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cheralith · 5 months

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vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century.

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times.

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious.

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?”

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago.

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.”

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials.

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.”

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you.

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?”

Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world.

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk.

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?”

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.”

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly.

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?”

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain.

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision.

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday.

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day.

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind.

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work.

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant.

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work.

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take.

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out.

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.”

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour.

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs.

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut.

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi.

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs.

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life.

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud.

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home.

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads.

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side.

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them.

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you.

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest.

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection.

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it.

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

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strang3lov3 · 1 month

Text

Raise

Roman Roy x f!reader (6.1k)

Summary - Roman will increase your raise substantially, so long as you don't lose his game.

Tags - 18+ smut mdni, harassment, manipulation, coercion, dubcon, blowjobs, fingering, oral, brief ass eating and play, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, reader has a bush but is otherwise not described, roman is dominant because i like him that way, reader has a sick cat.

A/N - hello Roman readers!! it's been a while, but I hope to write a little more of him for you this summer. Thank you for being patient with me and for all of the love and support on Invisible Line . Enjoy the smut my friends

Graciously edited by my love @noxturnalpascal <3

You’re sitting at Roman’s desk, staring at the back of his monitor, counting the number of pens in his cup. You wonder how much he actually writes with them, if he has a favorite and which one it could be. Roman’s making you wait on him, just because he can. He likes to watch you squirm. He’s got an analog clock on the wall that ticks loudly, something he probably hand picked himself. Obnoxious, just like him.

It’s been about a year of you working at Waystar, a year of putting up with Roman’s antics. It started with some light hazing, as others called it. Roman would humiliate you in meetings, going out of his way to make your day worse. He’d stick a leg out in the aisle of his jet to trip your feet, scuff your pretty heels you worked so hard saving up for. Most bullies get a rise out of their victim’s reaction, but Roman always seemed equally amused by your lack of one. He was relentless, and his tormenting only escalated as time went on. Pinching your ass cheek in a crowded elevator, groping you on the jet, whispering vulgar things in your ear. Roman, ever the walking sexual harassment lawsuit, but nothing you can’t handle. He seems to know this too.

He’s harmless, after all. Gossip is rich at Waystar Royco, especially when it comes to the family. Kendall went on another bender, Logan’s pissing in closets and losing it, Roman can’t get it up - scared of pussy, always has been, always will be. You’d heard it all before, so you know that all of his touching, inappropriate sexual remarks, they’re just a façade. But yet, you’re not immune to the anxiety he invokes within you. Your heart pounds when Roman enters the room, pounds harder when he locks the door behind him. You feel the pulse between your thighs.

Roman takes a seat across from you at his desk, papers in hand, and taps the edge of them on the wood to line them up. Your legs are crossed, you’re wiggling your ankle. Anxious tic. “Are you nervous?” he asks. “You don’t have to be. It’s just me and you, you and me. Nothing to be nervous about.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

“Cool. So I’m gonna start us off. You’ve been here for uhhh….” Roman hums, thinking, “Little over a year now, so congratulations are in order. So congrats,” he says, motioning to you with the papers in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say.

Roman continues, “It’s been nice having you here, for a number of reasons. Number of reasons,” he smirks, his voice a little lower. You shift uncomfortably in your seat when he glances at you through his eyebrows, still mostly looking down at his papers. “I like having you here, a lot. I do,” Roman says. He’s throwing you off though, and you know he’s trying to make you second guess yourself, walk on eggshells around him. And it works. “It’s just…I don’t know. Not that impressed with your performance lately.”

“Okay…Why, exactly?”

“You tell me.”

Roman’s good at what he’s doing. He knows exactly the kind of inflection in his tone he needs to take to really get under your skin, make you pick at your nails a little more urgently, tug at that loose string in your skirt until it breaks. Roman likes you - really, he does. You’re quiet, you do as you’re told, you’re maybe a little meek for his taste, but there’s worse things than that. He had a conversation with you recently on the plane and got to know you a little better.

During the flight he’d noticed the cat photo on your phone’s lock screen and asked about it. “Who’s this?”

“Artie,” you replied. “He’s my baby. He’s a sick old man, but he’s my baby.”

“Sick? How sick?”

You shrugged, not really wanting to get into it entirely. It’s difficult to think about. “He’s getting uncomfortable. He’s got a few years left in him, I think, but he’s got some stuff going on. I take him in for these treatments every two weeks, and they’re getting too expensive. And he’s got teeth issues, so he’s in pain. And just - none of it’s affordable, so I’m considering…I don’t know. You know.”

Roman nodded sympathetically, then asked what vet’s office you take Artie to. You stifled your laugh when he told you that he always considered himself a cat person. Roman, a cat person. It’s hard to think of him as an actual human at times, bizarre to think of him as a human that could identify with any sort of animal. If anything, you would have guessed he’d associate with a snake. Bearded dragon, maybe. You don’t know.

“Seriously, I love ‘em,” he explained, “Dogs are just so in your face, you know? I don’t know. They’re fine, I guess. One of god’s creatures. I’ve just always liked cats.”

“Didn’t know that,” you replied with a small smile.

“You do now,” he said. He was a little too close for comfort, sitting next to you bicep to bicep, thigh to thigh. Roman whispered, “I can help you, if you ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know. You’ve got an anniversary coming up, yeah? Usually means a raise. What do you think, would five percent be enough? Take care of your kitty cat and a little extra for you?” Your eyes lit up at that and you nodded excitedly. “I need you to ask.”

“Can I have…” Nervous it might be a trap, you trail off, but Roman raised his eyebrows and nodded, encouraged to go on. It felt less like a trap than normal, though. “Five percent?”

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure. We’ll have a performance meeting here soon, we’ll bang it all out,” Roman squeezes your thigh a couple of times, you don’t even jump like you usually do when he touches you and flirts. “Yeah?”

You tell me.

You’re caught off guard, zero clue what Roman could be referring to. “I don’t - you - what did I do?” your voice comes out shakier, more defensive than you intended.

“Hey, relax. Just you and me, like I said. It’ll be fine.” Roman waits for you to reply, but you’re silent. “It’s not a big deal, really, and it’s fixable. You know, with discipline and all that. I’ve just noticed you’ve got quite the habit of sneaking off to the supply closet? Hours at a time, sometimes, and always when I need you most. What is it you’re doing in there?”

Still silent. Moreso now, as if that’s even possible, because you know exactly what Roman’s talking about. You wonder how much he knows, if he’s heard or - god forbid - seen anything. You’re not going to talk about it.

“That’s fine,” Roman says, “Don’t tell me. Anyway, I see here you’re asking for a five percent raise, the best I can do is one and a half. Insulting, I know, but - well - you know, keep up the hard work. I’m sure you’ll get there.”

“But the plane,” you argue, “Roman, you told me to ask for five.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not - ugh -” he groans then, an exaggerated groan, like he’s really trying to sell it. You shouldn’t have trusted him on the plane, you should’ve known he’d fuck you. He always fucks you, he fucks everyone. “I’m not happy about this either. I think you deserve your five percent. Fuck it, I think you deserve ten. But my hands are tied.”

“But they’re not, Roman, you said–”

“I know what I said, but I told you: you’re dropping the ball, and I just don’t feel that you deserve that five percent anymore. Don’t think it’s representative of the kind of work you’ve been doing here.”

Roman stares at you from across his desk, putting on his own pouty face to mock yours. You feel disappointed, both in him and in yourself. Dejected. It’s your own fault, for two reasons: A, trusting Roman to throw you a bone and B, getting called out for the closet thing. He stands up, tapping fingers on his desk as he rounds it to sit in the chair next to you and puts a hand on your thigh, always with the hand on your thigh. You’re almost used to it. He says, “You’re upset. I know. I’m sorry. But some raise is better than no raise, right?” with a squeeze to your flesh.

“Yeah. I guess. Was just excited, you and I…we talked about this,” you whisper. Poor Artie. You had told him excitedly that he’s gonna start having good days again. Good thing cats don’t speak English.

“I know. I don’t - yeah, I don’t know. That was before though, wasn’t it? Maybe if you tell me what you’ve been doing in that supply closet I’ll wiggle a bit.” Roman looks at you quietly, a sly smirk on his lips, still drumming his fingers against the top of his desk as he allows you time to explain yourself. When the silence hangs long enough, he decides to switch gears. He bends down and lifts your leg up onto his lap, escalating those touches of his again. “Nice heels. I like these on you,” he says.

“Thank you,” you mumble cautiously. Is that it? Is the meeting over? He brought you in here just to tell you that your raise might as well be nothing at all, and then what? He’s turning your foot in his hand, now, and you’re tensing up with his touch.

“Sure.” Roman says. He doesn’t ask permission when he pulls the shoe off, exposing your foot - he’d never ask permission. With his pointer finger, he traces your skin, starting at your heel, tracing up, up, he watches your toes curl as he follows the curve of each one. He tells you he likes the way your toes are pedicured.

“Roman,” you protest, trying to pull your foot from his grip. Roman ignores you and squeezes your ankle tightly with his other hand as he continues to touch your skin.

“You’re ticklish,” he says, now tracing the length of the bottom of your foot. You’re wiggling and fighting not to kick him but you do, accidentally. You kick harder than you expected, certainly harder than Roman expected as well. This much is evident when he lets out a surprised noise, a groan of pain, and chuckles at that. “Alright, alright, don’t hurt me. I’ll stop.”

Stop tickling you, maybe. But he’s not done touching you, oh not at all. He pulls on your other leg and brings it to his lap, rolls your chair until it’s as close as can be, flush with his legs. He sits your feet on top of the arm rests of his chair and his hands are traveling up your legs now, fingers skating over your kneecaps and you jolt again, one of your shins hit the hardwood of his desk and you suck a sharp breath through your teeth. “You’re ticklish here, too?” Roman asks, circling your knee with his middle and forefingers. His question is answered when you squirm and shimmy in your seat, reaching to pry his hands away as you bite down on your lip to hide the smile that betrays you. “Wow. Sensitive, very sensitive. Are you sensitive everywhere?”

One of his hands is climbing up your thigh now, his fingertips hidden beneath the fabric of your skirt. You look over her shoulder, then hear the click of Roman hitting a button on his remote. Shades descend down the vast planes of his indoor windows, concealing you and Roman in privacy.

Not that there’s many people in the office, anyway. Your stomach drops and your heart pounds loudly, loud enough that Roman might hear if it weren’t for your heavy breathing, made up of fear, arousal, anticipation. You face Roman again and the sun is setting behind him, there’s not much light on his face and he looks almost like a movie in black and white. Fuck, he’s so sexy like this, sleeves rolled up and his small, crooked smirk. He’s gorgeous, with his longish strands of dark hair, his eyes that flicker between colors of hazel and green, now darkened nearly black. He taps you, “Hey, you. I asked you something.”

“Y-yeah, I’m ticklish,” you stutter.

“Well duh, I know you’re ticklish, look–” Roman reaches behind himself to tickle your foot again, and he catches your ankle when you try to kick him away. Your foot goes right back where he wants it. “I asked if you’re sensitive. Sensitive like, what’re you gonna do if my hand goes up your skirt?”

“Roman, what are you–”

“Nothing you don’t want me to do.” he interrupts. Roman continues, “Maybe my hands aren’t as tied as we thought. I could get you that ten percent, if you’d let me.”

With one hand drawing lazy patterns on your bare thigh, the other is unbuckling his belt, the sound is unmistakable. He’s palming his bulge through his Calvin Klein briefs, groaning as he does so. Then he pulls his cock out, where it springs up against his tummy. You must look shocked or scared by this, because Roman tells you to relax. “I’m not doing anything. You don’t have to suck me off, I don’t even have to fuck you. I probably will, though. It’s easy.”

“What’s easy?”

“What I’m gonna do to you,” he says plainly. He continues, “If you let me have my way with you, toy with you for as long as I’d like, however I like, I’ll get you your ten percent. Promise. I know it’s like, super off the books, but…more fun this way, I think. And you’d agree too, wouldn’t you?”

“Roman, we’re gonna…we’re gonna get in trouble, Roman,” you caution.

“But you don’t disagree, though.”

“We’re going to get in trouble,” you repeat.

“Only if you tattle. And you’re not gonna tattle on me, are you? ‘Cause that would be stupid. You know what’d happen - they’d ask if I harassed you, and you’d say yes, of course, because you know I love to. They’d ask you how long it’s been going on for, da da da. You know. But then–” Roman pushes your knees apart, opening you up wide for him and your skirt bunches up at the top of your thighs, “I’ll tell them how you spread your legs for me, how you moaned for me - ‘cause you will. Oh, I’ll make you. And I’ll tell them how you wanted it this way. Always wanted it this way, didn’t you?” he asks. “You can be honest.”

Your body will do nothing if not betray you. You nod, because you’ve fantasized about this. Oh, you’ve fantasized about all of this, about Roman. And they’re never normal fantasies, always the dirtiest and most shameful. Roman fucking you against a window he masturbates on, people below could watch if they wanted. Roman hitting you, hurting you. Teasing you. Making you cry, then kissing away your tears. You’ll squeeze your legs together on the plane when you think of these things, often sitting across from Roman or right next to him. Slip away when you need relief, desperately dance your fingers around your clit. Roman always watches you after you emerge from your hiding place, like he knows, like he can smell it on you.“Yeah, I know. This’ll be fun then. Lotta fun.”

Roman brings one of your feet to his lips and kisses it, kisses up your ankle and your leg, his stubble brushing and scratching against your skin. Remembering his rule, that he’ll do as he pleases and that you just have to take it, you ask him, “What are you, oh fuck–” you gasp and moan when he sucks on a spot near your inner knee, an area you didn’t even know could feel that way. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he taunts. He kisses your other leg, swirling his tongue in circles on your skin. “Whatever I want, that’s what I’m gonna do to you. Does that answer your question?”

Roman bends forward, wriggles his hands beneath your skirt and paws at your hips until he hooks his fingers into the fabric of your panties, then pulls them down and off your legs. He admires his work, seeing as they’re already slick with your arousal. “Wet for me already,” he comments, sniffing your panties before tucking them away. You’re embarrassed by that, heat creeps up your neck and paints your cheeks. Roman continues, “But yeah, I don’t know, though, to answer your question. What do you think I’m gonna do to you?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. You’re not sure if it’s an answer to his question or a demand. Roman smiles at your desperation.

“Well yeah, of course I’m gonna touch you. I’ll touch you more than I touch myself, and you know that’s a lot. You should probably be scared.”

Roman inches closer, placing one of his hands on top of the back of your chair, caging you in. He has such a way of making you feel so small. A hand sneaks between your thighs, where he first toys with your tuft of curls, dampened by your arousal. “How nice. You shaved for me.”

He dips his fingers between your lips, dragging them through your slickened folds. You’re sighing, your head falling back against your chair as you finally feel him where you’ve been needing him most. You’re so wet, he notices, parting your flesh. Wet enough that as he touches you lightly, just teasing, your cunt makes sticky, lewd noises for him. He dips a finger inside you, circles your clit with his thumb to see what he’s working with. He wants to know how easily you moan, how he can make you whimper. He wants to find out just how sensitive you are really. You’re loud, despite your fighting to keep quiet. Roman hushes you, “Shhhh. Are you always this loud? Or is it just for me?”

You’re already close and he knows this by the way your clit twitches under his thumb, how your cunt is beginning to pulse and squeeze his knuckles. “Just for me,” he mumbles under his breath. He clears his throat before speaking, “One - one little caveat though, sweetheart, and I think you’ll wanna listen.”

“I’m listening,” you rasp. Roman’s movements never falter, but you’re not even conscious of the way you’re frantically holding his wrist. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

“If you come, you’re not getting a raise.”

You lift your head to look at Roman. “What?”

“What?” He mocks you. “Yeah,” he says, “Double or nothing. I’ll double your ask if you’re good and if you don’t come. Or - er…I mean, you’re getting one and a half percent, and a jump to ten would be…” Roman does the math in his head, “Like, six point six repeating. So technically, sextuple or nothing but fucking…whatever. Isn’t that fitting, sextuple?”

“Roman–”

“You come on my fingers, tongue, cock and you get…nothing at all. It’s a game, it’s a fun game. Fun for me, at least.”

Roman continues to tease you. You stare at him for a moment, when the eye contact becomes too intense you drop your eyes to your lap, staring at the fabric of your skirt that dances with his movements.

“Look–” he says, “You can tap out if you want. Take your one and a half percent and be on your way. You know I’m not gonna force you to do anything.”

Roman changes the angle a bit, curls his fingers until he finds that spot that makes you gasp and shudder. He hums in amusement as you squirm and bite back a moan. “Roman, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” you pant, “I need a second, Roman.”

Roman stops, to your surprise. You didn’t really expect him to. “Works out, actually, because I need a moment to think about what I’m gonna do to you. On your knees for me, sweetheart, come on,” He reaches to help you move, your slick on his fingertips now on your legs. Once you’re on your knees for him, just how he wanted. He pumps his cock a couple of times and reaches with his free hand to take you by the chin, guiding you to where he wants you. “There you go - good girl. Good girl.”

He keeps a hand on your head, urging you lower until the tip of his cock breaches your lips. You swirl your tongue around the head a couple of times to tease him, but Roman doesn’t have it. “Nuh-uh, cut that out. No teasing, down you go,” he says, pushing your head down on his cock. “Down. Hand goes here,” Roman reaches for one of your hands and spits in it before guiding it to the base of his cock where he wraps his fingers around yours. He twists your hand for you as he keeps a firm pressure on your scalp, encouraging you to take him deep. You whimper and sputter on his cock, it’s too much yet. He’s thick and long, filling your mouth entirely. “Can’t, Roman, it’s too much,” you whine.

“Oh, come on. Yes you can,” Roman pushes himself into your mouth once more, controlling the pace to his liking though it’s still too much for you and he knows it, he can feel it when he bucks his hips, cock hitting the back of your throat and you gag. “I think you’ll get used to it.”

But you don’t. Roman fucks himself deep into your mouth and your eyes prick with tears, your jaw is so sore already. You wonder if he’s even thinking about what he’s gonna do to you, like he said he would. He doesn’t appear to be, not with the way his eyes are rolling back and his brows are furrowed together as he moans softly. He squeezes your hand, reminding you to put it to use. “Look at you,” he says, holding the side of your face and skating his thumb over your cheekbone, you’d almost call it tender. “God, you’re good at this. I think you’re made for this, don’t you?” You bob your head, trace your tongue along the veins of his shaft and Roman answers his own question, “You are.”

Your jaw is still sore with the newness of it all, but you’re finally about used to the feeling when Roman pulls you off of his cock. His eyes are bright and excited, he wears a mischievous smirk as he pulls on your swollen, wet lips with his thumb. Roman takes your hands and pulls you to your feet at the same time as he stands up from his chair, he leads you to his couch and sits you on the armrest as he unbuttons your shirt, unhooks your bra. He holds your torso in both of his hands, breathing heavily as they travel up, up, where he cups your breasts, teasing your nipples with his fingers. Pinching and rolling one, flicking the other. “You are sensitive, aren’t you? I bet I could make you come like this. Maybe I’ll try.”

“Roman, please don’t.”

Roman tilts his head in amusement. “Really not your call, but I won’t, sweetheart. Maybe next time. Open your mouth for me.”

“Rome–”

Roman reaches into his pocket and pulls out your worn panties. He stuffs them in your mouth, the cotton is rough on your tongue but you can still taste your own arousal. “I guess you’re not always so quiet, huh? Didn’t know you could make so much noise. Just had to wiggle it out of you. I’ll keep it in mind,” he comments, loosening his necktie now. Once loosened, he turns you around and presses a kiss to the blade of your shoulder. “This–” he says, tying the silk around your wrists, “Is so you can’t cheat and push me away. You are going to lie here and you are going to take what I give you, and you’re playing by the rules. No coming, I mean - not unless you wanna lose your raise. It is all up to you, my darling.” Roman pushes you down then, your face in the cushions of the couch as he pulls your hips back, putting you right where he wants you. “And don’t try lying to me, either, telling me you didn’t come. I’ll know. I know the noises you make, and I’ve watched you come. You’re very obvious.”

You let out a muffled noise of surprise at that. Roman chuckles.

“Yeah, I was waiting to see if you’d fess up to what you do on your little supply runs. Been getting off to it actually, you know? Cameras everywhere. You put on a nice little show for me.”

Well, fuck. Cat’s out of the bag. Has been actually, if Roman’s telling the truth, and you know he is.

“Yeah, no. It was odd. It was last week, and you were in my office doing whatever it is that you do. And then I came in all sweaty from my workout, I don’t know. You gave me this sort of deer in the headlights look and ran off, something about needing new Sharpies. And I just found it odd for just a…just a couple of reasons, you know? Like one, I like Sharpies, those slutty little pens. So I keep them around, and two, you have an iPad. You don’t use Sharpies.” Roman finds the zipper on the side of your skirt, pulls it down slowly before pulling the skirt off of you entirely, tossing it behind him. You’re bare for him now, all exposed and your arms tied tightly behind you. “So I mosey on down to security, and I’m just curious. Naturally, of course. I take a seat and I flip through the channels until I find you in your closet and sure as shit, you’re fucking yourself. And those cameras have mics too, so I hear everything. Roman, oh Roman,” he mocks. “That was my favorite part. All pathetic and desperate for me, music to my ears. I must really do it for you, don’t I? When I’m all sweaty and gross. You’re a freak, huh? My favorite little pornstar, and you didn’t even know it.”

You feel him move behind you, anticipating the feeling of his cock breaching your entrance. But the feeling never comes. Instead, you hear the small crack of his joints as Roman kneels behind you. You let out a muffled gasp when you finally feel him touch you, his big hands squeezing your ass cheeks before he spreads you apart, spitting on your hole. How vulnerable you must feel, Roman wonders. He wonders how much you trust him, if at all. Now you’re gonna have to.

You first feel his tongue circling your tight hole, then he presses a few kisses there, all wet and sloppy. He dips his tongue inside you and you squirm a bit at the unfamiliar sensation. It’s different and unexpected, especially coming from Roman.

He pulls away from you momentarily, “I know. I promise I’ll get you off soon,” and you feel him smirking against you before swirling his tongue one last time around your hole, and then his lips travel lower. He’s kissing at your slick folds now, dipping his tongue inside your wet heat as he inhales you, your sweet arousal. He traces you with his tongue, just for fun, just for a moment before finding your clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bud.

He doesn’t eat you the way he should. He doesn’t savor you, there’s no love in it. Passion, determination, sure - but no love. His tongue and lips on your clit is not something he’s doing for you, it’s something he’s doing to you, for his own amusement. It’s all aggression, all fingernails cutting into your skin under his bruising grip, a relentless assault on your sex. His scruff scratches your inner thighs and rubs you raw, you’ll be feeling him for days after, skin burning under the lather of your lavender scented soap in the shower. And worst of all, you fucking love it. There’s nothing you can do about it, and you fucking love it. Even in your fantasies, all those midday supply closet visits, you always knew it’d be like this. No tenderness or adoration, not from broken Roman and certainly not like this. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re moaning something but you don’t know what, not with your own panties shoved down your throat. Roman thinks it’s his name, he thinks he can hear the two syllables. He keeps you still, held tight in his grip so that you can’t writhe and grind against his mouth and take control of your pleasure like he knows you’re trying to do. Like Roman said, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna feel his perfect, pointed nose tease that space he just fucked with his tongue. Feel his lips lap at your poor, swollen clit. He eats you voraciously, consumes you whole and you’re beginning to see stars.

Roman intently listens to all those different noises you’re making. Muffled cries and those wet, lewd sounds of your cunt being licked, sucked, kissed, lapped. And he can feel your thighs twitching with your impending release, “Don’t come,” he reminds you in a singsong tone. “I’m not gonna stop this time. Don’t come.”

Your groan of frustration is muffled too, but unmistakable all the same. Only when Roman’s jaw and his tongue begin to tire does he finally relent, pulling away from your body but not before he kisses and bites your ass cheek right where it meets your thigh. Roman stands then, pumps his cock a couple of times with his fist before he lines up with your entrance, notching himself inside you. He offers no warning before burying himself in you unceremoniously, splitting you in two. You cry out, balling your bound fists. In a small gesture of kindness, Roman reaches for your hands and squeezes, rubs his thumb comfortingly over your palm as he allows you just a moment to get used to the stretch and the ache. When the tension dissipates and your fingers relax, he pulls out of you all the way and pushes himself right back in, even harder and faster than before. “God, you’re fuckin’ tight.”

He fucks you slow at first, searching for the right pace and angle to make you squirm. You arch your back and keen into the sensation, then quickly pull away as you realize you’ve given him another tell. But Roman’s attentive. With your sweet spot now in mind, he sets a quick pace with a zealous snapping of his hips, his neatly trimmed tuft of pubic hair rubs against your ass. He works a hand between you and his couch, pressing his fingertips against your clit and using his thrusts to stimulate it. He gives you his all and you can do nothing but take it, take him. “Fuck,” he pants, circling your asshole with his thumb before pressing it inside. “Oh, fuck. Tough nut to crack, aren’t you? I’ll get there. I’ll break you, just you wait.”

It’s not easy, and knowing what you’re not supposed to do. And it’s what Roman’s not trying to do that makes it all the more impossible. He’s fucking loud, all whines and groans and swears. And you’ve heard it all before from his mouth, but the way he strings it together has you dizzy. ‘Oh, fuck’ followed by a moan and another ‘Fuck’. Heavy breathing, ‘Such a good girl’ and a sharp inhale. Your panties feel extra obnoxious in your mouth now, knowing how much noise he makes himself. Glass houses, you think. Roman pulls out of you and flips you over so you’re face to face with him and then he’s right back at it, entering you once more and thumbing your clit just like he did in the chair. He’s glad he did so, learned what kind of tight circles to paint your clit with to make you moan loudest.

It’s sensitive and you’re right there, aching for release you know you shouldn’t allow yourself. It’s a constant fight, a push and pull between indulging in your pleasure and trying your hardest to block it out. You can’t quite read his expression when Roman notices your tear stained eyes, but he pulls your spit-soaked panties from your mouth and wipes your wet cheeks.

“You’re fine. You can take it,” he encourages. He pulls you closer so that you’re face to face, chest to chest, holding you tightly against himself. “It’s a lot, I know. You’re doing good.”

“Oh, Roman,” you moan, your eyes knit shut as you lean forward and bite into his neck to subdue your cries of pleasure. It helps to stave off your impending release.

“Oh, you bite hard,” Roman taunts, “Do what you need to do, whatever you think will work.”

It doesn’t work. He continues to round your clit with his thumb as he rolls his hips into yours and you know it and he knows it. Your breaths are shallow, your moans are strangled and you’re squirming. You’re so fucking close.

“It’s gonna happen, isn’t it? And you can’t do a fucking thing about it, can you?” Roman goads, “You gonna come for me?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Oh, come on. Just let go. You know I’m gonna get it out of you, one way or another. So quit torturing yourself, just let go for me. Hey–” he pulls back to look you in the eyes, stroking your back with one of his hands and his voice is kind, saccharine. “Just let go.” Roman nods, eyebrows raised as he searches for your confirmation. When you nod back, Roman smiles. He’s got you in the palm of his hand.

