#like the slides have almost no words on them but there are paragraphs and paragraphs of rambly text in every single note section

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

[soobnny]

han vs homework

ur clingy bf han jisung wants to kiss u (1.0k words)

Understatement: Han Jisung is a clingy boyfriend.

He’s whiny and soft and putty, always sporting a pout on his face. Mostly because he knows you can’t deny him when he looks at you like that.

He’s used it multiple times—when he wants the last piece of cake, when you get upset, when he makes menial mistakes, when he wants you on his lap to kiss you silly.

It’s straight manipulation, the way he easily coaxes you into the things he wants to do just by a simple gaze, but you’re determined not to let his puffed out cheeks and jutted lips get to you.

At least not today, seated on your desk at ass o’clock in the evening to finish an essay you have due as Jisung lays on your bed, doe-eyed and staring at your back that’s turned to him.

“Babyyyyy.” He whines, drawling out the last syllable of the word to try and get your attention.

While he loves his view right now, of his pretty partner in front of him with your eyes focused on your laptop screen and your pretty dainty hands typing away at the keyboard, Jisung is still Jisung. And who was he if not your clingy boyfriend?

Though, you dismiss his pleas, back still faced to him as you continue to type the finishing sentences of your essay.

“‘M almost done. Give me 10 more minutes.” You mumble, eyes never leaving the screen. You’ve said the same thing ten minutes ago, and the same even before that.

Jisung grumbles, though good-naturedly. He moves from his spot ever-so-slightly, inching towards the end of the bed so he’s closer to you. “Pretty girl.”

Pure and evil manipulation.

He’s pushed himself off of your bed now, hovering behind you and gripping each side of your chair with his hands. Jisung leans down, resting his chin on your shoulder as he stares at the paragraphs littering your Google Docs. Nothing really sticks, though.

Han isn’t any bit shy about checking you out instead.

Your mouth is parted a little as you concentrate on your essay, and it’s torture to your boyfriend. You’re putting him through torture by focusing on your homework instead of paying attention to him.

“Spend time with me.”

He kisses into your clothed shoulder, inching towards the skin of your neck. “You know, kissing can actually help your brain. It’s—” Another kiss on your clavicle. “It’s scientifically proven.”

“I highly doubt that, Ji.” is what you can muster to reply to him as he’s midway forming a hickey on your collarbone, sinking his teeth and sucking a little.

“Wanna try it out? Then you’ll know I’m right.” His eyes are on your lips only, tongue darting over his own as he whispers lowly in your ear.

Your breath holds tight at his warm breath fanning your face and how his hair tickles your cheeks, and you’re puzzled whether to give in or not.

A quick glance on your desk’s clock will tell you that you still have two hours before you have to submit your assignment. You suppose you could spare your impatient boyfriend some time. Besides, you’re very close to finishing it – only needing to finalize the conclusion before you’ll be done.

“Please?” He adds, lips detaching from your skin when you spin your chair around to face him instead of the laptop he’s now deemed an archnemesis.

You caught him glaring at it earlier, eyes furrowed and mumbling something about how it was stealing his baby. Now, you were finally facing him.

“Spend time with me, not that stupid laptop.”

He’s smiling now, leaning forward and pulling you out of your chair in favor of letting you crash into his arms instead. He picks you up so easily that it makes your eyes dart down to his arms. It makes your boyfriend smirk.

It’s food to his ego, giving him validation for the hours he spends at the gym with Changbin and Chan.

Jisung is first to sit down on your bed, pulling you down with him so that you’re sitting on his lap and straddling him. His hands move so easily too, sliding down from around your upper body to place them firmly on your hips.

“I wasn’t done.” You grumble, lips poked out as you plant your own hands flat on his chest.

“I’m going to die if you don’t kiss me right now.” When you laugh at his exaggeration, his own face morphs into a smile of adoration, apples of his cheeks prominent as he stares at your crescent eyes.

And just like that, he pulls you to his lips. He feels so close like this, chest against yours that you can almost hear his heartbeat if not for your own thumping loudly against your ear. You can feel his arms tighten around you, fingers playing with the ends of your shirt and head tilting so he can kiss you harder, deeper.

He’s a little messy, feverish, as if he’d been denied your lips for weeks before this moment.

“Have to finish my essay—” Jisung’s lips trail down your neck to let you catch your breath, tongue lapping over the hickey he’d formed earlier before kissing up your jaw. “Deadline’s in two hours and—” You tilt your head back to give him more space.

“Baby.” He whines, peeling himself away from your skin for a moment so he can press a kiss on your nose. “Don’t wanna hear you talk about homework when I’m kissing you like this.” It makes you laugh when he pouts at you before reattaching his lips on your skin.

“Mmm, sorry.” You mumble, and he places a sweet kiss behind your ear.

“Give me another kiss and consider it forgotten.” He utters from where he’s kissing you, pulling away to gauge your response, to see if you’ll kiss him again. You do.

And it goes on like that for a little while longer. He has always been tactical to get the things that he wants. It’s unfair because he wants you all the time.

You end up finishing your homework ten minutes before the deadline.

Han Jisung reigns victorious over your shitty laptop.

Your boyfriend: 1

Homework: 0

[kingkat12]

distracted (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, oral sex (female receiving), sort of a denial kink, and roman is a fucking tease

summary: you haven't seen your boyfriend, Roman, in a while because of some stupid assignment you have to finish-- and Roman's not going to let that slide

word count: 2,406

My eyes immediately shot towards my bedroom window as I heard someone repeatedly tap against it— I hadn't expected any guests tonight. With a sigh, I got up, unable to suppress my growing smile at the sight of my boyfriend, Roman. I opened my window, watching him sit on my roof with a smug smirk in the moonlight, handsome as always.

"Hey, you," I said, letting out a short sigh; "Rome, I told you I have to study tonight..."

Rolling his eyes, Roman huffed as he made his way past me, making me move away from the window. "But I wanted to see you," he prompted, brushing past the pleasantries, sitting down on the window-sill. Roman reached out for me, his hands resting on my hips as he led me between his legs, looking up at me with his gorgeous, green eyes. "Is Orwell really more important than me?"

I huffed, snaking my arms around his neck. "Oh come on, don't do that to me," I knew he was joking, but I picked up on the slightly whiny hint in his voice. "I've already delayed this assignment a hundred times... You know it's due tomorrow."

"I know," Roman put one hand on the small of my back, pulling me even closer. "Would it speed things up if I helped? I think I had this exact assignment last year." 

"I'm almost done, though," I mumbled, running my fingers through his hair. I was pleasantly surprised to feel that he hadn't put gel in it tonight. "I have about a few hours left."

Roman's smirk immediately grew into a rather big grin, biting his lip as his eyes shimmered with mischief. "So if I distract you for about half an hour or more, you'd still have time to catch up?"

I should've known. Giggling, I buried my face in his hair, inhaling his intoxicating scent. "I don't think that's such a good idea,"

From this angle, it was ridiculously easy for Roman to lean forward and press his lips against my neck, one of his hands traveling into the back pocket of my shorts. "I disagree," he mumbled against my neck, making his way down to my collarbones. "I think it's genius." 

I let my lips part at the sensation of his wet kisses down my neck, feeling as though I had been touch-deprived for a while. Which I actually had been— I had been busy with school all week, having had practically no time to meet Roman. I let out a breathy chuckle at his comment; "No, Rome, I'm dead serious," 

"So am I," 

I gave his hair a gentle tug, pulling him away from my neck. I cupped his face, making sure he was looking at me; "It's already way past midnight, and my parents are home,"

Roman's hand on my back had started to dip under the hem of my shirt, and it was clear that his mind was already elsewhere. "That hasn't stopped us before," he murmured, his thumb now rubbing small circles into my bare skin. "I bet you've been stressing about this stupid assignment for some time now... Let me ease your mind."

It was beginning to sound like a good idea, and that's when I knew I was done for. I wrapped my fingers around both his hands, taking them into mine. "Let me just finish this paragraph, then," 

I led him to my bed, watching him happily splaying himself out on half of it with a blissful smile on his face. With a slight chuckle, I sat down next to him, dragging my laptop back into my lap as I resisted the urge to reach out and run my fingers through his hair again. It was so deadly soft tonight, I could barely resist.

"You have ten minutes," Roman said, smiling softly up at me. "After that, I jump you." 

Tsking, I bit down on my lip, trying not to look too happy about it. Checking the time, I made note of when I should start expecting him to lose his patience. 

And I should've probably calculated a little better, because it didn't go more than three minutes before I felt Roman's hand on my thigh. I glanced at him, watching him meet my eyes with a certain I'm-not-doing-anything look that I knew way too well. I couldn't help but huff; "Rome, it hasn't been more than three minutes—"

"Really?" Roman said with a groan. "Feels like it's been half an hour already."

Chuckling, I turned back to my assignment, trying not to be too distracted by how gorgeous he looked without even trying. How he was just lying in my bed like a Greek god, the moonlight giving away the golden hues in his dark hair— he was fucking glowing. If he didn't have that darn grin on his face, I would've said he looked like an angel; but angelic was definitely not the right word to use for a man like Roman. Not when he was softly tracing up and down my inner thigh with his fingers.

I really, really tried to concentrate. I was supposed to have seven more minutes, after all— six, now. But as I moved my laptop away from my lap, shifting on the bed, Roman wasted no time coaxing my thighs apart, planting himself between them with a swift motion.

Eyes wide, I glanced down at him; "What are you?—"

"Just killing time," Roman mumbled, pressing a wet kiss against my inner thigh which made me shiver. 

"...I shouldn't have let you in through the window,"

He chuckled; "Yeah, you probably shouldn't have,"

I sighed in defeat, deciding I would let him do whatever he wanted for now as long as my hands were free to type. I did my best to scour my brain for the next sentence, but it became increasingly hard as his kisses made their way up my thighs, closer and closer. I wanted to tell him to knock it off, and I opened my mouth, ready to speak— however, nothing came out.

I felt Roman hook his arms under my legs, dragging me a tad bit closer, which had me yelping just slightly. My eyes quickly darted towards the clock, realizing I had about four minutes left. However, as Roman's soft, eager kisses inched closer to the edge of my shorts, I felt myself holding my breath in anticipation— was he seriously about to do this? 

I made the mistake of looking at him, immediately meeting Roman's green, challenging gaze. "What?" he said, his hot breath ghosting over the inside of my thigh. "Am I bothering you or something?"

And something told me that's exactly what Roman wanted. He wanted to bother me, provoke me, and I wasn't about to let him. So I shook my head— and this was the moment I realized I had walked right into a trap.

"Good," Roman said, eyes shimmering with want. "Don't let me distract you."

I held back a frustrated groan; was this what he was playing at? "I won't," I breathed, feeling my throat go dry. Roman and his games.

However, it got damn near impossible as he pulled my shorts aside, his hot breath grazing my underwear. I so desperately hoped there was no trace of my arousal, but I knew there definitely was when I felt his finger press against a rather wet spot over my entrance. 

I glanced at the clock once more— three minutes. My heart thumped hard in my chest as I felt my brain shut down, staring at the Word-document in front of me with nothing going on in my brain other than thoughts of what Roman would do next. 

I knew my cover was blown when he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my clit through my underwear, making my breath hitch rather loudly. Fuck. 

No matter what, I was not about to let Roman think he had won. I started to type random keys, hoping to make it look like my brain wasn't actively melting at the feeling of his hot breath against my dampening underwear. 

"How's the writing going?" He smirked up at me, words warm like honey. 

Fucker. He knew damn well. "Good," I breathed, clearing my throat-- it was getting increasingly harder to breathe.

Roman hummed; "How many minutes left?"

"Two— No, one,"

With a content smirk splayed across his lips, he licked a stripe right along the crease of my thigh, making me whimper just slightly. At this point, I wanted nothing more than for that minute to be over— screw the assignment. I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I realized he was now drawing forth a hickey on the inside of my thigh, moving further away from where I wanted him the most. This was getting torturous. 

I let out a tiny squeak of joy as I saw that the time was up, tossing my laptop far away on the bed as I propped myself up on my elbows. "Done!"

"Yeah?" Roman looked up at me, his green eyes practically sparkling in the moonlight as he hooked his fingers around my underwear, dragging it off. "Thank God." He wasted no time dipping his head between my legs, licking a wet stripe up along my sex which made me go weak, lying back down on the bed with a content sigh. After having worked my ass off with this assignment, I realized that Roman might be right; this might be exactly what I need. 

"Fuck, Rome," I reached down to run my fingers through his hair, smiling at the feeling of how soft it was as I tried to steady my breathing.

Roman repeated the action, his wet tongue sliding up my slit dreadfully slow once more. It only dragged out the feeling, setting my nerves on fire and making my toes curl— I was getting desperate at this point; "Roman, please—"

But I had never known Roman to be merciful, and I shouldn't have counted on it either. This time, he did it once more, but so stupidly soft, I couldn't help but squirm, my legs giving in to a slight quiver. The hand I had in his hair tightened, hanging onto him as he traced a circle around my clit, careful to ignore my burning need. "Please, Rome, be nice," I breathed, trying my best not to whimper, wanting more.

Roman hummed, pulling away with a smug smile splayed across his lips. "I'll be nice if you let me take you out on Saturday,"

I wanted to cuss him out so bad— he knew I had an exam on Monday, he knew I didn't have time. "You want to talk about this now?—"

"Just two hours," Roman said, leaning down to press a short kiss against my clit, making my back arch off the bed in surprise. "We'll grab a coffee to get you some energy, fuck in the car, and then you'll be right back."

I let out a broken whimper, knowing I wouldn't be able to say no when my mind was in this state. And who would say no to a free coffee and a steamy session in the back of Roman's car? I nodded, defeated; "Sounds good,"

Beaming with victory, Roman decided he had teased me enough as he dipped back down between my legs, wrapping his lips around my aching sex. He hummed as he gently sucked my clit, but still firm enough to drive me crazy. 

The quiver of my legs returned and my breath came out in short, shaky gasps. Roman's fingers dug into my thighs as I raised my hips, rocking against his mouth in desperation, wanting so bad to have more of him— but instead, he forced my hips down, holding me in place as he continued to keep me on the edge.

Frantic, my free hand grabbed my bedding, biting down on my lip to suppress any load moans. "Shit, Rome, I'm close—" I breathed, feeling the familiar tightening of my stomach, a knot of pleasure balling up in my system. 

I got ready for Roman to pull away as he usually did, ready for him to deny me what I wanted most. However, when he didn't, keeping a steady rhythm, my eyes widened as I realized he was giving me a wordless green light of permission. 

And the knot in my stomach tightened, shrinking more and more until it had no other choice but to release, making my back arch off the bed with a broken moan as I reached my climax. I felt Roman's lips leave me, a shaky breath seeping out of me in relief and exhaustion.

I barely had the energy to let out a small fuck, Roman's accompanying laugh making me blush with the realization of what had just happened. He laid down next to me, pulling me in for a sweet kiss. I did my best to block out the taste of myself on his lips, letting out a sigh as calmness washed over me. "You were right, Rome... I needed that,"

Roman chuckled, brushing my hair out of my face with gentle strokes. "Believe me, I know," 

If I hadn't been working on that stupid assignment for several days straight, barely allowing myself to take any breaks, I would've probably not felt as tired as I did right now. My lashes fluttered slowly, growing more and more drowsy as Roman leaned forward, pressing his wet lips against my forehead. 

"That was really nice," I breathed, still feeling the remnants of my orgasm in my fingertips.

Pulling me closer, Roman hummed; "I'm glad,"

And in any other circumstance, I would've returned the favour he just did me— if it hadn't been for the fact that sleep embraced me like a warm duvet.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

I woke up the next morning as though I had heard a gunshot, eyes screwed shut with the remnants of my deep sleep. Blindly patting around my bed for my laptop, realizing I had missed out on several precious hours of writing my assignment, I sighed as I didn't feel Roman next to me. He never stayed over, mostly because none of us wanted to be caught by my parents, but it still stung waking up alone. Every damn time.

Finally finding my laptop, I opened my eyes with a slight groan, sleepy beyond belief. However, as I spotted a post-it stuck to the front of it, my eyes rounded out in surprise;

woke up early, finished it for you. picking you up around three. good morning, baby

I let out a tiny squeak, beaming down at the note. God, he was the best.

[091400]

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

PAIRING: han jisung x fem!reader.

CONTAINS: 18+, afab!reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, perv!jisung, masturbation, inappropriate behavior, ji being a creep in public spaces, starts non-consensual and ends being consensual by both parties.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

AUTHORS NOTE: hey! this is a repost of an old work of mine from 2022! i fixed a few mistakes so here it is! let me know what you think :) please read the warnings above this paragraph! you're in charge of your own internet experience <3

It was almost time for the train to arrive at the station, he checked his phone impatiently, he had some 3Racha business to attend in the big city so he got up from his bed too early for his liking, grumbling his way out of the apartment. He had recently bought some brand new headphones with noise cancellation, so they were perfect for his one hour train ride, hoping the fucking train wasn’t that full that early in the morning.

He was still half asleep when the train arrived, jumped in and took off to go to the second floor of the train. It was empty, thank god, he smiled to himself. It was almost eight stations to his final destination so he relaxed in his selected seat and put some music on.

The train stopped in the first two stations and people got on, Jisung was seated on the window seat, he had one free seat beside him and two in front. People started going up to the second floor and he sighed, goodbye privacy.

You appeared from the stairs, making your way towards the free seats in front of Jisung, making him gulp hard, his hands tightening against the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He thought he had his urges under control, but the way you were sitting with your legs crossed, and your skirt slowly riling up your legs, his sight was glued to your upper thighs.

He felt himself growing hard, and he tried fixing his bulge by slowly moving his legs to make some space but it was not complying at all. He looked at you again but you weren’t paying attention to him, not that he deserved it. You were just looking at your phone, typing at lighting speed, probably texting someone prettier than him and someone who was not staring at your legs and chest right now.

Jisung was deep in thought, thinking how pretty you would look sucking his cock right now, in front of everyone else on the train. You could probably take him all in your mouth (not that he was small, mind you) and make him come fast and hard just as he liked it. Or maybe he could fuck you in front of everyone and make you his, marking every part of your body with his mouth, leaving bite marks and hand imprints on your soft body.

Perhaps he could eat you out on the disgusting train seats, and make you come only with his tongue and fingers, you would scream his name and make everyone look at you two, causing an scene worthy of calling the authorities.

He was leaking, all his thoughts making his brain fuzzy as he felt his thigh getting wet, pulling him away from the best kind of thought he could have in his pathetic life. He subtly looked down at his jeans, the wet spot growing bigger with each second that passed.

He covered the spot with his hand, his gaze back at you again just to see you with your eyes closed and headphones in place. Maybe he could get away with it if you weren’t looking? He quickly scanned his surroundings to see if anyone was sitting near him, but he realized the two seats that were occupied fifteen minutes before in the other side, parallel to his seat row, were now empty.

Jisung breathed deeply, thinking hard about the thing he was about to do, but he couldn’t help himself, he just needed a release soon. It started with his hand slowly rocking on his bulge, looking like he was caressing it, he laughed softly at the thought of that. He felt like a teenager again, rocking his hips up to meet his palm and add more pressure.

He shakily sighed, his hand on top of his jeans not being good enough. Maybe if he could slide them off a little bit, and if you could spread your legs a little more for him, that would be great.

If God was hearing his thoughts, Jisung was grateful as fuck because you uncrossed your legs opening them a little, your white panties making their appearance for him. Your face looked relaxed, your eyes were still closed and your head leaning against the window.

Jisung’s face went red, not doubting this chance, his hand instantly rubbing his bulge on top of the jeans harder.

Quickly, he opened the zip of his pants, as he did his best to slide his boxers a little downwards to free his erection and maintain the jeans in the same place. At this point he couldn’t care less if someone was watching him jerk off to your figure sleeping, but he tried still to be careful, sitting in a way his thigh was covering his cock, so he was hidden between his leg and the window.

He started slow, spitting in his hand silently and grabbing his now very hard cock. He tried his best to not make any kind of sound, slowly jerking himself off, his eyes traveling from your chest to your panties, imagining what he could do to you if you allowed him to touch you.

What he didn’t expect was your eyes opening, looking directly at his cock.

Jisung also didn’t expect your devilish smirk.

He stopped abruptly, his brain hadn’t processed he fact that he got caught with his dick in his hand when you opened your legs further, his eyes instantly going to the wet spot in your panties.

