#oh man glad to be back but it was quite the experience

[aashiyancha]

HI FELLAS I'M BACK!!!

Enjoy a lil doodle of the boys as I slowly ease us back into the world of my slightly au'd rf5 comic experience

[ggomos-maribat]

Double Lives

Damian was certain that his wife was keeping a secret from him.

He trusted her with his life, of course—Marinette had kept a number of things from him in the earlier stages of their relationship, like her experience and trauma in Paris. He knew not to pry, and eventually she opened up. He was glad that some burden was taken off her shoulders.

But this was different. She was deliberately trying not to get caught; she took care to hide her phone from his view, and there were days she'd come home very late. When asked, she'd get irritable but also nervous around him. Damian didn't want to assume things right off the bat, but he did hope she would finally grow comfortable to talk it out with him. And so he resisted using his ‘resources’ to peek into her life—what kind of distrusting partner would he be if he did that?

He knew, too, that he was being awfully hypocritical. He was still yet to sit her down and reveal his vigilante alter ego to her as well as his family's. Damian would swear he planned to rip the bandaid off when they got engaged. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, out of the fear that she'd leave him. As far as he knew, Marinette wanted a normal quiet life after living through the Evil Butterfly Man's reign of terror. Telling her his identity would just put a target on her back, if there wasn't any already after she became a Wayne.

He couldn't imagine his sweet innocent wife exposed to the horrors of vigilantism.

Still, even though he had his own secrets, it felt quite frustrating not to know hers. That was what Damian was thinking one dark night when the door finally opened, signalling her arrival from work.

“Damian?” Her eyes widened. “Why are you still up? You shouldn't have waited for me.”

“It's alright. I couldn't sleep anyways.” And I will be sneaking out for patrol later. He stood up to kiss her cheek—

But froze upon seeing a red mark right at the base of her neck.

Marinette hummed tiredly. “Next time, don't wait for me if you're tired, okay?”

“. . . What's that on your neck?” He dared to ask.

Her hand immediately flew to the spot on her skin. For a split second, her expression changed into a hint of annoyance. “It's—it's . . .” she stammered, “I accidentally hit myself.”

“You hit yourself?”

She nodded meekly.

Damian stared at her for a moment. There was one thing he knew about his wife: she was a bad liar. But she was expert at omitting things, partly because she probably knew he wouldn't interrogate her further. He knew that she was aware it was the vaguest of explanations but she never tried to elaborate.

He mustered out a smile. “Be careful next time.”

She let out a nervous laugh and squeaked out a ‘yes’.

“By the way.” He took a deep breath, “I visited your office this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and your secretary told me you hadn't punched in for the day yet.”

The silence between them was thick.

“Ah . . .” Damian could practically see the gears turning in her head. “That was . . . erm, I had to run an errand before work! Yeah . . .”

“I see. I was hoping to have lunch with you earlier but it seems that you're busy nowadays.”

She cursed in French under her breath.

“I'm really sorry, Damian.” She fidgeted with her fingers. “I'll make time this week. I promise.”

She hurried off to their bedroom, leaving Damian with his thoughts.

He really really didn't want to assume the worst. But his heart was racing and when he looked at the signs, they were clear as day. His mind started to spiral a little, wondering where he could've gone wrong, wondering if he didn't spend enough time on her or if she felt that he wasn't giving enough effort.

But he pushed all those thoughts away and followed her to bed.

***

One Saturday afternoon saw Robin and Superboy in the Watchtower's breakroom, talking about Damian's predicament. He hoped his friend could at least contribute an objective outsider's perspective in his dilemma and encourage him to broach the topic with Marinette.

“She's cheating,” Superboy deadpanned.

“She's—she's not,” he argued back, “Perhaps I am just reading too much into it . . .”

“Um but the hickey? The late night escapades?” Superboy frowned. “I don't know about you, but I don't think there's any other explanation for it.”

Robin bit his tongue. No, it's not possible. He loved Marinette terribly, and he knew—he could feel the same love from her if not more.

His friend sighed, “Look, I know it's hard to believe. Even I don't think M can be . . . unfaithful but you should confront her about it.”

“I can't. I can't face her like that when I am still keeping a secret of my own.”

“Then tell her you're Robin. A secret for a secret, hm?”

Robin didn't even want to think about how messy that conversation would be.

“It's all just about communication,” Superboy continued. “If you're worried she won't accept you, take my mom and dad as an example—”

He stopped talking, indicating that he sensed another presence nearby. Just on cue, a fuming Ladybug stomped into the breakroom, heading straight to one of the refrigerators.

The two men watched as she muttered angrily while looking around for food—Robin could see the clear exhaustion on her tensed figure. The Parisian heroine had joined the Justice League after the Hawkmoth fiasco became public; the heroes were quick to recruit her but not before she voiced out her complaints about the League neglecting her city. Though she hadn't revealed her identity to anyone, she had formed bonds with the other heroes her age, not excluding Robin and Superboy.

Superboy winced when she kicked the fridge door.

Ladybug did a hundred eighty, showing both the fires of hell and sleepless nights in her blue eyes. “You don't happen to have an extra stock of Kryptonite, do you?”

Superboy looked at her warily. “What happened this time?”

“Your dad assigned me to another magic-involved mission!” She tugged at her hair, sitting beside them. “I thought I made it clear I didn't want to be involved in too many missions especially if it's non-miraculous related ones!”

“You could . . . tell him that?”

She shot a sharp glare at them. “You don't think I did? They're insisting it's miraculous related when Constantine hasn't even confirmed anything! Just because Paris was terrorized, it doesn't mean miraculi are going to pop out from everywhere! These missions are affecting my normal life!”

It was a common complaint for heroes who had alternate civilian lives, but Robin was a bit surprised that she was that open about her feelings.

“And—and Batman too!” She pointed a finger at Robin. “I know Monsieur Furry's guilty about the Paris thing and all and me not having a mentor but he keeps checking on my progress after missions liked a damned helicopter parent! “

Before either of them could reply, she continued ranting, “I was going to meet an important client yesterday but they just had to call me in to help with the mission! And then it goes on until freaking midnight! What about my precious sleep?! Then Zatanna accidentally used a spell on me—it hit my neck and now it looks like a hickey!”

Her head dropped onto the table. “How the fuck do I fucking explain that to my husband?!”

Robin and Superboy looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“You—you haven't told your husband that you're a hero?” Superboy asked carefully.

Not lifting up her head, she replied with a muffled voice, “Of course not! I can't do that to him! He's already exposed to enough danger because of his last name! I just can't tell him ‘ hey mon amour so I'm actually that heroine from Paris on top of my emotional PTSD!’”

Robin swallowed. That was Marinette's name for him.

It ticked too many boxes.

He started to subconsciously connect the dots: catching his wife absent at work at the time the magic-wielding team of the JL was away on a mission; Ladybug sharing that she finally linked up messages from her yoyo to her personal phone; his wife coming home late, tired and fatigued from head to toe when all she was supposed to be doing was designing.

“I'm sure he'll come to understand your circumstances,” Superboy consoled.

“He won't.” The heroine sat up, revealing that her eyes were now welling up with tears. “He probably hates me right now because I'm sending the wrong signals. What if he thinks I'm just taking advantage of him for his money? His family already hates me! What if he's filing for a divorce right now?”

Robin felt the nudge from his friend, as if to tell him to do damage control. Superboy abruptly stood up, spouted out an excuse about being called by someone, and left the room to the two of them.

Ladybug sniffed, “Sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that.”

“It helps to get your problems off your chest.” Robin awkwardly patted her head. In truth, she was really Marinette, he wanted to pull her into a hug already.

He coughed. “Why—why do you think your husband's family hates you?”

“Oh . . . I don't know, but his father’s always distant. Whenever I'm at a family dinner, they're just very quiet,” she replied sadly. “I know they're good people but I felt like I didn't belong somehow. My husband keeps saying they adore me though.”

Robin wanted to sigh out loud. His father still had his guard up because he believed she was a civilian, hence there was a side of her family they could never show her. It was always quiet due to Alfred's stern lecture about behaving in front of Marinette lest they accidentally spill something they shouldn't.

“It sounds like your husband cares a lot about you,” he told her, “Don't you think he would trust you if you told him the truth?”

“But I can't! I don't know where to begin!” She pursed her lips. “He's always been good to me and he never steps the line even if I'm obviously lying. I just . . . I thought I could tell him before we got married but I was too scared and I didn't want to ruin what we had.”

“But he won't think any differently of you, would he?”

“No . . .”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” He smiled a little. “It may come off as a shock at first but he will accept it in time. You will be stressing yourself out even more if you keep thinking about the worst scenarios.”

She stared at him. “When did you get so wise?”

“Ever since I started thinking about what my wife was doing.”

She tilted her head. “Huh?”

It was unmistakable. Those gleaming blue eyes were Marinette's.

He was such an idiot.

“She keeps coming home late, hides her phone every time I'm near,” he listed, gauging her reaction. “Last night, I found out she hadn't come to her office even when she said she was working, and I caught her with a strange mark on her neck.”

Her eyes slowly widened as she seemed to come to the same realization. The heroine's gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Damian?” she whispered.

He checked if the coast was clear and slowly peeled off his domino mask to show his full face. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you habib –”

He was cut off by her warm lips, her arms winding around his neck. Damian immediately melted into her touch, relieved that they finally divulged their secrets. He wouldn't have to be worried about introducing her to the hero world after all.

He was extremely relieved, in fact, that he hadn't noticed his father and eldest brother stroll into the room.

“ROBIN! Are you cheating on your wife?!”

Robin pulled away from Ladybug, withholding a sigh of exasperation. He put his mask back on and turned around to see Batman looking constipated and Nightwing utterly shocked.

"How could you do that to—to . . ." Nightwing cried out.

"Leave us." He glared.

"Robin—" His father's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"Leave. Us."

Fortunately, the two scurried off. Damian faced his wife, who seemed as flabbergasted. He was worried since it was her identity that was at risk, unless he embraced the unexpected cheating allegations.

"Oh my kwamis," Ladybug said softly, "I called my father-in-law a furry ."

"It's deserved." He rubbed up and down her shoulders. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh um . . ." She ducked her head. "Maybe go home and I'll—I'll explain everything from the beginning."

***

Damian had to recount his life story after his wife shared hers whilst they cuddled in bed. After they talked, he was surprised to learn so many new things about her—he thought he had her memorized already, even before they exchanged vows. At the same time, he was mentally kicking himself for thinking that Marinette was never closely involved in the war against Hawkmoth.

Of course she was Ladybug.

Of course she was a hero.

So while she was spiraling at the number of times she'd unknowingly mocked her in-laws in the suit, he was regretting not telling her the truth sooner. If they'd opened up years ago, he would've stayed by her side during missions, helping her deal with the troubles of having a masked alter egos, and sharing his own experiences with her. A stronger bond would've formed between them, because they both understood the hero's life after all this time.

Not long after, she finally decided she was ready to tell the Waynes who she was. ‘It would do more harm than good if I kept hiding it anyway,’ she reasoned. He did agree, since she was part of the family, both as Ladybug and Marinette. The others would surely be overjoyed (and less overprotective) if they found out that she was a hero. What Damian found strange, however, was Marinette seemed to worry that Bruce's opinion on her would change and he'd become ‘distant’ as Batman as well.

“Remember, Batman is afraid of you,” he had reminded her over and over again.

(And Batman would be ecstatic to discover that Ladybug was his daughter-in-law, but Damian would never tell her that. The caped vigilante had grown fussy over the Parisian heroes as his way of ‘making up’ for the Paris incidents . . . But at the same time, he cowered ever so slightly when Ladybug raised her voice on him. Damian's siblings blamed Ladybug's black hair and blue eyes for triggering the adopt-itis.)

And so Damian and Marinette decided to arrange a family lunch to break the news to everyone. It was then Damian remembered that there was one issue he hadn't resolved yet.

“If you don't tell Marinette today, I'm telling her.” Dick glared at him from across the table.

Damian glanced at his watch. His wife wasn't present yet, and had sent him a message about picking up pastries from Paris first.

“Tt. That would mean revealing our identities, Richard.” He crossed his arms.

“Just because you have the mask on it doesn't mean you can do that to her!” Dick argued. “Does Ladybug even know you're married?! ”

“What did he do to Pixie-pop?” asked Jason.

“He---he—” Dick was once again trembling in anger and disbelief.

“We saw him kissing Ladybug.” It was Bruce who replied. “Damian, I never expected this from you. You will have to talk and apologize to Marinette.”

“You did what?!” Jason stood up so abruptly that the utensils clattered.

“What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed.

Stephanie gasped. “What the hell Damian?”

“Holy shit,” Duke whispered.

Damian could only stare at the entryway of the dining hall, hoping that Marinette would arrive soon. If he was left with his family any longer, they'd be beating him up and disowning him.

“I have . . . a reason,” he said through gritted teeth. He couldn't exactly tell them right off the bat, since Marinette wasn't there yet.

“Open . . . open relationship?” Cass frowned.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared at the ceiling—a portal— and from it, a figure dropped down, much to everyone's shock. Ladybug, unified with the Horse miraculous, grinned at them with an armful of boxes filled with croissants and macarons.

“Ladybug?” Bruce gaped.

“Your daughter-in-law actually.” She lowered the sunglasses, showing her narrowed eyes. “And your worst fucking nightmare.”

“W---What?”

Damian could barely control his laughter, seeing his father frozen.

She detransformed completely and scowled at Bruce. “This is technically your fault, furry old man! If you didn't keep agreeing to send me on those magical missions, I wouldn't be so tired and caused a misunderstanding in the first place.”

Damian didn't have time to shield himself from the eruption of noise on the table. With his wife's theatrical reveal, everyone was in different states of shock. Tim stood up quietly to face a wall with a blank stare, entertaining another existential crisis. Duke choked on the water he was drinking. Jason was crouched on the floor miserably with his hands over his face, perhaps because of the times he complained to Marinette about Ladybug's uptight methods. Dick's jaw was completely unhinged, and he was slapping himself every minute or so. Stephanie passed a hundred dollar bill to Cass.

And Bruce. Poor Bruce was paler than their porcelain plates, speechless and unmoving.

Damian exchanged a wide smile with his wife. He loved her so much.

[rene-darling]

CASH- app or zelle?

Sugar mommy/daddy AU

...wanderer...Xiao...tighnari...albedo...

Wanderer

Scaramouche never really needed a sugar mommy nor a daddy since he was a harbinger. He was rich...but now that he's wanderer...things have changed.

Ever since Nahida enrolled him in the Akademia he's had to find out how damn expensive some of the books he needs for his essays are

What the fuck! Why should he spend a million mora on a damn book he'll only use once!

While he was complaining about this to the traveler she jokingly suggested that he become a sugar baby.. " hah- do you think I would lower myself to such a degree-" once piamon mentions how he could basically get all the books he needed for his essays for free..he was sold.

One thing Wanderer didn't quite get the grasp of is what he needed to do for you in return...

His sharp breathing filled the room as your hips snapped in and out at a rough pace- he didn't know this was a part of the deal!!

Though he couldn't find it in himself to complain, as he gripped onto the bedsheets till his knuckles grew white "Hahh..fuuuck"

"you have to repay me for those books after all, don't you, so be a good little darling and hold fucking still." he wants to say he tried but it was nearly impossible! That fake dick slammed into him so hard! He couldn't! How could you except him to hold still

"i- hah.. I'm trying yo- mmh!" he was glad that he was facing away from you he most certainly didn't want to see that amused smirk on your face.

Xiao

Xiao didn't realize how it even happened, he just thought you brought him gifts and such out of kindness

Right, it had to be kindness. What else could it be?

In time, he began expecting your gifts and trinkets patiently he would sit on the railings waiting for your arrival, and when you finally arrive he greets you still sitting on the railing

Xiao didn't even realize how this relationship developed. Due to his duty to guard liyue he never went anywhere too far from it, so whenever you would come back from your trips and expeditions you would give him gifts and trinkets.

And in turn, he would give you himself for the night.

He lets out breaths in a set rhythm "hah..hahh" his breaths come out as pants and his body jerks up and down at every touch

He's so damn sensitive, twitching at every minor touch, you can milk his cock all night and he'll try his hardest to be your good boy. To follow your commands without a word,

He'll grab into you so tightly so desperately trying to hide his embarrassment in the crevis of your neck

Albedo

Albedo gets paid well by the knight of Favonius but lately, with some of his rather grand projects, he hasn't enough funds for them.

He thinks of ways to get more money, maybe he could work overtime. No, he already does and it's still not enough. He's in a stump. That's when he learns the term sugar baby from a drunk venti and kaeya

They both were drunk only jokingly suggesting that the man become a sugar baby if he was that desperate

What they didn't know was, yes. He is that desperate. He absolutely needs more funds, so this is the best and easiest option.

All he needs to do is lay himself on his table on Dragon spine, and the rest is up to you, you can do whatever you please with his fair skin, leave as many marks as you wish,

He thought it was easy enough. All he has to do is lay pretty and let you ravage him. He is a homunculus after all, he was confident he could take it,

"oh f-fuck mhm..." it seems he had overestimated how much his delicate body could take

Though he didn't mind, he enjoyed the feeling of being pushed to his utmost limit. His nails dig into your skin leaving red scratches all over, he can't help it you drive him insane.

Tighnari

Much like Albedo the Fox Boy needs funds for his experiments and expenditures, the scholars at the Akademiya after hearing his reluctance to join them being petty decided to cut his funds in half!

He's annoyed but he's even more petty than those stuck-up scholars, so even with his funds cut he decides to come up with another way to secure them

It wasn't his idea to become a sugar baby, but it came up when he was talking to his friends during a game of TCG, Kaveh had the same problem being in debt and not having enough funds to cover them.

He told Tighnari about how he planned to sign up to become a sugar baby, and so Tighnari albeit reluctantly decided to try it out. He means, what's the worst that could happen?

This is the worst. Though, he's lying.

His breathy pants fill the room his scratching and digging into your back, creating deep red marks on your skin,

"ah- ah..mhm, Hah-" he forces his head up to look at you, flushed cheeks tinted a harder red the more you stared back. "Y-you'll buy me t-the- mhm!" you couldn't help but chuckle.

His tail desperately wraps around you as he lets out a whine, he pouts a little at your teasing, "Don't worry darlin', I'll get whatever you want, so don't worry your pretty little head over it."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Like no one is watching

summary: a little stream rekindles feelings that had been lurking somewhere in between the lines. Or have they?

a/n *hits chest* guilty, guilty, guilty... yet I had to write this because I was about to go insane. Don't come for my head. Had never written for this man before. Enjoy. 🤍🫧

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It was supposed to be a chill night. Nothing big. Nothing special. All Vince wanted was to hang out with a couple of his old friends and mess around for a bit on stream. He needed to get his mind off the last couple of games that weren't his best. And it was just that—a good evening filled with goofy jokes—until Brian went quiet for a minute before saying, "Uuu, Y/N is coming over," and Vince's body nearly had an out-of-body experience. One that makes you fella as if, suddenly, you are standing a foot away from your body, and it almost feels like tunnel vision, but then it all snaps back into place. Yet Vince pulled the most neutral facial expression he could master before saying, "The one from the game?" making Brian simply hum in confirmation as he typed out a message to you.

The thing was, that it was stupid to even pretend that Vince didn't know you. Or that he only had seen you in one of his games as Brian's plus one. Well, besides being one of the NHL investor's daughter—a tag you shook off with a frown every time. You had made quite a name for yourself on your own. You had graduated from medical school with honors. And had opened a boutique in downtown Chicago... Not that Vince was keeping tabs or anything.

The truth was that he had never paid much attention to you at sports events or gatherings. Not that you were there often. But something about you standing there in the stands during his last game had messed with Vince's brain chemistry, and Vince just hadn't been the same ever since. He had, of course, asked Brian about your friendship and felt even more whiplashed when his friend casually shrugged while saying that you two had known each other for years. A friend of a friend. And since the energy was comparable, you had stayed in touch.

"Vince, keep the chat entertained while I let her in," Brian got up quickly, but not before stopping to address chat too, "Guys, your favorite person is here." Vince was once again left wondering how many times you two streamed together. And kicking himself for never really finding the time to watch his friends' lives. Laughter echoed from the hallway, and Vince had to mentally tell himself not to look back so he wouldn't come off too desperate. Paying extra attention to the sea of messages about how everyone was so excited to see you.

"Make some noise, make some noise," Brian shouted as he sprinted back, clapping his hands. He pulled the mic to his lips, "The one and only, Y/n Y/L/N." Your laughter filled the room, quickly followed by the clicking of your heels. "You are insane," you muttered, stepping through the door. A slight surprise washed over your face when your eyes fell on Vince, sitting in one of the chairs, but it was quickly masked by a warm smile. "Oh, hey, Vince," you muttered before leaning forward slightly to wave at the camera.

"Hey guys, long time no see. Please tell me that you've been making fun of Brian for me", you smirked, sticking your tongue out at him. "Changed my mind; I don't want you here," he huffed, playfully pulling at your hand. Vince blinked a couple of times. Finally realized that he had been staring at you the whole time, but then who could blame him? You had caught his eye back then with a messy bun, baggy jeans, and his team's jersey on. Now, with a black dress, heels, and full of glam. Lord was on his side, and he was sure glad that he had been sitting.

"Do I know Vince?" you read, your eyes darting to the awfully quiet hockey player to your right. "Yeah, we met. Was at his game, actually", you nodded slowly. "I should know all the rules by now, but..." Pulling a face, you shook your head. You avoided the games like a plague. Daddy's girl in the stadium. Those words alone made you want to run. You would rather fall face-first into dog shit. "We'll get you to more games, and you'll get it in no time," Vince's voice made your head snap back to him. The fucker dared to smirk too. Oh, but you knew his type. Heard all about it, and two could play this game. "Is that an offer?", you asked innocently. Vince only shrugged as he leaned back in his chair, "A fact." Your eyes stayed glued to each other. You hated how you could never get a read on him. How could a guy look both like the biggest mistake and like a gift from the Lord himself?

"They want to see your fit, Y/n," Brian's voice made you blink. Turning your attention back to the camera, you muttered, "Oh, wait," you backed up slightly. Trying to fit at least most of your body in a frame. "Do a twirl," Brian clapped his hands like a kid, making you shake your head. "Of fuck you, that's stupid," you muttered. "No cap, do a twirl," he motioned with his finger for you to do as he said. You rolled your eyes, but then you did feel cute today, so a little hype has never hurt anybody. "It's nothing," you said as you twirled a couple of times, "a black dress and these awful heels." You lifted one of your feet slightly, showing the sparkly, black heel.

"My turn!" Brian shouted, stepping up front as he went on a rant about what he was wearing. You stepped aside with a giggle. He was way too excited to do this, so alcohol had to be involved in this steam in some way. "Sponsorship event?", Vince said under his breath, clearly only trying to catch your attention. "You know it...", breathing out, you let out a sigh. People might call you ungrateful for this, but you hated attending anything that involved your father and his money. You were like a shiny toy for him. "Do you hate them?", he asked, catching a slight frown on your face. "Tell me about it," you said, laughing under your breath. "I ain't a fan as well," he added with a nod. "Oh, I know", you muttered, stepping aside from his chair.

"I will go for now; I need to get out of these before I start bleeding all over the floor," you chuckled, pointing to your feet once you found a minute of silence. You didn't want to just get up and walk out, so one way or another, you would have to find a little excuse to slip away. "Just get them off here," Brian muttered, not seeming to care as he scrolled through his playlist, looking for a new song to sing along to. "And flash the chat while doing so?", you rolled your eyes, "You wish for free content like that." You were about to wave your last goodbye when Vince cut in, "I'll get them." For a split second, you had hoped that you had misunderstood his intentions. So you just shook your head with a polite, "It's okay," but Vince scooted his chair closer. "No, no, I got it," he muttered, bending over.

A breath hitched in your throat as you felt his hands on your skin. "No, Vince," you muttered. But he just continued pulling at the strap; his warm fingers touching your cold ankle, sending shivers down your whole body. He fidgeted with it for a moment, but with an awkward angle, it sure wasn't an easy task. You were hoping that he was just going to give up, but his palm grasped your leg just slightly above your knee as he nudged it to a more comfortable angle for him. You nearly let out a shriek, but it turned into you biting your lip. Your hands pressed against his shoulder as you steadied yourself.

But God the feeling of relief once he finally pulled the scrappy shoes off. Near heavenly. Making your head fall back as you hummed in delight, "Remind me to boycott high heels from today," you muttered. Not to mention that you didn't miss the way Vince's hands lingered on your skin before he pulled back away from you. His gaze moves upwards to catch your eyes. And the urge to just take his face between your fingers and... Pull yourself together, Yn. You turned away quickly. Hoping to hide the slight blush on your cheeks. "It was nice seeing you guys", you waved your hand to the camera before quickly picking up your heels and padding out of the room.

Vince's heart was beating so hard against his chest. He was toying with a dangerous line. Girls like you were off-limits for a reason. The rules were pretty clear, too. It was bad enough that this was on the internet. One stupid move and his head would be drilled raw with people screaming at him. Nor did it help that your daddy dearest had spent some pretty coin on his team this year. Yet Vince was itching to get up and follow you. Little could be done with the cameras on, but outside this room, where no one could see you...

