sometimes, long after the battle is over, Obi-Wan lies in his bunk with his hands enclosed around the hilt of his lightsaber and pretends he can still feel the warmth of Cody's hand from the dutiful pass off of his 'saber. however indirect the touch, through gloves and several hours or days after the fact, it's like holding hands. he'll trace a fingertip down the side and ponder what it would be like if next time--not that this happens often enough for a "next time" to be inevitable, he lies to himself--on the return, their fingers brushed. it would be torture. it would be bliss. it would be a monumental task not to smile.

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 18.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: uhhh. smut (aka the real plot) and not much else. Dirty talk I guess. Just a couple of sillies being silly at work. Fraud.

A romance between two adults with an unspecified age difference between them, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Tag list: @andimoon @his-mochi-cheeks

Links: Part 1, …., Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

You were full. You were absolutely filled to the rim.

Baekhyun’s hands had a tremble of unsteadiness when he pulled his fingertips away from your left hand and those fingertips moved to touch so lightly just over your face. More so than the connection, his delicate touch on your cheek felt more like confirmation that this was real; that you were really standing here in front of him wearing the ring he had just put on your finger and, oh, you were filled. You were overwhelmed to the tipping point.

You could burst at the seams.

You had to close your eyes. You had to hold your breath and his fingers slipped along the skin of your face moving so slowly that the silence in this closed-up office magnified the feeling of his warm palm as he laid it on your face.

“Thank you,” a small whisper from his lips pulled eyelids open. You found his eyes watching your face and deep within them, a dreamy far away focus that flitted over your features but never quite sunk down, “for loving me the way I love you. I —”

He pulled in a sharp inhale and his eyebrows trembled over his eyes, “I don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t.”

What you felt then was a culmination. You hadn’t been able to touch him all day and here he was, at last, within reach of your fingers, your hands, your lips.

You lifted a hand to his face, feeling deep inside your chest just as he must have felt when he lightly touched your face.

This beautiful man was yours.

The first few touches of your thumb were light as you outlined the shape of his bottom lip, along the edge with a slow and careful whisper of a touch. You felt the shape of it. The clear edge that you followed with the pad of your thumb. You felt the warm puffs of air from his parting lips when he opened his mouth and when your wandering thumb pressed, the soft flesh of his lip gave so easily; his lips parted further and the slight dampness of the inside of his mouth before you felt the hint of a nibble; wet teeth biting into the flesh of your thumb. The warm and wet tip of his tongue touching where his teeth released and the only sound from your chest was the stuttered breath as he did it.

Baekhyun moved into you then. He gripped your hand inside of his own; dipped his face, he pressed a warm kiss into the palm of your hand.

Your mind recognized that the spot his fingertips gripped, where the tight hold of his index finger and thumb held, was where that metal ring encircling your ring finger.

His soft lips opened and once again you felt the smallest pull from his mouth when his teeth bit down onto the heel of your palm. He let go instantly, leaving behind a path of moisture as his mouth moved.

He held your hand securely within his own and he lifted your hand up while his face dipped again as he moved his lips lower; trailing kisses on your inner wrist and another dip gave way to another kiss on your forearm. You could weep from the want you felt building inside of your belly.

Baekhyun stepped into you, one hand holding your arm against him and his other arm slipped firmly around your waist and he pulled you into his body. You felt the unimaginable warmth of him over the front of you and with the step he took you were out of places to go. And that hand, still gripping your left hand, the hand that wore the ring, firmly held up over his shoulder — he still held onto you in so many ways with that iron grip of his.

The hard edge of your desk dug into your hips. And his eyes, they feasted over your face with a familiar hunger that you’d also been denying yourself all day.

You felt yourself melting into him and his intentions; however forbidden they might be. You’d give him anything he asked of you right now.

His hand wandered down from the small of your back, sliding down over your hip as he moved you gasped when he hooked his fingers behind your knee; pulling up roughly; making your gasp turn into a whine. Such a small yet telling sound. This man couldn’t possibly be prepared for what he was doing to you right now. You were pinned between his firm body and the desk. Your knees parted as much as your skirt allowed and his hips pressed into you as he leaned in and you knew, you knew the incredible danger of this situation. Your mind screamed out an alarm that you shushed quickly on the grounds of your very recent presidentially granted immunity. On the grounds that you wanted him and everything else outside of this room could be damned.

Had your skirt been looser at the knees you know you would have parted fully for him. You knew, had your clothing allowed it, you would relish in this fully; maybe even encourage this — you were even prepared to beg for it. Right now this skirt was your only real link to reality and you cursed the stupid thing for getting in the way.

It felt like a slow dance; he placed your left hand over his shoulder, letting go when he was satisfied that you would keep ahold of him there.

He had you in a trance. He left your hand on the back of his neck and your fingers wandered through the hair at his nape. Your mind whirled as you searched his face for the darkness you were sure to find in his gaze. His eyes were closed though; as that hand moved down the length of your arm, traveling slowly as he moved past your shoulder, running even slower over the side of your breast with a deliberate thumb that passed over your nipple; then down your ribs to your waist where at last he remained. When he bit down on his lips, his whole body tensed and tightened around you and he picked you up, placing you in front of him. He could have you here. You felt worked up enough to let him.

You were made to sit before him atop of your own desk in your own office, placed there by your own assistant, your knees still constricted by the tightness of your skirt but not enough to be unable to feel his hips placed just between them. Not far enough. The overwhelming warmth that had built up between your bodies took your breath away.

A few things were evident at once.

You wanted him to kiss you. You craved it like the oxygen you also craved. He didn’t. Like your lungs that refused to cooperate; the man also made no moves to close the distance between his lips and yours. You wanted him to push your skirt up higher on your thighs so you could feel him closer to you. You wanted those hands running up your bare thighs; slipping off your panties, gripping your ass roughly as he pulled you into the hardness you already knew would be his current state. Oh the relief you could have with him pushing inside if you.

He didn’t move.

His hands remained fixed stubbornly on your waist and all over his body, every muscle seemed tensed up and rigid — and his eyes, those stayed closed as he refused to look into your face. If he looked, if he only just looked he would see and he would know just how badly you craved for him to do something.

“I think I need to leave this room right now.” His words came out through his tightly clenched jaw and his pulled-tight lips.

As soon as the declaration was out, he moved.

He took his hands off of you and held them up, took a step back and away, breaking the connection with a wince on his face and a low groan that came from somewhere deep within his belly.

The room spun. He was gone. You felt insane. Your hands were empty and you had to set them on the top of the desk to keep from toppling off without him holding you.

Honestly this felt like an out of body experience.

You definitely didn't feel like yourself.

Why? Why did he have to go? Didn’t he need you as badly as you needed him?

Baekhyun had already made his way out of the area behind your desk, had turned his back to you, and was standing facing the bookshelf that lined your wall, no doubt collecting himself as best as he could.

You knew he was right to stop this. You even tried to tell yourself this and if only these words could break through the burning have that surged up hot inside of your belly, perhaps one day you may even accept this.

If only your rational mind had been anywhere to be found, perhaps you would simply let it go, let him leave your office to go find something else to occupy his time and his body and his hands.

Instead you looked down at yourself as you sat here atop of your desk with a glance at the expensive outfit you wore, from head to toe, even underneath, down to the underwear that lay hidden below the skirt. Even the shoes on your feet; the makeup on your face; and the final, opulent touch — the several carat-sized diamond ring that adorned your ring finger — all of it, everything that touched your skin had been from him. It was all Baekhyun. He was everything and he was everywhere except for where you wanted him to be and you could feel a genuine ‘petulant child who hadn’t gotten her way’ fit brewing up hot inside of you.

You felt as if you had become a completely different person and the urge to speak loosened your tongue, filling your lungs with air and pushed forward with the sudden curious mood, you opened your mouth to call out to him.

You heard the ire. You felt too far gone to be embarrassed by it.

“Assistant Byun.”

This was very unlike you. The sound of your voice using his title in this way pulled his posture straight and his head ticked in your direction, not turning around fully as he did it and definitely not looking at your face.

You were acting like a brat. You lifted your arms and crossed them over your chest with a puff of air from your nose and a serious frown growing on your face the longer you let this nasty mood sink in.

It was the sting of being denied all day long. The burn of being so close to getting what you wanted only to be denied again.

“Don't get mad,” Baekhhyun said, “I’m sorry I got carried away.” His words pacified but there was something else happening just under the surface. You knew him inside and out by now and you could hear it. It did not help the mood.

His tone felt teasing. Despite the apology said with his words, you could hear the amusement in his voice. Whatever fit you were throwing right now seemed to stroke the right part of his ego. You could see the concealed smile on his face now that he had turned around to look at you again. With the spin of his body, he gave you his full attention again and he took a step closer to where you sat stewing on this desk of yours. He was close enough that if you so wished, you could reach forward, grab him by the arms and pull him back into you. Your mind played all sorts of these scenarios for you and you had to shake them away.

“I’m not mad,” you said with a defensive lift of your chin and a purse of your lips. You had uncrossed your arms now and you let your gaze fall down over yourself, holding your left hand out in front of you into the sunbeam that filtered through the blinds; watching the way the diamond sparked and threw flames all around the room as you did it.

“I’m just worried that I might actually fail my assignment. I heard she’s wearing your ring.” You kicked your feet, pointing your toes as you showed off the heels you wore. You tilted your ankle and loosened a heel, following with your eyes as it fell off your foot and tumbled to the floor. Feeling reckless, you ran your left hand over your skirt lightly, slipping your fingertips below the hem and allowing the fabric to pull up higher on your thigh as you did it. “In fact, she’s even wearing the panties you bought her. She’s covered from head to toe…by you.”

“What are you doing? The door isn’t even locked, Noona,” Baekhyun said in a matter-of-fact tone with absolutely no confusion in his eyes about what your little act was about. His eyes narrowed in your direction and you shot him a mirrored expression.

“And what would you do if it was?” You looked into his face as you asked him this question. You felt the tiny twitch as your eyebrow danced up on your forehead. This was a challenge now. The message was clearly received but he did not make any movements at all.

He stood his ground and watched your face and his small smile settled into a flat line as his quiet staring went on.

Baekhyun was quiet for so long that you began to feel the first real hints of doubt creep into your mind.

Maybe he was right all along to resist this.

This was a bad idea. You were the wrong one.

This was you giving into your every weakness when it came to him and perhaps it was finally time for some bad ideas to be retired. After today he wouldn't even have any reason to be in your office with you, much less be in here alone with you. After today the chance for this kind of mistake would vanish. After today these sinful fantasies of yours could finally be laid to rest.

His slow blinking was interrupted by a quiet exhale from his open mouth and with the breath his eyelids sank half closed before he pulled his upper lip in between his teeth. He bit down as those same eyes flitted closed. It was such a subtle change yet you knew, you knew. This was acquiescence. You caught the bob of his throat as he swallowed and his lips parted again before he spoke just under his breath.

“You know what I would do. I told you about it last night.”

This came out as a whisper.

It hit you square in the chest.

This man belonged to you in more ways than perhaps you’d even known. He would give you whatever you wanted, in spite of yourself.

Somehow, harnessing every bit of self resolve you had left, you managed to keep his dark eyes held tight with your own long enough to push your body off of this desk and stand on your own two feet before him.

Something must have snapped inside of you when you took the first step. The second step had a wave of motion rolling through his body. He lifted a hand to rub his palm over the entirety of his face and rocked back and forth on his feet. When you turned away from him to make your way toward the door, you heard the smallest breathy moan come from somewhere behind you. That sound heated you from the inside.

Locking the door was easy. All it took was a single flick of the wrist and out rang a click that resonated through the now private space. You felt that click within your chest. It sent a wave of goosebumps over your skin.

The moment you locked the door and turned back around to face him, that rush of courage that had propelled you to do this had changed into something else. Something more desperate.

Baekhyun watched you as he leaned a hip against your desk. His posture sagged; a stance not unlike defeat if you had to name it something. The man had lost. His pretty hands hung down between his parted thighs and his head lolled to the side with half closed eyelids and his mouth, that pretty mouth, with the corners that turned down naturally, pink from his teeth biting down, had a tremor that moved with each labored breath that left his lungs.

This look on his face — you’d seen it before, countless times in the quiet intimate moments when you had him completely to yourself — but to see it here, in this place — your hands were quick and you reached for the blue fabric of the tie that hung around his neck.

You’d been doomed from the moment he sent that girl away. From the second he closed himself up in here with you with nearly every other staff member having already left for the day, save for maybe the lonely cleaning person. The sun outside of your window had sagged low on the horizon and you’d had enough of going without his lips, his hands, his love, to last you for the rest of your life.

You weren’t rash about it. You didn’t yank or pull him down into you by the tie. You didn’t need to. The moment you held onto that strip of fabric his eyes slipped down to touch upon your hand and then for the briefest of seconds you had his eyes cradled in yours. Even that was brief. The view of him blurred when you tugged gently; catching his lips with your mouth. He moved into you so easily and the second his lips touched yours you felt lost.

His mouth was hot. It was wet and it was demanding. His hands reached for your face and he held onto both of your cheeks as he kissed you, angling his face as his tongue pushed inside. Pulling on your bottom lip with teeth. Coming back again and again until you both shook and trembled and gasped for air.

Eight hours, while a completely reasonable and normal time to go without someone, felt like an eternity now that you finally had him to yourself.

You had him pinned to your desk and out of frustration you’d managed to pull the skirt up just enough to straddle his thigh.

His hands wandered over your ass. His fingertips dug in hard into the backs of your thighs and when he pulled you down onto his lap his thigh muscle tensed hard between your legs. This felt too good. With as turned on as you were, the pressure of him pulling you hard into his thigh again and again had you writhing.

In the back of your mind, you recognized that this should be quiet. Sure much of the office should be empty by now but there was no telling who might wander by and fall within ear shot.

The problem was your boyfriend had a way of making you forget yourself. One particular pass over his thigh hit exactly in the right spot between your legs and your small whimper might have come out a little too loud. The sound that escaped made him move. It had him hissing out a shushing sound and you felt his lips cover your open mouth at the same time as he wrapped strong arms tightly around your waist.

You felt the world spin curiously. Man-handled might be the right word for this. You certainly had a man all over you.

Baekhyun had you sitting on top of your desk again. Only this time there was no restraint. He was pressed up well between your legs, you could feel every bit of the hardness and heat and arousal against you. He pushed against you, desperate for the friction the action brought. Your conscious desire for discretion faded more with every new push. His forehead was pressed up against yours and when he pulled his lips off of your mouth, it was for a purpose. This man seemed to be the more in control between the two of you. Between the rough kisses came small gasps for air and from his mouth he came a whispered shushing sound. “You need to be quiet,” he whispered into your open mouth. “You are going to get us caught,” he threatened between wet kisses.

His hands were moving at the same time though and the heat from his palms made his words feel so far away. You felt the change in temperature as he pushed at the fabric of your skirt high up on your thighs. You felt the cold wood of the desk under your ass. You had to reach a hand down to try and shove a few papers out of the way, not quite liking the way the thicker folders scratched your skin but before you could be annoyed by the single sheet of paper that remained stuck to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you forward roughly, covering your mouth with his again when you threatened to make another sound.

Baekhyun had hands on you. He had a hand around your waist and one between your legs and you trembled when he slipped aside your panties and you felt the first rubs of his thumb within your wetness, over your swollen center. Each pass had you a whimpering and moaning mess, you always felt so weak to him; so easily affected by everything he did. He knew where to touch you too. Always listening to your cues; always watching your face too closely. Each touch brought involuntary sounds and each sound from you had him shushing, silencing, telling you how very important it was for you to keep quiet; again and again, inside your ear when he wasn’t stealing his air directly from your mouth to physically stop you from making noises.

“Do you know how hard you make me? How badly I want you? Shhhh….Fuck, you are wet. Shhh… You make me fucking crazy — with how much I want you.”

Despite his frantic attempts to keep you quiet, the whispered confessions spoken into your face as he looked right into your eyes had the opposite effect on you. There was nothing silencing about his words. You felt out of control.

“Baekhyun,” you breathed out into his ear, gripping tightly around his shoulders, you let your fingernails dig into him over the dress shirt he still wore and you gasped out loud to feel him shifting himself between your legs. You lost one of his hands as he flipped his necktie over his shoulder and then you heard the buckle of his belt — the quick zipper of his pants and the movement of fabric and when the feeling of his warmth returned rather than his teasing fingers you felt the smooth hardness of his dick as he slipped passed the panties, slipped easily into your wetness, and he pushed inside of you completely in a shockingly rough single motion.

It took your breath away.

Your mouth flew open and as soon as he entered you, a hand landed squarely over your wide open mouth, muffling the sounds you could not help but make.

“All I do is want.” He was shaking. It was the effects of you that you could see written all over his pretty face. He had gone motionless with his eyes rolling back; feeling too much at once and fighting to keep himself from making a sound. His breaths came out short and stuttered. He was reeling and he was struggling and then he was moving. He needed the motion. He needed the friction.

“All I do is want,” Baekhyun said again. He was pushing. You rocked into him.

And he was pushing roughly. “All I do is want you.”

You felt yourself losing. Losing the fight to keep quiet, losing the desire to even give a damn about where you were as he fucked you.

But his hand over your mouth was too tight. His hips pushed hard with a quick rhythm and even if you had wanted to cry out; this man wouldn’t allow it to slip. He was speaking to you again just as you let your eyes drift close, you heard his labored whisper.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was low and rough. You found his dark eyes watching you. He was whispering directly into your ear, every single word of his no louder than a gnat buzzing around the room.

“This is what you wanted, right, Miss Manager? Look at where we are. Do you like being fucked at work? In your office — by your Assistant — with your team just outside?”

You could not help but obey. You looked across the room toward the door with its single, flimsy lock. Your eyes drifted over the closed blinds that lined the glass windows that sometimes looked over the floor of the office; where your team sat. Where they worked hard for you. Where they looked up to you and gave you their utmost respect and faith; their dear manager who would never…never…

The discord that surged inside of your mind in that moment was shocking. You closed your eyes to shut out the realization that perhaps you did like this. You liked this. You liked it enough to demand it from him. Perhaps giving into your darkest fantasies was part of what had you so very turned on and affected and absolutely desperate for this to happen — for him to fuck you here.

He felt the change in you. The way Baekhyun was able to read you was unreal. His lips were back at your ear, whispering, “I can feel you. You can cum. I’ll keep you quiet, baby, cum for me.”

He was a drug. You were lost to him; definitely addicted to his dangerous words and even more sinful actions and as he spoke you struggled to breathe through your nose as your eyes drifted closed again, losing yourself to the sensations that were overwhelming. Between his dick, his hands, and whispered truths, you were overcome and shaking.

The room was spinning. You could feel the after effects all over your body and Baekhyun’s rhythm and pace shifted as his efforts stuttered and grew shallower. You could already feel the mess between your legs just from your own body; but the idea of his mess too had a slight concern manifesting in your mind. You didn’t have another pair of panties. It wasn’t as if you had planned for this to happen. A tempting idea slipped inside of your head with his next push into you and you felt yourself smiling despite the hand over your mouth. His breathing was changing and you lifted a hand to lay over his, pulling it down so you could speak.

You had his attention; only just. His eyes were drifting. You had only seconds to say it.

You leaned, placing your lips right up to his ear, feeling the warmth from his soft skin against your cheek. You could smell the delicious scent of his warm skin and a light cologne fragrance he wore and you whispered the quiet request close enough to kiss his earlobe with your wet lips, “I want to worship you, my love — let me taste you.”

There was a pause amidst his trembling and through his small breaths from his parted lips, he bit down and you saw the smallest nod of understanding from him.

You heard his whispered curse that he could not help when you dropped to the floor in front of him. Your bare knees burned from the roughness of the carpet. The moment your tongue touched the tip of him he was just as lost as you had been. Just as addicted to the feeling of you. His hands gripped tightly over your ears and you tasted the culmination of every single forbidden sin that had transpired in this closed space with the two of you.

It was only a moment from when you pulled him inside completely and sucked down to when the tension inside of his body crested — every one of his muscles clenched tight and the tremors inside of him fluttered atop of your tongue. You swallowed every drop the moment the bitter taste hit the back of your tongue and even the man of absolute silence and self control, in that moment when he came inside of your mouth, with you on your knees worshiping every drop of him, he gasped out loud with a deep grunt from within his abdomen.

Oh no. It was loud. He had lost control and while you couldn’t help the undeniable flattery that came with his mistake, the reality also sent a flash of nerves straight through your chest. It was a sound that could not possibly be mistaken for anything other than sex.

You pulled back, wiping the corners of your mouth and looked up at him with alarm on your face. Baekhyun wore a silent shell-shocked expression that gradually turned into a wince on his face at his own slip. You heard a definite curse muttered under his breath. He looked toward the door for a moment and it seemed that the sex spell had been thoroughly broken with his release. You watched in amusement as he recovered himself quite instantly. The clarity in your capable and responsible assistant’s eyes returned.

He was moving quickly, slipping himself back into his pants and you raised your eyebrows with a small smile in his direction while you did the same with straightening out your clothing. Your balance was shaky and you rested against the desk as you pulled your skirt down over your thighs; hearing the rattle of a sheet of paper falling to the floor from where you’d been sitting on your desk.

Your ears sharpened and you held your breath as you listened for anything at all that might be happening outside of that door such as the sound of a priest or perhaps a cops’ siren. You even craned your ears for the sound of your own mother’s disappointed voice as if your sins in this room could conjure up any and all sorts of comeuppance you were past due for.

You heard nothing and after a few moments the distant sounds of a heavy duty vacuum cleaner sounded out somewhere quite far away. The cleaners only worked when the offices were completely empty. You felt as if you’d just gotten away with murder.

“Baek, that was a loud sound,” you whispered with a teasingly judgmental tone in your voice and you turned to pick up the things that had fallen. It was kind of a mess now. A few documents had definitely gotten wrinkled under your ass. You’d probably have to reprint some things.

