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kiwi-bitchez · 2 years ago

Text

Like Magic

Eddie Munson x Reader, 18+ mdni

Summary: Incredibly troupey enemies to lovers smut. The gang takes a trip together and a game of never-have-I-ever creates a new tension between you and Eddie. The classic "no one has ever made me come'' situation. A bit overused, but it still gets me every time. Hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of y/n, drinking (all characters are 21+), kind of Asshole!Eddie but not really, fingering, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), Eddie has a dick piercing because I said so, piv sex, unprotected sex, plz be safe irl this is just fanfiction, Eddie has big dick energy in this one, I said what I said, rough-ish sex but Eddie's def more of a soft dom here, a few pet names (princess, mostly), spelling/grammar mistakes, corny ending

Word count: 14k (oof… got a little carried away with this one besties)

Steve said it would be a getaway. A trip dedicated equal parts to celebrating Nancy's first big article getting published and to cheer Steve up after having been dumped by his most recent situationship. The former was the initial reason to take the trip but after finding out about Jessica or Jamie or whatever her name was you had a feeling the latter was the true motivator. Either way, Steve had found a cheap cabin up by a lake and had pitched the trip as a fun way to "get in touch with wilderness." You had a feeling it was going to be more drinking and board games than hiking and fishing, but that was fine by you.

It was nice to put in for the time off from work and have something to look forward to. A week away with your friends. And Eddie. It's not that you didn't consider him a friend... well, you didn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying on your end. You'd use the term friendly acquaintance. A person with whom you share several close friends but for some reason refuses to be friendly to you- that kind of friendly acquaintance. Okay, maybe the word friendly was a bit of a stretch.

There was an odd tension between the two of you that you couldn't quite figure out. When Robin had introduced you to her friends from high school, all staying very close over the years, you immediately hit it off with them, easily integrating yourself into their quirky dynamic. Even though Eddie sort of stuck out like a sore thumb among them, you never treated him any differently than you did Steve or Nancy. You liked that their group was so mismashed. You had made it a point to not to turn your nose up at him for any reason, expecting he typically got that reaction from those who didn't know him. At first you actually found him to be quite charming.

There was just a certain coldness he had towards you that you found off putting. Knowing what little you did about him, entirely through Robin's introductory ramblings, you could understand why he might be wary of new people. It was that you had put in an effort to get to know him and be friendly that had upset you when he didn't return the sentiment. Not only did he treat you with a certain dry curtness, but he seemed so warm and loving to everyone else. He'd ruffle Robin's hair, bear hug Steve, share a cigarette with Nancy when she was especially stressed and tell some long winded story that had her cracking up and forgetting why she was ever tense in the first place. You didn't expect immediate closeness, but a little bit of that warmth from him would have been nice.

The awkward tension between the two of you manifested as joking jabs that hit a little too close, sarcastic remarks and rolled eyes. If he was going to go out of his way to push your buttons, you had no problem doing the same. It never ruined the energy when you'd all hang out as a group, but it was an underlying feeling you could't ever seem to ignore, as much as you'd tried. So this trip was going to be a celebration for Nancy, a distraction for Steve, and a challenge for you.

The cabin really was a great find to credit Steve. You had all pitched in a little money to cover the expenses and were pleasantly surprised when you found out there were actually enough beds for all of you, a half decent kitchen, hot water, nothing special but certainly nothing to complain about either. You had access to a small dock and a beat up canoe, a little fire pit out back, the basic necessities for a half decent vacation. That, supplemented with the box of booze Steve had lugged up from the car and all of your excitement to let loose was sure to make for a good trip, if not at least a memorable one.

You had all scoped out the digs, poking around the shed outside and unloading all your stuff from the cars. You felt somewhat settled in and ready to slip into vacation mode right as the sun began to set. Steve and Nancy had taken care of bringing groceries for the week, unpacking a week's worth of dry pasta and snacks into the dusty pantry. Steve took it upon himself to cook a small meal for everyone in the kitchen, nothing fancy but still appreciated given the minimal kitchen setup, always the mom of the group. Eddie messily makes himself a rum and coke, offering Robin one as well and blatantly ignoring your presence. Not that you wanted a stupid rum and coke from him anyways. He hands her the drink and you avoid eye contact and push past him to fix a drink for yourself, quickly shuffling off to check if Steve needed any help in the kitchen.

"Too many cooks in the kitchen, y/n," Steve places his hands on your shoulders and backs you out of the small space, "go relax, I think I can handle boiling pasta by myself."

You were mostly trying to avoid the living room where Nancy, Robin, and Eddie were all settled, but Steve was right, the kitchen was far too small for you to be taking up space while he tries to cook for five. With a sigh you make the short journey over to the couch, wedging yourself next to Robin and quietly sipping on your drink, making a mental note to make the next one stronger. You easily fall into conversation, listening to Robin tell some story about when she and Steve used to work at an ice cream shop years ago, some exaggerated memory she kept referring to as "mint-chocolate-chip-gate," easily pulling laughs from all of you.

Hours later, empty plates scattered around the small makeshift dining area, a few more drinks in your system, you had hardly thought about Eddie at all. You'd managed to avoid his snippy remarks for the majority of the evening, both relishing in the good feeling of the start of a week off. It was always when you felt the tension slip away that it came back harsher than ever. The five of you crowded around the small table, playing cards shuffled into a messy deck. Robin had started a never-have-I-ever game, although childish, still fun and silly as none of you took things too seriously.

"Never have I ever," she searches her brain for something riveting, "faked an orgasm."

You and Nancy give her a fake-annoyed glance and take sips from your cups, not a huge surprise on anyone's part.

"Not fair Rob," you say, looking up from your cup, "just because you only have sex with women doesn't mean you have to target those of us unfortunate enough to be attracted to men." You and Nancy laugh.

"Sounds like the unfortunate ones are the guys you're sleeping with," Eddie mumbles. You shoot daggers from your eyes at him, "I'm just saying, how can you expect it to be any good if you're not being honest."

"Fuck off," you roll your eyes, "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of more than one faked orgasm, Munson, it's kind of a universal truth for all women."

"Well I don't know if I'd say that-" Nancy interjects, "universal truth is kind of a big claim."

"Never have I ever," Steve interrupts, clearly trying to change the conversation, "accidentally poured salt instead of sugar into my coffee while on a first date and was too embarrassed to say anything so I just drank the salty coffee and suffered in silence."

"Oh my god," you burst out, everyone giggling, "that was such a pointed attack! I'm never telling you anything ever again!" You take a sip from your drink, being the only person in the group who has experienced that oddly specific situation.

"If you all are going to target me with the knowledge of friendship then I'm coming for all of your asses," you set down your drink and try to think of something that will surely get them to all drink, "Aha! I know, never have I ever had an orgasm during sex with a partner." Your mind was sort of still in the gutter from Robin's statement, and you knew for sure you'd get them all with this one, you knew that you were in a slim minority with that fact. It wasn't that you choose bad partners, well, that was sometimes part of it, but you just couldn't get to that place when someone else was doing it to you, only ever by yourself. You just figured it was a slight abnormality, and had resigned to a life of solo play and half decent but never truly fulfilling sexual encounters.

Steve groans, annoyed you brought the conversation back to the sexual topics he had previously steered the group away from, taking a drink alongside everyone else.

"Ha!" you gloat while everyone takes their long sips, "knew I'd get you all there. Keep trying to come for me with my oddly specific embarrassing stories and you'll all be sorry in the morning."

"I don't really think having a shit sex life is anything to brag about, y/n," Eddie snips at you.

"I'm not bragging, it's the whole point of the game to get people to drink, stupid," you shoot back, starting to regret revealing that level of personal information to him.

"Well maybe if you weren't so busy faking your orgasms you'd actually chill out for long enough to actually have one," he hurls back, the thick tension settling between the two of you.

"Jesus, Eddie, mind your own fucking business," you feel blood rushing to your face and your jaw tenses up.

"You were the one who brought it up, sweetheart," you hated how calm his voice still was, raising his hands up in fake defense, "never have I ever NOT made my partner come."

"Oh fuck off," your voice was seething, "you can't say that. There's, like, no definitive way to prove that's even true!"

"No, I'm pretty sure I know it's true," he was so fucking smug and it annoyed you to no end.

"OKAY," Steve breaks the awkward silence that had settled around the rest of the group, "I want to play cards, what do we think? Cards? Anyone?"

'Yeah, whatever,'' you felt bad if you had accidentally ruined the fun everyone was having, but it wasn't your fault Eddie decided to be such a dick about it. You help Steve shuffle the cards and start dealing, letting the heated energy dissipate around you as you wiggled your way back into normal conversation with everyone.

Several rounds of cards and a few drinks later the night took hold of the group and sent Nancy off to bed, Robin off to search for some advil that she knew she'd be grateful for in the morning, and Steve mostly asleep slumped in his chair at the table. You gently shook him awake and he grumbled a thank you and a goodnight as he dragged his body down the hall to his bed. This left you and Eddie with a half decent mess between the drinks, the aftermath of dinner, and the cards. He had started to gather the cards back into their deck while you debated on taking care of the dishes or putting it off until morning, ultimately deciding that tomorrow-you would be very thankful if tonight-you sucked it up and just cleaned up now.

"I got the rest," you start picking up everyones mostly empty cups and moving into the kitchen to tackle the mountain of dishes. Jeez Steve, how many pots does it take to boil pasta for five people? "Night, see you tomorrow," you say without turning back to look at Eddie.

He came up next to you and grabbed the dry towel off the counter, taking the soapy cup from your hand and wiping it away before stacking it on a clear part of the countertop.

"You wash, I'll dry, yeah?" he's already moved onto the next plate you had sponged down.

"It's really fine Eddie, I've got it," you appreciate the sentiment, but didn't like feeling so cramped standing with him in the small kitchen.

"I have manners, you know," he makes a harsh gesture to the dishes, urging you to get on with washing, which you do, "plus I'm not gonna let you take all the credit for cleaning up after everyone, you aren't anyone's mother or maid here."

You weren't really sure how to take that, but decided to ignore it as you continued to scrub away, silently handing him the dripping dishes as you finished cleaning them.

"I know you don't really care for me," you start, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence between you, "but can we please not make Steve and them regret inviting us both? Like, I know you're capable of being civil. I just really don't want to spend this whole trip walking on eggshells worrying that we're ruining the fun. So, this is me apologizing for anything I do this upcoming week that pisses you off for whatever reason, just know I didn't do it on purpose, and it's not worth freaking out over. I'm just trying to have a good time here, that's all."

You really couldn't tell if you felt relieved or more anxious after saying all that to him. You meant it. You really didn't want to drag any unnecessarily tense baggage around with you while everyone was just trying to enjoy their trip. You wanted him to know this, at least to feel like the blame was off your back if he was a dick to you, at least you tried to clear the air on night one.

"What? Still got your panties in a bunch over that game?" you didn't have to look over at him to hear the smirk in his voice, "Because I remember you were the one getting all in a huff about it."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," you turn over sharply to look at him, "please just stop being such an asshole to me."

"Learn to take a joke, sweetheart," he had been drying the same mug for a little too long now, "that stick up your ass is probably the reason you can't reach the big O."

"Please, for the love of god, fuck off," you tried to not raise your voice too much given everyone's sleeping state, "What do you want me to say? Hmmm? 'Oh Eddie, I'm so jealous of all those girls you make come with your magical guitar fingers, oooooooooh, please pick me'." You roll your eyes and prepare to storm off to bed when his whole posture shifts in front of you.

"Magical guitar fingers? Hmmm?" he's really making you regret saying that, even sarcastically, you start putting the rags away, wanting to just finish up the dishes and get the fuck out of the kitchen. "You said it babe, not me."

"You're so insufferable," you bring your fingers to your temple, Eddie Muson manifesting as a special form of personal headache.

"This is exactly what I'm saying," he mockingly gestures to you, "you're the one always getting so worked up over nothing, I'm as cool as a cucumber, I think the problem might be you."

"Is everything a fucking joke to you? Can you really not be serious for three fucking seconds while I try to be straight with you about us getting along on this trip?" Your grip on the dish towel tightening.

"Me? Joking? About something so serious and romantic as having precious y/n her first orgasm with my 'magical guitar fingers' that she so obviously fantasizes about? I would never." He clasps his hands across his chest, always the fucking jester.

In a moment of white hot rage, and wanting to put him in his place, and only a tiny fraction fueled by your physical attraction to him, as much as you've tried to fight that off, you march the three steps in between the two of you and grab his wrist in your hand, holding his hand up in between the two of you.

'Fine, do it then," you maintain harsh eye contact with him, your faces only a few inches apart, "you won't. Better yet, I don't even think you could."

For the first time, you felt as if you had the upper hand, you had never rendered him speechless before. He always had some snippy comeback to everything you said, at a rapid fire pace that was honestly impressive given how subtly clever his remarks were.

"You wanna bet?" He cocks his head at you, trailing behind just a beat slower than he normally would.

You just raise your eyebrows and glance down at his hand, still in your grasp, lips pursed and voice secretly caught in your throat.

"You just say the word," he starts, voice slightly softening, "and I bet you that I can make you come using just this hand- scratch that, just these three fingers," he lowers his pointer and pinky, leaving his middle two and thumb sticking up, "in less than five minutes right here in this goddamn kitchen."

"Yeah, for what?" were you seriously considering this? Why were your thighs clenching together?

"I make you come, and not only do I get to live in your memory forever as the first idiot who had the sense to make you finish, but you're gonna be so sweet to me the rest of the trip. Make my drinks, fetch my lighter, roll all my joints with those cute little dexterous fingers of yours, be nothing but pleasant and lovely without the slightest hint of attitude." His words made you fume, but you were also inexplicably turned on, his breath fanning across your face as he spoke sending tingles down your spine.

"And when you can't, what then?" you tried to match his level of composure, but the gleam in his eye told you that he saw straight through your facade.

"If-" he starts, "you manage to hold out on me and I can't get that pretty pussy of yours to gush all over my super magical talented guitar fingers, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the trip. We never bring it up again, or you can tease me about it for the rest of our lives, totally up to you. But I'll be so civil and polite you'll hardly recognize me the rest of this trip."

You let your grasp fall from his wrist, holding your unsteady hand out to him to shake, "Deal."

He truly thought you were bluffing up until this point. When you had first met he had been impressed with how sharp you were, how you managed to meet his level of sarcasm so easily. At least he thought you had been sarcastic, after a few fumbled interactions he got the vibe that you weren't joking around with him in the jabby-playful way he was. If he was honest wit himself, he knew he sort of used this as a defense mechanism when meeting new people. Put up the walls and if they didn't like him, that was just fine.

The tension in the air was as thick as it had ever been between the two of you. You refused to break eye contact, refused to let him win. As much as you'd like to think this would be an easy way to put an end to his snarky attitude, there was no denying that a large part of you was excited, if not intrigued at the prospect of him touching you like that. Eddie was hot, you had never denied that. But the butterflies in your stomach and slight buckle of your knees indicated a little bit more than surface level attraction.

Breaking the handshake he takes a few purposeful steps forward, backing you against the nearest counter. He places a hand on either side of your body, caging you in, leaning his head down to speak directly into your ear, voice low and raspy.

"We doing this, babe? You say the word and I'll let it go now, but otherwise I'm gonna need you to unbutton those cute jeans for me."

There was no way in hell you were turning back at this point. You try to give him your best 'fuck you' expression and say, "Can't even unbutton my pants, how the hell are you gonna make me come?" Regardless, you follow his request and unbutton your pants, and better yet, slip them down your legs to let them pool at your feet.

You were still locked in between his arms against the counter, closer than you had ever been to him. As your pants hit the floor, you notice his gaze flicker down to get a look at you, then quickly back up to your face. All the while he had shifted over slightly, arm now fiddling with a dial on the stovetop. He was setting a timer, cocky bastard. He adjusts the stovetop cook timer to five minutes and casually hits the enter button, as if he had nothing to prove, as if the few extra seconds meant nothing to him.

He brings his attention back to you, knowing you were fully aware of the timer he had just set. Rather than plunging his hand straight into your already dampening underwear, his first move was surprisingly to bend down slightly and cup the backside of your knee, lifting one foot out of the pant leg that was scrunched around your ankles. From the crook of your knee, his hand slowly moved up your thigh, giving it a squeeze, acting as if he wasn't on any sort of time constraint. As promised, once he reaches your underwear he only uses one of the three promised fingers, running the tip of his middle digit along the top elastic of your panties, quirking an eyebrow, looking at you for one last assurance of consent before the two of you crossed the line. You give him a curt nod, knowing what his questioning glance meant, and with that he dips his hand into your simple cotton underwear.

Once again, you almost expected him to just shove his fingers inside of you and get on with it, but he took several long moments to run his middle two fingers up and down your slit, never entering your hole, but collecting some of your wetness and dragging it up to massage the hood of your clit gently. You wouldn't have been surprised if the oven timer went off at any given moment. It felt like he had been touching you for far longer than five minutes, despite only forty seconds having been passed. He continued to gently roll your clit between his fingers, placing one on either side of your bud and just letting them slowly massage it back and forth.

You were slowly losing control of your composure. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of any sort of reaction, but a shallow gasp that you were sure he noticed escaped you. You mentally prepared yourself for a comment from him, a chuckle or signature smirk. Eddie never shut the fuck up, you wouldn't have been surprised if that was true in the bedroom too, or in this case, the kitchen. What did surprise you was the breathy "Good girl, that's it" he mumbled into the side of your face as he increased the pressure of his fingers ever so slightly, "just like that, relax for me, doing so well."

Fuck.

Your body responded to his words before your mind could make the conscious decision to, and you melted back into the countertop slightly with an exhale. His foot wedged in between your legs slowly slid them open a bit more, letting his ripped denim clad leg settle in between yours, his hand sinking a bit lower and slowly entering you with just his middle finger. The hand that wasn't occupied with your pussy gently came down to toy with the band of your still-on underwear, gently tugging them down as he managed to slip his second finger into you.

"That's it," he began to curl them ever so slightly, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him, "your pussy's so pretty, so good, sucking my fingers right in."

His two middle fingers were sunk all the way into you, and he was moving them in a way that had you involuntarily drop your jaw and let shallow whimpers out with every roll and thrust. This was entirely different than anything you had ever experienced before. Up until now, 'getting fingered' for you was an annoyingly uncomfortably forplay where your partner would shove a hand in and out too fast just to make sure you were wet enough to proceed with the act. Eddie wasn't even bringing his fingers out of you, he settled them in and wiggled them around until he noticed your breath catch, and just let them push into this spot that you didn't know you had. Your own fingers never could reach that deep and his were filling you perfectly, thumb toying with your clit, not too hard, but just enough to add to the sensation. Damn, he was good at this.

When his fingers finally hit that new spot inside you your body reacted with a subtle roll forward of your hips and your head fell back to rest against the cabinets, eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. "Mmm, there it is," his voice was still gentle against your ear as he continued to make you gasp and squirm, "anyone ever find this pretty little spot inside you before?" He let his fingers slide all the way out of you, spreading some wetness from your hole up to your clit with a few circular motions before sinking back down inside you.

You were biting the inside of your lip, no longer trying to hide your reactions from him, but trying to keep them quiet enough to not wake anyone in the cabin up. You wouldn't dare answer his questions out loud in your state, but you give him a quick shake of your head to indicate that, no, no one had ever touched you quite like this before.

"Such a fucking shame," he increased the pressure on your clit, not increasing speed at all, but just curling his fingers a little harder, swirling his thumb a bit more deliberately, "bet you'd make such gorgeous noises for me too, can't have anyone wake up and find us like this though, yeah? Those pretty little whimpers are for me only."

Why were his words doing more to you than his hands? Not that you had any complaints about the care and attention he was giving your center, but his face pressed so close to you, letting out sweeter words than you had ever heard from him, that was what was making your walls tighten around his two fingers. Your mind had completely slipped away from the timer, no longer questioning whether you had three seconds or three minutes left, all you could do was feel.

There was a soft squelching coming from where his hand made contact with your pussy, wetness coating his fingers and spreading to your thighs with each of his shallow thrusts. While you would typically feel a little embarassed, hearing your own arousal only turned you on more, that along with Eddie's soft "mmmm, that's it" and "good fucking girl."

You were starting to feel it, that familiar tightening. Familiar, but so different from when you got yourself there. It was the difference of jumping into water versus being pushed in. When you jump in yourself, you have time to build up the courage and the cold water is less of a surprise and more of an inevitability. This was as if someone had thrown you over their shoulder and could fling you in at any moment, entirely out of your control. You feel your head start to spin, your walls start to tighten.

Before you could let the tightening band in your lower half snap, any thought of purposely holding back and trying to not come for the sake of the bet was far gone, he takes his unoccupied hand and harshly tugs on your chin. Your head had started to roll back, pressing against the cabinets for support, eyes fluttering shut as you almost reached your peak. You were jolted back to reality as he cups your jaw and forces your head to stay upright.

"Eyes open," your impending orgasm teetering right on the edge, you would do anything he said in this moment, "you're going to keep your eyes open and look at me while I make you come." His words with a few more expert swipes of his thumb against your throbbing clit had you gasping for air. It was truly unlike any orgasm you had ever experienced.

You tried your best to follow his directions, keeping your eyes as open as you could, maintaining eye contact with him through your high as your mouth dropped open and your moans caught in your throat, silently shaking and thriving as the tension in your body eased out in waves of pleasure. His gaze burned into you, fingers keeping such a steady and consistent pace as you rode out your peak. Mumbled phrases escaped him and only made your orgasm last that much longer. Why the fuck was Eddie Munson calling you "pretty girl" making your legs shake? This shouldn't be happening. That had never been a turn on before, none the less coming from a man you typically found insufferable.

With the last pulse of your walls you found yourself acting on pure adrenaline, you completely blame the endorphins for your next action. His hand was still firmly planted on the side of your head and your thoughts were spinning so fast, you had to ground yourself, and your body decided that lurching forward and kissing Eddie was how you were going to do that. Fingers still slowly rolling inside of you, thumb now coming to rest on your overstimulated clit, he was taken aback by your action, but leaned into the kiss and swiped his wet tongue through your bitten swollen lips as you melted into him. As soon as you felt fully entangled in him, completely consumed by his hands, mouth, scraggly hair, all of him. You jerked back, quickly apologizing, "Fuck, uh, sorry, I-"

He slowly drags his hand out of your drenched thighs as you try to find words, bringing his two fingers up between his lips to suck them clean. You wanted to moan out at the sight but were still scrambling to figure out what the fuck just happened. He casually leans over and pauses the oven timer with a beep.

"Hey, 4:20, nice!" you roll your eyes at his immature comment, "we have forty more seconds on the clock, wanna go again?" he jokes.

You were so far beyond caring about this bet, you had way bigger issues to tackle than having to wait hand and foot on Eddie for the rest of this trip. You awkwardly pull up your wet panties and readjust your pants around your legs, not sure what to do or say.

"Was that good? Better than when you do it yourself?" he asks, sarcasm indetectable in his voice but you were sure it had to be there.

"Do you actually care to know or do you just want to hear me say it? Fine Eddie, you win. You have magical sex fingers and made me come in like three minutes, congratulations. It was great, the best orgasm of my life. You were right, you told me so."

"Well that's great to hear and all but I wasn't looking for an ego boost or anything, babe," his tone was lighthearted and you weren't expecting it, "I just know it's like wayyyy different for me when its my hand versus another person, not to mention the difference between all the holes and whatnot."

"Gross!" you laugh and scrunch up your nose, not noticing how he was pouring you a glass of water.

"I'm just saying!" He holds his hands up defensively as he silently hands the cup to you, "I've never experienced a female orgasm so I just wanted to know if it was any different than when you use the showerhead."

"Oh my god I-" you start, in between gulps of water.

"Oh, don't even start," he cuts you off, "we both know that all girls do that, don't try and be all shy with me now babe, I know what your 'oh' face looks like."

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks and you bury your gaze down into your almost empty glass of water. "Yeah Eddie, it was different and it was better. Your fingers rank higher than the jet setting of my shower head, do you want a trophy?" This sort of banter usually had a sharper edge to it between you, but there was a new softness and humor to the way you communicated. Maybe he was just being nice because he felt bad for you, because you were so desperate that you came from three fingers on a kitchen counter in less time than most top forty radio hits.

"I'm glad it was good for you," he says, almost sincerely, "night sweetheart." With that he turned around and exited the kitchen, keeping his composure all the way down the hall until he could burst into his room, rid himself of his clothes, and pull his cock at the thought of how you felt wrapped around his fingers, the little whimpers and noises you made, how you looked right at him as you came, how you kissed him afterwards.

You were left somewhat dumbfounded, standing in the middle of the kitchen with an empty cup in your hands, looking around as if something else was going to happen. You weren’t expecting him to invite you back to his bed for a cuddle or anything like that, but you had just experienced the most earth shattering orgasm of your life followed up by some joking conversation and a friendly cup of water? It just didn't feel right. Then again, who the fuck has their first orgasm from someone else while being timed.

You didn't regret it though. You actually felt a sense of relief. While you were pretty aware that your past sexual partners had been a bit selfish or underwhelming, a part of you had always wondered if that part of you was broken. If there was a part of your brain that would never let you reach that vulnerable state at the hands of someone else. That you would only ever trust yourself to let go and feel that kind of pleasure. Nope. Not broken. Definitely not broken.

You feel like you're in a trance as you walk back to your room, shower, slip into pajamas and drift off to sleep. You started to wonder how the energy would be between you and Eddie in the morning, but as soon as you gave it any thought your brain decided it was time to shut down. You'd deal with it when it happened.

Your head still felt cloudy the next morning, processing the sexual high and confusing social situation you now found yourself in. You knew one thing for sure, you'd never be able to look at Eddie again without thinking about last night. Suddenly the thought of him playing guitar, shuffling a deck of cards, smoking a joint, all felt inherently sexual to you despite never having that connotation before. You were fucked.

What's even worse is when you tried to rub one out in the shower to ease some of your nerves before going downstairs for coffee all you could think of was comparing how your hand felt to Eddie's. It's like he put a stupid curse on you, that all your orgasms would now feel half hearted. It's like you were hungry and were served a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when you could smell a chef preparing a five star meal in the room over. Sure, a PB&J is fine, but now that you've had fine dining it just didn't quite cut it. On top of that your newly corrupted brain couldn't help but theorize about what else Eddie was capable of. He made you come in basically four minutes with three fingers. As soon as you let your mind wander you pull yourself out of it, make the shower as cold as your body can stand, and gear up to face the music, or at least put on an awkward front in front of all of your friends.

You were the first person in the kitchen, but you heard a fair amount of shuffling going on around the creaky cabin so you suspect your friends will be down soon. You take it upon yourself to put on a full pot of coffee and survey the pantry for breakfast options.

"Morning, y/n," Steve greets you passively, eyes clearly set on the coffee that's almost done brewing.

"Oh wow, did you do the dishes last night?" Nancy inquires, her and Robin taking their places at the table while everyone waits for the coffee to finish.

"Oh yeah, it was nothing. Eddie and I did it, only took like five minutes," you wince at yourself.

"Were the two of you up real late?" Steve questions, "I tried to get him up a minute ago but he was knocked out."

"Oh," you start, relying on pouring coffee to everyone as an excuse to not make any eye contact, "I'm not really sure, we were only really up for like ten, twenty minutes after you all went to bed. Maybe he stayed up late in his room." None of it was a lie.

"Whatever, let him sleep this beautiful day away," Steve's whole demeanor changed after a single sip of caffeine, "I say we go down to the dock and check out that canoe, maybe have lunch on the dock? Could be nice."

A murmur of agreement among the group settled the plans for the day, relaxing by the lake, doing exactly what you had intended this trip to be about. You all scarfed down quick breakfast and coffee and separated to change into swimwear. You hated that you thought of Eddie as you picked out your swimsuit. Did he even see you like that? When he called you pretty last night, was that all part of an act to win some stupid bet? You'd be better off assuming so, you decide, you don't want to get wrapped up in your own thoughts about how he thinks of you only to be totally wrong. But you secretly did hope that he'd check you out at least once.