It’s a just few seconds of Roman teasing your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you deeply. And then you’re there, and god is it intense. You shake and stutter in Roman’s arms, and you’re certain you’re breaking into pieces, he’s just holding you together and thank god for that. Roman’s jaw twitches and he’s about to come undone with you, but he never loses focus on you. You’re gonna give him everything you have and he’s gonna make sure of it.

“Roman, Roman, Roman,” you cry. “Oh my god, Roman, please.”

“Fuck me,” he hisses. It’s too much and too sensitive as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release. He comes with a whine, painting your insides with his hot come before his thrusts slow to a still. Roman pulls out of you slowly, groaning as he does so. His come spills onto the expensive upholstery of his couch, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He’s still close to you as he fumbles with the knot of his necktie holding your wrists together. You can smell him, the fresh sweat and faint cologne. When he unties you, you rub your irritated wrists in your hands, doing your best to process what just happened. You dress yourselves silently, the rustling and swishing of your clothes, the clinking of Roman’s belt buckle are the only sounds in the room.

The ripping up of papers startles you. Roman crumples the shredded papers that discussed your raise and tosses them in his trash can. Dramatic. You watch as he does so, your heart dropping. “Don’t start with the waterworks. You came on my cock, you knew the rules. This is on you,” he says, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re fucking fine. Everything’s fine, okay?”

It’s been about two weeks since your encounter with Roman. You’ve avoided him as much as one in your position can do, though it’s not easy. You use a variety of techniques, grey rocking, silent treatment. It doesn’t seem to deter him much.

Artie sits in his carrier as you pull out your wallet to pay for what’s probably his last treatment. You can’t help but feel so selfish, so consumed by guilt.

“Oh–” the vet’s office receptionist says, “It’s been paid for already. You guys are good to go.”

“Oh no, that can’t be right. Here–” you hand her your card.

But the receptionist doesn’t take it. “It is, actually. There’s a credit on your account.”

“What?”

“Yeah, someone called a couple of weeks ago and put a substantial credit on your account. You’re good for a long time.”

“Who?”

The receptionist shrugs, “Anonymous donor. They left a message though, if that helps.”

“What’d they say?”

“Uhmm,” the receptionist blushes and stutters. Instead of answering you verbally, she turns her monitor around to show you.

“For my favorite pornstar and her cat. Take care of him. -R”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a nice comment <3 your words keep me motivated.

#strang3lov3 #roman roy x reader smut #roman roy smut #Roman Roy x reader #roman roy x you #Roman Roy #succession x reader #succession fic #succession #kieran culkin

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motherroam-rs · 4 months

Text

Sleep Deprivation

Relationship: Hunter x Reader

Summary: In the search for Omega, Hunter struggles to sleep and needs a push to get some rest.

Warnings/Tags: Sleep Deprivation, Angst, Comfort, uhhh I think that’s everything

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: The first 3 episodes have me in a chokehold, I wanna see Hunter happy again - Here’s a super short angsty lil comfort fic for Hunter set just before the beginning of episode 2 🫶🫶 Apologies for any grammatical errors!

Every noise in the Marauder seemed louder with just the three of you in it. Any hum, beep, and sigh seems to be amplified, even Gonkys small movements seemed to echo through the empty space just as loud as Wreckers snores.

Though, it’s not the only change. The ship seems too big now, and it’s hard to remember a time where it was so over-occupied that you would all fight over who got to sleep in a bunk for the night, and who had to use a sleep mat on the floor. Durasteel walls that previously made you all feel like fish packed together in a can, now seemed to stretch out impossibly, making it seem that you were planets away from the ships other two occupants.

Currently you’re sat in the co-pilot chair, preoccupied with your glitchy datapad, attempting to send an encrypted message to Echo for any updates from the clone network. You’re biting down on a sigh at how you wished Tech were here to fix it for you when Wrecker nudges your foot with his own.

You look up, puzzled at the man but your silent question is answered by the attempted jerk of his head. Behind you both sits Hunter, staring abysmally at the control board of flashing lights with his fist tightened around a horn from Roland Durand. The lights cast a harsh shadow on his features and your lips can’t help but work themselves into a frown at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

It had been well over 24 hours since he last slept.

Glitchy datapad now abandoned, you give a quick nod in thanks to Wrecker, before leaving the cockpit to approach Hunter. His chair doesn’t turn, and despite his enhanced senses and the lack of noise in the ship to cover your steps in any way, he gives no indication that he’s heard you. You follow his line of sight to both Tech’s goggles and Lula, both of the items bringing a pain to your chest.

“Hunter?” You press your hand to his armored shoulder, and he finally turns to look at you, slightly startled and you can’t even recall a time that you’ve ever caught him so off guard. Now that he’s facing you, the exhaustion is evident in more than just the dark circles under his eyes, his body seems to slump against the support of the chair in some sort of emotional defeat.

He’s been running himself into the ground over the last few days in pursuit of the Pyke needed in order to get the lead you had all been after, but at least you and Wrecker still managed to somewhat take care of your basic needs of sleep and rations.

Before you can speak, he turns back towards the controls, as if sensing what you were going to say about the neglect to his sleep schedule.

“Tech made this all seem… easy.” Gloved hands gesture to the console of flashing lights, his throat bobbing with a dry swallow as he shakes his head. “All of it takes me twice as long as it took him.”

Hunters hand pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way he does when he has an oncoming headache and your hand presses to the unarmoured section between his shoulder and neck, an area that is usually covered by his scarf. At the touch, his eyes close and lips part with a soft release of breath.

He needs to sleep.

“Come to bed, Hunter.” The whisper echoes through the too-quiet ship, amplified like every other noise, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to refuse. He doesn’t speak, but gives a slight nod of his head, and brushes your hand away to stand and begin removing his armor as he follows you on the way to your shared bunk.

After so long of racing to be the first one on the Marauder after a mission to secure your own bunk for a night, there was some sad irony in the fact that you now couldn’t sleep alone. Following the loss of Tech, and the painful absences of Omega and Echo, all attempts to adjust to the atmosphere of loneliness on the ship were almost painful.

At the start, you think you barely managed a standard 8 hours across 3 full day cycles, let alone in one night, and your restlessness didn’t go unnoticed by Hunter, who had probably slept even less than you. On the fourth night of staring at the ceiling and trying to muffle your quiet crying in the too-silent ship, he had abandoned his bunk beneath you and climbed into your own. His arms allowed you the comfort of not grieving alone that night, and almost every night since.

At some point, it delved into more than simply finding comfort in each other so you could both sleep, sending you far enough past the line of friends for Wrecker to tease you both in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the Marauder.

Now only wearing the lower half of his blacks, Hunter lifts himself into the shared top bunk, and offers you a hand up, immediately pulling you into him once you’re safely up. In the small confines of the bunk, you’re entirely pressed to his firm body, yet he still holds you tightly against his bare chest as if fearing you’d slip away the moment his eyes closed.

He’s pulled the thin blanket over you both, but with the heat of his body it’s more than enough to keep you warm. “We’ll get her back.” You murmur against Hunters chest in assurance as one of his hands pulls your leg across his own, entangling the two of you together.

You feel his hand twitch against you, “It’s been a long time, and we still don’t know where she is, the only lead we can get right now is by handing over a Pyke to the Durand family.” His voice is heavy with exhaustion and you crane your neck up, lifting yourself from his chest to place your hand on his stubble covered jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“We’ll get her back, Hunter, but you need to sleep.” You lean in to press a kiss to the lips that seem to have set themselves into an ever present frown since that day on Ord Mantell.

Hunters hand presses to your face to mirror your own, his other arm tightening around your waist protectively as he kisses you back. Even when you pull away and rest your head back on his chest, his fingers continue to trace slow patterns on your waist, still refusing to let you go as he gives in to his tiredness.

You wait for his breathing to slow, ensuring he’s asleep before you allow yourself to close your eyes and follow him. In the night, you dream of living together in a house on Pabu, where the only echoing noise is Omegas laugh, where there are no empty spaces to make you feel lonely, and where Hunter can finally rest.

#the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch #bad batch season 3 spoilers #bad batch hunter #tbb hunter #bad batch hunter x reader #hunter tbb x reader #angst with a happy ending

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sushiwriterhere · 1 year

Text

right where i want you

summary: "Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett." rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader word count: 6.1k warnings: sub!rhett, pseudo enemies-to-lovers!, mentions of violence, choking, dry humping, overstimulation, aftercare, potentially ooc, no use of y/n. notes: uhhh walk him like a dog bitch walk him like a dog🗣😼 i'm not even gonna lie to y'all i've never seen outer range but lewis pullman is in my brain. pls let me know what u think! thank you to @sebsxphia for encouraging my rhett brainworms and to @rhettabbotts for reading a snippet ! my other works are here tagging: @lewmagoo @wkndwlff @bobfloyds @sometimesanalice @bradshawsbitch @roosterbruiser @withahappyrefrain @theharddeck - pls let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

You work a comb in steady, circular motions over your horse’s coat, watching as the dust and pollen raises into the soft afternoon light. Just under the background noise of the stable, you hear boots crunching and you immediately know who it is. All your time away hasn’t changed a thing, it seems.

“Rhett Abbott you leave me alone or I’ll yell at the top of my lungs, I swear.” You don’t even turn around to look at him, as if not making eye contact would mean he’ll leave. He won’t. And he never does.

“How’d ‘ya know it was me?” You hear the way he kicks at the dirt of the barn floor with his boots absentmindedly, and you try to not let his presence rile you up too much since you know that’s what he wants.

You still don’t turn around to face him. “Because y’never leave me alone.”

“I’m jus’ sweet on ‘ya. Couldn’t help it if I tried. Besides, missed ‘ya while ‘ya were away at that fancy east coast school o’ yours.”

“Well, have you tried?” You ignore the second part of what he said–you’re back for the summer, and you really haven’t been gone all that long even if your parents act like you’ve come back from the dead.

That pulls a laugh from him.

For as long as you can remember, Rhett Abbott has been a pain in your ass. You were slightly younger than him but that somehow never stopped him from always finding a way to be in your presence. Your dad being Wabang’s sheriff didn’t seem to deter him either, especially when your dad started getting real prickly about having boys around.

“Nope,” He lets his lips pop dramatically on the ‘p’ sound, then pauses as if to consider his next words, “Plus, you’re real cute when you’re mad.”

All you want is to turn around and throw the rubber brush you’ve got clenched in your fingers at his stupid, smug, face. You know the exact expression he’s wearing in that moment because it’s the same one he’s had every other time he’s taunted you.

“Decide if you love me or hate me, Rhett Abbott. Quit wastin’ my time.” You hiss, and this time you do turn around. You refrain from throwing anything at him, though.

“Aw, don’t get too upset now,” He pushes himself off the stall door he’d been leaning against and makes his way into your personal space.

You level him with a scathing glare before going back to grooming. Even the way he breathes around you seems to raise your hackles and you wonder if all this tension is ever going to resolve itself. If he’s ever going to leave you alone.

“I didn’t come by to bother ‘ya, honest.” He murmurs.

You don’t grant him a response, but he stays where he is, undeterred.

“I wanted to see if you’d come out tonight, everyone’s been missin’ ‘ya. Whole town’s in uproar that you’re back.”

“I’ll think about it.”

That seems to satisfy him as a grin spreads across his face and he spins on his heel, whistling jauntily as he strolls out of the stable.

You’re loathe to admit it, but it makes something twist in your stomach at the thought that Rhett came by to invite you out, to tell you he missed you. That everyone missed you. You shove that feeling down, though. Rhett’s always just been a nuisance and the fact that he seems to have gotten far handsomer while you’d been away is not part of your calculus.

For all his insistence that he actually likes you, has been thinking about you this whole time, Rhett sure is more than happy to let some buckle bunny cuddle up to him. You swallow something down, not jealousy, but what feels like a lump in your throat. He’s a liar and you’re a fool. Rhett Abbott will never be anything but a good for nothing, sonofa—

You storm out of the bar in a huff, not noticing the way Rhett’s eyes follow you over the head of the bleach blonde who’s grasping the collar of his flannel.

In missing Rhett’s gaze, you also miss the way James Earl follows you out. By the time you’re in the parking lot, it’s too late to turn around. James is between you and the door.

He calls your name and it makes all the hair on the back of your neck stand up, “Wait up!”

“Leave me alone, James.” You really don’t want to deal with him right now, you don’t want to deal with any men, for that matter.

“I said wait.” His voice turns acidic and you pause before turning around slowly. There’s nowhere else for you to go but back into the bar, and you’re certain he won’t just let you walk off while you try to call your dad.

“Now that you’re back, I’m going to take you out to dinner.” James looks almost like he has good intentions, but you haven’t lost touch with the way news travels in Wabang just because you were separated by a few states.

You know what the girls who stayed behind say about him. You heard the stories in high school about how he treated his girlfriends–always holding their arms too tight, a little too possessive. There’s nothing about him that you like, or even want to tolerate, at all.

“No, thank you, James. I really should get going.” You try to sound sweet, try to turn on the charm in hopes that he’ll change his mind.

You turn your phone over in your hands, unlock it, and try to act nonchalant. You remember the Swiss army knife tucked in your bra if things get rough.

His demeanor switches in an instant.

“You think just ‘cause you’re the sheriff's daughter you can just walk around like you own this place, huh? Too good for us with your fancy college? All of Wabang swoonin’ over a stuck up, prissy, little bitch.” The words are like poison, but you try to stand your ground, “Why I ought’a teach you a lesson.”

When James stalks your way, one hand starting to reach for you as you reel back in fear, you realize just what he intends. The world slows to a molasses, you’re outside your body as you freeze, unable to do much but witness what you know is about to happen to you.

Instead of James’ hand around your wrist or in your hair, Rhett’s voice breaks the moment, “Earl, I’ll make ‘ya sorry ‘ya ever look’d at ‘er if ‘ya don’t step away right now.”

There he is, illuminated by the bar deck lights, one hand on his belt as he stalks into the parking lot. You’d call him your savior if you don’t blame him somehow; if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in whatever girl was giving him attention in that moment maybe you wouldn’t be here.

“Like hell you will, Abbott. Leave us alone, this is none of your business.” James whirls around, his attention momentarily off you.

You think you can make your escape, make it back inside the bar where there are more eyes and call your dad to get him to pick you up. Instead, you watch as Rhett and James come face to face, both acting like macho idiots.

They soil your plan for a hasty escape. It’s Rhett who makes the first move and shoves James, hard. In a split second they’re yelling obscenities at each other as Rhett grabs him by the collar to shake him and clock him across the face. His knuckles split open on James’ face and you aren’t sure if his nose is broken from the blow or not.

“Stop it!” You try to at least get Rhett’s attention, maybe use his feelings for you for good, but it does little as James tries to gain the upper hand. “Rhett Abbott you fool, get off’a him!”

All at once, a few other patrons spill out of the bar doors at the commotion. You’re standing a few feet back from the pair as they tussle; there’s blood strewn in the dirt and you hope not too much of it is Rhett’s. Suddenly they’re being pulled apart.

You march up to James and stick a finger in his face as he struggles against the men holding his arms, “You ever try that shit with me again I’ll make sure my daddy gives you exactly what you deserve.”

His face is twisted up in a snarl, and he looks like he’s considering spitting in your face, “Still hiding behind your daddy? Figures.”

He’s hauled off in a moment before you can respond, no doubt to get cleaned up and have someone take a look at his nose. Maybe even to face your dad. You whirl around to start shouting at Rhett next, but he’s simply standing there, hands hanging loosely by his sides. No one’s restraining him anymore, they’re all dealing with James you guess, and you realize that it’s just the two of you in the parking lot at that point.

You make your decision in an instant, “Give me your keys.”

You don’t get closer to him, you just hold a hand out and look at him expectantly. Rhett doesn’t move.

“Rhett Abbott, you damned fool, give me your keys so I can take your stupid ass home.”

He has the audacity to smile wolfishly at you, cheek bruising, and say lowly as he walks to you, “Tryin’ to take me home, sugar?”

Snatching his keys from his fist, you turn around without responding. You don’t check if he’s following you, some part of you knows you don’t need to.

You climb into the drivers side of his truck and start it, only barely waiting for him to get in and buckle up. Switching it into gear, you start driving. It’s deathly silent in the cab as you drive, ignoring far too many traffic laws along the way for someone who was raised by the sheriff. Rhett fidgets in his seat next to you.

As you weave down the back country roads to his place, you distantly recall the time during high school when he’d bought the truck. All week, girls had flocked to him, begging him to teach them to drive stick (they all already knew) or even just sit in the back. Trucks were a dime a dozen, but Rhett Abbott’s was special in the eyes of all the future buckle bunnies.

You’d watched the chaos from afar until he’d lifted his gaze from the girl tugging at his flannel to look at you. You’d looked away quickly, too embarrassed to be caught staring at him despite your continued insistence you didn’t like him in the slightest and that he never crossed your mind.

He never did end up giving any of the girls a chance. He wouldn’t even let them touch the keys.

Now here you are, driving his truck like it’s your own without a single complaint from him.

When you pull up to his house, you get out the same way you’d gotten in–without a word and barely waiting for him to catch up to you. It’s almost instinctual, the way you grab the house key from next to the truck one, unlock the door and shove inside, only knowing that he’s inside too because of the way the door slides shut softly instead of slamming.

Once inside, you flick on the kitchen light and round on him, “Now why’d ‘ya have to go and start shit with James Earl, huh?”

Rhett looks like he’s just been scolded by his mother for leaving his socks on the floor at his ripe age, and he scoffs harshly. You don’t miss the way his knuckles are split and crusted in blood. There’s a bruise blooming high on one of his cheeks.

“I’m the one startin’ shit? He was tryin’ somethin’ with you!” He takes a step toward you but you don’t move, “Earl’s a piece of shit and he got what was comin’ to him. I don’t regret a goddamn thing.”

“I had it handled.” Your defense is instinctual–knee jerk, even—everyone wants you to be fragile, to be something that needs protecting, and you’re sick of it.

“Did ‘ya?” You’re toe to toe now, and his shoulders are heaving. “‘Cause what I saw said somethin’ else.”

For a moment, you think he might kiss you. It takes all of your mental effort not to shove him and start shouting at him for how stupid he is, so instead you raise a single eyebrow and plaster on your most disapproving expression possible.

“I’m not arguin’ with you, Rhett Abbott. Get your damn first-aid kit and lemme clean ‘ya up.”

For once in his life, he listens to you. Eventually you find yourself kneeling in front of him as he sinks into the couch. You’ve turned on one of the living room lights, but there’s still just barely enough light to make out the details of his face and the way he tore up his knuckles on James Earl’s nose and cheeks.

“Now keep bein’ all tough, I better not hear ‘ya bitchin’ about the antiseptic hurtin’.” You don’t have it in you to actually hurt him though, so you keep the press of the rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton balls gentle.

He draws his shoulders up by his ears regardless, hissing lightly when it stings. Thankfully, only his pinky knuckle is actually split open on his right hand, so he won’t be entirely useless at work. His left hand is in worse shape, with three of his knuckles bubbling blood where he managed to cut them open. Both hands are bruised.

He doesn’t comment on your position at his knees.

“Earl’s nose better be fuckin’ broken.” Rhett finally breaks the silence as you finish cleaning his hands.

You don’t grant him with a response. Instead you stand to your full height and make your way to the kitchen to throw away the cotton balls now soaked with his blood. Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett.

When you return to him, he hasn’t moved a muscle. He simply tips his head back to look at you. Slowly, you put one knee up on the couch next to his thighs, then the other, and all of a sudden you’re kneeling over his lap. The hem of your dress just barely brushes his jeans. He looks like he’s holding his breath and he barely exhales when you let your full weight rest on him.

“I need to make sure he didn’t break yours.” It’s a lame excuse and you both know it, but you know he won’t call you on it, not when your bare thighs are warm against his denim-clad ones.

He smells like outside, like the evening sun, and something that tickles your nose; it’s uniquely Rhett. Privately, you wonder if all his clothes smell like him, and if they carry that scent even when he hasn’t worn them in a long while.

Shifting in his lap, you cradle his face and turn it toward the light. As if he’s trying not to spook a wild horse, he very delicately places his hands on your thighs. He doesn’t grip them, doesn’t let his fingertips twitch, just rests his calloused palms against your bare skin.

“Looks fine to me.” You breathe out, realizing how close your faces are.

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment.” He’s trying to sound flirtatious, trying to sound like the casanova his reputation makes him out to be, only he’s breathless and his face is flushed and you can feel his pulse racing.

You hate when men think they can just take control of you in bed because they’re a man and you’re not. But with Rhett, you can tell you’ve got him right where you want him by the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat and the way his hands rest on your thighs, fingertips just barely brushing the hem of your dress.

Letting go of his face, you brush imaginary dust off his shoulders before letting one hand rest flat on his chest, and threading the other up into his hair. It’s silkier than you ever imagined despite the way you know you can safely assume he does jack all to take care of it. He’s so damn pretty it makes your chest ache.

Both of you are silent, only the sounds of your breathing barely audible. Ever so gently, you slide your hand from his hair to the base of his neck. He’s like a foal in the way you’re unsure of how he’ll react to your hand placement, a new sort of touch. His heart hammers in his chest beneath your palm.

He doesn’t bolt or react strongly. Instead, he swallows thickly against your hand, blinking slowly at the sensation of your fingers tucked neatly around his throat. You’re not squeezing in the slightest, just letting your fingers rest around the warm, tanned, skin of his neck.

“Are you going to behave, Rhett?” Your voice is low over the sounds of the night outside.

He nods as you flex your fingers gently, testing the waters, and his eyes flutter shut. Rocking your hips experimentally, you feel the way his grip tightens on your thighs and the way he’s hard against you.

He likes it. He likes the way you’ve got a hand around his throat, the other resting gently on his chest. He isn’t fighting you, he isn’t arguing–for once in his life, he’s quiet in your presence.

The realization of how obedient he’s being sends a skittering sort of arousal through you. You see yourself pulling on jeans tomorrow and finding his fingerprints on you. You see him staring at himself in the mirror in the morning, lost at how to cover up the evidence of what you’d done to him the night before.

“You’ve spent all this time pullin’ my pigtails, and now that I’m here you can’t even form words.” He keeps his eyes closed and nods ever so slightly.

You want to hate him.

Oh how you want to hate Rhett Abbott. You want to hate the way he’s spent the last however many years following you around like a stray dog, poking fun at you and riling you up, just to have your attention. You want to hate the way he probably spent more time chasing boys off than your dad did. More than anything else you want to find it in you to feel something other than the way he’s burrowed himself under your skin.

“Whatever,” His voice is strained and he clears his throat before opening his eyes again, “Whatever you want, sugar. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“And if I want to get up right now, and never see you again?” You aren’t going to make this easy on him.

Yelling at James Earl is one thing, almost beating him to a pulp is another. You can protect yourself, you’re not a damsel in distress, and above all Rhett needs to learn his place. You’re grateful he was there, you are. But you didn’t need him to go and get in trouble on your behalf.

“Now, sugar, I find it hard to believe—”

You move as if to stand up, going to remove the hand from his neck to use one of his shoulders as leverage. Before you can get far, really even one inch away from him, one of his hands is flying from your thighs to clutch at the wrist of the hand that’s leaving his throat. He holds you there, and you can feel the way his pulse is racing. He maintains the way he stares into your eyes, but this time his are wide, almost as if in fear that you’d actually get up and leave.

“Try again.” You don’t change the way half your weight is off him, but you let him hold your wrist.

“Whatever you want, goes.” He swallows slowly before speaking again, “Will you just–Will you please sit back down?”

He doesn’t let go of your wrist.

You ease yourself back into his lap and run your free hand in between you till you reach his erection. It sends a thrill through you to feel just how excited he is by all of this. You want to hear him say please again, you want to see how far you can push your luck with him in the palm of your hand. You want him to beg.

You laugh lightly, if not a bit cruelly, as you squeeze his cock over his jeans, “Does this turn you on, Rhett?” You pause to watch how his pupils dilate at your tone before pressing on, “Not much of a big, bad, man now, are ‘ya?”

To your surprise, that doesn’t set him off. Most men wouldn’t let you put your hand around their throat, much less question just how much of a man they are. But he barely reacts beyond his chest rising and falling, his hands moving back to fully settle on your thighs and this time, gripping tightly.

“Like I said, whatever you want, sugar–I just want ‘ya to use me. Be good for something,” He licks his lips and exhales shakily, “Be good for you.”

Jesus. His sincerity bleeds through in the way his face is flushed and he maintains steady eye contact. He doesn’t waver for a single moment.

Something sick twists in your chest. Never before has a man been so willing, so pliant, for you. They’ve always tried to take what they want from you, always tried to make you submit. But what you actually wanted was this, Rhett’s eyes gazing pleadingly up at you while you sit in his lap.

“So this is what you wanted all along, huh? Always following me around, playing pranks on me, just wanted me to get my hand around your throat and use you?” You’re goading him on, trying to discern exactly what he wants you to say, what he’ll let you get away with.

With that, you lean close as if to kiss him and he closes his eyes lightly in anticipation, but at the last second turn your head so you can drag the tip of your nose across his cheek. The shudder that runs through him at the feather-light sensation is delicious; it makes you laugh lightly at how affected he is. His breaths are starting to come heavier, already betraying him if he tried to hide how badly he wants this. But he isn’t hiding, not in the slightest.

Now that you’re this close to him, the scent of him is overwhelming. It floods your mind and makes you almost lightheaded as you realize just how badly you want him. Part of it is that he’s so pliant, so willing, but the other part is the truth of the matter that you finally have to admit to yourself: you don’t hate Rhett Abbott.

In fact, his whole years-long performance has only meant that his constant presence is lingering somewhere at the forefront of your mind regardless of whether he’s around or not. When you’d gone off to college, those nine months had been odd without him around. You’d half expected him to show up to walk you between lecture halls or push some frat boy off you at a party.

(What you don’t know is that Rhett did almost go out to visit you. He’d looked at plane tickets, at how long it might take him to drive. He decided against it when he remembered every time you’d rejected him or told him to, very unkindly, “fuck off”.)

“Can I kiss ‘ya?” His voice is rough and he licks his lips again, like it’s a nervous habit.

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek and giggle softly to yourself when he whines and says, “That’s not what I meant and y’know it.”

Finally, you press your lips to his. They’re soft and warm and he’s so much better of a kisser than everyone else you’ve been with that it almost knocks the wind out of you. But he keeps you grounded, especially when his hand moves up to your jaw so he can coax it open. The way he licks into your mouth makes you let out a startled gasp.

You don’t expect it to feel so good. It’s one thing to sit in his lap and flirt, it’s a whole other to taste him and understand why girls chase him endlessly. You can’t stop the way your hips move against his and he keeps one hand on your thigh while the other goes to your tits. His hand dwarfs your chest and he gropes you haphazardly.

