#unsafe. unsafe in my body. in my skull.

[chaoticbooklesbian]

Having some Complicated Feelings tonight that my brain is too mush to tease apart, love that for me

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the others failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more prominent in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and you picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh filling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your clit against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palms to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[bluemotifofsleep]

Appetite

suna rintarou x reader

- and when he’d kissed you that first time, with all of the hunger of a man at the end of the world indulging in his last meal, you should have seen it as the sign it was.

content: alcohol consumption, swearing, slight dub-con but very slight, smut, unsafe sex, corruption kink, size kink, choking (oops) , plot what plot, inappropriate amount of use of the word “baby” , not beta read

this came from a very decrepit part of my mind, enjoy.

~

“ya look real stiff, ya know. loosen up.”

for atsumu to tell you those words was like asking a fish to breath air. it was wholly against your character to “loosen up”, especially at a party like this one.

you’d been dragged here by the twins, both arguing that “it’s collage! yer gonna miss out on all the fun if ya stay in yer room readin’ books the whole time.” and for the first time, you’d had nothing to negotiate with. you had no upcoming assignments, no papers due to otherwise busy yourself with. and so you’d been dragged.

it was not your scene.

the bustle of the party jostled you every now and then in the unfamiliar kitchen you were standing in. the bass of the music loud enough to drown out your own heartbeat in your ears, the rush of blood that started when you’d entered the place and hadn’t stopped since.

you felt like a dolphin dropped into the sahara desert. a lone imposter amongst the other students your age. the people shouting and frat-flicking and on a completely different planet than you were. you feel entirely alone in your predicament.

you really, really shouldn’t be here.

and it’s not your first party, but most others were small hangouts, things that probably wouldn’t even qualify as parties at all. this one was huge, the sheer number of people making you feel claustrophobic in the small student apartment you were all crammed into. your only saving grace was the twins, who you’d made promise you they wouldn’t ditch your side the whole night.

the twins who are currently bickering on over who can make a better cocktail, even though you’d assured them you didn’t want it regardless. but now atsumu is shoving a red plastic cup smelling strongly of vodka that’s somehow already sticky on the sides into your hands and telling you to “drink up!”.

you… really shouldn’t. last time you drank with the twins all three of you ended up taking turns puking into your toilet, and the hangover the next day was something for the ages. you really shouldn’t.

but alcohol gives you the promise of drowning out this buzz under your skin, the need to hide from all these prying eyes. it’ll ease your tensions a bit, make your mouth looser and enable you to have a decent conversation with someone without the fear of saying something wrong looming over you.

alright, you’ll just have one drink. just one.

well, four cups later and you’d already forgotten your quota. it’d been a while since the last time you drank, so the alcohol made quick work of fucking up your system, leaking into your muscles and making your eyes droop. your thoughts were little clouds floating across your skull, not sticking around long enough for you to worry about them at all.

maybe the music was getting louder, or maybe you just started paying attention to it better. it felt like the bass traveled up through your feet and into your skull, rattling your nerves and adding to the buzz your whole body put out.

you vaguely register that the twins are fighting again, something about grey goose or absolut tasting better. all of it tasted like trash, you wanted to say, but the words got stuck like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth as a chill went up your spine.

someone’s staring.

even in your inebriated consciensness, you can feel eyes on you like a dagger in your back. it manages to slither in before the alcohol can subdue it, tickling up your spine like a snake.

before you can turn around to find the culprit, atsumu is lighting up and yelling “sunarin!” over your shoulder, way too fucking close to your ear in your opinion.

and more like a wild animal than a man, suna rintarou creeps around the side of you and into your vision, and you realized that the feeling of being watched never left.

“where ya been? haven’t even seen ya all night.” it’s osamu speaking now, and you notice that his words are slurring slightly. it makes you feel better that your not the only one fucked up.

“me and gin just got here, i like to show up later to these things.” his voice is like honey in your ears, and for some reason it reaches through your drunkenness and scratches at something gooey inside of your chest. you can’t tell if you like the feeling or not.

“this is sunarin, he’s on the volleyball team with me n’ ‘samu.” atsumu slurs to you, and you want to say “i know, dumbass. i watch you guys all the time” but the words get caught in your throat when suna turns to you, looming over you like a predator.

“i’ve seen you before, in the stands.” the thought of him picking you out of a crowd of strangers scratches at that weird thing inside you, and it makes you feel a bit trapped for some reason.

all that comes out of your mouth is your name, a poor introduction but one nonetheless. the alcohol is making it hard to form thoughts, or maybe it’s just the way suna is looking at you.

when he repeats your name, your ears light up bright hot, blood rushing to your head and making you feel dizzy with his voice.

“oh yeah? sunarins noticed ya.” atsumu waggles his eyebrows stupidly at you, and you didn’t notice he’d put his arm around you but he jostles you side to side like a prize to be won. you want to punch him in the gut.

“ah, there’s gin. let’s go say hi ta him.” osamu says, and then both of your safety blankets are leaving you with this man that you barely know who does weird things to your stomach. you have half a mind to shoot your hand out and grab at osamu before he gets away but you’d feel like a baby if you did, so it says shock still beside you.

when you look up at suna, he’s already looking at you. something you can’t name in his eyes. if you saw it on a wild animal in the woods you’d think you’re about to be eaten alive. but on him? you don’t know what it makes you think. maybe that you should have grabbed osamus arm when you had a chance.

“hey, you doing okay? you look a little out of it.” his words ring out in the space between you, and there isn’t a trace of genuine concern in his voice. it sounds smug to your ears, something too sharp for your drunk brain to register. somehow it feels like a warning. a bright neon sign saying “turn back now” or “wrong way”.

it’s just you, you want to reply to him. it’s just him making you sway slightly from side to side, it’s just him causing the buzzing under your skin, it’s just him clouding your thoughts and making it hard to open your mouth and reply.

“i think i, um, might need some water.” comes out instead, and he smirks like he’s been waiting for you to say that, like you’re a bug that just crawled under his shoe.

“i’ll get you some.” and then he’s gone, taking with him his suffocating presence that had been slowly squeezing you tighter. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders sinking with it.

who is this guy?

he returns with a glass of water before you can answer your own question, but when you reach for it he just shakes his head.

“i’ll do it, so you don’t spill all over yourself.” you want to reply im not that drunk, then you realize that your hands are shaking, and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, or if it’s-

the cup in his hand descends towards your mouth before you can finish your thought. against your better judgment, you part your lips so he can fit the cold rim of the glass in between them. he puts his hand on your shoulder to steady you, but his thumb creeps upwards towards your neck, dangerously close to your throat, thumbing at the soft skin there. the touch makes tingles shoot out from the point of connection, and you almost forget how to swallow when the water touches your lips.

when the first rush of cold water enters your mouth, you gulp it down greedily. this is normal, right? he’s just helping you, making sure you don’t ‘spill all over yourself’, there’s no other intention behind his actions. but when you look up and meet sunas eyes looking down at you, you almost choke on the water in your throat.

the look is something you can only describe as hungry. you feel like you’re looking into a black hole, something with no end. something you could fall into and never reach the bottom of, free falling with your stomach in your throat, and you can’t tell if your leaning towards it or away from it.

you feel dizzy, partially from a lack of oxygen and partially from his gaze washing over you in a flash of heat. goosebumps prickle up from your skin, an accute awareness in where his hand is sitting on your shoulder.

you grab at his wrist and tug to get him to pull the cup back, because it didn’t seem like he wanted to stop anytime soon, like he was trying to fucking drown you. you gulp the air into your lungs greedily. the feeling in your head gets doubled, a whirling feeling like you can’t tell up from down. luckily his hand is still on you stabilizing you, or you embarrassingly might’ve have fallen.

“all better?” and fuck, you’d missed his voice in the few minutes since he last spoke. the shivers running down your spine are getting addictive, the rush of adrenaline awakening something inside you that’s been dormant for years.

you want to tug him down into you and show him just how much better you’re feeling but you hum out a conformation instead, the vibrations flowing through you and adding to the buzz your feeling.

he gulps down the rest of the water you’d left behind, and you watch his throat swallow greedily. you want to reach out and drag your fingers along it, feel his pulse and confirm he is human and not something sent down from heaven to test your resolve.

he doesn’t break eye contact while he drinks, looking at you parched as if he isn’t drinking water at all. the cosmos’s that are his irises threatening to drink you instead, merge you into one.

it’s getting harder to say that you don’t want that, too.

the only break you get is when he places the empty glass on the counter, and then his gaze is eating you up again, clawing at your nerves. when he breaks eye contact, you realize it’s just to get a better look at you, the whole of you. it feels like you’ve suddenly stripped naked in from of him, shedding your skin and muscle too. giving him unlimited access to your nerves, your heart.

“you sure? you still look out of it.” his words are goading, trying to convince you as much as himself; trying to wriggle into your mind and turn off the switch that lets you have your own thoughts, trying to take control. “you want to go somewhere quiet?”

as normally innocent the words would be on their own, the look he’s giving you indicates it’s a very important question. life, or death. up, or down. will you sink, or swim?

will he drown you?

just like you took that first sip of alcohol that night, you slip your hand into his waiting one. you choose the path you shouldn’t, but it’s tugging you down regardless.

the face he makes when you do, though, almost makes you regret it. it’s something just past the point of hunger, something a predator makes before they pounce. before you have time to reconsider, he’s dragging you down the dark hallway into a room along the side of it, shutting the door behind you. you can’t tell if he locks it, a thought that tingles along the back of your spine in trepidation.

“you should sit down.” it’s worded like a suggestion but his voice falls flat. instead of waiting for you to make the decision on your own, he backs you with his tall frame and wide shoulders until the back of your legs hit the matress. unfortunately, you don’t have the balance to stay upright so your ass lands on the bed with a bounce, causing him to loom over you even more than he already did.

this entire situation feels like a game of chess, analyzing his moves, but you don’t know if you want to win or lose. should you concede? flick your king over so he can advance?

you dont have to, he’s already moving in. you dont need to give him permission, spread your legs to make room for him, he’s bending down and making room for himself.

kneeling in between your legs, he doesn’t look any smaller, and it’s an insane thought. he’d tower over you laying down.

“i’ve noticed you, at every game you’ve been to.” his hand is reaching around your throat, somehow dwarfing you again in a new way, tilting your head up towards him. “fuck, how could i not.” then he’s squeeeezing his hand ever so slightly with his words, and your eyes are almost fucking crossing at the pressure, the feeling between your legs changing from an ache to a throb.

“with your cute little skirts, barely even covering your ass.” he’s flipping the skirt your wearing now up, flashing your panties and making your cheeks warm even hotter.

“and the way you congratulate the twins after every win, almost makes me jealous.” there’s that feeling again, something hot in your chest that makes you want to run out of here before you lose yourself completely to him, before you get swallowed whole.

he’s leaning his mouth down to where he has your chin tilted up with his thumb, so even if you wanted to run, your legs turn to jelly underneath you, useless.

and, ah, this is where those hungry gazes come to fruition. because if you thought his eyes were eating you alive, his mouth was devouring you.

your head tilts back against his onslaught despite yourself, your neck losing the ability to keep your head up properly, but he’s squeezing your throat to keep you in place. his other hand makes its way from your thigh to the back of your head, giving him the power to deepen the kiss into something even more decrepit and dangerous.

he licks into your mouth, and it feels like he’s exploring your mind with it, and you fucking mewl.

the kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, not that you had much experience to begin with. should it feel like this? he licks along your gums, unable to get enough of your mouth. should it feel like drowning?

when his hand moves from your neck, it slides down your body. you almost think he’s reaching for your skirt again until he goes back up, under your shirt.

the first squeeze of his big hand on you causes your lips to open against his and you breath a moan into his open mouth. he sucks it in greedily.

“fuck, baby. so fucking sensitive, huh?” just to prove his point, he reaches a thumb under your bra to flick at your nipple, and all you can do is squeeze your legs around him and whimper into the air between you.

he groans, something deep and guttural, and it washes over you in another wave of heat. you want more. you want to hear what other sounds he can make.

all you can express outwardly is another whine when his mouth descends onto your neck. he’s sucking on the skin there, and you feel devoured again. especially when he ads his teeth to the mixture of pleasure, dragging them against your fragile skin while his hand that used to hold the back of your head drops to your panties.

the first swipe of the thumb against the outside of your underwear has any remaining thoughts slipping from your mind. your spine threatens to give out completely underneath you, and you teeter against suna before you fall backwards into the matress.

you make it as far as one breath full of air before he’s following you down, climbing over you and lifting beneath your armpits to slide you further up the mattress, pressing one of his legs in between yours.

when he leans back down to kiss you again, your moan has no where to go while he rubs his thigh against you, his hand still shoved up your shirt.

fuck, you feel overwhelmed. his presence shrouds over you and overrides your nerves, making your limbs feel useless and liquid beside you. when he pulls back to look over you again, he smirks at what you only can imagine is the image of a disheveled mess.

“suna,” jesus, since when does your voice sound so whiny? you can’t worry about it much when you need his mouth back on you, you need his hands everywhere. “please.”

he grins like he’s caught you, something wide and full of teeth.

“please what, baby?” you can feel his hand dragging back up your front, tugging your shirt up with it and letting cold air onto your steaming skin. “need me to go get you some more water?” but he looks like you’d have to drag him off you, no intention of leaving, his question coming out teasing instead of genuine.

fuck, how can you explain what you need from him? need you everywhere, you want to say to him, but he’d probably take that as an opening to tease you again. instead of words, you’ll show him what you need.

despite you arms feeling numb, you drag them up your torso and start unbuttoning your shirt with suna’s hand still tucked underneath. unfortunately, you’re too drunk (yeah, you’ll blame it on the alcohol and not on him) to get the buttons out. fortunately, suna takes pity on you.

not before smirking wolfishly at the blatant display of what he was doing to you, of course.

he makes quick work of your shirt and then his own, tossing them somewhere you scarily cant see and then giving the same treatment to your bra. when you’re bare except for your skirt and panties, he doesn’t give you time to be embarrassed before he’s leaning down and kissing you again.

suna kisses like a man fucking starved, his tongue finding places in your mouth you didn’t even know you had. it makes you so delirious you don’t even realized he’s pushed aside your panties with two fingers. so when he sinks those same fingers into you, you bite down on his lip, hard.

all he does is groan again, in that same deep way that makes you feel a bit lost inside him.

“fuck, baby, you’re sucking me right in.” why did he have to have such a filthy mouth? you want to cover your face with your hands, hide from his hungry gaze. but he’s right, you can hear yourself over the sound of your whimpers, the thick squelch that tells you his fingers are finding no resistance at all against you.

