#through a brazen mirror

[books-coffee-and-the-woods]

Started this book in the bath. I'm enjoying it more than my last two reads, so hopefully this is an end to the pattern of reading a book for a week and then DNFing it!

[trvthservm]

let’s talk virgin!geto who might be inexperienced but knows what he wants.

you both have been dating for a good few months, early years of college and can’t get your hands off each other. he’s the sweetest boyfriend you could ask for, possessive sure but he always treats you right. it’s one of his first serious relationships while you had dated around before, plenty of experience up your sleeve. he makes sure to kiss your forehead, carry an extra jacket because he knows you will get cold and drives you around the city on his bike.

geto who’s ears are completely red when you spend the night with him for the first time ever. he made sure to kick his roommate out so he could have his complete attention on you. he cooks you your favourite meal and has your favourite rom com waiting to play on the television but deep down inside he’s busy thinking about how you look underneath all your clothes.

it’s not like you haven’t touched each other before. you find yourself often pushed against the library wall with geto’s pierced tongue in your mouth, his tattooed hand travelling under your top to play with your breasts. more than once you’ve been caught by a fellow student who had the misfortune of witnessing your very public display of affection instead of a physics textbook.

so when you are in his flat, hips straddling his thighs on his old couch, geto almost moans out loud. he watches you as you grind your ass against his clothed cock, not innocent on his side when he intentionally wore grey sweats. “slow do— fuck! slower! baby” he groans as your gyrating hips make him leak through, the friction between your shorts and his sweats enough to make his eyes roll back.

when he carries you to his bed and lies you flat, it’s like a dream come true. you pull down your shorts and stop, inviting him to do the rest. geto does not need anything more to use his pearly white teeth to drag your pretty black panties leaving it to hang around your ankle. he can’t afford to wait when all he has ever dreamed off is spread open waiting for him.

you look up to him with glossy eyes and your lip tucked under your teeth when you hear him say the words — “i have never done this before.”

confused you get up, supporting your body on your elbows. he looks away turning red at his own brazen admission, and only looks at you when you pull down his sweats to help release his girthy cock, precum beading at the tip. he groans when your much smaller hands begin to jerk him off, cooing about how good he is being for you. there’s a teasing tilt to your tone because it’s not everyday you learn your hot boyfriend is a secret virgin! you continue to jerk him off and tease him for acting tough when he decides can’t take it anymore, the way you talk to him like he’s too innocent to touch you back.

geto shows you that despite being your good boy, he can make you eat your shit eating grin when he pins your thighs down. his mouth is on your dripping cunt, tongue licking your clit in slow circles. he does not stop when you cum on his face, he does not stop to take a break when his ringed fingers enter your wet entrance, squishing and squelching echoing throughout. he does not stop until there’s a ring of your cream that parallels the silver rings he wears and the lower half of his face painted with your slick juices.

you don’t start worrying until he picks you up and holds your legs open in front of his full length mirror so he can slip his heavy cock past your spread folds and just to say, “fuck baby, wanted my first time to be in missionary looking at your pretty face but i think full nelson might be better for your bratty pussy.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

[princesssmars]

she gon’ eat this pussy up cause it’s sweet!

yet another boxer!vi x reader

p.i - p.ii

wc : 3.310

contains : fxf. fem!reader. hair and skin tone not described. fluff. some jealousy made up by hotel sex. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). they both want that cookie so bad.

a/n : they keep getting longer help me. i already have kind of an idea of the next part in my brain because the day after i started this i had the horniest dream ever so i'll just write that out. here's the position if you can't get the logistics down ik that happens to me lmao. enjoy <3

you never saw yourself as the type to get on a plane at the drop of a hat just to get railed silly by your girlfriend, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself these past few months.

and one thing that’s made itself apparent? you and violet were fucking whipped for each other.

obviously it was to be expected, over six months in and this had been both of your longest relationship yet. you both made the time and effort to make sure it continued to be so, constantly spending quality time together and making sure boundaries were respected and desires were met.

it seemed that as everyday passed your shared devotion just increased tenfold.

as well as your… equal amounts of passion.

it was almost silly to look back and remember how you were so nervous that intimacy would change something in how she saw you. you don’t regret waiting and setting that boundary for yourself, but after the first few times together you really wish you had started sleeping with her earlier.

obviously sex wasn’t the only reason you loved violet. she was an amazing lover in every sense of the word, always ever so affectionate and caring to your physical and emotional well-being. you constantly told her you’re sure her clear superiority at being an older sister made her such a sweetheart, always protecting and looking out for you even when it wasn’t needed.

but it was only a matter of time before vi’s skills and charisma in the ring caught up to her, and before both of you knew it she had greatly increased in popularity to the point she was booking matches in other cities, occasionally leaving you along for weekends when she had to stay overnights to train and perform.

and you over it for the first couple of times. it wasn’t the end of the world when the two do you had to be separated, and when you got lonely there were always other ways you could be there for each other.

“how much longer until your back?”

“aww, don’t tell me my baby’s missing me already?” vi’s mocking voice rings through the receiver, groggy and low after falling asleep an hour prior before you called.

“can you blame me? normally i have you all over me every saturday night like clockwork, now i’m all alone in this bed. in my underwear. alone.”

she chuckled at your brazenness and audibly shifted herself over the phone. “oh yeah? maybe i could help you with that. wouldn’t mind staying up to help you…”

you hum playfully. “then maybe i could give you a visual guide?”

as soon as she hears the incoming face-time call vi’s eyes briefly close in bliss. god, does she adore you.

and of course having vi guide you through masturbating from miles away for the first time is a thrilling experience, but it still leaves a slight ache in your cunt heart to not have her by your side as often as you once did.

but when you saw the radiant look on her face on television after she won a fight, heard the joy in her voice when she called you as soon as she walked off of the platform, you didn’t have it in you to bring up your silly complaints about not having her by your side twenty four seven. she was finally living her dream, and you wouldn’t cause her any worries about balancing it with you.

so you’d shut up, use her flexing mirror pics to get off, and be patient. it shouldn’t be hard, you’re an independent woman and completely secure in your relationship.

well. maybe just independent.

a big company wanted vi as a sponsor and set up a schedule for her to fly out to film promotional material for nearly five weeks. your girlfriend was intuitive, asking you if you were okay with her being gone for so long. you looked at her like she was crazy, telling her she’d have to be insane not to take this chance even if it meant you’d be alone for longer than usual. she seemed unsure, but was still excited about the opportunity and bid you goodbye at the airport with a big kiss and a promise to see you soon.

it was fine, the same daily texting and calls as had happened before. but after a few days she tells you her conversation might be slipping because of some of the extra trainings they’re making her do for the promo. that’s all fine and dandy to you.

until you see it on social media. it starts as a clip of vi hanging out with some of her fellow boxer friends at a club, nothing out of the norm. but going though the comments makes you skip way to around the end of the video, and you feel your eyes burn into your phone when a woman, an admittedly gorgeous woman comes up to the table and sidles up right next to vi in the booth.

honestly, this was nothing new. you’d known since your introduction that woman drew to vi like a magnet. your own friend was starstruck when she talked to the both of you and gave you a very funny passive aggressive message when she found out the two of you were dating. you’d had to deal with desperate fans at her games, begging for a chance to talk to her, touch her, beg her to autograph their chests at one point?

so who you find out to be a fairly famous influencer show up at the same hot spots as your girlfriend who’s over a hundred miles away isn’t surprising. what is surprising is the fact they keep popping up in the same places. you would never for a second think vi would cheat on you. it still doesn’t help quell the little green devil that lives in your chest, though.

its am early friday afternoon in your apartment and you’re scrolling through delivery apps for a quick meal when you see vi’s contact come up at the top of your screen, answering it as soon as you process who’s calling.

“someone’s eager to talk to me.”

“it’s nice to talk to you too, vi. how was your day?”

“it was alright, we just did those pictures and photoshoots today so i got to just stand around and show off my good looks.”

“it is one of your strong suits.” you dryly chuckle and keep scrolling through the food options, battling between pizza or pasta.

“feels better when i have you looking at me, though. you doing anything tonight?”

“nothing much, dining in and watching a movie i guess.”

she hums and is about to say something else but the green ugly devil decided to reach its hand through your body and puppet your mouth for no reason whatsoever.

“you going back to the club tonight?”

“uhhh no, all my friends are busy and i have an early morning tomorrow. why, you feeling left out pretty?”

“what if i was?”its silent once again.

“then what if i did something about it?”

so you’re here, flying through the dark of night thousands of feet in the air and slowly descending to an airport where violet is waiting for you, standing at the pickup area is a very inconspicuous black tracksuit with a black beanie to cover up most of her hair and large black shades. there aren’t words to describe the euphoria you feel being back in her warm embrace, sinking into her arms as she rests her chin on your head.

“i cant believe you really did this. and i cant believe they let you through the airport wearing that.”

“i know, had to give security some autographs. cmon, we’ll go back to the hotel.”

you sit a little too close for safety standards next to vi in the back of the dark suv the company had been lending her for her stay in the city, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other sat innocently on your thigh. well, as innocently as it could be with vi. she wouldnt do anything too crazy with someone driving, but her thick finger did inch towards the gap between your legs a few times.

there’s an unspoken tension as you arrive at vi’s hotel and she takes your bags to lead you up to her room, keeping close to you until you make it through the door and she sets your stuff by the spacious closet.

she had sent you some pictures as soon as she had checked in, but it was still surreal seeing the thing in person. it was big, but it made sense since she was an extended stay on a ‘business’ trip of sorts. you smile seeing the left open chip bag on the desk and one of her favorite movies playing on the television.

you’re brought out of your stupor by a familiar large hand grabbing yours and tugging you over to the plush couch that sits against the end of the bed.

“so, what ‘cha think?”

”you roll your eyes and relax into the chair some more. “i think that you should take these brand deals more often. just make sure to keep brining me along.”

“oh i definitely would, wouldn’t want you feeling jealous again, would we?”

your mouth gapes open as your body sits upright, looking at her defensively as she struggles to hold in her laughter. there’s no denying it with her so you decide to do the mature thing and cross your arms with a pout.

“how do you figure that?”

“because i know people are talking about the influencers that keep showing up to our booths. and i know your best friend told me about your sour mood and threatened to kick my ass over it.”

you sigh and turn your body to hers, resting your leg over her thighs when she makes the motion to pull it over herself. “’m sorry, vi. you know i’d never believe you’d do that. it’s just…”

“it’s just what?” her thumb and forefinger come up to pink your chin and bring your downcast eyes to her attention, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“of course i do. i didn’t wanna complain because everything is going so greatly for you, and i didnt want to make it seem like im unsupportive. i couldnt be prouder of you, vi. it’s just hard not being around you so much. i love our calls and the pictures and everything but its not..its not you.”

her eyes turn soft and she shakes her head before pulling your entire body to rest on her lap, both of her hands coming up to your cheeks to bring you in for a sweet but hard kiss.

she pulls back and peppers some more kisses over your face until you start to laugh, the sound of your laughter always brighting up her day. “i understand, baby. you don’t sound unsupportive, i promise. it’s been hard for me too. i’ve missed you so much when i’ve been gone, you have no idea.”

you gently nod and give a dreamy sigh before sinking into her arms once again, hand coming up to palm at her hair as hers travel to your waist and gently massage up and down your back. you’re content to enjoy the moment until her hands start to skirt lower and lower and suddenly you remember that you’re back in the arms of you’re girlfriend who you haven’t been able to sleep with in literal weeks.

you let out a sharp squeak when her palms travel down to your ass and squeeze you over the fabric of your leggings, head coming do so scarred lips can whisper in your ear.

“how about i show you how much i missed you?”

you’re very glad that its been established you’re both desperate for each other, because otherwise you’d be nothing but embarrassed to be in this position.

you’re starting to feel a slight kink in your neck from staring down at the woman currently eating you out like she’s starving, but when she takes your clit into her mouth and sucks so intensely you throw your head back you briefly think any small amount of pain is worth the pleasure she’s giving to you now.

your arms hold you up on the back part of the couch, one knee resting on the armrest and the other on vi’s thigh so your pussy is right in front of her face for her to get easy access, her hands scooping and pulling you in by your ass and making it impossible for you to back up and avoid the pleasure when it becomes too much.