“Fuck, you’re even better than I imagined,” He sighs, pushing up against the hand that’s still around his throat.

“I haven’t even taken my clothes off, Rhett.” You tease, wanting to see how far you can push him, see if you can still get a rise out of him.

But it seems he’s given up the fight now that you’re right where he wants you. He smiles gently as he pulls back to look you in the eyes, “I could finish in my pants like a damned teenager with you like this, sugar, doesn’t matter.”

Rhett Abbott, womanizer, absolute menace in your life, admitting that he’s got it so bad for you that he could come in his pants just from having you near him? You could’ve guessed that he wanted to fuck you, but you always thought it would be more of him getting his rocks off and letting you fend for yourself. It never would’ve occurred to you that this is how he’d be in the moment. Him admitting how weak he is for you makes your head spin.

You press yourself ever closer to him, licking into his mouth and trapping his hand between the two of you where it had been stroking your nipples through the thin fabric of your sundress. He manages to free it, though, and slides it down your side to where your thigh creases. He wraps it around you there and the the sheer size difference between his hand and your hip makes a twisted sort of want course in your veins.

The first press of his thumb against your clit through your panties sends a jolt through you. He keeps your hips moving in a steady rhythm against his as he works steady circles over your clit. His other hand won’t stay still as it runs up and down your back, rubs your nipples, yanks on the tips of your hair ever so slightly. It’s mind-numbingly filthy, the quiet of his house filled with both of your gasps and moans, your hand still on his neck.

“Cum for me, sugar,” Then, as if he’s anticipating your chastisement, he adds, “Please.”

Your orgasm rips through you like white hot lighting as you gasp into his open mouth and he moans right along with you. You realize you’re chanting his name over and over like a prayer, completely unwittingly. He doesn’t let up with any of his movements, prolonging your pleasure til it folds into something more biting, just on the edge of overstimulating.

“Fuck, Jesus,” He gasps, and after a moment, “I’ll be thinking ‘bout that til I die,” He rasps out, settling both of his hands on your hips and leaning his forehead against yours.

You want to tease him about taking the Lord’s name in vain but you hold back. For a moment, it’s quiet. Your hips are still against his as you take in what just happened. It begins to dawn on you that he’s still hard under you, but he isn’t making any moves to change that.

He starts to shift under you like he’s considering standing up but you stop him by leaning into him.

“Ah ah, I’m not finished with you yet,” His eyes snap to yours in surprise.

“Rhett Abbott. Tellin’ me I could make you cum in your pants like a teen boy?” You lean back ever so slightly with a light snarl on your face, finally tightening your fingers to a tight grip in a way that makes his eyes glaze over, “Prove it.”

Pressing the heel of your palm into his crotch, you watch as he eyes scrunch shut and he grinds up once, twice, three times before a he releases a shaky exhale. You watch as he comes, as he pants and whines through his orgasm, the denim under your hand growing warm and wet. He doesn’t stop grinding and thrusting up against your hand til it draws a pained moan from him.

“Can I–Can I keep going?” He tries to make eye contact but his eyes are too unfocused from pleasure, “Like it when it, ah, when it hurts.”

God, this is what you’ve been missing out on the whole time? You let yourself rock steadily in his lap as he grinds up against your hand and leans forward to kiss you messily. You wonder if he let the other girls he’s been with do this to him. But something tells you that isn’t the case–you really don’t want it to be.

The whines and gasps he’s letting out as he’s writhing below you are something from your most far-fetched fantasies. You’re only slightly stunned as you feel him get hard again below you, though it seems to draw out the pain more than the pleasure given the way his face twists up and the hiss he lets out. All at once he settles; and then he goes to lift your wrist away from his crotch.

It’s terribly tender, the way he pulls away from you to press a kiss to the palm of your hand and smile widely at you. You almost get whiplash.

“What are you playin’ at?” You can’t help but settle back into your old ways–the Rhett Abbott you’ve known for so long has only really been around to aggravate you, the heartfelt way he’s looking at you sets you off kilter.

When he laughs at the way you’re starting to get irritated, you try to pull your hand from his to no avail and it makes the heat rise in your face, “Knock it off, Rhett. You’re bein’ an asshole.”

But he just keeps smiling at you as he pulls your other hand off his neck so that he can place both on his shoulders and cradle your face, “You’re so beautiful.”

As if anticipating the way you’re going to react to his words, he pulls your face to his so that he can press your lips together once again. It’s nothing like before. Before it was all tongue and your lips barely meeting through the gasps and moans being pulled out of you. This time it’s something so warm, so delicate, it makes your chest hurt in a different way.

“I hate you, Rhett Abbott,” You manage to gasp out once he pulls away fully, a sparkle in his eyes. It doesn’t have any heat to it, lacks all the rage it used to–this time, it just sounds like you might be trying to tell him you love him.

He ignores you in favor of standing with you still in his arms and declaring, “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up and go to bed.”

Somewhere between your orgasm and when he kissed you that final time, you think he might’ve figured it out too–that you don’t hate him and maybe you never have. Because you let him carry you through his dark home without protest. You let him undress you wordlessly, without fanfare and without ogling your naked form. He simply drops your soiled clothing into a laundry hamper and starts undressing himself.

You watch him strip as he turns on the shower and gestures for you to follow him in when he steps in. For just a second you stare at him, halfway in and halfway out from under the stream of water, the way he’s staring at you expectantly.

He still has that bruise on his cheek from where James Earl hit him what feels like a lifetime ago. His knuckles are still split in some places, just turning that particular shade of red in others. He’s a goddamn vision under the yellow and white fluorescent lights of his bathroom. It makes you want to hold your breath for fear that you’ll disturb the moment somehow.

The shower proceeds without a hitch. It’s oddly lacking sexual tension, though you notice that he’s still half hard. You have half a mind to sink to your knees and suck him off, just to prove your point, just to show him you mean business. But the way he gently washes you as if he’d done it a million times before stops you. You let him clean you up between your legs without a protest.

When he opens the bathroom cabinet to reveal various creams and lotions after you’ve both stepped out and wrapped yourselves in towels, you feel yourself start to get angry. Is he seriously showing you all the products he buys for all the other girls he brings home?

Instead, he smiles sheepishly at you and rubs the back of his neck, “You always smell so good, I spent ages tryin’ to figure out which one you were usin’. Just bought all of ‘em at some point.”

You feel floored as the fight leaves your body. You don’t have a way to be upset about that. Wordlessly, you pick up one of the bottles tucked in the second row and hand it to him.

“It’s this one.”

The grin that spreads over his face is one of such genuine happiness it makes you want to squeal and run for the hills at the same time. You wonder distantly if he’ll ever stop making you feel like that–simultaneously like a trapped animal and like you’re the only girl he’s ever seen. You wonder if this (there’s a ‘this’?) will last long enough for you to find out.

He lends you one of his shirts and you’re pleased to find out that it does hold his smell. It sits long on you, settling around your knees, making you feel just a bit like a sexy ghost with the way it hugs your chest. He pulls on a pair of briefs before flicking off the overhead light and then throwing back the covers and patting the space next to him.

“You’re a vision for a blind man, sugar,” His voice carries through the otherwise silent room, “Now come to bed.”

It’s something out of a daydream, climbing into bed with Rhett Abbott. You’re immediately enveloped in his scent, the way his arm lays heavy around your waist and pulls you close to him. For once, you don’t fight him.

“You okay there, sugar? Been awfully quiet.” His voice is low right next to your ear before he turns away momentarily to turn off the bedside table light. His arm is back around you in an instant.

Wiggling yourself around in his arms, you turn so that the two of you are nose to nose. He smiles that smile again, the one that fills you with warmth and makes your stomach twist. There’s barely enough light from outside to really see him as your eyes adjust to the dark, but you know his face.

“I don’t think I hate you.”

He starts laughing. It shakes his shoulders and makes the bed creak. His eyes screw up and you can feel the way his stomach moves against yours. You feel your shoulders go up by your ears and you try to pull away, embarrassed that he’s laughing.

“I’m sorry, sugar, c’mere,” He tugs you even closer to him than before, if possible, “I’m not laughin’ at you, I’m laughin’ only ‘cause I never hated you. I don’t really think you hated me either.”

“Hey!” You’re indignant, “Rhett Abbott, who’re you to tell me how I feel?”

“Alright, alright, sugar, I’ll take ‘yer word for it. My heroics do it for ‘ya?” You barely catch the way he winks at you in the dark, but it makes you want to bite him in retaliation.

“The way you almost got the snot beat outta ‘ya? Sure.” Scoffing, you turn yourself over so you’re facing away from him again, only you don’t move out of his arms.

He huffs lightly in protest, but lets it go in favor of nuzzling into your hair and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. It sends a warm sort of heat through you. You’re not ready to fully give in to him yet, but you think he might be growing on you. You’ll just have to see.

#walk him like a dog bitch walk him like a dog #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbot smut #rhett abbott x you #outer range fic #outer range fanfic #outer range fanfiction #no use of y/n

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minimomoe · 4 months

Text

A L e s s o n i n F r e n c h

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader x Kento Nanami

Preview : Nanami pressed his lips to Toji, letting the wine fall out and into Toji’s mouth. Toji let out a low groan, and you watched as the sticky red substance escaped the corner of their mouths as down their chins. You used your thumb to gather the wine on Toji’s face and licked it clean, then tapped Nanami’s jaw.

“It means threesome. You got ahead of yourself there, Ken. Try not to swallow my man...."

Wd ct: 5k

tags: threesome, married couple plus one, bottom Toji, anal, face riding, blowjobs, anal, lowkey brat taming, come eating, uhhh let me know if I forgot anything

“Je’n connais pas,” you mumbled into the phone. Toji had a growing frown behind you but your back was turned to him.

“Vin rouge ou blanc?” You asked into your phone again.

Toji grumbled under his breath. “You could ask me something.”

Your eyes darted over to him, a smile creeping on your face. You went over to his side giving him a peck on the cheek. “Mon cœur, arrête de froncer les sourcils.”

He gave you a hard stare yet you blinked so sweetly at him he couldn’t really be mad at you. “I don’t know if you know, but I still can’t understand you.”

“I already have wine, but if you insist on bringing it, get something red. It will pair well with what I have in mind,” Nanami spoke up louder from your phone. Toji’s scowl deepened from the sound of his voice, making you place your finger down the center of his brows to flatten the wrinkles. You held the phone closer to your mouth, still massaging Toji’s face before giving him a peck on the cheek.

“And what may that be?”

“One of your favorites. À plus tard,” he said curtly then hung up. You stuffed your phone back into your purse and held up two different wines to Toji.

“You said you wanted me to ask you, right?”

He pointed to the one in your left hand, which you nodded to contently. He doesn’t know shit about wine so he chose the fancier looking one. He saw that it was yet another French brand too late and almost asked you to put it back until he saw you nodded contently. You held it in your arms, strolling down the aisle while Toji tried to talk you out of your plans.

“Do we have to have dinner with him? We can just stay in tonight.”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” you smirked. “We always stay in.”

“Where’s my baby that has her nightly routine done by 9pm, rubbing her feet under the covers to sleep?”

“Getting excited to eat at our very lovely friend’s house for dinner with, ma cherie. We already agreed to it,” you reminded him.

Toji ignored the way that he actually liked the French pet names for him. The stupid, lopsided grin he felt growing on his face would have to be stifled for the sake of the argument.

“Say I got sick.”

“You’re as healthy as a horse.”

“ You got sick.”

“I was just on the phone with him, he’s not gonna believe that.”

Toji let out an annoyed huff of air. It’s not that Toji didn’t like Nanami. He got along with him just fine… for your sake. Sure, he got a little lost when he was around Nanami and you at the same time because your conversations would move a thousand miles per minute, jumping from topics that required years of context. You told him that you and Nanami had known each other since college, finding yourself in the same classes multiple times over that you two decided to be study buddies until you realized that you liked each other’s company outside of class too. With Nanami you were able to sharpen your language skills, bouncing from Japanese, English, French, Latin and most recently Arabic. He had the uncanny ability to learn a language as quickly as you could, and it just became your “thing” together even after college, even after you got married to Toji. Once Toji saw that Nanami was going to be around much more than he liked, he tried to keep the snarky remarks to himself.

Still, there was only so much he could take.

He just never seemed to meet eye to eye with the blond man, and Nanami has always been territorial over his friends. He didn’t give everyone that title without great care, and when you started dating Toji, Nanami was not too keen on him. He didn’t know how Toji managed to catch your attention but you were genuinely happier around him, so Nanami didn’t make a fuss about it. However, it didn’t mean he had to be friends with the dark haired man. Toji could see the stiff politeness whenever he met Nanami. Toji’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter when you left the store to go to his house.

When you both arrived at Nanami’s place you were welcomed to low jazz music floating from his hidden speakers. You were greeted with a warm smile and a short hug, but for Toji who stood behind you Nanami gave him a curt nod. You both followed Nanami inside to his kitchen where he was preparing his meal already. You liked to show up a little earlier just to help him out, so the only thing chopped were a few herbs like garlic and rosemary, and it gave you plenty of time to catch up with each other.

“This week was unbelievable. I was telling Toji on our way here that I am very close to quitting my job,” you complained.

“Do it,” Nanami shrugged. He opened his cabinets for wine glasses, grabbing three and setting them on the counter. Then he remembered you mentioning that Toji never imbibed, so he placed one glass back.

He did the same last year, quit his job, you were the first person he told about his decision. You remember the day fondly. He has been happier since then, and he has shown no interest in rejoining the corporate world.

“I told her the same shit but she’s afraid of ‘getting bored’,” Toji sighed. Finally, something Nanami and him could agree on.

“It’s a really big thing to do! I don’t know how Kenny handled it.”

“I knew the burnout from continuing would have been worse,” he said softly, and poured the wine glasses halfway. He handed you a glass first, then raised his glass up to you. “I wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you. So listen to us for once,” he reasoned. Your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass and you tapped your glass with his.

You looked at Toji nodding his head. “Oh what the hell. To quitting!”

Nanami laughed at your new enthusiasm. “To quitting,” he echoed. He waited for you to taste first before taking a sip of his own. You let the drink settle fully on your tongue and look down into your cup.

“C’est doux,” you hummed.

Nanami grinned and swirled his own glass. He knew you would like it. Your sweet tooth was more manageable than a certain white haired menace he knew, matching his own preferences. He could handle sweetness in doses and this was the perfect amount. “It is, isn’t it?”

Toji let out a deep sigh and Nanami raised his brow. His presence was brought back to Nanami’s attention and the annoyance settled in. Toji could at least keep the noises to himself.

“Would it kill you to try to learn a few phrases?”

“What good will French do for me?” Toji challenged.

“It won’t make you lose anything,” he shrugged.

“So it’s useless.”

You didn’t know why Toji and Nanami always acted like this when they were around each other. They could be such great friends, you could feel it. You just had to find a way to get them there.

“Look honey, just say sweet. Doux. ”

You and Nanami waited patiently for Toji to repeat it. He crossed his arms over his chest with a disapproving frown.

“No.”

“Pourquoi agit-il comme un enfant?” Nanami whispered it not-so-quietly into your ear. He didn’t need to whisper it at all as there was no way that Toji could understand what he said. It just made watching Toji’s jaw tick more amusing.

You shoved Nanami’s shoulder then swirled the glass in your hand.

“Wanna taste?”

Toji doesn’t drink. He’d rather keep a clear mind at all times for whatever might happen, but he would never say no to a drink from your lips. It was the only way he’d drink anything alcoholic.

You took another sip and curled your finger to him to get close, then pushed your lips on his. Toji crouched down to be slightly lower than your eye level, letting gravity do all the work while the wine seeped into his mouth. He moaned at the taste, or maybe at you, and his arms tightened around your waist. Once your mouth was empty you gave him one last kiss, your tongue running over the seam of his lips to catch any remnants.

“Well. What do you rate it?”

His eyes fluttered open. “It is sweet. Not bad.”

“ Doux ,” you said. You pouted that big eyed pout that broke Toji down no matter how silly the request was. It wasn’t fair to use your brown eyes like that against him and you knew it.

“Doux,” he sighed, and you rewarded him with another wine drunk kiss. He licked his lips after you pulled away, then went back in for another taste. You pushed him away when you remembered that Nanami was standing right next to you. He pretended like he couldn’t see your sickeningly sweet display of affection to each other.

“It must suck to not have somebody to do this with,” Toji said, unprovoked. You jabbed him with his elbow, taken completely by surprise by the remark, while apologizing for him to Nanami. Toji did not take back what he said, and Nanami shot daggers with him that were aiming to kill.

“I won’t be able to eat dinner like this,” you muttered. You dragged the arms of both men into Nanami’s living room. You plopped them both down on the couch, then sat on the table in front of them.

“I need you two to loosen up already. I mean, it’s been a few years already. Neither one of you is going to leave my life so we need to get rid of this attitude now .”

Nanami crossed his legs, stretching his arm over the top of the couch. Toji scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I don’t have an attitude,” Nanami said coolly.

“That’s bullshit,” you and Toji said at the same time, and it was Kento’s turn to roll his eyes. You were becoming so much like Toji. He was so sure that his dearest friend that he’s known for all these years would suddenly morph into the man sitting next to him and he would have two Toji’s to deal with. Nanami’s frown deepened at the thought.

“And you, baby. Why can’t you hang around Nanamin without looking like I’m forcing you to?”

Toji ran a weary hand down his face. “You’re not forcing me to do anything, I promise,” he sighed. “If I didn’t want to be here with you I wouldn’t be. I just think Nanami has a giant silver stick up his ass.”

“A stick up my ass,” Nanami repeated icily. “I welcome you into my home, try to feed you, and this is how you thank me?”

You tried to intervene before they got too heated. You saw Nanami put his leg back on the ground, turning his body to face your husband. “Okay, Toji that was a little–”

“I wasn’t thanking you.”

“I don’t know what she sees in you,” Nanami exasperated.

“ Kento .”

“What? He’s the complete opposite of you in every way.”

“And I love that about him. We’ve been together for too long for you to still be wishing for our downfall.”

“I’m not and will never wish for your unhappiness. Him on the other hand–”

“I’m not going any-fucking-where,” Toji stated. Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose while you let out a breathy, humourless laugh. It would be funny if Toji and Kento were doing a bit, but they were like this at any given chance. It was like dealing with children that you didn’t have the time nor want for. You sighed, patted your knees, then got up and held your hand out to Toji.

“Let’s just eat then leave. I won’t make you guys uncomfortable anymore.”

Both men protested but you gave them a silencing glare. Toji’s mouth snapped shut and Nanami mumbled something that sounded like an apology. They both looked like kicked puppies back in the kitchen, but finally they were quiet. Nanami couldn’t even coax you to speak to him in their mother language, as anything you asked him you answered in English.

Toji felt the worst of the group. After all, you were pretty excited to have dinner with him here and he felt like he had ruined the night for you. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and get everything you needed yourself, not asking him for help on anything. Toji looked at you so miserably that even Nanami felt bad.

Toji swallowed his pride, something he only did for you, and engaged in a conversation with Nanami.

“Have you ever been to France before?” He nudged Nanami as he stood over the stove, turning the sauce so the bottom wouldn’t burn. Nanami looked at you from the corner of his eyes. You feigned deep concentration at the chopping board, oblivious to their conversation.

“Yes, a few times. For work however, not pleasure.”

“I’ve never been. That’s why I don’t really see the point of learning a language I’m not going to use often. It’s more of a skill you and her have,” Toji said honestly.

“That makes sense. If there’s no motivation it would be hard to learn. You’ve been to France before, right?” Nanami turned to ask you and you shrugged.

“Yes. Twice.”

Nanami pursed his lips together. They were going to have to work a little harder but at least you were talking.

“That’s right. You took a trip right after graduation and then attended a wedding there, correct?”

You made a sound of agreement. Toji scratched the back of his head hopelessly.

“I will say Toji, French is pervasive. There’s French influence everywhere so you probably know a lot more of it than you think.”

Nanami started listing out phrases and Toji was following along, telling him if he heard them before or not. They were doing this together, still preparing the dinner, making your heart thaw in the process. They were really getting along for your sake and it was all you ever wanted.

“A popular term is ménage à trois,” Nanami murmured. He didn’t know why he brought it up all of a sudden, but it was true nonetheless.

Immediately Toji’s eyes lit up. A wolfish grin was plastered on his face. “I know that one.”

Nanami rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Of course you do.”

“Remind me what it means again, blondie.”

You decided that now you wanted to join in on the conversation. A slow smile stretched across your face. You set the knife down on the table, carefully wiping your hands clean with a towel as you answered. “Literally? A household of three.”

Your eyes shined with a mischievous light and Toji knew that there was more to it.

“Colloquially?” Nanami brushed Toji’s hand off his face. He took a sip from his glass, maintaining eye contact with Toji and gripped his waist. Toji lurched forward, surprised by the action but he was more concerned with how close Nanami’s face was to his. Nanami gave you a look at the corner of his eyes, asking for permission, looking for rejection. You didn’t look at him yet, instead gazing at Toji who was trying to gauge your reaction. You gave him a nod, and then a look to Nanami that said he’s all yours.

Nanami pressed his lips to Toji, letting the wine fall out and into Toji’s mouth. Toji let out a low groan, and you watched as the sticky red substance escaped the corner of their mouths as down their chins. You used your thumb to gather the wine on Toji’s face and licked it clean, then tapped Nanami’s jaw.

“It means threesome. You got ahead of yourself there, Ken. Try not to swallow my man.”

“He was going to swallow me,” he retorted. Nanami released Toji and brushed his fingers over his lip. They had only kissed for a few seconds but they were tingling. He eyed Toji, who wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your head, seemingly unfazed. Toji’s ears told a different story. His face was as collected as ever yet they were flaming red, like they could burst to flames. Nanami wondered if he was pushed up against you to hide an erection, because Nanami was doing the same by standing so close to the counter to finish slicing his portion of vegetables.

“Toji you’re slowing me down,” you complained to the man who was still holding onto you like a koala. His arms around you shortened your range of movement, so he raised them up so they wouldn’t be blocking your elbows. You shook your head yet a smile danced on your lips. No matter how Nanami felt, Toji always brought you joy, and he was glad to see your bright smile again. Toji could be standing, doing absolutely nothing but scowling at people, and you would still gaze dreamily upon him. It was ridiculous to watch from Nanami’s point of view, yet he couldn’t stay mad at it. You were smitten with Toji and he had to accept that.

“I’m not blind, you know. It’s hard to ignore you two fucking each other with your eyes,” you commented, shocking both men. “I don’t think I want to sit through that at the table, so let’s deal with this now.”

You gazed at Nanami who doubled and tripled checked your expression to make sure he was not reading you wrong.

“You want to…?”

“If Toji wants to,” you agreed. All eyes were on Toji.

“Lead the way, cheekbones. I’ll do whatever she says.”

With that Nanami washes his hands and leads you two to his bedroom. You were right, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the dining table with the way his heart was racing in his chest and his pants getting incredibly tight. It was better to deal with this now. Get it out of his system once and for all. Whatever this was.

“Your room is exactly how I’d imagine it to be. Cold, ” Toji said pointedly once inside. Everything was neatly folded and tucked away. Dark bedding a few decorative pillows laid on the bed, and you sat down on the edge of it, already making yourself comfortable.

“You were having wet dreams about my bedroom?” Nanami raised a brow, causing the other man to scowl. You pulled Toji down to the bed next to you. Your lips tickled the outer shell of his ear when you spoke, yet your voice had a sharp edge to it that sent chills down your husband’s spine.

“You’re such a little shit tonight. What is your problem?”

Your fingernails scraped Toji’s nape and his jaw tightened. While it wasn’t intentional tonight, he liked the way you got rough with him when he was getting on your nerves.

Nanami cleared his voice. “How are we going to do this?” You and Toji’s attention snapped at him. There was a beat of silence before Toji answered.

“You’re already in front of me. How ‘bout you get on your knees?” Toji offered with a wicked smile. He had every right to decline, yet with one look at you and your bitten bottom lip Nanami felt compelled to do so. Never in a million years would Nanami think that he would be on his knees in front of Toji this way. He didn’t expect to get hard from it either.

You rubbed Toji’s shoulders as you moved to sit behind him, cheering Nanami on while he kneeled in front of the other man.

“Doesn’t Nanamin have the prettiest eyes, Toji? They’re absolutely gorgeous,” you cooed. Kento tugged at the belt holding Toji’s pants together, trying to ignore your compliments that made his ears flame. “I know how much you love brown eyes.”

He was sure that one was meant just for Toji to hear since you dropped your voice down so low, but he heard it all the same. Nanami zeroed in on the hardening length in Toji’s pants, straining to be released and took his time unzipping his pants. You whispered more obscenities in Toji’s ears while Nanami gently pulled him out of his pants. He was already leaking with precum, making the blonde man smirk.

“Something funny?” Toji asked gruffly. It’s been so long since anybody else’s hands but yours have been on Toji’s body, and the new feeling was exhilarating. Nanami dragged his tongue from the base to the tip before answering.

“Nothing in particular. Do you want me to continue?”

“Keep focus on the tip,” you mention, still behind Toji. “He’s incredibly sensitive.”

Nanami kept that in mind as he swallowed Toji’s cock. You both watched him in awe as it seemed like he had no gag reflex. Spit rolled down Toji’s length and he let out a low hiss. By habit he placed his large hand on top of Nanami’s head, barely guiding him because Toji was too worried about busting quick. The sound of Toji’s cock head hitting the back of Nanami’s throat made you want to join in on the fun.

“That’s enough, Kenny. I don’t want him to come just yet,” you purred. He didn’t hear you, his eyes were closed and he was moaning over Toji’s cock so you slipped onto the floor next to him, one hand running up his thigh to rub his erection through the fabric of his pants and the other one combed through his undercut until you got to the thick of his hair. Toji removed his hand off of his cheek so you could talk to him. You gently tugged his hair until he released Toji’s cock with a soft pop . “Enjoying yourself?”

Nanami looked at you from the corner of his eyes, breathing heavily. Your fingers on his erection made him painfully hard, his hand coming to rest on top of yours. Cum mixed with spit dripped down his chin and you collelected it with your thumb, pushing it up back into his mouth until he sucked on your digit, then you stared straight at Toji. Kento’s eyes were low and heady, making Toji ache even more. He had such long lashes and blinked slowly at him, daring him to say something. You grabbed Nanami by the chin and gave him a kiss, breaking the trance both men were in.

It wasn’t your first time kissing Nanami. It was New Years during undergrad, and you were happy and drunk and willing to kiss anybody who was within arm’s reach. Nanami just happened to be the closest. It was a drunk and clumsy kiss that led to laughter and shouting “Happy New Year” right in his ear. You only vaguely remembered it the next day, apologizing profusely to your friend who said it wasn’t a big deal.

