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dirty-urie · 6 months

Text

Use My Body

5.6k Words

Warnings: Public sex

Author's Note: Hi all :) I'm posting this as a late birthday present for someone. But if it's bad then ChatGPT wrote the whole thing and not me.

“Brendon! I need your body!” You call from your home office.

“Coming, dear!” He shoots back. After about thirty seconds, he strolls in, looking sexy as always. He must have come from working out in the garage because he's shirtless, flushed, and a little sweaty. Not gross sweaty, just shiny and warm. “What do you need?”

You finish the sentence you're on and wrench your eyes away from your computer screen. You spin around in your chair to face him. “I need to see if a scene is possible. Can we block it together?”

His face lights up. “Hell yeah!” He gives you a hand and pulls you up out of your chair against his body.

You let him get one long kiss in before you let him down gently. “Don’t look so excited, baby. I’m on a deadline. Your pants have to stay on.” You sigh. You really wish he could fuck you right now.

Brendon pouts. “That’s no fun.”

You make a sympathetic noise. “There, there. You’ll survive. Now, uh, get on your knees and sit back on your heels,” you instruct, pointing to the bed.

Brendon scrambles onto the bed and assumes the correct position. It's purely luck that you work from the guest room and always have access to a bed for workshopping, but it's fucking brilliant and you don't know what you'd do without it. “Are you comfy? How are your knees?” you ask.

“Yeah, it feels fine.” He stretches back on his hands, arching his back. “I'm glad you force me to stay limber,” he laughs. “I'm in better shape than my twenties.”

You snatch your notepad off your desk, jotting that down. You toss your notepad onto the bed and straddle Brendon's lap, already questioning how realistic this position is. Your tits are almost right in his face for one, and you're not sure how much leeway either of you has for movement. “Hm. Do you think you could thrust into me like this?”

Brendon pushes up against your cunt through your jeans. You feel him throbbing. You’re caught by surprise, snapping you out of your concentration. You have to bite your lip to keep from snickering. He's too easy. “How are you already hard? I just climbed on top of you.”

He pecks your lips. “You know you get me absolutely raring to go, baby.” He winks. “but admittedly, you interrupted a proofreading session- I was already halfway there.”

You have to fight back a smile, but it creeps into your cheeks anyway. “So the new chapters I sent you are good?”

Brendon gives you a “no shit they're good” look. The man is going to give you an ego. “That scene right before Carter and her dude get engaged. That's based on our honeymoon, right?”

You’re thrilled he recognizes it. It's maybe your favorite sex scene you've written. You nod, swallowing hard. “Fuck. You were being a fucking tease all day in those black swim shorts that hugged your ass just right. And you kept checking me out in my bikini, and I could see your fucking cock swelling through them. But you made us wait until we're in bed together and sunkissed and couldn't keep our hands off each other.” Brendon nibbles your neck, briefly making your brain go totally fuzzy. “It was your first time without a condom, and not having that barrier between us felt so special.”

“I came so fast,” Brendon remembers fondly. “A couple minutes I think? Less than five definitely. You were pissed, baby. I think you contemplated divorce right then and there.”

You sigh in content. “Until I realized you fucking stayed hard. Which I swear is not possible, and if my editor read it in a draft, she'd say it's unrealistic and I need to fix it. But it happened, and your hot come was inside me while your cock was inside me, and you were moving your hips in perfect time with my heartbeat.” You grind on his erection absent-mindedly. “Any chance of you pulling that off again?”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, if I could, I would. Can you imagine the bragging rights?”

You roll your eyes. “Please don't brag about your cock.”

“You're the one writing about our sex life for thousands to read.” He smirks. “Speaking of, do I get a writing credit? Some of that dialogue sounded awfully familiar.”

“Not my fault that you represent the pinnacle of dirty talk, baby.”

“Yeah? You like it when I talk about how I can feel your pussy even through all this fabric, and it's driving me fucking crazy because I know you'd be hot and wet and pulsing around me right now?”

Fuck, you know where this is going, and it does not end with your manuscript being submitted on time. “Bren-” Your protestations are cut off by him bucking hard against you. He knows your body well, knows where to put pressure, so that your whole body lights up.

“You like hearing me talk about how as soon as I'm released from my husbandly duties, I'm going to jack off and look at pictures from our honeymoon and finish your fucking incredible sex scenes and come hard and loudly in our bed? And how I'm going to send you voice messages while I do it because I know that's the best way to cure your writer’s block?” His voice is low and husky. “But you know you won't need voice messages because you'll hear me across the house.” He slides his hands down your back to grab your ass, rocking you forward on his dick and then allowing you to slide back before he rocks you forward again. “You know the very thought of my girl’s fucking perfect pussy makes it impossible to stay quiet.”

You whimper. “Bren, baby, l have work to do.” He ignores you, increasing his tempo. He buries his face in your breasts, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. You're so glad you wore a low-cut top. “Fuck, fuck. Harder,” you plead.

He grabs your ass harder, practically slamming you forward. “Yeah, darling, I can thrust a little,” he pants, finally answering you. “But you'd have to bounce on my cock. You’d have to ride me like the perfect cockslut you are.”

God, he's a calculated bastard, waiting until you've found the perfect groove to fulfill what you called him in for. You throw your head back, giving him better access to your cleavage.

Brendon smiles before he slows to a stop. You continue to wiggle on him incessantly. “Baby, I gotta let you work. I'll stop being a tease.”

You disregard him, sliding along his length and moaning rhythmically. The seam of your pants presses against your clit perfectly.

“God, you're fuckin’ pretty,” Brendon marvels, squeezing your ass again. “But c’mon, I'm your biggest fan. I need more content. The way you incorporated the motif with the cigarettes? Fucking brilliant.”

You clench your teeth, arousal burning deep in your stomach.

“And the way you wrote their emotions was almost palpable. So good, honey.”

And you're coming. You’re nearly screaming as your body convulses in pleasure. “Bren, shit, coming,” you choke out. “Fuck! You're so good,” you shriek, rubbing hard and fast on him.

You slump forward bonelessly. Brendon eases you off his lap onto your back and lies down next to you. “Are you-” you inhale, struggling to catch your breath. “Are you going to apologize to me?” you demand.

Brendon rolls onto his side towards you, so you can see his face. He's smiling slightly in amusement. “For?”

The absolute nerve of this guy. The audacity. You want to fuck him so bad. “For disrupting my writing session!”

“Hmm, depends.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “Are you going to apologize to me?”

You furrow your brows. “What did I do?”

His eyes snap toward his crotch. “Forcing me to change my pants.”

The crease between your brows only deepens in further confusion. “Did you…?” you trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. You don't remember feeling or hearing him come.

He laughs softly, pressing his pelvis forward. You can clearly feel his erection. Brendon recovers quickly, but not this quickly. Not outside of your honeymoon that is. “Darlin', you came. Hard. And messily.”

You blush. “I didn't think it would have soaked through to your pants.”

He takes your wrist and guides it to the front of his pants to feel. The soaked fabric clings to his cock. You scramble for the button of his pants, struggling to get them open with one hand. Brendon pulls you away- gently but firmly.

You whine wordlessly, begging him with your eyes.

“You have to finish writing,” he says, his voice a warning.

His subtle slip into dominance just makes you want him more. “And you have to get off,” you argue. You slip out of his grasp, but he catches you before you can go back to groping him.

You exhale. “Fine. I'll behave myself. Thanks for your help.”

“Any time.” He winks before he climbs out of bed and kisses your forehead. “Do your job, baby. I'm very proud of you.”

You melt. “Aww thanks.”

He gets about halfway through the door before your orgasm-induced haze clears enough to remember the other reason you called him. “Wait- Brendon,” you stop him.

Brendon turns around quickly, leaning against the door frame and facing you. “What's up?”

“Are you coming to my book signing tomorrow?” You try to stay neutral in your question, but you're secretly begging the universe he says yes. He'll make the day so much more fun.

“Uhh, let me check.” He pulls out his phone to look at his calendar. “Well, I can, but I probably shouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I show up at too many, people are just going to go for a shot at meeting me. I don't want to take attention away from you,” he explains.

You scoff. His beautiful and talented and smart, but his ego is a little too much sometimes. “Honey, first of all, your fans are going to show up anyway. And second of all, is it to crazy to think that I might have a following of my own because of my best-selling erotic novels?” You're not offended, but you're slightly annoyed.

He raises his hands in surrender. “No, you're right, I was trying to be considerate and supportive, but I just made myself sound like an ass.”

“Well you are an ass,” you retort, but it's playful.

“You are what you eat?” Brendon offers unsure. He purses his lips and squints his eyes in consideration of his own joke.

You throw a pillow at him, laughing. “Whose ass are you eating? Because it's certainly not mine,” you say. “If I called you a pussy? Sure. A dick? Maybe. So many weed brownies that you can't move because the first one didn't kick in right away? Of course.”

He scoops the pillow up from the ground. “Point taken.”

“So you're coming to my signing?”

He blows you a kiss, pivoting to walk out of the room. “Of course. Anything from my gorgeous,” he lowers his voice, “bossy,” he raises it again, “perfect wife.”

“For that you’re driving!” you call after him.

“Bossy!” He retorts.

•••

You shut the book, and, to your relief, applause fills the packed library auditorium. Brendon shoots you a grin and thumbs up from the front row before clapping along with everyone else. He's wearing stereotypical “I'm a secret celebrity” attire: hoodie, sunglasses, hat. You're pretty sure he's just drawing more attention to himself, but you're so glad he's there regardless.

You feel your heart rate settle back to baseline now that the hard part is over. You were terribly nervous to read new material aloud for so many people, but it went extremely well in your opinion. The audience was on the edge of their seats- including the boyfriends who got dragged along against their will. You even noticed a few people who got so worked up they had to excuse themselves partway through. You'd call that a success.

The applause dies down after a few seconds, and you clap your hands together to transition to the next segment. “Okay! I think I have time for a few questions before the signing.” To your surprise, about twenty hands shoot into the air. Sweat beads on your temple, a combination of the stage lights, physical exertion, and nerves.

“I don't have time for everyone,” you say apologetically. “But I will try my best! You in the purple, you in the back, and then you with the hat.”

A young woman in a purple sweater stands up. “Um, I was just wondering if you write from experience?” Her voice shakes a little, and you feel for the girl.

Your eyes flit to Brendon, who’s grinning. “Well, I've never been kidnapped by the mafia, so no,” you joke, referencing your first and least favorite book. The audience laughs lightly with you. You got pressured into writing a mafia romance by your publisher at the time in exchange for an almost life-changing advance. You got your foot in the door, but you think mafia romances are horribly uninspired, unrealistic, and immature. You love your share of cliches, but you wish you hadn't agreed to sell your soul a little. Plus the royalties are abysmal.

The next person in your queue stands to speak, a larger woman in a floral dress. “Hey! I love your books.”

You smile warmly. “Thank you. I worked hard on them!”

“My question is where you find inspiration to write.”

Brendon mostly, you think to yourself. Sometimes you'll have such an incredible session with him that you have to put it to paper. But you can't very well say that. “Everywhere really,” you answer aloud. “Music, movies, other books. My favorite is people-watching at the beach. I've even had some dreams that heavily influenced my writing. And yes,” you make eye contact with the woman in purple, “real life experiences.” You know you're speaking fast, but you’re slightly rushing to get to more people. “Uh, let’s see, who’s next?”