“vi, nngh, vi,” the only words you can get out are slurred mumbles of her name and curses as her tongue dips down to thrust into you. her nose bridge more than enough to give you stimulation on your clit as she somehow buries her head even further into your cunt and groans into you, the vibrations only driving you crazier.

you whine when she pulls her face away to stare up at you, eyes hungry and sweet like you’re a deity that’s letting her drink freely from the fountain of youth.

“you still jealous, muffin?”

“vi cmon, please keep going, please-”

your mouth gapes wider when she quickly leans down and licks a long strip up and over your clit, pulling away with more of you smeared over her lips than before.

‘fuck, violet,” your head tips back in bliss, concentration slipping as you feel her hot breath ghost across your clit and her eyes trained on your chest as you arch your back.

her fingers clench again and pull your cheeks apart, a little grin gracing her face at your high-pitched gasp at feeling the cool air of the hotel room hitting both of your holes.

“y’know, i seem to recall a certain someone making fun of me for being jealous just a few months ago..”

you groan as she speaks, pushing your hips in a futile attempt to get her to keep eating you out.

“not so fun when its you, huh angel?” her hand travels further up from your behind so her fingers can prod at your entrance, teasing your hole to bring more of those desperate sounds that she loves to pull from deep in your chest. “it’s ok, i know it was hard for you. could see how desperate you were over the phone.”

“i wasn't- oh, shit, i wasn't that needy.”

only about an inch of her ring and middle fingers are shallowly thrusting into you but its enough to drive you wild. its a bit humbling to realize she has you in the palm of her hand already, but you cant find it in you to care.

“tell that to my favorite pillow. swear i thought you were gonna give yourself rug burn last week.”

you drop your head to look at her again and she cant help but laugh at your best attempt at a scowl, eyes droopy and mouth scrunched in the cutest little pout she’s ever seen.

she bites her lip and suddenly pushes her fingers all the way to the hilt inside of you, silently reveling in how she has to hold your body up when your knee beside her starts to wobble.

she thought about teasing you more, holding her fingers in place and not moving until you admitted you were desperate for her, that you needed her. but she was just as desperate for you as you were for her, and when she feels your walls clenching around her combined with you starting to drip down her hand and wrist her brain goes on autopilot and she starts to fuck you at the pace she knows you love best.

in only an instant you're moaning and writhing above her, hips jerking back and forth for friction and your nails digging into the fabric of the sofa. a brief voice in your head tries to remind you that you’re in a hotel and other people can likely hear you, but like she can read your mind vi gives a stern whisper to ‘put it down.’ as soon as you raise your arm to bite into it.

vi lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your immediate obedience to her command and she briefly becomes aware of the arousal that's building between her own legs. she subconsciously starts rubbing her thighs together as she continues to stare up at your body. when your body jolts when she hits that spot deep inside of you she’s afraid she might actually cum in her pants and decides to distract herself by stuffing her face back between your legs.

it often scared you, how amazing vi was at eating pussy. you try not to think about how most of it was probably due to extensive practice, but when she sucks at your clit in that way that leaves a rather obvious noise you can't find it in you to care. she’s all yours now anyway, and the thought only brings you closer and closer to the edge.

she can tell you’re about to cum by the tremors in your legs and your hand coming to the back of her head to push her farther into your cunt. she likes doesn't care about the pain of your nails in her scalp. doesn't care that it’s becoming just a bit hard to breathe. there are two places in the world where vi truly feels at peace, in the ring during a fight and in between your thighs as she brings you to an orgasm. she tries to mumble gentle encouragements as you cum around her fingers but they only come out incoherent, the vibrations from her voice only driving you further up the wall as you release.

even as you come down your body still has little tremors brought on by vi continuing to lick and suck at you after your orgasm ends, only your hand digging into her hair and pulling her away able to stop her from going at you. her face is flushed, covered in cum, and her mouth agape as she takes deep breaths in and out. you’re sure you look no better but she makes no mention of what a mess you must be, only flopping her head to the side to rest on your thigh so she can stare up at you.

“i…i might have been a little jealous.”

she breathes out an airy chuckle at your confession and gently shakes her head. “i think we share that in common.”

your eyes start to droop closed in the bliss of the moment, your body in a dreamy state while vi kisses over your thighs and stomach before giggling when vi places a short chaste kiss right on your cunt,

“not a problem as long as we can keep reassuring each other, huh?”

you never saw yourself as the type to have to hide your face in a pillow when your girlfriend got delivered a noise complaint by a flustered hotel attendant at eight in the morning, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself lately.

[starmapz]

THREE'S A CROWD

𓉸 toji fushiguro x shiu kong x f!reader

𓉸 kinktober smut oneshot

❝ you've been working with shiu and toji long enough to know that they both have eyes for you and after a particularly bloody and frustrating mission, you give in to their teasing for the first time. you know two things for sure. shiu needs a bigger car, and it won't be the last time you give in. ❞

𓉸 warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. threesome. spit roasting. marking. biting. slight voyeurism. rough car sex. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). manhandling. fingering. mild size kink. throat fucking. nipple play (f! receiving). mild praise. mild degradation. mild dacryphilia. mild choking. pet names (doll, girl, pretty, baby, sweetheart). use of cigarettes. toji's dirty talk is a warning in itself.

𓉸 words ; 3.9k.

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

Seeing Shiu’s car is a goddamn relief. Blood drips from your cheek to your sleeve and you can feel the crimson that coats your gloves and pants seeping through the material. Sure, the blood doesn’t phase you anymore, but it doesn’t make soaked clothing any more comfortable.

Toji rolls down the passenger window as you approach in Shiu’s largest car, the one he usually uses for kidnappings and hostages and the sight of Toji likely means that’s just what they’ve returned from.

“Shiu, I swear to god if there’s a person in the trunk on top of my clean clothes, I’ll lose it,” you grumble, leaning forward to glance into the back. At least there’s no one tied up in the back.

“Don’t worry, doll. He was in the back and the job’s done,” Shiu’s words are slightly muffled as he lights his cigarette.

Letting out a sigh, you nod. “Pop the trunk?”

A puff of smoke leaves Shiu’s lips as he leans down to flick the lock for the trunk of the car. It opens with a thud, revealing your duffle bag with a fresh change of clothes. You had requested Shiu pick you up in a fairly remote location, shrouded by trees on every side to allow you some privacy to change rather than painting the inside of his car crimson.

If Toji were a better man, he would keep his eyes on the shroud of trees ahead. Alas, that’s not the case as Toji’s eyes stray to the side view mirror as he shamelessly watches as you pull your black compression shirt up over your head. He shuffles in his seat, attempting to adjust his cock as it hardens at the sight of your cleavage bouncing in your bra.

You pull your gloves off and let your hair down and if Toji didn’t know you were an assassin, he might think you’re an angel. You wipe some blood from your hair and forehead with the old shirt before pulling on a new black low-cut top. Sliding out of your pants, you slip into a pair of gray sweatpants before slamming the trunk and groaning as you finally sit down in the back seat.

“How was the job?” Toji asks, clearing his throat as he brings a foot up onto the seat to hide his… problem.

“How many guards does one person need?” You groan, rolling your eyes as you slouch back into the leather. “It was such a pain, I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“Mm,” Toji hums a response, unable to keep his thoughts straight. “Stressed?” He asks, shooting a glance at Shiu. He barely manages to contain his scoff when he catches the strained look on his handler’s face as the man keeps his eyes set dead ahead. Oh he’s as bricked up as Toji is right now and it doesn’t do the assassin any favors as his cock jumps at the lewd thoughts running through his mind.

“You have no idea,” you grumble, throwing your head back as you stare at the car’s roof.

Toji takes a pause before deciding to get a bit brazen, wondering if Shiu’s noticed he’s not alone. “Y’know,” Toji begins, the smirk on his lips audible in his voice, “I have an idea that could help with that.”

Catching the obvious innuendo held within Toji’s tone, Shiu finally shoots him a glance. It’s hard not to notice the tent in Toji’s pants even with his leg up on the seat in an attempt to block it. The handler takes a long drag of his cigarette, equally unable to stop his cock from growing harder in his slacks just as he was beginning to get it under control.

Toji shuffles to get a better look at you in the back seat as the gears in your mind turn. Shiu is close behind, moving his head more subtly to stare at you in his peripherals. You’re not oblivious to the deeper meaning behind Toji’s words and you can’t deny that they’re both attractive. Both men have also made their attraction to you fairly obvious over the past few months of working with them. In fact, it’s hardly a debate in your mind whether you want to have sex with them. The real question is whether the car can handle both of them. Or if you can.

“Care to enlighten me?” You play along with Toji’s words, a sly smirk donning your lips.

The assassin grins, eyes darkening as his pupils blow with lust. “Y’know, you gave Shiu and I a bit of a show back there, n’ we both seem to be havin’ a bit of a problem.”

Your brow raises as you fight the urge to call them out for watching you, but you bite your tongue given that you were equally guilty in this scenario, having purposefully made a show out of changing for both men. Had you truly wanted to, you could have absolutely stood closer to the trunk to change but you made sure you were in view of the sideview mirrors, just as you know Toji has done in the past.

“I’m thinkin’ we could help with that stress, n’ you could help with our problems,” Toji shrugs like it’s all a simple exchange.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Shiu. You gonna help with all my stress?” You purr, watching as he stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting in the center of the car with a smirk.

He’s out of the car in a second, back door open as he slides into the back seat with you. His lips eagerly collide with yours just as you see Toji slide between the gap in the front seats with a grunt of effort. Though you can’t see him, you can hear him shuffling around, knocking both you and Shiu in his effort to slip into the back seat with you.

Shiu pulls back, ready to spout irritated words at Toji, but a single tug on his tie from your eager fingers pulls him back down to you. He gives in immediately, shoulders relaxing as your fingers rake through the short hair at the base of his scalp.

You gasp into the kiss as Toji’s large hand grips your thigh, a row of sloppy kisses planted along the column of your neck. His scar brushes against your skin as he focuses his attention at the base of your neck. Shiu swallows your whimper when Toji begins to suck on the sensitive spot at the base of your neck.

Shiu doesn’t break the kiss as he easily shuffles out of his suit jacket. The clanking of a belt cuts through the lewd sounds painting the air as he tosses that into the front as well.

“Such a dirty little thing, aren’t ya?” Toji hums, groping your breast with one hand as he covertly slips you onto his lap. His hardened length tents his pants and rubs against the swell of your ass as he not-so-subtly ruts his hips against you.

With each roll of Toji’s hips and sloppy kiss left on your neck, you shuffle and whine into Shiu’s mouth. The handler sighs, pulling back to shoot Toji a look. “Fushiguro, stop moving her around so much, I’m practically up against the seat.”

Toji clicks his tongue. “Not my problem,” he gruffs.

“It will be when you’re the one shoved up against the seat.”

“Boys, there’s enough of me to go around. You can both have your turn,” you purr, squeezing Toji’s thigh as you press a chaste kiss to Shiu’s lips. It seems to satisfy them both as Toji’s hands grip your hips while he continues to grind against you while Shiu loosens his tie and discards his shirt.

As Shiu undresses, Toji uses his thumb and forefinger to turn your chin to him, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. By comparison to Shiu, Toji’s lips are rough and he moves against you with fervor as though he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment. He commands you with his tongue rather than moving with you. Toji wants control.

With your attention on Toji, Shiu’s hands wander over your thighs before sliding along the band of your sweatpants as he begins to work them down your legs, lifting you briefly off of Toji’s lap. Your attention is pulled to the handler as you let out a surprised yelp at being lifted so suddenly, but Toji’s having none of that as he tightens his grip on your chin and pulls you back to him.

“Ah-ah,” Toji tuts, squeezing your cheeks with his forefinger and thumb. “Eyes on me, girl.” He stares at your puckered lips, running his thumb over the lower one as you stare into his emerald eyes, obediently keeping your attention on him. Shiu pushes your thighs open, resting them on either side of Toji’s knees beneath you. He begins to kiss up your inner thighs, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.

You bite back a moan but Toji grins as your eyes glaze over with need, growing more lidded by the second. “You wet for Shiu already, pretty lil’ thing?” Toji drawls, a puff of air leaving his nose in a dry laugh when all you can manage is a moan.

“Words, doll,” Shiu instructs, equally as pushy as Toji even as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

“Y-Yes,” you manage, lips parting as Shiu licks a long stripe up your clothed pussy.

The handler smirks, fingers digging into your skin as his tongue swipes over his lower lip. “She’s fucking soaked for us, Fushiguro.”