However, this kiss was nothing like the one you two had shared those many nights ago. It was downright filthy, full of tongue and teeth, push and pull. The kiss was going to be burned in your mind forever. The fact that Toji was watching you made you put on a show, and Nanami felt the same heated eyes sweep over him. You made quick work with the buttons on Nanami’s shirt, almost popping them in your haste. Kento’s hand slipped past your waistband, gathering the arousal from your sex and fucking you leisurely with his middle finger in contrast to how ravenous he was with his mouth. Toji started to stroke himself from the scene in front of him, and immediately your eyes opened and wandered over to him. Your lips were still moving against Nanami’s, but you took Toji’s length in your free hand and he let go of himself. He watched your hand wrap around him, hissing when you thumbed his slit and you finally broke your kiss with Nanami.

Nanami’s lips went down to your neck when he no longer had access to your mouth. Your perfume was the same type of subtle sweetness of the wine he drank, intoxicating him further. He managed to remove some of your clothes in his frenzy, and he was finally able to see the delicate lace bra you were wearing that was purple. Your nipples were visible through the berry fabric and peeking over the top of the cup, your breasts threatening to spill over completely. You tilted your head down to Nanami as he left a mark on your chest.

“Help me out, Kento.” You gestured to Toji’s cock still hard in your hand. You kissed the bottom of his shaft, expecting Nanami to take care of the head.

“ Fuck .” Toji had two mouths and two different hands on his cock, all moving at different speeds but had the same goal in mind. He had no idea how he was able to hold back from cumming for so long while looking at the both of you on your knees. Sometimes you’d switch off, Nanami flattening his tongue on the underside to feel the large vein hidden there while you swirl your tongue on the head, focusing solely on his tip. Your nose would bump Nanami’s moving around, and when it happened you would share a sloppy kiss before returning to the task at hand. Toji’s balls tightened, and he gave a warning through clenched teeth.

“I’m going to cum.”

Once again Nanami was at the top, his lips sealed tight around Toji. You backed off, opting to gently stroke the base of his cock as they had their moment.

“Do not get it in my eye,” Nanami warned. His voice was husky from using his throat but you weren’t sure that Toji could actually hear him. Their stare was electric, and Nanami openly gazed at Toji when he stuck out his tongue, waiting for him to cum. You stroked Toji harder while he cursed and shouted, painting Kento’s accepting mouth and face. The ribbons of cum slowed and some spurted on Nanami’s chest. Nanami looked down on the mess made on his chest, and before he could say anything you licked it off of his body. You didn’t want any of it to go to waste and Nanami wiped the ones off of his face by scooping it off of his finger and salaciously cleaned it off.

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered when you looked back at your husband. He snapped out of his post-orgasm daze to shrug off his pants and shirt, tossing them to some corner of the room.

“We were going to have some fun when we got back home,” you shrugged when Nanami wordlessly raised his brow at the blue plug seated in Toji’s ass. He grabbed the base and turned it slowly inside of Toji, who stifled a groan deep in his chest.

“Is that why you always act like that? You need to have your attitude fucked out of you to behave?”

“Watch it, Nanamin. I could say the same about you,” you quipped. As far as you were concerned, you were the only one who could call out Toji for his brattiness.

“I’m not the one prepped and ready to go.”

“Not everybody is as vanilla as you, blondie,” Toji smirked. “You should try it someday. It would help that stick in your ass that I was talking about.”

“All you have to do is ask, Kenny,” you whispered in his ear. Your hand ran down his back, feeling the small of his waist and then cupped his ass. “Either one of us can make you feel good, I promise.”

The offer was tempting, especially coming from your lips. Your fingers made mindless shapes on his skin, making his heart race.

“I believe you,” he breathed.

A small smile formed on your lips. “Good. Next time, alright? Let’s not keep my baby waiting.” You kneeled beside Toji on the bed, taking his mouth to tongue him down, leaving Nanami to his devices.

He watched the scene in front of him, you stroking Toji and your mouth melded in his. Nanami’s fingers grazed over his lips, remembering how yours felt while he grabbed a condom. He pulled the plug out of Toji, taking a moment to view how ready he was, and more blood went straight to Nanami’s cock. He slowly eased himself in Toji’s entrance, pulling back when only the tip entered just to annoy the other man. Toji’s eyes opened to glare at Nanami, then he hooked his leg around his waist, dragging him down and closer. Kento’s hands braced themselves on both sides of Toji’s body, his length going deeper inside of him as he tried to hold himself up.

“So fucking impatient,” Nanami growled. He pushed the rest of his cock in Toji who moaned loudly in your lips. His teeth dug into your lips, and your free hand found its way to the apex of your thighs, circling your own bud from heated desire. Nanami held nothing back from Toji, fucking him with all the roughness your husband craved. Toji’s eyes rolled to the back of his head when Nanami put his leg over his shoulder to reach the end of him.

“F-fuck, Kento,” he bit out. Nanami was fucking him like he had something to prove, and Toji was feeling it in his guts. Your hand on his cock only heightened his sensitivity. Then, in his brief moment of clarity, Toji coaxed you to sit on his face. There was no reason for you to get yourself off when his mouth was free, and it would help him to stop drooling over Nanami’s mind breaking strokes.

You straddled yourself over Toji’s face and he wrapped his arms around your thighs to hold you closer. His nose teasingly nudged your clit, causing you to double over. You splayed your hands over his stomach and gyrated your hips on his tongue.

Your hands roamed your own body until reaching your chest. Surprisingly your bra was still on, but the cups were pulled down under your bust and you tweaked your own nipple. You were too caught up in the feeling of Toji’s tongue fucking you to take it off completely. Toji who knew exactly what you needed stretched his arm to twist your other nipple.Your moans were not the only ones that could be heard in the room. Nanami gave soft grunts as he fucked Toji, and all of Toji’s noises were muffled by your sex. You grabbed Toji’s wrist and urged him to grab your whole breast tightly. With your head thrown back you wished he could put his hands around your neck instead. You were grazing your throat when your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the ceiling before jerking from Toji’s hands. He rubbed fast circles on your clit that choked you up. You drew ragged breaths that made Nanami swing his hips faster, matching the cadence of your moans. The legs around Toji’s head queened tighter as you rapidly approached your climax, but he chased that high as if it was his own. His tongue skillfully chipped away at your sanity.

“Ke-Kento,” you whined, begging him for help. Not that he’d want to in this situation. His body drifted towards your voice, and you stretched across to meet his mouth again. Your hands balanced yourself on Toji’s stomach again, grabbing his cock to stroke him quickly. You and Nanami shared breaths, your mouth grazing over each other’s before kissing again. Toji’s moans prompted yours, leading to Nanami biting your bottom lip. Every emotion was felt between all three of you, currents of energy jumping from one person to the next. Nanami wasn’t fucking you, but he might as well have been from all the noise you were making.

You snapped first. You broke the connection of your lips from Nanami’s, throwing your head back to ride out your high on Toji’s tongue. Kento watched you unravel with hearts in his eyes. Your fingers left angry red marks on Toji’s wrists, as you tried to hold his hands while you spiraled down. Toji tightened dangerously around Kento, and despite his will not to Kento came the same time he did. Nanami filled the condom, and Toji painted his own stomach and chest with come for the second time of the night. Muffled curse words shuddered through clenched teeth left everyone’s mouth. You fell to your side in a heap, your head resting next to Toji’s knee as you tried to catch your breath. Nanami had just enough strength to pull out and take off his condom before collapsing on top of Toji. He’d worry about the sticky mess he’s lying on top of later. When your eyes fluttered open to see Toji’s arm thrown over Nanami’s back you let out a breathy giggle.

Toji spoke first. “Is dinner still going to happen or…”

Nanami scowled, pinching his thigh and your giggles turned into full on laughter.

“All you do is take,” Kento grumbled. Toji gave his ass a playful slap in response.

“I guess you two can never really change, but this was a much needed first step,” you snorted. “But seriously, when are we going to eat, Kenny?”

One would think you meant food. That’s what came out of your mouth, but your eyes hungrily swept over Nanami.

“Vacuums. You both are vacuums.”

Thanks for reading!! M.list || Twitter || Ao3

#minimoe #momowritings #black fem reader #x black reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk nanami

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werewolfsmile · 2 months

Note

re: "All I’m saying is the fact that someone isn’t talking to me about Eliot Spencer every second of every day is very unfair and borderline illegal." & tags - if you want to, can you elaborate on your werewolf!eliot ideas?? i’d like to hear about it!! if not all good tho :)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Yes I would love to elaborate! (buckle up because i have Thoughts)

(wow this really got away from me so uhhh .... warning for 2k of ranting about Eliot as a werewolf?? list of headcanons under the cut)

From the moment I first met Eliot Spencer, I knew he was werewolf-coded. Aside from his insanely fantastic fighting abilities and the absurd amount of punishment he can take, there are many other factors that contribute to his werewolf status.

Eliot needs a pack Our boy is out here working on his own for years and look at all the good it did him! None! He carries severe trauma from his family life because he blames himself for how it all went down and doesn't think he'll be welcomed back. Plus something probably happened during his military days or early PMC days to put him off working with others. Could have been the pain of losing people all the time, could have been something more. Either way, Eliot working on his own is a defence mechanism - but a self-destructive one.

Wolves thrive in packs - like duh, they're pack animals. As my username suggests, I'm into werewolves and, by extension, wolves. I've done research for my own werewolf novels in the past, so I know that in an average wolf pack, each pack member will have physical contact with the other pack members on the regular. Like, several times an hour! (gosh if I can find the research paper this info came from I'll link it but honestly it's been years) That's a serious level of physical contact required to keep the emotional bonds of the pack healthy!

Flick back to Eliot. He loves to fight, he loves the violence and the pain, yes. He hates the killing and the blood on his hands. He actually tries to leave the assassin world behind after he meets Toby (which is before he meets Moreau, as per early dialogue in The French Connection Job). He bonds quickly with Toby. Show Eliot a little love and care and he's yours for life! He moves onto retrieval work, then somehow ends up working for Moreau.

Now, when we see Eliot and Moreau in The Big Bang Job, Moreau says, "You work alone." Which means that Eliot had that reputation when he came to Moreau. He probably only took contracts to start off with. But he accepted job after job from Moreau and was so good that he was highly respect and it's inferred he ended up as Moreau's top bodyguard/assassin. Why the hell would Eliot end up that close to a man who brings out all the worst in him? Because Eliot's a werewolf and no matter how toxic, Moreau fulfills the need for a pack bond that he's been missing all this time.

Fast forward to Eliot meeting the rest of the Leverage team. One job only - my ass. He saves Hardison's life after Hardison brought a gun to their little meeting - and we all know how Eliot feels about guns.

Wolves are designed to live and operate in packs. Eliot says it's one job only but is bonding with them all from the get-go. Werewolf trait confirmed.

Eliot needs physical touch Now, I know what you're thinking. Eliot canonically avoids physical contact with the team. He refuses hugs, especially from Hardison, growls at Parker poking his bruises (don't get me started on the growls), and shoves people (ahem Parker) out of his personal space. So why would he do all this if he needs physical touch??

Because he's one gigantic ball of angst and self-loathing and guilt.

Eliot doesn't think he deserves forgiveness or love or family, etc. That is a whole other rant, but he denies himself the physical contact he needs with others as a way of punishing himself.

However, as the series progresses, we see him become more comfortable with physical contact! He hugs Hardison several times, he doesn't move away from Parker, etc. Why? Because he's bonded with this team (ahem pack) and there's only so much he can suppress his instincts. The more time he spends with them, the more naturally the contact flows.

Eliot needs to protect others Whenever we get a scene of the team walking as a group, where is Eliot positioned 90% of the time?? That's right, at the back of the group. He lets the others walk in pairs and falls back to bring up the rear. He's keeping them all in his line of sight and constantly scanning for threats ahead, along with protecting the team from any rear attacks. It makes sense for him to do this given his military background, but it also makes sense for a werewolf to do this.

He's the only werewolf in the team. His instincts revolve around keeping the pack safe and protected, so he does that in the best way he knows how.

Not to mention how feral gets over kids!!

Wolf life is all about the pack and the family structure. Pups are integral to the pack's survival and future. Eliot doesn't have kids of his own. But that doesn't stop his instincts from blaring every time he interacts with a kid, be it on the con or off. He takes time out every time to help that kid in an attempt to calm the raging storm of instincts inside his body.

Eliot needs to feed others It's another werewolf instinct that rears its head when they're in the safety of their headquarters (ahem den). Protecting the team/pack from physical threats is just one aspect of taking care of them. Feeding them is the other major one.

None of these idiots can cook to save their lives - except Nate, but he's also drowning his liver 90% of the time, so Eliot has to compensate for that, too. The team can't operate at full capacity if they're not consuming good nutrition. So Eliot makes sure to feed them.

His humanity recognises that these are independent people - coworkers - and he can't control every meal of every day. But he can cook for them, once a week or once a job, which is just enough to satisfy his instincts that he's doing his part to care for them. Plus they love his cooking, and the praise he gets from it is an unexpected but pleasant bonus.

Eliot and team sports/kitchens This ties in with my first point about Eliot needing a pack, but all the times we see Eliot go super hard and get absorbed in the role he's playing are when he's on a team sport or he's in the kitchen. Both of these fulfill super important instincts for him - being in a team/pack and providing food for others.

Think about The Tap-Out Job. Eliot's playing a fighter but he's not pretending to be on a team. He doesn't get over-invested in the role. But what about when he's a baseball player? A hockey player? He falls into those roles hard because he's working with another team again, and this little werewolf is built for that environment. Same in The French Connection: the kitchen becomes his den, the students are his pack mates, and he goes hard at investing in them and protecting them. Never mind the personal aspect of Toby.

Same for episodes like The Fairy Godparents Job when we get a scene of Eliot teaching a bunch of girls self-defence. Team setting + protecting kids = happy werewolf instincts.

So, werewolf headcanons? I have a lot of different origin theories but the main one I like for Eliot is:

he became a werewolf either for a covert military op, or was bitten by Moreau (choose your own angst flavour)

if it was for the military, they were trying to engineer supersoldiers and he was deemed a failure; he has werewolf instincts all the time but only has enhanced strength, healing, etc on full moons

if it was bitten by Moreau, there's a psychic-style bond linking them, which is why he was so loyal to Moreau for so long, and also why he is so reluctant to go after Moreau

(wow this is too different theories already and i said this was my 'main one' whoops)

Eliot can only shift easily on the full moon; shifting outside of a full moon can only be caused by extreme stress and is ridiculously painful

he suffers an insanely high prey drive all the time and is so strict about his control because he doesn't actually wanna rip out the throat of Random Guard #3

he used to chain himself up for full moons so he didn't hurt anyone, but since the team found out about him, Hardison and Parker have taken it upon themselves to 'puppy-sit' him every full moon

this involves no chains but an obscene amount of dog chew toys. Eliot is never impressed. He also never chases or chews the toys. The video evidence Hardison has was obviously doctored.

Hardison and Parker found out the truth when a con went sideways and Eliot was trapped in a room with them during the full moon

he was terrified he was going to kill them - or worse, bite them - but his instincts recognised them as pack so instead he just tried to wrestle with them all night

Hardison had a major freak out when he discovered Eliot was a werewolf - it's one thing to be obsessed with sci-fi/fantasy, it's another thing entirely to see your best friend transform before your eyes

Parker was not even remotely phased, being all like, "pfft of course werewolves are real, I thought you knew that Hardison, you talk about your elves and orcs all the time!"

"Woman that is completely different and you know it!"

"What else do you think is fake? The tooth fairy?? Ha!"

Eliot is Done With Their Shenanigans

Parker only ever refers to Eliot as Sparky when he's in his wolf form

Sophie didn't actually know about werewolves before the reveal but she pretends that she did

Nate knew about werewolves before Eliot, he just chooses to pretend that they're Not A Thing

werewolves generally don't make good hitters, because the constant exposure to violence ramps up their hunting instincts aka they find it hard not to kill

of course, this doesn't matter if you're someone like Moreau who specifically wants killing machines and thus turns his top hitters into werewolves, to ensure loyalty and enhance his strength

the only other werewolf hitter not under Moreau's control that Eliot knows is Quinn, who most certainly did not pull his werewolf strength punches when they tousled in The First David Job

Quinn doesn't have a pack (werewolf or otherwise) and genuinely doesn't seem phased by this, which pisses off Eliot to no end

however, after they work together in The Last Dam Job, Quinn deems himself Eliot's Best Werewolf Bud and keeps popping up randomly to hang out on full moons, etc

Parker and Hardison are a bit weirded out (and a little jealous) of Quinn's attention initially, but soon get over that when they discover that two werewolves on a full moon absolutely play for hours like 6 month old puppies - especially with the tug rope

Eliot is Extremely Susceptible to belly rubs even in his human form, which is half the reason he pushes people out of his personal space a lot - his reputation would never survive anyone finding out

of course the entire team figures it out and take to ambushing him with belly rubs whenever he's being stubborn or annoying

belly rubs are also the only way he will relax enough when he's injured so they can treat his wounds

despite the incessant dog jokes, the ever-growing pile of dog toys, and the bowls labelled with "Sparky" and cartoon bone symbols ... Eliot absolutely adores the pack he's found himself in and wouldn't change them for the world

One of these days I will sit down and write a thousand fics for werewolf!Eliot! Till then, I'll just keep churning out the headcanons ;)

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vintageshanny · 5 months

Text

Waiting for Love - Part Three

Nothing Half-Hearted

I have really appreciated all the feedback on this series! ❤️ Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list.

Content: Mid-July 1970, marriage problems, infidelity, smut, some angst, some fluff, 18+

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Elvis lay in the bed of his Las Vegas hotel suite thinking about Vivien. And then Priscilla. But mostly Vivien. He’d been convinced for so long that ‘Cilla was his soul mate that he had ignored all the signs that maybe they weren’t really right for each other. She could be so cold to him. It was hard for him to get over the cruel comments she’d made about his spiritual journey. He knew their attraction for each other had diminished then, and he’d always had his little flings to try to fill the void in their relationship, but for some reason he could never fully let go. And then along came Vivien, with that book. That had to be a sign. She was on the same journey as him; she understood his need for answers.

As he tossed and turned, he really wished his mama was here to help him sort it all out. Maybe she’d just be disappointed in him though. That would be hard to bear. He really tried to do right by people, but he also needed to follow his heart. It was the only way he knew how to make decisions. And sometimes his heart led him all over the place. Sometimes it felt so empty that he’d do just about anything to fill it. The loneliness could be overwhelming.

His mind went back to Vivien and the way she always looked at him like she really cared about him so deeply. It caught him off guard to have someone care so much that they would fight their own desires. She had inspired him to fight his own that night in his bedroom at Graceland. He’d wanted so badly to taste her, to be touched by her, to grind into her until that carnal pleasure consumed him, but she deserved better than that. She deserved to have him move slowly and take one step at a time. She was somehow so sweet and innocent even when longing for him. He could feel his whole body warming up, beads of sweat dampening his dark blue pajamas, as he remembered the way her sparkly green eyes kept glancing down at his crotch in wonder. He slipped his hand down the front of his pajama pants, his long tanned fingers wrapping around the problem that had arisen, moving swiftly to take care of it. As the resolution spilled forth, he couldn’t stop himself from calling out her name. “Goddamn, Vivien, uhhh,” he moaned as he lay back in satisfaction.

A loud knock sounded at the bedroom door, followed by a hesitant “Uh, boss? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Elvis called out, irritated.

“Okay, I thought I heard you calling,” Joe responded.

Elvis swore he could hear snickering after that. “Assholes,” he muttered under his breath as he longed for the comfort of his soundproof bedroom at home. He finally drifted off to sleep imagining that he was cradling Vivien’s head on his chest again. He had wanted to freeze time right then, to stay in that moment of warmth and intimacy for as long as he could.

************************************************

“Honey, I need ta see ya, I can’t wait no more,” Elvis’ melodic voice floated through the receiver and right into Vivien’s heart.

“I’d love to see you, but apparently flying to Las Vegas to visit my, um, Elvis is not a good enough reason for my boss to give me off work with such short notice,” Vivien explained, realizing halfway through the sentence that she was about to refer to a married man as her boyfriend. A little knot of guilt roiled around in her stomach.

Elvis just chuckled and pressed on, this time in a baby voice. “But what if your widdle Elvis weally needs ya, honey?”

“Well, I would do just about anything to take care of little Elvis,” Vivien said sweetly. She heard Elvis having some type of coughing attack on the other end. It almost sounded like he was trying to cover up laughter, but she wasn’t sure what was so funny. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Yeah, I’m fine honey,” Elvis tried to pull it together and not think about how she might “take care of Little Elvis,” but now he couldn’t stop laughing.

“C’mon, tell me what’s so funny,” Vivien demanded.

“Oh, baby, jus’ the way ya said that you’d take care of him is so sweet,” Elvis chuckled.

“Him? Now I’m confused.” Vivien tried to think of what exactly she’d said.

“Baby, Little Elvis is what I call m-m-my dick,” Elvis explained, finally calming down from his laughing spell.

Vivien was glad he couldn’t see how red her face had turned, but she decided to just say what she was thinking. “Well, maybe I’d like to take care of him, too,” she teased.

“Mmm, well, he was sure thinkin’ bout ya last night,” Elvis responded, turning a rosy shade of pink himself. “Why don’t ya at least come for the weekend? I really do need ya, honey,” Elvis added.

“I suppose I could try to get a plane ticket,” Vivien said, wondering how much plane tickets to Las Vegas cost.

“Oh, honey, don’ worry ‘bout that. I’ll have it all fixed for ya,” he said, making a mental note to have Joe get it all fixed for her. “I can’t wait to see ya.”

************************************************

Vivien landed in Las Vegas Saturday morning dressed in a blue halter-neck sundress and white heeled sandals, courtesy of Roxanne, and looked for Joe, who was supposed to pick her up and deliver her to the hotel. She spotted him standing off to the side, looking halfway irritated. She was starting to think that was just his permanent expression though. She tried to make polite conversation on the way to the hotel. “Elvis said this is being filmed for a movie?” she asked.

“It will be, yeah,” Joe said. “The camera crews don’t come until next week though, I think. Obviously you’ll need to be gone before that.”

Vivien tried to maintain her composure and just responded, “Of course. I’m only staying tonight. I have a job to get back to.” Joe looked a little surprised at that, but he didn’t say anything more about it. Once they got to the hotel, he took her to the rehearsal space and skulked off, which she was more than fine with.

She set her weekender bag on an empty chair and scanned the room for the man who actually wanted her here. She spotted Elvis sitting on a stool and singing “Love Me” while the band played behind him. She didn’t want to interrupt his rehearsal, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he threw the microphone to the side and jumped up. He was wearing the same red shirt she’d seen him in at Graceland with a pair of black pin-striped pants. He hugged her so tight that she could hardly breathe. Although he may have taken her breath away even without the hug. She was surprised when he leaned in and gave her a big kiss on the lips right in front of everyone, but no one seemed to care.

“This is my, um, Vivien,” Elvis gave her a teasing glance as he introduced her to his band and back-up singers, and she blushed at the realization that he had taken note of her awkward “boyfriend” catch during their phone conversation. Everyone was very cordial to her, especially the Sweet Inspirations, who were maybe just glad to have another woman around. Myrna complimented her dress and winked as she told her that Elvis probably loved it too. Vivien wondered what they all really thought of her being here.

She settled into the chair that Elvis had pulled up for her and watched him get back to work. Seeing him in his element was truly magical. He was involved in every part of making the music come to life. He had been so nervous about the shows that she wasn’t sure what the rehearsals would be like, but he seemed completely at home. She liked seeing him joke around, too. It reminded her of how much fun they’d had splashing around in the pool together. At one point, he shoved the microphone into his mouth while singing and turned to give her a wink. The innuendo made Vivien blush so hard that she had to duck her head down, hoping no one would notice. As the rehearsal wound down, she started feeling the nerves kick in. Nerves and anticipation of what might happen when they were alone in his room again.

************************************************

“Did ya enjoy the rehearsal, baby?” Elvis asked once they were alone in his suite. He had sent the guys out for some food and told them to just drop it off on the table and leave him to “rest.” He led Vivien into the bedroom, kicking off his boots and starting to unbutton his very sweaty red shirt.

“Oh, yes, I loved it!” Vivien exclaimed. “You seemed like you were having so much fun. I don’t know what you were so nervous about.”

“Well, I-I-I’ll be nervous when the actual shows start up. I do love performing in front of a live audience, though. I missed it a lot when I was makin’ all those movies.”

Vivien nodded. “That makes sense. Did you like doing the movies, too?”

Elvis grimaced a little at the question. “It was hard for me. I jus’ wanted ‘em to be better, y’know? Did ya see any of ‘em?”

“Uh, yeah, I saw a couple I think,” Vivien giggled. “Like 31? Is that how many I saw?”

Elvis laughed. “You did not see all of the movies I made!” Vivien nodded sheepishly. “Well, which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, that’s hard. Even the ones that weren’t too good, you did such a good job acting.” Elvis looked genuinely delighted at this compliment. “And you always look so good,” she added.

Elvis blushed at that and blurted out, “You shoulda told the studio that. They kep’ tellin’ me ta lose weight.”

“What? When?” Vivien questioned, trying to think of a single one of his movies where he’d looked too heavy. Not that he’d even look bad with some more meat on him…

“Uh, for Frankie and Johnny, for Paradise Hawaiian Style, and probably some others I s’pose.” Elvis looked a little embarrassed as he removed his belt and his sweaty shirt and draped them over a chair, as if he were reliving those moments of having his entire body scrutinized.

“I thought you looked great in those! Especially in those tight pants,” Vivien stopped herself from blurting out how Roxanne would always point out when you could see the outline of his…her eyes drifted down to the subtle bulge in his pinstriped pants.

Elvis chuckled a little bit, but his face had turned beet red. He swallowed and asked “Whatcha’ thinkin’ bout, honey?”

Vivien leaned up to whisper to him. “How bad I want to touch you again and to see, um, Little Elvis.”

“Can I ask ya somethin’, baby?” Elvis said as he set his tinted glasses on the nightstand. Vivien nodded nervously. “H-Have ya ever seen one before?” He hoped that she hadn’t so he wouldn’t have to explain why his might look different. It wouldn’t be the first romantic moment ruined by this hillbilly flaw of his. Some women just couldn’t appreciate what he had to offer.

“Um, not exactly. I mean, I did kind of see one by accident one time in high school,” Vivien tried to explain, feeling her face growing hotter by the second. Elvis looked at her quizzically. “I mean, what happened is that one day I forgot my glasses at home, and I couldn’t see the sign on the door, so I walked into the boys’ locker room and saw Bobby Lopez standing there naked. And then he yelled out, and then I screamed, and then I ran out. But I didn’t really see it…I mean, I didn’t have my glasses, so it was just like a blurry thing hanging there.” Vivien finished the story, sure that her face resembled a tomato, and looked at Elvis for his reaction. He had clearly been trying to hold back his laughter the entire time, and it now exploded out of him with a loud hiccupping sound. He laughed so hard that tears started forming in his eyes. “Elvis! It was so embarrassing!” Vivien yelped, but soon she was laughing too.