Was Jisung having an hallucination?

“Go on.” Your voice was soft, and he was not stopping now.

You quickly observed your surroundings, Jisung’s eyes wide open while you did it. When you were sure no one was watching you both, you lifted your hips slightly and took your panties off, your underwear in your hand.

Jisung was completely speechless, he couldn’t believe this was happening to him after being the creepiest guy ever, his luck in life ended here. Your smile caught him off guard, because you threw your panties towards him and they fell on top of Jisung’s hand, that was still wrapped around his cock.

“You can use them if you want.” He straight up whimpered at that.

He didn’t waste any time and wrapped the fabric around his cock, and the combination of his leaking cock and some of your fluids made him shiver, jerking off with them.

He was close, you knew that by the way he whimpered with each movement of his hand, getting erratic at the point of making you laugh softly at him.

Jisung’s eyes were rolling back at this point, he only wanted one more thing, but he was afraid to ask you. He kept touching himself with your panties now wet from his leaking cock. But he made sure to look at your eyes, that weren’t looking back at him.

You were staring at his cock.

He felt himself blush at this, how embarrassing of him, getting caught with his dick in hand (hm?) and you encouraging this behavior giving him your underwear. How could you do this to him? Maybe you were a mind reader because the next thing Jisung noticed was your legs spreading further, showing your cunt in all its glory.

Jisung came in your panties at the sight of your pussy with a low moan, spurts of cum ruining the fabric of your underwear. He felt like he was ascending through heaven and being dropped back to earth with a thud as you spoke to him.

“You can keep them, I’ll be going now,” You hummed, grabbing your belongings and fixing your skirt as you gave him one last look, “Lucky for you that you’re cute, don’t you ever do this again.”

091400 © do not copy / plagiarize / repost or translate my work on any other platforms.

[itsspiiit]

Unexpected…

Parings: Hobie Brown x Reader

Summary:You’ve been staying up at ungodly hours due to the bountiful amount of work you had from school. Your good friend Hobie comes over one night to help you stop your stressing and sleep. But the night had different plans for you both.

Inspo: Wet by GRLWood

Warning(s): NSFW (mdni), mutual masturbation, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, mentions of sex work, NOT proofread (cause I didn’t feel like it). If you see any errors… no you didn’t.

Thursday, 3AM

You sat at the desk in your room typing away on your laptop with a bowl of various fruits next to it. The flexi rod curls you put every ounce of arm strength you had into almost didn’t exist anymore. Your reading glasses slid from the bridge of your nose to the tip of it, making it easier to see the chanel bags slowly forming under your eyes. Unknowingly, your back hunched over the longer you sat down and tried to complete the third essay assigned to you this week.

You were exhausted. But you had a fuck ton of english work to do and insomnia kept you awake. Your regret for majoring in psychology grew with every indentation and word you typed on the keyboard.

Just as you were about to start typing the third to last paragraph, a soft rhythmic knock on the window startled you. Your body jolted at the unexpected sound causing your glasses to slide further down your nose. Using your middle finger to push them back to their proper position, you turned your head in the direction of the window and almost all of your stress left your body when you saw him.

Hobie, your best friend with the cool hair, stood outside with his contagious smile painted across his face as he waved at you with his long, slender, ring decorated fingers. His torso was covered halfway with a black crop top you ripped and designed for him and a spiked leather vest you spray painted the anarchy symbol on the back of. He wore black ripped jeans that were secured on his hips by a spiked belt and chains dangling from the belt loops.

Fuck, he looks so good.

Pushing your thoughts to the side, you pushed your chair back and stood up to open your window for for the 6’5 man. “Hey, Hobie.” You greeted him with a soft smile, watching him climb into your room and start to take his boots off before closing the window. He walked towards your bed and threw himself on it, placing his hands behind his head and crossed one leg over the other.

“Wagwaan.” He greeted back with a lopsided smile. His smooth, deep voice and british accent always sounded so sultry to you. Every time you guys talked it felt like a challenge to see how long you can keep your self respect before you up and pounced on him.

“Well,” you began to respond as you sat back in your desk chair and tossed a grape into your mouth, “it’s three in the morning and I’m trying to finish… what? Like… the third, fourth essay I was assigned? Been working on it since probably ten or eleven.”

His beautiful pierced face immediately fell into a shocked expression with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. “You haven’t taken a break, have you?” All you could is shake your head and let out a long stressful sigh as you looked at your computer screen with visibly tired eyes.

“Not only is it because I can’t sleep, but I wanna get everything done ASAP. My work is do on Sunday an-”

“It’s due Sunday?!” He cut you off, his tone bursting with disbelief. You felt a laugh bubbling up in your chest hearing his thick accent but held it in, reaching into the bowl and eating a pineapple chunk. “You know that’s in three days, right?” He continued as he pressed his elbows into your soft mattress and sat up giving you a look that read “are you serious?”

“Of course I know that, but-”

“But nothin’, mate. Close the computer.” He cut you off again, gesturing his head towards it.

“Hobie-”

“Close it.”

Not having the energy to go back and forth with him, your eyes rolled in annoyance and you shut your laptop. You turned your head in his direction and saw that a closed mouth smile was painted across his face. “Oh, you’re happy now?” You asked with a deadpanned expression.

A low chuckle escaped his throat watching you mug him as he nodded his head. The sound had you doing backflips mentally as your face began to heat up slightly. “Knowin’ that you aren’t nose deep into a screen goin’ mad about somethin’ that’s due in seventy two hours? Yeah, I’m quite happy.”

He swung his legs off your bed and sat up, reaching over to grab a mango chunk and tossed it into his mouth. As he chewed he saw your face drop into a “are you deadass?” look. He stopped chewing for a moment, awkwardly looked to the side and back to your face.

“Yeah, Hobs! You can take one!” You voiced with sarcasm as you threw your arms up and back down to your sides. He gave you an apologetic smile as he started to slowly chew the sweet and refreshing fruit again. “What made you come here at this time of night though? Can’t think of anywhere to steal from?” You asked playfully with a teasing smirk.

A light laugh came from him as he finished chewing before he responded. “I actually didn’t feel like stealin’ until you mentioned it.” You chuckled and shook your head at his antics. “But, nah. I couldn’t sleep and I knew you’d be up so I thought why not come over and bother you.”

“Ahhh… so what you do almost every day!” Both of you erupted into laughter at your comment. He knew that you were joking, and you knew you enjoyed his presence a little too much.

“Oh, come out of it. You know you love when I’m around.” He spoke as you guys’ laughter died down. Placing his hands on your bed, he leaned back bit and gave you a cocky smile.

Oh, he know he fine.

“Eh, sometimes.” You shrug playfully, reaching into the fruit bowl and munching on another grape. He reaches for the bowl again and takes a kiwi slice, but you don’t mind this time.

Once he done chewing he begins to speak. “Are you saying that because I always beat you in Uno?” You gave him a bored expression as you watched the smile on face grow.

“Hobie, please. You beat me that one time-”

“And I beat you three times in a row.”

You scoffed at his cocky behavior and crossed your arms. “I bet it won’t happen again.” You eyed him up and down with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He gave you the same look as one of his eyebrows lifted in feigned curiosity. “Is that a challenge?”

It was now four in the morning. You sat on your bed with your back against the headboard and the gorgeous punk sat in front of you with crisscrossed legs, his leather vest now off his shoulders and hung on the back of your desk chair. You guys were two intense Uno games in, Hobie being the winner of both of them.

“Uno.” He announced with a lopsided grin as he placed a yellow three card and red three card down at the same time. You were starting to lose hope. You held the two cards you had thinking hard about the multiple possibilities of how this game could end. Until…

“UNO OUT!” You exclaimed slightly with a proud grin as you slammed a red skip card and red eight card down. You finally won a game after what felt like hours of playing.

He also gave you a proud smile as he began to pick up all of the cards that were piled on your mattress. “You finally beat my streak. ‘M proud of you.”

The voice. The Smile. His Confidence. Now the praise. It was all slowly becoming too much. His comment made your heart beat a bit faster, waves of heat traveling from your head and down to your lower region. It caused your sensitive bud to throb gently, and you crossed one leg over the other to somehow bring it to a halt.

He’s gonna be the death of me, I swear.

“Wanna play another game?” He asked when he was done picking up all of the playing cards. You sighed softly as you crossed your arms and shook your head.

“Nah, I just wanted to beat you in at least one game of Uno. Got tired of you talking shit.” He chucked at your confession and wrapped the rubber band you used to keep the cards together back around them. “But we can play connect four if you’re down. I’ll definitely win the first game.”

“Oh, I’ve got to see this.” He spoke with a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll go get the game.”

He got off your bed and walked towards the closet, opening it and instantly scanning the top shelf for the box. You pulled your phone from underneath your pillows and scrolled through instagram as you waited for him to come back with the second challenge for the night. Your cluttered top shelf slipped your mind as you thought you wouldn’t even have company today.

When he found the game, he tried to pull it out of its position without knocking anything down. But it all happened so quickly. As he began to pull the Connect 4 box out, so did Candy Land which was right beneath it. He reached his unoccupied hand out to make sure that game didn’t fall in the process, but he didn’t know that these two board games were keeping a pink Shoe Dazzle box from falling as well.

He successfully got Connect 4 from your top shelf without another game falling, but he didn’t see the pink box making its way out of the closet as well. When it fell, it landed on the side which caused the top to fall off as it hit the floor. He looked down and watched what was inside of the box roll out in awe.

Various sex toys with different shapes, sizes and functions were now scattered across the floor in front of her closet. A pink massage wand, black seven inch dildo and a black silicone butt plug with a blue gemstone on the bottom of it were the main toys that caught his attention since they were so close to his feet. He wanted to speak. He tried to speak. But he was too stunned to try and even utter a word.

There’s no way she has all of this. Am I dreaming?

The sound of the box hitting the floor made you look up from your phone with a confused expression, but it was immediately taken over with disbelief and shock. Your eyes were so wide you’re surprised they didn’t fall out of your head. Your jaw hung so low it would probably hit the floor if you were standing. The gasp you let out was so sharp and loud it made Hobie turn his head in your direction. You can see the disbelief in his face as well and that alone made tears start to form into your eyes.

All you could do is grab a pillow and sit it on your lap, plop your head on it to hide your face and scream. Your face was so warm in embarrassment that it felt like it could melt off any second now. You can feel your friends stare on you, searching for answers in a way, but you couldn’t even look at the man.

There was a long, unbearable silence between the both of you. So much tension in the room that it could be cut with a knife. You sat with your face buried into your pillow, take deep breaths to calm yourself down before you finally built the courage to get off your bed and walk towards the “mess” that was created. Without looking at the handsome man next to you, you squatted down and placed the box down with the opening facing the ceiling and began putting everything back where it was before.

“Uhh… you need help with tha-” Hobie spoke awkwardly in attempt to break the loud silence. He put his hands up in surrender and backed up a bit when he saw you side eye him with a displeased expression.

(I had to use the picture this was the PERFECT opportunity to do so 😭)

You continued to pick up your toys, still without uttering a word or even looking at him. From your peripheral vision you saw his feet step away from his position next to you and heard his footsteps stop where your bed was located. You assumed he sat and your bed again, maybe to give you some space. You picked up the cardboard top and slammed it onto the box when you were done picking everything up, instantly getting up and putting it back on the top shelf in your closet.

You kept your head down as you closed the closet and walked to your previous spot before all of this: your desk chair. Still not being able to look at the company on your bed, your hand reached for your closed laptop until…

“Don’t even think about it, bruv.” Hobie stopped you with a playful scowl in his tone crossing his arms. All you could do is let out a dramatic sigh, cross your arms on the desk and place your head on them, hiding your face once again.

Hobie eyed your movements the entire time. He understood why you were embarrassed, wanting to curl yourself into ball and just hide. But he didn’t understand why you were acting this way towards him. Of course he was shocked that you out of all people had all of this… material. You’re the introverted, shy, kind of nerdy and laid back friend. Always at home with your head stuffed into a comic or manga, loved sleep more than anything, would rather write than talk. Just the opposite of him and he didn’t mind that.

But he didn’t understand why you thought he cared about your secret box so much. This wasn’t gonna make him think about you any different. If anything, he was more curious and a bit turned on after finding out such covert information.

He decided to try and break the silence again. “This isn’t as bad as you’re makin’ it seem, love.” You can hear the sincerity in his tone, his sultry voice and the pet name he used still had your sensitive bud aching for attention.

He couldn’t see it, but your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his statement. “What do you mean?” You questioned without lifting your head.

“It was a little unexpected, but it’s not botherin’ me in any way. Your personality isn’t in that box.” His honesty never faltered as he let out a light chuckle, gesturing his hand in the direction of your closet.

You scoffed at his statement in disbelief, finally sitting up and crossing your arms as you gazed at the wall in front of you. He was starting to get annoyed at the lack of eye contact and he sucked his teeth, glaring at the side of your face. “Look at me, mate.”

You heard the seriousness in his voice, and you closed your eyes taking a a deep breath before opening them and turning your head in his direction. Finally locking your eyes with his, you searched for any vacillation that could be hidden. But there was only sincerity. He meant every word he said.

“I’m sorry, Hobie. It’s just…” You trailed off looking to the side for a moment before looking back him. “You saw everything in that box. My childhood best friend doesn’t even know what’s in there. How am I supposed to believe that you don’t care about what you just saw?”

“Because I don’t.” He shrugged with a sarcastic laugh. “If I’m bein’ completely honest, the only thing I’m wonderin’ is how and why you have so many. I’ve never met someone with a box full of sex toys. Shit, I don’t even have that many.”

Your face fell into a curious expression as you listened to his words. “You have sex toys-”

“It’s not about me right now.” He spoke quickly shaking his head.

You chuckled at his quickness to dismiss your question. “Well, to stop your wondering…” You trailed off again with a sigh, scratching the back of your head nervously.

Am I really gonna tell him this?

You saw his eyebrows raise, eager to hear what you had to say.

Might as well just tell him. It doesn’t make sense to hide this now.

You blew a raspberry, preparing yourself to inform your friend of your biggest secret. “Long story short… I’m a sex worker. About a year and some change now. The financial aid package I receive from my college falls short on covering the cost of the tuition and other expenses. I don’t wanna put myself through five hours of class and then seven to eight hours of labor to make ends meet. So, I started looking into sex work. Seeing how much I could possibly make, the different types of content that people would pay for, the fact that I’d be working any time and anywhere I wanted was a plus as well. Now, here I am: I make about eight hundred dollars weekly, two to three thousand monthly. It’s enough to make sure I can pay for college and still do what I want.”

When you finished your confession, Hobie was left speechless with a slack jaw. He blinked a couple times to try and process the information he was given. His friend who couldn’t even socialize for more than two hours… Is a cam girl?

…Why is this kind of hot?

He picked up his jaw and cleared his throat, shaking the thoughts out of his head with a deep sigh. His behavior made all of the negative feelings you had before resurface. You looked down at the floor with shame as you shook your head.

“I knew I should’ve just kept my mouth shut-”

“No, no, no, no, no!” He quickly stopped you from finishing your sentence waving his hands. “I meant everythin’ I said before. None of this is gonna change my perspective of you. It’s just…”

He trailed off, the naughty thoughts he had slowly clouded his mind again. He felt his blood slowly rush to the head of his member thinking about the fact that he was sitting on the bed that you made some of your content on. You could’ve made yourself cum on the sheets you currently have on your mattress today, and thought of him sitting in the spot where you probably left a big, creamy mess was driving him mad.

“Hobie?” You spoke with a bit of worry as you noticed him zone out. You watched as he swallowed thickly and blinked twice, the leg that hung off your bed beginning to sway from side to side. You bit your lip to hide the smile that was threatening to paint your face at the scene.

Ahh, I see what’s up.

He felt his length throb softly, the feeling made him groan but he attempted to hide it with a deep, throaty chuckle. The sound not only made your entrance clench with need, but it gave you a bit of confidence to say your next words.

“Do you wanna see how I make my content?” The slight seduction in your voice caught him off guard, his head shot up to look at you with a shocked expression. You could see the desire in his eyes start to expand at your question.

“Wai- what?” He stammered breathlessly. He didn’t know where your sudden boldness came from, but he didn’t mind as it made it him throb again, his manhood slowly becoming erect.

“I know you heard me, Hobie.” You answered teasingly with a voluptuous grin and. “It’s a simple yes or no question.”

There goes that silence again. Sexual tension building as you eyed each other down. Once you both saw that y’all were on the same page, you smiled at each other with a knowing glint in your eyes. Y’all began to stand and walk towards each other with only one thought in mind:

“Finally.”

You were now laying on your bed with your torso completely exposed, showing off the nipple piercings that Hobie didn’t know you had. He swore it was as if he was finding treasure with every second he spent with you. Your legs were spread wide open to expose the red lace thong you’ve been sporting, revealing a small wet stain that your aching core left on it.

Hobie sat in your desk chair that he moved to the front of your bed, his torso also completely on display. The sight of his lanky yet toned and muscular physique only made you wetter. His boxer briefs were still attached to his lower half, his erection very prominent and aching to see what was next. Your tripod stood next him with your phone placed on it horizontally as it recorded.

“I’m so wet for you already. Dripping through my thong for you.” You spoke seductively, moving your body closer to the tripod and gorgeous man in front of you. Even though you looked into camera the whole time, he knew every word was meant for him.

“I only get this wet for you, baby. I’ve been waiting so fucking long to show you how I make myself cum when I think about you.” As if read each other’s minds, both of you placed a hand on your chest and slowly dragged it down to your most sensitive parts. Your hand slid inside your thong as his began to gently palm his shaft over his boxers, biting his lip to hold the groan that was ready to escape his throat.

The hand you slipped into your underwear made it’s way to your throbbing clit, your natural juices already coated all over your flower. You slowly and gently began to rub your sensitive button in circles, a low moan escaping your lips at the smooth feeling. The sound of your arousal squelching echoed off the walls in your room, drawing a low grunt from the half naked man at the foot of your bed as he continued to palm himself.

“I’ll show you how pretty she is, only if I get to see how hard the sound of my needy pussy made you first. Can you do that for me?” You continued to play with yourself, applying the tiniest amount of pressure. He immediately lifted his hips and slid his boxers off of his hips with ease.

His length was finally revealed to you, springing out effortlessly with him sighing blissfully at the feeling. Watching it slap his stomach gently, the tip going past his belly button, had you moaning at the sight. Your leaking entrance clenched with need as you thought of his member thrusting into you slow and hard, the prominent veins rubbing against your smooth, wet walls deliciously.

“Mmmm~ that dick is so pretty.” You admitted as you lifted your hips to remove your thong. You slid it off your legs and threw it in a random direction away from you. Your other set of lips spread slowly as you opened your legs again, showcasing your beautiful sensitive flower glistening with your wetness. “It’s so hard for me already, babe. I know you wish you stretching this tight, wet, warm pussy with every inch.” Your hand reached for your slit, spreading your labia to display your opening.

It was already starting to become too much for Hobie. The way you uttered such naughty words with ease, how you played with your beautiful pussy so delicately, the way you looked into the camera with such lust and longing desire. He bit his lip at the alluring sight before him, eyes rolling back as they closed for a moment when his shaft throb for attention.

You moved your hand so that you were touching your delicate bud again, letting out a pornographic moan as you started to rub it in circles again. “I wanna watch you make yourself feel good too, baby. Spit on your hand, get that aching cock nice and wet for me, and stroke it nice and slow. I don’t want you getting close too fast, okay?”

He instantly did what your smooth, gentle voice commanded him to do. The sensation of his moisturized hand slowly sliding down to the base of his length made a deep groan fall from his lips. He slid his hand up to his tip with the same pace, hissing at the feeling of himself softly pulsate in his grip. He found a rhythm rather quickly, a rhythm that already had his head lulling back in bliss as he imagined it was your pretty, dripping hole gripping him gently as you rode his erect member.

“Mmn~ fuck.” You whimpered as you felt your opening leak more of your sweet extract at the lustful view of his now glistening girth pulsate in his slender hands. The friction of his hand spreading his spit around him could be heard as he watched you play with yourself. “You’re throbbing so hard for me already. You like watching me play with my needy pussy for you, baby?” Your hand moved downward to tease your leaking hole, and you let out a short, low purr followed by a sharp gasp when you felt the tip of your middle finger almost enter.