"Do you want another drink?" Vince said, causing Brian to shake his can, which, to Vince's luck, was indeed empty. "I'll get..." Brian had started, but Vince was already up and out of his chair. "I've got you, man," he said, tapping his friend's shoulder. He only had one shot at this. You can only get lucky so many times. But he didn't even need to go looking for you because the moment Vince rounded the corner to the kitchen, you were there. Leaning against the counter with your hands crossed over your chest.

"You're following me or something?", you muttered, tilting your head to the side. Vince tossed the empty cans out. "Or something," he muttered back. "Now you think you're funny?", you raised an eyebrow at him, pushing back from the corner to step closer to him. "What do you want, Dunn?", you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. A smirk tugged on his lips. That devilish one. One that turned him from an angel to a man of sins in seconds. "Back to the last name once again; you know I like it." His words were breathy and low as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, causing you to pull back.

"You look really good," Vince muttered, letting his eye fall down your body. Following your curves before your laughter filled the empty place. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, frowning slightly. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shook your head, "You came here to tell me that I looked good?". This guy was something different. Yet your fingers reached up to his jaw, brushing over his jawbone. "You're adorable," you muttered. This time it was Vince who was pulling away, "I'm not adorable."

You bit your lip, trying to keep a serious face. Of course, he would get offended by a comment like that. "Yeah, I forgot that you're an angry puppy, my bad," you said with a firm nod of your head. Vince let out a huff, licking his lips as he stepped forward once more, towering over you. "Careful," he breathed out, leaning closer to your face. "Or what?", you urged him, not willing to back down. Your own hands moved to rest against his chest as you stepped on your toes. His warmth seeped into your palms. Vince's arms were pressed on either side of you. Caging you within his arms, "Or you might see a very different side of me." Your smirk matched his now as you bit your lip, tilting your head to the side. "Like..." you pushed on, wanting to see just how far he would let himself go.

"Not afraid that daddy will get mad?" The warm feeling in your stomach turned to ice. The smile faded from your lips as you reared back. "Oh, fuck you," you hissed, pulling at his arm to get away from him. You should have known better. "Y/n," Vince tried to grasp your arm, but you yanked it away quickly, "Forget it, Dunn." With a quick look around the kitchen, you grabbed your stuff and headed straight to the door, cursing yourself for willingly choosing to come here in the first place.

[trtlebuns]

Ghost realizing you’re a wild sleeper

Synopsis: Ghost and yours first night together and you’re worried that you might do something weird while you sleep…

Sfw 😝

Uh…I was going to do a bunch of other cod men but I got lazy :)

First fic on tumblr, whoop whoop

Simon Riley <Ghost>

The first night of sleeping together with ghost as a newly established couple was nerve wracking not because you’re scared of sleeping with this fine piece of ass, no no no it’s because your friends have mentioned that you’re a “wild sleeper” whatever that means, right?

“You alright” Simon breaks you out of your deep thoughts of you socking him in the mouth as you’re dead asleep

“Hm? Oh! No, I’m just a bit nervous because what if I say something weird in my sleep?” You shyly respond, knowing really that you’re either 1) scared you’re going to WWE fight this man in sleep or 2) fart….let’s go with the latter.

Simon chuckles and responds as you both get comfortable in bed “I’ll let you know, because I’m quite the light sleeper in case something happens through the night”

Shit

was your true response but you quickly respond with an “oh, that’s a bummer, I got some melatonin if you need it.” You turn away to pretend look for some melatonin as your thoughts race:

This man is a LIGHT SLEEPER?! Oh Jesus please watch over me and not let me knock this man unconscious so he can really experience a deep sleep

“It’s no problem at all, in fact I like that fact that I’m a light sleeper, so please don’t put yourself in a hassle and get some sleep” Simon said

Hehe get it??

“Oh alright, justsoyouknowimawildsleeper” you quickly said as you laid down and quickly shut your eyes fake snoring

4am

Simon Riley POV

It’s been 3 hours since the torture has begun.

Y/n was moving around at 1am, slob coving their pillow and mouth and hair a mess, deep sleeper, kinda jealous but nevertheless I left it alone

Normal sleep movements

I felt a hand movement but it quickly connected with my face, I jolted up thinking it was an intruder but it was just y/n and I on the bed.

I look to my right and see y/n’s hand on my cheek and they smacked their lips and turned their head, still fully asleep

I gently move their hand back to a relaxing position and laid back down

Not even an hour passes by and I have y/ns HANDS AND FEET on me trying to push me out of the bed?????

Moving on to them laying on top of me in full starfish mode???

Next to y/n hogging the covers and moving me to the edge of the bed and spiraling out on 3/4 of the bed

“Okay” I say as I push y/n into the middle of the bed and put both of us in the spoon position

Me being the big spoon ofc (😝)

Damn near putting them in a soft headlock, as 30 minutes pass, I slowly sleep into slumber realizing that y/n hasn’t moved but is still snoring softly

TIME SKIP!

Y/n comes down the steps into the kitchen where ghost is there making breakfast

“Yooo, that was the best sleep I’ve ever had my goodness” y/n stated while yawning and searching their head

Simon turned his head looking at y/n get something out of the fridge

“I’m glad” he said while thinking this is something he could get used to.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Kinktober Day 5 - Dottore X Reader - Humiliation

 Day 5 – Dottore X Fem Reader – Humiliation

Disclaimer: Very intense humiliation and free use themes. No sex or penetration in this one, just plain humiliation. Thought I’d spice these up once in awhile <3

It was a cold night out as you followed Dottore to a local tavern. The Doctor had a pep in his step, this particular version of him whisking you away from your chores to act as his aid. Whatever that means. “Keep up.” He said, looking back at you and giving a particularly harsh tug to your leash, making you choke and almost trip while walking. “Y-Yes Sir.” You responded meekly, the metal of your collar digging into your skin. With a smirk, the man continued onwards and you made sure to match with his pace so you were right behind him.

When Dottore offered to cure your illness and only asked that you work as his assistant, you couldn’t believe your ears. The offer was too good to be true and you were worried there was a catch but the man kept his word and helped you, making you the healthiest you’ve ever been. No more sleepless nights in pain, no more constant headaches, no more fevers every other day- you could finally live your life.

And of course, you had to keep your end of the bargain as well. Most of your duties involved checking up on his clones and seeing what they’ve been upto, making sure his subjects were well fed and taken care of, recording down notes of his recent experiments, keeping his pen full of ink and replacing his notebooks when needed-

Letting him bend you over the table and fuck his stress out, offering your body to his many clones to have their way with, put a collar on you and drag you along everywhere like a dog and not caring about people staring-

You know. The usual assistant stuff.

Tonight, Dottore (the original one? Atleast, he was the one who first gave you the offer) had a meeting with the owner of the tavern. An exchange of goods of sorts. The tavern head was experimenting with his wine and agreed to help Dottore in spiking it with some kind of potion, Dottore planning to use the drunkards of the bar as his unwilling experimental group.

He opened the door, the bell of top jingling to signal that they had entered. The man behind the bar greeted them, instantly recognising Dottore and his eyebrows shot up when he saw you trail behind him, leash and all. “Welcome, Doctor.” The man said, “Glad you could make it.”

“How could I not?” Dottore asked, sitting on the chair opposite the counter. He hadn’t ordered you to sit, so you continued to stand behind him. “I’ll have a bottle of your finest red wine, my good man.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender said, “And for the Missus?”

Dottore looked at you, his eyes hidden behind his mask but you were confident they were twinkling in mischief, “Can you put some milk in a dog bowl?”

Blood instantly rushed to your face, Dottore’s comments catching the attention of the many regulars in the bar, all of them immediately looking at you. The bartender barked out a laugh, “Lucky for you, I just bought a new dog bowl. A glass of wine and milk, coming up.”

“On your knees.” Dottore ordered, tugging tightly at your leash. You quickly obeyed, kneeling down next to the man and sitting on your heels. More murmurs echoed through the bar as people’s attention was all of you. You in your cute white shirt, turquoise corset and adorable blue booty shorts with knee high boots. It was quite revealing but Dottore liked it on you and so, you wore it.

“Cute little girl you got there.” The bartender said, placing a glass of beautiful red wine on the table in front of the Doctor and a dog bowl filled with milk next to it, “What do you think about lending her to me for a while?”

“Oh, are we talking business already?” Dottore asks, grabbing the bowl before carefully placing it on the floor in front of you, not needing to command you. You should know what to do. With a gulp, body trembling as you tried your best to ignore all the people staring at you, you placed your hands on either side of the bowl before bending down and drinking the milk. You heard Dottore laugh along with the gasps of the people around you, almost choking on your milk as you felt the familiar sensation of a heel pressing gently onto your head. Dottore’s heeled boot was on you, the man stepping on your head as he made sure to keep you bent over.

“If that’s what you want to start with.” The bartender responded, “Not the first time I’ve made dealings with the Fatui. As long as the deal is fair, I’ll do anythin’ ya want.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dottore said as he picked up his glass, taking a sip of the drink before continuing, in a softer tone so the onlookers couldn’t hear him, “But you know exactly what I want from you.”

“That I do.” The man responded, “But it won’t be cheap.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.”

“So, spiking my bottles for a whole month will cost you twenty million mora.” The man said, leaning against the counter so only Dottore could hear him, “and it will cost ya extra if you want me to make that purple powder myself.”

Dottore chucked, “I’ll be proving you with the powder and I’ll pay you ten million.”

“Nah. Twenty million.”

“Ten million and I’ll throw in a few Fatui to act as your bodyguards.” Dottore negotiated, “Doing this will put a target on your back, you know.”

The bartender paused, gnawing at his lower lip before saying: “Ten million, bodyguards and…I get to fuck this pretty puppy of yours.”

You jumped as he said that, close enough to hear their conversations. The milk was empty and you were just waiting for Dottore to get his boot off of your head, but he just pressed it down harder.

“No one fucks her but me.” Dottore said, his tone indicating his annoyance even if the mask covered his eyes.

“Damn, well, then I guess we’re back to square-“

“Eleven Million, bodyguards and I’ll let you watch while I fuck her.”

You shivered, a rush of heat and shame washing through you. “Now why would I just wanna watch?” the bartender said, looking at Dottore like he was foolish.

“Not just you. Everyone in the bar.” The Doctor responded, “They’re already interested in her- why not make a profit? Only those who buy drinks can stay behind and watch. What do you say?”