“suna, i need- ah!” before you have the chance to tell him to fucking move he’s curling his fingers expertly against you, finding a spot inside you that makes pleasure shoot out into your arms and legs, causing you to moan unabashedly into the air while your spine arches against him.

fuck, you hope he locked that door earlier.

“you look so good like this under me.” his words don’t even register to you when he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the drag of them against your walls something delicious and addicting.

your eyes are slipping shut in pleasure, your head dipping back against the pillow behind you, but a hand grabs at your jaw and tilts it up again.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he does something particularly wicked with his wrist that has your eyes shooting open and a filthy moan falling from your mouth. “good girl, keep your eyes on me. i’m going to make it all better, okay?.”

make what better? make this fire inside your gut go out? yes, please, you want to say, but all your throat seems capable of doing is whining brokenly.

when his fingers pull out of you, you almost feel like you’re going to cry from the loss. then you hear the sound of his pants unzipping and you don’t have the brain power to miss his fingers when his cock is pressing against your entrance.

when he slides home, it feels like an epiphany. an “aha!” moment that you can’t help but feel tracks back to that first moment you’d felt eyes on you, like this was bound to happen. the second he’d seen you, he’d set your future in stone.

he groans like he’s just tasted water after hours in a desert, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him was something he needed to survive.

it feels like he’s hitting ground zero inside you, striking up the nerves deep inside and causing fireworks to explode in your stomach. you can’t help but let out a gasp when he pulls out half way, and slams back into you twice as hard. you grip onto his shoulders just to feel grounded, just to have something to tether you back down to earth, and he gasps when your nails dig into his skin.

then he’s pulling back, and fucking into you for real. hard thrusts that make you see stars every time they connect, hitting that point inside you that threatens to shatter you in two.

“fuck, baby, this what you needed?” you’re moaning, whimpering in agreement to his words. “that first time you looked up at me, ah fuck, this is what you were begging for, right?” but his words are lost on you, because he’s reached his hand down onto your throat again and starts squeezing.

there’s something devastating building up inside you, something so powerful you feel tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. the pressure on your throat is limiting blood flow to your head, causing a floating sensation that just ads to the fire building in your core.

he reaches down and kisses you again, and you’re fucking gone.

it’s absolute oblivion. something that feels like it tears through you and leaves nothing behind. all you can do is dig your nails harder into his back and chant suna, suna, suna against his lips.

he groans like your cunt clamped down on him hurts, but he just thrusts harder into you, chasing his own end.

when he does, he moans into your mouth, and in your post-orgasm dazed brain you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard. he thrusts one more time, hard and deep into you and then he collapses against you.

you’re spent. your limbs are limp against the mattress, your breathing stuttered, your heartbeat fast and fluttering against your ribcage.

you can vaguely register his lips kissing your collar bone, but your consciousness is starting to leak out of you. a result of your epic comedown, an adrenaline crash that sucked the life right out of you.

just as your eyes flutter closed and the darkness fades in, you hear suna one last time.

“knew from the fucking second i saw you, baby,” and your brain is leaking into oblivion, your thoughts a slew of darkness seeping across the inside of your skull. “that i could make you mine.”

~

[noctiva]

hi cuteness!! I cannot wait for pt 2 of your toby fic to arrive.. I am literally refreshing every chance grahhhhh >-<

any thoughts on toby x fem reader and kind of like ur recent one of reader giving head after a long day but just the other way around??? dying and begging for soft anything with toby, penetrative or not!!! I hope you're doing well and I feel awful for requesting bc you seem so busy!

-🦇

hello my love!! thank you so so much i know this is long overdue but don’t everrrrrr feel bad for requesting! your girl is booked and busy but that’s the way I like it! constant stream of toby thirst fuel? yes puhleasee

//

Nectar

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 7.1k

Summary: Toby works so hard just to make it home to you. He wants to make sure you know that.

CW: mentions of death and injury, semi-detailed descriptions of murder, blood, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, praise and sweet talk, little bit of overstimulation, hair pulling, biting, scent kink?? I guess, unsafe sex, established relationship, they’re so in love it’s sickening.

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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He did this all for you.

The blood on his hands, the heaviness of his muscles, how his eyelids drooped with fatigue even though his mission was hours from being over. Toby did it all for you. All just to keep you safe, comfortable, and happy.

Ever since he had met you, you had been his driving force. Knowing that being close to you was dangerous, but being too selfish to stay away anyways. Because of that, he forced himself to work overtime - picking up more missions, harder missions, proving his worth and dissuading any suspicion that might be building up around him. It was tiring work, but it was worth it, because in return he got rewarded with the warmth of your body against his.

Your soft skin, pressed against his calloused and scar ridden body. Your hair, always smelling so sweet because of that strawberry shampoo you loved so dearly. Your eyes, always warm and brimming with love as you looked up at him like he was the only man in the world. The gentle melody that was your voice, speaking his name like it was holy scripture.

It was hard to think about anything other than you, even when he was knee deep in carnage and sinew - blood caking onto his skin with each brutal swing of his hatchets. It was more like working on autopilot, barely even mentally present as his blade cracked open the skull of some unfortunate soul who had made their way onto his hit list.

He just had to get it done. Because once it was all over, he could skip right on home to you - and promptly bury himself in your warmth if you’d allow it.

He just wanted to pull you in close, nuzzle into your hair and breathe your scent in deep. Wash away the sickly smell of copper with the sweetness that clung to you daily. Wanted to sink his fingers into your soft, yielding flesh - dig into your hips and leave indentations behind. Slip down lower to rake his nails against the fat of your ass.

Part his lips and taste you. Licking across your neck to gather the taste of your perfume mixed with sweat, travel down to your cleavage and nuzzle into the valley of your breasts, feeling your heartbeat thump against his cheek.

He wouldn’t normally call himself desperate, but you brought it out in him. You were the perfect woman, in his eyes. Not a single flaw - like god had sculpted you to be someone pulled straight from his dreams. He constantly wondered how he managed to get you, constantly worried that someday he may lose you, and so therefore - constantly wanted to be as close as possible.

On days like today, when he was five hours deep into a mission two hours away from you - it was truly a taxing endeavour to not think about you every second you were apart.

“Rogers! I think he’s dead.” Tim’s voice snapped Toby out of his daydream quickly, tugging him back into the brutal present that he was unfortunately a part of. Kneeled above a mangled corpse, fingers still curled around the handles of his two hatchets, staring down at a face that was more mush than discernible features.

“H-Huh?” Toby faltered, eyes blinking slow as he took in the gruesome scene beneath him - such a stark contrast to the cushy daydream he had just been swimming through. “Oh.” He lowered his weapons and dropped them to the ground beside him, then looking up to Tim, who was staring down at him with a pretty unimpressed expression. “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re ruh-right.”

“Made such a fuckin’ mess.” Tim huffed softly as he examined the sight before him - the smashed head of Toby’s victim practically melting into the ground below it, and the perpetrator completely soaked from the chest up with blood and gore. It was no secret that Toby was the most… Eccentric, out of their little rag tag group of killers, and his victims really got the short straw, but the cleanup for this would probably tack an extra hour onto their time here. “Did you really have to turn him into minced meat?”

If Toby was being honest, he barely remembered the kill at all. Had been too preoccupied living in the fantasy world in his mind, where he was already home and nestled between your thighs. A place he would much rather be than here, and his heart ached knowing you were sat at home waiting for his return.

Were you snuggled up in one of his sweaters while having a little nap to pass the time? Maybe cozied up by the fireplace, working through that book he had bought you a few weeks ago? Whatever you were doing, he wished he was there to watch you do it. Be with you, while you did it. You always slept best curled up against his chest anyway.

“I d-dunno. Wasn’t- chirp! -wasn’t thinking.” He muttered back, slowing pulling himself up onto his feet, leaving two indents in the ground below him where his knees had once dug in.

“Clearly.” Tim snorted and rolled his eyes, before digging into his jacket pocket and pulling out a carton of smokes. He tapped two out of the pack and promptly slotted one between his lips, before lazily tossing the other one at Toby - who fumbled to catch it. “Clean this up. Me and Brian are almost ready to go.”

And so he did, grumbling in annoyance to himself as he cleared away and disposed of what was left of his victim. The longer it took, the more antsy he got, the soft buzz of nicotine not even doing anything to dissuade the impatience flowing through his veins. He just wanted to be home. Just wanted to be home with you, where everything was tenfold better. Where all the blood and grime was just a distant memory, where he could just live as a human being - not as a tool.

By the time he was done, he was aching for you.

Images of you flashing behind his eyelids the whole drive home, fingers itching and twitching with the craving to smooth against your skin. He knew it was desperate, and downright pathetic how he could barely stomach half a day away from his girlfriend - but he didn’t care. If he had it his way, you’d be at an arms reach at all times.

But maybe, time away from you just made seeing you again that much better.

Though he was tired, he made it to the door of your shared cabin in record time - fishing his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. Then, he was pushing it open, and immediately scanning the area. You weren’t in the living room, and he couldn’t hear you milling about in the kitchen. Kicking off his boots and setting his hatchets down on the bench in the entryway, he wandered through his home - peeking into the kitchen just to be sure you weren’t just being quiet.

When he didn’t find you, he padded off to your shared bedroom, absentmindedly tugging his goggles off of his head and wiping blood from the lenses with the bottom hem of his hoodie.

The door was cracked, and so he slowly pushed it open with his shoulder, before being greeted with a sight that nearly made him melt into a puddle against the hardwood flooring.

You were curled up in the sheets, lips parted and eyes fluttered shut as soft slow breaths slipped from your mouth. Your hair was fanned out against the pillow below your head, the fingers of your right hand still curled around the pages of the book you had been reading. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, the material hanging loose and flowy over your peaceful body - swaddled in his scent, which had presumably lulled you to sleep.

So beautiful. It nearly knocked the wind out of him every time he gazed upon you, but especially right now. It was as if an angel had dropped straight from heaven, and landed in his bed.

Once he broke free of the lovestruck stupor that had frozen him in place, he was moving immediately. Gravitating towards you like one magnet to another, tugging off his bloodstained sweater to leave him in just a (arguably) clean black t-shirt. His hands were still bloody, as was his face, but he couldn’t stand another moment without touching you - especially when you looked so lovely. And so, he slid into bed next to you, knowing that you’d probably chastise him for staining the sheets but not caring in the slightest.

His arms snaked around your torso, wrapping you in an embrace as he pulled you in close to his chest. Smiling softly to himself at the soft, sweet little sleepy grumble you let out from being disturbed. Next, his legs intertwined with yours, and his face found a home in the crook of your neck - wrapping you up so completely in his warmth, it seemed as if he was trying to meld into you completely.

“P-Pretty girl.” Toby murmured softly next to your ear, before planting a soft fleeting kiss against the lobe. “Missed you.”

You shift, clearly being tugged from your slumber by his presence, and so he presses further - nuzzling into your neck with a content hum, fingers drawing lazy patterns on your stomach through the fabric of your t-shirt. Then again, he kisses your skin. Again, when you start to stretch your limbs and let out a yawn. Again, when your eyes are slowly fluttering open. Peppering the length of your neck with soft pecks, so that you’d wake up while being showered in his love.

Maybe, the nicest thing to do would just be to let you sleep, but he had been restless all day. He needed to hear your voice, and see your smile, or he knew he’d barely catch a wink of sleep.

“Toby?” Is the first word you mumble when you come to, your voice raspy and thick with sleep - laced with a combination of confusion and hope.

“Who e-else?” Toby chuckles softly in reply, as his slid his hands downwards until they were resting against your hipbones - giving a gentle squeeze before tugging you in closer. Slotting you against him completely, like he’d die if he wasn’t pressed against you in every way possible. “Missed you.” He repeats again, knowing now that you’d actually hear him, before punctuating his words with yet another gentle kiss. This one, on the slope of your shoulder.

“Missed you too.” You hum back to him, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his lips dancing across your skin. Leaving a patch of tingles wherever he made contact, sweet gentle kisses that lit you up completely. Body still heavy with sleep, muscles and limbs stiff and achy, but slowly unfurling as his gentle touches coaxed out a comfortable relaxation. “Missed you more.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from Toby’s chest, and you can feel the vibrations of it against your back. He drags his nose up the side of your neck, before nuzzling into your hair and taking a deep breath in - relishing in the warmth that flooded his veins as the sweet scent of you swirled around his head.

“Y-Yeah?” He murmurs back to you. “So much th-that you fell asleep?”

“Hey!” You grumble back to him, eyebrows furrowing together as you try to crane your neck back to look at him. It’s practically an impossible venture though, with the way he’s curled up into you. “You were gone for a while. Have you checked the time?”

“I know, I-I know.” Finally, Toby peels himself from your body, but not to move away, only to shift. Rolling onto you gently, pressing you back into the soft sheets so that he could actually get a good look at that pretty face of yours. Eyes still hazy and sleepy, the cutest little pout on those plush lips. Laid beneath him all soft and sweet, like a gift to be unwrapped. All of the misfortune and gore that seemed to follow him around didn’t hold an ounce of weight during times like these, as far as Toby was convinced - he was the luckiest man in the world. “I’m just k-kiddin’, baby. I’m sorry I got home s-so late.”

He reaches up to cup your face with his stained hands, smoothing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks. It’s the most beautiful sight, when you melt into the touch, leaning into him though the evidence of his crimes was still streaked across his skin. You never minded though, you were always so forgiving of him, even if you knew deep down how wretched he was.

“Could’ve at least showered before you woke me up.” You hum back to him softly, eyes scanning across his face - lingering on every speckle of blood that stood out so starkly against his pale skin. The thought of how it got there, what he had done before coming home to you, it should make you nauseous - but it didn’t. It never did. For reasons you couldn’t begin to try and explain, more easily just chalking it up to be because you loved him. “You’re gonna stain the sheets.”

“I’ll wash ‘em.” Toby laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the corners before he was dipping his head down to nudge into the crook of your neck once more. His breath warm against your skin, fingers rough as they trailed down your jaw to rest under the swell of your breast.

“You won’t.” You huff back to him, the annoyance in your voice a complete facade that proved obvious when your lips twitched upwards at the corners. Your hand comes up, lazily threading into the messy hair atop his head as he goes back to leaving sloppy kisses against your skin - his teeth grazing against you every now and then, causing your arms to pebble with goosebumps.

“I will.” Shifting to fully straddle you, Toby’s thighs rest on either side of your hips, caging you in. His hand wanders not enough to cross the line, but enough to make his intentions clear as he gently cups your breast with his palm - feeling the weight of it, braless in his hold. Fingers twitching and jerking as he tried his best to be as gentle as possible. It was hard to be, when you were so soft it was if your body was begging for him to sink in deep - but he didn’t want to be rough with you.

