#look I make my cocktails strong but not THAT strong

[thr0wnawayy]

Rei-Demption: A problem and my solution (ft. Rei's trauma and Hori's bullshit)

Might as well give my shot at it.

My take on Rei's personality has always been based in suppression.

Rei's whole life has been a balancing act of doing enough to protect her family, while still staying within the lines to not get disposed of.

She's everything Enji isn't. An iron will, a golden heart and a strong sense of empathy.

So with that in mind, hopefully it she'd light on it thought process with this post

A theory I have is that Rei was aware of the hospital's corruption

These panels always felt off too me, it always made me wonder: "does she know?"

The wording is very specific.

"I told him I liked it, around the first time we met. But only once"

It always struck me as odd, We're talking about the man who looked at his eldest death and kept going, man who destroyed multiple lives for a redundant pipedream.

It's not even why would he remember such a small detail, but rather how?

Unless... the doctors are feeding him information.

Think about it, who pays for all this. Surely it's not Fuyumi, on account of this being a massive money sink.

You really expect her to pay for all that on a teachers salary?

It can't be Natsuo because Enji has likely cut him off from everything to his name.

And that's assuming Enji even bothered to save up a college fund for any of them. Plus Natsuo is a full time student of medicine.

If the doctors are watching her every move, looking for any sign of deviation from the narrative then it makes sense for her to disguise her words.

Of course there's still more

Having PTSD isn't something you can keep someone institutionalized for. Especially when Rei's is very proportionate, given what she's gone through. (No, Japan's stigma of mental health wouldn't justify this)

I mean what are Rei's triggers?: Enji and that's about it.

"But we still... haven't met face to face, I'm still too afraid"

That's a standard reaction to have to your abuser (especially when he raped you multiple times)

('Just stop' gets a whole lot darker when you consider it's context)

Not to mention she's no longer fearful of anything resembling Enji, just Enji himself. So there is no real reason to keep her there unless they are afraid she might speak out.

This whole thing makes me think she's trying to tell Natsuo and Fuyumi what's really going on, in a way.

Subtly and under the calm, complacent mask she's expected to wear, in case anyone else is listening. Anyone who could report back to him.

It might also be she doesn't trust them. Fuyumi or Natsuo could blab or say something within earshot that could set Rei back months.

And she can't have that, not with how close she is to finally breaking free. She loves her children, all of them but the trust just isn't there, how can it be when when they don't have all the pieces.

So here's my theory: The hospital staff are in Enji's pockets. Either taking bribes (as recent as Dabi's Dance) or they were given a large sum of hush money when Rei was first hospitalized, with the goal of keeping her there as long as possible and possibly molding her to either keep her mouth shut or (sickeningly) gaslight her into returning to Enji.

(Note how she was only released when they could no longer keep a lid on things, the moment Dabi frops the bomb. She's out, no struggle)

This paints a picture of grotesque corruption, sloth and apathy (the very same cocktail that created Shigaraki) even by Hori's narrative standards. Shedding light on just how deep MHA's despotic nature goes.

The anime makes this even more apparent. Rei's fake smiles make the whole thing that much more viable. She seems so dead, it's like she smothered her soul or something.

I've seen both the sub and dub of this scene. The sub is the correct translation, the same as the Manga panel above.

The Dub however, while severly off mark, adds it's own flavour of dread. Rei sound so hollow, it was jarring the first time I heard it.

It sounded like she was reading a script (in-universe). Like she'd rehearsed this in her mind a million times, staring at the same 3 white walls + the window and waiting for an opening to finally speak.

That was supposed to be Shoto, until the dorms ruined that. Suddenly Rei's lifeline is gone, reduced to letters that don't even tell half the story.

10 years, 10 fucking years reduced to lines on a page.

Can you imagine the despair, dear reader?

The frustration. The sheer vitriol coursing thorough her veins, far hotter than Touya could ever manage.

Having to do the same thing she's been doing even before she was locked away. As the the skeleton in the closet of a criminal with a license.

Wearing masks for so long you can hardly breath and in the brief moments you can take them off. You can hardly recognize yourself, how you once were.

It must be the truest form of hell.

The Rei-demption Arc

Rei's redemption arc takes the attention of our theoretical arc without overtaking it.

The arc would mostly focus on the more domestic aspects of our trio being: Midoriya, Shoto and Uraraka.

A few minor changes would occur. The dorms never happen, allowing the characters to exist outside of UA.

There is solid confirmation that Fujiya is corrupt and is keeping Rei institutionalized on illegal grounds (ie: not meeting the criteria set up to ensure her silence)

The dinner scene would still happen only it would bd framed for what it really was. A pathetic attempt at creating a moment that never existed.

There's no family with Enji.

Just a family held hostage and a tyrant. I have my own grievances with Fuyumi, but I'll leave that for the future.

The only difference besides Natsuo being properly portrayed as a victim acting well within his right, the reasons for our trio going would be for Shoto's emotional wellbeing, because he asked them to.

Uraraka could have a moment where she realizes that money is as much as good as it is bad. An actually decent shift into her change of goals.

Here Enji motivates her to "watch the watchmen". Her need for money is still a crucial part of her reasons for becoming a hero, but she also has a more front and center goal.

I'd imagine she has a moment parallel to Midoriya's during the Sports Festival.

Where (alone in front of the Dojo after the failed dinner) she rightfully calls out Enji for being a self pitying piece of shit and that "sorry" doesn't cut it.

"You've hurt them in ways you can't imagine." Would probably be the last thing she says before walking away.

She may not know the whole story but she knows it hurt them and that's enough.

Rei's ascent

Rei's biggest hurdle is accepting that she was also an abuse victim. She's furious but she's only furious on her children's behalf and what they lost.

Her unintentionally harmful actions weigh on her, be it her neglect or the night she scalded Shoto, these events have impacted her deeply.

She learns to reconcile with her past, improve her relationship with Shoto and even meets Shoto's friends at one point.

Eventually she finds closure but that's later on.

She also acts as an advisor at times, having given Shoto the idea of using Ice projectiles (as seen in the Licensing Exam)

The second half comes from the Hospitals corruption, as Rei learns that she is long overdue for release (by about 8 years) among other horrific practices. This would play out as the arc's B plot, building up to what I call "The Summit"

The Summit

Eventually Rei fights Hood.

After gathering the evidence, she escapes the hospital. Planning to go to Natsuo for protection. As she's walking across a crosswalk however, she hears what sounds like an explosion.

Eventually she hears screaming and is forced to use her quirk as a bus is suddenly sent hurdling in her general direction.

As of her body moved on its own, she envelops it in her ice. Stopping the bus and saving those behind her in the process.

Only to see Hood land on top. They lock eyes and Rei can't help but see Touya in Hoods ambition.

In response to Rei holding her ground, Hood dashes. Rei counters this by manipulating her ice to send him crashing into an empty building, impaling him on the glaciers end.

Hood is impressed by Rei's proficiency and chooses to fight her.

Rei having no experience, fights for her life. Where as Rei avoids Civilians, Hood has no care for them which forces Rei to play the role of hero.

Rei uses every weapon in her arsenal in order to stave off Hood, who only gets more relentless as the battle stretches on. The upside is Hood's regeneration struggles in the cold, which Rei is constantly producing.

Each side gets blows in, with Rei taking them surprisingly well but still being worse for wear. Hood notes this saying "as if y-you've done t-t-this before" (close, Hood very close)

Eventually Hood gets the upper hand, towering over Rei in a manner that triggers her PTSD and leaves her stunned.

One of the civilians (Horoshi Tameda) emboldened by Rei's efforts, picks up a loose chunk of pavement and chucks it at Hood's back. It hits, causing Hood to look back.

Civilians begin making loud noise, others begin picking up anything they can find and throw it at Hood. Further catching him off guard long enough for Rei to snap out of her episode and strike back.

From here the fight kicks into high gear, with Rescue heroes & paramedics arriving on the scene and a camera crew recording the fight from above. Overall I imagine the scene to be very uplifting, with the Orchestra swelling as Rei prepares a final attack.

The move rivals that of Shoto's, arguably even surpassing it. Hoof is incased in a prison of Ice, covering an entire city block worth of destroyed buildings. And the fight finishes with Rei collapsing to her knees.

From here on out things change. Rei's newfound fame leads to the hospital being forced to do their job. Because of this Rei gets out early (around the time the Internship arc would started had I not scrapped it)

As for what this could lead to I'll let you decide. I'd love to read some suggestions.

Bonuses:

Theories:

The reason they kicked Fuyumi from her job is because she covered an abuser's ass for years. While Fuyumi is a victim, it doesn't excuse her complacency in regards to Enji's treatment of Shoto before and after his "self pity" arc.

Natsuo didnt go to someone because he wouldn't likely be believed, being seen as bitter and untrustworthy (his time away from home wouldn't help with pinning evidence).

Extra:

Hood survived the fight, Rei opted to capture him as opposed to kill him. That doesn't mean he didn't get frost bite. Police found out it is very difficult to question a Nomu.

Out of all her trauma. Rei accepting she was never given a choice will be the hardest to accept.

Rei's family is not inbred, rather her parents ran away so her father wouldn't be forced into a marriage with his cousin. Only to ironically do the very same to their daughter.

Hiroshi still becomes a meme, his 'Can't you see speech' leads to him becoming a motivational speaker.

The reason Hood appeared is because Dabi lost track of him. He nearly had a heart attack when he discovered his mom was holding the Nomu off.

[cookinguptales]

[GLASS ONION SPOILERS BELOW]

a story in three acts:

1.

2.

3.

[that-fic-girl]

HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1

Head canon: what it would be like to date them.

characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox

disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!

Alastor

he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.

First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.

If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.

PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.

everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.

his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings

"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"

"you looked ravishing today my dear.."

"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"

Angel Dust

Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.

you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.

his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;

"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"

"but sweets..you're soooo warm"

"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"

yeah good luck with that.

nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.

Husk

Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality

You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.

Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.

Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.

vox

You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.

He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.

You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.

Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.

"i've missed you today babe.."

"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"

[pucksandpower]

Hands On

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: celebrations after Lando’s first win get a bit hands on after he notices your obsession with a certain body part

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request

The pounding bass rumbles through the Miami club as Lando pulls you close, his arm snaked around your waist. The dim lights cast his face in chiseled shadows as he lets out a whoop of joy.

“We did it!” He yells over the music, eyes bright with elation. “My first bloody win!”

You beam up at him, heart swelling with pride. “I knew you could do it.” Standing on your tiptoes, you plant a lingering kiss on his lips, tasting the tang of celebratory champagne.

Lando grins against your mouth before reluctantly pulling back. “Let’s get a drink to toast, yeah?”

Nodding vigorously, you allow him to lead you through the crowd to the bar. Lando orders some lurid cocktails that probably cost more than an average person’s weekly grocery budget. You don’t care — tonight is for indulging.

As he hands you a glass, his calloused fingers brush yours, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You quickly look away, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did.

“Alright there, love?” Lando asks with an amused quirk of his brow.

You force a laugh. “Just, uh … got a chill, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” He gives you a look that says he’s not buying it, but allows the subject to drop for now.

The two of you migrate to a plush VIP area, sinking into the soft leather couches. Lando slings an arm around your shoulders and you snuggle into his side, basking in his warmth and earthy scent.

God, you’re so proud of him.

“To us,” Lando murmurs, clinking his glass against yours. “And many more race wins to come.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You take a sip of the violently purple concoction. It tastes like alcoholic cough syrup but you don’t care.

As the alcohol works its magic, you feel yourself relaxing further into Lando’s embrace. Your eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the delicious smattering of faint freckles, those gloriously long lashes ...

Your gaze catches on his free hand resting on the arm of the couch. You find yourself fixating on those slender fingers, the calluses from years of clutching the steering wheel ...

“Y/N?”

You start, blinking rapidly as Lando’s voice pulls you from your trance. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“You’re staring again.” His lips quirk in that devilishly handsome half-smile.

Flushing hotly, you look anywhere but at him. Or more specifically, his hands. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you absolutely are.” Lando chuckles, low and teasing. “Go on then, what’s so fascinating?”

You squirm uncomfortably, feeling your face heat up even more. How to put this delicately ...

Apparently catching onto your distraction, Lando sits up straighter, settling his drink on the table with a muffled thunk. “Actually, don’t bother answering that. I think I know.”

Before you can protest, he reaches out to gently grasp your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb strokes your flushed cheek as those clever eyes bore into yours, equal parts amused and intense.

“It’s my hands, isn’t it?” Lando murmurs, voice dropping to a low rumble that has your heart tripping in your chest. “You can’t stop staring at my hands.”

You open your mouth to deny it, but Lando’s penetrating stare has you frozen, the words sticking in your throat. Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

Lando hums in acknowledgement, the pad of his thumb still caressing your skin in a maddeningly distracting way. “They are rather nice hands, to be fair. Years of keeping a firm grip, you know?” He winks at you roguishly.

You make a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. Goddamn him and his innuendos.

“Would you ...” Lando pauses for dramatic effect, gaze dropping to your parted lips briefly. “Like a closer look?”

Every rational neuron in your brain screams at you to say no, this is too far, you’re in public, oh god. But your desire-muddled mind doesn’t seem to be receiving those signals. Instead, you give another mute nod, feeling yourself leaning the slightest bit closer.

“Yeah?” Lando’s voice is barely more than a gravelly rumble now. “You want my hands on you, don’t you?”

You make a tiny whimpering sound of assent, mouth suddenly bone dry. Your eyes drop of their own accord to those wicked fingers, still cupping your jaw so tenderly.

Lando lets out a quiet chuckle, deliciously sinful. “How bad do you want it, baby?”

Squeezing your thighs together self-consciously, you manage a strangled, “S-So bad ...”

“Good girl.” The praise has you melting into a puddle right there on the couch.

Then, in one torturously slow movement, Lando lowers his hand from your face … trails his knuckles down the column of your neck … over the swell of your chest … all the way to the hem of your skimpy dress. He hooks a finger under the silky material, drawing it up your bare thigh with agonizing leisure.

You inhale a sharp breath at the sensation of his rough skin on your flushed flesh. Your eyelids flutter shut, every nerve ending thrumming with exquisite tension.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back open at Lando’s commanding tone. He gazes back, brows raised in silent challenge. You force yourself to hold his searing gaze as his hand maps lazy circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Good girl,” he praises again, the words liquid sin. “Nice and relaxed for me.”

Despite the burning awareness of being in a public place, you feel yourself subconsciously parting your thighs ever-so-slightly, allowing those talented fingers higher access. Heat pools between your legs, your rapid pulse thrumming double-time.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” Lando husks in approval. “I fucking love how worked up my hands get you.”

As those dexterous digits tease feather-light strokes over your quickly dampening underwear, you have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stifle a whimper of shameless need. Every touch from him sets your body alight with feverish want.

“Shhh, inside voice, darling,” he chides quietly, humor dancing in those multicolored eyes. “Don’t want to cause a scene, do we?”

You rapidly shake your head, wholeheartedly agreeing. The last thing you need is for someone to wander over here and catch you being debauched by your boyfriend in a public place.

The thought should probably mortify you more than it does.

Lando gives you a crooked grin, like he can read your deliciously filthy thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises again, rewarding you with another teasing caress between your legs.

You suck in a shuddering breath, spine arching ever-so-slightly as Lando’s sinful fingers work their magic through the damp fabric. He knows every spot that drives you crazy, rubbing and stroking with perfect pressure until your inner muscles quiver with delirious need.

“You’re dripping for me, love,” he murmurs in a thick rumble. “Been thinking about my hands on you all night, haven’t you?”

No use denying it anymore — not with the embarrassingly loud squelches coming from between your shamelessly parted thighs. You give another frantic nod.

Lando makes a tutting sound. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes,” you force out in a ragged whisper. Already, your breaths are coming faster, the molten coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with every deft stroke. “God, Lando, please ...”

“Since you asked so nicely ...” With those words, he slips one long finger under the sodden lace, finally making direct skin-to-skin contact with your aching heat.

You choke back a moan as he delves into your dripping folds, crooking his finger to find that spot that makes you see stars. Alternating between tight circles and firm strokes, Lando works that magic digit at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hips lift shamelessly into his touch, desperate for more friction.

“So greedy,” he chides with a dark chuckle. But he acquiesces, slipping in a second finger to join the first.

You have to clamp your lips shut to muffle the broken keen that tries to escape. The stretch and burn as he scissors you open is pure bliss. Your inner walls flutter greedily around the delicious intrusion.

“Like that, baby?” Lando’s hot breath ghosts your cheek as he leans in close. “You feel so fucking good stretched around my fingers.”

You nod frantically, nails digging into the buttery leather as he starts pumping those wicked digits in a steady rhythm. Each slick thrust has your whole body tensing and the knot in your core winding ever tighter.

“You take me so well,” he praises in a hoarse rasp. “Always so tight and perfect around my cock too. Can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy later.”

A broken whine escapes you at the filthy promise. Your thighs are trembling now, pleasure spiking through your veins with every curl and drag of those talented fingers. You’re quickly spiraling higher, that euphoric edge looming tantalizingly close ...

Lando’s free hand drifts up to toy with the strap of your dress, tugging it down to bare one straining nipple to the heated air of the club. He leans in to lave his tongue over the tender peak and you practically convulse in his lap. Too much, too good, you’re going to combust-

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your damp skin. “Let go.”

The low, commanding growl is your undoing. With a strangled cry, you shatter apart on his fingers, back arching as the pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves. It whites out your vision, every nerve ending set alight in blinding ecstasy.

You come back to reality cradled in Lando’s arms, his lips brushing reverent kisses over your damp hairline. As the pulses gradually subside, you slump bonelessly against his chest, thoroughly spent.

“That’s my good girl,” Lando murmurs, rich voice laced with smug satisfaction. He slowly retracts his drenched fingers with one final curl that has your body giving a languid shudder.

A blissed-out hum is all the response you can muster right now. Your eyelids are heavy, head swimming in that delicious post-orgasmic haze. Lando chuckles softly, tightening his embrace as he drops another kiss to your brow.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me yet, yeah? The night’s still young, love. Got plenty more celebrations planned for you ...”

***

The door to the lavish hotel suite bursts open with a bang as Lando practically shoves you through the entrance. You stumble slightly on your high heels, drunk on anticipation and champagne fumes. Before you can regain your balance, his strong hands are on you, spinning you around to pin your back against the nearest wall.

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night,” Lando growls against the sensitive skin just below your ear.

You shiver at the rumbling timbre of his voice, already growing hazy with rekindled desire. “Y-You already did at the club ...”

He rewards your cheek with a teasing graze of teeth. “And you were such a good girl, taking my fingers so nicely in front of everyone.” His hips grind against yours, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his arousal. “But now I want more. Need to be inside you properly.”

A broken whimper escapes your parted lips as Lando’s hands roam greedily over your body. You arch shamelessly into his possessive grip, craving his burning touch everywhere at once.

“Arms up,” he commands in a gravelly murmur.

You immediately comply, and he wastes no time in dragging your skimpy dress up over your head, leaving you in just a flimsy scrap of lace. His heated gaze rakes over every newly exposed inch of bare skin with undisguised hunger.

“God, look at you ...” Lando exhales a harsh curse through gritted teeth. “I swear you get more gorgeous every bloody day.”

Face flushing beneath his scorching appraisal, you resist the urge to cover yourself with your arms. You know he prefers an unobstructed view.

“Turn around,” he orders in a voice that brokers no argument. “Hands on the wall.”

You spin obediently, biting back a needy whimper as your breasts brush the cool surface. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer from the blazing anticipation alone.

There’s a pause where you can practically sense Lando’s eyes devouring the lines and curves of your body. You fight the urge to squirm beneath his piercing scrutiny. Then his callused hands are on your hips, squeezing with delicious possessiveness as he steps in to blanket your back with his solid heat.

“Already so wet for me,” Lando observes in a rough purr, dragging your lace underwear aside to reveal your slick folds. “Seem to recall you liking a taste of your own medicine at the club, hmm?”

The tip of his index finger glides through your arousal in one torturously slow pass, gathering the evidence of your desire onto his skin. Before you can so much as draw a shaky breath, he brings that glistening digit to hover just in front of your parted lips.

“Open up, love.”

You moan softly in anticipation, obeying without hesitation. The instant his finger slides into your mouth, your eyes flutter shut in wanton bliss. Your tongue swirls around the thick digit, hungrily lapping up every last trace of your own tangy essence.

“That’s it, nice and sloppy,” Lando praises in a low, heated rumble. “Show me how much you love the way you taste on my fingers.”

Spurred on by his heated words, you begin sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm. The slick sounds of your efforts fill the air, the wet noises doing absolutely nothing to quell the rising tide of arousal between your legs.

Behind you, Lando exhales a harsh curse. “Fuck … so bloody good at that. Should’ve known you’d look perfect with my fingers in your greedy little mouth.”

A fresh gush of arousal floods your center at his filthy words of approval. You can’t help the desperate whine that vibrates around his digit as you increase your pace, desperate to drive him as crazy as he’s driving you.

“Alright, enough teasing now.” There’s the sound of a zipper rasping, then suddenly Lando’s other hand is shoving yours away from the wall and around to grasp his newly freed erection.

You moan again, shocked but overwhelmingly aroused by his boldness. He pumps his length slow and purposeful, engulfing your smaller hand with his larger one to set a languid but firm pace.

“Good girl, that’s it ...” he rasps out harshly. “Wanna feel how hard you’ve got me, baby? Aching to be inside your perfect cunt ...”

At his filthy words, your core pulses with a fresh rush of molten want. You can feel the fat head of his shaft nudging demandingly against the crease of your thigh, leaving smears of pearly fluid on your heated skin.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, Lando spins you back around to face him. His eyes are blazing with dark, predatory hunger as he swiftly sheds the rest of your flimsy underwear. Then he’s hauling you up by the backs of your thighs, pinning you against the wall with his hips nestled firmly against your aching core.

“Tell me what you want,” he rumbles in a tone of deliciously wicked authority. The thick head of his erection drags through your slick folds in one maddening tease after another.

You whine high in your throat, scrabbling at his broad shoulders for purchase. “P-Please, Lando! Need you inside me ...”

“Need me to what?” He tilts his hips in a slow, torturous grind, spreading your arousal in a slick glaze. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as you try to pull him closer.

Lando rewards your begging with a wolfish grin. “As you wish.”

And with one slick thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, stretching and filling you in the most exquisite way. Twin groans echo through the suite — his a guttural growl, yours a high-pitched mewl of relief.

There’s an endless moment where you both simply still, savoring the friction of being so intimately joined. Lando’s forehead drops to your shoulder, the pair of you panting harshly against one another’s sweat-slicked skin.

Then he starts to move.

It starts with a slow roll of his hips, languid but purposeful strokes that drag his length through every last velvet inch before pulling nearly all the way out. You clutch desperately at the carved muscles of his back as he sets a relentless pace, each powerful thrust punching the air from your lungs.

“So tight ...” he grits out in a gravelly burr. “Taking me so deep, god, you feel incredible...”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the feeling. Every nerve is alight with shuddering bliss.

Soon Lando’s lazy rhythm devolves into harsh, pounding strokes, the harsh clap of flesh on flesh echoing like thunder. The solid wall at your back provides delicious traction as your boyfriend jackhammers up into your fluttering heat with rapidly mounting frenzy.

“Yes … yesyesyes!” The breathless affirmations tear from your lips in sync with each punishing slap of his hips.

“Can hear how much you love this, getting pounded against the wall like a desperate little thing,” Lando rumbles with dark approval. “Am I hitting all those perfect spots, baby? Making that greedy cunt squeeze me so damn tight?”

“So close, so close!” You chant in a high, thready whine. Your release is rapidly building, that glorious crest just out of reach.

As if sensing your desperation, Lando shifts his grip so one hand can snake between your bodies. His clever fingers instantly find the swollen bundle of nerves at your apex and start working tight, purposeful circles with just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god ...” The frantic mantra punches from your lungs in time with his feral thrusts. You can feel yourself teetering right at that blissful precipice, every nerve pulled tourniquet-tight with impending release.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lando coaxes in a rough growl. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock ...”

His filthy words are your undoing. With a sobbing cry, your vision whites out in a supernova of shattering ecstasy. Pleasure rockets through your veins in pulsing waves, every muscle locked in the most beautiful torment. Vaguely, you feel Lando snarling curses against the fevered skin of your neck as your convulsing walls grip him in scorching velvet vice.

When your senses finally begin drifting back to you, Lando is peppering your sweat-dampened face with gentle kisses. He brushes the mussed hair from your brow tenderly, eyes brimming with naked adoration.

“So perfect for me,” he murmurs in hushed reverence. “Every bloody time. Fuck, I love watching you fall apart.”

You manage a weak, boneless smile at the affectionate praise, still riding the afterglow. You feel deliciously hollowed out, pleasantly achy in all the right places. Like every muscle has turned to warm honey.

After another moment, Lando carefully lowers your trembling legs until your wobbly knees find purchase on the plush carpeting. He frames your face with those gloriously rough hands, calluses catching on the flush of your cheeks.

“That good for you, love?” He asks with a hint of gentle teasing.

“Mhmm ...” You nod drowsily, leaning into his solid palm. “S’always good with you.”

Lando’s answering smile is bright enough to power every chandelier in the lavish suite.

***

“Baby, where are you? I’m home!”

Lando’s voice rings out as the door to your shared flat opens with a muffled snick. You pause your lounging on the couch, book falling forgotten to your lap as he steps inside, hauling a discreet black bag.

“In here!” You call out with a smile, already tingling with curiosity.

He appears in the doorway, flashing you that signature crooked grin that always has your insides melting. “There’s my gorgeous girl. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You sit up a little straighter, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Rather than answer, Lando moves to the couch and deposits the bag between you two with a heavy thunk. Your brows shoot up quizzically.

“Well someone’s being mysterious,” you tease, giving the matte exterior an experimental prod. “What’s in this, Mister Norris?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he gestures towards the zipper pull.

Fighting a grin, you obligingly grasp the metal tab and pull, allowing the discreet covering to gape open. The first thing you register is a tangle of padded straps and buckles in sleek black leather. Then your eyes catch on the protruding shape nestled securely in the center … and you promptly choke on your own tongue.

It’s a hand. Or rather, a perfectly molded silicone model of one — every crease and callus captured in lifelike detail down to each delicate whorling fingerprint.

A whimper catches in your throat as realization slams into you with dizzying force. This hand … this hand with those long, talented fingers you’ve fantasized about more times than you can count … this hand is modeled after Lando’s.

“Oh my god ...” The words slip out in a strangled exhale. “Lando, is this ...”

His expression is carefully neutral, but the fiery glint in his eyes gives away his smug satisfaction. “You’re always going on about how much you love my hands. Figured you deserve to have the full experience whenever you want it, love.”

“I ...” Words temporarily fail you as you lift the shockingly realistic appendage free of its padded enclosure. The weight and articulation is uncanny, from the subtle flare of knuckles to the blunt tips of each digit. It’s almost unsettling how realistic it is.

You glance up to find Lando observing you with dark, hooded interest. His tongue darts out to wet his lips in a reflexive tell of arousal.

“What do you think?” He asks in a low, rough murmur. “Want to take it for a test drive?”

Heat lances straight to your core at the blatant suggestion. You reflexively squeeze the silicone digits in your grip, reveling in the slinky give and firm resistance. Already you can vividly imagine those fingers pumping into your dripping heat, stretching and stroking with that same delicious friction you’ve come to crave ...

“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulls you from your lust-hazed daze. His eyes are blazing now, pupils blown wide. “Need you to use your words, sweetheart ...”

You make a small, needy sound as your thighs instinctively shift in subtle search of friction. “Yes … yes, I want to try it. Please ...”

That’s all the encouragement he seems to need. In the span of a heartbeat, Lando is divesting you of your thin cotton shorts and guiding your legs apart to settle between them on the couch. The hand rests heavy and solid in his palm as he holds it aloft, allowing you an unobstructed view.

You bite your lip against a whimper, already flushing with a heady cocktail of arousal and shameless anticipation. Lando’s lashes dip to half-mast as he brings the sculpted digits to his lips and lays a reverent kiss to each knuckle.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he rumbles in that low, raspy tone that never fails to have you melting. And then, with agonizing leisure, he trails the smooth pads down your chest … over the soft swell of your stomach … through the damp thatch of curls at your apex ...

A gasp punches from your lungs at the first glancing stroke against your folds. This may be an inanimate object, but its perfected shape coupled with Lando’s practiced touch feels so exquisitely familiar. Like the real thing is finally breaching that aching place inside you ...

“Bloody hell, you’re already dripping,” Lando observes in a rough growl. The flexed digits slide through your arousal in one slick pass, gathering your essence onto the sleek silicone. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Having my fingers buried knuckle-deep in that greedy little cunt?”

You can only whimper and nod frantically as he draws tantalizingly close again. That unhurried brush of solid firmness against your most sensitive flesh already has your inner muscles fluttering desperately.

“Tell me what you want,” Lando rumbles in a tone of smoldering command. Those clever fingers circle your aching entrance, spreading your slick arousal in a torturous tease.

“T-The hand,” you stammer out in a pitchy whine. “Lando, please ... I need it i-inside me ...”

A wolfish grin curves his lips as he rewards your obedience with a searing kiss. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are blazing with liquid smoke.

“As you wish.”

Then Lando is tipping the toy at just the right angle to catch on your swollen entrance. With one smooth, purposeful thrust, he sheaths every last inch to the knuckle root inside your clenching heat.

The fullness is glorious, that solid silicone bulk stretching you wide in the most delicious way. Every delicate ridge and contour drags against your velvet walls with maddening friction with the slightest movement.

“Fuck ...” Lando practically snarls the curse through gritted teeth as he begins pumping the toy in a slow, purposeful rhythm. “So goddamn hot seeing you grip it like this, baby … squeezing so perfectly tight.”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation. With each careful stroke, Lando angles the silicone fingers to create a firm nudge against that spongy cluster of nerves. Jolts of electricity hoot up your spine until you’re shuddering and whimpering.