“P-p-poor Bobby,” Elvis couldn’t stop chuckling. “He had a beautiful girl look at his thing and then scream and run away. You ain’t gonna do that ta me, are ya, honey?”

Vivien stepped closer to Elvis, reaching up to touch his damp chest, running her fingers over his wiry little chest hairs. “Never,” she said, letting her hand trail down lower and lower until it hovered over the button at his waistband. “Let me prove it?” she asked, looking up into his exquisite face and deep blue eyes. He nodded slowly and she unbuttoned his pants and carefully unzipped the fly. She pushed them down over his hips, revealing a pair of plain white briefs underneath. Elvis gulped nervously. He would prefer to wait until he was fully hard to reveal himself, but her eagerness to see him was oddly endearing. Plus he was already halfway there; it was probably just a matter of seconds. Vivien tucked her thumbs into the sides of the waistband and pulled the briefs down very gently, crouching down so she could pull them all the way off. She was now face to head with Little Elvis, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He seemed to be growing bigger and firmer as she watched. “Oh, oh, oh,” she whispered, her heart racing. “Elvis, you look perfect. Can I, um, kiss it?” She tried to remember all the things Roxanne told her that a man liked.

Elvis looked down in surprise as Vivien wrapped her hand around him and rolled his foreskin back and forth. “Oh, damn baby, you ain’t gotta do all that,” he groaned.

“I want to take care of you,” Vivien said softly as she leaned in closer and pressed her lips to his exposed sensitive tip. She slipped her tongue out and licked his salty skin.

“Ohhh, shit, oh that feels good baby,” Elvis mumbled as she kept licking him. He watched as she wrapped her lips all the way around him and sucked on him, her warm wet tongue still lapping at the tip. She started to gag a little bit as she tried to take him in deeper, and Elvis reached down for her hands. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered.

Vivien pulled her mouth off of him and used his hands to help her stand back up. “Was that okay?” she asked nervously. “Did you like it?”

“Honey, I loved it,” Elvis smiled at her. “I wanna look at you right now, though.” He reached over to untie the halter neck of her dress, letting the straps and the material slide down and expose her bare chest. “God, you’re so beautiful.” He grazed his fingertips over her nipples before unzipping the back of the dress and pulling it the rest of the way off until Vivien stood there in just her pale pink cotton panties.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I’m ready to-” Vivien started, but Elvis put a finger to her lips.

“It ain’t time for that yet, honey. I want us to take our time with each other. Right now I jus’ wanna be close; I wanna rub up against ya, okay?”

Vivien nodded and let Elvis help her up onto the bed, still in her panties. He lay his naked body on top of her and grinded into her gently as he leaned over to press soft kisses to her lips, to her neck, to her chest. His wet pink tongue seemed to be everywhere at once. His penis felt so thick and firm as it pressed between her thighs, rubbing against her panties. She felt the same arousal and wetness that he’d made her feel with his fingers last time. Elvis’ body was starting to tremble as he panted, nipping at her earlobe. “Oh, Vivien, oh, baby,” he gasped out as his body seemed to tense and then she felt more wetness between her thighs as he relaxed on top of her. Rolling to the side, he reached his hand inside her panties and rubbed at her clit, whispering “I gotta take care of my baby.” The high was even better than what she remembered. “Next time, I wanna taste ya, honey,” Elvis smiled and winked at her as she recovered from the ecstasy. Vivien just leaned up and kissed his soft lips, making a mental note to ask Roxanne exactly what she should expect from a statement like that.

After they were cleaned up and had put pajamas on, Elvis peeked out into the living room area to make sure that no one had been eavesdropping this time. All clear. Just a bag of food left on the coffee table. “You like hamburgers, honey?” Elvis asked as he brought the food into the bedroom.

“Of course. Who doesn’t like hamburgers?” Vivien asked with a big smile. She was feeling famished after all the excitement of the day. And the excitement of the night. They curled up next to each other in bed and watched TV while they ate their burgers.

“Wild in the Country,” Vivien suddenly announced. Elvis looked over at her, confused. “You asked me earlier what my favorite movie of yours is. Wild in the Country. Your acting felt so personal, so real. I loved it. It made me cry,” Vivien said as she moved the food bag to the side and settled into the crook of Elvis’ arm.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Thank ya honey, that’s really sweet. I don’t think anyone’s ever given me a serious answer about their favorite movie before.”

“Elvis, you’re really special to me,” Vivien mumbled, her words starting to slur as her eyelids drooped and she drifted off, wrapped inside the warm cocoon of Elvis’ body heat.

************************************************

When they awoke late the next morning, it was already time for Vivien to start packing and head for the airport. “I wish you could stay longer,” Elvis pouted as she packed everything back into her bag. “I think I had my best day of rehearsals with you here. And the best night,” he added with a mischievous grin.

“I wish I could stay, too, Elvis. I love spending time with you,” Vivien said, wrapping her arms around him. I love you, is what she wanted to say, but she was terrified he didn’t feel the same. She felt tears suddenly springing to her eyes at the emotion of going home without him.

“You gonna be okay, honey?” Elvis pulled back and looked at her with concern. She was surprised to see his own eyes looking a little watery.

All she could think to say was a quote they’d discussed that first day at Graceland from the beginning of The Prophet. “Much in my heart remains unsaid.”

Elvis nodded in recognition and understanding and pulled her close again. “Love knows not its own depths until the hour of separation.” Vivien’s eyes darted up to his face in surprise. Could he really feel the same? Did he love her? Elvis just smiled reassuringly and continued, “Baby, I promise one day we’ll have the freedom to speak our deeper secrets. Ya need ta jus’ bear with me, okay? Hang in there with me. It won’t be like this forever.” Vivien nodded, but as she was leaving the hotel, she swore she saw a very petite brunette getting out of a limo with a little blonde girl. The guilt began to gnaw at her again.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart

#Elvis #elvis fan fiction #elvis fan fic #elvis smut #elvis x oc #i love this man

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pedropascallme · 10 months

Note

HIII ok i adored ur Jim fic i love him SOO BADDDD WAHHH !!!! i was wondering if i could request a Jim smut of some kind??? i’m a trans man so i would love an afab reader w gender neutral/masc pronouns but of course only whatever ur comfy w:) and if u don’t wanna do that anything else jim related pls i love him SOOOO BADDD!!!! okay sorry for the huge block of text ily and ur work is god tier bro.

The New Normal

Pairing: Jim x gn!afab!Reader

Summary: "You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. "

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, praise kink, kinda almost soft!dom Jim? Reader is AFAB but no use of gendered pronouns, uhhh brief allusion to 9/11 blink and you'll miss it, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Max NEVER apologize for asking for Jim smut I am ALWAYS looking for a reason to write Jim smut. Also forgive the cross tagging but the only way I will ever reach other Cillian sluts is if I use the Thomas Shelby tag.

America was different than you’d expected it to be.

In the shows and movies, there wasn’t much diversity; either you were on a farm, or you were in the big city. The speech patterns were always overdramatized, too, and when you first reached the McGuire base in New Jersey, you were a bit disappointed when nobody shouted that “they were walkin’ he-ya!” Even more disappointed when you reached Brooklyn and were told that the accent was of a dying variety.

But in the grand scheme of things, it was so…normal. It was England before the outbreak, but with smaller busses and slower trains. You didn’t really know how to feel about it, about how the rest of the world carried on so unconcerned while the island you grew up in fell to pieces. In a way, relieved, but a small part of you felt almost offended that nobody was holding constant vigils.

What offended you more, though, was the realization that the process of being granted asylum was not something that happened quickly. While you were appreciative to Hannah’s distant cousins who had agreed to sponsor you while you awaited the business to be over—which could take years, you’d learned—you were nauseated that you still had to prove yourself in order to be allowed to stay. The lawyers, doctors, soldiers, and judges you’d met with explained that the process would go smoothly, that it was something that had to be done, not due to the nature of the thing you were escaping, but due to those who might abuse any leniency the country showed.

The world really hadn’t changed at all.

~~~

“Finished already?” You hummed at Jim when he walked through the door. Hannah’s family had taken you all shopping when you first arrived—a relief, really, to be able to change out of the fatigues the air force had given you—and Jim, despite his usual attire being casual, at best, looked so…handsome, now, with his skin not caked in blood, or dirt, or sweat. His hair was growing back in and he was wearing jeans that actually fit him. His shirt read “I<3NY” and even though you told him it looked ridiculous when he had first picked it up, you couldn’t deny that it hugged his arms in the right places.

“Not much to be done. You stitched me up so well.” He smiled at you, crossing the apartment to join you on the couch. “Doctor said he’d like to meet you.”

“I’ve met too many people this month.” You curled your legs up under you and stretched your arms over your head. “Never thought I’d say it, but I miss the apocalypse.” You leaned your head back.

Jim exhaled through his nose, amused, leaning himself back on the couch to face you. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t,” You agreed, “It’s just…”

“Too much, too soon.”

“I guess.” You stared at each other for a while, not moving, not speaking. “I wish I could fast forward.” Jim tilted his head into the cushion he was leaning on, prompting you to continue. “I want to be used to it by now. Wanna be able to walk down the street and see a missing poster and still have hope.” You shuddered when you remembered the posters plastered on the train station walls, how familiar one disaster could feel when compared to another. “I want to feel normal. Everything here is so normal. Why am I not normal yet?” You didn’t have the energy to continue pouring over your emotions, perfectly fine with leaving it on that note.

“You’re not normal.” Jim leaned forward. “Neither am I. Neither is Hannah—s’got nothing to do with—” He waved around the two of you, implying the ordeal you’d lived through. You nodded in agreement. “And we’ll never be their kind of normal. Might just be ‘cause we’re English. Heard they had a war with us here, way back.” Jim deadpanned, and you smiled at him.

“I think I just need a shower.” You sighed, still looking at him. You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. You felt your skin flush at the thought. You hadn’t been able to do much of anything but go to different meetings since you got here. One after another, it had made it difficult to find time for yourself, let alone time for you and Jim. Stolen kisses here and there, cuddles under the sheets of your bed, calling out “I love you” before the door closed behind you—there had been no time to enjoy each other.

Not to mention, you lived in a rented apartment with thin walls, and Hannah’s room was next to yours.

You hesitated to get up, and Jim sensed your delay. He brought a hand up to your hair, petting you.

“Hannah’s gone for the night. Sleepover.” You muttered, trying to be sly instead of asking for anything outright. Jim cocked a brow in jest.

“Just us, then?”

“Just us.” You confirmed. Tension formed between the two of you, and you swallowed.

“We can—can I join you in the shower?” His words were rushed, and he looked down when he spoke, only looking back up at you to gage your reaction once the question was complete. “You can say n—”

“Yes.” You felt breathless.

~~~

It was almost laughable, the two of you getting undressed together. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, a shared bedroom holds plenty of space for two people to dress and undress in front of each other, but the expectation made all the difference. Jim’s “I<3NY” shirt was now discarded on the floor, his jeans unbuttoned as he helped you out of your own outfit. Your mouth fell open slightly when he peeled your shirt off of you, the feeling of his hands leaving a warm trail over your sides and a wet feeling between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his jeans, looping your fingers over the denim and into the boxers he wore underneath and beginning to pull down. He laughed quietly as he watched you struggle to move them down his waist.

“Don’t have to do all the work.” He placed his hands over yours and helped you remove his clothes. In turn, he found the button of your jeans and quickly undid them, letting you pull down the tight material and exposing yourself to him. All that remained were your panties, and Jim let out a low whistle when he reached out to brush the lace with his knuckles. “Pretty baby.”

You pushed against his chest lightly. “Shower.” You reminded him, but at this point it didn’t really matter to you. You whined slightly when his hand fell lower over your sex, nearly cupping you.

“Got all night.” He pulled down the remaining fabric, leaving you completely naked for him. And that’s how you felt—naked. Almost scared, as if now that your underwear was off and you were stripped completely, he would reconsider and not want this anymore—not want you anymore. You realized how stupid that sounded when Jim stood up at eye-level, grinning at you. You looked at him sheepishly as you stepped out of the panties pooled at your feet and toward him. You reached out to trace what remained of the wound on his abdomen, letting your fingers kiss the spots you hoped to eventually place your mouth on.

Suddenly you were in his arms, swooped up bridal style as he walked you into the bathroom. You heard yourself laugh nervously, and you buried your face into his neck. Feeling bold, you licked a stripe up to his pulse point, and he shuddered.

“Don’t wanna drop you.” He protested your action, but he lifted his head slightly to allow you better access. You did it again, letting your tongue linger and drift to his earlobe, nipping at it, feeling more and more comfortable with each step Jim took. He sighed dreamily, then placed you down on your feet next to the tub. He turned the handle, pulling the curtain back and taking your hand to guide you under the water. You all but pulled him in after you, and though he stumbled at first, he found his footing right in front of you. You watched the way the water seemed the frame his face; droplets running down his cheekbones and off of his chin. You kissed him, letting the water fall over your face, tasting it when you opened your mouth to welcome his tongue. You sighed into his mouth, a perfect combination of his taste and that of the water settling on your taste buds, and it went straight to your core. He leaned away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist and examining how the water matched the curve of your breasts. He kissed your chest, sucking on the skin just enough to make faint spots appear. You combed your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes.

“Normally,” He licked over what would soon become a dark purple spot, “I use the shower to wash up—reflect, sometimes.” He kissed his way up your chest and neck before straightening himself out and kissing your nose. “This is a much better use of my time.” You rolled your eyes, putting gentle pressure on his neck to encourage him to lean down and kiss you. He pulled you tighter to him, and you could feel his erection against your thigh. He pushed against you, enjoying the bit of friction you provided him, and you heard him grunt quietly. His hands found purchase on your ass, squeezing the flesh gently and using the angle to draw you even closer.

“Y’know—oh!” You were cut off by an especially hard squeeze as Jim’s hands continued to roam over your ass, “I do need—I need to wash my hair…”

“Tomorrow.” Was all Jim said, reaching between your bodies to place his cock where your stomach met his crotch. You gasped at the heavy feeling of him against you, and your own hand made its way down to grab hold of him. Jim choked on his own breath, eyes fluttering shut when you began to move your wrist up and down his length. Out of curiosity, you looked down to watch your ministrations, wanting to fully enjoy the view that you had so desperately craved for so long. His cock was long, and you could see and feel the veins that ran up the extent of his shaft to the pink of his tip. You moaned quietly at the sight, hoping Jim didn’t think you pathetic for the pleasure you got out of stroking him. His mouth agape, he shut his eyes tight, trying not to think about how good your hand felt. You kneeled before him, and planted a kiss on his head, licking a stripe over him.

“O—h,” he was panting, “Fuck, baby.” You watched his chest rise and fall dramatically as you took his tip between your lips, swiping your tongue over and around it a few times before beginning to inch the rest of him inside of your mouth. You moved your head up and down, gagging slightly when you felt the pressure of holding him too deep for too long against the back of your throat. “Oh, fu—yeah, that’s it. Good, baby, so good.” You hummed in appreciation of his praise, the vibrations making him bite his lip and furrow his brow in concentration, desperately trying to ward off his high before he had gotten to explore you fully. You pulled your mouth off of his cock with a pop that softly echoed in the shower, and he watched as you planted more kisses along him.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. The vision in front of you made you feel dizzy; Jim breathing hard, cock bobbing against his stomach, wet from your spit and from the shower, hair falling over his ears, draped in a blanket of water. You rubbed your thighs together, now pruned hand resting on his knee for, what? Permission, maybe?

Jim helped you up from the floor, and you watched him turn the shower handle. In the brief moment before the water stopped completely, it turned freezing cold, and you felt goosebumps erupt over you. You brought yourself closer to Jim, both in an attempt to find warmth and in a silent plea that he continue what had begun in the shower.

Dripping wet—in more ways than one—you found yourself back in your bedroom. Lying on your back, Jim looked over you, then began kissing over the marks he had made on you in the shower. You whimpered, a hand finding his hair and lacing your fingers through his short locks. You pulled slightly when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, and he groaned in pleasure at the sensation. His hand slowly traced down your stomach, fingers delicately finding their way to your clit before pressing on it lightly.

“Jim—!” Your exclamation motivated him to continue. He sat up a bit, kneading your bud with one hand and holding your cheek in another, holding eye contact as he slid one finger into your soaking wet center. You threw your head back, only then realizing that you hadn’t even had the time to pleasure yourself in God only knows how long. He curled his finger upwards, and your back arched into him. He smirked, clearly proud of what he was doing to you. He shuffled backwards on the bed, still pumping a finger in and out of you while he positioned himself between your legs. You felt the mattress shift under his weight when he straightened himself out onto his stomach, propped up with one elbow.

“So pretty.” You felt his breath fanning over your cunt, and you squirmed. Jim leaned into you, kissing your inner thighs while you wiggled your hips in an attempt to get his attention where you needed it the most. When he finally licked a lazy stripe over your clit, you let out an absentminded sigh, pushing yourself up to him in encouragement. He removed his finger from you, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling, though he immediately made up for the absence of his fingers with his tongue. He continued to lap at you, letting your slick coat his chin, nose brushing your clit. He sucked lightly on your bud, and your hands found his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him in further, let him taste you until you screamed, or push him away, as your thighs began to tremble. He slid two fingers back into you and twisted them back and forth while his tongue darted over your clit. You squeezed his fingers, moans spilling from your mouth.

“C’mon baby, so good,” he removed his mouth from your core to coo at you, “wanna see you cum for me.” It was whispered into your skin, and you felt his words echo through your body. His lips found their place over your clit once more, and he sucked harder, fingers pumping in and out of you faster.

“Oh, ye—yes, like that, like that, please!” You couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop begging if you tried. Had falling over the edge always felt this good? You didn’t stop to ponder it, busy feeling your body fall victim to the pleasure Jim was gifting you. You moaned, trying to grab at the man who had buried himself between your legs, but he was fully content to stay where he was until he knew you’d ridden out your orgasm. You cried out his name, back arching, body granting him even more access to your pussy, and when you felt him moan at the taste of you, you came hard for him. He placed soft kisses over your cunt, and you couldn’t help the moan you let out when he began pulling his fingers out of you.

You were still panting when he kissed you. Your arms came to rest around his neck, breathing heavily through your nose as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. “Taste so good,” Jim was also clearly short of breath, “you taste that, baby?” His lips found yours again, and he let you suck gently on his tongue, let you taste yourself on him. You shivered; it felt so dirty, Jim still damp with your wet, encouraging you to enjoy the taste your cum had left on him, dipping his tongue deep into your eager mouth and speaking to you like you belonged to him.

You did belong to him, and the thought made your eyes roll back into your head.

He pulled you into his arms, flipping over so that you were lying on top of him. You found the strength to push yourself up, hands planted on his chest, to straddle him. The feeling of his cock between your legs, still hard, and all for you, made you feel frantic, and you began to roll your hips over him, feeling him tense under you.

“That’s right,” he watched you with hooded eyes, “so eager.”

“Want you to fuck me.” You felt the tip of his cock push between your folds after one especially long roll of your hips, and you didn’t care if you looked pathetic anymore. You’d waited long enough; been so good, so ignorant of the forbidden fruit. One taste, and now you were helpless—completely at his mercy.

“God, say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me, Jim. Please.” You licked your lips before slipping the bottom one between your teeth. His eyes flitted over you, taking in the way you were begging, the way you sat bare, eagerly waiting for his cock. How had he let so much time pass before giving you what you both needed? He lifted you by the waist, encouraging you to stay kneeling above him slightly as he reached another hand down to line himself up with you. The split second before you lowered yourself down onto him felt like forever, but he watched, in awe of you, as you lowered yourself down onto him. You moaned for him when you felt his tip breach your hole, reaching for his chest and grasping at nothing while you continued to take him, inch by inch. You heard him groan out your name, breath going uneven when he finally bottomed out. You stayed like that for a moment, both of you in a trance-like state: You breathed in sync, gazing at each other, smiling like morons.

“I love you.” Jim whispered, placing a hand on your hip and squeezing. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on his shoulders.

“I love you.” You kissed him again, gentler, slower than the previous times. You did have all night—you had a lifetime of all nights with each other.

You began rocking back and forth slowly, allowing yourself time to adjust to the size of him, the feeling of being so full. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your g-spot almost immediately, making you gasp as you chased the feeling of his head nudging you closer to another high.

“God—fuck, you feel so good.” Jim praised, reaching the hand that wasn’t on your hip up to squeeze at your breasts. He licked his finger before bringing it back up, pinching your nipple and rolling over it with his thumb and forefinger. You moaned, back arching, and you started to bounce up and down on him. Your nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to care, too busy bucking up into your cunt, drunk off the feeling of your juices dripping down his length and over his balls.

He moved both his hands over your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your curves, guiding your movements while you rode him.

“Cum for me again, baby. So good for me, one more time.” He started fucking up into you harder, the sweet noises you made spurring him on. “You can do it, yeah? So good—fuck—so good for me.” Now he was practically begging, slamming you down onto his cock while he pushed you towards another orgasm.

“I—oh, fuck, me, yes! Like that, Jim—yes!” You fell forward, curling yourself up on his chest and bringing your knees up slightly higher next to his ribs to allow him more ease, lifting you up and down. You mumbled incoherently into his neck, licking and kissing and nipping at him while he continued with deep, hard thrusts. You sucked a mark on his neck, and he groaned out your name, one hand coming down over your clit to coax a second orgasm from you.

“Fucking—oh, cum for me, baby. Cum on me like this.” And maybe it was the way you felt his fingers pushing bruises into your skin, or the way he breathlessly demanded you commit such a filthy act, or the way he seemed to be getting just as much enjoyment out of your pleasure as you were; but when you felt his cock pushed forcefully against your g-spot in time with the way he played with you clit, you couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from your lungs, or the way you chanted his name through sobs of pleasure. You clenched around him, squirming and sensitive and so full of his cock. You saw stars, saw how every second of your life had led to this moment, and when the shockwave of pleasure coursed through your body, all you could do was thank the man who had made you feel so good.

“Fu—ck, oh my god,” Jim groaned through clenched teeth, trying to delay his own orgasm so he could enjoy the way you squeezed him for as long as he could. He practically threw you down onto his cock, forcing himself as deep as you’d let him go, and at that moment, the only word that mattered to him was your name. “Where—where can I cum? Tell me, baby, where?” He was gasping, so close to the edge.

“Inside. Please, Jim, want it inside.” You knew it was reckless, knew you’d have to buy a pill later, but the pros far outweighed the cons.

Your words were all it took to send Jim hurtling over the precipice. He pushed himself deep into your cunt, painting your walls with his spend, both of you shivering at the feeling. You moaned quietly into his skin, and Jim wheezed as he took gulping breaths in an attempt to regulate his breathing. You felt his hand come to rest on your back, stroking up and down, the other coming up to your hair, tempting you out of your hiding spot, nuzzled in his neck.

“Ok?” He breathed.

“Mm.” You hummed, rubbing your cheek against his, comforted by the way your faces squished together. “More than ok.”

“I should’ve—I didn’t want you to feel, I d’know—” He couldn’t think of the right words. “I love you. Just wanted you to feel how much I love you.”

You smiled, fucked out and sleepy and satisfied. “You did a good job,” you kissed him, “did I?”

“More than good.” He smiled, throwing your own words back at you in reassurance.

“Will you stay inside a little longer?” You whispered, still relishing in the way he filled you up.

“God, yes,” Jim almost laughed, “don’t have to ask.” You ran your thumb over his cheek, eyelids heavy.

“Is this the new normal?” You posed the question, remembering your earlier rant.

“Yeah. Think so.” Jim splayed his hand out over your back.

“Good.”

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #jim 28 days later #28 days later fanfiction #28 days later #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #oppenheimer

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thehistoriangirl · 9 months

Text

Not Just a Summer Affair [Final]

Oooof this was a hard one

Speaking of which! Do you know who else is going to get har--

Uhhh

Viktor x Fem! Reader---------4.2K----NSFW | MDNI |

> First Part > Second Part

Summary: Assisting to this planned vacation by the beach wasn’t the best idea Viktor has had, but at least he can have an excuse to spend time with you. Hoping that, maybe, he can gather the courage to confess the feelings he’s been trying so hard to bury.

Viktor was used to waking up early, when the sun barely peeked over the horizon, making the whole world a misty grey.

Though ever since you two had to share a room, he had forced himself to lay in bed until seven or eight o’clock, when Viktor could hear the faint voices of Jayce and Mel talking at the end of the hallway, the shower running against the marble tiles.

He would tiptoe out of bed and into the bathroom, carrying his clothes for the days enveloped on his towel. Sometimes, when he got out of the shower you would still be sleeping, your back turned toward him as if you knew he wasn’t fully dressed yet. On other occasions he would find the room alone, with you already downstairs helping to prepare breakfast.

This morning was different.

The sun had started hitting the light blue curtains hours ago, illuminating the whole room as if it had been reflected by the water in the backyard pool. He was lying with his gaze toward the ceiling, the usual pillow supporting his back, yet Viktor didn’t move. Too cocooned in your warmth as your body had curled up against him last night, when you told him shyly if you could sleep with him, shifting as you needed to do every time he had to accommodate his posture to avoid cramps.

Viktor patted your head, fingers grazing your cheek to wake you up as gently as he could manage.

You grumbled under your breath, eyes pressed close against Viktor’s side, taking in the aroma of his skin mixed with the smell of your shampoo, hair scattered all over.

His fingers fiddled with your hair, feeling the rich texture under his fingers. You cooed, and he chuckled, leaning to kiss your forehead. “Aren’t you a sleepyhead? I’m surprised you’re always arriving early to work.”

“That way I could be alone with you for a bit,” you mumbled, just slightly embarrassed. You liked to hear his morning voice as his answers became longer sentences instead of monosyllabic.

Viktor’s eyes were like twin morning suns gazing down at you, lips curled in the sweetest of smiles. “Very naughty of you,” he said nonchalantly, not finding it ironic in the slightest that his hand went down toward the swell of your breast, fingers already getting familiar with all the sensitive spots along your body, loving to trap your coos and moans with his lips.

He shushed you, his tongue matching the cadent rhythm of his thumb brushing around the peak of your nipple, hard and needy against your night clothes. “You wouldn’t like our friends to know what we’re doing here, would you, beautiful?" he muttered, pinching the little bud under his fingers.

You hissed, your teeth nibbling not-so-kindly over his bottom lip as Viktor tried to soothe your lewd noises with his mouth.

He hummed, his hand traveling along the curves of your breast down your waist and hip, where his hands grasped the sensible skin. “Wait here. I’ll come back in a bit.”

“No,” you whined, taking his hand to stop him from sliding away from your embrace. “Didn’t you tell me we were going to be very busy today?”

Viktor laughed, poking your sides so he could wiggle away, the sound of your laughter flooding the room, lightening it up brighter than the sun ever could. "I don't recall having to tell you doing what, though. What that dirty mind of yours had pictured, hmm?”

You frowned, throwing him a pillow. “You were very handsy last night.”