You sprawled out on a big towel on the rickety dock, letting Robin, Nance, and Steve figure out the canoe. It didn't look like it could comfortably for more than two, and three was pushing it, so you decided to sit this one out considering the lake water looked a little murky. You set yourself up comfortably with a glass of lemonade and a book you were halfway through, letting the sun sink into your skin and illuminate the pages as you squinted at the words through the sunshine. You could hear their friendly bickering off in the distance, their canoe now a tiny speck off on the horizon of the lake. You could occasionally hear Robin shriek as Steve threatened to tip them all over.

You felt the dock creek behind you before he said anything, not bothering to turn around from your comfortable position, knowing it couldn't be anyone but Eddie. He made his way down to your towel, inviting himself to plop down next to you and dip his toes into the lake below. He was only in his boxers and a ratty tshirt, a mostly full cup of black coffee sloshing around in the mug he held.

He made you nervous, not sure what the energy would be like between the two of you now. You almost felt worried that nothing would have changed at all. You ignored the buzzing in your abdomen and kept your eyes on your book as he kicked up the lakewater and sipped his coffee next to you, seeming comfortable in your mutual silence.

“Reading anything good?” you knew he’d be the one to break the silence, ever the chatty Cathy. You were surprised at the genuine question rather than a smart remark or joke at your expense.

You told him what you thought of your current read, filling him in a bit on the general plot. Part of you decided that you no longer had the right to give him the edge you usually did. He had won the upper hand fair and square and you were willing to accept that. You could play nice, play by his rules.

You felt like your conversation was going well, or well enough. He asked to see your book, which you willfully handed over. You’d regret doing that. He dog-eared the page you were on and quickly set your book off to the back of the deck before moving at lightning speed and scooping you up and hurling you through the air and into the lake water. What the actual fuck was his problem.

Before you could even register the cold lake water you emerge from your splash and gasp for air. You don’t even have a moment to find where the dock is to cuss him out before you see his cannonballed form fly above you and crash into the lake next to you. His shirt and coffee were abandoned with your book and he emerged from the water with that stupid goofy smile.

That stupid goofy smile that made you less mad that he had thrown you in the lake. What was wrong with you? You should be pissed. Why did his annoying antics suddenly make you feel giggly? You knew exactly why, but wouldn't allow yourself to think about it for longer than a moment.

“Eddie you bitch!” you splash him as soon as you can locate him and that stupid smile. You couldn’t help but smile too. He knew you wouldn’t stay mad. The two of you play-wrestle for a moment, splashing each other and taking turns pushing the other under the lake’s surface.

“I was reading,” you continue to protest.

“And now you’re swimming!” He splashes you again, “We’re on a lake trip, y/n, not a library trip.”

You debated swimming out to where the canoe was, but mutually decided that sounded like too much work. Instead you took turns jumping off the dock and diving down to the bottom of the lake for rocks and other random junk. Eddie even found an old boat anchor.

Once the other three came in from their canoe adventure you all ate packed sandwiches for lunch in the sunshine on the dock. You couldn’t help but take in the moment, knowing you'd be nostalgic for it in the future. You were surrounded by some of your best friends without a care in the world, only focused on pb&j sandwiches and who was going to make the fire later.

After a backyard bonfire and several failed attempts at roasting hot dogs on sticks you all started to slow down and let the day in the sun take you to bed. You showered the feeling of lakewater off your skin and out of your hair with lots of soap and as hot of water as the cabin would allow. You thought you’d cozy up in bed and read some more of your book, or even crash right to sleep, but a nagging feeling kept pulling at you.

As sleepy as you wanted to be, and as interesting as your book was, your mind couldn’t pull itself away from the idea of what Eddie was doing down the hall. It was late enough that the others were probably asleep, you probably should be too. After rereading the same sentence four times you decided to abandon your book and just follow your curiosities.

Before your better judgment could stop you, you lightly knocked at Eddie’s door and cracked it open. You peek around the sturdy wooden door to see him propped up on the headboard, shirtless with a giant book in his lap. His lean chest and arms were littered with random tattoos, nothing you hadn't seen before swimming or when he wore those unbuttoned and ripped up shirts that he often did, but this time you couldn't help but stare at them.

“Sure just come right in,” he comments with a joking tone as you peek around the corner of his door.

“Sorry, sorry,” you half whisper through gritted teeth, “I just-”

You didn’t know how to finish that statement. You just what? Were curious about what he was doing? Wanted to see him? Wanted to know what he would say if you came to his room?

To your surprise he shifts to the side of his bed and opens a space next to him, lifting the sheet that covers his lower half and patting the space next to him. Your eyes widened in surprise a bit before you moved a bit too enthusiastically across the room and settled onto the mattress next to him.

“Hope I’m not bothering you,” you start, genuinely feeling bad if you were intruding.

“You? Not at all. I’ve only read The Lord of the Rings eighty times or so,” he turns over the enormous book in his lap.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could read,” you immediately felt bad, but knew your tone was joking enough to be permissible.

“Very funny,” he sets the book on his nightside table, turning his attention to you. You suddenly felt a spotlight on you, a sudden stage to explain the reason you showed up in his room. Truthfully you didn’t have one. Or, you didn’t have the words to tell him why.

“I-” you start, noticing how small your voice sounded, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Is that so?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I just-” you still don’t know where you’re going with this, “I just wanted to apologize if I ever gave you the impression that I didn’t like you. I know we kind of go back and forth a lot, but I never really meant to make you feel like I dislike being around you. I just want to start over with you, if that’s okay?”

“Is this because you know all the rumors about my magic guitar fingers are true,” he smirked and leaned his head into yours, an action that would typically make your blood boil that you now found endearing.

“No- well yes- but no,” you couldn’t help but be flustered, finding yourself fidgeting with the hem of his sheet that you had tucked your feet under, knees pushed up against your chest, “I just thought that things were going to be really awkward between us today, or that you were going to be a huge asshole to me. But I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been fair to you, and maybe you weren’t fair to me either, so it would be nice to start over?”

“Do you want to start over right now, or do you want to start over, including last night?” He already knew that even if the two of you ‘started over’ neither of you could forget, or even pretend to forget what had transpired in the kitchen. You let out a sigh. You were thinking the same thing.

“Up to yout,” you look up at him through your lashes, “I’ll leave and never bring it up again, but I can't pretend like I haven’t been thinking about it since it happened.”

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know it is,” you bump his shoulder with yours.

“Is it because you touched yourself and realized it didn’t feel the same?” his voice grew deeper, and you could feel his gaze pressing into the side of your face, “or because you imagined it was my fingers between those pretty legs of yours.”

You couldn’t help your head from falling back against his headboard and eyes to find solace in the ceiling before gathering the courage to answer him. His face was already inches from your neck, all you needed to do was close the gap, but a part of you was still worried.

You look tentatively into his eyes, big and brown and drawing you in, but you don't let yourself lean in all the way. You had initiated the first kiss between you two last night in the kitchen and had been shaken with worry that you had crossed a line. You didn't want to embarrass yourself again, so you held back. What if he thought that was too intimate? You hoped he didn't. Even though it had left you tense and anxious, kissing him was just as memorable as the orgasm he had given you. You remembered how his mouth tasted, how he slipped his tongue past your lips immediately, how you didn't have to think about anything other than how he was making you feel.

Eddie, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew that he'd left you a bit high and dry last night. If he was being honest, he wanted to stay in that kitchen and kiss you over and over, offering to take you to bed, his bed. He left for two reasons: he wanted to maintain whatever aura of mystery and intrigue he had garnered by making you feel so good, the tensions were high and it felt right to keep the game up, Eddie enjoyed the cat and mouse, back and forth that the two of you had, and this had taken it to an incredibly fun and elevated state, and he had to leave to release his cock from the confines of his pants. If he was going to fuck you, he was going to fuck you right, and if you had stayed in that kitchen any longer he would have either busted in his pants or promptly three seconds after you made any sort of move on him.

He knew you were nervous. That you found him hard to read and unpredictable. That's probably why the two of you never really got along, and he knew it. He knew that the orgasm he gave you was the most pleasure you had ever felt, and that you hadn't stopped thinking about it for a moment since. It was written all over your face. He couldn't blame you. If he had never had the pleasure of climaxing during sex or at the hands of another person he surely would be in a spell over it too. He knew you needed to be taken care of, and that he had proved himself to be trustworthy of doing so.

While you were caught in your own head debating whether Eddie would kiss you or not, it only takes him a split second to crane his neck around to meet your face and catch your lips in a kiss backed by purpose and intent. He knew how to read your body language. Eddie grew up worrying what everyone around him was thinking of him, or what they were planning to do to him/ He knew how to tell when someone was angry or upset or disgusted. An arch of an eyebrow or a twitch of a hand could mean the smallest things, things that always came back to bite Eddie. He also could tell that your breath was caught in your throat and you were overthinking still, he knew to let the kiss linger for a moment and let you find your footing before deepening it.

The moment he feels your shoulders relax a bit and your head lean ever so slightly into his, he cups the sides of your neck with his hands. Those hands. Littered with tiny stick and poke tattoos and those clunky metal rings. Who the fuck wears jewelry to bed? You had taken note of how his rings had felt shoved down the front of your underwear the night prior, and now you relished in how the distinct metal felt against the soft skin under your jaw.

Last night you kissed him in the heat of the moment. Now he was kissing you. Really kissing you. Tugging on your bottom lip and running his tongue across yours until your stomach felt like you were on the dip of a roller coaster. Kissing you until you were breathless and your cheeks began to run hot, until you couldn't tell whose tongue was whose, or could hardly remember where you were or what time it was. You would have traded every sexual experience you'd had for what he did to you in the kitchen last night, and you'd trade every kiss up until now for the one you found yourself in.

His hands were in your hair, and his lips moved from yours, now wet and pouty, down to your neck. He kissed, licked, nipped, sucked against your skin, gently tugging your hair in the direction he wanted to open your neck up for him. When his bottom teeth dragged across a particular spot in between your jaw and ear a soft moan escaped your lips. You immediately sucked in a sharp breath.

"MmmHmmm," he mumbles into you, still attacking that spot that had elicited the noise, "let me hear you."

You let out a groan and moved to straighten your neck, wanting his mouth on yours again. The hand in your hair kapt you exactly where he wanted though, now using a touch more force.

"You wanna know a secret?" the hand not in your hair ran up and down your rib cage underneath your shirt, trailing from the band of your pants up to the underside of your breast and then gently back down, "Do you know what you do to me?"

"Mmmm, no what?" you could hardly recognize your own voice, now pitched up and airy.

"Those pretty noises you made for me, and the thought of you wrapped around my fingers has been driving me crazy all day, y/n. Do you know what I thought about while I jerked off last night? Those moans, and that pretty cunt you have, and the gorgeous face you made when I got you there. It's all I can see when I look at you now. It made me come so fucking hard last night and it's gonna take a lot of time and illegal substances to make me forget it."

You wiggled your hips up into his touch, wanting him to move faster but knowing he was going to take everything at his pace whether you liked it or not. "Fuck Eddie," he sucked on your earlobe and continued to bite against your soft skin, "you think I'm pretty?" You sounded fucking pathetic, you wouldn't have caught yourself dead asking any boy that, let alone Eddie before tonight.

"Pretty? I think those little moans you make are pretty. And that cunt you have, prettiest I've ever seen. That little bikini you had on today, that was pretty too. You wear that for me?"

"Maybe," you gasp out as his hand dared to venture lower, still over your pajama pants but dipping up and down where he knew your wet slit was.

"Sure, lots of things about you are plenty pretty, but fuck," he loved how responsive you were, already rolling your hips against his hand despite the layers of fabric preventing you from getting what you really wanted, "You? you really are somethin' else."

He could tell you were tired of his teasing, so in between kisses he tugs your shirt up and lets you pull it over your head. He presses your warm skin against his, using all his strength to stay in the moment and feel how nice your tits feel squished up against him, rather than immediately ravish you. He'll get to that, he knows you deserve his patience.

“Just-” you gathered your thoughts, “tell me you want me too, that this isn’t some sort of power trip or pity fuck. I don’t want it if this is some game to you.”

His heart sank a bit at your inquiry, worried that you thought of last night as some sort of power trip for him, although that was what the two of you had framed it as, a power play. He knew there was something deeper and hoped you had felt that too.

“Of course I want you. As much as it was nice to put you in your place, you brat, I didn't make you come to prove anything. I made you come because I wanted to.”

“Will you do it again?” your voice was barely a wiper, your neck craning around to meet his intense gaze.

“Again with my fingers,” he shifted so you were now slumped beneath him, his leg slotting comfortably between yours and his hands coming to cup your cheeks, shoulders angled above yours and hair creating a perfect curtain around your faces, “and my tongue, and my cock,” he leaned down to kiss you, “and all the other ways you’ll let me show you.”

You were a mess. A puddle of arousal and swarming thoughts of nothing but Eddie. Your hands flew up to tangle themselves in his beautiful curls, massaging the nape of his strong neck. The most passionate and enthusiastic kiss you had ever participated in. You were on fire for him. Any former doubt or worry that the actions of last night had on you dissipated into the air along with the breathy moans you couldn’t help but let out in between kisses and touches.

His knee pushed your thighs apart and you willingly splayed yourself out like a ragdoll for him to move and manipulate under him however he pleased. Before you could focus on his hands dipping into your underwear, he bit at your lower lip and pulled back, causing you to crane your neck and chase after his lips as he moved away. You were about to pout about the loss of contact, but his fingers dipping through your wet folds were plenty distracting. He sits back a bit to focus on pulling down your pants and underwear while still stroking you with his opposite hand.

You were too busy squirming under him, both from his slow methodical fingers against your cunt and a half hearted attempt to kick off your garments that were now pushed around your knees to notice his unwavering gaze that raked over your newly exposed body. His resolve was about to break, along with the dam that held back his desire and excitement to feel every inch of you, to make you feel good, to be the first person to make you feel good. He had always thought you were gorgeous, but picking fights is a lot easier than trying to flirt so he settled for riling you up the only way he thought he could.

He swats backwards to assist you in removing your final articles of clothing which are caught on your ankles, and as he leans back forward into you he sinks two thick fingers into you with a smirk on his face. It was a sudden stretch, but you'd be lying if you said you weren’t wet enough for him to slip in without any resistance. Your eyes want to squeeze shut, but you can't help but keep your sight locked on the shit eating grin that spreads across Eddie's face. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He had made you fall apart in just over four minutes last night, and now he was going to take his time and have his fun with you. How could he not? You were so responsive to him, whimpering and writhing with every small movement, muscles tensing and your perfect lips parting open every time he curled his fingers upwards or brushed your clit with his palm.

He swoops down to give your tits some attention, and you let yourself tangle your fingers into his unruly curls. Between licks and nips he mumbles into your skin, "so fuckin' perfect" and "doing so good for me." He can feel your walls squeezing his fingers, soaking his palm, so he slows his roll a bit, wanting to draw you out a bit longer. You wanted to pull him up for a kiss, but he was deeply concentrating on sucking the perfect purple hickey to the underside of your breast. You could have sworn you heard "mine" come out of his mouth in between sucks and heavy breathing, but you couldn't be sure.

Once he released your skin with a wet pop, you tugged at his hair to beg for a kiss. Eddie liked you all whiney and desperate for him though, so he just lets you tug on his hair as hard a you want as he continues moving down your body, teeth dragging across your ribcage, his hot flat tongue licking a stripe across your hip bone just before blowing a stream of cool air across the new wet trail. All the while his fingers slowly rolled inside of you, making this delicious wiggling motion that had you feeling full and seeing stars.

He pulls his fingers out of you, taking a mental picture of how hot it was that your slick had soaked him down to his rings. Before you can sit up with any sort of protest, he cups his hands on the backs of your thighs and pushes forward to effectively fold you in half. Your head perks up, about to inform him that he is wildly overestimating your flexibility, he cuts you off.

"Just lay back," his hands run up and down from your inner knees down to your ass and back up, "lay back and let me make you feel good, you can do that for me, yeah?"

"Yeah okay," you breathe out as he places a tender kiss to the part of your thigh just under your bent knee, a part of you that had never had any sexual connotation before, and now the feeling of his lips were permanently seared into the skin there.

The last thing you caught sight of before your eyes rolled into the back of your head was Eddie spitting straight onto your pussy, not that it wasn't wet enough already, and immediately going in to lick a fat stripe up the middle of your center. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he repeated the action, his grip on the meat of your thighs tightening and leaving fingerprint sized indents. He attached his lips to your clit and rolled it against his tongue in a way that you had never experienced.

Sure, you'd been on the receiving end of head before, but not like this. It had always been a 'hey, I just need to make sure your pussy is wet enough for my dick' sort of situation and never a 'it would be my pleasure to die here in between your thighs' situation. The moans that escaped you were shaky and broken, unlike the noises coming from between your legs, a sinful combination of wet slurping and Eddie deeply moaning and humming approval into you as he ate you out.

Your legs began to shake, partially from your growing orgasm, and partly from this advanced yoga position Eddie had you in. He slid a hand down from the juncture of your leg to toy with the pooling wetness at your hole. You let your wobbly hand replace his holding your knee back for him, keeping you spread open and on display as he stuffed two fingers into you, continuing to suck on your clit.

"Ohmyfuckinggod," your words slurred together in a high pitched moan, "Eddie- Eddie, fuck." You were no longer in control of the noises coming out of your mouth, a barely coherent slew of Eddie's name, 'fuck's' and 'please.'

He groaned into your cunt, picking up the pace and curling his fingers into you just like he had the night before, this time with the added pleasure of his mouth devouring you. You were not long for this world.

'You're gonna make me come," you warned him, your voice sounding on the verge of a sob, "feels so fucking good, Eddie, please."

Your eyes screwed shut and legs fell from their pushed back position to clamp around his head as your orgasm took over you. Crashing waves of pleasure that were pulling you out like a riptide. All you can feel is the release, hardly noticing your shaking legs or broken moans. Eddie moves up to catch your lips in a deep, wet kiss, slowing his hand as you ride out the end of your orgasm, still quivering around him.

You were severely out of breath, but refused to break the kiss. His slick, swollen lips swallowed your moans and anchored you, bringing you back down to earth.

"Mmmmm," he hums into the kiss, "you need to quiet down, unless you're tryina get me in trouble," he whispers into your lips, dipping down for another soft kiss as you regain your composure.

"Fuck, sorry," you pant out.

"Don't apologize to me," he slowly pulls his hand from your center and you wince slightly, "if it were just the two of us in this cabin I'd insist you let those pretty moans out to your heart's content."

"I'll be quiet," you reach down to palm him through his low hanging pajama pants, "will you please fuck me? Need to feel your cock in me so badly Eddie, I know you're gonna make me feel so good again."

A feral groan rumbles in his chest, head tilting back towards the ceiling as you stroke what felt to be an incredibly well endowed cock.

"You sure you're up for it?" Now it was his turn to show the hint of neediness in his voice.

"Are you sure?" You question back, getting a better grip through the material of his pants.

"You know I wanna fuck you," he ruts into your hand ever so slightly, "but I need to hear you say it."

"I already did Eddie," you mumble into his neck, "Want your cock so bad, I want to make you feel good too."

He rolls over onto his back, and slips off his pants and boxers. You shift onto your knees next to him, unsure of what position he'd want you in. As his hard cock springs out of his elastic waistband and onto his stomach you lose control over your facial muscles and let your slack jaw hang open, eyes bulging slightly.

"Wh-" a look of concern on his face grows as he notices your expression, looking from you, down to his cock, then back to you, "Oh! The piercing?"

You were completely frozen, because the only thing more shocking than the two little metal balls sticking out of his cockhead was the fact that Eddie Munson had a pornstar dick. Thick, long, girthy, perfectly curved, the most glorious shade of blushed pink. No wonder he had decided to bedazzle it, it was gorgeous. Not only was it the largest and most aesthetically pleasing dick you'd ever seen, in real life or photos, you sure as hell had never had one that big inside you.

"Yeah, the piercing-" your voice trailed off, still gawking at it.

"Shit, I'm sorry if you're like, super freaked out," the worry in his voice snapped you out of your trance, "I guess I maybe should have warned you-"

"No no," you were quick to correct his concern, reaching down to wrap your hand, which hardly fit, around it and give a few experimental strokes, "it's fucking perfect." You were visibly salivating, wanting to feel how the metal balls felt against your hot tongue.

"I mean, it's okay I guess," you say, sitting up, "I wouldn't want to give you an ego or anything," joking sarcasm rolled off your tongue, "but fuck..." the way he twitched in your hand drew you back in, not thinking twice before leaning forward and letting your tongue run from the underside of his shaft up across the metal balls that decorated the head, all the way up to his leaking slit. Your tongue gathered his precum and went back to explore how the piercing felt against your lips, rolling it across your tongue, placing open mouthed kisses to the head.

"Shit-" he hisses out, Eddie knew his dick was fine, maybe a little bigger than average or something, but no one had ever stopped to admire it, compliment it. Then again, most of Eddie's sexual escapades were just that, escapades. Random girls in bar bathrooms, quickies in the back of his van, a few weed customers who he didn't mind exchanging a good quick fuck for a discount. Sure, he'd heard the 'oh you're so big' line mid thrust, but everyone said that about the person they're fucking, right?

After feeling his hips twitch a bit underneath you, you release his cock with a soft pop and climb on top of his torso. Grinding down on his hard length with a few slow forward rolls of your hips, you can't help but lurch forward and capture his lips in a kiss. You let out a deep moan as you feel the head of his cock catch your clit as you drag your wet folds up and down his shaft. Your foreheads stay pressed together as your mouth opens in a silent gasp, his hands coming down to guide your hips and dig his fingertips into your ass.

"Fuck, princess," his voice was low and sexy, and the new nickname had you bucking your hips a little harder, "lay back and let me make you feel good again. This is all about me giving it to you right, yeah? So let me do all the work."

You know his intentions were sweet, but you kept his hips pinned under yours. "Eddie I-" you pull back a bit to meet his eyes, "you can fuck me however you want in a bit, but... I've never had anything that big inside me before and..."

"Shhhh," his hands ran up and down your sides, "we can take it slow, promise. You can sit on my cock and take it at your own pace, let it fill you up right, don't wanna hurt you."

With that you nudged his tip into your entrance ever so slightly, taking a moment to feel how his piercing dragged across your cunt and left a cool metal trail that sent a shiver down your spine. Once you slipped the head inside you, it really wasn't any different from an unpierced dick, other than the sheer girth of it. Your teeth caught your lower lip, sinking down to take the first two inches or so, letting your opening adjust to its size.

It was taking everything in Eddie's willpower not to thrust up into you, or grab your hips and roll them down onto his aching cock. But he knew better than that, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you in any way. So he stayed still, holding in a deep and shaky breath as you started to take him. Part of him wanted to look away from the gorgeous faces you were making, because if you were going to bat your eyelashes and tuck that perfect lip in between your teeth he was going to come a lot sooner than either of you would like. But he can't bring himself to do it, loving the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost like when you were angry.

You were fully seated on his cock now, breathing slowly and leaning back to sit up straight on it, somehow pushing it even deeper into you.

"That's it," Eddie's hands still gripped at your hips, making sure you were steady on him, "that's my girl, taking me so well."

You experimentally shifted your weight front to back, rocking your hips shallowly against his. You felt Eddie move underneath you, reaching his hand from its place on your hip to your back. He adjusted his position, and pushed up against the headboard to sit upright, now holding your torso against his. He smoothed your hair across the back of your head.

"It's okay if you need a minute," he took your chin in his hands, clenching his jaw as you continued to rock your hips into his, "don't want you to hurt yourself.

"Just feel so fucking full," you whispered into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for leverage, "need you to fuck me, fuck me deep and hard, please Eddie, need it."

He arches his hips up slightly to meet your hips as they come down, and your eyes practically spin into the back of your head. He takes it slow, his first few thrusts from under you are careful and gentile. You continue to mumble "please" and "more" into his lips, so he scoops you up from your back and flips you over, not removing his cock from deep within you as you settle down into the mattress. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pushes his dick all the way into you, reaching a new spot that knocks the wind out of you.

"Fuck just like that," your words are hardly there, "so fucking good, Eddie, Eddie..."

"Beautiful," he fucks into you a little harder, "your pussy was fucking made for me." His hands were settled on the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread nice and open for him to pound his cock into you. He lets one hand press into your lower stomach, pushing his cock down while inside you, causing you to let out a gasp. He lets his palm spread your on your lower abdomen, letting his thumb creep closer and closer to your clit, catching it every so often as your hips rolled back and forth with his thrusts.

"You gonna be good and let me make you come again?" he asks, the cocky edge in his voice has you losing all coherence, "so pretty wrapped around my cock."

The movements of his thumb are much more deliberate now, rubbing your clit in tandem with the movement of his hips. He wasn't fucking you particularly fast, but he was making sure his cock was buried all the way inside you with every thrust, rolling his hips forward and punctuating each thrust with extra pressure.

"Oh my god, I-" your head was thrown back into the flannel pillowcases, body starting to tense up again. You were still so wet and turned on from your last orgasm, but coming while his massive cock was in you was going to be entirely different, you could feel it.

"That's it, come on my cock," he could feel the muscles in your thighs start to tighten, the walls of your pussy fluttering around him as he drew methodical figure eights on your clit. You felt so fucking good around him, so warm and wet and tight, swallowing his cock up with every thrust. That plus those damn sounds you were making. But Eddie had a goal, and couldn't be distracted by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body, his one and only focus was to push you over the edge, to take care of you and do it right.

The choked sobs leaving your heaving chest were the first indicator that you were about come, that and your pussy gripping him like a fucking vice. You weren't able to form words as you fell apart for him, just letting broken moans escape you as your body shook and released all that tension. Part of you could hear a string of praises coming from him, but all you could focus on was the ripple of your orgasm tearing through your body.

You start to come down for it, catching your breath, until you feel him pull out of you entirely and push you legs back as he had before, and dip his head down to lick down your quivering center. He lapped up your wetness and sent a few aftershocks buzzing into your core. His tongue slowed down and he let you settle down, before pushing his tongue entirely into you and letting out the most sensual groan right into your cunt.

"Holy shit," you let out, looking down at him and realized that next to seeing his dick for the first time, Eddie lapping up your orgasm was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

He sat up and let his cock rest in between your puffy pussy lips, his pierced head sitting right on your sensitive clit. He lets the weight of it fall into his hand and gives your pussy a few taps with his cock, sending your hips jerking from the sensitivity.

"Eddie," you start, eyes glassy and voice hoarse, "please keep fucking me, don't want you to stop."

"You want more?" a comment half cocky and half serious.

"Mhmm, want you to fuck me hard," your hands came up to play with your tits, "want you to come in me, use me, give it to me hard how I know you like it."

"'S'that right," he quickly grabs your hips and flips you over, angling your ass up in the air for him, "you wanna take all my come like the good girl you are?"

"Please," your muffled voice comes up from the sheets, "I'm on the pill, it's okay, it's safe."

"Mmm fuck," he slips his cock back into your soaking wet hole, guiding your hips back and forth with his big hands, "thank you, so fucking perfect for me, you can tell me if I go to hard, yeah?"

"Yeah Eddie," you try your best to bounce back on his cock, but know he's doing most of the work moving your ass to slap against his hips, "I want it hard."

With that he takes the initiative to snap his hips forward with every thrust, pulling your gorgeous ass back against him and twitching inside you every time it comes flush with his lower stomach. He can't help but bring a flat palm down to smack it, loving the big red handprint he leaves behind, and loving even more the muffled moan that leaves you when he does so.

"Y'like that?" he already knows you do, but just wants to hear you say it.

"Yes, again, please," each word comes out as a short gasping breath. He smacks your ass again, watching it jiggle against his palm has him thinking he's died and gone to heaven, you his personal angel.

Although he can feel the end in sight, he wants to feel your pussy squeeze around his cock again, so he snakes his hand under your arched hips and toys with your clit. You're beyond fucked out at this point, but can't help but prop yourself up on straightened arms to give him more room to rub against you. He leans down to press his chest against your back, one arm coming down by your side to support his weight as he fucks down into you.

"One more time," he lets out into the skin of your shoulder, "can you come for me one more time, princess?"

“I-” you start, about to tell him you’re unsure, but then he starts rubbing fast strokes against your clit and you’re already seeing stars.