Though you did always look so lovely, marked with the evidence of his claim, he wanted to leave your skin spotless tonight. Treat you with the carefulness of someone handling fine china. Because that’s what you deserved, really, for putting up with all that you did. For putting up with him. Caring for him. Looking past all of his misdeeds like they were nothing.

You were a goddess. A saint. And so it would only be fair, to worship you like one. “I j-just really missed you.” He gently palms your breast, as his other hand trails down to cup your waist, all while his kisses slowly turned more and more insistent. Lips parting, tongue darting out to lave at your neck, savouring the flavour of your skin on his tastebuds. Breathing you in, caressing the skin his hands had ached to touch all day, unable to get enough now that you were beneath his fingertips. “Left you a-alone for way too long.”

“I passed the time.” You murmur to him, letting out a little sigh as a shudder goes down your spine, unable to help the way your body responded when Toby was showering you in such tender affection. Not being hasty, or greedy, paying ample attention to every spot before he moved onto the next.

“Yeah?” His thumb rolls over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, a small rumble of appreciation vibrating from his chest at the feeling of it perking up under his touch. His teeth nip your earlobe lightly, and his other hand squeezes your waist gently, before he’s asking; “W-What did you do?”

It’s a little hard to answer, when you have your boyfriend on top of you, seemingly hellbent on slowly but surely riling you up to a maddening degree. Giving you just enough to leave you wanting more, generating a heat that was trickling down your body - lower and lower until you were squeezing your thighs together. Trying to stay put together, but failing, because every touch was pulling you undone more and more - evident by the flush that had started to creep onto your cheeks.

Still though, you try anyway.

“Went on a walk.” Toby squeezes your breast gently, kneading the supple flesh in his palm as he lets out a barely audible groan against your skin. “F-Finished that scarf I was trying to make.” Your thighs were twitching, breathing growing shakier as Toby lips trailed from your neck to your collarbone - nudging the collar of your shirt out of the way to gain access to more skin.

“B-Busy girl.” He mumbles against you, making your hips jolt when his fingers teasingly dipped under the hem of your shirt - pleased to find that you were only wearing panties beneath it. “What else?” He doesn’t touch you fully, not yet, settling instead on just grazing his fingers against the lace, giving you the ghost of his touch and nothing more. He wanted you melting before he even got you bare. Wanting to savour this, not wanting to rush it after spending all day salivating over the thought of it.

This wasn’t about him though, when you peeled back all the layers of his desperation, this was all about you. Treating your body with the tenderness it deserved, working you up in an almost delicate manner, leaving you shaky and breathless before he even touched you proper. Absolutely dripping for him, by the time he got a taste.

And well, he was succeeding. You were sure that the warmth you were bathed in was radiating off of you, your impatience clear when your hips jumped at the slightest touch. Searching, begging for friction to placate the ache between your thighs. You could feel your panties growing damp, slickness pooling between your folds as Toby played your body like a damn fiddle. Always knowing just how to touch you to make you squirm, how to make your breathing go shallow in just a matter of moments.

“Practiced- ah!” A surge of pleasure ricocheted through your body the moment his fingers dipped down lower, doing nothing more than just pressing against your cunt lightly - but having you so worked up by now that it’s enough to make your entire body buzz. “Practiced piano, a- a little bit.”

“Mm, y-you’ll have to play f-for me sometime.” Slowly, he rubs gentle circles against you through your panties, his own breathing hitching as your slick wets his fingers through the fabric. “Bet you’re g-getting real good.”

He finds your clit with ease, pressing down against it and rolling it under the pad of his thumb. And you just get wetter, he can feel it, see it when he pulls his head back to look at you properly. The sheen of your arousal dampening the insides of your thighs, pussy pulsing and twitching under his touch. Crying for it, your body begging him for more so earnestly.

“T-Toby-“ You whimper softly, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you gaze up at him. His messy hair is falling over his eyes, the freckles on his cheeks drowning in the pink flush that had begun coating his skin. His eyes are dark, hungry, yet brimming with awe as they stay locked on your barely clothed cunt. The muscles in his forearm flexing every time his fingers moved against you. The sight of him above you, just proves to take you higher, and you can’t help it when a downright pitiful little whine slips from your lips. “I need you to touch me, please.”

“I am t-touching you, baby.” His voice is low and rough as he rubs tight circles against your clit, sparking up a pleasure that rolled through your body and made your limbs feel gooey. “You n-need more?”

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, irises clouded in desire so potent he may as well have had hearts in his eyes. Then, his hand stills, leaving you yearning for more, and hopeful that you’ll get it when his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties instead. “P-Pretty pussy’s begging f-for it, hm?” He tugs, slowly tugging your underwear down your hips, pausing to let you lift a bit before he’s pulling them the rest of the way off. Fingers grazing the outsides of your thighs, leaving a trail of tingles against your skin. “Can’t-Can’t leave you hanging. E-Especially since I’ve been wanting it just as bad.”

Toby shifts his body, sliding down the bed until he finds himself at eye level with your glistening cunt, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as drool pooled in the corners of his lips. He can feel it when it seeps out of his mouth gash and drips down his jaw, but it’s the least of his worries - despite how desperate he knows it must make him look. That was alright. Desperate was exactly what he was, and you deserved to know that you had him wrapped about your finger. “Spent all day th-thinkin’ about you.”

He leans in, pressing his cheek against your thigh before he’s turning his head to plant a kiss against the sensitive skin. Parting his lips to really taste you, letting his teeth peek out just to make you jolt. “Thinkin’ about h-how beautiful you are. How badly I j-just wanted to forget it all and come home to you as soon as p-possible.”

You can feel his stubble tickle your skin as he slowly works his way down your thigh, closer and closer to your aching core - lapping up the sweat and slick smeared across you. Your head feels hazy, heart thudding in your ears, the heat within you just burning hotter and hotter each time his mouth connected with your skin. “Thought about h-how lucky I am. How much I hope I m-make that clear to you.”

“You do.” You gasp out, bringing a trembling hand down to tangle in his hair once more - curling into the fluffy brown strands and gently tugging him in closer. Impatience getting the better of you, which is rewarded by Toby giving you a sly little smile with eyes glinting under hooded lids.

Was it too much to say that Toby looked best between your thighs? Maybe, but it was simply the truth. Skin flushed and eyes dark, looking at you like you were a feast and he was nothing but a starving dog. Long lashes fanning against his cheeks, lips glistening with drool that had begun accumulating in his mouth.

And the best part? You never had to ask. He just loved being there. Loved putting all of his effort into making you feel good. He’d spend hours there, if you let him - lapping at your heat until his jaw locked up. Ignoring the ache in his own pants in favour of drinking in release after release he managed to pull from you.

And he said he was the lucky one.

“D-Do I?” He asks, before pressing a soft kiss to your already swollen clit. His grin only widens when he feels the grip on his hair tighten. “I’m glad. Sh-Should I make it even more clear?”

“Please.” You couldn’t be bothered to try and act coy right now, your mind clouded and your body reaching a fever pitch. You feel like you’re melting in his hands, slipping through his fingers as he reduces you to a pool of mush. You could barely comprehend it, having gone to sleep alone, then waking up to the whirlwind of affection Toby had swept you up in. You weren’t complaining though, far from it. You were pleading for more.

And who was Toby, to deny his girl?

“I-I’ve got you.” Toby’s voice, thick with desire, rings in your ears as his hands push against your hips - pinning them to the bed to stop them from bucking up impatiently. Keeping you locked firm in his grasp, all his for the taking. “Ju-Just lie back and r-relax, alright? You know I’ll take care of you.”

That, you did know, and he just proves it more when his tongue meets your cunt mere moments later. He licks a long, flat stripe from your hole to your clit - drinking up every drop of your essence like it was the sweetest nectar. To him, it was, so much so that it pulls a moan from his lungs as well as yours. The taste making his brain go fuzzy the moment it met his tastebuds, already getting dizzy just from the feeling of you pulsing under his tongue.

You were divine. Absolutely divine. And he would swear you just got better every time you parted your legs for him. It was no wonder he spent every second away thinking about you, when being with you made him feel as if he was ascending to a higher plane. “Taste so g-good.” He’s slurring against you, eyes fluttering shut as he wholehearted buried his face in your cunt - nose bumping against your clit as his tongue swiped through your folds. His grip on your thighs, though tight, was tender. Thumbs rubbing soft circles against you in an almost soothing motion - though all it was really doing was bringing another source of stimulation. He was gentle, so gentle as he held your legs open. Gentle, as he sucked on your clit before slipping his tongue inside you.

You, were left just a gasping mess on the sheets before him. Legs twitching and hips bucking as he licked into you with languid thrusts, burying his tongue as deep as he could with each swipe. Like he was trying to lick you clean, suck you dry of everything you had to offer. You’d give it to him, easily conceding as melting into him as he drank you in.

He was attentive. Already knowing and keeping track of every little thing that you liked the best. How your walls would tense up around him when he flicked his tongue inside of you, the way you’d cry out when he nuzzled up against your clit while doing it. He knew how to make you feel good, because that was his favourite thing in the world to do after all.

“Ah, Toby-“ That was why. Because you sounded the most beautiful when you were falling apart. Moaning out his name in a tone so sweet, that it stuck to his ears like molasses. He couldn’t get enough of it, and he quite honestly didn’t think that it was possible to. His need for you being an ache that ever persisted, a part of him that would never disappear. And that’s just the way he liked it. Being wrapped around your finger, falling at the feet of the angel he had the honour of calling his lover. “Don’t- Don’t stop-“

He wouldn’t dream of it. Toby could feel your pleasure cresting - the walls of your pussy twitching around his tongue as he licked into you. So wet, it was dripping down his chin. He couldn’t help but moan into you, absentmindedly rutting his hips down against the bed as he doubled his efforts. Barely any friction at all, but the absolute ecstasy he felt just from making you fall apart before him was enough to satiate him.

With fingers curling into the flesh of your thighs, and nails leaving shallow indentations there - you come undone. Gushing right onto Toby’s tongue, for your boyfriend to eagerly lap up. Your body arches off the bed, shoulders bowing as your thighs shake - a chorus of gasped out moans and cries slipping past your lips, red from being bitten raw.

Toby coaxes you through it, low groans rumbling from his throat as his tongue drags against your sensitive folds - flicking at your clit every so often to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. In all honesty, it’s quite hard for him to relent, even when you start weakly pushing him away because the oversensitivity became too much for you to handle. He just wanted to keep his face buried between your legs, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until your cheeks were slick with tears.

But, he had decided already that he’d be gentle with you, and so he pulls away. Face slick with your release and hair mussed, eyes hazy with a self-satisfied little smile tugging at his lips. “F-Felt good?” He asks softly, smoothing his palms against the backs of your thighs - rubbing the sweat slick skin lovingly.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to gasp out, your head still reeling from the intensity of your release. Basking in your post orgasm glow with your body near limp beneath him. “That even a question?” Through your blurry vision, you observe Toby, watching the way his expression crinkles when he lets out a low chuckle. How his sweat slick hair sticks up at odd angles when he pushes it off of his forehead. The sheen of your release on his chin, which he wipes away with the back of his forearm. And then, then obvious tent in his jeans that your gaze catches on when it drifts lower.

And well now, that’s just not fair is it?

So, despite how shaky they are, you part your thighs once more as you look up to meet his gaze. A silent offer that you know he wasn’t ignorant to, but you make it clear with words anyway. Just because you knew it would make that blush of his darken even more. “C’mon baby, I can’t be the only one who feels good.”

You let your legs fall open like a flower blossoming in spring, your still twitching pussy on full display for him to feast on. And he does of course, eyes widening minutely at the shameless display below him, his cock jumping to life once more. You really were a goddess. You had to be.

“You’re t-too perfect for your own g-good, you know that?” He asks you as he moves in closer once more, before reaching down to grasp the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. After shaking his hair out, he does the same to you, stripping off your last piece of clothing and leaving you completely bare. Bare, and beautiful. Flushed all the way down to your tits, chest heaving and skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. “What did I do t-to deserve you, hm?”

You watch with bated breath as his fingers travel down to work on his belt buckle, tugging it free, too impatient to bother tugging it from the loops before he’s popping the button of his jeans.

“I think the same thing about you.” You hum back to him, unmasked desire clouding your eyes as you track the sight of him pulling down his zipper.

“You sh-shouldn’t.” He laughs dryly in response, but his tone is nothing but fond. The zipper comes down, and now you can really see how worked up he is - straining against his black boxer briefs, so hard you think it’s a miracle that he didn’t cream his pants. “I, am not a good p-person by any means.” He barely slips the rest of his clothing off, far too antsy now to be bothered with stripping completely. He needed to be inside of you ages ago, and so he just settles on tugging his underwear down enough to let his cock spring free. “You-“ He nestles himself snug between your thighs, the weight of his length resting heavy against your cunt. “You are just a s-sweet little lamb. Never done anything wrong.” He ruts against you, coating his length in your slickness as he slides between your folds. Making your breath catch every time he nudged your clit with the head.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, finally tearing away from where they had been hard focused on the sight of his cock slipping against your heat. “Except maybe g-getting involved with me.”

“I don’t regret it for a second.” You beam up at him, eyes brimming with nothing short of adoration - because you really did mean it. You knew, that the side Toby didn’t show to you was that of someone ruthless. Someone who butchered people without a second thought, or an ounce of remorse. Someone who, if you were smart, you’d stay far away from.

But you couldn’t. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, from the first day you met him.

And with you, Toby was simply a doting, devoted partner. So could he truly be so bad?

And was it selfish of you to look past it all, even if he was?

Maybe. But a little bit of selfishness is needed, if happiness is what you seek.

“G-God, I love you.” Toby breaths out, voice shaky and strained. You try to respond, but he barely gives you a second to before the head of his cock is pressing into you.

Your jaw falls slack, body going pliant as he sinks in inch after inch, bringing with it that delicious fullness he always made you feel. Stretching you open so wonderfully, your cunt yielding to him like you were simply made to take him in. Even when he sunk in so deep it made your toes curl and your brows pinch together. Even when the pressure of him inside you left you breathless.

“I- I love you.” You choke out, the words coming out strained and muddled with ecstasy. More so moaned out, than actually spoken, but that just makes it sound that much more beautiful to Toby’s ears.

“Th-That’s right.” Toby murmurs back to you hoarsely, as he slowly draws his hips back - his grip on your waist never faltering as his cock drags against your walls, just to press back in again. “Say it a-again, pretty girl.” He rocks into you gently, really letting you feel it every time your cunt stretches open to welcome him - the emptiness before he fills you right back up again. “Love hearing you s-say it.”