“I’d say you were the handsy one, malý zajíček. I used... other, eh, parts,” Viktor added, golden eyes with a mischievous twinkle. “Have you forgotten already?”

You blinked, feeling warm pooling down into your belly by remembering the last as if it hadn’t been circling in your brain even in your dreams. “What did you call me?”

He sneered, putting in a baggy shirt and some shorts. His cane thumped toward the door. "You'll figure it out soon enough, my love."

“If you leave now, I won’t be having sex with you!” Today, at least. It wasn’t at all fair that he had stopped you twice by now, so you couldn’t help but get grumpy. But you also knew it was a lie. You were completely at his mercy.

Viktor chuckled, the door opening to show the yellow wallpaper of the hallway. “I’m sure I’ll be able to change your mind.”

*~*~*~*

By 9 a.m. the room felt too hot to keep on the sheets you had thrown over yourself by dawn, the slight chill from last night's rain gone. You were napping, the heat making your brain fuzzy, limps drained from energy.

You didn't hear the door opening not Viktor's weight dipping the mattress until he brushed your cheek with his finger. Peeking between your half-closed eyes, you saw him sitting against the headboard.

“What?” you mumbled. “Regretting your decision already?”

“I brought us breakfast, actually," Viktor smiled, gesturing to a tray left on the night table. "I need you well-fed if you wish to have such… strenuous activities."

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the food that was still hot enough to leave a grey trace of mist rising toward the ceiling. Freshly cut fruit and warm bread filled the air with a succulent aroma.

Viktor took his slippers off, opening his legs and patting the mattress in space between them. “Come here.”

You pouted, sliding toward him feeling the smooth cotton of the bedsheets against the back of your thighs. His hands quickly found purchase on your hips, hugging you closer to his chest. Gentle fingers guided your chin up so he could soothe your pout with his lips.

Humming, you leaned in even closer, wiggling your hips against him, a smile curling your lips when you felt him starting to get hard and eager poking at your back.

He laughed between kisses. “You can’t get away with being so misbehaved, my love,” he muttered, his lips traveling to the beautiful curve of your neck.

Viktor grazed his teeth in the crook of your neck, there were it descended on your shoulder. The mark got red, a mewl parting your lips.

He took a bowl, porcelain clicking against his fingers when he settled it between your legs, his fingers slowly traveling down there where you wanted him, only to retrieve slices of apple that he then put against your lips, the cool fruit against your skin boiling with desire.

"Open up," Viktor whispered, his soft tone moving the hairs around your ear. The apple was green still, the juice filling your tongue. "Good girl."

You took another slice, raising it toward him. With a giggle, you repeated the command back at him.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him smiling, nibbling your fingers while biting the fruit. Humming approbatory, he squeezed your hips.

“Is it good?” you mumbled, feeding each other in a natural rhythm, with your back flushed against his chest, sensing every little move he made while chewing.

“The fruit it's sour, but you're sweet enough to compensate for it.”

You laughed. “That’s so cheesy of you.”

His eyes twinkled. “I was referring that I can still taste you in my mouth,” Viktor muttered, nuzzling his nose against your ear. “Growing fainter at each moment. I think I’ll need a reminder soon.”

It was so hard to keep eating, feeling your hands starting to shake as you took your cup of coffee mixed with sweet milk, twin to his.

“I thought you wanted to wait?” You told him, trying to muster an annoyed tone, though your voice broke in the middle of the sentence when Viktor looked at your tongue sheepishly licking the remnants of the beverage out your lips. You felt him twitch against your back, becoming harder by the second.

Your hand burned, memories of his size and the texture now tickling your fingers, pleading you to take him in your palm again.

“A professional scientist knows when to admit faulty.”

“Hmmm, and you want to be rewarded?” You said, his hand traveling from the plush skin of your hips toward the most sensible curve of one of your thighs.

He squeezed, fingertips entering where the fabric of your panties had started to feel wet. “Mmhmm,” Viktor said, his mind absent from his words and focused on the spot that was craving him, pressing against the fabric so the texture could arouse that pretty little button he liked so much.

You bit your lips to keep your mewls trapped, neck tilted to the left to let Viktor kiss the enticing curve down your shoulders.

“They’re not home,” he commented, leaving bites all over. “You can scream if you want to. And I would very much like so."

“Vik—Viktor,” you said, the fabric of your panties sticking to your flesh when his fingers peeked inside, dragging it to the side.

Just like last night, his fingers danced masterfully around your clit, so tense and aching from him already, coating his fingers on your essence before rubbing it around the bundle of nerves. You writhed against him, feeling him poking mercilessly at your back, he, too, was desperate to have you.

Viktor nibbled his way into your orgasm, painting red marks on your neck that would be impossible to hide under clothes with the boiling hot weather around the beach. Oh well, it was only a question of time for Jayce and Mel to notice that he couldn't keep his hands away from you, so inviting and loving.

The morning sun painted the scene in gold and white, heavenly; sending hues to your hair and the beads of sweat on your forehead, soaking into the neckline of your shirt, nipples pressed against the cotton. Your legs shook, back collapsing against him as your hips slowed down your sways.

Playfully, he circled your clit in the contrary direction, delighted to hear your scream echoing in the room that had only been graced with the melody of your intertwined pants.

Your hand found the hem of his shorts, slipping the palm inside of them to grasp his length, which made him stop for a moment.

A laugh rumbled through his chest, echoing in yours.

“So clever, moje láska.” He kissed your cheek. “My love.”

You matched your strokes with the circles drawn on your clit, tongues dancing in a sloppy kiss; the kind that made your core soaked, easing Viktor the entrance of his two dexterous fingers, his other hand diligently paying attention to your hard nipples, rubbing, and pinching once the skin became soft again.

Your palms became wet, too, a less sticky liquid coating your fingers once you brushed them against his tip.

Viktor grunted, pulling apart to breathe.

“Let me take care of you,” you mumbled, nails grazing his length. “Please.”

He leaned in to kiss you again. "You don't have to plead with me. Not today, at least.”

You smiled, missing his fingers inside of you when you bent on your elbows, helping him take off his shorts to expose him, his tip red and gleaming, inviting to your salivating mouth. Eyes cast upon him made him twitch, happy for the attention.

Your core was melting, feeling your essence sticking to your thighs at seeing his size when you grasped him.

Viktor breathed deeply, eyes fluttering close with each slow stroke of your hand.

“Vitya, look at me,” you told him, golden eyes blinking open to glue you there, your hips up, the small mirror of the vanity showing him how the morning light hit on your pussy, shining and swollen, aching for him.

You parted your lips, taking in his head, tasting bitter precum, your tongue circling the fat skin. Viktor groaned, the muscles of his neck tightened when you tested his size on your mouth, gagging when he hit the back of your throat.

“S-slowly,” Viktor panted. “Do it slowly, my love. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you,” he cooed, cupping your cheek.

Obedient, you took him in and out your mouth a couple of times, each try deepening the distance you could take inside of him. Viktor grabbed the bedsheets and your hair, hips pressed against the headboard in a constant reminder not to buckle them against your mouth. Not yet, at least.

Finally, you took him as deep as you were capable of, tears brimming, tracing a wobbly path down your cheeks. But you hummed, the vibrating movement eluding an unfiltered moan out of Viktor’s lips.

Looking up at him, you started to move your head far and close. Viktor took the hint, grabbing your hair as he started moving his hips in slow motion, half-grunting, half-moaning at sensing the wet and terse texture of your mouth, eyes heavy-lidded but never closed, too focused on them observing how well you were taking him; lips soaked in your saliva just as his shaft.

How your torso was swaying too, so your hard nipples would brush the bedsheets.

“My, what did you to do me?” Viktor hissed through gritted teeth, one hand embracing your throat just enough to feel the swell form of his cock enveloped inside your throat, the other grabbing your hair. He paused, feeling the wet trail of saliva falling toward his balls. “I was a gentleman before you.”

You gagged, nails scratching his chest while your other hand found the puffy and wet folds of your cunt, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Teary eyes looked up at him with blown-out pupils.

You were looking at him as if saying that’s a lie.

Taking your head with one hand, Viktor took your hand out your core to put your glistening fingers inside his mouth, tongue swirling in animated circles around them, nibbling and sucking while his hips buckled against your face, the tip of your nose brushing thick that you had seen peeking from his swim shorts ever since days ago.

His body shivered, every movement jerking in a broken rhythm that made your pussy clench into nothing. Viktor rumbled your name, an accent so thick you almost couldn't recognize it, and yet, you wished him to call you like that every day.

Your hand ran down his abdomen, grasping tense and heavy balls, scratching them playfully as he thrust deep into you, cocooned into your warm as he came, the grasp on your hair a strange mix between pleasure and pain.

Warm, bitter, thick liquid flooded your throat. Your hand grasped his thigh, tears running down your cheeks that Viktor hastily soothed with his thumb.

He pulled out, and you gasped, your mouth filled with the taste of him. Some of his cum had fallen out your lips, and you felt Viktor’s thumb wiping it out your cheek, the slender digit in front of your mouth for you to lick it clean.

You took it, your tongue taking in his digit, letting your tastebuds soak into his essence before he took it away with a lewd plop.

Viktor patted the side next to his body, your body crawling toward the spot. You gazed at his blushed form, a red tint that crawled from his chest up his ears. He took his pajama shirt, wiping the sweat and tears away from your cheeks as he peppered them with kisses, cooing words that you didn’t understand, though all of them were coated in love, all twinkling eyes and gentle hands soothing your still tense muscles.

You crawled next to him, still lying on the bed. Your hands around his waist.

His lips kissed your forehead. “Remember to use a hat today, alright? We’re going to the pier to have lunch in a boat. Does that sound good to you?”

You chuckled. “Don’t you think it’s too late to take me on a cute first date? One may think we’ve passed the stage already.”

Viktor frowned slightly, trying to make a coherent thought, distracted by the way you looked with the morning light illuminating your swollen lips and sleepy eyes, a vision so ethereal yet real. Just for him.

“It’s not that. You always deserve these kinds of dates.” He called your name, his thumb holding your chin gently. "You're my love—and I've wanted to do this with you ever since… well," Viktor said. “Since a long time.”

You feigned shock. "You've wanted to fuck me for a long time?"

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk. That language." But Viktor was smiling when he captured your lips, amazed at the mixing taste of him and you in your tongue. “I meant the dates.” His finger poked your forehead. “This dirty mind of yours must be punished, though.”

You beamed. “And I’m sure you’re more than eager to oblige.”

Viktor smirked. “Once around here has to put order, don’t you agree, my love?” His hands massaged your neck in gentle circles, giving you a smile that could eclipse the sun. “Now let’s go, our day has only started.”

*~*~*~*

The historical pier became your favorite spot, taking walks around the historical site near the beach, mossy rocks hit by the waves in a lulling rhythm when you two sat on the edge, feet dangling on the edge, watching the sun hide under the waves.

Sometimes your clothes would get in the rock, keeping them dry while you slid into the water, toward Viktor’s inviting embrace. His swimming lessons had nourished the courage to accompany him to soak into the cool shallow waters, a shelter from the unforgiving sun.

Today, he wanted a more tranquil activity.

Lounging in a beach chair with a book about mechanics open against his chest, though he could barely focus, while seeing you from the corner of his eyes, reading one of your questionable romance novels (he had seen some of the covers) before the sun disappeared for the day, your free hand taking his—a gesture he would've rolled his eyes to if seeing them outside his role as a participant—but it all changed when it was your hand gently taking his.

You were still wearing one of those short summer dresses, loose sleeves that make it fall from your shoulders, short enough he could peek under once his resolution to be a gentleman had worn thin and find the straps that maintained your bottom bikini tied together.

The waves lulled you enough to let your book aside once you couldn’t pay attention to the last ten pages’ contents.

“Vitya,” you told him, his eyes shooting from the book back to you. Even with the dusk almost setting, his eyes still shone bright like the morning sun. You stood up, remembering your cuddling session in bed these last days.

“Hmmm?”

He observed you, gaze low and framed by his thick eyebrows tilted in an almost amused arch when you approached him, sitting at the edge of his lounging chair like a shameless cat asking for pets, your legs carefully straddling his hips.

An automatic response overcame it, opening his arms to receive your body leaning toward him, arms tangling around his shoulders with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck to take in his essence mixed with the sunscreen and the salty marine breeze.

Viktor chuckled, the deep rumble creating a tiny, swirling pool of hotness in your lower belly that only increased with feeling the outline of him beneath the black swimming shorts, getting half-hard from the pressure of your soft rear already.

You swallowed, your body memory starting to wiggle your hips against him, knowing that if you kept doing it, you would hear shameless sounds escaping his mouth.

“Aren’t you a little rabbit, hmm?” He tried to frown, though his mouth remained agape, wishing for another kiss. “Always so needy and shameless for me.”

You hugged him closer, your bare nipples brushing his chest. “Do you want me?” you muttered, putting on your best doe-eyed expression.

He kissed your forehead. “All the time, moje láska.” Fingers pulled the knots of your swimsuit open, pulling the fabric away altogether so it could brush your folds with the minimum of force. Your hips buckled, a happy coo music to his ears. Taking the little part of fabric between his fingers, he loved to see the wet streaks of your arouse tinting the cloth a darker shade of purple.

Viktor dipped his head toward your breasts, his tongue swirling against one little peak that was begging for his attention. You bit your lip, his golden gaze burned unholy at your exposed skin.

You took his cock out of his shorts, giving him a few strokes until you felt his precum coating the shaft.

Viktor whispered your name, feeling himself burn with the marks of his kisses and bites poured on your neck and shoulders.

Your thighs burned when you straightened, your hands guiding his head between your soaked folds, a mewl escaping your lips at the pressure. Viktor hissed, capturing your lips into a kiss, tongues dancing and his teeth nibbling your bottom lip.

It burned in a delicious, ravenous way. He filled you perfectly, walls squeezing against him, inviting him deeper into your sanctuary. Walls that will keep squeezing to take everything once he finished inside of you.

Viktor grunted, a myriad of words going through his teeth that sounded like foreign curses; fingers marking their outline on your hips.

You whimpered once you felt him hitting that spot, deeply burrowed in your wet warmth.

Distracted from your breasts, Viktor kissed your lips, a fleeting brush that ended with him nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck as you picked your rhythm, riding him until you felt your thighs burn, and then even further, muscles numb as your mind got fogged with pleasure.

Viktor shifted his posture a little, his folded towel at his back so his hips could tilt slightly, your rides hitting the point that made you moan against his ear.

You flushed your chest against his, hard nipples brushing his chest with each bounce of your pretty body. Viktor hugged you, his tongue flat against a nipple he licked each time you rode his cock. You were swaying in a rhythm of your own, like the waves crashing against the beach, your hips meeting his as the sun started to dip over the horizon.

“Moje láska,” he said, licking his lips when he noticed his mother language that had slipped through his lips.“You’re so beautiful,” Viktor muttered. Your legs had started to shake, your posture collapsing into his lap as an orgasm tampered with your rhythm.

“Viktor—," you said in a strained voice that meant to be a scream. A ripple of pure bliss enveloped you, walls tightening around his length as you came, Viktor’s teeth grazing your collarbone with lovely, yet rough kisses.

Your core pulsed, inviting, and lewd, squelchy sounds echoed through the empty coast, almost muffled by the growing force of the ocean now that the moon had started peeking between some clouds as the only witness, sending silver hues over the outlines of your bodies.

Viktor kissed your shoulder, buckling his hips against yours once he could move inside you, the gentleness of his lips contrasting with the merciless encounters of his cock against the swelled walls of your pussy.

Taking the back of the chair, you helped him to continue such a torturous pace.

Your gentle coos had become screams and curses that only made him more aroused. Feeling himself close, Viktor started playing with your nipples the way you enjoyed it, teeth barely brushing and tongue swirling, golden gaze burned into your eyes, a mischievous shimmer in them.

His free hand went from grabbing your hips to pampering your clit with his masterful circles, matching the contrary tempo of his thrusts, when his tip was the only part of him inside of you.

You screamed with no further notice, thighs shivering against his waist.

Viktor grunted, taking in your mouth when he cum, painting your rosy walls white. He nestled deep inside of you with each throb of his cock, welcoming your pulses hugging him greedily, wanting to milk his essence dry.

“Viktor?” you said, voice hoarse when you plopped on his chest. He merely hummed, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins against the placid seascape at night. “I love you.”

He turned, brushing the rebel locks of hair that had glued to your forehead. “I love you, too, my little bunny. More than anything.”

You smiled. “Stop calling me that.”

Viktor shook his head, a smartass smile curving his lips swollen from your kisses. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to, my love. You’re just as eager.”

“Hmm. Only me?”

He chuckled, his lips meeting yours again in a softer gesture filled with as much love as there was water in the sea in front of you. The moon was glowing, framing you like a goddess that had graced him with your love; the sand felt still warm against his feet. He couldn’t deny that this moment was perfect.

“Let’s stay like this forever, shall we?” he whispered, still burrowed inside of you, his cum dripping from out of you into your thighs and his. “Just you and me, on this beach, in this moment.”

You smiled, kissing his neck. “Our little eternity.”

Viktor nuzzled his nose against your neck, taking in the musky essence of your skin after having sex, mixed with his. “Our little eternity.” One he was looking forward to replicating back in the city.

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane smut

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rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

at the top — bsk

summary: it’s always said that it’s lonely at the top, you just didn’t believe it

tags: angst, fluff, idolverse, can be read as platonic or romantic wc: 2.8k an: this is very y/n centric but uhhh i hope its still enjoyable (y/n is basically IU in this universe if we wanna talk about popularity and success)

The flashing lights almost burn against your skin as a brigade of cameras relentlessly attack you from all sides. You stand still, a painful wide smile plastered onto your face just like you were trained to do all those years ago. You can hear voices shouting out to you, but they just sound like ringing in your ears.

After what feels like an eternity of being blinded you’re ushered into the event hall where the actual ceremony will be taking place. You can’t relax yet, though. The dress you’ve been forced into fits you uncomfortably and has been irritating you since the moment you put it on, but you can’t let it show as you shake hands with all the necessary people and exchange niceties. You nod along to whatever they’re saying and hope you don’t look too dead in the eyes as you do.

“Y/N-ah, it’s good to see you again.” Your brain finally releases you from its stupor to turn towards the familiar voice.

It’s a coping tactic you developed years ago, when you were too young to really deal with all of the fame and networking and diplomacy. You call it your Professionalism Haze where you just block out as much as you can while still maintaining a level of propriety. As you got older you never did lose the habit. If anything it’s probably the only thing getting you through these types of events without going mad.

“Hyunae-unnie,” you bow slightly to the woman who has approached you. Hyunae is one of the people in the industry who you wholeheartedly enjoy the company of. You two did your training together as it was believed you two would debut in the same group before it was decided you would both debut as solo artists instead.

“Congratulations on your recent comeback, and your many nominations tonight.” If it was any other artist speaking to you, you might believe there was malice or envy behind the words, but you know Hyunae is being completely sincere.

“Thank you. I send you good regards towards your own comeback as well.” You know your words don’t mean much as Hyunae’s comeback was not nearly as successful as yours, but you still hope to convey how proud you are of both of your successes, no matter how big or small.

You hear a loud commotion coming from the entrance of the building and you glance over to see SEVENTEEN entering the venue. The loud boys all move further into the venues, greeting people as they do.

You stare at them as they move as a unit. Their crisp suit jackets and styled hair and meticulously picked jewelry. Despite the gender difference between you two, you know that just as much time was put into making them presentable as it was with you. You wonder if their shoes pinch their feet the way yours do to you.

The group of thirteen men are up for a couple awards themselves tonight. You wouldn’t call yourself a fan of them, but you are well versed in their status. They interest you to say the least. You’ve never met another K-Pop idol like them individually, let alone a whole group of them.

Your eyes land on Boo Seungkwan. You find him the most interesting out of the whole group with his big personality and outstanding vocal talents. His hair is styled out of his face, slightly pushed back to change up his normal style. He’s dressed in a suit like the rest of his group. His suit is a navy color that is styled with a silky white under shirt. He has more necklaces than you do adorning his neck and like always, his signature smile graces his face.

The lights in the room are on the dimmer side, but he still shines, standing out from the rest of the crowd. One of his members says something to him and you can hear him laugh even from across the room. You stare at the way his face lights up even more, something you didn’t know was possible.

You study his body movements and the way he interacts with everyone around him. You see him smile at multiple people, but that’s not a surprise. Seungkwan is very popular. He’s very open with his body language and how he carries himself, something you’re not sure if you emulate properly.

You ponder how Seungkwan is objectively attractive, but to you he’s also subjectively attractive with his smooth skin and high cheekbones and bright eyes.

“Y/N?” Your attention is pulled back to your unnie and you apologize for spacing off. She brushes it off, far too well-versed in similar actions herself.

“Excuse me, I think I should go find my seat before the ceremony starts.” You bow once more to Hyunae before heading off in the general direction of where your manager told you your seat is. It doesn’t take you long to find it and you sit down in your chair, the first one at the table.

“Y/N!” You look up to see three men approaching you. One of them being the man you are guilty of staring at a few moments ago.

You stand and bow to them. “Hoshi-ssi, Dokyeom-ssi, Seungkwan-ssi.”

“Congratulations on another successful year,” Hoshi tells you. You know he’s not just referencing your recent comeback but all of the projects you’ve done within the past year including the first leg of your tour, premiering in a movie, the release a new fashion line, and several record-breaking comebacks.

“Ah, Y/N-noona you’re so cool,” DK says. “You do so much, it’s amazing that you’re still standing.”

“Yah, don’t say stuff like that!” Seungkwan smacks at DK’s arm. “Your diligence is very commendable Y/N-noona.”

“Thank you, though the work SEVENTEEN does is just as exemplary as mine.” It’s no secret how hard the boys work and how they’re constantly doing something whether it’s promotions, comebacks, variety shows, and anything of the like.

“Yah, you three! Stop walking off!” You turn your head to see S.Coups approaching. “I apologize for any troubles my members may have given you.” S.Coups bows to you. “Come on you guys.” Before you can even respond to S.Coups, the four men are walking off to their own table.

It doesn’t take long for things to start to settle down as the guests start to find their tables. You’re sitting at a table with a couple more solo artists. They all talk to one another but nobody spares you much of a glance. Or maybe it’s you who isn’t paying them any attention. It doesn’t matter either.

The ceremony starts and you sit there and stare at the shoes of everyone who walks on stage because the lights are shining too bright to look at their faces. You go through all the normal motions of what you’re supposed to. Clap when someone gets introduced, laugh when they make a joke, smile when something nice is said.

It’s not until the awards start that you force yourself to listen, and even then you start to space out at times. You’re nominated for four categories tonight. You’ll most likely win all four of them. You know you should be appreciative, but it all feels meaningless to you.

“This year’s Top Solo Female Idol is…L/N Y/N!”

You hear your voice called over the surround system and you automatically stand and smile, waving at where the cameras are placed. Your feet start to move to the stage before you can tell them to and then all of a sudden you’re standing on the stage, staring out at the crowd.

Your eyes try to focus on something in the audience. This time it just happens to be the arrangement of blue flowers sitting on a table near the back.

For once you’re thankful for all of the pre-written speeches that were shoved down your throat a week ago as you recite it like it’s the most natural thing to you. You make a note to send a thank you basket to your PR manager.

You finish your speech and go back to your seat. You feel awkward sitting at the table with your award placed in front of you. The night is only going to get worse. More speeches, more smiling, more standing. Shake this hand and greet this person and say these words and always make sure your dress isn’t bunched up. You feel like a puppet.

You do end up winning all of the awards you were nominated for and you have to go to a press conference afterward to show your gratitude for all of the support.

You don’t miss the looks the other idols shoot you. You don’t have to interpret what they mean. It’s been the same since your first successful album as a rookie. None of them believed in you and now that you’re levels above them they don’t want to talk to you. You don’t blame them.

At the end of the night you’re finally loaded into your car and you slip your shoes off of your feet in the car. You’re in your apartment for about two seconds before you unzip your dress and let it fall to the ground before moving to your room to change into something comfortable.

You undo your hair and clean off your makeup before sliding on a mask and slipping your hood over your head. You walk down the block to the convenience store on the corner and browse the sodas and chips before making a selection. You pay for your treats and are thankful the cashier doesn’t recognize you. It’s not that too hard to believe though. Sometimes you can’t even recognize yourself without your makeup.

A deep sigh escapes your mouth as you start to walk back home. Tonight should be one of the happiest nights for you, but here you are, alone, buying junk food from the convenience store, feeling miserable. You are grateful for your job, you really are, but it’s all so…exhausting.

Your feet still hurt from wearing your heels for so long so you find a bench to sit on and rest your feet for a moment. As you sit down everything starts to crash down on you. You place your head in your hands and start to silently cry.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there when you hear a voice address you. “Excuse me have you- oh, are you okay?” You look up to see a familiar face. “Y/N?”

You quickly wipe away your tears and straighten up though you know that Seungkwan has already seen it all. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? Are you okay? What are you doing out here all alone? Why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry that you have to see me like this,” you say to Seungkwan. You’re embarrassed if you’re being honest. Out of everyone in the world to find you, it has to be Seungkwan.

He’s changed into street clothes and even through your distress you note how nice he looks. There’s always been something satisfying to you about idols in normal clothing. Maybe it’s because it makes them look like actual people.

“What are you doing here? It’s late and you’re all alone. Are you not celebrating your wins?”

“I…don’t have anyone to celebrate with,” you admit. “I don’t have many friends in the industry.”

“Well, you have me! We’re friends.” Seungkwan sits down on the bench next to you.

“Why are you here?” You change the subject.

“Ah, SEVENTEEN is celebrating our win at a bar nearby. I just needed a walk to clear my head for a moment,” Seungkwan explains. “Now, why are you crying on the street alone?”

You never knew if Seungkwan is as nice as he seems on camera, but apparently he is and it’s somehow making everything worse. You’re not sure if you want to just dump all of your problems on him at 1am on a random street right after crying when he should be celebrating with his group, but it’s not like you have anyone else to tell.

“I’m not sure what I’m even doing,” you finally say. “I’ve dreamed of this being my life since I was little, and now that I have it I feel…lost.”

“Lost?”

“I don’t know who I am anymore. I live my life day in and day out doing more or less the same thing, it’s like I’m on autopilot. This whole night I felt just like a doll, just something to play with and control. It’s exhausting.”

“You need to take time to take care of yourself. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep doing all of the things you are now. You should spend time with friends or take a vacation,” Seungkwan says.

You laugh a bit incredulously. “Take a vacation? My manager would kill me. The next leg of my tour starts in two weeks and I’m filming ad collabs and working on my next album in the meantime,” you tell the other idol. You hope he understands a bit. “As for the friend one…I don’t have friends. Everyone is either too intimidated or too resentful to spend time with me. I’m one of the most successful idols in Korea, and I can’t even get someone to spend time with me.”

“Don’t say that. I’m your friend. I’m spending time with you right now, aren’t I?”