“There you are ...” Lando’s voice is a rumbling growl of smug satisfaction as he locates that magic spot. “Squirming like a desperate little thing on my hand.”

To punctuate his words, he rotates his wrist with a purposeful flex of hard knuckles against your tender front wall. The exquisite pressure has your hips jerking upward in a helpless spasm, eyes flying open to lock gazes with your wickedly grinning boyfriend.

“Like that, do you?” He husks, lips brushing your cheek. “Never seen you make noises like this before. So hungry for my fingers buried deep...”

As if to emphasize the slick sounds already filling the air, Lando picks up the tempo of his thrusts in rapid, punishing strokes. The squelches are more erotic than anything you’ve ever heard as he rails you open on that delightfully thick silicone.

“Oh god, oh g-god ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as white sparks begin bursting across your vision.

“Let it happen, baby,” he coaxes. “Need to see those gorgeous walls fluttering when you come ...”

With a startled cry, your spine bows off the cushions as your long-awaited climax finally detonates. Searing pleasure lances through every nerve ending in tsunami waves. You’re vaguely aware of choking out Lando’s name over and over in a breathless keen, your inner muscles flexing uselessly around the thick silicone toy.

When you finally drift back down, it’s to the feeling of damp hair being brushed from your brow. You blink blearily to find Lando gazing down at you with naked awe and unguarded adoration.

“You’re a vision like this,” he murmurs reverently. The hand-shaped toy is finally, carefully extracted with a slick sucking sound that has you flushing. “So beautifully ruined all because of my hand ...”

In a tender gesture, Lando cradles the back of your skull and brings the glistening silicone digits to your parted lips. The clean, musky tang of your own arousal coats every contour.

“Clean it up, love,” he commands. “Know how much you love the taste ...”

You moan faintly at the filthy demand, feeling a fresh slick of heat pooling between your legs. But there’s no way you can deny him this or yourself the heady intimacy of such an act. So with hooded lashes, you obediently part your lips and take those thick fingers onto your awaiting tongue.

Lando’s low groan of approval vibrates through your very bones as you seal your lips in a tight ‘O’ and suck with wanton fervor. The harsh breaths punching from his lungs spur you on, swirling your tongue over every crease and imprint hungrily.

“So fuckiny gorgeous,” he grits out in a tone of strained reverence. “You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?”

As if to emphasize his words, Lando shifts position — and you suddenly become aware of the painfully rigid line of his erection pressing against your hip. With a needy whine, you instinctively grind up against that hot, insistent length through the thin barrier of his athletic shorts.

Your boyfriend’s lashes flutter as he bites back a growl. “Easy there, minx. You’re going to get me inside you soon enough.” He nips sharply at the bolt of your jaw, silicone fingers still working your slack mouth in shallow thrusts. “But first I want to watch you come apart on the real thing one more time ...”

A full-bodied shudder races through you at the dark promise underlining his words. With a pitchy sound of submission, you allow your heavy eyelids to slip shut and your jaw to unhinge obediently around the thoroughly used toy.

Every expert curl and flick of those clever digits is centered on the singular goal of dismantling you again. You’re powerless to resist, simply allowing the heady l sensations to crest higher and higher. Lando’s hoarse rumbles of encouragement cradle you, pushing you higher until you finally shatter into sublime oblivion once more.

And fuck, you love it when Lando’s hands on.

[wannabehockeygf]

greedy - quinn hughes

“He said ‘I’m just curious, is this for real or just an act?’

Can’t tell if you love or hate me,

Never met someone like that.”

summary: when you’re a bartender in a popular local club, the captain of the canucks who’s also one of your regulars takes a liking to you

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 9.3k. i’m so sorry.

warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight degradation.

notes:

- this is soooo different for me! have never written about a hughes brother before even though they’re super popular here.

- missing vancouver hockey. sorry leafs nation.

- also this is probably some of the nastiest smut i’ve ever written!

- not proof read

- the eye colour thing again… sorry if they’re green.

***

Friday nights at The Roxy Cabaret were like trying to squeeze into your favorite pair of jeans after Thanksgiving dinner—uncomfortable, chaotic, and leaving you questioning your life choices. Honestly, it felt like the entire population of Vancouver had made a pact to invade this dingy club all at once. Not that you were complaining, though—well, maybe a little. It wasn’t like you had a choice; the rent wasn’t going to pay itself.

Sure, you worked there, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hold a deep, burning, soul-crushing hatred for the place, right? Well, okay, maybe "hatred" was a bit strong. You did occasionally wander in on your nights off, blend into the crowd, and pretend you were just another twenty-three-year-old who didn’t have to worry about the bartender recognizing you. Because let’s face it, you needed a break from serving vodka sodas to tipsy twenty-somethings trying to relive their high school glory days.

What really got under your skin, though, was the crowd that showed up when you were on the clock. And by "crowd," you meant the entire Vancouver Canucks roster, who seemed to think The Roxy was their personal post-victory playground. It wasn’t that you disliked hockey—you were indifferent to it, like you were to a distant relative’s Facebook posts. If it was on, fine, you’d watch. But you weren’t exactly lining up to buy season tickets.

Most of the guys were fine—great even. Some of them were downright charming, the kind of guys you wouldn’t mind chatting with when things slowed down. Plus, they tipped like they were trying to make it rain dollar bills in a music video, which you appreciated. But then there was Quinn Hughes.

Oh, Quinn. Captain Smug himself. He had a way of getting under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

"Another round, please, Princess," Quinn drawls, tapping his fingers on the bar like he owns the place.

You grit your teeth, mentally counting to ten as you shake up a cocktail. "Can you get Brock to order it? He isn’t an egotistical asshole."

Quinn just laughs, that infuriating smirk of his widening even though he looks like he could use a nap. "Aw, come on, Princess, don’t be like that. You know you love me."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. Instead, you stick to your customer service script. "That’s not my name," you say, yanking out shot glasses like they owe you money.

"I know," Quinn says, brushing a strand of hair out of his face like he’s in some cheesy romance movie. "But you act like a princess, so it suits you."

Oh great, now your jaw’s tightening. Fabulous. You grab the tequila bottle with a little more force than necessary. "What do you want from me, Quinn?" you ask, trying not to let your annoyance seep too much into your voice.

He leans in closer, his smirk practically reaching his ears. "How about a smile, Princess? Is that too much to ask?"

You force the kind of smile you reserve for customer service nightmares, tight-lipped and entirely devoid of warmth. "Is that good? Can you go now?"

Quinn chuckles, taking the tray of drinks from you like he’s doing you a favor. "Always so feisty. But I like it. Keeps things interesting."

"Fuck off, Quinn," you mutter, wiping down the counter with the enthusiasm of someone scrubbing a crime scene. "I’m not here to entertain your ego."

He leans in even closer—so close you can practically count the flecks of mischief in his eyes. "But you do entertain me. Every time you brush me off, it just makes me want you more."

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Just because you’re some big-shot athlete doesn’t mean you can treat women however you want."

Quinn’s gaze slowly trails up from your lips, where it’s been lingering far too long, to meet your eyes. "Ah, come on, you know I always take good care of you."

And damn it, he’s right. Quinn is probably your biggest tipper out of the entire team. And while you like the money, you hate seeing his stupid messy brown hair and annoyingly pretty blue eyes at your bar every time they win.

"Sure you do," you say, swiping someone else’s card through the machine, mentally willing him to disappear into the sea of other customers.

You watch Quinn walk away, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like he’s parting the Red Sea. It’s infuriating, really, how someone so damn annoying can also be so… well, hot. There, you admitted it. The guy is hot. Like, "should come with a warning label" hot. But that doesn’t mean you’re about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you think that. No way. Not in this lifetime, or the next, or even if you were reincarnated as a particularly enthusiastic poodle.

Quinn Hughes is the human equivalent of a pop-up ad—persistent, unwanted, and impossible to get rid of without a lot of cursing. Every time you brush him off, he just comes back stronger, like he’s powered by your irritation. And maybe that’s what’s so maddening about him. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he enjoys every second of it.

The problem is, you’re starting to wonder if you enjoy it too.

Nope. Not going there. You are not going to be one of those girls who gets all flustered over a guy just because he’s got a good smile and a credit card that could probably buy out half the bar. You’re stronger than that. You’re resilient. You’re… currently mixing a drink with far more focus than necessary because all you can think about is what it would be like to grab him by the collar of that too-tight shirt and kiss that stupid smirk right off his face.

You’re shaking your head at the absurdity of it all as you pour the next round of shots, hands moving on autopilot. It’s bad enough that Quinn Hughes has invaded your workspace like some kind of hockey-playing parasite, but now he’s wormed his way into your thoughts too.

“Get a grip,” you mutter under your breath, lining up the glasses like they’re little soldiers marching to their doom. Because really, that’s what this is—a battle of wills. A tug-of-war where the prize is your sanity, and you’re losing.

A couple of your regulars wave you over, and you force your focus back to them, slapping on that customer service smile that’s become second nature by now. They’re nice guys, the kind who tip decently and don’t try to flirt with you in that obnoxious, entitled way that some customers do. They’re also blissfully ignorant of the 5’10, 180 pound storm cloud currently hovering over your head, which is exactly how you like it.

But just as you’re starting to enjoy a break from the chaos, you catch sight of him again. He’s leaning against the bar a few feet away, talking to Brock, who seems completely unfazed by the fact that Quinn has probably just sent your blood pressure through the roof.

You steal a glance at Quinn, hoping he won’t notice, but of course he does. He always does. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you forget how to breathe. It’s ridiculous, really. The guy’s just standing there, doing absolutely nothing, and yet he has this stupid effect on you. Like he’s some kind of gravitational force, pulling you in against your will.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on the drink in front of you like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. But it’s too late. The damage is done. Your brain has already gone down that treacherous path, imagining what it would be like if you gave in just once.

But that’s a dangerous game, and you know it. Because if you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. Hell, he’ll probably take the whole damn kilometer. And then where would you be?

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight, not ever.

You’re not sure when exactly it started—the whole Quinn Hughes thing, that is. Maybe it was the first time he sauntered up to the bar, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t. Or maybe it was the time he tipped you a hundred bucks just for bringing him a water, like he was trying to buy your affection. Which, spoiler alert, didn’t work. Or so you’ve been telling yourself.

But you can’t deny it any longer: Quinn Hughes is a problem. A major, five-alarm, get-the-fire-extinguisher kind of problem. Because somewhere along the line, your irritation with him has twisted into something… different. Something dangerous. Something that makes you wonder what it would be like to grab him by that annoyingly perfect jawline and just—

“Hey, Princess, you gonna make me another drink or just stand there daydreaming?”

And there it is. That voice, like smooth whiskey poured over gravel, cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. Of course it’s him. Because Quinn Hughes has a sixth sense for when you’re starting to get a grip on your sanity, and he’s hell-bent on ruining it.

You set down the bottle of vodka you’ve been holding, turning to face him with what you hope is a look of mild disinterest. “Back so soon? Didn’t think you could tear yourself away from your adoring fans.”

Quinn grins, leaning against the bar like he’s got all the time in the world. And maybe he does. After all, what’s a Friday night without irritating the bartender who’s secretly trying to figure out what color your eyes really are because the lighting in here sucks? Not that you’d ever admit to that. “I just couldn’t stay away from you, Princess. You know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Again, not my name.”

He taps his fingers on the bar, a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. “I know. But I like it. It suits you.”

“What, because I won’t roll over and worship the ground you walk on?” you shoot back, crossing your arms. You know you’re playing with fire, but there’s something addictive about sparring with him. Like a game of chicken, except you’re both too stubborn to swerve.

Quinn’s grin widens, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Damn him. “Exactly. I like a girl with a backbone.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words get stuck somewhere between your brain and your tongue. Because for some reason, all you can think about is the way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only person in this crowded, chaotic club that matters.

So that’s why you decide to go for it.

“You ever had hate sex, Hughes?”

You can almost see the gears in Quinn’s head grind to a halt at your question. The usual smug smirk falters for a split second, and it’s the most satisfying thing you’ve seen all night. You’ve finally done it—left Quinn Hughes speechless. But the victory is short-lived because, as always, he recovers faster than you can blink.

“Hate sex?” he echoes, his voice dropping an octave, making you question all of your life choices up to this point. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear, and you suddenly realize you’re standing way too close. “Princess, if that’s your idea of a pick-up line, I’ve got to say, I’m intrigued.”

And there it is, that damn smirk back in full force. He’s trying to throw you off, but you refuse to back down. You’ve already started this ridiculous game, so there’s no turning back now.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you reply, your tone as steady as you can make it. “Ever had hate sex?”

He lets out a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine—not that you’d ever admit it. “I don’t know. Guess we’d have to define ‘hate sex’ first.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your mind racing with all the ways this could go horribly wrong. But damn it, you’re committed now. “I’m pretty sure it’s when you can’t stand someone, but you still want to rip their clothes off.”

Quinn’s eyes darken just a fraction, and you can feel the tension between you both ratchet up to an unbearable level. It’s like the entire club fades away, leaving just the two of you locked in this absurd, heated standoff.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “You want to rip my clothes off, Princess?”

You clench your jaw, determined not to let him see how flustered you are. This is Quinn Hughes, the guy who drives you up the wall every single time he walks into this bar. There’s no way in hell you’re about to let him get the upper hand.

So, you do the only thing that seems appropriate. You lean in, so close that your lips are almost brushing his ear, and whisper, “Maybe I just want to shut you up for five minutes.”

“You think you could handle it?” His voice is a low rumble now, and there’s something about the way he says it that’s got your stomach doing somersaults. “Because if we’re going there, I don’t do anything halfway.”

Oh, for the love of— You’re pretty sure your face is betraying you right now, showing just how much his words have affected you, but you can’t let him know that.

Quinn is still watching you, eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a challenge there, a dare hanging in the air between you, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. Too close. Close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, and those damn blue eyes that seem to see right through your carefully constructed defenses.

For a moment, you consider backing down, playing it off as a joke. But then Quinn would win, and that’s simply not an option. So, you double down, leaning in just a little bit closer, your breath brushing against his skin.

"Handle it? Quinn, I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to." Your voice is steady, but inside, your heart is doing its best impression of a drum solo. This is insane. You’re flirting with Quinn Hughes. Quinn Hughes, the guy who spends his Friday nights at your bar making your life just a little bit more complicated than it needs to be. The guy who seems to take an unholy amount of pleasure in riling you up. The guy who—God help you—makes your pulse race every time he so much as glances in your direction.

Quinn’s lips curve into a slow smile, and you can’t help but notice how annoyingly perfect his teeth are. Of course they are. Everything about him is infuriatingly perfect, from his tousled hair to his broad shoulders that you really shouldn’t be noticing right now. "You’ve got a mouth on you, Princess," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine that you desperately try to suppress.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure as you stare into Quinn’s infuriatingly perfect face. Seriously, who gave him the right to look this good, especially when he’s being such a smug asshole? You remind yourself that you don’t like him. You don’t. Except maybe you do, a little bit. Okay, a lot. But that’s beside the point.

Quinn’s eyes are locked on yours, and you can practically feel the heat radiating off him. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire—one wrong move, and you’re going to get burned. But damn it, you’re not backing down. Not when he’s looking at you like that, like he’s just waiting for you to slip up so he can swoop in and… do what, exactly? You’re not even sure anymore. And that’s the most dangerous part.

“Someone’s gotta put you in your place, Hughes,” you manage to say, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intended. You’re aiming for sassy, but it’s hard to pull off when your heart is practically doing backflips in your chest.

His smile widens, and you want to slap it right off his face, but also—God help you—maybe kiss it off too. “Is that so?” he asks, voice dripping with amusement. “And you think you’re the one to do it?”

Oh, he’s good. He’s really good. And damn it, you walked right into his trap, didn’t you? Because now you’ve got to follow through, or else he’s going to lord this over you for the rest of eternity.

But before you can figure out a clever retort, Quinn’s gaze flicks past you, scanning the crowded bar. When he looks back at you, there’s something new in his eyes—something that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “this place is a little too crowded for what I have in mind.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He’s not suggesting what you think he’s suggesting, is he? Because if he is, you’re in way over your head. And yet… there’s a tiny, traitorous part of you that’s intrigued. More than intrigued. You want to know what he has in mind, even though every logical part of your brain is screaming at you to abort mission and run for the hills.

You tilt your head, trying to play it cool even as your heart races. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Hughes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Quinn leans in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Somewhere private,” he murmurs, “Where we can… talk.”

“Talk,” you repeat, your tone dripping with skepticism. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He chuckles softly, and the sound sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Oh, you do. You’ve got a lot of ideas, most of them involving doing things to Quinn Hughes that would definitely not fall under the category of “talking.” But you can’t just give in, can you? That would be too easy, and Quinn would never let you live it down.

But then again… maybe it’s time to stop overthinking things. Maybe it’s time to let go, just this once, and see where this crazy, ridiculous, probably-terrible idea takes you.

“Fine,” you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds. “Let’s go.”

Quinn’s eyes light up with something that looks a lot like victory, but you’re not about to let him have the upper hand. Not entirely, anyway.

“Lead the way, Princess,” he says, his voice a low purr that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

You roll your eyes—because of course you do—but there’s no denying the excitement buzzing just beneath the surface. You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into, but one thing’s for sure: it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

With one last glance at the bar, you turn on your heel and start making your way through the crowd, Quinn hot on your heels. You can feel the tension between you both, crackling like static electricity, and it’s taking everything in you not to turn around and grab him by that stupidly perfect jawline right then and there.

You slip through a side door that leads to a narrow hallway, the noise from the bar muffled by the heavy walls. The air is cooler here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that dance along the worn carpet. You can feel Quinn’s presence behind you, close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Where are we going?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that makes your stomach flip.

“Storage closet,” you say, not even sure where the idea came from, but it’s out now, and there’s no taking it back. You know the staff keeps some of the extra supplies in a small room down the hall, and it’s as good a place as any to… well, whatever this is.

Quinn’s chuckle is dark and throaty, sending another shiver down your spine. “Kinky,” he murmurs, but you can hear the approval in his tone.

You reach the door and push it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room lined with shelves full of bottles and boxes. It’s cramped, barely enough room for the two of you, but that’s probably a good thing. The last thing you need is space to think about what you’re doing, because if you stop to think, you might just lose your nerve.

Quinn steps in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. The sound echoes in the quiet space, amplifying the tension that’s been simmering between you both all night.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You just stand there, staring at each other, the air thick with unspoken challenges and barely restrained desire. And then, like a rubber band snapping, the tension breaks.

You’re not even sure who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly you’re pressed up against the shelves, Quinn’s body crowding into yours, his hands bracing on either side of your head as his lips crash onto yours

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s every bit as intense and heated as the tension that’s been simmering between you from the moment you met. His lips crash against yours with a force that sends your head spinning, and for a moment, all you can do is cling to him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely.

This is no sweet, romantic moment. This is raw, unfiltered desire, born from all the frustration and irritation that’s been building between you two for so long. It’s everything you never thought you’d want, and yet here you are, giving in to it completely.

Quinn’s hands are on you now, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. And maybe he can’t. Maybe you can’t either. All you know is that this is happening, and there’s no stopping it.

“Damn it, Hughes,” you murmur against his mouth, trying to inject some venom into your words, but it comes out more like a plea. You can feel his smirk, the arrogant bastard. He knows he’s got you, and it only makes you want to kiss him harder.

Or punch him.

Maybe both.

“Problem?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. His lips are slightly swollen, his hair disheveled from your hands, and he looks annoyingly good like this. All messy and untamed, like you’ve undone him somehow, when you know it’s the other way around.

You want to tell him to shut up, to stop looking at you like that, like you’re some puzzle he’s close to solving. But you’re too breathless, too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. So instead, you grab the front of his shirt and yank him back down to you, your lips crashing together again in a bruising kiss.

He groans into your mouth, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers skimming the heated skin of your back. You shiver at the contact, hating how good it feels, hating that he knows it too. You can feel his smugness in every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

And yet, you don’t stop him.

Because you’re just as guilty.

You’ve been wanting this—wanting him—even though you’ve been denying it, pushing it away, convincing yourself that you despise him. But the truth is, that hatred has always been laced with something else. Something darker, more dangerous. Something you’re only now beginning to understand.

It’s infuriating.

It’s intoxicating.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mutter against his lips, your voice tinged with frustration as you nip at his lower lip. You want to hurt him, just a little, to remind yourself that you’re still in control, that this isn’t just him getting what he wants. But when he groans in response, his hands tightening their grip on your hips, you realize that maybe you’re not as in control as you thought.

“You say that like you don’t love it,” he replies, his voice husky as he trails kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. Your breath hitches when he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, the one that makes your knees go weak. He’s too good at this. Too good at getting under your skin.

You don’t want to enjoy this. You really don’t. But your body isn’t exactly cooperating, and the traitorous warmth pooling in your stomach isn’t something you can ignore. It’s maddening how much you want this, even as every logical part of your brain screams that this is a terrible, horrible, no-good idea.

But logic be damned, because the way Quinn’s lips are moving against your skin is making it very hard to care about consequences.

“You’re such a smug bastard,” you mutter, trying to inject some bite into your words, but they come out breathy, almost like a sigh. Ugh. Could you be any more pathetic?

Quinn chuckles against your neck, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked that about me,” he murmurs, his voice thick. His hands slide up under your shirt, fingers skimming over your ribs, making you gasp. “Or at least, you like it enough to let me do this.”

He’s right, and that just pisses you off even more. You do like it—hate it, love it, whatever it is, you’re feeling it with every nerve in your body. You can feel his smirk against your skin, and it only fuels the fire inside you.

You yank at his hair, pulling his head back just enough so you can meet his eyes, which are dark and stormy with desire. “Don’t get cocky, Hughes,” you warn, even though you know it’s a losing battle. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk still plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “You keep telling yourself that,” he says, his voice low and rough. “But we both know you’re full of shit.”

“Full of shit?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at him, trying to keep your wits about you even as his hands roam over your body. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s all talk and no—”

Quinn’s lips are on yours again before you can finish the sentence, cutting off your words with a kiss that’s somehow even more intense than the last one. It’s like he’s determined to prove you wrong, to make you eat your words, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s succeeding.

But you’re not about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that. Not yet, anyway.

You push back against him, shoving at his chest just enough to create some distance, even though your body is screaming at you to do the opposite. His eyes flash with surprise, and you smirk up at him, a little breathless but still in the game.

“Easy there, Hughes,” you murmur, your voice laced with false bravado. “I didn’t say you could take control.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into that infuriatingly smug smile that makes you want to both slap him and drag him closer. “Oh? I must have missed the memo where you were the one calling the shots.”

You grit your teeth, not entirely sure whether you want to punch him or kiss him again. Maybe both, but that would just be giving him the upper hand. Instead, you decide to hit him where it hurts—his ego.

“Please,” you scoff, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak. “You’ve been in my palm since the moment we met. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He lets out a low, amused chuckle, his breath warm against your neck. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re fantasizing about me at night?”

Your stomach flips at his words, but you refuse to let him see the effect he’s having on you. Instead, you tilt your head, letting your lips ghost over the shell of his ear as you whisper, “In your dreams, Hughes.”

But as much as you’re trying to play it cool, you can’t deny the electric tension between you both. It’s like the air is crackling with it, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. All you can focus on is Quinn—his hands, his lips, his damn voice that keeps pulling you deeper into this mess.

His hand slides down your side, settling on your hip, and your breath catches when he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together in the cramped space. You can feel every inch of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to let go. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe you don’t either.

Quinn’s lips are back on yours, but this time, it’s slower, more deliberate. Like he’s savoring the moment, taking his time, driving you absolutely crazy with how good it feels. You’re so wrapped up in it, in him, that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working on rolling up your shirt until it’s halfway up.

You pull back, just enough to look up at him with narrowed eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He gives you a look that’s all innocence, but there’s nothing innocent about the way his hands keep moving, sliding under your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin. “Just making sure you’re comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Comfortable?” you repeat, your voice coming out a little higher than you intended as his hands roam over your bare skin. “You think this is making me comfortable?”

Quinn leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “No, but it’s making you hot, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitches, and damn him, he’s right. He’s so infuriatingly right. But you’re not about to admit that. Instead, you try to muster up some semblance of defiance, even though you can feel your resolve crumbling with every touch, every heated look he throws your way.

“You wish,” you manage to say, but the words lack the venom you were aiming for. Instead, they come out breathy, almost like a plea, and you hate how much that turns you on.

Quinn grins, and it’s a wicked, knowing grin that makes your stomach twist in the most deliciously infuriating way. “I don’t have to wish,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Before you can respond—before you can even think of a comeback—he’s kissing you again, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that makes your head spin. You’re drowning in him, in the heat, the intensity of it all, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re going to lose yourself completely.

But then Quinn’s hands are on your hips, lifting you up onto the shelves, and you gasp at the sudden movement. You grab onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it hard to remember why this is such a bad idea.

“Quinn,” you murmur, trying to sound like you’re in control, like you’re not about to fall apart at the seams. But your voice betrays you, coming out shaky, uncertain, and Quinn hears it. Of course he does.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing the edge of your shorts, and you can’t help the way your breath hitches, the way your body arches toward him, desperate for more. Damn it, you shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want him—but there’s no denying it now.

“You can stop this anytime you want,” Quinn whispers against your lips, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Just say the word.”

But you don’t say anything. Because you can’t. You don’t want to stop, not when his hands are on you, not when his lips are trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Not when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to let go, to give in to this insane, reckless desire.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with everything you’ve got, trying to show him that you’re not backing down, that you’re just as in this as he is. Maybe more.

Quinn groans against your lips, and you can feel the way his body tenses, the way his hands tighten their grip on your thighs. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him, the way you can make him unravel with just a kiss, a touch.

But then his hands are slipping under your shorts, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s happening, it’s really happening, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you’re ready for this. If you can handle what comes next.

“Quinn,” you murmur, trying to sound like you’re in control, like you’re not about to lose it completely. But he’s not listening, or maybe he is, and he just doesn’t care, because his hands are still moving, still exploring, and you’re melting under his touch.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and the look in his eyes is enough to make your stomach flip. It’s dark, intense, full of heat—and, damn it, he’s giving you that smug smile again, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough and breathless, a contrast to the arrogant tilt of his lips. “You good?”

Good? Is that a joke? You’re anything but good right now. Your heart is racing, your mind is spinning, and your body—well, your body is betraying you in every way possible, pressing closer to him, silently begging for more.

“I fucking hate you,” you manage to choke out, though the words feel flimsy, a pathetic attempt at maintaining some semblance of control. Quinn’s eyes narrow slightly, and you know he doesn’t believe you for a second. But instead of calling you out on it, he leans in, his lips brushing against your jawline as he murmurs, “Then why are you so fucking wet?” He punctuates the words by brushing his fingers against the damp fabric of your underwear.

Your brain short-circuits at his words. Like, did he really just—? You���re torn between the urge to slap that smug look off his face and the overwhelming desire to pull him closer, consequences be damned. The nerve of this guy, thinking he can just—

But then his fingers move, and every coherent thought you had goes flying out the window. A gasp escapes your lips, and you curse yourself for giving him the satisfaction, but, damn it, how are you supposed to keep your wits about you when his hands are doing that?

Quinn’s watching you, his eyes dark with amusement and something much more primal. “What’s the matter?” he teases, his voice a low rumble.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to muster up some sort of retort, but all that comes out is a breathy, “Shut up,” which only makes his smirk widen. God, you want to wipe that grin off his face so badly, but every time you think you’re about to regain control, he does something that completely derails you.

Like now, for instance, when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear, and your hips jerk forward entirely of their own accord. Quinn’s chuckle is low and throaty, and you feel the vibrations of it against your neck as he nips at your skin, leaving a trail of barely-there bites that make your pulse race.

“Shutting up doesn’t seem like your style,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, making you shiver. “But I think I can find a way to keep you quiet.”

You don’t get a chance to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean because his hand finally dips lower, and suddenly, you’re not sure whether you want to moan or curse him out. Your body makes the decision for you, your head falling back against the shelf as a breathless moan escapes your lips, and you feel Quinn’s grin widen against your skin.

“God, you’re so fucking—” Your words get caught in your throat as he moves his fingers just right, and the sound that comes out of you is more of a whimper than anything else. It’s humiliating, really, how easily he’s reducing you to this—a writhing, desperate mess—and the bastard knows it.

“Sensitive, are we?” Quinn’s voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a huskiness to it now, a slight hitch in his breath that tells you he’s just as affected by this as you are, even if he’s better at hiding it. “That’s cute.”

“Cute?” you manage to gasp, trying to muster up some semblance of defiance, even as your body betrays you by arching into his touch. “I’ll show you—” Your words trail off into a moan as he circles his fingers just right, and suddenly, the only thing you want to show him is how quickly you can come undone if he keeps this up.

You're about to fire back with something scathing, something that’ll put Quinn in his place, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp as his fingers work a little faster, a little rougher, hitting that spot that has your entire body going slack against the shelves. God, if anyone walked in right now, they'd have one hell of a show.

"Something you wanted to say?" Quinn’s voice is thick with that damn arrogance, but there's a slight edge to it now, like he's barely holding it together himself. Good, you think. If you’re going down, you’re taking him with you.

"Y-you're…" You try to form a sentence, anything to wipe that smug grin off his face, but the words get tangled in your throat as Quinn’s other hand slides up your thigh, his touch hot and demanding. "You're such a…"

He smirks, his lips hovering just over yours, so close you can feel the heat of his breath. "Go on, sweetheart. I'm dying to know."

"Oh, fuck off," you mutter, but your voice lacks any real bite, especially when his fingers dip lower, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily. "Quinn…"

He pauses, his lips still pressed to your jaw, and for a moment, you think maybe—just maybe—he’s going to stop, give you a chance to catch your breath, to regain some semblance of control. But then he moves again, his fingers slipping past your last shred of dignity, and you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a curse.

"That’s what I thought," Quinn whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I knew you couldn't keep that tough act up forever."