He’s fucking into you fast and hard, just like you’d asked him to. The feeling of you clenching down on him has him biting your shoulder to hold back his grunts and moans. As soon as he feels your pussy start to gush around him, your arms collapsing and legs shaking under him, he lets go with a soft grunt and spills his come deep inside you.

He lets his cock stay there for a moment, pulsing inside you, relishing in the feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him. He pulls out slowly and you let out a small yelp, letting your hips fully sink down to the mattress without his hands to heep you propped up.

He runs a hand across your thigh, and you acknowledge your attention with a hum.

“M’gonna go get something to clean you up,” his voice is soft and you nod into the pillows, making a half hearted attempt to roll your body over. He uses his discarded sweatpants to wipe off his forehead and chest, suddenly aware of how sweaty he is, you both are.

He slips on his boxers and creeps down the hall to the kitchen, grabbing a big glass of water and a clean hand towel run under the sink. He slips back into the room to find you paid out on the bed, all sweaty and fucked out, it’s the best you’ve ever looked to him.

He lifts you up by the shoulders and helps you sit up while you take a few sips of water and let out a “thank you” in between sips. He runs the warm cloth in between your legs a few times to catch anything sticky, before tossing it into the pile with his dirty clothes.

You were already mostly knocked out, all the energy completely drained from your body. Typically you’d awkwardly dance around the notion of spending the night or not, but your eyes felt too heavy to care, and your body was already molded into his sheets. He flicked off the bedside light and got settled into bed next to you, thinking you were already completely asleep.

“Thank you Eddie,” your voice was sleepy and almost didn't cut through the air.

“No problem, good sex is dehydrating,” he responds, assuming you meant the thanks for the water and towel.

“No thank you for taking care of me,” you roll into his arms, snuggling up against him, “I didn’t know sex could be like that.”

“Like what?” he partially knew what you meant, given that the three times you’ve ever come during sex all happened in the past hour.

“Like magic,” you’d have been embarrassed to say it in other circumstances. But the post sex bliss and intense sleep that was washing over you made you sort of hazy and elated.

“Yeah I think you’re pretty magic too,” he wrapped you up in his arms, feeling the same tiredness, “good night y/n.”

The next morning he felt a sort of sore stiffness in his body, wiping the crust from his eyes and suddenly remembering the events of the night prior. There was an empty warm spot in the bed next to him, indicating you must have slipped out recently. He shook out his messy bedhead and threw on some sweatpants.

A short trip down the hall brought him into the kitchen, where you were making a pot of coffee. You heard him come in from the hallway, and you suddenly tensed up at the thought of facing him. How did he look so damn good mid yawn, rubbing his face and his hair a wild mess.

You turn towards the coffee machine on the counter, frantically trying to think of what to say or how to act towards him. Before you could give it too much thought, you feel his presence directly behind you, his arms caging you in and his back pressed against you.

“Are you pouring me a cup?” he asks, hunching down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you elongate the word, taking in his scent and feeling his hair tickle your neck, “this is how you take it right? No cream, no sugar.”

“Mhmmm,” he mumbles into your hair, giving you a quick peck on the side of your neck before moving to grab the cup.

“Wow okay early bird Eddie,” Robin’s voice cuts through the air of the kitchen and he immediately grabs his coffee and moves away from you. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice and the two of you cringe at the somewhat compromising position.

“Okay I don’t think I want to know what the hell that was about,” she points between the two of you. Ahh Robin, master of the art of subtlety.

Steve comes into the kitchen, immediately sensing the awkward air between everyone in the small space.

“Oh god,” he looks from Robin’s pointing finger to the two of you with somewhat guilty expressions, “was THAT all that noise I heard last night? Jesus Christ you two.” He turns out of the kitchen dramatically, leaving Robin with a bewildered expression and the two of you cringing.

“At least they’re fucking instead of fighting now!” she calls to him as he continues to walk down the hall away from you.

Amongst Robin yelling and Steve leaving in a huff, Eddie manages to sneak his hand behind you and pinch your ass, making you jump a bit and the coffee in your cup to slosh around. He gives you a wink and starts to head out of the kitchen.

“I’m gonna have my coffee by the lake, you joining me?”

Maybe this trip was going to be something special after all.

All Eddie Fics Taglist: @eddielives1986

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #smut #smut fanfiction

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pbnbucks · 3 months ago

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Hi would you write smut for Nika muhl?

word count : 890

warnings : sad sex kind of?, angsty, poorly written smut

summary : nikas been acting weird and you give her a taste of her own medicine

“nika! where have you been its 3:18 in the morning” nika takes her coat off as she walks in ignoring you, ignoring the fact that your screaming and angry acting like nothing happened.

“i was out with the team” she says blankly reusing the same excuse that shes been using for months.

“oh bull shit nika your always with the team” sarcastically dragging out your voice at the girl who clearly had a night who still ego boosted as she walks past you

“you know what im gonna start doing everything you’re doing, im gonna let everything that walks by fuck me, and act like i don’t care and come home late” and with that sentence her heart drops to her stomach as she turns her body walking your way arching her back down to meet your face at the same level using her height to try and claim dominance,

this wasn’t the nika you knew, the one who wanted you to fear her.

“what did you say?” you scoff at her pettyness “you heard what i said im fucking tired so fuck you im going to go do whatever i want and if that means fuck other people then so be it asshole” raging as the girl in front of your face doesn’t change her facial expression only furrowing her eyebrows lightly wanting to remain unfazed.

her familiar hand found its way to your neck thats been placed there many times, when she was in loving and sweet mood but this time shes purely angry

“nika get the fuck off me” she pins you against the wall holding your body under her as your entire body’s are touching each other “don’t ever say that your going to fuck anybody else or so help me-” she says degrading you but you cut her off before she can try and make a point that you could care less about

“you’ve been fucking God knows who and your expectations are for me to be tied down and okay with it? are you fucking serious nika?” nika often took advantage of you, taking you for granted, not listening to things you wanted her to respect in your relationship. she wasn’t the same sweet girl anymore, the girl who made sure you both where in bed by 9 pm.

“you don’t mean that shit baby.” you knew the card she was going to play, sweet talk you and then in 3 days its back to the same day routine “the fuck i don’t nika, i wish i never met your sorry ass”

this was the comment that sent her overboard her whole face changed from nonchalant to complete rage, she overused her nonchalant cover so what happened next had you shocked as she dragged you to the bed shoving you face down as she got on top of you going to say something in your ear

“i wanna hear you say you don’t mean it” you whine because you knew nothing would change you where going to forgive her, she would play nice for a bit and then go do what she pleases.

“please start caring nika” you cry out as her body begins to hug every part of you as she places soft kisses along your jawline “i know baby, i know im sorry..” she says hesitantly as she wasn’t known for letting people see her feelings, not even you.

“i want to make it up to you, so fucking bad” she slides her large cold hands up and down your waist trying to calm you down from your pain washing over you. “i promise babe, gonna make you feel so good” she assures you as she flips you onto your back brushing the hair out of your face and with that your flipped on your back as her hands roam all over your body

she slips the strap on as she slowly enters the strap into your sweet hole as a groan leaves your mouth while your stuff your face into a pillow gripping the sheets.

“no pretty i want to see your face” she coos as she takes the pillow away from you running her fingers up and down your leg.

pornographic moans continue to leave your mouth as nika continues to push her hardened strap into not slowing down by any means.

“so fucking good” you plea out as you feel your walls begin to tighten, nika brings her fave down to face level with yours placing kisses along your jawline

“im so so sorry my good girl, i love you so fucking much” she mumbles in to your neck as her hands roam down to your butt massaging the large chunk she had in her hands

“i love you too mommy” she hums in response to your reply moaning in to the sweat spot on your neck

“i know you do mama i know” she coos edging you in to your release “want you to cum right here pretty” she whispers seductively in to your ear as you liquids begin to spill on to the strap that fills up inside of you, as moans begin to spill and fall out of your mouth.

“so so sorry princess” she reassures you for the final time

but sure enough a week later the same argument and event occurred again.

#uconn wbb #lesbian #lgbtq #wnba #seattle storm #nika muhl please eat me out 🙏#nika my wife fr #nika mühl smut #nika mühl fanfic #nika muhl smut #nika mühl #wlw fluff #wlw ns/fw #wlw smut #wlw blog #wlw post #wnba x reader #wnba masterlist #wnba players

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 4 months ago

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Don't cry over spilled milk ◦ l.f

-Accidents happen is an easy thing to say when your daughter didn't just dump a cup of milk on your husband's new black carpet and all of a sudden— you can't breathe

Paring◦ Dad!Lee Felix x Mom!Reader

Words◦ 1633

Genre ◦ Hurt and comfort, ngl this was like really angsty and I didn't mean for it to be 😭, definitely fluffy towards the end though

Warnings ◦ Kinda points towards the fact that the reader might have been abused, descriptions of the readers father being an asshole, talk about abuse, the term beating black and blue, crying, spilled milk, Felix being sickeningly sweet, overuse of love, descriptions of bad dreams, trauma, bleeding, bad thoughts, and wounds (all these are metaphors).

Taglist◦@thetoastghost222I hope you like it <33

A/N ◦this is just something simple and cute I cooked up real fast I didn't really put too much thought into it honestly I just let my brain go also don't judge me but I literally just looked up "cute Korean girl names that mean sunshine" in the search engine and picked the first thing so... also I'm going to be reuploading all my old stuff into my new blog in one fair swoop soooo I'm rereading this and there's something about my writing I have always noticed is off so if anybody can point it out/ give me advice I would literally appreciate it so much

~cookiecreates 🍪

You took "Don't cry over spilled milk" very seriously because it took every fiber of your being not to sob when Ha-Yun's glass of milk dropped on Felix's new carpet, throwing a vibrant white stain on the expensive black furnishing. You really don't know how many different adjectives your brain could come up with to describe the horror you felt pounding in your heart.

It was as though this moment was a portal into the deepest caverns of your mind—a key that unlocked a swarm of memories flickering in the back of your brain like fireflies. You squeeze your eyes shut, pushing back the flood of bad feelings that seem to wash over you quicker than you can wipe them away—You're transported back to those days when your head was high and your hands were small, spilling milk on your dad's new carpet. You were so little, so naive, you didn't know that the world wasn't all butterflies and unicorns; that milk stained and dads got mad. You vowed to be the parent who held their baby's hand as they picked it up, smiling when they threw the dirty towel in the trash.

Accidents happen.

But you don't know if that's what Felix vowed to do, and with the carpet being 600 dollars, you wouldn't be surprised if he beat the poor girl black and blue.

Just like your dad did.

Your fingers tremble as you grip the cup in your hands, the world seems to swirl around you, swimming in all your bad dreams. It only took a teaspoon to die and a bad thought to drown. How easy it is to be pulled under the waves when you're vulnerable. You thought you kept the sea at bay, but even the most experienced divers can get pulled into a riptide.

The cup clatters in the sink, startling you out of your thoughts. Ha-Yun babbles in the corner, throwing cheerios to the ground. This was all your fault; you shouldn't have put her high chair in the living room.

All your fault.

All your-

The lock clicks.

Your heart drops, plummeting into the grave in which you buried all your pain. You scramble to find something to cover the stain. In all your panic, you forget that shit doesn't magically go away, sticking to your skin like syrup dripping down your spine. Everything was spinning in your vision as your lungs contracted, you wondered if you could really drown in theoretical oceans, especially the ones that occupied your mind.

It all seemed so silly as Felix's frame came into view, like he was made entirely from watercolor pouring down the page. You threw the towel over the mess, attempting to conceal your sobs.

Maybe he'll walk away.

Maybe he's too tired to notice.

Maybe you can spare his wrath.

“Love,” Felix's deep voice floats into your ears like cotton candy disintegrating under the waves of words you drown in. Scars were never promises on the skin; the human body is a delicate chemistry, and with the right motivation, it can crumble.

You snap. Break apart. Succumb to the river of sentences that stuck to your skin, like honey and glass. Time heals all wounds, but what about the ones that never scar, never scab? What about the ones whose vile words poisoned the flesh, eating away at your soul? Time doesn't heal all wounds because sometimes wounds are just too deep. Strong arms wrap around your huddled frame, your face drawn to your knees.

“I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." you sob mindlessly, it was as though your younger self control—caught in a weird form of fight or flight—dissociating from reality.

“Sorry? Sorry for what, love?” He whispers, dropping to the floor and pulling you onto his lap. He's so gentle, so calm, so completely opposite of any love you have ever felt or any father you have ever seen.

"Milk-" You choke; your words getting caught in your throat. You dig your face into his shoulder. "She spilled the milk on the carpet. I'm so sorry." The tears keep coming as though you're bleeding all the emotions you had kept under wraps for too long; it was like an infection, and Felix's loving arms cleansed your wounds.

"Oh, love," he coos, petting your hair, "didn't anybody ever tell you not to cry over spilled milk." You can't help but chuckle, a weird mix between a sniffle and a sob.

You must look like such a wreck right now—face blotchy and red, snot dripping down your nose, tears pouring down your cheeks—you look like you just crawled out of the pits of hell, and he still looks at you like you're the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on.

In that moment, you feel so silly, so stupid, kinda wanting to crawl back into the pits of hell from which you came. You should have known he wasn't going to react the way your father had. Felix was nothing like the man; he was kind, he was gentle, he was all sunshine and smiles, he was safe.

"I'm sorry for being such a wreck." You cuddle deeper into his chest, sniffling into his shirt.

"Never be sorry for being human, and especially, never be sorry for showing me." It took everything in you not to break down again, letting his strong arms hold you while you scrubbed all the syrup from your soul, but you have a baby and a mess on the carpet that will be ten times harder to clean if you leave it sitting.

"I'll go get another towel," you sniffle, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"Don't," he pulls you back down on his lap, “Put your arms around me.” You lock your hands behind his neck, yelping when he picks you up bridal style.

“What- Felix, what are you doing?” You squeal as he walks you to the couch, laying you gently on the cushions.

“I'm showing you how to clean up spilled milk,” He smirks like you didn't just destroy his 600-dollar carpet; his attitude genuinely baffles you.

"How are you not mad?” You whispered, dazed, your mind turning into mush. He tilts your chin up, peering at you with a soft smile and kind eyes. Your breath hitches, little heart eyes popping in your pupils.

"Accidents happen, love, you never grow out of’em." You melt, literally disintegrating into a pile of goo on the couch.

"D-Do you, um, D-Do you need help?" You stutter, blinking harshly to try and gather your thoughts. It was as if his gentle heart short-circuited your tangled wires—knotted from years of wear and lack of care.

"You just sit there and look pretty, and I'll show you why you shouldn't cry over spilled milk." He kisses you softly, smiling on your skin, "Okay, baby," he breathes, passion crackling between your lips, "You just keep-" Ha-Yun screeches, slapping her high chair full of Cheerios. Felix groans, tipping his forehead to touch yours.

"You know, one of these days we've got to get a babysitter. I don't know how long I can stand just being able to admire my beautiful wife from afar," your cheeks burn as you tilt your head down bashfully, "Well maybe we can do that when milk isn't marinating on the floor," he claps, jumping up from his arched position, "yep, your right, jeez baby, you really know how to pull me away from a task."

You cheese, pulling the collar of your shirt over your face. "Go on," you shoo him away, "You were going to teach me something."

He smirks, walking over to the kitchen, pulling the roll of paper towels off the counter and tossing them down next to the mess, unlocking Ha-Yun's highchair to lift her out of it.

"What are you-"

"Shh sit there and look pretty," The way his eyes sparkle and his lips tilt makes him appear almost mischievous. You sink back into the couch, folding your arms in front of your chest, assessing him intently. Ha-Yun beams when she sees Felix, waving her arms around, spitting gobbly gook.

"Oh is that right, well I couldn't have ever guessed," he nods attentively like she just stated the stages of evolution, "Well, as much as I love this conversation, baby, you are going to need to clean up your mess". He chastises her gently, and she frowns, glaring at him, he lifts his brows in retort.

"You know you've got a lot of sass for a 4-year-old," he grumbles "Probably got it from your momma," he sends you a look, lips curled up in a smirk. Your jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know what-" he puts his finger to his lips, cutting you off.

"Were you this bad in school? Cause the teacher," he gestures to himself, "is teaching."

"I'm gonna-"

"Looking pretty," He singsongs, a smile playing on his lips. You bite your cheek, holding back your glare. He snickers, placing her down next to the milk—putting a paper towel in her tiny hands.

"Can you help daddy clean it up please," he squats down to her level, stretching his fingers over hers. She blinks down at the splattered milk. You can almost see the gears turning in her head when he starts carefully moving her hand back and forth over the mess.

"See!" he cheers, his eyes glowing with pride, "Accidents happen, you just gotta learn to clean them up."

Watching the scene unfold before you fills you with an obscene form of bliss, like you have achieved one of life's greatest victories—that maybe all dads weren't raging assholes that yelled when you spilled milk because, like Felix said, accidents happen—you never grow out of'em.

©CookieCreates (posted: June, 26th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

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satorusluver · 1 year ago

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Minors DNI

Reader x Sukuna smut

Warnings: Degradation, name calling (slut, whore), dubcon(?)

Idk, I'm not super familiar with all the warning terms but there's definitely an unhealthy power dynamic with the reader being implied to be a servant/concubine. I mean, this is Sukuna we're talking about, if you're not into sexy villainous assholes why would you be reading this? Lmao

Never written degradation before but Sukuna is hot and evil so I figured I'd branch out a little. This was pretty experimental for me, hopefully it's not terrible lol.

True form Ryomen Sukuna who takes you roughly from behind, one pair of hands firmly gripping your ass, sharp nails digging into the skin slightly as he forces your hips back and forth so fast, using you as little more than a fleshlight. His other pair of hands cups your breasts, pinching and tugging on your nipples until they become all puffy. Lewd, sloppy, wet sounds can be heard from your sopping cunt as he pounds into you. And the sounds coming from Sukuna's mouth are almost more animalistic than human, deep growls and snarls and occasional cruel laughter when you whimper.

"Such a greedy cunt, it's c-clenching around me so hard, fuck." His voice is low and gruff, and each thrust is harder than the last. "I'm gonna fill this little cunt to the fucking brim with my cum, you hear me? Don't you fucking dare ask me to pull out."

He grins down at where his dick is disappearing into your wet hole, each thrust causing you to take his length all the way until the black rings around the base of his cock are hidden inside you. His hips snap back and forth, going as deeply as possible each time, and your eyes water at the feeling of the fat head of his dick ramming against your cervix. You whine, trembling beneath him at the mix of pleasure and pain his brutal pace causes you.

"Aww, does that hurt? Is it too much for my filthy little slut to take?" Sukuna mocks you, his face twisted into a cruel grin. "Well that's too fucking bad, because you're mine, you understand that? It's your job to take me, every. last. inch." He growls the last few words in time with his thrusts.

"The only reason I even kept you is because of this fucking tight little hole you have here. Fucking sucks my cock right in every single time, shit."

His words are so fucking mean but his thrusts are so perfectly angled at your g-spot that you find yourself cumming around his dick, your inner walls clamping down on him, covering his length in your slick as you cry out his name.

"That's a good little whore. Fuck, I love when you tighten around me like that."

So many hands, one grabbing you by the back of your hair and pressing your face into the pillow, another still roughly pawing at your breast, another holding your waist to keep you in place, and yet another delivering a hard slap to your ass that has you yelping out in surprise.

And Sukuna has endless stamina, he'll fuck you until your hole is overflowing with his cum. Until you can't hold yourself up anymore, and you're nothing but a panting mess lying helpless on the bed, your sore, overused pussy leaking trails of his thick, white seed down your thighs.

"Look at you," Sukuna says as he stares down at the mess he's made of you, his voice taking on the closest thing to softness it's probably capable of. You think you might be imagining one of his hands running along your lower back in a way that could almost be described as gentle.

"You always take me so well, my pretty little cockslut. Such a good little servant, I think I'll keep you around for quite a while."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n

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animeomegas · 1 year ago

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The Quest for a Second Life - Part 5 - 50 Shades of Audacity (1)

KAKASHI X ALPHA!READER

Summary: If suddenly waking up in an uncanny office had been bad, this time was worse, because you had a job interview, and the guy before you had just stormed out in tears. Why did you pick this world again? And why is your boss an asshole? And sexy? And with a nice voice? Fuck, this wasn't going to be good. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, sex while both parties are a little tipsy, workplace violations, questions about someone not eating lunch due to being a workaholic, and overuse of the world asshole as an adjective. All alphas have dicks, fyi.

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! And a special happy holidays to those who guessed that our next omega was going to be Kakashi!!! December is well underway and I'm working hard to get all these chapters finished in time for the epilogue to be released on Christmas! The dynamic is different with this one, but I hope everyone enjoys nonetheless <333 I hope you enjoy the choice for the second character, @omeganronpa I'm honoured to call you my friend <333

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

In the span of one blink, you went from standing in the library with James, to sitting on an uncomfortable chair in some kind of office waiting room. No matter how many times you jumped between realities, you swore you would never get used to the complete sensory change that happened in milliseconds. You had changed positions, clothes, company and scenery just like that.

Trying to gain your bearings, you tried to take in your new surroundings. Your first thought was that you had some serious déjà vu, as James’ uncanny valley of an office sprung to mind. Seriously, how many times were you going to suddenly gain consciousness in a soulless office?

At least this one was a lot less creepy, you admitted. It had doors and windows for starters, but the cavernous size of the room also helped diminish the claustrophobic feeling. Rather than beige, the room was decorated in a tasteful, modern, monochrome, boring but inoffensive, and better than too much beige in your opinion.

The copious amounts of soulless corporate art on every surface were the final touches that convinced you this was a real office and not set dressing for purgatory.

The waiting room was full of people though. You hadn’t seen this many people in one place since Itachi took you into town, and the general air of anxiety coming off them all was putting you on edge.

You fidgeted, uncomfortable at suddenly wearing formal business wear. The blue folder that was sitting on your lap shifted slightly, but you paid it no mind as you straightened everything out and readjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. To your left, what you could only describe as the combination of a modern water feature and grandfather clock chimed, signalling it as 09:00 AM.

‘James? Can you hear me?’

‘I can, human alpha.’

‘Great. Can you give me a run down of this pocket dimension please? It’s been like, two weeks since I read the blurb.’

‘Of course. ’50 Shades of Audacity’ follows MC, an alpha graduate student who lands the role of personal assistant to one of the most famous CEOs of the time, omega, Kakashi Hatake. MC discovers that Kakashi is hiding a submissive streak, and together, they explore their relationship while preparing for the yearly Autumn Company Party.’

You nodded idly as James explained it, vague memories coming back to you. The man next to you shot you a weird look, and you realised you were nodding at seemingly nothing. You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly. Whoops.

Regardless, the blurb put your current situation into perspective. When you had chosen the book, you had expected to enter the world already working as a personal assistant, but you had a sneaking suspicion that this was the job interview and all the people sat with you were competition.

To confirm your suspicion, you opened the folder on your lap, and yep, it was filled with important documents, including your CV, degree certificate, and several references. Damn, for someone decently young, you seemed to be the perfect candidate. That did relieve some of the tension. The world was literally set up to push you into the role, and you were the perfect candidate, surely there was nothing to worry about. For now, you decided to try and relax. Job interviews were a pain in the ass, but this one hopefully wouldn’t be too bad. And you could always talk to James to pass the time.

‘James, I know you must be thinking something along the lines of, ‘what kind of human picks a life where they have a job, when they could choose to not have a job?’’

‘I have never had such a thought.’

‘But I’m playing the long game, James,’ you continued, ignoring her response. ‘This Hatake guy must be rolling in it, and so once we’re serious, there would be no reason for me to work anymore! And it’s not like we’d get divorced in an erotica novel, that wouldn’t make sense, so I just need this job to meet him, make him fall in love with me, and then, if I stay here, I’ll have a fancy CEO husband, and everything will work out great.’

‘I see. I believe humans term that strategy, ‘gold digging’.’

You were planning to argue back, but your outrage died on your lips when you realised that she was kind of right. You were only going to choose this omega if you actually loved him, of course, but you couldn’t deny that the main reason you had chosen this book in the first place was the money and possibility of a cushy life. And being able to retain access to the internet which was something you’d have to give up for a life with Itachi.

‘What backstory elements are set in stone here?’ you asked, realising that the amnesia trick wasn’t going to work a second time.

‘Primarily your qualifications and educational history. You also own both a flat and a car, although how you obtained those is up to you.’

Nice, that gave you a lot of freedom to work with. Also… was your flat nice? And what about your car? You hoped so, but even if they weren’t, you could get Hatake to pay for a nice upgrade.

A man with a clipboard walked out of the office door to your left and everyone in your vicinity snapped to attention. He had brown hair and intense, dark eyes that were a little unnerving. “The interviews for the personal assistant job have now begun. You will be called up one at a time. Ren Shimomura.”

The man who had given you a strange look earlier got up and walked into the office with a confident smile, his briefcase swinging gently by his side. When the door closed behind him, everyone relaxed a little and went back to their pointless busy tasks.

‘So, James, what can I expect from this job interview?’ you asked. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared, even if the universe was going to intervene for your success.

‘That question is more difficult to answer than you might think, human. Despite this pocket dimension being one of the most popular in the erotica category, no one has ever successfully passed the interview and obtained the personal assistant job.’

Your stomach dropped. What? That couldn’t be right, could it?

You laughed nervously, sure that you had misheard. ‘What? Surely the universe needs the person to get the job.’

‘Yes, it has been causing quite the issue. This world has been scheduled for removal for being too difficult to follow. You will be the last person from your realm to ever enter this one, whether you decide to stay or not.’

‘Thanks for warning me before I picked it,’ you ‘said’, your mental voice taking on a tinge of bitterness. So, you were pretty much doomed to failure here? Great.

‘I didn’t warn you, human.’

‘I know.’

Your mental conversation ended as the door to the office opened and the man, Ren, stormed out, looking like he was holding back angry tears. He exited the room swiftly, without so much of a glance back.

That certainly didn’t make you feel any better about your chances.

Neither did your name being called seconds later.

The man with the clipboard smiled at you as you stood, folder in hand. “Just in there, Mr. Hatake is waiting for you.”

You nodded and approached the door. Right, this was fine. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself of your situation. You didn’t need this job. You wouldn’t run out of money without it, you wouldn’t get blacklisted or arrested if something went wrong, you couldn’t die if something went very wrong. The very worst-case scenario was that you bungled this, spent the next two weeks enjoying some alone time in this world, and then returned to your beautiful witch.

So, really, what reason did you have to be nervous?

With that in mind, you took a fortifying breath and walked into the office with your head held high. This CEO couldn’t scare you.

The design of the office was much the same as the waiting room, with a monochrome colour scheme and minimal furniture. The entire back wall was glass, which bathed the office in natural light, but cast shadows around the impressive desk in the middle of the room. Behind the desk was an imposing desk chair that was currently faced away from you. The back of the chair was so high that you couldn’t technically tell if Hatake was sitting in it or not. In front of the desk was a much less impressive desk chair; presumably that chair was for you.

You walked towards your chair, marvelling at how cliché the whole ‘tall chair spin reveal’ thing was. What was he, a Bond villain? The main question though, was if he’d also be accidentally flashing his nipples at you. You stifled a laugh imagining a scary CEO turning around in his chair only for the buttons on his shirt to come flying off.

“Did I say that you could sit down?” The voice came from the highbacked chair, which was still facing away from you.

The CEO’s voice was hot, you couldn’t deny that, but his attitude was already ugly. What kind of high and mighty asshole spoke to people like that? Were you supposed to just stay standing until he offered the seat when he couldn’t even be bothered to face you? Fuck that.

Suddenly, what was remaining of your nervousness bled out of you, replaced by annoyance. Honestly, you had already accepted that you weren’t going to get this job or this omega as soon as James had explained the situation, but maybe you could still get something out of this. Like catharsis. You could berate Hatake on behalf of every shitty boss you couldn’t berate in the past and then this world would still be worth it.

“Unless you’re suffering from short term memory loss, there’s no need for me to answer that question.”

