#and maybe feel a little bad before forgetting again

[fushiguho]

toji’s the type to make you ask nicely if you wanna suck his big, pretty cock. manners are important after all, silly girl! (:

the sparkling crackle of gunfire and shell casings hitting concrete echo from the television. toji idly sprawls himself across the couch, the reposed and delicious spread of his thighs looking like land to be conquered. indistinguishable voices overlap in chatter through the headset that’s fallen loosely around his broad neck; the click of his opposing thumbs another piece of sonic clutter.

there is no doubt that he can feel the ravenous heat of your glare, even amongst the sound of confirmed kills and surging stats. maybe he can hear your lecherous thoughts too because he’s eventually granting you a quiet, dubious glance—long enough to kindle the flame that buzzes beneath your skin, between your legs.

he turns to face the screen again with an incredulous shake of his head, and you can’t help but to answer to your incessant, unvoiced desires. a compelling force beyond your control has you reaching over—and failing—to feel the inticing bulge that rests beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

“what are you reaching for?” his scar stretches in a crooked smile, gaze still trained on the screen before him. gently, he bats your hand away, sparing you a knowing glance from the corner of his eye. “cock?”

toji huffs an airy breath of laughter when you nod, far too embarrassed to admit what it is you truly want. you gnaw the inside of your cheek, a quiet beat passing. despite the warmth of his peripheral gaze, you reach for him again, and he swats you away all the same, turning to look at you once more.

his gaze descends from the hungry furrow of your brows to the restless fidget of your fingers. god, even the telling press of your soft, bare thighs forces a breath of amusement past his flaring nostrils. the heat of his inspection doesn’t last long as he’s soon redirecting his attention back to his console.

he steals another quick, roving glance of your current state beside him before turning back to the television again. the corner of his lip twitches in an idle grin. “use your words maybe?”

you pout, huffing a frustrated breath. “please?”

“pleeease…?” he prompts, waving an ambiguous hand as he allows the dead air to hang, waiting for you to obediently fill the blank with your desires.

a defeated sigh falls from your lips as you slouch against a cushion of the couch. embarrassed, you give up on your antics, and instead reach for your phone beside you, grumbling in annoyance.

the infuriating man shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head obliviously, but he knows exactly what you want. he can see it in the frustrated scrunch of your pretty face, the salacious heat of your gaze, the not-so-subtle clamp of your thighs as you shift around in your discomfort.

“must not want it that bad then, huh?” he goads.

“forget it,” you mumble, pettily turning your body away from him. “you’re being mean.”

toji pauses his game, furrowing his brows in mild confusion.

“because i want you to use your words?”

“no.”

yes.

“then ask me sweetly.”

you pause—lips pursed in reluctance, pride bitter on your tongue. patiently, he waits, tilting his head like he knows he’s already won this arbitrary game he’s created, and maybe he has. because when your thighs press together again, aching, you finally exhale the words like they cost you something.

“please…” you croak, an undeniable hunger glittering within your irises. “i want your cock.”

“louder.”

you swallow around the lump of pride that burns in your throat.

“you want it, don’t you?” his voice dips into something coaxing. “say it with your chest. use those big girl words and ask for what you want.”

while expelling a throttled breath, you part your lips, fixing to say exactly what he knows you’re about to. with a little more bass, the debauched words tumble out of your mouth. “i wanna suck your cock, okay? i wanna see it… wanna put my mouth on it, please?”

“see? that wasn’t so bad,” he hums, brushing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip; your mouth parts instinctively, hungrily. “such a good girl when you use that pretty mouth right.”

toji’s hand descends from your face to the waistband of his sweatpants. you watch impatiently as he hooks that pretty cock free—half-hard and heavy. after three, long, languid strokes, he’s waving you over with a subtle jerk of his head, and you don’t think as you scoot closer to him, nestling against his body like a puppy awaiting command.

you look to him briefly, searching for his final nod of approval before you’re delving to taste his cock like your body can’t operate without it. he’s fat and flush against the intoxicating heat of your tongue, a promising erection pressed to your lips. a rapturous moan bellows from your lungs, partially muffled by the weight of his stiffening cock.

“awh, you were hungry for it, huh?” tenderly, he picks away the stray ringlets of hair that have fallen before your eyes, baring the glint of tears that bead against your waterline. “are you a hungry girl?”

a low, burbled sound escapes your overstuffed lips. something suspended between a whimper of pleasure, and the gargle of you swallowing around the warm base of his cock. saliva slips from the cracks of your bulging lips, trailing down your chin and kissing the skin of your throat.

“breeeathe,” he hums lowly, broad chest rattling in laughter. “it’s not gonna run away.”

heat pools devastatingly deep inside your core, hazing the edges of your frayed mind. you whine around his swollen cock, rocking your desperate hips back to somehow relieve the dizzying ache that thrums beneath your panties. if not for his oversized shirt that you wear, toji would certainly see the way your arousal seeps through the unforgiving lace.

in your dazed fit of hunger, you’ve inched significantly closer as you slobber down the length of him, rivulets of saliva cascading down your glistening chin. you’re kneeled just beside him, shoulder pressed against his abdomen as you invade his burly lap, fervently attempting to swallow the entirety of his cock.

your—his shirt rides up your torso, soft fabric collecting near your chest while your pretty hips sway in his peripheral, desperately searching for friction. a big, intentional hand is pulling at the fat of your ass, long fingers dipping dangerously low to skim across your swollen lips through damp fabric.

“is this all you wanted?” his smile is almost endearing as he nudges your panties aside, baring the warmth of gleaming arousal that kisses your pretty pussy. “for me to touch you, hm? while you drool all over my balls like that?” he laughs a little, but it doesn’t come from a place of mockery.

toji accepts the sweet noises of your debauched gagging as gospel, failing to contain his own bouts of pleasure—groaning a deep, pretty sound of approval when the head of his cock slips just a little bit deeper, training your throat to perfection.

“poor baby couldn’t help herself,” he frowns through his breathless syllables. you hardly acknowledge the reverent hand that’s wrapping around your throat. his voice trails into a whisper, sweeter than any honey you’ve ever tasted. “but how could i deny you when you're so pretty and willing?”

a long, calloused finger delves between your messy lips, collecting the sticky essence of your arousal. that poor, swollen clit aches from your overbearing excitement as he slowly eases a lazy digit inside of your fluttering cunt. another finger easily follows, stuffing you from head to toe.

toji groans something nasty beneath his breath when your lips quiver around him, saliva bubbling in your throat. he can feel the way you’re tightening around his fingers, arousal dripping down his hand as he takes care of that pretty little pussy. you choke on a gasp, thighs trembling as you push your hips back, smearing your cunt against his hand, chasing more, always more.

“god, you’re greedy,” he groans, watching the way your hole twitches around his fingers like she’s trying to suck him deeper. “does my greedy girl want more?”

you possess half the brain to acknowledge his remarks of filth—mind so empty that the only thing you can think about is the feeling of his big, burly fingers fucking that cunt so deeply while the weight of his swollen cock rests against your tongue.

all you can do is moan around the fat, throbbing base—ragged and wrecked, hips twitching up with every thrust of his fingers. you’re chasing it, smearing your clit against the flat palm of his hand, sucking him in so greedily that it’s impossible for him to sink any deeper. 

“oh, are you gonna cum like this, pretty?” toji drops his head, tilting his face to observe the stretch of your lips around him. his voice pitches to something intoxicatingly cooing. “you gonna cum all over my fucking hand with my cock so deep in that hungry little throat, huh?”

you’re releasing his cock with a wet smack! of your lips to nod your empty head with fervor, a glittery tendril of saliva tethering your bottom lip to his round, glistening cockhead. while wrapping your hand around his shaft, you dip your head, licking his heavy balls into your mouth with a drunken smile of pleasure.

“fuck—oh my god,” it’s nearly a snarl, pleasure evident in his velvet tone. “you love it, don’t you?” he’s breathless, his mouth slightly agape. “huh? do you love that big cock, baby?” he’s angling his hips toward your face, forcing his heavy erection closer.

“yes,” you pant. “i love it.” sounding syrupy sweet as you fist his wet shaft, thumb gliding over his weeping tip. “god, i love your big cock s–so much.” the rock of your hips is nothing but desperate, your back arching into something animalistic.

“yeah?” you can hear his smile—the lilt of humor in his voice. “would you die for it?”

his cock throbs against the palm of your hand when you nod, delirious in your overwhelming need to release. “i wanna make you cum,” it’s a pretty little whine that tumbles past your slick lips, tongue lolling out to loop around the leaking head of his cock as you stroke him sloppy. “wanna taste it on my tongue.”

and that’s all it takes—his composure snapping like a wire stretched too thin. his hips stutter, cock twitching in your hand as you lean in, mouth parting to take him back down like the nastiest little girl.

your tongue curls over his leaking tip before you sink lower, letting him invade your pretty throat until your nose brushes the raven tufts of hair adorning the base of him.

“f— fuck fuuuuuck,” he groans—deep, wrecked, and guttural. “god, you want my cum in that throat, h–huh?” his voice pitches a little higher, a discernible tremble in his usually composed tone.

your gargled gags of obedience is the only symphony he’d listen to—the only song he’ll ever need. his twitching cock throbs against the soft, wet heat of your tongue. a desperate hand reaching for the nape of your neck to keep you close, breath hitching.

“ohhh my god, baby,” he grits through pearly clenched teeth. “hah—s–swallow it,” mouth gaped, thick, hot ropes of seed spilling down your throat before he can warn you properly. “mmmh, swallow allll that cum you hungry girl.”

toji winces when you hum around him, cheeks hollowing, milking him for all he’s worth. a married amalgamation of warm cum and bubbling saliva cascades down your glittery chin, drenching your hand where it grasps at his jittering thigh. his abdomen tightens with every little gasp, every broken moan of pleasure that tears out of him.

but even amidst his orgasm, he hasn’t forgotten about that aching little cunt. fingers still plugged inside of you, they sink deeper, furling upward to press against your tightening walls. over and over and over, the calloused pads of his digits beckon you, easily pulling your orgasm from the deep, sweltering pit of your stomach.

you can only cry his name in a helpless wail of pleasure when his fingers are briefly slipping out of you, opting to indulgently trail between your quivering lips instead. they’re slickly circling over the pulse of your clit and pressing firmly—the pressure of his touch enough to make you cum all over the palm of his hand.

“yeaaah, let me feel that cumming pussy, baby,” he encourages, a rasping breath catching in his throat while he rubs you through your orgasm. “you needed that, huh?” gently, the pads of his fingers are plap! plap! plapping! against your clit. “needed me to touch you like this? take care of that pussy while you suck my cock?”

you attempt an answer, but it’s all breathless whimpering, hips jolting at the next soft press to your clit. opting for a delirious nod instead, you’re beaming up to press your sloppy mouth against his, kissing him messily while you clamber to straddle his hips.

toji clicks his tongue in disapproval when you reach for his cock beneath you. he knows exactly what you want, but it’s never that easy—not with toji, haven't you learned that yet?

he grins something sinister.

“if you wanna fuck you better ask me nice.”

[3mbe3dra90n]

It had only been a few years after they had found that small dragon egg and it was their pride and joy.

It had been a little challenging at first, needing to buy a new, more fireproof house. Learning to hunt to bring back fresh meat, and getting much faster at dodging sharp claws or blasts of hellfire. Its a process, but not one she even saw different then raising a human baby, though they had zero experience in that either.

Today was a new challenge. They needed socks. But there were none that they could find anywhere in this damn house, not in their drawers, not in the laundry hamper, not hiding under the bed.

They sighed, they explored the house, ending their search by peaking into the baby’s room. They blinked and frowned, the small blue dragon not immediately obvious, they stepped inside cautiously and glanced under the nest/bed they had made to such incredibly specific specifications but like a cat with its bed she always preferred other spots.

A pair of slitted eyes blinked at her and its new bed constructed entirely of… socks. They had to stop themselves from laughing as the little dragon tried to lay herself even more on top of the small pile.

“Honey, honey, can I have some socks?” I whispered, not reaching in incase a claw would try to scare me away from its hoard. “They dont even have to match.”

The dragon pulled them closer and they sighed, slowly reaching a hand under the bed towards a sock off to the side…

The baby gave a low warning hiss, and they took my hand right back. They sighed, “Looks like I have to buy new socks today.” They said with a small chuckle. “I’ll be back in a little, honey.”

-

*Ten years Later*

You glare in disappointment down at your nervous child. “Now, do you want to tell me how exactly the merchant’s shop burned down?” They asked, their voice firm.

Smoke rose from my child’s nostrils and I almost laughed, “I-I think ssssomeone was maybe ssssmoking and threw their match I was over ssssomewhere elsssse, yesss yesss.” She said with a slight lisp from nerves.

They relaxed a little, “Could you at least tell me why you did it or if it was a mistake before the guards come knocking on my door?”

My child, my sweet dragon child I raised straight from the egg I found her in straightened slightly, “He was being mean to Georgie! He was trying to touch her bad places instead of showing her his wares.” A claw scratched sheepishly at the ground, “I just wanted to distract him. An I gonna get you in trouble?”

Their shoulders relaxed visibly. “No hon, you had a very good reason for doing this. But I think its time to have another lesson on what is extremely flammable and what isn’t. And you might need to stay away from the market for a bit ok?”

My dragon child nodded vigorously, “Ok!”

-

They sniffed a little as their beautiful daughter, now about half the size of the house, packed a small chest.

“You’ll come and visit me right?” They asked.

The dragon looked at them and broke into a wide grin, “Of course i will mom!” She walked over and carefully hugged their small human mother, “I just want to go learn a few things then I’ll come back. Promise. I won’t forget about human time either.”

They smiled, “Don’t burn the school down ok? And send me letters. And don’t forget to eat, you know where to hunt for wild game but be careful of any of the big monsters cause some of them are much stronger then you. And be wary of dragons, sometimes they have politics and you might be out of the loop. I’m not saying dont make dragon friends just be-“

The dragon laughed and hugged her mom again, “I will I promise. I’ll do everything. And then I’ll come see you. I promise.” She nuzzled the top of her mom’s head. “Love you. I shall see you soon enough.”

“I love you too!” They shouted as they waved off their child, now having grown for thirty years, off to a new place to learn, she sighed, she was going to miss her.

She walked into the now quiet house now feeling slightly empty without the constant scratching of scales on stone. And she smiled, “they’re going to do great, but I’m still allowed to miss them” and with that they walked to their daughters room and took solace in the nest their daughter had constructed, now no longer socks and more a collection of books and stuffed animals made from hand of fireproof materials.

After finding an abandoned dragon egg in the forest, you decide to hatch it and raise the baby dragon as your own child…

[gothamwing]

𝓕𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 - 𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮

A family night shouldn't be so hard to happen, right? At least it was what you believed. You were dating Bruce for six months, and still, his kids were avoiding you in the manor. Till one night when Bruce needed to go on patrol, and Dick saw you all alone in the living room, looking... sad.

warnings: kinda angst with a fluffy ending, Bruce having a lot of ex-girlfriends, insecurity.

pairing: Bruce Wayne x Batmom! Reader

W.C: 1.016

⭐️ Their ages are not right, okay? I just wanted the "batkids" to be... well, kids, then they are teens/kids, Dick being the oldest and Damian the youngest.

I had this idea randomly, and I didn't plan something too deep.

“But it's Friday night.” You said, quietly, when Bruce started to wear his Batman suit. 

“I know, sweetheart, but it's urgent” He kissed your cheek in a featherly touch, caressing your skin right after. “I promise, you won't even miss me.”

“But…"

“I promise everything will be okay. Alfred is reading a book in his bedroom, but you can call him if you need help, and the kids are in their rooms.”

“Today was supposed to be a family night!” The plea in your voice wasn't subtle, and Bruce knew why.

You were trying to win his kids over since the first month you two began to date. You tried, a lot, actually. You went to the school presentations, helped doing homework, made cookies and even tried to buy gifts.

Three months ago, you made a plan. Every Friday night should be a Family Night, and you would make popcorn and everyone would sit on the couch together to watch a funny movie, maybe you could even play some jigsaw puzzle or board games with them.

First Friday? No one appeared.

Second one? No one as well.

The third.

Fourth.

Fifth…

Just Bruce kept you company during all those nights where you made five bowls of popcorn and waited for them to appear.

And today you wouldn't have him apparently.

“I am really sorry, love.” A gentle squeeze on your arm was the last thing he gave you before he headed to the door, passing by it and disappearing.

You sighed, looking at the window, seeing soft raindrops tapping against the glass. Even the weather was mocking you.

The clock was the only audible sound in that damn manor. You walked all the way towards the kitchen, knocking on the kids' doors to ask if they would watch a movie with you.

Dick was practicing gymnastics.

Jason was reading.

Tim and Duke were doing homework.

Cass didn't answer.

Stephanie said she was busy.

Damian just huffed.

Alone, as always.

You didn't want to bother Alfred, then headed to the kitchen. Maybe you could still make some popcorn and watch something, right? Maybe the board games that you bought months ago could be useful even with just one person. Maybe if you made some popcorn, they would still appear.

Maybe…

“Dad said that you don't need to wait for him.” The childish voice startled you, but your eyes softened when you saw Dick, still wearing gym clothes, behind you.

“Thanks, Dick…” You tried to smile, a soft action that made him smile as well. 

He looked at the counter, three bowls filled with popcorn just waiting there.