"Screw you," you hiss, but your words are cut off by another sharp gasp as Quinn’s thumb brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh, God…"

"Already there," he murmurs, his lips finding that spot just below your ear that makes your knees go weak. He presses a kiss there, soft and maddeningly slow, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, and you can see the barely-contained hunger in them. It sends a thrill of both fear and excitement racing through you.

"Quinn, I swear, I’m gonna—" you gasp as his fingers continue their relentless assault, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "Or maybe I'll just—"

"Just what?" he presses, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to finish the sentence. "Come all over my fingers? Because that’s what you’re about to do, isn’t it?"

There’s a part of you—the sensible, rational part—that’s still trying to cling to some semblance of control, some dignity. But that part is losing, rapidly being overpowered by the heat pooling in your stomach and the way Quinn’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he wants in the entire world.

For a moment, you consider making some sort of last-ditch effort to regain control, to pull away and regain your breath. But then Quinn’s thumb brushes over that spot again, and all thoughts of self-control go out the window. Instead, a moan slips past your lips—loud and unrestrained, filling the tiny storage closet with a sound that’s undeniably needy.

Quinn’s smirk widens, his eyes darkening with satisfaction, and damn it, he’s enjoying this way too much. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re gonna come for me, yeah? Or do you want my cock instead?”

Your brain is short-circuiting, struggling to keep up with the intensity of the moment. The idea of him inside you, combined with the way he’s touching you, is almost too much to bear. You’re on the verge of losing it, and every part of you is screaming for release.

Finally, you manage a breathless, “Fuck it,” and let your hands wander lower, fumbling with his belt, your body arching against his in a desperate plea for more. You don’t care about the consequences, the logical part of your brain completely overridden by the burning need coursing through you.

“I swear, if we ever make it out of this closet,” you gasp, your fingers struggling with the stubborn belt buckle, “I’m going to have a hard time looking you in the eye.”

Quinn chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But right now, I think your focus should be on something else.”

You manage to loosen his belt, your hands shaking with anticipation. The urgency of the moment makes every touch and every breath more intense. “And what would that be?” you retort, trying to keep some semblance of your usual sarcasm. It’s hard, though, when his fingers are still doing deliciously wicked things to you.

Quinn’s fingers trace teasing circles, making your breath hitch and your body squirm against him. “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress against your ear. “Maybe on getting me out of these pants before I lose my patience.”

“Geez, Hughes, such a gentleman,” you manage, your voice breathless as you finally get his pants undone. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. It’s a heady feeling, and it’s only adding to the feverish heat between you.

You push his pants down just enough, and as you finally free his hard length, you’re met with the unmistakable evidence of his own need. The sight makes you gasp, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

Quinn groans into your mouth when you reach inside his jeans, his hips jerking forward as if seeking more contact, more friction. You’re both teetering on the edge now, the line between control and complete surrender blurred beyond recognition. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you’re not sure if you want to keep pushing him or if you just want to let go and fall into the abyss together.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” Quinn breathes against your lips, his voice rough with need, and there’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where you think you see something more in his eyes. Something deeper than just desire, something that sends a jolt of fear straight to your heart. But then his hands are on you again, pulling you closer, and whatever that look was, it’s gone, replaced by the raw, primal hunger that’s been simmering between you from the start.

You shudder as he grips your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to make you gasp. You can feel him, hot and hard against your palm, and it’s taking everything in you not to just give in, to let him take what you both so clearly want. But there’s still that stubborn part of you, the part that refuses to let him have the upper hand, that wants to make him beg, make him come undone for you.

“Say please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

Quinn freezes, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours, and for a moment, you think you’ve pushed him too far, that he’s going to pull back and leave you hanging on the edge of oblivion. But then a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Please?” he echoes, his tone dripping with arrogance, as if the very idea of him begging is laughable. “Sweetheart, I don’t beg.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you stroke him slowly, deliberately teasing, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches, his bravado faltering ever so slightly. “No?” you murmur, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip, your voice low and taunting. “You sure about that?”

Quinn’s eyes darken, and for a split second, you think you’ve got him—that you’ve managed to gain the upper hand. But then he’s moving, faster than you can react, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand while the other yanks your shorts down in one swift motion, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way that sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“You want to play games?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Fine. But I don’t play fair.”

Before you can respond, before you can even think to respond, he’s pressing into you, his body solid and unyielding, and all coherent thought flies out of your head as he finally, finally gives you what you’ve both been craving.

The world tilts on its axis as he thrusts into you, hard and deep, and you’re not sure if the sound that escapes your lips is a moan or a sob or something in between. All you know is that you’re completely, utterly lost in him—in the way he’s filling you, stretching you, driving you to the brink of madness with every rough, relentless movement.

Quinn’s breath is ragged against your ear, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. You’re so close, so fucking close, and it’s taking everything in you not to just let go, to give in to the blinding pleasure that’s consuming you from the inside out.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Quinn groans, his voice strained, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable in the way he says it, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest. “I’ve been imagining this from the first moment I walked in here.”

Your hands are still pinned behind your back, your body arched against the shelves, completely at Quinn’s mercy. And damn it, he knows it. He knows exactly how to push you to the brink, how to make you lose every ounce of control you thought you had. His movements are powerful, purposeful, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, until you’re teetering on the brink of oblivion.

“Quinn—” You gasp out his name, your voice shaking with the intensity of it all, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through you like a living thing. His grip on your wrists tightens, the roughness of his touch sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your ear, his breath hot and ragged, and there’s something possessive, almost desperate, in his voice that makes your heart race even faster. “You’re fucking mine.”

And you’re so damn close, so close to falling apart entirely. But there’s still that stubborn part of you, the part that refuses to give in, to let him have all the control. So, you tighten around him, just enough to pull a sharp, choked-off groan from his throat, and you feel a surge of satisfaction as his rhythm falters, just for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re—” Quinn’s voice is hoarse, strained, as if he’s holding onto the last shreds of his control by a thread, and it sends a thrill through you to know that you’re the one doing this to him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” you manage to breathe out, trying to sound cocky despite the tremble in your voice. “Maybe you should—”

But you don’t get to finish the thought, because Quinn shifts his angle just slightly, and suddenly, he’s hitting a spot that has you seeing stars, that has your back arching off the shelves and a cry escaping your lips before you can stop it.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the triumph. He’s found your weakness, and he’s going to exploit it for all it’s worth. “Right there, yeah?”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to keep from crying out again as he starts to focus all his attention on that one spot, his movements growing more precise, more deliberate. He’s relentless, driving you closer and closer to the brink, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel, to lose the tenuous grip you have on your composure.

“Quinn, I—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, don’t even know if you can say anything at all with the way your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps.

Quinn’s chuckle against your ear is low and dark, the sound a tantalizing contrast to the rough, punishing way he’s moving inside you. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it over the sound of you moaning my name.”

The arrogance in his voice is infuriating, but it’s also the last thing on your mind right now. Every thrust he gives you is like a jolt to your system, making it harder to stay focused, harder to cling to whatever shreds of control you have left. Your head is spinning, and you’re almost grateful for the way his body is pressed against yours, anchoring you in a whirlwind of pleasure.

You let out a breathless laugh, even as your body betrays you by arching into him. “You’re insufferable,” you manage to gasp out, trying to hold onto some semblance of your usual bravado. “And you’re really bad at this whole ‘being a gentleman’ thing.”

“Is that so?” Quinn’s voice is a low purr, his breath hot against your ear. “Keep telling me how much you hate me. It makes this so much better.”

You roll your eyes, even as a moan escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the way you bite down on your bottom lip. “You’re such a jerk,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky and breathless, betraying just how much he’s affecting you.

“Yeah?” Quinn’s breath is hot against your neck, and you feel the brush of his lips against your skin, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “That’s not what your body’s telling me, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth, determined not to let him have the satisfaction of knowing just how much he’s getting to you. But it’s a losing battle, and you both know it. Especially when he starts moving faster, his pace relentless as he drives into you with a force that has your entire body trembling.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the shelves as you struggle to stay upright. “You’re—” Your words are cut off by a sharp cry as he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you again that has your vision going white around the edges.

You don’t have time to think, don’t have time to process the fact that you’re completely, utterly exposed in a storage closet with a man who has made a sport out of driving you insane. All you can do is feel—every touch, every thrust, every ragged breath against your ear is pushing you closer to the edge, closer to losing the last of your control.

“God, you’re so… fucking… cocky,” you manage to choke out between gasps, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and desire. “It’s disgusting.”

“Mm-mhm,” Quinn’s voice is a low growl, his words vibrating against your neck as his teeth graze the sensitive skin there. “And you’re just an annoying brat who brushes me off every time I say something nice. But I figured it out, you just wanted me to rail all that attitude out of you.”

You try to respond, to counter his taunts with some biting retort, but all that comes out is a breathless moan as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more urgent. “Fuck, Quinn,” you gasp, trying to hold onto the last remnants of your control. “You’re—”

He interrupts you with a sharp, possessive growl. “I’m what? Don’t hold back now. Tell me how good it feels.”

Your head is spinning, your thoughts a jumbled mess of desire and frustration. “You’re a complete—” Another moan escapes you as Quinn hits that spot inside you again, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. “A complete… asshole,” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling.

“And you love it,” Quinn’s voice is a triumphant whisper against your ear. “You love every second of this. Don’t you?”

You can’t even respond, the pleasure overwhelming you to the point where you’re just barely able to hold onto the edge of sanity. All you can do is nod, your body arching into him, your hands still pinned behind your back, completely at his mercy.

“You’re so close,” Quinn murmurs, his voice low and rough. “So fucking close. I can feel it. And I’m going to make sure you get there. I promise.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you feel yourself starting to unravel, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. Quinn’s movements are relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the brink, until you’re on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into oblivion.

“Quinn, I—” You try to speak, but the words are lost in a cry as he thrusts into you with a force that has your vision going white around the edges.

Quinn’s grip on your hips tightens, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “Come for me,” he growls, his breath hot and urgent. “Let go. Give it to me.”

And with those words, you shatter, your body convulsing with a pleasure so intense that it’s almost painful. You cry out his name, your voice echoing through the storage closet as you come apart, your entire world dissolving into a blur of sensation and release.

Quinn follows close behind, his movements growing erratic as he drives into you with one final, powerful thrust. You can feel his release inside you, hot and thick, and it sends a shiver through your entire body. He groans against your ear, his breath ragged and heavy, and you can feel the tension in his body as he finally, finally finds his own release.

The two of you are left panting in the aftermath, your bodies pressed together in the confined space of the storage closet. Quinn’s breath is hot against your ear, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your back.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “That was… intense.”

You manage a shaky laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Yeah,” you agree, your voice still trembling. “That’s one way to put it. Now, get off of me. I have to get back to work.”

[mellowsaturns]

all to myself

CEO!BUCKY BARNES X READER

summary: after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, f!reader, soft!mean!bucky, slight bratty!reader, jealousy on reader's side, possessiveness, teasing, begging, oral (f receiving), fingering, basically fighting then making up

wc: 1.9k

“Don’t leave when I’m talking to you.”

Bucky’s words should have sent shivers down your spine—should have made you stop dead in your tracks. But you were so angry that you just dismissed him and walked away.

He called out your name, in warning this time, and you chose to ignore him once again.

It only took him three steps to catch up to you. He grabbed one of your wrists and spun you around in seconds. 

“Did you not hear what I said? Don’t leave when I’m talking to you,” he fumed. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” you countered, trying to pull your arm from his grasp. But he was too strong.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been acting like this all night.”

Your boyfriend’s company had just hit the next milestone and of course, it was only appropriate to celebrate. But ever since the two of you left the party, you’ve been giving him the silent treatment.

You made sure you were always steps ahead of him when walking out the building. You ignored the farewells and even went as far as slamming the door to his three-million dollar Bugatti that he loves so much without even a second thought. You refused to look at him the whole ride home and when he tried to talk to you, you completely ignored him, focusing on the street lamps instead.

Once the two of you got back to his place, he started confronting you on your poor behaviour and all that other bullshit. As if he wasn’t the one to cause it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re done, I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight,” you said bitterly, finally yanking your arm away. 

“Why are you being so fucking difficult?”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry for being difficult,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Maybe you should go be with those ladies you were talking to the whole night. Maybe they aren’t so fucking difficult.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous I was talking to other girls?”

You bit down hard on your lip. “You were flirting with them!” 

“I was not flirting with them.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because letting them touch and throw themselves at you is not flirting.”

Because while Bucky was enjoying himself, you were left to socialize with his stuck-up business partners and had to down your cocktails all by yourself. You got ignored by your own fucking boyfriend. To make matters worse, the two of you haven’t seen each other for a whole week because he was on a business trip. You even wore his favourite dress and did your hair and makeup all pretty for him but he didn’t even pay any attention to you. 

So excuse you for being emotional, but you think your anger is justifiable.

He sighed. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, “I’m going to bed.” 

“We’re not done here,” he demanded. 

“Mmm, I think we are.” 

He pulled you back, this time with so much force that you’re practically pressed up against his chest. 

“You were embarrassing me in front of all my friends, you know that?” 

You scoffed. “If that’s your only concern maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” you spat.

His eyes darken, “Say that again.”

You swallowed your breath and could feel yourself heating up at his words. And you didn’t know where all this bravery was coming from because a minute later, you said, “Break up with me then. Go find one of those girls from tonight and fuck them instead. I’m sure they won’t embarrass you.”

He tightened his grip when you tried to writhe out of his hold. 

“Stop fighting me,” he said. 

God—you were even more angry now. Because he’s so sexy when he’s boring his deep eyes into yours in that authoritative and dominating way of his. It was unfair. 

“You’re not leaving,” he continued, “you’re not stepping a foot outside this room unless I say so.”

That intense warmth building between your legs was getting worse and worse by the minute.

“What are you going to do to stop me?” you mocked, knowing it would irritate him to endless lengths. You lifted your hand towards your neck, where the diamond studded necklace Bucky gave you when he officially asked you to become his was delicately located.

His jaw ticked and you ripped the necklace off. 

Before you had a chance to think about what you’ve done, he grabbed you and smashed his lips against yours, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You whimpered at the force but slowly, you melted into him as his hands made its way to cup your face.

He moaned into your mouth and for a second you forgot why you were angry in the first place.

Fuck Bucky Barnes and his plush lips.

“You’re such a brat, you know that?” He growled into your ear before pushing you against the wall and caging you in between him. Your knees almost buckled at the huskiness of his voice.

He trailed his hand down to your thighs before dipping it into your dress, hiking it up slightly. He smirked. “Look at you,” he taunted, “so wet.”

Your breath hitched as his finger made its way to your panties, rubbing gentle circles on the now damp fabric. He hooked his finger along its band and ripped the lace off—like how he ripped all your other ones. 

“B–Bucky!” you gasped as he cupped your mound, finger brushing your clit and teasing you at your entrance.

His lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

You leaned into him. “Bucky,” you whined while rocking against his hand.

“So needy,” he teased. 

“Bucky,” you desperately begged, “—please.”

“Please what, baby? Use your words.”

“Want… need to feel you,” you murmured.

“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve it,” he said. 

“Fuck—” you gasped as he pressed his palm harder against your sensitive sex. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, “I didn’t mean to be bratty. Just wanted all your attention, that's all.”

He hummed. “My girl that desperate for me?”

You nodded. “Y–yes,” you stammered. “Want you all to myself.”

At that, he plunged two of his fingers into your wet core. You gasped at the fullness—at how good it felt.

“Look at you,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in and out. “A mess for me. What happened to all that defiance? Hm?”

You couldn’t even say any snarky remarks back. The only noise coming out of your mouth were your pathetic whimpers and desperate pleas as Bucky fucked you knuckles deep.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, gripping onto his shoulders. “I want to hear you say sorry.”

“I’m sor—ah!” you gasped when he curled his finger at that spot he knows so well. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for acting like that tonight.”

“And?”

“And for slamming the door to your car.”

“No, not that. I don’t care about the car.” 

His hand clasped around your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m sorry for ripping your necklace off. I’m so sorry,” you cried. You leaned into him, just below his ears. “I’m yours, Bucky. Only yours.” 

“Good girl,” he rasped. 

And at that, you come crashing down, an eutrophic wave washing over you. 

He held you as you collected yourself. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s just I really did miss you. I even wore that dress you liked so much. Put on your favourite shade of lipstick.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, stroking your hair. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You burrowed yourself deeper into him. “Thought you got bored of me or something,” you mumbled more to yourself than him, but he managed to pick it up and he took it to heart.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said angrily. He pulled you away and held your face. “I will never get bored of you. You’re the only one I want, you got it?” 

You pouted as if you didn’t quite believe him and if there was one thing Bucky couldn’t handle, it was those sad doe-eyes of yours underneath your pretty lashes. 

His mouth latched onto yours once again, deepening the kiss within seconds. He led you to the couch, never once breaking the kiss. 

You fell onto the black leather as he hovered above you. “What do you want me to do to prove it to you? You want me to kneel? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you,” he said, before lowering himself in front of you. And that was enough for you to come undone for the second time tonight.

He grabbed your legs, carefully stroking it before littering kisses all over your calves and thighs. You took a deep breath when he rolled up your dress again, exposing your stomach and cunt. Then he was in between your legs in seconds.

“Wait—” you panted. “Bucky,” you said, tugging onto his hair. “The windows.” 

The blinds to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his New York City penthouse were still open.

“Fuck the windows. Let the world see. That’s what you wanted right? Me on my knees for you,” he said, licking a stripe up your folds. “Let everyone know you’re the only person I would go on my knees for.”

You clenched at his words which caused Bucky to chuckle, his hot breaths hitting your already overheated core. 

The flickering of his tongue combined with the sucking was too much. He was going down on you like a starved man and you pulled on his hair harder when his tongue hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Stop moving,” he grunted, gripping your legs even tighter. “You taste so damn sweet.”

You were trembling by now and he brought one of his hands to your chest to stabilize your body—grabbing and kneading the flesh while he was at it.

Everytime his nose rubbed at your clit, you could feel your orgasm come closer and closer. And when you finally release, Bucky made sure to clean you up with his tongue, not letting a single drop of you go to waste. When he came up, the scruff on his jaw was wet with your arousal. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, trying to come down from both your high and at the sight of him.

“I love you,” he murmured. 

At that moment, you realized one thing. The entirety of New York might want a piece of him—the handsome self-made CEO whose eyes were enough to bring both women and men to their knees—but the only person he’ll ever go on his knees for was you. You’re the one he comes home to. He was yours. Completely, wholly, yours.

Before you got a chance to repeat those words back to him, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulders.

“Ah!” you squealed, “Bucky! What are you doing!”

He gave you a smack on the ass before carrying you towards the bedroom. “We’re not done here,” he said. “I’ll give you all the attention you want, baby. We have all night.”

[themultifanshipper]

Hello.

I have a question to ask. Are you up for a honeymoon fic Landoscar? With a lot of spicy things, hehe.

<3

When Oscar and Lando had woken up severely hungover that first morning after getting married at the Vegas GP, they knew they had made the right choice.

The only problem was how the hell they were going to go on their honeymoon without arousing suspicion.

Gonna go waterboard myself in holy water now brb

Warnings: Lando makes Oscar cry, but in a sexy way, sunburns, handjob, that’s it that's the plot, under negotiated everything, edging, Oscar being in denial, cum, facial, they're both fucking freaks

They got married on 20/11/2023 at 4:12 AM in the little Vegas Chapel after the Grand Prix. It was perfect (they barely remembered it) and the only people there were Alex and Logan (the best men) and the priest (who they had to track down later and make him sign an NDA).

All in all a brilliant night.

And the proof of consummation was… well, all over them and the sheets when they woke up.

How fucking romantic.

It was now a year on from that and they still hadn't been on their honeymoon.

They were determined though. But being in the public eye made any vacationing together quite hard.

So they decided to wait. Wait long enough that if they were seen, it would be reasonable to assume it was just a mates trip to a private Island.

They were currently on said private Island one morning, limbs tangled on a sunbed, sipping some pretty strong cocktails.

“What do you want to do today?”

“I don't care as long as I'm with you”

They giggled and a slap resounded on the empty beach.

“I hate you”

“That's not what you were saying last night when I had you-”

“Okay okay! I get it!”

Disgusting.

After another hour of lounging around, Lando untangled his limbs from Oscar's and got up to get more drinks.

“You want anoth- holy shit Osc!”

His eyes widened as he turned and took in his husband’s (he'd never get tired of saying that) appearance.

“What?” Oscar sat up, confused.

Oscar’s front was a similar shade of red as a lobster, the contrast in skin between his front and back making him look like a vanilla strawberry ice cream.

“Oscar you-” Lando couldn't contain his laughter “you forgot to put cream on again!”

Lando put his hand on Oscar's thigh and Oscar gasped in pain.

“Shit baby we need to go put something on that, let's go”

Oscar ended up laying on his back while Lando straddled his midsection and rubbed Aloe over his face and chest.

“Ah!” he hissed as a hand went over a patch of particularly red skin “careful where you put your bear paws!”

Lando laughed and squirted some more cream on his hands.

“Sorry baby, but it needs to be done. Besides you love my bear paws, especially when I put them on your-”

“Jesus, do you ever shut up!” Oscar laughed and Lando gasped at his meanness.

“Don't be mean to me when I'm helping you out!”

Oscar’s hands came up to cup Lando's ass over his shorts and squeeze lightly.

“You love it when I'm mean though, don't lie.”

“Oh yeah?” Lando smiled playfully “I can be mean too you know”

Oscar couldn't help the snort that escaped him. “Yeah right, I'll believe that when I see it, you’re just too sweet”

“I am not!” he tried to defend but Oscar just laughed at him “You just haven't seen my bad side, yet”

Oscar cackled and shot a look of disbelief at Lando.

Lando raised his eyebrows in challenge and shuffled backwards onto Oscar's thighs, making sure to rub against his crotch on the way.

“Shut up and let me finish putting the cream on” he scowled as he squirted a load straight onto Oscar's hot skin moodily.

“Aw… are you getting stroppy now because I laughed at you, baby?” Oscar cooed, hands reaching for Lando but he slapped them away.

“Touche me, or say another word, and I stop completely, understand?”

Oscar nodded, eyebrows almost fused with his hairline at Lando's harsh tone.

“And we'll see just how fucking mean I can be” the older man growled.

Well shit.

Lando quickly rubbed cream over Oscar's burns, before sitting back and ordering him to take his shorts off.

“Pardon?” Oscar wasn't used to being ordered around.

“If I have to repeat myself then I'll take them off, and I’m not going to be gentle”

That's a point, Oscar thought. He didn't want to take any chances with the burns so he peeled them off himself, making sure to give his skin a wide birth.

Once settled back into the sheets, Lando grabbed more cream and started rubbing it around Oscar's crotch, which was unnecessary given that the skin there was free of burns thanks to his shorts. But Lando apparently decided to turn this into a massage, because he was digging his thumbs into Oscar’s flesh, hard enough to make him groan at the feeling.

Then he dug his thumbs into Oscar's adductor muscles and the younger man yelped and stared daggers at him.

“What's the matter, baby?” Lando asked mockingly, “Am I going too hard for you?”

His eyes were inviting him to a challenge, one he knew Oscar wouldn't back down from.

Oscar shook his head, remembering Lando's warning from before, and quickly settled back down.

This was a new side to Lando. And it was getting Oscar a bit hot and bothered as his husband just carried on massaging/torturing him. The idea of being at his husband's mercy was turning him on enormously.

His dick twitched against his stomach and Lando chuckled.

“Careful Osc, one could think being submissive is turning you on” his voice was full of mirth but Oscar refused to acknowledge him, and stared at the ceiling while shaking his head.

“No? Must be mistaken then”

He continued along Oscar's groin, massaging the cream in and rubbing him in all the right places.

When Lando cupped his balls and pressed on his perineum at the same time, Oscar let out a strangled gasp.

He was dripping, he could feel it. But he refused to give Lando the satisfaction of asking him to touch him.

“You want me to stop Osc?” Lando had a teasing lilt to his voice. Oscar shook his head.

“If you want me to touch you all you have to do is be a good boy and say ‘please”

But Oscar, by some twisted sense of ego, refused to give in so he didn't answer.

Lando laughed softly and ran a finger up Oscar's cock, making the younger man shudder and his hips buck up of their own volition.

“That looks painful, Osc”

“Then fucking touch it”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not until you say please”

“Please” Oscar huffed out.

Lando tutted. “That wasn't very convincing, Osc.” His fingers ran along the tip and back down over his balls, but Oscar just about managed to stay impassive. He looked right into Lando's eyes.

“If you want me to say please you're going to have to do better than that”

Lando grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh honey, I'm not going to stop until you're begging”

The look in his eyes was predatory and Oscar almost caved then and there.

But on principal, Oscar did not beg.

Cut to about 30 minutes later and Oscar was whimpering into his arm as Lando placed kitten licks on his dripping tip.

“Still not desperate enough to say please?”

Oscar just growled “nope” but it was so strained Lando barely heard it.

“Fine, maybe I need to try a different approach, then”

Oscar looked on as Lando grabbed the cream and squirted some straight onto Oscar’s cock.

Oscar hissed at the cold, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of Lando's large hand engulfing his cock and immediately starting a fast, tight, pace.

Oscar was writhing at the sudden intense pleasure after so long being teased, and he was having trouble getting air in his lungs as he hurdled towards an orgasm in record time.

His toes curled and his back arched as he felt the orgasm creep up his spine.

But just like that the feeling was replaced by a very tight hold around the base of his cock, the release his body craved ripped away from him.

“No! Lan-”

“Shhh, baby” Lando cooed “It's okay, I’ve got you”

While Oscar slowly came down from his almost-release, Lando reapplied some cream to make the slide as wet as possible, then proceeded to start stroking Oscar at the same pace as before, this time adding extra pressure.

Oscar was openly whining now, hands gripping the sheets so hard it’s shocking they weren't tearing.

“Now, I'm going to do that over and over again until you’re a good boy for me, okay”

Oscar couldn't contain the whine that came out of his mouth. He was getting close again and his eyes were filling up with tears at the white hot pleasure.

“Please” he let out a broken sob as his thighs started clenching with his impending orgasm.

“Oh you can do better than that, Osc” Lando’s pace didn't falter.

“Fuck- please Lan, I'll do anything. I need to come so bad, please, please. Please don't stop…” he was openly sobbing now, tears running down his cheeks as he took shuddering breaths.

He was so beautiful and pliant like this, Lando was unbelievably hard. He took pity on him and allowed him to come, other hand going to massage his balls for good measure.

“Good boy, Oscar. You can come now, go on.”

Oscar screamed as he came, hot spurts of his come landing over his abs and all the way up to his chin.

The sight of him, covered in his own cum, flush deepening the red of his burns, gasping for air, almost made Lando come on the spot.

He shuffled over to Oscar's head and pushed his shorts down to jerk himself off furiously.

“Open your mouth, tongue out” he ordered, grabbing Oscar’s jaw and aiming for his tongue.

It took him no time at all to come, and most of it landed on Oscar's cheeks and chin. It was absolutely sinful, the way his face was streaked with come, tongue hanging out, eyes unfocused, he looked like a sick man's dream.

Fortunately, Lando was a sick man.

“Shit Osc, I can't believe it took me this long to find out you’re a good little slut when you want to be”

Oscar took a long time to reply, trying to regulate his breathing.

When he finally did, a low growl came from his side of the bed.

“As soon as I get the feeling back in my legs, I'm going to fuck you until the sun sets, and I'm not giving you any breaks, no matter how many times you come”

Lando glanced at the clock.

It was only 1 pm…

Shit.

[fayes-fics]

Textual Encounter

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Text fic. Wrong number meet-cute over text.

Warnings: none... this is fluff and humour.

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Fic request fill for Anon (HERE). I kept it fun and fluffy, but yeah, I can see a sequel where they sext. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy! <3

Y/N: Hey Liz, it’s y/n y/l/n. Kindle Spa gave me your mobile. Said you had moved to another salon. I don’t trust anyone else to wax me tbh. Big date this week, kwim 😉 Can I get an appt? I’ll come to you. Doesn’t matter where. 

BB: Errr, I think you have the wrong number…

Y/N: Not Liz?

BB: Nope, Ben here. 

Y/N: Not a waxer, I presume?

BB: I may have waxed lyrical in my time, may even have lit a few candles. Have not waxed anyone no - my own body or anyone else’s. Yet. But I’m game to try anything once...

Y/N: Lol.

BB: Big date, eh?

Y/N: ….Yeah. Not that it's any of your business, stranger Ben.

BB: Fair. BB: Does it hurt?

Y/N: ??

BB: Getting waxed.

Y/N: Oh. Yeah. Like a motherfucker. But you sorta get used to it, tbh. And it’s so much less itchy than shaving regrowth, especially in sensitive areas… Wait, why am I having this convo with a complete stranger?!

BB: We don’t have to be strangers. BB: I’m Ben, 33, London. BB: I have no strong opinions on hair removal methods.

Y/N: lol. K. I’m y/n, 28, also London. Y/N: I, as you can see, do have some opinions.

BB: Hi y/n 👋 BB: I hope you can find Liz. Or someone else to assist with your hair needs.

Y/N: I would like it stated, for the record, I’m not hairy like a troll. I just like to keep things neat.

BB: The lady doth protest too much…

Y/N: You are cheeky for a stranger.

BB: Hey, I thought we agreed. Not strangers. Me Ben. You hairy troll.

Y/N: BLOCK.

BB: Just typing it doesn't work, you know.

Y/N: You should work at the Apple Genius Bar.

BB: Hmm, possibly. I do look good in blue. Or so I've been told.

Y/N: Always glad to provide career counselling.

BB: 🫡

4 days later.

BB: How’d your date go?

Y/N: That's odd. I don’t see a Genius Bar appt in my calendar…?

BB: iCal is a lying bastard. BB: I also assume you now can move faster through water.

Y/N: ??

BB: Waxed smooth like a dolphin…?

Y/N: 😆 Y/N: Entirely none of your business, but yes, actually. Well mostly. I leave some. Why am I telling you this?! Y/N: The guy was such a dud tho, I didn't get to show it off 🙁

BB: Please don't stop on my account. This is just delightful.  BB: I apologise on behalf of all men.