He was fastening his belt. “You were so much louder than me,” he mimicked your whisper and his eyes followed the movement of the falling sheet of paper.

It only took you one good look at it for you to know what it was. The sheet of paper that had fallen, the very same one that you were sitting on as he fucked you and had gotten wrinkled and smudged and actually wet from the sex. It took only one solid moment of true focus and you reached down in an instant — snatching that achingly familiar single sheet of paper up and hiding it behind your back.

Oh no. Not this paper. Any sheet of paper but this sheet of paper.

Baekhyun was sharp. Baekhyun was intelligent and observant and Baekhyun, while easily prone to caving to your every whim, and very easily distracted by things like your lips or your hips or your boobs; he had been, in fact, for the better part of the year, your actual, honest-to-god Assistant. The very same Assistant had printed these things up for you to complete at the end of the project; as this was one of your many required duties as a manager.

He was watching you with furrowed brows and he was not moving. His lips were pursed in thought and he lifted a single hand to point his index finger toward you; clearly directed toward the wrinkled and wet sheet of paper that you foolishly thought you might be able to hide behind your back right now. The sheet of paper with his own complete legal name written very neatly at the top.

He made a questioning, humming sound and licked his lips; his finger still pointing you out.

“Did we just have sex on top of my performance review?”

You dropped your chin, dropped your eyes and bit down on your lip with a slight frown on your face. Of all the things for the sex to happen on —

“On my official employee performance review!?”

You weren’t quite ready to admit to it, but you had no choice. He’d already recognized what this was and, hell, he had been the one to print the stupid thing. That was his own handwriting at the top that had filled out his own name and employee number.

“The one that has already been signed and stamped and validated by the other department heads — did you —,” he dropped his voice, “cum,” whispering scandalously, “on my official employee performance review?

“Is that a wet spot on my official employee performance review?”

You brought your hands around to the front, gingerly holding the sheet of paper up with your fingertips by both corners.

It really was a mess. The wet spot had made it nearly transparent.

Baekhyun’s hand flew up to cover his open mouth and he gasped out loud in genuine shock.

“What do we do?” You asked through gritted teeth and you felt your face scrunch up into an exaggeratedly worried pout.

“We?” His eyes were wide and his words came out muffled from below his hand, “We?” He asked again and your pout deepened as you held the paper up higher. Baekhyun’s hands extended toward the sheet and he stopped halfway, retreating back into himself and you heard the first stifled snort of a laugh break free from his chest.

“W-We?” He laughed again, harder now. It seemed to take over his words entirely even though you got the gist of what he was saying. His one word, that indignant question he asked only emphasized what you already knew. This mess was definitely your own making. This document was supposed to have been filed yesterday and the only reason why it was even still here was because you were so distracted by having tons of sex with your boyfriend that it simply slipped your mind.

You reached out an index finger and touched the paper. It really was very wet and the moment you poked it with your fingernail, a small hole tore through. It was in the spot with your Director’s signature.

Baekhyun had gotten his breathing under control for a moment but when you held the sheet up and looked through the hole you heard another loud snort and he was covering his face with both hands and laughing again, very loudly.

“We need to make another one. Are you any good at forging signatures?”

You were thoroughly in crisis mode now and Baekhyun’s giggles settled down only long enough to answer your ridiculous question.

He looked into your worried face and his expression settled into one of absolute determination. “I am … amazing at forging signatures.”

You heard a curious excitement in his voice and he spun on his heels, and made his way around your desk; pulling out your office chair and sitting down as he logged in to your workstation with your password and even grabbed your cell phone; unlocking it with his own thumbprint so he could enter the two-factor access code.

You watched him with a mixture of amazement and horror as he seamlessly navigated through your computer to find the blank file. A few seconds later your printer was working and he leaned back in your chair with a sweet, innocent smile on his face.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long has your fingerprint been able to unlock my phone?”

He lifted his eyebrows and glanced toward the printer with a small lift of his chin, motioning that you should focus on grabbing that fresh sheet of paper instead of asking silly questions about your dear boyfriend’s complete lack of boundaries.

“Chop-chop, Miss Manager. We have to evaluate my performance.”

He was right. This was an urgent and time sensitive matter and any other points you had to make with him could wait for another time.

So you gritted your teeth, not wanting to somehow imply to him that him taking these sorts of privileges with you was just okay, and you reluctantly turned to grab the paper from the printer, returning to his side at your desk expecting him to get up so you could sit down and fill this thing out.

Baekhyun didn’t move, but he did make himself seem even more relaxed and comfortable in your chair.

You looked down at him in question and after a few moments he lifted a casual hand and patted his knee.

You looked down at his knee and back up into his face.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

He laughed and reached forward, gripping you by the arm and pulling you into him. You stumbled exactly where he wanted and found yourself sitting right on his lap. He was warm. He smelled nice.

“I’m not the one who made the mess and now has to make her boyfriend an accomplice in some light fraud.”

His tone was playful but his knees were boney and hard. You wiggled some, moving yourself up higher into his much softer thighs and he wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned around your shoulder to look down at the paper you slowly began filling out; keeping the ruined original right next to it making some attempt to match the words you’d originally used.

“So how was my performance, Noona?”

You glanced to your side to catch his playful eyes and shrugged with a light smile on your lips. You had a bit of a hunch that he wasn’t talking about the performance review, but you played along anyway.

“I said only good things, and I meant all of them.”

“Mhmm,” He nodded his head and his arms constricted around your waist. It didn’t really feel as if he was paying complete attention. You felt his nose nuzzle into your neck lightly and he inhaled a slow breath taken from the surface of your skin.

The exhale heated your skin quickly and your pen slipped. You made a mistake. The original document was perfect and this one now had a completely different letter.

You groaned out an annoyed sound and he lifted his face and looked over your shoulder again with half curiosity, half amusement.

“Baby, just write a different word. Consider this the beginning of our life of crime together. Write down that I made you cum three times.”

“Baekhyun. I came once. We are at work, why would I come three times, at work?” This brought out a loud laugh from deep within his chest and he was shaking you so much with his laughter that you had to lift your pen up into the air to keep it out of the way of the form so you didn't make any more mistakes. His silly mood had infected you and you felt uncharacteristically playful as his giggles below your lap jostled you about. With as much as he was moving his legs, you were pretty sure he was bouncing you on purpose.

“Oh, all of a sudden you have a conscience? Are you listening to yourself? Why are you seducing your engaged assistant at work in the first place? You maniac. Say four times instead. Go big or go home. I’m a sex god and they need to know it.”

You turned to look at him again, nodding your head twice slowly before you leaned back to give him a kiss on the lips to placate the silliest, and loveliest man in the whole world.

When you were done with the form you started to get up so he could work his forgery magic with the signatures but Baekhyun had other ideas, of course. You found yourself trapped by him as he simply wrapped his arms around you, caging you in entirely as he careened his neck to see both forms in order to get the forged signatures to look identical; all while keeping you on his lap, inside his embrace and within squeezing distance.

When he was finished it actually looked pretty damn good and out of an abundance of caution, you both exited your office (den of iniquity, he called it) one at a time, just in case anyone might be in the vicinity.

The building was as deserted as you hoped it would be and you’d made it halfway toward the elevator alone when you felt a warm body step in line beside you. You were ready for the polite head nod, the half casual glance in his direction and the friendly farewell as you wished him all the best in his future role and endeavors.

What you hadn’t expected was the warm arm he draped around your shoulders and the way he leaned in to place the smallest kiss on your cheek.

This was outside of your office (sin den), this was outside of what was safe and what was okay and you eked out a gasped of shock as you took a step to the side, removing yourself from under his arm.

“Nobody is here,” he said defensively, with a wide smile on his face, “I just want to walk with my woman.”

You were too weak to that smile of his. His teeth were pretty and his pink cheeks popped as his eyes beckoned to you. When he pushed his lips down into the smallest pout you let out a single long sigh. It was all he needed. His smile returned wide and beautiful and you just let him rest his arm over your shoulders as you both walked side by side to the elevator door.

He leaned forward to push the button first and he was talking now as you both waited. Telling you about his plans for the wrap party and about how he had to be out during the day tomorrow for an appointment somewhere but he would see you there. He asked about what you were wearing and you told him it was a surprise. You had long ago picked out your dress, a sexy flashy little thing, and you didn’t think he needed to know the details about it before he actually saw you in it.

You’d never before been so damn excited about one of these events, but the mere thought about seeing him there, dressed up in his fancy suit or maybe even a tux, getting to dance with him together, it all filled you with a bubbly anticipation.

The elevator dinged and you had been so lost in the thoughts of things to come that you simply forgot about the comfort of the man’s arm so casually draped around your shoulders as he leaned in close to your ear, giggling, and quite obviously flirting next to you. You’d simply forgotten. Just as you had simply forgotten to submit his performance review yesterday.

The doors open and to your horror a real life human being was standing inside of the elevator, clearly on their way down to the ground floors, or in this case to the sub-level where his own private car would be waiting to drive him to his Presidential sized mansion and you have never, in your entirety of existence moved so quickly.

You let out a poorly disguised, very loud fake cough. It was some explosive sound designed to disengage and confuse all parties around. It was not your best acting job but it was all you could come up with.

Baekhyun was quick and his arm moved to pat you on the back roughly, a bit too roughly in his haste. His quick thumps stung.

He was laughing awkwardly and you were looking up with what you were sure was red hot embarrassment on your face into the eyes of President Byun, Baekhyun’s father.

“She swallowed a bug,” Baekhyun said abruptly and you looked over at him with wide eyes and a crazed forced smile on your face, unable to disagree with his ridiculous excuse, but also … really? A bug? — Before you looked back into the completely blank and passive face of President Byun, who seemed to just be waiting for you both to get into the damn elevator so he could go home already.

You had to get in. Baekhyun stepped in first and followed with your face pointed downward avoiding the potentially dangerous eyes of either of the two men who stood inside this elevator with you.

The ride down was silent. Your ground floor exit dinged before President Byun’s sub level exit and you had no choice but to say your quick farewells to the old man. Baekhyun nodded once to his father and followed you quietly out of the elevator and in the split seconds before the door closed, you caught the smallest smile on the man’s face and against your logical mind, you were nearly positive you heard him say something akin to a farewell to you both.

“You both watch out for —” the doors closed up on his last words and you shook your head as you tried to replay his words inside your memory. Beside you though, Baekhyun dropped his chin down to his chest and let out the longest most defeated sigh you’d ever heard from him.

It seemed that Baekhyun caught the last words from his father.

“What did he say? Watch out for what?” You whispered, absolutely puzzled and needing to know what the man said to you.

Baekhyun only lifted his hand to rub over his tired looking eyes and shook his head.

You reached out a finger and poked him in the ribs to get him to talk.

After a minute, he scrunched up his face and looked across the long hallway that led to the exit of this building, inhaling a deep breath before he spoke.

“Love bugs.” He sounded defeated when he finally said it.

You must have been so caught up in your own denial that you simply refused to accept that those two words actually came out of his mouth. You shook your head back and forth in his direction.

“He didn't say that,” you said, lying to yourself. “There’s no way.”

“Yep. He knows,” he said, pausing his forward steps for a moment to respond to you again, “he definitely knows,” he said before resuming his journey toward the exit of the building.

[To Be Continued]

Links: Part 1, …. Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

Her Voice in Far-off Water

A totk fic for Linktober 2023 Day 10 Prompt: Zelda. 800 words. Bittersweet.

Link didn’t slide down the well-ladder this time.

The last time he had, Zelda’d scolded him.

“I come here to concentrate, Link.  As precious as you are to me, it’s difficult to do so when you’re about.”

“I’m about anyway!”

“Yes, but I cannot interact with you while alone belowground.”

He made a lopsided grimace, fists on his hips.  “Here I was thinking you needed time away from high pitched little-kid voices.”

“That, too.”

“You know they don’t leave when you disappear, right?  They climb on me and catch frogs in the pond instead.”

“Yes,” she said with a millimeter of smirk.

“Maybe I should have Bolson dig me a man-cave.”

“Perhaps you should!”

“We could both disappear at the same time.”

“Indeed!”

“Mine wouldn’t be as nice.”

“It might be if we locate a suitable location with respect to the water-table.”

“What would I do in there?”

“That is entirely your business,” she said with growing laughter.

“What?”

“Perhaps you could practice remaining still.”

“I can stay still!”

“Link, you cannot even crouch for a few minutes without fidgeting.”

“I can if I need to.  It’s just uncomfortable.”

“What about standing without rolling your shoulders or flexing your muscles?”  She poked his bicep. Then she wiggled her finger.

“PFF-“ he caught her hand and pulled her in at the waist. “I can do it if I need to.”

“Hmm.  Hmhmhm.”

He tickled her ribs.

“AAH!”

He heard her laugh echo in the soft, unbroken whoosh of some far-off, subterranean brook, carried through the surface of the clear well-water.

His lower lip curved up—just for a moment.

His boots scuffed their way to her desk.  She’d left her journal open, a frog-shaped paperweight on one corner.

“Go on.  Taste it!”

He shook his head.  The top pages felt the tiniest bit warped from moisture.  He moved to close it, not at all expecting the words he caught; he couldn’t help but read them.  She’d hidden a gift for him in the castle’s ruined throne-room.  She’d meant to take him… after they studied the gloom.

She’d probably have said she meant to find places to display the champions’ weapons—places of honor for them.  He’d have gone along with that.  The constant reminder had been too much in their home, but it didn’t feel right to ignore them, either.

He shut the book and his eyes at the same time, overcome with an exhaustion he had no name for.  He dropped into the wooden chair and rested his arms on the desk, crossed—then his head on those.

He stayed a long time.

The circle of sunlight had strayed from the well’s floor to a crescent of gold just below the entrance’s rim when he roused.  Laughter and a splash issued from somewhere above him.

Catching frogs.

He stretched his sore neck and back with a deep breath, eyeing the drawings she’d pinned to the right.  He had a huffed laugh in him somehow. 

Aster’d included Zelda’s clips, bright blue like his hairband.

He missed his hairband.

He shook his head, scrubbed his face, stood and resolved to sleep in a less awkward position that night.  As he turned to go, he caught sight of her storage chest.

He really shouldn’t leave her journal out.  She shouldn’t have either, but small things slipped sometimes with so much on her mind.

He picked the book up and flipped the chest open-

-and there it was, right on top: his hairband.  The old one.

He swapped it for the book without a glimmer of thought.

It had faded to a blue-gray.  It didn’t complement his eyes, and it would no longer match his champion’s tunic or Zelda’s clips.

He put it on anyway, just like he used to.

“You do this on purpose,” she’d said.

“What?”

“Your messy bangs and long locks to frame your face.”

“Locks?” he said, each of his laughs heightening in pitch.

“Yes!”

“No one says locks anymore, Princess.”

“You’ve deflected.”

“Nah.”

“You could easily pull all your hair back.  It’s long enough.”

“Eh.”

“Doesn’t it get in your way during battle?”

“Nope.”

“May I see it the other way?”

Link shrugged.  “Sure.”

She styled it for him, smoothing his hair as he kept his breathing slow and even.

“You look handsome.”

“Thanks.  Do you… like it this way better?”

She considered him, her hand beneath her chin, her index finger pushing at her upper lip.  “Hmm.” Her head listed sideways.  “I think I prefer your usual style.”

He snorted and took the band out.

“Only because it looks more like you,” she said softly.

“I’m me no matter what my hair looks like.”

“Of course—though you act in a considerably different fashion with your hair entirely down.”

“That’s because of what we’re doing when you take it out.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

He shut the chest with a quiet tap and rose from crouching.  He hadn’t fidgeted at all.

He left with a promise to return the memento with her.

With Zelda.

@ghostoffuturespast tagged me BACK for wip wednesday. RUDE. i tag @merge-conflict @dani-the-goblin @another-corpo-rat @totentnz

i got the first scene rewrite done and i'm pretty happy with it, i really heightened further just how pathetic V is and his anxieties and self loathing. really hitting home wakako's statement about his ritual self-debasement not going unnoticed to show how v is perceiving her and her body language. he feels like the scum of the earth but is trying desperately to believe its not the case, he defends himself but its all empty. he's at war inside with believing he's fine but knowing everyone else can see he's not.

-

The old Japanese woman sitting behind the dark oak desk held the key to Vincent Guerra's evening activities in her skull. She wore the same blend of neo-kitsch-meets-entropy clothes to work at the back of the Pachinko parlor. Tonight, it was a starched-rigid red blouse that opened from the black Nehru collar to her bellybutton, revealing the tattoos that marked her as a member of the Tyger Claws. A sharp amber glow flitted around her pupils, framed by her round glasses, as she inspected the datashard he had handed her just moments ago.

V slouched down in the cheap wood and plastic chair in her modest office. The pale wood frame and red vinyl cushions clashed with the Japanese decor, and V realized it was the only thing that had changed in the ten years he'd been working with her. The jade statues of dragons that looked so bright and vibrant when he first stepped foot inside were now dull from layers of dust. The plastic laminate over the synthwood that gave the planks made from recycled wood pulp were chipped, revealing the yellowed fiber beneath.

Wakako Okada removed the shard from the port behind her right ear and stared at V over the rims of her glasses as she placed it back in the translucent red plastic case on the desk. V snapped to attention and sat up straighter. He rubbed his hands on his thighs over his dark jeans like a twitchy addict.

Because he was.

Not addicted to drugs per se, unless one counted addiction to the chemicals one's own body produces. For V, those chemicals were oxytocin, endorphins, and dopamine released during climax.

"Well?" he asked sharply.

Wakako nodded and opened a drawer in her desk. She slid the shard case inside and slammed it shut as her eyes flashed blue to transfer V's fee to him. "Contract closed. Payment in your account now."

V shot up out of the chair, so eager to find his next release he nearly knocked it backward, and walked to the door.

"A word of warning, Mr. Guerra," Wakako said.

V turned in the doorway to look at her and shoved his right hand into the pocket of the brown crystaljock merc jacket with the Samurai logo emblazoned on the back he always wore. He picked at the already raw skin around his thumb. Wakako's eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and inhaled sharply before speaking, like what she was about to say pained her. There was no softness or empathy in her eyes, not that there ever was. Whatever this "warning" was, it wasn't given out of care for V.

"Your ritual self-debasement is not going unnoticed," she started.

V opened his mouth to speak but felt like any exhalation would spray sand all down his chin. He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed, begging his salivary glands to work so he could defend himself.

"Some free career guidance, my dear." The pet name held no love, he was not a dear grandchild, he was a disgusting smear in her office. The wrinkles around her lips deepened when she spoke next, and V thought he saw a sneer brush her upper lip. "You are too old to be doing this."

"I-", V cleared his throat, trying to gather any moisture from the ambient air, "I don't know what you're fuckin' talking about, Wako." He clenched his fist inside his jacket. Was that not what Jig-Jig Street was for? The way V saw it, he was just putting the fixer's money back in her own pocket.

"Get your shit together, V." His name was spat across her lips, like the shell of a sunflower seed carelessly dribbled onto the floor. She turned in her chair and continued a phone call he'd interrupted earlier in her native Japanese.

V shook with rage and trembled with self-hate. He stomped out of the pachinko parlor and onto the pink and blue streets of Night City's premier destination for all the sex and debauchery you could find—outside what Maelstrom or Scavs offered. And V was getting closer and closer every day to finding out just what delights the brutes had for sale because the drinking and anonymous sex just didn't fill the black hole inside his chest anymore.

He hunched his shoulders and pulled the tall collar of the jacket closer around his face. The neon blue light running along the inside of the collar for the personal temperature control blurred his peripheral vision. He liked it better that way. It made it easier to look at the working boys and girls, easier to make a selection. He didn't have to see the grim details that made him feel guilty for being a willing participant in this cycle of depraved poverty.

Day 16 ~ Overheat

Prompt: Public.

Pairing: Mo Lundy × (Pre-Op) FTM!Reader.

Word Count: 4.2k+

CW: Cum-swallowing, oral sex, outdoor sex, public/semi-public sex, sweat, throat-fucking, vaginal sex.

Mo's been working like a dog (no pun intended) these last few days.

The heat wave has meant the dogs are uncomfortable so there's more work to be done. He's constantly hosing them down or cleaning out their runs and kennels. There's a fair amount of overheating too and Mo has had to bring quite a few over to Linda for help. Because of the extra workload he hasn't had a ton of time to talk to you, despite working in the same shelter. You try to help Mo out where you can, like bringing him water or lunch and Linda even offered to take on some dogs so Mo wouldn't have to hose them down so many times a day. But it didn't seem like he could slow down.

But as the heat wave is starting to break, things are slowing down. There's been a noticeable difference today. The dogs are settling down, they're less irritable and the runs are a lot cleaner. But Mo is still drenched in sweat, his hair slicking to his forehead as moisture trickles down his temples. You hand Mo another water bottle that you grabbed from the fridge and he chugs it.

"Thanks." He says, wiping his mouth.

"You doing okay?" You ask, taking the empty bottle from him and tossing it in the recycling bin. You drink in the sight of him; his arms glistening with sweat, the way his boiler suit clings to his body, his toned chest and abs... You lick your lips and look up at Mo. His tired eyes soften as he smiles.

"Better now." Mo replies. Your cheeks warm and your heart skips a beat but the moment is broken when Linda calls for you.

"Hey, can one of you give this dog his medication please?" She asks, holding a plastic cup with a little bit of green-coloured liquid.

"I'll do it." You say softly. Mo follows behind you into one of the runs where a small terrier mix is sat. He's panting slightly and looks pretty uncomfortable. You squat down so you're level with the dog and smile, holding the cup close to him.

"Here's the nasty stuff." You coo. The dog sniffs the liquid then licks the rim of the cup before snuffling. "I know, bud, but if you wanna kick that infection, you're gonna have to take it." You sigh, petting his head gently. Mo watches you, smiling fondly as you try and encourage the dog to drink the medicine. He notices Linda smirking at him from the kennel over and realises how love struck he must look. But he doesn't really care. He likes you and has been trying to figure out a way to ask you out but he's nervous. He doesn't want to ruin what he has with you.