“I-“ You gasp when he hits your gspot, still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that it’s enough to make your head swim. Your words choke off into a moan, and it’s hard to recover when the feeling of him pressing into you again leaves you near brainless. “I love you, T-Toby.”

Toby can’t help but smile down at you, a heady mix of lust and adoration swimming through his veins at the sound of your whimpered out declarations of love. You were so beautiful that it made his chest hurt normally, but right now especially - crying out how much you loved him, looking so pretty with tears in your eyes while he stuffed you with his cock.

If any of the other proxies could see you like this, he’d bet they’d very quickly understand why his head was always in the clouds while on missions. But then again, he’d also kill them if they ever did.

You were his. His girl. His life. His reason to keep going. And though he wasn’t quite sure if he really truly deserved you, those facts were infallible. He much rather die, than ever let you go. Would willingly come close to death every single day, if it meant he’d be coming home to you.

“Th-That’s my girl.” He murmurs gently, before dipping down low to lick and nip at your jawline - hips never faltering as they rolled into you over and over again. Belt clinking every time his skin met yours. “B-But I love you more. You make me f-feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

God, you were perfect. Sucking him in so eagerly every time he pulled out. Walls wrapping around his cock like a glove, pulsing to the tune of your heartbeat, tightening up in a way that made his mind go blank each time he nudged against that sweet spot within you. Your pussy had him under a spell. Whether he was simply tasting it, or buried six inches deep into it, it brought forth an ecstasy he had never once found elsewhere.

‘Pussywhipped’, Brian had called him once, and he knew it was true. Wore that title with pride, because how the hell couldn’t he be, when he had a cunt this glorious all to himself? It felt like you were moulded to the shape of him, milking him so good that he knew he was already close.

He couldn’t help it. You just felt too good. Always did. But especially, when he had really been missing you. “Y-You feel so good, baby.” He’s groaning into your ear, breathing out hot huffs of breath against your neck that have goosebumps rising on your skin. “S-So good, fuck. This pussy was m-made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh-“ You’re gasping back to him mindlessly, head stuffed with cotton as your hands lift to grasp at his broad shoulders. Nails raking against his skin before sinking in deep as a means to ground you, but you know he doesn’t mind. He can’t feel the pain. Just the pressure. The desperation in your grip as you cling to him like a lifeline, curling your whole body around him when your legs come up to lock around his waist. “S’all yours.”

“Damn right it is.” He groans against your skin, voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure consuming him. He’s panting against you, sweat rolling off the strands of his hair and dripping onto your skin. Muscles flexing under your grip from exertion as he snaps his hips into you over and over and over again. Chasing your release, more than his, because he can feel it coming. Can feel how your walls start to convulse around him, sucking him in tighter every time he buried himself to the hilt. And if there was only one thing better than you cumming on his tongue, it was you cumming on his cock. “Y-You gonna give me one m-more?” He mumbles huskily as his lips drag against your jaw, angling his hips to hit your gspot on every thrust, relishing in the way your body jolts and your eyes roll back because of it. “Cum on my dick, sh-show me how much you missed me.”

It was like he had you under a spell, with the way the coil snapped at the sound of his voice. Burying your head in his shoulder as you cried out in ecstasy, clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your entire body.

And with how beautiful you sounded, and how your pussy was squeezing him like a vice, hellbent on milking him dry - it was no surprise that he was tumbling over the edge right along side you.

Toby comes in a flurry of gasps and expletives, pulling out just in time to jerk his cock once, twice, before he’s spilling onto your stomach and chest. Rope after rope of sticky warmth coating your skin and leaving you breathless. You can feel it as it pools in your bellybutton and drips down your sides, staining the sheets below you - but well, they had to be washed anyway, so did it really matter?

“L-Love you.” Is the first thing you hear Toby murmur out when his brain starts to boot back up, face buried in your neck as his cock softens against your thigh. “F-Fucking hell, I love you so much it’s crazy.”

You let out a soft little giggle, chest feeling warm as you pull him in as close as possible without smearing the mess on your skin onto him as well, before pressing a kiss to his jawline. Nuzzling against the stubble there, you murmur;

“Love me enough to clean me up?”

Toby snorts out a laughs and lifts his head just so that you can see it when he rolls his eyes at you, and just like that you’re breaking into a little fit of laughter.

“Wh-Who do you take me for?” He scoffs. “C-Course I will.” Then, he’s sitting up, tucking himself back into his boxers before sitting back on his calves - eyes raking across your naked body as he takes in the damage he caused. “Hm, g-guess I did make a mess, huh?” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry about it. “You look good l-like this, though.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You would think that.” You laugh, lifting your leg to nudge him softly with your foot. “Go get a towel.”

“Alright, alright.” Toby raises his hands in surrender, before slipping off the bed and retreating towards the bathroom. Not before looking back to take in the sight of you once more though. Okay, twice more. Soon though, he returns with a wet cloth, and making true on his promise - wipes you spotless.

Leaving your stomach and chest clean, dipping between your thighs to gently clean up the mess there too. Not stopping until he was sure that you were before he came and sullied you.

Then, he’s finally kicking off his jeans, and crawling into bed with you once more. Tugging you in close to his chest, just like he had when he first got home.

“You still need to shower.” You murmur to him sleepily, though make no effort to stop him as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. Easily conceding when he reached down to tug the blankets over both of you.

“Mm, t-too tired now.” He murmurs against your skin, and you can feel the way his lips curl up into a sly smile. “I’ll d-do it in the morning.”

You, also too tired to argue about it, simply let out a soft sigh before snuggling into him further - finding comfort in the feeling of his bare chest against your back.

“And you’ll wash the sheets?”

“A-And I’ll wash the sh-sheets.”

—————————————————————————☆

hi everyone!! my first post since I died and disappeared for over a week!

very happy to be back I missed u guys so much <3

thank you for readinggggg!

[narcissistshandler]

can't stop thinking wooin would be some kinky shit in his relationship with the reader, maybe you can write something with top!sub reader? I leave the details for you

𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗦

pairing. wooin yoo x male reader

warnings. sub!amab!reader, brief mention of top!reader, dom!wooin, light breath play, masochist!reader & sadist!wooin, kink negotiation, mention of shibari, BDSM practiced in an unsafe and unhealthy way, sounding, urethral play, pushing/testing limits

a/n. I can totally see that and this ended up deeper than planned

"You'd let me take you to your limits, wouldn't you?" he ponders, unhurriedly, almost provocatively. Your silence prompts him to continue: "Can I choke you?" your boyfriend asks, his slender form weighing down on your chest already halfway through.

He sits firmly on top of you, his weight light enough to not crush you, but enough to make each breath shorter, more labored. Your lungs squeezed under the constant pressure, a warm, insistent weight. He wore that usual smile, toothy and bright as the devil himself over you; the two of you still completely dressed.

You tried to suck in air, a natural and unconscious instinct that was now difficult to exert. Your body seemed unwilling to cooperate, leaving you hyperaware of every cell in your body struggling to breathe. "Y-you can."

"What if I spank you a little?" he continued. Now it sounded like a taunt, not a real or genuine interrogation. The words went straight to your cock. The image of him hurting you, causing you pain, his perverse attention all on you. "Not enough to bleed, not if you don't want to."

"Yes," you bit out through gritted teeth, fingers gripping Wooin’s heels sunk into the mattress beside you. Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever he wanted. "What's all this, another kink negotiation? We've already done that." He shakes his head, his hands on your shoulders moving in a caress; the act makes the orange lenses of the glasses atop his black hair glow against the room lights, the flash attacking your skull. "And take off those glasses, the color of them makes me dizzy."

Wooin chuckles, but takes off his glasses, placing them somewhere near your head. The movement makes his weight sink even further onto you, your ribs complaining with a pressure that makes it difficult to breathe without deep pauses and the beginning of a hoarse cough. It seems like just a little more and they'll shatter like glass. But you don't ask him to get up, instead swallowing the discomfort, ironically, like air.

"I want to try something new, so we're just... updating your boundaries."

"You almost dislocated my shoulder with your blunt knots when we tried shibari, if I remember correctly. What now?"

"That was the first time I had to tie so many knots and immobilize someone, my skills will improve if we keep trying."

"I don't want to pay to see."

Wooin clicked his tongue. "Coward."

You ignored the taunt and asked once more, "What is it this time, Wooin?"

"I bought something for you— for us to play with," he said, the sensual tone that always promised danger. Maybe a night full of pleasures, maybe pain and discomfort, and why not both? Agreeing to your boyfriend's requests was always Russian roulette, promising either ecstasy or ruin.

Your eyebrow arched in doubt, urging him to continue.

His smile grew even wider and without warning, Wooin jumped out of bed. The pressure in your chest disappeared so abruptly that for an instant, breathing became impossible—a sharp pain piercing through your muscles. The air pressed like a stone into your lungs. The sensation was overwhelming and you rubbed the spot, trying to calm your racing heart and rapid breathing.

Wooin soon returned, sitting on the bed with a small box on his lap. One of his hands joined yours, helping to massage your chest, but there was no concern on his face, the eyes dark with excitement and the tent stretching the front of his pants that had been there since he settled above you earlier, still firm and present.

"Breathe," he instructed.

"I'm trying," you replied. "What's in the box?"

"A urethral sound."

"What now?" Your voice came out as a whimper. You choked on saliva and air and coughed.

"Breathe."

"I'm breathing," you repeat again, eyes locked on the mysterious box, "A what?"

"A urethral sound. You know? Like the ones doctors stick in your dick when you can’t piss on your own."

"Jesus."

"Want to try it?"

You didn't have much time to speak in response when Wooin kissed you. You could feel his smile against your mouth every moment. How could you deny him when he was already so excited about it?

"If you keep squirming I'll tie you up," Wooin warned. It was meant as a threat, but he sounded too tempted to do it to actually be one. You remembered the last experience involving Wooin and ropes, though. The sharp pain, the hot, thick despair as he struggled to undo the knots as you panted and then almost passed out when in the midst of it all, orgasm overtook you.

Your cock twitched between Wooin's fingers as you remembered one of your most intense orgasms.

You sighed, trying to stop your legs from closing once more at the contact of Wooin's cold, lube-slick fingers. What was about to come was already chilling enough to make you tense, you didn't want to add anything more to it.

"Damn, Wooin."

"Wooin?" he inquired, sliding the metal object over the sensitive head of your member in an action that sent shivers down your spine. It was very cold and hard against your burning skin.

"Sir," you immediately corrected yourself. "Just... just don't hurt me, okay? You know you love my dick too much to break it."

He rolled his eyes. "I have plenty of lube and skilled fingers, what could go wrong? Fear doesn't look good on you, [name]."

You didn't want to think about what could go wrong, so you chose to stay quiet and nod, silently granting Wooin permission to continue.

He didn't hesitate.

The long, straight stainless steel rod didn't look like much if you disregarded where it was supposed to go.

Breath caught in your throat in anticipation as Wooin aligned the hollow tip against your sensitive glans. Contrary to the anxiety in your stomach, you were already wet and sticky, balls so tight they hurt. "Deep breaths now." Your chest rises, slowly, ribs distending as air enters your nostrils, then falls, your breath comes out in a deep puff. This helps, it relaxes you and gives you something else to focus on if not the contact of the sound on your cock, the poisonous anticipation and— your teeth clash at the sensation of the object pushing against you, into you.

It feels too sudden and too much, too soon. Even though you know any movement could hurt you right now, your body wants to jump and run away.

A burning sensation accompanies the invasion.

Wooin is saying something above you. Nothing new, he never seems to shut up, his attention hungry and obsessed on his working fingers. But you can't focus on anything other than the sound sinking inch after remarkable, suffocating inch into your urinary tract. He's not as cruel and evil with it as you initially assumed, pausing every now and then to pour more lube over your cock before continue to press in and in and God help you, in.

It's a strange sensation rather than a painful one. It feels wrong, having something filling that channel, stretching a space that wasn't made for it, reaching a deliriously good point inside you that can only be due to its proximity to your prostate. Now you understood why Wooin always seemed to go crazy when you hit that spot inside him, begging and ordering—don't fucking stop, keep going, right there, hit that spot again. It was getting harder to think now, your breathing becoming heavier.

The steel seems to burn inside your hot, heavy member that pulses along with the rapid beating of your heart. It twitches shamefully and helplessly. Your fingers grip the sheets, feet clenching and thighs struggling to stay apart around Wooin. You feel the stem as if in your stomach, as if in some place you cannot quite describe.

It's too deep. It burns. It hurts... It feels good.

"How does it feel? It's all inside." Wooing makes a point as he proudly puts pressure on the metal tip peeking out of your cock with his thumb. The entire remaining length of the urethral sound is buried in your canal. "See? Didn't I tell you? I know what I'm doing."

No response.

Looking like the anticipation of your answer might kill him, he repeats: "Tell me how it feels to have a rod shoved up your dick."

You don't know if you're still breathing.

"...F-full... weird... I-I don't really know. I can't think." Your throat is dry and your eyes focused on the ceiling of the room, the light burning your orbs. Moisture had at some point appeared in the corner of your eyes, you didn't know exactly why the tears were coming. Wooin would kill you one day.

"You look completely helpless like this, poor dear. Makes me want to devour you."

Wooin's hand is too hot as it wraps around your member and before he even gives the first tug you're already squealing like a wounded animal. This doesn't stop him from continuing to torture you, masturbating you in long, slow strokes and thumb always resting back on the shaft to make sure it stays inside you.

"Too much. Too much."

A voice in the back of your mind screams at you to slap Wooin’s hand away, screams that this hurts, that the thick, oily feeling swirling in your stomach is not a good sign and that your dick is going to break. It screams: He will break you and you will never be the same again. It's a small, desperate, terrified voice that's drowned out by the pleasure rattling through your bones. Discomfort coils like fire in your muscles, much like the burning need for more.

Wooin always manipulated you like a skilled ventriloquist. You never wanted to be whole again.

"You little thing beyond repair," Wooin clicks his tongue as if in reprimand, but you hear the ever-present smile in his tone. "You're going to cum, aren't you? Fucking masochist."

It takes you a few seconds to form a response. The sheets feel like ice as they stick to your sweaty skin. “Can I, sir?”

"No, not yet."

But you weren't sure you could control yourself, push the crescent away—not if Wooin kept touching you, pulling your aching cock through the discomfort of the steel burning inside. Not when he sounded so breathless and excited just from having you exposed and suffering and dying at his hands. Because that's what all experiences with your boyfriend were: petites morts—little deaths—like dying and being reborn a million times. Like living hundreds of lives and feeling each one of them dissolve under his touch.