Hat guy stands up, staring at his phone. You think he's an inconsiderate douche, but he redeems himself once he starts talking. He's clearly reading from the screen. “My girlfriend is in surgery, but she has asked me to tell you she's your biggest fan.” He talks with a bit of an accent, but you can't quite place it. He pauses to scrolls down. “And she would like to know how you write such realistic sex scenes.”

The crowd murmurs excitedly.

You find it fascinating that everyone is gathered to hear you read from an erotic novel, but the explicit mention of sex still feels rebellious and taboo. You don't look down at Brendon this time, but you feel him staring at you smugly. It's like all your fans conspired together to indirectly ask about your sex life with your husband. “Tell your girlfriend thank you, and I hope her surgery goes well,” you say to start. “I'm not sure if she's performing it or receiving it, but my best regards either way.”

You weren't quite making a joke, but everyone- hat guy included- laugh politely.

You walk across the stage. “Has she considered maybe you're just copying your moves from my books, and that's why my scenes are so evocative of her experience?” you ask cheekily.

The man doesn't get flustered. “Ah, you have figured out my secret.”

Another round of tittering and chattering rolls through the room.

You wait a beat for everyone to settle down. “Well, let's keep it between us then. Tell her that my sex scenes come from a lot of research,” you answer. “Most of it far less saucy than I'm sure you guys are imagining, unfortunately. Quite academic. But some is hands-on. Or mouth-on when needed.” You wink.

You’re glad when you get the signal to wrap it up because you fear you've already said too much. “Okay, that's my time, but I will be signing books in the lobby in just a few minutes.” You wave the audience away, smiling. “You guys have been lovely. Thank you for showing up.”

People file out of the auditorium, conversing with each other excitedly.

The auditorium has a door that connects to your small makeshift green room that you eagerly retreat to. You collapse on a folding chair and chug a bottle of water. Your job isn't physically taxing, but it's deceivingly exhausted to be on “on” mode for an extended period of time. It reminds you of your job as a cashier before you started writing full-time. The emotional labor was harder than the physical labor.

Brendon comes into the room after about five minutes. You assume he waited until the auditorium was clear and no one would notice him slip in with you. “That was fucking great,” he exclaims. “Can I get you anything right now?”

You shake your head before putting it down on the plastic table. “I don't have this signing in me,” you whine. You're going to go out there and give it your all, but you need to bitch and moan a bit first. The cool pressure from the table feels great against your forehead. You can feel a nasty tension headache forming.

“A’ight, here's the plan,” Brendon says, leaning in conspiratorially. “We'll have Marge run across the street to the Party City and buy a wig. You and I will swap clothes, and I'll do the signing. No one will know the difference.”

You exhale weakly. “I think your stubble would give it away. And your lack of tits.”

“Oh shit. I'm sorry, baby.”

You strain to pull your head up, stretching gently. “Nah, I'll be okay. Any chance you can hand me an Advil from my bag and buy me something cold and caffeinated from the vending machine?”

Brendon dons his sunglasses and pulls his hood up. He looks like Damian from Mean Girls. “On it.” He checks his watch. “Oh shit. Showtime in two. I'll hurry.”

You blow him a kiss.

•••

“Listen up, here are the rules,” your hired security guard barks at the line of guests snaking their way through the stacks “No cutting, no pushing, no holding up the line, or you will be removed from the premises and you may risk termination of your library privileges.” You and Brendon fight back laughter. This man means business. You appreciate it, but the situation is really not as serious as the ex-marine is making it out to be. “And Mr. Urie is not here to sign anything or take pictures with you, so do not ask.”

Brendon grins. “Pretend I'm not even here. I'm just keeping Y/N company,” he tells the line before burying his face back in your book.

You had to beg the director of library events to allow Brendon to sit next to you at the table. Nobody explicitly said it, but you could tell managing and protecting a “real” celebrity was a bit above everyone’s paygrade. Fortunately, a generous anonymous philanthropist donated a few thousand with explicit instructions to dedicate ninety percent to the youth music program, and the rest to the library special event budget. What a felicitous coincidence.

Once the housekeeping is in order, the first person in line scrambles up to you. She's a girl you'd definitely consider too young for your books- maybe sixteen. But you were sneaking LiveJournal smut on the family computer at sixteen, so you really can't judge. Her mom lingers awkwardly behind her, clearly trying to give the girl space without leaving her alone completely.

She fidgets anxiously. You have to hold your hands out to prompt her to hand you her book. She silently thrusts the hardcover novel into your hands, and the familiar weight of it is comforting. “Can I make it out to someone?” you ask patiently. You know you have a whole line of people waiting, but you try to make each interaction meaningful and intentional with each person. You learned that from Brendon. He told you that you won't remember meeting every fan, but every fan will remember meeting you. It's a lot of pressure to make a good impression with everyone, but it's satisfying too that you're touching so many lives.

“Oh um, Alexandra, if you don't mind- or Alex is shorter if that's easier,” the girl sputters out. “Please.”

“Alexandra is a beautiful name,” you say, jotting down: “Don't make yourself smaller for anyone else, Alexandra. - Y/N Y/L/N :)”. You shut the book and hand it back to her. You still struggle with sincerity with fans, but you hope she appreciates the message.

“Thank you so much,” she says appreciatively. She finally looks at Brendon, who she has been staunchly avoiding the gaze of. “I love you guys.”

“Thank you for coming!” you smile.

"Lovely to meet you!" Brendon chimes. Alexandra looks like she might drop dead right in front of you from Brendon's acknowledgement.

As soon as Alex leaves, the next person replaces her, and you settle into a comfortable routine. Almost everyone is extremely polite and respectful, which you hope is a positive reflection of your fanbase and not just intimidation from your security guard. You'll take it either way though.

Brendon, of course, is charming and gracious for everyone that comes up and talks to him. He stays true to his boundaries or not signing or allowing pictures, but he happily shakes hands and answers the odd music question or chats about video games while you write. You're secretly delighted that everyone in line seems to primarily be there for you with Brendon as a fun bonus for the Panic! fans. Even the people starstruck by Brendon talk about your books with enough intimate knowledge that you believe they're actual fans.

You do have the occasional sour experience. A few obvious resellers, a couple people ranting about the wait, maybe a dozen with noticeably poor hygiene. But the bad apples don't spoil the bunch, and you're generally enjoying yourself.

One thing that starts to distract you is Brendon enjoying himself too. To pass the time, he has your book open to skim when people aren't chatting with him. The deluge of sex scenes are starting to get to him. The signs are almost imperceptible, but you know him well. His breathing is quick and sharp and his face is slightly flushed. He keeps fidgeting in his seat: crossing and uncrossing his legs, tapping the table restlessly, and biting at his cheeks and lips.

You'd be able to ignore it, but you've been craving him since last night when he left before you could play with him. He has the perfect cock. The skin is soft and smooth and warm over a firm, pulsing shaft. He's big enough that you can comfortably take him in your hand and mouth while still being able to fill and stretch you, hitting all the right spots.

You know you have a floating fifteen minute break within your two hour signing window; although, you had planned to forgo it in favor of getting through as many people as possible. Security cuts off the line, but there's always a few hopeful stragglers in case you have an extra minute, and you love the satisfaction of helping them out. But you don't owe them anything, so now you're wondering if you can yank Brendon into an empty study room to pay him back the orgasm you owe him. You don't love to give blowjobs, but do you love to watch him as you suck him off. And you know he'd come fast enough. “Mrs. Y/L/N?” Or maybe you can lay back on a table and let him fuck your pussy until his knees are too weak to keep standing. “Excuse me?” The next person at the table finally manages to jerk you out of your concentration.

She smiles awkwardly without teeth. “I'm sorry- you seemed preoccupied, but I didn't want to hold up the line.” You shake your head to clear it, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“Oh sorry, I get lost in my own head sometimes,” you apologize breathlessly. You squeeze the Sharpie.

You distractedly get through the next dozen or so people before Brendon finally sets you over the edge. He angles the book towards you and points to a line.

Damon’s mouth waters at the sight of Safa’s shiny, wet cunt. She fingers the button on the stopwatch with a smirk. “Oral for an entire hour, really?” she asks incredulously. She was amused by the idea originally, but she didn't think he would actually be able to go through with it. “Your jaw will get sore.” In truth, she doubts her own ability to stave off an orgasm more than Damon’s ability to eat her out for that long.

“Having doubts?” Damon taunts. “Because I don't have to lick this perfect pussy. We can watch a movie instead. I don't mind. I have nothing to prove.” He's bluffing slightly. He'll be crushed if he doesn't get his mouth on her.

He leans in, covering his mouth. “I'd love to do that to you, baby. Eating your pussy for a full hour? That's a fucking dream. And I'd edge myself the whole time. I’d come so hard inside you,” he whispers into your ear.

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” you finally work up the courage to ask, internally pleading that no one nearby can hear you.

He hesitates. “Baby I- I really shouldn't stand up right now,” he explains regretfully.

You clench your teeth. Hard. You slip your hand under the table, grateful for the table cloth hiding your activity. You place your non-dominant hand firmly on Brendon's thigh, your pinky just barely grazing his cock. Brendon turns to you with wide eyes. He grabs your wrist under the table, and you almost deflate. He's right, you shouldn't touch his cock in front of all these people. But, fuck, you're aching to feel his arousal.

However, to your surprise, he doesn’t move your hand away- instead, he guides it right between his legs. You squeeze him, giving him one last warning before you start touching him. He doesn't even flinch, just focuses hard on his book. You start exploring his body eagerly through his pants to warm him up. Though, from the obvious erection you can feel through his jeans, he doesn't need much preparation.

You graze along the length of his cock before your find the swell of his balls and rub them to really give him a tease. You manage to multitask well, continuing to sign and chat as your fingers dance around the sensitive areas of Brendon's inner thighs and crotch. But Brendon gets antsy. You can feel him staring at you, willing you to give him more.

You give in rather easily, anxious to feel him directly. You unbutton his pants and then cough loudly to cover the sound of his zipper opening. The people in front ask if you’re alright, but you wave them off with your free hand and then take a swig of your Dr. Pepper, relishing in the tension of making him wait another second. You regrettably take your hand off him for a moment to slip it between your own thighs. You slide your underwear to the side under your dress and coat your palm in your slickness. The feeling of your hand against your hypersensitive cunt is heavenly, and you struggle to pull yourself away. But the moments between undoing his pants and snaking your hand into his briefs crawl by, heavy with possibility. Brendon closes his eyes, his whole face clenched in concentration. He looks visibly aroused in front of dozens of people, and you don't even care.

You finally take pity on the man, fearing audible noises of frustration if you tease him any longer. You slip your hand inside his underwear, pleased to feel him fully erect. “Baby, is that-” he hisses, referencing the wetness on your hand. You don't answer. He already knows.