Once the terrier has taken his medication, you pet his head and rub his belly. "There's a good boy..." And you have to stop yourself for a moment, suddenly going light-headed as you brace yourself against the side of the kennel. Heat floods through you and a wave of sweat beads along your skin. God, it's still so hot... Mo notices the way you sway on your feet and rushes over, kneeling beside you.

"You okay?" He asks, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Heat getting to me, I think." You reply, closing your eyes for a moment and taking a few deep breaths.

"C'mon, let's get you sat down." Mo helps you stand and guides you back outside, to get some fresh air. Linda wanders over.

"What happened?" She asks.

"Just the heat. He's okay." Mo replies. Linda hums thoughtfully and places her hands on her hips.

"You keep an eye on him. I'll finish up here."

"You sure?" Mo asks.

"Positive." Linda says firmly before heading back inside.

Mo leads you over to a bench and helps you sit down. The shade the building provides is a massive help and the breeze feels amazing. But you're still sweating. And, God, does he wear the heat well; his skin glistens and you can't help but imagine running your tongue along Mo's body, tasting the salt on his skin, the heat of his flesh... You lick your lips and squeeze your thighs together, biting your lip. But he's eying you up too; your wide, desperate eyes, the sweat clinging to your brow, the way you squirm... This is the kind of sweet, sticky heat that makes people do stupid, crazy things... Mo clears his throat and swallows thickly.

"It's so damn hot." You groan. Mo chuckles.

"You could say that again."

"We should cool off."

"How would we—" Mo replies.

"Well, there's the hose..."

"Yeah, for the dogs." Mo scoffs. You smirk and bite your lip.

"But dogs aren't the only ones who overheat..." Mo can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Linda would probably kill him if she found out. Or would she? She knows he's thought about asking you out and, judging from the way you're looking at him, full of wanton longing, this might be his best shot. "Guess it couldn't hurt."

Mo gets up and grabs the hose, testing the water before turning it on you. The water is cold and sends a shiver through you, making you yelp.

"Holy shit!" You gasp. Mo laughs heartily and you grin at him, warmth flaring in the pit of your stomach. You kick off your shoes and wring out your hair. The wet shirt clings to your skin and he can see everything; your nipples poking through the fabric, hard from the chill of the water, the curve of your waist, the hem riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin. Mo swallows thickly and aims the hose at himself, letting the refreshing water drench him. He sighs in relief and closes his eyes, tipping his head back. You watch the water drip down his neck, his chest and his stomach. The boiler suit is sticking to his skin and he's debating just taking it off. You reach for the hem of your shirt, lifting it to reveal your stomach, before remembering yourself. Sure, you're a guy but you still have a full chest and some might find that...problematic.

"Do you— Umm... Do you mind if I...?" You gesture to your shirt. Mo smiles softly and shakes his head.

"Sure." You pull your shirt off and wring it out. He tries not to stare but you're right there; the soft swell of your chest glistening, your nipples pert, goosebumps covering your arms. Mo can't help but wonder how you'd feel, how soft and warm and you'd be... There's a beat of silence between you and it feels like hours. Mo bites his lip and chews on the inside of his cheek before taking a breath and stepping closer. "Can I— Umm... Could I touch you?" You inhale sharply and nod, a little too quickly.

"Please."

Mo moves closer and puts a hand on your chest, cupping the soft flesh. His thumb brushes over your nipple and a soft moan escapes your lips. Mo takes another step forward, closing the gap between you. You reach up to grasp the zipper of his boiler suit, looking to him for permission. Mo nods and you slowly unzip it, pulling the sleeves down and pushing the sweat-dampened garment off his shoulders. You run your hands along his arms, his toned biceps, his strong forearms, the dusting of dark hair along the centre of his chest... Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, reigniting the warmth that spreads across your skin, sweat beading.

"Can— Can I kiss you?" You ask but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips against yours. Your hands come up to cup his jaw, his beard tickling your palms, moustache brushing against your top lip. Mo wraps an arm around your waist, his hand resting against the small of your back. He steps forward, forcing you backwards, until you're pressed against the side of the shelter. His boiler suit falls to the ground and he kicks it aside. His other hand comes up to grip your hip. You press your tongue to the seam of his lips, practically begging for entry, and he grants it. Mo tastes so good, his tongue moving against yours, the slick muscle gliding, caressing. You wrap a hand around his wrist, pushing it around to the back of your pants, letting him grope you through your soaked shorts. He seems so nervous to touch you, wary of his strength. But you need him; his calloused hands, his rough skin, the firmness of his body, his muscles... Mo squeezes your ass gently and a moan rumbles in the back of your throat. His cock twitches at the sound and he finds himself pressing his hips against yours. You can feel the hard outline of his dick and gasp into his mouth. Mo swallows thickly and backs off slightly.

"We— We should stop." Mo says, breath coming in quick gasps. "We can't...do this here." He breathes and you grab his shoulders, turning the both of you is his back is pressed to the wall. You're surprised how easily he goes.

"Why not?" You pant, running a hand along Mo's toned chest, down his stomach. You press the heel of your palm against the bulge in his boxers and he can't help but groan.

"Fuck..." Mo whispers, tipping his head back, hitting the side of the shelter. His cock throbs and heat floods his cheeks.

"We're just cooling off, aren't we?" You breathe, leaning in to pepper kisses along his neck.

You slip your fingers under his sweat-soaked vest, feeling the stickiness of the skin there. You inch your fingers a little higher, dragging your nails along the thick hair that trails along his navel. Gently, you push his vest up to his chest and he helps get it off the rest of the way, letting you take in the gorgeous sight of his skin, glistening and flushed. You push yourself against him, your tongue dragging along his sternum to taste the salt there. Mo groans, deep and guttural, as you lap at his nipple. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud, your teeth grazing the pebbled flesh. Mo threads his fingers into your hair and bucks his hips. God, he needs more. He reaches down to hook his thumbs into the hem of his sweatpants but you stop him.

"Let me..." You purr, hooking your finger into the elastic of his waistband. You sink to your knees, laying kisses along his chest and down the paler skin of his belly. Oh, he's so soft here, the flesh pliant and yielding under your lips. Mo watches you with baited breath, his heart pounding. The way you've dreamed about this is unreal. You gently suckle at the skin, sinking further and further toward his waistband as you savour every press of your mouth against his body. Mo runs his fingers through your hair, the locks damp and curled from the humidity.

You pull his sweatpants down just enough to expose his boxers, his dick straining against the damp, warm fabric. Slowly, you lean in and drag your tongue along the outline of his huge shaft, from base to tip, tasting the musk of his arousal. Mo bites his lip to keep from crying out. You lave your tongue over his clothed length, swirling the tip around the crown. He braces himself against the wall, pressing his head back, eyes drifting shut. You lick a stripe along his clothed erection, his cock twitching as pre-cum oozes from the slit, seeping into the already-damp fabric. Mo groans and you can't take it anymore; you need him.

Hooking your fingers under the elastic, you gently tug his sweatpants and boxers down, his thick, hard cock springing free. Your breath catches in your throat. God, he's huge; thick, veiny and the crown is flushed and slick with pre. You glance up at him before taking the head into your mouth, rolling the tip of your tongue along the weeping slit, lapping up the salty-sweet fluid. You take his full, heavy balls in your palm, squeezing them, rolling them gently. Mo gasps and threads his fingers into your hair again, bucking his hips slightly. You take him deeper into your mouth, his huge girth prying open your jaw. The weight of his dick is divine; heavy on your tongue, your cheeks hollow. Mo tips his head back, his heart racing.

"Fuck, that's— You're so— H-Hahh... Your mouth, it's— Ohhh..." He moans desperately, his voice low and husky. You take him down, inch by inch, and he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, one large, strong hand resting on the back of your head. There's so much of him and he easily hits the back of your throat and you still have two thirds of his cock left to take. You try your best to relax your throat, your gag reflex fluttering as you work your way down, deeper, deeper... Mo gasps and moans and his legs barely support him. You swallow around his thick shaft, tears welling in your eyes, your throat tightening. Mo grits his teeth and forces himself to stay quiet. Linda could walk out any moment and he really doesn't want to get caught. But, fuck, your throat's so tight and hot and wet and— He chokes on a groan, biting his lip. You huff out a determined breath before trying to take him down again. You get close — so close — to taking him all the way in but choke when his crown hits the back of your throat again. Mo threads his fingers into your hair and gently coaxes you off his cock, strings of saliva hanging from your pink, swollen lips.

"Shit, y... You okay?" Mo pants. You nod and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"Fine... Just— Y'know, not used to such a big...y'know." You say sheepishly and his cheeks flush. "Might need your help." His brows quirk in confusion. You flush, realising you'll have to explain. "If you...grab my head, keep me still, you can just...fuck my throat." Mo inhales sharply and his cock throbs. Fuck, he wants that. He wants that so fucking bad.

"You sure?" He asks and you nod.

"Please."

You sit back on your toes and Mo gently takes your head in his hands, lining his cock up with your mouth. He presses the leaking, flushed crown to your lips and you part them, letting Mo ease into your mouth. The tip hits the back of your throat again and his breath catches. Gently, he rolls his hips, his cock sliding into your throat with a slight push. You moan and his hips stutter. God, your mouth is so hot and slick and your throat is so tight. Again, there's just so much of him... He slides in deeper and deeper and it just doesn't seem to stop. But you're determined. You gag and he goes to pull away but you grab onto his thighs, pulling him to you, a silent plea for him to keep going. Mo swallows thickly and rocks his hips slowly, your throat stretching, opening up to accommodate his huge girth.

Finally, you take him all the way, your nose pressed into the thick curls at the base. Mo's breath leaves him and he's struggling to stay standing. You swallow around him and he hears it. Mo groans and finally lets himself go; his inhibitions, his self-restraint... He grips your head a little tighter and pulls his hips back before thrusting forward, his cock sliding in easily from the slick of your spit. Mo starts a slow pace, the thick, veiny shaft gliding along your throat. Tears prick your eyes but you don't care. The way Mo loses himself, his lips parted, eyes drifting shut, brows knit, cheeks flushed; he's gorgeous and the sounds he makes are sinful.

You can feel yourself running low on oxygen, growing woozy from the lack of air and the heady, musky scent. Your vision's going dark but, fuck it, you couldn't care less. Mo picks up the pace, his thrusts growing harder, rougher, and you can hear him getting close; his breath coming quick, his moans rising in pitch, the grip on your head getting tighter. Your chest's starting to burn and it's only a matter of time before you pass out. God, he's so close... You can feel him twitching, hear him panting, taste the pre-cum oozing down your throat. Mo's thighs are trembling and you need him to cum. You swallow around his throbbing, thick shaft and that's it...

Suddenly, Mo slams his hips against your face and a choked cry falls from his lips. His cock throbs and he spills straight into your stomach, thick ropes painting your throat. Mo holds you perfectly still, the head buried so deep. Your chest's on fire now and your body starts to go slack. Mo rides out his high, his cock pulsing, twitching, filling your belly. He doesn't stop, pumping more and more into, emptying his balls down your throat. Fuck, there's just so much... Finally, he eases you off his softening shaft, strings of saliva hanging from the flushed, slick crown. Mo sinks to his knees and cups your face. Your head's spinning and you're gasping for air.

"Hey— Hey, you okay?" Mo asks softly. It takes a few moments but you nod.  Your eyes are unfocused, glazed over, and you're wheezing, desperate for air. "Hey. Hey, hey, c'mon, look at me." Mo says, his voice shaky. You take a few deep breaths and blink a few times, getting your bearings.

"Y-Yeah..." You rasp, wiping the tears and drool from your face. "That was... That was perfect..." Mo chuckles softly and sighs, relief washing over him. When you glance down, he's still hard, a mix of drool and cum dripping in viscous globs from his dick. You lick your lips and Mo notices, heat flooding his cheeks.

"Sorry, I— Umm... Sorry." Mo says sheepishly.

"Don't apologise." You reply. "You're still—"

"It'll go away."

"Or..." You purr, pulling one of his large, warm hands to the crotch of your soaked shorts, feeling the warmth of the flesh there. "... We could take care of it." Mo's eyes widen slightly. He really shouldn't...but he caves easily, especially when you rock your hips against his palm and whine. Mo swallows thickly and cups you properly, his fingers curling between your thighs. God, you're so warm and he can feel everything; the soft mound, the dampness of the fabric, the throbbing of your flesh. He needs you. And he needs you now.

Mo hooks his fingers into your waistband and rips your shorts and boxers in one swift motion. You gasp, watching the fabric fall away, revealing the soft swell of your mound, your thick, glistening cunt. Heat floods Mo's cheeks and his dick throbs, ready to go again. Fuck, you're gorgeous; the thick hair, the slippery sheen of slick, the way your hole gapes. Mo spreads your lips slowly, the thick digits gently rubbing along the flesh. He nearly cums on the spot...

Mo pushes you back on the grass, watching your body splay out, your skin gleaming with sweat and tears and cum. Softly, he parts your thighs, pinning them to the grass, as he reaches for his cock. There's a beat of silence, where he drinks in the sight of you and vice versa. You lay on the lawn beside the shelter; sweaty, spread out, ready to be fucked. Anyone could pull up to the gate or Linda could walk out but you couldn't care less. Mo is kneeling over you — eyes wide, lips parted — looking like, if he doesn't fuck you now, he's going to lose it. And who are you to stop him?

He slides the swollen head of his cock along the folds of your cunt, coating himself in your slick. Mo lines up his crown with your hole and ever so gently starts pushing in. There's resistance; you're not used to something so big, after all. God, you're so warm and slick and tight and— His thighs are already shaking and, God, is it a struggle just to keep himself together. Mo glances up at you for reassurance. You're breathless and your brows are knit, sweat trickling along the curve of your forehead. The stretch is heavenly and you get lost in the pleasure of it all until, suddenly, he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, hot breath fanning across your face.

"Please..." Mo breathes and, fuck, you've never heard anything so gorgeous.

"Fuck me, Mo... I...I want you..." You pant and he doesn't hold back. Slowly, he bottoms out, his crown brushing against your cervix, the thick shaft stretching you open. You gasp and your breath catches. Mo can't help but groan; your cunt's so wet and hot and tight and he can't stop himself. Your body is so wet and soft and warm and— Mo presses his lips to yours, muffling his moans, his thick facial hair brushing against your skin. You throw your arms around his broad shoulders, raking your fingers down the back of his neck. Mo starts a slow pace, his huge, thick girth dragging along your walls, his crown kissing your cervix perfectly.

He's perfect; stretching you open, making you his, and you love it. You buck your hips and, God, does that drive him crazy. Mo snaps his hips, burying himself in quick, rough thrusts. You tip your head back, breaking the kiss and a choked cry falls from your lips. Mo ducks his head to pepper worshipping, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, the thick curls of his moustache brushing against the sensitive skin there. "Fuck, Mo— Hahh... Oh, God— You're— F-Fuck... So good..." You moan, threading your fingers into his hair. Mo speeds up, his thrusts rough and hard and his crown keeps hitting the entrance to your womb. The sound of skin on skin fills the yard, the heat stifling, the both of you soaked in sweat, rutting and fucking like animals under the hot sun.

Mo can feel the heat building in the pit of his stomach again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You feel so good wrapped around him, moaning in his ear, pulling his hair... Mo groans and nips your shoulder, laving his tongue over the bite. God, he needs more; more of you, your taste, your smell, the softness of your body, the warmth of your cunt... You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and his hips stutter as he chokes back a low groan.

Suddenly, his huge girth throbs and he spills straight into you, thick shots of cum painting your insides. Mo gasps and grits his teeth, burying himself deep as he cums. Your muscles flutter around him and, fuck, it's so hot and slick and— You whine, heat flooding your skin and the pit of your stomach as you cum. God, his spend is so thick and hot and there's just so much of it. Mo pumps shot after shot into you, filling you up, breeding you, marking you as his... You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him deep, as cum oozes from your overstuffed hole. He's panting in your ear, nuzzling against your neck softly, as his thrusts slow. Mo presses lazy kisses along your skin, lapping at the sweat pooling in the hollow of your throat.

"Fuck..." You whisper and Mo lets out a heavy sigh, humming in approval. Slowly, he rolls his hips, milking his spent cock as your body aches around him...

As you start to come down from the high, Mo sits up, kneeling between your outstretched thighs as cum oozes and bubbles from your hole, leaking out onto the lawn. Mo watches you laying sprawled out, hair sticking to your forehead, eyes drifting shut, your chest heaving. God, he did that... A wave of pride washes over him.

"You okay...?" He asks softly, brushing his knuckles along your inner thigh, watching you twitch.

"Better than okay..." You breathe and Mo chuckles softly.

Suddenly, Linda steps out from the shelter, throwing a towel to cover you up. Mo scrambles to get back into his clothes but you're just too blissed out to move.

"You two's done out here?" Linda asks and Mo flushes, his cheeks burning.

"Umm... Yeah." You reply lazily and Linda scoffs.

"Next time, at least try to keep it inside."

"S-Sorry." Mo breathes. Linda sighs and shakes her head.

"C'mon, help him clean up." She gestures to you and Mo quickly gets dressed before picking you up to take you inside. "There's some spare clothes in my locker." She sounds angry but there's a fondness in her gaze that she fails to hide. Maybe the two of you can finally get some more work done, now you're not pining over each other. Mo carries you inside and Linda smiles to herself. Guess it was about time you got together.

🔥Dunkegg NSFW ficlet🔥 below the cut (warnings; omegaverse, omegas have pussies, size difference, size kink, cunnilingus, squirting, underage, come swallowing, rimming, DLDR, takes place during The Sworn Sword)

He needed a drink. The heat in the Reach had drawn the moisture out of everything of late.

What water they had to drink was sweated out in an instant. Baked away under the glare of the sun. Oft the boy whined at the sight of withered-up melons dying on the vine.

Whole orchards sagged, browning under the scorching heat.

Even Dunk had omitted the need for heavy plate mail in the current climate. He kept his longsword upon his hip, his painted oaken shield upon his back, and his squire by his side.

"You're sweating," Egg noted rather unhelpfully as Maester and Thunder were left to graze on brittle chutes of grass.

"I hadn't noticed," Dunk grumbled sourly, wiping a broad palm down the sheen of sweat upon his face. The soil greedily drank up the droplets of perspiration.

The boy offered a skin of water, the contents as tepid as the humid air. Dunk felt the lining of his mouth plump up, resuscitated - his tongue is once more reminiscent of flesh than leather after a reserved sip. He moaned, and the sound shot through his nose.

The boy squirmed beside him in his floppy sun hat.

“Go on,” Dunk says to the boy, handing off the waterskin. Forcing himself to be oblivious in the face of apple blossoms and sweet smoke dripping into the air. The boy smells more alive than anything in this sun-bitten stretch of land.

"We should conserve our water, ser. I'm not thirsty."

The boy blinks back at him with owlish eyes.

"Drink," He says firmly, "I won't have you die because you're as stubborn as your mule."

Somehow Egg's pink little moue pulls into a smile. His bare little feet wiggle, watching as Maester flicks a long, irritable ear while chewing.

While Dunk sweats out his weight in water, the boy revels in this miserable heat, just as in Dorne. A little dragon he may be, but even dragons needed sustenance.

Egg takes a small sip, his lips moistened. With careful little hands, hands that had grown used to scouring rust from Dunk's weapons and armor, the boy corks the flask and hands it back.

"Thank you, ser." He murmurs from beneath his floppy sun hat.

It had been some time since they had sworn their steel to the lord of Standfast, Ser Eustace Osgrey. Currently, they have two large casks of wine tied to Maester's back.

It had been trouble enough procuring the wine, but returning it? That would be no easy victory. Dunk was of a mind to agree with his mouthy little squire; far be it for him to let the boy know, the validation might go straight to his bald little head. Water was a scarcity they needed to preserve.

It had been only an hour since they had paused for a drink, and already his throat ached dry.

A breeze drifts by, as lifeless as all else around them. It sticks lukewarm to the sweat upon his nape and back and brings the scent of apple blossoms and sweet smoke from behind, where Egg guides Maester by his lead. The boy bobs along contentedly, sun hat upon his bald head, one bare foot in a stirrup.

Dunk's tongue fattens with the dribble of his own saliva, thick and unbidden.

He swallows, yet it does little to quench his thirst.

He is not wont to linger in this heat.

With each plodding step Thunder takes, Dunk tells himself he and the boy will enjoy a refreshing dip in the stream upon their return to Standfast. A reward for their leal service.

But the stream is far off, and few things could suffice in its stead in such weather.

They pass another orchard, filled with pear trees mostly. Sagging, sad pear trees. They smell of sweet rot.

The scent of apple blossoms and sweet smoke doesn't fade. It is potent in the cloying air, like ripened, succulent fruit made for biting into.

Dunk wipes at the moisture that drips viscous from his drooling mouth; it seems a ludicrous waste of precious liquid.

"Ser," The boy calls, "Maester is very tired."

Dunk is not wont to linger in this heat, yet he must.

They unload their cargo to bring the stubborn mule some relief, if only for a time. The boy coos, rubbing a fond hand between the mule's long ears.

They linger in the sparse shade provided by the gray, sunbleached limbs of trees.

It is a miserable period while the animals rest; it is only worsened when the boy sits beside him, bare feet knocking together.

"You're...drooling." Egg notes rather unhelpfully.

"I hadn't noticed," Dunk replies sourly. His squire blinks at him with round, knowing eyes.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Ser?"

He is a knight, a man of staunch morals...

"Yes," Dunk croaks, throat dry.

The boy grins, far too clever for his own good.

Within an instant, Dunk hauls the boy to standing between his widespread thighs. Egg's roughspun trousers are tangled around his bony little ankles. His round, pale bottom sticks out in invitation.

