.

While his usual go-to is finding solace between your thighs, lapping at your needy little cunt to relieve his stress, you wanted to try something different this time.

Once you are in a private area, your caught in the most passionate, knee buckling kiss. His own desperation palpable on your tongue.

Grunting against your lips, So’lek’s hands wander your body, groping and squeezing your curves until they travel down to your tewng, skillful fingers quickly begin untying the straps, oh so ready to indulge in your sweetness.

“No… let me.” You stop him, breaking away from the kiss and halting his hands with your own. He is confused, but settles his hands on your hips as you reach behind his lower back, giving you every ounce of his trust while you return the favor, letting his utility belt and tewng drop to his feet.

His confused expression shifts to one of pure longing, releasing a sighed out growl as he watches you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

Your eyes feign innocence, wide like that of a viperwolf pup, you hold his full attention as you stick out your tongue, dragging it up the underside of his shaft, starting at the base and moving agonizingly slow to his tip.

So’lek’s jaw flexes and his fangs come out of hiding as his face scrunches in a silent snarl, mustering a raspy, “Ahh…” before sucking in a lung full of air to steady himself

“Do not tease, Sarentu…” he warns, grasping a handful of your hair at the base of your scalp, yet of course being careful of your kuru.

When you finally take him into your mouth, he has to stop himself from closing his eyes as a heavy sigh leaves his lips. This is exactly what he needed, to allow himself to be taken care of.

So’lek refuses to take his eyes off of you for even a second, watching his cock disappear down your throat only for it to reappear as you bob your head purposefully.

When your eyes drift closed, even if just for a moment to help your focus, a harsh tug at the roots of your hair makes you whimper around his cock, triggering a deep moan from your lover. His eyes stay sharp and assertive as he orders, “Keep your eyes on me, paskalin.”.

And of course you do. How could you disobey when it brought him so much pleasure? Witnessing as your movements become sloppy, your jaw straining to stay open, a mix of drool and precum that had been pooling in your mouth now dripping down your chin, while your eyes become glossy with threatening tears and oh fuck did it drive him wild. His cock throbbing at the sight, fingers tightening in your hair, yet he doesn’t pull. He wouldn’t dare mistreat you when you’re treating him so well. Just silently making sure you stay exactly where he wants you.

His moans are hot and heavy, deep and gravely. His tone almost making it seem like they were vibrating through his body.

The closer he gets to his climax, the more his moans and groans shift into hungry growls, his muzzle flexing into a harsh snarl from its relaxed open mouth state.

“Take all of it, paskalin. I do not want to see a single drop go to waste.” He grunts taking the lead in thrusting down your throat as your head stills.

When his load spills into your mouth and he withdraws himself from its warmth, an almost bewildered look befalls him as he admires your vigor.

Your own expression is one of exhaustion, yet you are satisfied that you were able to please him.

So’lek’s thumb draws across your slightly swollen lips before dragging your lower one downward, feeling as life twitches into his cock once again as you show zero hesitation in kissing the digit and taking it into your mouth as well.

“Ma’ parul(my miracle)… I will spend my life repaying the great mother for gifting you to me. Now on your back… I am not through with you yet, Sarentu.”

Eetu:

Similar to So’lek, Eetu loves to watch you suck him off. The only difference being he loves to tease you just as much.

“Hah..Does it feel good? Having my cock in your mouth? You look like you enjoy it. Your lips look so good wrapped around me, syulang…”

His hand would repeatedly rake through your hair, practically massaging your head, prompting you to moan on his cock, which of course makes his eyes roll back in his head every time.

The moment you hollow your cheeks for him, it’s an immediate game changer. His eyes initially go wide before shutting tightly, just utterly savoring the feeling of your warm mouth sucking so tentatively on his dick.

His tail whips behind him in excitement, hips instinctively begin bucking to meet your mouth, a cocky smirk growing on his lips when the sounds of your gagging reaches his ears.

“Sìltsan ‘eve(good girl)… mmn- sucking me so well. Ma’ sevin ‘eve(my pretty girl).” He’d purrs, massaging your scalp with more pressure.

Eetu’s voice becomes breathy as he reaches his climax, palms becoming clammy, forehead beading as his cool and smug exterior melts into putty before you. The perfect opportunity for you to take the power back, grasping his hips and pressing your nose firmly against his pelvis, causing him to choke back a gasp.

“Wiya amhul-!(damn woman!) Haah ahh~. That’s it.. ohh don’t stop, syulang.” He moans, trying oh so desperately to stop his knees from giving out as he comes undone.

Nor:

The moment you position yourself between Nor’s thighs, his brows scrunch in confusion, yet when you begin peppering his throbbing shaft with gentle kisses, his heart almost stops as adrenaline courses through his veins.

His eyebrows rise in lustful astonishment the moment you take him into your mouth, a breathy moan rolling off of his tongue.

Nor leans back onto his palm, taking in the view of you deep throating his cock so masterfully. His other hand can’t help, but caress your face lovingly. His knuckles skimming against your cheek.

“I’d ask where you learned to do such a thing… but ohh- great mother I don’t want you to stop.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as his words motivate you to move a bit more confidently.

The more passionate your movements become, the more his hand tries to touch whatever part of you he can reach, all while supporting his weight with his other hand. His thumb would caress your cheek as he holds your face, or shift to grasping at your shoulder or the nape of your neck, or even tangling his fingers in your hair.

His eyes would flutter closed every time he felt you gag on his tip, head rolling back, bottom lip tucked tightly between his teeth, his tail unconsciously batting against the ground.

Nor would try so hard to hide his voice as he succumbed to the pleasure, but it was no use. His huffed out moans and groans were like music to your ears and when he told you how pretty you looked touching yourself to his noises, you had lost all restraint in your body.

Coming off of his cock with ‘pop’, his expression shifts as he’s suddenly pulled out of his euphoric state, only to be met with the sight of you straddling his lap, “I think I’d look much prettier riding your cock, ma’ muntxatan~.” You purr alluringly into Nor’s ear as you sink down onto him.

Before his brain could even think about refusing (which why would he?) his hands instinctively cement themselves on your hips, taking the initiative to begin rocking you back and forth on him, “Yes… why don’t you show me then, hm? My pretty girl…”.

Teylan:

To Teylan this idea is entirely foreign. Initially when you start to go down on him, a sense of panic runs through him as he watches you bring him into your mouth, “N-no, not there! You shouldn’t- Ohhph..!”.

His tail frantically swats behind him, his voice uncontrollable as he mewls helplessly into his hand, his eyes scrunched tight, trying his hardest to keep his volume down, but to no avail. It just feels too damn good.

His hips would stutter every time you’d attempt to bring him deeper into your mouth wanting to not only push him, but yourself to the limits.

While Teylan’s already incredibly vocal, his voice breaks into stuttered whimpers when he nears his end. His body begins to tremble almost as if he were freezing, yet it’s all in trying to restrain himself not to use your throat to selfishly get himself off. He did want to accidentally hurt you.

You on the other hand can feel his resistance, the hesitation in each jolt of his hips. So likewise when you give him permission to take over, of course he is still completely unsure if it’s even morally right for him to do.

Just to give him that extra little push, you’d bring his cock as far down your throat as you could muster, letting your throat constrict around his shaft as you gag on it.

That did the trick.

Even with your permission, Teylan can’t help, but mutter mumbled apologies, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”, his hands steady themselves atop your head, shaky fingers hastily tangling in the strands of your hair to use as leverage as he pulls your head forward to meet his sloppy thrusts.

Your nose burns and your eyes begin to water, but you don’t mind it in the slightest. The view above you is everything you could ask for.

His whimpers serenade you as he abuses your throat, loving the way his ears are pressed so tightly against his head, but flick ever so slightly at the sound of your gags.

Although he won’t admit it in the moment, he’s obsessed with the feeling of you choking on his cock, even if just for a moment. Feeling the muscles of your throat contract and milk him so perfectly.

So perfectly in fact that he nearly forgets to pull out when he feels himself about to finish. Yet the moment you feel him about to shift his hips away from you, you greedily follow, making sure to take every drop of his load.

After the euphoria of his high sets, his skin hot and moist with sweat, the embarrassment of his actions immediately go into play again.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry- I didn’t- I tried to pull away, but you didn’t-. I- I couldn’t-.”, “Shh ma’ Teylan…” you coo, rising to his level, gently caressing the side of his face, “You did well.”.

A look of shock would paint his features briefly as you said this, “I-I did?”, to which you’d nod with a soft hum, a warm smile painting on your lips.

That’s all he needs to melt into your touch, nuzzling into your palm as his arms move to encase you in his embrace, his body still trembling slightly from his orgasm.

Happy New Years, my loves! Let's start 2024 off right shall we? A little smut to start the new year🤭

A quick thank you to my pookies @pandoraslxna @justcaptiannoodles and @itchaboi-itchyboy for giving me some inspiration 💜

Tag list:

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#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar frontiers of pandora #frontiers of pandora #solek #so'lek #fop smut #afop #teylan #teylan smut #so'lek smut #eetu #eetu smut #nor #nor smut #avatar headcanons #avatar smut

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jymwahuwu · 3 months

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Thoughts on Gym trainer Jing Yuan ◉o◉ Thinking like on the first day there's a lot of struggle on the equipment and basic stretching and Jing Yuan pops up to help, but they don't know that he's using this as an opportunity to grope and grind his cock on them as he stretches them that looks like a mating position from an outsider's view hehe

>_< I'm sorry that I updated after the promised time, and I couldn't help but sleep for two nights😹 But I really like the idea and thought about it a lot <3 Jing Yuan loves this fitness opportunity…

CW: yandere, non-consensual contact, inappropriate use of fitness equipment, mention of future non-con

Jing Yuan accidentally - okay, maybe intentionally - hacked your phone and discovered your gym membership credentials (the hacker followed his orders in Xianzhou). You book a day to experience fitness. That's your first day. first. The browser contains your search history for "fitness teaching". Jing Yuan is considerate and has not dug out your more private information. He knows everyone needs privacy! He really just wants to know where you will show up so he can go on a date with you…

That day, you arrived at the Universe Fitness Center belonging to Interastral Peace Corporation as scheduled. Some members are already working out, with an octopus-shaped customer running on a treadmill, while others are stretching. You looked around, biting your lip, starting to feel nervous. There is so much equipment here. How do you use these…? During your hesitation, you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure and your eyes widened. Why is General Jing Yuan here? He also noticed you and waved at you.

Jing Yuan explained that this is his hobby. He has purchased a 100-year membership. You stared at his broad and strong shoulders and swallowed. It turns out that he exercises outside of sleep time… The reputation of a general from a space civilization is well-deserved…

How about you? General asked with a smile.