You stroke him inside his pants at first, knowing you shouldn't take the risk of fully exposing him. Brendon exhales in satisfaction, but you don't have as much freedom to move as you'd like, and you imagine he feels uncomfortable trapped inside his restrictive jeans. You snake his cock out of his pants and grasp it hard. When you first became intimate with Brendon, you were far too timid. Now you know he likes you to be firm and slightly aggressive when playing with his cock.

You keep your thumb on his glans and then stroke him hard and fast. “Fuck!” Brendon exclaims, and you gasp, fearing that he's blown it for you two. He manages to recover though. He smacks the side of his neck and rubs it. “Ah, damn, neck cramp,” he explains to the people looking with concern. “Excuse my language.”

It tests the very limits of your coordination to rub circles on his sensitive head, stroke him up and down, and continue to sign. You almost misspell your own name at one point. Still- The adrenaline from your deviance makes this ten times hotter. You're acutely aware of everything happening around you, making the sensations even more intense. Your clit hums demandingly. Each of Brendon's breaths sound like moans. You're convinced someone will catch you. You dare them to catch you. That's one thing you miss about touring with Brendon- the clandestine trysts in front of band mates and road crew. You fucking love an audience. Love the thrill of sneaking around.

You sense Brendon’s having a similar experience. He's leaking precum like crazy, allowing you to stroke him even more easily. And his eyes are getting more glassy and unfocused as you continue to work. You hope he knows this is just the appetizer. When you get home, you are fully taking advantage of having your mouth and other hand at your disposal.

Even without being able to verbally communicate, you know he's close when he turns to you with frenzied, panicked eyes and bucks uncontrollably into your hand.

You don't know what to do. Your emergency stash of tissues in your backpack has been depleted by a particularly nasty allergy season, but you can't let him get come on his clothes or the table. And leaving him hanging is not an option. Brendon needs release.

You eye the line. It's down to about fifteen people. You don't think he can hold off long enough for them to be done, and, even then, you'd barely have any privacy.

So you take a risk. You allow your trusty Sharpie to slip through your fingers onto the floor under your table. “Sorry!” You say to the man you're signing for. “All this writing is making my hand cramp. I'm ready to finish! Let me just grab it.”

You make eye contact with Brendon, and he nods ever-so-slightly. You slip onto the ground onto your knees.

“Oh I can help,” the man offers, lunging forward to kneel with you.

You glance at your security guard, and he thankfully takes the cue, standing in front of the table and the line. “Stay away from Mrs. Y/L/N,” he demands. “She will finish the signings in a moment.

You crawl under the table, easily sliding your mouth on Brendon’s cock even in the darkness. You fondle his balls, but it's unnecessary. He's coming before you've even fully closed your lips around his head. Come drips down your chin as hot spurts of it shoot into your mouth. He grabs your hair instinctively, twitching violently in your mouth. For a split second, you fear he may never stop coming and you'll be trapped under this folding table and polyester tablecloth forever. He groans- clearly aroused, and you hold your breath again. “C'mon, you're taking forever with that pen,” is his cover this time. You don't think anyone’s buying it.

He finally stops coming, and you scramble to find the actual marker. “Sorry, I can't find it in the dark.” You emerge from the table, trying to surreptitiously wipe your mouth. Brendon slumps against you. You two must look utterly fucked. “Does anyone have a pen?”

People scramble to look through their pockets and bags to no avail. You're at the end of your time anyway. You smile apologetically, handing out pre-signed copies. “I'm sorry they're not personalized, but you guys take these signed copies and keep your other copy to give to a friend. Thank you all so much for coming out!”

•••

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, sliding into the passenger seat.

Brendon leans over and kisses your neck. You shiver. “Fuck no. I haven't come that fucking hard in months. And from a handjob?” He bites your earlobe. “God, those people were looking at you- were looking at me all day. Thinking about us together. And then we fucking gave them a show, didn't we?”

You laugh. “I'm glad we didn't get arrested.”

“We wouldn't have gotten arrested. I'm famous,” Brendon says. He licks his way down to your cleavage.

You squeal. “What has gotten into you?”

He pulls away. His pupils are massive. “I just fucking love you, and I'm so proud of you, and I love that you're mine.”

You stretch to kiss his cheek. “Aw, baby. Was it hard to share me with all my adoring fans?”

He shakes his head. “Love your fans. Just love that I get to take you home with me.”

“Yeah? Gonna ‘help me write’ when we get home?”

He nods eagerly. “But I may need a banana and a Gatorade first. I get the sense you're going to make me work hard.”

You laugh. “I can make that happen. Unless you wanna check for run-on sentences. You don't need to hydrate for that.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “No fucking way, pretty girl. Bend me, fuck me, tie me up however you want. I'm yours.”

You grin. “God, this sequel is going to be good.”

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #Thank you to my wife for being my Brendon and letting me use her body for porn-writing purposes lol

31 notes · View notes

loverontheleft · 7 months

Text

Yes (revised)

Original request: ok, this request is very specific because I fantasize about it a lot. you and b are roommates (nonfamous AU) and ur in the shower, rubbing one out, having a grand ol’ time and b gets home and BARRELS into the bathroom cuz he has to pEE like nOW and obvs catches on to what ur up to and offers a hand. or a mouth. or a dick. whatevs.

AU!Brendon x reader.

Word count: 2.7k➡️6.7k

Warnings: language, dirty talk, oral, brief thigh-riding because it’s me, shower sex, talk of spanking, general feelings and shit.

-||-

The shower is the perfect temperature; the ceramic tiles are no longer cold to the touch and you’re leaning against the wall with your handheld shower-head pulsing on a low pressure between your legs. “Oh fuck,” you sigh, rolling your hips against the stream. You’re lost in the sensation, letting yourself imagine Brendon’s soft, eager tongue working at your clit, when the floor outside your bathroom door creaks. Before you can do anything, the door slams open; Brendon’s flying into your bathroom, and you’re shrieking.

“Shit! What the fuck?!”

Brendon babbles his apologies. “Got stuck in crazy traffic had to pee barely made it inside couldn’t make it to my bathroom,” he says in one breath, sighing in relief. You’re trying to catch your breath; the showerhead is still between your legs and when you move it, it hits at just the right angle. You whimper a little, before clapping a hand over your mouth in horror.

“Y/n?” You can practically hear Brendon’s head cock to the side. “Are you…okay?”

“Uh huh,” you manage in a strained voice, silently willing him to leave.

“Okay…you just sounded…Wait a minute—are you getting off in there?”

There’s a long pause, and you know that says more than enough. You choose honesty. “I was trying to,” you say through gritted teeth, and he makes a thoughtful sound. “Until my roommate came bursting in and threw off my—”

“Groove?” Brendon suggests, and you want to throttle him. “My bad. But if you want to start again, I could hel—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, replacing the shower head in its clip and slamming the water off.

“Just saying, I apparently owe you, and I’ve helped bef—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, wrapping yourself in a towel and flinging the curtain back. “We said we wouldn’t talk about that again.” His gaze moves slowly over your body wrapped in the towel, and he looks up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Seriously, Brendon. That was a one-time thing; we were both incredibly drunk and horny, and we didn’t even—you just—we just—I just—” you falter, fumbling for the words. You’re equally aroused at the memory and frustrated that he’s being so casual about it. All these months later and you still aren’t sure what his feelings are, but his joking now makes you think it wasn’t that serious for him—which hurts. But the way he’s looking at you now—

“Yeah,” Brendon murmurs, cutting off your thoughts and still eying you. “I just fingered you while we just made out and you just gave me one of the best han—”

“Shut up!” You press your hands to your face. “You promised!”

Brendon holds up both hands innocently as he heads for the door. Stepping through, he looks back at you. “Well, the offer stands. You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

You freeze at the name and turn to stare at him. He arches an eyebrow and bites his lip suggestively; you storm past him into your room across the hall.

“Oh, don’t be angry, Y/n. I just want to help!” He calls through your door, which you’ve just slammed shut. “I’m sorry, darlin!”

-||-

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—no!” You moan, rolling onto your stomach, fingers rubbing at your clit furiously. “Why—fuck!” You’re almost in tears, and you bury your face in your pillow, moaning in desperation. You need to come. “Well, the offer stands. You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.” His voice echoes in your head, and you freeze, remembering that night. You can feel your heart rate spiking; you try to press the memories back into their small box.

-//- 6 months earlier -\\-

It’s been a hell of a week for both of you at your respective jobs, and Brendon has declared it Drunk Movie Night as a coping mechanism. He’s in the kitchen, and you’re sprawled on the couch waiting for him to come back with the first round of drinks. He’s promised something incredible and delicious, and you’re looking forward to it.

You can hear his footsteps; you look up. He’s got two large glasses in his hand, filled with clear liquid. “What is that?”

“No spoilers,” Brendon chides playfully, passing you a glass. He takes a long sip, and you do the same. You choke, immediately coughing. “It’s straight tequila,” he admits, making you laugh.

“You aren’t fucking around on this drunk movie night thing, I see.” Better prepared now, you take a small sip from your glass. Brendon nods and settles on the couch at the opposite end. Glass in one hand, remote in the other, you turn on the tv. When you open Hulu, prepared to scroll, Brendon flings a hand at you and then points at the screen.

“Black Swan,” he says. You blink at him. Brendon can see your confusion, and he clarifies. “Black Swan. The Natalie Portman ballet movie. Wait. You’ve never seen it?”

You shake your head, commenting that he doesn’t seem like the type for a ballet film, and Brendon shrugs. “It’s deeply fucked up. You’d like it.”

“…thanks, I think?”

He grins, lounging back against the couch cushions. You click Play.

-||-

You’re both done with your first tumblers of tequila and halfway through a refill. You’ve done the math; the two of you are drinking from sixteen-ounce glasses, so being halfway through a second glass means you’re at the equivalent of your sixth margarita, sans any mixer. But you don’t need math to know you’re both more than a little drunk when Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis lunge at each other in the bedroom. You toss a pillow in Brendon’s direction; it ricochets off his foot and falls to the ground.

“You pervert. This is why you wanted to watch Black Swan?”

“It’s a definite factor,” Brendon murmurs, his eyes on the screen. You glance back at the tv, and your breath catches. You’re not enjoying this the way Brendon is; instead, you are painfully aware of how long it’s been since someone pushed you onto a bed like that. You’ve been so caught up in work, but you’ve also been trying to process your feelings for Brendon. Living together has been mostly great, though having him in such close proximity has been hell on your emotions. You’d honestly expected living together to end your romantic interest, because you’d see all of his bad habits and annoying tendencies—but it hasn’t. If anything, it has only solidified your feelings.

“I should‘ve known you didn’t care about ballet,” you grumble, and Brendon laughs, draining his glass. As he swallows, his eyes leave the film, and he looks at you. You’re aware of the heat in his gaze; your breathing gets even shallower. He’s never seemed interested in you, but the look in his eyes now makes you wonder if you’ve been missing signs from him the way he’s been missing them from you.

You cave. “What?”

Brendon shrugs. “We’ve lived together for fifteen months, and you haven’t had anyone over.”

Your mind catches on the ‘fifteen months’ detail; you can’t help but think that he’s been keeping track. Why not just say ‘a year’ or ‘more than a year’? He clears his throat, and you realize he’s waiting for something. “Oh, sorry. Was that a question?”