Toji finally lets your chin go, your head falling back onto his shoulder as he moves his attention to your breasts. Large, rough, hands knead the plush of your breasts as Shiu hooks two fingers beneath the fabric of your panties and moves it aside.

You wouldn’t know with your head thrown back on Toji’s shoulder but they exchange a look as Toji flicks your nipple and Shiu gives your clit a couple of kitten licks at the same time. A shrill gasp leaves your lips followed by a whimper as you arch your back against Toji at the sudden sensation. The assassin’s cock twitches against your ass as he hums in your ear, pleased with your moans.

Shiu occupies himself with your pleasure as he plunges his tongue into your core, lidded mahogany eyes focused on your reactions as he flicks the muscle within your gummy walls in search of what sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your lips are parted as you lean your full weight back against Toji, his hands continuing to pinch, flick and tug on your nipples. Both men’s actions send pleasure straight to your throbbing pussy but it’s when Shiu withdraws and slides his middle finger deep within your walls that you jolt and your hands go out in search of something to grab onto.

“Easy, girl,” Toji chuckles at your reaction, rutting his hips against your ass as your sudden movement teases his pulsing cock with friction. His lips attach to your neck as he sucks and bites at the tender skin, leaving behind marks that you know will turn purple in a matter of moments.

Clutching onto Toji’s thick forearm and the seat in front of you, you whimper as Shiu curls his finger within you. It’s only a matter of moments before he’s found your sweet spot and begins to rhythmically bully your walls.

“Shit, doll, you’ve got a pretty moan,” Shiu groans as he begins to palm his hardened erection through his boxers. The shuffling of fabric tells you that endeavor doesn't last long as he pulls his cock from his slacks to slowly pump himself as he reattaches his lips to your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. He moans against your cunt, the vibrations sending a chill straight up your spine as you arch your back for him.

“You close already?” Toji teases as he continues to palm your breasts with one hand, moving the other to hold your hips in place as you begin to squirm on his lap. The movement of your hips is driving him crazy, but he resists the urge to flip you and bully his cock into you right then and there out of fear of breaking you.

“Ah- f-faster-!” you whimper, legs quivering on either side of Toji’s knees as you attempt to fasten them around Shiu’s head. The handler chuckles once more, sliding a second finger easily past your folds and adding to the intense pleasure coiling in your abdomen. Your nails dig hard into the leather of Shiu’s front seat and Toji’s forearm as the digits within your walls pick up their pace, moving faster and harder.

“Cum on your handler’s face f’r me,” Toji coaxes in your ear, his voice low and sultry in tone, sending you crashing into your climax like a ton of bricks.

“Shiu-! Shit- haah-” you babble and moan as your back arches and your walls pulse around his digits. Toji holds you firmly in place with one hand as Shiu doesn’t relent, only slowing his movements to draw wave after wave of your orgasm out of you. When you slump back against Toji with a pant, Shiu finally withdraws his fingers, getting to a hunched standing position. He leans over you, gripping your chin as he slides his slick-covered fingers between your lips.

“Good girl,” Shiu praises, wiping your arousal from his chin with the back of his other hand. You suck his fingers, the taste of your climax sending heat between your thighs once more. You subconsciously attempt to close your legs again, catching Toji’s attention.

“Still horny after that, eh?”

“Don’t be a tease, Toj’,” you groan breathlessly.

“Dunno, think you might deserve it after the show you gave us earlier,” Shiu comments as he lights a cigarette.

“Open a window, asshole,” Toji growls with a huff. Shiu shrugs, a puff of smoke leaving his lips as he cracks the window behind him.

Your chest still heaves, completely blissed out as Toji easily lifts you from his lap and sets you down on all fours on the back seat. Your legs are still trembling from your orgasm as you struggle to hold yourself upright on shaky limbs.

“Still sensitive, doll?” Shiu teases as he blows a puff of smoke out the window and gives you a moment to come down from your high. You nod as you look up at him before your attention is drawn to his cock. You blink a few times as you take in Shiu’s size. His shaft is of fairly average girth, but he’s long. You inadvertently bite your lip, catching the handler’s eye. “See something you like?” He grins, holding his cigarette off to the side as smoke cascades up to the roof and out the window.

“‘M thinking we should have done this a while ago,” you purr, aiming to sit down on your knees in an attempt to tease the man, but you’re immediately pulled back up into your original position. You yelp in surprise, turning your attention to Toji, who’s now mostly undressed with his shirt tossed aside and pants pulled down enough that you can see the tent in his boxers.

“Nah, stay on your hands and knees,” he chides, getting on his knees behind you, although he’s forced to bend over your back to avoid hitting his head on the car’s roof. His breath is warm on your back as you feel him pull his length from his black boxers. The weight of his cock on your ass makes you swallow as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of the bulky man behind you.

Toji is grinning as he slowly pumps his length, eyes lidded as he watches the way you take in just how thick and long he is. A pulsing vein runs up the side of his length up to his swollen tip, dripping with pre-cum that damn near makes your mouth water.

“As much as I like havin’ you ogle me, I wanna see that pretty lil’ mouth of yours wrapped around a cock while I rail ya from behind.” Toji’s words are filthy as he lines himself up with your sopping lips.

Shiu’s fingers grab your chin as he guides you back to him. He twitches at the mere sight of you, a puff of smoke leaving him as he pushes his tip between your lips.

“Shiiit, doll,” Shiu groans as you obediently hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue over his swollen head. He leans his knee on the seat to support his weight as he slowly pushes himself into you while Toji ruts his length through your folds, covering it in the slick that still drips from your previous orgasm.

“D’ya think Shiu prepared you well enough f’r me?” Toji teases, and you half expect him to push in right then and there, but it’s his long and thick finger that slips easily into your cunt.

“T-To-!” You cry out around Shiu’s cock, but you don’t manage to finish the assassin’s name when Shiu pushes to the back of your throat, holding you in place by your chin and stifling your cry.

“Hah- Fuck.” A puff of smoke leaves his lips as he moans and throws his head back. “Bein’ such a good girl for me,” he groans, leaning over to stub out the last of his cigarette as he gives you his full attention.

He doesn’t move for a moment, his length pressed to the back of your throat restricting your breathing as tears form in the corners of your eyes.

“Too much, pretty girl?” Shiu taunts, lidded eyes admiring the look of your mouth stuffed full of him. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe and barely mutter out a no. “Tch.” Shiu smirks, bringing a finger to your cheek to wipe the first tear that falls.

Behind you, Toji slips a second finger into your cunt, curling his fingers so expertly it sends a spark of electricity up your spine and heat straight to your core. You moan around Shiu, grinding your hips back against Toji as he teases your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, but just as quickly as he begins to rub circles over the bundle of nerves, he pulls his digits out.

Your muffled whine barely hits the air before Toji sinks his tip in and forces a gasp from deep in your throat. You collapse forward onto your forearms as pain and pleasure mix and coil in your abdomen, forcing Shiu to lower himself with you, though he doesn’t mind now that his head isn’t hitting the ceiling.

Why the fuck did you decide to do this in the car?

Leaning over you, Toji moves his hips as he feeds you his length inch by inch, slowly so as not to split you in half.

“Shit, y’re tight,” he groans, one arm on the back of the seat while his other hand rests by your elbow. When Toji bottoms out, he waits for a moment as he allows you to adjust to just how full you are with his cock. Shiu doesn’t move either as both men give you a chance to take a breath before they ravage you with need. Your handler’s length twitches when you swipe your tongue over the tip teasingly as the pain in your stomach dissolves into nothing but pleasure.

“Hah, you being a tease right now, doll?” Shiu breathes out as he holds your head in place and pushes his cock deep into your throat, moving rhythmically as he fucks into you relentlessly. Toji takes that as his sign to move as well, his cock jerking as he watches you choke on Shiu’s cock.

The assassin rams into you, his length brushing your sweet spot with every thrust. Both men use you so meanly that you’re being shoved back onto each cock in both directions as though they’re competing with one another.

“Mmf-!” You barely manage to choke out a cry as your climax approaches quickly.

“Y’like being used like that, baby?” Toji mutters from above your shoulder. “Y’like bein’ a little toy f’r us?” He pulls out fully before ramming his full length deep into your cunt and pulling a cry from you again as Shiu continues to bully the back of your throat. “Clampin’ down on me, y’re close already, aren’t ya?”

You can barely manage a whimper when your high hits hard and fast, your stomach knotting and releasing in a wave of pure bliss. You see stars as neither man relents, chasing their own orgasms without giving you a break as you gush around Toji’s girthy shaft.

“Gonna make me cum with that mouth of yours,” Shiu moans, his cock jerking and twitching as your throat contracts around him with each whimper and whine that you release. He follows shortly after you, his release painting the back of your throat white as you swallow every drop, your tongue swiping his sensitive tip and pulling a moan from him as he jerks and slumps back into the seat with an arm over the back of the seat and one over the ledge of the window.

Toji becomes surprisingly quiet and although he doesn’t say much, his movements grow sloppy and imprecise and it’s barely a moment before his arousal fills you up and seeps out around his base, leaving a ring of white at the base of his cock as he pulls out.

He gives himself a couple of last pumps as he licks your back once before sitting back on the seat, mirroring Shiu’s actions.

At last, you collapse forward, curled into the seat as you pant to catch your breath. Your tear-filled eyes are blurred with pleasure as you come down from the high of being with Toji and Shiu.

Shiu rakes a hand through your hair so tenderly you almost wouldn’t know he’d just pounded your throat raw barely a minute ago. “How are you feeling?” He asks, tilting your head subtly to get your honest reaction.

You shoot him a smile. “Might be the best dick I’ve gotten in my life.”

Both men chuckle. “Good to hear,” Shiu replies, reaching forward for another cigarette. As he lights it and smoke begins to curl from the ashen tip, he turns his head to blow smoke out the window. “I think I owe you both a night at a hotel,” he comments.

“For the threesome or the job?” Toji chuckles.

“For the job, dumbass.”

You let out an exhausted, breathy laugh as you force yourself to sit up. Shiu grabs his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his cigarette balanced between his lips.

“You know, you could lie and say it was the threesome and make us feel good,” you tease.

“I think I made you feel plenty good, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “Dunno. Maybe you could show me what you mean at this hotel you’re talking about?”

Toji scoffs, a grin on his scarred lips. “Such a greedy lil’ thing. Already lookin’ for round two?”

You put your hands up defensively. “What can I say?” You smirk, falling back into the seat to catch your breath. “Oh, and Shiu? You need a bigger car.”

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

𓉸 a/n ; ugh i hoped this would come out way earlier but ended up getting sick among other things. finally starting to feel better though so i hope you enjoyed! as always likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated ♡

𓉸 taglist ; currently open. please comment here or on the masterlist to be tagged in the last of my kinktober work ♡

@fushitoru @tojis-ball-sack @rathreads @sukunadckrider @nxcxllxsevens

@r0ckst4rjk

[chrollogy]

EPITOME OF SIN

— zhongli x f! reader x neuvillette

syn: Neuvillette doesn’t know why he agreed to such a brazen proposal from his lover—that is, to sit and watch while the ex-Geo Archon shamelessly takes you for his pleasure.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, unprotected sex, cuckolding, masturbation (m), neuvillette being horny and overwhelmed and zhongli being a lil menace, pet name (my sweet girl). divider: cafekitsune.

word count: ~1k or less

notes: not proofread! advance apologies for any typos. idk how long i’ve had this drafted but yeah!! i got around to finally finishing it hehe.

Neuvillette always saw himself as a calm, and collected man; lilac gaze mirroring the cerulean tranquil waters of the Weeping Willow of the Lake—he was never the one to unnecessarily raise his voice nor show the expression of anger. At least that’s what his lover, you, had said to him from one’s astute observation.

So why was the Chief Justice the complete opposite right this very moment? Heart thrumming against his chest like the speed of the harsh winds in Loch Urania; blood boiling like hot vermillion lava from the volcanos of Natlan, Neuvillette seethed at the wickedly sinful sight in front of him—teeth clenched, nails digging into the poor azure fabric of the sofa beneath him. Your lover was painted crimson red, not knowing if it stemmed from anger, embarrassment, or lust.

Anger, because Neuvillette didn’t know why he had agreed to such an insane proposal. Though, insane was an understatement. He surveyed your sweat-covered naked body, rocking back and forth, back and forth from the forceful thrusts of another man—the geo archon.