You stutter and explain that this is your first time trying fitness, and you don't have a trainer. The reason may be that you have wanted to exercise for a long time, or maybe you won a free membership in a lottery… or a friend gave you a free fitness experience and enthusiastically helped you book it… The members here seem to be well-trained. You're afraid of making a fool of yourself. The considerate Jing Yuan of course offers to help you train and become familiar with the fitness equipment. You nodded gratefully.

Um, after warming up, the first step is to learn to use the leg press machine!! You can hear your breathing and heartbeat, slowly sit on the tilted cushioned seat, awkwardly stretch out your legs and step on the platform superior. A warm palm cupped your ass, and you almost screamed, but kept your voice low in panic.

"W-wait?! Jing Yuan, what are you doing?" "Oh? I'm helping you adjust your posture. Don't be nervous." He put on a perfect and polite smile, as if you were just making a fuss and it was normal . You tried to push his palm away from your ass. Jing Yuan still touched your butt before moving to your thighs, lifting your legs and moving you up. You tightened the muscles in your hips and stretched your legs unskillfully at his guidance.

Jing Yuan is standing in front of you, watching you nervously bend your knees and stretch your legs. Every time you get close, it's like you're under his body. His smile widened. Some fitness guests watching from the side felt that he was holding you down in a mating position...

How can you not learn to use hip abduction machine? He helped you sit on the mat. You kept your waist upright, panting from the first round of fitness exercises.

"H-how does this work?" Your eyes sparkled with trust and confusion. "This is - um, to train your butt muscles." Hearing these unabashed words, embarrassment washed over your face. You were about to suggest training with other equipment when you heard him say that you should try your best to open your legs and stretch your body.

You couldn't find a chance to refuse, so you could only grab the chair with both hands and struggle to stretch your legs out, your butt tightening in the process. Jing Yuan occasionally reaches out his hand and spreads your legs wider.

Oops, by the time the teaching process reaches the lying leg curl machine, you are already exhausted. In other words, you can be at the mercy of Jing Yuan. Jing Yuan tells you to lie face down on the machine. You groaned softly, your legs already trembling from lack of exercise. You grabbed the machine, bent your knees and raised your legs. There is a vague feeling that something hard is pressing against your buttocks… The hands are groping your buttocks, slapping and rubbing them. He told you it was for training…

Of course, no thrusting…yet.

Before leaving, you "promised" to Jing Yuan that you would attend "private fitness classes"…even though you said with tears in your eyes that you didn't want to exercise after that. The general has already planned for you to bring a small vibrator as part of your workout next time. He can’t wait for the day he penetrates you<3

#jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan #yandere jing yuan x reader #honkai x reader

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joe-leviari · 2 months

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Simon Ghost Riley is annoyed.

" So you ended up working together, you ended up helping one another, you ended up not liking each other. " || Ghost listens in to you having sex ||

for adults only; NSFW; sexual themes; stalker!Ghost; smut; other COD characters briefly mentioned; backstory for main character; afab!reader x konig; no use of y/n; English is not my first language, feel free to privately message me to correct any mistakes.

Much to Ghost’s annoyance, they need you.

You being the highly-trained-deadly-skilled-gun-for-hire of a now nearly collapsed criminal enterprise, and the only one left alive with the intel that they need.

But that’s alright, because, as it turns out, you need them.

Them being the task force 141, the very same that has been sistematically dismantling the above mentioned criminal empire and hunting down the above mentioned highly-trained-deadly-skilled-gun-for-hire. Little-fucking-nuisance, according to Simon.

So you ended up working together, you ended up helping one another, you ended up not liking each other.

Much to Ghost’s annoyance, judging by the way Gaz has been telling you stories from his childhood, the way Price has been calling you silly nicknames through the crackling comms, and the way Soap has taken the habit to fully lean into you every time you show him something stupid on your phone, the only one who doesn’t really like you is Ghost himself.

Not liking you is fine; that’s something he can deal with for the simple fact that he does not really have to deal with it. Disliking you is a mere subjective perception that he acknowledges in passing, almost distractingly, when he lays his eyes on you. The real problem is that he does not fucking trust you. Now that’s something he has to deal with; that’s HIS duty, that’s HIS team.

Sure, you are constantly monitored, they are not stupid: you have lived most of your life like a criminal, surrounded by criminals. You have the resources, the knowledge, and fairly good reasons to fuck them over. That’s why you are never left alone and never trusted to carry any weapons unless strictly necessary. Your location is always traced, your heartbeat is polygraph-tested every time you have to be questioned. The thing is, you were very well made aware of all this when you signed on the dotted line the day that Laswell came to see you in the prison’s infirmary.

A few days later, there you were, with a bruised face and an even more bruised ego, getting yourself nice and comfy in the room down the hall.

So it was for the sake of HIS team that Simon had to break into the room down the hall to carefully bug it. With a bit of patience, he will find something compromising that will force Laswell - who seemed to take a shine on you for whatever bloody reason - to send you back to prison. Or anywhere else, really, as long as you were out of sight. And with that, out of mind.

Much to Ghost's annoyance, you moan differently than he expected. Simon assumed, definitely assumed, and NEVER fantasized that you would moan like a fucking pornstar.

No, this… This is something entirely different. And now that it thinks about it, it is more like you. You have a wicked sweetness about you, the kind that makes men want to either break you or protect you.

You have the cheekiness that gets you in trouble—the same one that gets you out of it. Ghost adjusts the ear buds in his ears and draws his eyebrows together.

The man on you (behind you? Under you? Most definitely inside you) is babbling, grunting, and moaning, visceral and guttural. And you... You sound breathy and airy and wet and light. In a delicate voice, you are giving him directions, but you have to repeat yourself a few times before he snaps out of his daze and complies. And when he finally does, oh, you are all praise.

How the fuck did he menage to get into your pants? And why, on God’s green earth, would you let him?

Ghost has witnessed you flirt before: sometimes you were just doing your job, other times you were having fun dancing with recruits in bars, flashing them a little smile with a pretty blush on your face. You were quick to throw them a bait and even quicker to retrieve it. “Don’t push your luck, soldier” you would say with an easy grin. Cheeky little thing.

Simon would scoff at your antics and at the men and women who would fall for your little act. That’s why he is so surprised now, because with you, everything seems to be either an act or a transaction. I’ll give you what you need if you offer me something better first.

That’s what he thought you were doing with Konig when he caught you complimenting his skills and commenting on his strength. Just being smart, just trying to have one more ally.

But the way you were panting, mewling, and pleading told him a different story. You could not be trusted. And now HIS team is in danger because you couldn’t keep your legs shut. Are your legs actually wide open? Are they on his shoulders? No, Ghost is not thinking about your legs. Instead, he is thinking that he wouldn’t need you to give him pointers on how to adjust the rhythm or how to angle himself to hit your sweet spot. With one hand on your mouth, he’d know exactly what to do to you. You wouldn’t need to say please and thank you; you wouldn’t need to be so polite.

Simon is startled when you let out a sudden giggle, immediately followed by a whimper. You are confusing, half crying and half elated, half begging to stop and half begging to continue. It’s intimate—you sound so defenseless, so vulnerable. You are definitely not to be trusted.

Much to Ghost’s annoyance, a little escapade with a fellow soldier is not enough to get you to fuck off somewhere else—somewhere far, far away from him. If that were to be enough, the base would be empty by now. He just has to be a little more patient and wait until he hears you say something compromising to the mercenary (or any other bastard that you’ll let into your bed, for that matter, a slut like you). Eventually you'll let something slip that will put the safety of the team at risk and thwart your credibility in the process.

Ghost is just going to have to endure more of this bullshit, and THAT is what annoys him the most. Not the fact that while listening to you, he is reminded of that one time when you dislocated your shoulder. He lets his focus drift to your moaning, desperately trying to conjure the memory of the way you turned your big, watery eyes on him, looking like a wounded animal. He can see it now; he can hear it now—the barely audible plea that escaped your lips, “Please, please don’t hurt me," as he was grabbing your arm and trying to fix you. It is only a pang in the pit of his stomach that snaps him out of it; he should not find the idea of you getting hurt so damn erotic.

You little fucking nuisance.

#konig #konig cod #call of duty smut #drabbles #angst #smut #mdni #spilled thoughts #my wrtitng #simon ghost riley #fanfic #Simon's feelings series #my writing #konig x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #joe leviari

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farity · 1 year

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Longing

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: A ward of Rhaenyra’s, you are present on that fateful night when Luke’s being a little shit.

Warnings: Smut.

“Luke, no.”

You whispered to your half-brother. He had been smirking and laughing at his uncle across the table, and the longer it went on, the more you could feel Aemond Targaryen’s anger radiate off of him.

You knew the story well, even though you hadn’t been around when it had happened. Your father, Ser Harwin Strong, had never known of your existence, but when your mother became gravely ill, she went to the Princess Rhaenyra, begging her to take you in. Rhaenyra could see Harwin’s eyes in yours, the same unruly hair, the same determined demeanor. She promised the dying woman to care for you and in exchange, you tutored her children.

You had found Rhaenyra to be kind, her husband Daemon to be unpredictable, and the children to be close. You also knew well what had happened just before you joined the household. The fight that culminated in Aemond losing an eye.

Once again, Luke made a small sound, amused at his own private joke, and again, you walked up to the table from where you stood a few feet away, kicked his chair and whispered. “Stop it.”

Too late.

Aemond struck the table with his fist and rose, and your heart sank.

“Final tribute,” he said. You saw Rhaenyra look up at him, and even though you didn’t yet know what else the prince would say, you felt nothing good would come of this.

* * * * *

“All of you, go to your chambers, go now.”

Rhaenyra sent her sons and Daemon’s daughters to their rooms. She didn’t oversee how you spent your free time, trusting you enough to let you manage your day as long as the children’s lessons took place as scheduled. You nodded at her and followed, catching up with Luke.

“You’re an idiot.”

He turned, ready to argue, but you kept going. “Why the hell would you provoke him like that, Luke? Do you never think beyond the next three seconds?”

You rushed past him and went into the chamber you’d been given, closing the door.

At least the dying king had already left before the evening went to shreds. Poor soul, he didn’t even realize most of the family problems were of his making. In wanting everyone to tolerate the simmering issues, he had only created a cauldron full of roiling hatred, and it was about to spill over.

Stupid, stupid Luke.

Restless, you paced from hearth to bed over and over until you realized you would never fall asleep like this. Some reading might help settle you down. You had finished the small volume you had brought with you, but you knew where the library was here.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, looking around before slipping out and taking the hallway that led to the library. There was no sound and you hoped everyone had settled down in their rooms.

In the library, several candles were lit on the main table, and you walked towards the closest bookcase to look at some of the titles.

“Here to apologize for the whelp?”

“Mother save me!” you slapped a hand to your mouth, your heart jumping into your throat.