Your body shivered some more and you could feel your pussy clench underneath your shorts, the action no doubt visible to some of the patrons who grinned widely at the scene. The man behind the bar took a second before a smile formed on his face, a twinkle in his eye as he brought his hand out for Dottore to take, both of them shaking on it.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with ya!”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine~”

~~~

You shivered and mewled at the lewd stared directed your way, some of the patrons already hard in their pants and nothing had really happened yet. Sure, the Doctor had stripped you of your corset and was groping at your tits, your mounds shifting in his touch, but that was all he had done. Sitting in the middle of the bar, perched on top of Dottore’s lap with your legs spread wide open, you tried your best to ignore the large group of men that were now surrounding the two of you in a circle, beyond excited to see what was going to happen.

They got filled in on the situation and a few people left, mostly women and men who were taken but majority of the men stayed behind, refusing to miss this chance. They sat comfortably around you, eyes wide, taking in every second. The door of the tavern was locked and the bartender was pocketing money, his business booming tonight.

“Look at how hungrily they’re looking at you, pet~” Dottore cooed in your ear as he found your nipples under the shirt, his long fingers starting to run circles over them, “You’re making them so horny~”

You didn’t respond, letting out a yelp as the Fatui pinched your buds, squeezing them tightly between thumb and forefinger before pulling them harshly. The men cheered at your sweet cries, their voices louder at the way your breasts bounced back once Dottore let go. He cupped your tits from below and started to jiggle them, the fat of your tits bouncing for everyone’s viewing pleasure. It was so humiliating- so shameless- so hot.

“Unbutton your shirt.” The man ordered as he continued to jiggle your tits, “flash all of these old perverts.”

Knowing better than to argue, you started doing just that. Eyes around you widened and cocks swelled in pants as you revealed your naked chest, not wearing a bra underneath. With a gulp, you shrugged the shirt off of your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the greedy crowd.

“Oh fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Such good fucking tits!”

You mewled at the lewd words thrown your way, your pussy drenching your panties as you shamelessly bared your naked tits to the group of strangers. There were more than ten men leering at you, perhaps close to twenty, all of whom were staring at you with nothing but lust in their eyes. You were briefly distracted as Dottore once again cupped your breasts before jumping them up and down again, this time, the ripple of your flesh all the more delicious. You noticed that a few men were starting to palm themselves over their pants, eyes watering from how they weren’t blinking.

“Your nipples are hard~” The Doctor said, licking at your earlobe before his fingers flicked your sensitive buds, “Are you enjoying this?”

“S’ cold…” you said as an excuse, whining as his gloved hands started to twirl your nipples in circles. Your breasts were so sensitive to his touch- even the lightest of sensations make you feel like your body is burning up. “Oh yeah?” Dottore asked, clearly not convinced as his palms grabbed your breasts, palming them lewdly, “So your pussy won’t be dripping for me?”

“N-No-“

“Hmmm, should we check then? What do you think boys?” Dottore asked, addressing the crowd, “Should I take off these shorts and check if her cunny is drenched?”

A loud cheer echoed through the room, all of the men shouting a deafening yes making your ears turn red. You felt so vulnerable- so bare- so humiliated as everyone celebrated getting to see your pussy. This wasn’t the first time Dottore has showed you off to others, being fucked in front of the Fatui warriors a fairly common occurrence, but this was different. These were random strangers who had nothing to do with the organisation and were just here in the right place at the right time.

“You heard them.” The Doctor said, nuzzling at your neck before giving it a kiss, his hands letting go of your breasts to instead slide down the curve of your hips and towards the hem of your shorts, “Let’s get you naked, pretty puppy~”

“Pussy! Show us that pussy!”

“Tear those slutty shorts off!”

“Spread those legs wide! I wanna see that asshole!”

You gasped as the dirty words thrown your way, lifting your hips up so your master could slide your shorts down. Everyone hooted as your bare legs got revealed, your black thong doing very little to hide your pussy. One of the men grabbed at your discarded shorts and held it up, hooting like he just won a prize.  Deciding to leave your boots on, Dottore grabbed you by the back of your knees before pulling up, making you yelp as your position got slightly changed. You couldn’t help but slap your hands over your eyes as you saw the men move closer to you, some of them so close that you could feel their breath on your cunt. With your body slightly lower and your knees almost pressing your shoulders, Dottore held you wide open for everyone to ogle at. Your thong was wedged between your pussy lips, your puffy cunt practically swallowing the thin fabric and your asshole almost completely visible.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the Doctor asked, his voice like honey as he took in the scene. It was truly a power trip to watch all these men be so obviously horny for his darling but they couldn’t touch you- couldn’t taste you- couldn’t fuck you. “Take pictures, Gentlemen. It will last longer.”

“Wait- Seriously?”

“Holy fuck! Where’s my Kamera?!”

“Jerk off material for life!”

“Ah-ah! Only if you refill your drinks!”

You looked up at Dottore from your position, peeking between your fingers as the commotion around you increased, everyone buying drinks and scrambling to get their Kamera’s. “I should use you more often.” Dottore said as he looked down at you, “I can convince a lot of perverts to do a lot of bad things just so they can have a taste of your pussy- why didn’t I think of that before?”

He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself, his mask starting to reflect the flashes of the Kamera’s. Your body twitched every time the shutter went off, the slick from your pussy glistening in the light, something the audience took note of. They moved in closer, their Kamera’s taking countless pictures of you- of your tits, your pussy and your ass. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what they would do with said pictures but knowing Dottore, if they ever got circulated, he’d find a way to monetise it for himself.

“Come on, pet.” He said, his hand sliding between your legs and giving your pussy a few pats, the impact wet and filthy, “Do you want them to see more?”

“Wh-huh?”

“Beg for it.” He explained, “Say: ‘Everyone, please take a good long look at my wet, nasty cunny~’”

“B-But-“ you sputtered, blood rushing to your face so fast it made you feel dizzy, “That’s so- I-“

Dottore raised his hand and gave your pussy a sharp slap, making you yelp out in pain. “Did you say something?” he asked, daring you to protest.

“E-Everyone!” You said, tears in your eyes from the pain and from the humiliation, your ears ringing and your heart hammering so loudly in your chest, you wondered if they could hear it, “P-Please take a g-good long look at m-my w-w-wet, nasty c-cunny!”

“Fuck yeah!!” The crowd cheered, some of them getting your words on video. You were so focused on Dottore and his touch that you failed to notice just how riled up the audience was. Most of them had their cocks out and more than half of them were jerking off, their pleasure filled expressions hidden behind their Kamera’s. You gulped down the saliva in your mouth, your body having been trained well enough that you’d drool when there were hard dicks around- cocks that were eager to fuck you. The slick sound of the strangers sliding their hand up and down their members echoed through the air, their dirty panting somehow turning you on more than their dirty words.

“Let’s show them this pussy, hmm? This pussy that belongs to me~” Dottore growled before his fingers clutched at the hem of your thong and pulled so harshly, he ripped the thin fabric to shreds. Drinks were poured and cheers erupted as the blue haired man tossed aside the remains of your underwear, leaving you truly and completely naked. You gasped, tossing your head back against him as the flashes and clicks of the Kamera increased, your brain getting overstimulated. You felt Dottore’s fingers on your cunt, his gloved hand going up and down your pussy lips, collecting the slick before giving it a nice pat pat pat. The sticky sound of your cunt was barely audible over everything else, especially of the men who started to jerk off with more vigour.

“Take a good look, Gentlemen.” Dottore said, his fingers suddenly spreading your pussy lips apart, showing off every nook and cranny of your cunt, ignoring your cry, “the most perfect pussy in the World~”

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twenty-five: biting kink

>>> oh yeah i got a new laptop! went back in and reformatted the other days so hopefully they aren't an eyesore but we back on track with choso here :)) he's so.....yum...he's so....biting coded idk

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: sorta dark content just to be safe, biting, a little blood, one spank, spitting, oral (f!receiving), doggy, uh kinda yandere coded i suppose, one kinda baby-trapping comment >>> wc: 3.3k >>> event masterlist:

choso is a family oriented man. it’s at the core of who he is, and everyone knows how important his family is to him—no matter how small said family was. his brother yuji meant a lot to him as his only “blood” relation and closest friend. he loves the guy more than anything. or, he thought he did. that was easy to say until he met you of course. choso was new to life despite his soul being over a hundred years old, and he had never experienced the emotions you bring him. the joy, the excitement, the true love. it amazes him and he’s still not quite used to all of it just yet, despite the several years that you’ve been together. 

you met through yuji during the height of his woes of war and the inner battles he fought against his own cursed brain—toeing the line between human and monster. at some point, he made peace with not belonging. he knew that yuji loves him and that was really all he needed. he didn’t have to relate to yuji’s struggles. his perfectly human issues, like running behind on laundry now that fushiguro is on a mission and isn’t hounding him to do it. he didn’t have to relate to the emotions of love and worry and anxiety or jealousy, not until yuji introduced him to a fellow sorcerer—a kyoto school alumni. you were radiant. like a captive ray of sunshine. he hadn’t experienced such warmth in his chest, blossoming across his face. what was this? he missed your name. he was too busy panicking over introducing himself and how he would do so that he’s already made a complete fool of himself by the time he bows at the shoulders and gives you a gentle whisper of his name. 

you miss his name too, he was much too quiet. you look to yuji, and he clarifies. “my brother, choso. the one i was telling you about!” he pats your back, and you do remember him telling you about his older sibling. by the time choso’s lifted back to his regular posture, he’s convinced yuji’s probably only revealed the most embarrassing things about him and that you would be put off just by the knowledge of what he is. but when he looks at you again, you’re smiling. you give him your hand instead of bowing, repeating your name and cheerfully offering to show him around kyoto city. 

he was so glad he accepted. that warmth in his chest never went away. you were so addictive. you didn’t bat an eye at his awkwardness and you seemingly took pleasure in teaching him any gaps he had yet to experience. that day, when you showed him around the city–he had no clue what it was that he felt for you. he followed you around your town, touring shops and exploring scenery with you, with no trace of embarrassment. you were easy to get along with, naturally talkative and entertaining—he learned a lot about you that night. you were captivating. you were standing at a natural pond, pointing out some cranes and spouting off facts about their mating cycles. he had no clue what half of it really meant, but he liked the sound of your voice and the excitement shimmering in your eyes. he knew he wanted to feel this warmth again. he never wanted it to go away—his body was buzzing with the feeling of being alive. he’d never had that before. it was you, it had to be you, maybe that was your cursed technique. but either way, choso was hooked. 

“you’re beautiful.” he blurted out in the middle of your educational rant, and he’s not sure what made him say so. clearly you were gorgeous—but the confidence to confess it was something he was sure he would lack forever. maybe his brother had rubbed off on him, after all yuji was very outward with his affection for his boyfriend. but you weren’t choso’s anything. he just met you. and if he hadn’t left an awful first impression, he was sure he had made things way to awkward for a first interaction now. 

but you giggle. he likes the sound. it was warm like that feeling in his chest. you turn to give him your attention then, and he really gets to see the gentleness in your eyes. so free of judgment, so soft as they look over him. he’s sure he’s blushing again. 

“so are you.” you grin, one side of your mouth higher than the other. he’s entranced by it. but he’s not the only one affected by this first time encounter. you were amazed by his kindness. he was easy and gentle, not to mention ethereally gorgeous.he was tall and broad, and even though he was covered head to toe, you could tell by the veins in his hands that nothing but strength and muscle lurked beneath his oversized sweater. 

that really sent him reeling. what does he say to that? he’s never been in this position before and yuji certainly didn’t give him any pointers. he could only follow his overly-forward example in his established relationship. “i like you. i want to see you again.” he tucks his hands in his pockets and scuffs his boots over some dirt. 

“like a date?” you ask, brow raised and hopeful. it had only been a few hours of wandering together but you liked the calm tranquility he brought—along with that strikingly handsome face. 

date. date? he knows what that is, he remembers something about these. it’s where couples spend time together! but you weren’t a couple yet, so… was that different? he could ask later, right now you stare up at him expectantly—and he can’t say no to that look on your face. “yes. romance.” he nods, and you smile softly at the attempt.

though romance you he did. he must have learned a lot in the weeks leading up to your official first date, because from that point on choso never ceased to amaze you. he surely didn’t know everything about being a boyfriend, but you made things pretty easy on him. he mostly acted off of instinct, and where that failed him–you made sure to keep him informed on how to love, console, talk through his feelings, and navigate any other bump in the road along the way of your beautiful three years together. 

you taught him how to embrace his intimacy, too. and boy, is that his favorite way of loving you. he is clingy and possessive–you’re the only person alive who could evoke such neediness from him, of course he wants to stay near you always and make his claim on you as visible as possible. hasn’t he already established how beautiful you are? i mean your nature and beauty alone was enough to bring someone like him out of his shell. he can only imagine what effect you must have on lesser men. 

he never imagined that lesser men would include your male coworker— partner. even worse. he may be unfamiliar with several things that this life has to offer, but the concept of a work husband was not lost on him. especially when it comes time to pick you up that day. choso always liked to pick you up. he liked to see you as soon as possible number one, and number two he liked to make sure his presence was still well noted around your infested office. he picked a good day to stop by, apparently. your partner had you trapped in your chair—his body wedged between your desk and any escape. choso could tell by the look in his eye that his intentions were anything but pure–and clearly the healing bruises peeking up over your collar weren’t enough to let the pervert know that you were more than spoken for. 

you could feel his energy as soon as he rounded the corner, and your relief was clear. you slump into your seat, ready for your loving boyfriend’s rescue from this horribly awkward conversation. your relief doesn’t last long. the look on your boyfriend’s face was that of pure rage, his eyes a dark purple flame. your pesky coworker seems to feel the perilous stare. he wheels around to be met with the boyfriend you warned him about, and he opens his mouth to make excuses. 

“leave. don’t talk to her again.” he utters from your doorway, making sure the man had to walk past him to obey his requests. “want kids one day?” he threatens, raising his brow, his face a nasty scowl. the guy backs aways from you immediately, tucking his head to slide past choso and pray that his sliminess doesn’t get on his clothes. choso growls a little upon his exit, slamming your door shut behind him. your kind and gentle boyfriend was in the backseat of his own mind, and you knew it. he was blinded with jealousy—though he trusts you with his life. it just disgusts him that anyone can picture you in the way that’s only meant for him. if he could, he’d make sure no one could even look at you, though that’s far from an achievable reality. he stares at you, the fire dimming in his eyes only slightly since you were not the source of his rage—but you would surely be the resolve of it. 

you could tell what he was ordering you to do without him having to say a word, and it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve let choso fuck you in your office. it excites you to see him so controlling. you unbutton your blouse, moving from your office chair to the desk to present yourself for him. he growls approvingly, thumbing over his bottom lip as he admires you. you’re already a patchwork of bruises in various stages of healing—and thanks to your overzealous partner, he’d have to add more to the collection. 

“just panties.” he orders in that low silken tone of his. you can see the imprint of his cock steadily hardening against the casual black jeans he chose to wear today. your mouth nearly salivates at the thought of how rough he was about to be with you as you grip at the sides of your pencil skirt, yanking it down your legs and into the floor before you move for your bra—sighing at the relief of your free chest meeting the cool air. he nods, tugging at the neck of his shirt to remove it. 

your body just puts everything in overdrive. every need to take you and mark you up intensifying tenfold. you are perfect, sultry little lips, a perfect rack and curves for days. he knew he was hardly the first guy to fantasize about you—but he had to make sure he was the only one taking up your thoughts. you shudder at the reveal of his chiseled top half. he was so bulky despite first impressions, huge biceps and thick, veiny forearms. his chest was wide and pecs defined, he was a god. your legs shift wider in subconscious accommodation for him and he’s pushing his jeans down and giving you a half-lidded smirk—enough to make your panties stick to your cunt in anticipation of him. he grabs your chin, giving you a harsh kiss. he was so dual, so easy with you one moment and brutal with you the next, it was everything. he gnaws at your lip, shoving his thick tongue into your mouth, licking over the walls over your cheeks and tasting the bitter energy drink you’ve been sipping on your tongue. he chuckles when he pulls away, your lip puffy in the spot his teeth met. 

“so pretty even your coworkers want you. what am i gonna do with you, sweetheart?” he sighs, sinking to his knees. he rubs you over your panties, enjoying the squishy mush he feels waiting for him beneath the fabric. you kick your legs on either side of him, leaning back on the desk to get more of that feeling, his fingers temporarily hooking on your clit with each pathetic little roll of your hips. “only this wet for me though, right?”

you nod vigorously, parting those swollen lips to plead your case. he swipes your panties to the side and loudly spits against your clit. his other thumb comes in to spread the nasty lube. you clamp your mouth shut again at the feeling of his digits stroking over you, your studious boyfriend having learned exactly where to touch you through your times together. you shudder instantly, body responding through jerks of your legs and trying to shut them around his head. that only makes him move his fingers all together, leaning in to suckle your clit in between his teeth, biting at the sensitive nub. you can feel his hair rub against your inner thighs, the warmth and wetness of his mouth making you look around for a way to ground yourself against the rapid stretching elastic feeling in your core. his hands find the dimples of your thighs, kneading at them and groaning as he flicks his tongue against the nerves now—memorizing the patterns and speed you liked best like this quick figure eight he was doing now. 

one hand grips the desk, your other coming up to grip at his black pigtail, whisper-chanting his name as helplessly grind on his face. he knows you won’t last much longer, and he knows exactly how to push you over the edge—letting his fingers take the place of his mouth so he could occupy his teeth with the plush skin of your inner thighs. luckily you love it, his sick need to brand you in the most dangerous way possible—loving the message it sends. you squeal as he sinks into your flesh, seeing stars from the combining sensations. 

“choso!! cumming, oh shh—” your mouth drops open, the shocks coming over you in waves. if he was in a kinder mood, he’d work you through the onslaught and let you sit on his length, working you both out in such a delicious fashion. but he’s insatiable, and one of those sweet squeals from you is not anywhere near enough. he stands back to full height, pulling off those soaked panties and letting them lie forgotten along with the rest of your clothes. you’re so gone already—so beautiful and blissed out in the way that you have taught him exactly how to do this to you and no one could be as attentive and cater to you like he does. you look up at him so sweetly, you’ve given over your entire body for him to decorate as he sees fit—and your neck doesn’t have his teeth marks in the delicate skin where everyone can see. no, he had been a gentleman so far, keeping everything coverable–tasteful peeks available depending on the work shirts you chose. he thumbs over your lip, scraping his teeth over your jaw and nipping at different places just enough to bruise, loving the blues and reds left in his wake. he knows to be careful, to avoid your carotid–no one’s more in tune with blood flow than he is. so he picks his spot, laving his tongue over it as his fingers play in the mess between your legs, making you gasp and hump into his hand again like the eager little girl you are. you scream out his name when he bites, the iron tang of blood dripping on his tongue and down that pretty neck of yours. you kick your feet, the pain so deep but so good—connected directly to the panging need in your cunt, you can’t deny that his kink is one you share. 

you can see the red staining his teeth when he pulls away to look at the little streaks running down your skin–just enough. he would never seriously hurt you, and he knows that you love to be bitten and branded as much as he loves to do it. you grin at the sight of him, blood on his lip and desire burning in the place of his earlier rage. he turns you, helping you lean over your desk so he could see what marks needed to be replaced on your ass. he licks his teeth, several had healed up and disappeared to his distaste. he slaps the supple skin, making you jump a bit with giddiness—some dizziness even. you push against your wooden desk to feel his warmth, his large hand enough to sting your whole cheek as his teeth sink into the other. your eyes roll back a little, knowing this one had drawn blood based on the way he soothes over the indents with his tongue. it’ll be hard to sit on it tomorrow, but he compliments the brand with a few hickies surrounding the main piece, palming at your skin to soothe. he loves hearing you mewl and moan when he claims you, he loves seeing that glistening layer of your want for him on your thighs when he spreads your ass cheeks, grunting out just how happy it makes him as he guides his fat leaking cockhead to the eager entrance. 

he hisses and you moan when he bottoms out in you, giving you inch by inch without mercy. you press your cheek to the cool wood of the desk, only able to feel the heat of your body and his hot cock sliding in and out of you. you can’t speak, he fills you too well. he’s angled too perfect, hitting every spot over and over to make you stupid—unable to even hold yourself up any longer. he loves using such a brutal pace on you, thrusting powerfully enough that his balls slap against your bruised ass. you clench down around him so tight he’s worried his cock might snap in two—but it’s so worth it for the animalistic moans spilling from your throat every time he nudges against your cervix. you look so cute beneath him, clawing at the desk and screaming his name in those silent yells. 

“is this my pussy? tell me who’s pussy this belongs to.” he grunts, pulling your arms behind your back. you arch to fight against the depth he’s getting, only to give him more with your squirming. he tightens his hold to keep you still, using his other hand to pull your hair up for a clear answer. you inhale sharply at the pain, the feeling so blissful you can feel another elastic band stretching thin inside you. “asked you a question, sweetheart. speak up.” 

“yes–” you choke out, trying to collect your thoughts in between the loud beats of your heart and throbs of your pussy. “all yours, ‘s your pussy chos–choso!” you cry out, the rubber band snapping as he finds the weak spot of your womb. 

“that’s my good girl, want my pussy to cum for me.” he squeezes your wrists in one big hand—freeing your hair. you gasp out, nodding eagerly as the release comes gushing, your series of babbles and squeals enough to do him in. he slams his cock as deep as it will go–hoping to one day mark you as his in the most obvious way possible as his seed spills into your insides. he rocks you both through it this time, a sign that your boyfriend was returning to normal after receiving the cure to his sour mood. his soft hands caress the curves of your waist as he stills, catching his breath. you lay beneath him in a dream state, blood on your body and traces on the table and on his own person. he chuckles a little—hopefully your partner, and any other oblivious skeez, gets the point now, if your screaming didn’t run them out of the office.

[rosedom]

Oh, oh, new event!! :D

Albedo + ACDKM hear me out (hope that isn’t too many letters :P)

you have summoned ALBEDO for the event . . .

A/N : i'm hearing u out, honey !! i hope we're on the same wavelength here . .

✦ㅤㅤA = aftercare (what he’s like after sex, what he needs from his partner)

regardless of if he can even walk or not, albedo is first to nudge you with a warm cloth. he gives it to you for you to use, to bathe down the two of you quickly and perfunctory. it won't be sufficient in the long run—you'll definitely need a bath tomorrow morning—, but it's all you'll need.

he's a cuddle-bug, too, always burying his face into your throat. it must be this position, too: he's not content till he's got his nose snug in the hollow of your skin, breaths kissing the empty expanse where, on his own neck, lies that golden star. for a man so aloof, he truly adores you, and he is so, so glad to have given himself up to you in such an intimate way. it is humanity, the way he laid beneath you; and it is beautiful. prepare yourself for nonsensical murmurings, your sweet albedo describing just this notion to you while you're falling asleep, content in your lovers arms, his soft breathing lulling you into slumber.

✦ㅤㅤC = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

really, albedo doesn't often cum in that super "noticeable" way. he's not often a creamer, and he's certainly not like the people in pornos. 'bedo cums in that way that'd leave anybody less experienced than you to wonder if he even came or not. (it's not like he fakes an orgasm, either; he's just so . . albedo, that anybody else would think he came—that he's just as aloof in orgasmic bliss as he is any other time.

he's not, by the way.) his cunt'd be puffier, slightly, pink-hue turned more ruddy-red, and his cock'd be left twitching n' throbbing. and his voice—he whimpers n' whines all the time, but he has this very particular whimper he only makes when he's cumming. it's a reedy, high-pitched thing, but it's so, so obvious to you. your possessive heart is satisfied knowing that you can pull orgasm out of orgasm out of your albedo, and nobody else he slept with could have ever came (hah) close.

✦ㅤㅤD = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

that damned golden star across his throat—it's sensitive as hell, and he's got a smattering of somethings that glitter—these little stars etched across his skin—that make him shiver, each and every time. none of these "freckles" throughout his body are quite as sensitive as that one in place of the adam's apple, but it's so, so easy to key him up . . . kissing up between each lil' star and not so much as getting close to his throat . . it drives albedo crazy.

imagining the way you could brush your fingertips across the smattering on the backs of his hands, maybe fluttering up his forearms . . . really, what makes it such a dirty secret is that way you have pavlov'd him to get hard n' wet off nothing but an innocent touch. it gets really bad when other people—his coworkers, friends, even—will accidentally touch the freckles, and, while they're apologizing for touching him and he's dismissing it, he's warm between his thighs.

those busy festivals in mond are always your favorite 'cos of it. all the people—he's not a fan of them, of course, and neither are you—make it an impossible tease to poor 'bedo.

✦ㅤㅤK = kink (one or more of his kinks)

it's less-so that albedo is into more stuff than his peers, and more-so that he's up to try almost anything. he's the epitome of an experimentalist; and it can stem from his desire to learn about the limits of the human body, or his desire to give himself up wholly to you. introducing a new kink into the bedroom ends up being a one-time thing, more often than not; and it's not that it was bad, per se, but it was simply . . . not worth doing again. albedo sees no attempted kinks as a "fail," per se—he sees them as an experience he was glad to have, but one neither of you are keen on trying again.

anything goes, really.

but the kinks that stay? 'bedo has found himself to be particularly into bondage, in most any sense of the word. spreader bars (which are admittedly a favorite, the way he's always left so open for you . . . the way he can't so much as hide his pale, pink cunt), simple bondage to shibari, and even all the different types of restraints: rope, silk, metal, leather, even his own clothes. that, and good ol' fashioned praise. he gets told how brilliant he is everyday, but it never amounts to the way you praise him even as his smart brain melts and he goes sex-stupid.

✦ㅤㅤM = motivation (what turns him on and really gets him going)

it really depends, with him. he's not this insatiable thing; most times, he thinks with his proper head—not his cockhead. but, back to that dirty secret of his . . teasing touches, teasing looks, teasing words . . . anything teasing gets albedo going. he turns to you, each and everytime, with almost no shame, either. whether or not you satisfy him—play dumb, deny him, whatever—is up to you.

however, i'd like to add this: albedo definitely cannot help getting a lil' hot between the thighs if he ever sees you roll up your sleeves. it's a silly turn on, really, but—god, albedo has something for your forearms . . from the way veins run down the length of them to the way your hands are left so tantalizingly exposed (and don't get him started if you're wearing bracelets or a watch, too) . . it all sends that smart, smart brain going from thinking about alchemy to thinking about nothing but those same, strong arms wrapped around him, those same, strong hands playing with him, those same, strong fingers absolutely ruining him.

this is kinda irrelevant but also not but also i sorta kin albedo, so: ever since he's learned that tidbit of information about the color of your lips (supposedly) being the same that the head of your cock is, your nipples are . . well. it hasn't ever left my mind, and it certainly wouldn't leave his ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌ when he's staring at your lips, he either wants a kiss . . or he's thinking about your cock.

he'll test whether or not that theory is truly fact or not .3.

27 APR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[lottiecrabie]

don't fuck the line cooks. part one – matty healy

(also lovingly known as linecook!au)

working at your father’s restaurant for the summer, you meet back-of-house line cook matty healy. there’s something impossibly tempting about him, even if you shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. for multiple reasons.

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, vague authority kink, health code violations, problematic age gap, sleazy man

part one of two

14281 words

His moves are precise and dexterous, a second nature he’s developed through cuts and burns. He fine chops with confidence, raking the onions and throwing them in the sizzling skillet. The sound explodes through the busy kitchen. A dirty joke must be told from the man mashing potatoes in the station next to him because he laughs, shoulders shaking, wrinkling his nose in some sort of snort. His head shakes; his hair with it. 