Rex Lapis, Morax, Deus Auri, the usurper of the element of stone. He should be the only man sheathed beyond your walls so intimately; he should be the one pulling those saccharine moans from your soft lips; he should be the sole reason for your immense pleasure.

Embarrassment, because Neuvillette was too turned on at the sight before him to admit—though, his cock pushing against the navy slacks he donned was more than a telling sign. He was ashamed, felt absolutely filthy for getting aroused at such an outlandish sight. There were so many things wrong here and, yet Neuvillette had the audacity to be horny; he would give himself the heaviest sentence in the history of Fontaine, for heaven’s sake.

The Iudex could feel his skin prickle, diminutive sharp kisses shooting all over his heated skin, fingers wanting to claw at the unbearable itch it left behind. He felt feverish but he couldn’t take his lilac gaze away from tracing your bare body—the way it responded to the heavenly pleasure Zhongli gave.

Lust, because at the end of the day—dragon or not—Neuvillette’s body responded the same way as a human’s body would when exposed to a sexual stimuli. The Chief Justice practically gawked at his dear lover and Zhongli on the bed; mouth slightly parted, tongue ever so lightly swiping at his bottom lip in effort to satiate his growing thirst.

All Neuvillette could hear were your dulcet moans reverberating throughout his cerulean-walled quarters, the way your pretty eyes rolled back in pure bliss; brows knitted in full concentration on your impending orgasm. Oh, Neuvillette wanted to be desperately inside you but all he could do was sit there.

Sit there and watch as Zhongli sinfully fucked you with enough drive to vex your lover. Outside, the people in the Court of Fontaine began to scramble for shelter at the first signs of water droplets beginning to fall from the azure sky; grey clouds looming over the Nation of Many Waters as it prepares for a downpour.

“Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry.” Zhongli brazenly teases with a strained voice, his amber eyes glowing like gold, piercing right through Neuvillette. The latter lets out a firm sigh, nails digging further into the softness of the seat.

“Please, don’t hold yourself back, Monsieur. We’re all here to have fun, aren’t we?” the dark-haired man continues before repositioning your naked body.

Zhongli hauls you up like a rag doll, both arms secured behind your back with his hand while the other makes its way to the strands on your head. He faced you towards Neuvillette—who sat there with blown pupils, holding onto the last piece of his sanity and reputation—before pounding into you again; balls slapping against your soaked entrance with every forceful thrust.

Letting out a sweet whimper, you stare starry-eyed at your lover as his hand wanders down to the apex of his legs. Zhongli clicks his tongue as he feels you clenching around his hard cock, and holds you against his sweaty chest, changing the angle of his thrusts.

“O-oh god!” You moan out as his tip kisses the saccharine spot within your velvety walls, shocks of icy pleasure caressing your spine. If it wasn’t for Zhongli’s hold, you would have fallen onto the mattress from the sheer strength of his thrusts and the pleasure alone. The divine man behind you growls, lips situated dangerously close to your ear,

“Yeah . . ? That’s right I’m your god.” Zhongli growls, loud enough for the Hydro Sovereign to hear, his tone unrecognisable—it was a far cry from the usual smoothness of his voice.

The ivory-haired man mirrored Zhongli’s growls yet it didn’t contain the same carnal hunger as the latter, no, it was pure rage. White, hot anger seethed from Neuvillette’s sitting figure as Zhongli spoke that very sentence, what a disgrace.

The Chief Justice sat there, every fibre of his body tingling and burning with silent chaos—like the calm before a thunderous storm, serene yet brimming with such force. You vigorously nod at Zhongli’s retort, even going as far as trying to form your own coherent reply only to come out in a twist of saccharine moans.

There was no hiding the rapid rise and fall of Neuvillette’s chest despite the expensive layers of cerulean fabric he donned. The sensation was too overwhelming for him, pressure uncomfortably pressed on every dip and curve of his body to the point where he couldn’t feel anything—no, he could feel everything. Everything at once and it drove the Iudex absolutely insane.

The jealousy, the lust, the embarrassment, it weaved its way down to his very core. Neuvillette didn’t know what he wanted to do, all your lover knew was that he needed a release. Now.

Neuvillette uncomfortably shuffled atop the plush of the cerulean sofa, delicate hands moving as fast as the lightnings that scattered throughout Inazuman waters. It was beyond shameful to be acting this way, his fingers fumbling the metal zipper of his slacks.

Before you knew it, your’s and Zhongli’s moans were accompanied by Neuvillette’s sinful ones—he didn’t hold back, almost as if he had completely let go of himself, his reputation, his standing with the Lord of Geo. The Iudex of Fontaine was reduced to nothing but a common whore, shamelessly filling the walls of his own quarters with brazen moans beyond his control.

It was a sight to see. Too bad the intense jolting of your naked body from Zhongli’s forceful thrusts were getting in the way from being able to properly see your lover’s fucked out expression but the desperate strokes of his hand was enough for you—enough to let you know that Neuvillette somewhat found pleasure in this despite the bizarreness of it.

He moaned, and grunted your name into the heights of the ceiling like there was no tomorrow; you’ve never seen him like this before—always the modest sighs and grunts whenever you had sex with him but nothing more. Neuvillette’s body was feverish, millions of tiny prickles spreading like wildfire as he stroked and stroked at his hard cock, hoping to finally reach that sweet release with you.

You moaned, a messy mix of both their names, earning a sharp hiss from the two males as they sucked in a sharp breath.

“I-I’m close. . Fuck . . !” “That’s it my sweet girl. Show your lover how good I’ll make you cum.”

Zhongli whispered, licking a long stripe up the side of your sweaty neck, golden gaze locked onto Neuvillette’s, taunting him. If it weren’t for the pleasure he was chasing this very moment, Neuvillette wouldn’t have thought twice before pulling you off the archon but his legs were trembling with icy bliss, unable to even take a few steps.

As if on cue, you clamp your walls around Zhongli’s cock, letting out a lewd sound before cumming. Your naked body hardened with pleasure, teeth gritting and digits curling as waves of bliss ran through your veins.

You couldn’t even hear Zhongli’s velvety praises as you came, the next thing you knew was that your moans became muffled—your face harshly coming into contact with the ivory sheets beneath as Zhongli pushed your head down to sinfully arch your back even more. He gave a couple more thrusts before pulling out and fisting his cock above your exhausted form, shooting endless ropes of hot cum onto your back as he moaned your name.

To his dismay, Neuvillette was the last to cum which meant you and Zhongli were able to see his current state in all its glory—all flushed and sweaty from desperately fisting his cock, moaning your name out with such need like he was a dragon in heat.

Hot cum coated his pale fingers, he sat there, cock still hard and catching his breath. Neuvillette had his eyes solely on you, like a quiet predator sizing up its main course for the night.

Maybe Neuvillette should show the Lord of Geo how to actually fuck you dirty until you and him were the epitome of sin.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[binsito]

warning: usage of the words "good girl", "princess", unprotected sex, semi public sex, slight exhibitionism, jealous!hyunjin

hyunjin had enough of this damn cocktail party.

he knew it was the professional thing to do: show up, be cordial and be supportive of his beautiful girlfriend who had worked her ass off to be in the position she was in today.

he was proud of you, to say the least.

watching you sip an alcoholic beverage, with a smile on your face as you chatted away with a person standing in front you.

things were going fine, however the night turned sour when a guy you worked with could not make it any more obvious that he was hitting on you.

hyunjin didn't like that one bit.

especially not when he was standing right next to you, glaring at the dumbass in hopes he would get the hint and get lost.

was he also this brazen when hyunjin wasn't around?

did he always pester you or was the liquid courage making him ballsy?

hyunjin would be damned if he thought he was going to let this slip.

absolutely not.

and the guy was quick to notice that your drink was almost up, offering to get you another one from the bar.

you being the sweet coworker you were, felt it was rude to deny him so you gave him your drink order and he quickly made a beeline to the bartender.

hyunjin wanted to laugh in his face.

did he ever in a million years think he had a shot with you?

of course not!

you were hyunjin's and hyunjin was yours, end of story. hyunjin would never let you go without a fight, which he was convinced he'd prevail from.

god, he was absolutely sick of this fool. who did he even think he was? being so painfully bold in front of him, had he no shame?

frustration and rage was coursing through hyunjin's veins. he swore he wasn't one to get jealous and act out but this guy was going to be an exception.

you hadn't even being paying much attention, staring around at people mingling with your empty glass in hand when you felt hyunjin grab your arm and tug you through the crowd of people.

"hyune? where are we going?" you asked, following him without hesitation because maybe it was important.

sometimes he had moments where he needed to step out for some air if the room became too stuffy so you figured it was one of those instances.

but he didn't answer you, and he didn't step outside either.

instead he pulled you into the restroom, not even caring to lock the door behind him, pressing you into the sink and kissing you deeply as he took the glass from your fingers and set it down.

"h-hyune.. w-wait baby.. w-what's wrong?" you said between kisses, but you already had a feeling of what was boiling inside of him.

he shushed you as he kissed down your neck, squeezing your sides tightly, smiling to himself slightly because he knew that idiot could only dream of having you like this, and a dream could not do the real thing any justice to be quite honest.

"b-baby what if someone-"

at the moment, he didn't give much of a shit if someone heard, if someone wondered where you had run off to.

he flipped you over, you facing yourself in front of the mirror. you both already looked a little disheveled and it made you worry about stepping out there again later looking like a mess.

hyunjin fumbled with his pants, pulling his cock out over his slacks just enough. he bunched your dress up to your waist and moved your panties to the side, watching as a string of your arousal connected your cunt to the fabric.

"god, princess.. you're so wet for me.. you like being naughty huh?" he kissed the shell of your ear, nibbling on your lobe gently.

"we don't have much time to waste kay? look at me.. eyes on me." he instructed, nimble fingers rubbing you a bit while he stroked his cock, lining it up with your entrance

"h-hyune baby-" he quickly covered your mouth as he pressed his cockhead inside of you. you gripping the sink in hopes of somehow grounding yourself but you already felt so weak.

"shh shh.. just take it baby.. i know you can be good and take it.. eyes on me remember?"

you nodded, your eyes meeting his through the mirror, his gaze lustful as he pressed another inch inside of you.

fuck, you already felt so full of him, clenching around his length because the situation was turning you on more than you'd like to admit.

once he bottomed out, you arched your back, his hand still on your mouth to stifle your moans as he began to pound into you. his other hand came up to grab a fistful of your hair, gripping it tightly as he held your head back for him.

he wanted to make sure you saw him ruining you, that he was the one fucking you good. that piece of shit had nothing on him, he was the one who made your knees buckle, that could pull the prettiest moans from you, that got to kiss and squeeze every inch of your body.

"i'm gonna fuck you good but you have to promise to keep my cum tonight okay?" he grunted, you could only nod against his hand, trying so hard to keep your eyes open and not roll them to the back of your head.

"good girl.. that's right baby.." he breathed out.

you both could feel your orgasms approaching, hyunjin trying his best to hold you up while also trying to keep his own composure.

the chatter outside was thankfully suppressing the noise coming from you two but it wasn't very helpful in warning you when someone was nearby.

the door handle twisting and opening to reveal the guy who had been flirting with you. drink in his hand as his jaw dropped at the sight in front of him. seems he had been looking all over the place for you to continue his pathetic scheme and to hand you the liquor he oh so kindly had gotten you.

"close the door, can't you see we're fucking busy?" hyunjin growled out at him, not relenting his pace. you furrowing your eyebrows as you felt yourself start to cream around hyunjin's cock. it was too fucking much, you couldn't hold yourself back anymore.

he quickly closed the door and ran off.

hyunjin smirked, feeling his ego swell. stilling his hips to let his cum shoot deep inside you, not a drop would go to waste.

"remember.. you're keeping it all in okay? gonna fuck it deeper when we get home."

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[half-bakedboy]

Number 2 from the 50 cliché tropes and prompts

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn't help but steal it

Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways. 

Then he started staying over Tommy's house more and more. He'd always come prepared–an overnight bag filled with an extra LAFD shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, and two shirts, one with a collar and one without–just in case he needed to rush out in the morning. 

This morning, he isn’t quite as prepared as he wishes he had been. Tommy’s in the shower after sleepily kissing Buck good morning and Buck promised he’d run Hercules–Tommy’s ten-year-old retired racing greyhound–outside before Tommy dropped Buck off at work. Thunder crashes outside and rain pounds on the roof, and Buck didn’t even think to bring a jacket. 