Finally, that seems to goad him into turning around. The chair swivelled, revealing Kakashi Hatake in all his glory. He was dressed in the exact kind of suit you expected for someone like him, expertly tailored, incredibly expensive, and in a tasteful blue colour. Just peeking out from his collar you noticed some clear scent patches, and you imagined you’d find the same ones on his wrists. He had grey-silver hair styled in a way that must have required a significant amount of hair wax, and equally grey eyes, one of which had a vertical scar running through it. He even had a frankly adorable beauty mark, what the fuck.

Fine. He was hot. That didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.

The look he was giving you was somehow both disparaging and uninterested, like he was looking at a badly painted wall.

“Why do you want this job?” he asked, voice bored and condescending. “You don’t seem like you’d be particularly good at it.”

You grit your teeth at his blatant disrespect, “Jobs provide the money which can be exchanged for goods and services required to facilitate survival, you see. Perhaps the silver spoon in your mouth prevented you from learning that dichotomy.” You missed your witch.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. He held out a hand, and you wordlessly passed him your folder of documents. You were honestly surprised that he hadn’t just kicked you out already. His motivations became clear however, when he picked out your CV, ripped it in half, and then tossed it in the bin.

This asshole! You were furious.

Hatake pressed a button on a raised box on his desk and began to speak into it, presumably to dismiss you and ask for the next person to be sent in.

You didn’t need this job, you couldn’t get into any meaningful trouble, and this man was royally pissing you off. Something in you just snapped.

“Tenzou, send—”

You grabbed him by his boring, blue tie and stood, pulling him partially over the desk and towards you. He gasped in surprise, letting go of the button as both hands flew up to grab your wrist. You expected him to immediately pull you off him, but he didn’t. He was still, staring at you with wide eyes. For the first time since you’d walked into his office, it felt like he was properly looking at you.

“I am the best fucking personal assistant out of any of those people out there, and I will not have some bratty CEO talk down to me, understood?”

“I’ll call security,” he said quietly, voice strangely hoarse.

“Don’t bother.” You let him go and he fell back heavily into his ridiculous chair.

“Senpai?” The clipboard man’s voice floated through the speaker on the black box. “Is everything okay? You cut out.”

The man didn’t reply to the message, he only stared at you. His face was blank, but you had the feeling that there was a lot going on inside his head.

‘Remember the story, human.’

For a moment, you thought James was encouraging you to play nice for the sake of the story, but then you realised that she meant. Fuck, that’s right, Kakashi Hatake was a secret submissive. He was probably very turned on and very confused right now. You sent him a cocky grin.

“The job starts Monday, yes?” He nodded, dumbly. “I’ll see you then, 08:00 sharp. All my documents are in the folder.” You walked to the door confidently, and just as you reached it, you turned. “Have a good day, sir.”

You opened the door just as the clipboard man tried to do the same on the other side. You paid neither him nor any of the other candidates any mind, you just strode towards the exit, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

The fresh air and sun hit you as you stepped outside into the office’s car park.

‘James, oh my god, I grabbed him by his tie.’

‘I saw, human, it was very unexpected. No other human has attempted such a method.’

‘I would so be blacklisted if this were real, James. Did… Did I do a good job? It felt like I did at the time, playing up to his submissive side, but now I just feel like I was crazy and there’s no way he’d give me the job.’

‘Only time will tell, human, I do not have the answers.’

‘Time… I can do that.’ You gazed out over the sea of cars, all shimmering in the sun. ‘Now, James, which car is mine?’

…

Once you had successfully found your nicer than expected car, you headed to your mysterious flat. It took longer than you thought, but at least you’d learnt some more about James; she was terrible at giving directions and did not know what a roundabout was.

Your flat, much like your car, was nicer than you expected for a recent graduate that worked as a personal assistant. It was stylish and cosy, with lots of wood tones and warm, textured fabrics. It could have fallen out of an interior design magazine, right down to the perfectly placed bowls of fruit. The flat even had a guest room and a home office.

You were going to put this one down to porn logic again and figure out some sort of explanation for why you had the money for this in your backstory.

After doing some snooping around the flat, you flopped down on your bed, feeling strangely exhausted. You pulled out your phone (and how strange it was to have modern technology back!) and checked the date. It was Friday lunch time, and you didn’t have to go to the job, presuming you even got it, until Monday. That meant you had an entire weekend to do what you wanted. That was the best news you’d heard all day.

‘James, is the entire world, I guess, loaded, for want of a better word? Like, theoretically, if I travelled across the world to a random village, would the people there be real? Does the world function outside of the story?’

‘Once you choose to remain in a world, it functions exactly like the one you came from, yes, complete with up to billions of people who each have their own lives. Not everything is ah, loaded, in this demo though. I would recommend staying firmly within this city for the time being.”

‘Amazing! That’s so exciting, James!’

‘If you say so.’

Alongside modern technology, staying in this world would also give you more chance to travel. With Itachi, you would be mostly going on foot, perhaps on a horse if you were lucky, but here you could be on the other side of the world in a day.

That was for future you to weigh up though, right now you needed to find a bank statement of some kind, because you wanted to spend this weekend pampering yourself and you needed to know your budget. You could think about Kakashi Hatake and this world later, once you had your thoughts in order.

The weekend passed in a blur of bubble baths, food delivery apps, and films. You’d even gone for a dip in your complex’s pool. It had been nice to recharge. You had enjoyed spending time with Itachi immensely, but you’d had almost no proper alone time for over half a month, and it was sorely needed.

The only other thing of note happened on Saturday, when you received an email from Hatake’s company, which contained your new company account and login details.

…

Walking into work on Monday was a surreal feeling that you couldn’t put into words. No one acted like anything strange had happened. You were treated like a normal new hire, which you suspected meant Hatake had kept the details of your interview to himself.

Speaking of Hatake, he was apparently in meetings all morning and so you wouldn’t see him for a few hours. You didn’t know if you were irritated or relieved that your likely awkward reunion would be postponed.

“So, here is Kakashi’s calendar, which kind of functions like the core of your job,” Iruka, the man who was training you, said. “You’ll be in charge of organising his appointments and commitments and reminding him to attend them.” The last part was added with a tone that suggested Hatake had not always been the best at either being on time or showing up at all.

“Got it. No double bookings, and smack Hatake with a ruler if he tries to escape.”

Iruka snorted, but quickly smothered the laugh with a hand. “Pretty much. For today, I’ve gone through your inbox and marked the emails that require appointments as urgent. You just need to schedule them and add them to his calendar. It’s pretty busy at the moment because of the Autumn Company Party at the end of the month, so don’t worry if everything’s a bit much. My desk is over there, so you can ask for help at any time, okay?”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” You grinned at him, and he smiled back.

“Good luck!” With that he was gone. That wasn’t the first time the Autumn Company Party had come up, but you still weren’t sure what that had to do with the plot of his pocket dimension. It certainly wasn’t as straight forward as ‘collect the potion ingredients’.

‘James, what’s the deal with this party? What’s going to happen at it?’

‘There are many, many ways the event can play out, human. Seeing that you are the first to make it past the interview, I cannot even tell you which outcomes are most likely.’

‘Damn. Well, thanks anyway.’

You ended up whizzing through your work. It was incredibly simple, which could have been because they were taking it easy on you for your first day, or because work in general was easier in porn universes. You finished before Hatake was freed from his morning meetings, so you decided to do a little googling on your new boss. As such a high-profile CEO, you were sure you could find some information on him.

You put his name into the search bar and scrolled through the top results.

There were mostly news articles and links to the company websites, but eventually his Wikipedia page popped up and you clicked on it, skimming down the paragraphs immediately. Your eyebrows kept rising up as you read. His father, the original founder of the company had committed suicide when Kakashi was four years old, leaving him an orphan. He had been immediately added to the company’s board of directors (at four years old?!), and when he’d turned eighteen and those overseeing the company didn’t seem keen to pass it back to him, Kakashi had staged a business coup and seized control by force.

Jeez, what a life story.

Closing the Wikipedia page, you opened a couple of articles instead. One was a gossip magazine speculating on his famous bachelorhood and why he hadn’t settled down yet. Another was talking about the large donations he had made to several dog and animal welfare charities. The third was just a listicle of pictures of him from various point throughout his life. Ha. He looked like he was such a cute, grumpy kid.

You had to admit that his character was perfectly set up to redeem him for being an asshole at your first meeting. Dead parents, a tragic backstory, betrayal from those supposed to look after him, an animal lover… You bet that he had been forced to supress his emotions to avoid being manipulated as a child, too. That was about as stereotypical as you could get. Were he a fictional character, his fans would easily excuse any rudeness and ruthlessly defend him online. And that was fine, but they weren’t the ones who had to be on the receiving end of his rudeness.

Ugh, you didn’t know what to do with him. On one hand, you were happy ignoring him for being mean to you in your interview, but on the other, you kind of wanted to get to know him to see what the story was about. Maybe you’d put in a bit of effort as a show of good faith, but if he insisted on rebuffing you, you’d give up and find some other way to enjoy yourself. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

Dog lovers were your weakness, so you couldn’t give up on him completely, not just yet.

You closed the tabs and, checking the time, you realised you still had some leeway before Hatake was free. You needed to come up with your backstory sharpish, because you didn’t have amnesia this time, and people would likely start asking questions about you once lunch hit. Best get your story straight first.

You grabbed a post-it note and jotted down your favourite acronym, MLHH (Money, Love, Health, Happiness), to keep you on target.

Loving parents, you definitely wanted those. Were they the ones you wanted funding your lifestyle? Hmm, no, how about a rich, eccentric aunt that sent money all the time? Yes, you’d always wanted a fun, rich uncle or aunt to spoil you. Perhaps she had been the one to buy you the house and car. You jotted it all down. You also crafted yourself two best friends and a couple of hobbies, just to enrich your life. As per James’ instructions, you left the academic stuff alone.

“Am I paying you to write details about your own life on post it notes?” A sudden voice from behind made you jump, smacking your knees on the underside of the desk with a bang.

You laughed awkwardly as you came face to face with the man of the hour, Kakashi Hatake, who had chosen a charcoal grey suit for today, giving him an overall monochrome vibe that matched the office building. He was staring at your post it note, unimpressed.

You snatched the note and put it in your pocket. Quick, find some way to change the subject!

“I’ve updated your calendar with more meetings and commitments. This afternoon you only have a phone call with a representative from a company that sells… custom dog bandanas?” You decided not to question it. “The rest of the afternoon is business as usual.”

He watched you for a moment before he nodded, and turned to enter his office door, which was only a few feet from your desk.

“Just so you know,” he said, turning to look at you over his shoulder, “more work is periodically added to your task list, you just need to refresh the page.”

The door slammed shut behind him. You made a frustrated noise. He was so rude, with his annoyingly hot face and perfect voice. God, he got on your nerves like no one else. Ugh, you already regretted deciding to give him a chance.

You refreshed the task list and watched it fill up with new tasks.

Why did you pick a world where you had a job again? Oh yeah, you were playing the long game. The long game sucked.

You spent the rest of the workday completing tasks and flip flopping on whether it was worth trying to chase the plot and romance Hatake. Instinctually you led towards no, but when you remembered how he’d responded to you in the interview, you wavered. Ultimately, your curiosity was too much to resist, so you hatched a plan to spend some time with him.

…

“Did you have someone sneak you lunch through the window, or have you not eaten yet today?” you asked, waltzing into Hatake’s office at exactly 17:05, coat and bag ready to leave.

Hatake finished whatever he was writing before putting down the pen and giving you a flat look. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, and I’m certain I told you to knock before coming in.”

“Firstly, the workday ended five minutes ago so you’re not the boss of me anymore. Secondly, that was the clearest no I’ve ever heard. You should make time to eat lunch, you know, it’s good for you.”

“If you don’t have anything of use to say, then leave.” Ugh, why were you dealing with this asshole again?

“Actually, I do.” He raised an eyebrow at you, like he was already dismissing your message. “Get dinner with me.”

That actually seemed to catch him off guard, if only for a moment. You had honestly been wondering if the side of him you glimpsed in your interview was some kind of hallucination, but there was a flicker of that same man now. Unfortunately, although you could see that, you could also see the moment he shut down the reaction and returned to his flat, impassive stare.

“I’m busy this evening—”

“I already moved your appointment to tomorrow morning.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. You didn’t know if it was irritation at your messing with his schedule or at interrupting him, but you did know that you were getting on his nerves. Good.

“And I suppose, if you’re inviting me, then you’re paying?” he challenged. “Fair warning, I have expensive taste.”

‘James, quick, what’s the best restaurant in the area?’

‘Kakashi Hatake often visits a restaurant about two miles from here, called La Liaison. It’s French, and incredibly pricy.’

Right, you tried to remember what you’d seen you your bank details. You could definitely afford one fancy meal; it was affording everything else after that that was the problem.

Hatake’s smug face at your hesitation spurred you on. You wracked your brain for some kind of solution.

‘James, if I decide that my rich aunt sends me large lump sums of money every month, will my bank account automatically replenish by the end of this demo?’

‘Technically, yes, although it will only happen if you choose this dimension permanently, as your rich aunt does not yet exist. You must also remember to speak or write any information you want to be true for it to take effect.’

Perfect. You could wipe that smug look off Hatake’s face, live a bit more frugally for the rest of the demo, and if for some unknown reason you chose to stay here, you’d have your money automatically replenished. You just had to remember to write the details down after dinner tonight.

“Of course, it’ll be my treat,” you smiled, tips tight. “Do you like French food? I heard La Liaison is lovely.”

Kakashi studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what game you were playing. Just as you thought you’d won the little verbal exchange, Hatake sent you a mocking eye smile. “And how are you planning on gaining a reservation at such short notice? The next available evening bookings are for two months from now.”

You tensed up like you’d been dealt a physical blow. Fuck, you forgot about bookings. There was no way you could allow him to win just like that, though. You took a deep breath, porn logic, I believe in you, please help me out, I’m trying to woo him, just as you wanted. Kind of.

“I’m sure it will all work out!” You voice was artificially chipper, and you could tell that Hatake was picking up on your anxiety. “Come on, what’s the harm? Let’s go!”

He watched you evenly. That was one thing you’d noticed about Hatake; he always thought before he spoke, choosing each action and word carefully. It made sense once you considered his childhood and was equal parts sad and irritating.

Just when you thought he was about to refuse and dismiss you, Hatake chuckled and stood, closing his computer and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his ridiculously dramatic desk chair.

“I’ll have my chauffeur drop us off,” he said, walking to the door. You followed, kind of stunned that he had agreed at all. He locked the office door behind him. “There’s no parking available at this time of day in the town centre.”

You walked through the office side by side, watching your coworkers pack up or work late.

Everyone noticed you two, armed with bags and coats that made it obvious you were leaving together. There were gasps, there was gossiping, there were whispers. The man with the clipboard, who had introduced himself to you as Yamato, looked like he had seen a ghost. Was it really that strange to see this CEO leave work on time, or was it because he was with you?

Hatake paid them no mind, and you tried to do the same.

It was strange that he agreed to join you, but you didn’t get your hopes up that this meant he suddenly liked you. It was more likely that he was coming in order to force your hand. If you were humiliated by there being no tables, or not being able to afford the food you said you could, it would likely stop you from bothering him outside of work again.

You just really, really hoped there would somehow be a table.

Once you arrived at the car park, there was a sleek, black car waiting for you. You weren’t sure if Hatake had somehow called ahead without you noticing, or if his car was already ready for him, but it was very convenient. If the chauffeur was surprised that Hatake had a guest, he didn’t mention it.

The car was so obviously expensive that you felt a little uncomfortable sitting in it. You had never been so conscious of your hand placement in your life. The brat of a CEO didn’t seem to have the same problem, relaxing easily against the leather, looking right at home. He gave the driver the name of the restaurant, and you were off.

You took a moment to beg the pocket dimension that somehow you would be able to get a seat. ‘Porn logic, I’ve always loved and respected you, please pull through for me, just this once! I won’t be able to handle Hatake’s smug grin without punching him in the face.’

‘My name is James, human, and I cannot control these pocket dimensions.’

You snorted, ‘I wasn’t speaking to you James, sorry.’

“What’s so funny?” Hatake asked, breaking the silence. Oh, you had laughed out loud; you had to stop doing that. Were you also doing it when you were with Itachi, but there were just fewer people around to comment on it? Itachi seemed like the sort who would take a lot of weirdness in stride.

“Your face.”

Hatake let out an amused breath, “Are you always so childish?”

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

“Approximately five minutes until arrival, sir,” the chauffeur said, speaking through a speaker that connected the front and back sections of the car.

“Just Kakashi is fine,” he sighed. “I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

“If you say so, sir.” Hatake rolled his eyes but dropped the issue.

The final five minutes passed it silence.

…

La Liaison was a small modern building nestled at the very end of the high street, decorated in pastel blue and covered in artificial ivy. The whole building exuded a timeless elegance that made you glad your work dress code was formal. Stepping through the doors, you were welcomed by warm lighting, live piano music, and an impeccably dressed host. This was the exact kind of place you could see Hatake fitting right in.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to La Liaison. Can I take the name on your reservation, please?”

You could practically feel the amusement radiating off the smug asshole behind you as you were faced with the exact situation he had predicted. You just had to go for it. You believed in the porn logic!

(And if it didn’t work you were going to return to your flat with your tail between your legs, make James pull you out of this dimension early, and then ask Itachi for a potion that could remove memories instead of bringing them back.)

“Ah, well, we don’t technically have a reservation, but an acquaintance of mine mentioned that they just had to cancel theirs, so we were hoping there’d be a free table.”

Please work, please work, please work.

The two seconds between your request and the host’s response felt like an agonising eternity. Failure wasn’t an option; you couldn’t lose to your awful boss.

The relief you felt when the host’s face melted into a smile almost knocked you to your knees.

“Is that so? Yes, I just got off the phone with them, you’re lucky no one else has claimed the table yet. If you’ll pass my college your coats, I’ll take you to your table.”

Yes, yes, yes!! You loved porn logic so much. It seemed like anything was fair game as long as it pushed you and Mr. Smug together. Speaking of Mr. Smug, you mouthed ‘I told you so’, as you walked to your table. He did not respond.

The table was, unsurprisingly, very romantic. It was secluded away in the corner, pressed up against a window and yet sectioned from the rest of the restaurant by a divider. The table sat two people, and its white tablecloth was covered in candles and rose petals. Of course, the cancelled reservation was for a romantic date. You weren’t going to complain though; a table was a table.

You both sat down. You briefly debated pulling out the chair for Hatake, but you decided against it at the last minute. You were both handed menus and informed of the soup of the day before the waiter left you in peace. The illusion of privacy helped you relax, despite the stuffy atmosphere.

“An acquaintance, huh?” Kakashi asked, unfolding his napkin and laying it over his lap. He obviously didn’t believe your lie.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly annoying?” you said, instead of answering his question.

“Once or twice.”

“Well then,” you shot him a sarcastic smile, “I’m glad you have such honest people in your life.”

“As am I.” The eye smile he sent you this time seemed more genuine, and you had to hold back your laugh.

The conversation faded for a moment as the background chatter from the rest of the restaurant filled the space. It was weird to be here with him, and maybe you were still riding the high of getting a table, but you were already enjoying yourself.

“So… you come here often?” you asked, picking up the menu. You supressed a wince at the prices. “It seems like you’re right at home.”

“It makes for a convenient location to dazzle those who demand such treatment before they’ll sign anything.”

“Ugh, so this is where you take people to schmooze them? Gross.” You flipped over the menu to find the drinks section, only to belatedly realise that the drinks had their own menu already on the table. “I can’t imagine you doing that successfully; you’re so rude.”

“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me.”

The way he reused your words from earlier reluctantly brought a smile to your face. Okay fine. Fine! You’d admit that he was witty, and you had some good chemistry. And he was hot. But that was it! That didn’t mean you were going to fall in love with someone so annoying!

‘I believe you were also interested in his love for dogs, human alpha.’

‘James, I’m trying to live in denial here, and you’re ruining it.’

‘My apologies. Does that mean that I should also refrain from mentioning your obvious obsession with his beauty mark?’

Sometimes, you weren’t sure that James wasn’t an elaborate troll.

Scanning the menu, you decided the vegetarian pasta looked nice. And if it was also the cheapest thing on the menu, well that was just a coincidence. This better be one of the best meals of your life.

Kakashi left his menu completely untouched. Right, he’d been here countless of times to charm people into signing away their money. He was probably treating this dinner as something similar, but with you wanting something from him instead. You doubted he’d believe you if you said you were doing this out of curiosity. But the questioned remained, how could you make this feel different for him?

Suddenly, it hit you; he liked when other people took control. You had an idea.

‘James, can you tell me what Kakashi normally orders from here?’

‘He always orders one of the seafood dishes, accompanied by a white wine.’

Right. Perfect. What you were about to do would be so out of order in real life, but you had plot armour, and honestly you wanted to see what would happen.

When the waiter returned, he directed his, “Are you ready to order?”, towards Kakashi. He probably recognised him if he was a regular, and figured he was schmoozing another hapless soul.

That didn’t fit what you had in mind though.

“Yes, we are,” you said confidently, before Kakashi could speak. “We’ll have a bottle of the Chateau Sixtine Blanc and some still water for the table. For food, I’ll have the vegetarian pasta, and he’ll have the Coquilles Saint-Jacques.”

Kakashi’s stare was intense, but he didn’t intervene. The waiter seemed taken aback that you were ordering for the table, but when Kakashi made no move to dispute what you’d said, he nodded, collected your menus, and left. You expected to be admonished in some way, but Kakashi remained silent.

Drinks arrived quickly. The waiter poured you both a glass of the wine and some water before he was gone again. Kakashi picked up the wine glasses and swirled it dramatically before taking a sip.

When he spoke, you had expected a question about how you found out his usual order, or perhaps a comment on the wine, but no, instead, he was his usual blunt self.

“I wonder what it is you’re hoping to gain from this.”

“That’s fine, you can wonder all you like.”

He sent you a measured look, “Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly annoying?”

You grinned, “Nope!”

“I see. Well, I hope you’ll be blessed with some honest people in your life soon, I’ve found having them around to be extraordinarily helpful.”

You snorted mid sip of wine, which probably didn’t look attractive. Coughing, you looked up, expecting a judgemental look for behaving such a way in a fancy restaurant, but Kakashi just looked amused.

“Can I ask you a question?” You dabbed your lips with your napkin to soak up any stray wine drops. “What was the deal with that interview? It didn’t seem like you even wanted any applicants there. Was it just some weird form of employment hazing?”

“Simple. I didn’t want an assistant; I work better alone.”

“Then why hold the interview at all?”

“The board of directors were very… persistent. I knew they’d only shut up if I scared off every personal assistant in the city.”

You sent him a searching look, “But you hired me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “You had comedy value.”

Comedy value!? This dick.

“Liar,” you shot back. “You just think I’m hot, admit it.”

You got another one of his infuriating eye smiles. “If you say so.” God, you wanted to punch him, and maybe kiss him. Fuck.

“Whatever, just know that it’s your turn to pay for dinner next time, an I’m ordering the most expensive thing I can find.”

“If we go out for dinner too often, people will talk.”

“As if they aren’t already,” you said, referencing the sate of the office you’d left behind. You’d bet that they’d all stayed late to swap theories. “Yamato looked at us like a child who’d just walked in on his parents having sex.”

Kakashi seemed amused, “He would not appreciate that description.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

As the conversation flowed, so did the wine. You were surprised by how much fun you were having. Hatake was a great conversationalist and the rapid-fire banter had you laughing out loud more than once. The food was just as good as you’d hoped as well.

To your utter delight, Hatake’s face turned pink as he drank. So cute. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to feel the warm skin. Kakashi leaned into the hand in an almost nuzzle. You did not expect him to reciprocate. Shocked, you froze, hand still on his cheek.

Hatake seemed surprised too because he suddenly wrenched himself away from you. You pulled your hand back like it’d been burnt.

You’d bet anything that he was touch starved.

“Sorry, Hatake, I don’t know why I—”

“Kakashi,” he muttered, “you can call me Kakashi. Everyone does.”

“Kakashi,” you repeated, sending him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. You kind of wanted to lick his face.

Kakashi’s phone buzzed in his pocket, shattering the moment. Disappointingly, he immediately slipped it out of his pocket and checked the message. You weren’t exactly surprised that he put checking his phone over your conversation, but it was still rude, whether you expected it or not.

Kakashi made an amused noise as he saw the expression on your face. “I only have audible notifications on for important people; I’m just checking to make sure nothing is wrong, there’s no need to look so offended.”

You sputtered, face heating up, “I’m not offended! I was just thinking it was rude to check your phone at dinner.”

“Ruder than ordering for someone else without their permission?”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. “You liked it.”

Kakashi didn’t acknowledge you as he checked his messaged. You watched his eyes move from side to side as he read, before he eventually barked out a laugh and put the phone away.

“What’s funny?”

“One of my friends evidently found out that I was out to dinner. He has wished us luck on our youthful endeavours.”

You pulled a face at the weird phrasing. “He sounds… interesting.”

“You have no idea,” Kakashi said before emptying his wine glass.

“People seem so surprised about this. You don’t get out much then?”

Kakashi barked a laugh that sounded surprisingly bitter, and then didn’t elaborate. In true erotica love interest fashion, there was something brewing below the surface. Touch starved, orphaned, rich, but lonely, he was about as stereotypical as it got. You wondered if he’d also killed someone like Itachi? Hmm, probably not. This was a modern universe, and there were normally more severe consequences for things like that. It would have at least been mentioned on his wiki page.

By the time you had finished eating, the city outside the window had lit up in the darkness. The traffic had died down once rush hour ended, but the occasional car still passed by. You checked your phone and realised you’d been having dinner with Kakashi for almost two hours.

Your pride didn’t stop you from admitting that the time was flying because you were having fun.

Still, it was getting late, so you waved down a waiter and requested the bill. You were hoping that, seeing as you’d taken charge with ordering, that he would… yes! The waiter put the bill down in front of you instead of Kakashi.

You grinned at him smugly; you’d been assigned dom by wait staff.

He rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the smile on his face.

The bill wasn’t great, but it could have been worse. Clearly you hadn’t managed to keep your grimace supressed completely though because Kakashi noticed.

“Having second thoughts?” He was annoyingly observant.

You had never pulled out your card faster, grateful that you’d found your pin number written down in some old documents in your flat. Kakashi watched you pay, a strange glint in his eyes.

Did he assume you were going to dine and dash and make him pay or something? No… that wasn’t it. His ears had gone red too, and not from the alcohol.

He liked it, you realised gleefully. He liked that you ordered for him. He liked that you paid for him. He liked that you had decided on the place and time and dragged him along. It fit his reaction and it fit his character.

You were certain that most of his acquaintances either saw Kakashi as some kind of aloof, ‘didn’t believe in love’ character, or as a hard dom. And on the surface, sure, you could understand why they thought that, but how could anyone continue to think so once they spoke to him properly, when he was practically crying out for someone to take care of him?

Exhilaration ran through you. Maybe you were in this for more than just curiosity now.

“Come on,” you said, standing. “It’s getting late, and I still need to get my car—Shoot, I’m probably over the limit. I guess it’s a taxi for me then.”

“I can drop you home.” Kakashi stood as well, and you both walked to collect your coats. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Thanks,” you said relieved. You needed to at least try to budget after the amount you just spent on dinner.

Just as you were putting on your coats, Kakashi’s phone ran in his pocket. Remembering what he said about only having important people on vibrate, you remained silent as he took the call. You couldn’t quite make out the murmurs on the other side of the call, but Kakashi didn’t look pleased.

“Right… Okay… And there’s no alternate route? Of course… It can’t be helped, just meet me at the office.”

Did he have a last-minute work obligation perhaps?

“Yes, okay, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Bad news, there’s been a minor accident on the road and my driver can’t get to us. We can get through on the pedestrian pathways just fine, so we’ll have to go back to the office on foot.”

“Oh, that’s not a big deal, it’s only about twenty minutes, right?” You didn’t understand why he seemed so serious about a minor hold up. Did he think you were going to be mad at him or something? Kakashi relaxed imperceptibly as it became clear that you didn’t mind.

It only occurred to you later, once you were well into the walk, that Kakashi was used to schmoozing a bunch of hoity toity rich people at La Liaison who probably would throw a fit at such a minor inconvenience. Those kinds of people were the worst.