Y/N: For what?

BB: Having 4 sisters, I find the safest answer here is usually… everything, of course.  BB: But specifically, your rubbish date.

Y/N: Apology conditionally accepted. Y/N: 4 sisters?! 

BB: Only conditional? What do I gots to do to make it unconditional? BB: Yeah, I know… I’ve got 3 brothers too. My parents were really into each other. 

Y/N: IDK, serve a mean martini? Y/N: Understatement.

BB: That could be arranged. I took an online mixology course during lockdown.  BB: My sister El declared I'm better than Stanley Tucci. Admittedly, that was after 4 espresso martinis… but I'm taking it. She's opinionated but the best one. They are a weird bunch tho 🤔

Y/N: WOAH WOAH WOAH. That's a bold claim.

BB: Well, there’s only one way to dispute it: try one for yourself…

Y/N: Smooth, Genius Bar, smooth.

BB: I do my best 🤷

1 day later.

Y/N: I can't get my AirPods to work.

BB: You do realise I didn’t actually follow your career advice?

Y/N: Urgh. Inconvenient. What use are you then?

BB: As I said. Cocktails. I’ll try my hand at waxing if you want.

Y/N: Best stick to the day job. Which is…?

BB: Graphic design.

Y/N: Oh, that’s quite cool. 

BB: It pays the bills. You?

Y/N: MI-5

BB: Wow, you're a shit spy.

Y/N: It could be an excellent double bluff…

BB:

Y/N: Oh, we’ve graduated to memes now, have we, Genius Bar?

BB: It was called for.

Y/N: I’ll take it. Purely cos it's a Hemsworth.

BB: I would too, tbh.

Y/N: Bi?

BB: For a Hemsworth? Always.

Y/N: Anyone else?

BB: I’ll keep you posted.

Y/N: I'm on the edge of my seat.

3 days later.

BB: Oscar Issac.

Y/N: Good non sequitur evening to you, too, Genius Bar Ben.

BB: For the bi thing.

Y/N: Ahh. Got it. I can respect that.

BB: This is me, btw: www.instagram.com/benbridgerdesign.  BB: Figured you can decide for yourself if I'm a creeper.

Y/N: Appreciated.

3 minutes later.

Y/N: You paint?

BB: I dabble

Y/N: Modesty will only make me like you more.

BB: You like me?! 🥹

Y/N: You didn't mention you were handsome.

BB: There is no way to respond to that without me sounding like a twat.

BB: But thank you 😊

Y/N: This is me: www.instagram.com/ynhandle 

7 minutes later.

BB: Oh, Amalfi is so beautiful, isn't it?

Y/N: Wow. That's a deep cut. How far did you scroll back??

BB: 👀

Y/N: Yeah, it's beautiful. Shame it's tainted for me now. Was there with an ex.

BB: I saw. Very handsome.

Y/N: Are you sure you're not just into men full-stop?

BB: 🤷 BB: You’re very pretty, too.

Y/N: I’d believe it if you didn't mention my “very handsome” ex first…

BB: I call it like I see it. BB: I have had 4 whiskeys, tho, so make of that what you will.

Y/N: On a school night?!

BB: It’s my brother Ant's birthday. This is like non-optional drunk, I’ll have you know.

Y/N: Happy birthday to him. 

BB: He says thanks. He’s also told me to get off my fucking phone. Which is rich. He is texting his wife nonstop.

Y/N: Hah! Safe travels through Whiskeytown, BenBridger 🫡

BB: I kinda miss Genius Bar…. 😞

Y/N: I can't win…

2 days later.

BB: Settle an argument for me.

Y/N: 🍿

BB: Col, younger brother, never stops eating... He claims Katz Deli is overrated. I argue it's touristy but still good. You’ve been. Where do you sit on this matter?

Y/N: You really did go thru my Insta, didn't you?? Y/N: Thanks for the follow, BTW.

BB: It's a compliment, I assure you. BB: Welcome. And same.

Y/N: Not complaining. And yeah, I agree with you, actually.

BB: Hah! Excellent!!

Y/N: Wait… your older brother is Ant, and your younger brother is Col? You’re Ben. So, like ABC?

BB:  … I already warned you my family was weird.

Y/N: You did. You did.

BB: Now, please excuse me while I go gloat.

Y/N: 👍

5 mins later.

BB: Hi. This is Col. You must be the famous y/n. Ben’s in the bogs, and the mug left his phone on the table unlocked, so this is on him.  BB: He like really likes you. Like a lot. Will you go on a date with him pls? 

Y/N: Err, ok, hi Col. Y/N: Umm, I think Ben should be the one to ask me that. Don’t you?

BB: He’s too scared you’ll say no.

Y/N: I won't…

BB: EXCELLENT.

2 minutes later.

BB: I am so SO sorry about that 😬 He’s such a shit. BB: But… do you mean it?

Y/N: Ask me properly…

BB: Would you, y/n, like to go on a date with me? Please?

Y/N: I would be delighted to Ben. 😀

BB: 🙏 BB: Are you free on Thursday? Could I take you to dinner?

Y/N: Sounds wonderful. 

BB: 7pm? Meet at Picadilly Circus? By Brasserie Zedel?

Y/N: I’ll be there 😀

BB: 😀

10 days later.

BB: I think you should know… Liz is an artiste 😮‍💨

Y/N: Stop texting me from my bed, you dork. 😘 Y/N: How do you take your coffee?

BB: I'm like 10 meters away. Why not just ask me?

Y/N: You started this, Genius Bar…

BB: Come back to bed, Mostly Hairless Troll.

Y/N: I asked for that, didn't I? 🤦

Benedict taglist, pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[hom3landr]

So, I have an honest question. Homelander is used to his bday being a huge deal, but what if the person he is interested in doesn't care about their own bday?

Like he has known them for a year, and they never celebrated their own bday nor ever hinted at it. How do you think he'd react?

Birthday Blues

Homelander x Gender Neutral Reader

Homelander hates when you keep secrets from him. But what’s merely a harmless fact to you pokes a sore spot that you never expected.

You hear him before you see him, eyebrow raising at the angry stomp of his footsteps. You’re finishing up the chapter of the book you’re reading and you hope he doesn’t have beef with you because then who knows when you’ll get back to it. You read as fast as you can, words almost blurring as you hastily scan the page. But alas, before you reach the last sentence, your book is cruelly ripped from you.

Homelander stands over your place on the couch, one hand perched on his hip while the other points your book at you as a replacement for his “oh so imposing” finger that he loves to wave at you. His brow is knitted and there’s no doubt that whatever has his feathers ruffled has something to do with you. You lean back and sigh, contemplating how long you should let him ramble before attempting to calm him down. He’s cute when he’s angry. You can live with a lecture when he looks so good doing it. Although you’re hardly feeling charitable at the moment due to him snatching your book like some kind of barbarian.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?!” He hisses at you, dropping your book with a thump as he places both hands jauntily on his hips. His jaw clenches as he waits for your answer.

You freeze.

Huh?

You don’t know what you expected but it certainly isn’t that. You had expected him to be fussy about you grabbing a drink with Starlight the other night or helping Ashley with some insane task he gave so he could watch her squirm. You missed a call from him earlier, that tends to set him off. You’d even believe he was feeling sensitive about you waking up before him and grabbing a coffee instead of a good morning kiss. Any of those would be easy to assume. But no, he’s apparently worked up that you didn’t tell him your birthday.

You figured Homelander isn’t a fan of birthdays. He certainly seems cynical about his own. He hasn’t told you the whole story but when he grits his teeth at his birthday obligations instead of basking in the cheers of the crowd, you can easily make the assumption that it’s a sore subject. You don’t have any hang ups about your own birthday but it just never seemed like a big deal to you. It’s just a day. Perhaps too many sneak attacks from the singing staff at restaurants traumatized you. Maybe it’s because birthday cake is always too sickly sweet. Or possibly you just don’t feel like celebrating the passage of time. You never tell people and people rarely ask.

Yet, you can tell by the petulant twist of his mouth that he’s not just angry but hurt that you didn’t share it with him.

“I’m…sorry. I just don’t really think about it that much.” You reply with a confused shrug. His mouth twitches and you know he’s not satisfied with that answer. He’s taking this awfully personally and you can’t for the life of you figure out why. It’s just a day.

“Are you trying to fuck with me? So next time we argue you can bring up what a horrible boyfriend I am for ignoring your birthday! You gonna gossip about it over cocktails with fucking Starlight?” He spits out her name like a curse. You want to roll your eyes but you don’t fancy Homelander flying you to the top of a skyscraper and leaving you there like the last time you tried that. You sigh and reach out to take his hand. He jerks it away petulantly for a moment but when you reach for it again he allows your touch.

“That would make me a pretty shitty partner. I’m not trying to play games with you. I’ve just never really had strong feelings about my birthday. That’s all. I promise.” You squeeze his hand and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. You rub the back of his hand with your thumb, enjoying the feel of the buttery soft leather of his glove. He pouts.

“I’m not a bad boyfriend.” He huffs. You gently tug his hand and guide him until he’s laying on the couch with his head in your lap. It only takes a few strokes of his hair before he deflates like a balloon. He turns to snuggle his face into your chest.

“I’m not.” He sighs into your shirt. You shush him gently.

“You’re my good boy. I know you wouldn’t forget on purpose. You take such good care of me. But why do you care so much about my birthday?” You switch from stroking his hair to rubbing soothing circles on his back. He’s easily mollified today and it further confirms your suspicions that his feelings were deeply wounded. He desperately needs reassurance when that happens. It’s sweet.

“Did you know that my birthday is fake? Corporate decided on it. I don’t even have one since I was…” He trails off and your heart squeezes painfully. He’s cagey about his past but every so often new details will slip out and it horrifies you every time. You continue to sooth him even as your stomach twists unpleasantly. “But you do have one and you don’t even care! Do you know how fucking spoiled you are?”

You ignore the jab although your hackles rise. Poking his ego now would prove disastrous. So you swallow your pride and continue to let him vent.

“I don’t want you keeping things like that from me. You’re mine and I deserve to know things about you. How can I trust you when you won’t even tell me your fucking birthday.” He huffs and you can feel him stiffen up as he works himself back up into an angry spiral. He nips at your stomach hard enough to bruise and you tug on his hair harshly as a reprimand.

“This isn’t me intentionally keeping some secret from you. I don’t tell anybody.” You pause briefly as an idea hits you. “But…maybe it’s your birthday today too.” You answer and he pulls himself away to fix you with a bemused glare. His brow twitches as he processes what you said

“I mean, if you don’t know the actual day. Then technically every day can be your birthday. It’s like Schrodinger's Cat. Screw corporate, pick your own birthday.” You give his shoulder a little shake and your heart lifts when the corner of his mouth tilts into a little smile.

“It’s my birthday today too then. Now you have to celebrate.” He gives you a smug grin and you ruffle his hair fondly. The hurt still lingers. This is a mere bandage over the leaking wound you know still remains. But if you can ease his burden even a little, you’re happy to do so. Even if it means making a big deal out of your birthday.

“The mighty Homelander sharing the spotlight with a humble human like me? It’s pretty scandalous.” You tease and he turns his head to kiss the sore spot where he bit you. He nuzzles into you one last time before sitting up. He leans in to rub his nose against yours, desperately seeking intimacy in such a vulnerable moment.

“No spotlight,” He whispers. “Just you and me.”

You smile and pull him into a chaste kiss. He whines at the brevity of it and you place another cheeky kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Just you and me.”

He grins and his eyes fill with mischief as he meets your gaze.

“That means it’s time for your birthday spankings” He reaches out to swat you when you bolt with a wild laugh, careening and slipping around his apartment in your socks as he gives chase. You realize as you shriek at his games that maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all…at least as long as no one sings to you.

[sugurouge]

— your eyes on my body : kunigami rensuke x f!reader

❝ Worship me, make you believe I'm what you need. So beg, darlin', please, baby, don't lie, it's okay that you crave me. Your eyes on my body, you're shaking, get high on me for you're forsaken.❞

summary: kunigami sucks at accepting compliments. even after all his personal growth, he still struggles with the same quirk years later. so when you suddenly feel the need to put the focus on him and make him feel flustered like a teenager all over again, the best course of action is to leave you unable to form a coherent thought in return

wc: 2.3k

content warnings: pet names (succubus lmao, sweetheart, love), praise, body worship @ kunigami, size kink/difference, manhandling, teasing, a pinch of dumbification if you squint

a/n: writing this felt like a fever dream

Across the rooftop, you watch him grab another drink at the bar counter. Shamelessly, you admire just how good he looks: slightly tanned skin, fitted black trousers that emphasise his strong legs and nice butt. A small smile tugs at your lips as your eyes roam his figure, appreciating how broad his back appears in that tight white button-down shirt. Then he turns around—

Someone walks in front of your vision, another guy, shorter, with shoulders that aren’t half as nice as Kunigami’s. Suddenly, there is a frown on your face. “I just saw you standing here alone and thought about keeping you company,” he says.

You only hum as you lean slightly sideways to get a glimpse of your beloved. The three buttons you convinced him to leave open your reward this very moment: The sun casts a perfect glow on the crevices of his chiselled chest, his dainty golden necklace shining in the rays of light, and those beautiful auburn eyes zeroing in on the guy in front of you.

A big hand lands on the other man’s nape. You would almost feel sorry if the size difference between the two didn’t turn you on so much. Kunigami’s grip tightens a little; he enjoys the stiffening of the guy’s shoulders as he redirects him to move sideways. Leaning into the frame to force eye contact, a gentle smile is plastered on his lips. “You’re not pretty enough to be talking to her, you know.”

You could have taken him right on the spot. Instead, you press your lips shut, biting down on your inner cheek to stop a grin from spreading across your face. He looks so good. And he’s all yours.

Once the intruder is gone, you take the cocktail from Kunigami’s hand. Your free hand rests on his neck, tugging him down to kiss him like you’re parched, with a hunger as if nobody else is watching. You leave him fully overwhelmed, his body stiffening in response, but how could he pass up on that chance? His hands claim your waist, holding you close and prolonging the kiss until your knees grow weak.

“So, you think you’re pretty enough for me?” you tease, recalling the words he used earlier. Rensuke’s eyes dodge yours, a slight pink hue dusting his cheeks now that he thinks about it. He’s never been the best at giving himself credit, nor at taking it. “Well, I think you’re very attractive,” you whisper before giggling at his adorable reaction.

The hunger for your partner kept your mind wide awake during the late afternoon until you finally arrived home. Kunigami, instead, is all but ready to get comfortable and wind down for the night. Yet, he is well aware of the clicking of your heels that follow him into your little walk-in closet, and you hum a sound of discontent to gain his attention.

“Ren,” you drawl his name softly, feigning a pout as you stand in front of him and let your hands dip beneath his button-down. Nails drag along his chest as you rise up on your toes to close the distance between your bodies. He leans in instinctively, the tips of your noses brushing for a second, but when he moves to kiss you, you turn around to offer him the zipper of your dress instead. Kunigami obliges, he's eager to watch the dress pool around your ankles, his eyes raking over your legs, ass, and the frilly panties you wear until your eyes meet again.

The challenge is starting to drain the blood from his brain. How is he supposed to maintain eye contact when you turn around with your arms resting at your sides? You win this game every time.

Auburn eyes flick down to appreciate the shape of your breasts, how they bounce as you step closer until they press against his body. “Baby,” you whisper, “where’s your decency, hm?”

“You’re playing with me too much; you know what you’re doing,” He shoots back, finally able to look at your face again. You can see how dilated his pupils have become.

“I’m sorry, I’ll behave, okay? I’ll be nice,” you tease. But your moves are anything but nice: a hand sneaks between your bodies to palm his growing erection. You love the way you feel him getting bigger because of you. Glossed lips stain his neck and chest as Kunigami’s head leans back slightly to offer you more room, a hum of content vibrating in his chest. “You’re so attractive,” you whisper into his skin while your hands unbuckle his belt.

If it wasn’t for his own hands that stop you, holding you in place as he leans down to kiss you for a moment, you would have continued your advances. “Stop saying that,” he gently protests, a slight frown highlighting his confusion.

“But you are. And I don’t tell you enough—”

He interrupts quickly, clearly bothered, “You tell me plenty.”

“You have no idea how hot you are, Ren,” you challenge back, while you both are staring at each other for a good moment. Silence hangs heavy in the room as he struggles with the compliment, a slight cringe inevitable. “I mean it, do you—”

Your words are cut off as Kunigami throws you over his shoulder, adjusting your body like you weigh nothing until you rest comfortably. A firm spank to your ass makes it impossible not to whine at the impact; he can practically see how your thighs are pressing together. 

That’s better.

Or so Kunigami thought. Unfortunately for him, you start all over again on your shared walk to the bedroom. “That guy earlier, he stood no chance compared to you. Nobody stands a chance! Ouch!” The rambling, the compliments—it's all a bit much with so much blood flowing to his cock. The best course of action is to bite into your ass cheek, deep enough to leave an imprint of his teeth. The sudden impact has you grasp onto his shirt, tears brimming in your eyes from the stinging pain and running free once your back meets the mattress.

Kunigami stands at the edge of the bed, rough fingers holding your ankle while he unbuckles the little straps of your shoes before throwing them aside.

His hands roam over the back of your thighs, pressing them into your sides as he leans in above you, his mouth attaching to your neck before littering your upper body with kisses. “You talk too much,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses and licks, his trail leading down your stomach to your soaked panties.

“Ren! Just—” you're unable to finish the thought as he drags the tip of his nose along your pussy, shamelessly inhaling your sweet scent and moaning against your wet panties. Those cute little whimpers are much better than any compliment, Kunigami thinks to himself. You look adorable when you're struggling so much. One finger on each side hooks around your panties to pull them off, allowing him to admire your messy state in the sheets, your cute cunt glistening and begging.

A foot presses against his chest as he leans down, desperately trying to keep him off you. “You make it impossible for me to look after you,” you complain, but it nearly falls on deaf ears. All Kunigami can think of is making that pretty mouth of yours unable to talk so much. His fingers wrap around your ankle, lips returning to kiss your skin up to your knee while his middle finger drags along your puffy lips.

Your thighs close around his fingers, your own hand reaching for his wrist to bring the slick-drenched finger up to your lips, tongue licking up your juices until you pop two of his digits into your mouth, mimicking what you could do for his painfully hard cock.

A sigh of defeat leaves Kunigami’s lips as he gives you room to crawl up on your knees, nimble fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt before your mouth leaves marks of pink and purple on his abs, teeth grazing his skin to distract him from the zipper of his pants. Kunigami cradles the back of your head, thumbing your neck gently, a silent urge you know too well.

“So needy for me, makes you only more attractive,” you chuckle to yourself, but any fight he would put up is forgotten once Rensuke looks down to witness you lick a greedy strip of his length, from base to tip, tightening his muscles and leaving his head spinning. “Succubus,” he groans. You're so pretty when you look up at him like that.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” you hum innocently before inviting him into your mouth, your warm, wet tongue pressing against the underside of his heavy cock as you put on a show for him. Moaning against him, coating him in your spit, you make it impossibly easy for him to move his hips.

A mixture of pre and spit trickles down your chin as he picks up the pace, your watery eyes unwavering as you witness him falling apart. The stinging sensations of your nails against the frail skin of his thighs make the coil in his stomach nearly snap. How could he not pull you forward, forcing your lips flush against his crotch as he crumbles apart?

Heavy breaths and deep moans fan your back as he towers above your frame. “Doing so fucking well, you drive me insane,” he manages to pant, trusting you to swallow every drop of his cum.

Once you pull back, you’re left breathless, lungs begging for air as you stare up at Rensuke wide-eyed. Your eyes follow the drips of sweat highlighting his firm frame, watching how he pumps his half-hardened cock again. You lick the remaining cum off your lips with one swipe before parting your lips. “You’re so pretty it hurts.” Fuck, that little whine to your voice might just take away the last of his sanity.

He is on you in a second, your legs pressed into your chest to allow him to enter you deep without much of a challenge. To watch your eyes roll into the back of your head and hear your moans and complaints of “‘s too big” like anytime Rensuke’s greed overtakes him. “You’ll manage,” he pants into your neck, without room for consideration since his hips are already pulling back, “you always take me,” his lips enclose around your collarbone, sucking on your skin as he thrusts into you. The smacking of skin, the air being knocked out of your lungs—yes, that’s right. No silly compliments, no teasing, just his good girl getting fucked until she can’t form a sentence anymore. If Rensuke could, he’d go deeper, hold you tighter, drown in you.

One firm grip turns you around, the palm of his hand on the small of your back to force you into an arch as his thighs keep your legs apart. His cock rubs along your folds, teasing your clit with every roll of his hips. “Ren, please, you can’t—” another spank has you pushing your hips into him, pussy begging to be stuffed again. “Can’t tease you, huh? Only you can be a pain,” Kunigami finishes the sentence for you.

“Only a moment ago you said I’m too big,” he mocks your whiny tone, his chuckle tickling you as he kisses along your tired form, large hands resting on top of your own while his body leans like a blanket above yours. “Suddenly you’ve gotten all quiet again. I’m wondering where your compliments are now?” he cocks an eyebrow, eyes looking into yours as his lips kiss your shoulder. He won’t even hide his shit-eating grin as he watches your tired expression, “Head stuffed with my cock as well?”

Oh, but it’s not nice of you to turn your head the other way, not when you have a man like Kunigami, who can just wrap a hand around your stomach to pull you up into his broad chest. “Sweetheart,” he continues his ministrations, large palm cupping your tit, fingertips pinching your nipples while he draws lazy patterns into your clit until he makes you whine, until you finally react to him again. “You wanna cum on my cock?” he whispers into your ear, licking a nasty strip along your neck before nibbling on your skin. “Y-yes, yes, I do, I do!” If you weren’t so desperate to finally feel bliss, you’d elbow him for the chuckle that follows. “Why don’t you tell me earlier then?”

He lets you fall onto the mattress, trusting you can catch your own fall, as his hands are already on your hips. Holding you nice and open so he may position himself in front, your begging pussy once more stuffed to the brim by his cock. The soft patterns being drawn into your skin by his thumbs are a farce, so different from the abuse he puts on your cunt.

Handling your body himself rather than making you move, he brings you back down on his length each time he is pulling out again. You moan into the duvets, tears and smeared makeup staining the fabric, but he couldn’t care less for that mess if you look this good. If he can watch your ass bounce with each thrust, watch it jiggle thanks to the force he uses to keep you creaming around him. “Just like that, come on, you know how to let go for me,” he encourages as you tighten around him again and again, only missing a tiny push. His hips snap against yours, balls smacking your clit each time as blunt nails bruise your hips. As your eyes fall shut and your legs tremble, his soft voice rings in your mind, praising you, “You’re so pretty when you cum for me, love.”

“Ren,” you sigh his name like a sweet symphony, so cute when you say his name like that. Kunigami holds you, your legs unable to keep up with his movements as his thrusts are unrelenting for his own high. But when he cums, he pulls you close, hiding himself in the crook of your neck, moans being soaked up by your skin before falling to his side, cock nestled inside you as he strokes your tired figure.

“You’re really hot,” you can’t help but mumble, always needing to have the final say. The defeated sound coming from Rensuke brings a smile to your lips, a grumbled thanks the only acknowledgement you will receive for tonight.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[actuallysaiyan]

Send Me An Angel(Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader x Higuruma Hiromi)

warnings: smut, exhibitionist, oral sex(both fem and male receiving), drinking, smoking, drugs, candaulism, panty/pussy sniffing, creampie finish/unprotected sex, swearing, nipple play, pervertedness, pet names, just lots of lewd themes, threesomes word count: 4.6k!!! pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader x Higuruma Hiromi summary: you meet Hiromi at the bar, and you two bond over your love of 80s music. Despite Kento being a protective husband, he always wants to see you happy...even if it means to fuck you in front of the loser lawyer a/n: HERE IT IS!!! Omg I have been dreaming and planning and thinking about this fic FOREVER!!!!! I want to give a very special shoutout to both @beneathstarryskies and @seireiteihellbutterflyfor helping me out with this beauty! taglist: @sparklynightm4re, @buttercupbitches(sorry tried to tag you but Tumblr won't let me!)

You sit at the bar, drink in hand. Your head starts bobbing to the music, and you instantly recognize the song. A presence sits near you, someone of average build and average height. You look over at them, your smile spreading on your face. He smiles shyly at you and then orders a drink from the bartender. After he receives his drink and pays, he then scoots a little closer to you.

"I love this song," he comments, looking at you curiously. You smile, "Me too! Nobody likes the classics anymore!"

There's a sudden chemistry between you and the man with the long nose. His tired eyes remind you of someone very dear to you. Between sips of your cocktails, you and the man you've come to know as Hiromi become acquainted. You two are deep in your conversation about post-punk music and synthpop when you feel a familiar presence near you.

His strong arms wrap around you, his head resting on your shoulder before he leans in to kiss your cheek brazenly in front of Hiromi. The lawyer's eyes widen as he gets a good look at the salaryman who's making his presence quite known.

"And who's this, darling?" His voice is deep and gravelly, almost filled with a need. You giggle, "This is my new friend. Hiromi Higuruma. He's a lawyer."

Kento's eyes narrow at the man sitting very close to you. He's not sure he likes the way Hiromi is looking at you, and he's certainly sure he doesn't like the way you and he keep giggling and talking like you've been friends for years.

"Higuruma-san, was it?" Kento asks, extending his hand out to Hiromi. "Nanami Kento." Hiromi shakes his hand, "A pleasure to meet you. This must be your pretty girlfriend." "Wife." Kento corrects watchfully. "Wife, hm? Lucky guy, you are."

Hiromi is beginning to sense he's no longer wanted, but you extend your hand to grab onto his wrist. Kento watches you carefully, but he thinks he understands what's going on now. When Hiromi faces you, you're pouting.

"Wait, you're not going to leave, right? I thought we were having a nice conversation, Hiromi." He smiles, looking down at his drink, "Well, I guess I can stay. That alright with you, Nanami-san?" Kento's eyes dart towards the tired lawyer, "As long as you keep your hands to yourself."

This causes you to playfully slap Kento's chest. You chastise him for chasing away so many people this way, but Kento can't help it if he wants to keep you locked away from the world. If it were up to him, he'd keep you at home at all times of the day and the night. It's always you who insists on going out and socializing with others.

You and Hiromi begin discussing the song that's playing, which puts Kento's mind at ease. Despite the spectacle he had seen earlier of you and Hiromi chatting and flirting like a pair of high school reunion lovebirds, Kento knows that you're just being kind. Sure, you flirt from time to time, but Kento knows that when he goes home, you're the one coming with him and only him. He's the one who's going to have your face down in the pillows, begging for a break from the violent pounding he'll give you.

"So you like 80s music then, Higuruma-san?" Kento asks, taking his pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket. He places one between your lips and then one between his before he procures a lighter to light them both.

Hiromi watches enviously as Kento pulls you closer, the tips of your cigarettes almost touching. The scene was sensual in its own right; images of fiery kisses are evoked from the sight of Kento lighting both of your cigarettes at once.

Hiromi clears his throat, grabbing his drink to wet his mouth. Then he turns to see you awaiting his reply so eagerly.

"Yes, I love 80s music." He finally concludes. Kento smirks at him, "Funny, so does my wife. No wonder she took a liking to you."

Hiromi smiles nervously. He knows the kind of game Kento is playing at, but it's you he can't really read. Despite your drop-dead gorgeous husband right by your side, you continue to flirt and be eager to talk to Hiromi. If you were trying to get him killed, then he wouldn't be surprised at all.

You and Kento smoke your cigarettes, enjoying a conversation that's just between the two of you. Hiromi can't help but listen in; something about what you'll be having for dinner tomorrow night, and something about having to pick up Kento's dry cleaning tomorrow morning.

Hiromi blanks out for a few moments. His mind is filled with a sweet wife of his own. The kind of girl that he would be proud to bring home to his parents. In his mind, he sees such a sweet face and such a loving smile. The voice that comes from those lips is like warm, dripping honey. Hiromi is enjoying his little fantasy so much, it takes something else to pull him out of the thought.

"Hiromi," you coo softly. "You okay?"

Hiromi smiles sheepishly, looking down at his hand holding his drink. He downs the rest of it within seconds, hoping it'll soothe his nerves. Kento continues to watch him from his position behind you. He looks like he'd snap Hiromi's neck with ease if given the chance.

"Y-yeah, I'm alright. Just thinking."

You giggle softly. Kento grumbles in your ear, a soft warning to you. But he knows what your plan is, and he's not very fond of where this is going. Despite this, he'll more than likely entertain your idea.

"Are you imagining my wife in your little fantasies?" Kento asks, his eyes dark. Hiromi blushes, "Come on…don't say that. She's a fine lady, but she's yours." Kento smirks, "Oh? Is she not good enough for you?"

You slap Kento's chest playfully again, telling him to quit it. This is when Kento cups your cheek, planting a passionate kiss on those pretty, plump lips of yours. Hiromi would be lying if he said that just watching you two kiss didn't turn him on.

"That's enough! Don't embarrass me in front of my new friend," you whine and pout.

Kento chuckles darkly, moving some hair from your neck to place a kiss there too. Hiromi swallows hard, wishing he had another drink to keep him occupied. He's not even really sure where to look, but he knows he wants to keep looking at you. You, this ethereal being, that's just popped into his life. Something bright and beautiful to take the edge off the tiring monotony of his life.

"I think it's time we head home," Kento whispers in your ear. You nod, "Yes, I suppose it's time."

Kento heads over to the bartender to pay off your tab. You know he'll probably pay off Hiromi's tab as a way to show that he's the breadwinner in your relationship. While he's busy doing that, you find a pen and a pad of paper in your purse. You jot down your number, handing it to Hiromi. He looks at you like you've just signed his death wish. Your fingers brush against each other as you pass him the little piece of paper.

"Text me sometime, yeah? We can continue our conversation."