Egg's scent is most potent there, dripping like nectar between the downy lips of his quim.

He whimpers, and the sound is sweeter than summer rain in Dunk's ears.

Dunk's nose presses against the boy's slit, nostrils flaring to take in as much musky sweetness as he can. It floods his olfactory senses and softens his mind. Primality within him yearns.

The tip of his nose is replaced by his tongue. He groans deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest as the sumptuous taste of apple blossoms and sweet smoke pools in his mouth.

Egg whines through his teeth. The little submissive arch of his back deepens.

Narrow hips urge back against Dunk's tongue, the length of which is saturated in slick -- fresh slick.

Sticky, sweet nectar glides down his throat.

He chases the taste from the tiny nub of the boy's pearl to the snug pucker of his rear.

He is ignorant to the heat, ignorant to the discomfort of a knight's aches and pains, ignorant to anything that wasn't tight and wet flexing around his tongue.

Little hands fumble to spread his plump little quim apart. The tiny pink hole winks at the Alpha, veritably pleading for the length of his tongue once more.

He presses his tongue back inside with a growl. He sups on all the boy has to offer and drinks deeply until he cannot remember the stream he wished to swim in.

"A-ah," Egg cries out, hips bouncing more avidly than they did in a saddle.

You ride my tongue better than you do your precious Maester, Dunk told himself as he squeezed at the boy's rear in silent encouragement.

"Ser, I'm going to," His breathing catches as a broad thumb blindly gives a few coarse rubs to the boy's bud. Skinny white thighs spasm.

Dunk doesn't cease the deep, curling probes of his tongue. He gorges himself on the boy's slick.

Egg tenses briefly before a fresh stream of Omegan slick gushes into Duncan's open mouth.

He laps away with broad, indulgent strokes of his tongue. Each pass traverses supple, pasty white skin.

Egg squirms, huffing out overstimulated whines.

"Too much..." The boy whimpers.

Dunk takes and takes until his mewling squire has nothing left to give. He feels the lack of fresh slick beneath his tongue, skin that tastes like the flesh of a melon consumed down to the bitter rind.

He remembers himself soon enough and reluctantly pulls his mouth away from the boy's puffy little quim.

He watches, somewhat forlorn, as that tiny pink hole winks at him once more.

He rises from his spot in the shade beneath the gray, sunbleached limbs of trees.

"We shouldn't delay any longer, Ser Eustace will be expecting us."

"Yes, ser." The boy murmurs, words vaguely slurred.

He turns to find his squire with his pasty white face tinged red. His pretty, little cunny is as bald as his head, glistening with spit.

The boy wobbles about with boneless legs before Duncan takes pity on the poor thing.

With a single hand, he plops the boy onto Thunder's saddle.

Egg hides a bashful look beneath his sunhat as Dunk walks beside the large destrier. One hand on the hilt of his sword, the other upon Maester's reins.

"Are you still thirsty, ser?" Egg asks a short while into their trek. In his hands is their waterskin. His little bare feet don't reach the stirrups.

Dunk eyes the skin and the slight turn of the boy's mouth.

"No," he says simply. Egg grins at him atop Duncan's horse, very pleased with himself.

In truth, Dunk is not eager for a drink to wash the taste from his mouth -- sweeter than summer rain.

“Conventional” ~ (Scrooge x Constance)

I was going to write something spicier, but when this song came up on YT, I...couldn’t resist. Liz Callaway is my inspo for Connie’s voice, so this sweet melody seemed like fated inspiration to write something about her and Scrooge’s daughter, Starla.

Just a soft, quick family fic. Enjoy!

Starla Florence DoGoode-Scrooge was as angelic of an infant as they came. Doe-eyed, smiling, her freckled cheeks flushed with life - she was nothing less than picturesque in aesthetic and decorum.

Regardless, even she was not immune to midnight terrors or other discomforts that lured her from docility into tearful fits that could last anywhere from minutes to hours.

Thankfully, her crib was near her mother and father’s bed, which met the young girl was granted immediate attention when she cried.

On this occasion, her mother was the one to slip her arms into the crib and lift Starla’s small form against her breast.

Cradling her with the gentleness of a freshly-bloomed flower cradling its springtime nectar, Constance began to sing gently:

Dry away the tears Lay aside your fears No more pain for my love I am here, go to sleep

Scrooge listened to her voice from his spot in the bed, rolling over just in time to see the red-haired woman drop a kiss upon her daughter’s brow. The moonlight rimmed her silhouette in a halo of seafoam-white, and the older man found himself transfixed by the sight. Her profile glowed with the precision of a cameo, and yet, lingered atop highlights of her hair and lips in a way that made her looks as if she herself was a celestial entity rather than a woman of flesh and blood.

Then, there was her voice. Ye gods, it was as clear as a bell, yet echoed through the halls with a ghostly tremor.

A world without the pain That's stuck with you for far too long A world that does contain A love like mine to watch you grow strong

And when my time arrives Please wait and make a place for me For when I do arrive Your face should be the first face I see

Such a sad melody, he thought, tears coming to his eyes. It sounded less like a lullaby and more like a song about grief. Acceptance of death, and it’s inevitable toll on families. Mourning, even.

Yet, the words threatened to lull both him and his infant into the catacombs of slumber. It was only due to him blinking moisture from his eyes that he avoided falling asleep to the soothing melody.

Then, a hush fell over the chamber.

Constance paused, ceasing the rocking motion and staring down at her daughter’s face. She gave Ebenezer a grin, messy locks tumbling down her shoulders and before her bright eyes. 

“There...” she whispered, eyes glued to Starla’s cherubic expression. “She’s asleep.”

As she sat her back down in her crib, Ebenezer moved so he could better lean against the headboard. Opening an arm to her, she picked up the hem of her long, white down and traipsed back into bed. She sidled up to him with a giggle, tucking herself back in with a sigh. The fireplace crackled weakly on the other side of the room, but neither had the strength to add more wood to the small pyre.

“Your song was lovely,” he said gently, stroking one of the rose-gold curls near her face. In the dark, he paid extra attention to his fingers to make sure they didn’t stray. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you, my all.”

“The lyrics, though. They sounded a tad...forlorn.”

The woman nodded softly, her cheek coming to rest over his heart. “It’s the only lullaby I know. I...don’t remember how I learned it. Maybe my mother taught me? Or, maybe I learned it before I was adopted.”

“Hm.”

“I...should learn others, I suppose.”

Scrooge tightened his grip and kissed her brown folding her body even closer to his. They kept their voices low and their movements soft, lest they awaken Starla again from her newly-discovered rest.

“Certainly not,” he said, “After all, she adored it. She went to sleep, did she not?”

“Hm. That is true...”

“It almost put me to sleep as well, I’ll admit.”

Another nod, this one more reluctant. “It’s just...not exactly conventional.”

Ebenezer smiled and dipped his head down. Their lips met softly, slotting together as perfectly as two pieces of a puzzle; like two halves of a long-broken geode. Long fingers slowly worked their way into her hair, tugging slightly to help angle her head at the perfect angle. She obliged eagerly, their noses mashing briefly as a result. This caused both to smile and laugh against each other’s lips.

“Then again,” she whispered playfully, “I suppose very little about us is conventional, huh?”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said, tone deepening as he traced her shell-like cheek in the moonlight. “Conventional love sounds positively dull.”

TAG LIST: @quill-pen​

Mr. Gallagher and Me

Jim x Reader

Playlist Chapter 13 Masterlists

Chapter 14

The fallout with her parents leads Jim and Y/n to take a huge step in their relationship Warnings- Angst.

Late December After she'd dropped her parents off at the airport, the only thing Y/n could even fathom doing was flopping into bed, and crying. Things had been mindbogglingly tense since Christmas and her mother had brashly cut the rest of the trip short, deciding that they'd leave the day after Boxing Day and not a couple days after New Year's, as originally planned. Worst yet, Natalie had completely stopped speaking to her, with the exception of a string of uttered, venomous words while they hugged stiffly at the airport;

"I love you but if you're gonna go through with this then maybe its best if we have nothing to do with each other."

Natalie's words had siphoned the air right out of Y/n's lungs and completely shaken by them, the drive back to Jim's place was done solely on muscle memory, though, by the time she stepped through the front door, dropping Jim's car keys and her key to his apartment in the designated bowl, she was barely holding it together. 

Clenching her jaw as she pressed forward, Y/n bit back her sobs, hoping to at least get to the bedroom before completely breaking down and probably worrying Jim, who was standing in the kitchen, in the process of putting away some dishes. "Hey," he lifted his head upon hearing her come in, setting the coffee pot down on the counter next to his much, "How'd it- what's wrong?" Noting her expression, Jim frowned deeply and moved around the counter to approach Y/n. 

Her lips were trembling and her eyes were brimmed with glassy moisture by the time Jim was close enough to take her into his arms, and from the minute she was enclosed in his embrace, she let a hitched sob slip. "She's never gonna speak to me again."

Soothingly, Jim rubbed up and down her back, "Whatever she said I'm sure she didn't mean it," he reasoned, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. 

"She said we shouldn't have anything to do with each other," Y/n cried, clinging to him tightly, "You don't know her like I do," she sniffed, pulling away as she hastily swiped at her  blotchy, tear stained cheeks, "When she says something, she means it." Unceremoniously, she sank to the sofa, and seconds later, Jim was resigning to the spot next to her, palm once more falling to her back, "This whole thing is such a mess."

For a moment, Jim was silent, though, it wasn't long before he chimed in hesitantly, "If you're having second thoughts-"

"I'm not," Y/n quickly turned her head to regard him with red rimmed, teary eyes, “I want this,” absently, her hand found the very subtle swell of her stomach, hidden by the thick layers meant to break the winter chill, “I just wish she’d be okay with it- or at least just talk to me,” Y/n sniffed, and then, just as Jim attempted to comfort her again, the muffled chime of her phone interrupted them. 

With a sniffle and an exhaled breath, Y/n shuffled her phone out of her long, burgundy coat and pressed gently on the bottom of the screen to illuminate it so she could unlock the device and read the text message. Upon noting that it was from her landlord, who rarely called or texted, she frowned, quickly opening it up only to have another weight piled onto her shoulders, “Oh my God,” she gasped, blinking quickly as fresh tears joined drying ones, “They’re not gonna pay my rent anymore. I have thirty days to move.” 

“Jesus,” Jim hissed sympathetically, before springing to action, “It’s gonna be okay. You can come here, if you want to. And if you don’t then…then I’ll get you somewhere-”

“Jim,” Y/n sighed tearily, heartened by his gesture- but it was just too much, with the money he was still contributing towards his kids, the medical expenses that he'd insisted on covering on his own and everything that he’d have to spend on their baby, she couldn’t let him taken on another financial obligation, and she didn’t want them to be forced into living together if that wasn’t something he wanted. “I can’t let you do that, its too much.”

“Then live here, with me,” he urged, taking her hand in one of his while using the other to dry her face, “You’re sure about us?” She nodded astutely, “And I’m sure about us. We’re already living together, sort of, this obviously isn’t the way I wanted it to happen," she too had imagined that if they ever did move in together, it would be more....joyous. "But why don’t we just make it official.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing this. I can find somewhere if you’re not ready,” Y/n reasoned. Even if she did adore the idea of living with Jim, she wanted it to be a decision stemming from an idea of a shared future- though, she supposed their futures were already entangled considering they’d be raising a child together. 

“Believe me,” Jim smiled sadly, meeting her bleary gaze, “I know you can find somewhere on your own, you are intelligent and independent, and you don’t need me to do that- or anything else-for you,” he leaned in pressing their foreheads together, “But when I tell you I’m ready for this, its the entire truth, so if you’re ready too, then why not?” 

Smiling mournfully through her tears, Y/n’s hands encircled Jim's wrists as he cupped her tear-soaked cheeks,  “Okay,” she pursed her lips, stealing a quick kiss off his lips, “I’m ready too,” she admitted. She was still incomparably upset, and it would be a long time before she felt completely alright again but at least right then, with Jim, she didn’t feel like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, maybe her world wasn’t falling apart after all, it was just changing and she’d have to start trying to keep up. 

Mid January They’d finally brought the last of Y/n’s things up from Jim’s car. Because her apartment had been a furnished studio, the bulk of her belongings had been clothes, kitchenware, smaller appliances, linens and books, all of which they could have brought over in two trips with his car, granted both the backseat and the trunk had been completely packed with filled boxes. His kids had volunteered their weekend to help, and thanks to their offer, by Sunday evening all of the boxes had been brought up to his apartment. 

That did not mean they’d been unpacked though. 

They’d started with her clothes first, Jim had already cleared out half his wardrobe and dresser for her, so the real work that evening had been emptying the boxes and putting things away. He’d been pleased to walk in on Alannah helping her hang things in the closet as they joked around about what she could and couldn’t borrow-Jim was thrilled that they seemed to be getting closer, and both his kids, after the initial shock had worn off, had welcomed the idea of another sibling. Of course, there had been subtly expressed reservations; would the new baby take his attention away? Would he love that child more because he was happy with Y/n? How different would things be after the baby arrived? After they’d been remedied through, they both quickly became acquainted with the idea; Ben was excited to no longer be the youngest while Alannah had started hoping for a little sister.

“You two almost done in here?” Jim entered the bedroom, glancing around at the disarray; half unpacked boxes littered around the floor, a small mountain of fabric and plastic hangers piled onto the bed and another set of untouched boxes, labeled ‘towels’, ‘shoes’ and ‘make-up’. 

Laughing softly, Y/n shook her head as she slipped the spaghetti straps of a pink dress onto a hanger while Alannah examined a white, bohemian blouse with cuffed sleeves and a simple design on the front, “I don’t even think we’re close. I didn’t realize I had so much stuff!” She huffed, gathering a collection of about three or four articles of clothing, already fitted to clear, plastic hangers before walking over to the closet. 

Jim hummed approaching her as she shifted some things around in the closet, snaking his arms around her so he could lay his large palms flat on her stomach and press her back to his chest, “I could have told you that, sweetheart,” he teased. 

Scoffing, Y/n gently tapped his forearm, but didn’t make any moves to shuffle out of his embrace, instead reveling in the security of his embrace, the soothing, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her back and the warmth of his hands permeating the fabric of her sweater. “I actually just came to find out if you wanted all your books in here or in the living room.” Though he’d asked, after quickly glancing around the room when they’d turned, he’d realized that there may not have been much space for them anyway, unless  they stayed in boxes, 

“I don’t think there’s enough room in here,” Y/n vocalized Jim’s thoughts as she regarded him. “They can probably stay in the- oh,” he caught her curious expression when she knitted her brows, “What’s that doing in here?” Before Jim could ask what she’d met, Y/n vacated his embrace and trotted over to a medium sized box labeled; ‘kitchen’. 

Without hesitation she lifted it off another box, that one filled with bed sheets, and immediately after she did, Jim rushed over to her, practically snatching it away, “Maybe not this one,” he explained, testing the box’s weight and then frowning; it wasn’t heavy, at least not for him, but he refused to left Y/n carry anything that seemed heavy enough to require effort, always adamantly reminding her of Dr. Shaw’s orders to not exert herself. 

“Jim,” Y/n admonished with a giggle, “Its just some dishes-”

“They’re too heavy,” he determined, “Besides,” he leaned forward, stealing a quick, doting peck, “You’re already carrying something.” he winked and Y/n laughed a little louder, proceeding to call him ‘cheesy’ as he left the room. Quickly, he left the room, taking the box to the kitchen, and vaguely, he was aware of Alannah deserting the room too, following him to the kitchen, though only to get a bottle of water for herself. Once there, she fell into light banter with Ben and Jim decided to rejoin Y/n in the bedroom, finding that she’d returned to her former task.

“You know,” he began again, promoting her to glance upwards as she folded a black t-shirt, “I’ve never realized how small this room is,” he frowned, panning his gaze to a very specific spot directly in front of the window, “Don’t get me wrong, its fine if its just the two of us,” he stepped deeper into the room, gravitating towards the window, “But I really thought we could fit a crib here,” he gestured to an area between the arched window and the chestnut dresser.

“It could be a small crib,” Y/n reasoned, moving to stand beside him. Her small palm sought the center of Jim’s back, and instinctively, he draped his arm across her shoulders, cuddling her close. 

Emitting a sound of acknowledgment, Jim quickly countered, “Yeah, but we still have to find them more room when they get older. Space to run around and play. Alannah and Bed had a huge backyard when they were growing up,” he frowned, glancing through the pulled curtains, only to catch a glimpse of the building across the street-there wasn’t a park nearby, and the streets certainly weren’t safe for playing. 

Glancing at him, Y/n knitted her brows, “Are you trying to tell me something?” She gnawed at her lower lip, awaiting his words, which took a few seconds before they came. 

He sighed softly, “I’ve been thinking a lot….maybe it would be good for us if we bought a house. Everyone could have their own bedroom, we could get somewhere with lots of yard space so they can play."

He could see she liked the idea, it was in that bright glimmer dancing in her eyes, but that didn't stop her from deterring him with logic. "Jim," she sighed heavily, detaching herself from him, "I'm gonna be out of a job once I graduate, I won't be able to pitch in for a mortgage anytime soon."

“You won’t have to,” Jim reached for her hand and they moved to face each other, his hopeful gaze meeting her hesitant one, “At  least, not until you can….or want to.”

Y/n’s shoulders slumped, “I….ugh,” she huffed, shaking her head, “Its too soon, and that’s a lot of money-”

“We can afford it,” Jim promised.

“No,” Y/n squeezed his hand and Jim reciprocated the gesture, “You can afford it.”

Frowning, Jim sighed heavily, “I just want to take care of our family, “ gently, he tugged on her hand, drawing her closer, and with a soft smile, Y/n stumbled closer, “And it doesn’t matter which one of us the money comes from, it’ll be our home.” With his frown still evident, he watched as she quickly moistened her lips and glanced away, looking out the window. Exhaling softly, he affectionately squeezed her fingers once more before offering, “Why don’t we ask Jellybean what they think?”

Refocusing her attention, she turned back to him, “What?” Y/n gasped, a broader smile brightening her features as Jim sank to one knee, dropping her hand in favor of taking hold of her hips. 

“What do you think, Jellybean?” Jim began, speaking to her still very small, and easily hidden bump, “Do you want your own room and a backyard? A bigger house? That would be cool, yeah?” When he pressed his ear to her stomach, Y/n broke into a fit of wild giggles, lifting one hand to thread her fingers through his hair. “They said yes,” he reported a moment later. 

“Sure,” Y/n agreed, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she thought about it some more, her expression faltering for a moment as he straightened up. “Alright,” she pressed her lips into a from line, breathing out with a suppressed shudder, “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s not a ‘no,’” Jim quirked his brows curiously. 

“Its not a ‘yes’ either,” she reminded firmly, “But I promise that I will.”

Smiling softly, and suppressing his quiet worry, Jim nodded, “That’s all I’m asking,” he raised his hands, palms up and forward. Despite the facade she’d put up, Jim could see Y/n hesitating about the whole idea of buying a house together, and suddenly, he found himself worried that having a baby together did not mean that she’d completely figured out her future; did she want to stay in Ireland permanently? Returning to the states seemed enormously complicated, particularly with a child in the mix.

But Jim didn’t want to cause her any more stress by bringing it up. She was still reeling from the fallout with her mother, losing her apartment and the anxiety that accompanied completing her thesis defense and graduating pregnant- she had already accepted that at some point, she’d be too far along to hide it, but was worried about the rumors that would start going around. 

Before either of them could say anything to remedy the new tension that had befallen the room, a clatter that sounded like it had come from up the hall prompted them to both jump a little in surprise. “I’ll go check on that,” Jim assured, jumping at the offer to put some space between them so they could both clear their heads a little, squeezing her arm affectionately before starting to walk off. 

“Babe,” she called out to him as he neared the door and pausing, Jim turned to regard her. Her expression was enough to disclose that she’d picked up on his unexpressed disappointment and he pressed his lips together, hoping to not make her feel any more guilty,  “I promise that I’ll really think about it.”

It wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping to hear, but somehow, it still served to make him feel a little better, and so, he flashed her a faint, brief smile, “Great,” he nodded, faltering, “I’m glad,” he nodded before continuing out of the room, secretly, and probably selfishly, hoping that her reluctance didn’t mean anything too dire- like deciding that the rest of her life was not in Ireland. 

Jim didn't want to hold her back, but he also didn't want to lose her, though, as he headed down the hall, he tried to push the thought out of his mind entirely, there was no use dwelling anyway.

Boom (M). Part 3.

Preview: “What’re you watching?” Your eyes widen tilting your head to the side. Hovering behind Jeno’s gaming chair to get a closer look at his computer screen. A video of a bunny hybrid bent over getting rammed from both end’s plays. Squeaks and moans lowly thump from his speakers.

Jeno jolts up pulling his hoodie over his hardened length. His neck twists seeing you focused on the obscene video Jaemin had linked him. Jeno’s throat dries, stuttering- “h-how…how long have you been s-standing there?!?”

Your arms wrap around Jeno’s headrest inching your face closer to his. He falters in surprise tilting his chin up. “Long enough.”

Pairing: 00’line x female bunny hybrid reader

Word Count: 5k+

Genre: Hybrid AU, pwp, idolverse, M/F smut, series

Smut Warning: non-penetrative humping, choking, daddy kink, fingering, oral, gagging, rimming/ass play

Part 1 | Part 2 |

a/n: thanks for 1k on the first two parts. lol fuck.

“What? No baby, absolutely not..” Renjun pries your hand away. Head shaking in dismay, never the less gritting his teeth ready to blow his load.

“Why not?! I want to! Renjun pleaseee” you get up on your knee’s whining. Straddling his thighs maneuvering closer. His eyes widen in the very dimly lit room. Whites of his eyes lighting up the dark. Little did he know what Haechan had taught you.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to do an-..” Renjun gasps letting out a shocked cry. Your hand reaches into his boxers circling his hard-on. He feels hot and thick pulsing in your palm. Neck loosening exuding soft huffed moans. Your thumb smearing the liquid at the tip of his length with growing interests.