He looks around the bedroom closet, careful not to invade the private space too much, but he doesn’t see anything that might help. He knows there’s an umbrella waiting beside the door, but he’s already shivering from the chill sneaking in through the closed windows and Buck knows he’ll need something to protect his skin. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pullover laid neatly on top of the laundry pile. It’s similar to his LAFD one, but a lighter blue that matches Tommy’s on-duty uniform. It won’t keep him dry, but it’ll keep him warm and keep the water off of his skin which is all he has time to care about. He snatches it up and shouts to Tommy that he’s taking the dog outside even though he’s not sure he’s heard. 

Before he gets too far, Buck pauses to get the pullover on. The first thing he notices is how much bigger it is on him. He’s not a small guy by any means, and he’s not much smaller than Tommy–at least he thinks–but there’s so much extra fabric that he has to bundle it up at his waist. He can also tell that the back doesn’t stretch taut against his shoulder blades and that the neckline slouches a little in the front. 

It’s strange to wear something so unfit for him, but at the same time, Buck can’t help but feel giddy. He glances at himself in the mirror and feels small, but not in the way he usually does. It doesn’t make him feel inconsequential or overlooked, but like he’s protected and well-loved. It stirs inside of his stomach until the joy begins to bubble in his chest. 

He notices that Tommy’s name is embroidered just over his heart, and he brings his fingers there to trace over the lettering. It takes everything in him not to whisper his name combined with Tommy’s last and he wonders if this was how his old girlfriends felt when they stole his LAFD shirts that had his name brazen on the back. 

Where he expected to be a bit embarrassed at the claiming nature of it all, he can’t help but feel… powerful. Yeah, there’s something powerful about wearing someone else's name, like he’s screaming to the world that Tommy is off-limits because he’s Buck’s. 

He’s Buck’s. 

He’s too busy thinking about what exactly that means for him to hear the bathroom door open and a freshly showered and shaved Tommy emerge. Another figure beside Buck’s reflection startles him but Tommy’s reassuring hands slide around his waist. It’s strange how normal it feels to have strong, long arms wrapped around him and a broad chest waiting to hold him up as he leans back against it. 

“You’re wet,” Buck says, feeling the dampness on Tommy’s unclothed chest. He’s in sweatpants like he’s ready to lounge around for the day, but the bare skin of his upper body is clearly on display where Buck’s body isn’t hiding it. He wants to pull away just so he can take another peek. 

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice nor care that Buck is analyzing them because he’s too busy doing the same. There’s something in his eyes, though, that sends an eruption of warmth to Buck’s face. Tommy tugs at the extra fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s having the same realization as Buck did, and then he slides one hand up Buck’s chest to trace his name. He whispers each letter like a secret into Buck’s ear, piercing eyes never leaving Buck’s in the mirror. 

Buck shivers, pressing back against Tommy and leaning his head back so that it plops on Tommy’s shoulder comfortably. Tommy finishes his name before dragging a finger to the neckline of the pullover and letting it hang there like a weight that keeps Buck grounded.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Tommy points out like he doesn’t already know. Buck suddenly feels anxious, like he’s made a horrible mistake, and stands back up straight. He turns to look at Tommy as he speaks. 

“Is that okay? I didn’t bring a jacket so I figured—” 

Tommy kisses him before he can finish, and Buck can only hope it becomes a pattern. 

It’s just as soft as their first kiss and every kiss they’ve shared since then, but it grows in passion second by second. Tommy is gripping the fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s deciding whether he wants to pull it over Buck’s head or leave it on his forever. Buck holds his naked shoulders, palms sliding down the hard planes of his chest then his abs, before sliding underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. 

When a cold nose hits his hand, Buck jumps back, out of breath and startled. Hercules is staring up at them like he’s let them have their fun and he’s done waiting to go outside. Tommy swipes at his face as he chuckles and Buck leans down to pat Herc’s head. 

“I’m sorry, Buddy. Am I stealing all of your dad’s attention?” Buck coos, and he can almost hear Tommy’s good-natured eye roll. 

“Well, if Evan here is done distracting me, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you outside, huh?” 

“Oh, if Evan is done distracting you? Like you didn’t just walk out of the shower half-naked and damp and looking like you wanted to drop to your kn–” Buck inhales deeply when Tommy glances down then back up and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, I’m out of here. Be right back,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to Tommy’s reddened lips. 

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, watching him start to walk away. 

“Do you want your pullover back?” Buck asks, because he figures that’s what he would’ve wanted to be asked. 

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours now.”

It sounds a lot like I’m yours now, but Buck doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he takes Hercules out, ignoring the storm rumbling above him, and strokes his thumb distractingly against Tommy’s name over his heart. He guesses he’s Tommy’s now, too.

(now on ao3)

[clairdelunelove]

yuuji itadori x reader, established relationship! 

genre: halloween fluff (matching costumes!) 

warnings: cursing, very suggestive

synopsis: you thought soft launching your relationship with yuuji during the halloween season would be perfect! matching costumes, cute selfies, and of course you get to post the pictures! but his mind can't help but wander a bit. after all, he's just a big bad wolf!  

a.n. this one got a tad bit spicier than I thought but my head is v full of yuuji! happy spooky season, my luvs! ✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧

“and you’re sure you won’t drop me?” 

“yup.” 

yuuji itadori hums, popping the ‘p’ in his response, and eagerly nods in an effort to reassure you. you don’t doubt his strength, truthfully. you’ve known him long enough to acknowledge that your boyfriend’s athleticism was, albeit, a bit frightening. he’s proved on more than one occasion that lifting you is no problem. like the time you refused to wear appropriate walking shoes during your date and he offered to give you a piggyback ride. or how, at your favorite artist’s concert, you couldn’t see them performing on stage so yuuji boosted you up on his shoulder to get a clearer view. never thought anything of it. so yes, carrying you is the equivalent of him picking up a light load of laundry when he has to take it to the washer. basically child’s play for him. it’s just– the circumstances are different now. 

because the outfit you’re wearing is a tad more revealing than you anticipated. it’s not entirely your fault though. influenced by the newest trend that pops up whenever you swipe through your phone, you developed this grand plan of posting on your media apps and ‘soft launching’ your relationship with yuuji. you just knew that your friends would excitedly flip out if they saw it. they’ve only heard stories of the pink haired male so being able to put a person to the name would definitely quell their curiosity. plus, he wholeheartedly agreed when you brought up the concept of ‘soft launching’ and even chuckled when you added that he’d still have that air of mystery surrounding him. he’s rather fond of partaking in your silly interests and trends. the videos you’ve seen have all been adorable and with the promise of halloween coming up, you implemented the plan of wearing matching costumes! and the costume you picked for yourself was definitely your size (you double checked just to be certain!) but with all the frills and patterned lace that fell precariously short on you, it was debatable. you don’t remember red riding hood wearing such a brazen dress as she strolled along the woods.

yuuji doesn’t seem to recognize how bold the outfit is, though.

just shoots you a warm smile and says, “you look s’cute,” before hurriedly averting his gaze and continuing to mess with his phone’s camera settings like you told him to.

always the ideal, courteous boyfriend. to match with you, he’s clad in denim and a dark, plaid shirt that’s rolled up on his forearms, the fabric bunching over his broad shoulders whenever he moves. and you get a peek of the fake fangs he’s wearing whenever he slyly grins. he’s playing as your wolf for the night and boy was he fatal for your heart.  

he pushes the fuzzy wolf ears over his blushy hair as he speaks up, “everything’s all set if you still wanna take that picture.” 

“hmm,” you bite your lip in consideration before staring back at yourself in the mirror and quietly mumbling, “I don’t know. what if I’m too heavy, yuu?” 

it’s a trivial excuse, frankly. yet, the hesitation in your voice beckons yuuji to hold out his hand toward you and ease your troubles. he doesn’t have to move much since the two of you are cramped in front of his bathroom’s large mirror. smushed together in the small room. you had dimmed the lights prior to add onto the ambience but you reason that it’s working against you because the dimness only emphasizes the glint in his eyes. and you notice, for the first time tonight, that his narrowed gaze on you is salacious. almost carnal in his desire for you. you— clad in a cape dyed in the brightest shade of crimson and white knee-high socks with small bows on them. it’s almost criminal for you to tempt him like this. the way you prance around unaware of the effect you bewitch him with. he casually blinks it away before you can ask, however. 

he leans in, partly to hear your concerns better and partly to offer you some comfort as he murmurs, “just c’mere, baby.” 

“my whole weight will be on one of your shoulders, yuu. not to mention– oh!” 

you manage to squeak out as you’re thrown over his shoulder. it’s natural. how easily he squashes any of your worries. and as you’re freely dangling, you have half a mind to wonder if his quick actions are intentional. instinctively, your hand flies back in an attempt to stop the bottom half of your dress from riding up and potentially flashing yuuji. a rampant heat sparks within you. the fact that you’re both standing in front of a mirror causes the tension to grow until it’s impossible to ignore and the yearning nips at you like an incessant thirst that needs to be quenched. little do you know that yuuji’s in a worse predicament, however.

“shit!– oh god.” 

his groan is barely audible with how low he mumbles it underneath his breath. the tone of his voice is gravelly, rough, and completely contrasting from his usual upbeat pitch. because, lo and behold, he does manage to get a glimpse beneath your dress. but he hadn’t intentionally looked. his narrowed gaze was just trained on the mirror in front of him, concentrating on positioning you over his shoulder so you were the most comfortable. he must’ve underestimated his strength, however, because when you shift to get cozy, the end of your dress inadvertently flips up. and a flash of pale cotton peeks out from underneath all the fabric. like a piece of the finest jewelry being unveiled in its confines. yuuji’s broad hand, which holds a secured grip behind your knees, lifts to help smooth down your skirt. he rests a protective hand over the curve of your dress, successfully helping you cover up. nonetheless, your face heats at the possibility that he might’ve gotten a glance. 

“careful!” he huffs out a chuckle as a wobbly smile spreads across his face, “don’t want everyone seeing more than they should.” 

“eek, sorry! I didn’t factor in how short this would be when you carry me.”

and his words are mentioned in yuuji’s typical carefree manner. he had a special quirk of alleviating any awkwardness or discomfort in a situation. yet, his voice sounds airy. like the breath is knocked out of his lungs and he’s struggling to get his thoughts together. his brain is mush. he closes his eyes, sucks in a heavy breath in an attempt to calm himself down. it’s the direct consequence of chastising himself to hold back and not commit to his selfish desires. you’re just trying to have fun! so why is he so worked up? was it the costume? is it how your nails are digging into his back whenever you try to readjust? how delicate you are while you’re balancing over his brawny shoulder? doesn’t help that he ponders on how simple it’d be to manipulate you into a position where he could get another glimpse of what you’re wearing underneath all the satin and lace. the prettiest sight he’s seen so far. so tantalizing. infatuation couldn't encompass the breadth of his feelings. he shakes his head, mentally pushes his brain fog away, and unsteadily raises his phone to the mirror to take the picture. 

surprisingly, he manages to recall the exact way you wished for him to pose. yuuji positions the phone in front of his face, which is covered in the mirror’s reflection, and makes sure the both of you are centered on the screen. his finger instinctively clicks the button on the screen to snap a couple pictures but he’s not focused on that. no, not at all. he’s spellbound; studying the manner of which the bathroom’s dim lights seem to catch on the vibrant color of your costume and illuminate your skin. you’re glistening. sparkling in contrast to his darker outfit. his eyes trail along the soft curves of your legs, following up until the plushness of your skin is revealed from over your socks and he shakily exhales. 

“hm? are you done taking them– aah!” 

jolting in surprise, a breathless gasp escapes your glossy lips when yuuji suddenly nips at your uncovered thigh. it’s abrupt. how the silence morphs into short-winded sounds from you and huffs from him. his hot breath encompasses the entirety of your outer thigh and the heat that was spreading within you becomes instantaneous due to it. goosebumps prickle your skin. your cheeks flare in embarrassment and you draw your hand up in an attempt to quell the desperate noises coming from your mouth. but he’s insatiable. yuuji always is when it comes to you. he coos sweet nothings to you while tensing up his shoulders to better settle you on the hard plane of muscle. 

and even as he sputters a halfhearted, “sorry! I didn’t mean for it to hurt– did it? I’m s’sorry ‘bout that, baby,” the fangs he’s donned causes a rather electrifying response as he leans in again. 

his sharp canines catch onto a sensitive part of your skin and you’re squirming in his hold. the initial pain sizzles into a carnal type of thrill. knows that he’s got you where he wants you when your legs unintentionally knock open as a result of the pleasure that shocks you. running his tongue along your skin, he soothes the mark by pressing a soft kiss on it. he distinctly hears a soft whine leave your lips. it pitches higher than usual; caught on your tongue due to the stickiness. you’re killing him. transforming him into a pile of pathetic mush that has one belief– you. his eyes roll back into his head as he blinks hard enough to emanate black. because he sees you– clear as day– or rather, what’s beneath you. exposed and suggestively spread due to his affection. spots the familiar cotton that has him gulping on nothing. and it’s when you hear his heady whine that you finally remind yourself to clamp your legs together. 