“Why did you ask me to dinner tonight?” Kakashi asked. He spoke casually, but in a way that suggested the casualness was being used to disguise a more serious question.

You knew that he wouldn’t stop until he got an answer that satisfied him, and you didn’t want your relationship to be stained by doubts as to your intentions, so you decided to give him an answer as close to the truth as possible. If you started talking about erotic fiction, he’d probably call some kind of doctor.

“Because you seemed miserable, and I was curious about you. Figured this would kill two birds with one stone. Also, you piss me off, I won’t lie.”

“You took me to dinner because I piss you off?” Kakashi asked, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Is that some kind of fetish or is it a psychological defect?”

You squawked indignantly and tried to hit him on the arm. He dodged it, laughing.

“You’re one to talk! You hired me after I grabbed you by the tie in a job interview. That’s got to be a fetish and a psychological defect!” You shoved him on the shoulder, and he immediately shoved you back, and before you knew it, you were having a children’s battle on the street.

A random woman from across the street gave you a dirty look, you stuck your tongue out at her. Kakashi giggled, like, actually giggled, and that sent you into hysterics.

Maybe you’d had more to drink than you thought.

“You know,” you said, throwing your arm over his shoulder, “next time I take you out, we’re going to McDonald’s. It’s cheaper, and I think it’ll be funny to watch you sit there in your suit. Wait, have you ever been to a McDonald’s before?”

“I’m wealthy, I’m not an alien.” He rolled his eyes at you. He seemed to do that a lot. You couldn’t imagine him sitting in a McDonald’s. “I go every other week because my dogs like the carrot sticks from there.”

“You feed your dogs carrot sticks from McDonald’s?”

“Yep.”

“Have you ever considered, I don’t know, buying a pack of carrots?”

“No, because they like the ones from McDonald’s.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Rich people were crazy. “How many dogs do you have anyway?”

“Eight.”

“EIGHT?!”

…

Car parks at night, familiar or not, were unnerving in the way that liminal spaces always were. At least you were almost at the office doors, where Kakashi’s chauffeur was going to pick you both up. You were glad to finally get there, because as fun as the walk had been, the Autumn night was surprisingly chilly, and it was taking genuine effort to remember all of Kakashi’s dogs’ names. You were honestly surprised that the porn logic didn’t add any strange occurrences on the walk.

Naturally, the second that thought formed in your head, something happened.

As you passed round the side of a tall fence, your shirt got caught on a stray piece of metal. What would have been a minor inconvenience, barely a rip, in your old reality, was a complete pornographic disaster in this one, as every button on your shirt somehow ripped off, leaving your shirt hanging open.

The cold air hit your skin and goosebumps erupted all over your chest. Yelping, you dragged the pieces of shirt back together and held them firmly closed. Obviously, you weren’t fast enough to stop Kakashi from getting a look. The way he was pointedly looking away from you, rosy cheeked, said it all.

“Stupid fence,” you grumbled, giving it a dirty look. This wasn’t exactly the first time, or even the coldest time, that porn logic had decided to spontaneously strip someone, but it always managed to catch you off guard. Did the people who lived in erotica worlds always carry spare changes of clothes just in case?

“Are you hurt?” Kakashi asked. He sounded a little awkward, but ultimately sincere. It was nice that he’d decided to go for genuine concern over sarcasm, and you decided to do the same.

“I’m fine, it just caught me by surprise. At least it’s dark so no one caught an eye full.”

Kakashi coughed. Okay, no one apart from him.

“I’ll send a message to maintenance in the morning, but for now, I have a spare shirt in my office that you’re welcome to borrow for the evening.”

Huh, what do you know, people did keep spare clothes around. You were about to decline, citing the late hour and the fact that you were wearing a coat that you could do up, when you realised what was happening. You’d bet anything that something sexy would happen if you followed him up to his office.

“That would be great, thanks.” You weren’t going to let this slide from your grip when he was so pretty. And honestly, he was starting to seem like less of an asshole in general. He was fun, traumatised, and had eight dogs, if that wasn’t your type, you didn’t know what was.

…

Flickering the lights on in his office, Kakashi went into one of the cupboards to look for the shirt while you snooped at the ornaments he had on his shelves. Notably, there were no pictures. You picked up a weird ceramic circle statue and turned it over to see if it did anything cool.

You had passed a security guard on the way up to Kakashi’s office, that looked very intrigued as to why you two were together so late, and why your shirt was ripped open, so you resigned yourself to the rumour mill only getting worse by tomorrow.

“Are you nosy by nature or just interested in my office in particular?”

“Shut up.” You put back the ornament and turned to face him. He was holding the spare shirt in his hand. “You want to fuck me so bad, don’t deny it.”

You expected another eye roll.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he growled, watching you intensely. Oh, that wasn’t an eye roll.

One moment you were staring at him, unsure of what to say, and the next, you were crashing together, lips, tongue, and teeth, in a horny and aggressive kiss. You didn’t know which one of you moved first, you didn’t really care, you only knew that Kakashi was hot and infuriating, and you wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t make that smug face anymore.

Kissing Kakashi was giving you whiplash. He was different to Itachi in every way you could think of. He was confident, aggressive, he fought with you, clashed with you, and he seemed to determined to kiss you twice as hard as you kissed him.

It was obvious that Kakashi’s submission wouldn’t be freely given like Itachi’s, no, you would have to earn it. The challenge scratched at your instincts, and suddenly you wanted to prove to this omega that he could trust you. A good orgasm should lay the groundwork for that.

Both coats were quickly discarded as you kissed, and your ruined shirt fell off moments later.

You had been consciously avoiding his hair in fear of the amount of wax you figured he used to keep that hair style, but one weak moment, as Kakashi’s hips jolted forwards towards yours, you forgot, and ran you fingers through it.

To your surprise, your fingers glided through the soft strands easily. You were so shocked that you broke the kiss. You furrowed your eyebrows as you examined his hair.

“What are you doing?” he panted, confused.

“How the fuck does your hair stay up like that without any hairspray or wax?”

“What?” He sounded baffled. “This is just what my hair looks like. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

The kiss resumed, somehow more desperate and aggressive than before. Kakashi grabbed your waist so hard that you could feel the pin pricks from his nails digging into your skin. In return, you made use of your new found knowledge and grabbed a handful of Kakashi’s hair.

You pushed him backwards, never once breaking the rhythm of your kiss, until his upper thighs made contact with the front of his desk. His pot of pens fell as the desk jolted, scattering the expensive pens all over the ground. Neither of you paid it any mind.

When you finally pulled away for air, Kakashi wasted no time, immediately latching onto your neck with reckless abandon. There was something feral about him that was making you hot. He didn’t hold back. You could tell that he was experienced, and he was using every drop of that experience to his advantage.

While he was distracted, you worked on undoing his buttons. It was harder than it looked to remain focused while Kakashi was doing his best impression of a vampire on your neck.

“You have way too many fucking buttons on this shirt.”

“It’s a normal number of buttons,” he murmured against your skin.

“There is literally nothing normal about you.”

“And you say I’m the rude one.”

“That’s because you fucking are.”

Eventually, you managed to undo the last button. Your noise of triumph morphed into a moan as Kakashi nipped around your collar bone. You used his hair to tug him back before loosening his tie and pushing the shirt off his shoulders.

The way his torso looked, bare but with a loose tie hanging over it, unlocked a kink you didn’t know you had. In fact, everything about him was hot. As you dragged the shirt down his arms, you could feel his muscles flexing. Kakashi was strong and broad, and he wore it so well.

You didn’t bother pulling the shirt off all the way, instead letting it bunch at his wrists, acting as a semi-restraint. He tugged at it experimentally, and when he found it restricting his movement, his pupils dilated.

You cooed as you ran your hands all over his naked torse. That’s right, he was a forceful person, certainly, but any shows of dominance were likely performative or learnt behaviours, because this man was a giant sub at heart.

You grabbed his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled it lightly. Kakashi growled at you, but you knew what he was doing; he wasn’t telling you to stop, he was challenging you. You growled back, stronger, louder, and just as you thought, his growling stopped, and his scent took on a delicious hint of submission.

“God, you really are annoyingly hot,” you growled, biting along his jaw. “Emphasis on annoying.”

“Takes one to know one,” he fired back, squeezing your waits.

“Mutual handjob?” you whispered against his skin, already undoing his trousers, before doing the same with yours.

“That the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night.”

“Fuck you.”

You grabbed Kakashi’s muscular thighs and lifted him slightly until he was perched on his desk. A stack of papers tipped over and fluttered to the ground, but that wasn’t a problem for present you, so you happily ignored the chaos in favour of the panting omega in front of you.

You took your dick out from your pants and did the same for Kakashi. They bumped up against each other, searingly hot and unflinchingly hard. You let out a whistle of appreciation at his cock. It was big, bigger than most alphas you’d met, and certainly bigger than any omega’s cock you’d ever seen. In fact, just eyeballing it, he was roughly the same size as you. His shaft was as pale as the rest of him, but the head was an angry red. It was girthy too, and it felt hot and solid in your palm.

Purposefully, you thrust your hips forward, guiding your cock against his with both of your hands. Kakashi moaned, thrusting up to meet you. He could only watch, his hands restrained as they were.

You kept your hands around the dicks, keeping them aligned as you both started to rut against each other. Beads of pre cum quickly made their appearance, which only made everything else feel that much better.

There was something deeply satisfying about what you were doing, especially because you were both still half-dressed. It made it feel desperate, like you couldn’t wait long enough to get your clothes off, too desperately attracted to each other, and had instead chosen to rub off on each other like horny teenagers.

You made out messily while you grinded against each other. Maintaining a consistent pace was a little difficult, especially as things got wetter and wetter, but you managed. There was something sexy about the chaos. The increased sensitivity from being in the erotica world didn’t hurt either.

Your moans and groans increased in frequency as you got closer. If felt like every nerve ending you had was on fire, and Kakashi looked much like you felt, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that was obvious under the hard corporate lighting.

Technically, with it being so bright inside and so dark outside, anyone who happened to glance up would have got a glimpse of you, but you were both too far gone to care.

“You love having someone take control of you, don’t you Kakashi,” you moaned, pressing your lips against his. “You’re tired of always being in control, aren’t you? The big CEO, everyone’s relying on you, but who do you get to rely on? Who looks after you? You want someone to do that, don’t you? You’re a walking, talking CEO stereotype.”

“Who says I’m going to give control to you?” he panted, licking his lips. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

“Hmm, nope, I think I’m right on track,” you teased. Already picking up on his proclivity for biting, you gave a bite in return, just shy of where a mating mark might theoretically go. Kakashi gasped, his hands straining at the shirt that restrained them. “I’ll get you to submit to me properly, one day.”

“We’ll see.”

The alcohol and the increased sensitivity were mixing together to make this tryst shorter than expected, but Kakashi seemed to be in the same boat, so you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The banter ceased as the final stretch towards your orgasms started.

As your ending approached, you bent down and sealed your lips with Kakashi’s once more. Suddenly, everything crested, and pleasure flowed over you in waves. Your thrusts got sloppy, but neither of you cared. Kakashi came with a guttural moan. His stomach muscles flexing in a hypnotic dance.

The extra cum afforded by the porn logic soaked both your dicks and your hands, staining both pairs of trousers too. It dripped onto the carpet, and if the security guard didn’t spread a rumour about you and Kakashi hooking up, one of the cleaners probably would.

Some of Kakashi’s cum had even landed on the spare shirt, so you now had a choice between a torn shirt, or one covered in cum to match your stained trousers. Great. Why did horny you always make such bad decisions?

You and Kakashi remained leaning against each other for a while, just catching your breaths and marvelling at how fast your relationship had move. You wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told you during your interview that you’d end up grinding on that asshole’s desk a few days later.

‘I would have believed it.’

‘Thanks, James.’

Kakashi opened his mouth to speak, but the door to his office suddenly opened, cutting him off. You both stiffened, snapping up to face the intruder like a pair of deer in headlights.

There, standing in the doorway with the expression of a man who was entirely done with life, was Kakashi’s chauffeur. Instead of an apology of any kind, the man just sighed.

“The car is downstairs when you are ready. Please try and clean up before getting in, the leather won’t forget these kinds of smells easily.” With that, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

You and Kakashi looked at each other, then to the door, and then to each other, before you both burst out laughing.

What a way to end the night.

Next Chapter

#the quest for a second life #kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #alpha!reader #alpha reader #omega!kakashi #omega kakashi #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha x omega #gn reader #sub kakashi #sub!kakashi #dom!reader #dom reader #n-sfw #reader insert

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 28 days ago

Text

Private Dances 6

Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 19: Masturbation

A/N: A huge thank you to the epic @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: Masturbation, spanking (blue receiving), asshole spanking, overuse of italics, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is so lovesick), not beta read, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer that Blue has nicknamed Lion.

Word Count: 1329

Blue whines.

His eyes are closed, bottom lip red from his constant biting. His hands are tied hastily above his head with his own belt, looped around the side leg of the wooden table that is next to the sofa. Despite the tightness of the bonds, they are easy for him to slip out of if he really tried.

“Lion,” he swallows, breathing heavily. “Please.”

You grin down at him. His naked under you, his cock painfully hard and leaking onto his stomach.

You’re just as bare as he is, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand between your legs.

He groans again as you rock slowly, spreading your slick teasingly along the base of his cock while you rub your clit in slow circles.

“This is not the punishment I was expecting.” He huffs, tears of frustration in the corners of his eyes.

Your smile widens.

“This is unfair.” He pouts, but stays perfectly still and keeps his hands in the belt.

“Punishment isn’t meant to be fair.” You tease, kneeling up ever so slightly so your pussy no longer touches him.

“No, no,” he whimpers, “don’t, don’t take that away too!”

You chuckle and hold onto the back of the sofa with one hand as your thighs start to shake.

Pleasure twists and pools in your belly, spiking along your nerves. You moan loudly, unable to hold yourself back anymore.

Blue’s eyes shine, he bites at his lip again as he groans. “Yes, Lion, yes. Fuck, make yourself come.”

You arch as your orgasm hits you, flooding your veins with bliss as you spasm and work yourself through it.

Part of you is surprised when Blue doesn’t try anything while you're momentarily distracted, no cheeky moves to get his own way. He just watches you intently as you come down and settle back against him.

He’s staring up at you with love sick eyes when you look at him.

“That was wonderful, Lion.” He breathes and swallows thickly, his cock twitches, but he stays still. “Do I deserve a treat?” He asks with the softest voice.

You pause for a moment as you regard him and then stick your slick coated fingers into his mouth.

He groans, darting his tongue out eagerly and leaning up as far as he can to get them past his lips quicker.

He wriggles ever so slightly, humming and happy as he sucks and moans, eyes closed.

With your free hand, you lightly trace some of the scars that litter his torso; the burn marks near his collar bone, the slashes at his ribs.

He shivers, stilling as he opens his eyes and you slowly take your fingers out of his mouth.

“How did you get these?” You ask quietly.

He smiles, but there’s no joy there. “A long time ago.”

The scars on his ribs are thick, deep, the longest trails from just under his armpit to curve around his body and end near his navel.

Gently you lean down to kiss it and he shivers and sighs, seemingly content with your touch.

He’s still got that love sick expression when you sit back up. “I’ll tell you about it one day, Lion.”

“You don’t have to.”

That makes him smile for real this time, it’s a small movement, but possibly the most genuine you’ve ever seen.

“What if I want to?” He asks softly.

“Then I’ll listen.”

He nods, wriggling a little and bucking up, trying to get you to press closer.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle and lightly flick his left nipple.

He squirms, gasping and giggling. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me.”

He grins broadly. “Come and sit on my cock.”

You shake your head. “No.”

His expression falls as he sulks.

“I’m never fucking you again.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“What?”

It takes all your composure not to laugh at the outrage in his voice. “That’s your punishment.” You shrug.

“Oh, no, no, no, Lion,” he shakes his head. “That’s simply too much. I would die.” He throws his head back dramatically and you giggle. You never did expect him to be quite as playful as he is.

From this angle, the splashes of blood up his neck are all the more clear.

“There must be another solution.” He continues, “Some agreement we can come to.”

You pause, pretending to stare off to the side to think. “Hmm, what do you suggest? What are you going to offer as a fair punishment for yourself?”

He beams at you, his eyes dark. “Let me lay on your lap and you can spank me until you think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“What if I never think you have?” You tease and lean close.

He growls softly, “You’ll just have to keep going forever then.”

You kiss his nose, pulling back when he tries to get his lips on yours.

You know he’s done this sort of thing before, you’ve heard about it plenty. How he would tie up dancers, or just get them to sit on his lap and hit them with his hand across their backside. They’d all come back and be unable to sit down comfortably for a few days. Sweetie Pie had even said that once, he had come while spanking her, reaching orgasm just from her cries.

You’d never heard of anyone spanking him though.

“Alright.”

He slips his hands free the second you agree, grinning and moving as you stand and sit back down on the sofa.

You gesture to your lap, “well?”

Blue practically jumps into your lap, squirming and wriggling so he can rub his cock all over your legs before he settles.

You don’t even give him a second to get comfortable before you smack him hard across both cheeks with the palm of your hand.

He yelps instantly, rocking forward from surprise.

“That’s for moving.” You say, your tone low and dangerous and Blue shivers.

“I’ll count them for you.” He mutters, his own voice thick.

“What?”

“How many hits, I’ll count them.” He swallows, staring straight ahead and waiting patiently.

You smack him three more times in quick succession.

“One, two, three, ugh, four!” He groans, wiggles and lifts his ass in the air ever so slightly, quietly begging for more.

“Oh, you like this?” You hit him again, a touch harder.

“Five!”

“You like this a lot.” You tut, “Not much punishment is it?”

He gasps and shakes his head rapidly.

“What,” smack, “if,” smack, “I,” smack, “get all your goons in here? Hmm?” Smack.

“Ugh, six, seven, fuck, eight, ninneee!”

Smack. “Get them to watch you,” smack, “like this?” Smack.

“Ten, eleven, ohh god, fuck, please!” He wriggles again, the air catching in his throat. “Yes, I’d let you, if that’s what you wanted, I’d do it. I’d let them all see you take me, Lion,” his voice raises in pitch dramatically at the end as you rain down a series of sharp blows that have him throwing back his head and moaning wildly.

“Please, please, please,” he mutters, breathing hard. You can feel his cock pulse, trapped tightly between his stomach and your legs.

You squeeze one cheek until he groans, marvelling in the redness of his skin. Your palm tingles a little from how hard you’ve hit him. Slowly you spread his plump ass wide, listening to his little pleas and moans for any sound of true distress. When you find none you smack him across the asshole, hard, but not as hard as your previous strikes.

He cries out loudly, his body jerking—the sharp sound dissolving from surprise into a long drawn out pleasure.

Wetness coats your tights as he comes, hot and messily. Shivering and clawing at the cushions until he goes limp, face flat against the sofa.

You stroke his back softly, about to speak.

“Lion,” he groans, drawing out the word, and moving his head ever so slightly so that he can glance up at you. “That was exquisite.”

Thank you for reading!

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xcherryerim · 1 month ago

Text

˖⁺ ⊹୨ Fogged up ୧⊹ ⁺˖

Derek with glasses x gn!reader (wc: 3k)

I might make it wonderful for once. In my life but nothing's quite like it was. Surprised something inside me is a blur. Hindsight I should've lifted my eyes — Blur by The marías

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

credits for the derek with glasses edit: strwbrryhutch

Backstory: In a sudden visit to your best friend's house, you stepped inside, immediately taking notice of something different, Derek was wearing glasses, a sight you had not seen since your freshman year in college. The sight of him wearing glasses immediately brought back a flood of memories of the old Derek.

Today was a drag, and what does a bored person do? Meddle in someone's business just for shits and giggles.

You summoned your driver, instructing him to take you straight to Derek's mansion. Unsolicited visits were common between you two, it never phased him or you, especially if it meant fucking his brains out.

Stepping into the white palace, you couldn't help but admire the gaudy paintings adorning the walls. The colors and patterns were disgusting and loud to the eye, a familiar sight at that. It was, truly…Derek.

You strutted in, hands swaying rhythmically, plotting ways to tease the man, but upon entering his office, surprise struck: Derek, the epitome of irresponsibility, was actually working? And to top it off, he had the audacity to wear glasses.

A soft snicker escaped your lips, but before you could voice your thoughts, Derek flipped you off, his gaze still glued to his laptop. "Fuck off." Derek's voice was rough, weary, and irritated.

"Hello to you too, prick." You retorted, lowering his raised finger before leaning closer to his desk, curious at this newish side of him. "What's up?"

"I need to write an email to some asshole I don't care about." He sighed.

"Isn't your secretary the one who's supposed to handle that?" You questioned, bewildered by his predicament. You snatched his vape, blowing the air back at him in a show of defiance.

"Yeah, but she’s on a break because she just popped out a kid or something."

"Derek! You knocked up your secretary?!"

"What?! No," he stuttered, backtracking. "I haven't— never mind." Derek reclaimed his mint-colored e-cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoky air from his plump lips.

"Let me see your masterpiece." Inclining beside him, you scrutinized the Word document. Your eyes widened in amusement as you saw only three meek words.

"Motherfucker, you wrote three words. You're like SpongeBob in that meme, taking forever to write, 'The.' "

Derek's face flushed bright red as he realized how embarrassing this situation had become. His arrogance and self-assuredness crumbled momentarily as he was caught in such a vulnerable state. A small whimper escaped his lips, but he quickly regained his composure. “What does that even mean? You’re fucking weird.” He muttered, trying to salvage his pride.

"Whatever." You waved your hand as if to vanish the conversation, then you asked, "Why the glasses, though?"

"My contacts were drying the fuck out of my eyes from overuse, so the eye doctor or whatever, suggested I wear these more often." Derek explained, mumbling to himself, trying to decide what next words to write.

God," you grinned, your eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "I haven't seen you wear those glasses since we were freshmen.”

“Don’t fucking remind me.” Derek groaned, tugging at his face, a tic indicative of his discomfort.

“You were such a dork.” Laughter escaped you, and you idly ran your finger along the rim of his dark blue sleeve, the material smooth and luxurious.

"Don't you have anything better to do than bothering me?!" His squinty eyes held a hint of annoyance.

“Honestly? no, not really.” You replied nonchalantly, moving behind the chair to get close to him. Your index finger lightly tapped the temples of his spectacles, sporting a distinctive animal print. If he wasn’t wearing the glasses, you would mistake them for an old lady's pair.

“Does it look like a give a fuck? Because I don’t.” Derek mocked, standing tall. “Now, go do something while I finish this dumbass fucking email.” Derek orders, typing on his laptop as he bit his lip, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Tilting your head, you eyed the man with sun-bleached locks, in dire need of root touch-ups. It was like an impromptu trip down memory lane to the college library, where the studious Derek sat.

His square-rimmed glasses, unkempt hair, and outfit fit for Mister Rogers made him appear as a librarian in disguise, until you noticed the dumbass was wearing his student ID like a first grader. Despite looking like a librarian, there was something charming and endearing about his appearance. You couldn't help but fantasize about seducing him, pinning him against the nearest wall, and making him surrender to you.

Fate, however, took its time. Instead, a deep friendship between you and Derek developed. As time passed, you watched him transform into the man he is today. The memory of that encounter lingered in your mind, like a sweet, comforting scent, as you observed him in the present moment.

You chuckled to yourself as you reflected on the past, watching Derek in the present moment. A thought suddenly crossed your mind: "How would my younger self react if I said that Derek and I would actually become friends with benefits?"

That particular day was indelibly etched in your memory. It was Mickey's birthday, and Derek, intoxicated by merriment and possibly something stronger, seized your hand amidst Mickey's rambling speech. He led you to Mickey's room, and once the door closed, his unsteady form collided with yours. His mouth found your lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He proceeded by telling his desire to fuck you in that black outfit you were wearing at the party. From that night on, things had remained the same yet shifted in the shadows, with a newfound intimacy between the two of you.

The flood of memories overwhelmed you, your mind spinning. Your gaze settled on Derek, who appeared perplexed and agitated.

“What are you looking at? Why are you still—“

Invading his space as you sat on his thigh, you prompted a sharp intake of breath from him. The lenses of his glasses misted over, a testament to the rapidity of Derek's breathing.

He swallowed hard, trying to regain control. “Really, right now? When I'm busy? I swear you always pick the worst time on purpose. Fucking brat.”

His fingers gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white as he struggled to focus on anything other than the sensation of your body on his thigh. His eyes scanned your body, taking in your every curve and movement.

“Shut the fuck up.” You growled, tugging at his hair to emphasize your point, garnering a lustful rumble from his lips. "You know you love it." Moving your hips, you teased him, causing his head to roll back, a smirk spreading across his face.

“And if you wanna talk about brats, I suggest taking a look in the mirror.”

“Pfff.” Derek muttered, hands trying to remove his glasses before you stopped him. “What?!” He asked, clearly annoyed.

“Keep them.” You said, more than a demand than a request.

“What, why? I look goofy as shit.” Derek huffed, giving you a look that screamed annoyance.

A quiet moan slipped from Derek's lips as your hands roamed over the fabric, his excitement growing more apparent. His voice came out muffled, "H-how am I supposed to fuck you with these glasses on?"

"You'll figure it out," you replied playfully, slowly tugging the glasses down his nose. The intoxicating scent of his desire permeated the air.

In a swift motion, you dominated his body, your lips hungrily seeking his. Derek, still fumbling to discard his glasses due to the steamy makeout session, met your demanding grip.

Grabbing his wrist, you halted his attempts to remove them. After enduring his persistent complaints, he finally relented, accepting your terms – if he wanted to be fucked, he'd have to keep the glasses on for you.

“Great, now I can’t see shit.” Derek grumbled as you created some distance between you two.

"Exactly," you chimed, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Hey, if you're into that, we could always try a literal blindfold. We've done it before, haven't we?”

"True, but it's not the same, Derek." You replied, your warm hands caressing the cold zipper of his pants. Slowly, you pulled it down, exposing his cheetah-print boxers.

“You look hot with glasses, you know? I didn't think I'd miss such a small detail, but... I guess I did." You shrugged, a wistful smile playing on your lips.

Derek caught your expression, picking up on the bittersweet nostalgia that seemed to surround you.

"Wait, so you're implying that you found me attractive back in college?" Derek asked, seeking validation for his former self more than genuine inquiry.

"Come on, you dress like a mess and people still think you're hot. A pair of glasses isn't going to change that." You teased, followed by a soft sigh. "But yeah, I did have a thing for you back then. I actually had a little crush on you."

Derek's eyes widened, the glasses making them appear even larger and more vibrant, perfectly complementing the blush that crept across his tanned skin. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulps hard, his lips quivering as he struggles to find the right words. It's clear he's desperate to say something, anything, but he remains tongue-tied.

Finally, he places his hands on you, guiding your body to grind against his neglected leg. "So... you're not saying anything?" Your voice carries a delicate mix of playfulness and uncertainty. You can't help but wonder if you've crossed a line by being so honest, or if you're just setting yourself up for rejection.

Those fears race through your mind, but you try to mask them with a lighthearted tone. You can't help but feel exposed, vulnerable, as you wait for his response.

"I don't know what to say," Derek stumbled over his words, his hands shaking as they gripped your hips. "I've had feelings for you since day one, but I never felt good enough for you. So finding out you've liked me all this time... it makes me feel fucking pathetic."

His breathing grew ragged, heart pounding against his chest, rendered speechless by the vulnerability of his confession and the intense burn coursing through him from your touch.

"You're still pathetic," you whispered, lips trailing along his neck, fingers deftly freeing his straining erection from his boxers. "But you're my pathetic."

The declaration hung in the air, charged with a mix of affection and desire. Derek's entire being was consumed by the sensation of your touch, the weight of your words, leaving him utterly at your mercy.

"Oh, fuck," Derek whimpered, his back arching in response to your kisses and nibbles along his neck. Your fingers traced his veins, adding to the sensory overload caused by the foggy glasses.

"I have to finish writing this email before five," he insisted, biting his lip to stifle any further cries.

"So what? I'm just here to help. You can still write your email without being too distracted," you replied mischievously, guiding his trembling hands back to the keyboard.