“Will you… eat everything?” He looked surprised, curious even, as his gaze switched from the popcorn to you.

“No, I just…” You sighed, again, looking at him. “Am I a bad mom?” 

Dick widened his eyes. “What?”

“I mean… I am trying, I am really trying, Dick. But I don't feel like I am enough here.” You said out loud what your mind was saying to yourself these last days. That you aren't enough.

And you would never be.

“Forget it.” You turned your back to him, reaching to grab some popcorn. “I will just watch something till I fall asleep.” You mumbled, grabbing the bowls.

But Dick frowned slightly, seeing you so depressed.

***

“She is not even our mom.” Dick pinched Damian's cheek when the words came out from the little boy's mouth. “Ouch! But it is true!”

“Honestly, Dick, Dad had enough girlfriends for a lifetime.” Jason rolled his eyes, looking at his oldest brother. “Who will guarantee that she's not like the others? Maybe in two weeks she won't be here anymore.”

“What if you're wrong?” Dick asked. “What if now she is the definitive mom that we will have?"

“What if she is not?” Tim sighed, looking discouraged. “You can't promise me this.”

Everyone was silent after this, looking at each other. Stephanie hugged her own small legs, the blonde hair falling over her shoulders.

“The last mom just wanted money…”

“And the one before called us a nuisance.” Cass added, quietly, leaning her head on Steph's shoulder.

Damian looked away, almost looking sad.

“But she is not a bad person” Duke muttered, looking at his own hands, playing with his own fingers.

Dick made a surprised sound, walking next to Duke. “Say it again?”

The younger looked up, nervous. “She is not a bad person. She went to my science fair last month.”

“Exactly!” Dick looked around, his voice louder than before. “Remember how many times she tried to make us happy!”

“She bought me new headphones.” Cass whispered.

“She took me to the movie theater.” Tim did as well.

“She helped me with homework.” Jason said, closing his book.

“Remember every time when she was good to us” Dick said, now looking at Damian. “We could, at least, give her a chance to prove herself.” 

The boy sighed, nodding. “Whatever. What do you want? That we go to the living room to have a Family Night with her?” 

***

The TV was showing a random movie that you chose some minutes ago, but it was already forgotten once you were now in the kitchen, eating popcorn alone and scrolling through your cell phone.

That was, until you heard a loud sound of something falling on the ground. 

You stood up and walked to the living room, looking for the source of the sound when you saw seven kids sitting on the cushions, wearing cute pajamas and holding pillows and blankets.

You froze, confused and impressed, but a warm feeling on your chest almost made you cry when Dick questioned, smiling big: “What movie are we going to watch?” 

“I want action!” Jason announced, raising his hand.

“Romance!” Stephanie continued.

“Mystery!” Tim rambled.

“What about comedy?” You commented, almost shy when all the eyes were on you, and for a moment you thought they were going to leave you alone again. But everyone nodded and looked at you again.

It was the first time that you didn't feel alone.

And you hoped it wasn't the last.

[hxbbit]

Darkest Desires (Void x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, all you wanted was to be distracted, to forget. Wishing that Bob could just stop being so nice and pin you down, do all those filthy things you don't dare say out loud. Too bad Bob can't hear your thoughts or read your mind. But someone else can...

Warnings: Unprotected sex, face fucking, choking and breath play, spit play, dom/sub dynamics, degradation and humiliation, dub!con (bob), slight voyeurism, name calling, afab!reader, no use of name or y/n,... lmk if I forget something, but really it's just pure filth.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: This is just absolutely self indulgent smut, cause there was a serious lack of Void!Bob fics imo. The last fic I've posted/wrote anything for public consumption was like 4 years ago, so I might be a little rusty, but I'm still pretty satisfies with how it turned out. Also not super proof read. I hope you enjoy it, though! Comments, reblogs and likes would be greatly appreciated... I need validation lol

It was so quiet on the ride back, you could’ve heard a pin drop. 

No one spoke, no laughter. Just the low rumbling of the truck engine and the occasional ticking of the indicator, but you barely even registered that. Your thoughts were swirling. Overthinking and replaying every single step of the mission and how it could end so badly. 

All of the hostages got killed. And the bad guys got away. 

You should’ve done more, done things differently, maybe come up with a better plan. It was rushed because it was a very time sensitive mission, but you had to at least try. 

The reality was, there was nothing you could’ve done and deep down you knew that. Didn’t mean you had to accept it, though. 

A quick look around the truck told you that the others were probably thinking similar things. Solemn faces on each and every one of them. Even Alexei kept his mouth shut for once. That was a big indicator on how badly things had gone. He was usually the first one to try and motivate everyone or make a dumb joke. 

Silence was only broken when you got back into the tower and Bob came striding towards the group. 

“How did it go?” There was a hopeful and cheery tone to his voice and a small smile on his face that dropped immediately when he really took everyone in. 

“What do you think?” Walker spat back, before turning towards his room, door slamming. 

Bob knew not to take it personally, but you could still tell that he felt guilty. His face always betrayed his every emotion.

He then looked at you. And you just shook your head, not ready for words yet. 

You were closer to Bob than the rest, understood each other wordlessly. When you met something just clicked and since then you have basically been dancing around your feelings for one another. Hesitant because you were working and living together. Both still dealing with your own demons and issues.

And even though it was an unspoken thing, everyone knew, but no one dared mention it.  

You needed a shower. Showering after a mission was essential, not only to clean the physical grime off you, but it also helped with the unseen. As if the water would wash away the sins and worries, cleansing everything. 

You were just stepping out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel when someone knocked at your door. You had a feeling who it could be. 

“Come in,” you said, loud enough to be heard on the other side. 

The door slowly opened and as expected, Bob stepped inside. 

As soon as he had looked at you, he looked away again towards the floor, his face tinted slightly red. 

“Uh- sorry - I uh- just wanted to ask if you were okay…” He trailed off, hands still on the doorknob, slightly fidgeting. Sparing a quick glance towards you. The towel around your body covered all the important bits, but it was more skin than Bob usually got to see. The few droplets of water that were still shimmering on your skin or fell from your wet hair and slid down the curves of your body didn’t help much either, his eyes drawn to them.

“No,” you answered honestly. “But I will be.” 

A sad hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was nice of Bob to check in on you and for a split second a part of you wished he wasn’t so nice and considerate. That part of you wished he would just rip that towel off you, throw you on your bed and take you, making you forget all about that failed mission for little while. 

But you didn’t think Bob was the type to do that. He was gentle, loving Bob who couldn’t even kill a spider, always scared to wake the Sentry or the Void, so he pushed those things down. Kept his emotions in check. 

It was something that also made you hesitate to pursue a relationship with him. You weren’t sure he could handle or satisfy those darker desires. 

“Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He managed to actually look at your face this time, a faint blush still staining his cheeks and he tried to give you a reassuring smile. He was about to leave you and close the door when you stopped him. 

“Bob?”

He looked at you expectantly, brows slightly knitted together. 

You were so close. So close to saying to hell with it and asking him to stay. To spend the night with you, to fuck you until the only thing on your mind was him and how good he made you feel. 

The words were at the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out, when at the last second you decided against it. He didn’t deserve to be used for your selfish needs. 

“Thank you,” you whispered instead. His brows relaxed but instead you could’ve sworn that a shadow flickered in his eyes. Just as quick as it had appeared, it disappeared again and you weren’t even sure if what you saw was real. 

“Yeah, of course.” A reassuring smile lit up his face and he moved to close the door with a soft click behind him. 

Walking back into the bathroom, you finished drying your hair and body, putting on your underwear and a big t-shirt to get ready for bed. 

It was strangely chilly as you stepped back into your bedroom and pushed back the blankets. You looked towards the window. Closed. Glanced towards the air-conditioning unit, but it was also off. 

You looked towards the door and there he was. 

Bob but not Bob. 

Void. 

Last time you saw him was such a long time ago, you almost forgot what it felt like to be in his presence. 

He was darkness personified. A figure drenched in night. The deepest shade of black. 

He was sucking in all the light around him and reflecting none. 

Except for his eyes. 

That glint in his eyes the only indicator of what - or who - he was looking at. And right now, he was looking at you. You stood frozen. 

People don’t realize how eerie and uncanny it was, seeing a person but not at all being able to see their face or read their expressions. The only hint was him slightly cocking his head as he seemingly took you in. 

“Bob?” You asked quietly, knowing that it wasn’t him you were dealing with. 

“Bob’s not in control right now,” he replied.

“Don’t worry, he wants this too.” The voice came from all around you and was inside your head at the same time. 

You didn’t know what to do. There were protocols and rules in place in case Bob lost control, but somehow you couldn’t do anything right now. Never have you frozen during a mission, but this was completely different. 

“Come now, don’t be so shy,” Void continued speaking and it made goosebumps rise on your skin. He still sounded like Bob, but just like the rest of him, it was darker, deeper, huskier. 

It was also smoother, no stuttering or stumbling over words. 

Void took a step closer to you but you still couldn’t move. 

“I know what lurks inside you. I can see it all. There is no hiding it from me.” He kept coming closer, each step silent as he moved. 

For a moment you were confused, not knowing what he meant. Until he stood right in front of you. So close that you had to look up to still be able to look into his eyes, as they were taking in your whole body unashamedly and with intention. 

And then he looked at your face again. Eyes boring into yours. 

Staring at him so up close was like being in a dark room, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually you could make out the contours of his face.

“I know you want to be fucked. Degraded. Made to submit,” the voice purred as he was raising a hand up to your face and slid his knuckles down your cheek. A breath hitched in your throat. Pulse quickening. 

“Your thoughts were practically screaming it earlier. Like a little slut.” Void let out a low chuckle and you could make out a smirk on his face. 

“But that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it? A needy little slut begging to be fucked.” He now traced the thumb of his raised hand over your lips. 

You knew there was something very wrong with you, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch and feel arousal start to build in your body. A soft pulling sensation low in your belly. And a wetness between your legs, which had you involuntarily clench your thighs together. 

Because Void wasn’t wrong. In fact he was so, so right. 

His thumb on your lip moved from your bottom lip to push into your mouth and you opened it, let him inside. The pad pressed down on your tongue and you instinctively wrapped your lips around his digit, sucking on it. 

All too quickly he pulled it back out of your mouth, dragging it over your chin and down your jaw. His hand moving into your neck where they found purchase in your hair. 

The grip tightening, as he was closing the gap between you. His body now flush against yours, he pulled your head back further, making you look at his face as a quiet moan slipped from your lips. 

You could now feel the solid panes of his torso against yours as well as the hardness of his arousal. Your body arched against him, wanted to feel more of him. Be closer. ´

“God, you’re so fucking eager, it’s embarrassing.” Again he let out a soft laugh and this time you felt it rumble in his chest against yours. 

“Please…” It was the only word you could manage. And even then you didn’t really know what you were asking for. You just knew you needed more.

“What is it you want?” 

Not even thinking about it, the word simply spilled from your mouth. 

“You.”

He leaned in even closer and you could feel his breath fanning over your face. 

“Is it me you want or Bob?” 

That caught you off guard and you didn’t know how to reply. Of course it was Bob. Bob who you’d been harboring feelings for, for so long. But you wondered much of him was Void? And how much of Void was him? Guilt cut through your arousal at the mention of him, sharp and sickening. Was he aware of what was happening?

Void leaned in closer until his lips grazed your ear. 

“He’s watching right now.” The words were whispered. 

Bob watching. A voyeur. The idea twisted something deep in your gut. Filthy and wrong, stoking the flames of your arousal. 

“Open your mouth.” Those were not the words you expected from him and you didn’t immediately react. He gave your hair a sharp tug. 

“I said open. your. mouth.” His other hand came up, gripping your jaw. This time you complied, opening your mouth and you felt you knew what was coming. 

He leaned over you a little more and when his face was directly parallel to yours, he spat into your open and waiting mouth. His spit hit your tongue, mixing with your own saliva. 

“Swallow,” he ordered. You obeyed. Something about the depravity of it, made you let out a whimper and bite your bottom lip. Trying to keep more sounds from coming out.

His grip in your hair relaxed but was still holding on to you. The other one slid from your jaw down to rest at your throat.

“Good girl,” he muttered, smiling again. This time you could see the flash of his teeth and heat was blooming inside you, happy to have pleased him. Eager to do it again. 

“Now what if I told you this was all you’re going to get?” Void asked. 

“What?” It caught you off guard, panic rising inside of you. You needed more. 

“Because if you want more, you’re going to have to work for it. That’s what whores do. And you do, don’t you? Want more?” Now it was his other hand whose grip tightened, fingers digging into the sides of your throat, slowly cutting off your blood flow. 

“Yes. Yes I want more,” You ground out, voice trembling, your vision starting to blur at the edges until the only thing you could still see was him.

That’s when Void released you. Hands dropping to his sides and taking a step back. You needed a second, head still spinning, vision going back into focus.

“Then get on your knees.”

Immediately and embarrassingly fast you dropped to your knees. The floor hard underneath them. You were sure that you’d have bruises tomorrow, but you couldn’t find yourself to care right now. 

Glancing up once more, you were met with the shining look of his eyes, head cocked to the side, observing. 

Lifting your hands, you reached to open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and freeing his cock. Of course you had fantasized about Bob before, but even in your wildest imagination, you didn’t imagine him like this. Even in his all encompassing blackness, you could tell he was perfectly long and thick and felt heavy in your hands. It made your mouth water, just looking at him, and you needed to taste him. 

“Go on,” he encouraged, but you didn’t really need it.

You started by dragging your tongue over the underside, from his base to the tip in one broad stroke and then closed your mouth around the top. You moaned at the weight and taste of him on your tongue, slowly moving up and down on him. Trying to fit as much into your mouth as you could, lips stretching, and taking him deep, but it was not easy. Not only because of his size, but also because of how hard and rigid he was. 

Void let you work at your own speed. But you could feel him grow impatient. His hand found your hair once more, tangling in it and started guiding your movements. Faster, harder. You let go of his cock and placed down on his thighs, finding purchase there. 

In time, his hips started moving too, thrusts matching your rhythm, pushing in as you were moving towards him. 

You started gagging when he hit you especially deep. Forcing himself down your throat, making tears blur your vision. You looked up at him and saw that he had thrown his head back, chest heaving. And over the sound of your own gagging you could even hear him moan. 

Seeing the effect you had on him, spurred you on more. 

You tried opening your throat more, relaxing to take him deeper and slowly breathe through your nose. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, pushing you even harder down his cock and holding you there until you couldn’t breathe anymore and he was so far down your throat, sputtering around him. The sudden need to breathe made you want  to pull back, but Void held you in place. 

“Shhh, you can take it.” He was breathless but there was also an air of amusement to his voice. He obviously enjoyed hearing and seeing you suffer. 

Digging your nails into his thighs, you tried to hold on and when he finally released you and pulled your head back you desperately gasped for air. Threads of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. 

“Is this what you fantasized about? Mouth wrecked, crying, being used like a whore?” He mocked and you only nodded still trying to catch your breath, but you knew that he didn’t really need your confirmation. 

Before you could verbally answer, he shoved his cock back down your throat and started fucking your face again. Faster this time. Merciless. His tip making you gag repeatedly, your throat clenching around it while spit flowed from your mouth, pooling in your lap.

“You’re just a mouth to fuck. Nothing more,” he growled, still keeping his brutal rhythm. 

“But you’re taking it so well.”

It was almost too much, not enough air filling your lungs, on the verge of passing out when he finally released you. Tears were now freely streaming down your cheeks and you collapsed in on yourself. Taking in heaving breaths. 

And then, to your utter confusion, Void got down on his knees, too, He was on your level now and took your face in his hands wiping away the tears with his thumbs. Then the spit from your mouth.

“If only you could see yourself right now. So wrecked but absolutely beautiful. My perfect little slut.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you, but what surprised you even more was when he leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

It was surprisingly gentle, his lips sliding over yours, but hunger was hidden within. A promise that he wasn’t done with you just yet. 

A part of you thinks you should’ve pulled away, felt ashamed or disgusted. But you didn’t. Instead you craved his approval and eagerly kissed back.

Void wrapped his arm around you and pulled you up to stand with him, placing you down on shaky feet. He grabbed the bottom hem of your oversized t-shirt, becoming aware for the first time how little you've been wearing the entire time. Pulling it over your head and discarding it to the side. Then he hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down, letting them drop to the floor. You stepped out of them, kicking them towards where your shirt was laying.

For a moment Void was simply staring at your body. The glint of his eyes roaming over your shape so intensely, it made you want to cover up yourself with your hands. But then his hands joined in on the exploration. Moving over your hips and waist, to your tummy and breasts, squeezing them, circling your nipples, before sliding one hand down between your legs, finding your dripping center. 

That smirk appeared on his lips again, eyes shining. 

"I knew you would be wet... but this..." he trailed off, shook his head amusedly as he slowly glided two fingers between your slick folds, grazing your clit on the way there and making a shiver run through your whole body. And finally he eased those two fingers inside you, with almost no friction, pumping them slowly in and out, knuckle deep.

Finally being touched by him felt like ecstasy. Wanton moans escaped your lips with every movement, eyes screwed shut, trying to take in all the pleasure. After all this build up, you knew that it wouldn't take much to make you come. 

As if he had read your mind, he withdrew his fingers and slid them into his mouth instead. Making you watch as he sucked them clean with a grin. Tension coiled tight in your body, making you squirm as you were waiting for his next move.