Prince Aemond sat on the far corner, fading into the surrounding darkness. Now that your eyes had adjusted, you saw him more clearly, long silver hair, a book in his elegant fingers, long legs extended in front of him. Were he anyone else, you would be besotted. Were he not someone who hated your family, you would allow yourself improper thoughts. Were he not who he was, you would admit to yourself that the tall man in the dreams that tormented your nights was the same man sitting in the library with you.

“I doubt the Mother has the time for the likes of us, my lady.”

Heartbeat going back to normal, you grabbed a candle. “I am not a lady, as you well know, Prince Aemond. And no, I am not apologizing for Luke, although I did tell him he was an idiot.” You turned to examine the titles on the shelf, and to escape his stare. Mostly history books, it seemed.

“Are you seeking something in particular?”

“Travel stories, anything on Essos?” you turned to find he was not ten feel from you.

“Do you wish to see the world, then?” he asked, taking another step towards you.

You wanted to run, to lock yourself in your room and avoid talking to him. Avoid longing for those hands to be on you, for that hair to be wrapped around your fingers, for that mouth, usually so severe unless curved into a cruel smirk, to be on yours.

Steeling yourself, you met his gaze. “Someday, yes. I must make my own way sooner or later.” His eye bore into yours, the pale blue shimmering in the candlelight. He said nothing, and the seconds stretched between you.

You’d heard Daemon say once that silence was the best way to get someone else to speak. That people were unused to silence and rushed to fill in the void with careless words. That when he wanted to find out something, he simply waited for the other person to speak.

Aemond said nothing and you became more and more uncomfortable. You would not speak. You would not move. You would not look away from that intense scrutiny.

He took another step toward you.

You could smell the leather of his jacket, the soap used on his shirt, and some kind of earthy scent you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You bit down on the inside of your lip to force yourself to remain quiet, and you saw his usual smirk appear. He was so close. He reached up past you, never breaking eye contact with you, and brought down a book, holding it up for you to see.

You took it, not bothering to look at the title, curtsied, and as casually as you could manage, turned and walked out of the library. Every step seemed to take an eternity but you would not give him the satisfaction of hearing you run from him.

Then you heard it.

One step, two. Leaving the library.

Following you.

Forcing yourself to keep your steps slow and steady, you headed to your rooms. The steps behind you matched your pace, and your heartbeat picked up.

What was this torment? What was he doing?

Blessedly, you reached your rooms, opening the door with shaking hands. Stepping inside, you turned, finding yourself almost nose-to-nose with him.

“Lost your way, Prince Aemond?”

“I am exactly where I wish to be.” He watched you closely. “Well, maybe not exactly where I wish to be just yet.”

“Then I wish you luck in finding your way, good eve-”

He took your arm, pushing you inside and closing the door smoothly before taking your face in his hands. “I find myself craving your company, my lady.”

You couldn’t make yourself push him away. It was difficult enough to remain impassive when those hands you’d dreamed of were cradling your face so gently. “Your memory seems to be failing as well as your sense of direction, Your Highness, as I must repeat that I bear not the title of lady.”

His breath was warm on your lips as he pulled you closer. “And yet there are those who bear noble titles who are not entitled to them,” he mused, his eye roving over your mouth.

“I am sure I have no idea who you could possibly be referring to,” you replied, tired of the never-ending talk about your half brothers. In response, he smiled, almost gently, surprising you. Gentle was not a word you associated with Aemond. He was fire and fury wound tightly, ready to unleash, as he had earlier after Luke’s provocation. “Would you unhand me, I wish to go to bed.”

“A delightful suggestion.” He didn’t move. If anything, his fingertips had started to rub tiny circles high on your cheeks. You wondered if he was aware he was doing it.

“Alone.”

When he still didn’t remove his hands, you reached up to take them off your face, realizing too late that touching him was a dangerous idea. You placed your hands on top of his larger ones, and he immediately took your fingers in his, bringing them to his lips. You watched as that cruel mouth kissed the back of your fingers, taking each one in turn. “What is this, I wonder,” he murmured, switching to your other hand, “retribution? Punishment? I despise your brothers, their very existence is an insult to the realm, but the thought of you occupies my thoughts to distraction.”

“Prince Aemond, this is most improper,” you whispered, clinging to the last of your sanity. You had to stop this, stop him, and you nearly laughed at the thought of anyone, let alone you, stopping Aemond Targaryen.

“You know not the meaning of the word.”

“Please, Your Highness.”

He’d turned one of your hands over, and was now kissing the sensitive pads of your fingers. “Please . . . what?”

Each brush of his lips against your fingertips made fire spark inside you, and there was a heaviness low in your belly that was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Stop?” he asked, switching to the other hand, “or continue?”

“Please,” you managed, but could not make yourself say another word.

He stilled, and looked at you. “There are signs,” he said quietly, “when a woman’s desires are awakened. The breathing speeds up, the lips become redder,” he smirked, and brushed his thumb over your lower lip, “the skin warms and the pulse quickens.”

You became acutely aware of your breathing, of how overheated you felt, and summoned your will. “And what about men?”

His eyebrow rose at your question. “Much the same, except for one or two differences.” He brought your hand down until you felt your palm brush against something impossibly hard and warm.

You gasped, trying to pull your hand away, to no avail.

“Undeniable, hmm, the effect you have on me.” His eye was icy fire and you felt the smallest sliver of power begin to thread to you.

Foolish girl.

Ignoring your quickly disappearing sense of self-preservation, you flexed your fingertips, the tiniest movement, and felt him pulse against you. Aemond gasped, hips jerking against your hand.

More.

You squeezed gently, and this time he moaned, his free hand still cupping your face.

“Stop now, or I shall have my turn,” he whispered harshly. “Choose.”

You raised your chin, your eyes meeting his gaze, and slowly moved the backs of your fingers up and down his leather-covered length. Aemond made a low noise deep in his throat and pressed his forehead against yours. Before you could do it again, he swiftly grabbed your wrist and began walking you back toward the bed.

You stopped when you felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs. Still looking at him, you found the ties to his breeches, tugged on one.

“You will be my ruination.”

You grabbed the other tie. “Someone should be,” you replied, and tugged, letting the breeches become loose on his slim waist. Emboldened, you slipped your fingers into the waistband, feeling the muscles in his stomach tense at your touch. His skin was so warm and smooth, and you began to slide your palm up beneath the tunic he wore, fingertips tracing a map as you explored.

“The skin warms,” you murmured, and pressing your palm against his chest, felt the fast beating of his heart. “And the pulse quickens.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he pulled you in, mouth on yours, tongue demanding entrance. You gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The taste of him was unexpectedly sweet, with some dark spice you could not name. He placed a knee on the bed, pulling you with him to lay down in the center.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me you want this. I will not have you unwilling.”

“I am not unwilling,” you managed, dizzy from his kiss. “I want, I-”

“Name it, and you shall have it.”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly, “I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“Then I shall spend all night finding out.”

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 2 months

Text

Pretty Boy

Finally, I got this finished. I had hoped to get this posted about two days earlier but damn did ending it kick my ass six ways 'til Sunday. I also changed the title of this fic because I kept reading the old title and it didn't gel as well as it used to for me. It may be a bit generic in my eyes, but it works. Although I do like him, I feel like I'm not the best at imagining or summarizing what Warriors' character is like. I still tried my best and am satisfied enough with the result. Enjoy!

TW: Yandere themes, gore, blood, long and detailed descriptions of torture, slightly suggestive in certain parts, some self deprecation on Wars' part, Wars is pretty... fucked up

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Being pretty wasn’t easy- and Wars knew this well. Yes, you could be considered attractive, but that was so… surface level. Surface level was enough to make merchants a bit more lenient towards you, makes it easier to obtain gossip, and made making “friends” less tiresome. Walking the walk wasn’t the hard part of being pretty. It was the talk.

To be pretty, handsome, desirable, beautiful, and more, required work. It required proper etiquette and good habits. It required a level head and a pleasant attitude. It required a good handle on your emotions regardless the situation. It required all of this and more. If you failed at any of this, even for a moment, pretty could get ugly.

For the longest time, Wars believed himself to be good at staying pretty. He knew he was on the surface- he wouldn’t be teased by his brothers otherwise if he wasn’t. He was usually chosen to be the face of the group when it came to handling locals and gathering information. A handsome face and charming attitude was nicer to deal with than a rugged face or snarky personality. No offense to Time and… maybe some offense to Legend.

It was tiresome. Playing nice with others he would sooner prefer to ignore or even berate. Hero he may be, he never saw himself as the tried and true goody-goody type. Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to be that with his brothers. He could partake in stupid games such as who can smash the most pots in a minute or who can last the longest in a cucco pen. He could make all sorts of dirty and dark jokes and have laughter answer him instead of shocked faces and gasps. It was freeing to be around his brothers- to forgo the title of hero and just be him.

And then you came along.

It was an unwelcome adjustment, at first. At all times now did he have to put on the facade of being this charming and polished hero. He forced himself to come to your aid whenever you stumbled or struggled with the journey they were on. Came to your defense whenever one of his brothers would snap at you for making a rookie mistake. It was clockwork to him. But you, on the other hand, weren’t.

“Wars? Mind if I talk to you about something? Uhm, privately?” You ask as you approach him with a noticeable level of hesitancy. It peaked Wars’ curiosity by a tad but he was far from surprised. He was your regular confidant amidst the group, after all.

“Sure,” Wars agrees as he follows you a distance away from the group. He wondered what you wanted to tell him this time. Was Legend getting too snarky with you again? Was Time making your training too rough to handle? Maybe Wind played a prank on you that crossed a line? Or was it not related to them at all? Perhaps you were feeling homesick and just wanted to talk one on one or just wanted to confide in him about something personal?

“Could you just… stop?”

… Huh?

“Listen I… appreciate you for what you’re doing- truly, I do. But… you don’t have to force yourself to like me or make the others like me,” You sigh and face him with a complex expression. Displeasure was the emotion Wars could make out the clearest and it made him squirm more than he’d like to admit.

“I… what? I’m not sure I follow,” Wars replied robotically. “Could you elaborate on what you mean?”

“I think I’m being clear enough already,” You sigh again but it’s deeper this time and Wars only finds himself growing more jittery. Why? Why was that? Why was your displeasure with him suddenly so… bad? “Please, just… stop with the facade. I’d rather you dislike me, or even hate me, then be some kind of- of fake friend with me. It’s not nice.”

Wars was left gaping like a fish. Even as you grew more suspicious with his silence and eventually walked away because of it, Wars couldn’t even formulate a word. Why was this shaking him up so badly? It was an act, yes, but… was it really? Had he actually grown to like you? Perhaps he had… and Wars didn’t know how to feel about it.

The next few days were awkward, to say the least. You’d seek out help from anyone else and Wars didn’t pipe up once. The tension was not missed by his brothers, but they didn’t butt in to help. Honestly, some seemed to enjoy the fact that the spot by your side was now left open. It was a bitter pill to swallow when Wars noticed that. Why?