Annoyed but complying, Derek attempted to type as your hand began to stroke him. His fingers moved clumsily across the keys, resulting in a disjointed and sloppy email. He grunted, struggling to focus on the task at hand and the intense sensations consuming him.

"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be," he growled, his voice dripping with desire.

"That's my favorite part," you replied with a wicked grin, increasing the tempo of your strokes. Your fingers teased the tip each time they reached the top, driving Derek wild with pleasure.

As he cursed under his breath, you pressed your hips against his leg once more, making his head roll back in ecstasy.

Derek let out a guttural hiss, clenching his jaw to suppress the urge to cry out in pleasure. His body tense, veins popping in his neck as he fought to maintain control.

"Oh Derek, we're just getting started," you teased. "Come on baby, finish that email for me so we can have some real fun."

“Ugh! I’m going to kill you... eventually, once I’m done with this.” Derek's eyes were twitching as he tried to focus on the screen, those glasses now a nuisance amidst his stress.

"You know you'd miss me terribly if I wasn't around to pester you all the time, you bitch," you whispered in his ear, your breath hot against his skin.

Derek's body shook, barely able to contain thirst, the overwhelming sensations threatening to push him past the point of no return. His whiny, desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as you dismissed his empty threats.

"Let me take a look at what you've got so far," you insisted, turning your head slightly to scan the jumbled words on the screen. "C'mon Derek, I won't let you finish until you've written something actually decent."

Derek's eyes widened in shock as he realized the gibberish he'd been typing, which only added to his frustration. He growled, his grip on the keyboard tightening as his thrusts into your hand became more forceful, bordering on desperate.

With great effort, he managed to string together a few coherent sentences, his arousal and irritation bleeding into every word. His breaths came in ragged gasps, heart pounding, as he fought to focus on the task at hand.

Finally, Derek declared he was done, but instead of relief, you intensified your assault on his aching shaft and thigh, teasing him mercilessly as you slowly read the email aloud.

"Wow, looks like you really do need to pay people to do your work for you," you mumbled with a light chuckle.

Derek's face flushed a deep crimson, his skin burning with a mix of embarrassment and pure, raw desire. "Fuck you, you're not helping," he spat, his voice strained with longing.

Despite his determination to stay composed, the relentless teasing combined with the foggy glasses and your skilled hand on his length pushed Derek closer and closer to the end. His eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the intense sensations surging through his body.

"Please, just fuck me," he whimpered, the words barely audible as he struggled to contain his desperation.

Unable to resist his pleading, puppy-dog eyes, you swiftly straddled him, guiding his shaft to your waiting sex.

A thrill of anticipation ran through him, the feeling of your warmth surrounding him almost driving him over the edge. Derek's grip on your waist tightened as his cockhead teased your entrance. The anticipation was maddening, and he could feel his control slipping with each passing second.

"Please, just take me." His voice was a hoarse whisper, desperation thick in every word. He was at your mercy, the heat and wetness around his tip driving him wild.

“You’re so fucking impatient.” You growled, as you slowly sank into him, taking all of him inside you.

Derek let out a loud cry, his body arching up off the chair as you enveloped him. The feeling was intense, and he clutched at you, his nails digging into your skin.

He was at your mercy, his body shuddering as you took your time with him, savoring the feeling of being so completely inside you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, the sensation too overwhelming to form even a coherent thought.

His glasses, still fogged, only added to the sensory overload, the world outside blurring as all he could focus on was the way you moved on him.

Each inch inside you was a gift, a blessing, and he was lost in the feeling of possessing you, even for a moment.

“Well you being teasing me all fucking night.” Derek replied back in between ragged breaths

Derek's breathing grew more erratic, the wish to claim you, to be inside you, to taste you, to possess you, all-consuming. "Fuck, just... ride me."

He gripped your waist, his body arching off the chair, desperate for more. His heart raced, and he could barely breathe as he awaited your next move.

“Someone really needs to teach you fucking patience.” You replied moving your body against his, with each word using more force than the last, the harsh sound of skin against skin echoing in the room of the mansion.

Derek's moans grew louder, each word you spoke followed by a groan, his body bucking against you, desperate for more.

“So fucking tight." Derek cried, his voice heavy with lust. He couldn't help but buck his waist, trying to take you deeper, leaving faint crescents in their wake. "Fuck... I need to fill you up." He gritted out. The crave to mark you, overwhelming him. His glasses, still mist over, served only as a lens to the whirlwind of lust consuming him.

“Till I'm dripping with your cum Derek.” You answered, nibbling in his ear. Derek grabbed your ass, guiding it and bouncing it up and down around his length.

"I'm not gonna- I’m not going to last much longer." He gasped out, his voice thick with lust, the words barely coherent as he struggled to maintain control.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, their movements growing more urgent, more primal. Derek's glasses clouded, his vision blurred, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of possessing you, the way your body fit around him, the way you rode him.

He was powerless against the tide of lust that washed over him, the line between desire and need blurring as he teetered on the brink.

“Me neither.” You replied, your body jumping above his as you took him in and out.

Derek's body tensed, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, driving him further into the abyss. "Baby, I'm... I'm gonna..."

His voice hitched, the warning barely out before a hot spurt of cum filled you, the orgasm tearing through him like a tidal wave. His grip on your tightened, his nails digging in as he shuddered, each spurt a testament to his lust.

You soon reach your orgasm after, your tight walls milking him dry.

The world spun around him, the fogged glasses only adding to the dizzying sensation. He was left panting, his body spent, the aftershocks of the orgasm coursing through him as he tried to regain his breath.

Derek's eyelids fluttered, and he leaned his head back against the chair, the realization that he'd just been completely dominated, sinking in.

The nepo baby, the spoiled son of the president, had been brought to his knees by his closest friend. It was both humiliating and exhilarating, an experience he knew he wouldn't forget.

He whispered, nipping gently. "You win, brat."

Thank you for taking the time to read my work! If you're specifically interested in my explicit content, be sure to follow me on @xxxcherryerim, where I'll be reblogging my work from there. Alternatively, you could join my taglist

tags 🍒: @wemnui @freak-accident419 @joshfutturman

@sleepyhutcherson @h3len1602

#derek danforth x gn!reader #derek danforth x you #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth smut #derek danforth #derek danforth fluff #derek danforth headcanons #the beekeeper #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #jhutch #josh futturman smut #billy burn smut

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 9 months ago

Text

Love Bites

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader (feat. Max Phillips!)

Rating: M (adult content, non-explicit smut, 18+)

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Vampires! Blood drinking, talk of hunger (for blooooood) and killing (for bloooooood!). An art crime which is never actually solved, Soft Marcus, sarcastic asshole with a heart of gold Max. IDK if this is a threesome but it’s definitely threesome-adjacent, idiots in love, vampire venom causes euphoria and spontaneous orgasms because I said so, kissing, men kissing men, vampire bites, feeding, sharing blood through kissing,

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike make a house call to the home of a wealthy art collector who just reported the theft of a two-million dollar glass, er, “sculpture.” At first, you can’t stand the smarmy Max Phillips, but when you find Marcus unconscious in the man’s living room, you find you have bigger problems than Max’s gross overuse of vampire puns…

A/N: I hallucinated this entire thing one night a few weeks ago instead of sleeping. Many, many thanks to @littlebirdsbookshelf for enduring and encouraging an endless line of screenshots of this fic and for helping with the moodboard!

Masterlist

As you read your newest assigned case file, your eyebrows feel as though they’re skyrocketing up into your hairline. You look up, shooting your partner a skeptical, unamused stare.

“Someone’s pulling your leg, Pike.”

Your partner playfully rolls his pretty brown eyes and flashes you that boyish smile that you lov–that you think is really nice, that’s all.

“You don’t think I had the presence of mind to fact check and verify this guy’s story? You wound me.”

“Who the hell spends that kind of money on this?”

Marcus shrugs. “It’s not uncommon for affluent art collectors to buy million-dollar pieces for their collections.”

“Yeah, but this?”

“Don’t tell me that you, of all people, are going to give me that old, tired dismissal of modern art simply because you don’t understand it.”

“This is a dildo,” you deadpan.

Marcus presses his lips together, nodding slowly. “...Some people have more money than sense.”

“Apparently.”

Your partner crosses over and picks up the file you’d dropped on your desk. “I spoke to the collector on the phone earlier,” he says as he scans the page. “Has a penthouse up in West End, told him we’d be up to do forensics this afternoon.”

“Yipee.”

“This is serious. It’s not every day that… ‘Arthur Feathermoore’s… Animals of Pleasure’… goes missing,” Marcus says, squinting down at the file as he reads the name of the sculpture.

You can’t help but snort at the title, and it causes your partner’s serious facade to dissolve into laughter himself, and the two of you giggling like rookies for a few moments before your eyes meet. Marcus’s face is the very picture of warmth, and as you often do, you feel as though you’re falling into his dark brown pools. The mirth is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence that he breaks first, coughing awkwardly and looking back down at the case file in his hand.

“So anyways,” Marcus says brightly, “how about a little field trip up to West End?”

“You got it. I need to meet the idiot who spent a million dollars on a glass dildo.”

“Feathermoore’s Animals of Pleasure,” your partner corrects with a teasing smile.

“Quite the place,” Marcus comments as the two of you enter the ornate lobby of Maplebrook Heights, the building of luxury condominiums where your art collector lives on the top floor penthouse.

“I think it’s shit,” you say, eyeing the crystal chandelier hanging near the elevators. Something about the place makes you want to leave greasy handprints all over the spotless mirrors and stainless steel elevator doors.

You flash your badges to the lobby attendant, who picks up a phone receiver, listens for a couple minutes, nods, and sets it back down again.

“Mr. Phillips has been expecting you,” they say, leading you over to the elevators and pressing the top button without saying anything more.

When the doors open again, they reveal a man in a well-tailored suit with an overly-starched shirt and even starchier expression. The overall effect evokes a sort of statuesque rigidity–a man made out of stone. Suddenly, though, as if just noticing your appearance in the elevator, the man’s lips curl up into a smarmy, affectatious smile.

“You must be the feds,” he says in a buttery-smooth tone that you aren’t sure is real or as artificial as the rest of him seems to be.

“That’s us,” Marcus replies cheerfully, stepping forward and offering his hand. The man seems to pause, looking your partner up and down with his head cocked to the side before taking it and shaking it firmly.

Trying to be professional, you extend yours as well. Rather than give you the same firm handshake he offered Marcus, the man gently grasps your fingers and ducks his head as though he were about to kiss the back of your hand. Feeling off-balance, you give his hand an awkward squeeze and shake before stepping back quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips,” Marcus says, expertly disguising your discomfort, much to your relief.

“Max, please,” the man replies with an amused pout. “Come this way, I’m sure you’re both dying to see the scene of the crime.”

You shoot Marcus a look behind Max’s back, raising one eyebrow at his odd phrasing. Your partner shrugs gamefully before following the suited man through the double-doors to his penthouse.

As soon as you’re inside, your eyes widen at the décor. Every available inch of wall is covered in artwork from the Renaissance to the Modern, and you suppress the urge to gasp in amazement.

“Quite the collection,” Marcus comments.

“Mm, yes. You could say that I've spent generations acquiring it.”

“So art collecting runs in the family?”

“Of course.”

“This piece, er–Animals of Pleasure–was that an inherited piece, or…?”

Max grins widely, showing a row of alarmingly white teeth. “That one was a personal favorite–the sculptor is an acquaintance of mine.” He walks through the living room to an empty display case and regards it with a little frown. “Look at that. Like a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Apparently it was the personal favorite of someone else, too,” Marcus remarks.

“You’re a funny one, I like that,” Max drawls.

“In your report, you said you noticed it was gone on the morning of Sunday the 25th,” you interject. “What were the circumstances leading up to that discovery?”

“I had a… rather sizable party here the night before,” Max answers with a crooked smile. “I assume the culprit was one of my esteemed guests.”

“Got a guest list?” Marcus asks.

“Of course I do.” Max produces a paper from a nearby desk with an exaggerated flourish.

“Anyone on this list that might have shown particular interest in the piece?”

“They’re all a bunch of vampires,” Max scoffs dismissively, waving his hand. “I’m sure there are more than a few of them who’d love to sink their… teeth… into my collection.”

“Are you suggesting this theft was out of revenge?” you ask with a confused frown. “Did any guests have a personal vendetta against you?”

“Now, now, I’m practically the life of the party,” Max chuckles. “Most of the attendees and I go way back. There’s no bad blood between us; if anything, I’d say this is simply a distasteful prank.”

“You called the FBI for a prank?” you can’t help but ask.

“I like it,” Max says, putting on what’s clearly his best ‘sad puppy dog’ face with exaggeratedly upturned eyebrows and pouted lips. “It’s the crown jewel of my collection, and I want it back.”

“Of course,” Marcus reassures the other man. “We in the Art Crimes division treat art theft with the utmost importance it deserves.”

“Ah, yes, the FBI, always as serious as the grave.” Max says teasingly, giving Marcus a simpering smile. You don’t like the way he’s looking at your partner–sizing him up in the same way one would a conquest… or a meal.

“We’ve got what we need, Mr. Phillips,” you say brusquely, snapping your notebook shut a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Of course, of course,” the other man says dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less about the whole affair.

“We’ll keep you informed of any progress,” Marcus adds, smiling amicably. He always did do a better job than you of hiding his distaste for unpleasant characters.

“You should go use the little girl’s room before you leave,” Max suggests, again flashing you a row of perfectly white, straight teeth. “Long drive back to HQ.”

You’re just about to tell him where to shove that condescending suggestion, when you suddenly realize it’s a great idea. It is a long drive back, and you don’t remember needing to before, but for some reason as soon as the suggestion leaves his lips, you find yourself needing to find a bathroom sooner rather than later. You nod and excuse yourself, turning your back on the odd twinkle in Max’s eyes.

What a weirdo. You’ve worked with some characters before–and sometimes it seems the richer they are, the more eccentric and out of touch–but Max Phillips really takes the cake. The uncanny smile, the stupid puns, the uncomfortable innuendo that you never could figure out were intended for you or for Marcus…

You hope the case wraps up quickly, is the point. You finish washing your hands on a towel that feels as though it has a higher thread count than any set of sheets you’ve ever owned and hurry back to the sitting room where the two men are waiting for you.

When you get there, Marcus is lying on the floor, unmoving.

“Marcus!” you exclaim in alarm, pushing past Max–who is standing calmly as though nothing unusual has happened–and drop to your knees beside him. “What the hell happened?” you demand, staring up at the other man.

“Dunno. He just collapsed.”

You want to scream at him. How can you be so indifferent? A man just collapsed in your home. Before you can say anything, though, Marcus coughs.

You whirl back around, cataloging Marcus’s face frantically as he opens his eyes and blinks dazedly.

“What–Why am I on the floor?” he asks, staring up at you in utter confusion.

“You tell me,” you murmur, placing your hand on his clammy forehead. “I came back and you were on the ground. Mr. Phillips says you collapsed.”

Marcus sits up blearily. You watch as he frowns and shakily brings one hand to his neck, feeling it gingerly as though he’d been injured, although you don’t see anything to indicate it.

“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Yeah, just… collapsed. Uh–” He looks around the room with wary eyes.

“Can you get up?” you ask, standing yourself and extending your hand.

Marcus nods and allows you to pull him to his feet. Once standing, he sways and blinks rapidly, as if he were dizzy. When you place your hands on his shoulders to steady him, he giggles, like he suddenly finds the entire situation hilarious.

You don’t share his humor.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing his wrist and trying to lead him away. You can’t explain why, but something in your lizard brain is telling you to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Feel better soon,” Max offers lightly, smiling that unsettling smile again. “Drink plenty of fluids.”

You don’t bother answering.

Marcus continues to be unsteady on his feet, and you end up having to help him down the front steps of the building and into the passenger seat of the car.

“Hi!” he slurs enthusiastically when you enter and sit down in the driver’s seat. “Wow, I feel really funny.” You watch with growing concern as he holds up his hands and examines them as though he’d never seen them before.

You don’t know how to respond, so you busy yourself with adjusting the seat to your height, since Marcus had driven you there. Pressing and holding the button, the electric motor whines as you slowly slide upward, then a good deal forward.

Marcus giggles again. “You have short legs.”

“Astute observation,” you grumble as you turn the key into the ignition.

“Legs,” he repeats, and laughs again.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “Marcus… were you drugged? Did Max Phillips drug you?”

“No!” he protests. “I… I don’t think so?” he adds, sounding less sure.

“What happened when I was gone?” you asked. “Before you collapsed.”

Marcus shrugs exaggeratedly and makes a nonchalant ‘nnNNnn’ sound.

“You don’t remember?’

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “Wait… he said… the–the guy?”

“Max?”

“Max! Yeah. He said uh…” Marcus giggles again. “He said… I was pretty? That’s weird. Is that weird?” he looks over at you, looking so concerned and worried that you almost laugh in spite of yourself.

“Little weird,” you agree.

“He said that I was pretty… and that it would be a shame to let that go to waste,” he adds, frowning down at his hands as he remembers.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I guess it means I’m pretty,” Marcus says matter-of-factly, sitting back in his seat and grinning for a few moments before suddenly sobering again. “I think he was… gonna hug me?”

“Hug you?” you ask, looking at your partner in confusion.

“Yeah, he… he was really close, and–” Marcus’s hand absentmindedly touches his neck again. “Nah. Never mind. I don’t think that’s right.”

“I think he gave you something,” you tell him, starting to feel more and more worried by the minute. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Hey! You know what sounds really good?” Marcus suddenly asks, sounding excited. “Tomato juice. Except… not tomato juice. Something like tomato juice, but… different.”

“Like a bloody mary?” you ask skeptically, humoring him.

He purses his lips, as though thinking deeply about something.

“Yep,” he finally agrees. “That’s it. Bloody mary.”

“Great,” you say as you pull in front of Marcus’s building. “Tell you what, you go to bed and sleep off whatever the fuck this is, and I’ll buy you all the bloody marys you can drink.”

You help Marcus up the stairs (nearly an impossible task, because he keeps stopping and looking around him as though he’s never seen a stairwell with chipped paint and cracks in the walls before) and when you finally reach his apartment, you unceremoniously deposit him onto his bed.

He’s asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

You watch him snore for a couple of minutes, completely at a loss for what to do now. All you know is that you can’t leave him–not when you don’t know what’s wrong with him. And something is wrong. Every nerve in your body is in agreement there: Marcus is not okay.

You resist the urge to press your palm to his cheek and gently trace the line of his cheekbone. He’s asleep. He wouldn’t know.

No. Even now, you can’t bring yourself to give into that temptation. Even with as worried about him as you are, physical affection is still way off limits. You’d be showing too much of yourself.

Shaking the thought, you turn and walk from the room, quietly latching the door on your way out.

And you wait.

And wait.

By the time Marcus’s bedroom door opens again, you’re nearly frantic with worry. Just the soft sound of the doorknob turning has you jumping to your feet and muting his TV. You watch as he stumbles out, one hand pressed to his forehead and the other steadying himself against the wall.

“How… How long did I sleep?” he asks, face a maelstrom of confusion.

You glance quickly at the clock. “Twenty-five hours.” And seventeen minutes. Not that you were counting.

“What? Jesus…” he mutters.

“How are you feeling?”

“Starving. Like I haven’t had a proper meal in years,” Marcus answers, moving past you into the kitchen, where he starts opening cabinet doors at random, pulling out food items, examining them with a frown, and discarding them on the counter.

“I could, uh, order something?” you suggest warily, watching him go about his task in a whirlwind of movement.

“That’s not necessary,” he answers absentmindedly, staring blankly at a can of pinto beans before putting it on the counter next to a jar of artichoke hearts.

“Well, I’m hungry,” you say, grabbing a takeout menu at random off of Marcus’s fridge with a little more irritation than is warranted. “Shit.” You hiss, jerking your hand back and watching as a sliver of red appears on your thumb, a little bead of blood welling up and threatening to spill out of the newly-created crack.

Before you can blink; before you can even react, before your brain even registers the movement, Marcus is there. With a low, desperate, almost animal sound, he grabs your injured hand and brings it to his mouth.

The taste of you seems to make him moan louder; he greedily licks and sucks at the wound as though he were parched and this small papercut his only oasis.

At the touch of his tongue, or maybe the feel of his saliva, a sudden, inexplicable wave of euphoria washes over you. You gasp softly, watching with open-mouthed shock as he licks and licks and licks until there’s nothing left.

Eventually, Marcus slowly–almost reluctantly–releases your hand and blinks rapidly as though he were waking from a deep sleep all over again.

Whatever spell that seemed to be holding you in place breaks; you jerk your hand back and stare at him in horrified confusion.

“Marcus… what the hell?!”

“S-Sorry,” he offers weakly.

“Have you lost your mind?” You can’t tell if your question is intended rhetorically or not.

“I… I don’t know,” he answers softly. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not a comforting answer,” you say dryly.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Marcus murmurs, quietly enough that you aren’t sure if he intended to speak the words out loud.

“Thinking about what?”

“How I want to– I want–” he begins, but whatever it is he wants, he never manages to say. Rather than finishing the sentence, his hand slowly comes up to–alarmingly–wrap around your neck, his thumb pressing directly on your pulse point. He’s too close; you can feel his rapid, heavy breathing against your face and all you can do is stare up at him, the silent question of what the fuck written in your eyes.

Suddenly, you’re being released and Marcus pushes you away, stepping back from you with an expression of abject horror all over his face.

“Leave,” he commands raggedly. “Please, you have to.”

You shake your head in protest, frowning. “Marcus, you’re not well–”

“LEAVE!” he roars, and you flinch as though he’d slapped you. In all your years as his partner, you’d never heard him yell. You take one more look at him–really looking, taking in his clenched fists, his heaving chest, and the odd, almost inhuman look in his eyes–and obey. Backing away slowly at first, and then increasingly quickly, you flee the kitchen.

Your hand is on his front door when you suddenly come to a halt. No. You can’t. You can’t leave him. You cast your eyes around until they fall on the door to the nearby guest bathroom. With a hissed curse under your breath, you open that door instead, slipping inside and locking it behind you.

For a few moments, all you can hear is the sound of your shaky breathing. Then, footsteps as Marcus approaches. They pause, as though he’s working out what happened. You jump, suppressing a shriek, when a loud thump resonates in the small room before you hear the unmistakable sound of someone sliding down the wall and onto the floor.

The heavy, defeated sigh is audible through the bathroom door.

“I told you to leave,” Marcus remarks sullenly.

“I left the kitchen,” you point out.

The answering silence lets you know what your partner thinks of that response.

“I’m scared,” he admits quietly. “Something’s… not right.”

“I’m here,” you tell him. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Marcus is quiet for so long, you almost begin to wonder if he’d fallen back asleep.

“I can feel you,” he suddenly whispers. “There’s a door between us, but I can feel your pulse like it’s still under my thumb.”

“Wh-what?”

“I can sense it all. Your heartbeat. The blood rushing in your veins. It’s unbearable,” he chokes out, voice breaking on the last word as though he were at the end of his wits.

“I don’t understand what that means,” you admit. “And I’m not gonna lie, that’s freaking me out more than a little bit, but I meant what I said. I’m right here and I’m going to help you, okay?”

“Okay,” Marcus whispers shakily. “I… I appreciate that. You–it–means the world to me. You being here, I mean.”

“Marcus,” you say, your heart pounding even more than it had been, “I–”

Whatever you had planned on saying is interrupted by Marcus’s cell phone.

“It’s Max Phillips,” your partner announces, somehow, after everything, jumping into work mode. “I’ll put it on speaker. This is Pike,” he answers.

“Hey, buddy!” Max’s voice is so cheerful compared to the tense situation you find yourselves in that it feels jarring and almost makes you physically recoil. “How ya feeling?”

“You,” Marcus hisses accusingly. “You did something to me.”

“Oh, that,” Max says dismissively. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Help what,” your partner growls.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Max laughs.

“Stop playing stupid and help us!” you shriek through the bathroom door, completely out of patience and good manners.

You’re greeted by crackling silence on the other end of the call. Then… “She’s… she’s still with you?” For the first time, the careless demeanor seems to have dropped. Max sounds… concerned.

“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business,” you snap, unable to stop the flood of anger now that you’ve released it, “but I was fucking worried about my partner after he left your house acting drugged–”

“Where are you?” Max interrupts. “I’ll come to you. Bring supplies. But she needs to leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shoot back belligerently.

“Your funeral,” Max says, adopting the aloof nonchalance once more. To Marcus, he says, “Text me your address.” Then the line goes dead.

“Are you going to tell him where you live?” you ask skeptically.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Marcus says quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, but it’s clear that Max does. And if he knows, then maybe he can… stop it, somehow.”

“What did he mean, ‘bring supplies’?” you ask.

“Dunno,” Marcus sighs. “Guess we’re gonna find out.”

You’re forced to listen to Max’s arrival through the safety of the bathroom door.

No sooner than he walks into the apartment, you hear him stop and–is he sniffing the air?

“She’s still here,” he accuses.

“‘She’ can hear you,” you snap.

“She’s in there?” Max asks, sounding indignant. “Behind that flimsy-ass door?”

“It’s not that flimsy…” Marcus begins, but Max cuts him off.

“Pal, I’ve seen newly-turned vampires claw through cinder block walls with their bare hands to get at a food source. You could have ripped that door from its hinges, but here you are–”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Marcus interrupts. “I couldn’t fathom it, I– Hang on, did you say ‘vampires’?”

“Yup. Like, y’know, Dracula and all that. Undead. Drinks blood. Vampire.”

“This was a mistake,” Marcus mutters. “You’re clearly insane, and I don’t have time to listen to the bullshit ramblings of a sociopath.”

“Oh, it’s bullshit now, is it?” Max says airily. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you haven’t been sitting there desperately trying to stop yourself from ripping your pretty partner’s delicate little throat wide open and gorging yourself until she’s a withered corpse?”

You can hear Marcus sputtering angrily… but he doesn’t deny Max’s accusation.

“Great. Now, we can continue arguing over semantics and nomenclature while you just get more and more hungry, or you can accept the truth and drink this.”

A zipper–on a backpack, you assume–unzips, and the faint sound of crinkling plastic reaches your ears.

“What the hell is that?” Marcus asks, voicing your question for you.

“B positive. I won’t lie to you, O-neg is where it’s at in terms of flavor and mouthfeel, but beggars can’t be choosers, pretty boy.”

“Are you giving him blood?” you shriek through the door, but no one answers you. Irate, you bang on the wood. “Hello!?”

“He’ll be right with you,” Max says in a sing-song voice. “He’s busy at the moment.”

“Marcus,” you say lowly, “please tell me you are not drinking blood right now.”

“Mmph–so good,” your partner groans through mouthfuls of… something.

“I’m coming out there,” you announce, jumping to your feet.

“Wait,” Max commands, an odd timbre to his voice, and you stop immediately, your hand hovering six inches from the doorknob. “Not until pretty boy here has another pint.”

“Marcus,” you say warily, pressing your palm against the door as if you could somehow feel him through it.

“I’m okay.” And strangely, Marcus’s voice is calmer, more… human… than it’s been since the moment he woke up from his day-long nap. You still don’t trust Max. But Marcus has been your partner for years. You’d trust him with your life–and you find yourself believing him when he says it’s okay.

“One more,” Max says. “O-positive from 2020. Practically a vintage at this point.”

You shudder, imagining your partner with red tinged lips, a trickle of blood running down his chin as he–

“How are you feeling now?” Max asks.

“Better,” Marcus answers. “Can… Can she come out? Is it safe? I won’t… I won’t hurt her?”

“Depends on the vamp,” Max says. “Most newborns I wouldn’t trust within fifty feet of a pulse, but you? You’re an odd one.”

“I’d never hurt her,” Marcus says again. “I’d rather die.”

Max lets out a loud, barking laugh, as if Marcus had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “That might be easier said than done,” he chuckles. “But I get the sentiment. Come on out, doll.”

In any other situation, you might have scolded Max for even daring to call you ‘doll,’ but your body is thrumming with anticipation–and a little fear–to see Marcus again.

Carefully, slowly, you unlock the bathroom door and swing it open.