The pretty boy in front of you analyzed your face and body with hooded eyes clouded with hunger and eagerness to cum with you, wishing it was the tip of his dick teasing your entrance. A deep, animalistic growl escaped his throat as he began to thrust his hips into hand at a steady pace. “Shit.” He moaned when he started to flick his wrist as he continued to caress his length, stroking at faster pace.

“Ooh~ my finger slides in so easily.” You moaned breathlessly when you felt your smooth, greedy walls suck your digit into yourself. You slowly thrusted your coated finger in and out twice before pulling it out, watching a string of your arousal stretch from your core attached to your digit. The strand of your extract broke when brought your hand to your face, sucking the juices off but making sure your finger was still moist enough so you can slip it into your hungry opening again.

Hobie grunted eagerly as he watched you. His release was building up slowly, but he held it in. “So fucking good.” He groaned lowly feeling his pleasure intensify, the pace he stroked his girth never faltering.

You eased your index finger in after penetrating yourself with your middle for a while, your mouth falling agape at the delightful feeling of being stretched out slightly. Curving your slick digits upwards, another sharp gasp escaped your mouth as you felt the tip of them gently press again a spongy spot inside your dripping core. “Oh, yes, right fucking there.” You whined desperately at the new feeling, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you continued motioning your fingers upward.

At this point you and Hobie forgot about the phone that was recording your sinful actions and naughty sounds. You were both in a state of euphoria— the sensual noises coming from guy’s mouth, your arousal squelching and leaking nonstop with every thrust of your fingers, the sight you both had as you watched each other masturbate intensely with the same amount of eagerness. It was enough to bring you both closer to that release y’all were so desperate to receive.

Your hips bucked into your hand as the pace you thrusted your dripping fingers became faster and sloppier, your free hand gripping the covers on your bed tightly as you felt the small pressure in your stomach start to expand. “Fuck, Hobie, I’m gonna cum so hard for you. I’m so close, baby~, i’m so close.” You babbled mindlessly as you brought the hand that was gripping your sheets to you aching clit, rubbing it in steady circles to quicken the arrival of your powerful orgasm.

“M’ right behind you, love. Get that nut, baby. Fuck… I’m right there with you.” He encouraged you with a growl. The pet names, his seductive voice, and seeing the pace of his thrusting hips increase as he watched you bring yourself to the most mind shattering orgasm was all you needed to make the pressure in stomach pop as you made a delicious mess on the bed and floor below you.

Your eyes slowly rolled to the back of your head and jaw fell open as you came with a long, loud, moan. Your juices flew out of your pulsating entrance when you quickly removed your fingers from inside of you, rubbing your clit in circles rapidly making your squirting essence fly in any and every direction.

Hobie watched the voluptuous scene in front of him with a slightly gaped mouth, breathing heavily and rapidly as it brought him to his climax. His eyebrows furrowed in bliss, his stomach and testicles tightening as he milked himself with his hand. A loud groan exited his throat as he angled his girth towards his stomach and released, ropes of his seed painting his beautiful melanated torso. The hand he used to jerk himself off reduced its speed as he slowly came down from his high.

You both sat in your current positions regulating your breathing after the intense mutual masturbation session. When your breathing began to balance out, you heard a quiet whimper come from the attractive man in front of you. Your eyes made their way to him, seeing him slowly stroke his still erect girth with his head thrown back.

You threw your legs off your bed and got off of it, walking towards the tripod and stopping the recording. You sent the video to Hobie before making your way in front him, kneeling down and gently placing your hand on his thighs as you looked up at his pretty fucked out face. He felt your hands run up his thighs and to his hand to remove it from his length.

He looked down at the beautiful woman in front of him with a raised eyebrow, wondering what she planned on doing. All of his wonder went out the window when he watched her bring one of her hands to his thick, long member jerking him up and down once just to feel him throb. She then brought her head down a bit, slowly licking a wet line from his balls to the sensitive spot below his tip as she looked him in his eyes with hers feigning innocence.

“Fuck. Baby, don’t tease me like that.” He he groaned breathlessly at the sensation. She chuckled seductively at his words, kissing the head of his dick before spitting on it. She brought her hand back to his length to spread the moisture around him, feeling her lower region begin to ache for attention again when she heard him whine at the feeling of her warm fist starting to jerk him off at an agonizingly slow pace.

Hobie’s eyebrows creased in confusion when he felt her stop her movements, but his confused expression was immediately replaced with a slack jaw and his eyes rolling back when he felt her lips wrap around him gently. “Mmm~ so soft.” He moaned as she pushed her head lower onto him with her humming at the taste of him taking over her tastebuds.

“Oh- ooh, shit. What the fuck?” He moaned blissfully in bewilderment as she immediately slid his girth down her throat. She contracted the walls of her throat around his manhood as she started moving her head up and down.

The feeling of her warm lips and wet, tight throat wrapped around him has his eyes behind his head for the thousandth time tonight. One of his slender hands made their way to her soft, messy hair, gripping it gently as he held her head down and began to thrust his hips into her face. “Your throat feels so good, doll. Oh, my…” He trailed off with a needy whine.

He thrusted his hips faster, her eyes beginning to water as he slid further and further down her esophagus. She felt him gently throb in her mouth as she mentally thanked the man above for not having a gag reflex. She hummed around him once more to bring him closer to his second release.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, f-fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum. I’m-” His babbling stopped abruptly due to his climax crashing down on him. He groaned breathlessly as he throbbed repeatedly and came down her throat, still holding her head down and keeping his hips still.

Once she felt his member slowly start to become flaccid, she pulled her head up and removed her lips from him with a pop. She looked up at him with innocent eyes as she swallowed every drop of cum he fed her, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out to show him afterwards.

He smiled proudly at the sight, watching her come up from her position on the floor and straddle his laptop. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hers made their way around his neck and rested on the back of her chair. “I didn’t think you had that in you, love.” He spoke teasingly as he looked up at her with his bright, gorgeous smile.

She chuckled at his comments before responding. “You didn’t think I had a lot of things inside me. Now look at where we are.” You both laughed lightly at your statement, Hobie pushing you down towards him by your back and gently pressing his lips onto yours.

You instantly melted into the kiss as he gripped your thighs and stood up with your legs wrapped around his hips. He walked towards your bed and laid you down on it, him laying next to you as you guy’s lips separated. You faced each other, one of your hands making their way to the back his neck as you started to playing in his hair.

“So, about those sex toys you mentioned earlier…” You spoke with a playful grin.

“Oh, my days- no. Good night.” He responded with playful frustration, Shuffling his body closer to yours and stuffing his face into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. You laughed at his tone and words, holding him close to you as you rubbed his back gently.

Both of you enjoyed the fact that after engaging in such sinful activities, you can still joke around like nothing happened. You also really appreciated how he didn’t judge you and made sure that you knew his intentions and perspective of you were still pure… kind of. He really enjoyed what went down tonight, and he hoped that you guys could do it again sometime.

And you felt the same exact way.

I know the ending seems rushed I apologize guys 😭 I said this was gonna be posted Thursday night and I MEANT IT okay. But I hope you guys enjoyed!! My first smut on tumblr and more to come 💕

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 9

Summary: The ninth part to iFall for Harry

Turns out, destiny has other plans for you and Harry.

And you're taking a trip...back to the future.

Word Count: 2.2k

Grieving Harry is linear.

The moment the call goes dead, so does your connection to him.

Your heightened emotions dwindle down to nothingness. Your memories, your pain, your past. Every cheese pun, every sexy text, every word from his lips.

You erase them all.

You shut out a majority of the world. Revert back to a state of mind where you refuse to trust or engage with anyone. You protect yourself. Punish yourself for letting him get away. For being so broken. For being everything he doesn’t want.

And for making him everything you do.

You don’t work through the problem. You don’t even allow yourself to admit there is a problem. You simply tuck him away into the darkest corner of your mind…and you forget him.

Your friends are worried about you. They reach out, they plan dates, they arrange sleepovers. 

You decline them all.

You stay in your apartment, and you watch old reruns of The Big Bang Theory, and you pretend to laugh at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before. 

But most importantly, you pretend like Harry didn’t mention this was one of his comfort shows and that that’s why you’re watching it.

Two weeks go by. Nothing changes for you. You’re still a hollow version of yourself. Dedicating each day to wondering why you couldn’t have just…gotten over your fear. Gotten over what happened to you. And just…let him in.

Your therapist tries to tell you that healing takes time. Trauma lives within the body and no amount of cute boys and perfect scenarios will change that. Until you learn to forgive yourself, you will always be stuck.

 She might be right. But unsticking yourself now doesn’t bring him back.

Occasionally you’ll hear that he’s doing well. He’s on tour. He’s booked a new movie. He’s been caught making out with a model.

But it falls on deaf ears. Passes right through you like air. You’re indifferent now. Choosing to pretend as if he never existed to you.

Now he’s just that famous guy nobody will shut up about.

But on those late nights, when the fragility of your heart slips the crack of your apathetic persona…you pull up his contact.

You have it blocked. Nearly deleted it countless times so you’d lose the temptation to memorize his number and find a way to reach him.

Still, you can’t resist typing out a message. You’ll pour out your heart, write him paragraphs of apologies and explanations. You’ll wish for things to go back. Wish for his happiness. Wish for everything.

And then, you’ll hit the delete button.

Erase everything you want to say, exit out of his information, and turn your phone off.

You almost don’t see the email.

You’re going through your inbox, cleaning it out, responding here and there. But mostly rifling through all the ads so you can delete them and create a bit more space.

The name Marty McFly is what catches your eye. And despite yourself…you click.

Back to the Future! One Night Only! Buy your tickets now!

Your local theater is doing a triple feature, one movie each night for the next three days. You almost don’t consider it. Almost click out of the advertisement and move on.

But then you think of Harry. Think of how you promised to take him, and your heart sinks a little as you stare at the painted poster of Michael J. Fox standing in front of the time traveling car while staring at his watch.

You decide to go. It’ll be nice to watch something that fills you with so much joy. It’ll be good to laugh again. And to revel in the opportunity to forget, at least for a couple of hours.

You think about it for the rest of the week. Countdown the days until you can finally make your way for the theater. 

It feels good to go out again. Feels good to have the sunshine on your face and the promise of a good time ahead of you.

When you slide up to the booth, you’re wearing a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Hi! Can I get one ticket to the five o’clock showing?” you ask the ticket taker, who nods and accepts your cash.

With that, you’re waved through the doors, and your heart begins to pound. The smell of popcorn and promise washes over each sense as you grab your snacks, and look for your specific door.

After slipping your way inside, you take a look around the darkened theater.

However, the room is empty. At least a hundred seats without a single soul to use them.

Your brows furrow. “The hell is everyone?”

You walk along the aisle, looking for the best seat until you decide on the middle chair about halfway back. 

Snuggling down with your popcorn, you settle in, and wait for the opening credits. Truth be told, you feel a bit odd to be taking up a whole theater by yourself, and you have to wonder if perhaps you got the date wrong. Or maybe the time? Maybe you’re early? Although according to your clock, the movie should be starting any second now.

And then…someone else walks in.

You release a relieved breath as the dark shadow strides along the aisle similar to how you had, looking for a seat as well. Selfishly, you hope they don’t get too close.

Then, they turn down your row.

Shit.

Returning your focus to the dark screen, you pretend not to notice, instead studying the velvet red curtain that’s draping on either side.

The stranger stops right beside you.

Assuming that they’d like to pass by, you glance over, and begin to pull your legs in.

You make the mistake of looking up.

And your heart instantly sinks to the soles of your shoes.

Harry.

“Hi. S’this seat taken?”

The sound of his voice makes your stomach drop to your toes. Even in the dark, you can make out the familiar slope of his nose and sharp curve of his jaw.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know if he recognizes you or if he knows what he’s even doing.

Either way, you swallow thickly, and nod once.

He smiles.

After settling down into the chair beside you, he sighs, and wiggles back into his seat to get comfortable.

You try not to look at him. Try to pretend like you can’t smell his expensive cologne wafting toward you. Try to pretend as though his hand isn’t right there, dangling over the armrest as if taunting you.

And then, the movie begins.

You try to get lost into the world of Marty and Doc. A world you’re already so familiar with.

But it’s nearly impossible with the way he continues to shift, or laugh, or snort beside you. As if trying to distract you.

You have half a mind to turn to him and hiss, “Shhhh.” 

Somehow…you resist.

“Doc…are you telling me…that you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

Harry laughs beside you, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and for some reason…your chest swells with pride. 

You want him to enjoy this movie. Enjoy the lines you used to memorize as a kid. Want to be able to talk about it with him after and exchange favorite moments.

But the second you start to indulge in this fantasy…you remember.

And your smile quickly slips.

The rest of the movie is spent with your focus glued to the screen. You don’t sneak any extra glances. You don’t listen for his sounds. You don’t allow your peripheral to catch him. 

And when the infamous car flies toward the camera before disappearing in a flash as the title card explodes across the screen, you jump to your feet.

You don’t waste another goddamn second. You get up, you turn on your heel, and you book it toward the middle aisle.

“Wait…wait,” you hear Harry murmur as the dramatic score carries you out of the theater. “Ladybug, wait.”

The nickname nearly makes you flinch as you slip through the door and rush for the lobby. You can tell he’s following after you, the sound of the seats flipping up as he pushes by following you out.

You nearly reach the double doors before his large hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you back. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his chest.

You can’t look at him.

“Listen, I know you wanna go, but I just need to talk to you for one second,” he continues, but his fingers won’t leave you. “Please.”

Your heart is hammering inside your ears. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but the buttons on his shirt.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you nod.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know…I know why this shouldn’t work. I understand the mechanics, and the difficulties, and the issues. I get it. It shouldn’t work.”

A beat of silences settles between you as you apprehensively allow yourself to travel your gaze up.

“…but it does,” he whispers, and your mouth goes dry. “It works, and I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But I can’t fucking let you go and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

You don’t know what to do. What to say, what to think.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he continues. “I don’t want to block you or remove you. I don’t want to miss you. Or have to remember you as just some fucking thing that happened. I want to talk to you. Wanna send you pictures of the sky and play games with you. Wanna watch TV and bitch about Sheldon with you. Wanna beg you to let me come just to have you do that little smirky thing you do that makes my fucking stomach flip.”

You take a deep breath. And then another. And then another, but nothing helps. Nothing seems to unwind this knot that’s growing tighter with each confession. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” he says, and his voice is heavy. And confused. Almost as lost as his expression. “I can’t wrap my head around this—us. I just…I fucking try to think about anything else and it always comes back to you. Every goddamn time.”

You know there are tears in your eyes. You wish there weren’t but they’re coming faster than you can stop them.

“And I know why you’re nervous,” he sighs, squeezing your arm once. “I know. And I can’t fix it, and I really fucking wish I could, but I…god, I’ll do anything to make your future better than your past. I will do anything…to keep you, Cheese Girl. Whatever it takes, whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t want you to do anything, Har,” you nearly whimper, head shaking quickly. “I never wanted you to feel responsible for my shit—”

“I don’t. I don’t, I just…you can’t carry this alone. And I can help you—”

“But why should you? You have your own life, and your own trauma, and you deserve the fairytale ending—”

“Ladybug,” he breathes, cutting you short. “We met over text and now we’re here in a movie theater while I profess my adoration for you. Tell me how this isn’t a fairytale.”

Despite yourself…you smile. “Yeah, how…how did you even know I’d be here?”

He releases you now, but only so he can grimace and run a hand through his curls. “Okay, don’t…don’t judge me, but I just…I paid them a shit ton of money to let me rent out the building for…a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Well…I wasn’t sure if you’d see the email in time, so I had to keep sending it until you came—”

You rear back. “You sent the email?”

His nose scrunches. “I was desperate, all right? You had me blocked, and I figured you wouldn’t agree to meeting.”

Your lashes flutter as you work in this new information. “Shit, Har. That’s…that’s a lot of work to go through just for one person you barely know.”

He suddenly surges forward, palms pressing to your cheeks until he can take hold of your face and tilt it up. “You’re worth it. My god, Cheesy, are you worth it.”

“Cheesy?” you repeat incredulously, but your smile is big. “God that’s…”

“…cheesy?” he finishes for you. “About as cheesy as renting out a theater in hopes that the girl I like will show up and take me back?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth. “Yeah, but…cheese is kind of our thing.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling to himself as he pulls you closer, your chest brushing with his. “Listen, I can’t…I know this isn’t some sort of magic fix. But please…please let me try. Just…just let me keep you. For a little bit at least. Let me make all those puns worth it.”

Maybe you know better. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe every red flag is waving wildly in your face.

And maybe…you just don’t care.

“What if I’m your destiny?” he finishes, and your heart just about breaks. “Or…density.”

You both laugh as he catches a stray tear that travels down your cheek, eyes pleading with yours. 

And when you offer the subtlest of nods…everything changes.

He kisses you before you can take a breath, his lips warm and full of promise.

You stand there in the middle of the lobby, trapped in his arms as the soft sounds of Back to the Future play on in the background.

Maybe he is your destiny after all.

One more part 🥹 Will be sobbing violently

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~iFall for Harry pt. 10* (Final)

Previous Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 8

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist:

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @cherryshouse @lydiarry @justlemmeadoreyou @tiaamberxx @yoruse

[sugudollz]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Thinking about Suguru with a virgin s/o <3

MDNI!! Virginity loss (from reader obv). Soft I guess??. Fingering as foreplay. AFAB reader + he calls you “doll”, “sweet girl”, “pretty”, and I think princess idk I can’t remember. Can you tell I got lazy past the third paragraph. I forgot to write Suguru’s um yk but let’s just say that’s because he didn’t want to make the situation about him :3. So half-assed this got boring really fast. Is it too obvious I rushed the ending. Not proofread.

“Sugu, I want you to be my first time.” You declare—or you would have if it weren’t for the nervousness laced in your tone. Suguru’s eyes shift to meet your nervous figure the moment you utter those words, caught off guard and his eyes watch you in shock.

“Repeat that for me, doll?” Suguru’s voice is sweet and calm, however a hint of disbelief plays in it. A smile crosses his lips as he eyes you affectionately and you’re clearing your throat while playing with the hem of your skirt.

“I said I want you to be my first time, Sugu.” You repeat, only this time it’s firmer and louder. Suguru laughs softly and shakes his head playfully, walking up to you and taking your hand just before rising it up to press a sweet kiss to your flesh.

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” He asks and slowly moved your hand away from his lips, only to lace your fingers with his and squeeze your hand once they’re intertwined.

“Well… ‘s jus’… I dunno, I just trust you and y’know…” you murmur, a timid demeanor washing over you and you sink your teeth into your lower lip almost anxiously. Suguru observes your movements and body language; the way you look away causing you to come off as bashful.

“That right?” An affectionate, yet teasing, smile tugs at Suguru’s lips. “You sure?” In response, you nod, a quiet but loud enough “yeah,” following after.

And that’s how you ended up here—gently laid on your shared bed with Suguru sliding his fingers in and out of your tight cunt slowly. Your skirt has been discarded beside the bed, your blouse unbuttoned and exposing your clothed chest. One hand is covering your mouth in a vain attempt to muffle your moans, the other pulling at the bedsheets.

“Feeling good, sweet girl?” Suguru coos as he looks up at you from between your legs, strands of his hair escaping his bun. You hum, nodding, cheeks flushing as your eyebrows knit together. “That’s my girl…” he murmurs just before taking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, drawing hearts on it but you’re too distracted by the new feeling to notice it.

You squeeze your legs together, but Suguru is quick to take one of his hands and grab your thigh, preventing you from doing so. “Princess,” he speaks softly, “keep your legs open f’me, ‘Kay? Need them open if you wanna do this.” He tells you and you whine.

When Suguru sees you nod, he smiles lovingly and proceeds with his work. His two fingers slide in and out easily thanks to how wet you already were beforehand. Suguru watches the way your pussy sucks his fingers in, as if mesmerized by it.

After a few more pumps of his fingers, you feel your tummy tie into knots, a whimper falling out your parted lips. Your walls squeeze his fingers like a vice, coming off as timid with the way you’re so shy about the situation.

“Doll, I’m gonna pull my fingers out, ‘Kay? Only cuz I need you to cum on my cock.” Suguru tells you. You pout and huff, but agree anyways, making your acknowledgment known when you utter a soft, “okay, Sugu,”.

With that, Suguru carefully pulls out before pulling his sweats down, exposing his skin and boxers to you. He reaches one hand down to caress your cheek affectionately, a delicate smile crossing his features.