He fell back on his training as a knight in hopes it would help him. When wanting to learn about the target, one must observe. He gathered intel left, right, and center in hopes of quelling the rapids of unease in his chest. He asked pestered his brothers about you whenever he was one on one with them. He’d strategically place himself behind you when the group traveled so he could watch you without worry. The more he observed, the more he learned, made him only grow more confused and… yearn.

Why were you asking Twilight how to ride horses? He could teach you that! It was drilled into him when he was training to be a knight, so no need to turn to the ranch hand for help! Why were you pestering Time for stories? Wars was a captain during a time of war! He had many stories to tell you (the not so gruesome ones, of course) and they’d be just as interesting! And why were you wanting to go into town with Legend? He’s good with merchants too, y’know?!

The unease in his chest only grew each day. The rapids had turned into a tsunami and the waters grew murky with green. The snarling and biting sensation of his heart hurt- like a viper had seized it. These boiling and bubbling feelings were awful and gross and disgusting and ugly. Pay attention to me! Think of me! Come to me first! Ask for my help! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me look at me look at me look at me look at me look at me look at me look at me LOOK AT ME!

As his patience was about to run dry, Hylia finally threw him a bone.

When it came to espionage, Wars was almost always the first pick. It was obvious he was the best suited for it considering he bothered to take care of himself and had formal etiquette drilled into him like a screw. Though, this event he had to sneak into was different. Why? Because it was a couple’s event and by a stroke of luck, you were his partner for the night.

Even though the outfit and make-up you were dolled up in was basic, Wars felt flabbergasted. He was so used to you being slightly grimey and dirtied up like most of the others that he never realized what all was hiding underneath that. For the first time in what felt like years, his heart was floating along on crystal clear waters. Despite this mission being supposedly high risk, Wars couldn’t help but feel relaxed as he had your hand in his nearly the whole night. Having you cling to him and coo at him, no matter how fake, had him light headed. Not even a higher power would be able to rip his gaze from you. Not like they’d be any more divine than you were.

From that night onward, Wars knew his place beside you now. While he missed being your sole confidant, he couldn’t exactly complain about his new role. A role that allowed him to be privy to every detail about you. From your routines to your clothes to your diet to your habits and even to your body. He’s lived around a castle and royalty long enough to know how to be an attendant.

He had to start small and work his way up. Given that your relationship with him was still on slightly rocky waters, he had to be patient yet again. Suggestions on what to potentially wear or little tips about hygiene were a good start in his mind. Just words, no touching- yes, that’s fine for now. Far from what he fully wants, but it’s enough to tide him over in the beginning.

And then… hmm… would you mind if he did your hair, (Name)? Nothing too fancy- just wanting to make sure it’s being taken care of and there’s a new style he thinks you might like. It’s an even mix of practical and fashionable and he’s sure you’ll like it. Hmm? Oh no no no no no! He wasn’t smelling your hair he was worshiping it, he was just getting close to get a piece of fuzz out! That’s all!

Also, what do you think about wearing this tunic with this pair of pants? He thinks the colors look well together. If it’s not your style, how about a few other outfits he came up with? Perhaps… a good ol’ green tunic to top off this pair of brown pants? Maybe maroon with something more tan colored? How about something bright like yellow? Or… oh, you’d look good in royal blue. … Oh? Why was he doing that? Well, you complained about having to pick out an outfit at times so he thought he’d help you out! Besides, he knows you trust in his style! So… is it okay if he takes care of that for you now? Okay? Okay! Great! And, uhm… do you need help getting dressed? Well, you did twist your ankle a few days ago and he wants to make sure you don’t irritate it while getting dressed. A-Are you sure? Positive? Well, okay… he’ll be right outside while you change just in case you need help please.

Ah ah ah! Don’t you give him that look! Look at your hands, do you really think you should be gripping a spoon at the moment? More than half of the soup is ending up back in the bowl and all over you, so just let him help! He’ll make sure to blow on it so that it’s not too hot, he promises. He’ll also handle getting you seconds or even thirds- yes, thirds. You need meat on your bones just as much as the rest of them and you know Wild cooks as much as he can for dinner. Just remember to open wide and say ah~.

He knows, he knows- it’s cold. Just do your best to stay still for him, will you? Can’t have your pores staying gunked up for much longer or else you could break out or even get sick. Also, your face will just feel nicer once he’s done. He’ll be careful around your eyes and lips. Actually, speaking of lips, why don’t you try out this lip balm he’s been using. No no no, don’t swat his hands- he’s just making sure to apply the right about. And… hold on, just a little more… there! Don’t your lips feel much better now? Look at how plump and pink they are now! Pretty, yes? Please just let him kiss them.

Hey! Settle down, you’ll just make your injuries worse! Yes, yes, you’re a capable adult and can wash yourself but look at you! There aren’t any potions or fairies to spare and Hyrule just knocked himself out from using too much magic! Now, please… let him help. Please, it hurts him to see you hurting like this. He won’t wash anywhere you don’t want him to and he’ll make sure to be as gentle as possible when it comes to dressing your wounds. He promises. Cross his heart and hope to die.

So, yes…

He was very content with his new role.

But don’t think this praise is one sided- oh no. He expects you to praise him back. He needs you to. If you don’t… well, he doesn’t mean to be dramatic but he’s sure his heart would stop beating.

So, please, praise him. Yes, comb your hands through his hair and admire how soft it is. No no, he doesn’t care that he just styled it- he can always style it again. Do you like it? Do you want to try out the products he’s been using? Ah, the way your fingers massage and scratch at his scalp feel lovely. Do keep going- he really doesn’t mind.

Hm? Does his voice really sound that nice? It’s nothing much, really, just his natural accent mixed with the elegancy expected from someone of his rank and title. If you like it so much… would you like to listen to him narrate a few poems he wrote? He’s been meaning to proof read them, anyways. Proof reading is easier when done aloud and with someone else there to check his work. Don’t cut back on criticism or praise- he wants to hear all of it.

Woah! No, it’s okay! It’s okay, it’s okay! You didn’t mean to barge in on him and it’s not like he’s indecent- just shirtless. But, since you’re here… would you do him a favor? He’s been checking himself out- wanting to see if his new training regiment is doing him any good. Do his biceps look bigger than before? Are his abs more defined? What do you mean he could just look in the mirror? Those things add ten pounds, you know! Just spoil him a little, wouldn’t you? He wants to hear your opinion because it’s the only one that ever matters to him anymore. No matter what he thinks of himself anymore, it’s nothing compared to how you see him. He’s all beautiful and pretty and dolled up just for you. Tell him what to change, what to do, how to act and he’ll follow every order to a T. Whatever it takes for you to hold him and touch him like he’s the embodiment of luxury. Mold the clay of his person into a masterpiece and admire the art turned life before you. Please just treasure him even a fraction of how he treasures you.

This perfect balance he had achieved with you was what made him wake up in the morning- figuratively and literally. He was there for almost every step of your daily routine now. Big or small, he had some hand in it even if you didn’t realize it. He had worked out every minute detail to the point that he’s not suffocating but he’ll never be far either. He’s good at what he does and he knows it- you make sure he does. He never gets less than five words of praise a day and if you short him- unknowingly, of course, you’re not cruel not like her- then he just has to perform at 110% the next day. So…

“The swelling and redness isn’t going down. It’s clearly poison. From what, I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out as soon as possible and have someone pay for doing this to them.”

How could he have let this happen?

You laid prone in the inn’s bed looking like you had just had your face slammed into a nest of vengeful hornets. It was swollen beyond belief and too red. Wild was silent as he slowly spooned homemade porridge into your mouth. His long and unkempt hair cascaded down his shoulders and covered his face. Wars didn’t need to look Wild in the eye to know how he silently sobbed- he was no better, after all.

“Any idea as to what happened?” Hyrule’s question draws Wars out of his stupor. He looks over at the brunette with an empty gaze. Hyrule narrows his eyes and waits with hands on hips for Wars to answer. Seconds tick by and Wars makes no sound but ultimately shakes his head.

“How… how do you not know? You’re always by their side…” Wild quietly pipes up. He’s barely turned his head and Wars can see his red rimmed eyes staring straight through him. Sadness pools in them and rage makes it seem like his tears are about to start boiling as they fall down his cheeks. Wars understood Wild’s feelings because they were his own. The wild haired man seemed ready to pin the blame on Wars and pounce so he could let out his emotion. Wars didn’t know if he’d bother to defend himself.

“I can’t think of anyone who would want to do this. We haven’t pissed off anyone in town yet nor have they,” Hyrule sighs as he returns to your side. He lets a healing spell fall from his hands to bring you some comfort. The swelling and redness doesn’t fade a bit since whatever poisoned you was actively affecting you. You barely make a sound in reaction to Hyrule’s spell or Wild continuing to feed you. Could you even speak? Did you even register that they were there or was Wars illusioning himself into believing you were even smidge bit lucid?

The door to the room bursts open and Wars doesn’t have time to snap at the intruder until he’s being slammed against the wall. Rough hands close in on his throat with a crushing grip and Wars finds himself staring into the crazed eyes of Twilight. The larger man is huffing and puffing like a raging bull and sporting his abnormally sharp teeth. For a few tense moments, Twilight does nothing more than stare down Wars. Was he debating on strangling him or tearing into his neck with his fangs? Perhaps both given that Twilight was about to blow.

“You… you… did this,” Twilight accuses as he presses Wars against the wall even harder. The accusation chills Wars to the bone as he looks over to you. He felt like this was his fault anyways but… for him to actually be the one who harmed you? How? How was that possible?! He does everything he can to support you and comfort you! He would sooner cut off his own hands than let them bring you harm! So how… how could he… what did he…

Something is slapped against his face and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. As he coughs and sneezes, powder comes out. He swipes at his face to wipe off whatever Twilight had slapped onto him but it only seems to spread it more. A wet and cold towel is scrubbed against his skin as Hyrule jumps into action to save Wars from what is likely the supposed “poison”.

“Enough!” Hyrule yells as he stops cleaning Wars’ face. He looks over at Twilight with rage that had finally boiled over. “What the hell are you doing, Twilight?! What good are you trying to achieve by poisoning one of us?! Especially with (Name) in the room?!”

“It’s his fault!” Twilight snaps back. He picks up a round, blue container from the ground and nearly shoves it back in Wars’ face. Wars’ eye nearly fall out of their sockets when he recognizes what it is. “He bought this the other night and put it on their face this morning. When I was looking through (Name)’s belongings to find what may have poisoned them, the stench of this powder caught my attention. I don’t know what it is but it smelled rancid.”