“wha–” you pause, struggling to gather your words before restarting, “what’s wrong? are you alright, yuu?” 

it’s rare that yuuji loses himself like this. typically the model of discipline and control, his self-restraint is unrivaled. but no, tonight he allows himself to get lost in this intoxication that can only be described as you. an arousal so strong that it consumes him in an everlasting heat. he swallows, an attempt to regain his composure, but it isn’t enough to clear his throat as he speaks up.

“c’mon baby,” he huskily rasps, “don’t make me spell it out for you.”

and he doesn’t need to because it is oh-so apparent. from the way his lips part, to the discreet buck of his hips against the bathroom counter; it’s obvious that he’s gone. indulging in the sweetest treat of the season. just the sight of you has him keening. his fingers, which kept a respectable distance, now path higher up your dress. blunt fingertips press against the inner portion of your thigh and your gasps become broken as he uses his strength to ease your legs wider. pries you open with a rawness that has you stupefied and unblinking. presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on your thigh. he’s so close to where you secretly wish for him to touch you. and gosh do you just want his thick fingers to prod a little further so you can chase that pleasure.

“y’know I want you.” 

there’s a hint of pleading in his voice– he’s begging you to understand the effect you have on him. how utterly wrecked he is for you. all dressed up like this for him. his grip gets firmer to the point where your plushness seeps from beneath his fingertips. and it’s the sight that he stares at through the mirror that has him panting like an overworked dog. mouth open as his mind reels in passion. he’s caught in a daze. because your legs are enticingly spread again to invite the warmth that his touches cast upon you. and this time it's intentional. droopy eyes honing in on the prettiest view he’s ever had the honor of seeing. can almost hear the moment his self-restraint snaps. he has half a mind to frantically take another picture of this position, one that he’ll personally have for safekeeping, and zooms in on your figure in the camera’s frame. a lazy smirk settles on his face–well, it comes off as almost smug because of his pearly canines– but it's not. he's fully devoted to you. absolutely under your command. literal hearts in his eyes as he snaps a couple pictures and murmurs about how your beauty leaves him in disbelief. can't imagine how he got so lucky. a drawn out groan leaves his lips once he realizes that his pretty red riding hood was all desperate for him. then, he drops his phone back in his pocket, deciding that he’ll deal with it later. his other hand, now free, traces along the curve of the bottom of your skirt and lifts the frilly fabric up. 

“wanted you ever since I saw you wearin’ this f’me.” 

your mind is so static that you can’t hear his confession. and before you can ask him to repeat himself, he’s carrying you down the hallway and into his bedroom. 

and like the big bad wolf he’s playing as tonight, he eats you up.

[novaursa]

hi!! could i request a targaryen! reader x jacaerys velaryon.

reader is daemon and laena velaryon daughter, she’s the epitome of daemon when he was in his prime (crazy daemon) but got her mothers looks. she’s betrothed to jace not baela. the scene when the dragonseeds meet jace and ulf blatantly disrespects jace, she enters the room and steps in. she looks down on him like someone below her to remind him his place, both jace and her do. especially threatens that her dragon (maybe oc dragon of balerion or cannibal) has a particular diet of eating his own kind, she’ll turn a blind eye when her dragon starts eating silverwing, leaving ulf back being a dragonseed in the slums where he belongs. then the dinner scene too!, not to forget hugh too, even though he doesn’t do anything just a mere threat. not addam though loves her uncle 🫶🫶

you can choose however you want it story to be structure you have full autonomy🫶🫶

Wayward Daughter

- Summary: When Ulf disrespects Jacaerys, you remind him of his place.

- Pairing: cousin!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: The reader is Daemon's and Laena's oldest daughter, she is bonded with Cannibal.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind howls as you stand with Jacaerys atop the rocky outcrop of Dragonstone, your gaze drawn toward the towering peaks of Dragonmont where the dragons circle high above. The skies are turbulent today, a reflection of the tension that hangs in the air. Jacaerys stands beside you, his posture straight, though there’s a flicker of unease in his dark eyes. You feel it, too. The Dragonseeds—those commoners and bastards who claim Targaryen blood and now seek the right to mount dragons—have arrived. And with them, comes trouble.

The Cannibal stirs behind you, a deep rumble vibrating through his massive chest, his black scales blending with the stormy sky. The others might flinch in his presence, but you’ve known him all your life. He’s wild and uncontrollable to anyone else, but you’ve forged a bond with him like no other. His dark and dangerous energy is a mirror of your own, a reflection of what it means to be Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter. Where Jacaerys holds the warmth of his mother’s love, the steadfastness of duty, you are a flame lit by a different fire—wild, unpredictable, fierce.

Ahead, the Dragonseeds approach, two of them standing out from the rest: Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. Ulf’s silver hair shines under the fading light, but it is his swagger that grates on you. There’s something in the way he carries himself, a man too confident for someone who spent most of his life in the slums of King’s Landing, now reaching for power he has never earned. Hugh, on the other hand, stands a little to the side, his dark eyes flicking between you, Jace, and Ulf, as if he knows trouble is brewing.

"Your Grace," Ulf greets Jacaerys with a smirk that barely conceals his contempt. He steps closer to Jacaerys, reaching out as if to touch him, to invade his space. "Such fine hair you have, my prince," Ulf says, his voice dripping with false admiration as his fingers graze the edges of Jacaerys’s dark locks.

The brazenness of his gesture sparks a fury within you. Jace’s jaw clenches, but he remains still, trying to hold his composure. You, however, are not one to allow such disrespect to go unanswered.

Without a word, you step between them, placing your body protectively in front of Jacaerys. The look in your eyes is one of warning, as sharp as the point of a sword. Ulf’s smirk falters when he meets your gaze. He may think himself bold, but he hasn’t yet faced the fury of a Targaryen woman with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins.

“If you ever touch him like that again, Ulf, I will feed Silverwing to Cannibal piece by piece,” you say, your voice low and venomous, yet steady as steel. “And when there’s nothing left but bone, you will be sent crawling back to the slums of King’s Landing where you belong.”

The threat hangs in the air like the scent of wildfire. Ulf blinks, his smirk wiped away, replaced by something like fear as he glances at the looming shadow of Cannibal behind you. You don’t move, holding his gaze until he looks away, defeated. He shifts uncomfortably, taking a step back, the bravado drained from his face.

You spare a glance at Hugh Hammer, his hands open in a gesture of appeasement. Unlike Ulf, Hugh is no fool. His eyes meet yours, and he inclines his head in a small nod, acknowledging your warning without the need for words. He knows Ulf was out of line, and he has no desire to provoke you or Jacaerys further.

“I meant no harm,” Ulf mumbles, his arrogance melting under the weight of your stare. He steps back again, his hands raised as if to show he’s harmless. “Just a jest.”

“There is no jest in disrespect,” you snap, still holding your ground. “Jacaerys is your prince, and you will show him the respect he deserves, or you’ll answer to me.”

Jace’s hand brushes yours lightly, a silent gesture of gratitude. His eyes flick to you with a look that says more than words ever could. Though he could stand up for himself—and does, more often than not—there is something deeply satisfying about the way you step into the fray for him. He is your betrothed, your equal, but in this moment, you are the one with fire in your blood, unafraid to burn those who dare disrespect what is yours.

“Enough,” Jacaerys says at last, his voice firm as he steps forward, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t need to say more; the point has been made. Ulf and Hugh both bow their heads, though it is Hugh who seems more genuine in his respect.

As the Dragonseeds shuffle away, Jacaerys turns to you, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

You shrug, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe not,” you admit. “But I wanted to.”

He chuckles, the anomasity of the moment easing. “I’m beginning to think I should fear you more than I fear Cannibal.”

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “You’re learning.”

The two of you stand in the fading light of Dragonstone, the storm clouds swirling above. 

And anyone who dares to come between you will face your wrath.

The hall of Dragonstone is filled with the low hum of conversation as you enter, your eyes scanning the room where the Dragonseeds have gathered. The flickering light of the hearth casts shadows across the ancient walls, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingering in the air. At the head of the table, Jacaerys sits beside you, his gaze steady, though you can sense the tension in his posture. This dinner is meant to solidify alliances, but with men like Ulf the White at the table, it feels more like a test of wills.

You take your seat beside Jace, your attention briefly drawn to Addam of Hull, who sits across from you. His eyes are sharp, observant, but there’s an easy manner about him that sets him apart from the others. Addam is different. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, a reflection of his true lineage—though unspoken, you know well enough that he’s Corlys Velaryon’s son, a secret that sits heavy in the air between you, though neither of you have ever addressed it.

Ulf sits a few chairs down, his posture languid, as if he believes himself the lord of this table. His pale eyes flick toward you, and you can see the resentment simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that Ulf has never forgiven you for the way you put him in his place earlier. Good. You have no intention of letting him forget it.

The conversation is polite, if a bit strained. Rhaenyra, seated further down, makes an effort to engage the Dragonseeds, offering words of gratitude and hope for the future. But your focus shifts when Ulf, with that insufferable grin of his, leans back in his chair, his goblet of wine raised as if he’s already claimed a victory.

"Seems the prince and his lovely bride-to-be have more fire in them than I thought," Ulf says, his voice carrying just enough weight to draw attention. His eyes flick to you, lingering just a little too long, the implication behind his words hanging in the air. "Targaryens always were a fiery bunch."

You feel Jace stiffen beside you, but you remain calm, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You relish moments like this—when men like Ulf think they have the upper hand, only for you to remind them who they’re truly dealing with.

“Oh, Ulf,” you say, your tone light, almost playful, “it’s not just fire we have in our blood. It’s power, something you seem to misunderstand.” You pause, letting the words sink in, then take a sip of your wine. “But perhaps that’s why Silverwing tolerates you. She must sense the need for something stronger in your bloodline.”

The remark lands as intended, and you see the flicker of irritation flash in Ulf’s eyes. His hand tightens around the goblet, but he doesn’t respond right away, perhaps knowing better than to provoke you any further in front of the gathered company. Instead, he shoots a sidelong glance at Hugh, who remains silent but clearly uncomfortable with the rising tension.

“Careful, Y/N,” Ulf says, trying to keep his voice steady, though you can hear the edge to it. “Not everyone at this table shares your sense of humor.”

“Good,” you reply, raising your goblet in mock toast. “I wouldn’t want to be misunderstood. And let me make myself perfectly clear, Ulf, if you think for one moment you can match me in wit, let alone in power, you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed.”

There’s a low murmur from those seated nearby, eyes flicking between you and Ulf. But before the tension can escalate, Addam speaks up from across the table, his voice calm, cutting through the growing unease.

“Ulf,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind, “let’s not forget why we’re here. This war requires unity, not division.” He glances at you briefly, a knowing look in his eyes. There’s no fear or contempt in his gaze, only understanding. Addam is smart enough to recognize what’s at stake, and perhaps that’s why you find it easy to respect him, unlike Ulf.

You give Addam a small nod, acknowledging his attempt to smooth things over. There’s something about him that you can’t help but admire—his steady demeanor, his quiet strength. It’s no wonder Corlys holds him in such regard, bastard or not.

“Of course,” you say, your voice softening as you turn your attention to Addam. “We’re all here for the same cause, after all. It’s not every day one has the chance to fight for a true queen.” You smile at him, the warmth in your tone genuine. Unlike Ulf, Addam has earned his place here.

Addam returns the smile, though his eyes remain sharp, ever watchful. “A true queen indeed,” he replies, lifting his goblet in a respectful toast. “To Rhaenyra.”

The tension at the table eases somewhat, the air growing lighter as the others follow Addam’s lead and raise their goblets in agreement. But even as you join in the toast, your eyes linger on Ulf, watching him closely, waiting for any sign that he might try to push you further. He says nothing, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, though you can still feel the undercurrent of his resentment.