Then, he leans down to press his lips to yours, making sure it’s slow and gentle to ease you into the atmosphere. Suguru pulls down his briefs and takes his aching cock in one hand, stroking it a few times just before lining it up with your entrance.

Your mouth moves in sync with his, absorbing one another’s love as his and your eyes flutter shut. You moan, feeling Suguru’s tongue slip past your lips. It’s pleasureful, but he pulls away and gazes passionately into your beautiful eyes.

“I’m gonna go in now, okay? Is that alright? You ready?” The voice Suguru takes on is so comforting, despite the lewd intentions behind them.

“Mhm, yeah…” you mumble. After you grant him permission, Suguru carefully and thoughtfully slides his cock inside of you. He’s peppering your face with kisses, one hand caressing you, words of assurance being whispered by him against your skin.

“You can take it, yeah? I know you can. ‘S my girl, mhmm…” Suguru breathes, his warm breath fanning your skin. You’re whining and whimpering, sinking your nails into the flesh of Suguru’s broad shoulders, doing your best to keep your legs open. The stretch is new, something you’ve never felt before—in fact, it’s something you couldn’t even dream of feeling before.

The feeling of Suguru’s dick being inserted into your tight, untouched cunt is so good, yet almost painful. Not in a way that suggests he’s being too rough or mean, no, more like it’s different.

You’re already squeezing around his length and it’s only been a few seconds. You’re squirming, head being tossed side to side, failing to hold back any potentially embarrassing noises. You throw your legs around his waist, the heels of your feet pressing down on Suguru’s lower back and causing him to unintentionally push deeper into you.

You gasp and your eyes fly open. Your jaw drops, saliva spilling out from your mouth, along with a few sobs and mewls.

“Sugu, ‘s too big!” You cry and in response Suguru plays a pout of sympathy on his lips, looking down at you with fond and doting eyes.

“I know, princess, but you can take it, yeah? Take it for me, m’kay? Yeah, that’s a good girl,” Suguru utters with nothing short of adoration laced in his tone. He stays still in your tight pussy, allowing both you and him to get used to the feeling. After a few moments, Suguru inhales, “I’m gonna start moving now, ‘Kay, pretty?”

“Mkay, Sugu,” you cling onto Suguru for dear life, grounding yourself to earth the best you can even when you know he won’t and doesn’t plan on going rough with you.

Suguru steadily begins to move his hips, pushing his cock in inch by inch and inhales deeply before unhurriedly rocking his hips back and forth. You’re moving around and squirming at this new but exciting feeling. Even with how gentle he’s being, you can already feel the head of his dick hitting a sweet spot inside of you.

“Feels good, yeah?” Suguru murmurs and you can feel his warm breath fan against your skin. He’s holding onto your hips with a tight grip, doing everything to hold back from digging his fingers in too deeply into your flesh but deep enough to secure his balance.

“Uh-huh,” you answer and it’s practically a whimper that you didn’t expect to even utter. The feeling of his big dick stretching out your walls is sending you to the moon and back but the burn also makes you release a broken sob from your throat. “Kind of hurts.” You tell Suguru, and he looks at you as a sympathetic frown plays at his lips.

“ ‘m sorry, doll,” he whispers and buries his head in the crook of your neck, where he plants kisses everywhere and anywhere as an attempt to ease the burn. He continues to work his hips to slip his cock into you. In the process, hums and sighs and whines and moans are elicited from your mouth.

He’s mumbling words of reassurance and soft-spoken affectionate statements and that only makes you squeeze him tighter. Your juices paint his cock, your nails sinking into his flesh but he ignores it.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist as he carefully pushes his length into you, taking great thought as to not hurt you.

Your tummy is feeling butterflies fly around it, knots being tied and it’s something you’ve never felt before.

“Sugu… I think ‘m gonna cum,” you say quietly and Suguru smiles—you can even feel it against your skin, but it’s a loving and kind smile.

“Yeah? Cum for me, princess—let go for me, you can do it, c’mon,” Suguru ushers you into your orgasm, talking to you more sweetly than anyone has ever talked to you before. Only within a matter of seconds, you’re releasing all over his dick, moaning during the whole thing and not really paying any mind to the thought that someone can or may hear you. “Yeahhh, that’s my girl,” he quietly utters.

Suguru watched your face in awe, admiring the way your face is contorting into expressions he’s never seen you muster before. He brings his hand to your clit before circling hearts on it, only adding to the stimulation—he’s caressing your hips and thighs with his other hand as if to soothe the overwhelming sensation.

After coming down from your high, Suguru pulls out and he tosses his body right beside yours and wraps his arms around your figure, handling you with extra caution.

“You okay? ‘M sorry if it hurt too bad,” and the way he whispers it in your neck makes you smile, however still feeling a little too weak from the release.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” Suguru laughs playfully. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.” And he seals that with a sweet kiss to your lips.

© 2023 sugudollz only on Tumblr — do not copy, repost, translate, or steal.

[siren-serenity]

a bouquet and scored dates

A bouquet of flowers is a surefire way to score a date with your crush. Seeing it go viral on Magicam immediately made Cater jump in on it too! Who wouldn't want to take this opportunity to blow up their account? And if Cater managed to score a date to the Unbirthday party too, then that's a lovely bonus.

characters: cater diamond, gn!reader, grim cameos!! warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst and self-hate a/n: - i feel so bleh for not writing for slow long so here you go!! a small cater diamond x reader fic bc i love my husband 😍😍😍 - @ceruleancattail, this is also for you!! united by our love for cay-cay, who slay-slays hehe - feedback is appreciated!

A knock against the old, rickety door of Ramshackle made you blink your eyes wearily. Grim leaped off your stomach, walking around the wooden floors before yawning.

"Who disturbed the great Grim's nap?" He yowled out, obviously annoyed. "Come on, I was having such a nice sleep!"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. "Mhmm...tell me about it."

The knock came again, this time more urgent. There was almost a playful pattern to it, a rhythmic beat building into a melody of taps and raps.

"Coming!" You yelled, sliding across the floors (and proceeding to trip over an uneven wooden board, making one of the three ghosts giggle at you) before landing in front of the door. You swung it open and a grin crawled onto your face. "Cay-Cay!"

The orange-haired student smiled sweetly before winking at you. "It's your favorite junior, Cay-Cay! Good morning, Y/N."

Leaning against the doorframe, you tilted your head. "It's always nice to see you in the morning, but whatcha here for? Classes don't start for another hour..."

You trailed off as a beautiful bouquet came into view. Cater blushed as your scrutinising glance shifted from the gorgeous array of flowers to his face. He fought the urge to hide his face behind the flowers and took a deep breath in. Hopefully, he won't butcher it up! He spent hours on making it perfect all by himself.

(Riddle and Trey let out a sneeze simultaneously before returning to their business.)

...But of course, when did things go to plan?

"So I saw this one Magicam trend online and was like 'OMG those flowers look so adorbs! So I decided to make a couple to follow the trend and wow, I blew up!! The flowers look so beautiful on pictures that people went crazy liking them and I got over a thousand likes in the first hour! So, realizing my talent, I was like 'hey, Y/N likes flowers right?" So I went in the botanic garden, BTW Leona says hi and warns you to never get anywhere near Savanaclaw or the guys will rip you up from limb to limb. IDK but anyways! I got some flowers, put a bit of tender, love, and care, and voila!"

Cater held out the flowers as an explanation. He internally frowned at the ramble he had spoken rather than the touching, sentimental paragraph he planned on reciting. But when your fingers brushed against his to grasp onto the bouquet, his mind blanked out.

Soft...your hands were so gentle against his. A soft breeze caressing a petal.

You took them and held them up to your nose to inhale its sweet scent. It wasn't overpowering, thankfully; It was the right blend of fresh wilderness and soft, subtle floral scents.

"This is...Cater, I'm lost for words," You breathed out.

He gulped and his heart stuttered at the joy in your eyes and your smile. He knew being magicless in a world like his was no easy feat. It was even harder to ignore when every lesson involved the use of magic one way or another; Being surrounded by mages day-by-day would have caused him to go insane if he were you. But, you simply stride onwards. He admired your persistence and optimistic approach to life and it was what had drawn him to you in the first place. Being able to put a smile onto your face made him yearn for an eternity to do that for you, right by your side.

Realizing he hadn't spoken in a while, he cleared his throat.

"Riddle's hosting an Unbirthday party tomorrow."

You raised your gaze from the bouquet to meet his, (E/C) eyes against emerald ones. Cater fiddled with the buttons of his dorm uniform.

It was now or never!

"Would you like to attend with me?"

You laughed and nodded. "Of course I do! I'll go and tell Grim about the party-"

"-I meant with me. As my date," Cater blurted out. His face must be as red as his vest because his cheeks felt as if they were set aflame. "Would you like to attend the Unbirthday party tomorrow as my date?"

"Oh Cater..."

He closed his eyes and tightened his fists involuntarily. He opened his mouth, ready to put a fake (fake feelings, fake friends, mask on his face as usual-) before he felt the softest of kisses against his cheeks.

His eyes shot open as Cater stared at you, faintly registering the close proximity between you and him. The bouquet paper crinkled against his uniform but it seemed that neither of you paid any attention to it.

"I would love too," You smiled softly. "Tell me how you'd like to match? I know you love coordinate couple outfits on Magicam."

Yet another reason why he loved liked you.

"Yeah," He breathed out. "Yeah, yeah I'm going to go do that."

You leaned back and he yearned for your presence again, like a plant bending to the whims of sunlight. It was simply intoxicating.

"See you in class, Cay-Cay," You winked. The bouquet remained clutched in his hands and he was forever grateful for that silly Magicam trend.

He blew you a playful kiss, elation in his veins and joy in every corner of his smile. "Can't wait!!"

Cater skipped all the way back to Heartslabyul, too busy planning your and his outfits to notice the odd glances cast his way.

[jamiethebee]

(skip to the first break (ie second paragraph) for the explanation) But a fic from Danny's point of view that starts out with canon Fenton parents - love their work, super passionate, but absolutely will permanently drop it all for their kids, stay up waiting for them to walk through the door at curfew, ect. And over the course of the story, as Danny is preoccupied with other things, we see him realize that, he hasn't had to make an excuse about coming home late or leaving the house to go fight ghosts recently. Basically: the Fenton parents, despite their safety practices, are still getting inundated with ectoplasm - and we know ectoplasm does not mix well with anything biological (source: ectoplasm acne infection spanning years - it's resistant and hard to get rid of, it's treated as a foreign entity by the body, we see Dani melting despite the human half stability, ect). The Fenton's don't have the luck to have it literally within their bodies, it's from the outside in exposure, not the other way. (Which, wouldn't that be interesting if the only way Danny and Vlad survived was because it was literally part of their bodies.). We see Danny shrug off the weird focus on only ghosts and ghost hunting as a streak of good luck - if they're focusing less on him, then they won't catch on to his ghost activities. Until.... One day Danny realizes he hasn't seen his parents exit the lab for meals in like a week. Which was... beyond weird. Danny decides to check on them. He starts going down the lab steps - he hears them working and his ghost sense isn't going off but he's getting chills. Clunk clunk clunk, his footsteps aren't exactly quiet but his parents don't seem to notice if the steady drone of voices and movement is anything to go off of. Danny suddenly remembers the days when at least one of his parents would crane their next around the wall to peer up the steps and ask after him. Palms clammy on the rail - was the basement always this cold? Danny steps down to the floor. Steps forward. His parents are - they're working but they aren't... Right. They're not ghosts, but they aren't really alive and human. Danny fumbles as his foot catches the bottom step from a reactive step back. On either side Jack and Maddie look up at him. "Ghost?" Eyes squint, narrow. "Ghost!" They roar and dash forward - Jack with a soldering iron and Maddie with a pencil. Danny turns and trips, running up the stairs, scrambling, reaching - Slam Click. Danny's pressed against the locked lab door. A tandem of thuds as Jack and Maddie hit the door. The door creaks and holds. Danny slides down, his cheeks feeling cold, and he swipes at his face. Tears streaked across his skin. Danny curls up, knees to chest, as he cries.

Or! Ecto-contamination makes Jack and Maddie more like zombies than anything alive or dead. The ectoplasm caused a reaction, an imbalance in the brain resulting in them becoming obsessive and one minded. Eventually a corruption of their human bodies makes them not fully alive and human but definitely not ghosts either - the closest could be described as zombies. Unlike stereotypical zombies obsessed with regaining their humanity (brains), the Fentons are obsessed with ghosts/ghost hunting.

Or! I think it would also be cool to see a fic with this premise where each chapter is another page from the Fenton's research and we slowly see their spiral from loving parents if misguided scientists to the clear obsession and finally into almost intelligible diagrams and short words, but mostly scribbles almost making letters. Last chapter is not a research page or entry but a pov from Danny or the GIW or another human describing the fate of the Fenton parents.

There's tons of "Danny's half ghost status corrupting or twisting Danny" ideas out there but what about the Fenton parents? Where access to a constant supply of pure ectoplasm is more devasting than they realized? If you know of any fics like this (specifically ones that start with good/canon Fenton parents) let me know! I think the suspense of something is going wrong to the horror reveal of they're not really human anymore would be fun to read. (Unfortunately I don't think I could pull off, what would have to be a long fic, to fully get the slow descent into madness right.)

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hey! Could I request a fic with Bam where the reader is a female skater?

Maggot’s Kiss

Being apart of Tony Hawk’s skate team sounded like a dream to Y/N- that is, until she met Bam, and an innocent thing turns into something darker.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Fluff, Angst)

2.6k Words

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, jealousy, crude language, very suggestive content, bullying, hate makeouts, nudity, fake dating, flirting, accidental vouyerisim, injury, blood

An: Thank you so much for your request and happy new year!! I decided to combine my love of darker fics and slow burn to create this for your reading pleasure ;) I just love writing banter like what Bam and Y/N have in this fic hehe XD This fic was also inspired by this amazing fic (one of my favorite Jackass fics on this website) by @asskickedbygirl, so please go check her out!! According to one of my beta readers this is one of the steamiest things I have ever written, and that was just based off of the first three paragraphs, so do with that what you will! Anyways, thank you for sending in requests and please keep sending more!! I love to read them and I enjoy writing them even more :)

You hated him. His edgy, crazy, rich boy schtick made you almost embarrassed to be touring with him and the rest of Tony’s team, knowing that no matter what, the spotlight was always on him. It was never Team Adio or Team Element- it was Bam and Company. Every time you saw pre-teens fighting tooth and nail over who got his autograph first or when chicks threw themselves at his feet for a chance to be graced by the presence of his less than average dick (you see a lot being on the same tour bus for two months), you gagged a little. You were seemingly the only person in America that didn’t fall for Bam Margera’s bullshit. Maybe hate was an understatement.

It was the evening before some exhibition you were supposed to do in the parking lot of a mall that you were pondering all of this, seething quietly in the tiny tour bus bunk bed you were trying to get some shut eye in. Trying being the key word, seeing as you weren't very successful at it. Sighing, you wriggled out of your middle row bunk, carefully stepping down and stretching, the claustrophobic sleeping conditions doing nothing for your already not great posture. There was a row of leather seats in the back of the bus you and the guys would usually sit around and play cards in or watch TV when you were on the road that you made your way back to, feeling around in the pitch darkness as a strange chill struck you. The only thing you could see was the glowing, orange tip of a cigarette as you sat down, knowing exactly who it was.

“Close the damn window. S’freezing.” Mumbling, you crossed your legs, tucking your feet into the backs of your knees to warm yourself up. He chuckled, taking another drawl on his cigarette, the embers glowing intensely for a moment before he exhaled, “Might wanna think ‘bout wearin’ a bra ‘round here.” You could practically feel Bam’s eyes on you through the darkness. “I had no idea y’were so fascinated by my tits, Margera.” His last name came out of your mouth like it pained you to say it, acrid on your tongue. Scoffing, you cooed with faux sweetness, sliding closer to him and whispering in his ear, “I-I mean, if you really wanted, y’could give ‘em a feel…” Two can play at that game. Bam found your jab funny, laughing bitterly as he playfully shoved you away, “Oh, no way in hell am I touchin’ you.”

So after a few minutes of small talk, you went back to bed, and so did he, but that exchange didn’t leave your mind. There wasn't an atom in your body that wanted to be felt up by Bam of all people, but you were still pissed that he wrote you off that fast. You saw the girls he took to the bathroom of the tour bus every night and they had nothing on you. Then there was the matter of why he was staring at your tits in the first place. Was he checking you out? Something hot bubbled in your stomach that you were sure was hate at the thought of that. God, it was too late to be thinking like this, you thought, pushing it from your mind and burrowing deeper into your sheets as you tried to get some sleep.

You felt like shit the next day, but the show must go on, three hours of sleep or not. Thankfully, the bus stopped at a Love’s truck stop on the way there- you would be surviving on a gas station coffee and a prayer. Everyone filtered out of the bus, buying snacks and toiletries or whatever they needed. That left you, lingering by the trucker showers with Mike Valley. You split a bag of Hostess Donettes while he waited for his turn, discussing some fight he got into at the bar last night. Smiling, you licked the powdered sugar off of your fingers and joked about it being the breakfast of champions. He laughed, but just as you looked back up from the now empty bag, your eye caught something.

Perfect fucking timing. The door to the men’s swung open at just the right moment for you to see Bam in all his naked glory, thankfully only from behind. It wasn’t rare for you to see him shirtless, especially when you were skating together in the heat of touring season, but you only just now realized how muscular his back was. His tan skin had contours like a bronze sculpture, shitty black fleur de lis tattoos winding down his sides as he toweled away the last glistening remnants of his shower. Before your eyes reached his ass you tore your gaze away, gagging in mock disgust, crumpling up the empty bag and throwing it in the trash.

There was this weird look in Bam’s eye as he handed off the shower key to Tim, taking his place next to you on the beige wall as he pulled his shirt over his head, “You got a little something there.” He gestured to the side of your face and you licked off the remaining powered sugar, cracking a smile as you mumbled, “Oh, fuck off.” Bam held his hands up in mock surrender as you could hear the shower turn on in the other room, the only noise in the otherwise silent hallway, “Hey, no need t’get all defensive! I mean,“ You could feel his long, half-wet hair dangle on your forehead as he leaned in closer, his voice teasing as he reached down to do up his belt, “especially with how you were pervin’ on me in the showers. I’d say you owe me an apology.”

You turned to him, glaring at his stupid grinning face under the fluorescent lights, “First of all, it was an accident. Second of all, I can barely stand the sight of your naked ass without hurling!” He just snickered at your joke that wasn’t even all that untrue as you rolled your eyes to keep them from lingering on the heartagram splayed out on his lower stomach, “And pull your damn pants up. Hope you bust your ass out there today.” Bam shrugged, walking down the skinny hallway, “Sure. Don’t break a nail out there, sweetheart.” That just left you, watching him leave.

The next time you saw pretty boy was under the signing tent, a respite from the blazing sun and asphalt. Your seat just had to be next to Bam, all sweaty and glistening from skating yet somehow not looking as gross as some of the other guys did. MTV star magic, you guessed. You were wondering why the hell you needed to do skate exhibitions in the ass crack of summer when some nerdy looking teen girl handed you a board to sign. Sure, you weren't Tony or Bam, who each had a line of their own nearly twice the size of the rest of the team’s, but you were generally pretty popular. The girl with the glasses was all smiles, leaning in close to you like she was going to ask you something secret, “Hey, I read somewhere that you and Bam, uh- that you had a thing together. Is that really true?”

Bam, who was sitting next to you and well within earshot, scoffed, leaning over with a sneer as you scrawled silver sharpie onto the board, “I’d rather tongue a maggot than Y/N.” You scoffed as you popped the cap back on the pen, “Yeah, the only maggot here’s that thing in your pants.” It was then, as you turned back to the fan who was awkwardly standing there, watching your little lover’s quarrel go down, that you got an idea. A malicious grin spread across your lips as you handed the signed board back to her, “But if you were wondering, I am dating Tim O’Connor. Thanks for being a fan!”

God, if you could see Bam’s face. As much as it pained you to not look over at him, you didn’t, knowing it would be impossible to keep a straight face seeing him all slack jawed. The best part of it was you weren’t dating him- well, not yet, but you didn’t even need to for what you had in mind. Hell, knowing Tim, he’d be game for fucking with Bam any day of the week, even if it mean having to hug and kiss and pretend flirt from time to time. This was the ultimate way to get back at Bam for fucking with you for so long, you thought- your ace in the hole.