“I guess my question is, don’t you miss it?” He gestures at the screen, where Natalie Portman is writhing on her bed. You desperately do, and you desperately want him. You can’t tell him that though; you need to deflect.

“I don’t miss Mila Kunis eating me out, no,” you manage, and Brendon snorts, shaking his head. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you need to get laid.”

“…Do I?”

You wonder if he can feel the tension and desire radiating from you. He nods, turning to face you more fully, and you think your heart is going to explode. His face is flushed, his hand is inching across the space between you, and his eyes are moving between yours and your lips. You can’t breathe.

“Yeah. You do.”

You can feel your pulse in your ears. Before you can respond, Brendon’s sliding across the couch and kissing you deeply. You gasp when his tongue finds yours, and he pulls back. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

But you cut him off, grabbing him by the back of the head and crushing his mouth back over yours. He groans into your mouth, and you move together as he guides you into his lap so you can straddle him. The kiss is desperate and urgent; you’re tugging at his hair, he’s clutching you closer, and your hands are roaming over each other. He’s hard, and you’re keenly aware of how wet you are. You moan and scratch at his chest, begging for more. Instead of giving you more though, Brendon pulls back and looks at you closely.

“Hang on a sec. Are you drunk?” He asks in a rough voice, hands framing your face and thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he peers into your eyes. You know he knows how much you’ve had. He’s been pouring the tequila all night. You know there’s no point in lying. You nod, and you know the answer to the question you’re about to ask.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Brendon admits, breathing hard. “Should we—you can’t consent if you’re—I don’t want to push—”

“Let’s just…not have sex then,” you suggest, still trying to convince yourself that it’s the right choice, the responsible choice, even as the words leave your mouth. You really want to have sex with him.

“Let’s just not have sex,” Brendon agrees, staring at you longingly. “But…if it’s okay with you—can we keep—” and he gestures between the two of you.

“Please,” you moan, kissing him again. You can feel how hard he is, can feel his erection pressing into you. You bear down against him; you think you could probably come even if all you two do for the rest of the night is make out. If he’ll let you grind on him while he kisses you like this, you know you’ll come.

-||-

You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing when you find your hand wandering down and your fingers grazing his cock. He curses under his breath, staring at you hungrily.

“Is this okay? Me touching you?” Your voice trembles, and Brendon nods, leaning back. You can’t take your eyes off of his erection, can’t stop tracing the length of him; meanwhile, Brendon is groaning your name and pressing his hips up to feel more of your hand. Hearing him say your name like that makes you brave enough to ask. “Is this from me, or from Natalie and Mila?” You’ve chosen a teasing tone, but you’re desperate to know.

His own hands have made it down to your hips, and you can feel his fingertips tease the waistband of your leggings. “Fuck, it’s all you. It’s all for you. Can I touch you?” When you nod, he works a hand down into your leggings, murmuring how he can feel how wet you are through your underwear. “Is this okay?” He’s caressing you through your panties, pressing and rubbing lightly in a way that makes you regret suggesting abstinence.

“So okay,” you murmur, curling your hand around him through his sweatpants. “Is this?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says quickly. His face is slightly flushed; his hair is a mess, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. You stroke him intently, wishing you could really feel the hot weight of his cock in your hand.

“Even though we’re both drunk?” You don’t want to stop. You just don’t want him doubting anything or stressing.

“I think as long as we don’t actually have like—sex. Hands are fine.” You can see in his eyes that he desperately wants you too, and you love him for showing restraint. You also know that you can’t tell him you love him. Not now, anyway. Not like this. He interrupts your thoughts. “Hands are good. Are fingers good too?”

It takes you a moment to process what he means. When it clicks, when you register his two fingers between your thighs and the way they’ve spread to tease the edge of your underwear, you make yourself a little dizzy and nauseous from how fast you nod.

And then he’s got two fingers inside you, and everything aligns for you in total clarity. It just feels right: Brendon holding you, touching you like this. His fingers are, and you tell him this breathlessly, better than good—they’re absolutely perfect. His thumb rolls against your clit; your head falls backward, and you wonder if you should be embarrassed by how quickly he’s going to make you come.

“Hands aren’t sex, right?” You ask the question to try to temper your lust. You know your personal answer, but you need to make sure you’re on the same page. Brendon shakes his head.

“Hands and fingers are foreplay,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Right. Yes. Good. When does foreplay become sex?”

“Mouths,” Brendon says reluctantly. You whine, even though you expected that. You’ve been thinking about his tongue replacing his fingers, and if his tone is any indication, he has too.

“Mouths,” you agree, shifting to get his fingers deeper. “Can I—” and you tug at his sweatpants. “I want to touch you more. If you’d like that.”

“I really fucking would,” Brendon tells you, lifting his hips a little and leaning against the cushions to make moving his sweatpants and underwear down easier. You’ve shifted back in his lap, his fingers are still in you but at a different angle now, and you can’t stop staring at his cock. You’ve had your hand all over him, but feeling him through his sweatpants and seeing all of him, fully hard and curving back so the tip presses to his stomach, is different. Seeing the way beads of pre-cum roll from the head down his shaft makes you wish mouths didn’t count as sex. But you know Brendon is right. Better to linger here with hands and fingers.

Still, you need to hear it again. “Mouths are definitely sex, right?” You rub your thumb lightly over the tip of his cock, spreading the slick pre-cum and hoping he’s imagining your tongue doing the same thing. You’re definitely imagining his tongue replacing his thumb on your clit.

“Mouths are sex,” Brendon repeats, his eyes closed and head tipped back. “Wish they weren’t. Wish I could—wish you could—god, just your hand though…”

“Would normally just spit in my hand,” you tell him, and he opens his eyes to look at you. “But I should probably use something else to keep me from eventually…” you fumble for the words, but you can see he knows what you mean. If you just used spit to slick up his cock, you’d eventually end up sucking him off. You need to use something that’ll keep you from blowing him. “Lotion,” you decide finally, making him laugh.

“Gonna make me feel like a teenager again,” he murmurs. “Except your hand on my cock, jerking me off while we make out will be much better than anything I experienced as a teenager. Plus,” he adds, “I’ve got my fingers in your wet pussy.”

“Which is hopefully an upgrade from your masturbation sessions,” you tease, squirting some of the hand lotion you keep in a basket on your end table into your palm. You press closer to him again, whimpering happily as his fingers slide in deeper.

“Definitely an upgrade,” he assures you, bringing you in for a long kiss. You wrap your hand around him, already stroking eagerly. “Goddamn,” Brendon murmurs into your mouth. “Darlin, your hand feels so fucking good.”

“Love that,” you moan, working your fist over him. “Love you calling me that.”

“Love calling you that too.” His fingers curl inside you, seeking your G-spot, and you squeal, rocking against his hand. “You like that?”

“So good; you can go harder though,” you pant, squeezing his cock as you stroke downward. “Is this how you like it? Show me how you like your cock played with.”

“You’re so damn hot,” he groans. “Yeah, do it just like that—squeeze when you get to the base, twist on the way up, fuck yes…yes, god, you’re incredible. Don’t stop.”

“Won’t stop,” you assure him, moving against his fingers. “If you don’t. Shit, I’m close. The way you press right—yeah, like that, yes! And your thumb, fuck that’s—that’s gonna make me—oh god, Brendon, yes!”

“Want you to come all over my hand,” Brendon says, curling his fingers more insistently and picking up his pace. “Want to feel you let go; come hard, darlin.”

“Want to come together,” you counter, kissing up his neck and nipping at his earlobe. “Can we come together?”

“Fuck yeah; if you keep tightening your grip like that and then rubbing the tip with your— shit, is that your pinky pressing on, teasing my balls? Oh fuck, that’s great…”

“Guitar Hero was good for something—stretching my pinky,” you laugh breathlessly. Brendon chokes on his laughter, staring at you in wonder. “What?” You’re a little self-conscious, but you also love his eyes on you.

“You’re incredible,” he says simply. “Just incredible. God, I’m gonna come if you keep—darlin, need you to whisper in my ear that you want me to come.” He’s tense under you, his fingers are working steadily, and you’re right on the edge.

“Bren, I want you to come for me.” Your lips are right under his ear. “Need you to come for me so I can come on your fingers. God, I’m holding back, holding on; want you to—”

Brendon cuts you off with a desperate groan, kissing you fiercely and rocking his hips up into your grasp. “Coming,” he manages, flexing his fingers in you. “Come for me, darlin.”

You let the tension leave your body, and your orgasm rocks through you. You can feel him spilling over your hand, and you know from how he’s gasping your name that it feels good for him. Meanwhile, you’re trembling on his fingers, clutching his head to keep his mouth against yours. It’s hot waves of pleasure coursing over your whole body, and you can barely breathe from how good it feels to come like this with two of his fingers still curling and thrusting while his thumb keeps moving on your clit.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, and you nod, going limp against him. He holds you close and slips his hand from your leggings.

“Fuck,” you agree, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You’re both trying to catch your breath when you ask, “was that a mistake?” You freeze. You didn’t mean to ask that.

Brendon tenses under you. “Do you think it was a mistake?” His voice is hesitant; you can’t read his tone otherwise.

“I don’t know.”

You do know. You know exactly how you feel. You don’t think it was a mistake; you love him, and you’re so content curled into him now. But if Brendon isn’t sure, if Brendon’s regretting it, then you’re not about to volunteer any of that.

“Okay…should we talk—”

You know where this is going. You have no interest in hearing him tell you how much you mean to him as a friend and how he doesn’t want to lose you or ruin your living situation.

You cut him off. “We don’t have to talk about it.” You can hear the shift in your own voice now. You’re getting guarded. You’ve never liked being vulnerable, and this feels pretty vulnerable.

“But maybe we should—”

“I’m gonna head to bed. We don’t have to talk about it,” you manage, crawling out of his lap. Your main goal is to get to your room before you burst into tears.

-//- the present -\\-

You open your eyes, groaning. You couldn’t stifle the memories, and you can’t stifle the feelings. Worse, you’re remembering how good his fingers felt. “No,” you say out loud. “No. No.”

His shower across the apartment turns on, and you freeze. “You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

“Fuck.” You roll onto your back again and close your eyes, wondering if he’s touching himself while thinking of you. You remember how he moaned your name and bucked into your fist as his tongue teased yours and his fingers worked inside you. You can still feel his fingers curling when he made you come, and you can remember how his cock throbbed in your grasp. Fuck.

You can picture him in the shower, stroking his cock and panting your name. Your fingers move faster, and you’re arching your back, gasping and moaning; you’re almost there when — “You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

“Son of a bitch.” There’s a shift internally; you feel like you’ve come to some conclusion. His voice in your head is breaking your concentration, so clearly you need to just go to the source.

You throw yourself out of bed and slip into a t-shirt and shorts, well aware of the slickness on your inner thighs. You’re not sure what your plan is as you pad across your apartment and toward his bathroom door quietly; still, you’re sure this is what you need. The water is running, but you can hear him through the door.

“Fuck,” he grunts, followed by a low groan of your name. You’re desperate for more, and you know it’s a bad idea to twist the doorknob and slip silently into his bathroom. You do it anyway. The room is foggy, and you lean against the wall opposite the shower.