You would cum, soon, permission given or not, and it would probably hurt even after and through the pleasure. It would probably hurt to pee afterward too. But you knew the memory of the overload would be enough to electrify you and excite you again. You'd find your devil with the glasses and the cruel smile and ask: can we do it again?

"Just a little more... Let's see if we can figure out what your hard limit is today."

[oscquinn]

TA lip making you cockwarm him while he grades papers because you couldn’t be patient and kept begging for him 🚶‍♀️

olive, i think this genuinely killed me. like im 6ft under. nsfw 18+. cockwarming, degradation, name calling, mean dom lip but he's secretly a softie, trust.

you're seated in lip's lap as he sits at his desk grading papers. it's a precarious perch but with the way you cling to his body it doesn't feel unsafe. his cock is brushing deep inside you, you've felt it go soft with time, as he made you wait and wait and wait for what you really wanted. you shift your hips just a bit, grinding until his tip just barely kisses your cervix. a pathetic whine falls from your lips, morphing into a startled yelp when a sharp smack! lands on your ass.

"cut it out," lip scolds. "so fuckin' needy. quit movin', you're gonna take what i give you, like the whore you are. y'understand me?"

you remove your face from its hiding place in his shoulder just to throw a frustrated pout in his direction, but he only shakes his head and threads his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull to pull you back tightly. you know better than to talk back but something in you wants to defy him. there's something to be found in the thrill of the chase, what you need so tantalizingly close, with him right where you need him and yet just out of reach. not without a great difficulty, you manage it, remaining quiet.

"you're gonna be good, right?" lip asks, his voice carrying a rough edge that has your walls pulsing around him. you feel him twitch inside you, watch him bite his lip before he adds, "gonna sit right here on my cock, an' do as i say?"

"y-yes," you manage, gasping when his grip on your hair tightens. he cocks his head as if asking, wanna try that again? "yes sir."

lip doesn't quite smile at your obedience, but there's a hint of fondness on his face. in that same stern tone that always has you willing and ready to do whatever he asks, he continues. "'ve got a deadline to meet, you know that. so you're not gonna keep squirming around, and whinin' an' shit. cause if you keep it up, swear t'god, i won't fuck you for a week. don't need t'do that to my poor needy baby, now do i?"

"no sir," you respond. "i can be good."

"good, good girl." he releases his grip then, giving soothing scratches to the area and smushing a quick kiss to your brow.

you're so eager to please, but when he tries to guide your face down to rest on him once again your stomach twists in sudden anxiety and you resist the pressure, letting out another small, needy whine. his hand moves from the back of your head to hold your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his own. you'd opened your mouth to speak but quickly close it again, frozen with intimidation, your eyes hiding from the intensity in his gaze.

"never fuckin' listen, y'stupid thing. i gave you clear instructions," lip growls, but when your glassy eyes brim with tears he finds an ounce of pity within himself. he ducks his head to meet your downcast gaze, and with a softer tone he asks, "what's the matter, sweetheart? need'ya to use y'words."

you stare at him for a few moments, whether it's to test his patience or relish in his fond softness you aren't sure. but time passes with his blue eyes locked on your own, in tune with your body and wary of any boundaries he might be inadvertently breaking, and you manage to spit it out. "kiss?" you ask softly, to which he huffs out a laugh.

his lips meet yours in a slow and firm kiss, giving you one, then two more before he separates again. the pad of his thumb traces over your bottom lip, pulling it into a pout. "that wasn't so hard, now, was it baby?" he coos, fingers moving to dig into the soft flesh of your hips. he adjusts you in his lap, makes sure you're comfortable, then one large hand is cradling your head and guiding you back to the crook of his shoulder.

"wasn' bad," you repeat softly. "thank you."

there's a kiss landing against your temple, and his lips move softly against your skin as he murmurs, "just a few more papers. then 'm all yours."

let's have a sleepover at mine | submissions closed

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Cage-Fighter x Fem!Reader

'Paying bills ain't easy'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Toxic behavior, traditionally masculine roles, power dynamics, violence, murder, jealousy, subpar spanish, cursing, mentions of sex, description of unsafe neighborhoods.

(AN: I know I said I was working on the part two for the fae fic, and a fashion designer piece, but the idea for this guy hit me like a train. Apologies for any Spanish mistakes, I'm coming along in my learning!)

The sound of raucous cheering rings out throughout the crowd of the 'Dog Pit' Den, Harlem's most prolific underground fighting spot. Fighters from all over the city come here to try and earn a living wage. Backbreaking, degrading work, boxing, kicking, and spitting in the no-rules ring. A crack, a cheer, and the sound of a collapsing body, before the announcer yells that Matias Lopez has taken yet another challenger down. A sweaty, tanned man hops back and forth on his feet, arms raised in the air as he celebrates his victory.

"Ladies and gentleman, Matias 'The Mayhem' has taken down yet another challenger! You know what that means! Make some noise!" The announcer yells, and the room shakes with boos and cheers, the stomping of feet making the ground tremble. "Matias Lopez has won the 500 dollar Rookie Fighters Championship prize!" Another round of yells, and Matias spits on the ground. He makes his way out of the cage, kissing the rosary his mother always makes him wear, even when he's cracking skulls in an illegal cage-fighting circuit. To be fair, she doesn't know. He sighs, tearing his fist-wrappings off and running a hand through his sweaty locks. He changes out of his outfit, switching into a casual gray hoodie, a pair of sweats, and some slides. After reapplying deodorant, he hears someone outside. One of the guys who runs the 'Dog Pit' has come to give him his check.

"Yo, Matias, my man!" He greets, slapping a hand on Matias's toned shoulder. "Me and some of the 'execs' as we've taken to calling ourselves are gonna hit the club', you in?" Mattias, clicks his tongue, and shakes his head. "Nah man, not tonight. I gotta get home n' see my girl. I was supposed to be home earlier." He glances down at the floor. "Shit, alright man, here's your check. I'll see you later." Mattias nods as the man heads out, stuffing the check into his duffle bag, before sliding out the alley exit.

Matias and you have been dating for a little over a year now. Both of you met in a pretty rough part of town, he was working a day-job at a gas station, and you were a cafe worker. He'd come in occasionally, claiming that the gas station coffee just wasn't up to his standards. He scared you, at first. Mattias has a very tough exterior, tattoos and muscles, but an even tougher interior. He was kind of stoic when you first met, and you couldn't quite get a read on him. He wasn't outwardly flirty or affectionate, which is why it took six weeks of him stopping by the coffee shop for him to pull you aside and ask what he was doing wrong, and why you weren't picking up on his advances. You had explained, and shortly after that you began dating. It was only a month or so into dating when you had learned of his cage-fighting career, but he assured you that he was tough, and no guy was gonna hurt him. You both needed the money on the side, so you reluctantly agree. That's what leads up to where you are now, passed out on your couch, waiting for him to come home.

He heads towards your shared apartment as quickly as he can, taking the subway about 8 blocks east, before running up the fire escape to the flat's balcony. He knows you deadbolted the door any time past 8:00, and doesn't blame you. It's kind of a dangerous neighborhood, and he feels bad enough leaving his girl home alone as much as he does.

"Pobre mami, espero que no me haya esperado." (Poor mami, hope she didn't wait up for me.) He pulls up the window, making sure to slip in quietly, in case you had already gone to sleep. As he places one foot on the floor, the wood barely creaks beneath him, when he hears a soft groan coming from the couch.

"Matty?" You mumble, sitting up from the plush couch and rubbing your eyes, trying to make out his large silhouette. He sighs, tossing his bag to the side as he stretches "Hey, hermosa, did I wake you up?" He asks, looking at you with his usual hooded gaze. "I guess, I don't think I was asleep that long..." You run a hand through your hair. "How'd it go?" He smiles softly, chuckling. "You know me, baby, I don't lose." He sits on the arm of the couch. "Gotchu' five hundred dollars, gonna' get you something real pretty with it." You sigh, and shake your head. "You've got me plenty of gifts, what we should be doing is saving up for somewhere else to live." You explain. He shrugs. "Yeah, you right, you right. That's my bad." He puts his hands up in surrender. "Well, if you aren't gonna let me get you somethin' pretty, you outta lemme' take ya to bed." Before you can react, he scoops you up in his arms, causing you to squeak.

"Don't scare me like that, God!" You smack his chest, but your hand only bounces off his firm pecs. e chuckles. "Gonna' have to hit harder than that, mami." He flicks off the living room light as he carries you to your shared bed. He lays you down, gently this time as opposed to the times he throws you on the bed, usually to pin you down and tickle you, saying things like '¿Qué pasa, bonita? Solo empújame, no es tan difícil...' (What's wrong, Pretty? Just push me off, it's not that hard...). Sometimes though, his manhandling isn't that innocent. As you snuggle down into the bed, Matias strips off his hoodie, and you blush at the way the light coming in through the blinds hits his chest. He lets out a soft groan, as the plush mattress and soft bed sheets soothe his sore body. Matias bites his lips as his eyes trace over your sleepy form, and he rolls over onto his side, tucking an arm around your waist.

"Mmm, no Matias... m' too tired tonight." You whisper, your face scrunching up. Matias was never a very soft guy. Playful and devilish, sure, but soft? No. His hands were calloused from years of bruising skin and bloodying faces, working and scrounging every penny he can get to get a better life for himself. Deep down, he couldn't imagine placing these damaged, dangerous hands on something as soft and sweet as you. He could snap you in half if he desired, and the thought terrifies him.

"What, no baby... I'm not tryna' smash at-" He looks over at the clock. "Shit, 1:00 am already? Jesus Christo..." He turns back to you. "Just wanna hold you, mami." He presses his long torso up against the curve of your back, pressing his face into your curls and inhaling your scent. "You feeling okay?" You ask. He knows he doesn't. He knows he should have been home for you sooner, and it didn't help that he had to make a stop on the way back home.

He feels a sense of dread in his stomach. You won't ever know about the stop he made, you were asleep. Besides, he comes home late all the time. What you will learn about is your bloodied new co-worker being found with his skull smashed in, just a few blocks from the cafe. Due to the graphic scene he left behind, it's sure to be on the morning news. Matias hadn't expected your new friend to be working the late shift, but he was still on an adrenaline high from the fight, and god... he couldn't stand the idea of that bitch getting to spend more time with you than him. He wants to be home for you more, he does, but he can't. Still, that doesn't mean he's going to let any other guy fill that void. Hell no.

"I'm fine, Hermosa. Just sore from the fight, wanna' hold my baby." He whispers, placing a chapped kiss on the shell of your ear, making you flinch. "That tickles..." You giggle. He smiles, and squeezes you gently. "C'mon, stop being silly. Necesitas descansar, especialmente después de quedarte despierto para mí." (You need to sleep, especially after staying up for me.) He scolds. You roll over to face him, and tuck your head into the crook of his neck. "Love you, Matty." You sleepily coo, before drifting off in his arms. He freezes, his breath labored for a minute as he looks down at you. Even now, after dating for so long, he can't process the softness of you juxtaposed with the beatings he both takes and gives every other weeknight. It's a transition he sometimes struggles to handle. He feels a smile creep onto his face, and he curls your small form into him, practically cradling you against his broad chest. God, he'll take on an extra five challengers next time, all for you.

"Gonna get you a penthouse baby, real nice neighborhood too. Somewhere safe, somewhere that makes me feel better about leavin' you all alone..." He whispers, knowing you can't really hear him. "Better not have anyone but me over, no fucker's from work, aight'? I'll kick the shit out of any of em' just for you..."

[thegameartist03]

after five years my brain decided to get me back into hlvrai by inventing a What If They Were Dead au.

warnings for the content ahead! this is a darker, grittier version of hlvrai with a lot of mentions of death, severe injuries, fatal disease, and body horror. this is also a real life version of hlvrai where the characters aren’t ai and they aren’t in a video game.

the general idea for this au is that on the day Gordon arrives at Black Mesa for the big test, every character in the main cast (except for Tommy and Darnold) through a series of unfortunate events ends up dying. then, the Resonance Cascade occurs, and the energy it releases removes the boundary between life and death and puts almost everyone and everything in the facility in a state of undeath. for some, this turns them into essentially zombies, for others, they become horrible fleshy monstrosities, but for the lucky few that are the Science Team, they’re brought back to life! mostly.

all that said, have a character lineup!

i have a longer post going into detail about what happens to each member of the Science Team, but the basics are this!

Benrey (who started out as a normal human) jumps early off one of Black Mesa’s very unsafe elevators and sticks the landing so badly that he straight up dies.

Coomer is one of many clones, and because of all the issues with cloning he had to have numerous cybernetic implants to keep him alive. his body started to reject these implants, including in his brain, which swelled up and led to his very sudden death.

Bubby is still a pyrokinetic test tube baby, and although he had a period of time where he was able to survive outside of the tube, his body has deteriorated so much that when he tries to escape Black Mesa at the end of his life his organs collapse on themselves and he dies.

Gordon Freeman is notoriously bad at getting to work on time as well as making sure the helmet of his HEV suit is secure, so when the Resonance Cascade begins with him at the epicenter, he trips, his helmet pops off, and he takes a beam of radiation to the face before getting thrown back by the explosion and cracking his skull on the wall. and, you guessed it, he dies!

off to a cheerful start, aren’t we? but don’t worry, they all get brought back! with varying and somewhat terrible consequences.

the Xen crystal used in the test opens unstable gateways to Xen, a dimension that is both lifeless and deathless, which releases shockwaves all over the facility and creates a variety of undead monstrosities that take the place of the aliens from the original series. this ‘Xenergy’ that changes people is also what, through pure coincidence, revives the Science Team in mostly alright condition. it has consequences though- each of them can regenerate whatever damage they take and are prevented from dying, but it resets their bodies to a state before they died and they have individual problems that get worse over time.

Gordon is the least affected and can take any amount of damage without experiencing a reset because he was at ground 0 and absorbed a ton of Xenergy. however, this excess Xenergy is constantly arcing out of him and creating anomalies (see: duplicating pigeons, survivors acting strange, etc). Gordon is in complete denial, does not realize he or any of the other Science Team members died, and thinks that every scientist or security guard they come across that doesn’t look like a practical effect in a horror movie is still alive and fine (a small number are, but they don’t stay that way for long).

Coomer was brought back to the state he was in briefly before he died, so the Xenergy is constantly resetting his body- and as a consequence, his mind- whenever it starts to degenerate again. it goes so far to alter time and space when he does something like jump down a pit without a rope. this causes the ‘glitches’ he experiences throughout the series. there’s a way he can reduce the resets, and that’s by killing clones! Coomer is able to steal compatible parts from his clones to replace his own failing organs to give himself more time, which also gives him more awareness about their situation.