Once he was done, he pulled his fingers from his mouth and placed his hands on your hips once more, quickly spinning you around.

With your back now to his front, he pushed you towards the bed. 

"Get on all fours," he commanded. Quickly you crawled onto the bed and got into position. 

You glanced over your shoulder as he discarded the rest of his clothes and then kneeled behind you. He stroked your back with his hands and squeezed your ass before he placed a sharp smack on it. You flinched but stayed in place. He repeated the same process a few more times until your butt cheeks felt hot and burning. 

"I can practically see you dripping, your pussy so desperate for my cock.” He started sliding the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering up some of the wetness and spreading it over his length. 

When he pushed in, without warning or hesitation, you were seeing stars. For so long you have wanted this, to feel Bob - Void - inside of you. 

One deep and swift push and he was fully seated inside you. There was a stretch, a slight burn, but you were so wet and ready that it was bearable and even pleasant. Feeling your body try to accommodate him, taking everything he had to give. 

He waited a few seconds for you to adjust and then started moving. His hands grabbed your hips tight in a bruising grip and every thrust was forcing a moan out of you. You pushed back, grinding against him.

"Your pussy feels so perfect, like it's made for my cock." He rasped out, moans escaping his lips too. Hearing him degrade you was filthy and beautiful, but the praise… it made you feel thing you weren’t sure you were supposed to feel. Not for the Void. 

One of his hands slid up your back between your shoulder blades, pushing your front down against the mattress.

It allowed him to angle your hips more, hitting even deeper inside you. Gripping your bedsheets, digging your nails into the fabric you also buried your face in the sheets, muffling the sounds of your moans slightly. 

His hand smoothed over the surface of your ass, before his thumb landed on your asshole, circling it, applying slight pressure but not quite pushing in. Stilling your own movements, you no longer pushed back. Letting him take complete control again. 

You let out a whimper, not knowing if you wanted him to do it or spare you some dignity.

"Oh yeah, I'm thinking about it..." he mused, still fucking you, but having slowed a little. 

"And I know you'd let me do it too, my dirty little slut. Let me claim your every hole. Make you mine completely." He kept going for a few seconds longer, making you wait. The air around you heavy with anticipation. Because he was right, you would let him. 

"But I think I'll wait until next time."

Next time... the words barely registering in your lust-addled mind, but had a deeper meaning.

He reached for your throat, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against his chest. His other one snaked around your waist first up towards your boobs, giving your nipples each a hard pinch and tugging on them.  Then further down towards your clit, starting to rub circles there. All the while still rutting into you from behind. 

It didn't take long, your own climax building up so rapidly. The combination of him rubbing your clit, his hand on your throat applying pressure and feeling his whole body pressed against you as he was hitting those deliciously deep spots inside you. 

You clung onto his arms, trying to keep him in place but you knew that he was stronger than you and he easily moved his hand away from your core.

"Oh, you're not gonna come yet... maybe I won't even let you come at all. Keep you a desperate, wanting mess. Utterly ruined without even finding your own release, just to keep you begging for more.” The voice was right by your ear.

"No please!" You cried out. You knew he would do it and that he would enjoy watching you suffer. 

"I need it. Need to come,” you continued.

"Need it?" He laughed. "If you need it so bad, why don't you beg for it?" 

Tears were beginning to prickle at the corner of your eyes once again but this time out of sheer frustration. Your last shred of dignity wanted you to keep your mouth shut, thinking that you could just make yourself come afterwards. But you knew it wouldn't be the same. You needed him to grant you the release, to be the one to bestow it upon you. The desperate part of your mind won.

"Please Void, please! Please let me come. I need it so bad. I want you to make me come, please!" The words were spilling from your lips, continuous. Breathless, lips quivering.

"All right, I'll help you out.” You could barely hear it, lost in your begging. Still chanting please, please, please over and over again like a prayer to this god of darkness, as he moved his fingers back onto your clit. In mere seconds, the coil that was so tightly wound inside of you, finally snapped. Pleasure releasing all throughout your body in probably the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced, blinding and all consuming, your whole body shaken by it.

And as those waves were still washing over you, a faint voice in the very back of your mind stirred. 

He should not be able to make you feel like it. You should not have let him do this.

Deep down you knew, the voice was right. You have now crossed a line and there was no going back.

If it wasn't for Void holding you up, you probably would've slumped forward onto the bed. Limp and spent. 

You knew that he was chasing his own release now. His thrusts becoming faster, his grip on your body tightened and with one last deep thrust and a low groan, he spilled himself inside of you. For a little while you just stayed like that, both with heaving breaths while still connected. 

He then slipped out of you and without him holding you in place, immediately collapsed back onto your front. The soft mattress catching you. Only able to move so your head could rest on one of the pillows. Between your legs, his release was beginning to seep out of you, slick and warm and sticky. 

Void came to sit down on the edge of the bed and he reached a hand out and gently stroked over your hair. And for a split second you could see a hint of Bob in that action. 

"Fucking perfect," he whispered, head cocked to the side as he took you in. 

You tried to fight it, but couldn't any longer, your eyelids too heavy, slowly falling shut. You were barely conscious, drifting off to sleep when you heard the voice again.

"He doesn't deserve you.” The dark voice whispered in your head. “But I do.”

Tags: @trelaney

[delimeful]

taking the fall (7)

warnings: presumed character death, mentions of death and injury, miscommunication, angst, psychological warfare between 2 fools, poor life choices, cliffhanger (?)

- 

The human was acting weird.

That in itself wasn’t unusual– almost every human Virgil had ever seen was engaged in some incomprehensible nonsense, and the tales Roman had told him only further solidified his personal belief that beans had only managed to make it this far through a combination of size and luck alone.

Even that simple memory of sharing stories made his eyes sting. He’d been forcing himself to think about Roman more often lately, like he was picking at a barely healed scab. Any time he thought about Janus– no, the human without the proper amount of sickened fury, he ran his mind through the horrible facts, digging his nails in deeper until the wound felt freshly made. 

(The facts were as follows: Roman had been caught and caged and killed. Virgil would never see his best friend again. And it was all the human’s fault.)

The injury wasn’t allowed to heal, not now, maybe not ever. It didn’t matter if the human shared his name or treated his wounds or gave him food. It didn’t matter how many little quirks and habits that he noticed, the little things that turned someone from a stranger to a fully-formed person. It didn’t matter because Virgil would never fall for the facade, would never forget that a borrower’s life wasn’t worth anything to the monster before him.

So, he refused to give up a single smudge of ground, his jaw locked and glare sharp. The human kept providing food and medicine and idle commentary, and Virgil kept himself from softening through constant mental reminders. 

He wouldn’t need food or medicine if the human hadn’t captured him in the first place. He could certainly live without the snarky remarks and sarcastic flattery, no matter how much he sometimes wished to snap back, and the human’s apparent delight on the few rare instances he did bite out a scathing response. It was easier to keep quiet when he thought about how gullible Roman could be, how easily he might have fallen for simple acts of decency and insincere compliments. 

It was harder when the human did things like spend an afternoon building a makeshift bed for him. It hadn’t been a hand-me-down; Virgil had overheard several hissed swears throughout the process, and seen the shiny burns notched across a few of Janus’s fingers as he set the bed down with a flourish. Still, at first he’d stalwartly refused to so much as glance at the wooden frame, its bumpy hot-glue edges, or the soft, hand sewn pillow serving as a tiny mattress. 

Oddly, the human never seemed particularly put out by his stubborn refusals to engage. Wryly amused, maybe, but he hadn’t watched Virgil with those cold, hawk-sharp eyes since those first couple of days. The little interrogation session seemed to have reassured him greatly, forebodingly enough. 

It was hard to feel good about the schemes that had to be going on out of sight, with Janus indubitably planning to root out the rest of the small colony in the walls, but at least the shift in demeanor meant Virgil was less likely to keel over from stress alone. His instincts had been worn to a thin, frazzled thread from all that intent staring, and he was glad for a break from it. 

Still, because he was who he was, he couldn’t help but think about what might happen once the season turned. He didn’t want a human to catch any more borrowers, even ones who had so thoroughly screwed him over, but if summer arrived and the human hadn’t succeeded, Virgil was well within reach, small and injured and easy to take out a fit of temper on.

If the human didn’t believe he was telling the truth, subjected him to a more painful sort of interrogation to try and get the information Virgil just didn’t have, it could prove lethal. One break was bad enough, but if the weak spot was re-shattered? He could be left adjusting to life with one usable leg, with no family or companions to act as a safety net as he relearned vital skills. The life of an outside borrower was harrowing when one did know they were doing, let alone when they didn’t. The first time he messed up, he’d be as good as dead.

If the human did catch the other borrowers, well. Virgil wouldn’t have any more use to him, at that point. If he continued to sit here helplessly, his fate would probably match Roman’s.

(Why had Janus been stupid enough to kill Roman before figuring out what he needed to know in the first place? Had he misjudged his own strength and killed him accidentally? Or had it been an active, malicious choice, made with full confidence that he’d be able to catch more borrowers to replace Roman?

He had to stop thinking about this. He was going to make himself sick.)

So, no matter which outcome, he had to escape before then. 

Easier said than done, of course, but nothing in his life had ever been easy, and he was still trying. At the very least, he thought the human’s strangely accommodating behavior could be turned to his advantage. If Janus thought he was falling for the nice guy act, he’d lower his guard, the same way he’d lowered it when Virgil had lost himself to panic and hunger before.

If a snappish prisoner was entertaining to the human, he would stop keeping his replies trapped behind his teeth. He would banter and complain and drop little bits of useless information whenever his captor pried, pretend that he was softening under the improved treatment. He would do what he had to do, give as good a performance as he could through the bitter hatred, if it meant upping his chances. 

So be it. As long as this human insisted on pretending to have a heart, Virgil would gladly take advantage of every faux beat of it.

He wasn’t going to just lie down and accept his fate. He refused to give the human the satisfaction of an easy kill. If he couldn’t escape, he would at least go down fighting tooth and nail, vicious and determined all the way to the end. 

He thought Roman would have wanted that much, at least.

–

Janus was feeling good about the progress he’d made with his little guest. 

Sure, they had gotten off to a poor start, what with the violation of several ethical, moral, and legal boundaries, and certainly, his first impression had been a ludicrously evil one, but even so! 

V didn’t spend as much time sulking behind the fake shrubbery lately, had been eating and drinking with reassuring regularity, and after an initial period of resentful silence, had even occasionally deigned to reply to one of Janus’s mostly-cursory questions. All promising signs, though Janus still felt like the olive branch he’d extended was always a mere moment from being sharply swatted away. 

That was fine; he didn’t really have to make nice with the borrower he’d abducted, in the end. In fact, he doubted that V was truly feeling as grumpily peaceable as he seemed. The borrower had spent the first week of their acquaintance trying dedicatedly to escape, and his placidity now was likely just a long con.

It didn’t matter. So long as he could retrieve what had been stolen, he didn’t mind at all if V vanished without a trace the very next day. Janus was oozing with charisma and wit. He certainly wouldn’t miss the reticent company of someone so morose and petulant, even if that someone also happened to have a dry sense of humor and a remarkable talent for razor-sharp rebuttals. 

Janus suspected that he would have an easier time ignoring his tiny hostage’s sparkling personality if he hadn’t taken to spending at least one meal a day forcing V to endure his presence, but his recent attempts to become a more gracious host didn’t extend that far. He had to take his amusements where he could find them, and lately he’d been finding them in bothering his snappish guest. 

It was during one such meal that he was forced to admit, even if only to himself, that V truly had been an innocent bystander. 

Janus was an expert at convincing himself, but the evidence was overwhelming— the most obvious being that there were quite a few marked differences between V and the other borrowers he’d spotted. 

For one, their knowledge bases.

He’d realized early on that in order to survive in such close quarters with humans, borrowers needed to have excessive knowledge of not only human architecture and technology, but also of humans themselves, particularly the routines, habits, and personalities of the ones they robbed. They certainly wouldn’t have managed to get one over on him without that keen understanding of the layout of his apartment and his schedule alike. 

V, on the other hand, had nearly concussed himself trying to hide in faux foliage the first time Janus had turned on the television. 

The borrower tended to survey everything with a level of narrow-eyed suspicion, but whenever he was confronted with something he didn’t understand, that wariness was joined by a somewhat comical expression of poorly-hidden bewilderment. Janus had noticed that V even tilted his head sometimes, as though trying to use a different angle to puzzle out the function of a toaster.

(The little gesture was not charming. Not remotely. Janus remained thoroughly uncharmed.) 

If V had truly been living in the walls of this apartment with the others, he would have been spotted by Janus long before the current situation. So then, the question became: where had V been living? 

To his horror, the answer became more and more clear with every sour response V provided during their mealtime conversations. 

Simple offhand comments that went like,

“Something that bright is bound to be poisonous. Do you even know who harvested it? You might be fine making yourself sick, but I’m not.” 

and,

“Look, it doesn’t matter if it warms up, not even insiders are idiotic enough to try and move homes during the spring. A single thunderstorm and they’d lose most of their supplies, if not their lives, to the mudslides.”

and even,

“I’m not scared of a little garden snake. It couldn’t eat me if it tried, and besides, I’ve fought bigger beasts as a teenager.”

If Janus had been perturbed by the knowledge of tiny people secretly living in the walls and watching his every move to steal from him, he was outright horrified by the realization that there were some borrowers who lived outdoors, entirely in the elements. 

Outside, where they were towered over by squirrels and storm clouds alike. Frankly, he considered it a miracle that V had survived long enough to be pushed into his sink. Maybe he did care if V escaped, if it meant that he would return to living the terror-filled life of, essentially, a wild mouse with thumbs. 

Janus had felt the rapid near-buzz pattering of V’s heartbeat, held the weight of V’s life in the palm of his hand, knew that he was so incredibly small and breakable and determined to survive despite it all. To imagine the borrower being snuffed out by something as banal as the life cycle made an inexplicable unpleasant twisting begin in his gut. 

Not that he actually cared about the guy or anything. It was simply a shame, and horrifying to think about to boot. 

Still, the thoughts were pervasive enough for him to begin reconsidering the terrarium V was currently residing in. It had sufficed as a temporary holding cell for a borrower he planned to release once he’d reclaimed what was his, and he’d added a few small touches for comfort, but it certainly wouldn’t do as a more permanent residence. 

If he planned on extending V’s stay past the season’s turn, he would have to come up with something better. Luckily, he had the perfect starting point: he’d recently run into a neighbor a few doors down with a particularly undersized hobby…

[returnofeternity]

https://www.tumblr.com/returnofeternity/787355175716356096/just-watched-the-scene-with-adult-shauna-and?source=share

thinking about s3 wilderness shauna period sex...

ur having real bad period cramps and u just keeeeep whining about it. naturally shauna gets tired of ur complaining, but she also can't stop thinking about ur blood and how badly she wants to taste it (seriously, it won't leave her mind for days). so she corners u in ur hut, saying she read somewhere that orgasms help with period cramps and offering to eat u out. (she toootally doesn't actually care about u though, ur bitching is just getting on her nerves. this is still shauna shipman after all.)

and it works out perfectly, for the both of u! u get some relief from ur cramps, and shauna gets a break from ur whining *and* her fix of blood!

- 🎟 anon

she's sick of your complaining hour one, bro 😭 her eyes are twitching and she's huffing when she hears you groan and whine from beside her -__- tells you to go complain somewhere else that's not annoying her. thinking about matching her irritation because ur in pain and ur emotions are all over the place, and stomping out of the hut to get away from her. you try everything to help the pain... resting your stomach on logs, punching it, doing those breathing techniques lottie told you.. and then that's what you think.. maybe she could help. maybe that shroom tea will make you forget about the cramps. shauna's pulling you back into the hut the second she sees you talking to lottie, only regrets it a little when you start complaining again...

thinking about asking her if you could wear a pair of her boxers because your underwear is all bloody and ruined and feels gross. thinking about how she definitely goes to the clothesline and steals your bloody underwear to sniff because it's been driving her crazy all day. she tries to squeeze out some blood and looks so pathetic wringing it out over her lips @__@

shauna can hear you grumble before she's even in your hut. the annoying sound of your complaining makes her body grow irritated, but she shakes it off and walks into the hut. you're on the bed, clawing at your stomach.

"are you done being a whiny bitch?" shauna asks, looking you dead in the eye as you glare at her.

"are you?" you mumble back.

she clenches her jaw and forcefully shoves your feet aside so she can sit down on the bed with you. you huff and scoot up to make room for her.

"i read somewhere orgasms can help with cramps." she tells you, her hand floating to your knee and rubbing softly. "i can help with that. let me eat you out."

"are you su-"

"yes. anything to get you to shut up."

;

she plays it cool, not wanting to seem like she's only doing this for her own selfish gain and pleasure. she needs you back on her good side. and she needs you to shut up most of all.

she lets out a shuddering exhale after pulling your underwear off, the sight of your blood smeared on your thighs has her feeling lightheaded. think she'd definitely smell you first, just kissing your blood-stained thighs and inhaling the metallic scent as she rubs her thighs together.

both of you moan when she first licks you. it feels so good, and she's just in heaven from getting to taste your blood. she quickly gets obsessed and can't pull her mouth away, not even to breathe. it feels like she's literally eating you alive with how furious she's licking you up, and when you glance down, your body flushes at the sight of your blood smeared alllll over her face. it's on her fingers too, from spreading you open so she can get more, more, more of your blood on her tongue.

she gets a rush out of how you scream and writhe after she gives you an orgasm because everyoneee can hear. and ofc she's not gonna stop after just one orgasm, she's gonna keep going until it feels like she's sucked all the blood out of you!!!!

and she just has to wake you up with bloody morning head because she just can't start off the day with you complaining.