He grabs a towel, covering his skillet with the lid, throwing it over his shoulder. A stained white shirt with short sleeves practically strangles his biceps, showing off tattoos scattering down his arms. They flex as he reaches for a bubbling pan, pouring some cream in his red concoction. His long, spindly fingers grab the pepper, twisting it with two surely rough hands. The fingernails are cut short but clean. Knowledgeable fingers; fast and sure and nibble. There’s a callus at the base of his index finger, a telltale sign of experience. Tough skin that would—

“Are you looking for something?” Matty calls. 

You jump, eyes snapping from his hands to his face. He arches an eyebrow, smiling at you. There’s something almost condescending about the look you don’t quite enjoy, something that has you blushing. You twist your fingers in your apron. “Um, yes. Salt? I’m supposed to fill up the shakers.” 

Matty nods. “Dry storage.” You must be giving some sort of lost look because he turns to his friend, asking, “Can you watch that for me?” 

After a noise of affirmation, Matty throws his towel on the counter, walking up to you. His chin tips to the right, but you wait until he brushes past to follow behind him. You’re practically running to catch up with his steps— once again, fast and sure and confident. It feels like it’s all you've been doing these days: running; trying to keep up with this bustling environment. Everything spins nauseously around you, dizzy and off-kilter, running a hot plate when you’re still scribbling down the order. 

“Daddy didn’t show you around?” Matty asks, although the mean tone clearly doesn’t particularly wish for an answer. That, too, is all you’ve been doing these days: laughing off taunts and teases about your father. 

You huff. “He’s been busy.” 

“I know.” 

Matty stops in his tracks. He turns to you, tilting his head towards the door. Dry Storage is labeled neatly on it. You flush, suddenly feeling quite green for needing to be handheld towards it. You open the door, stepping in. 

“He’s never here much,” Matty continues, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. The end of a seahorse peeks out of his white sleeve. 

“He has three restaurants,” you defend. Dozens of quips about your lineage poke at your mind, burned and spiked. It’s because of the uncauterized scabs that you hear yourself retort, “And you should be glad. You guys wouldn’t get into half the things you do if he was here.” 

Matty arches an eyebrow, staring you up and down. Suddenly, the carefully chosen outfit feels silly on you: the shirt too modest, the skirt too proper, the ponytail too tight; like a child playing dress-up. Heat burns at the back of your neck, but you stare at him head-on, unwilling to back down. 

His eyes snap back to yours, grin digging in his cheek like he’s figured you out in a matter of seconds. Like the results were easy and unthreatening. Matty’s voice is low but teasing when he finally answers, “Oh, you know nothing about the things we do.” 

You give him a deadpanned look. “I’m new, not stupid.” 

He nods, humoring you.  “Okay,” he licks his lips, cheeky. “Then what do we do?” 

A sinful thrill pumps up your legs at the sight of him, hot shame contrasting it. He’s condescending you, two steps short of speaking slow and short like you couldn’t figure the words out properly, and you’re clenching your thighs in answer. It’s embarrassing. Still, the low thrum of excitement reverberates up your limbs.

You swallow thickly, redirecting your attention to the overfilled shelves. “What don’t you do?” 

Matty tsks. “That’s evading the question.” 

“I’m not being quizzed.” 

In the corner of your eye, you see him throw his hands in the air. “You’re right.” 

You shake your head, looking through the shelves to busy yourself with something other than the tempting need to stare at him. Though your eyes wash over the cans and boxes, your brain registers none of them, too busy playing back the flash of flexed biceps and curly hair falling down his forehead. 

Matty doesn’t seem willing to let your thoughts order back to functional sense. Instead, he hums, adding, “Three restaurants, yet you’re still working. You’ve been cut off or something? Been really bad?” You practically hear the smirk in his voice. You shake your head, glancing at him. How wrong he is. You open your mouth to tell him such, but he cuts in, “Let me guess.” 

You snort. “Good luck.” 

“You got busted at a politician’s son's powder party? It almost made the news, but daddy bought your name out of the press.” 

You cock your head, amused against your will. “How rich do you think I am? My dad owns middle-rated restaurants, not the Ritz.” 

“Flunk out of college?” 

“I’m actually on the dean’s list.” You hate how proud your voice sounds; it’s silly to care about such things in the real world. Matty cooks and sweats and bleeds all day, and a smile sticks to your cheeks for flimsy things that will immaterialize in a few years. 

“Bought prostitutes?” You give him a look, which he laughs at. “Alright, fine. I give up. What did you do?” 

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rise. You’re a little glad to unroot him. “Nothing?”

You blush, turning back to inspect your row of dry ingredients. “I just— I haven’t had much to do since I’ve been back from college. My dad thought it might be a good idea to get some real life experience.” 

“Nothing to do in New York?” His tone is incredulous. He coos, “You’re really not bad at all.” Again, you feel embarrassingly your age. A little girl amidst the real world, too fast and large for her to make sense of it. You’re ill-fitting.

Annoyed, you scoff, “Cause I’m not doing coke off someone’s tits in the locker room?” 

Matty grins, elated. “She finally said it.” 

You roll your eyes, electing to focus on the shelves of ingredients instead of the shape of his lips in a lopsided smile. It’s doing too much on your soupy brain, spinning with the inexplicable need to appear older to him, more mature. 

His steps ring through the cramped space. Matty brushes against your back. You tense, freezing on the spot, hyper aware of the heat of his body. He smells like cigarettes. You close your eyes, breathing him in, fragile heart racing against your ribs. His arm reaches above you, grazing your shoulder. The ghosting touch is enough to have you shivering. 

“There,” Matty whispers in your ear, the letters tickling the skin. He grabs the salt. 

He’s off you in the blink of an eye, quicker than you can make sense of. Again, just a few feet behind in a fast paced world, left to catch up in the race. You slowly turn, pressing your back against the shelves, trying to hold yourself up on shaky knees. Matty smirks, still too close to think properly. Between you is the box of salt. 

You accept it hesitantly. “Thanks,” you whisper, trying to focus on his eyes and not his lips stretching over spiky teeth. 

“You’re welcome, princess.” He goes for the door, leaving you breathless from the sudden lack of him. He lingers in the doorframe, turning to add, “If you need anything, just ask me.”

You grip the salt like a lifebuoy. The world spins beneath your feet. “Okay.” 

He’s out the door. You’re out of breath. 

—

You slam the backdoor open, stepping out into the alleyway with a scream. You bury your head between your hands, trying to wipe away the boiling frustration, like a soothing hand on your forehead could make it all better. Fuck this job. You scream again, muffled by your palms. Fuck this fucking job. 

With a deep breath, you emerge out of the safety of your fingers. You exhale, plastering a fake smile on your face. You can’t see, but you surely look clownesque, all red and puffy from anger, grinning like the butt of the joke. 

You turn to get back inside, ready to bite your lip as guests and hosts and waitresses lay into you for being too slow, and too lost, and too stupid. You’re starting to think you might have done something terribly bad after all. This summer job is looking more like some cruel punishment than a special shot at experience. 

Something catches in the corner of your eye. You jump, whipping your head, finding Matty smoking on the stairs of the fire escape, grinning to himself. Your heart races. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Evidently.” 

You linger in the moment, feet strangely glued to the ground. Matty takes a drag of his cigarette. You follow his lips as the gray smoke pours out of them, drifting around him like some sort of fire signal you’re not decoding. 

He holds his hand out, cig burning bright orange in offering. “You look like you need it.” 

You stare at the offending rolled up paper. You’ve spent twenty-one years of your life categorically refusing any smoke, wrinkling your nose at the very smell. Yet, it somehow seems attractive hanging limply between his long fingers, one bandaged from some cut. 

You nod before you register the action, walking up to him. Matty smiles at that. It’s strange to tower over his sitting body. He always seems larger than life in the restaurant, filling up every nook with his presence. 

“Thanks.” You take the cigarette from him, shivering as your fingers graze over his. You inspect it, incertain on how to handle it, before placing it between your lips. You inhale, then cough, bending away and burying in your elbow. You leave it with a grimace, your mouth coated in tar. 

Matty laughs. “First time?” You flush, hating to look so inexperienced and young in front of him. That’s enough answer for him. “Cute.” 

You scowl. “It’s bad for your lungs.” 

“Why’d you take it then?” 

You feel strangely cornered, like a finger pinned you in place. You up your nose, “It’s impolite to refuse a gift.” Matty snorts at that. 

“You’re real proper.” 

“I was raised right.” 

Matty smiles to himself, laughing. “I’m sure you were.” Your stomach clenches, unnamed thrill waving through you. 

You cock your head, volleying, “Is this where you make a daddy joke?” 

He arches an eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his face. “Do you want me to?” 

“I think they’re getting redundant,” you sigh dramatically. The cigarette resting primly between your fingers, burning away, seems to give you uncharacteristic confidence. You feel oddly cool, like the tipsy girls smoking on balconies at the parties you never stayed long at. Like you could be anyone.

Matty holds his chest, eyebrows furrowed in hurt. “You wound me.” 

“Get some better material, then.” 

He tsks, reaching out for the cigarette. You offer it gladly, mostly to get electrified from the grazing touch; alive because he exists to prove it. 

Smoking seems so easy when he does it, pouring out of his lips and drenching you in the cloudy air. You can’t look away from him, breath hitched. Your eyes focus on his mouth, following its movements religiously. Matty tips his chin towards the cigarette, grossly misunderstanding your fascination. “Do you want me to show you how to smoke it?” 

You resent the idea of inhaling again, smearing your tongue in the awful taste just to embarrass yourself. But you resent the idea of walking away more, finding back the dizzying dance inside. Losing his overwhelming presence, pressing into you even when you’re a respectful foot away. 

Your chest feels tight. You shrug, faux-nonchalant. “Sure.” 

“You have to suck on it,” Matty says, and you’re almost sure he’s emphasizing the word suck on purpose. Now there’s a dirty vision of your knees pressing meanly on the asphalt, wrapping your lips around— You blush to your roots. Matty continues, smug, “Inhale, let it rest in your mouth to cool, breathe in, let it go down to your lungs, blow it out. Easy.” He offers the cig again. 

You grasp it, surer in your fingers this time. “Easy for you.” 

“I’m sure a girl on the dean’s list can figure it out.” Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it dutifully. It’s stupid to care that he remembers. It’s stupid to flush. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed. 

You try again, placing the butt of the cigarette between your lips, almost nervous to breathe in after being burned. You inhale, but it goes offly down your throat, and you cough again, blinking away the taste. 

You shake your head, giving him back the cigarette. “I don’t think it’s for me.” 

Matty accepts it back, taking an easy drag. The smoke blows around you and the warning signs look a lot clearer in the fog this time. Still, you don’t step away and run to the bathroom to wash the smell out of your fingers. 

Matty eyes you up and down, raking his burning stare over you. “Do you want to shotgun it?” 

The vision of bending down, leaning into him, lips almost close enough to be something — something to prove you’re living, some experience to recount to your college friends — is a tantalizing sight. A thrilling idea, perhaps too much so. You shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. You shouldn’t be pressing your legs together at the very concept. 

“Why not?” You smile. You’re weaker than you used to give yourself credit for. A mind of steel, down a straight and narrow path, arrowing to success in a precise line. 

It’s one bend, you tell yourself. Barely that. A small curve, like a faltered step. 

You close the distance, ready to lean over him, but Matty surprises you. He grabs your wrist, tugging you down on one of his spread knees. You balance yourself from the sudden fall with a grip around his shoulder— strong and big and, shit, now you’re going to be thinking of them all day. 

“Hi.” 

His eyes dance with amusement. “Hi.” 

You sit straight on his lap, prim and proper, almost a caricature of yourself. Matty’s hand travels to your back, spreading across your spine, warm over your flimsy uniform. Maybe to steady you, if you weren’t sitting straight-bolt, fixed. You can’t figure out a reason for it at all, and it leaves you growing hot in his arms. 

From up close, Matty looks disheveled. A faint stubble, eyebags, gray-streaked hair drooping down his forehead, small silver hoops looping from his ears; he’s completely unmade. Near like this, you can smell the sweat sticking to his skin under the cigarette smoke. It should repulse you, but there’s something raw and real about him, something tangible and palpable contrary to the white-collared boys your father has paraded in front of you. You’re not against it. 

“What do I do?” You whisper, because that’s how loud you need to speak for him to hear you crystal clear. 

“Don’t have to do a single thing, princess. Just inhale.” 

His lips wrap around the cigarette. A shot of excitement rings up your spine. You wonder if he feels it buzzing under his fingertips. If he hears your heart slamming dizzily fast against your ribs. If he sees the way your stare hangs onto his mouth. It parts and leans into yours, blowing softly. 

You inhale just like he asked, but it’s more an inherent gasp at the proximity of him than a fully formed thought. Smoke slips past your lips, swirling down your throat as you breathe in. It doesn’t taste so bad like this.

Matty rubs his thumb on your back as a reward. “Good girl.” You bite your lip to contain the pleased grin, too childish in the lap of a man. “Knew you could do it. How’d you find it?” 

“I liked it.” 

“And here I thought you were raised right.” 

You lick your lips. “There’s been some faults.” He grins at that.

“Do you want another one?” 

The thought of his lips nearly pressing into yours again is desperately appealing. You shift on his knee. “Yes.” 

Again, Matty blows smoke into your open mouth, practically shoving the warning bells past your lips. They slide on your tongue, but it tastes strangely sweet when you’re in his arms. You exhale a faint cloud of gray. His hand travels down to your hip, squeezing there. 

Your thighs press together, hand digging into his shoulder. Arousal drips down your stomach, pooling between your legs. He hasn’t done much to warrant this, other than share a ghost of a kiss. The word spins in your mind, hot and exhilarated. You want to feel the stumble between your palms, want to lick the smoke off of his lips, want to wipe your mind from the mere concept of restaurants and guests and plates. 

You think of leaning in. You consider it, clawing at his shoulder, fearing dripping on his thigh. Your fingers tingle. You’re getting a story, an experience, a proof you’re alive— if it’s fucking in a New York alleyway, so be it. At least your heart will beat with something other than nerves. 

You’re doing it. 

Your chin tips towards him, but Matty retreats, leaning back into the stairs. He takes a drag of his dwindling cigarette, blowing it into the air, far away from your readied mouth. Hurt splashes behind your ribs, but you don’t let it show. 

Stealing the cig from his finger, you take the last puff. It falls down to your lungs with more ease and you try to contain your giddy excitement at finally getting it right. Breathing out a plume of smoke in his face, you wash him in gray. 

Adrenaline rushes up to your head. You close your eyes, breathing in the dirty air, face buzzing pleasantly. A smile ghosts your lips. Maybe you’ve been wrong all these years. Maybe smoking is for you. Your tongue tastes like fire. 

“It’s bad for you,” Matty says. Your eyes snap open, locking with his. His stare is dark. 

You arch an eyebrow. “Now you’re concerned for my health?” 

He pinches your hip. “Brat.” 

You press the butt of the cigarette on the staircase railing, throwing its carcass to the ground amidst the others. Pushing yourself up with his shoulder, you find yourself gleeful that he bends his head back to watch you, literally looking up at you. Your fingers linger on his shirt, itching to climb them up to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. Trace the shape of his lips, then taste them yourself.  

“Thanks for the cig.” 

Matty nods. “Sure.” 

You finally let go of him, taking a step back, then another one, before turning around and walking back to the restaurant. Your whole body is feverish. 

You shake your head, making your way back to the table of a prissy elderly couple. Your smile is wide and relaxed. “Is everything good here?” 

—

You clutch your handbag as you step through the dining room. The crew crowds around the bar, hunching over the counter in a laugh and downing back shots, spreading through the unmade tables on squeaky clean floors. You’re unsure on your feet. You’ve never been to shift drinks before, instead practically running back home with your sweaty uniform shoved in your bag. This time, as you slipped into your white flowy camisole, you felt a strange resolve climb up your spine. 

It’s been happening more and more these days. As you get a feel of the land, zigzagging through bustling tables without a second thought, you find yourself chatting with the other waitresses, pestering the host, bumming castaway cigarettes from line cooks. 

Matty spots you from his seat at the bar. A smile splits on his face as he waves you over. “Hey, princess. C’me here.” 

There’s a giddiness you can’t control swirling in your stomach. You walk to him, now more certain in your steps. There’s a sense of belonging when you’re near Matty; when he talks to you; when he makes you a plate and slides it your way wordlessly. Like you’ve been tapped. You’re in because he opens the door. 

You climb up the stool, slamming your handbag on the counter. “You need to stop calling me princess,” you say. 

Matty is already amused, wiping beer foam out of his smirking lips. “Why? It fits you so well.” You narrow your eyes at him. The digs about your father don’t hurt when it’s from him. He makes them bulletless. 

“People will get the wrong impression.” 

His chin rests on his palm, staring you up and down, tongue digging in his cheek. “And what impression is that?” 

You flush, looking away. Your skin burns at the memory of him, feeling his gaze still seeping through your cheek. You inspect the collection of bottles on the shelves behind the working bartenders instead of answering. Painstakingly reading the labels is a better activity for your mind than the whirlwind images of you on your knees, on the floor, gasping, giggling, coming— fantasies you’ve indulged in more times than you can count, although you always close the pandora box almost as quickly as it opens.  

Matty follows your eye line. He leans into you, asking, “What do you want?” 

For all your meticulous label-reading, the letters suddenly become blurry jargon. The bar is far-stretched, out of your depth. A world of unknowns rippling in amber-colored bottles. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you never had alcohol before?” 

It must be written on your face from how quickly he clocks you. Again, you find yourself wishing to grow a few inches taller, be just a little older, more complete. 

You purse your lips. “I just turned 21.” Matty laughs, throwing his head back. It’s a nice sound— rare in the overwhelming kitchen where a swear is better currency. Still, you despise the mocking undertone. Defensively, you cry, “What? It’s the law!”

Matty shakes his head, turning to his bartender friend polishing glasses, a constant sour expression on his face. “George, make her a sex on the beach.” 

George nods, putting down his glass and reaching for a shaker. He twirls his vodka between expert fingers, pouring it in freely. You watch, a little intrigued by his sure moves, biceps flexing as he shakes the concoction with one hand. 

“He’s a show-off,” Matty says. “A sex on the beach does not require all this.” 

“Fuck off,” George retorts, though he sounds little bothered. He pours the cocktail in an ice-filled glass, topping it with an orange and a cherry, before sliding it towards you. “There you go, sweets.” Beside you, Matty rolls his eyes. 

The drink is an orangey pink, seemingly fruity. You give Matty a look. “Did you give me the girliest drink you could think of?” 

“Well, I wasn’t about to start you with straight whiskey, was I?” 

Tentatively, you raise the drink to your lips, self-conscious of his heavy stare on you. You throw a glance his way, locking eyes with him as you finally tip the glass. You take a sip, licking the rim clean, smiling as he swallows thickly. “I like it,” you declare. 

His hand clenches around his beer glass. “Good,” he says, sounding rough. Thrill beats up your thighs. You clench them, crossing one over the other. 

You drink another mouthful. You grin as you lick the pink off your lips, hyperaware of his transfixed watch on them. “Why is it called a sex on the beach?” 

“Some bartender named it that.” 

“That’s not a very precise answer.” 

He scowls, taking a sip of his beer. “Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?” 

“Nah, you’re right.” Matty side-eyes your taunting face, pink grin teasing him. He seems to ready for a cheeky comment, which you provide happily, clicking your tongue, “Not smart enough for that.” 

He arches an eyebrow, spinning on his stool to face you. His knees trapp your thighs. Your skin is on fire almost immediately. Tingles where his legs graze you climb up and up your body, growing wetter at his unimpressed stare. You’ve lost all of your bravado. 

“Miss dean’s list has a lot to say, I see.” You lick your teeth, standing a little straighter. How you want to be good. You shake your head. He peers at you, almost pouting. “No?” 

Again, you shake your head, biting down your smile. A sudden paragon of excellence, you affirm, “I don’t have anything to say.” 

Matty hums. “Better watch that mouth if you can’t walk it.” 

“Why should I when you watch it for me?” Your heart roars under your ribs. Nerves and thrill mixes in your belly, making a heady mix that shoots up your spine. 

Matty presses his knees on your thighs. “Careful.” He smirks down at you, leaning in to whisper, “People will get the wrong impression.” 

You press your legs back. “They could be right.” 

Matty laughs, reaching for his beer and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he drinks; you clench your thighs together, watching as he licks the condensation off his lips. He narrows his eyes at you. “You know, you got that innocent act, but you’re trouble.” 

You chuckle, faux-offended. “You’re the one who gave me my first cigarette,” you argue. Your eyes find your lonely cocktail, grabbing it. “And my first drink.” As though to prove your point, you swallow a long sip. 

Matty eyes you. Heavy meaning drips from his lips as he trails, “And…?” 

You scoff, swatting his knee. “I’m not a little girl.” Your hand lingers on it. Primly, you add, “I’ve had sex before.”

“Oh yeah?”

You sit straighter. “Yes. I’ve had a boyfriend.”

“And how was he?”

You blush. “He was…” Memories of awkward meetings in his dorm room as he rutted above you flash back to you. The messy rubbing just under your clit, always too hard yet too slow. The falling sweaty over your naked body, laughing to himself, asking if you’ve come. “Fine.”

Matty arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Yes!” You cry defensively. “I don’t know. We were 19. It wasn’t gonna— rock my world.” 

He smirks, voice low as he says, “Baby, he wasn’t doing it right then. It should always rock your world.” 

It’s so fucking obnoxious of him to say. You should be disgusted by the ego-fueled words— should doubt them, coming from a man and all. 

Yet all you can think about is the way his hands work in the kitchen, quick and precise and dexterous. How they would feel on your skin, rough and callused. How they would work on your body, expert and certain and steady.

Fuck, you wanna know them. You want them at your clit, fucking into you, pinching a nipple, wiping your lipgloss off your chin. 

Dirty images fill your mind. Again, you clench your thighs, soaking your underwear. Your breathing has grown heavy. He watches you with dark eyes, like he can tell. Like he sees the thoughts as they cross your brain. Sinful pressure builds in your stomach. 

You take a nervous sip of your drink. You lick the vodka off your lips, but still it’s not enough to stop you from breathing out, “How so?”

Matty warns, “You’re teasing.”

“I’m asking.” Your hand pinches his knee.

Danger pumps in your veins, alongside something dirtier, but still you stare at him straight on. His eyes intensify, his fingers clenching around his pint. You can imagine the feel of them on your trembling thighs, digging into the flesh to bruise it. You think he’s imagining it, too. 

“Well, firstly, he needs to make you come. On his knees preferably— just worshiping that cunt. Gotta be fucking starved for it, you know? Dive like it’s his last meal.” 

Your breath hitches at the filthy words, toes curling in your sneakers. You swallow thickly, trying to brush away the invading images of Matty devouring you on a table of the dining room. It’s a poor attempt— the idea of his tongue lapping at you, swiping your clit, fucking into you is so vivid you can almost feel it. 

Matty gives you a conspiratorial look, whispering, “But I bet he wasn’t doing that, was he?” You shake your head, dazed. He tsks. “Shame.”

You keep a vice-like grip on Matty’s knee, trying to reattach yourself to some kind of reality. He’s tangible under your fingertips— warm. 

“See,” Matty continues, smirking down at your clear mesmerism: breathless and dark eyed, following his lips religiously. “After she’s come a few times and she’s all dopey and relaxed and fucked out— when she’s wet enough she’s dripping on your chin— that’s when you can first slide in. Then you gotta find what she likes best, you know? If it’s rough and fast or slow and deep. You can’t just thrust uselessly. That’s what your little boyfriend did, right?”

You nod, too taken in his honey web to care to keep up with your aloof, fine experience act. “Yeah. Yeah, he would just drill.”

Matty shakes his head, rubbing his lower lip. “Fucking nineteen years old. They never do it right.”

“Oh, so you were also kind of shit?”

He smiles. “Well, no. But I’m a prodigy.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

Matty grazes your bare thigh with a cold, rough hand. You shiver, spreading your legs instinctively. He smirks at that, cocky and smug, letting one callused finger draw up your skin. 

“Finish your drink,” Matty orders, tipping his head towards the nearly over cocktail. 

You don’t even think twice before grabbing the glass, downing the end of it. Two fingers find your thigh in reward, dancing on the flushed skin.

He leans into you, locking his eyes with you as he whispers, “The trick is to never let her get too used to something. Speed up then slow down. Switch positions. Always rub and rub at that little bundle of nerves until she’s come on your cock so many times she’s begging you to leave it be.” His whole hand swallows your thigh. You sit straighter, pleasure coiling in your belly. “And then you make her come one more time. That’s how you rock her world.”

You’re shortwinded, waves of overwhelming excitement razing through your fragile limbs. You open your legs wider, inviting his adventurous fingers, practically begging for them, really. 

Matty gives you a purposeful onceover. You must look desperate, staring at him like you could swallow him up. 

His hand leaves your thigh, grabbing his beer to finish it in one long sip. He stands up, leaving your burning cocoon. You miss the press of his legs once they free yours. 

“I think it’s time to go home,” Matty declares.

Again, hurt at being rejected pinches your heart. He’s raised your temperature to a sinful degree and now he’s backing down, leaving you wet and throbbing around nothing, hair risen at the prospect of dust. 

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You scowl, crying, “Oh, come on. I’m not a child.”

Matty gives you a dark stare that makes you shudder in thrill. His voice is low and gravelly when he says, “Believe me, I know that.” His head tips back to the door. “Let me drive you home.” 

You bite back a smirk. “Yeah?” A drive home, to an empty house without onlookers. You can’t contain your excitement. 

Matty rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands to get you off the stool and onto your feet. He takes your bag next, swinging it over his shoulder. He starts walking. “Come on, princess. I can’t have her majesty home after midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.” 

You skip after him, knocking his shoulder with yours once you finally catch up. “You got the metaphor wrong. Cinderella didn’t transform into a pumpkin, she lost her dress and slippers.” He gives you a side look which you giggle at, suddenly all giddy. “Plus, it’s already 2:25AM. You’re too late.”

“Yet you still have your dress.” 

“That can be arranged.”

Finally outside, you breathe in the fresh air before stepping into Matty’s car. It smells like cigarettes and weed in it, some useless pine car scent hanging from the rearview mirror with blue dices to cover it. You buckle your seatbelt. 

Matty doesn’t say anything as he drives, focused on the dark roads stretching in front of you. Your heart beats faster as every known house catches your peripheral vision. Every inch brings you closer to the tantalizing end goal. It’s a miracle you sit still. 

He parallel parks in front of your house, gripping your headrest to look backwards before dipping his wrist over the steering wheel. 

You can’t wait anymore, unbuckling your seatbelt as soon as the car stops and practically running to your house. Matty doesn’t follow. You turn back to his open car window as he sits still, frowning at him. 

“Alright,” Matty nods at you. “Goodnight.”

Your lips gape in utter disbelief. “Are you serious?” All that teasing, all that talk, all that promise. He drove you home, for fuck’s sake. And he’s saying goodnight? 

Matty arches an eyebrow, taunting as he says, “Do you want to have a bad night?”

You might very well see red. Fuck him. You scoff, flipping around purposefully and trudging to your house, already apprehending the hour you’ll spend with your hand between your thighs thinking of him. 

“Sweet dreams,” Matty screams after you, a fucking shit-eating grin resonating in the letters. 

“Fuck off!” He laughs, unbothered. 

The sound follows you as you slam the door close. It’s only once you’re inside that Matty drives away. 

—

“Can nobody do a fucking sauce right anymore?” Matty yells, dipping a spoon in a brown concoction, anger and stress sweating off of him. Gray streaked hair swoops over his forehead, curls taken inch by inch down through the day’s unstoppable dance. His cook’s jacket is wide open, stained near the hem, sleeves rolled up to reveal just a hint of his tattooed arms. 

“What did you say about my sauce?” A fellow cook bites back, several inches shorter than Matty yet crowding him threateningly still. 

Matty throws the pot back on the stove’s top and it bangs loudly. “That shit’s runny as fuck. It’s not going out.” 

“It’s perfect.” 

He scoffs, shoving the spoon on his chest, smearing his black shirt in leftover sauce. “It’s uneatable. Do it again.” 

Although the cook seems to want to bite something back, Matty turns back to his station before he gets the chance. Fury radiates off of him as he grabs his knife, making quick work of his peppers, forearms flexing as he chops. His jaw clenches while he works, looking like he has more to say, like he’s actively biting his tongue to hold them back. 

You follow the cut of his jaw religiously, wondering if it’d leave you bloody. Scarred on your open palms, on your titled neck, on your spread legs—

“Don’t fuck the line cooks.”

You jump, turning to come face to face with Veronica. Her hair is up in an unmade ponytail, arms full of perfectly dished plates, and she looks impatiently towards you. “What?” 

“I said don’t,” each word get enunciated through her red lips, “fuck,” she presses, “the line cooks.” There’s a vague ominous air as she adds, “They’ll destroy you.”

You blush, feeling shy at being caught ogling. “I wasn’t going to.” 

A derisory snort comes out of Veronica, looking you up and down. “Sure.” Her stare turns soft, almost worrisome. You realize her genuine care as she sighs, “Just— beware of him.” 

Your eyes burn with the need to look his way. “Who?” 

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” There’s a note of pride in her. There’s a note of pride in you. Seen through the stuck-up ponytail and daddy’s name; accepted. 

She twists around, walking away in a hurry. As you make your way to your recently seated table, you can’t stop throwing a self-indulgent look Matty’s way. He looks back. 

You grin, wiggling your fingers in a wave. He snorts, shaking his head as he laughs. 

—