“You’re wet!” you voice excitedly with lit up eyes. Thumb eagerly pressing into the slit dipping in at the tip. Renjun hisses sitting up placing a gentle hold on your wrists.

“Bun, don’t do that. I’m sensitive there.” He sighs, dropping his nose into your shoulder. Breathing out harshly against your neck.

“Renjunnn” you start to whine, flicking your wrist about. Lifting up a leg to straddle his thigh, easing your clothed core down. “I’m wet too..”

“Fuck..” Renjun sputters, swallowing down thinking wordlessly. Would it hurt to continue? You’d been sleeping in his bed practically every night. Rutting against him like some horny bunny in heat…well..His lips part in question before too soon to stop himself- “C-can I see?”

With an over eager hiccup bursting from your chest you sit up. Squeezing over Renjun’s size one more time before laying back down on his bed with your legs spread open. He takes in the visual, licking over his drying lips. Fluttering eyes admire, taking all of you in. The way your skin glows softly as if you were made of silk builds heat up to his chest. Hands at his sides open and close, fingers locking together resisting urges.

With a reassuring nod, for himself, he moves in front of you on his knee’s. Reaching for the sides of your underwear with shaking hands, he tugs them down slowly. Sharing pained moans in unison when the fabric of your panties sticks to your cunt pulling off with a added lewd sound.

Renjun sucks in a deep breath staring into your glistening spread open core. Dick shouting between his legs for freedom. Quietly whispering to himself- “I can’t..I can’t do this..”

Your foot reaches out kicking your underwear away. Pushing your legs open across his bed fully, too naively almost. Renjun’s eyes clench up gritting his teeth together.

Your eyes blur the longer you stare at him. Heat between your legs sending chills up your spine. A wet rush of slick spilling out past your hungry waiting hole, inhaling deeply in, arching- “Touch me.”

The dam breaks, rapid impounding waves of lust growl throughout his chest. Vibrations run up Renjun’s back, dick throbbing angrily between his pressed together thighs. With his tongue sweeping across his cracked lips for moisture, he bends over you. Shared breath’s pass between your lips. His smooth bare chest beats timely against yours. A moment of clarity hits him staring into your eyes. Lips press together softly releasing a moan between each swipe passed.

The heated moment chills momentarily, smiles creeping on your lips as time slows down. Renjun slips his tongue past your lips letting out a broken moan. The inside of your mouth better than anything he could dream to taste. Tongues collide deepening the kiss seeking every little taste of each other. Your hands grasp to the dip in his waist encouraging him to press against you.

“Bun..” Renjun’s sleepy smile hits his eyes. Tented boxers shove between your opening folds. Fabric soaking up your release, timidly his hips roll forward. Exhausted moans sing from both your lips, noses pressing together in elation. “You’re…ah, you’re so so wet..”

“Renjunnie…you get me like this…I like you so much..” you sob. Lower half lifting from his bed begging for more. Renjun eyes tighten shut. Heartbeat racing throughout his dick, full balls aching painfully.

“Like you more..” he laments. Hands finding your parted thighs. Lifting your legs, ankles lock together against his lower back. Renjun confidently thrusts between your dripping core. Silently cursing the damn fabric of his boxers blocking his way to fuck you for real. “Shit-ah bun, you feel so good. So good for me yea?”

Labored breath’s grow heavier. His thrusts stay steady, not too slow not too fast. Wet fabric shielding his hard size creating sinful friction with each pass over your clit. Your nails sink into the sides of soft flesh spread over Renjun’s ribs. Rutting upward desperate for more, more of whatever he was giving you. You croak, whining beneath panted inhales- “Ugh..da…”

Your cheeks light up in flames, chin tucking into your chest shyly. Renjun’s nose nudges into yours curiously staring at your pursed lips. His hold shifts from your legs. Hands cupping around your heated face, thumbs stroking the unshed tears gathering near the rims of your eyes. Heart exploding in his chest adoring the lost lust filled gaze staring up at him. Hips pausing, focusing on your smooth skin tickling the tips of his fingers. Appealing opened swollen lips stealing all of his attention.

“Pretty. So pretty bun..” Renjun’s hushed words rush to your center. Clenching around nothing, groaning when thumbs dip into the sides of your mouth. Your tongue licks side to side lapping his fingers. Drool lurches out of your forced open lips, dribbling down his hands. “Shit baby..”

You whine again, cough trapped in your lungs. Scrabbling at his stomach lifting light marks on his even skin-tone. Thumbs hook behind your lower lip, tugging you down against your chin. Shining liquid glittering under the soft glow penetrating the room. Realizing this may be his only chance to enjoy you in such a way without the rest of the guys scoffing adding their imitation sounds of a whip. Visuals of your body calling for him, only him roll through his hips. Pressure building up in his balls the longer he waits, mentally voicing ‘fuck it’.

“Say it baby. Please bunny, tell me.” Renjun emphasizes with a pointed thrust between your legs. Thumbs loosening their hold, hands landing on your damp sweating neck.

“Da..daddy…..” you quietly whimper. Head flattening on his pillow. Dick jamming between your folds spinning your mind. The cloth covering Renjun’s length impossibly wet by now. Thrust picking up speed rocking you down into his bed. Pretty mouth hung open above you catching bits of air between grunts of exertion. Your body stiffens up, tail twitching at the end of your spine. Toes curling up arching with a scream of staccato moans. Slick drenches his cock again, shakily stopping movements. Allowing your climax to wash over you. Renjun’s face twists, abdomen sucking in. Body shifting before his mind can fully register his next steps. Hands grip your hips, hiking you up in a quick spin to change your positions.

He gets you seated on his lap, your hands plant on his chest to keep steady. You hiss easing your sensitive core down, nestled against his stomach. Renjun reaches behind you whipping his raging length out. Letting it go landing with a slap on your ass. Your eyes widen gasping, jumping up settling down on his hard cock.

“Feel good baby?” Renjun asks, fingers squeezing the meat on your hips. Throat locking up when your folds part over him. Slick paints his size, heated pressure tingles down to his sack.

“Good, so g-good daddy..” you stutter nodding eagerly. Letting him take control of your movements. Pussy parted on him, sliding up and down. Wet sounds of skin on skin escaping between your grinding bottom halves.

“Like this baby..” Renjun cups your hips firmly, knee’s bending to strengthen his thrusts. Ass bouncing down on him as if you were riding his dick. He cries inhaling shallow breath’s in disbelief. Needing to feel more, lungs constricting thinking he may die if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

“Ch-choke me” Renjun asks nicely, too nicely for what he’s asking. Your hands bury into his chest stopping abruptly.

“What??” You whisper considering the time of night. Renjun takes a hold of your wrists, dragging your hands up to his neck.

“Choke me baby, please. Choke daddy.” His hips jerk under you, not asking anymore. Demanding. Hands on-top of yours encouraging you to squeeze around his neck. Your head shakes distracted by his pouty lips falling open drawing out a long moan.

“I…I c-can’t…” your breath quickens. Slick spilling out of you in absurd mounts. Arousal heightening setting a coil spinning throughout your gut. Fingertips itching to plunge into the tender skin.

“Choke me!” Renjen wails, humping up frantically. Cunt slipping over his length too easily, losing balance thrusting faster. Your mouth hangs open whining, palms flattening on his neck. Gently tightening your hold around him. A cough flies from his mouth, head dropping to the side moaning desperately.

“Am…a-am I doing good d-daddy?” You question between moans. Warm cunt wrapping around his size. Hips buck into each other wildly. Helplessly gripping his thin neck the harder you bounce.

“Oh fuck! Fuck bun!!” Renjun shouts. Heaving out struggling breath’s of air. Cock head dipping in breeching your entrance just barely. Lower back squeezing to hold himself back from fucking his way in. His arms flex finding willpower to control himself, turning your bodies over. Cock rutting against your pussy, wetness splashing around. Glistening folds engulf his size. “Cum..cum baby, cum for daddy.”

Renjun’s hips angle, tip of his length setting your bundle of nerves off. Eyes roll to the back of your head slapping your hands on the pillow behind you. Throat drying, huffing moans and groans. Pussy sopping under the meat of Renjun’s size. He cries losing himself further, humping and stammering off what a ‘good girl’ you are. So good for him.

“Shit!” Renjun’s hands slap on your thighs. Cock head pressing against your empty hole. Cum spilling out with his head hung repressing embarrassed sounds of anguish.

You sit up on your elbows, stomach twitching, brow lifted watching white cum spill freely. Blending with the slick smeared over your thighs. Fingers dipping down, lifting the hot liquid to your lips.

“B-bun no!” Renjun’s eyes shoot open. Reaching out, stopped mid-air watching in amazement as you lick cum off your fingers. His cum.

“Do you feel better now daddy?” You ask, licking your fingers clean. Renjun’s brows furrow together. Softening cock lifting on his thigh too excited from the question. You’d be the death of him.

“Really…really good bun.”

——————————————————————————

Haechan sighs, watching your fluffed tail wiggle around excitedly in the kitchen. Frustration between his legs spawning the more you lean into Renjun’s touches. Mouth pursing side to side growing further ticked off when he hand feeds you the popcorn you’re making together.

“That should be me..” Haechan points out. Nudging his chin forward for Jaemin to suffer with him.

“You don’t know the half of it. Stop whining, it’s your fault for not living here.” Jaemin sneers, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Sat with Haechan on a love seat meant for two waiting for movie night to begin. “Jeno, what did you pick to watch?”

Jeno looks over his shoulder with a smile shutting his eyes hidden behind thick black lashes. Proudly holding up a blu-ray cover. “The Exorcist.”

“Again?! Dude....I am so tired of watching Linda Blair projectile puke.” Haechan sinks further into the cushion exasperating a groan.

“Bun hasn’t ever seen it!” Jeno proclaims, setting up the movies menu. Ominous haunting music flows from the speakers creating a mood in the dim lit living room. Jaemin scoffing something about how you wouldn’t like it anyway. Know’s Jeno’s hidden plan is probably to get you all scared left with no choice but to fall into his arms. Then again, Jaemin considered how he had used your toothbrush improperly. Maybe some of these scenes would give you ideas..

“You know what I watched again last night?” Haechan turns his body, brows raising in interests. “Dick was hard as a rock, had to bust out some classic hentai. Kite never fails you know, love a good plot.”

“Dude you’ve watched that shit so many times. It’s not even that good.” Jaemin shoots him a glare. Haechan inching closer, slapping his arm.

“It’s amazing! Got me thinking you know… what if we got bunny some assassin training. Imagine her? All Tomb-raider, like a sexy bodyguard fighting off the crazies that follow us around!” Haechan exclaims with a bounce.

“Why the fuck would we do that. Also, assassin training?! What world are you living in!” Jaemin quickly shoots down his absurd thought. “You need to stop watching that stuff. I have an entire file full of explicit hybrid content. I’ll send you some later.”

“Bunny hybrid porn?” Haechan’s interest sparks. Eyeing to the side where you approach with two large bowls in hand. Ears flopping against your hair with every perky stride.

“Tons.” Jaemin responds. Pulling in his bottom lip, dragging his tongue along the cracks. Focused stare on your ass when you bend over, setting down fresh bowls of popcorn. With a smile over your shoulder, you step forward to join Jeno and Renjun leaving you a space on the larger couch. Haechan sits up pulling you between his legs, arms circling around your waist.

“Bunnnnnnny, where are you going baby? I missssssss youuuuuu” he whines with a pout. Planting his chin on your hip blinking exaggeratedly up at you. Your eyes widen surprised, Renjun reprimanding him for guilting you. “Maybe bun wants to sit with us! Don’t you baby?”

He sends you a soft smile full of charm. Charming like a snake hypnotizing your mind, claiming control. His lips peck over the sliver of bare skin peaking beneath your short top. Jaemin perks up piggybacking Haechan’s idea, wrapping his hands around your naked thigh.

“Yea come on bunbun, the movies scary. We’ll protect you baby.” Your nod breaks a defeated sigh from the opposite couch. Letting the two boys squish you between their bodies. Legs press against yours trapping your thighs together. Haechan throwing a blanket over all three of your laps. His face nuzzles into your neck happily, breathing out dreamy sounds.

“My bunny, always smells so sweet. So delectable.” Haechan murmurs, lips pressed up on your skin. Jaemin’s hand slips beneath the blanket covering your lower halves. Fingers trace up and down your thigh, attention focused on the screen to remain inconspicuous.

Jeno easily gets absorbed into the film right from the start. Hand greedily shoving mouthfuls of popcorn into his mouth laughing between bites. Renjun mumbling about how he hates this movie at his side carrying the bowl in his lap. Haechan’s eyes swiftly flick to them, resting his head upon your shoulder. Finger lifting to his lips with a silent ‘shhh’ his other hand finding your free thigh.

Jaemin and Haechan are a different type of evil together. Judging from the movie, you’d think they were the ones possessed. Each of their hands glide up your thighs. Jaemin’s sneaking beneath your shorts, fingers pressing to your clothed core. Haechan ever bold, slipping under the top of your underwear. His fingers softly press your clit, Jaemin’s fingers shove your underwear in. Losing count at this point of how many panties they’ve ruined.

Jaemin’s head rests on your shoulder, lips taunting you spewing baby talk. “Naughty bunbun getting wet watching this?”

They’re relentless, Haechan reaching around tucking your face into his neck when your whimpers grow too loud. Saying something in response to Renjun’s questioning about how he told them this would be too scary for you.

Your orgasm ripping free when Jaemin pulls your ruined underwear to the side. Fingers roughly swiping your folds back and forth. Huffing hot breath’s on your neck. His hand pulls out, licking clean the taste of you’ve left behind. Lips press to your cheek, tracing words reminding you, he can’t wait to fuck you full.

——————————————————————————-

“Be good okay baby?” Renjun squeezes your cheeks together. Kissing your plump lips over and over again. Mumbling cute little sounds between each pass of lips.

“Why can’t I..” you question between kisses. Teeth wetting his mouth every time your lips meet. “..go with you?”

“Ah bun I wish I could bring you along. Not yet okay? Things will calm down after we’re done with schedules.” Renjun says with a sympathetic look. Hates feeling like he’s trapping you indoors. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask Jeno. I know he still makes you a little nervous but his intentions are good I promise.”

“..I’m standing right here..” Jeno huffs. Leaned against a wall near the hallway entrance. He’s taken to walking around shirtless lately whenever Renjun complains over the air conditioning blasting too hard. His biceps flex squeezing over his chest, sneaking a peak whenever you find him looking away. Jeno made you nervous, amongst other things.

“Exactly.” Renjun sets one last peck on your lips. Walking across to the front door, jabbing a finger into Jeno’s chest along the way. “So be good. Both of you. Put a damn shirt on too.”

“We gotta go!” Jaemin pokes his head in, waving goodbye. Renjun scurries out blowing you a kiss. Jeno presses into the corner of the wall staring at his feet.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything bun.” Jeno’s head hangs low, turning with slumped shoulders. It was getting harder to pretend he didn’t excite you in a fearful way. The scent stuck to his worn clothes similar to that of puppy hybrid’s brought into the shop. He was strange, quiet, always avoiding eye contact. Running off apologizing whenever he’d just as much graze your skin in the narrow hallway.

Boredom strikes 10 minutes later having flipped through every channel 3 times over with no success. You sink lazily into the couch with eyes darting around looking for something to do. Ears twitching glancing down the hall wondering what Jeno was getting up to.

Maybe it was time to find out.

Jaemin: *link attached*

Jeno: If this is another picture of your dick next to a ruler I’m blocking you for good.

Haechan: Holy fucking shit, this bunny’s fatass is getting FUCKED up. Dude we should do this!

Jeno: Oh is this hybrid porn?

Jeno: …..why isn’t Renjun in this chat?

Haechan: Narc

Jaemin: Just watch it dude, I can’t listen to you jerk off at 2am again. I need my beauty sleep.

Jeno: Fuck you.

Jeno ends up sucked into the video Jaemin sent. Too sucked in to hear your light footsteps pad into his room. Whatever he was watching piquing your interests as well. Soft groans emit beneath you, eyes sucked into the visual before him.

“What’re watching?” Your eyes widen tilting your head to the side. Hovering behind Jeno’s gaming chair to get a closer look at his computer screen. A video of a bunny hybrid bent over getting rammed from both end’s plays. Squeaks and moans lowly thump from his speakers.

Jeno jolts up pulling his hoodie over his hardened length. His neck twists seeing you focused on the obscene video Jaemin had linked him. Jeno’s throat dries, stuttering- “h-how…how long have you been s-standing there?!?”

Your arms wrap around Jeno’s headrest inching your face closer to his. He falters in surprise tilting his chin up. “Long enough.”

“Bun…I….I c-can explain..” Jeno stutters. Gasping in a deep breath when you move around settling your ass on his thigh. Elbows perched on his desk with your face too close to the screen. Completely enamored by the sight. The bunny with fur just like yours and awfully similar features appearing lost in a haze of pleasure. Jeno’s hands lift hovering over your round hips, face tightening up in pain when you wiggle against him.

“Are they hurting her?” Your questions surprises Jeno. Opting to grip your hips in a snug hold to keep you in place. Thin basketball shorts half way up his thighs have your barely covered core snuggled directly on his skin. Cock throbbing as heat rushes up between his legs from where your bodies connect.

“N-no bun…not at all..she really likes it..” Jeno swallows. Eyes shutting trying to reel in his frustration. Three weeks too much of torment. Too many cum dried tissues filling up the trash can in the corner of his room. Too many mornings with his ear pressed to the bathroom door listening to your pretty cries. Jealousy and desire pushing him to an ultra sensitive state of mind. Often times pocketing your discarded underwear from the laundry basket to jerk off into later.

“What’s his face doing there?!” You perk up, lower half bouncing against him. Finger tapping at the male human’s face buried in the hybrid’s ass. Jeno’s eyes flutter, pursing his lips together tightly lapping at the roof of his mouth.

“He’s…he loves her so..that’s…when you really love someone…” Jeno’s hands shift. Fingertips sinking into the swell of your ass. Squeezing and pulling the meaty mounds with your cute twitching ball of fluff at the top. Humming to himself, working a massage into the dip of your back- “You eat their ass..”

“Really?!” You voice shocked. Too engulfed watching the hybrid’s center explode with liquid shooting out of her convulsing body. Screams of pleasure and over worked grunts combine, blending with Jeno’s eager groans behind you.

“Yea bun…I love you so much you know that right?” Jeno mumbles mostly to himself. Horny deprived rage consuming him whole, not putting much thought behind his words. Hips stuttering when you shift turning at your waist to look at him seriously.

“Does that mean you’re gonna eat my ass?” Your eyes sparkle in excitement. Jeno’s jaw drops, struck with the bullshit he’d just spatted. Mouth shutting and opening preparing an excuse before the lightbulb turns on. Smile building up reaching the bottoms of his eyes.

“I really…” he leans forward, arms circling your waist. Lips brush your jaw, quietly continuing- “..really really really wanna eat your ass.”

Your eyes shut half-way allowing Jeno’s nose to nuzzle into yours. Lips brushing together. Whispered words trace your mouth- “Love you so much bun. I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to do.”

You ease further back into lap, hard cock digging into your lower back. Lips pressing against Jeno’s firmly. His hands slide up your stomach, cupping under your breasts with a scorching squeeze.

His hips circle up, pushing on your chest down to add friction. Hidden dick crying for attention. Jeno shoves you down harder thrusting up at the same time. Painfully desperate for more, battling in his mind to not waste time. Renjun and Jaemin would be back soon.

“Bend over bun” Jeno licks your earlobe. Coming down to squeeze your waist from behind. He assists you into position when you throw him a confused look. Bending you over with your chest on his desk. Jeno falls to his knee’s, brows lifting into his forehead. Feels like his brains getting kicked around like a soccer ball. Considers having lost his mind from days pent up rubbing his dick raw. Having to lotion himself up the last few days after jerking off 5 times in a row when you modeled swimsuits for them was for sure enough to crack his head open. Haechan’s brilliant ideas never fail. “You’re so…so beautiful bunny..”

Jeno slowly rolls the cotton down unveiling your perked ass. Jaw falling open in time with each inch of skin revealed. Choking on a gust of air, his face dips forward. Nose inhaling deeply, face turning side to side between your cheeks like a man with no self-control. Reassured he has none with hands squeezing your cheeks apart. Lips pouting pressing against your rim.

“Jeno…feels weird..” you murmur, peaking over your shoulder. Flames rise from between your thighs to your chest.

“Love it bun…” Jeno muffles against your ass. Tongue prodding your shut hole groaning deep in his stomach. “Taste so fucking good.”

Jeno’s growls hum vibrations through your limbs. Tonguing your hole like it’s his last meal. Fingers seep into your buttcheeks roughly. Face shoving between you as far as he can. Thinks he’ll have to eat your ass everyday to not starve to death. Your hole loosens under his pointed tongue, pretty wanton moans bounce off his walls. Dizzied, slurping around you with a strong suck.

“Fuck..” Jeno pops off. Holding you stretched apart. Gritting a scream through his teeth mesmerized by your winking pussy. He can’t resist, circling a fingertip around your hungry entrance. Dipping in laving your rim, stimulating you from both ends.

Your neck snaps, screaming strained whiny moans. Toes bend against the floor, tremors shake up your thighs. Jeno teases your core, fingertip pressing in tempted to fill you up. Tongue breeching through your wrinkled hole at the same time. Your head drops on the desk, slamming a fist down. Jolting forward moaning out his name. Pussy convulsing around his fingertip. Jeno pulls back watching you cum, teeth tugging his bottom lip in to not cry.

“Fuck….ah, fuck fuck….fuck bun…” he sighs. Cheek resting on your ass dragging his finger to your rim. Tapping lightly, softly shaking from your intense trembling. “Did you like that bun?”