You’re telling yourself you aren’t going to do anything—you’re just going to listen for a bit, then sneak back to your room and get yourself off—when you hear his fist start to slide over himself. Is he using shampoo, conditioner, or lube? The question pops into your head and you blush, biting on your knuckles. And what is he imagining? That night, your hand on him, stroking him urgently while he rubbed your clit? Or—is he thinking about your mouth? You feel a rush of want, and it makes you dizzy. You’re grateful for your knuckles in your mouth because they muffle your whimper.

“Y/n?”

Or you thought they did. You freeze.

“Y/n,” he sighs, his hand audibly picking up speed. You relax. He was just imagining things. “Darlin, your mouth,” he groans, and that’s one question answered. Your stomach tightens. “Honey, you’re gonna make me come if you keep sucking my cock like this; that’s it, fuck, please—oh shit yeah, suck just like—I’m gonna—god, I’m gonna eat your pussy so good, just you fucking wait.”

You can feel yourself getting wetter, and you try to slip your hand inside your shorts without making too much noise. A voice in your head tells you not to be greedy, to just keep this moment in your mind while you go back to your room, but you can’t walk away. You want to get yourself off by listening to him touch himself to the idea of a blowjob from you or going down on you.

“Y/n, oh God, you’re fingering yourself while you blow me? So hot. That’s it, darlin; ride your fingers, think about taking my cock. Fuck, you look so damn sexy, three fingers deep in your cunt. Think about my cock filling you; I’ll give it to you.” You’re in a lust-driven fog; you feel like you’re obeying him as you slide a third finger in. You feel incredibly full, and you can’t stop remembering how your fingers had to stretch to fully wrap around his cock. He’s right; three fingers are more realistic for imagining him inside you. You whimper again, and it’s silent for a moment.

“Fingering yourself, Y/n?”

At first you’re confused why he’s repeating himself, but then you realize that his tone is different this time; it’s less sex-fueled and more knowing, more amused. Fuck.

He pulls the shower curtain back with a snap; you don’t have time to pull your hand from your shorts, and he’s looking at you, hair soaking wet and plastered to his forehead, his erect cock in his hand.

“I—” you squeak, face aflame. “I’m—I was—” you realize your hand is still between your legs, and you yank it out quickly. It makes both of you moan—you at the loss, and Brendon at seeing how your fingers shine with your arousal.

“You here because you need some help, darlin?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, staring at his naked body and the way his fist is wrapped around his erection. The water is dripping down his body, his cock is throbbing, and he looks like he’s moments from coming. You want to watch, you want to make him come, you want him to keep groaning your name. You want him.

Brendon extends a hand, smiling at you softly. There’s no way you can spin this. You’re inside his bathroom, listening to him jerk off, and you’ve got your hand in your shorts. It’s obvious what’s happening. You’re in too deep; you might as well give in.

“Oh, hell,” you mutter, stripping your shirt off and shoving your shorts down before accepting his hand.

The water is hot, and you gasp as he presses himself to your back; you whimper when his mouth finds the back of your neck, and his hand reaches down to tease your entrance. “Brendon,” you moan when he slips two fingers into you; he groans that you’re so fucking tight, and he’s right, you are. He feels so good, and you desperately want more. His dick is pressed against your ass now, and you’re grinding back against him. “Give me three, let me really imagine your cock filling my pussy,” you beg.

“You heard that, huh?” He grins and bites gently at your neck. “Yeah, baby, I’ll give you three.” He pulls his fingers out instead; when you protest, he nips at your earlobe. “Patience. Need to do this right; don’t want to hurt you.” He stretches for a bottle of silicone lubricant on the built-in shower shelf, and you squirm against him happily. His cock throbs against you while he pours the lubricant over his fingers; you spread your legs and lean back against his chest. “There we are,” Brendon murmurs, sliding three slick fingers against you. “Now I can take care of my girl.” Your heart lurches happily at his words, but before you can comment, his fingers are back inside you.

“Darlin,” he murmurs, his breath hot in your ear. “You gonna make me promise not to talk about this later?” You let out a wordless whimper, and he bites down before sucking hard. “Because honestly, that’s just not going to work for me.” You gasp, and he grins, lips pressed to your skin. “If I’m doing this, if we’re doing this, it’s because you want me. Not just because you want to get off.”

“God, Brendon,” you sigh, arching your back and rubbing against his cock. “Yes.”

“Yes, you want me?” His voice is soft. “Or,” and his fingers stop moving in you, making you whine. “Yes, you’re gonna make me promise not to bring it up?”

“You,” you manage, grabbing his wrist and trying to get him to move again. “You.”

“More specific, honey.” He bites down again in a new spot as his fingers flex; you go limp against him with a soft cry, and he wraps his free arm around your waist. “Yes or no, do you want me? Beyond sex—do you want to be with me? Because that’s how I want you. Been driving me fucking crazy since that night; I can’t stop thinking about you. Have wanted you for so long.”

“Yes,” you whisper, rolling your head back on his shoulder.

“Yes or no, you’re going to let us talk about this later.”

“Yes,” you repeat, turning in his arms and clinging to him. His mouth crushes over yours; you kiss him urgently, desperately. “Yes, yes, yes,” you murmur between kisses, your hips rocking as you press his cock between you. “Yes.”

“Good,” Brendon says simply, sinking to his knees. You become aware of his thick bath mat, and you file that away for future reference before your mind goes blank. His arm around your waist tugs you closer; he nudges your legs apart with his shoulder. “Spread these perfect legs for me.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, both hands on his shoulders. “Brendon.”

“Yes, darlin?” He looks up at you from between your legs, and you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. He looks so serious; there’s not a hint of playfulness in his expression now. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and he smiles faintly, biting his lip. You can read his mind. “I do know other words besides ‘fuck,’ ‘Brendon,’ and ‘yes,’” you manage, and he licks between your legs. “Fuck!”

“I’m sure you do,” he murmurs, “but I’m not sure that you’ll need them in the near future.” And with that, his face is pressed between your legs, licking and sucking eagerly as his fingers work their way up the back of your thigh. He laps at your clit tenderly and, when you’re moaning, he slips three fingers deep inside you from behind.

“Fuck!” You cling to him. You honestly think you could come right now if he told you to. Instead, he moans against you. It vibrates up through your body; you bend over, clutching his head. “Brendon,” you choke. “Please.”

“There’s a new word,” he mumbles, fingers speeding up while his tongue moves in gentle circles. “A good word. Please, what?”

“More,” you pant, hips rocking against his face. “More, baby, please.”

“Darlin,” he moans, grabbing one of your legs and guiding it over a shoulder. He’s breathing hard and licking over you longingly. “Love when you ask so sweetly.” His can fingers go deep now that you’re spread wide with a leg draped over one of his shoulders; you gasp, hips spasming. “More?”

“More,” you moan, nodding frantically and leaning back against the shower wall for leverage. “I can take more; give me more—really eat it, eat my pussy, B; oh fuck!” Brendon groans again, and his tongue goes deep between his fingers, rubbing alongside them as his lips close over you. He’s sliding them over you so gently while his tongue strokes you, and you think you may lose your mind from how good he is at eating you out.

“Oh god,” you whimper, tugging at his hair. “Oh fuck, Brendon!”

He nods against you, and his tongue presses and rubs; you cry out with your orgasm, legs shaking and trembling. His tongue and fingers keep going, keep pushing you over the edge, and his arm around your waist tightens when your legs give out; you slide off of him and drop to your knees. You’re both breathing hard, kneeling on the floor of his shower, with steam and hot water flooding your senses. He’s smiling at you so brilliantly, and you moan, pulling his mouth to yours. Both arms tangle around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, one of his legs slotting between yours. You whimper into his kiss and grind tentatively on his thigh, both of you gasping at the feeling.

“Hang on, darlin,” Brendon groans. “I can make it better.” He stretches an arm to reach behind him, and when he brings his hand back, you see the bottle of silicone lube again. Without taking his eyes off you, he pops the lid and pours it freely onto his thigh; you start moving again, and the ease with which you can ride his thigh now makes you louder than ever. “Ride it, grind this sweet pussy all over me, make yourself feel good.”

“Want you to feel good too,” you murmur, rocking your hips fervently. “Want you to feel good.”

“Trust me,” he grunts, grabbing your hair and pulling you in for a long, heated kiss. “Trust me, I feel good. You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You nuzzle a spot under his ear, and he groans, grabbing your ass with both hands and moving you faster, pressing you down harder. “You like this?”

“Only thing better than feeling your sweet cunt against my thigh would be feeling you on my cock,” Brendon whispers in your ear, tongue flicking out to tease the shell, making you shiver. “But it’s okay if you’re not—if it’s too—”

“Brendon,” you whimper, squeezing his erection firmly. “Yes. I want to.” You reach down between your legs to collect some of the silicone lube, and, watching him longingly, you start stroking a slick hand over his cock.

“Fuck, darlin,” he moans, kissing you gently, his tongue brushing yours. You clutch the back of his head, your other hand still stroking fervently while your hips roll. “Gonna let me get you on my cock and make you feel so damn good?”

“Please,” you manage, kissing down his neck. “Please.” He jerks back suddenly and you moan at the loss, but he’s climbing carefully to his feet and tugging you up too. “Brendon,” you gasp, and his lips are on yours as he pushes you up against the shower wall, nipping and sucking down your neck and collarbone. “Brendon, please.”

“Yeah, darlin, say my name.” He’s rocking against your thigh, cock slick with pre-cum and whatever he was using to jack off earlier, and you cry out. “I remember you liking how rough I fingered you,” he whispers in your ear. “You like getting fucked that way too?”

“Yes,” you whimper, spreading your legs on the mat, grateful for its traction keeping you upright. “Yes.”

“Shit, Y/n,” he groans, one hand gripping his cock as he guides it to your opening. “I’ve been thinking about this, about you, since—”

“Me too,” you admit, spreading your legs slightly to sink down on him. “Oh god!”

“Y/n,” Brendon grunts as he sheathes himself in you fully. “Your cunt—god, you’re incredible.” He grabs both of your hands with his and pins them over your head, thrusting into you quick and shallow. “Honey, if you’ve been thinking about it too—I gotta know, why did you go to bed that night without letting us talk about it?”

“Thought you thought it was a mistake,” you groan, crying out happily when he tugs at your hair.

“You’re the one who asked if it was,” Brendon points out, and you whine, nodding. “I never said I thought it was. Just asked you—and then you went to bed and made me promise the next day to never bring it up.”

“Got scared,” you admit. “Was self-conscious and scared, and—harder,” you pant, pushing your hips into his to meet his thrusts. “Harder, fuck me harder.” He groans and speeds up while going deeper, making you cry out with every stroke.

“Yes!” You squeal when he angles himself slightly and presses right where you want him with the head of his cock. “Fuck, yes, Brendon, yes, yes!”

“Up,” he commands, one hand leaving yours to grab your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere; I won’t let you fall.” You nod and carefully wrap a leg around his hips. “Other one too.” You lift the other, and he bites a spot low on your neck. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I want you. Want this,” he groans, hips rocking again. “Want us. Want you to be mine, want to be yours.”

“Brendon,” you gasp, tightening your legs around him. “Please. Please.”