You walk into the kitchen still wearing your uniform, although you’ve swapped the heels for some sneakers, your trusty bag swung over your shoulder. You rake a hand through your hair, scalp sore from the pigtails you’ve kept it into. 

Matty is bent over the top of the stove, scrubbing at the iron with a dedicated look. You linger in the spectacle for a second, his arm flexed as he works the scraper, his frustrated little frown, his clenched jaw. He’s a sight to be savored; unfortunately, you’ve got no time. 

“Hey,” you call, breaking him out of his transe. Matty straightens, turning to you with a nod of acknowledgement. “Front of house is all clean,” you say, pointing towards the doors leading to the dining room as though he could forget where it was. “Adam just left. Wife and kid and all that,” you continue with the lightness of a joke. “I’m off, too.”

Matty discards his scraper, leaning against the stove as he wipes his dirty hands with a towel. He frowns, asking, “How are you getting home?”

You snort at that, as if it was a silly question. “The bus,” you say with a condescending duh tone you must have picked up from one of the waitresses. 

Matty throws the towel over his shoulder, repeating, unimpressed, “The bus?” 

“Well, it’s kind of like a car, you see, but it’s longer, and it stops at several—”

He gives you a deadpan look, not even upping the corner of a smile for your wit. “Don’t be cute.” 

You cock your head, trying to maintain that cool you’ve managed to exude instead of falling into some giggly, blushing thing. He always seems to bring that daunting side of you, like you revert back to a shy, innocent girl in his presence. It’s ironic, considering that divergence from the fatalistic line you’ve always followed is all his fault. 

“It’s not safe,” Matty continues. 

“It’s the bus.,” you laugh. 

He stares at you, unflinching. “It’s New York. And it’s, what, two AM?” Matty shakes his head, falling further into his convictions. “I can’t let a pretty, young girl like you walk around at night.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not my dad.” 

He snorts, though there’s a cruel edge to it. He’s vicious when he retorts, “I think we’re both well aware of that.” The purposeful onceover leaves a dizzying dance through your belly, ravaging down your legs in childish excitement. You can’t stop the blush from spreading on your face this time. Winning, Matty declares definitively, “Just wait for me. I’m almost done. I’ll drive you home.” 

“Fine,” you sigh, dropping your bag on the floor and climbing up the counter. You dig your phone from your waistband, scrolling as your feet kick through space. 

You take a peek over your screen. Matty turns back to his work, scrubbing at some black grease as his hair falls over his face. There’s a panting, dedicated look on his face that’s not too far fetched from what you imagine— You shake your head. 

Biting your lip, you call with faux-innocence, “Be quick, though.” You smirk, gleefully apprehending his reaction as you set the fatal trap, “I’ve got a date after.” 

Matty freezes, though he does not look up. Stilted, he asks, “Really? Who?” 

You sigh, kicking your feet, acting like you’re not hyperaware of the effect of your words on him. “One of the waiters. He said he’d come over after the crew’s night out. He’s 24,” you start conversationally. Matty's hand clenches around the unmoving scraper. You lick your teeth, trying to kill the devious smile on your lips as you finish, “I listened to your advice.” 

Matty whips back to you. He finally sees you, sitting like a queen on your throne made of stainless steel, mischief and tease written all over your grin. His eyes narrow at you. “Are you fucking with me?” 

“I don’t know. Am I?” 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

You cross your arms, shrugging. “Maybe. Maybe I just really want that orgasm you were talking about. Maybe I have to get it somewhere.”

A beat of silence lingers between the two of you as Matty stares, clogs turning in his mind. He takes a warning step towards you. “If you’re fucking with me…” 

“Oh, my God,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t be anymore clear—” 

Matty stands in front of you before you have time to finish. The words die in your throat as you blink up at him, losing that carelessness you had when he was several safe feet away. 

He slithers between your thighs, pressing his hands on your naked knees, cocking his head at you. Your heart races inside your chest, skipping beats every time a fingertip presses into your flesh. He wants you to feel him, feel the merest edges of him like they are digging under your skin. 

“You’ve got nothing to say now.” You swallow thickly. His fingers tiptoe up your thighs, smirking down at you as he coos, “Come on. What’s the other advice I gave you?” 

“Give her one more—” 

“Don’t talk it if you can’t walk it.” His hands near the hem of your skirt. He cocks his head at you. “Well?” 

“I was fucking with you,” you breathe out, eyes mesmerizedly locked with his. “I said no to the waiter.” 

Matty grins at that, proud. “Good,” he whispers back. “Because 24 years old are just as shit as 19 years old.” 

“Except your prodigious self.” 

“Except that, yeah.” 

You smile. “I’m starting to believe you just think there’s no one who can fuck me like you.” 

“Princess,” Matty starts. “I promise there’s no one who can fuck you like me.” 

You hook your hands behind his neck, tugging him into you, smirking. “Prove it.” 

He catches your lips with no hesitation, drawing you into a hot kiss like a starved man. He tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked with two bartenders, like the salt he added to his sauce, dipping a spoon in to taste test it, like the bourbon he let you take an indulgent sip of before downing it, laughing at your grimace.

There’s a giddy laugh threatening to slip out of your mouth, some unbelief that Matty Healy is finally kissing you. You’ve spent hours in that juvenile room of yours thinking back on your exchanges — the glances, the squeezes, the ghost kisses, the unbearable tension — one hand dipped between your thighs, eyes wrinkled close trying to remember the way his lower lip drooped with the weight of his cigarette. Wondering what it would be like to take it out, lick the tar off his tongue, finally know what he tastes like. 

Your fingers travel up to his hair, messy and tired from a long day of work in a boiling kitchen. You pass your hands through — finally, finally — kissing him back with equal fervor. You slide your hips closer to him, trying to nestle his body into the crook of yours. 

Matty grips your thighs like a lifebuoy, holding onto you like you could disappear from his hands with the trick of the light. There’s hunger in his mouth, hunger in the way he clutches you, hunger in the climbing hand groping one of your breasts, rolling his palm on your pebbled nipple. You moan into his mouth, shocked and terribly turned on. 

You realize how much he must have been holding back all the times you’ve teased him, poking and prodding at him in hopes he would snap; the tension you’ve built inside of him, like a string pulled too far. Matty kisses you like he fears it might be the last time, like he needs to make it count. Like there’s a lesson to teach you. 

He must not have figured you out as well as he’s been boasting about if he thinks this could ever be the last time. 

You grip his hair, drawing him closer to you. He’s all limbs and lips, overwhelming, overheating. You break from his mouth just to catch your breath, forehead falling on his as you pant. 

“Fucking hell,” he laughs, lazily thumbing at your tits. You difficultly stifle a moan, your lips parting as pleasure swoops in your belly. 

“Don’t stop,” you already find yourself begging. 

“Don’t you worry about that,” Matty tuts, sneaking a hand under your shirt to take your naked breast instead. The sensation is double the intensity, and you find yourself incapable of holding back a whiny groan. “When I’m done with you, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” he boasts, watching the spectacle under him with mesmerism. 

You laugh at that. “Sure.” Matty dips into your neck, leaving wet kisses down your collarbones. Your breath quickens, though you still find the words to tease, “You know, you’re such a boy still.” 

Matty’s head snaps up, daggering you with a stare. You giggle at his offense, petting your hand through his curls. “I’ll show you boy,” he mutters, mostly to himself. 

His hand falls out of your shirt, finding back its rising course on your thighs. He flips your skirt up, showing the pink underwear you wore into work. A groan comes from the back of his throat. You smirk, parting your legs further, giving him an eyeful. 

You think he’ll kiss you again. Unbuckle his belt. Drag the pink lace off your legs with a wink. 

Instead, Matty kneels in front of you. 

Your breath hitches at the sight; Matty on his knees, looking up at you with those intense, brown eyes, swollen lips from a torrid kiss parting in anticipation. Thrill descends down your belly, gripping it tellingly. You wait for his next move on the edge of your seat— literally, as he drags you near the end of the counter and kisses up your spread thighs. 

Your ex-boyfriend went down on you once, some awkward, wet thing between your thighs he came back up hating. You didn’t mind; you found the whole experience strange too, faking moans as he lapped at the wrong place, overthinking about what you must taste like. You were glad, secretly, that you didn’t have to go through the whole ordeal again, even though you were giving him plenty of head. 

When Matty kisses a stripe up your skin, swallowing your thigh with a rough hand, there’s a strange sense of excitement. Through his nonchalance, he’s always been precise and dedicated. A dexterous man, with surely a dexterous tongue. 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe 19 year olds are shit. Maybe Matty can blow your mind. 

You stroke your hand through his hair, grinning as he shivers. “You’ve talked a big game,” you say, though your voice is choked. “I hope you can back it up.”

Matty hums, sneaking a thumb straight to your clit. He finds it with practiced ease, pressing into it before faintly circling it. Euphoria shoots up your spine. You bite back a scream, gripping his hair, rolling your hips into him for more. Your eyes widen, surprised by your new reaction. Even when it’s your own knowledgeable hand between your thighs, you never find a hit of pleasure this true this quickly, let alone your sloppy ex. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty, little head, princess,” Matty whispers, continuing to raise your temperature impossibly high with a focused finger. “I can.”

And then, before you can quip back something else about his clear bravado, his lips latch around your clit, sucking on it. “Fuck,” is your visceral reaction, your head thumping against the wall. His stubble rubs on your inner thighs.

Matty doesn’t stop there, of course, descending his hand to tease at your entrance. His tongue swipes at you diligently, overwhelming you with ecstatic feelings. You can’t make sense of the waves attacking you, following the rhythm he licks on you. 

You tug on his curls with a death grip, half-convinced you might unroot them. You grind into his face, your thighs closing in on his cheek in a desperate attempt to keep him close. As though he, too, could disappear any instant. Stand up and leave the room, say he didn’t mean it. 

But he doesn't. Instead, he slips one finger inside of you, thrusting and curling expertly. Your free hand grips the counter, attaching you to some semblance of reality. 

He leaves your cunt long enough to whisper, all cheeky and smug, “How am I doing?” 

“Fuck,” you cry, drawing him back to your soaked entrance. He licks your sensitive bundle of nerves with a smile as you drip on his chin. “You’re fine,” you say, still out of breath, because you can’t stop being difficult. 

Matty makes a noise of offense from the back of his throat, breaking away again as he arches an eyebrow at you. “Fine?” He repeats, unamused. He adds a second finger inside of you, letting the pornographic sounds of your sopping cunt ring through the empty kitchen. 

You bite your lip to hold back the scream you want to let free, your legs shaking around him. Pleasure so thoroughly builds inside of you, stretching languidly under your heated skin. A moan ends up slipping through your tyrannical guards. Matty latches onto that, fucking into you quicker, drawing eyerolls and whines out of your swollen lips. 

You’ve always been implacably in control. A girl of steel, focused and stubborn. How easily he wrecks you, unbuilds you from your very careful bricks. 

Matty smirks at your reactions, thumbing your clit next as he watches you washed with bliss. He kisses your knee, quickening his pace. “Is this fine?”

“Yes,” you nod. There’s something boiling under your skin, bubbling in warning. You sense the fire, curling your toes, licking up your weak legs, joining in Matty’s relentless fingers inside of you. 

He pouts. “Only fine?” Turning his head, he kisses your other knee. The delicate press of his lips tingles up your thigh. 

“It’s—” You cry out a moan, wrinkling your face shut. Fire dances in your belly, pressing against your skin. You want it free. 

“What?” Matty asks. He bites your knee, demanding your attention. Your eyes open in electroshocked surprise, peering down at him as you pant. The room spins around you, a world of spice and stainless steel. “Come on, admit it.” Your eyes lock with his, dark and intense and so fucking smug. He’s amused at your pathetic attempts to lie to him. He knows. 

You huff. “It’s okay.” 

His eyes darken. You halt your breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. You’re afraid he’ll stop, feel his desire to do so in the bated breath, to teach you a lesson. Your legs buzz, ready to trap him between them, beg him to forgive you. Apprehension swoops in your belly, meshing terribly well with the building bliss. 

Matty doesn’t even slow. His mouth finds your clit again, furiously licking at you as he thrusts his fingers. You scream once more, your hips moving in instinct, bucking against his sticky face. 

“Matty, Matty,” you chant, in complete contradiction to your taunts. Fire climbs up your chest, flushing it, falling down your arms. Your entire body shakes, the hints of an earthquake hitting you. “I’m—“ 

His fingers curl just so, finding the perfect angle. Your head lits aflame, fire swirling around your putty brain, and you’re burning down. You come with a guttural cry, gripping Matty’s hair, the letters of his name loosening on your tongue. 

You come down slowly, difficultly, as your limbs unclench their choking hold on him. You can’t seem to quite catch your breath, panting as you blink and blink, trying to get used to this new world. 

Fuck. This is what a real man does. 

You grin, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Wow,” you say, smiling down at him. 

Matty still looks at you with that dangerous, hungry look. He wipes his chin, sharp teeth flashing at you as he stands up. He kisses your jaw, your neck, relishing in the moans you give back. Your skin is oversensitive, already too hot and only getting worse when he spreads a hand on your waist.

He sneaks under your shirt, raising it, throwing it off your shoulders. His eyes find you, ravenous, taking in the matching pink bra to your long lost underwear. You flush, looking away shyly. 

His callused fingertips find your waist again, teasing a ghost touch over your ribs, to your back, up your spine, slowly and faintly enough you’re half sure you might be dreaming this whole thing up. 

Matty kisses your collarbone, undoing the claps of your bra with one hand, letting it fall down your shoulders. He dips his head out of your neck, looking down at your bare breasts, nipples peaked in perfect offering. A groan chokes in the back of his throat. His hand finds one of your tits, swallowing it as he grabs it. You sigh, pleasure waving through you already. 

Matty finds the crook of your neck again, kissing up its curve to whisper in your ear, “What’s your name?” You frown, cocking your head, telling him. 

Matty tsks. “I’m not done, then.” He takes you by the thighs, picking you off the counter and lowering you to the squeaky clean floor. You cry in surprise, clutching his shoulders. 

The tiles are cold on your back. He spreads your legs out for him, kissing back down your body. You rest on your elbows, watching him as you pant. 

“You’ve already—“ Surely, he must be wanting something more reciprocating now. 

Matty shushes you. “Let me do my job.” He unzips your skirt, dragging it off your legs, taking a second to take in the sight of you. 

He opens your thighs, readying you for him again. You breathe quicker, incapable of keeping up with his moves, head turning at the idea of another earthshattering orgasm. You want your body to crack and break next. 

Matty looks up at you, smirking. He spits on your cunt. His tongue sticks out, licking up your juices next. You roll your eyes, pleasure razing through you, your elbows giving out as you fall to the ground like a wireless doll. A teasing laugh blooms out of him as he dives back in. 

It’s sloppier this time, given you’ve practically drenched your inner thighs. He throws two of your legs over his shoulders and eats you like a starved man, licking and fucking and sucking. You can’t keep up with his burning tongue, though you don’t try to, letting yourself be washed in the feelings he coaxes out of you instead.

You moan freely, unashamed of the pathetic sounds you let out for him. You’re glad to be on the floor just so you don’t have to hold up any part of your body. You’re weightless, discombobulated, choosing to exist as only a body overtaken with euphoria. 

You say his name most of all, grinding on his tongue. Matty seems to like that, answering with a particularly skillful swipe, gripping your hip bones with two greedy hands. 

It’s honestly obnoxious of him to not even use his hands. 

His tongue fucks into you, his nose rubbing at your clit. He holds you like you could shatter under him, melt into syrup and seep into the cracks. It might very well be possible with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“I’m right there,” you pant in warning, gripping his hair to keep him still, rolling into his face with sloppy hips. He laughs at that, the sound resonating in your cunt, and ecstasy weeps inside of you. “Just—” 

You don’t have time to warn him of anything as he runs his tongue furiously. Your cunt flutters, clenching around his tongue. You scream, your thighs dropping completely open in surrounder. He sucks on your clit and you crack, splintering apart, falling into the ground. You feel yourself shake, buzzing and buzzing, reality slipping from your fingers as he continues to lap at you. 

It’s too much too soon; you push him out of your legs with a whine, pouting down at him. Matty indulges in your silent request, dipping into one of your thighs to wipe the slick from his chin. It dries on your skin as he climbs up your body, out of breath. 

Matty kisses the tip of your nose, smiling down at you. You’re wrecked, your sweaty hair spilling around your head, your lips bitten raw, your skin flushed. You grin at him still, slack, thoroughly happy and satisfied. You rake a hand through his hair, messier than they were before your ruinous hold on them. 

“Fine?” Matty teases. 

You hum, looping your arm around his neck. “Maybe a bit better than fine,” you taunt back, raising your head to catch his lips. He scoffs in your mouth, though kisses you back indulgently. 

He leaves it to litter kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, finding a nipple and sucking it. Your breaths quicken, something close to pants leaving your dry mouth. As he licks at it with a tongue you’ve grown sinfully familiar with, his hands slip to his jeans, undoing the buttons eagerly. You hear the zip go down, excited shivers climbing up your spine. 

Matty tugs himself out of his pants. You look down to watch the spectacle, biting your lip as his hard cock springs into his hand. He strokes it once, twice. Rises from your tits to kneel between your legs, towering over your body. 

“I’ll make sure you can’t even walk into work tomorrow.” Thrill burns at your skin. Your legs fall open for him in devotion, obeying to his words like gospel. 

“Promise?” You smile up at him, cheeky. 

Matty snorts, gripping one of your thighs to raise your hips, lining his cock with your dripping entrance. “Only promise of mine you can trust, darling.” Locking his dark eyes with yours, he slowly enters you. 

“Shit,” you cry, spasming around him. You reach out blindly, catching his hand on your hip, wrapping your fist around two of his fingers and tightening. It sends the message clear enough; he chuckles, bottoming out. You moan in relief, bliss blooming around your bones, heart fluttering in great apprehension. You bite back a giggle, playing with the curls at his nape. 

Matty bends back down to kiss your cheek, holding himself up with one arm, laying still between your thighs. He’s buried so deep, you feel your nerve endings rearrange for him. Your cunt throbs around him, begging for more, but he just sweetly sprinkles your face with love. 

You scrunch your nose, shaking him off. “I want more,” you demand, raising your hips as proof. Faint pleasure ripples through you, but it’s still not enough. 

Matty nips at your jaw, torturously frozen between your thighs. “Wait. You haven’t had sex in two years. I don’t want to break you.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, a bratty pout storming on your face. Meanly, childishly, you clench your fist around his digits. “You won’t break me,” you argue. “You need to check that ego of yours.” 

Matty snorts. “The lady is impatient. As if I didn’t already give her two great orgasms.”

“They were fine, remember?”

“A bit more than fine.”

“Just a bit.”

Even slower than he entered you, Matty thrusts out of you, watching intently as the pleasure reverberates inside of you, all the way to your lips parting in greed. 

He lingers in that moment once more. You sigh frustratedly, staring up at him unimpressed. His shit-eating grin catches on his lips. He thrusts back in just as unhurriedly, repeating his vicious cycle until you’re so thoroughly ready you might lose your mind from the lack of something.

Something quick. Something hard. Something great.

“I’m not fucking breakable,” you finally snap. 

Matty hums, shaking off your hand easily to palm your tits, kissing down your neck. “This is how you treat princesses.”

“I will make you eat that nickname until you have to spit it out in chunks.” 

Matty laughs in the curve of your neck, shaking his head. His hair tickles your jaw. He comes back out to peer at you, amused. He grinds his hips into you, barely any real friction. “She’s got threats.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’ve got more if you don’t fucking move.” 

Matty tsks. “For a smart, college girl, you’re not being very bright. Have I fucked your working brain out of you already?” 

You cock your head, frowning at him. Matty smiles, hooking your knee higher. The angle is heavenly— though he still doesn’t fuck, he hits you deep. You bite your lip, shivering, feeling pleasure tingle up your legs. “I thought you were all proper. Raised right. Weren’t you?” Again, you give him a confused look. “Don’t good girls say please?” 

Your eyes widen in understanding. You cup both his cheeks, staring into his eyes as you moan, “Please, Matty. Fuck, I need you to fuck me. I need you to—“ 

Matty snaps his hips into yours, a quick, relieving rhythm. You mewl, head rolling on the tiles. “There she is,” Matty coos. “My good, little girl.” You nod at him, agreeing with anything out of his mouth now that he fucks like this. 

Matty searches for the right pace, switching up his flow and scrutinizing your face as he does so. Hard, fast, deep, slow; he tries it all, mixing and matching and making your insides throb around him. Your mouth parts uselessly, slack moans rolling down your chin. He licks your jaw, leaving you wet as he pants. 

Your hands on his cheeks flex in place, digging into his jaw, the faint stubble rubbing on your palms. You might very well be hurting him, but you’re too gone to care. He deserves it, anyway. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. 

“Is this what you wanted?” 

You smile wide at him. His eyes narrow, expecting the taunt as you say, “Well, I still know my name.”

“Is that so?” Matty says, sitting up on his heels. He holds his weight with a hand near your waist, using the other to raise your ass up the ground. With this new angle, he fucks into you deeper, quicker. 

You whine, your hand wrapping around his grounding arm, holding onto it desperately. Your claws dig into his tattoos. Ecstasy waves through you, pushing and pulling with his strokes. Your head suddenly feels very light, faraway from your bared neck. 

Finally, he seems to settle on a pattern. How quickly he’s successfully read the mindless sounds, figured you out from the pathetic eyerolls overtaking your face when he quickens his pace. Pleasure weeps inside of you, burning through your skin. You don’t ever want him to stop. 

He thrusts in and out of you frantically. Deep, long strokes that perfectly hit this heavenly spot inside of you. He grins down at you like he knows, burying against it again and again until you’re melting in his arms. 

You can’t do anything but cry for him as Matty undoes the last remnants of your brick walls. You lose any semblance of shame, bucking your hips in the same rhythm as his, calling his name in your father’s kitchen. You’re too gone to care, too gone to even think of it. 

“My pretty girl,” Matty moans above you. His hand caresses your hip, that godforsaken callus on his index finger rubbing the bone. “Even prettier than I imagined.” 

You give him a slack smile, thrill and pride spinning in your head. He thought of you. How you want to know all the fantasies he holds in that treasure chest brain of his. Want to know if he touched himself thinking of them. 

Your hands dig into his forearm, staring up at him. “Tell me.” Matty shakes his head. “Come on,” you plea, spoiled. Matty is unflappable, smirking down at you as he fucks into you. “Please, sir.” 

Matty’s hips falter in their movement, a low groan slipping from his lips. His hand digs into your hips, staring down at you in shock. “Fuck,” is all he chokes out. 

You grin, a greedy thing finding its new weapon. You palm your own breast, playing with your nipple as you moan. “Was it like this, sir?” You whine, twisting your fingers, letting the pleasure wash over you. “Is this how you imagined it?”

Matty moans at the sight of you, flicking between your face and your tits, unsure of where to settle. He’s lost that shit-eating smirk of his, that certainty, that unshakeable control. He’s watching you, obsessed. 

“No, you were actually well-behaved in my dreams.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Not true.”

Matty sighs, climbing a hand from your hip up your waist, groping the forgotten, lonely breast. “Nah, you’re right,” he admits. He mirrors your moves, rubbing his thumb as you do. “I wanted you like this,” he whispers, mesmerized with you. “Under me. Fucking purring for me.” 

His hips find back that relentless pace between your thighs, quick and hard. Ecstasy coils in your belly, breathing, alive, eating through your limbs. You shiver, moaning his name. 

“I wanted you on the steps of the emergency staircase, riding my cock for everyone to see. Good, proper girl like you, fucked dumb by a dirty man like me.” You nod, encouraging him, biting your lip raw. 

He lays back over you, maintaining his quick strokes. His pelvis rubs on your clit with every thrust, making your body tingle tellingly. Pleasure presses against your skin, fire simmering beneath it. Maybe you really will crash and burn this time, maybe you’ll split.

Matty leans into your neck, sucking your earlobe into his mouth, whispering in the crook of it, “Bending you over the bar. Tugging on that ponytail. Railing pretty princess so hard she starts crying.” Matty’s hand cups your jaw, rubbing on the skin as he peers up at you. “Fuck, I wanted to ruin that makeup.” One finger wipes at your chin, surely spreading your strawberry lipgloss. “I’d spend my days on my knees.” 

His words, his hands, his cock, it’s all too much for you. You scream, the sounds falling into his hand. Hot ecstasy bubbles under your skin, threatening the very edges of you. You roll your head, but Matty keeps you grounded, his fingers digging into your jaw. 

He stares at you unflinchingly. “Open your mouth, princess.” You do as you say, parting your lips wide open. Matty eyes you with a smirk. 

He leans in, spitting in your open mouth. A thrilled shiver pianos down your spine. You should find this repulsive, but your cunt clenches around him in complete contradiction. He grins condescendingly at you, undeniably aware of his effect on you. “Here’s that nickname.” 

You roll your eyes. You throb around him, bliss razing through your limbs. Your toes curl, your fingers flex, and you feel everything in you pull tight in preparation—

“Matty—”

“Tut-tut,” Matty says, patting your lips. “Not my name.” 

“Sir,” you whine, throwing your head back. “I’m gonna come.” 

He flashes his teeth at you, wolfish. “Magic word?” 

“Please.” Matty rewards you with deep strokes, hitting again and again at the exact right spot, and soon you’re trashing under him, completely boundless. 

“Oh, God,” you scream, “Oh, God.”

You tremble under him, your face completely shutting, your lips parting. You burst, crying out for him, trapping his hips with two strong thighs. You crash against the floor, spilling on the tiles like dropped salt. Flecks of you roll on the linoleum as you finally come. His name rips from your throat, a delicious chant you can’t control. It’s all you know. 

The world slips from your fingers; everything relaxes in great waves. Relieving fingers dancing on your skin, making you not a stone, but a girl. A woman. 

You sigh happily, letting go of Matty’s arm, opening your eyes to examine the crescent moons you left on his skin. Some branding iron of yours. 

Your head falls back on the ground, rolling lazily. You feel lax, drooping on your bones. Maybe you’re truly one with the ground. 

Matty kisses your cheek. “You did so well, baby,” he whispers proudly. You smile, too tired to open your eyes again. 

His hips rock into yours slowly, grinding. Everything in you is hypersensitive to him. Your skin buzzes just from the faint movement, burning ecstasy waking up in your belly from nothing. 

“Do you want to ride me?” Matty asks, voice rough in the crook of your ear. Just the idea sounds sore and exhausting. 

You pout, shaking your head, whining, “‘M too tired.” 

“Alright,” Matty kisses your temple. “Just lay there and be pretty.” You nod in agreement.

Indulgently, Matty doesn’t follow that brutal, heart racing tempo. He fucks you slow and deep, grinding his hips into yours, reaching between your bodies to rub at your clit. You whimper under him, clutching his shoulders, wrinkling your eyes as pleasure drips on your ribs. 

It’s barely anything, but it’s still too much. You’re fucked out, sensitive and exhausted, and every stroke just resonates deep inside of you. His name dances on your tongue, languid pleasure coursing through your sloppy veins. Matty accidentally slips out of you, his cock hitting your thigh. He groans frustratedly, slipping back into your wet cunt, though you’re barely aware of it. 

Your hands paw at his shoulders. A frown dents your forehead. You blink your eyes open, staring at him unhappily. “Take off your shirt,” you demand. Really, it’s not fair you’re naked and he’s perfectly dressed. 

Matty huffs a laugh, stilling to reach behind his head, pulling his white shirt off his shoulders. Though he makes an attempt to drape back over you, you keep him away. Your eyes greedily takes him in: his tattoos, his stomach, his biceps. He’s stronger than you had imagined, his muscles sharper, rippling and flexing with strenuous effort. You bite your lip, feeling arousal pool in your belly.

“Happy?” Matty says, although there’s a faint blush on his face. 

“Extremely,” you nod curtly, flashing your teeth at him. Matty shakes his head, thrusting back into you. 

Your mind drips from your ears, faraway and drowsy. He’s faintly there between your thighs. Your lips part in pleasure, but you’re mostly distracted by the sight of him. Your eyes wash over all his tattoos, tracing a finger over his deer tattoo, trying to memorize it. 

Matty slips from your legs again, this time hitting your swollen clit. You jump, biting your lip. Frustrated, he lines himself up, sliding in slowly, watching your face. He makes another low growl of dissatisfaction, leaving you entirely. 

“Fuck, you’re too wet,” Matty sighs. You laugh, watching him in disbelief. Too wet. You shake your head. Here’s a fucking problem. “I’m serious,” he says, though there’s definitely an amused smile on his lips. 

He grabs his discarded apron, wiping your wetness off his dick. Then he cleans the mess between your thighs meticulously, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not better if you’re too wet. You lose friction. When I’m fucking you, I want you to feel it.”

Matty dips two fingers down your entrance, taking a pool of your soaking arousal, bringing them back to your lips. You open up before he has to say, sucking them into your mouth. He grins proudly, fucking elated to have you finally obeying for him. “Good girl,” he praises, lining his cock again.

He thrusts into you and this time, shit, you feel it.

You feel awoken from your daze, zapped into reality. You grip his shoulders uselessly, moaning around his fingers. He’s wild and rapid, showing you how it’s really supposed to feel. You can’t wrap your head around the feeling, overrun by his hips. 

Matty slips his wet fingers out of your mouth. Pathetic whines and moans leave your lips unsmothered, caught in a hot tongue kissing you. His stubble rubs at your chin, but it quickly leaves your mind as his freed digits find your clit again. You hiss at the first contact, sensitive. He circles it gently, kissing you better. 

Your lungs are on fire. Your head spins. You’re so deeply aware of his cock inside of you, driving you wild. You can’t make sense of the ground under your back. You scream for him, scream for the sky, scream because you can’t do anything else. 