You told Tim your plan and he was more than eager to get in on it. You would come up with ideas on the fly whenever you knew Bam was watching, whether it was having you wear one of his shirts on the bus or you giggling when he messed up your hair while you stopped for food on the road, or even the night you shared a bunk- one of your favorites, especially with how pissy Bam looked as he angrily slid the curtain closed on his bed when he saw the two of you. Basically anything you would see in a cheesy romance movie, you did.

But if you thought Bam was a childish asshole before, you had no idea how much worse he could get. No matter where you were, he always seemed to have his eyes on you, glaring under heavy lids across the room. Even though he was still performing well, off the ramps he was this little ball of rage, quietly observing with raised hackles. Gone were the pranks with the team and the playful banter between the two of you. Bam was a tyrant before and even more so now, only a little quieter. He avoided you like the plague, so the only form of communication between the two of you was the sporadic spitting of insults at one another just short of an argument- he’d say something about your appearance, you’d jab at some trick he messed up, and then he’d tell you to fuck off.

His behavior became so uncharacteristic that, at one point, Tony, who was often the only voice of reason, tried to take him to an urgent care because he was obviously sick. Yeah, maybe that’d be a good idea, you thought, a medical professional would probably know how to get that stick out of his ass. No, not in the slightest did you care that you hurt Bammy Boy’s precious little feelings. He was a jerk to everybody, you thought, so he deserved it. It was only after a few weeks of this charade that you started to wonder why the hell he was being such a baby about all this. Bam just seemed to radiate jealousy, especially towards Tim, but there was no way that was the case. It sounded like something straight out of third grade- that boys are mean to girls they like. But, knowing Bam, you couldn’t write that off immediately.

All this tension kept building for a while until it reached a fever pitch. The team had an off day so you all decided to stop by a skate park late in the day to kick back and chill for a few hours before you needed to get back on the road again. The chance to bust out a few tricks without the judging eyes of thousands was a breath of fresh air and everyone was all excited as they filtered out of the bus onto the concrete- that is, everyone except Bam. The little prince of darkness shot you a scowl before he ran off to the bowl with the rest of the guys while you ran off on your own. You were on the mini ramp, enjoying some rare alone time while doing a few simple tricks and thinking about how you could probably run to the Wendy’s across the street to get dinner- one of those baked potatoes would really hit the spot. It was in the midst of that thoughtful silence when you were poised on the coping in a nose stall that the clatter of a board slamming against the ground behind you hit your ears.

You were startled and, turning towards the sound, you felt the ground slip out from under you as you shifted your weight ever so slightly. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as you plummeted to the ground, landing square on the lip with a blunt packing noise, busting your cheek open. The air was knocked out of your lungs as a choked gasp escaped you, reaching up to grasp the raw skin pounded flat against your throbbing cheek bone. Your vision was a blur of orange from the setting sun as you wrenched your eyes open, tilting your head up towards the source of the shadow that looked over you.

“Nice spill.” Struggling to your feet, Bam didn’t even offer to help you, just standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching. Something red hit the concrete when you spit, rubbing off some of the hot liquid from your cheek as your gaze met his, “The fuck’s your problem?” Coughing, your voice was rough, words punctuated by heavy breath as you continued, “You’ve been all pissy for weeks, man. What’s goin’ on?” There was an edge to his voice but he still sounded calm as he reached into his pocket for his pack of Marlboro Lights, still not making eye contact, “Maybe I don’t like seein’ you and Tim eatin’ each others faces- ever thought about that?”

Snatching the cigarette from his fingers, his fingernails painted in that stupid black nail polish he always wore, you growled, “Is that it? Really?” You got all in his angry little face, close enough you could smell the shitty cologne he wore to impress chicks that always made you gag. MTV fuckin pretty boy, always looking his best. Your voice dropped low, murmuring close to his skin, “Maybe you’re just jealous’a him. That he gets to have me and you don’t.” Bam finally met your gaze, staring at you with newfound intensity as the lines between teasing and flirting blurred. He spoke through gritted teeth as he glared down at you bitterly, “Oh yeah? Yeah? You think I can’t fuckin’ have you?” You said nothing, defiant.

Time stood still, but in a second, he was on you. Bam’s hands seized you, tugging you impossibly close to him as his calloused palms traveled up and down your body possessively. It was like something snapped inside of him that was holding him back. You could feel the muscles under his clothes flex as your breath hitched, one of his hands tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. Bam kissed like a starved man, his tongue moving against yours in a lecherous mess of teeth and spit and a little blood on your part. The air swam with a mix of rage and lust as you pulled away from each other after what felt like an hour, catching your breath. Your eyelids fluttered as a weak smile spread across your kiss-sore lips. Whispering under your breath, you leaned your forehead against his, “Holy shit…”

Glancing down at the cigarette still in your hands, you slipped it between your teeth, looking back at him, “Gotta light?”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

July 17: Outdoors

(I did, in fact, start writing this in July, only to heartlessly abandon it after writing 4 paragraphs because I was a mess. So... enjoy it now? [insert shrug emoji])

Draco fucking loathed the heat.

He despised the summer, with the hot fucking sun and too few clouds. He hated the way his body felt, too hot, sticky, always wet, his clothes damp where they clung to his skin. It felt like the outdoors was boiling him in his own sweat.

And yes, he was sitting on the edge of the pool, his calves and feet in the cool water. And yes, he had worn his shortest pair of shorts, and his most light-weight button up shirt that he wore unbuttoned down to his naval, and his giant sun hat that shaded his skin and protected him from the sun (in addition to his strongest sun-blocking charms), and his huge sunglasses to keep him from glaring because of the sun (it didn't change his glaring because of his annoyance at the heat). And yes, he'd consumed more than his fair share of ice water and the long islands that his host kept on the table.

But it didn't change the fact that he was sticky, sweaty, hot and currently, more to the point, also fucking aroused.

Because Harry Potter didn't seem to have the same problems that Draco had in the heat. His bronze skin glistened with sweat and tanning oil; beads of water rolling down his pecks and abdomen, collecting in the hair on his chest and stomach when he emerged from the pool. Potter, instead of turning a hideously unattractive shade of red like Draco, only continued to grow more golden in the sun, painfully fucking beautiful. His swim trunks were indecently short, clinging to his muscular thighs and perfectly round arse, and leaving far too much of his skin on display.

It wasn't fair for Draco to have to be this hot and also attracted to someone. Attraction took up way too much space in his brain and body and he simply didn't have the energy for it in this heat.

“Draco, are you even listening to me?” Pansy snapped.

“No,” he replied honestly, as he took another long drink from the straw sticking out of his glass.

He didn’t have to be looking at her to know that she was rolling her eyes at him. “I will never understand your fascination with him.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “You’re only attracted to women,” he said, then, “and I’m not fascinated with him,” he added as almost an after thought.

Before she could reply, Ginerva was interrupting them, sliding her soaking wet, bikini-clad body in between the two of them.

“Uggh,” he said, sliding away from her, “you’re soaking me.”

She looked over at him, that particular brand of Weasley mischief that Draco did his best to avoid, shining in her eyes.

“Whatever you are thinking, don’t you fucking dare,” he warned her.

But then both of her hands were on him, unceremoniously shoving him into the pool. And it wasn’t that Draco couldn’t swim, but he didn’t swim terribly well, and he hadn’t expected to be shoved into the pool in the first place, so the panic took over.

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him to the surface in spite of his flailing and choking. “I’ve got you,” the body holding his assured him.

And Draco recognized that voice, frankly, he was fairly certain that he could have simply recognized the body by touch alone; no need to hear or see or smell him. He wanted to tell him to just let him drown, let him slip back under and die because it would be better than living through this embarrassment, but he was still coughing and struggling to get a good breath, so none of the words quite came out right.

Potter carried him through the water and over to the steps. “Come on,” he said softly, guiding Draco out of the pool, “let’s head inside and get you some dry clothes.”

“Oooh!” Ginerva had the nerve to call out and Draco relegated her back down to his least favorite Weasley.

“Fuck off,” Potter called, flipping her a two fingered salute on their way in. "Are you alright?" he asked, all charming concern for Draco's well being.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, in spite of the way his throat was still burning and aching. “I should just go home.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter replied, leading him through the house and back toward what Draco could only assume was his bedroom.

And Draco had imagined Potter taking him back to his bedroom a thousand times but the circumstances had been very different in his imaginings. He'd imagined (fantasized) about Potter being so taken with him that he couldn't resist his charms; Potter calling him beautiful, sexy, unable to keep his hands off him.

Instead, Potter was treating him like a patient. In a decidedly unsexy way. He picked up his wand off the nightstand next to the bed, “I’m just going to cast a spell to clear any residual water from your lungs,” he informed him. The spell rattled through Draco as he moved his wand over his chest in a complicated pattern. “Then I’m going to stick pretty close by for the next couple of hours,” he said as he moved to the closet and started digging through for something for Draco to wear. “Best to monitor you.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Potter turned to glare at him, “which one of us is the healer and which one of us is the wand maker?” He put his hands on his hips, “I wouldn’t argue with you about how to make a wand-”

“You would,” he interrupted. “You literally have.”

“You can either choose to be monitored by me or I’ll take you to St. Mungo’s myself,” he warned.

“You wouldn’t.”

Potter raised an eyebrow and crossed his stupidly buff arms over his stupidly broad chest, “try me.”

"Potter," he groaned.

"Don't Potter me," he said, apparently taking that for acquiescence and turning back to his closet. "Now, I think these swim shorts," he said, holding out a tiny pair of swim trunks with flamingos on them, "will work because they have a drawstring waist band. And this button up," he said, holding out a pink shirt that matched the flamingos, "will be best because it's lightweight and matches the vibe you're wearing now."

Draco accepted the clothes and carefully didn't point out that he could have just cast a spell to dry the clothes he was already wearing. The temptation to put on Harry's clothes was far too great. "Are you going to stand there and watch me dress, too?" he asked as he started to peel off his wet shirt. "Do I need monitoring so intensely?"

"No," Potter said, turning so quickly that he almost ran into the doorway. "Err," he said, stepping sideways and out of the door. "I'll just wait out here."

Once he stripped out of the wet clothes, he cast a quick spell to dry his body before putting on Harry's clothes. They didn't fit as well as his own did, certainly, Harry's chest and shoulders were far broader and Draco was quite a bit scrawnier than him, but they didn't look half bad. And more to the point, they were Harry's, so they smelled like him and even looking at them sent a thrill through the pit of Draco's stomach.

"Well," he said, stepping out of the room, "I suppose they'll do."

Harry, who'd been leaning against the wall, stumbled over nothing and nearly fell, choking on a cough as he stared wordlessly at Draco.

"What?" he asked self consciously, looking down at himself.

But Potter was trying to straighten himself, shaking his head. "Nothing," he said. Then he repeated himself, "Nothing."

"Right," Draco said, feeling a strange mix of self consciousness and attractiveness. He had the urge to flirt with the other man, just to see what would happen.

Potter turned and made his way toward the door, Draco followed and tried to decide what he could say or do to attract the other man's attention.

On their way back toward the pool, he saw it, the perfect excuse, dragging his feet just a bit, he let his toes catch on a tree root and let his body tip forward. "Oh!" he cried as he fell, "ouch! My ankle."

Potter was there in an instant, hands fluttering around Draco's sides, "what happened?"

"Oh, I tripped over the tree root and twisted my ankle," he said, holding his leg in the air and showing Potter. "It's probably the heat, I'm just feeling a little faint." He draped an arm over his head to demonstrate how faint he was feeling. He should have gone into acting, he thought ruefully, as Potter tittered over him, concern evident in each action.

Warm, competent hands reached for him, one taking gentle hold of his foot the other grasping his leg just above his ankle. "You're having a terrible go of it," he said, looking up at Draco with those guileless green eyes. "You're never going to want to come to one of my parties again."

Potter's magic washed through him, warm and bright, tingling around his ankle and Draco shivered with delightful anticipation.

"It doesn't seem like anything's broken," he said, "why don't we just go in and let you rest on the sofa." Without another word, he lifted him into his arms like Draco weighed nothing at all, and carried him inside once more.

"Thank you," he said, affecting a bit of helplessness in his voice. "I don't know what's the matter with me today."

"Probably the heat," Potter agreed, setting him down on the couch, rearranging the pillows to prop up Draco's leg. "Let me fetch you a glass of water. Are you in pain?" he asked as he moved toward the kitchen, "can I get you a potion for it?"

"Oh," he said, shaking his head, "I think I'll be fine in a few moments. You've been too kind already. I've been far too much trouble as it is," he demurred.

"Nonsense," Potter said, "You're no trouble at all." He carried the glass of water back to him and sat down on the sofa by Draco's hip.

Draco reached for the glass and took a long drink before letting his fingers skim over Potter's knee on the way to setting it on the table. On the way back, he casually brushed the back of his hand over the other man's thigh.

"Draco," Potter murmured.

"Yes, Potter?" he replied innocently before looking up and meeting his gaze.

The green of his eyes was burning bright and hot, and for just a moment, Draco couldn't breathe.

"Are you actually hurt or can I kiss you?" he asked.

In lieu of answering, Draco reached up and wrapped a hand around Potter's neck, pulling him down into a heated kiss.

A kiss that only got hotter and more desperate, escalating so quickly that before he knew what was happening Potter (and really, he thought wildly, he ought to start calling him Harry at this point) was climbing over him. He pressed him down onto the couch, straddling his hips, as his hands cupped Draco's face to angle it just right to deepen the kiss further. He let his hand stray down the muscular expanse of Potter's back toward his arse, fingertips just slipping below the waistband-

"Shit."

They both turned their heads in time to see that Neville and Blaise were standing in the doorway, gaping at the two of them.

"Sorry," Harry said, and Draco turned his head to find that Harry was looking at him with utter mortification.

And that simply wouldn't do. "Blaise," Draco said, staring straight into Harry's eyes, "be a dear and tell everyone that Potter's party is currently an outdoor only event and that he will no longer be available to attend to anyone's needs."

"Except your's apparently," Blaise said, smirk evident in his voice.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck in a fit of shyness that Draco couldn't help but find adorable.

He smirked over at the other man, "except mine," he agreed. "Oh, and close the door on your way out."

The door clicked shut and Harry held out a hand, sending a wave of magic to lock it. He pulled back to look at Draco, "so what needs do you have that need attending to?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh, come back here and I'm sure I can come up with something," he replied as he pulled the other man's body down and flush against his own.

And it proved that once Harry started, it was all too easy to continue giving him more needs to fulfill.

--------------

Read more of my fics, if you'd like.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. “Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too. His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken. Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal. Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

Jon I, AGOT

It's interesting that GRRM would dedicate several paragraphs to a seemingly unimportant exchange between a boy, his wolf, and an unfriendly third party. But there's just something about this passage that has continued to nag at me for years since I first read it because, considering how heavy handed GRRM was with the foreshadowing in AGOT, this feels important.

Jon is sitting at table full of squires - aka would be knights. We don't really know who they are or what families they belong to, but it's safe to assume that they come from a certain level of privilege; this is considering the fact that it cannot be financially easy to be a squire. And these boys already have a slew of tales detailing all their previous knightly exploits regarding "battle and bedding and the hunt" which suggests that they have some capital. So you have boys who will soon be men. And they will, presumably, become men of some power.

These lads eat their fill of the chicken until only half remains, which Jon then gives to Ghost. The direwolf's name is not so important here but what he represents is. Throughout the series, we're told that Ghost is reminiscent of the weirwood trees (because of his red eyes and white fur). He's stated to be of and from the Old Gods and since he's a personification of the weirwoods, he might as well be one of them. It's almost as if Jon is presenting whatever is left on the table to the Old Gods (Ghost). He lets them devour his offerings while he silently watches. And the motif of watching is so interesting here because it's kind of like Jon takes on a stewardship role - to watch over land/people/etc. He oversees Ghost eating the chicken, so he's overseeing whatever has been given to the Old Gods. This is not new imagery to his arc. As a brother of the Night's Watch and eventually its leader, we have several instances where he leads people to adopting the Old Gods in some fashion. In ADWD, several recruits swear their vows to the Old Gods while he watches on as their Lord Commander. The Old Gods are also primarily of the North and we're told that Jon has more of the north in him than his brothers; interesting that this also includes Bran. So perhaps whatever is being offered to the Old Gods relates to the North.

We must also note that Jon initially thinks to give only a small portion, a leg, before pivoting and providing the entire thing. It feels to me a bit like the process of carving up a kingdom or something similar. The lords (represented by the squires) take what they want and leave aside what they don't; or perhaps they have eaten to their fill and can take no more. Then when his time comes, Jon first considers a small piece of land/group of people before eventually absorbing all of whatever is left behind. The concept of carving up a kingdom rings harder considering that we have several callbacks to the ideals of kingship in this chapter. Robert, Jaime, Tyrion, and even Mance though we don't know it yet, all play into this. And then there's the aspect of Jon letting the chicken slip between his legs which evokes birth/fatherhood, a very curious choice when GRRM could've just had Jon place the chicken on the floor. So land/people are carved up and Jon then uses whatever is left to birth his own type of kingdom. And this kingdom is one for the Old Gods.

This also touches on something that has been quite prevalent throughout Jon's arc. It's the concept of accepting the "others" or "those left over" who live apart from the accepted social norms. Arya (a tomboy), Sam (a gender non-confirming boy), the Night's Watch (criminals, extra sons, and men who have no future left or place to go), and even the wildlings are all examples of this. And Jon takes on a leadership/paternal role to every single one of them. He looks after them as a leader would/should. Sometimes, in the case of Arya and the wildlings, he's equated to a king. He's a steward/shepherd/king. There's messianic undertones to this:

Come unto me, all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30).

If you're familiar with Judeo-Christian tradition, you'll know that Jesus is often personified as one who spent the majority his time among the outcasts. The idea is that he came to save them too and that anew kingdom (or new earth depending on your translation) would spring up after the end of the world where he would forever rule as king; which presents the idea of a final king after the earthly ones are done away with. Now GRRM isn't so heavy handed with Christian allusions as other authors out there, but he does have a Catholic background and Jon is so overtly a Jesus figure. And in Revelation, Jesus is king and god at the very end....

One last thing: the mention of the mongrel who challenges Jon has always been rather interesting but confusing to me. A mongrel doesn't really relate to one specific type of dog. But it's interesting that Jon notes several roaming about where he is. They follow the serving girls who carry the food to be offered. Mongrels are used to describe antagonist/villainous groups in ASOIAF. Sometimes, they're used to describe slavers in Essos. But what's interesting is that most of the time, they're used to describe Euron's Ironborn especially in Victorian's POV. So I don't think the mongrel who challenges Ghost is a supernatural threat of death (i.e., the Others) but rather a human one. They represent those who are called to the scene once the lords have finished playing their games. It almost feels like a feast for (carrion) crows....

But it doesn't really matter because this mongrel isn't much of a challenge for Ghost. Though the mongrel is much larger, the direwolf is able to fend her off very effortlessly. Given that "mongrel" is used to describe Ironborn raiders, could this exchange between Ghost and the mongrel point to reavers or sea raiders who rise and fail challenge Jon kingdom? There is a historical King Jon Stark who did this....

When sea raiders landed in the east, Jon drove them out and built a castle, the Wolf's Den, at the mouth of the White Knife, so as to be able to defend the mouth of the river.[1][2] His son, Rickard, followed him on the throne and annexed the Neck to the north.

ref.

So this might shed some light not only on Jon's already published arc, but also on what we can expect in the future. We have some foreshadowing through Jon's ADWD dream that he will not only rise with the dawn (thereby live through the Long Night), but will be in a position to lead people (wildings in that chapter) to a new peace after a hard fought war. Also remember that the wildlings, rather enthusiastically, swear oaths to him as if swearing oaths to their king. In this instance, the supernatural (a dream of the war for the dawn) is followed by the natural/human. So perhaps this particular passage (and Jon's dream) can be used to predict that Jon comes out on top, and quite effortlessly too, as a leader. And he becomes a leader who rules by association with the Old Gods; or rules a kingdom for them.

To end, I think it's of note that this passage immediately precedes Jon's conversation with Benjen where he voices his desire to go out on his own - the hero's call to action. This is the adventure that's going to kickstart his growth as a man, warrior and most importantly, a leader. So it looks like before we even began, GRRM telegraphed how it would all end in just three short paragraphs.