“Foundation…” Wars croaks out as he stares at the container and the powder on himself. “It… it was supposed to be foundation. I bought it the other night from a cosmetic merchant. I looked through their wares and- and all of it seemed well made and luxurious. I-It was supposed to be a gift and… and they loved it. I put it on their face this morning and it went on so nicely and they looked so lovely and… and… and then…”

Wars sinks to the floor with a choked sob. He shakes and crawls over to your bedside with his eyes trained on your poor face the whole time. He can see you try to look over at him past the swollen lids of your eyes but he doubts you can see much at all. He wants to reach out to you and comfort you through the pain. To caress your face and whisper sweet words. To pepper gentle kisses across your skin while he murmurs out his adoration but he can’t. He’s tainted by the very thing that harms you now. He bought and handed you the very poison that swells and reds your skin. He recalls how you trusted him- like you always do- when he applied your make up this morning. And now look at you- look at what he’s done to you.

He’s pulled away from you by the collar of his shirt and nearly dragged out of the room. Twilight forces him to his feet and looks him dead in the eye. Although he’s had his outburst, his eyes are still simmering with anger. Wars can hear heavy footsteps echo behind him before Time comes into view. He looks over Twilight’s shoulder and gives Wars his own stoney scowl with both eyes open perhaps a sign to Wars that he was also angry about what happened.

“Legend is currently isolating the offender away from the town. You are to meet him at the appointed place and take over from there. The poor bastard’s fate is going to be in your hands and when I come to check in on you within three hours, I better find that you’ve dealt him due punishment. I’ll let your imagination run wild with the possibilities of what will be done to you should you not meet my expectations. Understood?” Time tsked. His look and tone made it clear that this order might as well be regarded as law.

“Yes sir,” Warriors nodded. He straightened up and dusted himself up. Slowly, training was taking over him and seeping into every fiber of his being as he marched out of the building. He carried himself with purpose as he walked to where Legend was supposedly waiting for him. Crowds parted to let the man through as it was clear he was on a mission and the malice that seeped off of him was enough to make even the guards look the other way.

The well paved roads of the town quickly turned into nothing more than well trodded dirt pebbled with rocks and gravel. After more walking, moss and more overgrowth overtook the ground. Wars had to give it to the Veteran- he was good when it came to preparation. He had likely dragged the man off to a secluded area far enough away from town that no one could hear any screams. He also imagined that the Vet had picked out a secluded area that would be hard to see and get to.

“Fucking finally…” came the tired groan of a bored Legend as he emerged from the tree line. He may have put on a good poker face of being nothing more than annoyed, but Wars could easily see through it. Eyes were the window to the soul, after all, and Legend was positively burning. “I’ve gotten tired of listening to the bastard whimper and cry. Be lucky that I had the patience and benevolence to save him for you.”

“I’m more surprised than anything, Legend. The fact that you’re not jumping at me and trying to tear me a new one is a little… off putting,” Wars huffed. Legend only grins at the man and approaches him with a saunter. He claps a hand onto Wars’ shoulder and leers up at the captain.

“Oh, I wanted to and I still very much want to right now. But, then, I got to thinking about how you’re now here and not beside them like some sort of dog on a leash. Hyrule trusts me greatly so there’s no doubt in my mind that I can be at their side for hours on end without interruption. Given what you did to them- and I do plan to tell them everything- they’ll surely appreciate me being there instead of you, don’tcha think? I always thought I looked better beside them than you ever did. After today, I’m sure they’ll agree,” Legend provokes as he smiles snarls at Wars. It takes every shred of willpower Wars can spare to not deck Legend in the face right then and there. Legend obviously notices the barely masked rage and laughs. He gives Wars a pat on the back and struts off while whistling.

Wars stalks down the slope Legend had come from before dropping down a small ledge. His boots squelched as they sunk into the thick moss of the cave floor. In the very back, illuminated by a few lanterns, sat the perp. He was bound up to a wooden chair thanks to thick strands of rope and chains. He was gagged but not blindfolded. His gaze met Wars and, for a fraction of a second, he seemed relieved- as if he expected Wars to be his savior. Naturally, these delusions were dismissed the moment the bound man caught a glimpse of Wars’ ice cold scowl and clear look of intent.

Instead of immediately lashing out at the merchant, Wars observes what tools he’s been left to work with: A pair of shears, some rusty knives, a bottle of green and viscous liquid, and a few rods of metal. Of course Legend wouldn’t leave him with anything good. The thing that Wars seemed to have the most hope in was that bottle of liquid but that could be saved for later. Save the best for last and all that…

“What shall I start with first? Something small, of course, but nonetheless painful. Can’t have you dying too soon, can we?” Wars sighed in annoyance as he combed a hand through his hair. After some contemplation, he picked up the pair of shears and directed them to the merchants hands. “Let’s get rid of those pesky fingers, shall we? I think that would be a lovely place to start.”

With anger fueling him and well defined muscle lining his arms, chopping through each finger didn’t require much more effort than chopping carrots did. It sounded rather similar to it too, just with a bit more snap. Wars took his time too- bothering to get the bladed edges of the shears comfortable against each joint before he slammed a hand down on the handle. Despite his control and technique, the process still went by too quickly for Wars.

Putting the shears to the side for the moment, Wars armed himself with one of the rusted over knifes. The blade was so dull that it likely couldn’t even cut butter but Wars would make it work. He brought the knife to the man’s arm and began to cut against it with a sawing motion. It took a few back and forth motions for the skin to finally give in but Wars stopped the second that happened. He moved the blade over by a hairs length and began again. With each cut made, he would move the blade over and begin to slice again.

Were Wars a naturally more savage man, he would have caved into his rage and pummeled the sinner into broken bones and gore the second he was left along with him. It sounded tempting, he wouldn’t lie, but this felt much better to him. The slow increase of pain and letting the man before him hang on a thread for however long he allowed was much more soothing to him. Death by a thousand cuts would take awhile but awhile was something Wars didn’t exactly have and it would be too lenient in Time’s eyes.

Wars’ next pick were the metal rods. He grabbed the heaviest and thickest of them all and tested the weight of it in his hand. Once he had a sure grip, he wasted no time in introducing it to the merchant’s knees. Over and over and over and over and over again did Wars slam the makeshift weapon into the sinner’s kneecaps. Only once he heard and felt each knee pop and crack below his blows did Wars move on. In a single, powerful strike, Wars hit the man across the face with the rod and broke his nose.

The damage he’s done so far was good but not enough. The man was barely lucid anymore- overwhelmed by pain and bloodloss. The idea of removing his gag and listening to him plead for a few minutes was now out of the question. Were Wars not so limited on tools and too clouded by emotion, he was sure he could do a lot more.

Arming himself with the knives once again, Wars finally began to stab him. It wasn’t relentless and wild, but calculated. He wanted each stab wound to not be overlapped by another so he could count each one at the end of this all. Given the poor state of his equipment, the knives were quick to bend after about ten stabs each. Once the blade of each knife had bent, Wars turned back to his trusty shears to continue the job. He made sure no inch of skin was left untouched by his rage. Even once he felt like he had gotten to each part of the man possible, he untied him from the chair and flopped him down onto the ground to get to his back. He was long since dead by now, but that wasn’t going to stop Wars.

The minutes trickled on by as Wars continued his work. He grew sweaty and his arms ached but he refused to rest. With his hands slick from blood and sweat, his palms sliced across the blade of his shears more than once as the metal refused to stay steady in his grip. It stung but it was a welcome sting- it brought him away from the monotony of his actions.

“I see you’ve done well to keep yourself busy,” Time’s voice muses and it jolts Wars away from his actions. He stands up and greets the older man with a curt nod before stepping away from the body. He lets Time get a good look at the corpse and hopes that it’s up to the man’s liking. Time also looks at the bloody and/ or broken tools Wars had used. He merely hummed and picked up the bottle that Wars had forgotten about.

“How are they?” Wars asks as he discards his shears.

“Better. Their face isn’t fully red and swollen anymore, but it’s patchy and sensitive. A welcome improvement but still a sight none of us like to see,” Time replies. He uncorks the glass bottle and tips it over. The thick liquids falls out in blobs and seeps into the open wounds of the corpse. It takes Wars a moment to realize that it wasn’t some sort of acid like he had originally suspected. Instead, it was a juvenile chu chu. Good thing Wars didn’t use it or else he’d have nothing to show Time.

“That’s good to hear. Any idea when they’ll be fully recovered?” Wars inquires further.

“They should be mostly healed up in about two days, but Hyrule recommended to not have them wear anything on their face for about a week,” Time answers as he discards the bottle. He glares down once more at the body before looking back up at Wars and gives him a curt nod. “Not bad for what you had. It’ll do.”

With Time’s approval, Wars lets his shoulders sag and a breath of relief leaves him. He follows the older hero out of the cave and away from the scene. Wars tears off a few strips of cloth from his shirt to cover his bleeding hands as a makeshift bandage. He’d heal them up once back with the rest of the group. He’d also have to remember to get a change of clothes as his were very wet and very red.

He paid minimal attention to his brothers when he returned back to the inn. He fell back onto his routine to get cleaned up. He rushed at certain parts when he remembered that you were nearby and potentially hopefully waiting for him. Once he had triple checked himself and made sure no blood or poison still clung to him, he snuck over to your room. Realistically, you’d be sleeping but even getting a glimpse of your relaxed face would be far better than the pain you were in earlier.

“Warriors?” Oh… you were up.

With the face of a man caught red handed, Wars stopped trying to sneak into the room. He was still quiet as not to disrupt the peaceful air nor to alert his brothers that currently laid sleeping rooms over.

“Yes?” Wars whispered as he sat down on the chair at you bedside. It held some residual warmth, so whoever had accompanied you earlier hadn’t been gone long. If Wars had to guess, he would be all in on it being Legend.

“Where have you been? I vaguely remember you and Hyrule and… Twilight, I think? Getting into an argument earlier. I think I feel asleep and then woke up with Legend beside me…” You recount. Wars feels his heart drop to chest despite having the Vet tell him what he planned on doing.

“I’m sorry,” Wars apologies quietly as his shaking hands reach out to grab your own. He pulls them in close and presses a gentle kiss to both knuckles and palms. “I’m- I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” You sigh and Wars shakes his head. No, no you couldn’t forgive him for this. He hurt you- he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. But, then… that wouldn’t exactly be you then, would it? You always forgave them for what they did, whether or not you knew the full extent of it. You always forgave them and never stopped loving them which only made Wars’ heart clench and hurt more in the moment. Even with your face starting to look like you once again, he could still make out the residual damage done.

A hand cards its ways through Wars’ hair and massages the back of his neck. With a small grunt, Wars leans over and rests his head against your chest. He believed you should sooner be slapping him than caressing him, but he wasn’t going to argue. You were stubborn as a mule and who was he to go against your word and decisions?