“I can’t—” You shake your head. “Fuck, it’s too—” Another moan leaves your mouth. Pressure grows in your stomach, spreading through each limb. Already, you almost want to snort. 

Matty’s mouth grazes over your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He kisses each spot, leaving a few sweet pecks. The complete opposition of his ruthless cock makes your head dizzy. Licking your shoulder, Matty opens his mouth and bites you. Pain and pleasure strikes through you; you cry, falling apart. 

“Matty—”

It almost surprises you that you can still, feeling the edges around you blur into non-existence. You live only in the euphoria, in momentary feelings, in the now. Your body trashes under him, ecstatic, boneless. Your climax hits you hard and true, a mighty hunter hungry for blood. 

You come back down slowly, difficultly, trying to make sense of his arms as you breathe. “Fuck,” is all you can say, shortwinded and gooey. “Oh, my— Fuck.”

Matty flutters kisses on your shoulder, surely loving away the marks of his teeth. He rises slightly to whisper in your ear, “Remember what I said?” You shake your head, not in any place to think, let alone remember anything. A smirk grows on his face, tickling your skin. “Give her one more.” 

You blink your eyes open, staring at him incredulously. You can barely feel your legs and he wants to— He’s dead fucking serious. “I’m too hot,” you whine. “It’s fucking burning in here.” 

“Alright, princess.” Matty slides out of you. A moan of dissatisfaction leaves at the feeling of emptiness. You clench around nothing, suddenly unused to the lack of him. Matty stands up, tugging you with him, picking you up in his arms as he walks the kitchen. 

He opens the walk-in fridge. Cool immediately surrounds you, making you sigh pleasantly. He caresses your hair, whispering, “Can I?” Though you know you’ll regret it tomorrow, you nod at him. “My brave girl,” Matty coos, delicately putting you down. 

Like his favorite doll, you let him puppeteer you to your knees, pushing you until your tits hit the freezing ground. You hiss, jolted awake by the sudden cold. Your head turns back to stare at him, kneeling behind you. “Does that feel good, baby?” You nod, which he tuts at. “Use your words.” 

“Yeah, it’s—” In complete contradiction, heat pools in your stomach. Your hard nipples on the icy floor sends a rush of ecstasy up your exhausted body. You’re suddenly quite aware of the world, though it restricts to this walk-in and Matty Healy’s cock as it teases your entrance. 

“That’s not really using your words, is it?” He slides over your wet cunt, hitting your overeager bundle of nerves, but never giving in. You huff, understanding his silent demand. 

“It’s really good,” you nod, moving further up to rest your tits on a fresh bout of frozen ground. Again, a thrilled rush makes your head spin. You cry, laying your cheek down, surrendering yourself. “You’re— You were right. No one can fuck me like you.” 

“I know I’m right.” Finally, Matty enters you. His hips buck into your dripping core, sloppy and messy from extenuation. There’s a lack of technique, just raw need and want as he fucks into you with abandon. He grips your thighs, bending into your body to kiss at your shoulders, whispering dirty promises again. “Just me,” he pants. “From now on it’s just me.” 

You nod at him. He’s ruined you for other men anyway; you don’t think you’ll even be able to walk without remembering the shape of his cock inside of you. 

One of Matty’s hands leaves you, resting on the ground beside your sweaty bodies. He lingers there for some time, then sneaks it under you, finding your clit expertly. You gasp as his cold fingers make contact with the hot bud. He swipes them rapidly, making you drip on his cock. 

“I’m close,” you moan already, feeling that telltale euphoria wave through your trembling limbs. 

“Me, too,” Matty moans above you. He grips your hair and tugs, raising you from the ice, kissing your jaw. His low sounds bury in your skin. His hips snap harder into you, chasing both of your cosmic ends. 

Your face wrinkles as pleasure overwhelms you. You shake it frantically, whining, “I wanna see you.” 

Matty laughs, slipping out of you just to flip you around. Again, he pushes you on your back, raising your legs until your knees near your shoulders, wasting no time to bury inside of you. He hits you even deeper this time, shockingly possible. You whine. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it with precision. You travel the planes of his back, digging your nails in desperately. 

He looks as fucked out as you. His gray-streaked, sweaty hair falls over his forehead. His swollen lips part in euphoria, chin still sticky with you. His skin is flushed. His arms shake, exhausted and overworked. 

“I’m there,” Matty pants above you. You nod in agreement, feeling the same building bliss spin around your head. “Are you gonna come for me, princess?” Again, you nod eagerly. 

“Yeah— Yes, sir!”

Matty hits the spot with one artful stroke and you’re done, mewling loudly as you come on his cock. You soar out of your bones, pleasure ravaging through you with deadly fingers. You shake under his body, screaming and crying, breaking apart. Vengefully, your nails rake down his back, clawing at him. 

With a hot groan in your ear, Matty slips out of you, coming on your stomach. He shivers above you, wrinkling his face in euphoria, white cum hitting the planes of your belly. He breathes in heavily, opening his eyes to smile down at you. 

The world sways around you. You’re bone-deep tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, to even think of moving a finger. Everything is hazy, some ghostly daze draping over the walk-in. You sigh, fluttering your eyes closed. 

Teasingly, Matty goes down your body, spreading your thighs to lap at your juices. You cry, head raising up the ground miraculously, pushing his head away. “Goddamn, enough. I get it. You’re the best sex of my life.” Matty chuckles, pinching your thigh, before falling beside you. He pants, exhausted. “That was even better than I imagined,” you say languidly, smiling slackly at no one. 

“Same.” 

“I don’t think I can take the bus now,” you frown. “Or tomorrow.”

“Call in sick,” Matty says, smirking at you cheekily. You roll your eyes at his antics. “What? If one person can do it, it’s daddy’s girl.” 

You slap his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my dad when you were just inside of me.” 

“No?” 

You up your nose. “It’s uncouth.” 

Matty laughs, shaking his head, sitting up. He groans as he stands, as though his entire body was sore. His back is littered with furiously red scratches; you flush, recognizing the shape of your nails. He leaves the walk-in just to come back with your clothes, pulling his shirt down his chest. 

He wipes at your soaked thighs with his apron, then at the cum on your stomach, cleaning you thoroughly. With delicate care, he puts your shirt over your head, pulling your skirt up. He stashes your bra in your bag, giving you a teasing look as he shoves your underwear in his pants. Again, you roll your eyes at his obvious antics. 

“Do you need to eat anything?” Matty asks. “We’re in the walk-in, afterall.” 

Your face scrunches. “Oh God, I fucked in the walk-in. I won’t ever be able to come in here, now.” 

He snorts. “Believe me, we weren’t the first and won’t be the last.” You wrinkle your nose in disdain. “Wow. Miss can get railed in the fridge but it’s a problem when others do it?” 

“It’s unsanitary.”

“I think there's still some of your juices on the floor,” Matty says, pointing randomly at the ground. You flush, trying to spot the rumored stain, embarrassment seeping through your cheeks. Matty doesn’t let you linger on it, grabbing two of your hands and pulling you up on your feet. “Food?” 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Well,” Matty smiles smugly, and you already groan in regret, “I already ate.” 

“Nevermind.” You try taking a step, but your feet wobble under you, pain prickling up your thighs and the inside of it most of all. You fall into Matty, clutching his arm. “Shit.” 

“Call in sick tomorrow.” You shake your head stubbornly. Matty cups your cheek, making you look at him. “Call in sick tomorrow,” he stresses again. 

You narrow your eyes. “You just want to say you fucked a girl so hard she had to take a day off.” 

Matty gives you a shit-eating grin. “Nah. This is a regular Tuesday for me.” You slap his shoulder again, harder this time. “There she is,” he coos. “Come on. Let me drive you home. I’ll make you something.” 

You let him guide you out of the walk-in fridge, resting on his body. “I don’t think I have any food,” you warn. 

“I can whip something up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a chef.”

“Really?” You say in faux-shock. “I just thought you were the eye candy.” 

“Not everyone stares at me as much as you, princess.” You roll your eyes, though don’t try to claim otherwise. Matty slaps the lights shut. You leave the kitchen behind, strangely untouched, like it hadn’t seen some very vile things a few minutes ago. 

“Oh,” you cry excitedly, “Can you make me some mac and cheese?” Matty sighs. 

—

You’re hanging around the host stand, picking your nails and giggling as Veronica describes her recent affair with a pharmacist in explicit details. She mimes the moves, stalling when a guest approaches. You both plaster a smile on your face and point to the bathroom with a sickly sweet voice. 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from describing your recent affair. The memory of Matty between your thighs is still omniscient on your skin— mostly because you’re still sore, walking the restaurant a little funny. Although you burst with the need to tell someone, you’re half-convinced Veronica would bite your head off if she knew. 

Adam walks back to his stand, sighing as he sees the both of you. “Must you guys hang here?” 

You cock your head, teasing, “How else would we annoy you?” Veronica laughs.

He shakes his head, grabbing a pen and pointing towards you. “The boss wants to see you,” is all Adam says. 

“Ooh,” Veronica sings, poking at your ribcage. “Someone’s in trouble.” You give her a deadpan look. “You’re right, you’re right.” She nods. “He probably just wants to know which color you want your new pony to be!” 

You shake your head, chuckling at her. “You guys are seriously deluded on how much money we have.” 

Veronica sticks her tongue out as you walk away. You zigzag through the tables, nodding at a waiter in greeting, grabbing empty plates and piling them on your arms. You push the kitchen doors with your back, dropping the dirty dishes in the sink. You smile at Larry, fluttering your lashes at him. He always cleans your utensils first if you flirt a little with him. 

You can’t stay to chat, crossing the kitchen for the office door. You dodge a bus boy, giving him an annoyed look, reminding him to call corners. A small snort comes from beside you. You turn, finding Matty sizzling onions in a pan. He gives you a grin, knowing and smug, like he’s thinking of you naked in the spot where you stand. He winks at you. Your cheeks heat, biting back a smile as you continue your walk. 

You knock at the door. Behind, a somber voice tells you to come in. You crack it, peering your head inside. Your father sits at his desk, flipping through papers, frowning. 

“You wanted to see me?” 

He jumps as he looks at you, seemingly surprised as though he’s not the one who asked you here. He nods eagerly, waving you in. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Dad,” you answer back, walking into the office. Instinctively, you start organizing the messy, scattered papers on his desk in neat lines. “Why did you call me here?” 

“I wanted to ask you how you were,” he explains. “I didn’t have time to welcome you. I’m sorry— God, I’ve just been so busy.” He frowns at you, a concerned look on his face. “You like it here, right? I know you missed your shift yesterday.” 

Memories of Matty’s tongue licking into you, his fingers curling, his cock pressing— Dirty words sticky with want— Vile things on the tiles— The world slipping from your fingers— Pleasure pumping, coiling, bursting— 

You flash your teeth. “Oh, I love it.” 

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [5].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, someone cries again, mentions of bullying, mentions of sex. WORD COUNT. 3.9k

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly @satsuri3su @gyugyubin @junhuicosmo @skzenhalove @luvkpopp @yansbolobao @emer-syn @eggomi @drunkinjake @soobiverse @deobitifull @haechanspudu @yawnzzn27 @7myoi

NOTE. this is the soobin chapter. before anyone says anything, i also used to be a loser in high school so i am very qualified to write about this. anyway, please let me kmow what you think so far! ty for reading!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 5 — staring contest of death.

SOOBIN HAS ENCOUNTERED A PROBLEM. It’s quite a big problem— one that completely ruined his summer morning routine that usually starts at one in the afternoon. But it’s already 2 p.m. right now and he’s still laying on his bed, half of his head peeking out of the blanket as his eyes run over the text he received this morning over and over again from a group chat that’s been dead for a good three years. 

[Shin Jaeyul: hey class of 20XX! met up with jindo and the rest the other day and we thought it would be great if we can all get together again! hope you’ll all be available for the reunion. i’ll send the details after this message but it’s gonna be held at seonghee’s family’s hotel so feel free to bring a plus one lol.]

[Shin Jaeyul: What? ANSAN HS BATCH 20XX REUNION. When? This Saturday, 6:00pm. Where? Chatoyer Hotel, Sapphire Ballroom Function Hall

“Just don’t go, man. It’s not like your attendance is graded.”

When Soobin finally gets the energy to come downstairs to eat, he shows the text to Beomgyu for a second opinion. They’re eating yesterday’s leftovers on the patio outside the dining room. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the boys to congregate on the lounge chairs.

“But a reunion sounds fun!” Jake throws in his opinion. “I met up with my high school buddies at Crown Towers when I went to Melbourne the other day.”

“They weren’t your buddies. They invited you so you can pay for all their drinks and ditch you,” Heeseung tells him.

“Hey, Matthew was there and he was glad to see me.”

“Matthew borrowed eight hundred dollars from you last month and never paid back.”

Jake simply shrugs and snatches a cold slice of pizza from the table. Soobin gives him a look of remorse. “Anyway,” Jay jumps in. “Hyung, you should go if you want to and don’t go if you don’t want to. What do you want to do?”

Honestly, if Soobin can help it, he’d never want to see anyone from his old school ever again. And he’d rather stay at home and watch the latest episode of JJK on Saturday night (and every other night, for that matter). “But...it’s kinda rude if I don’t reply, right?” is what’s holding him back. The group chat has been buzzing every minute, messages of ‘see you there’s’ and ‘I’m so excited’s’ popping up one after the other. Only a few others including him haven’t replied yet. “What excuse should I make?”

“Tell them you have a family reunion to attend,” Sunghoon suggests.

“That’s lame. They’re gonna make fun of him,” Beomgyu scrunches his nose. Sunghoon defends with “what’s so wrong with a family reunion?!” but Soobin is inclined to believe that Beomgyu would be right. He didn’t exactly have a pleasant high school experience.

It’s not that he was actively bullied, or anything. He just didn’t have a lot of friends. And not a lot wanted to be his friend save for the members of the manga club he was in— but that didn’t really contribute to his position in the adolescent food chain. It’s not like he was sociable, either. He still isn’t. He was just lucky enough to get adopted by Beomgyu and managed to get along with the rest of the guys after a good two years of living here.

“Oh, then dude, you have to go!” Beomgyu exclaims. “If you don’t go they’re just gonna talk shit about you still being a loser.”

“I am a loser, though?” he says. 

“Yeah, but you’re tall and good looking and hot and that’s enough to get them to shut the fuck up if you show up and dip after thirty minutes. You know what, give me your phone. I’ll handle this.”

“No, wait—”

Beomgyu snatches the phone from his hands and plops down on the chair right across from him, the other four quickly running over and looking over his shoulders. Soobin’s heart races. This doesn’t seem like a good idea. He is right. It only takes a second before things spiral into disaster.

“Don’t say that. You gotta sound cooler.”

“Dude, that’s gonna get him bullied. Let me do it—”

“Give it to me!”

“You’re all useless, let me take over!”

“Wait, let me make one last revision—”

“No! What are you all doing?!”

When Soobin finally manages to steal his phone back, he nearly passes out when he reads the message he— his friends— just sent to the group chat.

[Count me in. Do I have to wire double the money if I bring my girlfriend? Nevermind, I’ll just send thrice the amount. Thanks :)]

Horror washes over his face. “I added the smiley face,” Jake proudly announces. Holy fuck, he wants to crawl back into his bed and never wake up. 

“Who sent that I’ll be bringing my girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend! Why did you say I’ll be bringing my girlfriend?!”

His phone vibrates mid-fit and he’s greeted by a reply saying that they’re so happy he’s coming and they can’t wait to see him again. Soobin is not happy nor is he excited. “We can just get you one,” Beomgyu says, as a matter-of-fact, as if you can just purchase a significant other from a gas station vending machine. His face wrinkles in distress. “When’s the reunion again? Saturday? Jakey, do you have any rich heiresses that can pretend to be Soobin hyung’s fake girlfriend for a night?”

“I’ll call Mirae noona, but hyung, are you alright alright with someone fifteen years old—”

Soobin winces. “Please don’t call her.”

“I can try asking Hina,” says Jay. “I don’t know if she has me unblocked yet, though.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes at him. “Isn’t she your ex?”

“Jay dated someone?” Sunghoon gives Jay a mildly offended grimace. “The fuck? Why don’t I know this?”

“He’s always dating someone. But he also gets dumped after three days so I’m not sure if they even count.”

Before they could further into Jay’s questionable dating history, the conversation gets cut short by a groan from Beomgyu. “Wait. We literally have a girl living with us right now.” His words send a signal into all their ears. It takes a moment for it to settle, and when it does, it’s like a thinly stretched rope snaps in half in the air.

Oh.

Right.

You.

“Are—are you sure about that?” Sunghoon is the first to crack the tension-filled silence. “Don’t we have other options?”

Soobin hears furtive whispering and nodding from Jake that somehow involves your name and the phrase “that’s right, she’s a girl, yes,” but chooses to ignore it and instead starts dreading the near and impending future. “It’d be better if it’s someone Soobin hyung already knows,” Beomgyu replies. “Hyung, what do you think?”

He thinks this is insane and bonkers and absolutely fucking impossible to pull off because he can’t even look you in the eye without sweating his skin off. How in the fuck he supposed to fake date you? To stand next to you? To call you with so much affection in front of numerous people he finds extremely uncomfortable to be with? To look at you? To h—

Oh god. He doesn’t have to hold your hand, does he?

“Hey, I don’t think this is fair. That’d mean Soobin hyung will technically—”

“This won’t count towards the bet,” Beomgyu says, then looks at a now red-faced Soobin. “You don’t mind right?”

Shit, he’d have to, right? But he can’t even look at you without his palms leaking like a faucet and stuttering like a broken machine. This is insane. He can’t do this. He can’t and won’t do this or else he’d actually have a heart attack and die.

“Hyung?”

“Is— is this all really necessary?” he finally sputters out.

They all look at him. “But we already sent the message.”

Right. They did. Soobin’s face falls defeated and he sinks back into the chair. “I’ll go grab her,” Beomgyu announces, and the gazes shift from him to their friend who has now risen from his seat and is walking back into the house because since when was he close enough with you to do that? You two usually bicker and argue and Soobin has seen the murderous intent in your eyes whenever Beomgyu tries to provoke you. Sure, the amount of daily arguments has definitely died down as of late and it’s mostly one-sided now, but if there’s anyone close enough to disturb your weekend for something stupid, it’d be Jake.

But they say nothing about it and watch as Beomgyu disappears inside and comes back out a minute later with you in tow, pulling you into the patio by the arm you as you grumble and groan, begrudgingly forcing your legs to follow him. “Seriously, what do you want? I was having a nice nap, you bastard. Where are you taking me? Hey, answer me. Are you still mad about the—” 

When you finally notice the rest of their presence, you stop complaining.

“What’s this? Are you having a cult meeting?”

Jake greets you with a smile. “Take a seat! We’ll explain everything.”

It’s almost impossible to glean anything coherent when there are five-ish boys talking at the same time, but you seem fine, nodding along to whatever Beomgyu and Jay are currently rambling into both of your years. Soobin grows increasingly worried by the second. “I’m so sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”

He hopes you don’t want to do this. Knowing how you practically terrorized him a few weeks ago for accidentally taking a bite out of your ice cream, you probably didn’t want to deal with him either. Yes. This is good. Soobin can just ignore the group chat and ghost his old classmates on the day of the event, so this is—

“I’m down,” you finally say. 

—what?

“You’re— you’re down?” he stutters out. He must have heard wrong, obviously. Haha, there’s no way you would—

“Yup. It’s this Saturday, right? I’m pretty sure I’ll be free, so it’s cool.”

Well, shit.

He’s fucked.

“Why do I feel like you’ve done something like this before?” Beomgyu shoots you a glare of suspicion. You grin. “Of fucking course you have.”

“Sunoo paid me a pretty convincing fee for me to sit pretty at his sister’s wedding,” you explain before shifting your gaze to Soobin, a smile playing on your lips. His fingernails dig into his palms. “Obviously for Soobin, I’ll do it for free. But we have a problem.”

His eyes flit away not even a second after, chest tightening on the spot.

“Yeah. I think we need to work on that.”

Thus begins the series of daily staring contests between the both of you for the next four days until Saturday. It scares the shit out of him when you bang on his door at random times of the day just to torment him with your very existence. Soobin knows you’re doing this to help him. He knows, he really does, but he’s not very good at maintaining eye contact without his heart racing at an unhealthy rate and without sweating profusely. His longest record has been ten and a half seconds before his face explodes like a volcano.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think this is gonna work.”

Soobin’s muffled voice is weak, red face buried into his palms as you both sit cross-legged on his mattress after another failed staring contest. The rows and rows of anime figurines he has displayed next to his bed are all staring at him in disgusting judgment. It’s now Friday. The reunion is tomorrow, and he can’t even look at you— much less pretend like you’ve been dating for the past six fucking months.

“No! You can do it, Soobin! I believe in you! Let’s try one more time, okay?”

You grab his hands, pulling them away from his face and they settle on his soft blankets, yours over his, and he starts silently freaking out because shit— holy shit, you’re squeezing his knuckles. It’s barely any pressure, but he feels it shooting into his throat like a silver snake choking him with ten pints of venom and that’s not even the worst part because you’ve decided to start looking him in the eye again. 

He rasps out a little noise and tilts his head down to the right. You do the same. He shifts his gaze to the left. You do the fucking same, chasing after his eyes relentlessly like a god damned predator on the hunt and he can feel his palms sweating pathetically into his blanket while you’re still locking them in place.

“Okay,” you breathe out, leaning back and he finally feels the blood circulating into his fingers. “What if we follow Jay’s suggestion instead and have you wear sunglasses the entire time?”

Honestly, it’s about time you gave up on him. 

Your eyebrows are scrunched, deep in thought. Soobin can look at you right now because you’re spacing out and not attacking him with the depth of your stare. He’s not used to attention in general, so something about your pretty eyes with pretty eyelashes and prettily focused expression looking directly at him just renders him completely useless. It’s fine when you’re absentmindedly looking at the posters on his wall, still in the midst of weighing your options. It’s fine because you aren’t focused on him.

“But the event is indoors and in the evening, so that won’t make a lot of sense.” And his composure immediately topples down when you flit your gaze back at him. His breath hitches in his throat. “Soobin, do you have any other ideas?”

He grabs the nearest pillow and squeezes it to his chest. “Do— do we have to do this? Can’t we just show up and leave after ten minutes?” Better yet, he just doesn’t show up at all. But you’ve been putting in so much effort these past few days, so he doesn’t want to cancel out of nowhere.

You frown. “Eye contact is the first step to selling that we’re a real couple! Even if we stay for only ten minutes, they’ll get suspicious if you can’t even look at me,” you tell him. “Soobin, let’s keep trying. C’mon.” 

Soobin is trying. He really is trying his best but one more round and he feels he might actually rupture a brain vessel. “Alright,” you exhale. “Nevermind. We’ll handle it somehow. I’ll head back to my room now so you can rest up. See you tomorrow.”

It takes no time for you to get off his bed and start walking to his door. His stomach sinks, watching your back as you reach out for the doorknob and Soobin feels like he had just disappointed you. 

He moves before his mind can think. Before he knows it, he’s out of the bed and is holding your wrist and pulling your hand away from the door. 

You look at him. He looks at you, drenched in the color of panic and confusion and at the same time a shade of earnest emotion. It stays like this for a good couple of seconds, until your lips curl into a smile and your free arm reaches up to his head, fingers dipping into his hair for a light pat.

“Thirty seconds. Good job. See you tomorrow.”

Now you completely understand why Soobin didn’t want to attend this dumpfest.

The hotel function room is fancy. Truly fancy. But the elegant crystal interiors and decor can’t hide the scent of pretentious obnoxiousness in the air, and the music siphoning through the speakers can’t drown out the sound of shit and crap and trash being exchanged between alleged old friends and classmates. It’s gross. The only saving grace of the night is the wine you’re swirling in your hand, regulating your slowly thinning patience at the scene before you.

“Soobin, buddy! Oh man, I didn’t think you’d make it!”

Here we go again. This is the what— fourth, fifth person? Soobin greets number five with less enthusiasm than the newcomer. He’s already worn out, poor boy. You prepare to intervene when you get an opening.

“Jaeyul,” Soobin says. “Hi.”

“It’s been a while, aye? You look great, man! What’s your glow up secret? You gotta tell men dude.”

Another patronizing comment from a mediocre looking male at best. They’re really lucky Soobin is an angel. You can see the discomfort in his smile when the Jae-something bastard hooks him by the neck, tugging your beanpole down because he’s at least four inches taller than his snotty ex-classmate. He looks even more uncomfortable than the time he got an unsolicited view of your red underwear. If it were you, you would’ve already kneed him in the balls to shut up his endlessly chattering mouth.

The guy’s gaze finally lands on you, tucked quietly behind Soobin’s shoulder. Took him long enough, honestly. You’ve been giving him the nastiest stare you can muster for the past five minutes, it’s honestly amazing that he only noticed now. “Who’s this?” he asks. Now, he’s just blatantly checking out someone else’s (fake) girlfriend. You hold back a scoff, but a sneer manages to slip out.

Soobin straightens, ready to repeat the script he’s been cycling through since the beginning of the night. “O-oh, this— this is—” But he seems to be a lot more nervous now. You decide to take the reins and give him a break.

“I’m his girlfriend,” you give Jae-whatever a smile, stepping forward to hold onto Soobin’s arm, who in return flinches at your touch. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your whole reunion. It’s just that I can’t bear to be apart from my Soobin for too long, you know?”

You’re hoping that your sickeningly sweet tone disgusts the living hell out of him and drives him away, but for some reason he lacks the social awareness to do that. “No, not at all. In fact, completely understand. I’m a taken man myself, you know?” That makes this situation a million times worse. He momentarily shifts away from you and directs his next words to Soobin. “Do you remember Bitna? We started seeing each other a few months ago.”

You can feel him stiffen next to you. “Congrats. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Didn’t you used to have a crush on her? I remember you’d give her chocolates every valentine’s—”

The twitch in his grin doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Alright, enough of this bullshit. You’re done humoring this bastard.

“Oh, sorry!” he turns to you again. “That was tactless of me, oh no. I apologize.”

You press your lips together, still smiling. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really paying attention to the bullshit you’ve been tirelessly spouting. I was wondering when you’d shut your trap and finally fuck off.”

Soobin snaps his head towards you, eyes wide in alarm. His dear old friend looks equally shocked. You hum and maintain your expression, pressing yourself closer to Soobin. “Is Bitna the one looking at us right now? Oh dear.” Shot in the dark, but you hit the mark anyway. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse us. My boyfriend and I will be heading back to our suite now to have absolutely brain-shattering, mind-numbing sex for the rest of the night that you—from the looks of your girlfriend over there— won’t be having for the rest of the week if you’re lucky enough to salvage your relationship. It was nice meeting you!”

You can see Bitna stomping her way over to her boyfriend, carrying a palpable dark force in her wake, so you quickly tug Soobin away by the hand and make your quick exit out the function room and into the elevator. You’re aware of how Soobin is currently looking at you like you’re insane as you press on the lowermost button on the panel. His eyes are practically drilling into the side of your face.

“This— this isn’t the way to our room.”

“I know,” you reply, watching as the doors close in front of you. Jay booked a room to sell your whole schtick a little further, but looks like you won’t be able to use it. “We’re not going to our room. That is unless you actually want to follow through with what I said earlier?”

When you turn to look at him, he’s already drenched in pink. You hold back a laugh. They make it so easy for you to mess with them. “I’m joking. I doubt you’d want to spend a minute longer here, so let’s just dip. These clothes are getting stuffy.”

Somehow you found yourselves at the 7-Eleven outside your subdivision, overdressed and sharing a pint of ice cream and two beers under the empty store’s fluorescent lights. You stuff a spoonful into your mouth and let your gaze linger on him for a while. Soobin has his head down, quietly staring at the top of his beer can. With a face like that, you think he’d be more confident and outspoken, but it’s almost funny how he’s trying to scrunch up his large frame in the tiny seat in front of you.

Look, you’re simply tapping an index finger on the back of his hand and he immediately flinches and draws it back. He’s so shy, so timid that you can’t help but grow soft on him.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says since you left the hotel.

You rest your cheek against your palm. “For what?”

“I mean, it’s just that— you spent the past four days making sure I didn’t mess up our whole act, but I messed it up anyway and we ended up leaving early. I’m sorry for wasting all your time and effort like that. I’m—I’m really sorry for being so hopeless and pathetic and—”

“Hey, don’t say that,” you cut him off. “If there’s anyone that’s pathetic, it’s that Jaeyun? No, Jaeyun is Jake. It’s that Jae-something bastard who’s pathetic. I mean, was he not loved enough as a child? Does he have a disease that makes everything that comes out of his mouth unrecyclable trash? Anyway, if anything, it should be me and the rest of the boys apologizing for forcing you into this. I’ll help you guilt trip them later when we get—”

You stop. You stop because you notice how his eyes are getting a little red, and how they’re getting a little glassy, and how he’s nipping at his bottom lip that you’re afraid it might start bleeding.

“Oh. Oh no. Soobin, please don’t cry.”

And he starts crying. Well, fuck.

You hastily get out of your seat and plop down right next to him, letting his head drop down to your shoulder. He continues sniffling as you switch between rubbing his back and giving him pats on the head, staring blankly at the empty aisles because the last thing you expected to do today is comfort a grown man in a dingy convenience store while you’re in high heels and a strappy dress.

“Let’s have a movie marathon with the boys when we get back, okay?”

At least you’ve gotten better at consoling people. It seems like a useful skill to have for the rest of your stay.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[loupy-mongoose]

Warning: This part contains topics of death and grief.

In-universe it is early November.