[httpconcrete]

BAD DESIRE - Chapter 3

summary: Just when Bad Omens loses their bassist due to health issues, Noah receives an audition tape that feels almost like an angel sent from heaven to save the production of their second album. However, even though it solves the problem of losing a member, Noah finds himself having a hard time concentrating when his newfound angel stands so close to him all the time.

Chapter warnings: nothing, just fluff

masterlist

You woke up late that day, wanting to get as much rest as you could. You wanted nothing more than just a lazy day watching Netflix and eating popcorn.

But life had another plans.

Your phone buzzed with a new message just as you finished brushing your teeth. It was from the band’s group chat.

Noah Sebastian BO [10:32 AM]:

Day off at mine. Pool, BBQ, all that.

Noah Sebastian BO [10:35 AM]:

@Y/N you should come and spend some time with us today, we can talk about the new album and you can properly meet part of our crew.

Your heart thumped a little too hard in your chest when his name popped up. You quickly typed out a simple “Got it, thanks” before tossing your phone onto the bed and scrambling to find something to wear.

You weren’t sure why Noah was inviting you over, despite the album conversation and the “meet the crew” thing. After all, it was a day off, they were just having fun between actual friends. Maybe he just wanted you to fit in and not feel weird or left out, like just another co-worker… right? Despite the soft way he’d looked at you before, the quiet little moments that lingered longer than they should have, he was probably just being nice.

He was probably just afraid you would step back.

You grabbed your phone again and texted Crystal, who insisted on calling him “demon boy” because of his screams on stage, his height, and his tattoos.

You were sure she would get her hopes high about something happening the second you texted her. She always teased you about it and dreamed about Noah noticing you, claiming in the most excited voice ever, “Come on, I’m like a super powerful psychic. If I say something’s happening, you should believe me.”

But at the very least, she could help you decide what to wear.

Crystal [10:43 AM]:

Idk, maybe something cute? A sundress to make demon boy lose it?

You couldn’t help but chuckle and roll your eyes at her words. She really had the audacity.

But you chose your best sundress after being quickly convinced because of the “pool” part, even if you weren’t planning on getting in. The snake tattoo on your arm would be showing for the first time around them, since you always wore long sleeves while in public because of the weather.

And as the sun decided to visit your city again, you wanted to try something different.

Crystal offered to give you a ride to Noah’s place, rambling about how proud she was of you finally fulfilling your dream. And obviously hoping you’d get a new hot lead vocalist as a boyfriend.

You could only roll your eyes at every teasing word.

“C’mon, he’s handsome,” she said, her gaze flickering between the road and you before fixing back on the road ahead. “And he seems single, so why not?”

“Maybe because sleeping with your boss is a terrible idea,” you said matter-of-factly, chuckling at her funny face as she clearly disagreed.

“Anyway, I’m happy I get to give my best friend a ride to her band’s BBQ,” she said with a bright smile, swaying her head side to side as she did a little victory dance in her seat. “When you guys get really big, don’t forget about me.”

You couldn’t help but watch her with quiet admiration, her happiness and excitement filling the car.

Crystal had been through so much.

A tough life, a sad backstory of bouncing through foster homes until she finally landed with your neighbors. She’d been with you since she was eleven, bullied at school for not having parents and left out by the popular kids, and you were the one who had always protected her as fiercely as you could.

But looking at her now, glowing with confidence and smiling like she had the whole world ahead of her, your chest tightened with love and admiration.

She really was the prettiest woman you had ever seen.

And you hoped she would be by your side through every moment of your new rockstar life.

“I will never forget you,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking with emotion. “You’re my eternal best friend. You’re stuck with me.”

She smiled at you before looking back at the road.

She knew you meant it with all your heart, that you two belonged together as sisters.

And as a sister, she wanted you to be happy, hoping you’d find love soon.

A few minutes later, Crystal pulled up to Noah and Jolly’s place, barely able to hide her excitement as she parked.

“If you don’t at least get him to do something gentle like… I don’t know, give you a plate or something, I’ll disown you,” she teased, lightly shoving your shoulder. “Or maybe get Ruffilo’s phone number for your bestie.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, adjusting the strap of your bass case over your shoulder as you climbed out of her car. “Ruffilo has a girlfriend, but I can try Jolly’s.”

“Another hot guitarist? It’s a win,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Text me when you’re done here so I can come pick you up,” she said, rolling down the window as you shut the door with a laugh.

“Fine,” you replied, waving at her with a small smile “Text me when you get home.”

She only winked before driving off, leaving you standing there alone in front of Noah and Jolly’s house. It was big, in a cool area of LA, and you felt nervous stepping into their little bubble without it being totally work-related.

Your heart did little flips in your chest, your hands sweaty as you gripped the strap of your bass case, trying to hold yourself together. You took a steadying breath and walked up to the front door, but before you could even knock, it swung open.

“Hey, Y/N!” Folio greeted you happily. “Come on in and make yourself at home, they’re in the backyard. I’m just grabbing more beers.”

He spoke casually, leaving the door open for you as you stepped in shyly.

The house was cozy, warm despite its minimalist decor. Guitars lined the living room walls, amps and scattered cables filling corners alongside potted plants and band memorabilia. You could hear Ruffilo and Jolly’s voices from outside, mingled with Noah’s laughter and the sizzling sound of something on the grill.

“Hey, Y/N,” Noah greeted casually as you approached the backyard after setting your bass next to the couch. He wore black athletic shorts and an oversized Bad Omens tee, his damp hair pushed back from his face like he had just showered. He was flipping burgers with a beer in his free hand. “You’re meeting new people today. I mean, you saw them at our show, but you didn’t really get introduced. Things happened too fast.”

You smiled, waving shyly as you looked at the different guys standing there, your nose instantly hit by the smell of grilled meat.

Your stomach growled embarrassingly loud at the scent, and his lips curled into a quiet chuckle.

He had to notice. Of course he would notice, for your embarrassment.

“Hungry?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with the smallest smirk.

You nodded quietly. “A little,” you admitted shyly.

“Come say hi to your brothers,” Ruffilo cheered as soon as you stepped onto the grass. He wore swim trunks covered in little rubber duck patterns, sunglasses pushed up onto his head as he helped Noah with the burgers. “And to your new brothers.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the word.

Brothers. Family.

It sent a warmth through your chest you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were they really letting you into this little family?

“Hey,” Jolly greeted softly, holding out a fist for you to bump. He sat cross-legged on a pool chair, notebook balanced on his knee as he scribbled down lyrics, sunglasses hiding his eyes. “That one is Matt, our tour director and mixing engineer. You saw him running around backstage, worried about everything and yelling,” he introduced, pointing to the blonde long-haired guy wearing a black cap.

Matt shouted “HEY” in protest, but Jolly just chuckled and ignored him.

“Those three dumbasses over there are Bryan, our photographer, Davis, our creative director, and Jesse, from ERRA,” he continued. “Jesse lives with us. The other two who split the place aren’t home right now, Orie and Michael.”

You nodded, smiling and waving at each of them as they greeted you back.

“Sit down,” Noah ordered gently, nodding towards the shaded table where a few beers and soda cans sat in an ice bucket. “Relax.”

You sank into a chair, taking a moment to watch them all. This was quickly becoming your favorite version of them: not on stage, not rehearsing, but just existing. Laughing, teasing, letting the world slip away for a while, just being with their friends as normal people.

“Here,” Noah said suddenly, placing a cold soda can in front of you before sitting down at your side. You hadn’t even noticed him switch places with Jolly; now he was flipping burgers along with Matt. “So… first week with us. Tour, rehearsals, plans for a new album, everything. Thoughts?”

You blinked, trying to process his words, surprised by his question. “Uh… amazing,” you said, biting your lip nervously. “Overwhelming, but in a good way.”

He nodded slowly, looking away from you and staring at his can. “Good. That’s… good.”

“Dude,” Folio interrupted as he came back from the grocery store, tossing a bag of beers onto the table. “She kicked ass on stage. Even the fans who were being assholes at first shut up by the third song.”

Noah didn’t respond, but you saw the smallest twitch of a smile on his lips before he hid it behind a sip of his beer.

After lunch, and after they teased you for eating three burgers, you all moved to the living room.

Ruffilo, Matt, and Folio set up a Mario Kart tournament on the giant TV while Jolly scribbled more lyrics in his notebook, humming under his breath. Davis, Noah, Bryan, and Jesse kept chatting about ERRA’s plans.

“Wanna play?” Folio asked, handing you a controller.

You hesitated. “I suck at Mario Kart, really.”

“Even better,” Jolly teased, grinning lazily. “Easier win for me.”

The next hour was filled with curses, laughter, and Folio’s dramatic wails every time someone knocked him off Rainbow Road.

You lost every round, but the sting of it faded with how much they teased you like they’d known you forever. You felt included.

Eventually, Noah disappeared into the kitchen.

You watched him for a moment before handing your controller back to Folio and following him, finding him leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone quietly.

“Need help with anything?” you asked softly. You didn’t even know why you followed him… you just felt the pull. And now, standing in front of him as he scrolled through his phone doing nothing, but looking incredibly handsome, you felt pathetic.

He glanced up, surprised. “No. Just… needed a second,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb across his forehead dramatically. “They’re a lot sometimes.”

You smiled, playing with your hands to keep yourself from looking too nervous. “They’re… good people.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “They are.”

Silence fell between you, comfortable but charged with something you couldn’t name.

You looked away first, clearing your throat as you busied yourself with rearranging the cans in the fridge.

“Hey,” he said after a moment. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… fitting in. For trying,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “Not everyone would. Not everyone can, actually, and you did amazingly well.”

Your chest warmed a little at his words.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a small, grateful smile, almost letting a can slip.

“I’m not trying,” you said quietly, finishing stocking the cans. “I just want to be here.”

Something shifted in his eyes, softening into an expression you hadn’t seen before. One that made your pulse stutter and your breath catch with how intense his pretty boba eyes were.

Dammit, I shouldn’t be noticing this, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking away with a slight smile. “Yeah. I know.”

The silence fell again before he opened his mouth again, leaving the kitchen right after to reunite with his friends at the living room.

“Nice tattoo” he said motioning to your arm.

You smiled quietly, looking at your own arm with a warm expression. “Thank you,” you muttered.

When you finally texted Crystal to come get you and left his house that evening , totally sunburned, tired, but still glowing with quiet happiness, Noah walked you out to Crystal’s car.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched you climb in.

“See you,” you echoed, waving as Crystal pulled away from the curb.

She waited until you were a block away before squealing, shaking your arm as she stopped at a red light. “OH MY GOD,” she shouted, almost fangirl-like. “Was that Noah Sebastian walking you out?! Girl, tell me everything right now.”

But you just leaned back against the seat, staring out at the summer sky with a small smile. You shook your head, exhaling softly. “Tomorrow.”

Everything could wait until tomorrow.

For now, all you wanted to do was replay every second of today in your mind, memorizing how it felt to be part of something real.

[quitedisastrous]

my mom told me i almost got diagnosed with autism as a kid (she says i wasn't officially diagnosed because the diagnosis wouldn't have been useful so i guess my symptoms were so on the fence that they didn't push for it) which. like i'm 100% sure i have autism but holy mackerel. she couldn't have told me this as a kid???? it's a good thing i'm both logical and oblivious so i didn't spend too much time thinking "something is wrong with me. what the fuck is wrong with me" but like. what the fuck?

[freakalot]

letting gojo fuck you raw might have been a mistake, especially now that he wants kids..☆

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

and he blinks, pretends to be offended at how responsible you are, and then falls into an easy smile because sex with you is more than enough for him. when he sinks into you, condom-covered or not, he falls a little bit more in love each time.

but it is not the same and you know it.

the weight of him on top of you is the same. as is the snapping thrusts of his hips into yours and the gentle circles he traces over your clit and the way he moans your name once he’s sheathed fully inside of you. it’s the same.

but it’s not the same as taking him raw. it’s not the bulge of his veins against your velvet walls. nor is it the beading precum at his tip dripping inside of you, or the filthy fucking drawling moans he lets out when he fills you to the brim.

“you’re so beautiful,” he's moaning like he's in heat. completely enthralled with every aspect of your being, satoru groans and moans and snaps forward into you like he's trying to breed you regardless.

and you're so full, stretched to your limits with his cock pulsing inside of you, but you don't feel satiated like you could. you've tasted it once, the feel of his cum spilling into you, the knowledge of what it could do to you. to him. he would look good as a dad. god, him holding a baby in his arms...

"pull out."

gojo stops immediately at your words, blinking the lust from his eyes in an immediate shock change of expression. he's looking you over, making sure you're not in any pain, before pulling out of you completely with no questions asked. he's always been good like that—sure, he'll whine about wearing latex but he'd never push you past your spoken limits.

"you wanna stop?" he asks gently, already reaching for a washcloth to wipe you down with. his eyes watch you carefully, obsessed with your interest and comfort: you have to stop yourself from laughing at his panic. "we can watch some TV or go to bed or i could make you—"

his words die in his mouth when you reach down to his still-hard cock and slowly pull the condom that covers it from the top. it slides from his length with a little resistance before finally pulling over the head and snapping back at your hand with a subtle sting.

"fuck me," you meet his eyes.

"what? you said—"

"satoru. fuck me. breed me, even. how many other ways do i have to put it? i want you to fuck a baby into me."

he blinks again. no witty comment, no awful smirk or joke about being a dilf. you've gone and rendered satoru speechless. when he does finally move his lips, it's not to dirty talk you like expected.

"we aren't married."

you can't help but laugh. "what?"

"i'm going to marry you first, and then you are going to make me a dad. i have it all planned out, babe, we can't have drunk honeymoon sex if you're pregnant. though you would look fucking beautiful on a beach somewhere with a baby bump. god now i'm conflicted."

"you have it planned?"

the thought of satoru planning this out hits you, him thinking about a future with you, a ring on your finger, embracing the stress of parenthood together so well that when the kids move out and you're old and grey, you abhor having a silent home.

"so are you going to propose or not?" you look at him.

again, he blinks. "right now?"

"why not? do you have a ring?"

satoru looks at you, smiles, and slips off the bed—still naked—to reach into the bedside drawer. a small black box sits in his top drawer, ironically under a pile of condoms. he holds it in his hand and returns to you with a kiss to your knee, and then one to your inner thigh, and another just above your clit. he works his way up your stomach, of course stopping to bite at your nipples when he reaches your chest, and then presses himself fully against you once his lips find yours.

when he pulls away, you're met with the sight of a ring you had pointed out to him months ago. had he really been planning this long? "i knew i was going to marry you on our first date," he says, but then counters, "actually, that's a lie. it was when i tasted that sweet pussy of yours for the first time, but that's not as romantic."

you smile, bracing yourself for a long-winded speech when satoru suddenly pushes the tip of his now-uncovered cock inside of you. you gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss before taking your hand in his and slipping the ring down your finger with a breathy; "will you marry me?"

"yes," of course, is your answer. which warrants a sudden deep thrust from your now-fiancé as he bottoms out inside of you.

"yeah?" he nips at your neck. "you'll marry me? gonna make me a dad too, huh? gonna fill you up, baby, gonna breed you out and—"

"i thought you said—"

"changed my mind. now, lift your legs up: you're not leaving this bed until i've knocked you up, pretty."

[exopelagic]

I know the world is cruel because I finally wanna draw again and yet I am forced to pack :(

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[yurizq]

ෆ You didn’t say anything at the party.

Not when the girl leaned in too close. Not when she touched his arm. Not when Choso—sweet, awkward, bashful Choso—just smiled and let her.

He didn’t flirt back.

But he didn’t stop it either.

So you smiled. Kissed his cheek. Told him you were ready to go.

And now?

Now he’s tied to the bed, wrists knotted to the headboard with silk, hips twitching up desperately while you sit on top of him, panties soaked and pressed right against the swollen bulge in his sweatpants.

“You liked her touching you?”

“N-no—” he gasps, “I—I didn’t even notice—”

“But you didn’t stop her.”

You grind your hips slowly over his cock, feeling it throb hard against your clothed cunt. His breath catches, back arching off the bed.

“I was being polite—” he chokes.

“Polite?” You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “You let her get so close. Let her touch you like you weren’t already mine.”

“I didn’t—fuck—I didn’t mean to—”

You roll your hips again, slow and cruel, and watch him suffer. He’s so hard it looks painful, his cock straining against the fabric.

“I should fuck someone else,” you whisper, voice dark. “Make you watch. Maybe then you’d understand how it feels.”

He gasps, shaking his head. “No—please, baby—I didn’t mean it—I swear—!”

“Then take your punishment.”

You sit up and grind again—rhythmic, wet, dragging your soaked panties over the shape of his cock. Every friction-drenched pass makes him moan louder, hips bucking involuntarily before you slap his thigh.

“Stay still.”

He’s panting now. Sweating. Eyes glassy.

You run your hands down his chest and smirk. “You wanna cum so bad, huh?”

“Yes—please—I’m so close—”

“But I haven’t even touched your cock,” you murmur, grinding down harder, letting your clit rub just right along his length. “You gonna cum in your pants like a desperate little virgin?”