“It’s okay, Link. You didn’t mean for this to happen so don’t go blaming yourself,” You coo as you continue to love on him. Hearing his name fall from your lips never failed to make him shiver and feel so vulnerable. It was such a wonderful and liberating feeling- to be the apple in your eye. Although he felt rotten and worm infested to the core, you still held him and admired him like he was ruby red and ripe from the tree. To be loved for both his pretty and ugly sides meant more to him than he could ever convey. He just hoped that, in all the he did, you would have an inkling of an idea of this.

“Look at me?”

The order was so tender and mild that he felt like it was sooner addressed to a babe and not him. Nonetheless, Wars didn’t hesitate to lift his head up and look at you. In the depths of your pupils could he see his reflection. His hair was unkempt and ruffled up by you hands. His thick lashes were misted by tears and his ocean blue eyes wobbled as he held your gaze. His skin was clean and cleared of any concealer so every pore and flaw were visible. Even in this state, he watched your eyes soften and crinkle into something so warm and sweet that made him feel like this was his most stunning moments yet.

“My pretty boy…” You whispered as you held his head his heart, his soul, his very ambition and will to live in your hand.

“Yes…” Wars croaked as he nuzzled against the silky skin of your palm. It was in these tender moments did Wars finally understand what salvation meant. “Your pretty boy… pretty just for you.”

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #Yandere lu #Yandere lu x reader #yandere lu warriors #yandere lu warriors x reader

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katabay · 3 months

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CLOSED!

🍎 LINK TO THE POSES

🍎 LINK TO THE DECORATIONS

the way this works!

so the deal with vending machine commissions is that they're lower in price because they're on a smaller canvas size (7x9in as opposed to 10x15in) and because they have a specific visual theme/creative limitations!

email me at [email protected] with something like 'vending machine commission' in the subject, tell me the elements you want, and also the characters! I'll email you back confirming it all, and then send you an invoice! (this email here is not my paypal email, so do not send money ahead of time, I will be using invoices)

if you want to tell me about the mood you have in mind, I'd love to hear it! yearning, playful, flirty, etc. additionally, if you have OCs, visual references are a huge help, even just face claims of actors.

I will check in once while I work on these, just so that you can see the direction it's heading in and give you an ETA on when it'll be done! unlike regular commissions, which are a lot more collaborative and have weekly check-ins, these are specific in nature, they're meant to invoke a specific type of illustration visual :)

a note on the poses: these are basically bases for me to reference. smaller adjustments to the poses will be made based on the characters, the tone of the interaction, etc. feel free to request your characters kissing, by the way! but also please only do this if the pose you picked has made it anatomically possible, the neck can only twist so much. you may not request a pose that isn't in the folder.

THESE ARE FOR PERSONAL/PRIVATE USE ONLY these prices are for private commissions only (so you can get it printed, use it for holiday cards to send to your friends or whatever, but commercial usage is a hard no)

these will be available until the end of feburary!

#i may bring this back for the summer but i want to do some other vending machine type commissions too #katabay does commissions

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bunnakit · 3 months

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soooo i decided to make us a little community server. i love my little private group so much and i've recently met so many more amazing people it just kind of made sense to make something a little more public. i totally understand not everyone likes being in servers, may be shy, etc. but it's here for anyone that may want to hang out!

there will probably be some growing pains, i spent hours last night setting things up but i can't guarantee it'll all function perfectly, it is discord after all, so if anything needs to be adjusted you can definitely let me know!

please reblog if you feel so inclined to spread it around

#bl fandom #bl drama #discord community #thai bl #taiwanese bl #korean bl #japanese bl #thai gl #gl drama #japanese gl #gl series

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pimosworld · 11 months

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Like nobody’s watching

Marc Spector x f!reader x Jake Lockley x Steven Grant

Summary- Marc comes home to your private dance and decides to join your intimate moment.

CW-NSFW,18+ MDNI, explicit, strip tease,lap dance,cursing,fluff,smut, dry humping,unprotected piv,fingering,piv cream pie, soft dom Marc

WC-2.3k

A/N- I know the pic isn’t Marc but we needed a chair for inspo. I will link a playlist below as a suggestion for the strip tease/lap dance. But you can certainly use your imagination.

Not beta read

Like nobody’s watching playlist

You used to dance alone when you were stressed. The way the music made you feel just made all the worries in the world float away. It’s so freeing, letting your body do what it wants, you don’t have to think about what you look like or where your feet go or if you look ridiculous. Alone in your own home when the stress of life got too heavy,you would dance.

Now you find yourself dancing for a very different reason. Alone in your boyfriend's flat, you’ve never been happier in your life. They were supposed to be gone on a mission for khonshu for another day or two, something that used to worry you but over time you got used to it. They would always come home, usually in one piece. Before they left on this latest mission they asked you to move in. Marc and Jake wanted to wait until they got back to ask but poor Steven couldn’t contain himself the night before they left and blurted it out after you’d spent hours making love.

Move in with me…?

Your hazy state and look of utter confusion had him worried.

Umm…move in with us? That's if you want to,of course you don’t have to.

Jesus hermaño give her a minute she doesn’t know which way is up.

Of course you said yes once you regained your bearings. The four of you agreed to let you stay while they were gone and then would move your stuff when they got back.

That’s how you find yourself in Marc’s shirt dancing in front of the couch without a care in the world. The orange hue casting the last of daylight among the flat is so calming and romantic. The scent of him overwhelms you as you’re lost in the music swaying your hips to the beat.

Marc is running on autopilot, the missions weren’t always this hard but sometimes khonshu had more than normal demands being that he was a god. He took over the body hours ago knowing Jake bore the brunt of the dirty work and Steven was still getting used to all this and he didn’t want to overwhelm him. He could hear the faint sound of music coming from his flat as he searched for his keys. An unfamiliar warmth pooled in his belly, he’s never come home from a mission with you here. They finished a few days early and he didn’t think to let you know first. He hasn’t had to communicate like this since Layla. He made a mental note to work on that.

He’s grateful you don’t hear the rustling of the keys or the door open albeit unsafe as he enters the flat he sees you. Bathing in the sunset light cast across the flat, wearing just his shirt and Stevens ridiculous socks, you’re floating around and he swears he could die happy at this very moment. To see you so comfortable and carefree in their your home. He feels something else building as you raise your hands above your head and sway your hips revealing the curve of your ass and those pink booty shorts he loved so much. You still don’t notice him leaning against the door as he palms his jeans to adjust the growing bulge in his pants.

You don’t know what’s got you feeling so bold, maybe the half a bottle of wine you had to yourself. You start to wonder what they would do if they were here. Would you dance for them? Would they think it’s silly? You start to slide your fingers up the side of Marc's shirt pretending you’re doing a strip tease, you can feel the heat pooling between your legs at your sudden surge of confidence. Just as you begin to lift your shirt over your head you hear the screech of the wooden dining chair.

You’re frozen to the spot, the only sound you can hear over the music is your heart beating wildly in your chest. You don’t dare turn around for fear of what might be behind you. You’re not sure at this moment why people always say fight or flight when there’s always the third option of freeze. As the song fades out you turn slowly in your spot, you’re met with the piercing gaze of your boyfriend sitting in the chair with a smug grin on his face. His dark eyes bore into you and the obvious erection in his pants tells you he’s been watching for awhile.

A million emotions flood you at once in what feels like minutes but is only a matter of seconds. Relief that you’re not about to die, embarrassed at your current state, upset that they didn’t tell you they would be home early. None of that really matters in this moment as he states you down like a lion stalking his prey. Is it Marc or Jake? You don’t dare ask, you’ll just wait for an obvious tell. As the next song cues up he reaches for the half-drunk bottle of wine and downs it in three gulps wiping the excess off his chin with the back of his hand. That didn’t help at all.

“I didn’t tell you to stop sweetheart.”

“Hi Marc.” Your voice comes out half cracked and you clear your throat awkwardly. You haven’t spoken in hours, seeing as though you were alone.

He chuckles dark and low, sending a shiver down your spine and a tingling in your core. “You know Jake wouldn’t have stood in that doorway for as long as I did, and he definitely wouldn’t be sitting in this chair.” Those things are all true but you couldn’t think straight after being caught so vulnerable.

“Continue.” You know it’s not a question, you were already imagining doing this when you were alone. He obviously doesn’t think you look silly and the thought of him watching you gives you the push you needed. You turn around to face away from him as you begin to sway your hips again to the music.

Marc was feeling bold when he saw you dancing, as you started to undress he felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Yes this was his home but he was just standing there like a creep and had yet to make his presence known. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed or startle you, I’ll just have a seat.

The sound of the chair causes you to freeze as you slowly turn around; he can tell you’re studying his movements. He certainly had his differences from Jake but physically they were the most alike. At this moment you’re not thinking straight, it’s so obviously not Jake but he scared you so he can’t fault you. He sees the half empty bottle of wine on the table and decides to level the playing field.

You’re still staring like a deer in headlights and he wants to make you squirm but he was the one that came home unannounced after all. The less time he takes to reveal himself the more time he will have with you. He’s hoping you’re feeling relaxed enough to not turn down his proposition. As you turn around he thinks he may have gone too far but you start to whine your hips again as if you’re the only one in the room.

You slowly start to lift the shirt above your head but decide to stop again. You want to draw this out and make it memorable. You turn to face him again and drop to your knees as you start to crawl towards him. You would feel ridiculous in this moment if not for the way his chest was rising and falling. You settle in front of him and place a hand on each knee, you run your fingers along his muscular thighs as you feel him tense beneath your grip. As you drag your body up his legs the friction of his rough jeans through the shirt makes your nipples hard.

The music and the wine coursing through your veins is giving you a confidence you never knew you had. You straddle his hips as you tilt his head back, dancing just above where he wants you. You sink your hips down onto his cock strained through his jeans and give an experimental roll eliciting a moan from deep within him. The eye contact is sensual and intimidating all at once. You’re leaking through your panties for sure leaving a wet spot on his jeans. You give another roll of your hips as he bucks up to meet yours and his jeans catch your clit, the wanted friction causing a whimper to leave your mouth.

He smirks knowing you’ve lost some of the control you had over him and grips your waist tight with his hands as he brings you down again rocking you back and forth. He can tell you’re chasing the high as you bury your head in the crook of his neck, soft whimpers of his name leaving your mouth.

“Come on baby I know you can come like this.” He says breathlessly in your ear.

No this is not how this was supposed to go.

You smack his hands and will yourself to stop as you catch your breath.“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself I’ll have to stop. You wouldn’t want that now would you?”

He looks up at you wide eyed as he shakes his head. He’s never been so upset and turned on at the same time. He’s aching for release but you’ve never looked so beautiful and confident as you are right now. You both know he’s stronger than you but this need to submit has him reeling. This must be why Steven loves when you take control. You’re looking at him inquisitively and he’s wondering if you asked him something.