Bubby can regenerate damage and thanks to the Xenergy, he’s in good enough shape to walk around for a little while, but over time that changes. the longer he’s out in the air and moving around, the more he begins to decay and get closer to the point where he’s basically a beached whale and his body collapses on itself. he can mitigate this problem by consuming a key ingredient from the test tube fluid he was kept in- soda! between soda breaks it does get harder and harder for him to walk, so he’s often either leaning on something trying to play off his discomfort so he doesn’t look weak or getting carried by Coomer.

Benrey’s got the worst of it. his ability to regenerate damage is really high, he can survive being riddled with bullets and taking a laser beam to the helmet, but the Xenergy doesn’t keep his body in a locked state. as time goes on, he goes from pale and sunken to outright decaying. think Jack Goodman from An American Werewolf in London! he can’t find any way to stop or reverse this, and he has to watch himself as his body slowly falls apart.

there’s also the Sweet Voice, which both Coomer and Benrey have. Sweet Voice occurs when there’s an excess of Xenergy in the body, especially after regenerating damage or being reset, which then takes on a color pattern based on the electricity in the nerves and is expelled. it corresponds to an actual color spectrum from Xen, which is why it can be translated.

Tommy hasn’t been mentioned yet as he isn’t among the dead, but then again, it’s been a long time since he could be classified as ‘alive’. Tommy is actually working at Black Mesa for a sort of internship; not to be a scientist, but to get practice at running the ‘family business’ as he likes to call it. Tommy, G-man, and Tommy’s dog Sunkist are psychopomps- they guide newly dead souls to the afterlife. Black Mesa was the perfect opportunity for Tommy to get field experience on his own, as the company had a very high death rate and asked very few questions. his dad was already doing business with the mysterious Longevity Department, so it only made sense that Tommy practice his job in the facility. what he doesn’t expect is for a seemingly harmless experiment he was set to oversee to go so horribly wrong it upsets the balance of life and death and kickstarts a global apocalypse. he’s stressed, he’s overwhelmed, but at the very least he’s got a few friends that kinda sorta made it. he has no idea how to solve an entire facility full of employees whose souls are now trapped here, he’s just an intern after all! so he makes his new job keeping an eye on the Science Team and trying to keep them sane and alive and not zombified as they attempt to escape Black Mesa.

i’ll probably have a couple posts sometime after this going into more detail about everything, but this is it for now! my motivation for this is probably gonna wither away like every other project i’ve started so i’m gonna post what i can while i can.

if you have any ideas or questions, feel free to ask!!

[clone-whore-99]

Perfect Stranger

Hunter x f! Reader

18+ minors gtfo

Warnings: SMUTTY MCSMUTTERSON! unsafe consumption of alcohol, one night stand, morning sex, 69ing, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, fingering, doing the deed with strangers, not beta or proof read. LMK if I missed any (✿◡‿◡)

Summary: Waking up next to stranger leads to a series of pleasurable events.

Authors note: Turns out Hunter is my comfort character and nothing gets me back into writing like the death of a loved one. Those were things I wish I didn't have to learn like this, but at least my pain can be your gain ❤

Also please like, reblog and maybe even comment if you enjoy this, it really means a lot to me 🥺👉👈

If you want to, you can also help me by buying me a coffee ❤

The galaxy. Vast. Big. Dangerous.

But not at this moment. At this moment, you were safe and secure.

Which was odd, considering you were a single woman living alone, and yet there was an arm draped around your waist and a heart beating beneath your head.

The last rotation was a complete blur to you, only a few flashes of memories appearing before you, then disappearing just as quickly.

Slowly you opened your eyes and once the focus had set in, you were met with a sight to behold. Rock hard abs, as if they had been sculpted in marble just for you to see. And from them was this trail of short trimmed hair, urging your gaze to follow it lower. Only to be cut off by a pair of tights, holding on for dear life, low on the strangers’ hips.

That’s when you realized the shirt you were wearing must've been the strangers as well. It was matching in color and seemingly in texture too. It didn’t feel like anything had happened the night before, but maybe you had just been too drunk to realize. Though if that had been the case, you probably wouldn’t feel so safe in his arms. But you did.

Curiosity finally getting the best of you, you slowly - careful as to not wake the stranger - managed to turn your whole body around, so you were now facing him. 

You were still for a moment, waiting to see if you had disturbed his slumber. But his low snoring and calm heartbeat continued, proving success in your quest. 

His other hand was prepped behind his head, the shy morning sun barely peeking through the window, highlighting his features in an almost perfectly picturesque way.

His arms were muscular and led towards these broad, strong shoulders that looked like they were made to hold the weight of worlds on them. Just like his abs, his jaw looked like it had been hand sculpted and around it hung this beautiful, dark curly hair, held back by a bandana. 

Weird, you thought, sleeping with a bandana on. Though it seemed like sleep had probably taken him by surprise.

The bandana had a skull painted on it and right underneath that skull, was half of the man's face tattooed.

Delicately, you let a finger trace the tattoo, starting from the bandana down. The tattoo avoided his eyebrow, but covered his eyelid which could not have been a pleasant feeling. It avoided his nose and a big part of his cheek, much like a skull in itself. 

Your finger followed it all the way to where it met, at the edge of his lip in the shape of teeth. His lips curled into a smirk underneath your soft pad. He was awake. 

This didn’t stop you though, as you continued your tracing towards the middle of his lips, which then perked up into a kiss.

You let your hand fall back down to rest on his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The man let out a huff, though his smirk persisted. “It was bound to happen,” he replied nonchalantly, his voice deep and raspy, sending a thrill straight towards your core.

The strangers’ eyelids were twitching, as if debating whether or not they should face the day or stay in the comfortable darkness. 

“Did we…”

“No.” His answer was blunt, not even allowing you to finish the thought. “I’m not really into drunk people.” He then added with a devilish smirk.

“Then how come you’re here?” The words escaped your mouth before you had even thought them through.

His eyes opened just enough for him to see you, dark and caring. “Guess you really achieved your objective, huh. You went to the bar last night, put down a bunch of credits, claiming you wanted to forget. Never specified what though.” His hand began stroking your back, sensual in nature but with a hint of trying to map out your body with just his touch. “By the time it closed, you were a wreck. I helped you home, get clean and put you to bed. I was about to leave when you began whimpering and turning onto your back, so I decided to stay the night to make sure you’d make it through. Guess I fell asleep along the way, though.”

Heat rose in your body, fuzziness tickling your insides and forcing your lips into a smile. It was easy for him to lie to you, but his words rung truth within you. You meekly - yet sincerely - thanked him and silence fell over the two of you again.

His hand continued its disguised mapping of your body, while your finger began tracing the tattooed ribs on his chest.

Somehow the tracing turned into kissing, at first just one, but when there was no protest, several more. And when the tattoo ended, the kissing continued onto his abs, then hips and down the trail of hair, all the way to the band of the tights, which was now restraining a bulge.

The stranger wasn’t exactly innocent either, as you reached further down, so did his hand. From your back to your hips, down your thigh and up again, until it could grab a handful of ass.

You glanced back at him, wordlessly asking for permission to continue. 

He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you over him, so you had a knee on each side of his head.

As you freed his cock from its restraints, he pulled your panties to the side to get a better view. He mumbled something under his breath, you couldn’t hear what but it sounded like admiration. 

You were also guilty in taking a moment to admire the sight before you. His cock stood tall, average in height though far from the same could be said about the girth. Your mouth began salivating, your walls clenching around nothing, which the stranger evidently noticed with a chuckle. The thought of having him inside you was almost enough to drive you crazy.

Like a starved person, you licked all the way from the base to the head, before engulfing your mouth around his cock.

The stranger hissed at the sensation, straining his hips not to thrust up into you. His approach was far less aggressive and more like he was studying your sex and seemingly relishing the scent of your arousal, though you could be mistaken.

After what felt like an eternity of him just staring at your most private parts, fingers every now and then ghosting over where you wanted the most contact, his tongue finally pressed onto your sensitive bud.

At first it was just small, careful licks. Then his lips closed around your clit and began to switch between licking and sucking. You moaned into his cock and he returned the favor, the sound vibrating through your body.  

You couldn’t even close your hand fully around the base of his cock, though you did your best while pumping up into your mouth. You kept switching between licking, sucking and slurping on the now messy mixture of precum and spit.

Once confident enough, you let go of his base to fondle the balls instead. Relaxing your throat, you took in all of him, hollowed your cheeks and swallowed.

The strangers head back with a groan, abandoning your sex in the process. “Kriff, I - ah - won’t lassssth,” he muttered barely apprehensible. His hands grabbed onto your thighs for dear life.

You didn’t care that he had stopped on his end. The pleads, moanings and groans were more than enough to satisfy you. You continued, feeling his balls tightening in your hands with each little movement you made.

It didn’t take long before hot, creamy ribbons shot down your throat, as you swallowed around his cock. The stranger had probably thought that was the end of it, but you were feeling mischievous and continued sucking, overstimulating the poor guy. 

His hands were now holding you in a bruising grip, his moans sporadic and desperate. But when he let out a weak “w-wait!” you stopped and glanced back at him.

In less than a second, your world was turned upside down - literally. You knew the man was strong - I mean, just look at him - but you had never imagined that he could so easily just grab you, pick you up and spin you around, so that now you were lying in his place and he was on top of you.

It had all happened so quickly, you barely realized it before he was taking off your panties completely. 

“Oh, and by the way Y/N” He said with a smug look while patting the inside of your thigh. “The name you’re gonna be moaning is Hunter.”

That was a challenge and a promise.

His attack was relentless. If you had thought his careful exploring earlier was due to inexperience, you’d be sorely mistaken. He started with a couple of broad strokes of his tongue, from your entrance to your clit, before diving into you. His tongue was exploring your insides, slurping in all you gave him. Meanwhile he was expertly using his nose to tease your clit, building your orgasm in no time.

You were helpless in his hands. Your body squirmed under the sudden attack, but his grip was holding the most important part still. Your moans grew louder and more desperate, though you kept stopping yourself right before saying his name - you weren’t going to lose the challenge that easily.

Your fingers slid through his luxurious locks, gripping anything they could get a hold of in an attempt to ground yourself. It didn’t work.

Your back arched into the bed, as the coil in your stomach snapped and waves of pleasure washed over you. A string of incoherent words escaped your lips and if the stranger - Hunter - hadn’t held you in place, you would probably have ascended to the stars.

He ate up everything you gave and then some. Your whole body was shaking as it came down from the orgasm, but he wasn’t relenting. No, he wanted revenge from you overstimulating him, he wanted you to moan his name and he was going to get it.

Hunter moved the attention back to your clit, sucking and licking the now oversensitive bud. He prodded one finger inside you, quickly adding another when he realized there was space. They seemed to be searching your insides, until he found that hard to reach spot inside you.

“Hunter!” You gasped, back instantly arching into the bed once more. You felt the smirk on his lips, as his gaze raised to meet yours. It was hungry, mischievous and victorious.

While remaining eye contact, he added a third finger, filling and stretching you more than you thought possible. All the while, his tongue continued its expert work.

You held eye contact for as long as possible, but had to give up, as each thrust and stroke of his fingers coerced a second orgasm to come forth.

“Hu-Hunter,” You moaned, by now having completely given up all control of the situation. “I can’t.” 

This seemed to finally stop the oral attack on your sex, though the fingers continued their hard work. “You can, Y/N. I know you can. Do it, for me, cum for me.” His voice was deep and raspy, encouraging yet commanding. How could you ever deny him his wish?

Hunter returned to his work on your clit, the small break from the stimulation and then having it instantly revived was what finally sent you over the edge.

His name was on your lips like a chant, your vision blurring as tears pricked your eyes, your walls squeezing around his fingers while the rest of you was spasming from the orgasm. His free hand was making sure you weren’t hurting yourself or him in the process, but had given up on keeping you in place. He had won and was now letting you ride out the high.

When you finally returned to this plane of existence, Hunter was sitting up, caressing your thigh and looking at you with such admiration. His hair was hanging loose around his face, making you realize you pulled off the bandana during the act. Half of his face and upper chest was glistening in your juices.

He was beautiful.

“Think you can handle one more round?” He asked, once you had managed to catch your breath again. His eyes quickly darted downwards before returning to you, urging you to follow their destination. 

And right there was his weeping cock, standing at attention and ready for action. 

You looked back up at him, quirking up an eyebrow as you challenged: “Do you?”

Dividers by: @djarrex and unknown

Taglist: @zoeykallus @rain-on-kamino @ashotofspotchka @chxpsi @maulsrightleg @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @wildmoonflower @nunanuggets @lokigirlszendaya @wholesuhmsstuff @pb-jellybeans @dangracoon

(LMK if you want to be added to the tag list (✿◡‿◡))

[flmer]

the red-haired merboy.

[✧] fluff, mermaid riddle x human gn!reader, first meeting of child mer!riddle and child human!reader.

Riddle has always been curious about the creatures who walk on two legs and live on the land. Where are their tails? their fins? don't they feel dried up staying under the sun all day? Riddle has always thought about how these creatures live so differently from them when both species are not that different from each other. except the ‘fish’ tail of course.

ever since he was a kid Riddle has always thought of what it's like to experience walking on the sand and basking under the sun's heat.

he wasn't allowed to go up the surface to peek at the creatures with legs, his mother would never approve of it, deeming it ‘unsafe and going above the waters only brings trouble! ’ he was curious why his mother sounded so freaked out.. scared even, what was up there that got even his mother shaking? Riddle was dying to know.

so he did what other curious fishes would do.

he went to a cave and hid there just so he could take a peek at the two legged creatures.. without his mother's knowledge or permission.

and he was glad that he broke his mother's rule at that time because if he didn't, he wouldn't have met you.

“what are you doing here? my ma and pa said that the waters in this cave are very deep and dangerous! you might drown!” a voice came out of nowhere that shocked riddle, his small body freezing from the nervousness and scared feeling he was experiencing.

“hey, are you okay there?” a voice filled with concern. that was what riddle heard and the words that came out of -whatever creature that was - were only making a little bit of sense to him but he could understand a bit of what the words meant, he's glad that he studied the two legged creatures language! his train of thought was soon interrupted by a pair of footsteps nearing him. wait, footsteps? riddle quickly turned his head from where he heard the voice and footsteps come from, lo- and-behold, you. there you were standing just a little bit away from him, wearing your adorable swimsuit that riddle at that time, did not know why you were wearing fabrics and not seashells.

“woah! you're shining!” your eyes twinkled with amazement at the sight of something glowing and sparkling underwater where Riddle is.

riddle's head tilted, some of his hair framing his face. his reply to you was clicks and some chirping sounds that you didn't understand but it sounded like he was embarassed or flustered? you weren't quite sure.