Jeno stands up, gently lifting you to rest on his chest. Hands soothing up your spine, large arms wrapping you in safety. Your head nods, sinking in further. Eyes lifting when his hard size pokes your hip

You slip from his arms, down to the floor panting. Jeno’s lips shining coated with a thick layer of slick. Face full of ecstasy staring down at you.

“Jeno..you’re hard..” you adjusts sitting up on your knee’s. Hands trailing his smooth firm thighs. Pushing him back to seat in the chair behind his figure. Jeno licks his lips savoring the taste of you left behind. Sucking in a breath between teeth, sliding fingers into your scalp.

“It’s okay..” he pauses releasing a shocked sound. Your tongue laps around the tip of his cock, tenderly cradling his full thick size in your small hand. Jeno’s brain near explodes amazed by how your fingers can’t wrap around his girth entirely.

“Ah..” his chest lifts, falling back against his chair when you suck his cock head in. Tongue swirling around deliciously, full sack drawing up between his legs. Your hands grip his thighs, slowly inching in forward coughing around the mass size of him. Eyes burning when you look up for approval to continue. Jeno sighs in relief, hot mouth struggling around him tightly. Gently he pries you away, thumb running over your swelling pouting lips.

“Too big for you baby?” His voice lowers, asking sweetly. Bending over pressing his forehead on yours staring into your tear filled eyes.

“I love it so much!” You bounce on your knee’s. Nails lightly dragging down his thighs. “More!”

Jeno expresses an all too pleased smile. Pushing your flopping ears back. Hands slide to your jaw holding you open. “Gonna be a good bun, take it all. Don’t move, be careful with your teeth too baby.”

Jeno helps you with a hand placed on top of your head. Another on your nape, resisting his urge to fuck deep in your throat. Praising you for deep throating him like a pro. Spit spilling past your stretched lips down to his balls. Basketball shorts messy coated with your bodily fluids. Hand soothingly encouraging you to take his length with soft squeezes on your neck.

Choked garbled sounds hit the back of your throat. Cock filling your wet mouth, tongue flatly pressed along a pulsing vein.

“Shit bunnnnn..” Jeno drawls a struggling cry. Thrusting the last two inches of his size in. Hitting so deep, knocking your tonsils in the process. Tears and spit flow, gagging and coughing around his fat cock “so good, you’re so good baby..love you, my perfect bunny.”

His fingers tap over your expanded cheeks, hissing when your throat constricts. Relaxing into his seat, eyes skimming the screen where the hybrid’s twisted up with legs above her head double penetrated. Cock twitching angry, ready for that to be you. Losing himself to the fantasy gripping around the back of your head. Jeno grinds into your stuffed mouth. Grunting raspy moans, size beating on your tongue. His hips lift up keeping you held in place fucking up chasing release. Growling louder as spit and tears fly letting him have his way.

“Fuck…oh fuck bun..” Jeno arches up. Ass dropping into his chair, eyes crinkled shut. Hot bursts of cum shoot down your throat gagging you. Pulling off coughing up spit and cum smeared over your lips. Jeno’s chest rises rapidly, cock still spewing cum on his messy shorts.

“Jeno! What the fuck!” Renjun’s mouth hangs open. Hand around the door knob to Jeno’s shared room with Jaemin. The latter showing up behind him dawning a large smile. Proudly holding two thumbs up behind Renjun’s head with an exclamation.

“Oooh, sexy!!”

——————————————————————————

Hanging out in Jeno and Jaemin’s room had become more common. Often times cuddled between the two wrapped up in oversized worn hoodies from their laundry baskets. Jaemin rutted against your underwear clad ass, thrusting you into Jeno. A ten minute nap turning into another dry hump session. Jeno’s lips brushed along your chin littering soft kisses. Deep breath’s drawing from his mouth stroking across your skin. His thighs wrapped around your hip jutting forward into your core.

“Bun, you’re so hot..” Jeno’s brows furrow in concern. Back of his hand meeting your cheek letting out a hiss. “Like…super hot..”

“Fuck yea, super hot..” Jaemin’s hips jerk up faster agreeing. Heavily breathing along your ear. Jeno sits up, pushing him off. Eyes widening taking in your lost expression. Glazed over eyes rolling up when his hand sets on your hip.

“Dude the fuck..” Jaemin protests, moving on to his knee’s. Following Jeno’s movement, his brows draw up. “Bunbun? What’s wrong baby?”

“..I think..” Jeno parts your legs open sucking in a deep breath. Soaked cotton between your thighs sets his gut aflame. Inner thighs glisten in slick forming a spot on his bedding beneath you. “Renjun…I’m gonna get Renjun..”

Jaemin’s eyes extend in size, lost himself when Jeno charges out of the room. His hands stroke your hair back, cupping the back of your head to place in his lap. Questioning the more shallow your breath’s release- “What’s wrong baby?”

Your chest rises and falls faster, the wall behind Jaemin’s head spins. Heart thumping faster between your legs. Hole gripping at nothing, gushing out loads of slick.

Renjun appears with a frantic Jeno garbling out words at his side. “Do you think it’s…”

Renjun sits on his knees holding your cheeks softly. Eyes glinting with worry, thumbs stroking your burning skin. “Baby, can you tell me how you feel?”

“..hot, so hot Renjunnie..” you whine, dropping your face to the side. Tongue sweeping the tip of his thumb. Sucking breathily around his finger with need you croon- “W-want you, ne-…n-need so much.”

The three share a look, groins shifting in discomfort. Jaemin’s dick throbs on his thigh near your fluffed ear.

“Should we call Haechan?..” He whispers, stroking his palms down the sides of your head lovingly. Jeno nods pulling out his phone, swiping up Haechan’s contact.

“I’ll call him. I think buns going into heat.”

Part 4–>

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Sugar & Spice: Part 7

A/N: Smut under the cut

His hand was firm against the small of your back as he led you from the tarmac to the private entrance at the airport that was designated for men like him to the vehicle that was awaiting both of you.

The car had blacked out windows and sleek silver rims that looked entirely too spotless, and before you had approached the right passenger door, a man in a sleek black suit had gotten out of the vehicle and addressed the two of you with a designated title that had surely seemed to startle you, yet had rolled off Ari like nothing.

The door was opened and Ari had urged you to get in first, the assurance that he was right behind you was the catalyst to get you to enter the vehicle. As your back had been pressed against the cool leather as you moved to the other side, you had studied the driver once more with a speculative gaze, studying the mirrored aviators that had prevented you from seeing his eyes.

“That,” Ari’s shoulders pressed against your own despite the room in the backseat, “is your bodyguard, honey.”

“Bodyguard?” You turned your head and gazed up at Ari, heat blooming in your belly when his hand slipped back onto your thigh, his fingers already grazing the inside of your thigh in the same place they had been during the start of the journey and you had wondered if he would repeat the process of making you come undone on his long, thick fingers.

“Isn’t Brussels safe?” You pondered, lifting your attention from Ari and settling it on the driver, his dark suit cutting a sharp image of a man who wasn’t as bulky as Ari or as tall but had still towered over you. “I thought Brussels was safe.”

“Brussels is safe, but there are always risks. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Ari’s hand had slipped further up your thigh, his fingertips squeezing the inside of your thigh with rhythmic intervals, and his lips had been brushing against your jaw as he whispered to you. “I need to keep my princess safe.”

You shivered against him, the sensation of his hand on your thigh and his lips dusting your jaw, the subtle and crisp scent of his cologne invading your senses was endearing. It was the manner in which he was touching you, and the deep husk of his voice, the stroke of his fingers as they mad softly caressed your clothes thigh was exploratory for you.

Although you weren’t a virgin by any means, any of your previous partners could have been counted on one hand, and of the experiences you’d had with your past boyfriends, none of them had ever made you feel as good as Ari had.

None of your exes had ever brought you toward an orgasm that was as powerful as what you had felt on the plane, nor had you felt so blissed out afterward. Ari had taken you to entirely new heights and he had simply used his fingers to work you to an intense orgasm.

You had wondered then, if you had this strong of a reaction to his fingers, how quickly you would become maddened by desire once it had come time for you to feel the stretch of his cock.

“Tell me, honey,” Ari crooned in your ear, studying your reactions to his fingers touching you, “have you ever had sex before?”

“Yes,” you whined and bucked your hips, your neediness quantified by the warmth that was starting to pool between your thighs, trapped by your simple black leggings and cotton panties, “I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re so tight, princess.” Ari’s husky voice was erotic, laced with hunger that was stirring your own, as the unspoken words had promised ruination for you. “Your pretty little pussy sucked my fingers up do you think you’ll be able to take my cock?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly while your heart was racing, and the subtle throb of your cunt in need of his fingers, cock or tongue had stolen all the moisture from your mouth, “I don’t know, how…large are you?”

Ari’s left hand cupped your cheek and his thumb prodded at your bottom lip as he turned your head to look at him. When your eyes met, there was a tentative silence that was anything but stagnant, the silence was thrush with pulsing desire and hunger, need and want. The silence between you two was a confirmation that Ari was neither small nor insignificant.

“Do you want to..?” He trailed off, left the offer to you and your lips had parted with an answer for him, although there was a disconnect between what you wanted to say and what you had done.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Ari reassured you with his words and the strokes of his thumb against the curve of your bottom lip.

“We’ve arrived, Mr. Levinson.” The moment wouldn’t have come anyway, not when the car pulled up to the curb and the driver had put it into park. “Would you like me to arrange for your bags to be brought to your room?”

Ari had removed his hand from your thigh and grasped your hand instead, lifting the back to his lips to place a soft kiss. When he lowered your hand again, he nodded in the direction of the driver and wait until the door was opened before he started getting out for you to follow.

“Welcome to your weekend paradise, princess.”

The decor was made of dark stained wood that was contrasted against the cream white walls and the array of seamless windows that had been placed on the right side of the suite near the chaises arranged in the living room, and the left side of the room that had led to the terrace overlooking the beautiful city.

The large king bed sat back against the wall, the rich royal blue blankets and sheets were folded and tucked neatly, two pairs of silk robes and matching slippers were set upon the bed with a handwritten note set against the gifts.

“This is amazing,” you had been in awe of the suite, in awe of the architecture that was set about the city, even below the hotel Ari had booked for you two, “Brussels is beautiful.”

“We haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart.” Ari’s chest was inches from your back, one hand settled against your hip and the other had brushed your hair off your neck, exposing your flesh for him to trail with his lips. “I arranged a spa day for you tomorrow.”

“Ari,” you whimpered his name, your head lolling back against his shoulder when his lips fluttered against your flesh, the trail he was carving with his open mouth kisses setting off a flurry of events that made your stomach flip over end, “you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he pulled you’re backflushed against his chest and ran his left hand over your hip to your waist, fingers splayed and spread against your lower belly, “I want to take care of you, honey. This is a treat for you, I need to spoil my princess.”

“A spa,” you were putty in his hands, weak for the touch of his lips against the base of your neck, “I’ve never gone to a spa.”

“I want to give you so many firsts, honey. I want to give you everything.” Ari slipped the hand that was on your belly further down your abdomen, his fingers slipping beneath the band of your leggings while you were lost in the sensation of his lips on your neck.

You were pliant in his embrace, helpless and unwilling to put an end to the way he was making you feel. His fingers were as talented as his mouth was as it nipped and suckled on your neck. Ari was putting forth a form of intimate foreplay you had never experienced before and just this, just his fingers and his mouth against your neck was enough to make you cum.

“I haven’t…done much.” You whimpered, his fingertips trailing against the very top edge of your cunt, our clit hyperaware of the pads of his fingers stroking the hard little nub. “Everyone else was…”

“I know, princess.” Ari’s fingers had started to separate your folds, his fingers ready to toy with your sweet little pussy and had been so far uninhibited. Yet before you could feel the beginning strokes, his phone had blared from across the room alerting you and him to the business that could and likely would keep him busy at least one day while you were here.

“I promise I will take care of you later.” Ari slipped his hand from your leggings and whispered the promise in your ear before he departed from you, the lack of warmth from his chest against your back and the promise of his fingers on your cunt had been more chilling than you expected.

You had watched him stride toward his phone and answer the call, holding up a finger toward you to get you to wait as he dealt with this. You watched him start pacing before he had moved from the one side of the open layout suite to the next, and when he had dropped into a wide leather armchair with his legs spread, you could finally see the outline of his half-hard cock in his jeans and you knew that his concerns about whether it would fit were justified.

There was a distinct heaviness to the trapped half-hard cock that had been growing in arousal and you had been curious about what exactly was trapped behind the denim in comparison to your exes and the few guys you had slept with.

While you listened to Ari, you were divided and torn between busying yourself with your phone or one of the books that had remained on the shelf, provided by the hotel, or dabbling in the mischievous task of finishing what he had wanted to start in the car.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you started to ascend on him, shuffling your feet against the sleek marble floor as you drew closer to him, listening to him converse with the person on the other line that was drawing some annoyance from Ari judging by the furrow of his brow and the subtle tick of his jaw. When you had happened upon him, you had dropped to your knees and crawled forward to place your hands upon his thighs, your fingers digging into the denim.

“What are you doing, baby?” He tilted the phone away and watched you sitting between his knees, your left hand snaking further up his thigh to his cock.

“I didn’t get to see it,” your answer was soft and quiet as you tried not to distract him from the phone call, “I’m curious.”

“You’ve sucked cock before?” Ari’s voice was as quiet as yours, his cock trapped beneath his jeans had twitched in protest of being contained, and you had reached for his fly and started pulling it down.

“Few times,” your hand slipped in through the crotch of his jeans and immediately grasped and squeezed the shaft trapped, “you’re bigger than I’m used to.”

“You wanna suck my cock when I’m on the phone, princess?” Ari crooned and brushed your hair behind your ear, trailing his fingers down the length of your jaw and then the side of your neck.

“Are you going to stop me?” You slowly pulled his cock out of his jeans and marvelled at the weight of it in your hands and the sheer length that made all your ex’s cocks look pathetic in comparison.

Not only was he long but he was also thick, painting an impressive and impactful picture of how full you would be once it parted your pussy walls.

“Don’t waste a drop, sweetheart. If you’re going to suck my cock while I’m on the phone, I don’t want you wasting anything.” Ari’s hand slipped around to the nape of your neck, his fingers weaving in the strands at the back of your head.

“I’ll try not to,” you shivered at the tone of his voice as you leaned in and first brushed your bottom lip against the leaking head, the small dribbles of precum wetting your flesh, “you’re so big.”

“You haven’t been with men, not real men. They were boys.” Ari had tilted the phone back, the time had come for him to speak again, and he had brushed his thumb against your bottom lip pre-cursing the moment your lips had parted and you had taken his head into your mouth.

You pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, starting to suckle on the head as the taste of his pre-cum filled your mouth with integral addictiveness. You had kept your hands on his thighs to brace yourself, the tips of your fingernails curled against his thighs, while your lips were wrapped around his cock.

You had given yourself a few moments to adjust to the feeling of your mouth being full of him before you started to bob your head up and down on his dick, listening to the soft and barely comprehensible grunts and groans as he guided your head.

You were slowly taking more of his thick cock into your mouth, your tongue lapping at him with every bob of your head, and when you had hallowed your cheeks around him, Ari had responded with a thrust of his hips that had caught you off guard. You had gagged around the head of his cock as it touched the back of your throat and had pulled your mouth off his cock to give yourself a chance to get resettled.

“You okay?” Ari mouthed, his concern for your wellbeing growing when you touched your fingers against your neck.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting it.” You flashed him a smile then took his cock into your mouth again, rising from your knees to balance your weight on the front of your feet.

“Breathe through your nose, princess.” Ari had returned his hand to the nape of your neck, and guided you back to take all of him.

You felt his head touching the back of your throat while the tip of your nose was grazing his pelvis, your saliva dripping from the corner of your lips. You had sucked as hard as you could, cheeks hollowing as Ari had thrust his hips again while you attempted to head his advice and breathe through your nose. When he had stopped thrusting and you were able to pull your mouth off, you raised the back of your hand to your mouth and wiped the excess off.

“Good girl,” Ari praised you, his hand gently splayed against the back of your neck, his blue eyes burning into you as he listened to the person on the other line, “sucking my cock so fucking good.”

You licked your bottom lip, tongue wetting your flesh before you had enveloped the tip once more, swirling your tongue around the spongy head. You had looked at Ari through your lashes while you sucked on his dick, listening to the subtle groans and grunts that had become more erratic, a sign that he was going to finish soon.

“Take it all, princess. Take it all as my good girl.” Ari moved his hand from the back of your neck to your cheek, cupping it affectionately while you pushed your mouth further down on his shaft.

You were drawn in by his delectable taste and the sensation your own body was put through by the affectionate praises, and the surge of warmth between your thighs was indicative of the pleasure you were receiving from blowing him.

“Ari, are you listening?” The voice on the other line called, and a surge of pride shot through you when you noticed Ari’s eyes were screwed closed and his head had lolled back. He was wrought with pleasure and hissed in response to your hand slipping into his jeans to cup his balls.

“Are you fucking finished?” Ari hissed to the person he was talking to, the aggression rising as you squeezed his balls and simultaneously deepthroated him.

“Mr. Levinson-“

“Fuck!” You heard him curse first and then you felt the sudden eruption of his cock, the hot white sticky cum coating your mouth and throat as you swallowed all his spend, his cum warming a path from your throat to your belly, and when you had started to pull your mouth off his cock, you had taken the time to lap at the throbbing head of his cock, cleaning the last few drops.

“No, I’m here!” Ari growled into the phone, pulling it away to curse under his breath as his chest rose and fell with the high afflicting him. His thumb had stroked your cheek affectionately and when he had lowered his head once more and locked eyes with you, that feeling of pride had grown exponentially.

“Your mouth princess,” Ari groaned and leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a searing hot kiss, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip to taste himself, “is amazing. You’re so good.”

“I loved it,” you pushed yourself to stand and had stepped between his legs, hands grasping his shoulders.

“I won’t be long,” Ari mumbled against your lips when you bent down to kiss him, “and then we’ll get dinner.”

You hummed into his lips and then stepped away, moving from the living room of the suite toward the bathroom, looking over your shoulder in time to pick up on him rolling his eyes at the continued phone call.

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A/N: More fluff!! Ahh!! And a request?! 😱  Thank you to the anon who sent it in! Please enjoy some boyfriend Mat content!! Feedback is my favorite thing in the world and I’d love to know every detail of your thoughts!! Thanks a million for all of your kind reblogs/messages/tags about my previous writings 🥺  It means the absolute world to me 🥺  Requests are still open!!! Send ‘em my way if you have any 😎

Request: Mat Barzal taking care of a sick girlfriend !!! Fluffy mat is superior… In which you’re sick and Mat takes care of you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: throwing up // WC: 2.4K // Fluff

Waking up with an excruciating pounding sensation right in the middle of your forehead was less than ideal. And the sun peaking through the slits of the blinds made it even worse. But the one thing that made the headache pain––and the bile churning in your stomach––a little less dull, was the feeling of your boyfriend’s arm around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You tried your hardest to concentrate on the soft breaths that came from Mat’s slightly parted lips that fanned your neck. Tried your hardest to concentrate on his hand that slightly squeezed your waist, his telltale sign that he was waking up. And tried your hardest to keep your eyes shut as Mat slid one of his legs between yours.

“Morning,” Mat mumbled as he placed a soft kiss on the base of your neck.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop the discomfort in your stomach as you felt an increase of saliva in the back of your mouth.

Hastily, you threw the sheets off you and stumbled out of bed.

The bathroom door was left wide open and ran as fast as you could to the toilet. And once the lid of the toilet was up, your head faced downward into the bowl, you emptied out the contents of your stomach from the night before. The ugly sound of bile coming up through your esophagus was one you tried your hardest to keep quiet, but it was no use as it echoed off the bathroom walls.

Not even a minute after you bolted into the bathroom alone, you felt a presence behind you. Mat ran his fingers slowly up and down your spine, as his other hand made sure there were no loose strands of hair in front of your face. You clutched the outer rim of the toilet and he was silent as he just offered up his presence.

You felt moisture in the corner of your eyes from squeezing them so tight. But after a few deep breaths, and the wave of nausea floating away, you closed the lid of the seat and flushed the toilet. With your arms on the lid of the toilet, the porcelain felt cool on your skin.

Tilting your head to the side, so that your cheek rested on your arm, you looked up at Mat who had his eyebrows pulled together in worry, “Morning to you too.”

Mat rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh at your late response to his morning greeting. With his fingers still stroking your spine, he gave you a sympathetic smile, “Feeling better?”

“No.”

At your honest answer, Mat let out another laugh as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

With a groan, you told him you wanted to brush your teeth first. So he grabbed you a new toothbrush, and after you brushed your teeth, you sluggishly made your way back to his bed. The lingering pressure of your headache was still present, so you wrapped yourself up in his blankets and buried your head into the pillow he slept on last night.

You felt a dip in the mattress next to where you laid curled up, and then felt a hand slowly rub your shoulder, “Do you want anything to eat? Toast always makes me feel better after I’m sick.”

The thought of putting any food into your stomach at the moment made you even more nauseous than you were a few moments ago. So you shook your head no.

“Tea?” He offered.

Again, you shook your head.

“Water? Or––”

“I just want to sleep,” your voice was muffled as you spoke into the pillow. But you knew Mat heard you when he squeezed your shoulder.

You didn’t want to admit it, but part of you was embarrassed with yourself throwing up in front of Mat. Sure, he was your boyfriend and had most likely seen you in worse situations, but the sudden sickness came out of nowhere. And there was part of you that wanted to be left alone––to sit with your embarrassment until it passed like the nausea––but when you felt his hand retract from your shoulder, you wished his touch didn’t go away.

As Mat stood up, the dip in the mattress was no longer present, and for the third time in the morning, he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, “Alright.”