~~~~~~

Randy shivered against a sharp, cold breeze. He propped up his turtleneck.

Ready to go inside? Mr. Fuji's brow raised in questioning.

Randy nodded. Yeah.

The two men had been taking pleasant walk and chatting, Randy getting to know some of the residents of Mr. Fuji's care. He found the Alolan Rattata particularly fascinating--It was the first time he could really stop and notice how different a Dark type felt from other types. It was a bizarre effect. Almost like there was a mist of... nothingness, keeping him from feeling it's mind.

But now the wind was starting to pick up, and his sweater wasn't quite pulling its weight. He was beginning to find himself missing the relative warmth of Paldea.

As they approached Mr. Fuji's house, a small tune suddenly began playing, causing Fuji to turn, startled, toward Randy. After a moment, Randy realized what it was and pulled his phone from his pocket.

...I need to take this.

...

He sighed, and answered the call. Now by himself outside, he gave a nervous smile to the recipient who couldn't see him. Hey.

The voice on the other end was as warm, loving, and soothing as ever, but still filled Randy with the dread of knowing what was coming.

Hey. I got your message. Is now a good time?

The man's eyebrows lowered anxiously. Straight to the point, huh, Mom...

You said it was important.

Yeah.... I did...

I'm just... Not too excited to say it...

Viviana's voice took on a new alertness. What? Are you okay??

Randy fidgeted with his unoccupied hand, winding some hair around his fingers. I'm fine now...

But...

He sighed again.

This was it.

Mom...

I....

I had a heart attack.

He heard a sharp draw of breath over the phone.

He knew this wasn't something his mother would like to hear, but she had to know.

He went on.

A bad one.

My...

My heart stopped beating.

His mom stayed silent.

It was an... unusually stressful situation...

Akoya managed to resuscitate me, and I got the help I needed... I'm doing well now.

He listened for a response. But she said nothing.

...

Mom?

Mm!

Her voice broke, and she sounded as if a trance had been broken.

Sorry... I'm... processing...

Randy tugged at the neck of his sweater. Yeah.... I understand...

They both went quiet.

Oh, Randy...

Her voice was filled with emotion.

I wish I could give you a hug right now...

Yeah... He looked down at the grass blowing in the cold breeze, once more shivering. I do too... I'm sorry, I just thought it would be better for you to know sooner, rather than wait for our next visit.

Oh, no, no! I'm glad you told me! It's just a lot to take in. I'm sure it has been for you all, too.

...

How's Akoya?

Randy felt a pang for his wife.

He saw the lines that had appeared under her eyes.

He knew she had been having trouble sleeping since the event.

He noticed that she always matched her form to his.

He knew that she kept secret fears to herself.

Secret fears that it would happen again.

That she would need to sync their heartbeats again.

Randy...

He snapped his attention back to his mom.

Don't...

Don't forget...

What it's like to be on the other end...

A memory sprang into his minds eye, giving him a chill unlike what the weather could.

Okay?

His father.

Lying on the ground.

His mom over the lifeless form, fruitlessly struggling to revive him against all hope.

The sound of the operator on the other end of the phone, their words blurred out of his memory with age.

His own helpless panic.

Yeah...

Warm tears burned his eye.

I remember...

Mom...

I love you.

So much.

He heard her sniff and take a shaky breath.

I love you too, Son.

Come visit soon, okay?

Randy wiped his eyes.

Yeah.