“eh, can you not talk?” you tilted your head on the side while looking at him with curiosity and deciding that it was safe to get near him. you walked towards where he was at, mindful of the slippery ground that could result to you cracking your skull.

Riddle only responded to your question with more clicks and chirps, he was delighted but also a bit weary of you. this is the first time he's gonna see a two legged creature up so close! Riddle swam near where you were crouching on the ground. the two of you were practically so close at each other, his hands that had fins gripped the end of the stone ground that you were crouching on.

He cranes his head to look at you, his gills getting exposed, you marvelled at the sight of him. he was different! so different, he looks like the mermaid you've seen from TV and books! wait.. mermaids? your mouth gaped at the realization on what creature he might be! you can't believe it, you're currently seeing a mermaid! well.. a merman to say the least, but still a mermaid! your eyes widened as you stare into his grey eyes that looks so shiny.. it was as if he was luring you with his gaze.

while you were busy gaping at his looks, he was busy scanning your body with his eyes. both of his finned hands reached out to your knee but his hands stopped half way near at your knee ‘mommy said that I should always ask permission if I want to touch someone, right?’ Riddle looked up at you with his wide sparkly grey eyes “what is it, friend?” you asked him, he replied with chirping sounds and clicks that you did not understand. “awwe sorry, but.. I can't seem to understand what you're saying.” Riddle's brows furrowed at your brows, right you're not a mermaid so you can't really understand his language.

Riddle sighs, his hands pointing at your knees and raising both of his finned hands that have some scales on it, he made an open and closing gesture, signalling that if it's okay to touch your knee. “ohh! yeah, sure. you can touch because you're my friend now!” Riddle's chest puffed out at the word ‘friend’, he has heard some two legged creatures talking to each other and calling them friend. they seem close so that means that friend = hunting buddy!

his clawed hands soon gripped your knee, it was hard..? like some armour. do you have a armour that's inside of you? Riddle had more questions than before but he shook his head to get those questions out, he have to see if your whole legs are hard like armours! his clawed hands slid downwards from your knee until his finned hands reached your calves, he was amazed. the part that he touched before was hard and now this part is soft and squishy! he awed at the fleshy feeling of your calves. his hands squeezing it to test it's squishyness. it was so soft! his sadness and frustration from his mother's lesson disappeared with how squishy your calves were!

while you were busy inspecting the (mer)boy's reaction, your ears picked up on the sound of your name being called and the familiar voice. “awe, sorry bud! I have to go now. I'll make sure to visit you tomorrow though!” you pat his red shiny hair and Riddle could only look at you with saddened puppy eyes, his elf-like ears drooping from, what you're assuming is, sadness. you stood up as his clawed hands left your calves resulting in him making some whimpering, wailing sound and a bit of clicks. “don't worry bud! I'll reaaallyy make sure to come back tomorrow and continue playing with you!” you reassure him with a smile on your face as you pet his hair one last time for the day “you promise?” is what Riddle was saying but to you it just came out in a bunch of clickes and wails but you nodded nonetheless, you guessed that was the correct respond since Riddle practically beamed at you with an adorable smile on his face that was literred with some scales.

you stood up and carefully ran down to the exit of the cave, where you came from and riddle could only look at your back that was turning smaller and smaller until it disappeared behind the seaweeds that were hiding the entrance of the cave.

Riddle hopes that you'll come back and he'll make sure to repay your kindness by giving you beautiful seashells and other trinkets he'll find tomorrow!

‘goodbye friend, I enjoyed your company. I hope that the two of us will have a chance to talk again tomorrow!’ he thought as he submerged his buddy back in the water, quickly swimming towards his house in hopes of his mother still being busy to notice his missing presence.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Over The Moon

Khonshu x Reader

TW/CW: None

A/N: This is something that hit me and I'm hoping writing it will help knock me out of my funk while I take a couple days to myself (going on a trip with some friends). So enjoy this little blurb of the tall pigeon man!

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was time for the fireworks to start soon. The snow and ice chilled you to the bone, and you sat on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.

It was deserted, given the particular location of the bench, and the proximity to a one of the closed-down subway entrances, that housed the homeless.

Many people felt unsafe there, but you knew you'd always be safe at night. Especially around the homeless. They, like you, were under the protection of someone great.

Someone powerful.

Someone who... really needed to work on his people skills...

You turn your thermos in your hands, briefly passing the warmed metal into one palm while you checked the time on your phone.

Four minutes until the clock struck the new year; and the moon was as bright as ever. It was abnormally large as well, but it was beautiful and provided a gorgeous backdrop for the fireworks display that was due to start soon.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and closed your eyes as snowflakes drifted down from the scattered clouds, a stray moonbeam peeking out here and there, always seeming to illuminate you and you alone; as if something--or someone--simply wanted to bathe you in the cool ethereal light of that lunar object.

You weren't sure how much time had passed until you felt the warm touch of someone's fingers grazing your cheek.

You open your eyes and turn your head to see the hulking, lithe frame above you.

His body was draped in linen and loose robes, a gold crescent moon secured to his chest. His colors seemed bleak, non-existent.

What completed his strange, otherworldly appearance was the dessicated bird skull that hung with some invisible force in place of what would be a human head.

His other hand gripped his staff as he leaned over the bench to peer at you with large, eyeless sockets.

"You are frigid." His voice rumbles through you.

You smile at him, sipping your hot cider. "Well that happens when it's only about 2 degrees outside, Khonshu."

"Hmph." He grunted, moving in a haze until he was sitting to your side, cross-legged on the ground next to the bench, his staff resting on his shoulder.

"Uh, Khonshu... There's a bench here..."

"I know."

"Then why--"

You were interrupted when his large hands encapsulated your waist and he pulled you down to him, firmly planting you in his lap, between his crossed legs.

You opened your mouth to complain about how he almost made you spill your cider--but the unnatural warmth his body exuded quickly snuffed the flame of your complaint as you sank against him with a contented sigh.

His body always carries the warmth of the deserts, the scent of sweet spices and just a hint of mildew. Most others wouldn't enjoy the combination of smells, but you enjoyed it.

He smelled... safe. You knew whenever you smelled him, no harm would ever come to you. That you would never be lonely.

"Better?" He asked, his voice almost condescending.

You stick your finger up, "This doesn't mean you won anything, old man."

"Of course it does. I am a god, Little Star." He chuckled, his arms circling around you to pull you close against his chest.

You chuckled back at him, bringing a frozen finger to caress the beak of his skull.

The texture was smooth, like a normal bone being sanded and smoothed down by endless days of being blasted by the sands of time.

"You're so full of yourself." You admonished playfully.

"Hmmh."

You jumped with a squeak when the first fireworks go off, casting blue-red glows down upon the two of you.

Your jolt of fear seems to amuse the god, and another warm chuckle rolls out of him, settling deep into your bones.

"Not funny." You huffed, trying to sound indignant but the smile on your lips betray your tone as you both lift your gazes to the sky at the bright lights booming high above.

You feel his arms tighten around your almost imperceptibly, caging you against him in a loving embrace.

Yes.

You knew, as long as he was here, you were safe.

And he was home.

[chaninfused]

Dead Men Don't Speak | Lee Felix

◤“Perhaps he should have been afraid then, when she smiled and her eyes reflected nothing but an endless, unfeeling void.” In which a detective's assistant seeks the aid of an infamous killer to find his missing friend. ◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Chapter two from the ‘dead men don’t speak’ series. A sprinkle of angst. Descriptions of violence, murder, injury, and blood. Mentions of death and dead characters. Sparse use of vulgar language. ◤Word count: 2.5K ◤Note: This idea is mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist. ◤ From the author: This series has been a while in the making and I'm super excited to finally share it with you all! Fair warning, though, many characters here are very violent and borderline unhinged so if that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to steer away and find something else to read! Thank you for dropping by, and happy reading!

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Felix was afraid of many things—the dark alley behind his apartment building, the rowdy drunks in the dead of night, the stern department head at the station—but he was not afraid of the gun being pointed at his head. 

Behind the barrel was a woman he’d only heard of in frightened whispers. The Shadow Front’s Left Claw, the burgundy-dressed killer. 

“Nice work, detective,” she said, and when Felix remained silent, she laughed. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t kill you just yet.”

Kid? He frowned. He was twenty years old. He’d hardly consider himself a kid.

“Had fun snooping around?” she tilted her head. “Tell me, what were you doing here?” 

His snarl was like a crack of thunder. “What did you do with Chan?”

“Chan? Ah, your detective friend.”

Felix’s blood became ice in his veins.

“Hah. And you think I know something about him?”

“Of course you do,” he clenched his jaw. “He was investigating you when he disappeared. Tell me what you did to him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m curious about myself. Why were you investigating me?”

“What?”

As though the chill he felt coursing through his body wasn’t enough, another wave slammed into him.

“Surely you didn’t think it would be this easy to track me down?”

It was easy, and it was unbelievable, but Felix had paid it no mind at the time.

“W-Wait…”

Now, though, it felt like the ground was caving in beneath his feet.

“You mean you lured me here…and only to ask that?”

Here, cornered in an alleyway behind the abandoned warehouse which he had been eavesdropping on.

“Look at you. You’re quite adept at your job, detective,” the humor in her voice was as cold as the gleam of her gun, still magnanimously directed at his skull. “Now, tell me. What were you looking for?”

So what if it was all a setup? If answering her questions would give Felix his answers, then so be it.

“There’s a plot of land that the City Council wants to purchase,” he began, holding her cool gaze in defiance of the gaping gun barrel, “But the owner is unnamed and the land itself is suspicious. Senior Investigator Bang Chan was appointed to the task, and our investigation led us to you before he deemed it unsafe. One day later, he’s missing. And you want me to believe it wasn’t your doing?”

There was a stretch of silence before she sighed, retracting her weapon and turning away, “I thought as much.”

Just like that?

Felix peeled himself off the grimy wall and forced his legs to trail after her. “Hold on!”

She was dangerous.

She was dangerous.

She was dangerous.

He knew that, and he was sorry to the friend who relentlessly cautioned him, but he needed her.

“Isn’t your partner dead?” 

The Shadow Front’s Left Claw, the infamous, burgundy-dressed killer, halted in her step. An excruciating stillness swallowed the narrow alleyway, squeezing the air out of his lungs, and it seemed to last a lifetime and a half—

But then she shrugged her shoulders without a care.

“So they say. They didn’t let me see his corpse, though.”

Whispers of his death had been rippling throughout the underworld. The Shadow Front’s Right Claw, the one-eyed brute who always appeared alongside that murderous woman.

Invoking his name was sure to stir something in her, and Felix was prepared to lie to obtain her aid.

“But it’s curious, isn’t it?” she swiveled around to face him again before he could say anything, and the nonchalance in her tone unnerved him. “My partner dies, and the next day, your detective disappears, both having been investigating a similar case.”

She raised a finger in the air, an eerie imitation of a teacher in a classroom. “My theory is that the two of them stumbled upon information they shouldn’t have and were eliminated as a consequence.”

It was an excellent theory and the worst possible scenario Felix could imagine.

Eliminated?

It couldn’t be. He refused to let it be.

But it made sense. The coincidence was glaring.

“Here’s a deal for you, kid.”

Her voice startled him, suddenly too close as she pressed a single finger square against his chest. Perhaps he should have been afraid then, when she smiled and her eyes reflected nothing but an endless, unfeeling void.

“Work with me and I’ll find your friend for you.”

•⭓•

He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but there was something amiss about the atmosphere in this car. Felix glanced at your reflection in the tinted window, shuffling through the case files he’d smuggled out of the station.

It was unnerving, this silence of yours.

As though all that had transpired in the alleyway were but an act, you sat there devoid of emotion. Not once did your brows furrow or did your lips press into a concentrated line, body as still as a statue. It was unlike the image Felix had constructed of you after collecting all those street rumors—that wildcard of a mafioso you were in his mind.

Could it be because of that man? Felix wondered.

Perhaps criminals felt grief, after all.

“What’s wrong?”

The other man in the car asked, his eyes not once straying from the road he was driving through.

The righthand man, Felix determined, having nothing but his prior intelligence to piece his identity. The third person in this car was known across the city for his frightening loyalty to none other than the Left Claw—you, who sighed after a moment’s contemplation, “These files are both useful and utterly useless.”

Felix couldn’t stop his shocked interjection. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing here is new information, though I had hoped otherwise. And yet…” you trailed off, flipping through the most recent file.

 “You say your detective disappeared on the twenty-third?”

Felix’s balled fists tightened where they were placed over his thighs. “Yes.”

“And his car was found on the highway bordering the Angelrise Forest.”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible,” you proclaimed, tossing the file in your hands back into the box snugly seated beside you, and your nonchalance caused Felix’s heart to race, panicked.

“What do you—”

“We wiped out the head of the operation that occupied the plot of land on the twenty-second of this month,” you provided, and he exhaled, vaguely relieved.

“So, you do know who the land belonged to.”

You fell into that disconcerting silence again, before scoffing so softly, “No. Seems I never did.”

It wasn’t only grief, Felix concluded then, high on the rush of meeting you and sneaking the case files out of the station. There was something dark and bitter twisted within your words. A glimpse that was urgently replaced by a commanding tone, “Jisung, let’s head to the warehouse in the West Port.”

“Are you sure? There might be nothing left there,” the righthand man, Jisung, expressed his concern with the slightest frown, but his doubts were cast aside by your despondent murmuring.

In the reflection, Felix saw you rest your head against the window, solemnly gazing at the passing scenery.

“Who knows? We might’ve missed something there.”

•⭓•

“Looks like they cleaned this place out already,” Jisung commented, glancing at your surroundings, and you strode past him.

“Still, let’s see if we can find a clue.”

Somehow, Felix had tagged along this search and now found himself trudging through the rubble and soot-covered remains of this dubious warehouse. The structure of the building survived the minor explosion, miraculously, but the roof of the once-warehouse had been completely obliterated. So, the rosy sunset sky made for your canopy instead.

Felix didn’t know what exactly he had to be seeking. Amid all the destruction, he doubted anything survived in the first place, and if what Jisung claimed was true, then the chances of finding clues were even smaller.

Yet, he scoured the burnt wreckage because that was what you were doing too. It was only after half an hour’s worth of quiet work did he notice some commotion coming from your direction and stopped his searching.

You were clutching a small item in your hand, blackened and indiscernible, and before Felix could ask about it, you fished your phone out of your pocket and made a hasty call.

“Hey, I found a phone—scorched, practically melted—but do you think you could salvage something from it?”

•⭓•

It had been bothering Felix.

“Good. This might just lead us to them,” you said as you stuffed the burnt phone in your burgundy coat, which was marred with the slightest smudges of soot.