The rest of the dinner passes without incident, the conversation flowing more easily now, but you keep your focus sharp. Ulf may be cowed for now, but men like him don’t forget slights easily. You’ll be ready when he tries again.

As the meal winds down, you lean closer to Jacaerys, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “We’re surrounded by would-be dragons, but not all of them are worthy,” you murmur quietly, your gaze shifting toward Ulf, who is still sulking in his seat.

Jace follows your gaze, his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “I trust you to remind them of that,” he says, his voice low, only for your ears.

You smile in return, feeling the weight of the moment lift slightly. If the Dragonseeds—or anyone else—wants to challenge you, they’ll find themselves facing not just one dragon, but two.

[books-coffee-and-the-woods]

Trying to decide what to read next. I want an older book that's been on my TBR for a while, and I've narrowed it down to these two...

[lotte-s-web]

OH MY GOD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED UR ASK 🫧ANON IM SO SORRY BUT PLS I KNOW I SAW IT😭😭 ur so right though about hobie having a thing for loser nerds its augh

₊✩‧ ❝hobie x loser!reader❞ headcanons ✩‧₊

₊˚⭑ warnings: nsfw, gn!reader, teasing, penetrative sex

He’s such a sucker for loser nerds, such a sucker for you. He’s addicted to the way the simplest of things get you riled up so easily, how he can do so little and watch it affect you so much.

He loves flustering you, loves teasing you by interrupting your rambling and asking you to repeat yourself, leaning in closer to “hear ya bett'r.” He just finds it so cute when you stutter over yourself, losing your train of thought ‘cause of how close his face is to yours. he loves the way you have to grip at yourself to keep your composure from faltering. He knows he’s being mean, he knows he’s being an ass, but god, he can’t help it that you’re so pretty when you’re a bit embarrassed.

He loves touching you, loves knowing how it ignites an uncomfortable warmth at your core that you desperately try to ignore. It’s never a big gesture either, just an arm draped around your shoulder, his knees knocking against yours. he pretends he doesn’t notice how your breath hitches, how your thighs rub together as you try to carry on with the conversation without thinking of the way his skin was brushing against yours. 

To both of your surprise, it’s you who makes the first move. It’d be a bold move on your part, but in reality, the teasing had just gotten too much for you to bear. you couldn’t go on like this anymore, your heart thumping wildly at having him brush against you lightly, having his breath tickle your ear whenever to confide in you what he thought of your outfit today. It was really the little things that had your chest feeling like it was about to burst, you couldn’t do it anymore.

He watches you stumble over yourself as you try to get out how you like him, wringing your hands together in an attempt to channel the panic thrumming through your mind. He’s patient, waiting for you to say what you need to say before taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up to kiss you, sealing the deal before you can go back on your confession. He presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and you melt, making him smile as he slips his tongue past your eager lips.

Being with him doesn’t make him any less teasing though, if anything, it just makes him more intense. he’s meaner, more teasing, his hands growing more brazen in their attempts to rile you up. 

He’ll rest his head on the junction of your neck and shoulders, murmuring in your ear about how good you look as his hands go to hold your waist. He’ll toy with your clothing when you’re out with your friends, pulling you against his side and continuing on with the conversation as you try to keep yourself from molding into his warmth. You both know he’s doing it on purpose, know he likes seeing you cave into him, and as much as you’d want to detest it, he knows you like it too.  And he’s not above using it in the bedroom, not above taking advantage of the way you’re so willing to please him no matter how embarrassed you were about it.

He loves seeing your eyes when he’s fucking you, loves the way it’s in your most ruined state that he gets to see just how much you admired him, how much you worshipped him.

He holds your cheeks to keep your eyes on him when he’s fucking you in missionary, watching as they look up at him as if he had hung the stars in the sky. he almost laughs at you, close to calling your devotion pathetic.

He has you on your knees in front of a mirror as he gives you backshots, watching your face contort at each calculated thrust of his hips as his tip hits just right against your sweet spot. He holds your face up by the neck, applying just the right amount of pleasure to make you dizzy. He tells you to keep eye contact with him as he wrecks you.

You watch him in the mirror as he uses his free hand to pull your hips back against him with each thrust, your whines growing in volume. He has you absolutely cock-drunk, going cross-eyed and shuddering violently as you cum around him with a loud cry. 

You catch your breath together once everything has subsided, his cock still sheathed within you as you both pant like dogs. He brushes his lips against your cheek and sighs, wrapping his arms around your torso. 

“Ya’d do anythin’ f’me, wouldn’ ya?” He asks, turning your head with a gentle grip on your chin, moving you to face him. The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know, anything.

a/n: 🫧anon IM SO SORRY I DELETED UR ASK MY BADD AGHHGSHDSH HOPE U LIKED IT THO😭😭 ๋࣭ ⭑ tag/s: @eyesxxyou

[ushiwhacka]

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife. 

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on. 

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes. 

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away. 

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.  

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops. 

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest. 

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors. 

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince. 

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.” 

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin. 

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low. 

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers. 

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table. 

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you. 

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles. 

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling? 

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.” 

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined. 

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin. 

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.” 

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck. 

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” 

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright. 

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow. 

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity. 

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again. 

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

You don’t. 

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him. 

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to. 

“Why are you squirming?” 

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming.  And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him. 

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t. 

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks. 

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him. 

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you. 

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers. 

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste. 

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty. 

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you. 

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together. 

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again. 

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms. 

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again. 

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it. 

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him. 

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it. 

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact. 

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth. 

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.” 

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp. 

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating. 

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button. 

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again. 

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey. 

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted. 

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[baekhyunsbestie]

expanding on baekhyun beating it to his so's pics to say imagine him facetiming her in the middle of it cuz he needs to really see herrrr and ur like hi bby wait why is ur face so concentrated and also why is ur arm moving up and down underneath the camera and OH o_o

omgggg i can picture this sooooo vividly it hurts 😭😭😭😭 i literally had to write about it!!!!

18+/MDNI!! | wc: 1.6k+

you and baekhyun have each other’s locations shared, as couples and loved ones often do these days. he’s currently out of the country for a packed schedule and won’t be back for a few more days. you’ve both adjusted to the chaos of his life, as hard as it can be. but the bond you share? unshakable, no matter the distance or time apart.

tonight, though, he’s lying alone in his hotel bed, missing you more than usual. he knows you had plans with your friends, a rare night out you’ve been needing for a while. he checks the time: 11:30 p.m. back home. too early for you to be back, and he knows it.

still, he can’t help himself. he checks your location.

still at the bar.

he exhales, sinking deeper into his pillow. he doesn’t want to bother you. you deserve this—an escape from the stress that’s been weighing you down. he’d rather you enjoy yourself than feel guilty for being out late.

so instead, he unlocks his phone and opens instagram, likely to doom-scroll through endless posts, letting the minutes slip away as he waits for you to get home safely and for the comfort of your nightly goodnight call.

but then, your story flickers onto the screen, pulling him in, a sudden spark in the otherwise dull scroll.

the first post is a mirror selfie: hair falling just right, effortlessly perfect, makeup soft yet glowing, and that simple black dress—one of his many favorites—clinging to your curves in all the right ways. when he notices the timestamp, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. you sent this to him first. it’s a small gesture, but it makes his heart swell.

the next slide is a quick clip of you and your girls, all glammed up, drinks in hand, raising your glasses with laughter as the music blares in the background. your happiness is so tangible, so infectious, and it warms him to see you this carefree.

then, there’s a repost from your friend. it’s a grainy but adorable video of you and her dancing, swaying in sync with the beat. the way you playfully twerk on her, both of you giggling uncontrollably, is far from suggestive—just two besties reveling in the moment.

but baekhyun is a man. and men? they think with their dicks.

his mind wanders, lingering on the way that dress clung to you, the way your body moved. and now, no matter how much he tries to focus on how happy you look, he’s suddenly cursing the miles between you, wishing for the kind of proximity that doesn’t involve a screen.

he checks the time again: 11:37 p.m.

the urge to reach out to you—text, call, anything—burns hotter with every passing second. he’s jittery, restless, the kind of edgy that leaves his leg bouncing uncontrollably. would you even answer if he called? the thought gnaws at him. god, he misses you. he misses the nights you’d stumble out of bars, dialing him with drunken, slurred words. how you'd insist you weren’t done drinking because the only thing left on your menu was him.

shit. the memories alone have him stiffening in his bed, blood rushing south faster than he can stop it. the sound of your drunk giggles, your uninhibited honesty spilling out between hiccupped words. the way your hands would roam without permission, needy and brazen. he exhales a shaky breath. the ache in his boxers is unbearable now.

he can’t take it anymore.

his fingers unlock his phone, navigating to the photos app to access the hidden folder only you know about. his secret stash. a digital gallery of you: alone, with him, under him, and on top of him. his free hand drifts to his leaking cock as his thumb swipes through the memories.

you knew about this folder, of course. you had your own—filled with matching treasures. you both had this shared indulgence, a mutual obsession. pictures and videos from every angle: your hands clutching the sheets while he buried his face between your thighs. you straddling him, his camera catching the perfect view of your curves. shaky, raw footage of backshots, his hands leaving fiery-red imprints on your skin as you moaned his name into the mattress.

you needed these to survive the nights apart, a remedy for the distance that stung like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

truthfully, even if you saw each other every day, you’d still keep these folders. you both had a thing for cameras, for the thrill of capturing your rawest moments together.

his fist wraps around his length, the other clutching his phone as he presses play. it’s a video of you riding him, your hips grinding against him in a slow, torturous rhythm. the camera shakes slightly—it’s shot from his perspective, the faint tremble of his arm betraying how badly he was already losing it then.

his lips part, breath hitching, and his heart pounds loud enough to drown out the rest of the world. but it’s not enough. it never is. he needs more.

he needs you.

he taps the screen, fingers shaking as he hits 'facetime.'

you answer on the second ring.

it’s 12:55 a.m.

your face comes into view, filling the screen with a teasing smile as you nudge open the door to your shared penthouse. the faint hum of city lights spills in behind you, but all your attention is on him. one glance is enough—his brows are knitted together, lips slightly parted, the cool glow of his phone illuminating his face and glistening off his glossy lips. you know exactly why he’s calling.

“hi, baby,” you slur, voice syrupy with just enough bite, “i miss you so much.”

“i miss you too, my angel,” he exhales, his voice barely more than a whisper, chest rising and falling in measured, aching pulls. from where you stand, you see everything—the way his shirt clings to his body, damp in all the right places, the faint quiver of his lips holding back words he’s too desperate to say. the sound of his breath, uneven and needy, fills the air between you. his gaze burns, molten and consuming, pouring his hunger into every inch of your skin.

you giggle, a sound light and teasing, as you saunter toward your shared room. "i can tell, lover."

his smile is shy, almost boyish, but not enough to stop the slow, steady stroke of his hand over his aching length. "home already?"

you nod, a quiet hum slipping past your lips as you step into the closet, the soft shuffle of your feet muted against the carpet. your fingers trail over the familiar fabrics until they find your favorite pajamas. as you pull them from their place, you cross the room to the dresser, propping your phone against its edge. the glow of the screen bathes the space in muted light, capturing him on the other side—his hand moving with practiced rhythm, his flushed face a picture of unguarded bliss, every gasp and twitch drawing you deeper into the moment.

"ya looked so beautiful tonight. fuck—" his words falter, the shaky gasp making your thighs press together. "y’know i love that dress on you. can’t believe i wasn’t—hah—there to fuck you in it."

you grin, a wicked curl tugging at the corners of your lips. “i could keep this dress on a little longer for you if you’d like me to, baekhyunie,” you purr, your voice a delicate weave of honey and innocence, teasing just enough to leave him craving.

his breath hitches, a sharp exhale breaking free as his head falls back, throat exposed in a display of surrender. “hah— fuck, s-say that again,” he rasps, eyes clenched shut like he’s bracing himself against the tidal wave you’ve unleashed. his hand moves faster now, the slick sound of his strokes filling the space between you.

you tilt your head, feigning naivety, your eyes wide and sweet like sugar dusted cherries. “huh? say what, baekhyunie?” your voice lilts with mock innocence, the act so it’s almost cruel.

as you shift, the delicate strap of your dress slips, baring your shoulder and collarbone—a canvas of temptation. soft, lickable, and oh-so-bitable. baekhyun's gaze sears through the screen, his mind unraveling with reckless fantasies, aching to bridge the distance and claim you, over and over again, losing himself in you until the sun rises.

the sight of you, the way his name drips from your lips—it’s his undoing. his rhythm falters, the once-steady motion of his hand becoming erratic, desperate. he’s unraveling, and you can see it in the furrow of his brow, hear it in the staggered cadence of his breath. you lean closer, your voice dropping into a sultry whisper.