“Words.” He suddenly remembers and it's not a question.

“No…please don’t stop, I can keep my hands to myself.”

You take off your shirt and throw it to the side, you watch his pupils blow wide at your lack of bra and see him fighting to keep his hands at his side. You clasp your hands behind his head and play with the curls at the base of his neck. You raise your body from his lap and draw your breast up his face, dragging your pert nipple along his bottom lip. He opens his mouth slightly and lets out a ragged breath. The hot air in contrast to the cool flat causes goosebumps to raise on your skin.

You slide off his lap and drag your teeth along his clothed erection on the way down, you watch as his mouth drops open and his hands white knuckle the chair beneath him. You take off his shoes and begin to work on his belt, he hastily helps you discard his jeans and boxers in one fail swoop and all but rips his shirt taking it off. His thick cock is leaking and angry and his resolve is quickly fading as he takes deep steady breaths.

You sit in his lap again facing away from him. Your thighs straddle his and you can feel the weight of him on your back.

“You can touch me now.” You’re breathless and you can’t hold out any longer. A gasp escapes your lips as he rips your panties as if they were made of paper.

“You better let them have a turn when I’m done, they’ve been very impatient.” He growls into your ear.

“Wha-.” He doesn’t give you a moment to finish as he lifts you and guides you down on his thick cock setting a brutal pace. The pain gives way to pleasure and all you can do is hold on for dear life as he bounces you on his lap over and over.

“Is this what you thought about when I was gone?”

You can’t think let alone answer as the sounds of your pussy slamming down on his length fill the flat. He pulls your hair causing you to arch your back, his pace doesn’t falter as his hips thrust up to meet yours. You’re whining and moaning incoherent chants of his name.

“Answer me.”

“Oh fuck…yes.” You clench down on him as your orgasm steadily approaches, his cock throbs and you can feel his thrusts growing erratic.

“You're gonna come with me baby.” He’s panting in your ear as he reaches around to rub slow circles on your clit.

“Marc…please.”

“Shhh, you’ve been such a good girl taking my cock so well. I’ll tell Jake to take it easy on you.” He chuckles in your ear knowing Jake would never do that.

His thumb quickly circles your bundle of nerves and you can feel yourself coming undone as he drags you back and forth on his thick length. You reach forward and gently stroke his balls,pressing your thumb to the base of his cock. He comes with a shout as he shoots hot ropes of cum into your walls, he’s relentless on your clit as your vision goes white and you’re screaming his name.

His arms are wrapped tight around you as you collapse into his chest, both of you trying to catch your breath. His soft kisses to your neck help you steadily come back to your body. He’s still hard inside you as your cunt flutters, dripping his spend onto the chair beneath you.

“You’re perfect,you know that right?” As if this man isn’t aware of how perfect he is, you give his arm a reassuring squeeze and drop your head back to place a kiss on his cheek.

Aren’t you glad I asked her to move in early?

Sí hermano

He’s somehow still hard but the mess between your legs is evident. You start to lift off him when a strong hand lightly wraps around your throat. His cock throbs and soft whimper leaves your lips.

“Princessa…es hora de mi baile.”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

@bobfloydluvsblackwomen

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight smut #marc spector smut #moon knight x reader #marc spector #oscar isaac #marc spector x fem!reader #moonknight fic

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billthedrake · 6 months

Text

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS (PART TWO)

I pulled up at Coach Stanley's house around 2:30. I had on a parka, which I bundled tight over my T-shirt as I walked up his yard. It was cold out and overcast, the kind of whether where you expect it to snow any minute.

Ed was standing out on his front porch to greet me and was apparently thinking the same thing. "Think we're getting a white Christmas, Russ?" he asked as he watched me walk up his driveway. Coach's place was at the end of a dead end street and while not 100 percent private, maybe he didn't have to worry what it would look like having a former student coming over on Christmas day.

"Can't remember the last one we had, Coach," I said as I stepped up to the patio and wiped my feet on the mat. I was enjoying how friendly and conversational the dynamic was between us. This could have been awkward as hell, but it was like this man was committed to make me feel comfortable.

I paused at the door and saw a smirk on his face and with it, a look of clear lust. He wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss him right then and there, but instead he ushered me inside.

He was more dressed up than last I saw him, more in that button-down and khakis look I remember from the classroom. And that gold chain glinting from beneath the collar. He was hot as hell.

"Come in," he offered.

The inside was nice and warm, and I quickly took off my coat. I felt my heart pound. We hadn't made any real specific plans but I'd talked to him quickly and said I was free that afternoon and evening, if he was interested in spending some time together again. He was, barely concealing his excitement.

I could see his chest rise and fall some as he watched me set down my coat on a chair. "Good to see you, Russ," he said. "Thanks for calling."

I shot him a grin. I'm not 100 percent confident with guys, but something about Ed Stanley's bull-in-the-china-shop shyness made me feel like the more experienced one. "I'll admit I've been thinking about you a lot the last few days," I said.

The made him smirk and step up to me. In an I'm-gonna-kiss-you kind of move. "Is that right? I'm glad." His hands reached out and rested on my waist, almost pulling himself toward me as much as pulling me toward him. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christm..." I started until his lips cut me off. There was that soft tongue again, smoothly teasing and parting my lips, then touching my own. His mouth tasted a little bit of toothpaste and mouthwash and I could smell his aftershave. Heat emanated off his body, too, and I realized I was still a little cold from outside.

Maybe that's why I pressed into his embrace more. Or maybe I was just horny. Either way, Ed Stanley felt good, real good next to me.

Coach S had almost a dreamy expression on his masculine face when he broke the kiss. Almost lazily he reached up and ran his fingers along my torso, feeling up the leaner muscle beneath my long-sleeve T. "You know I like to take things slow, right, Russ?"

I reached down and rearranged the boner in my jeans. "Man you're killing me here, Coach," I teased, and Coach laughed.

"You didn't let me finish," he said, and I could see a playful smile as he reached down to adjust his own hardon. He walked over to the couch and patted me to sit down next to him. It felt cozier and homier now that the tree was up and fully lit. Or maybe it was the holiday spirit.

I sat down and Coach extended his arm for me to scoot closer. Even if I was taller, it felt nice to have his strong forearm draped over my shoulder. He gave me a peck and I felt the soft bristle of his beard before he pulled back.

"I was gonna say..." His blue eyes seemed deeper and almost darker in closer close up, the tree's twinkling lights and the dim outdoor illumination giving a dark sea look to them. He seemed almost nervous now. "I don't know what you're into, Russ, but I'd love to fuck you."

My heart pounded. "I'd like that Ed," I said. Then, "I wasn't sure what your deal was."

He smirked and ran his free hand along the front of my chest again. I loved his touch. "The deal is.... I have a very attractive man with me, and I've been thinking a lot how I wish I'd gone the next step with you on Saturday."

My voice cracked. "I've been thinking about that, too."

Ed's voice got huskier. "That would be an amazing gift, Russ," he said. I felt him pull me toward him and we were kissing once more.

I tried to match his skill, or at least his approach, with making out. And I ran my own fingers along his button-down shirt, feeling his hard body beneath it. This guy was such a crazy hunk, he could bed just about anybody, I figured. I was the right man at the right time.

We got deeper into the kiss. Not too fast, but definitely going past that soft, slow phase. I undid one of Coach's shirt buttons and slipped my hands into the opening, feeling up the soft fur and warm bulk beneath. Stanley let me feel him up before finally pulling back and undoing the rest of the buttons.

I greedily watched then even more greedily ran my fingers along his exposed chest. He let out a deep, mellow giggle "You like?"

I nodded. "Yeah, totally." I looked up into his handsome face. Coach S was always an authority figure for me but wasn't THAT much older than me. He still had some of that youthfulness ot his looks. "I think maybe it's a little bit of a fetish for me, actually."

"What?" he asked. "The chest?"

I ran my hand up to touch his nipples. Ed had amazing nipples. "Yeah, I'm a chest guy. But the open shirt thing, too. I don't know if I even realized it, but it pushes my buttons."

He gave me an encouraging look and said softly. "I'm glad, Russ." His tone got deeper and softer. "I like turning you on."

I laughed, unable to stop feeling him up. "You have no idea."

He didn't say anything, but instead reached down and started undoing his belt, then unbuttoning his khakis. I decided I liked seeing the horny side of Ed Stanley.

He reached in and hauled out his hard dick. Firm, meaty, not too big. He leaned back now in the sofa, his arms spread and the shift flaps pulled apart. His prick stood up into a full rigid position. His eyes were intense even if he was silent now.

I leaned over and started taking him into my mouth. I felt better at this now, since the angle was better than last time. I focused on the first few inches, up and down, slowly but surely, before working more of him deeper into my throat.

The second I went deep I heard Ed let out a soft deep grunt and felt his fingers run through my hair. "Oh man, Russ. Fuck... that's so beautiful."

I knew he was watching me blow him, and that just encouraged me to do my best. I worked him for another half minute and could feel his excitement. As I pulled off some and slowed my sucking, I could taste the salty precum.

"You getting close?" I asked, pulling all the way off.

He looked down and nodded, a puppy dog expression on his handsome bearded face. "Fraid so, bud."

I smiled, happy I'd given him that pleasure. If he hadn't mentioned fucking, I would have happily blown him to completion. But now, I kissed along his taut abdomen and up his furry chest. His fingers resumed stroking my hair as I did, until I made my way up to kiss him once more, leading Ed to wrap his palm around the nape of my neck to hold me steady as our tongues wrestled.

"Damn," he whispered when I finally pulled back.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You know, you're the best kisser I've ever met."

He cocked a grin. "There been a lot, Russ?"

"My share," I replied. "Nothing crazy."

He seemed to respect my answer. "You have experience bottoming?"

"With a couple of boyfriends, yeah," I answered. I now leaned back, as much to relieve the tightness in my crotch by spreading my legs as anything. I blushed now. "I don't know how to bring this up tactfully," I said. "But I usually do some preparation before I do."

Ed smirked. "I may have some supplies in the master bathroom for just that."

"You may, huh?" I laughed. This was a man of surprises.

He shrugged. "Call me an optimist."

"OK, Mr. Optimist," I said.

"God, you're so sexy, Russ," Ed said and scooted back toward me for a kiss. We made out again, and Coach S guided me back down to the sofa. I liked that he wasn't rushing it. It had actually been nine months or so since I'd bottomed, and I felt a little out of practice. Holding on to Ed's thick, fit body and being beneath him was getting me turned on and more assured.

By now his shirt was untucked and I was able to run my hands all over his strong back as he humped into me. Still in his khakis, me still clothed. This guy was unlike anyone I'd been with.

Finally he pulled off with a lusty look. "All right, bud... you feel up for getting ready?"

"Yeah," I said.