He whines, shaking beneath you. “Please—let me—let me cum—please, I won’t look at anyone else—I promise—”

You lean down again, breath hot on his lips. “You’re lucky I’m even using you right now.”

He groans. His cock twitches. He’s so close—hips jerking, chest heaving, mouth dropping open in a silent cry.

And then?

You stop moving.

Lift your hips just enough to take the pressure off.

He sobs. Loud.

“Why—why’d you stop—? I was so close—!”

“I know,” you say sweetly, brushing his hair off his forehead. “That’s the punishment.”

You reach down and cup his leaking cock through his sweats, squeezing just enough to make him twitch again.

“You don’t get to cum until I feel like you deserve it.”

“Please—please, baby—”

You rub slow, just enough to edge him again, then pull away before he tips.

“You gonna let another girl touch you again?”

“No—n-never—I swear—”

“You sure? You looked real flustered. Thought maybe you liked it.”

“I only want you,” he gasps. “Please—please let me cum—I’ll be so good—”

You straddle him again, grinding softer now, just enough to keep him crying.

“Next time you forget who you belong to, I’m not going to grind on you.”

You lean in, lips barely brushing his, whispering—

“I’ll let someone else do it while you watch.”

And just like that?

He cums in his pants. Loud, shaking, sobbing with his head thrown back, cock twitching uncontrollably beneath you as he ruins himself under your control.

[yunzyoi]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (n.rk)

[NSFW] Chrome Hearts Rings - ni-ki x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [니키] Booking a flight on a random night just because you had a fight with your boyfriend is totally normal right? Traveling across the world just because you don't wanna see him it's totally normal, right? Getting drunk in another country and dancing with a total stranger, is beyond normal, right?

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!ni-ki and sub f!reader student. porn with plot, unprotected sex, alcohol, smoking, exhibitionism, dirty talk, rough sex, drunk sex, fingering, squirting, public, car sex, cheating, jake, sunghoon and jay cameo, mdni. don't read if uncomfortable.

٠࣪⭑wc: 4k

٠࣪⭑ tags: @woniesbae @nicholaslefthand @littlesweettea-aine @puppiesfolder

Maybe having that fight with your boyfriend wasn't so bad. You wouldn't have met this cute stranger if it wasn't because of it after all ᯓᡣ𐭩

୨ৎ

First year of college had been close to hell. The huge change from High School to college was almost unbearable. Your A+ grades from High School were equal to a C in college and your need for academic validation was killing you. It was messy, the dorms, and campus, and the lectures. You were a mess as well, trying to just pass your classes. But what was making it really a living hell, was your boyfriend, Jay.

Jay was your boyfriend since sophomore year in High School, he used to be sweet and romantic. However, during senior year he became colder, yet so possessive. When you graduated, both ended up going to different colleges. You went to MIT and he went to NYU. You're still dating him, but he has become more and more controlling and toxic throughout the year. To the point where he will call you every time you get off campus.

It gets to a point, right? You couldn't bear it. He came to visit you in campus, you acted normal. But once you mentioned his controlling behavior he got defensive. It escalated into a huge fight, yelling, and insulting until your roomate stepped in and kicked him out.

Your fingers move quickly through the phone, tears in your eyes while you deal your best friend's number. Sunghoon picks up after a couple of minutes. He's sleepy, sounds like you just woke him up. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. Sunghoon was in Japan right now, so it was probably really early for him.

"Hey, sweetheart" He says. "It's 6 a.m you know—" Sunghoon's heart drops when he hears you sob. He sits in his bed in one quick motion. "Hey, hey, what happened, tell me" He knew the reason you were sobbing, he knew the idiot who was making you cry. He tightens his fist on the sheets. "What did he do"

You break into tears, nonstop, just crying on Sunghoon like you always do. Every time Jay did something you'd just go to your comfort place: Sunghoon, your best friend since you were in Middle School. You tell Sunghoon everything through the phone as he tries to calm you down.

"I just wish you were here" you sob, sniffing a little and he chuckles.

Both staying silent for a little longer before Sunghoon speaks again.

"What classes do you have tomorrow?" He asks, something in his voice tells you he's got something in mind.

"Tomorrow's Friday, just one economy lecture" You say softly, your throat feeling rough from crying. "Why?"

"You up to book a flight right now and come to Japan with me for the weekend?" Your heart skips a beat. You can hear the excitement in his voice. "I'll pay it for you, a little treat, you'd stay with me, forget about Jay for a couple of days, clear your mind, yeah?"

"Sunghoon...I—" You knew Sunghoon was rich as hell but it was still hard for you to accept things like this, especially when it's so sudden. Yet your heart is almost breaking right now. "Yes, yes, thank you, Hoon"

You depart from LGA Airport at 10 p.m and arrive in Tokyo around 1 a.m on Saturday. Sunghoon recieves you with open arms and you just crash in them for a hug, a needed one. He takes you to his hotel, lets you take a shower and then you just fall asleep in his bed. He wakes you up around 8 p.m of the same day and chuckles at your state.

"Do you wanna hang out?" He asks. "I just got invited to a place"

You agree with Sunghoon to hang out and get dressed quickly, doing a simple makeup and spending more time than you should on your hair. The place where Sunghoon takes you is not exactly your type of place but you didn't care since you were with him. It was kinda like a bar, drinks, food, music, people dancing. Sunghoon guides you to a specific place where two guys are having a drink. One of them stands up waving, black hair, sharp features. He greets Sunghoon with so much excitement, perfect english and a thick aussie accent.

"Yo man! So long— That's your girl?" The guy lands his eyes on you, big smile, so happy.

"Nah, that's my best friend" Sunghoon chuckles as he introduces you both. "This is Jake, he's the guy that invited me" I nod and smile at Jake.

"Your best friend's so beautiful, huh" He laughs and you all glance at the other guy. Sharp eyes, a cigarrette between his fingers, hands full of Chrome Hearts. He's hot. "This is Riki, High School friend"

Riki nods and extends his hand to Sunghoon and then to you, giving you a nod, lips curling up in a smirk. You guys sit, Sunghoon next to Jake, and you next to Riki. Sunghoon and Jake quickly start catching up, Riki occasionally participating in their conversation. You feel a little akward. Suddenly Riki offers you a cigarrette.

"You smoke?" He asks. Oh. His voice was deep. You quickly shake your heard and he chuckles. "No smoke? damn"

"Nah I don't like that" You say softly while you see him take the cigarrete to his lips, following it with your eyes.

"You drink?" He asks next as he takes a drink to his lips as well.

"A little..." You say. It was true, you didn't really like it that much. He chuckles again, irritating you a little bit. He drinks a little while you get lost in your thoughts.

Somehow your mind flying back to America, to New York, where your boyfriend was. Your boyfriend that hasn't even tried to contact you yet. You chuckle and Riki looks at you as he exhales the smoke off his lungs. You grab his drink from the table and take it to your lips swallowing it all. When you stop, Riki is just looking at you with a smirk, he's not impressed, much less worried, he's excited.

"Damn" Jake says and you both look at him. "You okay?" He asks and you nod.

You look at Sunghoon but he isn't looking at you. You follow his eyes and they're set on a girl, blonde, good curves, at the bar. You tap his leg with your feet under the table and he looks at you. You smirk, doing a motion with your eyebrows. "Go" He bites his lips, indecisive and then leans closer to you.

"Will you be alright?" He asks, still worried about you and you just nod smiling. "Fine, don't drink too much" And with that Sunghoon disappears from the table.

"Oh that bastard" Jake says and stands up looking down at his phone. "I gotta go, it'll be quick" He glances at Riki and warns "Don't do anything stupid"

Riki lifts his arms like he's offended as Jake leaves. His eyes settle on you once you're both alone.

"So...rough day?" He asks looking down at his empty cup. You nod, not really wanting to talk about it. "You're good" He said. "That one was a strong one"

"The fact that I don't drink that much doesn't mean I'm bad at it" You say, loosening a bit with him. You've been akward and seating like a statue for about 20 minutes. He smirks at your response.

"Should we get another round? Two cups this time"

You don't even hesitate. You were totally down for more. Your mind just kept reminding you about your boyfriend, and how heartbroken you felt yesterday when he yelled at you. It's okay to sit down with this handsome stranger and have a drink, right?

About half a bottle later, you lean your head against Riki's shoulder, in a tipsy state. Riki chuckles. "Giving up already, princess?" You giggle biting your lip at the petname and then sit up straight.

"Did I tell you my boyfriend is a toxic bastard?" You murmur looking at him, honesty coming pureley from the effects of the alcohol in your system. Riki doesn't seem surprised or tuned in, he drinks a bit more and smirks.

"Yeah? Why don't you leave him?" He asks leaning back. You take in his appearance for a second, longer than you should. His fit was extravagant, baggy jeans way too baggy, tank top, jacket and a lot of Chrome Hearts accessories. Dude was a Chrome Hearts freak. You blush a little when you look up and realize he was staring at you the same way you were staring at him. "So?"

"What?" You ask, blushy and giggly.

"Your boyfriend"

You bite your lower lip and sigh. "I love him, I can't just..."

Riki turns around a little, irritated, not by you but by your stupid argument. He serves another drink for himself and one more for you. You grab it, no hesitation. Music sounds in the background, Champaign & Sunshine, one of your favorites. The new song makes you excited. You stand up. "Oh my god, I love this song. Riki looks up at you with a smirk on his face. You swallow the rest of your drink and start moving to the music.

Riki presses his cheek against his hand, looking at you while biting his lip. He had to recognize you were probably the most attractive woman he had ever seen. You were smily, and blushy, and adorable, but his heart rate went up whenever you moved slightly towards him and the V line of your top moved lower. He wanted to be decent but every time you laughed softly and he looked down at you, you're breast were on his face. He watches you dance, as you move your hands down your body. The little set you're wearing making your curves more pronounced, Easier for him to imagine how'd be like to hold your waist while you dance.

You laugh when you look down at him and see him just staring. "What are you doing!" You say, yelling over the music. "Dance!" That's all you say before climbing on the table and starting to dabce up there. Riki moves quick, leaning back, finally a little surprised but quick to adopt his teasing demeanor. He smirks looking up. He has a good view of your ass from this angle and if he just moves a little he can actually see your panties. God, he was fighting demonds, he really wanted to be decent.

You look down at him, your heart skipping a beat at how attractive he suddenly looks. I mean, you already thought he was hot but now, now that he's leaning back, now that he's manspreading, legs taking more place than they should, looking up at you with that smirk and those hunter eyes, now he looks extremely attractive. Something in you just snaps, you start moving, slower, seductive, sexy. You wanna impress him, because you like the way he's looking at you. Because no matter what you do, he won't stop, and it's driving you crazy.

Your body heats up, you're not sure if it's the alcohol or how hard you're blushing right now. He takes that damn cigarrette in his mouth, eyes glued on your body as you put up a show for him. Your hands slide up your body, tugging on the edge of your top and you do it, what you never thought you'd do. You remove your top, right there, on the table. No one notices, everyone is past drunk, in their own worlds. And you don't care, you only care about the pair of eyes burning beneath you right now. You look down, Riki shifts in his position, bothered, he's feeling the heat too.

You're wearing a little lacy bra, small, tits pushing out, causing Riki to almost choke on his cigarrette. He knows you're doing it on purpose, he knows the show it's exclusively for him and that he has the VIP access. He bites his lips leaning his head back, groaning softly. He's getting worked up fast. You wave your hand at him, inviting him and that's it, something snaps inside him too and he climbs that table before his brain processed the invitation.

His body glues to yours from behind, hands on your exposed waist, his Chrome Hearts rings colder than ice making contrast with the heat of your skin. His face on your neck, lips against your skin. You can feel his breath tingling next to you ear and it makes you shiver, pushing yourself back against him to feel him. And you dance, moving your ass against his half- hardness. You arch a little, feeling him up, lifting your arms and leaning back against his shoulder as his hands roam your body.

"You're so beautiful, you know?" He murmurs in a low voice that makes you want to take off your panties too.

"Yeah, I get that a lot" You say playfully and he chuckles.

His hands slide up, easily wrapping around each of your breasts and you gasp but don't pull away. His lips press againat the crook of your neck and you shiver gasping again, making him chuckle.

"You're so sensitive" He whispers. "I'm not really doing much"

୨ৎ

You stumble against Riki's body as both of you exit the place from behind, he holds your wasit, kissing your neck while walking. He devours your neck, wet kisses mixed with bites. You moan softly, the alcohol getting the worst out of both of you. Riki slides down his hands, gripping your ass. You moan softly as he presses you against the brick wall of the parking lot.

"Fuck" He whispers.

You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck while holding your top in one of your hands. He chuckles while he continues to taste your neck. He pulls back smirking, admiring your flushed face and then leans down for a kiss. His lips crash with yours in a passionate kiss. Intensity of a huracane. He bites down on your lower lip, his tongue eager to explore your mouth. You moan softly and pull back. Suddenly feeling aware of your actions.

"No— No, I have a boyfriend" You say worriedly but Riki buries his face in your neck, kissing it deliciously, making your knees weak.

"Is he here?" He asks between kisses. "I don't see him"

His hand slides under you shorts, quickly reaching your pussy, feeling your wetness through the fabric of your panties.

"You're so wet" He whispers. "And I bet it's not for him?"

You moan softly, fisting Riki's jacket. His fingers move quick, pulling your panties to the side. Once you feel his fingers and the cold of his rings directly on your skin it's like you lose yourself. You moan again, his fingers teasing your entrance. Riki's breath becomes heavier, and he rests his face on his arm against the wall behind you.

"That's it, see? I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?" He says and chuckles seeing how you clinge to him while he fingers you slowly. "Want me to stop?"

"No– Please" You say leaning back your head. "Don't stop"

Riki's fingers tease your entrance a little, tips sliding in and out before finally shoving his fingers entirely in. You moan clinging to his jacket and he buries his face in your neck again, resting it there. His fingers move with precision, he knows what he's doing. He curls his fingers inside hitting your sweet spot and you hold onto him like your life depends on it.

From afar you two look like a couple having a cute moment, hugging each other. But no one can see his hand shoved in your shorts and his fingers working you like you've never been worked before.

Riki can feel your walls squeezing his fingers and the wetness spreading to the palm of his hand.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He says in a husky voice. "Come for me, princess"

You shake in his arms and he presses you against the wall a little while covering your mouth when you finally come undone. He works you through your orgasm until you've calmed down, then he removes his hand and holds you for a little longer whike kissing your neck.

"You okay?" He asks, licking your shoulder and you nod, too satisfied to even talk.

୨ৎ

Oh that bricks wall wasn't the end of it, once you two got in his car and Riki started driving, things just got even more heated and messier. You're next to him, legs open, panties gone, squirming and whining while his fingers sink in your pussy over and over again in every red light.

"Riki" You moan softly and he chuckles removing his hand again once the light turns green. You protest and he bites his lips.

"You really cannot wait" He says turning right and driving into a building's parking.

"What?" You protest again at his words but he's already leaning for a kiss.

His lips collide with yours with more intensity. Something about Riki is that he gets more and more excited and every new kiss becomes more dirty. His tongue licks your lower lip while grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap. You can smell the alcohol and cigarrettes in his breathe and it somehow just turns you on in a nasty way. He buries his face in your neck, hands on your waist. You're only wearing your bra by now.

"You look so pretty like this" He says in a husky voice. "All naked in my lap"

You moan softly leaning your head back. This man hasn't stopped giving you compliments since you two escaped from that bar without telling Sunghoon or Jake. His compliments sound sweet, he isn't trying to be nasty yet.

"Where are we?" You ask softly and he pulls back smirking at you with messy hair.

"My building" He says breathy.

You tilt your head, leaning for a short kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him and groaning into the kiss. You bury your face in his neck and start nibbling and licking. Riki groans again, shifting in his seat and you can feel his cock straning against the fabric of his pants. Your hands slide down his body and up again only so you can remove his jacket.

Riki groans, rolling up his hips. You moan softly sliding down your hands until your fingers reach his belt. Your hands move quick. Riki smirks, seeing the change in your demeanor. You were holding back until now, torn between your loyalty to Jay and your attraction towards Riki, whose last name you don't even know but thinking of Jay only makes you want to throw up every time. Riki helps you with his pants, his hard cock springing free right in front of you.

Riki gasps, looking down and hisses when your hand wraps around it. You smirk biting your lip and squeeze it a bit before moving your hand slowly. It's already leaking pre-cum so it's easy for you to move your hand. Riki holds your hips and leans back his head groaning and gasping.

"Oh fuck— Oh don't stop" He says between moans.

You increase the speed of your hand and lean forward to attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Riki moans, his fingers digging in your hips.

"That's it, Oh– don't stop, you're doing so good" He whispers looking at you with hooded eyes. You bite your lip feeling his hands move to your back to finally unhook your bra, removing the last piece of clothing on your body. You moan softly when his hands wrap around your breasts and aqueeze them.

"God, you're so perfect" He whispers and you moan again. "Fuck, I want you to ride me"

You stop for a second looking at him and he smirks pulling your hips towards him. It's quick, one second your hands were on him and in a blink his cock was on your entrance. He pushes you down slowly and you just moan hiding in his shoulder.

"You're so wet" He whispers breathy. "So tight"

You moan sharply when he bottoms up an lean against his chest. He doesn't give you time to adjust, his hips snap, moving upwards at a fast rythm while you hold onto him. You're sure your moans are heard in the entire parking lot and you don't really care right now. You're only thinking of the way Riki's cock is filling you up. He thrusts up into you, making you moan harder with each one.