[comphy-and-cozy]

the guy on the team - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f) - A Dream Come True universe

Word Count: 4.2K

Author’s Note: rediscovered the three paragraphs of filth i wrote after seeing this dude play (and score) in his first ever home game as a detroit red wing, then went buck wild writing about it. that's all you really need to know. 🎶 karma is the guy on the wings coming straight home to me... 🎶

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering (f receiving), brief masturbation (f), very minor spanking, creampie, me being a huge fucking simp series masterlist

October 2024

The goal horn—restored from the glory days at Joe Louis Arena, reminiscent of legends and lore and well-decorated history—blares through the arena, the sound nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Don’t Stop Believing plays over the speakers, the “born and raised in South Detroit” chant almost deafening as 19,000 of Hockeytown’s finest pay a proud homage to the city.

The energy is palpable, infectious, and your eyes fall to the sea of red jerseys at center ice, sticks raised in appreciation and celebration of their first win and first home game of the season. They’re smiling, a few of them clapping each other on the back or tapping padded knees with their stick, circling around as they soak in the joy and promises of a strong season.

The 37 on his back stands out proudly, the bright white stark against the rich red. He offered to get you a jersey, identical to the one he’s wearing right now, but you’d declined and opted for an old sweatshirt from 2002; wearing his name still felt a little too cheeky. Your eyes follow his movements, almost subconsciously, and your gaze slides to the winged wheel embroidered on his chest when he circles around.

There’s a burn in your cheeks as you shamelessly check him out, anonymous in the sea of fans who are starting to make their way out of the arena. No one there knows you from any other admirer, that you know what he looks like beneath his pads and his gear, underneath the delicious slate gray suit that the Red Wings’ socials posted. 

You’ve barely made it to your front door when the text buzzes your phone in your pocket. 

[JT:] You free tonight? [JT:] Feel like celebrating [You:] Why, did something happen?

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s smirking at your comment. The text bubble pops back up, and you do your best to summon the chill, cool girl and not squeal when you see the response.

[JT:] You want to come over later?

Despite the effort, you can’t help the smile that emerges on your face. His next text informs you that he’s out getting post-game drinks and dinner with his family who came to town to see his debut in Detroit. You’re not offended that you didn’t receive an invite—just excited to have received a text. The status of your relationship is still up in the air, floating somewhere between casually dating and something with benefits. Meeting his family is far from your bucket list. At this point, anyway.

Though your makeup was already done for the game, you decide to reset in the shower. You exfoliate, shave, and take your time moisturizing until you’re squeaky clean and your skin is smooth. Your pre-dick appointment ritual is practiced, having perfected it in the last six weeks that you’ve been involved with JT Compher. He doesn’t expect perfection, has told you on multiple occasions in so many words, but the routine makes you feel like you’re worth his time, his affection, his attention—that’s something you’ll deal with in therapy, though. 

After the body prep comes a quick blow dry, a light layer of fresh makeup (you learned your lesson with too much makeup after JT made sure that the entire sultry eye you’d worked so hard on ended up smeared all over the sheets), and then the undergarment selection. By no means do you have an expansive luxury lingerie collection, but you’ve found yourself glancing at the intimate wear section when you’re out, anticipating the reaction of a certain redhead as you run your fingers over the various pieces on display. 

Tonight does feel special, you admit, with plenty to celebrate: a debut, a win, and two points for JT. The lacy red bralette feels fitting, perfect for a little ‘wow’ factor without feeling like you’re trying too hard—and, of course, a nod to his (and your) team. Cheeky red panties finish your look, hidden by a pair of yoga pants and a cropped zip-up hoodie: the quintessential dick appointment outfit.

By the time you’re spritzing on your perfume, the come over text comes through. Slinging a small overnight bag over your shoulder with a few essentials, you lock up your apartment and head on your way. Nerves flutter in your chest the way they always do, anticipation building as you pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

JT hasn’t changed out of his pregame suit, the takeout box sitting on the counter an indicator he hasn’t been home for long. Your heart flutters at the realization that he must’ve texted you before he’d even left dinner, that he was thinking of you even while sitting and celebrating with his family. 

After closing the door behind you, he moves in to greet you with a kiss, and once his lips touch yours, it’s like the floodgates of desire have opened up and you lose all self control. Without warning, your hands tug at his neck to kiss him fervently, quickly pressing your body against his and sighing at the warmth. 

He groans, returning the kiss with equal ardor as his hands find their home on your hips. As you’re turning your attention to his belt, pulling your lips away from him for a moment, he murmurs, “Not that I’m not really, really appreciating this welcome home, but is there a reason for the extra enthusiasm?”

Clink. The belt’s hit the floor, and you waste no time getting your mouth back on his. Your hand slinks up his thigh, palming the half-hard appendage in his slacks eagerly. Involuntarily, you feel a needy throb between your thighs, the low thrum in his chest adding fuel to the fire.

“Really liked you in that jersey,” you purr. 

“Oh yeah?”

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth and you nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah.”

JT smirks, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit. He doesn’t say it, but you know it drives him wild how much of an impact he has on you. How little he has to work to have you desperate for him. “Anything else?”

“I really liked it when you scored,” you say, wistfully recalling the way it sounded hearing his name announced over the loudspeaker at Little Caesars Arena. “You should do that some more.”

“How much did you like it?” 

With just one sentence, he’s managed to increase the temperature in the room by at least 20 degrees; the words themselves are innocent, but the rumble behind them offers a filthy, sinful promise. His gaze is hot, predatory even, following the movement of your hand as you unzip your hoodie in response to his question. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches at the peek of red lace, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you shrug off the fleece.

Tension is thick in the air as you stand before him, heart pulsing in your throat. With a blink, he seemingly regains his composure, though his eyes linger on your cleavage between the lace cups. “That much, huh?”

Another nod, shivering under the heated way he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Breaking eye contact with him is difficult, but you’re met with an equally pleasing view of his firm length pressed against the rich material of his dress pants. 

Your hand works at the zipper of his slacks, the other slipping between the metal teeth to press your palm against him. He’s throbbing under your touch, growing more and more solid as your hand strokes him through his boxer briefs. 

Words aren’t necessary—or capable, for that matter—once you finally fish out his length and lap at the tip. The only thing exiting his mouth are strangled curses mingled with the sigh of your name, hand slipping into your hair when he slides further into the hot cavern of your mouth. He’s fully hard now, resting heavy on your tongue as you trace the vein that throbs on the underside of his shaft.

JT grunts, tilting his head down to watch the way his cock slides between your lips. Your hands hold yourself steady against his strong, muscular thighs—one of the more underrated parts of his body, in your opinion—as you bob your head back and forth, wetting every inch of him with your mouth. You wrap your fingers around the base, twisting and setting a cruel rhythm that earns a loud whine from his throat, followed quickly by a long, “Fuuuuuuuck.”

Nails scratch lightly at your scalp, like maybe he’s searching for purchase, his chest starting to heave a little more frantically the more you work him to a state of dizzy bliss. It’s the least you can do, you think, to congratulate him on his first ever home game in Detroit. And, maybe, there’s a little piece of you that wants to reward him, because you still haven’t quite thanked him thoroughly enough for selecting your city as his final destination in free agency. For coming home to you.

A wet, frothy mixture of spit and precum coats your chin when he finally tugs you back with a groan. His eyes are dark pools of umber, arousal seeping out of them as he drinks in the sight of you on your knees, lips shining with the lewd evidence of your worship.

“Bedroom,” he husks, helping you onto your feet and pressing his groin against the swell of your ass as he gently nudges you down the hall toward his room. 

Falling forward onto the mattress, you glance at him over your shoulder and catch him admiring the view before his fingers are digging into the hem of your pants and tugging down. The sharp intake of breath tells you he likes your choice of panties, left as a sneaky surprise for him to unwrap as his reward. “Oh, she really likes it when I score goals.”

A wiggle of your hips earns a slap to your ass. Soon enough, you’re flipped onto your back, feeling the weight of him settled between your legs and his mouth slotting over yours. His lips are sure, certain, plush against yours, lazily commandeering control. Kissing him never gets old, not even when his erection is bumping against your lace-shrouded pelvis, silently begging for entry. 

One of his hands runs over your neck, down your chest, palming your breast through the bralette. He toys with the scalloped hem, admiring the feel of it beneath his fingers. The low rumble of his hum vibrates against the spot on your jaw that he’s paused to mouth at while his hands explore, hot breath cascading down the sensitive skin of your neck. “Y’look so pretty, I almost don’t want to take it off.”

“You like me in red, too, hm?” 

“I like you in anything,” he muses, allowing his tongue to trail along the thin strap that rests on your collarbone. It’s a sweet comment that you don’t have time to dwell on when his attention moves to the swell of your breast, then flicks at your taut nipple through the lace. “But red definitely suits you.”

JT punctuates his statement with a gentle nibble, tracing the floral pattern with the tip of his tongue until the fabric is damp with his saliva and your back is arched off of his sheets. Your fingers are threaded through his hair, knees pressed into his sides when your hips start to roll against his thigh that’s slotted between your legs. 

“Can’t decide if I want to taste you or fuck you first,” he murmurs against your breast. A hand slinks down your body, eventually settling on the fabric between your thighs; a pleased hum leaves his throat, presumably at the moisture he finds there. The breath in your throat catches when he brings two fingers to his lips. “A taste can’t hurt, right?”

The sight of JT Compher gazing lustfully at you from between your legs is one you’ll never take for granted, nor is the feeling of his hot breath against the inside of your thighs. Even better than that is the sound of his groan when he tugs the lace panties down your legs, eyes never leaving the dripping heat in front of him.

His hand draws to the apex of your thighs, and you brace yourself to feel a finger slipping past your lips; instead, you only receive the ghost of his touch, drawing up the slick that’s dribbled out of you.

“J,” you whine, hips bucking impatiently. You’re not sure you’ll survive his teasing antics—not tonight.

“Jus’ wanna enjoy my treat,” he says, cheeky, popping the finger in his mouth with a groan. “I love when your pussy drools like this.”

Soft, pillowy lips press against your core, and you aren’t sure who moans louder: you, from the feeling of his mouth finally touching you where you need, or him, at the taste of you on his tongue. He sets to work, devouring your cunt with his usual practiced precision; long laves of his tongue paired perfectly with gentle sucking of your clit. It isn’t until he pauses for just a moment to wrap your legs around his head that you realize he’s grinding himself against the mattress.

“JT, let me—”

“No, baby,” he pants, barely parting his mouth from you, his voice muffled by your skin. “Y’taste way too fucking good.”

You’re in the process of wondering what you did to deserve a man who enjoys eating your pussy more than you do when his hand slips between your legs, joining his tongue to aid in his quest to bring you to climax. He alternates between dipping his finger into your heat and using it to circle your clit while his mouth continues its sinful magic. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, spine peeling off the mattress when he curls his finger, striking at the spongy spot inside of you. The pleasure is blinding, radiating from the place where he strokes diligently. “Don’t stop.”

For being a man, JT is good at following instructions, especially when it comes to making you come. It doesn’t take long for your legs to quiver and a loud moan to rip from your throat; he hums in encouragement, fingers pumping relentlessly until you’re spent, slumped back against his pillow. You’re pretty sure your bones have disappeared and your body is now just a floating, ethereal being. You know, status quo with him.

“One for the assist,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips are glistening with your slick and his spit, coating the auburn whiskers of his beard, and you draw him up to taste it.

His contented hum that vibrates against your lips when you kiss him makes your heart warm, like he could kiss you all day and not get sick of it. The feeling is mutual, you think, savoring the way his mouth fits perfectly against yours along with the heady taste of you on his tongue. His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing gently as he swallows your sighs and comedown whimpers eagerly.

“You gonna fuck me now?” you ask into his mouth, once you regain the ability to speak. Sometimes, he has a habit of kissing the thoughts straight out of your brain. You love it more each time.

JT’s smile curls up against your lips. “Greedy girl, aren’t you?”

The sense of satisfaction watching his smile falter when your hand reaches between your bodies to stroke his erection is unmatched. Anything to render him speechless, too; the guttural moan is just a bonus. “Been waiting for this since warmups, when I saw you skating around in the winged wheel.”

“That’s a long time,” he says smugly, sitting up with a grunt and urging you to follow. When you turn your back to him, he pushes you down onto your elbows playfully, then offers a slap on your ass. “Your poor, poor pussy. So deprived.”

Turning your head, you watch him discard the rest of his clothes before his fist wraps around his cock, dragging up and down a few times. It’s a struggle to resist the whimper that threatens to bubble up in your throat. He runs the tip through your folds, coating it in your slick with a tsk. “So pretty. Should I give her what she wants?”

Instead of giving in, begging him the way you know he wants you to, you lean forward, ensuring he has an even better view of everything you have to offer. Your hand slithers between your thighs, fingers flattening as they rub at your clit. You part your folds before allowing your finger to dip into your entrance. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice dripping with a mixture of desire and awe. You swear you can feel the heat from where his eyes are burning a hole in you, staring at the way you touch yourself. “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Preening under his praise, your marriage joins your middle finger, moaning loudly when the two plunge into your heat. The sound of your slick is audible, harmonizing with your soft sighs and his deep, ragged breathing behind you. You muse, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Red Wing. Doesn’t really matter who. Just want to say I did, you know?”

JT’s dark chuckle behind you sends shivers down your spine. He probes the head of his dick—still positioned at your entrance, waiting patiently for its turn—against your fingers, teasing you before nudging your hand out of the way. It falls to the mattress, and you return to leaning on both elbows. “You know how much I like making your dreams come true.”

The huffed laughter that falls out of your mouth is quickly usurped by a gasp when he pushes his hips forward. Pausing halfway, he hums at the way you squeeze him tightly before he sheaths himself completely. It’s a feeling you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to; so perfect and satisfying and full. Just the touch of his skin to yours is enough to ignite a flame deeper than you’ve ever experienced with anyone else—the intimate feeling of him inside of you is nothing short of euphoric. 

You push yourself back onto him, body acting on its own and greedily taking what it wants. He makes a sound behind you, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt; whatever it is, it’s followed by a firm slap against your ass that has you moaning.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Fuck yourself on it.”

As if to accentuate his point, his fingertips trail up your spine before his hand fists into the lace strings displayed on your back. Once his hold is firm, he uses the material to drag you back against him and set a rhythmic slapping of your ass against his hips. 

JT fucks you until you’re a babbling, sweating mess, only capable of incoherent whimpers and crying out a semblance of his name. He’s steady and consistent, confidence rolling off of him even despite the way his voice falters when he’s murmuring filth in your ear, using your bralette to tug you backwards against his chest.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he whispers, beard scratching deliciously against the curve of your jaw. You nod, desperate, even your thoughts echoing the rhythm of his length driving in and out of you.

Teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder at the same time the universe explodes. Eyes squeezed shut, legs clenched tight, the air wrenched from your lungs as your body goes rigid in his arms. He hums lowly, working you through it, soft praises whispered against your skin.

“One for the goal,” he says, cheeky. You don’t have the brainpower to even roll your eyes at his hubris. Given the way your legs are still shaking, you’d say he has a right to be cocky.

Strong arms help you back down to your stomach, and you’re thankful for the soft mattress beneath you, no longer needing to hold yourself up; you’re not sure your limbs have the strength to. JT’s hands gently pull your hips back, lifting them up slightly to slide a pillow beneath them before he’s diving in face first with a groan. “Fucking love the way your cunt tastes after it’s been fucked.”

His tongue laps at you, and you squirm under his attention. Grabbing at your ass with both hands, he kneads the globes and offers a hearty smack that earns a squeal from you. “JT!”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, but the nip on your ass tells you he isn’t. You feel him shift before he’s helping to flip you over onto your back, and the sight of him smiling down at you makes your heart flutter. “Can’t help it.”

Something you’ve learned over the last few weeks with JT is that he is a thorough, meticulous lover. He worships at your altar until he’s completely absolved and your thoughts are wiped clean, pulling prayers from your throat with easy, intentional thrusts. With your legs resting in the crook of his elbows, he drives into you, solid, steady, watching the union of your bodies with a hunger that might intimidate you if it wasn’t the same one consuming you entirely.

“Look so good like this,” he murmurs, eyes roving over your body, admiring each curve as if he sculpted them himself. His gaze holds the sway of your breasts, testing the way you respond to different pulses of his hips. “Y’take dick like a fuckin’ pro, sweetheart. You know that?”

You hope the question is rhetorical, for when you go to attempt an answer, all that comes out is a garbled whimper. The praise makes your skin hot, heightens the flutter in your belly, and when he tells you to touch yourself, you blink dumbly at him. It garners a smile on his pretty lips—so fucking handsome—perhaps pleased with the way he’s fucked you stupid on his cock.

“Won’t last much longer,” he purrs. He swallows thickly, and if your brain wasn’t complete mush, you’d be very satisfied that he’s losing control, too. “Make yourself come for me. Jus’ one more, baby, please.”

And when he asks so nicely, how can you disobey?

Your hand snakes its way between your legs, rubbing at your tender clit; the action enhances the delicious, soul-altering feeling of JT’s dick delivering pleasure and promise. His eyes are glued to your movements, but your eyes are watching him.

JT Compher has always been beautiful. Handsome. Exquisite, even. But the sight of him, eyes shut, lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, mouth open as his head falls back in ecstasy? No words. Truly, indescribable. 

It’s enough that you try to stave off your own orgasm just to prolong your view—that is, until the force of it absorbs you and then shatters you, seizing every last cell and filling them with euphoria. When the fuzziness fades from your eyes, JT’s panting body is on top of you, planting kisses along your collarbone. “And finally, one for the win.”

A dreamy smile slides onto your face. Weakly, your arms wrap around him, grazing the skin on his back lightly. He feels good in your arms. Safe. Comfortable. Natural. 

“Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?” 

There’s a pause as you try to process what he said, sure that he fucked you so good, your hearing’s gone out, too. He nudges your jaw with his nose.

“B–breakfast?” Your voice comes out way shakier than you intended. You feel the short exhale from his huffed laugh against your skin.

“Don’t want you to think you’re just a booty call,” he says, like it’s obvious, like he’s not still half-hard buried inside of you, his cum seeping out onto the wrinkled sheets beneath you.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Can’t think about anything else about you or I’ll get hard again,” he admits wryly. The confession strokes your ego, something he manages to do without even trying. As you debate if you should, in fact, rouse a round two, your pussy flutters weakly in protest—dick too good. Need break.

JT’s hands never leave your body as he helps you walk to the bathroom, laughing at the way you waddle to avoid spilling cum all over his floor. Once you’re cleaned up, you slip on the t-shirt you packed, joining him at the sink to brush your teeth. He bumps your hip affectionately with his, and the domesticity of it all contrasted with the filthy aura from 5 minutes prior is astonishing—in a good way.

Back in his room, he eyes the bag that you place on the floor. “You can keep some things here, you know. I cleared out a drawer.”

It’s a simple statement, but one that strikes you hard; symbolic and heavy in its meaning: a place carved out for you in his home. 

In his life. 

JT sees you standing, gaping at him, and closes the gap between you before he’s tilting your jaw upward to look at him. His lips hover over yours, the ghost of his touch lingering in a way that makes your heart stop.

His voice is low, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want to burst the bubble surrounding you. “If I’m coming on too strong, let me know.”

“You aren’t,” you breathe, surprised that your voice even works. His lips curl into a smile against yours before he presses forward to kiss you. It’s slow, ardent, sweet. Dizzying.

“Let’s go to bed. You can fill the drawer tomorrow.”