I watched him raise his body off the couch, his khakis still open and his dick still rock hard and sticking out. He offered a hand to help me up.

"Stuff's under the sink and there's a bath towel on the shelf. Make yourself at home," he offered.

In all of my mental holiday bingo cards, I never had being in Coach Stanley's bathroom cleaning myself out to be one of the options. But here I was.

I showered off and took one last look in the mirror. Maybe like a lot of gay guys my age, I was able to be both conceited about my youthful looks and deep-down insecure about my body. But Stanley seemed into it, so I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

I'd lost my hardon and the urgency of my sexual excitement, but the sight in front of me had my cock filling out quickly. Ed Stanley was lying back on his bed with a fully hard prick, naked except for his open dress shirt and that gold chain.

"Whoa!" I said, my dick bouncing up to rigidity with each step toward the bed.

"I decided to keep the shirt on. You seemed to like it."

"Hell yes," I said, climbing up on the bed and positioning my naked body above his half reclined one. "You must think I'm silly," I said.

He laughed. "I'm pretty naive in some things, but teachers have a pretty good idea when students have the hots for them."

I settled against his furry body and felt his strong hands land on my ass. "Did you have the hots for me, too?" I asked. It was a question that had been in the back of my mind since Saturday.

"Truth?" he asked. "I always that you were incredibly cute, but no I never had the hots for you. Not till I ran into you..."

Our mouths met. Any hesitation I had about giving my ass to Coach Stanley was way out the window. I was turned on like mad, but more than that I just wanted to give him this.

It was my turn to hump into him as he held me and matched the ferocity of my kiss. For a man with the smooth moves, he seemed happy to switch gears. Before long, I felt his fingers work deeper into my crack and play with my still shower-damp hole.

"Hmmph," I muttered into our kiss. When I broke, I actually laughed.

"What?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.

I shook my head. "I guess I'm getting my head around you being aggressive in bed."

"Too much?" he asked. "We don't gotta, Russ." I could see a real lust in his blue eyes but to his credit he was giving me an out.

"Nah, not too much," I replied.

"Good," he growled and with a surprise move, he used his superior strength to maneuver and flip up over, so I was on my back and he was above me. And just as quickly his lips were attacking my neck, licking and kissing. Stanley was a sensual lover, very different from the men I'd been with before. My dick was rock hard and dripping against his stomach fur as his mouth sought mine out one more time.

"Fuck!" he muttered, breaking the kiss and already kissing his way down my body. Down my sternum, over my six pack and then licking my cock. "You got a big dick, Russ," he muttered.

I felt so outmanned by this stud, so it felt nice to be bringing something to the table. Not that dick size mattered much for me, but Ed seemed into my prick as he pulled it up and examined it before licking its length again.

"Tell me if you get close," he said, then began swallowing.

I knew Coach S hadn't had any dick sucking practice in the last few days, but this BJ was a lot better than the prior one. Maybe he was just less nervous and more into it. My quick trigger wasn't kicking in, but after a minute I had to tap his shoulder. "Coach...."

He spit my out and started tonguing my balls. Normally I don't crave that sensation, but I loved the sweet torture of it now, the way his oral attention kept me rock hard and dripping while prolonging the pleasure.

And when he put his hands beneath my hamstrings, I got the idea. I pulled my legs up and back for him.

Some men are hesitant to rim, but Ed wasn't one of them. He dove in, licking me and teasing my ring. I was surprised by that combination of eagerness and soft tongue. And the soft scruff of his beard tickled my cheeks in the best way possible.

"Oh fuck..." I hissed.

He pulled back, shooting his blue eyes up to look at my face. "You like this, bud."

"Please don't stop," I laughed, pulling my thighs back further and hiking my ass up back toward his face. Maybe it looked slutty, but I didn't care. Coach Stanley was that good at eating ass.

He got a cocky look on his face then dove back in.

I got a few more minutes of that royal treatment, then Ed methodically set up to prep me with his fingers. He'd set out some lube, and I watched his intent face as he slid one finger inside me, his eyes darting back and forth between my hole and my facial reactions.

"You feel amazing, Russ," he said. "You're pretty tight."

"Yeah," I admitted. "Just give me a little time and I'll be good." I wasn't an expert but I'd bottomed enough to know it was like riding a bicycle. And with a top as hot as Coach Stanley I wasn't gonna have a hard time getting into this.

"You got it, bud."

His eyes were locked on my face when the third finger slipped in. I expected my hole to resist or my guts to clench tight. But it felt amazing.

"So, bud...." Ed said in soft, low voice. "I generally play safe."

"OK," I muttered. Maybe because he was a teacher and authority figure, I wasn't surprised by his caution. "I'm on PreP... if that matters."

I could see his chest rise and fall between the open flaps of his shirt. "It does," he said. He pulled his fingers out and set out to slick down his thick boner. Ed dizzled some on my boner. He set down the lube and looked back at me. "I'd love to fuck you raw," he hissed. It was SO wild to hear Coach S talk so lewdly, so directly. "I've never done that."

My voice was cracking I was so horny. "You're missing out, Coach. It's amazing." My eyes met his, and I got off seeing his prick jerk some.

He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a Coach Stanley kiss but a hard, sloppy kiss. I held onto him and did my best to return it, even as I let him take the lead with his plunging tongue.

Already he was reaching down to guide his prick into place. I realized then he was real wet from lube, like a crazy of amount of slickness to his prick that kept me from clenching my defenses shut. Not that I wanted to, but Ed was already pushing in.

I grunted into his mouth.

He was breathing heavy as he pulled back and looked at me. "Sorry, man... I just..."

"It's OK," I said, gamely. After all I wanted this more than anything. My fantasy served to me on a silver platter. "It always stings a little going in."

He nodded. Like he wanted to learn how my sexual responses were wired.

"Trust me, I want this, too, Coach," I said, reaching up to feel his chest. "I want your cock."

He slid just a little more into me, like a half inch more. It felt good. But the real thing that changed for me was seeing Ed Stanley above me, hunky as hell. Furry chest, rounded pecs, gold chain, button down shirt undone. I was transported back to my high school JO sessions, only this was better than I could have ever imagined.

My guts flowered open and Ed's dick sunk in. The sensation felt good for him, and was a real turn on. His lips curled into a smile.

"Yeah, Russ.... oh fuck."

He gave me a second but quickly realized I didn't need more. Then, his arms steadying himself above me, Coach S started fucking me. Nice steady pumps as I wrapped my legs around his waist and touched any part of him that I could.

"Fuck me, Coach," I hissed. Then corrected, "Ed..." Honestly I didn't know if the ex-teacher/ex-student thing bothered the man in a moment like this. I didn't want to spook him, even if I was tapping into that forbidden fantasy with every single stroke of the man's thick cock.

"Russ fucking McAdams," he hissed, his fucking getting more urgent. Not hard or fast, but with more power in his hips and glutes as he worked my hole.

I was SO hard right then. It was tempting to stroke my cock but I didn't want to blast off right away. I looked up into the man's eyes, his handsome face, and asked, "Barebacking what you expected, Ed?"

He nodded. "Uh uh. And more. I think I like this too much." His breath was catching some, and I could tell he was focusing on not cumming quickly.

"You gonna cum in my ass?" I growled. Even if the physical sensations of raw sex were night and day different for the top more than for the bottom, the idea of being bred by Ed Stanley was really getting to me just then.

"Oh buddy... fuck...." He slowed his thrusts some and looked down on me. "You wanna stroke off while I do you?" He seemed surprised I wasn't already.

I cocked my grin. "I'm pretty sure the second I start I'm gonna cum. Why don't you go for it, and tell me when you're close."

"Probably not gonna take me long, Russ," he said. Then I felt it. Gone were the gentle thrusts. This one was hard and deep, surprisingly deep given Ed's cock size. Then another, perfectly timed.

"This OK, bud?" he asked.

"God yes," I answered. I was in the zone now. Stanley had gotten me into the zone.

For the next minute I got fucked by a real stud. Ed's meaty ex-jock body clenching rhythmically above me. His prick hitting my internal spot with steady repeated force. His muscles clenching, his shirt tails flapping, his gold chain dangling.

"I'm so close," he gritted through his teeth.

I wrapped my hand around my dick. I was gonna get there with Coach S. "Do it, Ed. Breed my ass."

"Oh FUCK!" he cried. Not orgasming yet but his hips working faster as he got closer. My hand was a blur on my cock and I could feel the rumble in my balls. I opened my eyes wide to take him all in. My dream man, fucking me hard, his face now starting scrunch up as he came.

"Coach!" I let out as my prick fired all over my body, from my neck to my abs. I just shot it all out and enjoyed the orgasm of a lifetime. Only as I came down from the intensity of that high, I hoped my lifetime would have a lot more like this ahead.

Ed's hips were slowing to a halt, and I could tell he was riding the aftershocks of a deep cum. "Whoo buddy," he breathed out. "That was something else." He leaned forward and gave a soft kiss. Not too long since I think he intuited that I was gonna cramp up bent back in this position.

We uncoupled and Ed rested up in a kneeling position on the mattress. Shirt still on and open wide, his prick still rigid and coated with lots of lube and cum. His chest still rising and falling. "Thank you so much, Russ... that was incredible."

"For me, too," I said as I stretched out my legs. "OK if I rinse off?" I asked. I didn't want to kill the afterglow, but sometimes after a hard cum I have to piss. And maybe a part of me felt self-conscious for getting into bottoming so much with Coach S.

He nodded. "Like I said, Russ..." Make yourself at home.

I went to piss and take a quick shower. I was back out in about five minutes. Ed had pulled on some sweatpants but still had that button down shirt on, open to reveal his hairy chest. I don't know if it was for my benefit, but it was a great sight. He was standing at the window, the blinds now open.

He looked at me, with almost kid-like excitement. "It's snowing."

I walked over, towel around my waist. Indeed, white flakes were coming down, hard.

"Whoa," I said.

He clasped his hand on my bare shoulder. "You got your white Christmas, buddy," he said, his eyes taking in the snow.

"Yeah," I said. I turned to look at him and saw his eyes were no longer on the snow. They were on me.

"You gotta rush off, Russ?"

I shook my head. "I'm good," I said. "If you don't mind the company."

"The opposite," he said. "Listen... I have some stuff for a holiday dinner, if you want some."

That surprised me. "You cooked a holiday meal?"

"Store bought," he assured me. "But I've worked up an appetite."

"I'm pretty hungry, too," I admitted. Brunch had now been many hours ago.

We kissed, and I saw the return of soft, gentle Ed Stanley. Until I felt his strong hand fiddle with my towel and undo it.

I was hard again, but maybe not ready for a second round. "You horny again?" I asked as I pulled back.

His blue eyes twinkled. "Nah. Just like playing with my Christmas present," he laughed. He gave my ass a light slap. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

#drakestories

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