“Only because you found me crying alone. It’s pathetic I know. The media would have a field day with this if they saw me now.”

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to spend time with you in other situations. Honestly, all of SEVENTEEN would like to be your friend. You deserve to have people who care for you.” The words hit harder than you’re expecting and you feel your eyes start to well up with tears again. “Our jobs aren’t easy, but you’re is even harder than mine. You are so strong to do as much as you do, and all alone. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without my members for support, and you deserve support as well.”

“Thank you, Seungkwan-ssi.” Your voice is soft, afraid that if you speak louder you might start sobbing.

“I think we can drop formalities,” Seungkwan says. “We’re friends now, remember.” You just nod.

It’s quiet between you two for a moment before you speak up. “Do you ever…wish your life was different? That you weren’t an idol?”

“This job is not for the weak of heart,” Seungkwan starts, “and sometimes it is hard, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Why? Do you…not want to be an idol anymore?”

“I’m not sure.” You take a moment to choose your words carefully. “I’m not happy. I love my fans and I love making everyone proud, but I don’t know if I’m being true to myself anymore.”

Seungkwan thinks over what you just said before responding slowly. “If you’re not happy anymore, then why do you keep doing it?”

“I’m too far in. I can’t be anyone else after the image I’ve built up. I don’t hate the job, I just…don’t feel anything anymore.”

“You should always choose yourself before anything else. I understand your feeling of obligation to this industry though. How about this? You come to me when you need support and I’ll be here for you and if you still feel like this later down the road, you have to promise me you’ll take a step back. You don’t have to quit, not yet, just take a break.”

You’ve truly never met someone like Boo Seungkwan. You can’t help but feel fondness towards him at this moment. No one has ever looked out for you the way Seungkwan is doing right now, and even just from this small conversation you’re starting to feel better. Maybe he is on to something with this support system he’s talking about.

“Okay Boo Seungkwan,” you say. “I think you might have yourself a deal.”

“Good. When your tour is done, I’ll show you what it’s like to spend time with a friend. We’ll do all of the funnest things I can think of and you’ll be able to relax. In the meantime, tell your manager to lessen your workload before you completely crash, or I’ll hunt him down and do it myself.” Seungkwan’s voice is dead serious and you know he’s not kidding.

“Thank you Seungkwan-ah, I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t need to. That’s what friends are for.” And for the first time this whole night you crack genuine smile.

Seungkwan then stands. “Come on.” He holds his hand out for you to stand as well. “Join me and my members for tonight. You deserve to be celebrated as well.”

You tentatively take Seungkwan’s hand and he helps pull you to your feet before leading you back towards where his group is residing and you secretly smile to yourself about how things are already starting to look up.

taglist: @pandorashbox @leejihoonownsmyheart @soonhoonietrash @chaimi-yuta @embrace-themagic @kayleeshinee @coupsgyus @joonsytip @heyxxitsxxtay @synthetickitsune @chwecardcaptor @candidupped @dreamhannies @d0nghyck @niyizh @baldi-2 @wolfgurl2600-blog @enhacolor @noniestars @heavenly-mobo @sunnyteume @debsworld23 @m1nghaos @just-here-to-read-01 @blxckswxnxge @17kwans @jeanjacketjesus @x-veex @namjoonbaby @ovai @belladaises @todorokiskitten @jihoonliker @valentxi @raevyng @im-gemmy @prpldahy

join my taglist: here!

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan fanfic #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #rru.fics #rru.writes #★ sfw

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miscreantahead · 8 months

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Zoro/Sanji Post Thriller Bark

I've been thinking about Thriller Bark AGAIN so much lately and about how I've never really written anything for them post-thriller bark. So I wrote this little thing, which doesn't feel like enough for my AO3 so I'm just putting it here. Rated M. Tags for uhhh... nonchalant discussion of death? If I were to post this and give it a title, it would be World's Most Sword-Swinging Shithead

----

“Hey, what the hell are you doing here, shouldn’t you be lying down still?” Sanji’s spoke in a slow drawl and lazily waved the spatula at him.

“I’ve been lying down for days,” Zoro dragged his feet walking in.

“Yeah, and you were even more almost-dead than you were at Baratie, so bad dog, go lay down,” he pointed the spatula into the corner for some reason.

“Not tired,” Zoro mumbled, still moving toward him.

“I didn’t say sleep, I said lay down, at least until Chopper clears you to move around,” now he was waving it toward the sky, and with his other elbow raised with his hand on the skillet handle, it gave Zoro the perfect opening to hug him around his middle from behind.

“Wh-wha?” Sanji flailed and struggled for just a second before Zoro let him go.

“Why’d you do that?” Sanji was now holding the spatula with both hands and pointing it in his direction like it was a longsword.

“Because I was almost dead,” Zoro said. and he made a point not to step that far away. In fact, he was close enough that Sanji was able to hold the spatula just under the jut of his chin.

“You’re saying you suffered brain damage, then?” Sanji asked, and his face turned comically sympathetic, “you poor, poor thing…” he caressed Zoro’s cheek with the spatula in a degrading manner.

“Cook,” Zoro growled, grabbing the spatula and shoving it away, “let’s not fuck around right now,” he didn’t intend for his words to come out the way they did. He heard himself, low, hoarse, maybe a little needy, and he saw the expression on the cook’s face change like he’d heard all of that too.

“I want to be with you,” Zoro had no choice but to carry it home, “even just once.”

Sanji’s expression had gone from silly to surprised and now to serious with his brow furrowed, eyes darting around Zoro’s face like he was trying to read some secret hidden within it. It was like he was worried that if he said anything in line with what Zoro was getting at it would be some kind of “gotcha!” He was still reading this like some kind of competition, like some game he was at risk of losing. Zoro wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I almost died,” Zoro’s voice cracked.

“I know that better than anyone, jackass,” Sanji responded through clenched teeth, apparently out of jokes.

“So?” Zoro said, moving closer so their foreheads bumped. “Don’t you want…?” he trailed off, closing his eyes and feeling Sanji ever so slightly press back against him. It was there in a thousand secret looks and just-a-little-longer-than-necessary touches. Something was happening between them, since Skypeia at least, and Zoro was sure it wasn’t one-sided. He was also sure that the damn cook’s mind was a conundrum he might never be able to solve, so he didn’t have a clue if this approach would work.

Sanji still hadn’t responded, but when Zoro opened his eyes his were shut, like he too was just quietly feeling it, their closeness. Zoro wondered how long it would take him to actually verbalize his position, but decided that perhaps he didn’t need to. If he didn’t want to say it, then Zoro could help him around that.

His lips were already only inches away, all Zoro had to do was tilt the orientation of his own head so their mouths touched instead of their foreheads. He started to move, slowly, until he was close enough to feel Sanji take a deep breath inward. When their lips met, it was the slightest ghost of a touch, but Zoro felt an urge to lift his hand and place it flat against the left side of the cook's chest.

His heart was pounding, so fast and loud and Zoro didn’t realize until he could feel it, that he could also hear it.

“Cook,” Zoro voice was weak against his lips.

The response he got was arms around his neck and a searing kiss as the cook surged into the kiss and tugged Zoro close to him. Their hips bumped and Zoro felt the hardness against his thigh for just a moment but he chased that feeling, crowding the cook back against the counter and pinning his narrow waist under the press of his abs and rolling his hips up so Sanji could feel that he was in a similar, or possibly more severe state.

The kiss broke then, Sanji broke it, but didn’t otherwise move, he just looked into Zoro’s eyes with surprise on his face. His expression looked foggy, but like there may have been something akin to reservation far beneath a cloud of desire in his glossed over-eyes and kiss-swollen lips that hung open to accommodate little puffs of breath.

Then a new emotion swept over that face, one Zoro was intimately familiar with: rage.

“Do you remember what you did, you son of a bitch?” Sanji hissed, arms unwinding from around Zoro’s neck, fingers instead viciously curling into and pulling the collar of his shirt instead.

“You knocked me out, threw me aside, left me there without a word while you went off to die,” he spat, literally spat, Zoro could feel the wet drops hitting his face, “and then when I woke up I had to be the one to try and find you because no one else knew why you weren’t there. I went looking and the whole time, every corner I turned I thought I’d see your bloody, mutilated, crumpled corpse somewhere dead—,”

Zoro placed a hand gently on the side of his face and it stopped his ranting.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Zoro said, earning a hardened glare, “but I’m still alive, somehow. And I do have a choice about what to do next, that’s why I’m here.”

“So, what, you realized you forgot to cross fucking me off your bucket list so—,”

“Cook,” Zoro interrupted, calm, because he didn’t want to be like this. Not right now, just this once, he needed it to be different.

“I know,” Sanji croaked, “but I don’t want to have to rush this, okay? Whatever it is, I don’t want to force it, I want to feel like we have all the time in the world. I want—,” he stopped, and looked Zoro in the eye, expression serious but no longer with anger, “—I need more time,” he said.

Zoro’s heart twisted in his chest.

“So just don’t fucking die, okay? Don’t you have to become the world’s most sword-swinging shithead?” He snapped again, “…fucking idiot…” he grumbled, and then Zoro watched him start to unravel, remained still as he collapsed enough for his head to fall and rest against Zoro’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Sanji whispered against him.

“For what?”

“Saving Luffy, and all of us, and…” he muffled the next word by pressing his mouth against Zoro’s skin but Zoro heard it, “…and me.”

Zoro kissed his hair, then released a heavy sigh into it so the strands on top of his head fluttered around.

“So, about my bucket list…” Zoro mumbled.

“No,” Sanji drew back, and looked him in the eye again, “not right now for a million reasons, starting with because I’m literally in the middle of breakfast,” he gestured toward the simmering happening on the stove, “because I can’t look at you right now without being pissed that you tried to leave, and because I’m going to need to be more than a line on a bucket list, jackass, but if that’s what I am then I’ll stay uncrossed just to keep you alive.”

“More?” Zoro latched onto just one word and pressed for explanation, and Sanji’s eyes widened.

“Ah, well…” he wiggled free of any of Zoro’s extremities and turned around to face the stove again, removing the lid and starting to stir.

Zoro released the breath he’d been holding and a relaxed smile crept over his face as he slowly wrapped his arms around the cook from behind again.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and squeezed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji muttered, “now go back to bed.”

fin More of my bullshit at https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchratt

#zosan #zoro/sanji #sanzo #zsz

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plate2 · 3 months

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So! The entire first chapter of this medieval AU is finished and ready (other than not being edited or beta'd or-) if anyone would want to read it. This is my first time posting any of my writing, so I hope it's good? Anyway, I feel it's important to also mention that it's not a mistake, I meant to use the last name Burgess instead of Sorenson here, and there is also cursing in the fic. (Also, if I need to add any warnings or tags please tell me) So uhhh yeah!

Chapter One: Fool Me Once

Torches sputtered and cracked from the draft, open flames waving hello as he slipped by, his cloak flying open behind him. Ruby and topaz stones carefully clinked and collided with one another as they hung from the golden circlet in his hand. The guards he met along the way flinched from his stare and gave him a mile’s wide berth once they saw the circlet. They allowed him to continue, on through locked doors to the deeper caverns of the castle, his footsteps echoing off of the stones placed haphazardly atop one another centuries ago.

As the stairs spiraled downwards, shadows began to rest on his shoulders, pulling at the light of the torches, causing them to waver— shudder—at the weight. Similarly, his mind began to spiral, tugged in directions he hadn’t known existed before now. His heartbeat reverberated in his skull, and it grounded him in such a way that it felt like the very dirt beneath him wished for nothing more than to swallow him whole. Maybe that would be preferable.

A prison such as this would likely inflict a feeling of depression, of hopelessness and horror. It would feel somber, damp with water leaking through the bricks to form stagnant puddles. And yet…

The yells started even before he reached the bottom of the stairs, before the door swung open, clanging shut behind him as he steeled himself, shadows flickering at the edge of the door. No one should have been able to hear them as he did, not from that distance. That simple fact raised a chill through his body, hair standing on edge as he walked towards the cells.

“I’m innocent!”

The yell shuddered through one of the inmate’s throats, the sound ripping through him as he came through the door. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he attempted to block out the noise. Other inmates rattled the bars of the cages, hummed old warning songs he knew well, and some even attempted to grab for his clothing, begging him to save them.

He knew well enough who these people were: heretics, murderers, traitors, felons of the highest degrees. He worked alongside those who put these people in chains, and if any of them knew he stood here, knew of the anomalies plaguing him… Perhaps he too would be shoved into one of these cells, left to rot forever. Of course, that stood under the assumption they let him live in the first place.

At the end of the hall, he quickly opened and slammed the door shut. The yells did not cease, twisting their way under and around the door, but fortunately, his focus trained elsewhere. Only one other cell stood in this room—the lowest, deepest place you could possibly go in the castle.

“Hello, Seth Burgess.”

Rags hung off her wiry frame like old drapes, and her knuckles seemed to protrude from her hands as she held onto her elbows. Scabs and pulsing veins ran along her arms, insect bites imprinted on her skin. Her hair laid long, ratted, and white, her eyes bloodshot as she smiled a little wider than humanly possible, a few of her teeth missing. Warts covered her body, and her hands showed the slime that stuck to her skin, the consequence for using magic from the Void.

Muriel, the Witch of the Forest.

“I haven’t seen you in years, boy. You’ve grown. There’s a wariness to you now, a glint in your eyes. What has happened to you since I’ve seen you last?”

Seth’s last visit to her stood in shadows, a vague mess of colors and swirling memory. He had been young, naive, and he wandered down into the same place he stood now. She twirled tales of forbidden magic, of twisting shadows and the creatures that slept within them. She drew pictures in his mind of demons and fairies, of their wars that raged much before his time. The stars, something he often turned a blind eye to, were now something new and bright in his eyes. He understood the moon, the stars, and the planets out in space, the darkness that held them, comforted them. And despite everything, it drew him in.

Enough time spent down there in one, singular, night, led him to learn magic he never should have known. She taught him something that plucked at strings in his heart, echoing a melody that flowed through the background of his life, through his ears and lungs. It kept his feet moving forward, and if he wanted, he could recite it note for note.

As he grew older, the song became tinged with a sour taste. He learned of the Void and how it infected everything it could grasp with a deep unknowing, a mystery hidden from the light. He learned of how it twisted and changed people, whether it gave them an amphibian-like slime, reptile scales, rare birds wings, or anything and everything within the same selection. It stood as something drilled into his mind during his lessons: amphibians, reptiles, birds, amphibians, reptiles, birds. Over and over again people taught him this.

The Source, as an opposition, became the thing people worshiped. It stood for peace, warmth, and the very known force of creation and growth. Mammal, fish, and invertebrate changes were welcomed, gifts given by the Source. People with such eccentricities were held on pedestals, something akin to saints.

And according to Seth’s grandparents, who caught him with Muriel that same night, all of his trust resided in the Source. The Source, his lifeline, kept him from falling farther into the darkness. As long as he continued to hold onto the Source’s rope—no matter if it felt like it seared through his skin, burned his eyes—he would be acceptable. He would be right. He would be fine.

Instead, Seth now heard voices from rooms over, a field’s length away, or through walls. He heard things people intentionally said behind his back, he heard compliments alongside criticisms. He heard when people outright lied to him, their small inflections clipped in their tones. The song lifted his eardrums to a heightened sense, and yet he continued to look towards the stars with burnt hands.

If only he had been better. If he had been better, lies wouldn’t slip off his tongue like truths when he spoke to his grandparents. He would have no reason to keep this visit a secret—or have this visit at all. If he had been better, a hole would not have carved itself into his mind. The remnants of magic he used before would not still taint his mind and thoughts. He would not feel comfort as shadows enveloped him in this very room, and he would not rest ever so slightly when the song settled in his mind.

If he had not made a mistake years ago to come into this very room, he would be able to say he trusted the Source with his very being. He would not give a second thought about the Void, as he did now, standing in front of her.

Seth had to wonder if this would be nothing more than another mistake. Another item to regret on his not-so-organized list that continued to roll far past his feet if he ever unfurled the parchment—if he ever opened the seal.

“You are being especially quiet this time around, aren’t you?” Muriel said, leaning forward and backward against her chains. Held so uncomfortably in the cold iron if only so she would never cast magic again. Her shoulders sagged, bags under her eyes as she stared at him. Her sudden cleansing of magic ability certainly took its toll on her.

“I guess you aren’t quite six anymore, are you?” Muriel laughed quietly to herself. “No more questions I can answer for you? No more questions about the stars?” Seth kept his composure, other than his hand tightening on itself, fingernails digging into his palm. “You do have more questions about the stars? Please, do tell, what more do you wish to know about the unknown levels of the universe?”

“Stop,” Seth whispered, his voice strangely weak. Something stuck in the back of his throat, something echoing a sob. He did want to know. He did want to hear. So badly.

Muriel’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve become one of them. They do not listen to my answers, nor do they ever ask me questions anymore. Take me back to the old times.”

The old times. Seth almost wants to agree with her.

A fact which, he supposed, indicated many things he didn’t wish to think about.

“How do I get rid of it?” Seth asked, his voice barely audible. “How do I make it leave?” He wished he could make it so he didn’t sound on the verge of tears, but you can only hear so much before you break—before you shatter utterly.

Muriel jangled her chains as she attempted to lean closer. Her eyebrows raised unnaturally high, “Leave what? Get rid of what? My dear boy, you must be more specific than-”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Seth tried to snap at her, he did, but it only came out in such a desperate plea. He began to pace in front of her cell, back and forth, wearing down the stone under his feet. The echoes of the steps resounded like drums in his heart. Loud, disorienting, just like the screams and pleas from the other room-

“Shut up!” Seth yelled. The shadows at the edges of the room inched forward, grabbing his ankles, pulling him, whispering things of hope- “I can- I hear- There’s too much and I don’t know what to do with it.” Seth ran his hands through his hair, gently pulling—as if that would make the voices stop. His voice, no better than a sob, said, “Tell them to stop.” A pause. “Please.”

Muriel’s eyes softened ever so slightly, and Seth had no way of knowing if she pitied or worried about him. “The power of the Void.”

The voices backed away at that, the shadows slipping off of his legs, laying at his feet like broken limbs, unsure of their function afterward. His heart softened as she said it, and the song picked up in his mind, swirling around them as he breathed a little easier. It called out for beginnings and ends, a form of destruction that led to creation: ash that helped flowers bloom. The cycle and the Void were the same.

The shadows at his feet squirmed, and he jumped back, heartbeat in his throat as he tried to clear it. Shadows were not something he could fight—nor were memories. And yet, both of them haunted his every step. “What did you do to me?” Seth asked as his voice wobbled and broke. “Why am I…?”

Seth said nothing more, simply staring at her, waiting. He couldn’t clear the tears from his eyes, but Muriel hadn’t mentioned them yet either. Perhaps she wouldn’t call out his weaknesses. Perhaps she owed him that much.

Muriel hummed, deep, resonating in the small cell. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give me more information than that.”

The floor seemed to fall out from underneath him. “You know!” He paced back to the door, the way he could leave here without any lasting consequences. The tears laid against his eyes, not daring to leave in the presence of someone else. “I shouldn’t have even tried, I should have known you’d never help!” Seth spun on his heel, pacing back to the cage. “You’re no better than them! Do you know that?”

“And why is that?” As quiet and calm as ever.

Seth went to run his hand through his hair once more, but instead, a laugh left through his lungs, shaking his entire being. “You all like to think you’re so different, but you all only look out for yourselves! You know exactly what I’m talking about—you did this to me!”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

Grabbing a hold of one of the bars, Seth watched as she moved back from him. The cold bite of the metal sank into him as he sobbed, falling to the ground, onto the heels of his feet. He felt insane, utterly. Why did he insist on asking her for help? Why couldn’t he ask his family, or even his friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal?

The Source kept the world pure. The Void corrupted.

…And yet.

Muriel tsked at his pathetic form, shaking her head. “Something indeed changed. Something’s taken its toll on you, raked its claws through your mind. You’re not the same boy who came down here all those years ago, are you?” When she said it this time, she spoke solemnly; she spoke a fact of life. Seth couldn't help but agree with her.

“The Void did this to me,” he eventually said. Even before he had finished, Muriel already began to shake her head, sighing. “What?”

“The Void did nothing of the sort. It gave this power to you because of your belief in it. If there are any… mental ramifications, you created those yourself.”

His words were no more than an emphasized sigh. “What?”

“Any constraints you have are because of your own making, or the making of someone who you let get into your mind. Who has gotten under your skin?” Muriel stared at him for a very long moment, tilting her head until it hung almost parallel with the ground. Seth hadn’t made the conscious decision to flinch back until she laughed, much like the caw of a crow. “Your family.”

“No.”

“Yes. They are sole believers in the Source—the light of creation in the world. Your family are the ones who believe the Void will corrupt your soul—if it hasn’t already.”

“It hasn’t-”

“You believe in it, don’t you? You’ve heard the song.”

Seth had not once mentioned the song in front of her.

Muriel continued. “The song floats through your head in the same way the power flows through your veins. With every step you take, you think about the vast darkness that hangs above our heads—the thing the sun obstructs. You can hear too much because the Void wished for you to. It loved you—loves you—and this is what you do in return? You ask me to get rid of it.” She scoffed.

Seth slowly stood, holding his head against the bars. His voice broke as he spoke. “They’ll- If I don’t get rid of this, they’ll kill me, and I won’t be able to do a single thing. If I fight back, they’ll count me as a traitor, and if I don’t, I’ll be killed. The family name will be tarnished, and I’ll be banished or- or executed on sight. They would have to make an example out of me, and they’ll-”

Muriel raised her eyebrow.

“My own family would execute me!” Almost hysterical, the words prying themselves against his will out of his mouth. They laid on the floor for everyone and no one to see, and he wanted nothing more than to light them on fire, watching the smoke rise into space.

“But do you want to rid yourself of the Void?”

No, he didn’t. “Do you not understand? They’ll kill me!”

Chains shuddered, clattered, and hung tense as Muriel rushed forward, reaching out towards the bars as Seth rammed back into the wall of the cell room, his breathing erratic. He felt his vision shudder as he watched one of her shaking, knobbly fingers barely reach out, her nails tinted green and yellow, barely able to reach and brush against the bar. He could hear the most faint sound of nails on a chalkboard. Her wrists were white with the strain from the handcuffs.

Muriel started slowly, slower than he had ever heard her speak. “You have not answered the question. It is an obvious fact they will kill you if they figure out why you’re down here now. It is an obvious fact that the Source and your family’s beliefs have tainted your perception of the power you have been given. I care little about either of these things. Do you want to rid yourself of the Void?”

Seth opened his mouth to say yes, to say anything to refuse what she implied. Of course he wished to get rid of this so-called gift the Void had given him. He hated the Void and what it had done to him. He hated its corruption, temptation, confusion…

“I… love the Source.”

That’s not what she asked.

You know what she asked.

Seth shook his head, holding his hand against his forehead as a headache spiked. Slowly, but quick all the same, the explanation clicked into place in his mind. “You’re trying to trick me.” He let his hand fall back down to his side as he laughed with all the strength remaining in his body. “You’re trying to trick me again, just like all of those years ago—when you did this to me.”

“I did nothing of the sort-”

Seth didn’t listen as he let his feet guide him back to the bars, back to where she tried to intimidate him, where she stood, chains taut. “You’re always trying to trick me, just like them, just like everyone, I…” With some last bit of resolve crumbling, he wrapped his hand around one of the bars, almost letting himself fall against them. He spoke with something akin to a sob—with something not-so-distantly related to anger. “You’re always trying to trick me, but you can’t fool me twice. Please, not twice.”

The chains jangled back to their original place as Muriel backed away, her breathing careful and jagged. Seth didn’t trust her, quite the opposite, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt him as he stood here. Muriel, well known as a questionable, terrible, utterly irredeemable person by the general public, would never hurt him.

Seth didn’t know why he was so sure.

Muriel, he suspected, did not either.

A long, worn-down sigh emanated from the cell, the sound and curdling smell echoing through the small room. Seth opened his eyes as the old, possibly immortal woman stood with her creaking bones. “Of all people…” She laughed, shaking her head as she fell back to the ground. “Of all people, you chose to come to me with this.”

“Fool me once,” Seth’s hoarse voice choked out.

The cell’s silence held as they stayed on opposite sides of the bars, a tense, angry, and understanding emotion in the air as Seth felt emotion bubble up in his chest and throat.

‘The Void did this to me,’ said with resentment, anger.

‘The Void did this to me,’ said with curiosity, wonder.

The sky hadn’t looked the same since that fateful night. Seth supposed it never would again.

“Am I already tainted?”

The words slipped from his mouth, but he didn’t regret it. He knew what her answer would be, something different than if he were to ask his family—his friends.

“Am I…” he continued, “Am I past the point of no return?”

With gentle, genuine concern—something she hadn’t used often so far in their conversation—Muriel asked, “What do you mean?”

“The Void changes people, taints them with its power. I could be a different person now than I’m supposed to be because of its influence, but I wouldn’t know. What if it’s already taking over my mind? What if the reason I’m…” Seth shook his head, rethinking his words. “What if I’m changing, and I can’t even realize it because it’s gotten so deep into my mind that it makes me think it’s okay?”

Seth’s family always reminded him he had never been all too eloquent with his words.

“You’re afraid you’ve been compromised.”

He needn’t say a word in order for her to know his answer.

“I’m not repulsed by the thought of the Void or by the song. I should be. Everything in history, in my life, all around me tells me so.” Seth looked up from the floor, into her eyes deep with pity. “I should be, but I’m not.”

Muriel sat in her silence for a long moment. “The Void does not change people.”

Seth laughed bitterly. “It does. Everything has always pointed to the fact that it does. Your skin would be free of slime if the Void didn’t change people. I wouldn’t be hearing things from entire rooms away if the Void didn’t change people.”

“Those are the physical changes we know and understand—which I should add, are brought to us by our own use. But, ignoring that, the Void does not change the mentality of its followers. Even if it wished to, it couldn’t.”

Without thinking, Seth said, “But then why are you…”

Muriel smiled and hummed. “I am not like this because of my use of magic. The way I look, the way I am weak without it, the way I think, all of that is of my own doing. I am the only one who can change myself.”

“It could have made you think that. What if you’re different and you don’t even realize?”

“Everyone is different from their younger counterparts. Life revolves much around change, and if you think that is always an indicator of the Void sinking into your mind, then maybe you are more naive than I thought.”

“Was I-” Seth said, before Muriel interrupted.

“You, as a child, were not as different as you are now. Though, you’re more closed off now. The curiosity in your eyes has been toned down in order to best fit your family, your public. You’ve become palatable for the people around you.” She paused. “You remind me much of my younger self before I realized I did not need to be easy for others to process.”

“Yeah, and you ended up in a jail cell.” Regret in his words pooled in his stomach as he took a step away. “I don’t… I don’t want to end up like you.”

The silence stretched for longer than Seth had let it so far. Muriel, deep in thought, suddenly nodded with only a small sigh. “Then you won’t.” She held up five bony fingers. “You have options: run, learn, or barter.” She touched one finger with every option she gave him. Seth couldn’t help but notice she skipped two fingers.