He stops for a second and you take over, moving your hips in circles, Riki groans letting you move by yourself. You moan again bouncing a little until he starts moving again, pressing you against the wheel and thursting up into you again at a diabolical rythm.

He grabs your breasts again, squeezing them and then leans to take one of your nipples into his mouth. The moans and the sound of his cock going in and out of you echo inside the car. You can feel your orgasm building up and he can feel your walls squeezing his cock impossibly.

"Oh, fuck—" He groans against your chest, his thrust becoming erratic.

You moan louder, your head leaning back as you feel it coming. It's hard, almost leaving you with no breath, your legs shake violently and your nails dig in his shoulders. You coming on his cock was his last straw. He thrusts up two or three more times before pulling you up, grabbing his cock and fisting it quickly until every drop of his cum has splashed over his own clothes and your bare stomach and chest.

୨ৎ

The night didn't end in the car, once you two managed to get to his penthouse—yes, gis penthouse—without getting caught, Riki probably fucked your soul out. He fucked you against the kitchen counter first, then you two somehow fell on the couch, where he ate you out. His tongue moved so perfectly that you came undone in seconds. Then, you ended up in his room, fucking again like there's no tomorrow. He probably made you diacover new positions because the way this man found a new angle every time to deatroy your insides was insane.

Something is for sure, you've never had such a crazy night in your life. No, Jay does not fuck like this.

You sigh against the pillow. Not a single inch of guilt in your body. Riki groans next to you, his arm covering his eyes. It's been about 30 minutes since the last round. You stir in his bed and manage to speak.

"Are you tired?" You ask, very innocent question.

Riki chuckles. "You wanna go again?"

"Oh– That's not what I meant"

"I can go again if you want to, princess" He affirms and smirks looking at you.

"Where do you get that energy from, oh my god" You laugh softly. By now, you're both sober.

"Uhm...I'm young?" He laughs too and turns to his side.

"Young and rich, I see" You say looking around. "Fancy place."

He chuckles pulling closer to you, his fingers on your chin while leaning for a kiss. "You're welcomed whenever you wanna forget about that asshole"

You bite your lip rolling your eyes. "I'm gonna break up with him when I get back to America"

Riki smirks. "Yeah?" You nod looking at his lips shortly. "That's good" He whispers. "He doesn't deserve those skills of yours"

You chuckle as he buries his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling.

"I can't believe I'm in a stranger's penthouse right now" You laugh softly. "I don't even know your last name"

"Nishimura." Riki says pulling back. "Nishimura Riki"

Gosh, even his last name is perfectly moanable.

"Nishimura? Like the clothing brand?" You say tilting your head and he chuckles.

"Where do you think the penthouse came from?"

"No way" You say but you're not really that interested, just shocked that you're really in Nishimura's bed right now. "Damn"

Riki kisses your collarbones. "Impressed?"

"A little" You respond.

"Enough to make you wanna stay 'til morning?" He asks, his kisses getting a little hungrier.

"Mmh is that an invitation?" You ask tangling your fingers in his hair. "I'll have to accept it, would be rude to say no"

Riki smirks as he settles between your legs and continues to devour you whole.

© yunzyoi 2025. all rights reserved.

[lowrisemiller]

ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴇ

pedro pascal x younger!fem!reader one-shot

insta smau

or just being pedro’s secret controversially young gf . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a chance raffle win leads to unexpected texts, slow-burning chemistry, and stolen moments with pedro pascal. she’s younger, balancing school and real life. he’s careful, charming, and maybe a little too into her for his own good. what starts off light turns tender, and one cozy night might just change everything.

masterlist | 9k words | all fiction, pedro is 45-50 and fem!reader is 23 (I don't rlly gaf if you're annoyed with age-gaps if you don't like it fucking scroll), flirting, YEARNING (you’ll never stop me), kissing, celebrity things like that paparazzi, fingering, oral f!recieving, pussy job, unprotected piv sexxx

You hadn’t even meant to enter.

Your best friend, Kelsey, had texted you in the middle of a script revision meltdown with a link and three question marks.

“A Pedro Pascal charity meet & greet raffle. $25 to enter. Winner gets a private lunch.”

It was for some children’s literacy nonprofit, and you’d clicked it half-delirious, half-joking, adding one entry just to say you did.

Two weeks later, you got the email.

You thought it was a scam. Then your phone rang—an actual event coordinator from the organization, confirming details, verifying your ID, telling you a car service would be provided, that Pedro’s team had already cleared the date.

You stared at your phone long after the call ended. You were twenty-three, in college for a degree in screenwriting, juggling a bookstore job and unpaid pitch work. Pedro Pascal had been your comfort actor since your late teens—long before the mainstream hype. You’d watched his indie films, not just the blockbusters. You knew lines of dialogue he probably didn’t even remember.

Now you were going to sit across from him. At lunch. For an hour.

You didn't even have anything to wear that didn't look like it came off a Goodwill clearance rack.

The restaurant was tucked away in Laurel Canyon, low lighting, all exposed brick and polished glass.

You checked your reflection four times in the car window. A blouse that didn't cling too tight. Mascara you applied with shaking hands. You told yourself he probably did dozens of these. He wouldn’t even remember your name.

When you arrived at the restaurant the host said, “Right this way,” and there he was.

Pedro Pascal. In a dark blue button-up, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Beard trimmed. Brown eyes soft.

He stood when you walked up.

“Hey, you must be the donor,” he said warmly. “Thanks for donating.”

You managed a smile. “Thanks for being the prize.”

He laughed. A real one.

You thought it would be awkward. Stilted. But he was funny, sharp, easy to talk to. You ended up rambling about how much his performance in The Bubble meant to you—how you watched it on your laptop in your dark bedroom during a bad depressive episode, how it got you through that awful year.

He looked surprised. Touched.

“I forget anyone actually saw that movie,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“I watched it five times. At least.”

He blinked. “Wait, are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You grinned. “I even wrote a paper on it for a class on satire. You play a man who's aware he’s a fraud but keeps smiling through it—like, that’s the whole metaphor.”

Pedro blinked again—then gave you a slow, stunned laugh, mouth slightly open.

You weren’t flirting. You were just being honest. And maybe that’s what caught him off guard.

He walked you out after. His hand hovered at the small of your back but never touched.

“Seriously,” he said, “this was the best version of one of these I’ve ever done. I usually feel like a trained monkey. This felt like…” he paused. “A real conversation.”

You tried to play it cool. “That’s the goal. I’m supposed to be a screenwriter, right?”

He smiled, wider this time. “If you ever finish something, I’d love to read it.”

You stared at him, then snorted. “That sounded like a line.”

You were standing on the curb with him now, your rideshare still a few minutes out.

Pedro leaned against the building’s side wall, sunglasses back on, arms folded. The California sun caught the edges of his hair, bringing out the warm gray in his curls. You tried not to stare.

 You were failing.

“Do you ever get tired of people telling you they’ve been obsessed with you since they were sixteen?” you asked, mostly teasing.

He laughed under his breath. “Depends on how they say it.”

You glanced up at him. “And how did I say it?”

His mouth curled. “Like someone who isn’t obsessed anymore. Just curious.”

That made you blush, which only made it worse. “Right. I’m too grown for fangirling.”

He tilted his head a little. “How grown are we talking?”

You gave him a look. “Grown enough to know that question is a trap.”

He grinned. “Smart.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, almost private. Like something unsaid had passed between you, and he was waiting to see if you’d name it.

You didn’t. You weren’t that bold. But you did say, “So, are you always this charming at these things? Or did I just catch you on a good hair day?”

He chuckled, then looked at you fully, one eyebrow raised. “Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“I thought this would be fifteen minutes of smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid weird questions about The Mandalorian. I didn’t expect to actually…” He stopped, glanced away for a second, then back at you. “...like someone.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Someone?”

“You,” he said plainly.

Oh.

You blinked. “I—um. Okay. That’s… wow.”

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. That might’ve been too much.”

“No—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

He smiled again, softer now. “That’s fair.”

Then, casually—almost like it was nothing—he said, “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You stared at him. “Wait—seriously?”

He shrugged, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re comfortable. If not, that’s okay. I just—” he hesitated, then said, “I think I’d like to talk to you again. Not in front of cameras. Or PR people.”

You swallowed. He was looking at you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t in a rush, like he could wait forever.

“…Okay,” you said. “Yeah. I’ll give it to you.”

Pedro handed you his phone. No hesitation.

You typed it in, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve. Saved ___(from lunch) and handed it back.

He glanced down at it, then nodded. “I’ll text you. So you have mine.”

“Cool.” You tried to act normal. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Pedro smirked. “You’re very cool, yeah.”

Your rideshare pulled up just then. Saved by the bell. He opened the car door for you, gentlemanly as ever.

Before you got in, he said, voice low: “I’m really glad it was you.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. So you smiled, and got in the car, and tried not to immediately check your phone.

But when it buzzed two minutes later, your breath caught.

Unknown Number: Glad I made it through lunch without embarrassing myself. – Pedro

You didn’t text back right away.

Mostly because you didn’t want to seem eager. But also because you were still staring at your phone like it had just whispered your name out loud.

You waited ten minutes.

Then typed:

You: I think we both made it out with our dignity intact.

But that’s a pending review once I replay the whole thing in my head at 2am.

The dots appeared instantly.

Pedro: Damn, you’re already funnier over text. I’m scared. Should I be worried about my performance?

You smiled, flopping back on your bed.

You: You were decent. You only said “like” twelve times in that one story about Oscar Isaac. Pedro: You counted?? You: I’m a writer. I observe. Pedro: Dangerous. Pedro: Remind me never to lie to you.

He kept texting over the next few days. Nothing crazy. Nothing that could get him in trouble.

But his messages were always right there—close enough to be curious. Casual enough to deny.

Sometimes it was jokes about his press schedule. Sometimes questions about your scripts. One night, it was a photo of an old movie on his TV.

Pedro: I think this director peaked with this one. Tell me I’m wrong. [screenshot from Days of Heaven] You: You want discourse at midnight? Pedro: I want you to talk to me at midnight.

You stared at that one for too long.

Typed. Erased. Typed again.

You: That sounds dangerously flirty for a man with a whole IMDb page. Pedro: That sounds dangerously flirty for a girl who called me “decent.” Pedro: …But I’m not taking it back.

By the end of the week, he was sending you voice memos.

Low, rough-voiced ones. Mostly teasing. Sometimes just quiet thoughts he didn’t want to type.

“You know, I reread your screenplay sample. You weren’t kidding when you said it was dark. That final scene? Fuck me. Also, I think I’m obsessed with the way your dialogue sounds.”

Another night:

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought about texting you something sexy but decided on this instead: Do you think people fall for potential, or do they fall for the version of themselves they think the other person sees?”

That one stayed in your phone for days.

You didn’t answer it. Not directly.

But your next message said:

You: If you’re ever back in L.A. and bored, I know a dive bar that makes the best nachos in the city.

We could talk about your IMDb shame pile.

Pedro: You tryna seduce me with nachos? You: Maybe. Pedro: Tell me when. And don’t wear that blouse again. Or do…

Four Weeks Later

The texts don’t come every day anymore.

He warned you. Said work was picking up again—press junkets, travel, long days on set. You said it was fine. You meant it. You’d gone in expecting one hour of his time, not a month of flirty messages and midnight voice memos.

But still, you missed it. The tiny buzz of your phone. His name lighting up your screen.

You missed the way he made you feel like he actually saw you—like you weren’t just some girl who lucked into a celebrity lunch but someone with ideas, talent, nerve.

The last message had been five days ago:

Pedro: Sitting in a hotel bar in Berlin. Bartender looks like he’s judging my wine choice.

You responded. He didn’t reply.

You told yourself he got busy. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

Still, you reread the thread more than once.

He kept opening your chat. Typing. Erasing.

He didn’t know why you stuck in his head. Why you’d gotten under his skin like a song he couldn’t stop humming. You were so much younger, so new, but you had a sharpness he envied. You made him want to say shit he hadn’t thought to say to anyone in years.

And you hadn’t even done anything, really.

You were just... honest. No agenda. No sucking up. You looked him in the eye like he wasn’t on a billboard but sitting across from you at a tiny table, halfway real.

And now you were quiet.

Maybe you’d gotten bored. Moved on. Maybe it was better that way.

But when his plane landed in L.A., jet-lagged and strung out, the first thing he wanted—before coffee, before sleep—was to see if you were still around.

You’re watching a terrible dating show in your apartment, sipping flat wine, wearing the same hoodie three days in a row when your phone buzzes.

Pedro: Back in town. That nacho place still open?

You stare at it.

Then:

You: It closes at 2am. So yeah. Still time for questionable choices. Pedro: Are we talking about food or me? You: Don’t make me say it. Pedro: Say it in person.

Then:

Pedro: Tomorrow night?

Your stomach flips.

It’s been weeks. You thought he forgot. You thought maybe you dreamed the whole thing.

You wait ten seconds.

Then:

You: Tomorrow night.

The bar is dim and humming when you walk in. Wood-paneled walls, strings of yellow bulbs, and that warm, greasy smell that hits just right after 9 p.m.

You spot him instantly.

Pedro’s in the far booth—back against the wall, baseball cap low, beer bottle sweating in front of him. He’s dressed down: jeans and a hoodie, that you recognize from one of his press photos. 

He looks up and sees you. Smiles.

Not the friendly kind. The fuck-I-missed-you kind.

“Hey,” you say as you slide into the booth opposite him.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours.

You settle your bag beside you. Try to ignore the way your heart’s fluttering like it’s your first date in high school.

He leans forward slightly. “You look…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tired?”

He laughs. “No. Just better than I remembered.”

You smirk. “You say that to all the raffle girls?”

Pedro grins and takes a sip of his beer. “You think I’m doing a lot of raffle lunches lately?”

You don’t answer. You just meet his eyes—and hold them a second too long.

The first drink goes fast. So does the second.

Conversation’s easy again—teasing, snappy, laced with innuendos but grounded in that same curiosity he showed the first time.

“You’ve got that look again,” you say at one point.

He tips his head. “What look?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

Pedro taps his fingers on the table. “I am.”

“About what?”

“You.”

That shuts you up. For a beat.

“Okay,” you say carefully. “You’re officially flirting.”

“Only officially now?”

You glance at him. “Are we pretending we haven’t been doing that for weeks?”

He leans in a little, voice lower. “I haven’t been pretending, cariño.”

That word—cariño—drops right down your spine.

You sip your drink just to buy time.

Half an hour later, the nachos are cold and forgotten.

He’s shifted to your side of the booth. Close enough that his thigh brushes yours when he moves.

You can feel the heat of him—slow and steady, like a stove left on low.

“You’re braver than I thought,” he murmurs, voice near your ear.

You turn your head, pulse thrumming. “Why?”

He’s looking at your mouth when he says, “Because I think you know exactly what this is.”

You swallow.

“You think it’s a game?” you whisper.

“No.” His eyes lift to meet yours again. “I think it’s trouble.”

You let the silence stretch. Then, quietly:

“I think I want it anyway.”

Pedro exhales, almost like relief.

His hand finds your knee under the table, gentle at first—like he’s asking.

You don’t stop him.

Back at your place — 1:07 a.m.

He doesn’t kiss you right away.

He stands just inside your apartment, glancing around like he needs to ground himself. Like he’s cataloging every detail in case it’s the only time he sees it.

“Cute place,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s fine. It has a couch, at least.”

Pedro gives you a look. “So subtle.”

You smirk, toeing off your shoes. “I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to sit down without my feet throbbing.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he says, trailing behind you into the living room. “Because when you leaned over the jukebox earlier, I swear I saw—”

“—Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm. “I was picking a song.”

“You were bending the laws of nature, muneca.”

You plop onto the couch and toss a pillow at him.

He catches it easily, eyes dancing.

And then he sits.

Close. Closer than necessary.

Your knees touch.

And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

His hand brushes yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then it stays.

“I keep telling myself not to do this,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

You tilt your head. “Then don’t.”

Pedro looks at you.

Long. Direct. Hungry.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow.

His lips soft, searching. No rush. No agenda.

But your hand slides into his hair and his body shifts, just a little, and suddenly—

His other hand is on your thigh, gripping it.

You gasp into his mouth, and it makes him groan. A low, broken sound, like he’s been trying not to make it for weeks.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You started it,” you whisper, breathless.

His tongue traces your bottom lip. “Don’t remind me.”

He pushes you back into the couch cushions, one knee slipping between yours, just enough weight to make you feel it.

You arch beneath him. Hips rising—seeking.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

Your hair’s messy, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, voice low. “You know that?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re not bad either, old man.”

He huffed a laugh—and kissed you harder.

You end up straddling him, your hands under his shirt, his teeth grazing your neck. You whisper something shameless into his ear and he freezes, groaning into your shoulder like you just ruined his life.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it,” you say, biting back a smile.

“Too much.”

It doesn’t go any further.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Not because you don’t.

But because there’s something delicious about stopping here. Something about the ache. The tease.

 1:41 a.m. your apartment

You don’t get off his lap.

Even after the kissing slows. Even after his hand stills on your thigh and his breath evens out against your collarbone.

You just lean into him, cheek resting against the warm curve of his neck, and say:

“So what’s your comfort movie?”