And with that, you're leaving with Kento. Hiromi gets one last glance at you as Kento slips his jacket onto your shoulders. And within a blink of his eyes, you two have disappeared out the door.

The night air feels so good on your skin. It's almost sobering you up. You lean against Kento, and he keeps a tight hold on your waist. You two walk in sync, your home only a few blocks away from your favorite bar. Kento lights up another cigarette; this one's for you to share.

"So, what do you think?" You ask him, looking up at him. Kento scoffs, "What? Him? You can't be serious, darling."

This causes you to pout and you know pouting is Kento's kryptonite. He's groaning as he watches you smoke the cigarette solemnly. You're just too precious to say no to.

"He's perfect! Just the type of guy I was looking for." You confess. "Him? He's just some pussywhipped loser. You can do better than that. He wouldn't even have the guts to ask you to fuck him." You giggle before passing the cigarette back to your husband. "That's the thing…" Kento cocks an eyebrow, "What is it this time?" "I don't want him to fuck me. I want him to watch us fuck."

Kento isn't that surprised, but his cock twitches to life. It's the thought of putting that damn loser in his place while he fucks you properly. That Higuruma-san probably hasn't fucked many women in his life. He's probably the type to pop within seconds of being in a hot, tight pussy.

"If you're sure about this," Kento starts. "I think it could be a little cruel to have such passionate sex in front of a man who looks like he hasn't gotten laid in years."

Your eyes widen. Did Hiromi really seem that pathetic in Kento's eyes? Something about this was turning you on in a way you couldn't quite describe. It was like you were the perfect trophy wife to be shown off. The kind of woman that most men have intense sexual fantasies about.

"Well, I gave him my number. Maybe he'll text me,"

But neither of you is truly convinced that Hiromi will come through with texting you. He's probably going to head home himself and fall asleep in his clothes like he does most nights. You begin to hope and pray that Hiromi would have the balls to actually contact you.

It's only when you and Kento are in front of the warm fireplace, snuggled on the white fur rug that your phone vibrates. You and Kento share excited glances. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself excited about the prospect of fucking his gorgeous wife in front of such a loser.

"It's him!" You giggle like an excited schoolgirl. "Answer him. Get him here now."

Hiromi's text is a pretty drunken one. He babbles about needing a place to crash, so you quickly give him the coordinates to Kento's penthouse suite. Then you and your husband wait with excitement flowing through your veins.

It's only about fifteen minutes later that you hear the buzzer. Kento goes to answer and grants entrance to your private home to the lawyer. Your heart is pounding your chest as the reality of the situation is finally dawning on you. This was actually going to happen. Your panties were a little wet already from your arousal.

There's a gentle knock on the door and you fling it open. Hiromi looks a bit disheveled and he smells like booze. You grab his wrist gently and you pull him into the penthouse. He looks around, his eyes widening at the luxury of your home.

"You found our place okay? You're doing alright?" you ask, wrapping your arm around his shoulder to lead him into the living room. Hiromi moans, "Yeah, I'm alright. Could use some water."

You help guide him to the couch, and you sit yourself right next to him. Your knees are touching. Kento comes in from the kitchen, a bottle of mineral water handed to the long-nosed man.

"Ahh, thank you." Hiromi slurs, opening the bottle and taking very greedy gulps of it. "Slow down, sweetie."

Your term of endearment nearly makes him spit out the water. He focuses on swallowing, then he turns to you. He's carefully assessing the situation. Shivers run down his spine when you begin to rub his thigh.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Hiromi questions, his cock twitching in his pants. "Nothing, just having a little fun. You like to have fun right?" You ask, a mischievous look in your eyes.

Kento then sits on the other side of Hiromi. Suddenly the lawyer feels very boxed in. If he wasn't completely sauced off his ass, he'd probably make a beeline for the door. But your soft touches and sweet perfume seem to soothe him more than he'd like to admit.

"I saw how you were looking at my wife," Kento begins. Hiromi throws his hands up in the air in defense, "Hey, come on. She's smoking hot. Can you blame me?" You caress his cheek, "Shhh…it's okay, Hiromi honey."

He shudders at your sweet touches. His cock grows harder the more you're teasing him. Kento keeps a watchful eye on both of you, but he's letting you have your fun.

"Let's lay down some ground rules," Kento finally pipes up. Hiromi looks over at your husband, "R-rules?" You nod, "Yeah if you want to have a little fun with us, Hiromi honey, you need to accept our rules."

And without warning, you reach over to squeeze his hard cock through his pants. His eyes shut and he lets out a pathetic moan. He has to focus on not cumming in his pants.

"Rule number one, we're calling the shots here. You have to listen to what we say and do what we tell you to do," Kento's voice sounds a million miles away as you continue to palm at Hiromi's cock. Hiromi nods his head, "G-got it." "Rule number two, we've got a safeword! It's bread, and if at any point any of us want to opt out, we can say this word. This includes you, Hiromi honey."

Hiromi moans, nodding his head once more. Kento taps his cheek, and the lawyer's eyes snap open. Kento asks for confirmation that he heard you, and Hiromi confirms.

"Rule number three consists of one thing. We can touch you as much as we want, but you are to always ask permission to touch either of us." Hiromi whines, "Fine, fine. That's fine with me."

You begin to unzip his pants and unbuckle his belt to give him a little more relief. His hips buck up involuntarily to the stimulation you're providing. Hiromi's head leans back against the cool leather of the sofa. You gently graze your nails against his cheek before you pull him in for a kiss.

"Rule number four," you whisper on his lips. "Is that we all have fun."

Kento watches as you kiss the pathetic man who sits right next to him. He knows that he'll be fucking your brains out sooner rather than later, but he's growing impatient watching you play with your latest prey. It takes no time before you pull down the straps of your dress and you're straddling Hiromi's lap.

Kento helps you pull down your dress, exposing your breasts to both men. The black-haired man groans as your nipples are so close to his face, and he's wanting to suck on them so bad.

"Don't forget rule three," Kento warns him. "C-can I touch you? C-can I suck on your nipples?"

You nod your head, leaning in closer to let Hiromi have a taste of your soft skin. A sweet moan erupts from your parted lips as his lips wrap around one of your pert nipples. Kento surveils you both, his eyes dark with lust. It's been quite some time since you've picked out a third party for your nightly games.

"Doesn't she taste so sweet?" Kento asks, leaning in to begin kissing your neck. "Fuck yeah," Hiromi moans as he continues suckling on your tits. "Like…strawberries." Kento chuckles, "Just wait til you taste her pussy…well, that is if she lets you."

Hiromi is in a daze. This is all too much. He thinks to himself that even if he can't fuck either of you or even get to touch you more than this, he'll consider this night a success. He's enjoying himself as he sucks and nips at your nipples. Your fingers are carding through his hair.

"How does it feel, darling?" Kento inquires, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So good, baby. He's got such a soft tongue."

After a few minutes, you get off Hiromi's lap. Then you extend your hand out to him, which he gratefully takes after asking you if it's okay. You begin leading him into the master bedroom. Kento's following close behind. Once inside the bedroom, you show Hiromi the comfortable sofa that's in the corner of the room. He sits down on it, noticing the side table is filled with all kinds of paraphernalia. Things ranging from glass pipes used to smoke marijuana, lots of different packs of cigarettes, and condoms of every variety. He even spots some smaller baggies with various pills inside.

"Help yourself to anything you like," you offer to him as you walk over to the expensive-looking stereo system. Some upbeat synthpop music begins to play softly.

Hiromi thanks you, but his eyes dart towards the door. Kento is beginning to undress, and his mouth is growing dry as he admires the man. He's so well-built. His muscles flex as he continues removing more of his clothing. Hiromi has never seen such a specimen of man before. Kento realizes he's being admired.

"So you're into men too, huh?" Hiromi blushes, "Well…uh…yeah, I guess."

You come over to both of them, and you sit on Hiromi's lap. You beckon Kento to come closer, and you begin to unbutton his pants and unbuckle his belt. You can feel Hiromi's erection poking you in the ass. Moving your hips to the rhythm of the song, you feel him twitching and throbbing with every move you make.

"She's a little temptress, hm?" Kento questions. "Mmm y-yeah, she sure is."

You continue to grind down against him, finally helping Kento out of his pants. He's only in his boxer briefs now, his cock straining against the material. Then you look up at him, begging him to take the lead on the next part of this.

He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you longingly and sloppily. Your tongues wrestle together, swapping spit together in such a lewd manner that Hiromi just cannot tear his eyes away from you both. He's going to enjoy watching you two make love.

Kento places you on the bed, his calloused hands rubbing and caressing all your erogenous zones. You moan softly as his fingers pinch and pull on your sensitive nipples. Then his head dips down to capture one of them into his mouth as his hands continue to undress you. Once your dress is pulled off, he turns to face the lawyer sitting in the corner.

"Wanna come see if she smells as good as she tastes?" Kento goads him on.

Within seconds, Hiromi is up and off the sofa and he's on his hands and knees at the foot of the large bed. Kento spreads your legs, showing the wet patch on your pretty little panties. Hiromi is practically salivating as he begins to get closer.

You shudder as Kento pulls your panties off so slowly, exposing you to the lawyer who is ready to worship you both body and soul. Then he turns to face Hiromi and he gives the man your soiled panties.

"Have those, she's got lots more."

The black-haired man holds the soiled material to his nose and takes a greedy inhale. He shudders at the sweet and musky scent of your arousal. His tongue darts out pathetically to lick up a bit of the nectar.

"Look at him," Kento draws your attention towards Hiromi. "Pussywhipped loser."

Something about watching the way Hiromi is licking your panties really drives you wild. With your pussy exposed, Kento begins teasing your clit with slow circles. You buck up to meet his hand, which earns you a scoff from your beautiful blond lover. When your eyes meet, you can see the warning in them to be a bit more patient.

Without warning, Hiromi brings himself closer to your pussy and his face is inches away from it. His pupils have all but turned into hearts when he looks at your cute little cunt. He's just about to lean in when Kento pushes him off the bed.

"Did you forget rule three already?! You can't just do whatever you want." Kento growls.

Hiromi apologizes profusely, his heart racing. The thought of Kento hurting him to lay claim to you is turning him on. Maybe he is just a pathetic, desperate sex fiend. A pervert who hasn't gotten laid in so long. He sits up on his knees, watching you both.

"You wanna know what it's like to not have to ask for permission? Watch closely,"

With those words, Kento sinks himself into your dribbling hole. You cry out, clinging to your husband. He begins drilling himself into you, making you moan just for him. Hiromi's eyes widen, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

"You like that, huh? Fucking loser, you love watching my wife take my cock, don't you?"

Kento's words are hitting him hard. Hiromi has to begin palming himself through his slacks, the precum making a stain in his boxers. You look at the lawyer, moaning loudly as Kento keeps hitting your sweet spot dead on. Hiromi brings your panties to his nose as he begins to unbuckle his belt and take his leaking cock out of his boxers.

"Look at him," Kento goads, "look how much he's so desperate."

Your eyes are practically rolled back in your skull, and anyone can see you're much too preoccupied with the pleasure to even think about looking at the desperate man who is now jerking off at the edge of your bed. Kento chuckles darkly.

"See that? That's what a woman in the throes of pleasure looks like. Something I'm sure you've barely ever seen in your life."

Hiromi grunts as he picks up the pace of stroking his cock. His fist is a blur as he jerks himself off; your panties are still pressed to his nose. Your sweet moans and cries of love make his cock dribble out even more precum.

"K-Ken…I'm gonna cum!"

Kento growls sensually before picking up his own pace. He's slamming into you, making sure to angle his hips so that the tip of his cock continues to ram against that sweet spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars. Waves of electricity course through your body, making the muscles in your groin begin to tense as your orgasm builds more and more. The flame in your belly is burning hot, and the coil snaps. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back, and your plump lips part to cry out his name.

"Fuck, she's milking my cock so good!" Kento grunts, his own orgasm imminent.

Hiromi feels his balls drawing up fast, and he can't keep his eyes off the lewd scene in front of him. He moans as he fucks his fist a little faster, squeezing as if it was your pussy milking him as well. Then with a loud grunt, he's cumming so hard. Spurts of his cum begin to shoot out and cover his fist and the edge of the bed.

"Hah, I knew you'd blow your load first!" Kento brags. "I could keep going, but I suppose I shouldn't overstimulate my wife too much. I think she's had too much excitement for one night,"

Hiromi is slack-jawed as he watches Kento plow himself into you. His cock throbs with every thrust, and Hiromi has the front-row seat to watch as the man fucking your brains out is about to cum. The long-nosed man is very mesmerized by the blond's movements.

"Shit, such a fucking good pussy! Fuck I'm gonna cum!" Kento cries out. "Watch Hiromi-san, this is how you breed a pretty little wife!"

With a loud roar, Kento's hips stutter as the pleasure hits him hard. Shot after shot of his potent and sticky cum begins to fill your pussy. You whine from the overstimulation, but he's quick to hush you with sweet words of praise and love. Then slowly, he settles onto your tits and begins sucking on them.

"Hiromi honey," you call out to the lawyer. He looks up at you, a blush on his cheeks. "Yeah?" You smirk, "Come here, honey."

Hiromi crawls onto the bed. Kento pulls out, and both men watch as the cum begins to leak out of your abused hole. The lawyer is salivating at the sight of your puffy cunt. Kento beckons him closer, spreading your thighs a little bit.

"Have a taste," Kento instructs. "You've been a pretty good boy. I think you deserve it. But…" Hiromi looks up at him, "But what?" "You've got to clean us both up. Not just her, you better be sucking me cleaning too."

Hiromi feels his cock springing back to life at the chance to taste you both. First, he leans in to take a big whiff of your pussy. It's taken on a more musky scent with Kento's seed mixing in, but it's definitely still making him dizzy. He tentatively licks your folds before moaning. He's in heaven as he begins to lap at you like you are his last meal.

"Heh, you still think she tastes like strawberries?" Kento asks him.

Hiromi looks up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust. He moans his response, not caring that Kento's seed is mixing with your arousal. To the lawyer, you both taste so heavenly. A flavor he doesn't want to soon forget.

Kento reaches over, gripping Hiromi's black hair. He pulls him away from your oversensitive cunt, and he pushes him towards his half-hard leaking cock. Hiromi is quick to open his mouth, savoring the taste of your pussy on Kento's cock. The black-haired man moans as he begins to take even more of your husband's dick in his mouth.

"Fuck, darling…do you see just how much of a pervert he is?"

With that, Kento pushes him off and lets you all catch your breath. You watch through half-lidded eyes as your husband dons his favorite robe and heads into the kitchen. Hiromi stays put on the ground, unsure of what to do. You pat the spot next to you, and he sits near you.

"Hiromi honey, did you enjoy yourself?" you turn around and grab the sheet to cover your body.

He finds it adorable that you're choosing to be more modest right now. The vulnerability in that one little move really makes his chest feel warm. Suddenly he feels like he's actually looking into your private life.

Kento returns with a few bottles of mineral water for all of you. He also has a warm washcloth for you and Hiromi. Hiromi blushes as he turns away from both of you and cleans off his cock and his hands. Kento sits on the bed and wipes up the cum from your puffy, red pussy.

Once everyone is decent and cleaned up, you all take a moment to drink the water. Kento lights up a cigarette and as a sign of good faith, he hands one to the lawyer who gratefully accepts it. You three sit on the bed with the window cracked open, smoking your cigarettes.

"Still need a place to crash?" Kento asks Hiromi. "Yeah, I'd love that."

You lean back against the pillows, beckoning the lawyer over. He strips down to his boxers and he crawls under the covers. There's a warmth that comes from you as you wrap your arms around him and allow him to snuggle against your breasts. What surprises Hiromi is when Kento settles behind the man and wraps a protective arm around him.

"Sleep tight," you coo softly. "Love you, Ken." "Love you too, sweetie. Sleep well."

And the three of you fall into a deep sleep…

[verstxppen33]

A night to remember

part 1 of the series: Where we belong

summary: lando was partying around, until he locked eyes with you.

next part

genre: a sprinkle of fluff

warnings: mention of being drunk, supermodel!reader

As you walked into the club, the energy was electric, a vibrant pulse that thrummed through the floor beneath your feet. Drunk people were dancing wildly, bodies swaying and colliding to the beat, while others were lost in each other, making out in darkened corners.

The usual stuff, nothing out of the ordinary. You made your way to your usual spot at the bar and ordered a champagne cocktail, the bubbles tickling your nose as you took a sip.

But something felt different tonight. It wasn’t your hair or your makeup—both were perfectly in place. It was more like a heavy gaze was locked onto you, an unseen presence lingering just at the edge of your awareness, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned around and caught someone staring at you, with a drunken smile. He waved at you, locking eyes with you. You both stared at each other until the mysterious man walked up to you with a grin.

“Hey there, sweetheart. What’s a pretty woman like you doing here all alone?” he asks with a smirk, sliding onto the barstool next to you. His cologne is strong but not unpleasant, mingling with the scents of alcohol and sweat that fill the air.

“Oh, I’m usually here for the drinks,” you reply casually, taking another sip of your cocktail. Your gaze drifts, despite your best efforts, to the few buttons he’s left undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest.

You catch yourself staring and quickly shift your eyes back to his face, feeling a flush creep up your neck. He notices and his smirk widens, leaning in closer.

Continue reading!

"Oh, really? You do seem more like an ambivert? Introvert? Whatever. What's your name, beautiful?" he asks you, locking eyes with you again. God, those hazel eyes made you crazy.

As you told him your name, he grinned, a playful spark in his eyes. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he said smoothly. "I'm Lando, by the way. Lando Norris."

It was obvious he was flirting, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. How could you, when he looked like that? Those messy brown locks that framed his face perfectly, the hint of stubble along his jaw, the way his shirt stretched over his muscular chest—it was all enough to make your pulse quicken. His confidence was intoxicating, almost as much as the drink in your hand.

He quickly snapped you out of your loving thoughts with another question, "What do you work for?" You smile at him and answer, "I am a supermodel, what about you? You seem quite muscular."

He raises an eyebrow before chuckling. "I appreciate it, love. I'm a Formula 1 Driver, actually." he answers casually, like it's no big deal. You widen your eyes in disbelief and excitement. "A formula 1 driver? You do seem familar. That's pretty cool!"

As the night went on, the two of you talked and laughed, your conversations flowing effortlessly over the loud music. You found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his easy charm and the way his hand occasionally brushed against your thigh, sending sparks up your spine.

You felt a heat in his touch, a silent promise that lingered in the space between you. Finally, as the hours passed, he wrapped up the conversation with a playful smile. "So, what do you say?" he asked, his voice low and inviting. "Would you like to stay at my place tonight?"

"Oh, um, sure!" you replied, your voice wavering with a mix of excitement and hesitation. You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach but decided to go with him. Something about his presence made you feel alive, and you weren't ready for this night to end just yet.

He gently takes your hand and leads you out of the club, waving goodbye to his friends. His hands were rough and soft at the same time and you couldn't help but admire the way he was holding your hand.

He opens the passenger door of a McLaren and leads her inside, before going to the driver's seat and buckling up as well. The moonlight casted a nice glow between both of you, making Lando admire you for a moment, then starting the car and driving to his apartment.

The ride back to his apartment settled in a comfortable silence, Lando sometimes glancing at you. After you two reached his apartment, he quickly walked over to your side and opening the door for you again, grinning.

"You look stunning tonight. Have I told you that yet?" he randomly says, opening his apartment door. You step in, looking around and saying, "Yeah, I think you did." "Are you hungry?" he asks you while looking into the refrigerator. You think for a moment and then humming in denial.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry," he pauses and turns around, walking closer to you. "For you." He suddenly captures your lips in a gentle kiss, cupping your cheek gently. Woah, did he just kiss me?

[victoria-grimesss]

locked on target

masterlist

->Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

->Words: 4.7k

->Warning: MDNI! unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, mask stays partially on, dirty talk.

->Summary: Working alongside the 141 for a year now, you’ve grown closer to the infamous ghost. Confiding in Soap about your crush, confession is the only way to rid yourself of the gnawing infatuation. 

->A/N: Despite all my writing being about König, ghost is my all time favorite baby girl, writing for him always intimidated me but I’ll give it my best shot, hope he’s not too OOC.

It’s been a full year on the 141 and you couldn't be happier, well not happy at the moment since you’re ankle deep in sludge. This mission is going as well as any other despite the evac being miles away through humid weather and wet ground. 

“Good thing I packed extra socks.” You muttered, readjusting your gun and pack and unsticking your boot from a deep pocket of mud.

“Oh come on lass it could be worse right? We could be treading through anaconda infested waters huh? Lighten up.” Soap is next to you. He's having an easier time removing his boots from the muck. 

Price is in the front with Gaz next to him talking about the evac and rations, you admire their relationship. Price has slowly morphed into some kind of a father figure to you as you assume he did for Gaz too or at least a mentor. Gaz and Soap are like brothers to you, you bicker like such. You pick on Soap when he gets too drunk to form correct sentences and starts singing songs from his childhood, and you get Gaz too when he laughs so hard you have to remind him to breathe. Like a dynamic triangle the three of you.

Then there’s Ghost.

He stands at the back of the group behind you and Soap, no evident trouble for him when it comes to the mud. He’s sturdy and observant, keeping a close eye on the treeline and behind the group. He's a great soldier and you admire his skills… and him. Ever since you met him you’ve had your eyes trained. 

I mean who wouldn’t.

From his expressive eyes which sometimes you feel look through you, to his broad shoulders where he holds the world on top of them, his strong arms that deal with enemies swifty, to…his… lower extremities that you certainly have only thought of once or twice. Maybe more. 

You should be ashamed of your feelings, and you lock them down deep the only time they have slipped past your lips is when too much alcohol loosens them. 

—

You confessed one night to soap, the rest were asleep and your insomnia was kicking your ass so you went to the parking lot where soap was nursing a bottle on the hood of his car, and you sat down and shared it.

“Something on your mind bonnie?” He hands the bottle to you, concern brewing in him.

“I don’t know, it’s just, Ghost.”

He laughs.

“Yea, I know about him, but what about him?” 

You take a couple large gulps of the amber liquid, it burns its way down and soothes your aching wanting heart, burying the hopeless romantic in you. Tears brew in your eyes and you always forget you either become a laughing drunk or a sappy drunk, seems the latter had won tonight.

“Aye- lass, what's wrong.” His hand is placed on your shoulder offering a comforting touch.

You sob and laugh at the same time, looking up at Soap.

“I think I’m in love with him.” You say quietly through a stream of tears that make their way into your mouth, making a weird cocktail of salty liquor.

“Oh bonnie…” Soap rubs your back, his voice is soft.

“I just, everything about him Johnny! I can’t get him out of my head, and he probably doesn't even look at me that way, he could get any girl he wanted!” You sob.

“Woah there calm down, gonna throw yourself into a spell talking like this. Look. LT cares about ya, truly. He thinks you’re a valued member of the team and I’ve caught him starin’ a few times so don’t be daft now ya hear. You’re a pretty girl and LT would be lucky to have ya.”

You sniff, wiping the tears and snot with a sleeve.

“Really? You think so?”

“Cross my heart and hope ta die. You’ll be alright.”

—

“It’s in my shoes.” You deadpan.

You hear Gaz laugh and Price looks back, checking on the team.

“Don’t worry Y/N, just imagine it’s a mud bath! Your skin will be smooth and shiny before you know it!” Soap laughs at Gaz’s antics, it’s nice when you can all joke around and relax. The hard part is over and now it’s simple evac.

“Right… how soothing.” Your eyes roll and you look back to check on Ghost, your eyes meet and a flash of electric lightning shoots to your heart, it feels good. 

He gives a quick nod and you return to your trudging. You wait till after the mission to pass any other signals, he’s too focused to register any flirting right now. Or that's the advice Soap gave you after that night.

“Right. Keep close by, chopper is land down in 5, need to evac quickly to avoid any unwanted looks.” Price alerts to the rest of the team once you’ve covered ground and are nearing sweet release. Your back and knees ache just at the thought of sitting. You nurse the last of your water and keep walking, you tip your bottle back along with your head to get the remaining drops and you trip over a protruding root.

Other foot trying to catch yourself a hand catches on your upper arm, righting you up.

“Alright there?” Ghost’s dark eyes are steady on you, maybe a bit amused, or maybe his eye paint is creasing.

“Yea, sorry just tryna finish off the bottle, didn't see that there.”

“Careful next time yea?” He releases your arm and waits for you to start walking again to pick up behind you.

“Yea, for sure LT.”

You feel his hand on your arm even after he released you and you want to untie the knot that Ghost has tied there and you know you’re royally fucked.

You’re all on the chopper and your legs just about give out, you always love the euphoric feeling of sitting down after a mission like this, the lactic acid in your muscles making them burn like no other. You sit across from Ghost and he visibly relaxes once the chopped takes off, the breeze from the open doors cooling everyone immensely.

“Good work everyone, I know evac was shit but you all hustled and we got the intel we needed. I think we all deserve a good ol drink when we get back right?” 

Price brings a smile to everyone's face, as tired as the lot of us are. You glance over at Ghost and his eyes look away from you, looking over his gear.

Your heart pains for some kind of acknowledgment that he feels the same, it’s like trying to hold the same fistful of sand no matter how hard you try it seeps through your fingers, you want him so badly you’d tape your fist shut if that meant keeping the sand in.

—

Back to base, ‘same day different shit’ you heard Ghost say one time. You often hold on to everything he says, hoarding each little piece he feeds you and storing it away somewhere special. Like you’re hoarding food for the winter, as if the winter is him falling in love with a woman that isn't you, when that happens you’ll open your little box of his sayings and advice and eat them slowly, savor them until all that’s left to drink is the tears you drown yourself in as consolation. 

A pity party is what you throw yourself that night, showering and getting a once over by the medic then making your way back to your room, Price wants to get everyone together tomorrow night for a drink, wouldn't hurt you think. You sit on the edge of your bed, the silence is deafening after a mission, tinnitus ringing your ears. The bed is cold, you want someone to warm it, you want Ghost to warm it.

The nightmares come to you quickly that night, visions of your team, your friends being ripped apart by bullets as you try to fire back into mist. You hold Ghost’s hand as he fades and you wake up coated in cold sweat and adrenaline.

3:18 a.m.

You toss and turn for a minute before huffing and leaving the bed, you need air. Adorned in sweatpants and a shirt you got on recruitment day you leave your room the sound of your door is loud and you wince as it closes. You go to the parking lot once more, maybe there will be more stars out tonight. 

The air is crisp and cool, you round the corner of the building where a bench sits, a lone figure is sitting and smoking there, you can tell it’s him by his silhouette. He’s broad and his legs spread wide as he sits alone.

“This seat taken?” You ask, scared if you talk too loud he’ll leave.

“All yours” No inflection is evident in his tone.

Silence sits between you two and you take a harsh breath to break it. It makes you uncomfortable. 

“Trouble sleeping?” His voice is deep and low.

“The usual, nightmares again. You?” 

“Not tired, too soon after the mission to sleep.”

“I understand.” 

You watch him carefully as he brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, you inhale with him. You imagine him inhaling your perfume as his lips touch your neck. You stare, unabashedly, like you’re not scared if he catches you.

He adjusts where he sits, hips rolling to get more comfortable.

“Bloody bench feels like it’s made of spikes.” He mutters, quietly.

You breathe out a laugh as he exhales the smoke.

His eyes look to the side at you and then forward again.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you want something from me.”

“What if I do?” 

Your heart is racing now, faster than it had on any given mission.

He stands, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot, he slips his mask down again and his eyes are locked on you.

“I’d say you’d better fuckin’ find it elsewhere, we both know I can’t give you what you want.”

“What do I want Simon?” 

His lips grow sealed when you say his name.

“Things I’m incapable of providing, best leave it at that. Night sergeant.”

His tone meant business, you know better than to chase after him. You sit on the bench, staring at the cigarette on the ground. It’s beaten and crushed like you feel right now.

You wonder if you can still taste his lips on it.

The walk of shame back to your room is humiliating, you pass some others that can’t sleep, nightmares aren't anything special around here and you wish you could pluck the worries from their heads.

Sleep is easy after that, maybe your body wants to make you forget the encounter with him but even so you dream of him. He’s an inescapable phantom.

—

“Aye there she is!!” Soap hollers from across the pub, it’s a quaint place, quiet enough to not be annoying but lively enough to not feel desolate.

A large corner booth is what they occupy and you wave as you make your way over, A few empty glasses scatter the table already you arrived ‘fashionably late’.

“Hey bonnie I gotta take a leak you can have my seat yea?” He nudges Ghost so he can be let out of the booth, Ghost stands towering over you. Soap shuffles over to the bathroom and Ghost  lets you slide into the booth before he follows, trapped between the wall and him. You’d rather be under him…

You greet them all and Gaz slides you a tall glass of something mind numbing, Ghost has his mask down but he’s nearly finished with his glass same with the rest of them.

“You got some catching up to do, miss fashionably late.” Gaz shoots a smile and you clink your glasses together.

Soap meanders back and pulls a chair to sit at the end of the table, you all squabble over what a better drink is and down rounds after rounds. The conversation somehow gravitates to relationships at some point and Soap is going on and on about this woman he met at the pub down the street.

“Oh she’s a real sweetheart, thinking about asking her out later this week when I get the balls to do it.”

You smile at the way Soap talks about her, you’d love to be admired like that, treasured.

“I think you should go for it Johnny! You're a nice guy, I can go in there and talk you up if you want, say you fought off ten men to save my life.”

He laughs, nearly tipping off his chair, 

“You’re a real wingman Y/N, if you can secure a date by all means.”

You smile and the air is joyous, little is heard from Ghost but you know he likes seeing the team happy, he sips his drink and observes, smiles hidden by his mask.

“Have you had any luck on the dating scene Y/N?” 

Gaz questions, eyebrows rising.

“Yea bonnie, never hear a peep out of you when we talk about lovey dovey shit.”

You shrug, taking strong sips of your drink.