You heard his footsteps softly trek out of his room, and you so badly wanted to reach out and ask him to stay. Because you knew that he had the capability to make you feel like the stomach bug would pass instantly, but the logical part of you let him walk away. If he were to get sick, that wouldn’t go over so well with hockey.

Ten minutes later, you heard the door slightly creek open. You barely lifted your head up from the pillow to see Mat walking towards you with a steaming cup of tea and thermometer in his hand. He set the mug of tea down on his nightstand and sat down on the side of the mattress, next to you.

Mat tapped the thermometer on your cheek, “Open up.”

But like before, you just shook your head no, “We already know I’m sick.”

“I just want to know if you have a fever,” he whispered just as soft as the look in his eyes. You didn’t want to have your temperature taken, but when you opened your eyes more and saw his messy hair sticking up in a few directions, affectionate eyes wide in a silent plea, paired with the softest smile you had ever seen, you opened your mouth. Triumphantly, his smile widened as he placed the thermometer under your tongue, “There we go.”

The faint beep of the thermometer working to take your temperature sounded louder in the silence. But when it rang a few times, signaling it was done, you crossed your eyes to see if you could see the final temperature. But Mat had taken the stick out of your mouth and grimaced.

“One-oh-one point eight.”

With a groan, you buried your head back into the pillow, “See, I told you––”

“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a super high fever,” Mat spoke in a caring voice as he caressed your cheek, “I’m going to pick some stuff up from the store. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Before he could turn away, a whine left your lips as you rolled over and took hold of his wrist, “Don’t go.”

He bent down so he was eye level with you and rested his palm on your forehead, “You’re burning up. I promise it’ll be the fastest trip ever, you won’t even know I’m gone.”

With a hmpf, you let go of his wrist and curled yourself back into a fetal position to stop the chills running through your body. You heard Mat let out a chuckle as he bent down to press another kiss to your temple as he whispered another promise to be back soon.

You tried your best to get some sleep, but with your body chills soon turning into body aches, it was pointless. And with the headache pain still looming about, you didn’t want to scroll through your phone. So you stared up at Mat’s ceiling, and tried to count up to the highest number you could.

You didn’t know what number you were on, but it was long forgotten when you heard his front door open and the rattling of bags together. And soon enough, you saw Mat in the doorway––both hands holding onto plastic pharmacy bags––and couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll be in soon,” he mirrored your smile, “Promise.”

With a nod, you fell back onto the pillow as a chill ran down your spine. And while you wished he would’ve been back with you sooner, he didn’t break his promise. Because soon enough, Mat pushed the door open with his hip and closed it with the back of his foot. And you would’ve taken a picture of him if the harsh brightness of your phone screen didn’t cause your head to feel like it was splitting in half.

In his right hand, he held a steaming hot bowl of broth. In his left hand, he held a few packages of over the counter medication. Under his chin, pressed in between his chest, he clutched a few magazines, pencils, and word search books. And over his left shoulder hung a heavy blanket.

You felt your shoulders drop at how adorable he looked waddling over to your side of the bed. First, he set the steaming bowl of broth down next to the mug of lukewarm tea. Then, he set the medication down in a pile on the bed. After that, he brought both hands up to successfully take the magazines and word search books out from under his chin without them falling to the ground. And then finally, he shrugged the blanket off his shoulder so that it landed on your face.

“Sorry,” Mat chuckled as you pushed the blanket away. “I called my mom,” he said as he put the puzzle books on his nightstand to sit on the edge of the bed, “She said broth would help you feel better. And told me what medicine to get.”

The explosion of love you felt in your chest was stronger than the sharp pain that shot through your head.

“And I got us a few puzzle books,” he picked up a neon blue book, “I figured it would hurt to look at your phone or any screen, so no Netflix today for us.” He plopped the book down back on the nightstand as he picked up the bowl of broth.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up by your forearms and leaned against the headboard, “For us?”

Mat nodded his head as he stared into the broth, concentrating harder than any person should as they stirred liquid, “Yeah, I don’t want to do anything that would make you feel even worse, so no screens,” he looked up at you and shrugged his shoulders, “I like word searches.”

You let out a small laugh and tilted your head slightly out of admiration for the man sitting in front of you, wondering how on earth you got so lucky.

“And I saw you curl up before I left,” he directed his eyes to the blanket on your lap, “So I figured you needed to be warmer.”

You didn’t think you could love him––or any other person––more than you did in this moment.

“I love you,” you voiced the thought that circled around your mind on repeat.

Like every time Mat heard those three words from your lips, a wide and contiguous smile lit up his face, “I love you, too,” Mat affirmed his love for you as he shoveled up some liquid onto the spoon. You could see a few steam clouds from the spoon, but Mat softly blew on it to cool it down, “Open up.”

He was just as persistent with the broth as he was the thermometer. But like before, you shook your head, “You don’t need to feed me.”

Mat dropped his shoulders, as he jutted out his bottom lip, “Just one spoonful––”

You continued to shake your head, “I’m not hungry.”

Mat rolled his eyes and brought the spoon closer to your face. He let out a deep sigh as you recoiled away, “Please.” But you shook your head no. At your adamance of not wanting Mat to feed you, he let out a deep sigh, “If I give you the bowl, will you eat some?”

While you weren’t hungry in the slightest, the thought of food didn’t make your skin crawl as much as it did before when he offered you toast. Wordlessly, you took the bowl from Mat after he set the spoon in it. And to make him happy, you took three sips of the broth he made for you.

With a satisfied smile, Mat took the blanket and spread it on top of the other blankets you were already swamped under. And with a neon blue word search book, Mat climbed over you to get to the other side of the bed. Once he was next to you under the covers, he leaned his back on the headboard as he grabbed a pencil and opened the book.

Your eyebrows were raised high, an amused expression on your face as you let out a single breathy chuckle through your nose. The sound caused Mat to peer up at you and raise his eyebrows at you, “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”

Mat let out a pft sound, “It can’t be anything worse than what I could get in the locker room.”

Sinking down into the bed, you brought the multiple blankets you were buried under up under your chin, as you laughed so hard it caused your head to hurt. But the joy you felt course through your body almost made you forget about your body aches. And with Mat’s casual dismissal of whatever virus infected your body, he lifted his arm up for you to come right up next to him.

Happily, you rested your head on his warm chest and looped an arm around the front of his stomach the same time his arm curled around your neck. While it was a little difficult for Mat to complete his word searches, he assured you that he had grabbed the advanced copy so he spent more time than he would’ve liked to find the words.

In record time of shutting your eyes, you fell fast asleep without having to stare up at the ceiling to count up to an obscene number.

While you felt like a brand new person a week later, Mat had started to get the chills and a runny nose. And the day after his first symptoms appeared, he kicked the bedsheets off early in the morning––just like you had––and made a mad dash to the bathroom.

And when Mat called out of practice that morning, he said that he had probably caught something from the locker room.

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

PPB Square: Possessive Behavior | @peterparkerbingo​

word count: 1.7k rating: explicit warnings: rough s_x, degrading and possessive language, org_sm denial ao3 link: https://bit.ly/36dxXWh

“Do you have any idea how it felt, sweetheart? When I had to watch that piece of shit put his hands on you, and you fucking smiled like you do for me?”

Peter can barely listen, let alone respond. Although the gala just happened, the memory of letting that overly flirty businessman touch him a bit too much is so distant, it feels like a lifetime ago. All that matters now is the feeling of Tony drilling him into the mattress, pushing deeper than Peter ever thought possible.

“I had to pretend like I didn’t care, but I was seeing red, baby.” Tony continues, his breath fanning over Peter’s nape, “Had to keep talking to all those nobodies, when all I wanted was to show that asshole only I touch you like that.” His fingers dig into Peter’s hips, punctuating his point, “Isn’t that right?”

When Peter only gives a choking gasp at the combination of it all - Tony’s claiming words, his bruising grip, his unrelenting pace - Tony abruptly stops, mid-thrust.

“N-No, please,” Peter heaves, because it’s too good to stop, Tony needs to -

“Oh, now you talk?” Tony condescends, and when Peter just wriggles in response, shifting his hips back and forth in a mindless attempt to get that intoxicating feeling back, Tony adds, “Where was this enthusiasm when I asked you a question?”

Peter has to concentrate to recall it, and then to find the wherewithal to answer. When he finally accomplishes both, he responds, high and breathless, “Y-You, only you c-can touch me like that.”

Peter’s still pretty out of it, but he swears Tony growls before he counters, “Then why did you let him touch you?”

It’s still so hard to think - all Peter wants is the mind-numbing cacophony of sensations back - so instead of trying to find another answer, he begs, “I don’t - don’t know, ‘m sorry, jus’ please keep going,”

One of Tony’s hands comes up to Peter’s jaw, pulling his head up from it’s place against the sheets to meet Tony’s burning gaze. The angle is awkward, but Peter doesn’t even consider the strain as their eyes meet; the intensity of it all and the rawness in his stare surprises Peter, and a whine catches in his throat.

“I jus’ - “ Peter cuts himself off, trying to overcome the sudden wave of embarrassment, “I-I wanted to see what you would do.”

The searing look in Tony’s eyes turns incredulous. Tony moves his hand from Peter’s jaw to his hair and pulls hard, so much harder than he’s ever pulled before, and he starts thrusting into him again, still so rough but edging on frantic, now. Peter falls back into the bed, unable to hold himself up against the onslaught.

“What the fuck did you think I would do, sweetheart?” Tony’s angry tone is undercut by the breathless edge to his voice, “You know I don’t like sharing my toys.”

Being referred to as a toy - as Tony’s toy - sends a sharp spear of pleasure through Peter, and his cock leaks precome where it’s pressed between him and the bed. He can barely understand his own muttered words as he tries, “M-Mr. Sta-”

Tony cuts him off swiftly, pulling his hair again and saying, “No, none of that shit. I’m not fucking around. What the fuck did you think would happen, Peter?”

Peter can’t respond, because it’s all too intense in the best way possible. The slick slide of Tony’s cock in and out of him, hitting his prostate head on with each push forward while his own dick rubs against the soft sheets, is about to take Peter over the edge, and he can’t find the voice to warn Tony, only to moan wantonly -

But he knows, anyway. Tony uses his grip on Peter to pull them both upward, effectively sitting Peter onto his lap while leaning on his calves, then squeezes his hand around the base of Peter’s cock. It pulls him from the precipice and rips a mangled groan of frustration from his lips as he jolts in Tony’s embrace.

“No, precious. You’ve gotta answer me, first.”

Peter feels tears prickling in the corner of his eyes as he drops his head back onto Tony’s shoulder, face somehow burning hotter, “I ca-can’t remem - “

Tony doesn’t let him finish the question, saying into his neck as he gives sharp, short thrusts into Peter, “Did you think I’d roll over and let you pull that shit?”

Tony doesn’t even sound like he believes it as he says it, and Peter would laugh at the mere suggestion, but he’s too busy trying to push back onto Tony’s cock, to get him as deep as before. He only manages to shake his head, just a bit.

Tony hums, exaggerated, then continues, “Maybe you wanted me to get jealous? Did you act like a cheap whore to get a rise out of me, huh?”

The shame that courses through Peter from the words is piercing, but thrilling. He nods, hoping it’s enough for Tony to keep going, but he does Peter one better; he moves his hands to under Peter’s thighs and uses the leverage to lift him and drop him back onto his cock.

“Then I’ll treat you like a cheap whore, baby boy.” Tony promises, and Peter only has time to shiver before Tony’s moving him up and down like he weighs nothing, forcing his dick so, so deep into Peter, he wonders if it makes a bulge in his stomach.

Tony completely ignores his cock as Peter writhes on top of him, and when he tries to wrap a hand around his aching dick, Tony catches his wrist and pulls his arm behind his back, holding it there for just a moment before dropping his grasp and trusting Peter to keep it there.

“Nuh-uh,” he teases, “whores come hands free.”

Though Peter tries to blink them away, the tears fall, now. He’s so hard it aches, and it’s beyond any frustration he’s felt before. It makes Peter appreciate the toe-curling pleasure he gets from his cock hitting his prostate even more, and he starts rolling his hips in time with Tony’s.

“Fuck,” Tony groans, “you feel so goddamn good, my own little slut.”

Peter can only choke out a wet gasp in response. He’s lost in the pleasure of it all as they move together, Tony’s large, sturdy hands on his hips the only thing grounding Peter. 

Tony pauses while he’s buried balls deep in Peter to grind into his prostate, keeping the pressure intense and relentless, and Peter knows it’s just moments, but it feels like hours before he’s coming with a strangled sob.

Although Tony stops aiming for Peter’s oversensitive bunch of nerves, he doesn’t let up his momentum, and Peter doesn’t have the energy to do anything but fall limp against his chest. He’s only distantly aware of Tony’s thrusts becoming more and more frenzied.

“You’re mine, angel,” Tony rumbles, “all fuckin’ mine.”

Peter tries to agree, but he can’t get it to come out, so he settles for a desperate, pitiful cry. All the sensations - Tony’s tight grip on his thighs and his warm body pressed against him, Peter’s burning lungs, his too sensitive hole filled to the brim - leave him convulsing, needing more and less simultaneously, and it has more tears spilling down his cheeks. Tony is lost in his own haze of pleasure above him, ignoring Peter’s quiet hiccups and squirming, as he keeps bouncing Peter on his cock.

Then, before Peter can realize what’s happening, Tony pushes him back into the mattress, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso to pull his back to his chest. Tony drives greedy, aborted thrusts into him, and Peter barely musters the strength to bring his hands up to hold onto Tony’s arms, otherwise laying boneless below him.

With a deep, guttural moan, Tony comes inside of him, his hips jerking in uncontrolled, hectic movements. Peter whimpers as Tony’s pulsating cock nudges his prostate, making his dick twitch valiantly, despite Peter knowing he’s too exhausted for a round two.

When Tony starts to pull away, Peter has a difficult time letting him; his hold on Tony’s arms are tight, tighter than he thought he could hold right now, and he leans back into Tony as he tries to separate them. Tony wins the struggle, though, and as he eases his flaccid cock out of him, Peter can’t help but give another soft cry.

Peter’s hardly aware of Tony’s gentle shushing as he turns him over with accommodating touches and soothing murmurs of affection. He feels Tony reach across the bed, and then he’s easing Peter’s legs open and lifting him up carefully to clean the mess between them.

Peter whines as Tony grazes over his sensitive rim with a cursory wipe. He thinks he hears Tony speak, but it’s too far away for him to listen. Tony leans back, away from Peter, taking his comforting presence and heat with him. Peter feels the shifting of the bed as Tony gets off, leaving him alone in the expansive bed and soiled sheets.

Time is just a vague notion as Peter waits for Tony to come back, but he does eventually. If Peter had the energy, he’s sure he would’ve sobbed with relief - the return of Tony’s hands against him is grounding, and he’s suddenly filled with a desperate need to speak.

“’m sorry,” Peter mumbles, remembering the fierce look in Tony’s eyes when he admit why he let the stranger at the gala touch him too personally.

Above him, Tony sighs. “No, baby. I should’ve -- ” but he pauses before he finishes the thought, continuing instead with, “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Peter nods weakly, then starts as a warm, damp cloth touches the skin of his inner thighs. Tony uses his free hand to stroke a line along his side as he cleans the remaining moisture, and Peter’s chest tightens with his overwhelming love for the man.

“Y-You’re -- ” and it’s Peter’s turn to cut himself off, swallowing hard and turns his eyes to the side, because although he needs to know, he feels too vulnerable asking it, “you’re mine, too... right?”

Tony doesn’t say anything for several moments. Peter’s heart falls a bit, but then he looks up to meet his gaze. It’s soft, a bit melancholy, even, and filled with so much fondness, Peter doesn’t know what to do with it.

“For as long as you’ll have me, angel.”

Sweet & Sticky

Gojo Satoru/Reader

summary: When you decided to make breakfast for Gojo, this wasn’t what you had in mind.

genre: smut, fluff

words: 1.4k

➔ part of The Breakfast Club drabble series

You couldn’t remember the last time you had woken up in such a great mood. As you yawned and lazily stretched in bed, you tried to put your finger on what exactly was behind it. 

Maybe it was because you still felt so wonderfully satisfied. Maybe it was because of the pleasant ache between your legs. Maybe it was because of how thoroughly you had been fucked the night before. Maybe it was knowing that the great Gojo Satoru was still passed out next to you, his hair sticking up at all angles as slept on his stomach and soft snores leaving him every so often. 

As you looked over at the man sharing your bed, you quickly decided that was the cause. It was a big boost to your confidence to know that the man who didn’t bat an eye when facing a special grade curse had been thoroughly exhausted by your pussy. 

Thinking back on the previous night with a smirk, you contemplated sliding onto his back and waking him up by placing soft kisses along his neck, ready for another round. But then your stomach gave an unattractive rumble and you quickly decided that food was more important. 

Making sure not to wake Gojo, you carefully slid out of bed before heading to the bathroom to clean up, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor as you went. You slipped it over your head and when you saw your reflection in the mirror as you turned on the bathroom light, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. You were drowning in the fabric and it said more about its owner’s lanky proportions than it did about your own body type. 

“He’s like an alien,” you mumbled to yourself with an amused grin as you turned on the faucet. 

Once you were done with your morning routine — bladder empty, teeth brushed, face washed, and moisturizer applied — you flipped off the light switch as you left the bathroom, smiling when you saw that Gojo was still right where you had left him in your bed. 

You began to softly hum the song that had been stuck in your head all week as you made your way to the kitchen. Taking a minute to think about what was in your pantry and fridge, you brightly smiled when you realized that you had the ingredients needed for pancakes.

And so you quickly got to work, beating together your eggs and milk before combining them with your flour and baking powder to make the perfect pancake batter. Once it was ready and your frying pan was hot, you ladled in a heaping spoonful of batter and patiently waited for it to spread and cook, flipping it over once bubbles began to form.

You were about halfway done, a small stack of perfectly golden pancakes sitting on a plate on the counter, the mixing bowl filled with batter now half-empty, and a delicious smell in the air when you realized that you weren’t alone. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw that Gojo was behind you, leaning his shoulder against the fridge in nothing but his boxer-briefs with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’m making pancakes,” you told him as you returned to tending to the pancake currently cooking in front of you. When he didn’t reply, you looked back at him once more, only to pause when you saw his expression.

He looked hungry, but you were almost positive it wasn’t for breakfast. The desire in his annoyingly astounding eyes stoked the fire inside of you that you thought had died out last night after your fifth orgasm. 

“What’s that look for?” you asked him, pleased with yourself for keeping the breathlessness from your voice as you returned your attention to flipping the pancake. 

“You just look really, really good like that,” he said, sounding slightly dazed. With your back to him, you missed the way he brought his thumb up to rub at his bottom lip distractedly as he took in the domestic scene playing out before him. 

Before you could ask him what that was supposed to mean, he spurred into action. He wrapped his hands around your hips, turned you to face him, and then lifted you up to sit on the counter before dropping down to his knees in front of you — all his motions smooth as they flowed one right into the next. In your surprise at the sudden movements, you let out a yelp and dropped your spatula to the floor. 

“S-Satoru!” you cried out, your eyes wide as he yanked you to the edge of the counter and spread your knees apart. You frantically looked over to the stove and the still-cooking pancake in the frying pan. “The stove! The pancakes!”

But your protests were all for show, your actions speaking much louder than words as you buried your fingers in his hair, encouraging him as he eagerly moved his head between your legs and tugging him closer when his tongue dipped through your folds. The whine that left you when he expertly found your clit and wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves went straight to his half-hard cock. 

It doesn’t take long for your hips to begin moving to match the perfect rhythm of his mouth and tongue. Your eyelids fluttered shut and your head dropped back, making you miss the way he was watching you with those all-seeing eyes of his like he was trying to sear the sight of you like this into his brain. 

Gojo was talented in everything he did, so he knew exactly how to turn you into a mess under his ministrations. With every suck of your clit, he brought you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm until your legs were shaking, your toes were curling, and your breath was coming in uneven gasps of his name.

You were right there, the tension in you about to snap, when a shrill beeping so loud that it hurt your ears cut straight through your pleasure. Your eyes flew open to see that while Gojo had been busy eating you out, the kitchen had begun to fill with smoke, the pan sitting next to you on the stove with a now-blackened pancake at the center of it the clear culprit. 

Panicking, you shoved Gojo out from between your legs and hopped off the counter as you raced to remove the pan and turn off the stove. With a pout on your lips, you turned on the tap and shoved the pan underneath the stream of cold water.

Gojo’s laughter was almost loud enough to drown out the smoke detector that was still going off and when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, you could feel his body shook with each laugh. He then placed a kiss on your cheek — his mouth still wet. 

“I burnt the pancake,” you whined and you could feel his grin against your cheek. 

“Don’t worry, your pussy makes a much better breakfast than any pancake,” he assured you, but you were too busy frowning as you watched the remains of what had once been a pancake swirl down the drain to bother elbowing him in the stomach for his crass remark. 

Before you could sulk for any longer, he reached around you to turn off the faucet. He then sank down to his knees behind you, a firm hand coming up to rest on your back and push you forward until you were bent over the sink. You scrambled for purchase on the far edge of the sink’s rim, its metal cold underneath your fingers. 

“Satoru!” you protested, although considering the way you eagerly widened your stance to allow him easier access, your resistance was even flimsier than earlier. 

He pushed his shirt that you were wearing up to reveal your dripping wet pussy and he instinctively swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, still able to taste your arousal from earlier on it. He smirked, ready for more straight from the source. 

“Besides, why do I need a stack of pancakes with syrup when I’ve already got something sweet and sticky right in front of my face?” he continued, making you whimper as you felt his breath hot against your folds.

Your own impishness getting the better of you, you looked over your shoulder and gave him a wicked grin, loving nothing more than the sight of him on his knees.

“Well then, eat up. Don’t you know that you shouldn’t let your food go to waste?”