Pedro chuckles, a low, content sound. His hands stay on you—one lightly tracing your waist, the other cradling your knee.

“You want comfort?” he murmurs. “I watched Paddington 2 three times in a row on a flight once. I cried. Full grown man. Tears.”

You sit up just enough to look at him. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

You grin, brushing your nose against his. “Mine’s Coraline. I know it’s for kids. Don’t care.”

“Oh, I respect that,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Creepy doll button eyes? That’s some formative trauma.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Exactly.”

The conversation drifts.

From movies to music, then weird dreams, then the worst job he ever had (you make him promise never to do commercials for adult diapers), and the story of your first kiss (in a movie theater during a Marvel sequel, popcorn still in your braces).

You fall asleep like that for a while.

Wrapped around him. The TV is still on. His hoodie swallowing your frame.

It’s not a sleepover. But it’s the kind of night you only have when the flirting has already cracked open into something more dangerous—something real.

5:07 a.m. 

He kisses you again on the sidewalk, slow and tired and a little reluctant.

The Uber’s headlights bounce off the curb.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your hip.

You raise your brows. “You’d behave?”

“No.”

“Then go home.”

Pedro grins, teeth sharp in the early morning haze. “I hate that you’re right.”

“You love that I’m right.”

He kisses your forehead. “Text me when you wake up, cariño.”

Then he climbs into the car and disappears into the fading dark.

Later

You you looked like a mess when you left was kind of hot

Pedro don’t start i walked into my kitchen like a teenager head against the fridge door. dramatic sigh.

You “what is she doing to meee…”

Pedro don’t mock the broken man

You it’s cute I kinda like breaking you

Pedro yeah i could tell you were smiling while you ruined me

You and you didn’t stop me

Pedro never would

Pedro (real talk though… i haven’t kissed someone like that in years) what are we doing?

You no idea but i don’t really want to stop

Pedro good i’d be pissed if you did

You also i’m watching Paddington 2 tonight thought you should know

Pedro you’re trying to make me fall in love with you

You Trying?

A Few days Later

Pedro okay serious question what’s your go-to coffee order i’m at a café and there are too many words on the menu

You iced oat latte. extra cinnamon. no reason. just vibes. why?

Pedro just wondering what i’ll need to remember when i see you again it’s been a minute you free soon?

You maybe. depends. is this a brunch date disguised as a “casual hang”?

Pedro yes. and i might wear a hat and sunglasses like a criminal

You hot I’ll see you Sunday then

Two Weeks Later

Outside a café, 2:12 p.m.

You’re holding iced coffees, your oversized hoodie tucked into the waistband of biker shorts, and Pedro’s walking beside you—cap pulled low, hoodie up, sunglasses on.

You look like…friends.

Which is the goal.

Except his hand keeps brushing yours.

And when you laugh too hard at something he says about a failed audition back in ‘99, he looks at you like he feels it. Like he wants to bottle it.

You don’t even notice the guy on the opposite sidewalk.

Phone angled low.

The shutter click barely audible.

Another car slows down. Just a beat.

Pedro notices first.

His body tenses next to yours.

You follow his gaze. A pair of figures across the street. Hoodies. Big lenses. Moving fast.

Click click click.

You suck in a breath. “Shit.”

He doesn’t grab your hand.

He can’t.

Instead, he leans in like he’s just whispering something dumb.

“Just keep walking,” he mutters. “Act like you’re annoyed with me.”

You glance up at him. “That’s not hard.”

He grins, tight-lipped. “Atta girl.”

You duck into a bookstore.He buys a random novel and keeps the receipt.

You pretend to browse while your stomach spins.

He brushes his hand against your back briefly as you walk toward the back exit.

“Your face was covered,” he says quietly. “You’re fine.”

But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

You slip your sunglasses on, exhaling.

“I knew this might happen,” you mutter. “Still sucks.”

Pedro looks at you for a second too long. Then, under his breath:

“If anything ever actually comes out…I’ll handle it.”

You nod.

But it hangs there. Heavy.

You’re still you. Still just 23. Still not used to this world he lives in.

But the part that makes your pulse spike isn’t fear.

It’s the way his voice dipped when he said “I’ll handle it.”

Like he already decided he would.

Like you weren’t just a girl from a raffle anymore.

Pedro they didn’t get anything you’re safe

You you sure?

Pedro i’ve done this a long time if they had something good it’d be online already trust me

You i do just didn’t expect it to feel that...real

Pedro it is real at least for me

You i know. me too.

Pedro next time no public sidewalks just you my place pizza and zero danger

You and maybe another dramatic sigh against your fridge?

Pedro oh i’m already practicing i’ll be thinking about you all week

You good maybe i’ll make you wait again

Pedro maybe i’ll let you

Few More Days Later

You i just bombed my stats exam tell my family i died doing what i hated

Pedro nooooo not stats not you :(

You i’m so tired i might actually cry in the campus parking lot like a teen drama character

Pedro you want company or silence? or pizza? or a forehead kiss?

You omg

You that last one just made my brain short circuit is that allowed???

Pedro it is if you want it to be offer still stands come over i’ll put on something dumb and hold you until your brain restarts

You you’re dangerous give me an hour

That night — 8:13 p.m. 

Pedro’s apartment.

The kitchen smells like garlic and fresh basil.

Pedro’s in front of the stove in a worn tee and joggers, barefoot, stirring pasta like this is just…normal. Like you always do this. Like he wasn’t in a galaxy far, far away a few months ago while you were still writing essays in the library, humming through AirPods.

“You ever cook for girls like this?” you tease lightly, watching from the counter stool.

Pedro smirks without turning around. “Not girls who make me nervous.”

You blink.

He glances back at you. “Just being honest.”

You open your mouth—then close it again.

Your throat’s warm. So is your chest. Your fingertips tingle against the glass of red wine in your hand.

The rest of the night unfurls gently. Like a held breath being let out.

He makes a simple pasta with veggies. You help slice strawberries for a little balsamic-glazed dessert (“This is so extra,” you laugh, and he just shrugs—“You deserve extra”).

You eat on the couch with the coffee table dragged closer, your knees brushing under the bowls.

Music plays low. Something acoustic and nostalgic.

His hand rests on your leg, casual but firm.

Yours finds his thigh a little later.

You’re sitting sideways in his lap again, back to his chest, your cheek against his jaw. He smells like citrus body wash and red wine and something inherently him.

His hands haven’t left you all night.

Thumb tracing slow lines into the top of your thigh. Fingertips under your hoodie hem.

He kisses your shoulder. Then your jaw.

You hum softly, turning your face toward his. He doesn’t hesitate.

The kiss starts easy. Then deeper.

And deeper.

You straddle him this time, your knees pressing into the couch cushions, your hands in his hair. His grip tightens around your hips—then softens again, like he’s reminding himself to slow down.

There’s heat. So much heat.

You shift against him, just slightly—and feel him underneath you.

He breathes hard into your mouth, breaking the kiss. “Wait—wait.”

Your foreheads press together.

You blink. “Did I do something—?”

Pedro shakes his head fast. “No, no. God, no. You’re perfect.”

You’re quiet. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I just…” he swallows, “don’t want this to be fast. I want it to be right.”

You exhale, your nose brushing his. “Okay.”

He looks at you—tender, serious. “You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You trust me?”

Pedro leans forward and kisses you again, slower this time. His hands stay on your waist. Yours trail up the back of his neck.

Then he says the most dangerous thing of all:

“Stay tonight.”

You borrow one of his tees and wash your face in his sink with the cleanser he shyly offers you.

The bed’s big and warm. You climb in beside him, and he pulls you close, one arm under your shoulders, the other across your waist.

Neither of you says much.

But when you whisper, “You smell like something familiar,” he smiles into your hair.

And when he murmurs, “I like having you here,” you smile too.

You fall asleep curled up against him. No more nerves. No more pretending this is just for fun.

It’s not the night everything happened.

But it’s the night everything changed.

The Next Morning — 9:12 a.m.

You wake up warm.

Pressed against a solid chest, one of Pedro’s hands heavy over your waist, his breath slow and deep against the back of your neck.

It takes you a second to remember where you are.

The smell of his sheets. The weight of his arm. The stretch of your legs tangled with his.

Then it hits you.

Last night. Dinner. That kiss. Him asking you to stay.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake him.

But you feel him stir behind you.

His voice is a slow, rough murmur in your ear. “Morning.”

You twist in his arms to face him. His hair’s messy. His eyes are sleepy, half-lidded. There’s a small smile on his mouth that makes your heart kick like a rabbit.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He leans in and kisses you—soft at first. Barely there.

But then he kisses you again, firmer this time. Longer.

And it doesn’t feel sleepy anymore.

It feels like wanting.

Pedro’s hand moves under your shirt, smoothing up your back, dragging his fingers up your spine. You sigh into his mouth as you press your chest against his, your body already buzzing.

He rolls gently onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles just beneath the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt.

“You okay?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes search yours. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say, clear and certain. “I really want to.”

That’s all he needs.

He sits up, kisses you again—this time with intent. His hands slip under your shirt fully now, dragging it up over your head and off.

Pedro pauses when he sees you.

Like he’s trying to remember every inch.

“God,” he breathes, hands sliding up your waist to cup your chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You shiver as his thumbs graze your nipples. You shift forward, rolling your hips against his just a little, and feel him hard underneath you.

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, tugging his shirt off too.

It’s slow. He treats your body like something worth learning.

Mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue dipping below your breasts.

He lays you back and kisses down your stomach, looking up at you the whole time like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

You arch for him, tug his hand between your thighs.

Pedro groans when he finds you wet.

“So ready for me,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “Jesus, baby…”

He touches you slowly, gently, working you open with his fingers until you're panting, until you're grabbing at his hair and whispering his name like it's the only word that matters.

Then he comes back up and kisses you again—deep, messy, tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers stay between your legs, stroking you through every soft sound you make.

“You like that?” he breathes.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulder. “Yeah. God, Pedro—”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You smile shakily. “I’ll tell you if it’s not enough.”

When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow.

Painfully slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch of it. Like he wants to feel you—wrapped around him, holding him, trusting him.

You gasp. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

“You okay?”

You nod, hand fisting the sheets. “Keep going. Please.”

Pedro groans, deeper this time, and begins to move.

It’s not fast. It’s not rough.

But it’s intense.

Every roll of his hips is deliberate, slow and deep, the kind of rhythm that builds unbearable heat between your legs. He stays close, his chest brushing yours, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip like he needs to anchor himself there.

You moan into his mouth. “Pedro—oh my god—”

“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, tilting your hips to take him deeper. The change makes you gasp—your whole body tightening around him.

He curses, thrusts harder once, then slows again, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

“Not gonna last,” he groans into your neck. “You’re too good—fuck—”

You cling to him, mouth at his ear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He fucks you through it—slow, patient, like he’s memorizing you.

Until you come with a cry, back arching, legs trembling.

And then he lets go.

Buried deep inside you, his arms locked tight around your body, he shudders with a groan that sounds almost broken.

Pedro lies beside you, one hand still tracing circles over your bare back.

You’re tucked into his side, head on his chest, your body boneless and warm and aching in all the right ways.

He kisses the top of your head.

You murmur, “So…”

“So?” he echoes softly.

“I don’t want to leave.”

He smiles. “Then don’t.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze.

“Okay.”

10:36 a.m.

The bedroom’s quiet, dim with late morning light.

Pedro’s hand is still on your back, fingers idly tracing slow, lazy shapes like he doesn’t want to break the silence. You’re sprawled across his chest with your leg slung over his hip, still tangled in sheets and sleep and warmth.

You murmur, “My thighs hurt.”

Pedro laughs softly under you. “That’s a good sign, right?”

You pinch his side gently, but you’re smiling. “You’re annoying.”

He kisses your hair. “You’re glowing.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“Same thing.”

You hum, turning your face into his neck. “We should get up.”

“We don’t have to.”

“We will eventually.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m making coffee and putting on music and not wearing pants, so. Prepare yourself.”

You brush your teeth side-by-side in front of the mirror, barefoot and rumpled. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips. You’re in one of his big, soft shirts that barely covers your ass.

Pedro spits, then wipes his mouth and gestures toward your reflection. “You’re doing the ‘walk of shame’ all wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

He steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. You’re supposed to sneak out. Look flustered. Not stand here looking like a smug little goddess.”

You lean back into him. “I can sneak if you want.”

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, mouth at your ear. “Don’t you dare.”

You perch on the counter while Pedro makes eggs and toasts thick slices of sourdough. Coffee gurgles in the French press. Music hums low from a Bluetooth speaker—Fleetwood Mac, or maybe The Rolling Stones, something vintage and cozy and a little flirtatious.

He hands you a piece of toast like it’s a peace offering.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmur between bites.

He shrugs. “You stayed the night. That earns you toast rights.”

“What else does it earn me?”

Pedro leans on the counter next to you, pretending to think. “More coffee. Back rubs. The good chocolate from the top shelf. Maybe a foot rub if you beg.”

You laugh.

But he watches you for a second, quiet, eyes soft.

Then, a little more serious, he says, “You’re okay? With last night?”

You nod right away. “Of course I am.”

“You don’t feel—like it was too fast?”

You pause. “No. Do you?”

He looks away for a second. Then back at you.

“No. I just… I don't want to mess this up.”

Your heart thumps.

“You’re not,” you say, and it’s true. “I like being here. With you.”

Pedro steps closer. Kisses you on the forehead.

“You make me feel lucky,” he murmurs. “Like… really lucky.”

You hide your face in his shoulder, smiling into his shirt. “Sappy.”

“You love it.”

“I kinda do.”

You end up back in bed with the window open and your coffee cups half-full on the nightstand.

You scroll through your phone lazily while Pedro reads a book beside you, one hand resting on your thigh like he just needs to be touching you, even when he’s distracted.

Eventually, he sets the book down and watches you instead.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “let me take you out properly. Like a real date.”

You glance up. “Like…in public?”

He nods, hesitating. “If you want. I can be careful. Private table. Back entrance.”

You study him for a beat.

Then smile.

“Okay.”

He exhales, slow and relieved. Pulls you toward him.

And it hits you—how easy this could be. How dangerous. How close you already feel to something you shouldn’t want this badly.

But you let him kiss you again.

Because right now?

You just want more.

Pedro 🍯 Friday night okay for our scandalous outing?

You depends will there be food? and you opening doors for me like a gentleman?

Pedro 🍯 I’d open every door in LA for you even the ones I’m not supposed to

You that’s hot okay I’m in what’s the dress code? do I need to look famous?

Pedro 🍯 You are famous. In my phone. In my bed. In my head. But no—look like yourself. That’s what I like.

You you’re lucky you’re cute I’ll give you flirty and effortless

Pedro 🍯 It’s a look that destroys me every time

 Friday Night – 8:04 PM

Private restaurant in West Hollywood

The hostess barely glances at you as she leads you down a narrow hallway to the back, where the lights are low and the table is tucked away in a cozy, dim corner.

Pedro’s already there, standing when he sees you. Black dress shirt, a little open at the collar. Trim beard. That soft smile that’s reserved for you now.

He says, “Wow,” under his breath when he sees you.

You grin. “That’s what you were waiting for?”

“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But it’s a damn good bonus.”

He pulls your chair out for you, brushes his fingers down your arm as you sit. The tension’s quiet but buzzing. This isn’t like being at his apartment in sweats and bare legs. This is real.

The waiter arrives quickly—Pedro’s arranged everything. Wine’s already poured. A cheese plate. You’re grateful, because you’re nervous.

“Not what you expected?” he asks, eyes warm.

“It’s nice,” you say. “Just… kinda crazy. We’re really out.”

He leans in, voice low. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I want to.”

You talk about movies. About food. He asks about your classes. You ask about scripts he’s reading. It’s easy, even with the candlelight and clinking glasses and murmurs behind you.

But at one point, you feel someone glance toward the corner—just a shift, a flick of someone’s head.

You both go still.

Pedro reaches across the table and touches your hand, thumb brushing the back of your fingers.

“Don’t look,” he says gently. “They won’t get anything.”

You nod, swallowing.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

His grip tightens slightly.

“So am I.”

Outside the restaurant

Pedro’s car pulls around to the back entrance just like he’d asked. You both slip out quietly, sunglasses on—even though it’s dark—and hoods up. The manager gave him a discreet nod on the way out, like this wasn’t his first time protecting someone.

Once you’re in the car, doors shut, windows up, and seat belts clicked… he finally exhales.

You laugh a little, heart still racing. “That was weird.”

“It was,” he agrees, starting the engine. “But not terrible, right?”

You glance at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been watched while eating cheese.”

Pedro grins. “To be fair, you looked very hot doing it.”

You nudge his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

You do.

 10:05 PM – His Apartment

He lets you in first. The lights are soft. The space smells like bergamot and whatever cologne still clings to his jacket.

You take your shoes off by the door without thinking. He shrugs out of his coat, throws it on the back of the couch. His shirt’s still half-unbuttoned.

“Wine?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just water.”

Pedro nods and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the fridge. You trail behind him, watching the lines of his back move beneath the dark cotton of his shirt.

When he turns, you’re sitting on top of the counter, arms crossed.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently, handing you the glass.

You take a sip. “Just thinking.”

He nods. Waits.

You hesitate. Then, “Do you worry? About people knowing?”

He pauses. Then crosses to stand in front of you, leaning back on the opposite counter, arms loosely folded.