“I went on a date a while back, he got me flowers, a real nice guy. Found out he was sleeping with my friend behind my back around the fourth date. Don’t really want to try anymore, end of story.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning into you as you finish the sentence. His gaze is addicting and you feel sweaty locked in his stare.

“Well he’s a proper twat for messing it up with you then yea?” 

Price offers a tip of his head, sympathy in his eyes.

“Ah it’s alright, I’ll just wait for my prince charming to come sweep me off my feet.” You bat your lashes dramatically and fake a swoon, soothing the old memory with jokes. It turns the tide of the table ambiance to a lighter one.

“I need to piss.” Ghost says quickly, you scoot out of the seat and Ghost hurries off to where Johnny has gone to earlier.

“What’s up his arse?” Gaz says confused.

Price downs the last of his drink and slams it back onto the table.

“What do you all say to a game of pool?”

“I’ll watch, cheer ya’ll on.” You still nurse your drink and you start to buzz, worries slipping away like papers, but one it left, weighted down with a large paperweight.

“I’ll be right there, gonna finish this drink off.” Soap says, sloshing the leftover liquid that's in his glass.

“Very well, see you momentarily.”

Soap watched the two walk off, leaving the two of you left alone.

He turns back quickly, you get secondhand whiplash.

“Ghost has had his eyes on you the whole night please tell me you told him and he confesses his secret love for you!” Soaps eyes are huge and he’s pleading for the right answer.

“Not exactly.” He delfates.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“I told him that I kinda wanted him and he said he wouldn't be able to give me what I want.”

“That's bollocks and you know it! He’s always watching you, never seen him doing that for any other lass. Now is the time, he’s all alone. Go on and chat him up, I’ll tell the boys you’ve gone home sick alright.” 

Soap winks and leaves before you can utter another word. You even your breathing and gulp down the rest of the liquid courage before strolling over to the bathroom hallway. It does not take guys that long to pee weird he's not around.

You walk outside, feeling deja vu from last night the breeze hits the same way.

“You should go inside, it’s cold out.” Ghost is standing leaned up against the brick wall next to the door.

“I was looking for you actually.”

He stands up straighter, shoulders held further.

“Lads looking? Not really in the mood to lose another game. Last time was enough.”

You laugh, the alcohol making it easier to relax around him. You're tipsy enough to have fake confidence for the time being but sober enough to make deductions wisely.

“No Simon, I’m looking. For you.”

“And I told you to stop, you don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re a nice girl yea? Find a nice young guy that can take you on dates and buy you flowers-

“I don’t want anyone else Simon. I want you because I’m in love with you!”

It seems like the whole world went silent after you said that. You’re steaming and don’t move your eyes away from him.

“Y/N.”

“I’m tired of pretending. I just had to tell you I couldn't hold it in any longer it was making me sick. I don’t care about fancy stuff, you should know that by now. I just want to be next to you.”

He approaches you, your neck craning to maintain contact.

“Y/N, I’m proper fucked up you know that? You’re too kind, too perfect to be ruined by a man like me.”

You sniff, the cold getting to you.

“I think you’re wonderful Simon really. You look out for everyone and make sure everyone is alright before looking after yourself. Let me please show you you’re worth loving in return.”

Your heart spills to him, spewing it’s contents violently.

“I’m not joking, I'm not ‘prince charming’ like you referenced earlier.”

“Even better.” You smile.

“Fuck it.”

Before you know it, he lifted the small portion of his mask to kiss you and you erupt, wrapping your arms securely around his neck as though you’ll fall if you don’t. His hands hover over your waist and you grab them and push them down onto your body and he pulls you close. He kisses you like it’s the last time, he makes up for all the times he should have, all the time he desperately wanted to.

He’s watched from afar for so long, your laugh creates sparks in his heart, seeing you make it back from another mission safely spurs him on. He would lay down his life for you and you don’t even know it.

He pulled back, mouth in the crook of your neck.

“Your place is nearby right?” You ask, rubbing his neck and down his back.

“Yea, yea it is.”

He leads you back, back to his den where he’ll draw you in with those eyes and that voice, calloused hands exposed from his gloves that will trace over your skin. The walk is in silence but you both are buzzing, the team won’t miss you, probably happy this chasing game is over with so peace can be established once more. He takes your hand as he leads you up the steps to his apartment, you grope his arm and he shoots you a sultry side-eye.

“Have I ever told you I love your arms?”

“You did just now love.”

Love, love, love. You want him to keep saying it.

He leads you in you’re caged in by his arms on the inside of the door. He looks you over head to toe.

“You look fuckin lovely tonight you know that? All I’ve been thinking about is tearing this top off of you and stripping you down.”

You shiver and bring your hands to run carefully from his abdomen up to his chest.

“You think of ripping my clothes off frequently?”

“Very.”

Stunned by his words and your head swimming he places his hands on your waist and lowers his head to your ear.

“Now if you’d allow me, I’d like to fuck you now.”

Hypnotized you speak.

“Yes please.”

His home is lowly lit and sparsely decorated, you assume he’s not here often or for long.

The bedroom is simple, a bed, two side tables, two lamps, and a dresser. An adjacent bathroom you can’t see.

“You have a nice place.”

“Well now I know you’re lying.”

You stand at the edge of the bed and he stands before you and his hands are on you again pushing you onto the bed you are surrounded by the smell of him, the deep umber and woodsy scent. 

“You know how many times I’ve pictured you in my bed?”

He’s inching your pants down your hips agonizingly slow as he speaks.

“How many times I fucked myself picturing you instead?”

“Ghost.”

“Nah none of that here, you’re gonna say my real name from now on and you’re gonna scream it alright?”

“Fuck Simon.”

“Yea. Just. Like. That.” Your pants are off and his hands move from your ankles up to your knees and caress to your inner thighs. His fingers skate your pantyline and your eyes are locked on his hand and he doesn't stop. His hands move over your hips and grip your waist before moving right below your breasts, he checks you with his eyes and you plead silently.

He cups you fully with both hands and you roll your head savoring his feelings.

“So fucking good love fuck.”

He strips you of your shirt and bra and you’re left exposed on his bed. He stands back to stare down upon you and you feel like a spread of food sitting on a stark white table ready to be consumed and ogled. He strips himself of his leather jacket leaving his quite form fitting black tee on.

You adjust under his gaze, his mask hides any expression but his eyes say so much. Raking over your body heavily and his chest rising and falling fast as though he had run a marathon.

“Simon.”

“Yea?”

“Do something.”

“Like what?” His voice is lighter now.

“Anything Simon!”

He laughs and places a knee in between your legs, spreading them wide to accommodate his other leg and hips.

“There we go, fuck all spread out underneath me.”

His hand is placed on your breast and rolls your nipples in his fingers, it moves down never leaving your skin until he reaches your core it’s hot and wet and he collects it on his fingers and when he finally touches you it’s like you’ve reached Valhalla. 

He slips a finger inside and it faces no resistance, you form around him and he slips in another starting a smooth rhythm.

“So tight, you think you’ll be able to take me huh love?” 

He’s pumping in you and you can hear how wet he’s made you, his eyes darting from his fingers to your face, thrown into pleasure.

He brings you to your peak so quickly you’re stunned and you grip his arm as you clench around him, his name being pulled from you like a mantra.

 You regain your mind and look at him as he slips from you and his fingers make their way under his mask, his eyes on your as he licks them clean tasting you on him.

“Sweetest fucking thing I ever tasted.”

He’s unbuckling his belt next, unzips his pants and pulls himself free. He's thick as all hell and a thick vein runs down the underside. It looks heavy and you pocket an idea for next time.

You're staring for a long time and his two fingers that just did unspeakable things to you tip your chin to look at him.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I can take it, just hurry up.”

“You’re always so impatient you know that.”

He places the tip at your entrance collecting your wetness to help with the initial push.

The stretch is delicious and you grip his arm and shoulder gasping at the feeling of being full of him.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so fucking tight, squeezing me so fucking good.”

His one arm is braced at the side of your head, forearm spattered with tattoos burning your peripheral vision. The other holds himself, leading himself into you.

He’s seated fully inside and you feel split down the middle in the best way. Burning fire deep within you and you moan for him to move, creating the friction you need.

He starts moving and you both moan, he tips his head forward to watch where he enters you repeatedly.

“So good, fuck so big Simon.”

“You take it so well, love.”

His hand that once gripped himself holds your hip and moves himself like the ocean, fluid and rhythmic.

“Always dreamt about fucking you, you spread out of my bed while I fuck my cock deep into you.”

You throw your head back and he leans back, the warm air that was between you two leaving for the cold air of the room bringing your nipples to hard peaks which his eyes gravitate to.

“Alright c’mon love.”

He takes your ankles and your legs are on his shoulders. He thrusts that much deeper and hits the right spot to make you see spots.

“You like that, fuck I can see how deep I’m going in you.” 

His hand finds your and puts it on your lower stomach and pushes down so you can feel the way he thrusts within you and how deep he reaches, you clench around him.

“Yea you like that.” He's cocky like this, dominant and all controlling. You’re putty in his hand.

“Simon I’m close don't stop please, fuck please.”

He lifts his mask up over his lips and kisses your ankle, biting your calf when he growls and that's all you need to be pushed over the edge.

“Fuck, yea cum on my cock good fucking girl.”

He fucks you through it and leans down to be face to face again. Your legs draped over his shoulders and he hits the right spot with each thrust now, he’s battering you into the mattress and his growling with each thrust muttering about how good you feel and how nicely you wrap about him.

You claw at his chest through his shirt sobbing and babbling and moaning.

“Can’t even form a proper sentence, so drunk on my cock yea? You gonna be a good girl and cum again for me?”

The graphic noises from where the two of you are joining echos through the room and you hope his neighbors aren't home.

“Yes, yes Simon please please please.”

The bed is an orchestra of noises and he shoots a hand up to the headboard, his knuckles gone white from gripping it so hard. Your abdomen is tight, so tight and your so fucking close you just want to cum at the same time as him.

“Fuck fuck fuck, so tight and wet where do you want me to cum, fucking tell me.”

“Inside me, inside me it’s safe.”

Not a beat after that leaves your mouth he’s seating himself so deep within you, you feel him throbbing deep within you and your vision goes blurry, ears gone fuzzy as you both are thrown into the abyss at the same time. 

You hear a crack from above you but you pay no mind as your neck deep in pure white hot bliss.

“Fuckin hell love, really. Fuck.” He's panting, you’re panting.

You stroke his chest lovingly as he kisses your ankle as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. He lowers his mask once more.

You glace up to where his hand still grips the headboard and a deep crack is ingrained in the wood.

You laugh.

“Jesus Simon, you fucked me so hard you broke your bed.” 

He removes his hand observing the wood and shrugging.

“Well worth it I’d say, I’ll invest in a sturdier one.”

“Are you saying you’ll invite me to your place more often?”

“Your place works too.”

You both banter as you both clean up, you shower and he washes the sheets and hangs around the kitchen, letting you some time to refresh.

You come out of the bathroom smelling like him, drowned in one of his shirts and he's leaned up against his kitchen island gazing blindly at the random rugby channel he turned on.

He slides you a beer and you take it gratefully, bumping your glasses together.

“I mean it Y/N, I’m not the kind of man you might be thinking.”

“No Simon, you’re exactly the man I’m looking for, you’re stuck with me now.”

There's a beat of silence before Simon speaks up again.

“I should probably thank Johnny for tonight right?”

“Yea, he pretty much told me to quit my bitching and confront you.”

He sips his beer, 

“Well, for once I can say thank fuck for Soap and his matchmaking skills.”

You laugh and stare at him in adoration, this is the start of something wonderful.

---

Tag list: @theredviolets

[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

‧₊˚✧⚁⁠♧777♤⚄✧˚₊‧

Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

[loudstan]

(67) Days of Whatever the Fuck that Was (PART 1.)

Summary: Chenle wasn't interested in committed relationships until he met the one. The problem is that now she is the one who doesn't want to commit to him.

Pairing: Werewolf! Chenle x Siren! Female reader

Warnings: OOff where do I start. Things get dubious, and even a bit non-conish sometimes so do not read if that's not something you're into. A lot of mind games, manipulation, gaslighting, and all the red flags you can think of. Y/N is MEAN. Also, this is super long so i had to make two separate posts. Read both if you want to know how it ends! SMUT.

Chenle didn’t understand why everyone said they had such a hard time trying to get their mates to accept them. All his pack brothers told horrendous stories about how hard it was to approach, confess, and get together with their destined person (except for Haechan, who found the whole ‘bugging her every day until she says yes´ approach normal). So far, all their mates had not been wolves like them, so it made sense that they didn’t immediately believe them, nor did they want to compromise to be with them for life. 

But Chenle? Chenle had his mate in his arms right now, not even five minutes after first laying eyes on her, kissing him and giggling playfully at his dumbfounded but eager state. 

He can barely remember how he got there. He remembers going to this bar that Jisung was ridiculously excited to check out. It was literally inside a ship that was (supposedly) safely anchored and that was accessible through a wooden bridge connected to the port. Rumor had it they served the most exquisite liquors from all around the world and they never stayed in the same town for more than a couple of months. Chenle found the concept of a wandering floating bar clever, especially because paying for a spot to park a ship wasn’t as expensive as renting a place on land and getting it ready for the business. He had some concerns regarding the legal permits to sell alcohol in different cities and countries, though.

 He was thinking about all the technical details that opening a business like this required while trying to decide what to order when he locked eyes with the bartender– the most beautiful creature he had ever seen– and he forgot how to speak, so he just looked at you dumbly as your lips moved delicately, asking him who knows what. 

You thought maybe he was new to drinking, so you leaned forward over the bar and pointed at some options on the menu, avoiding the ones that contained hard liquor. 

“Are you a beer-only type of person? This one is a little bitter but a lot of our regulars like it,” you tried to speak over the loud music. When he didn’t reply you tried again. “If you prefer something sweet there are a few cocktails that I could recommend but they are kinda strong–,” You looked up and saw that you had been talking to a wall the entire time; he wasn’t even looking at the menu. Instead, his eyes moved hesitantly from your lips to your neck and finally, your breasts, which were barely covered by your low-cut top, and had him salivating. 

He finally looked up when you scoffed. 

“That’s not really on the menu,” you teased him. You weren’t mad. You often got hit on during your shift, and you quite enjoyed the attention when it came from attractive young men. And this one was incredibly attractive. 

He cleared his throat. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to stare–”

“Do they look good?” you asked, tilting your head and crossing your arms under your chest, making your tits look even prettier. 

He swallowed a groan and forced his eyes to look back into yours after taking a quick look. So you were a tease, huh? He could deal with that. “Yes,” he said, suddenly sounding very confident. “But they would look prettier with my mouth on them.”

You were taken aback by the change of demeanor, but you couldn’t deny it sounded tempting. You had had your fair share of one-night stands, most of them fun, some of them not so much, but you had never wanted to kiss someone you had just met this badly. 

“Sangie,” you turned and called for your coworker who was cleaning some glasses. “Can I take a short toilet break?”

Yeosang smirked knowingly and nodded. There weren’t many customers right now, so he could handle them just fine. Plus, it was the first time he saw you taking the initiative to go with someone, which had to mean you really liked that lucky guy. 

“Thanks! Love ya!” you said, leaving your workstation and grabbing the stranger’s hand, who let you guide him without even thinking about his friend waiting for him at the table. 

And now he was pressed against the wall of a restroom as you assaulted his lips until he felt light-headed. The way the ocean waves rocked the ship didn’t help. He felt drunk already and he hadn’t tried a single drop of alcohol. 

“What’s your name?” he asked in between kisses.

“Y/N,” you replied, pecking his lips. “And you are…?”

“Chenle,” he said, chasing your mouth. “Zhong,” he added. He thought you had to know his family name as well since it would be yours one day. 

You giggled against his lips and his heart skipped a beat. 

And then he almost had a heart attack when you placed his hand on your breast. 

“I thought you were gonna make them look prettier, Chenle Zhong” you taunted. 

He let out a sound that was between a laugh and a scoff. He would fix your attitude later, right now he was feeling too good to be mad about it.

He squeezed your breasts while he trailed your neck with wet kisses.

You sighed and closed your eyes in delight, waiting for him to fulfill his promise, but he was taking his sweet time with your neck. 

“Hey,” you tried to get his attention to no avail. “I can’t be here all night, you know?” you informed him, laughing. 

Either he didn’t hear you or he decided to completely ignore you because he seemed fixated on nibbling the soft skin on the crook of your neck.  

You normally wouldn’t mind some of that for foreplay, but you had to get back to work at some point. Not only that, but the constant licking and sucking on the same spot was starting to get painful.

“Chenle,” you hissed, tapping at his shoulder insistently, but instead of stopping he opened his mouth wider and you felt sharp teeth scratching the surface his tongue had abused before. “Chenle, stop!” you demanded, grabbing a handful of his hair and finally pulling his head back. “What are you doing?!” you asked him, holding him in place and using your other hand to soothe the sensitive patch of skin. 

He groaned and stared at you defiantly. “Let me go.”

“ You’ve  been sucking on my neck for five minutes.”

“I found the right spot,” he argued, trying to dive in again, and grunting when you pulled his hair harder. 

“Right spot for what?” you asked, baffled. 

“To bite you,” he replied, rolling his eyes like you had asked the dumbest question ever.

“...Nice, but that won’t get me off,” you explained. “So can we move on?”

His reddened eyes (had they always been red?) squinted at you. “My mate has a sassy mouth, huh? Let me make it official and then I’ll get you off all you want,” he offered, aiming for your neck and letting out a frustrated sigh when you stopped him again.

“I’m no one’s mate. What the fuck are you on about?” you asked in disbelief.

“You asked for my ID before I could order a drink, right? What species did it say I was?” he tried to explain as kindly as he could, but he sounded like an exhausted elementary school teacher. He was losing his patience and it was getting really hard to be coherent. 

“A werewolf, but–,” you stopped mid-sentence and your eyes widened in realization. “Oh…”

“Yes, ‘Oh’,” he echoed. “So why do you think I need to bite your neck?”

“…You imprinted on me?” you whispered, gulping.

“Smart girl,” he cooed, pecking your lips and making you blush at the unexpected praise.

Once again he started kissing your neck, teeth grazing against the skin threateningly. When you tried to pull his hair again he growled, opting for pinning both your hands on the wall.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he whispered next to your ear. “After I mark you, we’re going somewhere more…hygienic and comfortable, where we can mate properly. Once my rut is over, if you can walk, we’re going on a date to discuss the details of our future together. Marriage is a must, but pretty much everything else is negotiable. Do you like diamonds?” he recited like he had been preparing this script for a long time.

“Absolutely no—”

“No diamonds?” He asked skeptically, thinking you were rejecting his gemstone choice instead of his whole plan. The way you squirmed didn’t seem to give him a clue of your thoughts either, because all he did was pin both your hands together on top of your head with one of his hands while the other grabbed your jaw firmly to keep you in place. “I guess there are other options, but diamonds are the most durable…” he mumbled.

“I have no intention of—”

“What type of house would you like? If you don’t like any of the properties on sale we can get one designed and built to suit your taste. Anything for you. You’ll get anything you want as long as you’re mine,” he continued like he couldn’t hear you. He wasn’t one to lose his mind easily, but you smelled of sea salt, coconut, and vanilla and he couldn’t think of anything else besides having you by his side and spoiling you.

Your heart sprinted. This stranger was about to make you his for the rest of your life. He was certainly handsome, but you had no intention of settling down. There was a reason you worked in a wandering bar! You couldn’t stay in just one place and belong to one person. 

You tried to reason with him, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. All he did was whisper reassuring words as he prepared to sink his fangs on you.

“C-can you at least look at me first?” you begged.

You don’t know if it was your desperate tone or the way your body was trembling but he miraculously decided to grant you something, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

And his eyes were so full of adoration.

It almost made you feel guilty for what you were about to do.

…Almost.

You had promised your captain not to lure anyone into doing something you wanted again, but this was an emergency. 

“Chenle Zhong,” you called his name sweetly, the sweetest he’s heard from you so far. “You don’t want to mark me,” you assured him.

His brows furrowed.

“I… I want–,” he tried to look at your neck again.

“Look at me,” you commanded, still using your luring voice. “You don’t want to be with me.”

He shook his head, opening his mouth dumbly without being able to formulate a word.  He seemed confused, like he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say but refused to let you go still. You were impressed. No one had been able to resist your hypnosis and you were sure he would give in soon, but he was putting up a fight. How sweet.

“Let me go,” you instructed softly.

He didn’t reply, but he reluctantly let go of your arms.

“I will get back to work and you will go home,” you informed him.

He nodded slowly, lost in your eyes. 

“What will you do?” you asked.

“I will go home,” he replied monotonously.

“Good boy,” you replied, caressing his cheek. He was so pretty… totally your type but you two didn’t want the same thing, so it was better to end things right now. Ideally, you would have been able to reason with him without bewitching him… but you doubted he would agree with you when his rut was clearly about to hit. “I’m leaving first,” you finally said before unlocking the restroom door and stepping out.

As soon as you walked out you bumped into the guy Chenle had arrived with. His panicked expression made him look like a mom who lost her child at a supermarket and you wondered if he was the reason Chenle’s phone kept vibrating in his pocket while you two made out. 

His widened eyes looked at your neck and his mouth fell open comically. 

“I think your friend had too many drinks,” you said casually, walking past him and pointing at the restroom. “You should take him home.”

The man looked at you suspiciously before rushing into the restroom.

“Had fun?” Yeosang asked casually once you got back to work.

“Not really,” you sighed.

“He wasn’t that good, huh?” he offered you a sympathetic smile after handing a customer a freshly prepared cocktail. 

“No–I mean…I don’t know,” you shrugged. “We just weren’t compatible.”

“Hm…it was certainly quick,” he replied as he saw the man he was talking about being dragged out of the restroom by another guy. “There he goes. Not a heavy drinker I guess–oh,” he stopped mid-sentence to let out a soft gasp and locked eyes with you. “You did not,” he said in disbelief. 

“I did not what?” you asked, feigning innocence and keeping yourself occupied cleaning the already clean bar top.

“Did you do the thing?” he whispered, looking around like he was afraid someone would hear. 

“No,” you lied.

“I don’t remember preparing a single drink for him. And he walked into that restroom with you just fine. Why does he look so lost and dazed?”

You sighed. Of course, Yeosang would be able to tell. He had been raised by merpeople before he was recruited by Hongjoong. Many would believe Yeosang was a siren himself because of his bewitching aura and appearance, but he was human alright. A human who grew up mirroring and understanding siren behavior. It was thanks to him that the captain accepted you as part of the crew when he caught you stealing from him some years ago. Hongjoong would have never been reckless enough to take a half-siren in, but Yeosang seemed so excited to meet you and spend time with someone who wasn’t a complete brute. He gave the crew the most devastating puppy eyes as he asked if they could ‘keep’ you … How could Hongjoong say no to him? 

You had tried to escape a couple of times but Yeosang’s sad face when you got caught always made you feel terrible. You ended up growing fond of him and it didn’t bother you when he asked you if you wanted to help him make a seashell necklace or if you would let him brush your hair. Soon you started feeling comfortable around the others too as you understood that you weren’t a prisoner and that no one had any ill intention toward you. They saw you as part of the team. All you had to do was work at the bar, help keep the ship clean, and follow the captain’s rules.

 Speaking of rules…

“Y/N! Captain said not to!” Yeosang reprimanded you, looking from you to the exit as Chenle and his friend left. 

“It was an emergency!” you hissed.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, scanning you with alarmed eyes but besides the purple marks on your neck, you seemed fine. 

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “I just shouldn’t have tried anything with a werewolf in the first place.”

“...Oh, well…uh-,” he blinked twice, trying to understand the problem. “I didn’t take you for a human supremacist…”

“Wha– I’m not a human supremacist, Yeosang!” you exclaimed, frustrated. “I’m not even fully human myself!”

“Then what was the problem?”

“He imprinted on me,” you disclosed before heading towards a new customer to take their order.

Yeosang’s widened eyes followed your movements. He was still silent even after you prepared the requested drink.

“What?” you asked when you noticed a tiny smile forming on his lips.

“Do you feel the same for him?” he asked you, failing to hide his excitement with the way his eyes glimmered. “Is that why you wanted to be alone with him?”

“What? No! I just wanted to have some fun tonight,” you replied. “Humans don’t have mates.”

“But sirens do,” he said.

Your neck almost snapped as you turned to look at him. “They do?!” you asked in shock. You grew up on land and didn’t know as much as Yeosang about sirens so this was new information for you.

He nodded.  “And you are half siren,” he reminded you.

“I’m mostly human, though,” you shrugged, pretending to inspect the bottles on the shelf. “But just out of curiosity, what does imprinting feel like for sirens?”

Yeosang hummed. “Well, besides the expected attraction and hornyness, you may feel kinda weak if you’re not with your partner. Some sirens get sick.”

You nodded. It should be fine, since you felt perfectly fine, besides the obvious sexual frustration. If you were lucky enough, the effect of the hypnosis would last enough for Chenle to leave you alone until the boat sailed to its next destination.

Meanwhile, Jisung finally managed to get Chenle home. Chenle was cooperating, but his body was acting kind of clumsy and he was running a fever that kept getting worse. 

Thanks to his friend’s zombie-like curt answers, Jisung figured out that Chenle had imprinted on the woman who worked at the bar and that she ‘smelt really good’, but he ‘did not want to mark her at all’ which was very odd for any werewolf who just had his rut triggered due to a fated meeting with their real mate. When Jisung tried to get some clarification, Chenle would simply reply that he needed to get home.

 What scared Jisung the most was that Chenle’s eyes looked empty, like he was dead inside. They had turned red like they usually did when they experienced strong emotions, but they didn’t express anything. 

So as soon as the front door opened and the two youngest were met with the familiar faces of their pack, Jisung asked for help.

“I think we need an exorcist,” he blurted out, fighting tears of terror and holding onto his probably demon-possessed friend’s arm.

“Finally,” Haechan murmured as he sprinted to his room to get his exorcism kit. “My time has come!” he yelled from a distance.

“What would you need an exorcist for?” Jeno asked skeptically. 

“Chenle is not Chenle,” Jisung answered, pointing at Chenle who was standing like a statue next to him. 

“He looks like Chenle to me,” Jeno said. 

“No, no,” Jisung insisted. “There is something wrong with him!”

“Hey, man,” Mark greeted, walking up to Chenle. “You good?”

“Yes,” Chenle said in a monotonous voice.

“Uh…” Mark halted at the unfamiliar tone and exchanged a look with Jisung before continuing. “How was your night?”

“Good,” Chenle murmured, his eyes were on Mark but he wasn’t really looking at him. 

“Really? Uh, t-tell me more,” Mark insisted, trying to get some information. 

Chenle’s eyes squinted momentarily in confusion, not knowing how to answer.

“He doesn’t reply to open questions, ever since I found him in the restroom and dragged him out of the bar,” Jisung clarified. “You have to be specific. Watch this; Chenle, who is Y/N?”

“My mate,” Chenle replied without hesitation, his eyes lighting up for a second. 

“Woah! You found your mate?!” Mark almost screamed. “Congratulations!”

Haechan came back in that moment with a box full of enchanted objects ready to expel the devil from his friend’s body. “What?! Then he’s not possessed, Jisung! He’s probably just daydreaming!”

Jeno laughed and gave Chenle a friendly punch on the arm. “Congratulations!” he said before turning to Jisung and patting his head. “You got us worried for no reason, pup.”

“No, guys, you don’t understand,” Jisung insisted. “Listen to this: Chenle, did you mark Y/N?”

“I don’t want to mark her,” Chenle replied.”I don’t want to be with her.”

Jeno’s eyes widened, Mark’s eyebrows furrowed and Haechan, who was about to walk away with his exorcism kit, turned back, thinking that he may need to intervene after all.

“You don’t want to be with the person you imprinted on?” Haechan repeated.

“ I don’t want to be with her,” Chenle echoed.

“Those are the only full sentences he says,” Jisung whispered with urgency. “That, and that he wants to go home.”

“Well, you are home now,” Jeno informed, placing a gentle hand on Chenle’s shoulder.

Chenle let out a relieved exhale and collapsed on the floor with a loud thud like he had been waiting for that piece of information to shut down.

All four men looked at their passed-out friend in shock until Haechan broke the silence with urgent commands: “Jeno, Mark, hold him still!”

“What for?” Jeno asked, confused.

“I d-don’t think he’s going anywhere…” Mark said.

“Oh, you’re right, why don’t we just let Mr. Demon take their sweet time to consume Chenle’s soul? ” Haechan replied sarcastically. “JUST GRAB HIM!”

Mark and Jeno pinned Chenle’s arms and legs down hesitantly.

“Jisung, help me draw a pentagram around him,” Haechan instructed, handing Jisung a piece of chalk that he took with a trembling hand.

  Jaemin entered through the front door and stared blankly at the scene in front of him. “Is this another episode of ‘just boys being boys’?” he asked, still standing under the doorframe. 

Jeno, Mark, and Haechan exclaimed a bunch of incoherent answers, while Jisung continued sobbing and drawing a circle around Chenle, but somehow Jaemin got the idea and rushed toward Chenle.

“He fainted because he has a fever,” Jaemin sighed after taking his temperature and checking his pulse. “Very intense ruts can cause that. Didn’t you say he just imprinted on someone?”

“But he didn’t sound normal!” Jeno insisted. “He was speaking like he had no soul!”

“BECAUSE A DEMON TOOK IT!” Haechan yelled, making Jisung cry louder.

Jaemin rolled his eyes. “His brain was probably not working properly because of the fever. How many of you can have a normal conversation while in rut?”

The boys sat on the floor in silence, looking at Chenle and then at each other, embarrassed of the collective hysteria that took over them. Jisung was still hiccupping but he calmed down a little.

“He’s not possessed,” Jaemin declared, holding back a laugh. “Now put those candles away and go get him some suppressants and water.”

After that, Chenle’s rut was quite uneventful. Too uneventful.

Taeyong was the first to notice something was off, deciding to enter Chenle’s room after an entire day of not hearing any noise coming from the inside. 