Sounds good.

~~~~~~

I know this is a heavy topic, and I apologize if any part of it is misrepresentative. It's not a conversation type I've ever had to experience, but it's something I felt needed to be part of the story.

[adenobabe]

Let me help you darlin’

My first iii fic 🥹 there will be many more to come. I love this man so much and am truly feral for him in the smuttiest and sweetest ways!! 🌸

This is a long one….if you love iii as much as I do, I hope you enjoy! xx

Tags/warnings: sleep token iii x F!reader, no y/n, you’re his assistant, smut, fluff, slow burn (it’s worth it trust me), friends to lovers, iii is a sweetie and has a filthy mouth, teasing, oral (f receiving), explicit language, he talks you through it, praise kink, size kink, p in v (intercourse), love making if you squint, light choking, hand kink.

*************************MDNI**************************

It has been a very long tour. So much travelling, so many late nights and long hours but it’s also been one of the most rewarding experiences you have ever had. As the assistant to Vessel, iii, iv and ii you have naturally developed strong bonds with each of them. Whether it be coffee runs, admin work, organising their outfits, helping to apply their body paint, you were their right hand woman for everything. You truly loved every minute of it and made such special bonds with them all, especially iii. You both just clicked from the beginning. It was honestly impossible not to considering you were often sharing a tour bus with him and the rest of the boys. Most nights were spent playing Mario Kart or Fortnite with iii and eventually falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch together. Your giggles and laughs late into the night with each other filling the bus. None of the boys batted an eye though in fact they just enjoyed your company so much and how happy your friendship made iii.

Although you were beyond happy for the success of the tour and glad you were all going to finally be able to take a break, you couldn’t help but feel slightly upset at the fact that tonight was the last show. As you heard the crowd cheer for their closing, you saw iii come around first backstage. You watched him as he made his way through the crew. Things between yourself and iii were always kept at the friend level and you tried to remain professional in most settings, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the longing glances and attraction you both started to develop for one another over the past few months. Really from the moment you both met. You’d always found iii so incredibly attractive, you’d never admitted it to him of course, always trying to push it away or push down the feelings and thoughts you had about him. The sexual tension had been building for quite a while now, especially living in such close quarters with him. You just couldn’t deny the pull to him you felt. Every time you saw him you felt yourself spiralling, your heart would race and your thoughts battling between he’s your friend stop it and god just take me now. And in this moment you definitely could not ignore the wetness pooling in your panties and the throbbing between your legs you felt seeing him masked up, his hair hanging over his face and sweat dripping down his neck leaving a trail of peeled back paint his bare skin peeking through, as he made his way through backstage. Oh god he looked so hot.

His eyes lit up as soon as he spotted you amongst the crew making a b-line straight for you. “There you are, love!” You snapped out of your lustful thoughts, and relaxed the suddenly apparent tight grip you had on your clipboard. You beamed up at iii, his height towering over you. “You did so great out there! What a way to end the tour!” You said with such pride. “Thank you love we could not have done this without you, I really mean it.” He leaned down for a hug and lifted you up catching you by surprise. You giggled as the clipboard you were holding fell on the floor. “Oopsie sorry my bad darlin!” iii said as he put you back down. You both went to reach for it bumping heads. “Oh god love I am so sorry! I didn’t mean-” he placed his hand on your forehead “no no it’s fine I’m so stupid!” You laughed. iii delicately held your forehead in his hands and you met each others gaze his hand dropping to the side of your cheek. You felt your cheeks blush under his big hands his eyes wandering to your lips and back up to your eyes. “You look really beautiful tonight love.” You held his gaze, unable to say anything back shocked by his compliment, his big beautiful blue eyes staring into yours before suddenly seeing Vessel come into your peripheral as he made his way off stage. “Sorry I um l didn’t mean to- is your forehead okay?” iii quickly took his hands off you and straightened himself up. You nodded back at him “yeah I’m okay…I better go check to see if anyone needs um water…” You hurried off, accidentally leaving your clipboard behind in your flustered state making your way straight out the venue to the tour bus.

As you made your way inside you sat on one of the couches in a huff and turned the A/C on desperate to cool yourself down. You couldn’t stop thinking about iii’s hands on you, how big they were how good his hand would feel around your throat and his fingers inside- did he really mean what he said? no stop he is your boss, your friend. You had already blurred the lines so much considering you spent most nights gaming together and developed such a close friendship not to mention how much just a graze of his finger or his eyes on you you lit up a fire deep in your core.

The boys wouldn’t be back for a while so you knew you had some time to get dressed up before joining them for a big celebratory drinks and dinner with the rest of the crew. You sat for a moment your thoughts spinning when suddenly you realised how quiet it was, it was the first time in weeks you were completely alone and if you’re being honest it had also been weeks since you had gotten off, there was never any privacy. With the sexual tension between you and iii brewing it was becoming torturous not being able to let all of it out. There were times you tried to but with iii sleeping right above you in his bunk, you just knew you wouldn’t be able to contain your pathetic whimpers as you played with yourself thinking about his fingers being your own. Perhaps you could take some time to sort yourself out before getting dressed up to go out for dinner you thought to yourself. You needed this out of your system.

After having a cool shower you dried yourself off and threw on a robe making your way back to the couch. As you got yourself comfortable you closed your eyes, took some slow deep breaths, and let your mind wander soon enough landing on iii. Your mind was racing with the thought of him between your legs eating you out or him towering over you his hand on your throat ramming his cock into you making you take all of him. You were desperate to hear him moan in your ear or have his hands in your hair as you take him in your mouth and down your throat. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore and slipped your fingers down into your panties gathering your slick to rub long big circles on your clit teasing yourself, your robe falling down your shoulders. Your breath hitched throwing your head back as you bucked your hips up desperate for more. God this felt so good. You slid your panties down your legs allowing your legs to fall open spreading them out on the couch. Your fingers quickened around your clit in fast tight small circles, pumping your fingers in and out of your dripping hole, your climax building as you moaned getting lost in the feeling and fantasy of iii filling and stretching you out “oh iii fuck baby.” Your breath quickened, moans leaving your lips completely letting yourself get lost in your fantasy. Just as you were about to reach your high, the door to the bus opened suddenly and iii entered, your clipboard in his hand. Your eyes shot open you froze in disbelief your fingers still inside of you. He saw the panic on your face as he stood there in shock seeing you sprawled out on the couch your pussy dripping and the flustered look on your face. You saw his eyes drop to your fingers, the sound of the clipboard dropping to the floor quickly bringing you back to reality.

You quickly closed your legs scrambling to use your robe to cover yourself. “Fuck oh god iii I am..I am so sorry I um-” you cheeks flushed intensely as you stood up and tightened your robe. “I am so sorry I-you left your clipboard I came to bring it back I didn’t mean to walk in on you-” iii picked up your clipboard and set it down on the table. “NO I um- fucking hell, it’s okay I didn’t know you would be back for a while I well I just needed some alone time you know? It’s been a while and god this is so embarrassing.” You awkwardly crossed your arms and looked down at the floor. “I get it trust me, I’m sorry I ruined it for you I could tell you were close. You um you look really beautiful like that actually.” iii moved closer to you. “You-you what?” You looked at him in disbelief the aching between your legs building again just at his words. “Yeah, I could tell by that pretty look on your face you were close.” He placed his hand under your chin moving your face to meet his gaze, “You know….I could help you with that darlin.” iii stood in front of you looking down at you. His hand moved to yours bringing your fingers to his mouth taking his mask off. You watched him transfixed on him, your heart racing and your knees getting weak as he put your fingers in his mouth licking and sucking them clean, the same fingers you were just using to play with yourself. “Fuck you taste so good, love. You have no idea how long I’ve been desperate to taste you, to kiss you, to make you cum over and over again.” He moved his hand to your cheek “Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me I’m not absolutely mad for thinking you want this just as much as I do.” He says running his hand through your hair lingering as he brings his hand down your neck gently moving his thumb over your pulse. You take his hand in yours moving his hand down to your wetness. You moan at the contact as you confess to him “feel that? That’s because of you. You have no idea how crazy you make me. For weeks I’ve wanted nothing more than your hands on me or in me. Just the thought of you makes me so wet.” you move his fingers around your clit whimpering. iii’s eyes grow darker as he feels your wetness dripping onto his fingers “fuck” is all that leaves his lips as barely a whisper.

All his patience gone now that he knows you want him just as bad as he wants you, the months of sexual tension erupting inside of him and finally his lips are on yours passionately groaning into your mouth as he holds your face with his other hand. You moan into his mouth the feeling of him rubbing circles on your clit, his tongue now in your mouth making you head fuzzy and the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach grow again. iii pulls away from the kiss “You sure about this love” his lips hovering over yours, his other hand caressing your cheek and moving your hair behind your shoulder. “More than anything iii, please I need you.” iii smiles back at you his lips back on yours as he picks you up wrapping your legs around him neither of you breaking the kiss. His big hands holding your legs around him pressing you into him as he moves them underneath your ass his long fingers grazing your aching core. You can feel how hard he is underneath his pants, his hard cock pressing into your stomach begging for release. He moves you both the edge of the couch setting you down and dropping to his knees. He pulls you by your legs closer to him. “Lay back for me love need to taste your pretty pussy.” You lay back as iii’s gaze drops to your dripping mess below. You watch him as he spreads your legs resting your calves on his shoulders. “Fuck me you are so perfect.” His hands smooth up and down your thighs moving over your lower stomach taking in the site before him before bringing one hand to rest on your thighs the other rubbing through your folds his two fingers rubbing up and down gathering your wetness. You moan watching him as he teases your clit moving his two fingers up and down slowly. “Mmm that feel good baby? Look at how wet you are. A dripping mess all for me? I’m so lucky.” You buck your hips at him the feeling of his long fingers moving achingly slow over your clit sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Oh yeah that definitely feels good doesn’t it? I’ll speed up soon baby just want to savour this as long as I can. I’ve waited so so long.”

He moves his hands down your thighs moving himself closer to your pussy your thighs on his shoulder as he brings his hands to rest on your sides caressing you gently with his thumbs. He looks up at you, your breath hitching as he gets achingly closer. You watch him below you holding his gaze as he kisses your clit before licking a long stripe all the way from your dripping hole to your clit, kissing it again sucking gently. You moan tightening your thighs around him locking your legs behind his head. Running your fingers through his hair gently tugging earning yourself a groan from him. “Jesus fucking Christ you taste so good I could do this forever.” His hands held your sides his long fingers resting below your breasts. “iii please-” you pleaded his slow pace and gentle kisses driving you crazy your wetness dripping down his chin. “I know, I know darling. You’re doing so well. Just so beautiful.” His fingers replacing his tongue as he calmed you down with his voice. “Feels so good hmm? How about this?” He pushed two fingers into your pussy moaning as the sounds of your wet squelching filled the room his fingers stroking a spot in you that made you clench around him. “Want me to go faster honey? You look so fucking hot with my fingers inside of you.” he asked as he pumped his fingers in and out of you “want you to fucking suffocate me with your pussy.” His tongue back on your clit his gaze up at you watching you get closer and closer to coming undone for him. You could barely let out a coherent thought your mouth open your chest heaving up and down as you could feel his pace quickening his face fully buried in you now, squirming under his hands holding you in place your breathy moans becoming louder nearly screaming in pleasure as he sucked on your clit. “iii oh god I’m so close you’re gonna make me cum. Don’t stop.” He moaned against your clit moving his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him, sending vibrations through you and tipping you over the edge your pussy clenching around his fingers, weeks of pent up sexual frustration spilling down his chin dripping to the floor below you both. His fingers fucking you through your orgasm and tongue working quick over your clit he glanced up at you watching you come undone for him, because of him, it drove him crazy, grinding his hard cock into the couch desperate for some kind of friction, his cock leaking precum into his boxers.

Waves of pleasure continued to wash over you, your vision blurry and your legs still shaking as iii slowly pulled his fingers out of you bringing them up to his mouth to taste you one last time. “That was the hottest thing I have ever seen. You are so beautiful when you cum for me.” You looked up at him his tall figure coming into focus as you felt his hand move to the side of your face caressing your cheek. “You okay love?” You nodded in response “best orgasm of my life.” You pull him to you gently kissing his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue, as iii moves you back onto the couch him laying on top of you between your legs your robe discarded somewhere on the floor.

You move your hands up his torso and down to his pants. “You’re still fully clothed, that’s not fair now is it?” You smiled up at him as you sat up reaching to push his pants down his cock desperately hard a wet spot on his boxers. Your eyes widen at the size of him, even in his boxers he looks so big. Your pussy throbs at the excitement and nervousness of feeling him fill you up and being inside of you. iii sees your reaction and kisses your forehead and moves your hand over him. “Feel how hard you make me? Every single day for months I’ve been achingly hard for you desperate to fuck your pretty pussy.” He whispers against your lips kissing your cheek down your jaw to your neck. You move your hand to his waistband pushing them down freeing him from his boxers. “Fuck” he hisses through his teeth feeling the cool air on him bucking his cock into your hand. You stroke his long thick veiny length his hand coming to rest behind your head kissing you and moaning into your mouth thrusting himself into your hand. “iii you’re…you’re so big.” You say against his lips as you gather your slickness moving it over the tip of his cock. iii groaned at the feeling hanging his head over you his hair tickling your face. “My sweet boy.” You say as you move his hair from his face tucking it behind his ears. “Making my cock leak so much, so hard for you love.” His breath hitched as you continued to work over the tip of his cock moving down his shaft, lightly tugging on his balls. “Here baby let me make you more comfortable.” You moved his pants and boxers down more throwing them and his shirt somewhere across the room. You caught a glimmer of nervousness in him that made your heart swell. “Doing alright sweet?” “Never better” he smiled at you as you brought his face back down to yours kissing him deeply. iiis hands moved to your legs spreading them to rest himself between them. Sitting up he wrapped his hand around his cock moving it up and down your wet folds groaning at the slickness covering him lightly tapping on your clit sending jolts through your body. You grabbed for him bringing him back down as you wrapped your legs around him moving against his cock coatings your wetness over him. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you realised you were about to be stretched out and filled to the brim by the man you’ve been pining for, for so long. Seeing him like this, so hard and desperate for you, grinding against you made your head dizzy and your desire grow and grow. iii kissed down your neck sucking and biting at your skin licking the wound that was sure to leave a mark. You didn’t care, you wanted him to claim you as his.

iii moved his hand back down to his cock pressing his tip at the entrance of you his eyes on you watching you as he pushed in inch by inch. “Fuck. That’s it love, relax for me doing so well.” His size bigger than you’ve ever experienced before, he filled you completely to the brim inch by inch stretching you so good. “Oh god-” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he filled you completely bottoming out in you, your pussy clenching around him. iii stilled in you letting you adjust to his size. “Fuck you’re so tight around me. Feel so fucking good.” He leaned down his hand guiding you to look at him before kissing your lips. With your legs wrapped around him he started moving in and out of you slowly, moans and curses leaving both of your mouths as you met him with each thrust in disbelief with how good he felt, how good he was making you feel. You’ve never had someone make you completely lose yourself in ecstasy and moan in the ways you are right now. It was truly heaven. You felt so close to him so intimate with him. iii moved the hair out of your face, thrusting in and out of you, moaning against your lips “so beautiful. Taking me so well. Want to be inside you forever.” You felt his cock twitching in you as he moved his hand down between you rubbing circles on your clit, your breathing becoming erratic again breathy moans and whimpers escaping your lips your fingernails digging into his back. “That’s it baby. You sound like heaven. Making me so feral for you seriously.” You moved his hand desperately to your throat your hand on top of his, his eyes going wide. “Need your big hands around my throat.” “Fuck.” He kept his hand around your throat gently pressing the sides of your neck and releasing as he pumped in and out of you quicker his other hand continuing to rub circles around your clit. You felt your climax building and building as iii pressed his forehead against yours, breathing into each other “fuck iii I’m so close.” “Me too baby cum for me, cum all around my cock.” iii kept his pace in and out of you circling your clit staring into each others eyes, you came undone again throbbing and tightening around his cock, your back arching off the couch and mouth falling open, your orgasm ripping through you from head to toe you swore you died and went to heaven. iii’s hands were all over you as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm your moans spurring him on. He linked his arms under your thighs pressing them into the mattress, pumping in and out of you faster, and groaning against your lips “oh fuck take all of me in your pussy, feel all of me, you feel so good.” The squeezing of you around him milking his cock, his thrusts becoming erratic. You held him close your orgasm washing over you, grabbing his face to look at you spurring him on as he chased his release “look at me when you cum in me iii. You feel so big so thick and big inside of me.” iii came hard moaning against your lips his head falling to the side of you as hot ropes of cum painted your insides. The feeling of him twitching inside of you, his praises and moans bringing you close to yet another orgasm. iii kept fucking into you slowly, his cock still hard riding his high until he stilled in you both of you coming down from your highs. He kissed you slowly with so much passion savouring the taste of you on his lips, butterflies growing in your stomach again. “I could do this all night. Want to be inside you forever.” You moved his hair out of his face looking into his eyes “me too baby.” You and iii spent another hour making each other come undone over and over the dinner you were meant to be having with the rest of the boys and crew becoming a lost thought.

Ok I could write forever about this man. Byeeeee!

[happy-beeeps]

Naïveté

Summary: Astarion begins to reconcile with the fact he might have fallen for you, only to worry you've caught an interest in someone else. Earllllllly act 2, minor spoilers for act 2!

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav

Warnings/tags: fluff, miscommunication if you squint, jealous!astarion, platonic!wyll x tav, slightly ooc Astarion because I'm still learning to write him so be nice PLEASE😭🥺

WC: 2k

a/n: I'm finishing a character sheet for tav so we can have her backstory, but she's who I've been using this playthrough and I've been really enjoying her story. When I post on Ao3 she'll have a name, but I'm going to leave her unnamed here! Also, will have a seperate BG3 spot on my masterlist soon!

It’s late at camp, and by the time you finish indulging in a bottle of wine with Karlach, you figure you’re the only one still up. It’s been a long night, and an even longer few days, spent trudging through the grimy depths of the Shadowcursed lands and just barely making it out of the encounter with Marcus alive. Isobel had given you the ability to travel freely, but all you could do was set up camp near the inn.

The firelight is dim when you make your way back from the secluded spot near Karlach’s tent, and Astarion’s tent is sealed tightly. You contemplate going over, just peaking your head in to see if he’s deep in trance yet, but you change your mind. After your previous night’s conversation, you’re still not sure on speaking terms. It plays out over and over again in your mind. Naive, he’d called you, your heart was too big. 

You tried to be reasonable. You were naive. You were young, and perhaps no one but Wyll new exactly how young. To be ninety as an elf was to be just becoming an adult. No one else had known, no else had asked, including Astarion. You chalked it up to his truly immortal lifespan, he hadn’t cared about aging for 200 years, why start now?

Still, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him, or the thrill that shook your bones when he would quietly rush into your tent each morning, murmuring the incantation for lesser restoration. You still thought of the way he looked at Gale when he asked to consume that locket all those days back. “I’m glad you let him suffer for a moment, darling,” he’d murmured into your ear that night, his breath tingly on your neck, “That one’s ours.”

There’d been other nights since your first night together, while you hadn’t slept together in completion since, all passion and teeth and sweat. Sometimes you’d just kiss him, wrapped up in nothing else but this bliss of arms and scent. Lately though, he’d been closed off—distant. His conversation the previous night had come out of nowhere, as if you were standing on the doorstep of Moonrise Towers that very instant. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts, consumed of Astarion, that you nearly missed Wyll’s form standing near the dimming fire, moving around in a dance you actually recognized.

“I hope I’m not interrupting practice,” you smiled, giving the man ample warning before you stumbled into his rehearsal. 

Wyll wheeled on you, a faint blush growing across his cheeks. “It’s one of those old courting dances, it’d be a cold day in the hells before I’d ever forget them.”

“Oh I’m quite familiar,” you murmured, thinking back to your own youth, your own debutante ball, before you lost everything. “Everyone else around here forgets I come from taste.”

Wyll snorts, “Sure don’t smell like it.”

Your friendship with Wyll is a special thing. No one else can understand what it felt like to be from a Noble family, the expectations and the experience it comes with. When your family had been killed and their wealth assumed, you were completely on your own. Learning how to pickpockets and lie had not been a part of your expensive and tasteful education.

Dancing, however, came second nature.

You move to stand in front of him without really thinking, decades of experience guiding your motions. “Go on, let’s see what you can do.”

He’s a fine partner, moving cautiously around you and guiding your hand easily. Even when he brings you closer for a slightly more intimate dance, his hands nor his eyes never stray. 

“I wonder what I’d have done if I ever saw you at one of the balls my father sent me too.” He murmurs.

“I’m certain you did. Though you would’ve been young. I haven’t been in nearly a decade.”

He chuckles, and clucks his tongue for a moment, “Just practically a baby, far to young to approach Fey nobility.” Before bowing in front of you and wishing you goodnight. There’s the smallest beat where he looks at you as if he has something to say. You look at him for the smallest moment. It would be so easy to love him, if you were anyone else. He’s exactly who your father would have picked for you, save his humanity. But, despite it, you can’t. You can’t fake the flutter you get when you Astarion’s cold hands tickle your fingers, or the tickle of his hair on your cheek when he’s pressed against your neck. You’re not naive enough to admit this to Astarion, but from the fleeting glance you send to his tent, you can see that Wyll already knows. He leaves you with a knowing glance and a soft goodnight. You go back to your own tent, happy to have removed the thought of the curse, of Ketheric, and even of your own problems for just a moment.

So full of contentedness in fact, you don’t notice the scarlet eyes peering at you from the slat of their tent, a whirlwind of emotions cascading over them.

* * *

Astarion doesn’t hide his mild disdain for Wyll, or anyone to be fair, to begin with, but the following morning he bears down on the man like an ogre. “I didn’t anticipate you being quite so light on your feet. The Blade stands at the ready, and also ready to pirouette, I suppose?”

Wyll rolls his eyes at Astarion’s quip, used to the sarcasm, but somewhat surprised at the intensity of the rogue’s grip on his arm. “Wasn’t aware I couldn’t have past times.”

“By all means feel free to entertain us with a ballet in between slaughters,” his voice hushes as you walk by, looking at the two men skeptically, “I’d just prefer if your duets didn’t happen whilst I’m trying to read.”

Wyll follows Astarion’s slightly fleeting to his retreating gaze. You’re standing behind him, out of earshot, leaning against Lae’zel’s tent while she sharpens your sword. Astarion’s stare is enough to allow him to piece everything together. “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Only if you accept that I may ignore it entirely.”

“She’s wonderful. And she’s made her choice without giving anyone else a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.”

Wyll walks away, and Astarion is left alone again with his thoughts. Contrary to Wyll’s belief, he thinks it might actually kill him to get to know you. He’s been balancing precariously on his fight to not let himself be fully consumed by you and your grace, your goodness. You were a spoilt little thing, he was sure of that, and he had meant what he said that night by the water. It didn’t mean it hurt his chest more when your face fell. “Naive?” there was a crack in your cool, crafted facade. Genuine hurt had settled there for a moment, and something akin to disappointment. He hadn’t known how to face you since, hadn’t known how to say “I’m sorry! I’m falling for you and can’t help it and I’m terrified!”

So instead he said nothing at all, and resolved to say something later.

* * *

You had just gotten back to camp for the night, Karlach nearly giggling at the amount of gold she had stuffed in her pockets from the tollhouse. You had noticed Astarion’s eyes on you, heavy and pensive, when you had dealt with the Master of Coin, how easily you’d convinced her to simply cease to be. That was perhaps the easiest transition from nobility to rogue you had, the gift of a silver tongue and wide, batting eyes.

You changed into your camp clothes and watched Karlach throw gold pieces at an increasingly irritated Lae’zel, Gale standing nearby doing his best to keep spirits high in this eerie camp, working with whatever cured meats and cheeses you still had to attempt to make a dinner. You had changed into camp clothes and grabbed one of the books you had found in the tollmaster’s office, a shockingly smutty romance novel that had to be even older than you. It was quiet in the corner you found, somewhere even Halsin’s booming laugh had faded into quiet background noise. You tried to not think about your surroundings, about your increasing frustration with Astarion, or the odd way his gaze had hung on you all day. 

“I’m always impressed by that tongue of yours, petal.” The vampire’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and he settled beside you on the ground, arms behind him as he reclined easily next to you.

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and the pet name. “Yet you’ve been leaving me and my tongue to our thoughts the past few days.” You huffed, flipping the book to the next page, though not really reading any of it 

If Astarion could blush, he looked as if he would. “We’ve been a bit busy darling. I’ve been…strategizing.”

“Strategizing?”

“Precisely.”

The quiet overtook the two of you. After being so distant, if he didn’t want to come to you, then so be it. You could not—would not–crack first. He could not even begin to know the bubbling furnace of your feelings, or you’d be positively done for.

“How old are you?”

His question strikes you, strikes you enough that you set the book off to the side and face him. “At what point did you start to ask me questions?”

“When I realized I had done something to anger my favorite companion,” his fingers reach out and trace small patterns on your skin. “How old are you?”

“Ninety.” Your voice moves to a whisper at the end of the word, and his eyebrows quirk.

“Only ninety and yet alone. And Balduran?”

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there since I was seventy five.”

“Something happened,” he rocks upward, now sitting nearer to you. “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m so naive.” It comes out more bitter than you meant, but oh well. He deserved it.

“Naive wasn’t the right word,” he looks like he’s fighting himself to turn out the next sentence. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

You smile softly, laying a hand on top of his. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I appreciate the apology.”

He grins, his deep set smile lines settling in your favorite way. “Tell me about your childhood.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to say. I was an only child, an only daughter. I used to play the lyre, learn languages, paint–”

“You come from nobility.”

“I sort of thought it was obvious,” you shrug and tap your knee against his, “I wasn’t supposed to be out in the middle of a campground, much less learning the ways of a rogue.”

“What were you supposed to be?”

“A wife, I guess.”

“And while I’m sure suitors everywhere are devastated, I much prefer my rogue.”

My. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You let the word hang there, testing to see if he reaches back to grab it, but he doesn’t. It gets quiet for a moment after that, and you can see him spinning the illusion in his head. You, swathed in organza, spinning around a marble ballroom, entertaining suitors. 

“Is that why you danced with Wyll?”

“Ah,” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder. You love these fleeting moments of intimacy, where you can both pretend to be nothing more than lovers on an adventure. “So this was spurred by jealousy?”

“As if I have anything to be jealous over Wyll. He wishes he looked half as good as me.” His words lack their normal bite, and he turns his head softly, so he’s speaking quietly, just to you. “But perhaps in the future you’d let me take you for a spin.”

You press your hand against his on the ground. “You need only ask.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

There’s so much more you both want to say, confessions on the precipice of both your minds, but you say nothing. You idle together a touch longer, hands resting against each other, pretending neither of you can get hurt, envisioning a world where it’s him spinning you across the dance floor in a world where you could have each other.

[goingmerryfics]

Hello!! I recently found your blog and I love it!! ❤️

I was wondering if I could request something!

Kid, Mihawk and Law with a partner who’s into gothic clothing. uwu

Gothic style S/O w/ Kid, Mihawk & Law

Content: Gender Neutral reader, SFW!

Notes* Glad to have you! Thanks for the request :) Out of anyone, I think these three would be the most accepting/understanding of someone with this style and even indulge in it a bit themselves so I tried to make this a little more personal to each character. That being said, I feel like they turned out a little shorter than normal, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Kid

He wouldn’t even bat an eye if this was a regular thing to be dressed in gothic style. It’s pretty common around the crew, and even if it wasn’t, Kid appreciates the aesthetic of the style

He also just doesn’t give a shit what you wear as long as you can do your job

Looking good while doing it is also a plus

For that reason, he would help you out with your makeup for sure. Not that he has much experience with it in the first place, but he just likes any excuse to look at your lips

On the other hand, if your weren’t introduced to him in black and chains, he wouldn’t recognize you if you just up and changed your wardrobe

You walk out of your room in your new style, the one you’ve been wanting to try for years and never had the bravery to out of fear of judgement

But after joining the Kid Pirates, it didn’t feel so scary to go outside of the world’s expectations

“Who the fuck are you!? How’d you get on my ship!?”

After managing to convince him not to just throw you overboard, he does the unthinkable

“Oh. You look good. Better than that boring shit you used to wear.”

He compliments you

Kid will pick at your outfits and give unsolicited advice on how to coordinate or style your clothing

He isn’t one for making jewelry, but he might try if you can’t find anything that would match your clothes

Mihawk

No comment from him. You’d have to outright ask him what he thought, and even then it would be a short answer

“Yes, it’s a good look on you.”

He isn’t actually looking at you when he answers, but it’s genuine

You’d find him staring at you quite often, though

He enjoys the style on you, especially since his style is very close/similar to gothic

He respects your backbone for sticking to what makes you happy, and he’ll encourage you to stick up for yourself if anyone has anything to say about your look

Honestly, he’s seen people look and dress a lot worse, so he doesn’t see why anyone should be making unnecessary comments

Despite being a man of few words, he would still compliment your outfits every time

He, having a eye for the fashion, would also help you coordinate and mix up your clothing items and accessories to freshen up the looks

“That won’t do. We need to get you some earrings that will match this.”

It’s such a sweet way to spend the time that you two have together

Law

Law gets whiplash at first

His emo phase is coming back to him all at once and he’s cringing internally

But despite his own emotional setbacks, he is happy if you feel comfortable dressing this way

He’s very level-headed, so there’s not going to be a very big reaction out of him right away

His perception of you hasn’t changed, and it won’t anytime soon

“Express yourself however you like, just make sure you don’t alter the uniform too much.”

He’ll warn you that the crew might ask some dumbass questions or make rude comments

He also will ask you some questions, very carefully, not wanting to sound ignorant

He would come to your aid if you needed support, especially within his own crew

If you’re the type to wear a lot of make-up, he’ll be on your ass about cleaning your face every night 

He’d even help you do a skin care routine to make sure you were taking care of yourself!

If you bother him enough, he’ll start to do it with you, too

Gets you stuff that remind him of you, things he believes may align with your style

All in all, he’s pretty indifferent to the style, and may even be open to dipping back into it a little bit

He looks great in eyeliner, but damn it he keeps smudging it

[byersbootyshorts]

hear me out

sub!steve , eddie, or jonathan you choose they’re all adorable, but PLS best friend!character thats also kinda pervy and obsessed but not overly? like maybe you wear a short skirt or something else revealing and you notice they’re kinda 😵‍💫 and help them?? change anything you want though ofc

I decided to write this for Jonathan since he's literally the perviest man alive

Heatwave (J.B.)

There's a heatwave in Hawkins so you decide to wear a skirt for a change. Little do you know it's going to drive Jonathan absolutely insane.

Word Count: 2,536

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: bestfriend!Jonathan, perv!sub!Jonathan, fem!dom!reader, smut, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, swearing

Leave a request here

Everyday I thank the Duffers for making this man a little perv

Your hair blew around your face as the cold wind beat in the open window of Jonathan’s car. It was the middle of a heatwave in Hawkins and you were feeling its effects. So much so that you had decided to wear a skirt to school that day. Your outfits were usually low effort and extremely casual, but that day you couldn’t bear to wear pants.

So, you decided, since you were wearing a skirt, that you’d make the effort to wear something nicer to school. After throwing clothes all over your room and trying on countless different tops, you’d finally gone with a red and black tennis skirt with fishnets, a black vest top, and a studded belt. Not exactly appropriate for school but you thought you’d get away with it since no one ever noticed you anyway.

But Jonathan noticed. He’d noticed the minute you came out of your house that morning and got into his car. He’d noticed the way the skirt rode up when you sat down. He’d noticed the fishnets clinging to your thighs and how your skin bulged out between each string. He’d noticed…

“Jonathan!” you shouted, practically punching him on the shoulder.

“What?” he said, snapping out of his daze.

“Are you kidding me? You just ran a red light,” you accused him.

“Oh shit, really?” He suddenly realised he’d been thinking about your thighs rather than looking at the road. “Sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Well, focus,” you said, your heart still pounding from Jonathan’s illegal driving. “I’d rather not die today.”

You eventually made it to school with no more near death experiences.

First period math in a boiling hot classroom was not an enjoyable start to your day. Even your teacher was struggling and had resorted to telling you all to do some equations while she fanned herself with a textbook.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you please open that window back there,” the teacher said before you began writing.

You nodded, glad of the suggestion and reached for the window latch. But, of course, it was one of those windows that is literally right at the top of the wall and almost impossible for any average human to reach. You stood on your tip-toes and somehow managed to grab onto the latch and pull it open.

Little did you know that, while you were reaching, your skirt had slid up the back of your leg, revealing most of your thighs. While, the rest of the class had their heads in their books, Jonathan’s eyes were fixed on you. His leg began to bounce rapidly as he started to feel the blood rush to his crotch.

He stared shamefully at your ass, imagining what your thighs would look like perched on top of him with his fingers digging into your skin and your hand around his…

He quickly buried his head in his book when he saw you turn around. He glanced up again, just for a second to find you looking back at him. You smiled at him but you were worried. There was something off about him that day. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was definitely bothering him.

“Are you ok?” you were finally able to ask Jonathan at lunch. You were sitting alone on a wall outside the school building. It was more peaceful than the bustling cafeteria. And there was less chance of getting picked on by the jocks.

“What do you mean?” Jonathan said, looking up from his sandwich. He had his schoolbag on his lap for some reason. You were confused as to why but didn’t question it.

“I mean, you’ve been acting really weird today,” you explained.

“I always act weird,” Jonathan mumbled.

“Ok then, weirder than normal,” you sighed exhaustedly. “J, I’m your best friend. Please tell me.”

You innocently placed your hand on Jonathan’s arm and noticed him grip the bag closer to his body. That made you a little suspicious.

“It’s nothing,” he said defensively.

You were about to question him further when the bell rang. Jonathan practically leapt up and said, “Sorry, I’ll talk to you later,” before speeding off.

You were itching to know what the hell was going on with Jonathan and last period couldn’t come fast enough. He was already sitting at his desk when you walked in. When he saw you enter his eyes immediately averted to look out the window. You sat at the desk in front of him and tried your best not to think about him. You’d give him a proper interrogation in the car.

Your last class was English and, unfortunately, the teacher wanted all the students to read out part of the homework you’d been working on. After hearing countless dull essays from tired students, the teacher finally said, “Y/N, please stand and read the first page of your assignment.”

You did as she commanded and began to recite the start of your essay. If you’d asked Jonathan what it was about, he would’ve been stumped. Because here he was, once again, stuck in class, staring at your ass. And this time, there was no way to hide it.

He cursed you for choosing to sit right in front of him. And he cursed the teacher for making you stand up. He tried to listen to your essay but the words blurred into one as an image formed in his mind. If he wasn’t resting his chin on his hand his mouth would’ve been agape as he pictured himself running his hands up and down the soft skin of your thighs as you rode him, softly mumbling his name.

But your weren’t mumbling anymore. You were shouting. “Jonathan!” And you didn’t sound like you. You sounded like an old woman.

“Mr Byers! Pay attention and stand up this instant!” the teacher demanded.

This time his jaw did drop as he realised it was now his turn to read his essay and he’d been zoned out for the past five minutes thinking of you.

You turned around to face him as he got up to speak. His face was bright red. He cleared his throat before beginning to read his essay. You looked up at him from your seat in an attempt to reassure him. While listening to his surprisingly well written essay your eyes dropped for a second. Just a second. But it was long enough to confirm your suspicions.

You lifted your eyes back up to Jonathan’s face, trying to ignore the bulge in his black pants. Thank God he was at the back of the class in a dark corner where hopefully no one else would see. When he sat back down you turned around in your seat again, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

The class sprang out of their seats when, at last, the final bell rang. You and Jonathan left the classroom in silence. As you walked down the busy corridor your mind was racing. You had to address the situation, right? But how? By the time you reached Jonathan’s car you had a plan.

“Give me the keys,” you ordered him, standing in front of the driver side door.

“What? Why?” Jonathan replied, confused.

“We’re going somewhere,” you answered vaguely.

Jonathan gave you a sceptical look but slowly handed over the keys.

There was little conversation as you drove Jonathan where you wanted to go. The closer you got to your destination, the more confused he got.

“Are we going to my house?” he asked.

“Not quite,” you responded.

You parked the car at the edge of the forest that surrounded the Byers’ house and gave Jonathan the nod to get out of the car.

“Oh,” Jonathan sighed in relief when he realised where you were taking him. It was a place you’d discovered a long time ago and now used as a place to hang out. A misshapen tree that bent over to form a perfect little bench. The leaf covered branches of the tree hung down, creating a dome over the bench. It was like your own personal little haven where you and Jonathan would come when you wanted to get away from the bullies of Hawkins.

“Why are we here?” Jonathan questioned you when you reached the tree.

You didn’t say anything until you were both sat on its crusting bark.

“Because we need to talk,” you replied, your expression turning serious as you stared deep into Jonathan’s eyes. He shifted his legs nervously, the close proximity between your face and his causing his pants to swell for the fourth time that day.

“Don’t try to hide it,” you said.

“Hide what?”

“You know what,” you whispered, raising your eyebrow.

Jonathan swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say.

“I assume this is why you’ve been acting weird all day,” you said.

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” he said shakily. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

“I do.” You grabbed Jonathan’s hand and placed it on your thigh. “It’s because of this. It’s because you’ve never seen me wear anything other than jeans. It’s because you haven’t been able to stop staring at my ass all day.”

Jonathan let out a quivering breath.

“I didn’t know my best friend was a little pervert,” you smirked.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan repeated.

“No, J, it’s ok,” you assured him. “I’m trying to tell you that I don’t mind. You’re a guy. These things happen.”

“It’s just, you’ve never worn something like that before. I’m s-,”

“If you apologise one more time I’m leaving,” you said, covering Jonathan’s mouth with your hand.

You were silent for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, you moved your hand down from Jonathan’s lips so you were holding his chin between your finger and thumb. You pulled his face forward, forcing your lips to connect. Jonathan didn’t even flinch when you kissed him. Immediately he melted into your body and begged your mouth to open with his tongue.

But you didn’t grant him access just yet. You pulled your lips away and rested your forehead on his.

“You want some help with this?” you mumbled, placing your hand on his inner thigh.

Jonathan nodded eagerly and started to pull you on top of him.

“Ok, slow down,” you chuckled. You got up from the tree branch and were about to pull off your fishnets when Jonathan stopped you.

“No,” he said quietly, grabbing your hand. “Can you keep them on please?”

“Shit, you really are a little creep, aren’t you?” you smirked.

Jonathan’s face flushed as he fumbled with his belt. He almost sobbed when his dick was finally released from his tight pants.

You got on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and hovered above his dick.

“You must be so desperate if you’ve been like this all day,” you said, running you hand through his hair. He let out a quiet whimper in response.

“You sure you want me to help you with this?”

“Yes, yes please,” Jonathan whispered, wrapping his hands around your waist.

You pulled your fishnets and underwear to the side. Jonathan let out a loud moan as you guided him inside you.

“Shh, J,” you hushed him. “We may be in the middle of nowhere but sound travels.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan mumbled.

“And what did I say about apologising?”

This time he stayed quiet.

Your thrusts were slow and deep. Jonathan’s fingers dug into your sides as he willed you to pick up your pace.

“Faster, please,” he begged.

So, instead, you stopped. You sat on his dick, taking all of it inside you. Jonathan whined at the lack of movement. You ignored him.

“You know, it’s really misogynistic of you to only find me attractive when you can look up my skirt,” you said, wanting to watch him squirm for just a bit longer.

“I find you attractive all the time,” Jonathan replied, his eyes shut in concentration.

“Well, you’re not getting a boner every day, so obviously you don’t.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to look at you every fucking day and not get hard,” Jonathan explained. “The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that when I go home I can…”

Jonathan stopped, realising he had revealed too much.

“You can what?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.

“Jonathan,” you said more sternly, staring daggers into his eyes. “You can what?”

Jonathan started to speak but he was too quiet.

“Speak up or I’m leaving you out here and you can sort out your little situation by yourself.”

That was one thing Jonathan didn’t want, so he raised his voice.

“I have photos of you,” he began. “And I, uh-,”

“Wait, photos? What photos?” you demanded.

“Nothing creepy, I swear.” You couldn’t tell if Jonathan’s face was red with embarrassment or the heat. “It’s photos that you let me take of you for art class last year.”

“Ok,” you said. You could feel him twitching. “And what do you do with these photos?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked up at you with pleading eyes. You felt his breathing get faster.

“You don’t wanna know,” he finally said.

“Oh, I think I do,” you smiled, beginning to roll your hips back and forth again just thinking about it.

Just that slight movement set Jonathan off again. He couldn’t stop the grunts and whimpers escaping his lips. You thought if you couldn’t stop him from making noise, you could at least muffle it.

You pressed your lips against his again, this time allowing your tongues to intertwine.

“Y/N,” Jonathan groaned desperately into your open mouth.

He was practically ripping your shirt with his hands so you started to increase your speed. Now you were kissing him to hold back your own moans, as well as his.

You reached up to grab one of the tree branches behind Jonathan’s head as you started to feel your stomach tighten.

“Do you want to cum, J?” you asked, pulling away from his lips.

“Yes, so bad,” he whined. “Please, can I?”

You nodded and almost immediately you felt Jonathan spill out inside you. He threw his head back and moaned your name louder than before. But you were too tied up in your own high to tell him to be quiet.

When you eventually stopped your movements the two of you were out of breath and sweating. The sun was beating down on you through the trees, wiping any energy you had left.

You climbed off Jonathan’s lap, adjusted your underwear and sat back down on the tree branch. Jonathan’s hands shook violently as he attempted to do up his pants.

You both sat, staring up at the sky, neither one of your daring to speak. Until Jonathan broke the silence.

“Is this going to be really awkward now?” he asked timidly.

“I don’t see why it should be,” you responded, turning to face him.

A small smile spread across Jonathan’s face. “So we’re still good for movie night on Friday then,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, squeezing his leg. “I’ll even wear a skirt if you want.”

[aida-sparks]

Eddie liked Buck from the start, but where are we now?

I've convinced myself that Eddie liked Buck from the very beginning - but only subconsciously. I mean, look at how he's watching Buck in 2x01, even as Buck is being bratty as they work out.

Even though Buck has been anything but kind to him up to this point, Eddie's more miffed than angered by it. Maybe a little disappointed too.

We all know by the end of 2x01, Eddie wins Buck over, and they both quasi promise to have each other's back. And then the rest of their story so far has many important and telling moments, but what if we fast forward to season 6 episode 15 and that loaded graveyard scene? Is this scene the moment where Eddie Diaz finally *consciously* realizes that his feelings for Buck are not only platonic? It was such a layered scene. Of course, there is Eddie's shellshocked reaction to Buck's proclamation that Natalia, the death doula who he just met, really sees him (bites lip in agitation), but beyond that...

It's clear that Eddie goes on to have a profound revelation after Buck says that. But what does it mean?!

He tells Buck, "You haven't been the same since it happened. But how could you be?" as he turns away and processes something internally. Perhaps something about himself as well. Eddie actually looks a little startled. A few seconds later, he reassures Buck that he doesn't have to be anyone for anybody and that experiences like this change them. He goes on to ask Buck what changed in him. I think the moment Eddie admits Buck hasn't been the same, he realizes that he has changed too. Exactly how is not made clear. Even Buck's own response to Eddie's question is vague (he says he feels like he cheated death). How did Eddie change? How did Buck change? The writers don't commit Buck and Eddie's feelings clearly in dialogue, so fans are forced to speculate, and it's why the general audience members, who don't rewatch scenes and lean in hard to the characters, think us buddie shippers are clowning half the time. *deep sigh*

But being left to my own speculation, I do think Eddie's revelation here is at least partly related to Buck. He looked disappointed when he learned Buck was starting something with Natalia. He looked hurt when Buck said she "sees him" -- and maybe those reactions surprised something in Eddie. I don't think the man he was raised to be would have recognized those feelings; he wouldn't have admitted to feeling them on a conscious level. But of course, that's why "change" is a theme in this scene and Eddie has looks like he's putting 2 and 2 together. Part of me feels Eddie was in touch with his feelings for Buck well before this episode, but then I don't know how else to interpret what the graveyard scene was meant to be if not Eddie coming to terms with the fact that he may be in love with his best friend, even as said best friend proclaims he has a new love interest in the picture. This take could set up Eddie secretly pining over Buck in season 7 quite well, though. Oh, my angst-ridden heart. I'd love to read others' thoughts on this! I'm glad I joined tumblr to read all the buddie and 9-1-1 meta out there. Forgive me if it looks like I don't know what I'm doing. I don't. I'm still new around here.