“What’s the last-”

“You can leave the Void,” Muriel interrupted. “Forget about it, never think about it, let alone ever look towards the night sky again. Believe only in the power of the Source. If you do that, you have the possibility of returning to normal. The song will stop lingering.

“If you don’t wish to alleviate the comfort of the night sky, then I would suggest training yourself in the power you’ve come to find yourself with.” Seth began to protest, but she continued, raising her voice above his. “It would bring a sense of control into your life, and you would be able to hear only what you wished.”

Before she continued, Seth wedged his way into the conversation. “That cannot be the best possible solution. What if I start to show physical symptoms? I can’t hide things like that. I can lie and pretend all I want, but that’s something permanent. I can’t fix permanent.”

“Demons and witches like me could possibly help you, then. If you would wish to barter, they are the ones to speak to. Though, their deals have loopholes and fine print like you’ve never seen in your life, and, as a royal, you’ve had to deal with politicians.” Muriel’s laugh echoed in the jail cell. “But, they have power, and if you wish to change something like this so drastically, you would need such power to do so.”

“I can’t do that either.”

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t recommend it; I used to know those people. They’re all batshit crazy—and that’s coming from me.”

Seth sighed, rubbing in-between his eyes. “Okay, no demons and no witches then. No running from the Void and no trying to bargain with it. What else is there?” He looked to the two bony fingers she still had held up. “What other options do I have?”

“Well, you can run from the Void mentally, as I’ve already mentioned, or you can run from this place, this city, physically. There would be no one to judge you, no one to believe you’re conspiring with the forces that you are.”

“I’m not conspiring-”

“Of course not, of course not.” Muriel grinned.

Seth groaned, walking back over to the door and leaning against it. “I can’t run. My family, my city, my duty is here, and I can’t just leave that. I have friends here. I can’t leave them alone and just- just fuck off into the wild and hope I get my life figured out.” Seth paused, beginning to gesture wildly with his hands as he began to slowly unravel. “It’s- It’s like I'm on the end of a rope, right? And the rope is fraying on one side, burning on the other. I’m just left in the center, doomed to fall because of, what, some stupid mistake I made when I was six?”

Muriel, for what felt like once in her life, said nothing to him. She stayed quiet, watching him as she settled back into her seat. To her benefit, she did look guilty in a way Seth could never understand. She certainly didn’t feel guilty about teaching him. Yet, she felt pity for him. What did that mean? Did it mean to impose a better feeling onto him? It didn’t. The growing pit of uneasiness, anger, and utter understanding of his doomed position wanted to consume him. A little bit of pity wouldn’t change that fact.

For years, Seth had been able to ignore the song, ignore the empty space he felt within him during his every waking moment. He paid it no mind, and it did not bother him. But, for every slip-up, for every thought that roamed a little too far, a little too deep, the song became louder. The thoughts came closer to the surface, and Seth began to lose control of them.

Because what if? What if he did train his powers? What if he ran away? What if he didn’t have the responsibility of a castle on his shoulders? What if he filled the gap in his heart, what if he went against the whole of society, what if he abandoned his familiar beliefs, what if he rejected everything he came to know as true? The thoughts always started out blazing, like thousands of stars in front of his eyes, blinking in tune with the beat of his heart.

But then, reality came in, and it turned each little flame into smoke. It put out the fire, leaving Seth with the fear and realization that he was trapped without an exit. He continued to turn, hoping for a better choice, a sudden awareness of his situation. There had to be something other than rejecting everything and everyone he’s ever known, right? But, he would always look, and he would see nothing. He would see twisting shadows, and they would creep up his leg, across his body, and around his neck. His own curiosities turned against him, silencing him, and leaving him to watch. He could do nothing else.

Useless.

“What other options are there?”

Muriel’s silence said much more than words could.

“There has to be something else. You’re still holding one finger up, so there is something else. You have to tell me,” Seth pleaded.

“Well, if I know my traditions, there is a party tonight. The Gala of Summer, if I remember correctly. You are being trained to, later in the future, become Captain of the Guard, yes? You would know this.”

Seth nodded. While every solstice and equinox became a day of rest for every citizen in Fablehaven, the two days before were not.

Children learned of Festival Nights when they were young, begging for another story from their guardians. “Monsters lurk in the woods,” parents would say to their children. “And on Festival Nights, these monsters come out and try to attack our very way of living.”

No one knew why, no one cared to ask. Some theorized Festival Nights stood as a tradition for them as well, though they lost every year due to the preparation of the Royal Guard and their Captains. Monsters ravaged the walls of cities, and if they dare reach the inside, established groups for every town and city known as Festival Knights would fight them until dawn came. So, every day before the Festival Night, people would prepare until three in the afternoon, and instead of lying in their stress and terror that night, the castle would throw a party for royals, nobles, and respected citizens alike—the Galas of the Seasons.

Tonight, they were throwing the Gala of Summer, and all morning, Seth had been helping either Captain Burgess with their preparations. Queens without magic always took the position of Grand Captain of the Royal Knights, but Ruth, now getting older in age, began teaching Warren everything she knew. Until Seth turned twenty—or became King, whichever happened first—Warren would then teach him and take his place if Ruth resigned. The knowledge and experience trickled through the generations, leaving Seth staring at a burden he would eventually need to carry upon his back.

Grand Captain Ruth Burgess, Captain Warren Burgess, and Associate Captain Seth Burgess, the names continued on alongside the Summer Gala, the Festival Night, the Summer Solstice. Those words had branded themselves onto his mind in the past month.

“Of course I know what it is. It’s my job to understand what that is.” Seth scoffed. “But what does that have to do with my current… predicament?”

“Well, this option has a very low possibility of working, but every solstice and equinox, the Path of Stars opens. The Path of Stars is a dimensional line that connects to the Void itself. The connection point lies on the highest hill of Glasshed Cemetery, the biggest cemetery in this city. Arrive at the entrance to the cemetery at eleven tonight, and then wait there—do not look, touch, speak to, or anger the spirits there. Do not bring a lantern or any other source of light. Wait until a quarter ‘til midnight in this spot, and when the clock reaches the appropriate time, begin walking the path up the cemetery. You will need to be at the top by midnight, no later. The Void is understanding, much so then people lead others to believe, and while it may be crestfallen, it will understand your reluctance and rid you of its power. That is, if your motivations and intentions are clear. This is your only clear, direct option, and it may not even work in a way that does anything to you, good or bad. Do you understand?”

Seth did not move, barely even took a breath as his heart fumbled in his chest. Slowly, eventually, he nodded. Muriel said nothing more, nor did she look like she wanted to say anything more. So, Seth turned, putting his hand on the door. But—before he opened it, before he left her down here for perhaps the rest of her life to rot—he paused. It took him multiple tries to get the words to leave his mouth, let alone for them to be coherent and clear. “…How can I trust you?”

Muriel tilted her head up. “Do you?”

Seth flinched back ever so slightly before pushing the door open, letting it thud closed behind him. Despite everything, he found himself memorizing the list of directions.

“Fool me twice,” he muttered.

((If you've reached the end I'm thanking you so much for giving it a chance,, please reblog or comment or anything if you liked it, I'm hoping to continue it, but it may take a while (this is draft #3 for this chapter alone) and ask any questions about this AU in my asks if you'd want!! I'd love to answer them :D))

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #fhdw #seth sorenson #muriel taggert #fhdw LMDM AU #no kendra this time sorry but i have plans for her

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yutasbimil · 2 years

Text

To The Bone

yuta x fem!reader | nct 127 ff. [one-shot] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: fluff, smut cw: nsfw minors dni, domestic fluff, morning sex, consensual non-consensual (cnc), massage, teasing, established relationship, praise kink/body worship, hand fetish, fingering, dumbification, breeding kink, oral, eating out, blowjob, shower sex, unprotected sex, pet names, FLUFF!!! ! not that comfy w/ 2nd POV, but hope 3rd POV is good for y'all ♡ word count: 4.1k

“Morning, Yutaaa~” Y/n chirped, a bit muffled. Yuta has the honor of seeing her in between his legs so early in the day. He adjusts his vision with the light slipping through the curtains, breaking out into a smile as his other eyelid is still closed.

His free hand reaches to pat her head.

“I thought you’re still sleepy…” His low and raspy just-woke-up voice is hard to avoid, her bones down to her spinal cord tried their might to dodge its effect. But alas, her entire body is at its will turn to a putty-like her legs. Her rubbing her legs for friction didn’t help fan out the fire this man had brought onto her system.

She’s getting heated by this man so early.

This is the usual morning for them, energizing each other just before they’d fully go about their day. Of course, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And here is Yuta reminding Y/n how essential it is.

Yet here she is already full of love by this ‘full course meal’ of a man just showering her with his presence. Looking so damn good in his classic plain shirt, he is really serving her some candy. She better makes use of her skills to fairly treat him back.

She pulls out his hard-on off her mouth.

“Your dick looks lonely, I oughta bring it out of its pain,” she says in a way as if it strokes your skin. As if it’s such a casual statement, she just brings back the length into her mouth as if it’s candy. She sucks it out and lets it go with a ‘pop’!

“You know ‘morning wood’, right?”

“Nah-uh, yours was asleep as the rest of you—! …not till I touched it.” Y/n says, and to put more emphasis, she put force into slurping and grabbing hold of his coiled sacs.

Yuta is only left with the option to lie down relaxed and watch her do him in glory.

“Of course, it would react dummy.” His voice croaked. Inhales. “Especially that it’s you and your touch.” To add to her demise, he glides his pretty hands from her chin to her cheeks with his sultry tone.

She wants to jump onto him so early on.

Y/n resists.

“Is that another one of your flattery, Yuta?” Y/n licks the tip slyly. She’s up for the challenge, seeing him starting to tease her. This would teach him a lesson.

Taking him deep into her mouth, he had to hiss at her going full-on gagging all of him in one blow, to another dunk.

“Uhhh… hmmm. Uhh-uh.”

Sharp inhales and low groans easily slipped off his lips. A bit of salivating added to her unexpected force of movements in taking down his dick. Talk about her having the ‘head start’. He’s crumbling easily, and he’s put at a disadvantage.

He’s very sensitive, especially its the morning.

In comparison, he’s actually under full control of her, laid down out and bare on the bed. It couldn’t be said the said to his seemingly held composure and steadiness.

“You’re getting brave now, huh, princess?”

“Stop it with the pet names, Yuta.” She puts away a stray hair that had gotten loose due to her rowdiness. Now, she wished she kept hiding her face. How he looks straight into her in so bliss is too much for her to resist.

“Oh? I thought I heard you calling me ‘prince’ all night?” Yuta took this chance to reach for her breasts. It had her stifle and break composure, but she took advantage of this by changing momentum.

He bucked his hips with the abrupt sensation, hitting the back of her throat.

“Uhhh, that’s good, Y/n.”

She responded well in sucking harder on his base, downwards, fully dipping in and out, then smiling. “What happened to ‘princess’, my prince?”

Y/n goes on teasing him back by adding more stimulation, grabbing onto his ball sacks as she spreads out her tongue all around. And the subtle gliding brushes and wiggling of her tongue added more to driving him to the edge.

But not enough to drive him wild, which in turn ironically makes his hormones go on the loose how she can’t just let him drive over the edge already.

She’s doing damn good at putting him into place.

He puts his hand on her head, looking at her endearingly.

But his smirk on the other hand had so much layer to simply paint it as pleasant adoration towards her. It also stains how he’s both going to put her aching insides out of its misery without even placing a single touch on her. At the same time, would choke her into calling out his name on how good she was going to get railed and taken care of soon.

Oddly specific but this is how you are usually handled by the likes of Nakamoto Yuta.

“You’re more on a ‘queen’ on how you’re doing me good…” he confessed, his low groans adding to her libido, pumping her system to get more turned on. How Yuta lightly traces her shoulder down her back diverts her neediness into something more. Oh no. She’s about to be turned over to another role. Too soon…

“And a queen deserves a crown, right?”

“Hmmm…” she hums, vibrating around him.

Yuta takes her by surprise as his reliable hand served as a “crown” sitting on top of her head. And she’s no longer in the lead on her supposed pace.

She’s taken into heaven as much as he’s manhandling her right now.

Y/n got her eyes up by her lids, elated. The force down her throat is anything but pleasure now, and the sweet groans lowly emitting out of her boyfriend’s lips are all that matters.

Everything is slowly turning into a white canvas, closing her eyes as something big is upcoming.

Moments later, he shot a whole lot of his load in her mouth.

She choked on its abrupt sensation down her throat, spitting out most of it. He wasn’t kidding about the “tons” he gave out just now.

“Clean it up, Y/n.” Yuta’s pouty voice brought her focus back to him, a bit like a kid she follows along. “Noooo… no, no, we’re going to clean up later anyway.”

She quickly turns away.

“Come on nowww~ I know you like it.” Yuta banters, pouting at her.

She’s also pouting back.

“Nuuu…”

“Hmph.”

“I already did suck you, and when I want to, I swallow on some days, now I’m just not feeling it,” Y/n explains.

Yuta is silent just listening intently to her, more on distracted by her glistening lips. His erection is mocking the both of them, all too much like a sore thumb on how stupidly obvious it is for Yuta that he’s still turned on.

It twitched again as she stared.

“Now, can we please get up and clean already?” she cooed. This is mostly the task or “challenge” to start the day for them. Wake Yuta up so that we can start the morning routine already.

Seeing her tired but enthusiastic in squirming between her shorts, she is sheepishly rubbing both her legs.

“Alright, alright.” he chaffs. He knew he is up to do and clean up another task later. He needs to take care of her above anything else.

Laying back momentarily, she huffed and stood up as she gained momentum on both her legs. But it wasn’t enough to hide her limp.

He had been noticing her walk weirdly these past few days.

Pinning her down playfully, like a lion down his prey, she struggles as he locks her in between his arms.

“Stop, Yuta…”

“That’s not what you’re saying last night.” His smile only widens in his teasing, and her eyes went flying off her eyes on how much it rolled with the likes of him.

“Idiot! You’re part of the reason my body aches.” She says, Yuta immediately muffled himself by her chest, causing her to perk a brow at him. “Why are you giggling? That wasn’t a compliment, dummy.”

“Sorry, I know we're active, but you also like it.”

She cannot deny that. He too knows that for a fact. But Y/n could only roll her eyes to avoid filling up his ego. She already knows how much unfaltering certainty bores in his eyes, even the tone itself holds so much confidence in how Yuta knows he has that kind of effect on her.

Such a weird dork.

Asshole.

“We should’ve done stretches and warm-ups beforehand then huh?” Yuta is grabbing hold of both her arms. Already on top of her, with Y/n’s back facing him. She heard her own bones crack pleasantly as she exhaled a sigh of relief. With her bones popping to his massage, bits of her stiff muscles relaxed.

Yuta holds her delicately as he massaged the right places of her back.

She quickly takes back calling him a prick. For now.

“Ahhh… t-that…” relaxed the fuck out of her. She moans… rolling her eyes but Yuta can practically feel it in her tone. “Uhh-yes. Hah-ha, we should take note of that-this more next time huh…?”

Her hip bones in particular took the most toll.

Guess they should take precautions and reminders beforehand doing it rough in the kitchen sitting right up yesterday.

“We can continue this later? Is that good?” He’s massaging her fingers gently. Yuta already has his eye on his towel, even his firm hold to support her right up signals her to wake up most of her cells for the day.

His coffee-brown eyes and scent are enough to shake up her system.

After brushing their teeth and then having breakfast, they’re practically done going about their routine. And now they’re down to cleaning off their whole body, down to their clothing into the laundry basket.

“Y/n…” Her bare skin quickly met the still-yet-to-be-moist cold tiles of their bathroom.

Y/n is pinned down to the wall, her back meeting its surface, it can be said the same how Yuta’s lips are caressing hers in a way that she wants to ask for more. Touching alone didn’t suffice on how she feels insatiable right now.

She wants more.

Her legs gave in and were weak at the glide of his hands in between her legs. His other support her waist and through his electrifying touch, it accentuates the arch of her back further.

Her system short-circuited to the exploration of his hands on her chest. And streams of water added the smoothness of his touches, making her melt into his arms.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. It added a buffer to her brain as she was already filled with much joy at his question alone to even respond. It’s the intention behind asking itself is what’s so much of a turn-on; how he’s thinking of you and being considerate of you in every way possible.

She feels her breath moisten the glass of the shower, a moan slipping out more prematurely than intended. “A-anything. As long as you do me some good fucking, Yuta.”

And her wish is under Yuta’s command.

He trails over her back, the cold water melting along their kiss as both their hands roamed. She’s near to getting breathless every time he crashes his lips on hers. Every ripple seeps deeper into her core. His passion and love are intense. And Yuta really has a way to show it through his actions.

The steam fogged the atmosphere, heated as both their cores is shaken by each other. Their hairs are nowhere merely damp as the water ran along their languid exchanges. His skin would often press the glass, with her the next as he pins her beautiful body up for his sighting. The soap gliding aimlessly helped to the effortless addition of their inappropriate touching. And this is efficient; bathing together, and body clean all the while satisfying their needs. Hitting two birds with one stone.

“Your back looks like it needs some cleaning as well.” he insisted. Y/n could only yelp as he easily slips his dick into her sensitive pussy. She swears it’s much tighter than it is wet with her needy fluids.

But as long as it’s soaking and readily aroused for him to penetrate, Yuta is only aiming to satisfy her.

“You’re taking me in well, princess.” His praises are full of gratitude, and Y/n could only look back at him with a delighted glance.

A contented sigh escaped her lips as he again started to move.

Along with Yuta soaping her back, the rinsed torso and arms gave him some premise to do his next move. His hands easily escalated to the cups of her chest, fitting oh so perfectly onto her body. She’s grabbing hold of the wall the same as he’s holding dearly of her swaying breasts, twisting her erect nipples as he fucks her from behind. Harder and faster than what they started with.

“Ah-ah… Ahhh… Fuck, Yuta. Let me—” breathe!— She wasn’t even given a break in between her moans; no intervals were left on how fast he was ramming into her.

“Let you what, baby?”

The sloshing and tightness all the same of her pussy is putting him into this momentum of not wanting to stop.

“Please— more…” Her strained and weak squeals indicated he was doing his job right.

Nice of her to say ‘please’.

Her pleasured expression and continuous moans even encouraged him to go on. It became more of a reason for his reddened ears on how lost in gratification her eyes glistened.

“God, you look so beautiful right now.” He murmured close to her ear, nibbling into it. She grabbed by his arm, planting a quick peck on his nose as she missed his cheek.

He chuckles at that, hardly restraining himself to push into her, quickly turning her around to press her down. Her breasts were blotted by the frigid wet glass. But oddly that made her heat up more.

The sound of her body shoved and pressed again, then again to the glass tried to match up to the loudness of her moans. The bathroom is trying its best to contain the cries within the walls. They cannot guarantee full disclosure of how he’s just fucking her senseless right now.

Every thrust and stroke is full of restraint and control, especially on how hot she looks right now. He needed all the willpower to contain himself, or he was going to burst inside of her.

But the mere thought makes him more aroused at the idea of letting her bear his child is beyond him. It just feels so right raising a family with Y/n and spending their days waking up to the sight of her sun-filled presence.

It’s as hot as the contained ball of the flesh of the very thing holding his family line.

“I’m coming—”

“Me too.”

He’s quick to pull out, and hot liquid shot out moments after he pumped out the base. His level of control is insane.

“Ahhh… that’s a lot.” She hissed inwardly as his hot seed, in contrast, meets her cold back, trickling down her bum. Yuta is quick to hold her as she releases the last bits of her orgasm with him. She sighs as he tickles a kiss on the side of her face.

And they might need another shower after turning into their shared bedroom.

Yet again, her back crashed into the soft pillows of their bed. Looks like Yuta isn’t letting her rest soon. At least not yet that she cums, countless times at the least.

Even on letting her handle and challenge her limit, she’s given a task to give him pleasure whilst going through his special treatment with his fun and favorite equation, 6 plus 9.

Taking his length into her mouth is a cinch for Y/n on how much they’ve been doing this. And how much she’s enjoying pleasuring her partner with her mouth. But it’s getting exceedingly difficult as Yuta got something up his sleeve on the difference of pacing that he’s doing.

Even the mere placement of his tongue gave her no choice but to be pulsed with surging pleasure as he’s stepping up his momentum.

She’s left to squirm and furrow her brows as she tries to one-up her game in pleasuring him.

“Shit! Holy… that is, ha… great.” She mewled, following a series of moans as the sounds of her wetness alone filled the room. His scent is even making her dizzy, swallowing up his dick and slurping his juices added to the warmth she's feeling.

She felt dripping between her legs at the arousal.

Focusing on forming and defining her back, Yuta did not disappoint with the support and magic he was doing to call to her needs.

She’s close to having a spasm on how weak she is in her knees as she’s got Yuta deep in between her thighs. His face and eyes seem to be like a pilot by the view she gives.

“Babe, what t-the fuck, are you even…” She cannot even complete sentences due to his actions, all she knows is he’s got his fingers into her sensitive nerves. And it’s getting extra stimulated and too much like a puddle to his touch.

On the plethora of sensations that she feels; like his mouth is occupied with sucking her cunt, his lips caressing her swollen lips all while his fingers are playing with her clit.

He did not even leave room for disappointment in pleasuring her tight hole with his other fingers. Tracing the tactile twisting and turns circling her mind is making her woozy to even comprehend the actual picture he is doing in rearranging her drenched folds.

“What were you,” gasp “…even doing?” she managed an ounce of push through her shaky breath. She’s in too much bliss and blinded on cloud nine to even function.

Yuta’s silence speaks that he does not want to tell her shit.

“It's a trade secret,” he says, putting his damp sticky finger on his lips. His glistening lips from her juices along with that grin aren't helpful at all.

“YUTAAA!”

Her scream is cut short by her sharp inhales as he went in with his finger into her, pumping it with no warning. She could only groan.

How much more can her boyfriend make her feel this fucking good?!

He's truly insane!

The way his lips are already stained, added to his wickedness as he licks it, putting a devious smirk despite her whimpers on his pumping fingers. He curls it and cues her back arch. “Ah! Ohhh…fuck, you’re a beast, Yuta.”

He lets out another breathy chuckle. He’s enjoying this too much. Way too much.

“You like it, princess?”

“Too much, uh-sh—shit. Too much.” she sniffles.

Yuta is left in a tangent. Does she mean she likes it too much, that it’s good? Or is it the latter that it’s too much that it’s so bad, she cannot handle it?

He’s only left to test his hypothesis as he maintained his pace, fastening, it got her hips buckled together. She squeals, hitting his arms, and he spreads her legs apart again.

“Sorry, oh my god…” Her hiss is more on her containment to scream. She’s left shaky and guilty that she’s leaving his erection unattended. Gripping onto it loosely as she only left to graze her lips didn’t help to ease her.

Still not moving their current position, she’s growing unstable. She’s left agape, tongue out panting in a way on the motion he’s taking her in with his fingers and lips. She’s going to break at this point.

“A bit more… and ha… I’m close-ahmm!” She repressed her moan by gulping in his dick then slurping out, motioning herself to focus herself elsewhere— anywhere but the pit and knots by her gut forming… it’s about to burst.

“You close, baby?” he pokes out his tongue, licking to tease as he had been noticing her trembling legs by the minute. He knows well she’s reaching her peak.

Y/n nods firmly, shaking her head then as she’s growing helpless. “P-please, that’s so good, I’m cumming!” She’s close to whimpering and begging but Yuta did the favor to put her to rest as he has the final move.

The way his fingers glide in full detail for her to watch put her into a trance. It hovered in front of her, being put into her hair and grabbing her so that she shamelessly moaned. All the more that it touched her bundle of nerves, aching still since earlier due to his sly tactics to get her drawn in. She had to catch her breath.

“Thank you, Yuta.” She smiles in ecstasy, giving a peck to his dick that’s still hard in front of her. She expressed her gratitude as she moves in between his legs, pumping and blowing him in full fervor.

It’s clear he’s so aroused and repressing it that it was not soon that he ejaculated, spraying onto her face.

She cleans it up quickly, grinning. “That was great.”

“You liked it like that, princess?”

“On whatever you were doing, keep it up,” she replies. Whatever that ‘trade secret’ is, why can’t he just tell me?! Yuta and his antics sometimes.

“W-wait, let me adjust, babe.” She stifles, yelping a bit as she was pinned down again on the bed. His hold gravitated a bit differently, making her turn to him. He’s quick to put pillows on her upper body for support. He noticed she twisted a bit oddly being plopped down so suddenly.

“This can solve your back aches,” Yuta says but the poking by her lower torso screamed more suspiciously on her end.

This motherfuc—

She had her back arched as his dick went in, as much as it signals it can help her spine… It’s honestly doing more than just simply rearranging her aches inside as it feels like it’s getting mushed at every tightened thrust.

How is it that he already came twice but still has so much energy to spare?!

Y/n is also surprised in herself she can still take on the challenge. ‘This is what training with Yuta is like,’ she thought.

“Urghhh, uh-ah!— please let me rest a bit.” she rasped. It came out more of a beg, already in both knees.

She’s growing hotter and sweatier by the minute, but Yuta does her the favor to lay down flatly on the bedsheets, and that gave her an opportunity to grab onto. Besides noticing his deep gaze, he had that softness of getting lost abyss deep into the act. Holding onto the nets of his hair helped her to resist going crazy.

He observed her with full attention as they rocked back and forth. Y/n is also engrossed in the way he vicariously moves his length in and out of her.

Their breathing is already in an irregular manner, making Yuta also cautious as she yelps on grazing her nails by his arm. Y/n is quick to find his bare back to be her next canvas as it’s etched red, much to Yuta’s pride and joy. He’s really got the nerves and skill to drive her to the edge.

They're both panting like they're getting through climbing a mountain terrain. It seems so close yet so far-reaching the peak.

Just a bit more!

Y/n is reacting loosely, fidgeting in place on how deep Yuta is so deep into hitting her cervix. It feels frustrating in the way he's ramming so devilishly into her.

The way his hips moved and humped into her countless times made her get lost in pure white.

Y/n had the mental capacity of a toddler attempting to do the math on how she didn’t manage to count how many times Yuta made her orgasm that day.

“I bet you’re tired.” he huffs, reaching out a face towel nearby.

“How much are you willing… to bet?” A bit tired and their voice growing softer as she lays close by his chest, he’s still cleaning much of what’s left. He went to wipe her face and fix her hair.

“Hope this makes up for it,” he whispered, and with a relieved hum, her sigh is more on her comfort around his presence.

She’s really lucky. How observant and acts of service-type Yuta is with their usual routine and feeling of freshness on days around him. Though seeing her well rested on their bed right now, he knows well too what she needs ASAP.

Now she needs another massage more than ever.

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#yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta nakamoto #nct #nct 127 #yuta fluff #yuta smut #yuta x reader #kpop imagine #fanfic #enjeiwrites

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