“gonna cum f’me, baekhyunie?”

the way your voice softens his name, rolling off those plush lips, breaks him into pieces. the sensation crashes over him, an overwhelming rush that leaves him shaking, the heat of his release spilling in thick, white streaks across his toned stomach, splattering his shirt in wild, chaotic lines. your name escapes him in a breathless murmur as he rides the last tremors of his high.

you smile, satisfied with the mess you’ve made of him, the power you wield with nothing but your voice and a knowing glance.

as he comes down, his chest heaving, baekhyun peels his ruined shirt off, using it to clean himself up. when his face reappears on the screen, there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, a wicked curve to his mouth.

“your turn, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice still rough with pleasure.

[kinascum]

ZIP-TIEDᯓ★

Hank Thompson x PoliceOfficer!Reader (sorry)

wc: 3.1k | summary: oh you won't confess? alight ill make you talk, pretty boy. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DUBCON. interrogation. coercion. sexual content. explicit language. power dynamics. authority abuse. dark themes. talk of crime, stealing. talk of sickness. violence. restraints while engaging in sexual activities.

A/N: thanks m girl @aust-een for fueling this idea lmao

You stand outside the interrogation room, watching through the one-way mirror as Hank Thompson slumps in the chair, his eyes hollow, his jaw tight. The room is stark, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead casting an unflinching glow on the cold metal table and the two chairs. The air is thick with tension, a palpable silence that seems to hum with anticipation. You know he's the one—the infamous thief that's been taunting the city for months. The bookstore heist was just the latest in a string of burglaries, each more brazen than the last. But here he is, caught red-handed.

As you enter the room, the door swings shut with a heavy thud that echoes off the concrete walls. You don't bother with pleasantries or the reading of rights. He knows why he's here. You've studied his file, watched the security footage—his graceful moves and calculated precision. His reputation precedes him, and so does your resolve to get answers.

"No cameras," you say firmly, looking him in the eye. "No microphones. Just you and me."

He smirks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief second before dropping back to the floor. "What makes you think I'll talk?"

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "You will. One way or another."

He chuckles darkly, the sound barely audible in the stark room. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

You don't answer, instead you start pacing the floor, the soles of your shoes squeaking on the clean tiles. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. You can almost feel the tension coiling around him, tightening with every step you take.

After a moment, you stop, your eyes locking onto his. "Look, Hank. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." You let the words hang in the air, a silent ultimatum.

He remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath, then cross the room to stand directly in front of him. You lean in close, your voice low and measured. "It means I'll get the answers I need, whether you give them to me now, or I have to... coax them out of you."

You can see the doubt flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of fear. Good. It's time to turn the heat up.

You start with simple questions, a dance of words meant to unravel his defenses. His replies are monosyllabic, gruff, but they come. You press on, your tone even, your gaze never leaving his. The room feels smaller with each question you ask, the air thickening like the plot of a noir thriller. The silence stretches taut between you, a tightrope of anticipation.

You decide to change tactics. You pull out a chair and sit down across from him, your eyes never leaving his. The chair scrapes against the floor, a jarring sound in the quiet room. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, your fingers steepled. "Hank," you say, your voice softer now, "why don't you tell me about the bookstore?"

He snorts, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "What's there to say?"

You lean back, your chair creaking under the weight of your frustration. You've seen his type before—slick, smug, thinking he's smarter than everyone else. But you're smarter. You've read his file, studied his patterns. You know he's hiding something. So you wait, watching the play of emotions across his face. And when he doesn't speak, you stand up, your movements deliberate, and pull the zip tie from your pocket.

You circle the chair, his eyes following you as you do. His breath hitches as you pull his arms behind his back, the plastic biting into his wrists as you secure them to the chair. He tries to jerk away, but you're stronger, more determined. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarls.

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere," you reply, your voice calm, almost casual. "You see, Hank, I've got all night."

He struggles against the restraints, his face reddening with rage. "You can't do this!" he spits.

You lean down so your face is inches from his. "Oh, but I can," you murmur. "And I will."

You start with the basics again, asking about the bookstore. His responses are still defiant, but the edge of fear is there now, sharper than before. You can see it in the way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape. But there isn't one. You're in control here.

You lean back in your chair, watching him squirm under the plastic. His breathing has become shallower, faster. The tension is palpable, a living thing in the room with you. "Let's try this again, Hank. What can you tell me about the bookstore?"

He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "Nothing."

With a sigh, you stand up and walk around the table. He tries to lean away from you, but the chair is bolted to the floor. "You know, Hank," you murmur, your voice low and seductive, "I'm not a big fan of playing games."

You place your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his pants. He jerks at the sudden contact, his eyes snapping up to yours. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Your smile is cold, calculated. "I'm making sure you understand the gravity of the situation." You slide your hand up, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his crotch. His body responds despite his protests, his cock stiffening under your touch.

He bucks against the chair, trying to break free, but the zip ties hold firm. "You can't do this!"

You lean in close, your breath warm against his ear. "And what are you gonna do?"

Your hand starts to move in slow, torturous circles, your grip tightening just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes roll back in his head, his teeth gritted as he fights the pleasure you're giving him. But you're in no rush. You've got all night.

You whisper in his ear, your voice a silky promise. "Every time you lie to me, I'll make it harder for you. But every time you tell the truth, I'll make it feel so good."

He grunts, his body straining against the restraints. "What do you want to know?"

You lean back, your hand still wrapped around his cock, stroking him with a maddening gentleness. "The truth, Hank. That's all I want."

He grits his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck you."

You increase the pressure slightly, watching as his body tenses. "The more you resist, the more you'll regret it."

You can feel him fighting it, his hips pushing against your hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice is strained, desperate. "What...what do you want to know?"

You lean in closer, your breath hot on his neck. "Everything."

You start with the night of the bookstore heist. Your hand moves in a steady rhythm, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge. He clenches his fists, his knuckles white. "What happened that night?"

He groans, his body betraying his resolve. "I...I went in...for the books."

You tighten your grip, slowing down. "And?"

He swallows hard, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to...to take the money."

You feel his cock pulse in your hand, but you don't let him finish. "Why did you do it, Hank?"

He pants, his eyes wild with need. "I needed it...for...for my sister's medication."

You ease up, his erection subsiding slightly. "Go on."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I...I had no choice. She's sick."

You nod, your grip loosening slightly. "What did you do with the money?"

"I...I gave it to her," he gasps out, his voice strained. "I didn't keep a dime."

You resume the slow, torturous strokes, feeling him harden again. "What about the other jobs? The jewelry, the art?"

He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You squeeze harder, his hips bucking. "Don't lie to me, Hank."

He lets out a strangled cry. "Okay, okay! I did them. But...but it was always for a good cause. I never kept anything for myself."

You lean back, studying his face. The lies are coming easier now, his need for release overwhelming his pride. "Who did you sell the items to?"

His breath catches, his body trembling. "A...a fence. I don't know his name."

You don't buy it. You know he's holding out on you. You lean in, your voice a whisper. "Hank, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me everything."

He growls, his eyes flashing with anger and desperation, his release inching closer. "I don't know! I swear!"

You lean back, your hand leaving his crotch. He gasps, his eyes snapping open, his body rigid with unfulfilled need. "What?" he pants, the question a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. "I said I want the truth, Hank. No more games."

The room is silent for a long moment, the only sounds his ragged breaths and the distant murmur of the precinct. His eyes dart around the room, searching for something—anything—that might give him a way out of this. But there's nothing. Just the two of you and the truth that hangs heavy in the air.

"Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Please don't do this."

You stand, walking around the table to stand in front of him again. You lean down, your hand resting on the zip tie, ready to tighten it. "The fence's name, Hank."

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. "Vic," he says through gritted teeth. "Vic Castellanos."

You straighten, a flicker of satisfaction crossing your face. That's a name you recognize. A big fish in the city's criminal underbelly. But you don't let him see it. Instead, you lean down, your voice a seductive purr. "Good boy."

You run your hand along his thigh, your fingertips dancing up to his crotch again. He jerks, his body begging for release. But you stop just short, your hand hovering over him. "But that's not all I need to know."

He groans, his eyes pleading. "What...what else?"

You smile, a wicked glint in your eye. "Everything, Hank. Every detail."

With a flick of your wrist, you unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock springs free, hard and desperate. He tries to struggle again, but the chair holds him firmly in place. You take a moment to appreciate the view, the way his erection juts out, pulsing with the rhythm of his racing heart. Then, you wrap your hand around him, your grip firm but gentle.

You start to stroke, slow and deliberate. His eyes roll back in his head, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "The...the...other jobs," he gasps. "They were...for charity. For kids, for the homeless."

You keep your rhythm steady, your eyes never leaving his face. "Go on."

His breath comes in ragged pants now, his hips moving with your hand. "The...the diamonds," he whispers. "They...they were for a children's hospital."

You nod, your hand moving a little faster. "And the art?"

"A...a museum," he chokes out. "They needed...needed funding."

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "Why steal for them?"

He swallows hard, his body tight with need. "Because...because no one else would help."

Your hand speeds up, your grip tightening. "What about the people you hurt, Hank?"

He opens his eyes, the reality of his actions crashing over him. "They...they didn't matter."

You stop, your hand hovering just above his cock. "What makes you think they didn't matter?"

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with pain and desperation. "Because...because the ones I was helping mattered more."

You resume stroking, your touch a little softer now. "But they were just pawns in your game, weren't they?"

He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," he whispers.

You lean back, watching him. His body is taut with tension, his breathing erratic. You know he's close, so close to the edge. But not yet. "Tell me about the last job, Hank. The one that went wrong."

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It...it was a mistake. I didn't mean to get caught."

You cock your head, your eyes gleaming. "And what did you take?"

He grits his teeth, the struggle clear on his face. "A...a necklace. For...for my sister."

You nod, your hand moving faster now. "And why did you choose that necklace?"

"It...it was her birthday," he gasps, his eyes filling with tears. "I wanted to make her happy."

You lean in, your voice a gentle caress. "What was so special about that necklace?"

Hank's body jerks as he fights back the sob that threatens to escape. "It...it was one like our mother's. She...she never got to wear it. I wanted her to have something of hers."

The room feels heavier with the weight of his confession, the air thick with unshed tears. But you don't let up. You need all the information he has. "Where is it now, Hank?"

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I...I don't know. I had to ditch it when you...you caught me."

You stroke him a little faster, his cock hardening in your grip. "Where did you hide it?"

He moans, his hips bucking involuntarily, a tear slipping from his eye. "In...in a locker at the bus station. Number 43."

You nod, your hand moving faster, your strokes now a blur. He's close, so close. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, with a strangled cry, he finally breaks, his body convulsing as he climaxes, hot cum spurting into the space between his stomach and the chair. You watch with a detached fascination, your hand still moving until the last tremor passes through him.

As he pants for breath, his body limp with exhaustion, you lean down and whisper in his ear, "Good boy." You give his cock one final squeeze before releasing it, watching as it goes soft again. You step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You've got what you wanted—his confession, the fence's name, the location of the necklace. But the game isn't over yet.

You pull a handkerchief from your pocket and offer it to him. He looks at it with a mix of disgust and gratitude, using it to clean himself up. You watch, your expression unreadable. "You know, Hank," you say, your voice low and calm, "you're not such a bad guy. Just...misplaced."

He glares up at you, his wrists still bound by the zip tie. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You shrug, tucking the handkerchief back in your pocket. "You had a reason. A good one, even." You lean back against the wall, crossing your arms again. "But you're still a thief."

The anger in his eyes fades to something else—despair, maybe. "What are you going to do to me?"

You smile, a cold, hard smile that sends a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Hank. That's not for me to decide."

You leave him there, the room echoing with the sound of his labored breathing. You've got your answers, but the night is still young. And there's so much more to uncover about Hank, the man behind the mask. As you walk back to your office, you can't help but wonder what other secrets he's hiding. And how much more of himself he'll be willing to give up before the dawn breaks.

taglist! @baileysturns @joyouswonders @eternal-love