“What do you need, darlin?”

“Make me come,” you beg, hands tangled with his as he holds them over your head. “Make me come. I’m yours, all yours. Make me come.”

“Mine. Darlin, if you don’t come on my cock, I’m going to spank you.”

“Oh shit,” you whimper. “Bren, I—I love—getting—”

He grins. “You love getting spanked?” You nod, and he thrusts into you harder. “I knew it. I knew I had a wild girl on my hands.”

“On your cock,” you correct with a breathless laugh, and Brendon laughs too before grabbing the showerhead and aiming it against your clit. “Oh god, yes—fuck—Brendon, hold it right there—god, yes! Just thinking about you spanking me—and it’s right on my clit, baby, yes oh god—Brendon, please, please—oh!” You fall apart, crying his name, and he kisses you hard, hips snapping forward as he fucks you through your climax.

“Honey, I’m fucking close,” he groans. “If you want me to pull out, I will, but you gotta tell me—Y/n, I’m gonna—tell me now!”

“Oh god, in me,” you pant, your legs tightening around his waist. “In me, I want you to come in me, fucking give me everything.”

“Fuck,” Brendon grunts, burying his face in your neck. You can feel him pulsing in you, can feel the warmth spreading, and you close your eyes. You desperately want to remember this moment forever. When his breathing evens out against your skin, you carefully untangle your legs from his body.

“Fuck, B, that was so damn good.”

“Yes,” Brendon groans, kissing you. “Yes, it was.” He reaches to the side and turns off the water before opening the curtain and snatching a towel to wrap around you. “Here, darlin.” He kisses your forehead, and you melt, hugging him tightly. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, holding you to him. “Y/n—can I take you to bed? Want you in my bed.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and he twists your hair into a rope around his hand, wringing it out gently. “Please.”

-||-

“You’re unreal,” he moans, sucking on one of your nipples as you writhe under him. “You’re incredible, darlin.”

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” you say with a short laugh. “B, I’m so sorry I got scared and didn’t let us talk about that night. About us.” You reach over to stroke his cock. “Hard again,” you marvel and he grins, switching breasts.

“Easy when my bed partner looks like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “Darlin, no need to apologize. We’re here now; we’ve talked. God, I’m just glad we finally got our shit together.”

You whimper in agreement, and he sucks harder, one hand moving down between your legs. “Love those sounds you make for me.” He sighs when his fingers trace through your heat. “Wet again,” he says in a tone that matches yours. You smile and tug at his hair.

“Easy when my bed partner looks like this,” you tease, gasping when his fingers slide into you. “Oh, Brendon, baby, yes.”

“Or it could just be that my girl let me come in her, and that’s why her hot cunt is so slick,” Brendon murmurs, grinning when you moan. “Have I mentioned how much I love when you say yes?” He’s shifting to hover over you. “Can I have you?”

“Yes,” you sigh happily as he pulls his fingers out and thrusts into you gently. “Yes.”

“I’m gonna be slow and gentle with you this time,” Brendon tells you, kissing your cheek. “Loved having you in the shower like that, but I want you every way. You deserve to be loved slowly and deeply, and I’m gonna be the one to do it.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Brendon, yes.”

“God, darlin, don’t know which I love more, my name on your lips or you telling me yes.”

“I could, oh fuck, say another name,” you tease, and his eyes narrow playfully. “I think we have your answer then.”

“Damn right. I’m yours, and I’m committed; I want you to be committed too. I want you to be mine. I want to be the only one making you feel like this. I want to be the only one getting to see you come undone, getting to feel you take my cum. I want to be the only one fucking you, making love to you, getting you coming like this. Yes?”

“Yes,” you agree breathlessly. “Yes. Have wanted you, have needed you for so long. I only need you, and I only want you. You’re mine, Bren, and I’m only yours.”

“Good,” Brendon murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. “We’ll talk more later, but Y/n, I’m entirely yours. You know that means I love you, right?” You smile radiantly and nod. “And you love me, don’t you?” Brendon’s voice is soft, hopeful.

“Yes.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon x reader #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #panic! at the disco

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mirandasdream · 11 months

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The branches of the pine trees are drooping down with a heavy coat of snow, and it reminds me of the early sixties when I'd stand on this porch as an entirely different person. I was only a child, my nose cold, watching the snowfall. It was so different from Las Vegas where it never snowed, where there were no pine trees, and the one good thing that my old man ever managed to do for me was to bring me up here every winter. It taught me one thing at the age of six: there was a world outside Vegas.

I have nothing in common with that little boy anymore, nothing but some scrapes of a shared past. Then the music happened, and LA happened, and the band happened, and the drugs and the booze and the women and the paralyzing realization that it couldn't last forever and that it just might kill me before the inevitable end, and every day it became more crystallized that I didn't want what I had gained. I think I'm on the right path now. I think I might be.

#this is what i imagine the bismark cabin like #throam #the heart rate of a mouse #anna green #over the tracks #wolves vs hearts #a kingdom by the sea #brendon urie #ryan ross #patd #p!atd #ryden #panic at the disco #panic! at the disco #panic #panic!#pre split

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caeca-iustitia · 1 month

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I feel like Vincent's transformations are painful on a whole new level- this unbearable agony of having one's body twisted and pulled into a new shape whilst unable to stop it.

It's very obvious when Vincent transforms since you can hear the popping of their joints as they dislocate and the cracking of their bones as they're broken apart under the immense internal pressure of the transformation.

Their vocal cords are raw and their voice breaks they scream in pain- bent over and having to endure their spine rearranging itself or bending to suit a larger form than their own.

Their transformations are violent and are a level of painful that no amount of words can describe.

#{ 🍒 out of character post }#{ 🍒 headcanon post }#{ 🔫 vincent valentine }#[Sorry not sorry]#[I base this headcanon on the music video for 'Emperors New Clothes' because the way Brendon twists and bends is exactly what I imagine]#[So it is very obvious and immensely unsettling when Vincent has to transform because of this]

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ilyushin18 · 3 months

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happy 6th julie..this turns 15 years old today it's an ancient scripture that needs to be studied

#panic at the disco #if youre younger thsn this kys #imagine being born before the 2008 economic recession couldnt be me #brendon fumbled two bad bitches #why is jon spelt woth no h im honna jump #ryan ross

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if-we-are-free-tell-me-why · 2 years

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Hey just to all my fellow fat people out there: You are doing great and your body is amazing. I am tired of fat bodies only being depicted as funny, disgusting, frightening fuck that. Fat people are great and valuable and we deserve better.

#yes this is about the whale #the whale #brendon gleeson #no hate to him I just want the voice of fat people to be part of all of the celebration #it just makes me sad the way people talk about this movie #I recognize so much of all the stuff my environment told me as a kid #like imagine being told at thirteen that eating yummy food is a form of self-destruction #and rhen watch a movie being made that just lays out all the fears of how society sees you in front of you #idk if rhis makes too mich sense it is way too late where I live #fat positive #bodypositivity #oscars

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xx-emowarz-xx · 10 months

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"mychem is one of the most popular bands on the planet" no they aren't you're just on the sad millennial website during every spare moment of free time you have.

#my chemical romance is a popular band #they have not put out an album in decades and they are generally perceived as a has been for depressed people #most people only know teenagers #fall out boy and Paramore are both more relevant than them #like those two have actual mainstream appeal in a post still into you post my songs know what you did in the dark world #but outside of the scene popular bands are cold play. maroon 5. imagine dragons. Panic after Brendon ran it into the ground

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b4rk1ng-l0t · 3 months

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there should be an episode of Home Movies where Paula teaches Brendon to drive

#can you imagine the chaos?#“Brendon. BRENDON. BREAKES!” “Mom I'm not going anywhere.” “Oh.”#home movies #brendon small #paula small #star.txt

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loverontheleft · 7 months

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Don’t Take Me Home (revised)

Original request: oooh maybe car sex with b? perhaps teen!Brendon and you need a place bc both of your houses are occupied so you take this long romantic drive out into the middle of nowhere and just…

Brendon x reader

Warnings: dirty talk and language, car oral and sex.

Word count: 4.9k➡️5.5k

-||-

“Brendon,” you murmur, clinging to his hand with both of yours as you leave the theater. “I don’t wanna go home.” He turns to you and meets your eyes, biting his lip. “Don’t take me home yet.” You’re practically begging now. “It’s a Thursday night, tomorrow is a teacher workday…don’t take me home.”

“But your parents…” Brendon’s hesitating, understandably so, and you squeeze his hand.

“Are at that wedding three hours away, and are staying the night. They got the sitter for Henry for the whole night.” You give him a suggestive smile. “So they won’t know when I get home. But…” and you tug him closer as you get to his car, leaning up against the side so he presses against you. “Home is also not an option. We’d never make it upstairs without the sitter noticing, and the couch is therefore obviously not a viable location for making out.”

“Hmmmm.” Brendon’s face tells you he’s seriously considering your request. “Well, I do want to make out with you.” You nod and tip your head up to kiss under his jaw. He groans and presses against you more. “I really want to make out with you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist, fingertips brushing the waistband of your skirt. “Damn, I mean…Y/n, I…fuck,” he sighs helplessly.

“What about your house?” You look up at him hopefully, and he shakes his head, pushing a hand through his hair. You can feel the frustration and regret rolling off of him. “Oh wait, your parents are having that dinner party, aren’t they?” He nods, eyes shut. His cock is stirring against you, and you rock your hips, seeking more. You love the pressure, and he leans against you more firmly. “We should at least get in the car,” you tell him, lips moving over his neck again.

“You’re right…get in the car, Angel,” he tells you, moving his hands down your back and over your curves. “Get in the car, please.” He shifts you slightly so he can open your door. “God, get in the car so I can kiss you, darlin.” You slip under his arm and settle into the seat while he crosses around the front of the car and yanks open his door. “Come here.” He beckons you urgently and you clamber over the center console to settle in his lap, your skirt spreading, as he reaches down between his legs and slides his seat back.

“Hi, B,” you giggle, cupping his cheek. He turns his head slightly to kiss your palm before brushing a finger down your jawline to curl under your chin and draw you close. At his touch, you weaken. At his kiss, you melt into him. You can feel his groan rumble through his chest as your tongue teases his; he clutches you closer and you rock against him as he murmurs how much he loves you.

“I love you too,” you tell him. “I love you so much.”

“So much. Let me keep kissing you,” he begs, snaking an arm around your waist and rubbing back against you, matching your movements. He’s urgent now, thrusting up, pressing his cock right where you want him, and the friction against your underwear is incredible; it’s driving you closer and closer to the edge, and you know he’s got to be just as desperate as you are. “I gotta—Angel, please.” The petname sends a thrill through you. You nod, telling him yes, and he freezes. “Yes?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful, but you can feel his body tensing under yours.

“Yes,” you repeat. “I want you too. Fuck, I need to come too.” At his stunned silence, you pause and look at him carefully. “Shit. That isn’t what you meant; oh god, Bren—I’m—” and you cover your face with your hands, blushing deeply. The two of you have only been sleeping together for a few months now, and you’re obsessed with the way he can get you worked up with just a single look or touch. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about sex with him all the time.