“I hope so,” Jisung concurred. His own suit was all-black, so no evidence of the past half-hour’s work showed on him. “Let’s leave for now. This area is too exposed.”

“I don’t understand,” Felix’s voice cut through your exchange, and the two of you stopped in your tracks to stare at him questioningly.

“I thought you said they were likely eliminated, yet you speak as if they’re merely lost.”

“Oh, I don’t know about your detective, but I know my partner isn’t dead,” you shrugged, and there was that unsettling calmness again. Where he found the courage to keep speaking with you, he didn’t know, but a meager voice in his head whispered that maybe he should cease garnering that mysterious bravery.

That maybe he could live his life without needing to know the inner mind-workings of an infamous killer.

You ambled toward him in lazy steps, hands stuffed in your pockets as you went on.

“I mean…a warehouse explosion is simply too dramatic, it makes no sense. His death would most likely be by a gunshot to the back or something just as anticlimactic.”

But death had no rhyme or reason, that much was a truth Felix knew wholeheartedly. Trying to find justification behind fate’s workings would only extend one’s grief and expend their will.

You came to stand a couple of steps before him and declared with all your twisted normalcy.

��I’m going to find him and kill him myself instead.”

What the actual hell.

“What about you?”

You inquired in spite of the sheer horror that spiked his heartbeat. Kill him?

And there he thought you were grieving.

“He’s your home, isn’t that why you want to find your detective?” you prompted, and you were right. Chan was the only person on this terrible earth he’d consider family.

“That’s good. Homes are nice,” like a random busybody on the street, you kept talking, entirely disregarding the one-sidedness of the conversation. Or maybe you were simply unbothered by it. “I left mine when I was barely a teenager.

“Wanna know what I did when I left?”

Felix wasn’t particularly curious, now, given your recent record.

“I burnt it all to the ground.”

There was no gravity in your tone and clearly not a shred of remorse. Felix was glad he couldn’t see your eyes then, for you had tilted your head to face the darkening sky amid your confession.

“I let the children escape, of course, but everyone else? Gone in a brilliant blaze.”

Arson, murder, and what he could only assume was the world’s most staggering collection of crimes seemed to make up your past. It should’ve made him ill simply thinking about it.

But perhaps he wasn’t thinking, otherwise he would’ve missed the barest whisper that left your lips.

“The sky was beautiful that day. Though, I suppose today is different.”

You brought your attention back to him, mysteriously revitalized despite his non-participation in this conversation. “Tell me, what do you think is the color of the sky?”

“Uh…” Felix blinked, entirely taken aback by both your question and your multiplying scrutiny. For once, you didn’t answer in his silence, and he felt his mouth dry up with sudden dread.

He stole a glance toward Jisung who stood a few steps away in the background, and the man only gave him a pointed look as if to say, ‘just humor her for a moment’.

Left to fend for himself, Felix looked at the sky replacing the roof and found no special answer to give. The sun had set a while ago, and the somber blues of dusk had enveloped the world. Was there something he was missing?

Felix ventured, having nothing else to offer, “I guess…it’s blue?”

You appeared neither disappointed nor satisfied with his response, merely shrugging, “I see,” before turning around and walking away.

As though you had not spent the last few minutes in some strange monologue.

“We’re leaving, detective.”

•⭓•

“Figures you’d bring backup,” your steely voice sliced through the pained groans filling the air.

By all accounts, Felix had no place in this fight, but somehow he found himself a front-row seat, standing alongside Jisung who played with his gun in boredom.

It was all too much for him.

The phone you found in the warehouse did have a salvageable memory chip, despite all the damage it suffered. Once its data was recovered, you did not hesitate a beat to reach out to its owner. As a result, you found yourselves in this present situation.

A man in a standard black suit was in some sort of cruel standoff with you, having been cornered to a dead end. The comrades he brought with him were all down, either dead or dying, and he alone remained to point his gun at you.

“Stay back! The boss won’t— Argh!”

He was cut off by his own scream when you shot at his hand, forcing him to abandon his weapon and drop to his knees in agony.

“Yes, do tell me more about this boss of yours,” you said, that same expressionlessness that unsettled Felix yesterday returning. He watched you from the sidelines as you walked up to the doubled over man and crouched beside him. With the ease and patience of a kind nurse or a goodhearted Samaritan offering help, you placed your hand on his shoulder and pushed him to lie down.

And he obliged, no doubt courtesy of the gun you so politely pressed against his heart.

Felix was beginning to feel it then.

This was all wrong.

Everyone around him was wrong.

“Who do you work for?” you asked simply, gazing down at him, and the man squirmed, hissing through the pain that was surely pulsing through his arm.

“The boss won’t let this slide— He’ll hear about this—”

“Right, so tell me.”

You were bored much like your righthand man standing beside Felix, and it was wrong. So, utterly, disgustingly wrong.

“I’m not telling you anything. You’re fucking insane—!”

His gasps were interrupted by a simple yet catchy tune, and it sounded from somewhere within the man’s suit jacket.

Jisung stopped fidgeting with his gun. Your slow gaze traveled to the source of the sound. And the adrenaline that had been fueling, blinding, Felix for the past thirty-seven hours was finally snuffed out.

You made your mind up in a breath’s time.

“Well, that’s too bad.”

The shot that rang in the air pierced Felix’s ears, immediately killing the mysterious assailant. Without so much as a moment of respect for his death, you reached into the man’s jacket and pulled out the ringing phone.

Felix wanted to scream until his throat bled. Until the savage sickness in his stomach disappeared.

You stood up and answered the call, letting the voice on the other end crackle through the speaker.

“What the hell is your squad doing at the West Port, Jonah?”

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The mystery begins! This entire series is comprised of short fics with bits of the plot sprinkled in for you, the reader, to piece together. That being said, I'd love to hear your thoughts as we go! As usual, a reblog and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope you have a lovely day, and I'll see you again on the 11th of February for the next chapter! ♡

[tassodelmiele]

Aaaand Soap. Our beautiful Johnny.

Soap's a little bitch who knows what he's doing.

Soap gets straight to the point, touchy and flirty, and he doesn't care if he's too much: if you can't handle him, you don't deserve him.

It's the kinda situation in which you end up with his fingers curling your hair while he smirks and whispers in your ear how good your body looks pressed under him.

It's a one-night-set played in a crowded bar, dim lights and hands sneaking under your shirt, whisky-breath licking your lips and sky blue eyes searching for arousal on your blushed cheeks.

It could last all night long, hours of cocky whispers and digits pressing your belly and lowering down without reaching where you need them to be.

You're wet, red, and he's having so much fun and you can literally feel his hardest part crushed on your soft body. Tongue replaces words on your ears, licking and biting beauty marks on your neck, your chest is pressed under his hand, your brain gets scattered, he sinks his teeth into you a little more and...

And...

He moves away so sudden, smiling all full of himself. He gives your cheeks one last pinch and kisses the edge of your lips, biting slightly the soft skin.

Then he turns his heels and leave you there.

And it's your fault.

'Cause you where so good you could become an addiction. And he's already got too many unsafe thoughts crowding his head.

...

But two nights later he's at the same bar, and you're pinned between the wall and his famished mouth.

.....................................

Price

Ghost

Gaz

[yourentity06]

Hi there! This is an ask related to the EMT question, but I'm not totally sure how it'll work in my writing so this is also me thinking it through :D writers helping writers

Say a young man (25~), relatively healthy and in good shape, got into a car accident. The car veered off the road (not intentionally, I imagine the roads are unsafe) and crashed into a tree. When you arrive, the windshield is broken, though nothing broke off and impaled the man in question. He's unconscious, his head is bleeding (not majorly, seems to be a minor cut from the glass), and when you find him, he's delirious and will not stay awake too long.

Plus, add on, if there was someone else in the car who got out practically unscathed (say, tree not on their side of the car, they were extremely lucky, etc), would you ask that person for help with anything or would you tell them (for lack of a better term) to just stay out of the way?

(psst also if you know what kind of injuries are likely in that described situation, I'd love to know for more realism purposes! I think this is so cool!)

(good luck on becoming an EMT! I hope your studying goes well and these are as helpful to you as they are to us!)

Holy cow there's so much I could get into with car accidents, but I'll limit myself like I've been doing so far, lol.

I'll get the bit with the uninjured person first, since it won't be as long. We'd actually do an assessment and take them to the hospital, too! They were in a car accident that really hurt a patient, so they experienced the same force as them and could possibly have injuries that have yet to present themselves. Plus, with a crash that has so much force that one patient has been significantly injured, they would probably at least have some whiplash and a minor concussion as well as a seatbelt abrasion. WE WOULD NEVER EVER EVER ASK THEM TO HELP IN ANY WAY!!! If another person who is not trained is helping in any way, it is to give us information on another patient or to get an AED or something. It is very rare to ask them for help, since they are not trained and we could get in serious trouble for asking a patient to help with anything. I'll try to make the car crash stuff brief and easily digestible. I'm pretty sure I've talked about this a little, but maybe not. I would look at an ask I answered about the order in which EMTs do their assessments, though! It can be helpful for fleshing things out a bit. When we get called to crashes, we know that three different collisions possibly occurred. The collision of a car against another car or object, the collision of the passenger against the interior of the car, and the collision of the passenger's internal organs against the solid structure of the body. With the force it seems this crash had, this can be a good guideline of the injuries he could experience. Some of the injuries he would most likely experience are a coup-contrecoup brain injury (the head hits a windshield or experiences forward whiplash and the brain continues to move within the skull and hits the skull causing brain damage to the front of the brain, then the car stops and the head is thrown back into the headrest and the brain follows and hits the skull and causes damage to the back of the brain), the lower extremities hitting the dashboard and transferring force into the pelvis creating fractured and joint separations there, and the abdomen or chest hitting the steering wheel which can create things from just a chest contusion (contusion is a fancy word for bruise) to a pneumothorax. When treating we would follow the patient assessment. We'd put the patient in a c-collar and stabilize his spine, treat any major bleeding, maintain his airway, and if there isn't anything immediately life threatening we'd splint any fractures before moving the patient and transporting. There's probably so, so much more I could talk about, so if you have any questions or anything, feel free to ask! Hope this helps.

[five-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

I thought it would be fun to make a pressure entity to explain the players’ respawning & informational gain despite dying, so here’s what my brain spat out in Z-491: The Perfectionist! (No it’s not decapitated, that’s its eye)

Z-491’s spawn conditions would be the player being below 30 health while holding a gummylight or blacklight, and is entirely invisible until the light is shone in its direction. Looking into its eye will immediately restore your hp to 100, but will prevent any healing items or wall dwellers to spawn for the rest of the run. Once sighted for the first time, the player will receive its document the next time they beat the game (this does not have to be in the same run though!)

Lore and more desc. under the cut

Z-491, also known as The Perfectionist, resembles a large headless goose; bearing a vulture’s ruff and a paddle-like tail with the skull of a moray eel threaded through it, which is held close to its chest. It is unknown whether the skull was once attached to its head, but what was originally deemed to be a decapitated neck is actually a single large eye.

Z-491 is completely intangible, and invisible to the naked eye; only able to be viewed under specialty lenses such as heat or night vision goggles, in which a faint outline becomes visible. It is not physically hostile: however due to its posed danger, contact of any kind should not exceed any more than forty-five seconds.

The first Z-491 instance was brought to attention after the entirety of a seemingly unremarkable student body at [REDACTED] High School all achieved a perfect score on their end-of-year exams with no evidence of cheating or plagiarism. It was also noted that most of the students hadn’t eaten their lunch that day, which was first investigated.

When interrogated, everyone who took the exams had the same story: every time they failed the test, the school day would restart until the exams were over, repeating until the perfect score was achieved. When any attempted to sleep, they were awoken by ‘visions of piercing angels’ after 5-10 minutes; and despite one student looping for an elapsed time of 83 days, they grew no hungrier or thirstier aside from the experience of a regular day. Afterwards, many experienced insomnia or even seizures, however it was deemed unsafe to execute the entire school force due to its size, and an acceptable cover story was maintained.

It is unknown how many Z-491 instances there are, but anyone in contact with it is seemingly ‘blessed with success’ for whatever they’re next aiming for, being as little as making the perfect toast or as large as getting the damn creature contained. Even injury and death can be undone when the loop resets. Regardless, unless the situation is extremely dire, do NOT make contact.

ACHIEVEMENTS:

Educated Guess: encounter The Perfectionist for the first time. Unlocks the Z-491 file upon the next victory (this does not have to be in the same run as the encounter)

A for Effort: Encounter The Perfectionist AND either consume two med-kits or a wall dweller’s flesh afterwards (in the same run as the encounter). Unlocks The Perfectionist jumpsuit.

Wild Goose Chase: In a multiplayer game, two or more players encounter The Perfectionist at different doors.

[big-boos-haunt-n64]

Do you have Three head-canons to share? I would love to hear it :)

- Anon ❤

god im gonna feel so basic but OKAY:

SO!! I mean my biggest general headcanon for the SMGs is that they have weird like... pain connection?

Like, if 3 was to... I dunno, get injured in some way, 4 could feel it at the same level, but be fine physically?

Same with Mario n them, but only about half.

NOW!!! ONTO 3!!!!

1) I LOVE the idea of 3 having fangs. I dunno when it happened, but when it did I couldn't see him otherwise!

2) I adore 3 with long hair... It just suits him to me! I can't explain it lol

3) ... He totally has skull earrings and scars from IGBP, y'know.

4) I still think he's pansexual! I just give him like a... Male lean, I guess? (I hope that isn't a weird term, or something. I'm terrible at explaining stuff haha)

5) If he had a tail... I think it'd either be like a skeleton theming or like. Maybe a skull at the top of it? (I have a design OF him, but he doesn't have a tail, so I can't explain it otherwise)

6) Besties with Saiko and Meggy. "Begrudgingly" also besties with Mario (he jokes about it be begrudgingly, I think he truly does think of Mario as a friend!)

7) He spoils Eggdog rotten (hah), to such a point that Eggdog now has one of those spiky collars (the kind that aren't unsafe for dogs to wear! Like, somewhat pointed, but not sharp and dangerous!), much to the shock of everyone (minus Melony, she does the same thing (roughly) with Axol Jr.)

8) Going back to point 3 for a moment, 3 has scars all over the right side of his body! He's a little bit self-conscious over them, but won't ever say it like. Publically (esp. To 4 because then he'd TRULY feel bad for it.)

He also doesn't blame 4 at all for what happened, especially to his own body.

9) 3 paints his nails black, or on rare occasions, a dark purple! On even more rarer occasions, it's a dark blue. :]

I think that's all of them? Maybe? Idk, lol.