Your gaze–as it usually does–finds Marcus before anything else. He’s sitting on the floor opposite the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly bent in the narrow hallway, with two crumpled blood donation bags laying beside him. He’s staring back, his eyes swimming with apprehension and worry. The strange, animalistic glint you’d seen earlier is completely absent.

Still, you find yourself moving cautiously and deliberately, as though a sudden movement might break this tenuous moment of peace. You carefully sink to your knees, at his level, and extend your hand.

Marcus swallows thickly, watching you. For a few tense moments, he doesn’t move. Then, he shifts–and oh, how you hate yourself for flinching. You try to hide it, but you can tell by the hurt in his eyes that he definitely noticed. Never once taking his eyes off yours, he slowly reaches back until his fingertips are just barely brushing against yours.

You don’t miss how Marcus’s breath catches at your touch. His eyes slip closed for just a moment, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hey,” he whispers back.

“You scared me.”

“I know. I scared me, too.”

“Is this real?” you whisper, hardly daring to voice the question. “You’re really–?”

“I think I might be,” Marcus says softly. “It’s… it’s the only thing that makes any of this make sense.” He gestures at the two empty blood bags he’d been given by Max.

Max.

In a fury, you round on the other man, grabbing the collar of his stupid-expensive shirt and slamming him against the wall.

“What the shit–” Max exclaims in surprise.

“You did this,” you hiss, pressing against his throat. “You… you made him into this.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Max wheedles, putting his hands up in supplication. “I thought he’d make a really sexy vamp.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you growl.

“I’d love to see you try,” the man drawls with a lazy smile.

“Hey.” Marcus says softly, putting a hand on your forearm and encouraging you to release Max. “What’s done is done. This isn’t going to help anyone.”

“It’ll help me,” you say dryly, still glaring at Max.

“I can see why you like her,” Max grins.

You shove harder, your other hand coming up to join the first as you take out your anger on the man’s dress shirt. “Here’s an idea. Stop talking about ‘her’ while she’s still in the room.”

Max suddenly sobers, sniffing the air again. “You were bleeding,” he says accusingly. “When?”

“What? No I wasn’t,” you protest. “Well, okay, I got a papercut, but it stopped bleeding ages ago, after–”

“After what,” Max prompts.

“He–” you begin weakly, your eyes flitting quickly to Marcus and then back to Max again.

Max moves you away from him as if you weighed nothing at all, before turning to Marcus with a look of utter disbelief. “You fed from her?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess I did,” Marcus answers slowly. “I… I didn’t really realize what I was doing, I–”

“Did you puncture her skin at all?” Max interrupts. “This is important.”

“No,” you answer for him. “He just… licked it clean, I guess?”

Max stares at Marcus skeptically, then turns to you. “He just licked it,” he repeats.

“And… sorta… sucked?” you add weakly.

“What’s the problem?” Marcus interjects.

“Newly-turned vampires aren’t exactly in control of their bodily functions,” Max explains. “A puncture might mean inadvertently injecting venom into your bloodstream.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means this would have turned into a two-for-one vamp special.”

“He can make me a vampire?”

“How do you think he became one in the first place?”

“I wouldn’t remind me of your role in this too much, if I were you,” you growl at Max.

“...Venom?” Marcus asks, interrupting your standoff.

“It’s got some interesting properties,” Max says with a grin. “Injecting it in its pure form will a vamp create, but the trace amounts in your saliva is what makes feeding fun.”

“Do you ever actually explain yourself?” you ask irritably.

“Let me put it this way. When pretty boy here licked that little papercut of yours, what did you feel?”

You think back to the moment–through the fear, through the unease, back to the sensation of Marcus’s lips and tongue on your skin. Finally.

“It felt… good,” you admit quietly.

“Just good?” Max asks, pouting his lip teasingly.

“Better than good,” you whisper. “It felt like… joy. Like everything was right with the world.”

You risk a glance at Marcus, who is staring at you open-mouthed with an inscrutable expression.

“That’s the venom,” Max says with a shrug. “Creates a feeling of euphoria in small doses. Can also cause spontaneous orgasm.”

Marcus makes a pained choking sound, and Max slaps him on the back. “That’s the fun part.”

“How the hell do you… feed… from someone without accidentally killing them?” Marcus asks.

“Carefully.”

“No shit.”

“I can show you if you want,” Max says lecherously, making a show of sweeping his gaze up and down your body in the most exaggerated way possible.

“I think the fuck not.”

Max guffaws loudly, slapping his knee. “I knew you'd be a good time.”

“He is not your good time,” you interject.

“At least let him speak for himself, princess! Nah, as… interesting… as that could be, I can tell when a guy's unavailable.”

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head. “He's not–I mean, we're not–”

“We're partners,” Marcus adds helpfully.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees condescendingly. “For sure. Just partners. Well anyway, apropos of nothing in particular, I wouldn't recommend feeding from anyone you particularly care about for quite some time. Not until you can control yourself.”

“Speaking of,” Marcus says, clearing his throat, “got any more of these?” He holds up one of the empty blood bags.

“No,” Max says indignantly. “I have got some backup supplies, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this situation.”

“What are you talking about? You turned him yourself.”

“No, this situation. The situation where you're here, with your pulse and rushing blood and warm flesh. Your presence would be fucking kryptonite for any new vamp,” Max hisses. “You're a neon sign of temptation. A little hen in a henhouse with a very hard-to-control fox. Had you not been here, two bags would have lasted until pretty boy here could arrange his own supply, but you complicate things.”

“Well, excuse me for making sure he was all right,” you say, placing your hand on Marcus’s arm in a way you hope is comforting.

Marcus murmurs your name softly, but urgently. “Can... Can you… back up? Just a little,” he asks, looking pained.

Eyes widening, you take several hasty steps backward.

“How long will it take you to get more?” you ask, not taking your eyes off of Marcus.

“Any amount of time is too long when you insist on staying here,” Max says.

“It worked out fine the last time,” you point out. “I'll just go back into the bathroom and lock the door again.”

Marcus shakes his head warily. “I–I don't know… Maybe you should leave.”

“Not a chance.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Marcus says softly. “I don't even want the idea of it. Please. You don't know what you–”

“What I… what?”

“What you mean to me,” he confesses, and you could swear time stops. “I could never risk it. I can't… I can't bear the idea of losing you.”

“You won't,” you promise.

“I didn't want this,” he says bitterly, casting an agonized glance at Max, who, for once, has the decency to look regretful. “All I ever wanted was you.”

You feel as though you’d just had the wind knocked out of you, the words affect you so deeply. Resisting the urge to steady yourself on the wall, you fix Marcus with a stare that you hope conveys every single emotion you’ve ever felt for him.

“I'm staying here,” you say. “And that's final.”

Both men shake their heads at the same time.

“What if... what if he uses me?” you ask Max, ignoring Marcus's protest. “You said it's normal to uh… feed off of live humans.”

“I believe I also said it's something he shouldn't even begin to consider until he's out of the newborn phase,” Max says.

“What if he's careful?” you ask. “What if you help him?”

Marcus softly says your name in warning, but you don't back down.

“Whatever I mean to you,” you tell him earnestly, “you mean the same to me. The same and more, Marcus.”

Time seems to come to a standstill as his eyes widen with realization.

“You… You feel the same?” he asks breathlessly.

“For a long time now,” you find yourself admitting.

You watch as a slough of emotions flicker across Marcus’s face–yearning, longing, affection, and regret.

“I… I wish I had known,” he murmurs sorrowfully. “Before now. I’d… God, I’ve imagined this moment so many times, and in none of those times did I ever tell you to back away because I’m worried I’d just as soon kill you as kiss you.”

“I guess you owe me,” you tell him with a little chuckle. “When this is over. When you aren’t hungry anymore. You can drink from me without hurting me, I know it. And Max is here to stop you if you–”

“This is all very cute,” Max drawls, interrupting you, “but okay. Let's say he's careful. Let's say I stick around to help and intervene if he loses control. I want to make sure you understand that this is… intimate, you understand? Like, I'm all for a sexy romp, myself, but I don't know if I stressed the effects of the venom enough before.”

“You mean the uh–”

“Spontaneous orgasms,” Max finishes for you. “Yeah. Wasn't kidding about that.”

“So, what you're saying is–”

“Is that I'm usually all-in for a feeding orgy, but you two have something else going on entirely, and call me a romantic, but I'd rather not get between you.”

“So you do have a conscience,” Marcus deadpans.

“If you tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

Marcus takes a deep breath, and suddenly shudders. “Shit,” he mumbles to himself. “Shit, I feel–”

“Like you’ve been wandering a desert for days on end with no water? Yeah,” Max shrugs. “That wears off, or gets easier to manage, I dunno. But after a while it’ll start to feel more like normal hunger and less like a–” he trails off, waving his hands back and forth.

“Like an all-consuming fire threatening to stamp out every last shred of my humanity?” Marcus fills in wryly.

“Yup,” Max answers. “Something like that.”

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, reaching out to touch him again.

This time, it’s Marcus’s turn to flinch. He pulls back, eyes widening in alarm and leaving you to wonder whether you really should be this close. But no, your desire to comfort the man you’ve been secretly harboring feelings for for years overrides your sense of personal safety.

Or any kind of sense, whatsoever.

So you persist, running your hand up and down his arm soothingly and watching his eyes flutter shut at the feel of your skin. The expression on his face–agony, yearning, desperation–causes an ache to sink like a stone in your chest.

“Yeah,” he answers with a rough, strained note to his voice. “Yeah, it hurts.”

You look to Max with pleading eyes. “Help him,” you demand. “Help us. It was you who got us into this situation, so if you have any sense of morality left in there, make it stop hurting.”

Max’s eyes flicker dangerously. “As long as you acknowledge what that entails,” he says quietly.

“Blood,” you deadpan (Marcus shudders pitifully again), “I assume.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes. “Sure, right. Fine,” he mutters, scooting closer to you and Marcus. “First lesson. You don’t bite here–” he carefully taps his index finger on your neck. “That’s either gonna get you another vampire, or a corpse. The, uh, thighs–” he clears his throat awkwardly– “are good places to feed, but you’ve gotta be careful about the femoral artery.”

Marcus lets out a pained sound and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes with gritted teeth, rocking slightly back and forth.

“Alright, that’s enough lessons,” Max says brightly. “Good place to start for a newbie is the wrist. So, uh, you’re just going to want to puncture the skin a teeny tiny bit, and drink from that. Less is more, waste not, et cetera, et cetera.”

No sooner than the words leave the other man’s lips, Marcus’s fingers curl around your wrist like a vice grip, and you gasp.

“Jesus, hang on a minute,” Max sighs. “New vamps, always so lacking in table manners. Listen to me–you’re gonna probably lose control and try to take more than what she can give, and I’m going to do everything in my power to restrain you and get her away. Up to and including violence.”

Just as Max’s words leave you wondering whether this is actually a terrible idea and you should have done what Marcus had asked in the beginning and simply left, Marcus’s eyes meet yours again, his expression surprisingly clear-headed.

“I won’t,” he says softly. “I said I’d never hurt you. That’s a promise.”

Solemnly, you nod. “I know,” you tell him. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

You slowly reach toward Marcus with your palm facing upward like an offering. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your heartbeat racing, thrumming loudly and quickly in your chest, and you somehow have the wherewithal to wonder whether Marcus will get more of you as a result.

Marcus cradles your forearm as though it were a precious gift. You can feel the trembling in his hands, see the quiver in his lower lip as he tries to keep all his emotions–the hunger, the fear, the worry–in check.

“Tiny bite,” Max reminds him in a low voice. “Just the tip.”

You shoot him a disparaging look, but when you see the ghost of a smile on Marcus’s face, you realize he successfully broke the tension.

Hesitantly, he lowers his mouth to the delicate skin of your wrist, and just as you’re wondering where the hell the vampire teeth are supposed to be, his face… changes. You do your best to hold in the gasp that threatens to escape; you don’t want to startle the man and risk him accidentally tearing your flesh. He’d put a stake through his heart himself, you muse. Wait–is that a superstition or a fact? You make it a point to ask Max later as you watch Marcus with curiosity. His face, it’s not ugly, exactly, but certainly monstrous. It’s grotesque in the same way the circus can be grotesque–in a way that fascinates you, thrills you, draws you in…

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you feel his teeth sink into you.

The split-second of pain melts immediately to a wave of pleasure like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Every nerve ending seems to tingle, sending a frisson of electricity up and down your spine–again, and again, with every lick of Marcus’s tongue. It’s every good sensation you’ve ever felt condensed into one moment, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if any human has ever become addicted to being vampire food. You wouldn’t blame them.

Soon, though, the fact that a vampire is drinking your blood completely fades, because all you feel is unadulterated euphoria. Euphoria… and Marcus. Now you’re consumed with one thought and one thought only: get closer to Marcus. You scramble into his lap without a second’s hesitation, not hearing the sudden sound of surprise that comes from Max.

Marcus, who had been single-mindedly consumed in his task, looks up in apparent awe as you straddle him. The hand not gently holding your wrist immediately winds around your waist and pulls you even closer. Now that your eyes are locked, you can’t look away. Those beautiful brown eyes that you know so well are flecked with an animalistic yellow-amber, his brow sharper and more pronounced in his monstrous form but still very much Marcus. He holds your gaze as he lathes his tongue across your skin over and over, each lick causing flames of ecstasy to course within you. You can’t look away–not even when he swallows gratefully with red-tinged lips and dives back in for more. You start to squirm in his lap, each little wave of euphoria–a side effect of his venom, you know, but it feels so real–causing warmth to build in your core. Marcus moans around your wrist when he feels you grind against his leg, and you start to whimper every time your clothed center meets the delicious resistance of his thigh muscle.

As your movements become more and more frenzied, so do Marcus’s; he licks and sucks at the little twin puncture wounds with a fervor that could only be described as carnal. Everything starts to pull up tight deep inside you, and you know, you know what’s about to happen–but suddenly, another arm is there pulling you back, away from Marcus, away from this beautiful pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before and how dare they, you’re so close, you��re so close, soclosesoclosesoclose–

“That’s enough. Enough,” someone is saying behind you. “It’s time to stop.”

Marcus lifts his head, his lips still smeared with your blood and his eyes dazed and glassy. His face, although still contorted into this macabre new form, is open and unguarded as he tries to comprehend the source of the interruption. As Max pulls you away more forcefully, however, Marcus bares his teeth and hisses at the other man in what’s clearly a show of territoriality.

In a split-second, before you can even begin to worry about being in the middle of a fight between two vampires, Marcus regains his wide-eyed, earnest expression, and his exaggerated features seem to melt, giving way to the face you know so well.

“I’m fine,” he promises, chest heaving. “I’m okay. I’m done, I’ve stopped. Please, can–” he swallows, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Can you come back? I just–I need–”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re scrambling back into Marcus’s arms to kiss him with everything you’ve got. He opens to you immediately, his tongue darting out to explore your mouth, and you shudder when you taste the tang of iron. It should disturb you, you think to yourself. The blood, the fangs, the fact that he could kill you at any second. You should find his distorted face horrifying, but you can’t help but be mesmerized by his features in any form.

Marcus’s hands are everywhere–rubbing up and down your spine, gently palming your face, reverently stroking the skin of your wrist as if to apologize for taking what he so desperately needed from you. You sigh contentedly into his mouth as your hands explore him in kind–carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing against the soft muscle of his chest, tenderly tracing the little crease in his brow in an unspoken promise of forgiveness.

You’ve imagined kissing this man so many times, and yet you now know you’ve never once come close to the reality of how it feels to have his lips against yours. It might be cliché, you might be projecting your own desires here, but everything about Marcus’s mouth simply fits, like a puzzle piece. Like recovering a long-lost part of you. Kissing him is coming home.

When Marcus pulls back, you follow him, causing a joyful smile to spread across his face as he whispers, “Are you okay?”

You smile back as you nod.

“Here.” Something orange is thrusted into your field of vision, and you look up to see Max standing awkwardly next to the two of you, still entwined on the floor against the wall of Marcus’s apartment.

You accept the fruit–because it is fruit–and start to messily peel it before popping a slice into your mouth.

“Do you feel dizzy at all? Lightheaded?” Max asks as he watches you chew.

You shake your head. “Nope. Nothing like that. Just… kinda tingly,” you giggle, glancing back at Marcus. “Not in a blood loss way, more like in a um, well. You know.”

Marcus grins and pulls you back down for another soft, chaste kiss.

Pulling back, you give Max a smug look. “Told you he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t lie, I’m pretty surprised,” the other man replies, frowning slightly. “You don’t have any frame of reference for this, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that this is not normal. New vampires cannot control themselves and kill any living thing they try to feed from. Every time.”

“How many of those new vampires were deeply in love with the person they tried it with?” Marcus asks, meeting your eyes with an ardent gaze.

“Of all the times I’ve dreamed of hearing that from you, I never imagined it would come out quite like that,” you say with a wry smile.

Max makes something like a strained choking noise in his throat, grimacing uncomfortably. “Well kids, this has been fun, but I’m gonna get out of here.”

He sticks out his hand and you accept it, letting him pull you up to standing. Once on your feet, all the blood seems to rush away from your head, and you sway slightly.

“She should lie down,” Max comments, watching you.

Marcus nods in agreement and wordlessly (and effortlessly) lifts you into his arms and moves in the direction of his bedroom.

“Does ‘she’ get a say in this?” you protest, although this time it’s somewhat more good-natured than before.

Your answer is another kiss from Marcus before he gently sets you down on the comforter.

Sitting here, on Marcus’s bed, with him hovering over you, opens up an entirely new set of opportunities. The look in Marcus’s eyes lets you know his thoughts are along the same lines, and when he inhales, his breath catches in his chest.

“I’d caution you against that,” Max says in his characteristic deadpan tone from the doorway. “Really easy to lose control in the heat of the moment, and he’s still hungry.”

“Are you?” you ask Marcus hesitantly, who shrugs and drops his gaze.

“Was trying to be polite about it.”

“I didn’t let him take much,” Max explains. “Far easier to rectify taking too little than too much.”

“Does that mean he could do it again?” you ask, the breathlessness in your voice giving you away immediately.

Marcus is, predictably, the one who quickly tries to shut that idea down, murmuring your name and shaking his head in concern.

“You don’t know how it felt,” you whisper. “I think I’d do it every day if I could.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Marcus answers for what feels like the hundredth time.

“You won’t,” you promise. “And besides, Max will be here just in case.”

The two of you turn to the other vampire, who’s leaning against the doorway with an exaggerated sulk. “Oh sure, let’s ask Max. I’m sure he won’t mind watching you feed in the throes of ecstasy… again. Max has no opinion, Max can manage his own hunger, it’s fine.”

“Done pouting?” Marcus asks pointedly. “I think I’m justified in saying that you fucking owe me one.”

Max glowers, but offers no further protest.

“Is this wrist sore?” Marcus asks you, running one fingertip across your skin. “Should I do the other one?”

You shake your head slowly. “I had somewhere else in mind.” Capturing Marcus’s hand, you guide it downward until it rests on your inner thigh. “Here,” you whisper.

Max makes another garbled noise, which Marcus deliberately ignores. Keeping his eyes fixed on your face, he carefully sinks down onto his knees before you. Carefully, so carefully he unbuttons your pants and draws them down your legs, leaving you in your underwear.

“Fuck, I can’t–” comes the sudden exclamation from the bedroom doorway. “If this is retribution, I guess I deserve it, but still.”

You turn your head to look at Max, who appears to be doubled over in pain, and something pangs in your chest. Marcus, who is still fixated on the crux of your thighs, ignores the interruption.

“Marcus,” you whisper, getting his attention.

“He’s fine,” the man murmurs, clearly distracted.

“He’s hungry,” Max groans pitifully. “I might not be a newborn anymore, but I have feelings.”

“He can wait,” Marcus growls. The words sound slightly slurred, and when you look down again, you can see his fangs already protruding.

Max makes another pathetic whimper as Marcus runs his nose along your upper thigh and inhales greedily. You stop him with a gentle hand carding through his hair.

“Maybe we are being cruel,” you say softly. “He’s been trying to help.”

“He’s not feeding from you,” Marcus insists darkly. The possessiveness seems to make his face transform even more–his brow thickening and his eyes flickering with an eerie yellow glint.

“She’s–she’s yours,” Max agrees weakly. “I know. Just—shit.”

Marcus pauses, his tongue darting out to touch the tip of one elongated canine as though testing their unfamiliar shape.

“Come here,” he commands.

Max frowns, hesitating.

“Before I change my mind.” Turning to you again, Marcus strokes the sensitive skin just below the seam of your underwear. “May I?”

“You might be the politest vampire I’ve ever known,” Max muses to himself as he walks toward the bed with cautious steps.

“Please,” you whisper.

Marcus runs his nose against your thigh again before he lowers his mouth. You feel the sharp sting of his fangs for only a second before a sudden wave of pleasure overtakes you.

Perhaps it’s the change in location–from your wrist to somewhere much more… intimate, but this time the sensation of his venom feels even stronger. So much so, in fact, that everything pulls up tight without warning and you come undone while Marcus’s fangs are still buried within you.

You shriek in surprise, bucking your hips instinctively, but Marcus follows, sealing his lips around your thigh and sucking. Each aftershock makes the wound feel like it’s pulsing, but all you can do is writhe on the bed and whimper as the vampire–the man you love–takes from you.

Suddenly, though, Marcus pulls back, pressing his hand against the twin puncture wounds, which are still bleeding openly. With his mouth clearly full, he fists Max’s shirt collar, pulling him in for a rough kiss. Max makes a shocked noise–you think you do, too–but quickly groans in pleasure as Marcus gives him your blood from his own mouth.

Over and over he repeats the action: gently licking and sucking your thigh as you gasp and squirm under the euphoric influence of his venom, then pulling back to give some to Max before swallowing it himself.

The constant waves of pleasure reach a peak several more times, although you can hardly keep track. The combination of the venom and the blood loss, perhaps, is making you woozy, and you’re already drifting in and out when Max gently tugs Marcus’s hair and draws him back. You hear him say, “That’s probably enough,” before you lose consciousness entirely.

Everything is peaceful. You don’t think you’ve ever slept this deeply or felt relaxation this profound. When your eyes open again some untold amount of time later, you do so with a lazy, serene smile.

You blink lazily, trying to gather your senses and focus on the scene in front of you. You can feel the rise and fall of a strong chest beneath you, comforting arms surrounding you as you lay on Marcus’s bed. You know without looking that it’s him that’s holding you, keeping you safe and protected with his body.

To your surprise, Max–you figured he’d be long gone by now–sits at the bedside, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“She’s awake,” he says to Marcus, who immediately loosens his hold and gently tilts your head back onto his shoulder to look at you.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “You scared me a little, there.”

“Told him it was normal,” Max says, with the air of someone who’s said the exact same sentence fifty times already, “and that she wasn’t in any danger.”

“Still,” Marcus fusses gently, scanning your face with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Here,” Max interjects, handing you a small bottle of gatorade and making sure your hands are wrapped around it before pulling back. “Drink this, and once you can sit up, you need to eat a little something.”

You accept the drink gratefully and take greedy sips until the bottle is empty. When it is, Max sets it back on the nightstand and hands you a couple of oreos pilfered from Marcus’s cabinets, and the rest of the orange from before.

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asks–still with a hint of concern in his voice–as you eat.

“Really good, actually,” you answer with a sigh. “That was–listen, not to be weird or anything, but that was… amazing.”

Marcus chuckles low in his chest as Max smirks next to you.

“Can’t say I minded that particular method of feeding,” the other vampire comments wryly. “Might almost be better than from the source.”

Marcus clears his throat awkwardly, and when you glance up at him again, his ears are tinged pink.

“I didn’t know that about you,” you say softly.

Marcus tries to shrug noncommittally, blushing deeper as he does. “I like to keep my private life private.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t mind sharing with the people I care about, though,” he adds.

“Awww, he cares about me!” Max simpers with a teasing pout.

“I hate you,” Marcus counters with no conviction or malice behind the words whatsoever.

“No you don’t.”

“I was talking about her, though.”

“And me!”

“Children,” you sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “I hate to interrupt, but can I trouble one of you bloodsuckers for some juice or something?”

Marcus raises one eyebrow at Max, who salutes sarcastically and marches out of the room.

“I can’t tell if I like him or if I can’t stand him,” you murmur to Marcus when the two of you are alone.

“Makes two of us,” your partner hums, ducking down to kiss your temple.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. “Didn’t look like you minded so much before.”

Marcus huffs quietly. “It was the solution that came to me at the time.”

“Is that all it was?”

He lets out a slow, even breath as he tightens his hold on you. “No.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, as Max comes back with a glass of juice and another handful of oreos.

“Maybe later,” Marcus answers, sounding a bit bashful.

“Vampires have super-hearing, you know that–right?” Max comments as he moves back toward the bed.

“Wh–what?” the other man chokes out nervously. “Really?”

“...No.” Max hands you the glass of juice with a deadpan stare.

You try and fail to contain your laughter, snorting as you cover your hand with your mouth to disguise the smile.

“But now I know you were talking about me,” Max purrs, leaning toward the two of you.

“No,” Marcus lies–unconvincingly.

“Pretty boy,” Max chastises with that same childish, teasing pout he’s done before. “I thought so highly of you–don’t tell me you’re in the middle of some silly gay panic right now.”

Marcus snorts. “We’re too old for that, don’t you think?”

“You tell me.” Max’s expression is guarded, but you can tell he’s very invested in the other man’s answer.

“Truth is, I’ve harbored feelings for this one for a long time,” Marcus says affectionately, looking down and brushing his hand up your forehead and over the top of your head. “A long time. And it feels disingenuous to even consider the idea of treading on that, somehow.”

“Right,” Max says, standing up stiffly and quickly. “I’m gonna–”

“Wait.”

The vampire pauses, eyeing the two of you warily.

“In a way, it was you who… brought us together, in a way,” Marcus continues. “In a weird fucking way, I’ll add, but I can’t deny that this day has been… beyond my wildest dreams. And–” he swallows thickly, licking his lips before continuing, “–you were a part of that, for better or for worse.”

You carefully sit up, extricating yourself from Marcus’s arms to lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m not used to this much attention,” he adds, laughing self-deprecatingly as he shakes his head in apparent bewilderment. “And now I’ve got the two of you looking at me like that, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

“Enjoy it,” you tell him with a soft smile. “I love you. Max likes you. Maybe that’s all we need to know right now.”

“He can speak for himself,” Max teases, parroting your earlier words.

You look at him. “Did you really turn him because you thought he was pretty?”

“Can you blame me?”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader x max phillips #max phillips #the mentalist #bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal

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delopsia · 2 years ago

Text

How To Train Your Cowboy | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, light usage of a crop, cunnilingus, begging, overuse of Ma'am, edging, just your average dom!reader and sub!Rhett :) because you've gotta discipline your cowboy every once in a while <3

Rhett's headliner is beginning to fall down.

The more he tinkers with this truck, the more problems arise. By no fault of his own. There's only so much you can do for a truck that's old enough to drink legally in the US. Has never known anything more than ranch work that puts its mechanics to the test on the daily. There isn't an inch of this vehicle that hasn't been scratched. The seatbelts are fraying; the cloth interior bleached from two decades in the harsh sunlight.

And now, after days upon days of fixing an issue with the rapidly cracking dashboard, the goddamn headliner is coming down. Reaching up, you press it back into place; it's far from a fix, falling down the moment you let go of it.

No matter how you try, it refuses to listen.

Rhett and his truck have many things in common.

Stubborn. Bull-headed. With the intellect of a century-old mule. Always out looking for trouble if it doesn't find him first. As territorial as an unneutered dog.

"W're home." Speak of the devil.

"I'm aware, genius," you can't even look at him right now, nevermind put up with hearing that god-forsaken drawl that slips out when he's had a beer or two. Never the good beer either; always the cheapest thing in the gas station because the idiot values a few cents over his own tastebuds.

If he even has them.

The truck door squeals as you open it, shrill, ear-splitting. Only serves to make you grind your teeth as you make a beeline for the door. Your nerves so tightly wound that even the gentle breeze is enough to cause them to begin fraying at the edges, threatening to snap.

"Sweetie—"

"I don't want to hear it, Rhett." Opening the door a little bit too hard; the only thing stopping it from being thrown open is the big hand that catches the top of it. Ugh.