“Hush, Y/n,” he says softly, kindly, moving your hands and crushing your mouths back together. When you part for air, he stares at you longingly. “That is what I meant—but we can’t—not here.”

You glance around, confused, and he clarifies. “I mean. It’ll have to be here in my car I think…I mean, if you don’t object…we don’t have a lot of options,” and he grins ruefully, nuzzling your nose with his. “…but not here. Not in the movie theater parking lot. We need to go…somewhere else.”

“So take me somewhere else,” you whisper, nuzzling his jawline. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.” He nods and kisses down your neck, hands squeezing your hips and tugging you down against the bulge in his jeans for a brief moment before urging you back into your seat.

“We might be driving for a bit,” Brendon warns you, his hand moving up your skirt and over your thigh. “But I’ll try to be quick.”

“We’ve got nothing but time. Just get me somewhere we can be alone safely,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder and shifting slightly so his hand slips between your thighs. He groans and nods, fingers flexing gently. “Need you,” you murmur, resting your hand over his. “Bren, I need you so badly.”

The drive is agony, and you’re both silent; his eyes are fixated on the road while yours are on his face. His thumb is rubbing soft circles over your inner thigh, and you’re subconsciously spreading your legs so he can move his hand higher. You’re both tense, and you know as soon as he parks the car, you’re going to be on top of him. It isn’t long before he pulls off the road and kills the headlights; as he does, you’re unbuckling and scrambling into his lap. “My sweet girl,” he says softly, caressing your cheek. “I love you, you know that—right?” He looks at you seriously, and you nod, nuzzling his palm. “Good,” he whispers. And with that, he leans in to kiss you softly as your hands move to his jeans. Quickly, you unbutton and unzip them so you can reach inside and wrap a hand around his erection. “Fuck,” he groans, letting his head drop back on the headrest. “Your hand, baby; your hand is so good.”

You stroke him firmly and he grunts, hips bucking up to your grasp. “If you think my hand is good, wait til you see what else I have in mind,” you tell him, and he laughs a little desperately, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you in place while he leans to rummage through the glovebox. When he produces a foil packet, you take it eagerly and rip it open, meeting his eyes as you roll it over his hard length. “Need you,” you murmur, rising up above him slightly so you can guide him into you.

“Fuck, Angel,” Brendon groans, fingers flexing against your hips as you sink down and settle into his lap. “You’re my fucking angel; I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you tell him, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too; fuck, you feel so good in me.” You gasp when he moves against you, lips finding yours. “Oh god,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. “Brendon, I can’t—I can’t like this—” you’re at a loss for words, your thighs burning and back starting to hurt. You look at him helplessly, frustration and discomfort evident.

“It’s okay, we can stop,” he tells you, and you protest, whining and shifting so you’re resting against the steering wheel, telling him to fuck you like this.

“Yeah?” Brendon watches you carefully, staring at your face as you work yourself down against his cock. “Is this okay? Is this better?” You nod, and he leans over to kiss your neck. “My dirty Angel, begging me to fuck her in my car; she’s such a bad girl, but just for me, isn’t she? She’s my bad girl, my best girl. Love her so much.” He’s whispering this against your skin as he nibbles along your neck and collarbone. “My girl gonna come for me?”

“Yeah,” you moan, back arching off of the wheel as you press yourself against him. You’re both fully clothed, with his jeans down just enough and your skirt bunched around your waist. “Yeah, I’m gonna—”

“Be my sweet girl and come for me,” Brendon pleads, hips moving faster now. You close your eyes and nod, clinging to him. “Baby, you gotta—I can’t hold—you feel too good,” he murmurs. “You gotta come first, oh fu—yes, fuck!” His voice drops into a guttural moan as you clench around him, coming hard. “Yes, Y/n, come for me,” he encourages, panting and thrusting urgently.

“Fuck! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!” Your eyes are wide, and you’re moving against him eagerly. “Your…fuck,” you manage. “Your turn.” He bites your shoulder and you feel him pulse with his orgasm, the heat—even with the condom—spreading through you. “Oh god yes, Brendon, yes!” He’s gasping your name as you tug at his hair, both of you moving gracelessly, frantically against each other. “Holy fuck,” you whisper when your pulse evens out. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you can launch yourself forward and kiss him hard. “I love you,” he repeats, your lips moving together tenderly. “I love you so much.”

-||-

“Brendon!” You squeal with laughter as he lifts you off your feet and tosses you over his shoulder outside the bar where he’s just finished a small acoustic set. The rest of his bandmates laugh and turn away, giving you some privacy. “Urie, you’re drunk,” you declare, beating your fists against his back gently. “And I’m drunk. Put me down.” Obligingly, he places you back on your feet and looks at you.

“Are you actually drunk?” Brendon’s examining your face closely. “You know my rule, Y/n.” He wags his finger at you playfully. “No sex if you’re inebriated.”

“Well now I know you’re not drunk,” you shoot back teasingly. “Getting ‘inebriated’ right on the first try.” He laughs and pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, murmuring that he’s high on you, but not drunk. “I’m not either,” you promise, scratching at his back idly. “Definitely tipsy and in love, but not drunk.”

“Yeah? You wanna hang out for a bit more, sober up, then get out of here?” He looks at you suggestively and you nod, wrapping your arms around his waist. “My place is off limits; Shane is hosting game night,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Hannah is doing some Mary Kay party,” you say with frustration evident. “So it sounds like both of our places are off the table.” You’re both visibly frustrated by this, until you see an idea register on his face. “What?” You look at him suspiciously. “You’ve got your thinking face on…”

“Mmmm,” he agrees, kissing your jawline. “Thinking about senior year, when we fucked in my car after the movies.” You blush, and he gives you a teasing look. “You remember, don’t you, Angel? You begged,” and he stresses the word ‘begged’ with relish, “me not to take you home yet. You were desperate for me.”

“I always am,” you murmur, tipping your head back to give his lips more space to roam. “Don’t you know your girl is addicted to you?” He grins, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Shit, you can’t do that,” you warn him. “Feeling you start to get hard like this gets me all worked up, you know that.” He mumbles that he does know that and he likes it. “Tease.” You give him a playful shove, and he bites at your neck in response. “Fuck,” you groan. “You gotta stop, Bren. You’re making me want you more and more, and now I know I can’t have you. We don’t have any place to go.”

He pulls back and gives you a curious look. “Angelbaby, didn’t you hear me say that I was remembering senior year?” You nod, and he grins when he realizes that you clearly aren’t getting it. “We’ve got my car,” he tells you. Your eyes widen. “Yeah. Exactly. We’ve got my car. Give me twenty minutes and a bottle of water, and I’ll be good to get us out of here and somewhere we can be alone.”

After he’s sober enough for both of your liking, he loops an arm around your waist and pulls you close, leading you back out into the parking lot. “Take me somewhere we can be alone,” you tell him, running a finger down his chest. “Want to be someplace private with my man.” He nods and opens your door for you, closing it after you. He settles in the car and inhales sharply when your hand rests over his erection. Without commenting, he puts the car in drive and leaves the parking lot, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel. “You doing okay there, Urie?” You tease, squeezing lightly. He nods, giving you a quick glance.

“I’m doing great. Thinking about eating out my girlfriend in the backseat of this car, getting her hot cunt all over my face. You?”

“Fuck,” you mumble, letting your head roll back as your fingers trail over his erection. “That wasn’t what I was thinking, but it sure is now.” He grins, telling you to keep thinking about it. “I will,” you promise. “The way you kiss my inner thighs and along my pussy, letting your tongue tease me…” you close your eyes. “Damn…want you between my legs, baby.”

“I want to be there,” he reassures you. “Want to taste my sweet girl as she rubs against my face. Wanna make her come with my fingers and my tongue. Wanna lick her clit and make her squeal, wanna see her lose control from my mouth. Wanna watch her from between her pretty thighs, wanna hold her hips and kiss her all over…”

“Brendon,” you moan, wriggling in your seat. “Need you. Hurry.” He nods and, scanning the road once more, pulls off into a deserted clearing. “This isn’t sketchy at all,” you remark as you climb into the backseat. He laughs as he follows you.

“Do you want me to go back to driving so we can keep loo—oh god.” He cuts himself off when you slide your jeans down your thighs, leaving you in his favorite pink lace underwear. “If you don’t mind, I’m not driving anymore,” he tells you, kneeling between your legs on the backseat.

“You look horribly uncomfortable,” you remark, watching him try to bend down far enough to taste you. “We can reevaluate positions if you need.”

“Yeah,” he groans, rolling his neck. “I love eating you out and that position was going to ruin it. I’m just gonna—” and he slips off the seat so he’s kneeling in the foot space, back against the back of the passenger seat. “Now if you’ll scoot down and—” he beckons you and as you move, he reaches up and spreads your legs while coaxing you forward. “Is this comfortable?” He pushes one of your knees up so it’s parallel to the back of the seat.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic. You?”

“Definitely better. It’s a tight fit, but I’d put up with far worse circumstances to get my tongue in your perfect pussy, Angel.” He grins at you and rubs his thumb over the dark center of your panties. “Right through…damn…” Brendon sighs, and you watch his eyes dilate in pleasure at the mere thought of tasting you. “So wet, Y/n…”

“I am,” you agree in a low voice. “You should do something about it. It is your fault after all.” You grin at him and he laughs appreciatively, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your thigh as he shifts higher onto his knees to get closer and work your underwear down your legs. “This is an interesting change, you being on your knees for me.”

“You make it sound like I don’t—” Brendon starts to protest, clearly insulted at the idea of him not loving to eat you out, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no—I just mean this position. You’re very generous with your mouth, baby, and I love it—and you. But we’re usually in bed or I’m on top of you. You’re not normally literally on your knees. That’s all.” You tug his hair affectionately and roll your hips towards his mouth.

“That’s better,” he comments with a grin. “Didn’t think you were taking my mouth for granted or anything…but I’d hold out on you if I needed to prove a point.”

You pout, and he laughs. “We both know I wouldn’t last long.” He gives you a teasing lick, letting the tip of his tongue move in a quick circle over your clit. You gasp and your back arches; you tug at his hair and he makes a soft sound of approval, switching to deep, slow strokes while his fingers slide into your heat.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop,” you groan, rocking under him. “Brendon, baby, so good; lick it honey, just—oh god, so fucking good!” His fingers curl while his thumb rubs; his eyes meet yours as he mouths over you, tongue rolling repeatedly against your clit. “Oooooh shit!” The squeal is practically ripped from your body and your eyes snap open wide. “Brendon, yes! Yes yes yes!!” The leg that is parallel to the seat back drops and pins his head between your thighs; he groans, pressing closer and keeping his fingers moving. “Oh god!” Your voice is high and tight, and you��re rocking eagerly against his mouth, holding him in place with your grip in his hair and the pressure of your thighs. “Making me come, oh fuck!”

“Come for me, Angel,” he begs in a muffled voice that sends you over the edge, shrieking and moaning and swearing. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs when your hips stop moving and your legs part, freeing him. He starts licking your inner thighs idly, watching you with dark eyes. “My Angel knows how much I love her coming on my face. Love tasting you, licking you, sucking you…my best girl.” He places a soft kiss against your hip before crawling up on top of you, propping himself up on his forearms over you.