“I do,” he says honestly. “Not because I’m ashamed. I just… I know how people talk. And I don’t want them to get it wrong.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He watches you.

“I also don’t want to stop seeing you,” he adds softly. “So I guess I’ll figure it out.”

That makes your stomach flip.

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” you ask. “This?”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. Then he shook it.

“No. Not when you look at me like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

Pedro smiles a little. “Like I’m not just some actor you had a crush on once. Like I’m… real.”

You don’t say anything, but you take a step forward. So does he.

Your hand lands gently on his chest.

“I like the real you,” you say. “Even when you’re dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

“You literally made an escape plan for dinner.”

He chuckles in a low tone. “Fair.”

Your fingers hook at the collar of his shirt.

“Can I stay again?”

Pedro leans down and presses his forehead to yours.

“Please do.”

Pedro steps between your legs, his palms firm against your thighs, slowly sliding up under the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches at your hips, but neither of you cares. You’ve kissed him before, but not like this—not when everything feels like it might break open if you dare to go a little further.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, lips brushing just below your ear as his hands roam.

Your breath catches. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wore that dress.”

You tilt your head. “You told me to.”

He smirks. “Yeah. My own damn fault.”

His mouth is on yours again—hot, unrelenting. The kiss turns hungrier. You moan into it when he presses closer, the hard line of him slotting between your thighs.

His hands are greedy now, tracing the backs of your thighs, then cupping your ass, pulling you forward against him. Your hips grind instinctively. He groans into your mouth, like he’s trying to hold back but failing.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—Jesus—”

One of his hands slips around to your front, dragging his fingers between your legs over your panties. He feels how warm you are, how soaked the fabric is. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and full of heat.

“This all for me, baby?”

You nod, lips parted. “Been like that since dinner.”

He lets out a low, guttural sound and presses the heel of his hand right where you’re throbbing. You roll your hips against it, helpless. Your legs tighten around his waist as your back arches into him.

Pedro leans in, his voice ragged. “You want me to touch you?”

You barely manage a breathy, “Yes.”

His fingers hook into your panties, dragging them to the side. And then he touches you—slowly, carefully—like he’s trying to memorize every reaction. The pad of his middle finger slides through your slick folds, circling your clit just once.

You jerk slightly, gasping.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”

You try to kiss him again, but he teases you, keeping his lips just out of reach. His fingers move lower, pressing gently at your entrance. He slips one inside, slow but sure.

Your head falls back. “Pedro—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, curling them just right. “You feel fuckin’ incredible.”

You rock your hips in time with his rhythm, your moans filling the quiet kitchen. The counter is cool beneath your thighs, but you’re burning everywhere else—chest flushed, heart racing.

Pedro leans in and kisses the underside of your jaw, then your neck, his voice hot and gravelly against your skin. “I wanna see you come like this. Just like this.”

You grip his shoulders, legs trembling slightly as the pressure builds. He keeps his thumb on your clit, circling it in time with every curl of his fingers.

“Fuck—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I won’t, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

It hits fast. Your hips stutter, mouth falling open in a whimper as you come around his fingers, clenching tight while he keeps working you through it. He watches every second of it, like he’s completely wrecked by the sight of you falling apart in his hands.

When it’s too much, you grab his wrist, panting. “Okay. Okay—”

He kisses you then, deep and messy and full of hunger. You taste yourself on his tongue, and somehow that just makes it hotter.

“Next time,” he murmurs against your lips, voice full of promise, “it’s gonna be in bed. And I’m not gonna stop until you beg.”

You smile, still breathless. “Who says I won’t beg right here?”

He laughs softly, tucks your hair behind your ear, and leans his forehead against yours. “You’re trouble.”

“You like it.”

Pedro hums, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I really do.”

Pedro kisses you again—more urgently this time, like he’s chasing the taste of your moan. You’re still coming down from your high, but he’s nowhere near finished. His hand strokes down your thigh, then back up slowly, deliberately. His lips drag down your neck to your collarbone, tongue flicking over the skin as he murmurs, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

You squirm in his grip, panting softly. “Pedro…”

He groans when you say his name like that, like a plea. His hands slip under your thighs, and in one swift, effortless movement, he lifts you from the counter and carries you into the living room. He lays you out gently on the couch, kneeling between your legs, spreading them with his hands.

Your dress is still bunched around your hips. Your panties are crooked, barely hanging on.

Pedro looks down at you—lips swollen, legs open for him, pupils blown wide. “You want more?”

You nod, voice shaky. “I—I want your mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He leans in, dragging your panties down your legs slowly, deliberately. You watch him with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. He kisses the inside of your thigh first—soft, reverent—then bites, just a little, enough to make you whimper.

And then he licks you.

It starts slow—his tongue parting your folds, gentle strokes that make you arch your back. But he doesn’t stay soft for long. He groans into you like he’s starving, hands gripping your thighs as he locks you in place and sucks hard on your clit. Your hips jerk up, and he just tightens his grip, flattening his tongue and dragging it slowly up and down before circling your entrance.

You’re already close again.

“Pedro, fuck—oh my God—”

He looks up at you, mouth shiny, eyes wild. “Come again for me. Just like this.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself while he devours you. He slides one finger back inside you, then another, curling them just right as his tongue works your clit. You fall apart again—loud, shaking, hips grinding against his mouth as you come harder than before.

You feel him groan when you clench around his fingers. He fucking likes how wrecked you are.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless and trembling. He kisses your inner thigh one more time before leaning over you, lips slick with you, eyes blown wide.

You reach for him, cupping him through his sweats. He’s rock hard and twitching under your palm. “Your turn.”

He swears under his breath, grinding into your hand. “I’ve been dying since you walked in.”

You tug the waistband of his slacks down. He helps, finally freeing himself—and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

Pedro watches your face as you stroke him slowly, teasing him the way he teased you.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” you ask, sweet and soft.

He groans low. “Not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

But he lets you guide him on top of you, your thighs still slick and spread. You rub his tip against your folds, not letting him in—just grinding, coating him in your arousal. You both moan at the contact.

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, hips moving in slow, desperate circles.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters.

You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, your voice a whisper against his jaw. “Next time, you’re gonna fuck me for real.”

Pedro pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “This isn’t even close to done, sweetheart.”

He ruts against you again, both of you panting now, bodies slick and sticky. He kisses you—deep and messy—as he comes against your stomach with a groan, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

You lie there together, tangled and panting, the whole room humming with the tension that still lingers.

Pedro finally exhales a breathy laugh. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

You grin, heart racing. “Big, big trouble.”

He kisses your shoulder and smiles into your skin. “Worth it.”

You’re curled up in Pedro’s bed again, half-asleep with your cheek against his chest, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on your back.

He shifts a little beneath you, reaches over with a yawn to grab his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lights up.

Then he goes still.

You feel it before you hear it—his body tensing just enough to draw your attention.

You peek up at him. “Everything okay?”

Pedro doesn’t answer right away. He swipes through something on his phone with a sharp breath through his nose, then hands it to you silently.

Your stomach flips.

It’s Twitter.

A photo. Grainy, long-lens, obviously taken from across the street.

Pedro Pascal on a late-night coffee date?He’s walking beside you on the sidewalk. His hood is up, and yours is too. Your face is angled down, half-covered by your oversized scarf. But it’s undeniably him.

His hand is on the small of your back. Gentle. Familiar.

The photo already has over 80k likes.

“Shit,” you whisper, sitting up a little.

Pedro watches you carefully. “Your face isn’t in it. You’re okay.”

“I mean… yeah, but people are gonna figure it out, aren’t they?” You hand him the phone, heart thudding.

There are already hundreds of quote tweets. Gossip accounts, stan edits, comments like:

“whoever she is… I fear I’m her now” “idk who she is but I know she smells like vanilla and reads poetry” “Pedro Pascal out on a date???? Real man hours” “y’all think this is PR? 😭”

You fall back into the pillows, groaning into the sheets. “I literally had exams yesterday. I was studying in a hoodie like twelve hours ago.”

Pedro chuckles softly. “And now you’re an anonymous femme fatale. Wild.”

You glance over at him. “This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Not really.” He reaches out, brushing your hair back. “I’ve been through worse. You okay, though?”

“I mean…” You sit up, wrapping the sheet around yourself. “I didn’t think this was gonna get real like that. That fast.”

Pedro watches you quietly for a moment. Then he reaches for your hand.

“We don’t have to rush anything. If you want to pull back, stay private, disappear for a bit, we can do that. But I also—” He pauses, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I like this. You and me. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

You soften. “I don’t want that either.”

“Then we play it smart.” He smiles a little. “Let them talk. They don’t know anything.”

You squeeze his hand. “Okay. But if I get doxxed by a thirteen-year-old running a fan cam account…”

“I’ll delete the internet for you.”

You laugh, and he leans over to kiss your temple.

Just like that, the tension fades a little. Not gone, not really, but tucked away beside the coffee cups and slow mornings and quiet confessions in bed.

You wake up later to the smell of butter and fresh coffee.

The space in bed beside you is empty, but warm. Sunlight spills through the curtains in long strips, cutting across the crumpled sheets and your bare legs. You stretch slowly, sore in the sweetest way, your body still humming from the night before.

You find Pedro in the kitchen, barefoot in his plaid pajama pants, the ones with a little rip near the pocket. He’s focused on the skillet in front of him, brows furrowed, spatula in hand like he’s trying to win an award for best boyfriend breakfast.

You linger in the doorway, quietly watching him like you’re afraid saying his name will break the spell.

He turns at just the right moment, catching you with a sleepy smile.

“Well, good morning, mystery girl.”

You grin. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? You are a mystery.” He gestures to the open laptop on the kitchen counter. “You’re trending.”

Your stomach dips. “So it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

Pedro nods. “Hashtag 'Pedro Pascal Date Night' has entered the chat.”

You groan and pad into the room, barefoot in his T-shirt, curling your arms around his waist from behind. “This is so surreal.”

He leans back into you just enough to kiss your knuckles. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Nothing changes that.”

You rest your cheek against his back. “I know, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it to feel this big.”

Pedro turns gently in your arms and cups your face with those warm, capable hands. “Then let’s keep it small. Just you and me in this kitchen. My bad pancakes. Your bedhead. The rest can wait.”

You nod. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like that.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting at the little dining table while he plates the eggs, toast, and strawberries in a way that’s oddly charming and not very symmetrical. He brings you your coffee just the way you like it—too much cream, not enough sugar.

“God,” you say, taking a sip. “This is dangerously domestic.”

Pedro raises an eyebrow, settling across from you. “Dangerous?”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I’m into it.”

He lets out a low laugh. “You have no idea how into you I am.”

You pause, caught off guard by how easily he says it. How it doesn’t scare you the way you thought it would.

After a beat, you lean across the table and whisper, “So what happens next?”

Pedro reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it like it’s second nature.

“Whatever you want,” he says. “We will figure it out. Together.”

And there it is again—that quiet thrum of something honest. Something with roots.

Hope.

divider by @/cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @millersdoll @inbred-eater @thezatannaprint @stvrl1ghtt123 @umadirectioner @aj0elap0l0gist @heather81 @subconsciouscollapse @catch1ngmoths @littlemillersbaby @lizziesfirstwife @amyispxnk

[sunshineangel0]

can’t even make it in before they cum ! (maknae line)

i present: stray kids cumming before they’re even fully inside you because they missed you so fucking bad - part two !

genre: pure smut, nsfw, minors do not interact please word count: 450~ish warnings: unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, overstimulation, begging, filthy language, possessiveness, post-tour desperation, crying, creampies a/n: continuation of the needy gal chronicles. stray kids as pussy drunk (hot) losers just does it for me.

HAN JISUNG this man is a disaster. you open the door and he’s kissing you, tripping over his own feet, dropping his bag and already whining about how bad he needs you. he gets one pump in and then just loses it. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it—fuck, i didn’t even move yet.” collapses onto you like a man undone, whispering filthy apologies as he twitches inside your pussy. “you’re so warm, i swear you’re something else.” after a little break and maybe some snacks, he’s back in action, harder, needier, and determined to make you finish and forget how fast he blew it.

LEE FELIX felix tries. he really tries. he paces around the hotel room when you surprise visit him on tour, muttering to himself, “don’t cum like a loser, don’t cum like a loser,” but the second he feels your pussy hug his cock he just folds. eyes wide, mouth open in a silent moan, he stills completely—just dumps a whole load inside without a single thrust. “i’m so sorry, angel. i didn’t mean to, i swear—please let me stay inside. i can go again, i promise.” he’s genuinely upset about it until you start teasing him, and then it becomes a mission. mission: cum more times than you can count. spoiler: he succeeds.

KIM SEUNGMIN he acts like he’s gonna tease you, like he’s got control, telling you to beg, to show him how bad you missed it. but the second his cock kisses your entrance, that smug look cracks. he shudders hard and lets out this broken moan before slamming into you with one sharp thrust and just unloads. “fuck, you don’t know what you do to me,” as he keeps rocking into you even while cumming, your walls squeezing every last drop out of him. he won’t admit it, but he loves how quickly he falls apart for you. and yes, he absolutely makes you cum on his tongue before he even thinks about going again.

YANG JEONGIN jeongin gets overwhelmed. you’re in nothing but one of his old hoodies, all cute and clingy, and he’s already hard before you even kiss him. he whines the second your thighs part, palms sweaty, cock twitching. “just the tip, just for a second, i swear—” and then boom. he’s whimpering, hips jerking, cum pouring into you before he even fully sinks in. looks up at you with big guilty eyes, cock still trying to nudge deeper like it’s not already done. “wait, let me go again. i can do better, promise.” and he does. four rounds later.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub @slut4junho @bobaluvzz @channiesbaby1433 @wonniesjungdimple @yxna-bliss @m-325 @rockstarkkami @felixleftchickennugget @oceanz7 @seungminsbest @fackeraccount @takuoshuji @xoxomanicpanic @catsforlife6864 @lezleeferguson-120 @angellcvkes @lezleeferguson-120 @doliveiraa @breakmeoff

[sy4luvs]

SYLUS PROMPT ! — @sy4luvs

cw — fluff, more fluff. Did i mention fluff? kissing, consensual king sylus, pet names, a little suggestive at the end >3<

it was a merely an observation, but sylus noticed that throughout your entire three months of dating, you haven’t kissed once. sure there was the small pecks on his or your cheek. the small lingering kisses on your forehead or the occasional open mouthed kisses on your neck while you stood in his kitchen, either cooking or cleaning. he wasn’t one to be pushy, no, he wanted you to feel comfortable and he wanted you to initiate a kiss.

after all sylus was a patient man, a very patient man you’ve noticed. whenever you made small mistakes, forget your keys inside your apartment or remember you were supposed to buy something late at night, he just smiled helping as best as he could.

you were laying on his couch, legs on his lap, head propped up on your hand on the back of the couch while lazily scrolling through social media. sylus was absentmindedly massaging your sore feet from walking around all day, his gaze fixated on you. “take a picture it will last longer sy” you breathed out a laugh, finally looking up from the device in your hand. sylus smirked, grabbing your phone, pointing it towards you. “my my, look at my beautiful girl, what a sight for sore eyes” he sighed dramatically holding the camera closer to your face.

you giggled trying to snatch your phone out of his hand again. “stoppp!! i look like a mes” you whined, suddenly noticing he had pulled you in his lap with his evol. “you look beautiful, like you always do” sylus grinned before handing you back your phone. you felt shy under his intense gaze, averting his eyes with a small blush decorating your cheeks. “you’re not too bad yourself” you mumbled, playing with the strings of his sweatpants. “oh what was that? couldn’t quite hear you kitten” he was so smug, enjoying how shy you get whenever you sat on his lap, or he held eye contact.

“you’re so mean to me” you pouted.

“i could never be mean to my pretty princess”

“you’re purposely doing this” he smiled when you finally looked at those ruby eyes of his. your eyes flickered down to his lips for a second before holding his gaze again. “can’t blame me, when you’re reacting so cute to my teasing y/n” it should feel illegal how beautiful your name sounded from his lips. maybe, you felt a little bolder than you were, because you leaned closer holding his cheek in your hand. his hands instantly tightened around your waist, leaning a bit closer, letting your breaths mingle. you finally laid your lips on his, your cheeks red, as sylus started moving his lips in sync with you.

sparks erupted in the pits of your stomach your other hand coming up to hold his face in your hands completely. the kiss was so soft, so tender. sylus didn’t rush, didn’t even let his hands roam your body. even though he wanted to so badly, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. you pulled away locking eyes with him, cheeks burning while you stroked his cheeks, admiring his face - that looked like an art piece hung in an museum. “i have been waiting for you to kiss me kitten..” he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble, one of his hands coming up to caress your cheek. your head titled in confusion. “why didn’t you just kiss me sy, your my boyfriend after all”

sylus smiled, shaking his head. “i didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, baby. i needed to know you wanted it just as bad as i did.” you didn’t know this man could become even sexier than he already was. “oh god if i wasn’t so shy, i’d have you deep down my throat” sylus laughed, his head shaking in disbelief. “kitten don’t start something we both know you can’t finish.”

“i could help you finish-“

“please for the sake of our combined sanity, stop talking” you giggled laying down on his chest. happier than you have ever been. sylus ran his fingers through your hair, heart rapidly beating in his chest.

his beautiful girl finally kissed him.

side note: sigh i love this man so much…. lmk what you think! if my grammar is a bit off, excuse me, English is not my native language 😭