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @tpwkstiles @smileysvech @senditcolton @robindrake13 @laurenairay

[boltgsr]

when you're a human who wound up working as a cleaning guy for an anthro dragon but have to stay disguised by taking anthro dragon tf potion

The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months. Bit by bit the hoard shrank away. I was becoming a familiar face at junk dealers down in the undercity. Some of the stuff your grandfather had taken over the years had real value: faded jewelry that just needed a polish, heirloom clocks that would tick like new once they’d been through a tune. Clothes fared less well. Everyone still living here could make use of good clothes, but even the poorest among us has no use for shirts that have rotted away to almost nothing. Sometimes I had to slide a few coins over to get a dealer to take the worst of what you had. It was either that or dump it in the river and let it be swept away, and my bleeding heart couldn’t quite stomach dumping what was left of some granny’s wedding dress into the muck. This way at least maybe someday her grandkid would walk in and recognize it - or maybe it wound up in the river anyway. I didn’t ask. What fascinated me most about the work were the bits and pieces from non-humans. Your grandfather had been an equal-opportunity loan shark, if nothing else: pouring through the piles I found fine silk tassels designed to be tied across tails, bejeweled combs bigger than my hand for tending to lycan fur. In one corner I found a thin wooden tube with belts nailed up and down it, with odd branches spinning off covered countless oval-shaped metallic leaves. I hadn’t the faintest idea what it was until I tried to hawk it to a very human trader down near the river. What, he asked, did I think he was going to do with a prosthetic avian wing? I didn’t have an answer. And when it came to draconic furniture and accessories, well, those were the nights I had to watch my step. More than once you caught me about to haul away some piece of furniture I couldn’t make hide nor hair of and stopped me before I could get outside, insisting you could find a place for it here. There was that pair of wooden, circular tables, with faded, thin pillows atop them that we hauled up to one of the balconies, afraid to ask what was going on, until on the way out I looked up and saw you curled up on one, looking as pleased as a peach. Basking circles, I later learned they were called. Another night, while you were deep in some tome, I snuck out and hesitantly climbed up on one, letting my still-strange spine curl in a way that felt natural and settling down on all four paws. It was a warm night, and as I wrapped my tail around me I felt a hesitant purr bubble up in my throat. Embarrassed, I clambered off and got back to work.

still plugging away at this story, but i wanted to do the writing equivalent of sharing a wip sketch and post a few paragraphs. it's about 31000 words at the moment, still got a few more scenes to write. then the editing starts. yes the dragons are gay in it

[gothushi]

smother me

pairing: rob x fem!reader

warnings: smut, drunk!reader, everything is consensual, rob pulls out, he’s literally so in love with you

note: based on this request! i’m actually making a bot for this scenario rn using the opening paragraph and will have that posted/linked here as well :3 enjoy driving rob insane

word count: 6.6k

———————♡

Music pounds through your chest as you finish your drink, sat ontop of Rob’s lap in your bed. Your bed. You and your friends hosted a party but you’ve since abandoned the fun with the idea to do Rob’s makeup, and him being sober gladly agreed to your drunken antics.

Red plastic cup being tossed to the floor with a disapproving look from rob, you start digging around in your makeup bag, dumping the contents out, straddling him.

“This really what y’wanna be doing right now instead of being downstairs?” He muses softly, hands behind his head.

“Mmmm,” the lazy hum escapes you as you dig out a few different containers, blinking at Rob, trying to figure out where to start. His arms bulge with the position he’s in. “Definitely.” You mumble, grabbing a little pallet and opening it.

Rob grunts slightly as you adjust yourself ontop of him, sat on his lap. He knows you’re drunk and shouldn’t really be doing this. But he’s not one to stop, instead choosing to play along. “What’re you even doing? I don’t wear makeup.” He chuckles, reaching up with an arm to brush a loose tendril of hair out of your face.

“‘m g’na make you look pretty, shhh…” You wave his hand away, so far gone, leaning down with a brush and swiping some product over his cheekbone, staring quite hard as you focus. Wearing a cute little dress, it’s ridden up your thighs, heels on your feet still and the jewelry on your wrist jangles with the movements you make. Rob’s watching, curious but kinda annoyed. You don’t even know what you’re doing, and yet it’s working.

“I don’t need to be pretty.” he mumbles, both hands behind his head again, fingers pressing against his scalp to ignore that one part of him. “You’re pretty though.” The brush over his cheek almost makes him shudder as he lets an arm reach out and loop around your waist, hand flattening on your lower back to pull you closer.

“Shh, stop.” You scold in a whisper, smacking at his arm as it tugs you closer to him, sat on his navel. Your eyes are lidded, focusing as you swipe the brush over his other cheek, something sparkly on it. You own cheeks heat up under the blush you wear, because of his compliment or how drunk you are, you aren’t sure.

Rob sighs, his thumb rubbing on your back. He rolls his eyes and grumbles at you, but there’s a part of him that likes this.

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” his tone is clearly teasing, “Who’s gonna make me pretty?”

“Me!” You huff, seeming agitated to him as you pick up a different brush, a mess of them and little pallets and containers sliding in the dip of the bed against your knee. Another product on his cheek, a little lower, making yourself giggle at the sight.

He raises a brow but doesn’t say anything. The brush across his cheek is a little irritating, not as soft as the other, but the fact that you were doing this had him feeling something, a low burn of arousal that makes his cock jump in his boxers. “You goin’ all out for me?” He asks teasingly, reaching up with the same hand to flick hair from your face. It’s cute when you’re drunk - you’re more forward than normal.

And clumsy, because you drop the brush when he moves your hair back. You fumble with it, picking it back up and moving to the other cheek. “Yeah gotta-... do everything.” Mumbling, words a little slow like you’re thinking too hard.

Rob chuckles at that, biting his lip to stop himself from full on laughing. He takes a breath of air and clears his throat. “Do me a favor,” he muses, hand sliding to your back again, “put the brush down. And do the rest with your hands.”

“My hand- but I’ll get it all over ‘nd it won’ look good!” You mumble in defense, staring at him for a moment as you sit up more.

He rolls his eyes, looking up at you in amusement. Cute drunk. He can’t really complain. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He says it confidently, “Just try not to get too much on me, okay?” His hands slide to your thighs instead, at the junction of your hips to hold you steady.

You glare down at him, glossed lips in a pout as you sigh through your nose. Dropping the brush, you rub your finger in one of the colors, wiping it over the bridge of his nose with tense concentration. He can smell the drinks you’ve had, a sweet candy like perfume that has his mind going a bit dumb, your necklace dangling against his chest. He grumbles as he inhales, though he can’t really complain. Not when you’re the one doing this. Your finger wipes over the tip of his nose before he speaks, “Don’t do anymore.” He whispers, “I’m gonna regret this in the morning.”

“No ‘m no’ done.” You argue, words blending together and not fully pronounced, tilting to look for a different item. You find what you want, a pencil, popping the cap off. You lean back down, nearly just falling forward on him, inhaling deeply, “Mm, eyes. Close your eyes.”

His lips twitch into a smile with that little action, but he actually closes his eyes. The warmth breath on his face as you lean in close feels like an invitation, but he can’t actually act on this, right? Your hand holds his cheek, the other holding the pencil the way a child holds a crayon, swiping it over his eyelid just above his lashes. They twitch from the odd touch, and you being so close makes his cock start to swell, his grasp on your hips tightening just the slightest.

“Stop.” He finally whispers softly.

The pressure immediately lessens as you start to babble, words flowing together, “Did I hurt you? ‘m sorry I pressed too hard I didn’ mean to-” The hand holding his cheek pets over him quite obnoxiously.

His body relaxes a little, but the sensation of you nearly smacking his cheek makes him grin. This is the last thing I should be doing right now. His internal monologue says. Get a grip. He reaches up and grabs your hand, “No- no you didn’t hurt me sweetheart.”

Sitting up a bit straighter again, your fingers curl around his as you complain, “Well I gotta- y’gotta match! I have t’do the other one.” Waving the pencil around seems to solidify your words.

“Don’t.” he says firmly, his voice coming out a little shaky. He lets his hand tighten around yours, other sliding down to the top of your thigh. “I think you’ve put enough makeup on me for one night. I doubt I’m gonna look good.” He grumbles teasingly, smiling softly. But you give him that little look, and he huffs a sigh, “Oh fine. Go on.”

You squeal a little happy noise, leaning back down, finger making his eyelids close. Your wrist rests on his forehead like a damn armrest, coloring the charcoal pigmented pencil over his other eye, giggling a little. He has to resist the urge to arch his back, stomach tensing. The sight of you leaning over him in this position would make anyone melt. But he can’t let himself do that.

“Alright, you’re done.” He murmurs, “No more.”

His hands encircle your wrists, holding onto them. You push back albeit weakly, pencil fumbling from your hand as you whine, bouncing on him a little, “No ‘m not done Rob y’need lipstick and- mmm, glitter. Yeah.”

He chuckles softly, “You’re trying to put glitter on me.” He mutters, shaking his head, still holding your wrists and letting you push back and wave them around. He knows you’re drunk, and he wants to get you off his lap. Especially because this is not good for him. He could kiss you with the way you’re bouncing on him like that. “No glitter.” He says firmly, not even wanting to entertain the idea.

“But.” You whimper softly, makeup accentuated eyes batting down at him as you push at his grasp, “It’s pink! We’ll match.”

His grip tightens as you continue to wiggle, staring up at you as he groans, “Stop bouncin’, I ain’t wearing no damn glitter.”

The wiggling continues, making you slide dangerously close to his lap again, belt buckle nudging against the crotch of your panties, “Rooooob.” The whine makes a shudder of arousal go up his spine, your hands pushing at his back and forth.

He grunts. He wants to pull you closer, press his lips against yours, but part of him really wants you off him. “Stop,” he mumbles, trying to keep control as his heart beats a bit faster, “Don’t make me be mean.” You feel him squeeze your wrists.

You whine again, leaning forward, “Nooo, jus’. See. We’ll match! My eyes are pink, you’ll’s be pink,” even in his hold, you use a finger to point at your face then his face, rings glinting in the dim lamp light of your room.

Rob grunts, his grip shifting to something a little less firm. This is the worst idea.

“I don’t wanna match. I don’t wanna be sparkly.” He says, though his voice is a little shaky in the moment. He just wants to close the gap between you two.

The words though, literally seem to break your heart as you frown, hands going limp in his hold as your eyes shine, “Y’don’t wanna match with me?” You ask softly, absolutely torn apart by his statement.

“Stop that.” He whispers harshly, narrowing his blues at you. The little pout is enough to make his cock swell more, his heart pound in his chest, make him forget all the reasons why this is not something he should be doing.

“I-I just..” he starts, argument dying before he can even come up with it, his mouth dry, “just get the damn glitter.”

Another happy squeal leaves you as he lets go of your wrists, hands returning to your hips. Your own hands dig in the pile, finding the item you used hours ago. “Here, see! It isn’t pink pink it’s a softer pink so it won’ even show up really.” Rambling, leaning in after swiping your finger in the product and then over one of his eyelids.

He tenses as you lean in just as close as before. The smallest sensations make him tremble, and his back arches slightly. He shouldn’t be doing this, this is dangerous territory. But he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he lets you swipe away. “There,” he whispers.

“Other one,” You slur, so matter of factly, doing the other one with the pad of your ring finger. You begin giggling, fixing it a little as you wiggle happily ontop of him, “You look prettyyyy.”

“Shut up.” He manages to growl out. The way you act proves just how drunk you are, and it only makes his brain more fuzzy. He should’ve said stop, he should’ve gotten you off his lap the moment you clambereed onto him. But he hasn’t and isn’t doing any of those things.

“I’m not pretty, I’m a zoologist.”

Giggles galore, the pink pot of glitter tumbles down with the rest of the products as you use your hands on his chest for support as you sway, “Think the lady big cats will have a crush on youuu?”

“Doubt it. If they liked pretty, they’d be all over you.” He rolls his shoulders, trying his best to ignore the way your arms push your tits together. He’s pushing his limits here. “You’re really drunk, huh?”

You giggle at his words, his compliment, and when he asks that you just hum, leaning down to nuzzle your head into his neck with your fronts flush together, back arched, “Mmmmmm… yes.”

“You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover.” He murmurs, arms slipping around your waist and keeping you flush against him. You can feel how tense his muscles are, his belt buckle knocking into your crotch, cold through your panties and sending a shock up your spine that you don’t react to. He inhales, smelling the scent of your shampoo, something vanilla, mixing with the alcohol and makeup and perfume. He’s warm, your safe space always, even now.

He feels like he’s a teenager again, getting wrapped up in his first crush. This is so unhealthy. Yet he holds you tightly, feeling your legs on either side of his waist, body heat warm on his.

Suddenly you gasp, sitting up abruptly, looking at him as if he offended you. Your hands find his in a smushing grasp, “Lipstick.” You completely forgot to give him lipstick. You move, climbing off of him, off the bed, losing a heel in the process as you go to your vanity.

This is such a bad idea. His thoughts hammer through his head as he watches your drunken form moves, looking at your little stand of lipsticks. He fingers tense, curling against the duvet, jaw tensing. You find what you’re looking for and Jesus Christ, climb on the bed on your hands and knees, crawling up his body to straddle him again like you previously were. Popping the cap off the lipstick, he groans, it’s bright red.

“You are not putting that on me.” He manages to get out, his hands staying against the duvet next to your legs.

“Bu…” You huff, “You need it!”

“I-..” He starts to groan, trying to find a way out of this, without touching you. If he touches you, he’s done for. The second he lets his hands wander after the sight you just gave him, he won’t be able to resist. “Just… just stop, I don’t need lipstick.” His tone sounds frustrated, more angry at his hardening cock than you.

But the color matches yours, a deep pinky red covered in gloss. Whining again, wiggling, complaining, “I did-.. everything else,” You gesture with a wave of your hand, “it looks silly without lipstick.”

“Stop wigglin’ around on me like that.” He outright warns, voice throaty. But he doesn’t push you away, not even when your ass pushes against the growing bulge in his jeans. “I don’t need lipstick.” He tries again, tone firmer, “This is a stupid idea, don’t-”

“‘s no’ stupid.” Whimpering, sitting your weight fully on him. Your dress rides up your thighs a bit more, tormenting him. “Do you not like that color?” You whine, swaying a bit.

“I like the color, looks pretty on you.” He grumbles, the sight of your dress hitching up further nearly enough to break him. In fact, every little movement you make is nearly enough for him. You’re making it so hard and so easy for him at the same time, and he has no idea which side is winning. “Just stop moving for a second.” He hisses, cheeks warm under the blush you gave him earlier.

“‘m not!” You complain, fully convinced you’re right as you bounce, wiggle, swaying at you lean forward. His belt buckle knocks into your clit, making you whimper in complaint, hand on his chest. He can feel the heat, the weight over his cock. Your drunken state makes things that are already too damn unbearable absolutely impossible.

“Y/N-” He grunts.

“Y’ don’ like the color, just, admit it.” You keep whining, sitting upright fully, holding the lipstick in front of his face. You sway a little again, a little too much because you start wobbling to the right. His hands are already on your waist, catching you.

“Jesus-” He groans, heart skipping a beat, “Just stay still.” He can feel his breath quicken, hands firmly holding your waist.

You’re already giggling when you start to fall, his hands nice and warm tickling your sides. You wiggle to adjust, upright, eyes lidded as he barely has to use any strength to keep you still. “Jus’ be honest you don’ like the red! What about the pink, see?” You pucker your lips, leaning forward to show off your own lipstick.

It kills him how cute you look right now. The blushing, your nicely done makeup, the dress that’s way too revealing, it makes it difficult to be really mad at you. He feels his breath hitch. “Fine.” He mumbles, barely able to move his mouth at the sight of you puckering at him, “I.. I like it.”

Giggling again, hands falling flat on his chest, “I fixed it before we started,” words smoothing together as you keep going, “so it’s perfec’.” Your hands slap his cheeks, holding his head still as you lean down and press your lips hard to his.

He’s frozen, eyes widening in a stunned daze. His brain isn’t working at the moment. And then you’re pulling away, giggling at the imprint of lipstick on his own lips now, color smeared a little.

“Y/N!” He hisses out, voice breathless.

“What?” You keep giggling, before your face drops on your gasp and smack a hand on his chest, “I should’ve asked. Sorry.” God you’re so drunk, because you start giggling again, “Looks pretty.”

Rob swallows, “Yeah?” He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, mouth dry. The feeling of your hands on his cheeks lingers and the sticky lipgloss makes heat coil in his gut. “Are you.. are you drunk enough that, if I ask you something.. you won’t remember in the morning?”

“Mm. ‘m not drunk.” You wave off, but you’re leaning down to snuggle against his neck like before, legs stretching down along his, cock pressing against your navel. You’ll be lucky to remember this right now.

“You’re drunk.” He confirms for you, a hand moving to your back and another going to stroke over your hair. “You’re a damn lightweight.. just answer the question.”

You giggle against his collarbone, nuzzling close like a kitty getting pets, “Am not! Nuh uh.. mmm.” You then become aware of his question and shrug, “Mm, probably- not.” You yawn on the last word.

He groans, your soft movements against him making it difficult to think. His fingers slide over your hair, cradling your head, “If I ask you something you’d say no to, would you say yes because you’re drunk?”

You lift your head to try and look at him, back arching further as you crane up, hips pressing down against his denim. “Mmmm, how do you-” you plant a finger on his chin, “know I’ll say no.”

“Because I know you too damn well. Just answer the question.” He repeats.

“Not enouuugh.” You stretch your arms up a bit, laying your cheek back against his chest, “I do-.. anything y’ask me, doesn’t… matter if ‘m drunk.”

“You’re an idiot.” He mumbles into your hair, fighting back a smile.

You whine, tilting your head back up, chin on his chest, “Tha’s mean..” Pouting a little, you stare hard before planting your hands on his cheeks like before, “Can I kiss you? I’ve always wan’ed to kiss you.’ You blurt out of no where, also seemingly not remembering I did kiss him to transfer my lipstick.

He’s silent for a few moments. The words are a hit to his heart, and his cock. He wants you so badly. He grumbles in protest, but he doesn’t have the heart to push you away. All he can do is grit his teeth, “Don’t… don’t say that just because you’re drunk.”

“‘m noooot.” You defend, “I wanna. You’re pretty and I love you.” You shake his face back and forth, wiggling atop him.

“I know, I know,” He murmurs, not wanting to push you off even as you wiggle on him, swaying. He’s gotta compliment himself on his patience and will to not move because you’re nearly grinding onto him. “Just… just go to sleep, huh? I know you really wanna kiss me but.. you’re drunk.”

“I don’ wanna sleep,” It leaves you in a whine again, so whiny tonight, tits pressed flush to his chest, “Wanna… do y’no’ wanna kiss me?” Pouting, you seem hurt by the idea you think of.

Your pouty attitude is enough to melt whatever remaining resistance he has towards kissing you. You’re so drunk, so needy… so damn hot right now. He’s already in too deep, he just couldn’t push away if he tried.

Not unless he wanted you to be unhappy.

“Just… just one. Okay? Then I’ll put you to bed.”

An excited squeal leaves your lips, wiggling to get closer, but it just makes your hips grind down into him and you exhale with a puff of air through your nose. Hands still holding his face, you crowd into his personal space, leaning down and pressing your lips on his. Eyes fluttering closed, he groans, hands sliding onto your hips to keep you stable. Every movement of your hips make him shamelessly grunt now, heart beating in his throat.

He tries to keep it a short kiss, but your tongue licks over his lip, lipstick smearing over both your mouths as he caves and parts his own lips. Your tongues meet and it makes you whine softly, breathless, and a long, low moan comes from him. He easily takes dominance, one kiss becomes a bit of tongue becomes making out.

He seems to snap out of it, pulling back, panting softly, “Dammit, you..”

Except your lips are already trailing over his chin, down his neck, “Mmm, more.”

This is a terrible idea. “That’s enough.”

Panting against his neck, you whimper, a pouty noise, “But I wan’... want mooorre.” You plead sweetly, back arching as your hips press into him, dress hiking up over your hips with the effort. The harder part of denim covering his zipper rubs into your clit and you moan.

It’s like a flip switches for you and him, as you push your hips down again to meet his, craving that friction again. “Rob, mmm, please, more.”

A low rumbling groan reverberates in his chest, his cock straining in his boxers as he fights the urge to grind up into you. “You need-” he tries to say before he’s overtaken by your whiny moans, “Y/N.. god.”

Against his better judgment, he pulls you back, kissing you hard, his hands squeezing on your hips. Your hands grab at his face, his jaw, whining lewdly against his lips with the slick noise of your tongues meeting. “Rob- mmh!” Pleading, begging.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, his hands sliding over the flesh of your ass to roll your hips down into him, his knees bending a bit for leverage. His lips make a mess of yours, smearing color onto your chin and above your lips, panting between open mouthed kisses. With a moan of your name, he leans up a little, lips moving onto your neck feverishly. Lidded eyes, he can still see the smeared lipstick his own lips leave on your skin, making a shudder run up his spine. You’re arching, head tilting to the side as a hand curls into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands work your hips down, fabric of your dress riding up higher around your waist as you draw your knees back up to properly straddle him, you need it, need him, more.