“Kiss me,” you say softly, craning your neck to reach his mouth. “Need you.” You throw an arm around his back and press him to you; he grunts as his full body weight comes down on you and your legs tighten around his hips. “Any chance of you whipping that cock out and fucking me while we’re back here?”

“You did not just use the phrase ‘whipping that cock out,’ did you?” Brendon looks at you in amusement, body shaking with suppressed laughter. “I cannot take you seriously with those words coming from your perfect mouth.” You blush, and he laughs, catching your lips again. “I will fuck you, but only if you promise to never ask that way again.”

“That’s a more than fair deal,” you agree, before zipping your lips shut. “I got a little carried away, sorry. I was going for ‘desperate,’ but in hindsight, not my most sexy phrasing.” He laughs again and kisses you hard, one hand cupping your face while the other works between your bodies to unzip his jeans. When, together, you’ve worked his jeans down his legs, he grips your thigh and rocks into you slowly. “Oh god,” you moan, closing your eyes. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah,” Brendon groans, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Oh god, yeah. Angel, you feel so fucking good…” He’s moving at a painfully slow pace, and you squirm under him, trying to get more. “Patience,” he chides, lifting your leg higher on his waist so he can fill you. “I’m gonna take care of you, Y/n. You know I’m going to take care of you and make it so good for my girl.”

“Yeah,” you manage, both hands clawing at his back through his shirt. “Yeah, feels so good; Brendon, my god, yes!” His mouth is moving over your neck and the way he’s holding you, keeping your hips tipped up so he can go deep, is sending you closer and closer to the edge with each thrust. “Brendon, baby, you’re gonna make me—oh god, please don’t stop, please, please, please!”

“Yes, Y/n, oh god, your pussy feels so—you feel so—oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come,” Brendon groans, picking up speed and biting desperately at your neck. “Can I come, Angel? Can I come in you?”

“Fuck, please!” You scratch at him desperately, the pleasure you’re feeling evident in every breath and word and movement. You two have only recently made the choice to stop using condoms, and you’re still enthralled every time he asks to come inside you. You can’t get enough of him. “Come, Brendon, come for me. Come in me.” You feel his body shudder against yours; it pushes you over the edge. You let yourself tense around him as your back arches. He groans, and you whimper when he comes. “Yes,” you moan, clinging to him. “Oh fuck, yes!”

“Angelbaby,” Brendon murmurs, breathing hard. “My sweet girl, my good girl, my perfect girl looks so good coming on me…” he’s stroking your hair now, lips pressed to your forehead.

“Brendon,” you whisper, tipping your head back to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he replies, twisting a lock of hair around his index finger. “I love you so much. Goddamn, I want to marry you.”

You freeze and look at him with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice is soft, and he raises an eyebrow in amusement, though you can see the nervousness reflected in his own eyes. You pause. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” Brendon tells you without hesitation, his voice steady. “Yes, I mean it. I—but this isn’t me asking—I’ll do it better, my love; I’ll make it so romantic and special for you, and I’ll—dammit, I’ll have a ring too. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything by saying something now—ah, shit Y/n, I’m so sorry; you deserve—”

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing him. “Yes. Yes, Brendon. Yes.” His face lights up, and he takes you in his arms, peppering your face in soft kisses, laughing when you squeal in pleasure. “Yes, I will marry you!”

-||-

“Y/n Y/m/n Urie, your husband needs you!” Brendon’s voice rings through your bedroom, and you shake your head with a laugh, heading for his closet. “Hi, Angel,” he purrs, opening his arms for you to step into his embrace. “You look gorgeous. Love this dress on you. Will you pick out a jacket for me?”

You both look at the pile of clothes on the floor. “B,” you say with a smile. “You are thirty-four years old and what’s more, you manage to pick out clothes for and dress our children every day. You can’t pick out your own jacket?”

“I just want to look good,” he grumbles playfully, swinging your entangled hands back and forth. “Throwing my Angel a birthday party tonight, and I just want to look good enough to be on her arm.”

“You’re sweet, Brendon,” you murmur, hugging him. “You know you’ll look good in anything.” He looks at you expectantly and you smile, bending down and selecting a black jacket with metallic detailing. “This one. This will look good with my dress.”

“I hope you know I don’t mean to make it about me,” Brendon murmurs in your ear as he slips his arms into the jacket. “I just—” but you silence him with a kiss.

“It’s all good, B,” you assure him, kissing his neck and pushing him back against the wall of the closet. He groans and rolls his head back, letting you step closer so you can keep working your lips up his neck and behind his ear. “Want you to be comfortable. Want the photos to look good—know we’re gonna be taking photos, so…” you nip behind his ear and let your hand slide down between his legs; you grin when he grunts and rocks forward into your palm.

“Angel, don’t tease me right now,” Brendon pleads, wrapping an arm around your waist and rubbing himself against your hand. “You know I want you.”

“And I want you,” you retort playfully, flexing your fingers. “You want me to drop to my knees and take care of you the way we both want?”

“That,” Brendon manages in a strained voice, “sounds more like a birthday present for me. Today is your birthday.”

“True,” you murmur, nibbling at his earlobe. “But neither of us have ever needed a birthday in order to get the other on their knees.” Brendon laughs appreciatively, and you think you may have won and are moments away from talking your husband out of his pants, but instead, his hand comes up and tangles in your hair.

“We can’t be late, Angel,” Brendon whispers, and you can hear the regret in his voice. Instead of pushing him, you slip out of his grasp and coax him to the door, curling a finger as you linger in the doorway. Without hesitation, he follows you, all the way out to the driveway.

“Does it ever amaze you that we’ve been wanting each other for seventeen years?” You look at him with a sweet smile once you’re both settled in the car. “We started dating the night before my seventeenth birthday. And here we are now.” You rest your hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

“Here we are now,” Brendon agrees, moving your hand higher. “Married with two beautiful children; meanwhile you don’t look a day over twenty-two.” You laugh and thank him for making you old enough to drink; when he kisses you, you palm his dick through his pants gently, rolling your hand to hold him in place while still driving him wild. He wraps a hand around your wrist to keep your hand against him. “God, you get me so hard,” Brendon groans after a minute, and you flex your fingers. “Fuck, Y/n, teasing me so good…”

“Me? Tease? Never. But my husband is so hard for me…really I’m just teasing myself…” you moan and squeeze his erection. “Seventeen years with you and fucking you, and I’m still insatiable.”

“Like I mind,” Brendon says, watching you through heavy eyes. “Wanna fuck my Angel good for her birthday…” you both glance ahead of you, gauging the distance to the venue and then at the digital display clock. “I think we have time,” he tells you. “I’m gonna pull over now.” Brendon guides the car off the main road, into a shopping center and parks behind one of the stores, positioning the car behind a loading dock.

You smirk at him and open your door so you can crawl into the backseat. “You’re bad, Urie,” you tell him.

“You love it,” he shoots back, following you. “Now, I want that dress up, the panties down, and you should brace yourself against the window.” You obey and put a hand flat against the window, raising your hips in offering to him. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs as he rocks into you from behind. “Seventeen years together, so she knows exactly how she likes me to fuck her. Such a good girl, my Angel. But she’s my dirty girl too, isn’t she? Look at her, on her knees in the back of this car, showing me her wet pussy, spreading herself with two fingers, showing me exactly where she wants my cock. Yes, honey, yes, you know I’m gonna give you my cock,” Brendon groans as he starts moving slowly.

“Brendon!” You yelp his name, and he spanks you gently. You give a small squeal of pleasure at the contact and push back for more; he obliges and moves faster, moaning your name as he works. Carefully, you move your other hand to the window so you can fully brace yourself against the glass. You spread your knees slightly so you’re more stable on the cushion of the backseat; Brendon shifts with you and just the feeling of his hands on your hips as he thrusts into you hard is overwhelming your senses. “Yes, Brendon, yes!” Your voice breaks with pleasure and he moans, kissing your neck and digging his fingers into your hips.

“My - Angel - gets - fucked - good - for - her - birth - day,” he pants, filling you fast and hard with one hand moving to rub your clit while the other wraps your hair around his fist, tugging gently and making you moan louder than you have yet. “That’s right,” he murmurs in your ear. “Let me hear how much you love getting fucked in our car like we’re still horny teenagers. Desperate for each other, can’t keep our hands off each other; just want to fuck you til we both collapse—you like that, Angel? You gonna come on your husband’s hard cock?”

“Brendon! Love it, love you, love your cock, oh fuck fuck fuck! Brendon, make me come!” You’re gasping and moaning and bucking back against him, head tipped back so he can hear you clearly. “Fuck me, make me come!”

“My Angel wants to come all over my cock?”

“Please!” You’re whimpering now and he bites your neck lightly, making you squeal and tighten around him as he thrusts hard.

“Good girl, begging for it. Come,” Brendon tells you, doubling his pace before bending over you and resting his hand on the window to keep himself upright. “Oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come, gonna make me come!”

“Ooooh shit!” Your words come out high and loud, and you push back onto him as you come. “Oh fuck shit Brendon yes fuck fuck fuck!”

“Angel, fu—” Brendon just manages his pet name for you before his body tenses over you and you feel him come, fast and hot. “Yes, fuck yes…”

Both of you are breathing hard and trying to steady yourselves when he pulls back and out of you. “Fuck,” you say with a breathless laugh as you turn around and curl into him. “The car has changed, but we have not.” He laughs too, dropping a hand down to fix your hair. “Do we have napkins or anything? We have to go be polite and civilized and appropriate at this party, don’t we? And I’m fucking soaked and have your cum dripping out of me. God.”

Brendon groans, settling into the seat beside you and running a hand through his own hair before he guides his pants back up into place. “Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. I think there’s a pack of tissues in the glove compartment. I’ll check.” Leaning forward now, Brendon rummages through the glove box and center console, finally producing a few napkins. “Here we are. But I’ll be honest, the thought of you wet and dripping with us all night is not a bad one,” he says with a laugh. “Just think about it; the two of us slow-dancing, my hand pressed to the small of your back, mouth dipping down to your ear to ask if you’re still wet for me. We both know you will be.” You whine and swipe between your legs before tugging your panties up into place.

“You’re being a tease,” you tell him, pushing your dress down before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Maybe a bit. Should I be sorry?”

“No, probably not.” you smile up at him, snuggling into his chest as he drapes an arm around you. “We broke tradition,” you point out, tracing hearts on his pant leg. He gives you a curious look, and you smirk. “We always fucked in the car after whatever we were at because we couldn’t or didn’t want to go home.”

“Oh no,” Brendon says in mock horror, grinning a little. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text and when he catches your inquisitive look, he laughs. “I just asked Steph to stay later with the kids.” You raise an eyebrow, and Brendon squeezes your thigh affectionately. “I asked because it sounds like I’ll have to fuck my perfect wife in the car again before we get home to our beautiful children. My life is so hard, clearly.” He gives you a faux-longsuffering expression, making you laugh.

“Mmmm, your life is hard,” you agree, kissing his cheek and palming him through his pants. “Just make sure that when we leave this party, your cock is too.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #he could fuck me any way he wanted #fanfic #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

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