Instead of being met with an incredibly horny and incoherent Chenle humping whatever he could find, he found him lying on the bed as he stared at the roof absentmindedly. 

He called the younger’s name twice. Then he grabbed his shoulders and shook him softly, but Chenle only let out a pathetic whine.

Typically, the best way to reduce the fever that comes with a rut is to get off, as a way to trick their wolf into thinking they were breeding. But Chenle wasn’t interested in getting relief, despite his visible erection. 

He was unresponsive, burning up, and not even trying to do something about it. 

“Chenle, this isn’t your first rut. You know what you gotta do to feel better,” Taeyong reminded him. 

Chenle turned around to lay on his side, looking away from his leader.

“I heard you met your mate. Y/N, wasn’t it?” Taeyong tried a different approach, smiling when Chenle tilted his head towards him slightly with interest. “What is she like?”

“S-she–,” Chenle’s voice was hoarse, so he cleared his throat before speaking again. “She’s perfect…”

Taeyong nodded. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chenle replied curtly. 

“You don’t look like someone who just met the love of his life.”

“Why? Because I’m not behaving like a horndog?” Chenle spat angrily. “I have more class than that.”

“I see,” the leader replied, unimpressed. “Is that the reason you don’t want to mark her or even be with her? Not classy enough for you?”

Chenle groaned. “I just don’t want to! Why do I have to commit to someone I just met?!” he asked defensively. 

The truth was he did not understand why he kept repeating that. He could hear his wolf whimpering painfully in disagreement and his heart throbbing whenever he said he didn’t want to mark you, but for some reason, his brain kept telling him that’s what he wanted. The constant fight between his mind and his body made his head hurt, and his rut was making everything worse. Taeyong’s voice was fading away and his head hurt so much he felt like he would throw up. He couldn’t understand a word that was said to him and honestly, he didn’t want to understand right now. He just wanted to rest, but the room was so hot and it was getting hard to breathe.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up he felt less hot than before. As he opened his eyes slowly, he saw Doyoung hovering over him, gently rubbing his face and neck with a wet cloth.

“Hey,” the older one greeted. “How are you feeling?”

Chenle gulped and blinked a couple of times. He was still in pain but he could think a bit more clearly. He noticed he was wearing different clothes, so he assumed his previous clothes were probably drenched with sweat and his pack members had changed him into clean, dry ones.  “G-good.”

“We were going to take you to the hospital if your condition didn’t improve,” Doyoung said. “The entire pack is worried.”

“Sorry,” Chenle said. “I’m fine, it’s just my rut.”

Doyoung, always so perceptive, could tell that something was bothering Chenle, but when he opened his mouth to ask, an enthusiastic knock on the door interrupted him.

“It’s my turn to babysit the pup,” Yuta said energetically, entering the room.

“I don’t need–” Chenle sighed but was quickly cut off by Doyoung.

“Thanks, Yuta! I can’t miss this meeting so I really have to go. He needs to take some medicine at 4. Did you check the group chat? I texted–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuta replied, pushing Doyoung out the door. “Just go!” he exclaimed, closing the door and turning towards Chenle. 

Then Chenle heard him lock the door.

“What are you doing?” Chenle asked.

“Why aren’t you jerking off?” Yuta asked straight to the point, asking the question no one had dared to.

“I beg your pardon?” Chenle deadpanned, sitting up and glaring at the older. 

“Why aren’t you making it snow?” Yuta rephrased.

Chenle gave him a disgusted look. 

“You had no problem doing it during past ruts. So what was that about suddenly having too much class for that?” Yuta continued the interrogation.

Great. Taeyong had told everyone.

“I just don’t want to!” he insisted stubbornly. “I’m capable of making my own choices whether my wolf wants it or not.”

“If you won’t listen to your wolf, then at least listen to your body,” Yuta sighed. “The fever will keep coming back unless you take care of yourself.”

“A fever won’t kill me–”

“Doyoung didn’t sleep all night because of how worried he was.”

That shut Chenle up. He didn’t mean to cause trouble. He also wanted his rut to be over but for some reason, it felt wrong to touch himself to the thought of you. After all, you weren’t his. He didn’t want you to be his, right?

“You need to cum, Chenle,” Yuta said firmly.

“...I’m fine,” Chenle murmured, staring at his lap.

“I’ll get you off myself if you don’t.”

Chenle looked up, surprised and enraged. “Wha—,” he yelped, jumping off the bed when he saw Yuta walking towards him. “Hyung, what’s your fucking problem?!”

“You need to cum,” Yuta repeated.

Chenle gulped. “Y-you wouldn’t. You’re mated,” he reminded him.

Yuta nodded. “I already called my mate and asked her for permission. I explained that it was an emergency and I would only do it if you didn’t cooperate. She found it weird,  but in the end, she agreed as long as I only used my hand and never mentioned it again.”

Chenle’s eyes were wide with bewilderment. Yuta was not fucking around. He really was that guy who would help a bro out. “You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard,” Yuta conceded. “Now, get over here. The faster we do this, the faster your rut will be over,” he said while he rolled up his sleeves like he was about to perform some surgical procedure.

“NO!” Chenle exclaimed. “I’ll do it myself!”

Yuta raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Go on, then.”

They stared at each other in silence for a whole minute.

“Do you mind…,” Chenle asked vaguely, pointing at the door.

“Nah, I ain’t leaving until you do it.”

“Hyung,” Chenle spoke through gritted teeth. “I promise you I’ll do what I have to do, but please give me some privacy.”

Yuta seemed to think about it for a second and then he made his way to the door, unlocking it and opening it. As he was leaving he spoke again.“Just know that if I don’t hear any fapping sounds I’m coming back–”

“GET OUT!” Chenle yelled, throwing a pillow at the door which closed right in time.“He’s so weird,” he murmured to himself. 

“I heard that!” Yuta yelled from the other side of the door. “That’s not the sound I’m waiting for!”

Chenle groaned. He was incredibly embarrassed to have to touch himself while someone listened, but he knew Yuta wasn’t bluffing and that he wouldn’t leave until he did what he promised he would. 

He stood in the corner of the room that was the furthest from the door and hesitantly palmed himself over his pajama pants. Immediately his back arched and his eyes rolled back.

“F-fuck…” he whispered, pressing his palm against his erection harder. It felt so good to get some friction after holding out for so long.

Why was he avoiding this again?

No, what he was avoiding was not the pleasure itself, but thinking of you to feel said pleasure. He felt like he had no right.

‘No right?!’ huffed an incredulous voice in his head. ‘Who else would have that right if not me? She’s my mate–’

He shook his head and his hand stopped moving. You weren’t his. He didn’t want you to be his, right?

That’s what he had been telling everyone since he met you.

But why did he keep saying that? Why didn’t he want you?

He remembered the taste of your soft lips and his hand resumed its movement as he let out a shaky breath.

How could he not want those lips?

And the way you whimpered when his teeth grazed your neck? 

Oh, hell no. He definitely wanted you.

He pulled his pants down and thrust into his fist.

“Mm…Y/N–ah!” he moaned.

He remembered it now. You had told him that he didn’t want you…and he just went with it?

He let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh as he remembered the conversation. You had dared to tell him what he wanted?

Next time he saw you he would fuck that pretty mouth. That way you wouldn’t repeat such insolent words. 

He gasped, imagining you on your knees with those beautiful eyes glaring at him, full of defiance. 

 You were attracted to him. It was obvious. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have dragged him into the restroom and kissed him stupid. You only showed resistance when he straight-up told you he wanted to mark you.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say to someone he had just met, but Chenle never had been one to beat around the bush. He probably would have told you all that even if he hadn’t entered his rut. 

He wouldn’t let you go that easily next time.

You would be his.

“I want you…” he murmured like he was talking to you. “I want you,” he repeated, this time louder and more secure. “I want you, I want you, I want you—Oooh!” He gasped and his legs trembled as he reached his long-overdue orgasm and white liquid covered his hand. 

He continued stroking his cock lazily as he slid down the wall. 

That was the best orgasm he had ever had. And it had just been a quickie with his hand.

Oh God…he hoped Yuta had left already. He must have, because he couldn’t smell him anymore.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “I want you,” he declared, practicing what he would say next time he saw you. 

His head was clear now and he knew that he had to have you. Whatever possessed him to say he didn’t was gone. 

His hand sped up again, this time without a single ounce of guilt or hesitation, aiming to enjoy every sensation the thought of you was giving him and finishing his rut fast to go back to that damn bar.

And he did just that.

A couple of days later you were taking orders and preparing drinks as usual when a familiar ID card was slid toward you on the counter.

Chenle. 

You tried not to show your nervousness. After all, you had hypnotized him, so he surely wasn’t back for you. He probably just wanted a drink.

You cleared your throat and tried your best to avoid eye contact. “What can I get you?” you asked curtly.

“I want your number,” the familiar voice said.

You looked up, surprised. 

There he was, glaring at you with such intensity you just knew he had managed to escape your spell. In just two days.

“No,” you replied, trying to hide your agitation. 

“No?” he echoed.

“I’m not interested,” you half-lied. Were you interested in him? Yes. Were you interested in a commitment to life with him? No.

“You were interested when I offered to suck on your tits,” he reminded you, making a few people turn their heads in shock.

You were mortified.

“Y/N, Can you get some whiskey from the storage room?” Yeosang’s voice called as he stood in front of you. “I’ll be taking your order, sir.”

You nodded, mentally thanking Yeosang and making your way to the storage room, just to see Chenle trying to follow you by walking around the counter. 

“Sir,” Yeosang spoke harshly this time, as he positioned himself in front of Chenle again. “I said I would be taking your order.”

“I’m not done talking to her,” Chenle said.

“I think you are,” Yeosang replied with a polite smile, crossing his arms and displaying perfectly sculpted muscles.

Chenle didn’t work out as hard as some of his pack members and he had no experience fighting so he knew this guy would probably knock him out with a single hit. But his wolf kept telling him to fight this bartender guy who dared to hide his mate from him. 

“I just want to talk to her,” Chenle spoke through gritted teeth, trying his best to calm himself down.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Yeosang asked you.

You looked at Chenle and then at Yeosang, before sighing and giving Yeosang a short nod. 

“Fine. But over there, where I can see you,” Yeosang warned him, pointing at an empty table in a corner.

“Thank you,” Chenle mumbled before walking to where he was told to go and taking a seat to wait for you. He was a nervous wreck, but he would never admit to it.

“Here,” you said, placing a glass of water in front of him before sitting on the chair next to him. 

“Thanks,” he replied curtly and took a sip of water, trying to remember what he had come to say. It was hard to concentrate when you were looking at him with those captivating eyes.

You also drank some water to calm your nerves as anxious thoughts invaded you. Had he figured out what you had done? If so, you should probably apologize now that he seems to be open to dialogue.

“Sorry,” you both said at the same time.

Both of you seemed surprised at what they heard from the other.

“Uh…,” you stuttered trying to figure out how to continue from there.

“Sorry, did you want to–...” Chenle vaguely gestured for you to speak first.

“No! You first,” you urged.

“Okay, uh…,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I scared you the other day.”

“...Scare me?” you echoed.

He nodded.

“That whole biting thing and the things I said…I won’t lie and say I didn’t mean them. I meant every single word. But I understand that’s not how normal conversations go when you just meet someone. I got carried away.”

You nodded too.

“I would like to start over if you’re okay with that,” he offered hopefully. “We don’t have to do anything like that night. We can just…talk and get to know each other.”

You took another sip of your drink while Chenle waited for your answer.

“I don’t think so,” you finally said, looking away when you saw Chenle’s eyes widen in distress. “I don’t date.”

“You d-don’t…,” Chenle repeated dumbly. “What?! Like at all?!”

You shrugged. “It’s not my thing.”

“Then what did you want from me that night?! A quick fuck?!”

“Yes. Exactly,” you admitted. “You thought you could find a wholesome relationship at a bar? How cute,” you teased him.

“It wouldn’t have mattered where I met you. I would have wanted you regardless,” he replied assertively.

“Mm, thanks,” you replied casually like your heart didn’t beat faster at his words. “But my answer’s still no.”

Chenle froze. What did you mean no? That was ridiculous! How would a wolf survive after being rejected by their mate?!

“We don’t have to call it dating,” he quickly said when he saw you standing up to leave.

You hesitated and looked at Chenle.

“What would you call it, then?” you asked him just out of curiosity, sitting down again. You wouldn’t change your mind regardless.

“Whatever you want,” he bargained, trying to look uninterested when he was actually desperate.

“Whatever I want,” you hummed. “So you’re okay with being fuckbuddies?” 

He was conflicted. He didn’t want that exactly, but if that was his only hope to win you over, he would take it. He would take anything as long as you didn’t cut him off completely. 

“Yes,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Hmm.. I don’t know,” you teased him a little more. He was just so cute when he was annoyed. “You’re not really my type.”

He poked his tongue on his cheek. “Why not?”

“You’re not very tall–”

“I’m not short either.”

“You're too impulsive.”

“Says the one who dragged me to the restroom.”

“And you’re younger than me.”

Chenle opened his mouth to speak and then he closed it again. He never told you his age–Oh, right, his ID! 

“So what?” he asked.

“You won’t even ask how old I am?” you taunted him.

“Doesn’t matter. I bet you’re barely a couple of years older. And I would want you even if you were 10 years older. I don’t care.”

“But I care,” you lied.

He leaned closer to you. “Bullshit,” he laughed. Sounding confident for the first time in the conversation. “You knew my age that night when you had me pressed against the restroom wall.”

Your smirk dropped. 

“You were moaning and humping my leg like you couldn’t get enough of me, but now I’m not your type?” he mocked. “I like that you’re playing hard to get. It’s cute,” he admitted. “Now can you drop the act and let me ruin you?”

You gulped.

“What makes you so sure that’s what I want?”

“Oh, please. Your pupils dilated when I said that,” he scoffed. “But what really gave you away was how wet you got as soon as you heard my voice. I can smell it, you know?”

You bit your lip and glared at him. “How do you know it wasn’t because of someone else?”

“Because the scent gets stronger whenever I speak,” he said hoarsely, making you shiver. “I have never met someone so…sensitive to sounds,” he purred, dangerously close to your ear.

 You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes back in bliss. Sirens were indeed sensitive to sound and just like they used their voice to tempt their prey, they felt attracted to melodic voices too.

“It’s not bad, I guess,” you admitted.

“I like your voice too,” Chenle said. “Would love to hear you screaming, though.”

You inhaled sharply.

Chenle smirked triumphantly. Admittedly, he had come to see you to ask you out romantically, not sexually. But this approach seemed to work better with you and he was getting turned on too. “Let’s get out of here,” his sultry voice suggested and by your scent, he knew he had won.

“You’ll have to wait until closing hours,” you said, trying to act coyly even though your legs visibly shook when you stood up. “If you wanna wait here then you have to order something.”

“I’ll get a glass of whichever your favorite liquor is.”

Smooth. He was quite confident now that he was sure you liked him back.

“I only drink luxurious brands,” you lied, trying to intimidate him. “Can you afford it?”

Chenle handed you a black card and chuckled when you gasped. 

“I think I’ll survive,” he said. “By the way, what did you want to apologize for?” He asked, remembering how the whole conversation had started.

“O-oh, just for…leaving you alone in the restroom that night,” you lied. “I’ll go get your drink,” you added and left before he had the chance to reply

“You okay?” Yeosang asked when you went back to the bar counter. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You guys looked close,” he commented teasingly. “Are you sure he’s not your mate?”

“I told you it’s not like that.”

Yeosang shrugged. “You looked tired and kind of pale these last two days but now you suddenly look like you slept 12 hours and had a four-course meal.”

“You’re seeing things, Sangie,” you laughed nervously. 

“Hm… and you haven’t been feeling a tingle on your fingertips right?” Yeosang asked casually.

You almost dropped the glass you were holding. Your fingertips had started tingling the day before for no apparent reason so you had assumed you had an allergic reaction to something.

“Why do you ask?” You inquired.

“It’s one of the signs of siren imprinting,” he replied distractedly as he handed a drink to a customer.

“Why didn’t you mention it when I asked you the other night?!” You asked him urgently.

“I forgot,” he said simply.

“Any other symptoms I should be aware of?” You asked in an irritated tone.

“You said you were sure you weren’t mates, so I don’t think so.”

“Okay, but what if we were mates? What else would I need to know?” You insisted. “Hypothetically,” you added when he gave you an inquisitive look.

“Well, I guess hypothetically, you should be aware that for sirens pleasure is very important and that orgasms strengthen the bond,” he commented. “Once your mate makes you orgasm then you’ll be tied to him forever,” he said.

You scoffed. “So I would belong to any man who makes me cum? That’s ridiculous! I’ve never felt that way after sex.”

“Because none of them was your mate. None of them made your fingers tingle in a funny way, or  feel energized as soon as you saw them, or made you feel like you would explode if you didn’t kiss them—“

“Chenle doesn’t make me feel like that either!” You lied, feeling called out.

“Then you have nothing to worry about, right?” he agreed. “This is all hypothetical.”

“But, hypothetically, if Chenle and I were mates and I wanted to…hang out with him…”

“Hang out as in…having sex?” Yeosang clarified.

“Uh,y-yes,” you replied. “Let’s say I want to have sex with him but I don’t want to consummate the bond. How should I do it?”

“Pleasure, especially orgasms, are what seal the bond between mates. If Chenle is your mate and you want to fool around with him but you don’t want to be tied to him, then all you gotta do is make sure he doesn’t make you cum,” he explained like he had a PhD in this stuff. 

You looked at him, dumbfounded. “I don’t get to feel good?”

“You can if you’re willing to accept him as your forever mate,” he shrugged. “Hypothetically,” he added mockingly. 

He always knew when you were lying, so he was sure you were crazy about Chenle even if you denied it. 

You sighed. “Fuck…”

“Y/N, would it really be that bad?” Yeosang sighed too, trying to understand why you were so against the idea of being in a romantic relationship. “You imprinted on him, and he imprinted on you too. Why not accept and enjoy it?”

“And being stuck in a boring town with a stupid mutt as a companion for the rest of my life?” you hissed. “Sangie, you know me! I can’t stay in one place or be with one person! I’m a free spirit!”

“Then don’t get involved with someone who clearly is serious about you?” Yeosang offered, confused at your dilemma. 

“But I want him so bad!” you whined.

“Then go get him?”

“But I don’t want him forever.”

Yeosang clicked his tongue, expressing disapproval. “You’re so selfish sometimes…”

“I’m literally just a girl,” you countered. “I’m allowed to have fun–Oh, that’s right! I can just stop before I cum, right?” you gasped, excited at the discovery of a loophole.

Yeosang didn’t reply. He shook his head in disbelief and went back to preparing drinks. 

You were too excited to worry about his criticism. Taking orders and stealing glances at Chenle who wouldn’t look away from you during your entire shift. He waited patiently for you to finish working but the anticipation was killing him, and when you finally approached him after cleaning your workstation, he grabbed your hand and took you out of the bar in a hurry, observed by a very conflicted Yeosang. 

Considering he had a black card, you weren’t surprised when you found yourself sitting in a luxurious car that screamed rich. You knew nothing about cars, yet you knew this one was expensive. This guy was a big deal.

“Are you even allowed to drive, pup?” you teased him when he sat in the driver’s seat. It was a dumb question, just aiming to make him feel smaller as a way to gain back your power.

“Put on your seat belt,” he commanded, ignoring your question.

“Ah, I guess you’re still a learner driver,” you said, chuckling. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed.”

Before you could blink he was hovering over you, looking into your eyes sternly. 

“Do you have any idea of how hard it is to focus on driving when you’re soaked sitting next to me?” he asked slowly, threateningly. “I’m suffocating on your scent, so sorry if I want to keep you safe while I speed to get us somewhere private.”

Blank.

You couldn’t think of anything to say.

No smart comebacks. No teasing. 

You were sure all that would leave your mouth right now was a pathetic moan, so you opted to keep quiet. 

That seemed to please Chenle. 

“Good girl,” you heard him whisper before a clicking sound told you he had successfully fastened your seat belt. 

He accommodated himself and put on his seat belt before starting the car and driving in complete silence. He was gripping the steering wheel with so much strength that his knuckles were turning white. His jaw was tense and he kept his eyes strictly on the road because he knew if he looked at you he would stop the car and take you right there.

You didn’t say anything either. Aroused yet annoyed at the power he effortlessly held over you. You would find a way to gain control again soon.

When the car stopped, Chenle quickly got off and walked around the vehicle to open the door for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you cooed, back in the game, allowing him to help you out of the car.

“Not for long,” he spoke under his breath, once again taking your hand to drag you into the fanciest hotel you had ever seen. 

You tried not to let it show that you were impressed.

 “I guess your place wasn’t good enough to take me there…,” you taunted once you reached the elevator and he pressed the button with the highest number on it.

“My place is too crowded. But we can go there if you don’t mind the entire pack listening,” he commented, still holding your hand firmly. 

“Like you could make me moan,” you scoffed. 

Chenle huffed. He was so ready to fuck that attitude out of you. “We’re about to find out,” he said, guiding you out of the elevator and into the room he had booked.

You couldn’t help your gasp.

“Is this the presidential suite–?” you turned to ask but were interrupted by Chenle kissing you hotly, pressing your back against the door you had just entered through.

The kiss was wet, unpractised,  desperate. He tasted like liquor and his skill wasn’t perfect, yet it was somehow the best kiss you’d ever had. The lack of air in your lungs and the way his hands held your waist with his hips pressed against yours firmly, made you feel deliciously dizzy and craving for more.

You let out a broken moan and Chenle chuckled. 

“You said I’m not your type and that I can’t make you moan, huh? ” he whispered, pressing his hips harder against yours and making you whine. “I haven’t even done anything, yet you’re enjoying yourself so much,” he cooed, licking your earlobe.

You shivered. “S-shut up–”

“Look at you, so precious,” he continued, moving his hips in a circular motion that had you closing your eyes and moaning louder. “Are you gonna cum just from this?”

Your eyes snapped open in realization and you pushed him away abruptly, almost making him fall on the floor. 

He looked at you with wide eyes, confused and worried. “What? Was I too rough?” he asked. 

You exhaled shakily and tried to regain some composure. If what Yeosang said was true, then you absolutely couldn’t cum. Not by Chenle’s doing. You were going to have some fun with him, make out, and maybe torment him a little bit, but you wouldn’t let him get you off. 

“Did you bring me here to hump me and cum in your pants? What was I expecting from a dumb pup,” you sighed, feigning disappointment. 

He squinted his eyes and clenched his fist.

“I’m feeling charitable today, so I’ll offer you a deal,” you said, smiling sweetly and walking towards the master bedroom, with Chenle tailing you. “I’ll get you off and then you’ll drive me home,” you declared, sitting on the huge bed.

“Get me off?” he repeated dumbly, standing in front of you. “What about you?”

“You think you can get me off?” you sneered. 

“I was about to before you pushed me away,” he growled.

“Please, that was not me about to cum,” you lied. “It’s just a little act us women put on to make guys feel good.”

“I’m sure you were about to–” he insisted.

“Yeah? Do you think you know my body better than me? Why would I have stopped you if I was feeling that good?”

Chenle blinked a couple of times, processing that maybe he had read your body language wrong and disappointed you. He wasn’t crazy experienced, but the few lovers he had had hadn’t complained. Surely he couldn’t be that bad…

Or could he?

Oh no…You had agreed to meet with him only for sex and he couldn’t even do that, right? Fuck, he couldn’t lose you now. He would do anything.

“Let me try again,” he proposed, climbing on the bed and trying to kiss you, but you turned away.

“If you’re not going to follow my rules, I’m leaving,” you threatened.

His eye twitched. He wanted to spank you until your ass turned red and pound you on the bed until you behaved. He wasn’t one to take orders. But he wanted to do things right with you. Now that he was thinking somewhat clearly, he wanted you to be with him willingly, instead of biting you and forcing you into a relationship. He wanted you to want him. And if that meant he had to lower his head for now and re-learn all he knew about sex, then so be it.

“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked. 

“Just be a good pup and take your pants off for me, will you?” you asked and giggled. That little giggle that drove Chenle crazy.

He cringed at the pet name but he did as he was told, standing up and unbuckling his belt. You loved your men obedient, but even if his actions were compliant, his eyes failed to hide his obstinate nature. Anyone could tell he wasn’t used to submitting to anyone.

You smirked, willing yourself to pester him with some other brazen comment when the sound of his belt and pants hitting the floor brought your attention toward his barely covered center. 

Shocking. Scandalous. Massive.

The pair of gray boxers could barely contain what was in there. 

You had seen big before, but not this big. 

“What now?” Chenle deadpanned. He wasn’t loving this situation.

“What now?” you laughed, swallowing back the saliva that pooled in your mouth when you were daydreaming about his cock. “There’s already a stain of precum on your underwear. I think you could cum without me doing anything at all.”

Chenle sighed, frustrated. “Look, if you don’t want to do this–”

“Come closer,” you commanded.

Chenle bit his lower lip. He wanted to say so many things, but he controlled himself and walked until he was mere centimeters away from you. 

Ignoring his blazing glare, you hooked your index fingers on the elastic of his boxers and lowered them lazily, hearing his breath stutter. 

There it was. Hard, thick, and huge right in front of your face. 

You hoped Chenle hadn’t noticed your thighs rubbing, or that he magically couldn’t smell your wetness, but when you looked up at him his eyes were glimmering with mischief. He had noticed alright.

Before he could say anything smart, you blew the reddened tip of his cock, making him groan. You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “You okay, pup?”

He glared at you, gulping audibly, and gave you a short nod.

“If it’s too much for you,” you purred, tracing the length softly with your fingernails and making him shiver. “We can stop, you know?”

He shook his head. “N-no.”

 You laughed, finally circling him with your fist and giving him a firm tug that made him groan. When you built up a steady rhythm, his knees buckled and his hands quickly landed on your shoulders to avoid completely collapsing. 

Noticing how difficult it was for him to stand while being so overwhelmed with pleasure you stopped your caress to make him an offering. “Climb here,” you instructed, patting at your lap. 

Chenle, who had gasped dramatically at the sudden lack of stimulation, looked at you like you were crazy. 

“You don’t wanna sit on mommy’s lap, pup?” you faked a pout, sitting further back on the bed to make more space for him.

“I’m not a fucking pup!” he snapped. He had tried to be good, but you were stepping over the line. “I’m not a fucking virgin either so stop treating me like one and I don’t care if you’re older than me I’m not calling you mommy.”

You glared at him, unamused. You could just threaten to leave, but seeing how annoyed he was, he would probably let you. And that wasn’t the plan. You still wanted to have some more fun. 

“What a shame,” you sighed, parting your legs just enough for him to catch a whiff of your arousal. “I was getting excited…”

Chenle forgot immediately about his anger, keeping his eyes on your hands that were slowly pulling your skirt up your thighs. 

“Thought that maybe you could make me feel good,” you pouted. “ But I guess I was wrong.”

Chenle shook his head and climbed on the bed. “No, no, I can,” he whispered, pecking your lips. “I’ll make you feel good, ” he promised.

You bit back a smirk, which soon turned into a yelp when Chenle pushed you so you lay flat on your back with him on top of you and slid his hand under your skirt and right into your panties. “C-chenle!”

“Yes,” he whispered against your lips, drunk on your scent. “Yes, I’m here. I’m here for you.” 

“O-oh!” you moaned when his index went straight for your clit and stroked it skillfully. “Oh my g-god–Chenle wait a min–Mmm!”

He hummed in delight. The sounds you made were so beautiful. 

“I’ll make it good this time, okay?” he panted, stroking you faster and making your back arch. “I’ll make you cum for sure,” he guaranteed.

“P-pup, slow down, m´kay? Aah… s-slow…I–fuck…I said I w-wanted to get y-you off, remember?”

“That’s because you think I can’t do the same for you,” he protested. “But I’ll show you I can.” 

Fuck, he was determined. If he was just a random hookup you would appreciate it, but right now that was the last thing you wanted.

“H-hey, Chenle–aah…” you called for him, grabbing the wrist of his hand that was working hard to make you see heaven. “I can’t come j-just like th-aah…” you spoke shakily, trying to discourage him. “Y-you can try a–haa– again n-next time–”

Chenle kissed your lips and hushed you. “You’re close,” he assured you, and he wasn’t wrong. You could feel your toes curling and your abdomen tensing.

It was about to snap.

Oh no. No, no.

You didn’t want to do this to him again, but…

“C-chenle, listen to me,” you caught his attention by grabbing his face with both your hands. “You don’t really want to g-get me off,” you told him, using that alluring voice that always got you what you wanted. 

His movements slowed down. “What are you talking about?” he whispered incredulously. 

“You just want me to m-make you cum and then you’ll be satisfied,” you said like you were reminding him of something he had forgotten, silly him. 

His fingers stilled on your pulsating clit and he seemed lost, like he had no idea what to do with himself now.

“You only want to sleep with me, no strings attached, remember?” you breathed out, relieved that the pleasure was fading away.

“Yes, I…I remember,” he muttered. 

“And we agreed that we would do things my way,” you informed him.

“We did,” he agreed.

“Good pup,” you sighed, pulling his hand out of your panties. “I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He looked at you with furrowed brows. He felt so weird. What you said made sense, but why did it feel wrong?

You bit your lip when you saw a dash of hesitation in his eyes. How come he was so resistant to your hypnosis?  You had to make him stop thinking.

“Relax,” you told him, caressing his still-clothed shoulders, arms, and stomach.

“Somethings’s wrong,” he admitted.

“Nothing’s wrong.” you purred, reaching his member and resuming your touch.

He moaned and almost collapsed on top of you. “Y-Y/N…”

“Relax,” you repeated.

“I…Ooh– I f-feel… like s-something’s missin–ah… ah, ah–Mmm…,” he spoke incoherently, thrusting into your fist.

“Mm? What could be missing?”

“Y/N–”

“Doesn’t it feel good?”

“ ‘S good– so fucking g–Ooooh…” he whined.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” you asked.

“Haa… gonna– y-yeah, ah…,” 

“Then cum,” you encouraged.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck and came with a choked moan, convulsing on top of you and spilling all over your hand. 