“Fuck,” He groans against your skin, letting you roll down onto him, his fingertips pressing into your ass so hard they turn white. His grip turns tighter sliding up to your hips as he tries to still you, God dammit he shouldn’t be doing this now.

“No- wan’ it,” You’re pleading so sweetly, trying to press down onto him with a gasping noise. Your panties are ruined, slick turning the fabric darker and sheer, his lips suckling at a spot on your neck that makes your eyes roll back with a whine, “Rob!”

He hums against your skin, “Just-” He can’t resist. He doesn’t want to. His one and only goal in this moment is to give you more. He knows he shouldn’t… but this is what you want right?

And he’d do anything for his favorite girl.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, easing your hips back down in a slow rhythm, teeth nipping at you in little bites, suckling over them to soothe the barely there pain. His hands shift up to your hips, expecting to find the bunched up hem of your dress but instead he feels the soft cotton, smooth lace waistband of your panties. It makes his cock ache, a groan leaving him as his big hands rub over the skin, thumbs catching on the lace but not pulling it down, sucking another hickey into your skin. “Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

You shift, tilting your head up, glossy lips finding his neck and leaving sticky pink residue on his tanned skin. His head falls back against the duvet, growling lowly as he breathes out. Another grateful moan leaves you as he cants his hips up against you, denim pushing against the slick fabric of your panties, and if the music downstairs and you’re own moans weren’t so loud he’d have heard the slick noise it made.

Rob rolls over, hand on your back as he lays you on your bed, hovering over you. Your legs drape over his lap, his knees digging into the bed as he grinds his hips down with a louder moan this time. He’s still fully clothed, rutting against you and causing you to cry out. The spaghetti strap of your dress is falling off your shoulder, back arching as you grab onto his biceps with a whine, “Rob, please, need- need it,” your dress is hiked up your waist now, and looking down he can see the cute panties you wear ruined by your slick.

“You want it huh?” He pants out, arms bulging as he holds himself up over you. A part of him hates how this is the only way he’s gotten you, but another part of him loves it, you’re so desperate, needy, begging so nicely for him. He grumbles something against your neck.

“Yes!” Your hands are trembling, shoving them between your bodies to try and undo his belt. You can’t get a good grip though, not with the way he keeps rutting his hips down, “Rob,” you whine, needing help.

He obliges, sitting up on his knees with a hand ghosting over your thigh, the other undoing his belt flawlessly. It clanks as his fingers twist to undo his button, “You want it that bad?” He mumbles, his own skin flushed down to his neck, zipper undone as he lets go of your thigh to push his jeans down his hips.

“Yes! Yes, ple- mm, pleeaase.”

The sight of you squirming like that has him moaning softly, pushing his boxers down a few inches to finally get his aching cock out. He leans over you for another kiss, sloppy, panting against each others mouths. His hands paw at you, pulling your panties to the side, fabric wet against his fingers. Your own hands find his hair, tugging at the hair tie that keeps it half up, getting rid of it. He breaks the kiss just to go biting at your neck again, one hand between your legs. A finger pushes into you almost immediately, both of you moaning, he just has to feel you. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, skin sticky with slick as he pushes in deep.

“Please,” He pleads this time, “I need to-”

“Take it, ‘m begging, please Rob.” You interrupt, tangling your hands into his soft hair and tugging it back to keep it from falling in his face. His grasp tightens even more, and he already decided he can’t say no to you. He pulls his finger out, fisting over his cock to spread your mess before pushing in slow. It draws a loud groan from him against your neck, making your back arch as you practically wail, hugging him tightly.

“God- sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’-”

“Mmm! Rob, Rob,”

“Easy, y’feel good, fuck.” He soothes, hips flush to yours and his pubic bone grinding into your clit as he moves slow. His elbows dig into the bed as he moves a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close. “You’re so damn hot..” He breathes, a slight whine to his tone.

Your hands leave his hair, grasping at your dress to try and tug it up, pull it down, you don’t know. He helps, free hand slipping the other strap off your shoulder and tugging the neckline down to free your tits, no bra. He groans softly, instinctively leaning down to latch his mouth to one of your nipples.

“Rob-!” His tongue swirls around the peak, sucking hard, moaning against your boob as the other is massaged roughly by his hand.

“So good,” He mumbles, not willing to pull away fully as he suckles, hips speeding up as his knees spread further. He adjusts his position and lets loose, hips smacking into yours hard with a loud slap of skin each time. It has you jolting against the bed each time, weeping with moans and whines. He eventually swaps tits, sucking on the other and massaging the spit soaked one, lips straying from your nipple to mouth at your skin and leave hickies.

He sits up a little to take in the sight of you, and his cock throbs. Your covered in hickies on your neck and tits, nipples reddened and swollen, lipstick smeared on your neck and mouth. Even your eyes are shiny, starting to water and smear the eyeliner on your lash line as tears drip down into your hair. His hands find your face, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the mess and smoothing over your chin, “So messy sweetheart.”

As if you couldn’t get any hotter, you tilt your head down and capture his thumb in your mouth, sucking at it and it makes him growl, hips pounding into you harder. You’re both panting, he’s pulling all kinds of embarrassing noises from you, little squeals and whimpers. Reluctantly, he pulls away from you to grab his shirt hem, tugging it up and tossing it onto the floor.

Greedy hands find his chest, feeling his muscled form, scratching over onto his back as he cages you in with his arms again, hair falling in your face. A hand hikes your hips up further onto his lap before resuming the hard pace, and he whines out your name as his eyes flutter. The hand on your hip slides, trying to push your dress up and off you. You assist, arching your back to tug it up and over your head, leaving you in just your panties and a single heel.

Hands find his back again, “Hah- mmmph! Harder, Rob- please,” you can’t even string proper words together. He nearly snarls at the plea, giving you what you want as he pounds into you. Slick drips down your ass, making a mess of his cock, his jeans, the bed.

“You’re- fuck!” He pants, forehead dropping to your collarbones. He can’t even hear the music downstairs anymore, nor the people, just the pounding of his own heart in his ears and your sweet whiny noises. Your hands run along his back, scratching the skin, feeling the scar on his shoulder blade.

“I’m gon’- Rob! I can’t-” Tears roll into your hairline, sweat making your skin clammy.

“I know, it’s okay, fuck,” he growls, “Y’can cum.”

“Uh- huh-” The heat coils further and further, tighter, one of his hands slipping down to practically smack against your clit, rubbing with three big fingers in circles, fingers turning slippery.

The coil bursts, an orgasm ripping through you that has you sobbing against his hair, gasping for air as you tremble. You’d fear you’d have blacked out for a moment if it wasn’t for the way you heard him moan, cock slipping from your pussy to cover your stomach in cum, groaning your name low into your neck. He can feel you shuddering, trembling, aftershocks jolting through you and him. Your thighs pressing against his waist going limp, he bites at your neck, licking over sweaty skin with a satisfied noise.

You’re a mess. A good mess. Chest heaving as you pant, your eyes fall shut, makeup smeared at the corners. One of his hands moves to your cheek, cradling you so gently, thumb swiping under your eyes, leaning in to kiss your lips.

“Mmmmm.” You hum happily into the kiss, slow, soft, all muscles like jelly.

“God, you’re a mess..” He mutters once he pulls away, eyes staring at you like you’ve hung the stars. He kisses your cheek, brushing hair from your face, wiping more tears away, “Are you okay?”

You start giggling when he calls you a mess, weak hands grabbing at his biceps, “Mmm… mmhmm.” You hum lazily, exhausted.

A genuine smile spreads over his face, a laugh leaving him at your reaction. “How drunk are you? Y’gonna forget this?” He whispers, voice a bit raspy.

Another tear, body slowly calming down, giggling again, “‘m not drunk..” You defend, arms looping around him for a hug.

“Oh really?” He smiles, his own arms keeping you close as he hovers over you. He pulls out, a mess of slick coating his cock and dripping from your entrance, making his breath catch and a shock of arousal spread through him again. But you nuzzle into his neck, pulling him down onto you more.

“I love you.” You mumble. You say it just like you do before you hang up with him on the phone, when you two part ways after lunch, but you mean it.

He tenses, cradling you in his arms as he slides over onto his side, pulling you close. His grasp on you tightens, not intentionally, subconsciously not wanting to let you get away. “You love me?” He plays softly, chin resting on your head.

“Mmm..” This is different. “No’ like.. normal.. but.. I really do.” You nod, getting sleepy already.

He tilts his head and stares down at you, eyes a bit wide. Surely you’re joking, right? Before he can form words, you relax into his arms and mumble again, “Y’don’t have to… say it back. Jus’.. stay tonight.. please?”

Part of you fears he doesn’t feel the same, that this will be a nice dream before it all goes to shit in the morning.

He hears your words, his arms tightening around you. He wants to say that he loves you too. That he means it. That he’s felt this way for a long time. But the words are caught in his throat, lips barely able to form a whisper before you’re already asleep.

—

The noise of the party has died down over the past few hours, well into the early morning. You roll over, makeup products crunching under your weight and a stray arm still around you. The uncomfortable plastic makes you whine, blindly shoving at the items. Rob is still awake at this point, though he’s half asleep. Your whine makes him murmur, brows raising a little as he turns his head to you. Rather than speaking yet, he wraps his hand around your front and tugs you back against him.

“Mmm..” You grunt with the movement, turning to look up at him with bleary eyes, still a little drunk but some alcohol has worked its way out of your system.

He cracks a little smile down at you, “Hey..” he murmurs, hand brushing your hair back.

You giggle softly, leaning into his chest, “Hi.”

His chest vibrates with a chuckle at your drowsy state. He admires you silently, petting over your hair, the other hand on your bare waist. “I hope y’don’t hate me in the morning.”

A frown tugs at your lips, pushing into a pout, still not being very rational, “Why would I?” It leaves you in a little whine, latching onto him like a koala. One arm over his chest, leg thrown over his lap.

He laughs quietly at your whining, the way you cling to him, something he’s familiar with. “You don’t regret what we did?” It’s a genuine question, the worry in his voice clear that he’s concerned about you waking up in the morning and feeling shameful.

“Mm mm,” you shake your head, eyes so in love as you stare up at him, “Do… do you?”

“No.” The answer is immediate, “No I don’t.” His hand squeezes on your waist softly, though he wonders if you really understand the gravity of it right now.

Deep down you know. You’ve thought about this more times than you can count and it happening whilst you’re drunk might have been the only way you would’ve allowed it to come true, too fearful of ruining the entire friendship we’ve built over the years.

His response comforts your bleary mind as you nuzzle back into his neck, mumbling a content noise.

He doesn’t let a good moment be spoiled, holding you close to fall back asleep.

—

The morning after, he’s slipped downstairs to make some coffee. Luckily the house isn’t very trashed, just lots of garbage to take out and drinks to clean up, a living room to rearrange properly again. Footsteps on the hardwood catch his attention as you come into the kitchen. Hair messy, makeup smeared on your skin and eyes, picking at something in your eye, in his shirt.

The sight alone has him exhaling softly, he can’t stop himself from staring. “Morning..” He murmurs, trying to sound more put together than he is.

You shuffle over, blindly hugging him, arms looping around his bare waist. For a moment you just stand there, his hand finding your back, before you lift your head up with your chin on his chest. Despite the pounding headache you have, you start giggling at the sight of him, a hand reaching up to smear on his eyelid, “I didn’t do a bad job…” Commenting on his, backwards, sloppy makeup job you gave him.

You’re so adorable. He breathes out with a smile, shaking his head, “No you didn’t.” Kissing your forehead, he loops both arms around you. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

You let a few moments of silence linger, resting your cheek on his chest against as you think. You remember every moment from last night, every action that led to you two fucking. And you don’t regret it. But you also don’t want to dwell on it, make it some big conversation, that doesn’t feel right. So instead, you tilt your head up again, “Do you wanna take a bath together?”

He stares for a moment, as if expecting something else, “You mean, like, right now?”

“We are kinda… nasty.” You mutter, shrugging your shoulders. Smeared makeup on both your faces, necks, not having cleaned up from last night either. He huffs a small laugh at that, nodding in agreement.

“You want to?” Rob rubs his hands up over your back, smiling.

You seem to hesitate for a moment, staring up at him, before nodding. Not just in confirmation to the bath, but to this. The hesitance seems to make him understand a little better. You had said it wasn’t a regret, and now you’re acting normal, close to him, standing in his shirt with what he’s gonna assume a hangover headache.

This was intentional. A deliberate decision on your part. He grins, and hikes you up against him, hands under your thighs. You squeal out a noise, grabbing onto his shoulders so you don’t fall, “Rob!”

Not that he’d ever drop you.

———————♡

[triplesilverstar]

One thing Vash doesn't want to wash (but probably should)

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: P in V sex, riding, clothed sex, creampie

Word count: Roughly 1.7K wordsA/N: Part 21 of the series. A chance to relax in a hotel, and you and Vash need to do laundry which isn't out of the ordinary for the two of you since you do go several weeks out in the desert. And while Vash is in the shower, you keep looking at a piece of his clothing that isn’t getting a wash. After a while you find it hard to ignore.

At the sound of running water you glance at it, hanging there, before going back to the book the hotel owner had let you borrow. Barely a paragraph read and you’re looking at it again. Back to the book. Shifting in your underwear since the rest of your clothes was downstairs being washed, the only clean clothes left in the room belonging to Vash. Shaking your head and trying to focus on the book again.

Where you keep re reading the same damn line. Slamming it shut, mind decided, you stand up dropping the book on the mattress and heading towards it. Vash’s coat. You’ve felt the soft fabric between your fingers enough that as of late, your mind has been wandering to what it would feel like wrapped around your form. Fingers ghosting along the pauldron that’s permanently attached to the left arm, fabric folded in such a way that it sits against the metal. 

You realize it’s now or never, because you honestly don’t want Vash to know how much you’ve been curious about his most eye-catching piece of clothing. Pulling it on you laugh softly, it hangs off your shoulders like a child in their parents clothes. You’re not a small person, but you certainly don’t have the broad build that Vash does, carefully hidden beneath his clothes. 

Wearing it you realize how well it does hide his size, and minus the broadness of the shoulders it feels good wrapped around you. Something else begins to invade your senses as you stand there, the smell coming from the fabric. Sunbaked sand on arid winds, used gunpowder, and a hint of citrus, you just aren’t sure what kind. All you do know is, it’s a smell that encompasses everything you associate with Vash. Hearing the bathroom door open you freeze. Shit. You weren’t supposed to still be wearing this, and certainly not in just your underwear. 

A soft chuckle resounds in your ears as he steps into view, towel wrapped around his neck to catch the water droplets, another around his waist. “I was curiou-” he presses two of his fingers to your mouth to silence you, before reaching behind you to pull the hood up over your head. So careful as if he’s touching glass as he runs the damp skin of his hand along your face, looking at you with a look you can only describe as one of adoration. Feeling your heartbeat speeding up inside of your chest. Feeling a little strange, fully encased in the fabric that normally adorns your lover. Removing his hand and reaching onto the table beside the two of you and unfolding his sunglasses and sliding them onto your face with a tenderness you didn’t was possible. 

“You look cute in my clothes” you feel the heat racing up your cheeks, eyes meeting his, which are dancing with mirth. Stepping closer so there’s almost no space between the two of you, leaning down to catch your lips in a tender kiss. 

Well. A kiss that starts out tender, quickly growing more desperate, his damp hands coming to rest on your hips, giving them a squeeze. Your own hands reaching out to touch his chest, fingers dancing along his skin and tracing patterns into the skin and metal. 

Gasping you have to pull away from him, your lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen inside of them. Sliding your hands up along his chest, and behind his neck, interlacing them behind his head. Playing with the dripping tresses, always so soft, freshly showered or not. 

Still watching his face, his own hands now sliding up and down your sides, the pupils of his eyes dilated with his desire. Licking his lips “how long before the laundry needs to be turned over?” Voice hoarse as he moves his face closer, running the tip of his nose along your eyebrows, warm breath washing over your face. “I’d say about another half hour based on your shower and the cycle you said you selected.” 

Pressing a kiss to the tip of your own nose before standing to his full height “Good” gripping your hips and picking you up, a show of his strength you don’t often see. Squealing in surprise and wrapping your legs around his towel covered lower half. “I wanna watch you fuck me in my sunglasses and coat.” 

Nipping your lips and neck as he moves you over to the bed, using that strength once more to pull you off his body and dropping you on the mattress, watching you bounce before ripping the towel from his neck and waist. 

Hands hooking the edge of your underwear and pulling them down, tossing them to the top of the table. An easy find for when the two of you finish. “Leave everything else on” his voice dropping an octave as he watches you, giving his cock a few pumps and you’re licking your lips. “I want you to ride me Mayfly.” 

“Then get in bed.” You tease, reaching out and fondling yourself making a show as you moan from your own fingers and toss your head back. Bed dipping as he joins you, settling in the center and tapping his thighs. An invitation you don’t need to be told about twice. Scrambling along his body and laughing as the sleeve of the right arm gets tangled under you. 

Both of you laughing as Vash pulls you onto his body, hands quickly moving to roll up the sleeve somewhat so you can at least touch him without the fabric getting in the way.

Lifting you hips and shuffling again, wrapping a hand around him and smirking as his hips jerk. Feeling the precum smearing against your skin from the contact that came with that movement, lining him up and pressing his head into your slit before dropping your hips and taking him in one go. Remaining in place while your core adjusts to his size, licking your finger free from the wetness that had landed on them from both of your bodies. 

“Damn, you look good like that.” Now that you're settled, his hands are going to your hips giving them a brief squeeze while he’s waiting for you to finish adjusting. “Just remember Mayfly, we’re on a deadline.” 

Raising your eyebrows at him you slow your licks, making a show of sticking the pink muscle out and around your fingers. Groaning as he watches you, eyes narrowing and you can feel him twitching inside your walls. A soft giggle and you start to ride him, almost right away moaning, his cock hitting all the right places inside your body. Catching his eye you grin, squeezing your inner walls and adding a roll to your hips having him press against different parts inside of you. “That’s it Sunshine.” Humming and placing your hands on his abdomen for more leverage, growing sweaty with his much too big for you coat wrapped around your frame. 

Laughing as a thought hits you “Save a Toma, ride a Plant.” Vash snickering under you, pinching the skin of your hips. “Sorry Mayfly. This Plant wants to be a one woman mount.” Laughing more at his response, feeling it warm your heart while you take pleasure from his cock rubbing hard deep inside of you while you keep moving your hips. Lifting almost halfway up his cock now, moaning as you work both of you to completion. A harsh inhale from him drawing your attention and opening your eyes. “Damn you look good wearing my stuff and fucking me senseless.” 

You’ll have to take his word for it, reaching up and pushing his sunglasses more onto your face, feeling them slowly sliding down your nose. World once more changed to the shade he sees it in you smile, dropping your hips to his choosing to roll your body. Clit hitting against the fine hairs at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck I feel sweaty.” Panting as you keep rolling your hips, how the hell does he even run in this thing? His hands squeeze your hips again and you can see the veins of his throat starting to stand out as his neck arches.

“Almost there Mayfly.” His own hips moving now, bucking up into you while you keep rolling your own. Panting as he keeps going, hitting deep inside of you before his hands are pulling you hard against him. Hissing and you feel his cock throbbing as he cums inside of you, spurting his sticky seed deep inside you. Feeling those spasms weaken, Vashs’ hands slide up your body tugging you towards him, so your chest is pressed against his. 

Hand rubbing along your back, keeping the fabric of his coat from pressing against your skin. Coming down from his post orgasm high you giggle, looking into his smiling eyes. “So, you gonna throw your coat into the washer after this?” 

A snort and a light smack. “Nah. It I'll smell like you now, so when I smell it I’ll be reminded how good you look in my clothes and sunglasses. Unless you wanna go for a few more rounds?” Wiggling his eyebrows and giving his hips a wiggle making you laugh and slap his chest. “Go deal with our clothes first.” Rolling off his body and still wrapped in his scent wafting from his clothes, making sure none of it is under your dripping slit. Pressing his lips to yours as he sits up, grabbing his clothes and getting ready to head down to the main floor of the hotel. 

“Don’t move” a wink and a grin sent your way. “I’ll be back for round two.” Laughing as he leaves, glad you had given into temptation and put his coat on.  

Back to Masterlist for the series