Welcome to the Cortez

James Patrick March x GN!Reader

《 as a detective, the reader attempts to infiltrate James’ life at the hotel for information regarding several disappearances centred around the Cortez 》

requested by @just-some-lesbian - the original request asked for smut, it is likely that I will write a part two and incorporate smut into that but this scenario seemed too heavy and inappropriate for smut. (I’ll write out the headcanons you requested too, I just really liked this idea and wanted to turn it into a full fic!)

wordcount: 3.8k warnings: swearing, blood, violence, gore, death

Your stomach leaped as James opened the door, a mere second following the last rap of your knuckles against the hard wood. Dressed in his usual finery, his appearance sucked all moisture from your throat, your fingers betrayingly stiff as you expected the hand he held out to you. You had been meeting twice weekly with the man, your nervousness in his presence seeming to only grow with each dinner you were subjected to; this evening, your nerves were at an all time high. This wasn’t a scheduled meeting. Several hours ago, Mr. March had instructed Miss Evers to invite you for an impromptu meeting that evening, which could only mean bad news for you, an undercover detective that had been secretly prying into the several recent disappearances at the Cortez, Mr. March being your prime suspect.

“Come in, dearest. You look wonderful.” He drawled, leading you into the all too familiar room, full plates of food and tall glasses of wine already ornamenting the long dining table. You thanked him, allowing him to lead you through the twice weekly routine: pulling out your chair, pressing a swift kiss to your temple and offering you a cigarette before skirting around the table to his own chair, the brush of his fingertips on your shoulder a cold, lingering touch as he moved away from you. “So, why did you call me here?” You enquired, taking a deep drink of your wine in the hopes that it would quell your nerves, your words presenting a feigned confidence. “Not that I mind, of course.” You adding quickly, causing James to smile softly as he glanced down at his food. Your own stomach growled quietly, the fragrance of the food beckoning; James never ate in your presence and out of caution, you didn’t dare touch the food either. “I just wanted to see you again, my apologies for any convenience.” He’s lying. You smiled pleasantly, looking down at your plate in faux flattery. “No convenience at all, James. You know I always look forward to our dinners.” Now who’s lying? You silenced your inner voice, taking another sip of your drink, utilising the opportunity to scan the room over the rim of your glass, looking for anything out of place that could potentially raise alarm. James never did anything without ulterior motives. That was something you had learned very quickly; he always had a reason for everything. James matched your easy smile, taking a swig of his own drink, some sort of liqueur. Strong liqueur, if the smell of it was any indication; he was always drinking but you had never seen the alcohol hold any effect over the man. You had always just written it off as high tolerance, but watching him now as he drained the remaining liquid from the glass before immediately filling it back to the brim, the ice softly clinking from within, it tugged at some part of you, willing you to question why. The room fell into awkward silence, your eyes flicking back to James as you lowered your glass, setting it gently back onto the table. He was already staring right at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t place as they searched your face. You blinked at him, shifting slightly on your seat, his intense gaze unsettling. The corners of his mouth rose, almost as if he knew he was making you uncomfortable and took pleasure in it. “So, uh, you were telling the me other night about those hotel renovations. How are they going?” You took absolutely no interest in whether or not James recent renovations to the Cortez were going successfully or not, but asked anyway, if other to clear the awkward tenor of the room. “Progression is slow, but I suppose that perfection can’t be rushed.” He responded mildly, his eyes still trained on you. Clearing your throat, you nodded, your spine prickling in warning. Leave. There was no ignoring the voice whispering from the darkest pocket of your mind, not as James cocked his head, predatory intent settling over his pale features. Your stomach tightened to the point of pain, your eyes dropping in a vain attempt to avoid his vindictive scrutiny. “Well James, I appreciate you having wanting to see me this evening but I’m feeling kinda tired. Do you mind if I go back to my room? Sorry, I know I haven’t been here for long.” James’ mouth quirked upwards at your timid explanation, taking another long sip of his drink before leaning forwards, his eyes flicking down to the fist you had laid on the table before you, your fingers tight with stress. “Yes, I do mind.” Your mouth went thoroughly dry, your mouth parting in surprise. “I dismiss you. And I’ll be damned if I let you leave so soon.” All coherent thought cleared from your mind at his statement, his dark eyes filling with utter amusement at the mask of alarmed surprised that slipped over your features. “What do you mean?” You ventured, your feet shifting beneath the table, soles pressing firmly into the floor, readying to flee from the man if this interaction grew any more worrying. He seemed to blindly track the moment, his self-satisfied smirk only growing. “I mean, I’m not permitting you to leave yet.” He spelled the words out for you, taking pleasure in employing a condensing tone into his voice. Your spine straightened, your eyes flicking around the room to ensure that there was no one hidden within the dark corners of the space; James was an odd, eccentric man, his energy charged with a strange humour. But even for him, this situation was uncomfortably disarming. “You don’t get to ‘permit’ me to do anything.” You breathed, pushing back your chair slightly as you readied to stand, wanting nothing more than to be out of this room and away from the man before you. James sat back, his eyes twinkling in the light of the candles scattered across the surface of the table between you. Pulling the small silver case from his breast pocket, he flicked it open with a thumb, surveying you darkly as he took a cigarette and tapped it on the lid. A lighter appeared in his other hand, a spark flashing before a small flame sprung up; James lifted the cigarette to his lips, storing it between his teeth as he brought the flame up, a swift inhale lighting the cigarette. “You’re prying around my hotel. I would be inclined to argue that I can permit you to do as I please.” His words clanged through you. Prying.| Taking a glance to the side of the table, your eyes landed on the smaller wooden table beside the one you dined on; several platters, their contents spilled on the plates before you and James, resided on a silver tray atop it, but you didn’t miss the gleaming slice of the edge of a knife, almost completely hidden from your view behind a large bowl full of untouched buttered vegetables. Flicking your eyes away from the knife, careful to keep your possible intentions hidden from the sly man before you, you focused all of your attention on his predatory scrutiny, not daring to so much as shift under his stare. “I want to leave.” You stated firmly, growing increasingly anxious as to the real reason he called you here, and having absolutely no intention of staying in his presence long enough to find out. “You don’t get to leave until I dismiss you.” “Then tell me why you actually called me here.” You threw your words across the table at him without hesitation, every nerve in your body attempting to recoil from his dark gaze as his eyes widened with glee. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you already know full well why I called you here... detective.” You were on your feet the moment he uttered the first syllable of that condemning title, your chair falling onto the floor as you reached over the dining table, your fingers straining to reach the knife winking at you from the silver tray. The carving knife was as long and cruel looking as you had hoped it would be, a cool weight in your palm as you pushed away from the table, twisting towards the exit and preparing to step over your fallen chair. You squealed in surprise when, instead of meeting open air, you slammed into a hard, suit covered body, the knife in your hand tilting and driving up into his stomach; it was a reflex, a terrible, terrible reflex and your mind emptied as you stared at the hilt in your hand, already slick with hot blood, the blade fully submerged is his gut. Your eyes were wide as your gaze travelled up his body, his own already trained on your face, his head tilted to the side with what you could only describe as curiosity. You recoiled in horror, the edge of the table hitting the backs of your thighs as you released your hold on the knife, his blood running in hot rivers down your hand and wrist, dripping onto the tips of your shoes as James’ mouth curled upwards in a slow, predatory smile. “That was one of my favourite shirts.” He mused, gripping onto the simple handle of the carving knife and drawing it from his abdomen with a flourish. You gaped at him, rooted to the spot as the sharp intruder was removed from its burrow, expecting him to collapse to the floor as a torrent of blood spurted in wake of the knife. A multitude of questions formed on your lips as you watched him take a step towards you, frozen as he chucked the knife onto the table behind where you stood motionless with a loud clatter, his hand bloody. All words dissipated into the cold air as James reached up, looking right at you as he pulled his signature neck tie away from his throat, the fabric immediately drinking in the thick coating of blood on his pale fingertips. Ripping open the top button on his neatly laundered shirt with one hand, his smirk turned positively feral as your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack as you beheld the fleshy chasm marring the base of his pale throat, sinew and torn tissue exposed in a deep slice. “An admiral effort, darling. But you can’t kill the dead.” You lurched to the side, stumbling over the long legs of the capsized chair as every nerve in your body bleated in terror, urging you to put as much distance between you and the ghost leering before you as possible. The floor swooped towards you as you lost your footing, only just managing to recover before your body slammed into the soft carpeted ground. It took a matter of seconds for you to cross the room, your palms slamming into the surface of the door as you ran at it, unable to slow your momentum as you reached for the handle, wrists creaking at the impact. Pulling the door open, you threw a sparing glance over your shoulder, your racing mind slowing as you beheld James standing motionless where you left him, his bloodied neck tie discarded on the table as he placed another cigarette between his lips, watching you with an amusement disposition as he coaxed a flame from the lighter. Time seemed to slow as you turned back around, Sally appearing before you on the threshold of the room, her lipstick-smeared smile teary as she reached forwards, taking ahold of the side of your head and slamming it into the wall to your left with a savage force, hard enough to cause the world to slip away into blackness. 

Reality presented itself to you in throbbing waves, light infiltrating your lightly shut eyelids, coaxing you to stir with a small groan. Your allowed your eyes to open, trying to pull a hand to your throbbing temple; in your dazed exhaustion, your inability to move your hand failed to register as you forced your eyes open wider, the dim light of the room aiding in the slow process of pulling your mind back to full consciousness. James surveyed you from across the room as you stirred, the artful pleasure he took in having you at his disposal evident in the neatly tied ropes that secured your wrists to the centre of the dining table you had sat at hours earlier, your torso stretched to the edge of the table, your legs dangling freely off the side. He walked slowly to you as you turned your head, your eyes alight with terror as the brutal seriousness of your situation settled over you. James smiled warmly as you beheld him, hot, unrestrained tears already sputtering from the corners of your eyes as you watched him near, dressed in a fresh shirt, another necktie neatly secured around the base of his throat. You moaned in defeat as he paused by your head, taking a long pull on the old fashioned pipe clutched in his pale, slender fingers. You jerked away from him as he dropped his cold gaze to your face, physically recoiling from his stare and shifting on the surface of the table as far as the ropes would allow. “I’ve spent a long while thinking of what, exactly, I wanted to do to you.” You felt physically ill at his words, the pounding headache racking your temples doing nothing to soothe the sudden roils of nausea.  “But then I realised,” he began, his mouth quirking to the side as he leant down, running the tip of his finger down the side of your wet face from your ear to the sharp angle of your jaw, “why should I have to choose just one scenario?”  You willed your mind to fade back into unconsciousness, your mouth turning utterly dry as his finger completed its journey down the side of your face.  “You knew.” You groaned quietly, James’ eyes flicking from the exposed length of your throat to your lidded eyes.  James didn’t need an elaboration to know what you were talking about. “Of course I knew. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.” His face blurred through your gathering tears, pouring down the sides of your face and disappearing into the wisps hair just above your ears. At your silence, he sighed, withdrawing his finger from where it rested on the line of your jaw, ensuring that his nail scraped against your soft skin as he did so. You flinched, looking up at his harsh face. “Aren’t you curious to know what I’m planning to do with you?” Your chin wobbled at his question, the hesitant shaking of your head in response worsening the pain radiating through your skull; your very scalp felt tight, with pain or fear, you could’t tell. Perhaps both. James tutted in disappointment, moving to sit on the table just above your head, your eyes straining to follow him as your chin lifted slightly, terrified to take your eyes off him for so much as a second. “Well, I suppose I can let you in on my plans. It’s not as if you have anywhere else to be.” He winked down at you, malicious cruelty twinkling in his eyes. He was toying with you, taking twisted delight in watching your eyes shutter with terror. “Cruel bastard.” You hissed quietly, shrinking away from him once more in regretful fear as soon as the words were spoken. “Yes.” James mused simply, taking another puff on his pipe, directing the exhaled smoke down at your face. “Yes, I suppose I am.”  He closely tracked the movement in the column of your neck as you swallowed thickly, a dim ache glowing in the back of your throat as you fought to keep your cries contained, a wave of sobs trying to claw their way out of you, threatening to spill over. “As I was saying.” He continued, his eyes locking with yours as he explained with brutal simplicity: “I intend in killing you first.” The air caught in your throat, your worst suspicions confirmed with condemning simplicity. But James continued, elaborating further: “As I’m sure you have come to realise, no one really dies in this hotel. Therefore, once I’ve taken your life, you will be unable to leave these grounds and your eternal punishment will begin.” The fruitful information that he had just provided you regarding the supernatural nature of the hotel fell deaf on your ears as his final statement settled over you. “No, James! Please. Please, I’ll leave. I’ll leave this hotel and not say a word, I swear.” He smirked in response to your frantic words, pulling a short, slender blade from his breast pocket. You shrieked, bringing your legs up onto the table and twisting your torso away from him, your eyes squeezing shut as his cold grasp settled on your wrist, holding your trembling arm still as he cut the rope securing you to the table in one smooth motion. One of your eyes cracked open hesitantly as he did the same with the second coil of rope, the two of you moving in synchronisation, anticipating one another’s next move as you pushed yourself upright, lurching forwards; James’ arms wrapped tightly around your torso, pulling you back to him before your toes could so much as skim the deep red carpet. A sob bubbled up from your chest as your body collapsed into his, your arms clawing at the hands he had secured around your waist in savage desperation, his lips moving to your ear. You stilled as his warm breath settled over the side of your face. “Plead all you want.” He sneered, his voice a low growl in your ear. “In fact, I prefer it.” You clenched your teeth, lunging forwards in his hold with a cry of indignation; it was an attempt made in vain, his hold was too strong. “Are you familiar with my black closet?” He crooned, taking immense pleasure in your futile struggling. Groaning despairingly, your head fell forwards as more tears built and spilled, staining your hot cheeks with salty streaks. “Let me show you. And then you get to make a choice.” James slid off the table, taking you with him, forcing you to stand and heaving your body across the room, through a small archway set into the wall and depositing you in the large room that served as James’ personal bedroom and living space. With a harsh kick to the back of your calf, he forced you deeper into the room, spinning you around to face him and gripping onto your jaw, forcing your head up and exposing the flesh of your throat to him. You reached up, hitting at his chest and clawing at his face. In his other hand, a cruel, curved blade was summoned into his grip, the metal cold as he pressed it to your throat. You froze, your breath catching as your eyes searched his, pleading silently with him. “It’s your choice.” He grunted, eyes bright with perverted excitement. “Choice?” You repeated on a stammering breath as he pressed the wickedly sharp blade further into he soft flesh of your neck, itching to rip into skin, to spill blood. James’ eyes flicked over your shoulder, an exalted smile curving his lips upwards as he applied even more pressure to the knife at your skin, his other hand coming to grip the back of your neck, pulling it towards the instrument at your throat. Small scarlet beads of blood appeared around the sharp edge, igniting a pyre of utter dread within you. You took a step back, James closely mirroring your actions, closing in on you. Heart hammering at his close proximity, you stepped back, again and again, your eyes frantically searching his, his own glowing in building excitement as he backed you to the wall. Your back bumped against the edge of the room, cruel amusement slipping onto James’ face. The wall behind you gave way slightly as he pressed you even further into it. “Excellent choice.” He uttered darkly, eyes flashing before he allowed the knife at your throat to fall to the floor, his hand coming to rest on your chest. Your brows furrowed, your relief at the removal of the blade at your throat short lived when he gave your chest a sharp shove.  The wall behind you parted entirely, James quickly driving you into very small, dark room, the air suffocatingly stale, his force on your chest causing you to stumble back. A blinding pain ignited in your lower back and you cried out, straining to push away from whatever was causing the pain. But James’ body proved an impenetrable barrier and he gripped onto your throat with both hands, driving you even further into the room. An ungodly scream ripped from your throat as the pain worsened, your insides bleating as they were unforgivingly torn through, bone splintering, skin ripping and stretching. James’ face was alight with perverted satisfaction, your shoulder blades hitting the wall behind you. Pain like you had never know radiated outwards from your centre, your hands falling to your stomach as more burning pain grew from the front of your abdomen, akin to the one at your back. James landed a harsh kick to the front of your thighs and with a sickening crunch, your full back collided with the wall, your mouth parted in a silent scream as the world spun, dangerously close to pulling you under.  You prayed that it would, begging the darkness to quell the unbearable pain radiating through every nerve of your body. Your hands fell onto something hard and slick with warmth. In the dark, it was almost impossible to make out what it was and the sickening spinning of your pain fogged mind only made it more difficult to decipher what you were touching. James watched on in eager delight, releasing his constricting hold on your throat, allowing your head to fall forwards. The world tilted on its axis as you beheld the impossibly thick wooden stake running straight through your stomach, your blood running off the dull end, it’s surface marred with deep gashes and bumps; it pried your flesh apart, your hands completely covered in the blood that ran in torrents down its length, dripping from the blunt tip and pooling around James’ feet. James leaned in as the corners of your vision began to fade, your body beginning to slump around the stake that held your upright.  You felt utterly numb, the pain dimming as the world was swept away. “Welcome to the Cortez.” He whispered, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple before every sense of life slipped from your limp grasp, consciousness and feeling fading into blissful nothingness.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

maybe tamaki with a villain s/o? they were childhood friends but reader disappeared and became stain's sidekick 😳

Ooooh I love it, I took some time with it so thank you for being patient <3. Okay okay I got carried away so it may not be what you were hoping for but I hope you like it anyway.

Warning : slight mention of blood, angst

The reader is connected to the League of villains. They were caught and are in prison right now but they refuse to give any information, so Tamaki is called in order to interrogate them

__________________________________

"Amajiki senpai-" the redhead calls out to the crouched figure of a boy; on the floor with his head in his hands. Eyes too shocked to tear up. His mind flooded with questions and doubts, most which he didn't want to clear.

God he just wanted to go home and forget, let it all go, just forget. He couldn't feel anything, it was almost as if everything, all his senses had left his body. He was surrounded by people now, Aizawa sensei, Fat Gum, Kirishima, god he hated this. So many people I just wanna go home and pretend this never happened.

He's still crouched down, words refusing to leave his lips, everything is a blur, red lights, someone calling out his name. "Tamaki" has he heard this voice before? Stop please let me be. "Tamaki" it's like he's underwater, everything is a blur everything is muffled I just wanna go home.

"Tamaki" his head quickly darts towards the source of the voice. The sun, his best friend Mirio is here. Tears finally leave his rims and he let's out a shaky breath

"Mirio-"

He helps Tamaki stand up and get into the car. The car which takes him to the wretched place.

He fiddles with his bracelet during the entire ride. It was the same one. The one you both had so lovingly adorned in your wrists. It had a small magnetic charm.

"This is how you will always find me even in crowds"

these words echo in his head. 3 years, 3 years had passed since then.

Tamaki Amajiki, one of U. A's Big three, hero name: Suneater, Suneater, Suneater, Suneater, Suneater

Suneater

They liked the name. They did. Even though it wasn't from them.

"Why don't you date Mirio, he even gave you your hero name and you call him the sun? " they playfully pouted, to which Tamaki just chuckled and said "you're my moon, comforting and gentle"

So comforting and gentle, the words now seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. If only he knew; if only this wasn't true...

The car pulled up before the building, a couple of cops walking out. His brain still scattered, still flooded...

Now he's walking towards the room which holds his daydream and nightmare. He doesn't know how to feel or what to feel anymore.

White light pierces through his eyes as if it was burning him, when he enters through the door. All moisture seemed to leave his mouth, his throat bone dry.

He looks over at your worn out figure, a layer of glass separating you. He thanks whatever gods for that or he wouldn't have been able to fight the urge to take you and hold you in his arms.

"Well well look who we have here", the smirk on your face overshadowing the pain in your eyes.

He averts his eyes "aren't you tired?" his voice drained of all things happy and bright.

"What are you even doing here darling? Don't you have other big things to do with your big strong hero friends?" the bitter words leaving your lips with a slur. You roll your eyes and scoff.

His face contorts as he bites the inner wall of his cheek. It's the only thing keeping him from not running away

"You are not a villain! You once held my hand" Tamaki shouts, tears streaming down his face as he grits his teeth. You flinch a little as you've never seen him this frustrated before but quickly compose yourself and hiss "Aren't you the one who wanted to become a hero like all these fakes? Do you think you're a hero or something??"

His whole body shakes and his breathing becomes heavy as he groans. He feels as if it was all coming back. The moments he spent with you, all the nights he lay awake after you disappeared, only to find you again here

"I love you..." he whispers with a shaky breath and falls on his knees. He's losing his senses now. The confusion, the conflict. Was it okay to love you even when you're...like this? He pushes everything back as he looks straight into your eyes and gives a smile, empty as ever not the one which he gave before, the ones that felt like cool shade in the harshest of summer days. His smile was...

Bittersweet

The inner lining of his cheek bruised and almost bloody now. If only this wasn't true of only he could take you home right now. He was half hoping to wake up and find himself in his bed with you in his arms, he was hoping this was all a bad nightmare and that you would cuddle him after.

But it wasn't a dream, it was all happening, his moon was there behind the glass and he couldn't do anything about it. Helplessness has to be the worst.

"stop" you almost scream. "stop and leave me alone, don't".

"moon-"

"SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF HERE"

He can taste his own blood now. Red is for love though right? That's what you said when you would draw hearts all over his notebook, back in kindergarten...

"if only things weren't this way", he goes on in hushed tones.

You smile fondly at his tone, and close your eyes. You just want this to be over, to be over before you let your guard down. You can't let anyone see, you can't let him see

"sometimes, things don't go as planned" you whisper as he walks out of there.

It's raining now/Tamaki walks in the darkness going home finally/the conversation and the look on your face replaying in his head like a broken record/he walked without looking back drowning out all the voices calling his name coaxing him to go on/he couldnt/he couldn't go on anymore/it hurt, god it hurt so bad

Songs to go with the scenario :

OK wow this turned out angsty, I got carried away 😭

I hope you like it anyway <3