You had to use a massive amount of self-control to avoid cumming at the sight. He sounded and looked beautiful, and even the tiny aftershocks that made his body convulse were kind of cute.

You don’t know what took over you when one of your hands started playing with his hair like you would with a lover. He hummed contently nuzzling your neck.

“My mate,” he murmured sweetly, placing a gentle kiss on your collarbone. 

You froze. That wasn’t very ‘no strings attached’ of him.

“Alright, get dressed,” you instructed, pushing him off you and getting off the bed. “Time to drive me home.”

He looked so vulnerable, naked from the waist down, displaying his spent cock covered in clear liquid, and his face flushed red while he looked at you like a kicked puppy. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again. The feeling that something was off came back but he had no idea what it was.

In the end, he sighed and did as he was told. For some reason, he didn’t feel satisfied at all and he kept overthinking even when he got home.

He didn’t know what to tell everyone when they cornered in the kitchen the next morning.

“You said you would keep me updated so I had my phone with me at all times,” whined Jisung, following Chenle to the table. “But you didn’t text me once! 

“Jisungie was about to go find you,” Renjun sighed. “I told him that if you didn’t text him it was because you were probably busy.”

“I text you guys even if I’m busy!” Jisung complained.

“Really? Do you text us even when you’re balls deep in your girlfriend?” Haechan asked nonchalantly, making Jisung gasp, Mark choke on his cereal and earning a glare from Renjun.

“Language!” Kun warned from the sofa, without looking up from his book. He had arrived from one of his trips a few days ago and he was not impressed by how much the pack’s manners had worsened. 

“Sorry,” Haechan said even though everyone knew he wasn’t sorry.

“Is t-that what you were…” Jisung tried to ask Chenle, blushing and stuttering.

“What?” Asked Chenle, munching on his sandwich.

“Were you… balls deep in Y/N?” Jisung asked shyly, waiting for Kun to reprimand him. But no nagging came. Kun was as silent as the rest of the guys, waiting for Chenle’s answer.

Chenle groaned. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“So you were!” Haechan accused, getting ready to celebrate another successful love story in the pack.

“No!” Chenle groaned. “I was with her, but we didn’t get that far.”

“How far did you get?” Haechan asked.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Renjun said.

But Chenle knew they would pester him until he spilled the tea.

“We talked and we made a deal,” He said, omitting that you had completely dominated him.

“What type of deal?” Mark asked.

He was hoping Renjun told him he didn’t have to answer this one either, but Renjun seemed curious too.

“We agreed to get to know each other physically, for now,” he grumbled.

Everyone’s smiles dropped.

“You mean like sex stuff?” Mark asked awkwardly.

“Yes.”

“But not dating?” Renjun asked, exchanging worried looks with the others.

“…No, we uh—we don’t call it dating.”

“What do you call it, then?” Haechan asked. Even he had stopped eating.

“We’re fuckbuddies…”

Renjun, Mark, Haechand, and Jisung didn’t know if that was good or bad news. 

On the negative side, it could mean that Chenle’s mate didn’t take him seriously and didn’t want a relationship with him.

In a more positive light, she hadn’t completely rejected him.

“That’s great!” Haechan decided it was good news. “It means she’s attracted to you.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “And it can grow into something more as time goes by.”

Renjun remained silent. He wasn’t that optimistic.

“So..” Jisung finally spoke. “You’re sleeping together but you’re not… together?”

Chenle shrugged. “Yeah, we don’t need labels. It’s whatever.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” Jisung asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Chenle asked, feigning indifference. “I’ve never been a relationship person.”

“But she’s your mate,” Jisung insisted, while the others observed quietly.

“So?”

“Doesn’t she make you want to be a relationship person?!” Jisung asked exasperatedly. 

“We’re fine,” Chenle sighed. “She doesn’t want to date anyone anyways,” he murmured.

Kun’s laugh startled everyone and annoyed the fuck out of Chenle. 

“What’s so funny, gege? He asked.

“You really know nothing about women,” Kun said, grabbing a chair and joining them on the table.

Chenle glared at him. He wanted to tell him that he knew what he needed to know… but he remembered the humiliation of not knowing how to make you feel good and you looking down on him as a sexual partner and he decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hear Kun’s words. “What is it that I don’t know?”

“Have you never watched (500) Days of Summer?” Kun asked.

“OH! I know that one! There’s this girl with really big eyes, right?” Mark replied and Haechan and Jisung started guessing and mispronouncing the name of the actress.

“Does the girl end up  with the main guy?” Kun’s voice interrupted their animated conversation.

“No,” Renjun sighed. This was exactly what he was worried about and he was glad Kun thought the same.

“What’s that stupid movie have to do with me?” Chenle asked.

“Every woman wants a relationship eventually, but they don’t give themselves to just anyone,” Kun explained, not shying away from Chenle’s furious eyes. “If she doesn’t want a relationship it’s because she hasn’t met anyone worth being in a relationship with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chenle growled.

“She doesn’t see you as a potential partner, so she’ll have fun with you until the man of her dreams steals her away.”

Chenle stood up abruptly, not caring about his elder talking, his half-eaten sandwich, and his friends’ worried eyes. He walked out of the house and slammed the door behind him.

“I didn’t really understand the movie,” Jisung admitted. 

But even he knew that his best friend was in some deep shit.

 Hoping to calm down, Chenle went to the beach for a walk. He needed some fresh air and time to think. And the smell of the ocean reminded him of you, so it helped him lower his anxiety.

He wasn’t just annoyed at what Kun said, but at what he himself kept saying. 

Why did he say what you two had was whatever?

Why did he keep saying he didn’t want a relationship with you? Why didn’t he want it?!

What type of werewolf doesn’t want to commit to his mate?

Younger him would have loved the idea of a hot older woman getting him off without wanting anything in return. It was every teenager’s fantasy.

But he wasn’t a teenager anymore and you weren’t a fantasy. You were the real deal; the woman he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

He sat on the sand, feeling defeated and tried to collect his thoughts to figure out where this whole ‘I don’t wanna date Y/N’ thing came from.

First,, he met you at the bar and he made it very clear he wanted to mark you and even marry you.

Then you told him that’s not what he actually wanted and he agreed.

During his rut, he came to his senses and decided to ask you out properly.

He did ask you out. You said no, but you were open to casual sex with him.

He didn’t want just sex with you, but he thought that was the only way to spend time with you so he agreed.

You made out and then you pushed him away and told him he couldn’t please you.

You told him he only wanted to get off and nothing else.

He agreed.

Why did he agree?! Why didn’t he make you cum too?!

“What the fuck’s wrong with me?” he groaned.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” You asked Yeosang.

“Nothing,” he replied calmly.

“You sound like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed,” he clarified.

You groaned. “I told him I didn’t want a relationship and he agreed.”

“Did he?” He challenged. “Or did you use your siren voice to convince him?”

You looked away.

“That’s not fair Y/N,” he murmured.

“He agreed before I bewitched him,” you defended yourself.

“Then why did you even have to bewitch him?” He asked, knitting his brows.

“I uh… didn’twannacum,” you barely whispered.

“Huh?”

You licked your lips in annoyance. “To make sure he didn’t make me cum,” you repeated, louder.

Yeosang’s jaw hung open. “Unbelievable.”

“He’s fine,” you rolled your eyes and finished whipping the counter. “I made sure he finished—“

“I’m done,” Yeosang interrupted you. “I don’t wanna talk to you until you understand what the problem is,” he spoke firmly and walked away from you to take a customer’s order.

Your heart broke. In the four years you had known each other Yeosang had never been mad at you. 

You knew he was right. You shouldn’t have done that to Chenle…but you had never liked someone this much. He drove you insane with a desire that was somewhere between sexual and domestic. And that terrified you.

You loved working and traveling on the ship and you didn’t want anything to change. But would it really be that bad to enjoy your time in this town? Once the bar moved to its next destination you wouldn’t see Chenle again and you and Yeosang would go back to normal.

Everything was fine.

After a few nights, you texted Chenle to ask him to meet up after your shift, which he immediately agreed to, picking you up and taking you to the same luxurious room he had booked last time. In a matter of seconds, you had him sitting on the bed half-naked, with you on your knees in front of him, taking as much of his cock as you could in your mouth.

Chenle was taken aback, but once again, he let you do what you wanted. He was hoping that this time he would make you feel good too, and if he was lucky you would stay the night and he would wake up to your sleepy face–

“Fuck,” he hissed when you circled the tip with your tongue, spreading his legs wider. 

You looked up at him and regretted it immediately because the view almost made you cum untouched. He was biting his lip to repress the moans and his eyes were half-lidded, and you thought no one could possibly look this hot.

You closed your eyes to avoid the arousing visual stimulation and focused on his taste only, which was weirdly addicting and made you salivate so much that the blowjob became even sloppier.

“Y/N…” he sighed. “I’m not g-gona last…”

You ignored him and bobbed your head faster. The plan was for him to not last. Not that you wanted this to end fast because you didn’t enjoy it, but because you wanted to get off soon, and for that, you had to go home while memories of Chenle were still fresh to pleasure yourself. 

“Ooh fu–,” Chenle moaned. “Okay, f-fine, I got it– We’ll do it your w-way but,” he gulped and paused to take a deep breath and regain some self-control. “I get to make you feel good too–aaah!” 

You chose that exact moment to deep-throat him.

“Haa…Y/N, fuck, fuck fuuuck,” he whined, daring to place his hands on your head and caress your hair. “Imma….Imma eat y-you out real good after this-Oh!” he lost his train of thought when you choked around him and he came in your mouth as you sucked him dry.

He let out one last broken moan when you released his member. He was panting and looking at you like you were a miracle.

“My turn,” he said darkly, pulling your arm until he had you sitting on his lap, kissing your face and neck all over while he unbuttoned your blouse. 

“I–,” you stuttered. “I’m actually k-kinda tired.”

“Tired?” Chenle stopped his kisses and touches and looked at you in surprise before quickly collecting himself. “That’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you,” he promised as he finished opening your blouse.

You pulled away, with your blouse completely open, and looked down at a very confused Chenle.

“I’m not really in the mood anymore,” you shrugged and his mouth fell open in shock.

“A-are you sure? Because your scent–”

“Pretty sure. I’ll call a taxi,” you said, grabbing your phone.

“N-no, I’ll…I’ll drive you,” a very defeated Chenle said, slowly getting up and getting dressed. 

Admittedly, you had made him feel very good. Hell, that was better than good, it was mind blowing. But he just couldn’t be satisfied if he was the only one who got to feel good. 

He could smell how aroused you were, and sometimes he felt like he could taste how close you were to cumming. Yet he never had the chance to make it happen. He was afraid that if he didn’t fulfill his duty as a fuckbuddy you would end things real fast.

So he kept showing up whenever you called and doing whatever you wanted for about a month, only to be dismissed whenever he felt like he had you. 

One night he had been particularly lucky; you had him completely naked, on his back, with you wearing only your bra, straddling him and letting him slide just the tip into the most delectable warmth known to him. 

“You’re s-so good,” he muttered, fixated on the way the tip of his cock disappeared inside of you. “So good…” he repeated.

“Yeah? You like it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You were more affected than you wanted to admit and you were playing a dangerous game because you had never been this close to cumming during your previous encounters with him. You should stop now and use your hand or mouth like you usually did, but he was stretching you so good.

“I love it,” he groaned, arching his back and licking his lips. “I love you,” he breathed out.

You moaned. For the first time in weeks you moaned.

He had just said he loved you. Three words you didn’t need in this type of relationship but that somehow brought a wave of pleasure to your body and made you lose strength and accidentally go lower, him sinking deeper in you.

Chenle watched in awe how you took more of him and he grasped your hips desperately. 

You looked at each other with wide eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

But this time Chenle reacted faster than you did, snapping his hips up and making your vision go blurry.

Before you had time to recover he did it again. And then again, and again until he had you bouncing on his lap.

“C–Chenle, let m-me…,” you moaned, placing your hands on his lower abdomen to stop him from thrusting up. “Let m-me do it, pup,” you offered, knowing that if he kept it up you would cum soon.

He stared back at you, disobediently, and since you weren’t letting him push his hips up freely, he brought you down, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air.

“Shh…I–I got it,” he spoke through gritted teeth, speeding up and trying to hold back his own orgasm to pleasure you.

Your body tensed in his firm grasp and the volume of your angelic moans escalated.

 A sense of pride filled his chest.

He was making his mate feel good.

He was finally going to make you cum.

“Yes, yes, come on, c-come on, come on,” he muttered urgently.

“NO!” you yelled. “STOP!”

He hesitated momentarily and it was enough for you to break free and run to the bathroom, leaving poor, flustered Chenle on the bed alone.

You entered the bathroom and locked the door behind you, leaning against the door and taking deep breaths to calm down, but the tingling feeling in your center was urgent. You normally waited until you got home to touch yourself after meeting up with Chenle, but your orgasm was right there. You just couldn’t wait.

So you didn’t.

You held your breath and inserted a finger inside of you, trying to get yourself off before Chenle came looking for you–

“Y/N?” 

Fuck.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asked from the other side of the door.

“Mmhm, a-all good,” you said quickly, working yourself faster.

“Can you open the door?” he asked worriedly.

“J-just give me a minute,” you spoke a little out of breath and bit your lip to catch any lewd sound that could give you away.

You didn’t hear him say anything else for  a few seconds, but then the door handle shook hastily. He was trying to enter.

“Just a m-minute!” you repeated, closing your eyes at the incoming climax.

“What are you doing?” He growled from the other side, struggling with the handle.

A few whimpers escaped you when your thumb grazed your clit and he banged on the door loudly.

“Open the door!” he commanded. “Y/N I swear to god if you’re doing what I think you’re doing—”

You came with a shaky moan. It wasn’t scandalously loud, but he heard it for sure.

The door you were leaning on opened abruptly and you fell in the same arms that had you shaking earlier. When you looked up you were met with his livid eyes.

He turned you around hastily and brought the hand you had used to pleasure yourself to his face, easily seeing the sticky liquid spread on your fingers. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yelled

You were petrified, trying to come up with an excuse for your behavior. Nothing you could possibly say would make sense.

“I was so close to making you come but you ran away just so you could finish yourself in the bathroom?!”

You sighed. “I’ll help you finish now–”

“You think that’s what’s bothering me?!”

“Then what’s bothering you?” you asked dismissively. “Can’t a woman make herself feel good?”

“Of course you can! When you have no one to take care of you–” he let out a frustrated groan. “What I mean is that I’m right here, and I’m dying to make you feel good, but whenever I think I’m doing a good job you run away and take it away from me!”

“Maybe you’re not doing as much of a good job as you think,” you lied.

“Then teach me!” he basically implored. “Tell me what you like for once instead of making me cum as fast as you can and leaving.”

“Chenle,” you spoke more gently, making him look at you, and once again using that voice. “Trust me, you’re getting so much better. Just a few more nights and you’ll have enough experience to be allowed to touch me,” you offered.

His expression became softer, but he still looked hesitant, as he always did whenever you used your powers on him. 

“I can’t let just anyone touch me,” you continued. “You have to earn it, don’t you think?”

“...Earn it?” he echoed, dismally.

“And you’re almost there, pup. But you have to keep doing as I say, okay?”

He nodded slowly and automatically. “Okay…”

“Good pup,” you praised him, caressing his hip. “Now, we can continue–”

“Actually,” he interrupted, gently pushing your hands away. “I’m kinda tired. Can we call it a night?”

You opened your mouth dumbly. “I…uh–Sure…”

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I’ll drive you home after I take a shower, okay?”

“Okay…,” you agreed, watching him go into the bathroom and close the door.

You tried not to think too much about it, but for the next couple of days, it killed you to think that maybe he was getting bored of you. But how could it be? Didn’t he say he imprinted on you?

You didn’t want to commit to him, but you also didn’t want him to move on from you. 

So when you received a message from Chenle asking if you had some time to hang out you typed your answer so fast anyone who saw you would know you were desperate.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

He picked you up and took you to the hotel as usual. Things seemed to be going the usual way, but when you opened the door you saw that the entire place was gracefully illuminated with candles and there was food on the table.

“What’s all this?” You asked.

“Dinner,” he replied, walking you to the table.

“What’s with the candles?”

“I like candles.”

“Don’t you think it’s too… intimate?” You asked, pointing at the decoration vaguely.

Chenle pulled a chair out and made you sit down by pushing your shoulders firmly. 

“I’ve been inside you. It doesn’t get more intimate than that,” he deadpanned before walking around the table and sitting in front of you.

“Chenle, this looks like a date,” you pointed out.

“I guess it kinda does,” he admitted.

“That’s not part of the deal.”

“Oh? The deal won’t allow us to eat?”

“Not like this,” you said for a lack of better words to explain yourself. “It’s like you’re tricking me into dating you.”

“It’s just food and some wine. Don’t be dramatic,” he said before he started eating.

Hesitantly, you followed. He was right, it didn’t have to be romantic. You could do what you normally do after dinner. And the food was delicious! You enjoyed it so much that you lowered your guard and didn’t mind Chenle’s trivial questions about your life and the things you liked.

He looked more relaxed too after having a normal conversation with you and it made the atmosphere more enjoyable and sensual by the time you reached the bedroom, giggling as you undressed each other.

Chenle was in a great mood; teasing and joking as he climbed on top of you and kissed your face. He was also more obedient than usual letting you do as you pleased and waiting for your permission to touch you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he laughed breathlessly, one hand by each side of your head to keep himself from crushing you while you pressed a bullet vibrator on the base of his cock.

“Good?” You teased, moving it up slowly until it reached the tip and then back to the base, making him moan shamelessly.

“Y-yeah,” he whispered, pecking your lips. “Everything m-‘my princess does f-feels amazing.”

Maybe the wine had taken its toll on you because you low-key liked that petname.

“Your princess?” You giggled, moving the small toy up and down deliberately. 

Chenle’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Mhmm, you like that? Y-you wanna be my pretty princess?”

You nodded dumbly, drunk in desire, wine, and—even though you didn’t want to see it—adoration.

“You c—aah…You c-can be my princess anytime, you k-know that, yeah?” He half-moaned, blindly thrusting against the tiny toy you used on him.

“Y-yeah?” You croaked, licking your lips.

“Myeah, and I’ve…mmm fuck right there,” he hissed when you pressed the vibrator right under the head. “I’ve b-been a good p-pup for you, right?”

You nodded. “The best,” you said before giving him a kiss that was a little bit more affectionate than intended.

“Don’t I des— haa… deserve a reward?” He pouted.

You giggled, turning up the intensity of the vibrations and making him whine desperately. 

“Oohh—oh g-god, princess —,” he knitted his brows in concentration, making the biggest effort to say something coherent. “I—aah… I actually wanted—ah!”

“What is it?” You asked, putting the toy away momentarily to not overstimulate the poor wolf and give him the chance to speak.

He took a few deep breaths and looked into your eyes with determination. “Go out with me.”

 You suddenly sobered up and your dreamy smile faltered.  “Chenle, no—“

“Why not?” He croaked. “We have such great chemistry when we spend time together like two normal people. Or did you hate having dinner with me that much?”

“Dinner with you was great,” you assured him. “But that wasn’t our deal.”

“Let’s change the deal,” he pleaded. 

“You said no strings attached,” you reminded him.

“No. You said that,” he accused.

“And you agreed.”

“I don’t know why I agreed!” He admitted. “Y/N, I—I don’t know why I keep saying those things; it makes no sense! I imprinted on you. I crave to be with you in every possible way, not just sexually. Can’t we at least try?” 

“Chenle,” you sighed, feeling terrible. You didn’t mean for things to go this far. You thought any man would be happy with a shallow sexual agreement, but apparently it wasn’t Chenle’s case. You would have to use your voice again. “You don’t really want—Hhmp!“

Chenle’s hand covered your mouth before you could finish speaking. “Don’t,” he begged. “You always say weird stuff and I end up agreeing like an idiot.”

You let out muffled sounds and hit his arms but he didn’t budge. He was terrified of what you would convince him of if he let you speak.

So you quickly grabbed the vibrator that lay forgotten on the bed, turned it on on the highest setting, and pressed it harshly against the leaking tip of his cock.

He gasped and lost his balance and you managed to uncover your mouth and quickly finish your sentence:  “You don’t want me!”

Chenle shook his head, distressed and trying to cover your mouth again, but you kept slapping his hand away while overstimulating his member. That, combined with the wine made his movements clumsy and inefficient. “P-please, d-don’t say tha—aaaah…”

“You don’t want to be with me. You only want me for sex,” you insisted and your voice almost broke when you saw Chenle’s saddening expression.

His imploring eyes finally turned into void ones, as expected when under a siren’s spell.  At the same time, his body tensed and he came with a silent scream, staring into your soul.

You finally turned the toy off and the room was silent.

Then a hot, wet drop landed on your face. You looked up and saw abundant tears coming out of Chenle’s expressionless eyes.

“Chenle?” 

“Yes?” He replied monotonously.

“Why are you crying?” 

He blinked slowly. “I don’t know.”

Your stomach dropped. He looked so calm in his own daze, unaware of how you kept dismissing his feelings. Ignorant of how you kept convincing him of things he didn’t want whenever he tried to connect with you.

Yet he was crying.

Oh no. You had broken him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying too.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you quietly.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you sobbed. “I’m trash—no, I’m worse than trash.”

He hesitantly placed a hand on your back. “No. You’re perfect…,” he assured you, just like he had told his leader a long time ago. Even in his confused state, he couldn’t think of you being anything but perfect. 

You sobbed harder. He deserved better.

You cleaned him up and caressed his hair until he fell asleep. Then you sneaked out, feeling like you didn’t deserve to be around him.

Yeosang was right. You were selfish. 

So you knocked on his door to apologize.

When Yeosang opened the door, he looked very surprised to see you, but he was more concerned about why you were awake and crying at 4AM.

“Y/N?” He asked, grabbing your hand gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Selfish is putting it lightly,” you said.

“Huh?”

“You said I’m selfish. But the truth is worse than that. I’m a bad person, Sangie. You’re right to be disappointed.”

He brought you into his room and closed the door, sitting you on his bed as he kneeled in front of you. “What happened?”

You told him everything. From the first encounter at the bar to what had just happened at the hotel. 

Yeosang listened patiently, calming you down when your voice broke and encouraging you to go on when you sounded ashamed.

“Do you understand the problem now?” he asked.

You nodded, sobbing.

“People are not toys, Y/N.”

“I’m so s-sorry,” you whispered.

“I know. Recognizing your mistake is the first step,” he said, whipping your tears away with his thumb. “Now you need to fix things.”

“H-how?”

“By making a choice,” he confirmed what you were fearing. “Either you accept him–all of him, or you let him go.”

You nodded again. “That sucks.”

He chuckled. “It does,” he agreed, pulling you into a hug. 

“I missed you,” you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I missed you too,” he said, hugging you tighter. He licked his lips before speaking again. “Sorry for asking this, but… did he make you–”

“Sangie!” you groaned, knowing what he was referring to.

“I’m not being nosy,” he explained quickly. “I know it’s personal, but if I’m asking it’s because it’s important.”

“He d-didn’t make me cum…” you confessed, feeling your face heat up.

“Ever?” he pressed.

“It almost happened many times,” you explained shyly. “But I always managed to stop it.”

“That’s impressive. It’s been about two months,” he calculated.

“Yeah,” you groaned. “Impressive.”

“Remember what I told you about orgasms?” he asked you

“Yeah,” you sighed. “That’s why I kept stopping him before it happened.

“That’s good news. It means you’re not completely tied to him,” he hummed. “Look, I contacted an old friend of mine—a siren. She imprinted once but she and her mate…they just had very different lifestyles. Different goals. So they didn’t consummate the bond.”

“Consummate meaning…?”

“She didn’t reach climax with her potential partner,” he explained. “Both of them went separate ways and never saw each other again. And you know what? She found love again.”

You pulled away from the hug to give him a surprised look. “She imprinted again?”

“No, not exactly,” Yeosang shook his head softly. “Sirens only imprint once in a lifetime. But she met someone else who could make her happy. What I’m trying to say is that you will live a good life no matter what you decide. Even if the goddess Amphitrite chose this guy for you, you can choose to live without him. And you will be fine.”

You bit your lip, deep in thought. 

“Or if you want to stay with him–” Yeosang continued listing your options.

“No,” you whispered. “Not after the way I treated him. The most honorable thing to do is let him go so he can find a good partner.”

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “You could think it over–”

“No, Sangie…I’ve prolonged this long enough,” you gave him a sad smile. “The sooner I end this the better.”

Poor Chenle had no idea what transpired when he woke up alone in the same hotel room where he always met you, with a terrible hangover and missing you more than ever. He still hadn’t gotten used to the inexplicable emptiness in his chest that he felt every time he separated from you, but today it felt more haunting than usual. Not seeing you in the room made him question if you were ever there, or if you were just a product of Chenle’s imagination. Were you even real? Was he going crazy? 

Thankfully your message took him out of what could have become an anxiety attack. You wanted to meet.

You had never contacted him two days in a row before. But what he found even weirder was that you were asking him to meet during the day. You also told him he didn’t need to book the room, which he found funny, because he owned the hotel, but he omitted that detail.

He went to pick you up at around 5PM, like you had requested, and he was taken aback when you asked him to go on a walk with him instead. If he was in his shifted form, he would be wagging his tail contently at the mere suggestion of sharing such a wholesome moment with you, but human Chenle was good at pretending he didn’t care.

He was so over the moon that he didn’t find it weird when you engaged in small talk and asked trivial questions like how he had slept if he had eaten or what his plans for the weekend were. You never cared much for any interaction with him which wasn’t quick sex, so this was a pleasant surprise for him.

You stopped at the beach. The same deserted beach where Chenle often went when he needed some time alone.

“I love this view,” you commented absentmindedly. “The ocean is the only place that makes me feel at home.”

Chenle took mental note of that. He would make sure to buy a house with the most beautiful ocean view. 

He looked at you and stared in awe at how gorgeous you looked. He was sure it wasn’t the golden hour effect, because you always looked stunning to him.

You turned to look at him and caught him staring, so he cleared his throat and quickly looked away.

“Here,” he said, offering you a small shopping bag that he had been carrying.

“What’s this?” you asked curiously,  opening the bag and taking out a delicate velvet box.

“It’s…for you,” he said, barely audible.

You opened the box and gasped when you saw what was probably the most beautiful and elegant necklace in the whole world. “Why?” you breathed out.

“I just saw it and thought of you.” he shrugged, still speaking very softly, like he was exhausted. 

That was half true. He did choose it because he thought you would look ravishing.

The other reason was that he called Jaemin to ask him what that feeling of emptiness could mean, and he had theorized that it could be because he still hadn’t marked you. Since biting you was out of the question, Jaemin suggested he gave you a little token. It wouldn’t be as permanent as a mark, but his wolf surely would feel more at ease if he saw you carrying something of his. 

Only Chenle would see costly diamond jewelry  as tokens. 

He looked at you attentively, panicking at your sudden loss of words.

“If it doesn’t suit your taste–”

“Let’s end things,” you said.

Now it was Chenle’s turn to be speechless. 

“...W-what?” he asked weakly.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I think it’s for the best,” you explained, closing the box in your hand and putting it back in the bag, offering it back to him.

He glared at the bag offendedly. “No, it’s not!” he countered.

“Yes, it is,” you insisted, shaking the bag in your hand closer to him but he took a step back. “This isn’t working.”

“I’ll make it work,” he hissed. “You’re not fucking leaving me.”

“That’s not your choice–”

“Nothing has been my choice!” he yelled. “You’re always bossing me around and doing whatever you want but now it’s suddenly not working?! I didn’t put up with your shit for you to leave me like this–”

“See? You hate the way I treat you, so why do you want to keep this up?!” you asked, once again trying to make him grab the bag, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him instead.

“Because I love you!” he growled. “And you know it, even if you play dumb. I know you see it in the way I look at you, I know you feel it in the way I touch you and I know you’ve heard me moan it when you have your way with me. Sometimes a weird voice in my head tells me that’s not true,and that what we have is just sex, but– that’s not my voice and—” he trailed off, trying to make sense of the opposing ideas he had in his head.  “Yeah, I hate how much of a bitch you are sometimes, but I won’t give up on us, you hear me?!”

You almost gave in. 

But you reminded yourself he deserved better. 

There was one way he may let you go without you having to use 

“I’m not happy with you, Chenle,” you said firmly.

His entire world came crashing down around him. He only reacted when he felt you trying to break free from his grasp. He tightened his hold on you. He was not going to let you go.

“Why not?” he breathed out.

“I’m just not,” you said, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I get nothing out of being with you.”

“I’ll change that. I’ll do anything you say–” he said, swallowing his pride.

“And then what?” you asked coldly. 

“Then we–,” Chenle looked around nervously, and licked his lips, looking for the right thing to say, anything that would make you stay. “We become w-whatever you want us to–”

“So you’re okay with me leaving with my crew when the time comes?” you rolled your eyes. “I’m not staying here, and you’re not coming with me–”

“I’ll go,” he said quickly, squeezing your arm so hard it hurt. “I’ll go wherever you want–”

“I don’t want you to come with me, Chenle, fuck!” you screamed. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone, okay?!”

He froze, finally relaxing his deadly grasp on your forearm. You pulled away carelessly, dropping the precious gift on the sand, and walked away.

Chenle stayed right there for who knows how long.

He doesn’t even remember dragging his feet to get back home while hugging the wrinkled paper bag close to his chest. All he knows is that at some point he was fully clothed under the bed covers, feeling that dreaded emptiness expand inside of him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark. 

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee. 

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.  

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate. 

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today. 

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame. 

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome. 

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad. 

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up. 

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion. 

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?” 

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle. 

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?” 

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him. 

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?” 

“Sir, I... just errands.” 

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?” 

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--” 

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.” 

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.” 

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?” 

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question. 

“Wanna go?” 

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--” 

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.” 

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think. 

“Should I have your luggage--” 

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.” 

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.” 

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun. 

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.  

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’. 

Huh?