"Please just listen to me?" He tries again; you're not facing him, but you can already feel those puppy eyes pleading with you.

Those damn eyes have you so hooked that even the mere memory of them has you folding. "So you don't want to listen to me," you're struggling to keep your tone even, "but you want me to listen to you?"

Familiar arms wind around your belly, a nose nuzzling into the side of your neck, "I'm sorry."

You want to be angry. You want to raise hell and give him a million and one reasons to regret pissing you off. But the longer he holds you, warm chest melting away the tension in your back, the harder it is to be upset.

But just because it's harder doesn't mean it's impossible.

Stepping free of his grasp, you head for the bedroom. These damn clothes are starting to bug you; jeans too tight, shirt a little too scratchy for comfort. In hindsight, leaving your clothes out on the dresser was the best move you ever could have made. Your favorite lounge shorts and one of Rhett's old shirts lie on the very top of the stack, so easy for you to step into.

A red leather heart pokes out from beneath the pile.

Hm.

"Look, Trevor was the one who started the fight," you're not sure when Rhett appeared in the doorway, but he's there, holding onto the top of the frame. His eyes now concealed by the brim of his hat. You're not sure if you're thankful or disappointed. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Walk away?" Tossing your hands up, "do something that doesn't give the Tillersons a reason to finally lay you in the grave?"

Rhett's shoulders stiffen, rising, his shirt coming up just enough to allow you a glimpse of that soft, pale tummy. Not for long, though, because now he's coming closer. "You really think I can't handle a little tussle with some rich asshole?"

"It's not about that," the backs of your knees bump into your computer chair, "it's about you learning to listen."

What words reside in Rhett's throat are left to die because your fingers tangle in the hair resting at the nape of his neck and tug.

And he crumbles.

Mouth ajar, eyes glazing over with something softer as you guide him down, knees hitting the floor with such a loud thump that you're certain they'll be bruised in the morning. He almost beats his hat, knocked clean off his head by your hand, landing with its brim flat on the floor. Under normal circumstances, he'd fuss about it not being brim up.

Not once does he look away from you. Wordless.

The chair squeaks as you settle into it. Seems everything is doing that today. "I can't take you anywhere without you acting like a feral brat," letting go of his hair, "now, can you be decent for me and get these clothes off? Hm?"

There's the obedience you were seeking. Those pretty hands are nothing but a blur as they fiddle with his belt buckle, opening it so quickly that the gaudy attachment falls off entirely. Between his determination to get those tight jeans off and fumbling with his shirt buttons, he doesn't notice you reaching overhead to take hold of that little red heart.

A crop you so lovingly purchased this past Valentine's day. Leaving perfect, heart-shaped marks in its wake.

Rhett hates it.

With his clothes shoved to the side for the future variants of yourselves to pick up later, he returns to you. Cheek pressed against the inside of your left knee, peering up at you from under those thick lashes.

The longer you look at his hat on the floor, the more it bugs you. "Pick it up," motioning toward it with the crop.

His hand leaves his side.

"Without your hands." Freezing. Blinking once. Twice.

Again, he reaches for it. Smooth leather comes down on his ass, and he jumps. No words are shared; he knows why it happened, and based on how you're running the crop against the curve of his ass, he knows you'll do it again if provoked.

For a moment, you think he's going to fight you on it further. Give you a run for your money, as he has so, so many times before. But then you catch on to that shaky breath that shudders out of him.

He folds.

Using his hands only to brace himself against the floor, he bends down and gingerly picks it up with his teeth. A heart-shaped mark stands proudly on his ass. He's unable to meet your eye as he sits back up, the edge of his favorite cowboy hat dangling from between pink lips. Oh, oh, those ears. The tips of them are turning cherry red.

Holding it by the crown, you take it from him, lifting it and placing it right atop your head.

On his own accord, he smushes his cheek against your knee, and you know exactly what he's trying to ask for. It's the only clue you need to understand why he's falling into this so easily. You have something he wants.

"Aw," cooing, you take him by the jaw, guiding his head up, "is my pretty boy wanting to eat me out?"

Rhett's breath hitches. Nod.

Gripping his jaw tighter, you lean down, "use your words."

"I," the proximity gives him no escape from your fiery gaze; no matter how hard he tries, he can't avoid it. "I wanna eat you out."

"You'll have to ask nicer than that," you can't help but smile as you say it; you were setting him up for this one.

Rhett's proper squirming now; the only thing that keeps him from pulling out of your grasp is the soft tap of the crop. "Ma'am, " he breathes, shaky, "can I please eat you out?

Silence. In fact, you pull away. Only because the position is somewhat uncomfortable for your back, but Rhett doesn't interpret it that way.

He panics. "Please, ma'am," his voice wavering as he begs oh so sweetly, "please let me eat your pussy."

Cute, but you're not quite convinced that he deserves to have what he wants so easily. He didn't listen earlier, so why should you fulfill his little pleas? But he's so damn pliant before you that you almost give, just as easily as those lips do when you press your thumb against them. Opening up, wet tongue greeting it like a goddamn welcome mat.

"No." God, he deflates like a balloon, his disappointment visible in the poorly concealed frown that flickers across his face. You might as well have just popped his favorite balloon and kicked him out while you were at it.

Fine.

"You have to convince me first," you follow up with some pressure on his tongue, pinning it down, "without your words."

There's that hopeful crinkle in his eyes; it's only been gone for a couple of seconds, thirty at most, but it feels like you've gone a lifetime without seeing it. Your thumb glistens as you take it from him, and you almost expect him to get to work the moment you do, but he stays still.

Waiting.

Hm. You wonder if he'll remember those old commands from this past summer when the two of you got your first crop. You think you spent a week doing nothing but play with it.

The crop lightly taps at the small of his back, nothing more than a gentle poke of the leather, once, twice, thrice. His eyebrows furrow.

Slowly, as if unsure about this, he leans forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the inside of your right knee. So he does remember.

One kiss, then another, chaste at first. The rough stubble on his cheek tickles, such a strange sensation to feel between your legs, but any chafing is easily kissed away by those thin lips, tongue soothing over each one.

Gradually making his way up, up, up, until he's pushing back your lounge shorts with his nose, insistent to suck at the skin hidden by the material. You can already feel the marks he's leaving behind, rapidly darkening spots that shimmer with his handiwork, carefully left behind in the areas your shorts can conceal.

"That's enough for that leg," you murmur, tangling your hand in his hair. Your request falls on deaf ears; Rhett doesn't so much as open his eyes, too busy showering your inner thigh with his attention.

A resounding smack rings through the room, followed by a surprised, breathy moan as he switches to your neglected thigh. Poor thing has two hearts on his ass now.

Maybe it's because the skin hasn't had any attention yet, but his tongue feels like lava against you, burning invisible holes everywhere he goes. Kissing, licking, up from your knee until his tongue is scraping against the edge of your panties. Bringing the crop back up, you tap his lower back once. No reaction. Did two taps mean to stop? You can't quite remember.

It must have been two because that's what brings him to a screeching halt, eyes darting upward, lips red and swollen from his efforts.

There was a question you were burning to ask, but you can't stop yourself from leaning down to kiss those pretty lips. You haven't done anything to him yet, and he's already whining against you. Only serves to make the kiss wetter, mouth never quite closing. It's far too easy to reach down between his legs and take hold of him, pleased when he jumps into your grasp.

"Are you going to be a good boy for me?" You ask against his lips, stealing another lingering peck.

Rhett's eyes flutter when you flick your wrist on that upward stroke, "yes, ma'am."

He's already dripping into your palm; each pass over that hard cock leaves him wetter and wetter. The angle is awkward, your shoulder aching with the strain of reaching all the way down, but it's hard to focus on when your thumb flicks over his weeping head. Body jolts with a strained whimper as you repeat it.

"Remind me again what you want?" You haven't forgotten, but it's so much fun to see him squirm.

Silence.

That mouth opens, but he doesn't quite form a word. Too shy to ask for it, despite having done so just a few minutes ago.

"No?" Letting go of his heavy cock, you go to stand, "alright, then."

"Please," breathy, desperate, like the words are being strangled out of him, "please, please let me—" hiccup, "please let me eat your pussy, please, just let me—" there's more he's trying to say, but as quickly as the flood gates opened, they close.

There it is.

Sitting back down, "alright, alright," you pinch his cheek, "don't start crying on me, now."

His hands obediently follow as you guide them up to the waistband of your shorts, slipping them past your hips and down your legs. You don't know where they wind up because the moment Rhett's got them off, he's nudging his nose between your legs. Breath hot against your sensitive core, but such a far cry from the burning tongue that opens you up. Broad, flat, like he's savoring every second of your taste.

"Someone's eager," your amusement is drowned out by the sweet, sweet sensation of him circling your clit.

Muscled arms wrap around your hips, anchoring you down, but you get the feeling it's more for him than you. Holding on to keep himself from floating away as he laps at your entrance, dipping inside just enough for you to feel yourself open up around that wet muscle. Nose poking at your clit, the slightest stimulation that has you squirming in the chair. Wetness drips down between your legs, and it's not coming from you.

"Fuck, baby," pulling on his hair to feel him groan into you, "look at you, you're fucking drooling."

Your words are acknowledged by a breathy little grunt, meeting your eye while he rises to work your sensitive clit. Flitting his pointed tongue against where you're most sensitive, those dark blues flutter shut, so obnoxiously content, while you're left to gasp for air that fails to soothe your burning lungs.

The edge of his hat bumps into the chair, falling forward into your face. You're glad Rhett's eyes are closed because you're certain he'd laugh as you inevitably take it off. The damn thing is too big.

His eagerness alone is enough to have that invisible coil tightening, spurred on by the sloppy suction on your clit, loud, bouncing off the walls and down the halls. So, so eager to please you that you feel dizzy. You don't think he's even considered the concept of stopping, even to catch his breath.

"Rhett." He knows what you mean by that. Frowning, he bats those eyes up at you, looking like a goddamn kicked puppy.

When he doesn't show signs of stopping, you have to take matters into your own hands, pulling him back by his hair. Fuck, his chin is absolutely dripping. Quiet, upset little sounds leave him, the fruit of his efforts to hold himself back from fighting you on this.

"Please?"

You're going to faint.

You genuinely think you're going to faint.

"Get up on the bed," wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, "and maybe I'll let you."

Good lord, you'll have to wipe the chair down later. There's a wet spot the size of Texas on it. Rhett merely sits on the edge of the bed, unsure of where you're sending him and in what position. A part of you expects him to tilt his head to the side like a confused puppy dog.

"On your back," and he just about falls backward. The bastard makes sure his head winds up on his pillow, though. You can't even be mad; he wrecked his neck falling off that bull tonight.

Eager hands welcome you as a leg swings over his hips, your cunt resting against his neglected cock. It's too easy to plant your hands on his chest for leverage and grind against him, feeling how he spreads you open.

"Oh," Rhett's meek gasp doesn't go unheard, "oh, that's—"

"Do you like that?" You chirp, feigning innocence as you work up a little rhythm, rubbing back and forth against him.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps, gripping your hips, "I...I do."

The soft underside of his head drags so nicely on your clit, so perfect that it's as if he were made to fit against you like this. On any other day, you'd spend more time here, but you're still trying to make a point here.

It takes some maneuvering, but soon you're hovering right above Rhett's eager mouth, already open and waiting for permission to taste you again. A downright addict, both of his hands resting loosely on your hips, rubbing loose circles into them.

"Touch yourself for me," you order, combing your fingers through his messy hair.

His dominant hand, the left one, falls from your body. There's no need to look over and see when he takes hold of himself; those fluttering eyelashes tell you everything you need to know.

You're a touch hesitant to come down completely, sort of hovering as you sit on his pretty, waiting face. But Rhett notices, and in the strangest turn of events, he takes your hips in both hands and pulls you all the way down onto him.

"You ain't gon' break me, ma'am," words spoken right into your dripping cunt, "I promise."

And then it's right back to work, licking, slurping happily at your pussy, working himself in the same tune. It's hard to decide where to look, the upward turn of those closed eyes or the reflection in the wide mirror that stands next to the bed. There's nothing quite like watching Rhett's hips rise into his own masterful touch, so obscenely needy.

That free hand of his curls around your thigh, using it for leverage as he works up into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue. For every upward stroke along his length, it rises, licking as far as he can reach. All the while, that soft nose of his intentionally grinds into your clit in loose circles that have you squirming.

"Quit touching yourself," your command is breathy; what power it held is lost to whatever magic Rhett's tongue possesses.

Two blue eyes squint up at you; that huff against your labia is anything but happy, but he lets go of himself, hard length slapping against his lower belly. Leaking, a deep shade of ruby red that cannot be comfortable to deal with.

Combing your fingers through his hair, "good boy." In a fraction of a second, that frustration melts; always so happy to hear those two little words. Laving his tongue against your clit with no real indication of what he's going to do next, he hums into you.

Reaching behind yourself, you take hold of that heavy cock of his, feeling how he jumps from the simple touch. It's difficult to properly stroke him in this position, but his hips rise on their own accord, fucking himself into your loose grasp. So sensitive that he whimpers around that little button, barely able to pacify his sweet sounds. Each one rattles up your spine, only serving to make you wind tighter and tighter.

And unfortunately, you have no intentions to cum on his face today.

There's an ache in your hips as you pull away, enough to distract you from the pitiful noise that rattles out of those swollen lips, unsure of what you're doing but unhappy that he's had to stop again. Wordless, you take him by the wrist, and together, you wrap your hands around his pretty, weeping cock.

"Ma'am?" That big hand of his is so loose around yours, at a loss for what to do.

"It's okay," rolling your palm over that dripping head to see him jump. Not one bit of him seems to believe you, but he follows along; your hand practically disappearing beneath his. It's at times like these that it's hard to tell if his cock is big or if your hand is just small.

You don't remember seeing those eyes shut, but they spring open when you let go of his cock in favor of gently toying with his balls. Breath catching in his throat as you lightly roll them around in your loose hand; they've always been sensitive, but they're even more so post-rodeo.

"Feels—" sharp inhale when your thumb unintentionally twitches against them, "feels good."

Tentatively, when you don't quit playing with them, he reaches up to stroke himself, hips bucking up into the touch. Gripping the sheets with the other hand, that pretty mouth falls open, caught up in the sensation. God, you think you could listen to those breathy grunts all day.

Then you're moving, reaching into the bedside table in search of that nearly-empty bottle of lube, tossing it in his general direction when you find it. He knows what to do with it; you're still traumatized from the last time you used it. When the cap popped off, and a brand-new bottle was spilled all over the kitchen floor.

"Thank—" he can't speak, too engrossed in how he's toying with the crown of his dick to formulate a proper sentence.

Poor thing has no idea that you've got other ideas for how this will end. Fighting to conceal the devilish smile on your face, you watch as he works himself. Gradually becoming more frantic the closer he gets because, after all, you've never told him to...

"Stop." That frustrated wail is music to your ears.

Rhett could fight you on this. Three or four more strokes and he'd be painting that soft belly with pearly white ropes, whimpering to high heaven as his orgasm rocked through him. But he doesn't; has to completely let go of himself in order to stop. Pawing at the sheets, squirming, desperate for a relief that never comes.

"Ma'am," tears prick at the corners of his eyes, "Ma'am, please."

"You know," you hum as you lay down next to him, the mattress like heaven beneath you, "you wouldn't be in this situation if you would have listened to me."

And your cowboy just doesn't seem to know what expression to make. Flickering between disappointment, shame, and something you can't name, something that makes his lower lip wobble and his eyes dart to the bruises that litter his rib cage. Scatterings of red and purple, hand delivered by the hands of a Tillerson. "I'm sorry."

Parting your legs, you beckon him closer, "get between my legs, sweet boy."

You can't help but grin when you catch glimpse of the fading heart on his ass, almost wishing he'd defied you further. A dozen of them would have looked so nice on that pale skin. The head of his cock bumps against your hickey-ridden thighs as he settles between your legs, smoothing his shaky hands up your knees.

Reaching between your legs, you guide his wet, lubed cock to nudge at your dripping entrance, still wet with his saliva.

Three taps.

He gets the message, and you find yourself gently being split open, stretching to take him in. Inch by inch, fluttering as his head grazes the neglected bundle of nerves inside, and that alone is enough to have him collapsing onto his forearms, nose nuzzling your cheek. Something's bumping against the top of your head.

Oh.

"Thank you," lifting your head for him to slide the pillow beneath your head.

Easing in further, Rhett peppers your cheek with kisses. Tiny, dainty little pecks that distract from the never-ending length that seems to reach for your lungs. Stringing you thin, clenching, and unclenching around him. Finally, fucking finally, you're met with the pleasant relief of his balls settling against your ass, hips coming flush with yours.

"Fuck, Ma'am," as your nails rake up his soft, muscled back, he shudders from head to toe. Sensitive. So, so sensitive. "Fuck, you feel good around me."

There's a lock of hair that's escaped from behind his ear, hanging in his face until you tuck it back into place, "you can move."

With a shaky breath, he withdraws. Halfway would be an overstatement, a shadow of his usual test stroke, bottoming back out in your dripping pussy with a needy groan. This lack of power is so different; incapable of anything but fucking into you in short, slow strokes that never let you feel empty.

"You're squeezin' 'round me so tight," the squelch of your wetness sounds so goddamn filthy in this quiet bedroom. Only egged on by the way he rubs against that soft spot within you, this position allowing him to shower it with attention, ripping the noises right out of your throat.

Reaching down, your fingertips find your clit, so sensitive yourself that you clamp down around him with a whine. "Rhett."

You only spur him on, dropping his head down into the pillow, and his hips start to move quicker. Thick cock pumping in and out of you, giving your quivering pussy no chance to keep up with those jerky motions. Every inward pump has you gasping for breath that you just can't seem to capture, struggling to keep your fingers on your drenched sex.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he murmurs directly into your ear, "thank you for letting me fuck your tight little pussy."

Rhett's nose is pressing into your lower jaw, keening into your neck with every move he makes. In and out, dragging so perfectly against the nerves in your walls that you see stars sparkling behind your eyelids. Those thrusts are getting twitchy, quicker, beating against that little spot, and God, fuck, you can feel yourself getting close.

Fluttering around him, you work yourself a little faster, selfishly seeking that ledge you've seen twice tonight. Clamping down tighter, thighs squeezing his trembling hips as those soft noises are punched right out of your throat.

"Rhett, Rhett," your eyes can barely open, that familiar wetness growing as his cock head kisses those nerves, pressing harder on your clit now. You're gonna cum; you're gonna cum, you're—

"Baby, don't you dare cum in me."

That confused little gasp is all you need. One little secondary twitch against those nerves, and you're cumming on his cock. Head floating right off your shoulders, lost in the strained cry above your head as it washes over you. Muscles tightening, fluttering like a hundred tiny butterflies.

The clouds that wrap around you are practically vibrating, so warm that you feel like you've crawled under a dozen blankets. Your ears are ringing.

And that cloud is...raining?

Eyes snapping open. Rhett's not above you anymore. No, he's completely pulled out of you; you're pretty sure that's his cock bumping against your leg. His face is buried in your belly, arms wrapped around you, quivering like a leaf in the wind. Like if he lets go of you, he'll be blown away.

"Rhett?"

Reaching down, you take hold of his scruffy jaw, guiding him up to look at you. Tears well in those ocean blues, dripping down his cheeks, but nowhere near the tidal wave he's so desperately holding back. Bottom lip quivering with the effort of it.

You think you've gotten your point across a little too well.

"Come here," patting the empty space on the pillow for him to fill, "let me take care of you, sweet boy."

Rhett's nose nuzzles into the side of your cheek, laying on his side, shoulders tucked beneath your non-dominant arm. While your other reaches over, taking hold of that wet, purpling length.

"Please," he whimpers, "please...please let me..."

"You can cum," leaning your sweaty forehead against him, your hand starts to work. Stroking up and down, twisting when you pass over his crown in the same fashion he'd been working himself previously.

With him so close, you're privy to each and every weakened noise, breathy gasps, and pitchy whimpers dripping from his lips like honey. So, so noisy as he twitches in your hand. Doesn't need much attention to get him close again, hips writhing as you quicken.

"'m gonna," hiccup, "baby 'm gonna...!"

"Come on, sweet boy," you coo, "cum for me."

His lips fall open, but not a noise can escape him. Strangled into complete, utter silence as he cums in your hand, painting it and your belly as his orgasm finally, finally washes over him. He's so close that you can't see his face change, but fuck, do his eyes roll back behind those fluttering lids.

That oversensitive twitch is what slows your hand, coaxing him through those little shock waves that shake his entire body. With a soft sound, his softening cock thumps against your belly.

He's not quite there.

Well, he is, but he's so blissfully out of it that his bones might as well be made of jelly. That cum drunk smile glistens on his sweaty face, dopey, a little bigger than normal.

"Such a good boy for me," you murmur into his temple, reaching up to rub those sore, bruised ribs of his. No, rubbing them isn't enough.

Rolling him onto his back, you lean down to press kisses on them. Each bruise deserving of a peck, whether it be dark purple or the faintest red, feather-light, so as to not hurt him. Rhett cards his nails against your scalp, humming contentedly.

"What're ya doin'?" Voice deep, rumbly, like he's just woken up. "You kissin' me better?"

"Of course," in between kisses.

Calloused fingers tap the back of your head. Once. Twice.

Stop.

"Y'don't gotta do that," he yawns, guiding you up so he can steal a kiss.

Huffing, you steal one for yourself. "Ever heard of aftercare, moron?"

"Kisses on lips are better than kisses on ribs," in his head, he probably thinks he sounds like a goddamn poet. "Can we take one of those bubble baths?"

Yeah. Yeah, a bubble bath sounds nice right now.

It's exactly a week later when you walk into the exact same situation. Rhett's fresh off his last bull of the night, still panting, nose to nose with Trevor Tillerson. You don't know what Trevor's saying, but it's got Rhett's jaw clenched so tight you fear his teeth will crack.

His eyes land on your frame. Dart back to Trevor.

He smiles and walks away.

"I'm listenin'," he grumbles, taking you by the hand, "but in my head, I've unhinged his jaw."

They say you can't train a cowboy, but you think you've found a pretty damn good method.

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #ao3 oneshot #oneshot #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert #fem reader

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ao3feed-jonmartin · 17 days ago

Text

to heal is to admit you are wrong

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/yATXl23 by rossaryoftherose After Jon and the rest of the surviving Archival crew save the world, Elias somehow gets resurrected from death along will all the other avatars. Now, Elias has to learn to live in a world without the Eye giving him power and blocking his human emotions. Oh, he’s also living in Peter Lukas’ house. Peter Lukas, the new Head of the Magnus Institute, who now isn’t evil, makes small talk and… actually has friends? What is going on??! Words: 3678, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King Additional Tags: redemption arc, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus Being an Asshole, OOC Elias Bouchard, Ooc Peter Lukas, Elias gets humbled, and then redeemed, Elias Bouchard is depressed, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, technically, havent decided yet whether Sasha and Tim should still be alive, Head of the Magnus Institute Peter Lukas, Overuse of italics, Fix-It, Fix-it fic, Eventual Smut read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/yATXl23

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

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half-dead-writer · 22 days ago

Note

gordon goose x gn/masc reader where the reader is tired of seeing gordon mopping about his current situation and they decide to give him a makeover, like they give him a suit, brush his hair and shave him up but they kind of… get turned on, so yeah

I actually wanted to write something moping-Goose related so it's a great idea! I kind of made it more comic-Gideon but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Typical Roommate Stuff

When Gideon Graves showed up under your door, you knew your life would change. Whether for the better or for worse, you gotta judge that yourself. But maybe, having an anime-obsessed, overconfident and ambitious man at your house isn't that bad?

character: Gideon Graves / Gordon Goose (Scott Pilgrim Takes Off) words: ~9,5k reader: AMAB warnings: Gideon's weird behavior, light feminization (of the reader), kind of love-hate relationship, Gideon being, well, Gideon, overstimulation

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Your week had been busy as hell. If someone told you the Gideon Graves would wash up in your neighborhood and live under your roof for the next unforeseeable amount of days, you'd probably tell them they're crazy. Yet, here you were, seeing a sad shell of a man, moping around on your couch.

Of course, seeing his pathetic state when he showed under your door left you no choice but to bring him inside, not wanting the pouring rain to torment him any longer. Not too long ago you've been in a similar situation, caught during a wild rainstorm while waiting for your bus home - it was horrible, and you wouldn't wish it upon anyone that haven't wronged you. Gideon, who you now knew as Gordon, had a reputation of being a big asshole, which you couldn't really disagree with. Although you haven't seen him before he landed here, you could easily imagine how being a CEO got to his head. He hasn't shown you his "quirky personality" when first crossing the border of your house, but as soon as you showed your weakness kindness, he made sure to overuse it.

His original plan was to visit a long-time friend from his highschool years, but it quickly backfired after he realized she wasn't home. But instead of his old classmate, you showed up. Your objective was to quickly grab something missing from your kitchen in the nearby store, already equipped with an umbrella, ready to head out. Your house was next to hers, so it wasn't hard to notice a ball of patheticness curled up on Julie's porch. At first you thought it was just some random hobo picking a place to hide from the rain, but as your eyes focused, you noticed the man looked... quite familiar. And then, you made eye-contact. You couldn't just leave him like that, especially now that he acknowledged you.

Scooting over to him, you noticed his brows furrowing in an unsure squint. He was probably assured you're gonna chase him away, and he wouldn't blame you. Who would want some random man on their neighbor's porch, right? But to his surprise, instead of a rude send off, you hesitantly asked if he's alright.

And that's when Gordon became your roommate.

He was not supposed to stay at yours for so long, but his depressed state left you feeling kind of bad. Until it became annoying. You knew he had lost everything and was valid for feeling defeated, but you simply did not have the money to pay for two people living in the house. Especially when Gordon's use of TV was draining almost all of your money. He would just lay on the couch, watch anime, not shower and eat everything from your kitchen. Being depressed is one thing, but not doing anything to at least help around the house for a person who helped you for free, out of the kindness of their heart, was another.

You told him to clean after himself, clean himself, and find a job. He mulled over your request, promising to get better. But somehow, his words didn't sound sincere. And as you predicted, they weren't. He did what you asked - for 1,5 days. Then he started to whine, saying how it all doesn't matter anymore, how given up he is, and how the cruel world turned on him. All of the stuff you heard the first time he arrived here.

You were not really a confrontational person in general, but enough was enough. You gently yet firmly explained your reasoning. You simply did not have the funds to keep it up. Nor you wanted to. Well, maybe. But on your own terms. While being just slightly embarrassed to admit it, you did think G-Man was hot, from what you've seen of him before he became a leech at your house. But his behavior made it harder for you to even consider dating him. If only he wasn't such a pain in the ass...

Gordon, while prepared to hit you with another wave of complaining, did actually considered your words. You sounded serious this time, and it was probably just a matter of time until you acted on your words. He let out a prolonged, tired sigh, fixing the glasses on his face while avoiding your firm stare.

"...Fine." He crossed his arms in defeat, sinking into the couch. "I'll get a job."

Even though you wanted to believe his words, being "tricked" by him once before, you had to make sure he would fulfill his promise. While being G-man's babysitter was not ideal, you had to do something.

"Alright," you said, confidently putting your hands on your hips, determined to proceed with your plan, "we're starting tomorrow."

Gordon did not respond, only cocking his brow in hesitant curiosity.

. . .

Going past Gordon sleeping on the couch, you came home from your quick shopping trip. Since he obviously had no money, you had to buy him something suitable to wear. Going to a job interview in his stinky NO FEAR wifebeater wouldn't make a good impression, so you decided to buy him a suit. It wasn't as expensive as the ones he owned previously, but it still looked fancy. Putting it somewhere else for now, you returned to your living room.

Gordon was laying on his back, with one arm draped over his head, another hanging off the couch. His hair was mangled and all over his face, his chin had some stubble, and you were pretty sure drool was leaking out of the corner of his lips. It was... a sight. You made a mental note to remember that image in your mind for later. You probably wouldn't be able to see it again after he finally gets a job and moves out. ...Soon.

You cleared your throat before calling his name. No reaction. You tried speaking louder. Only a soft grunt came out of his lips, still not awake. You would not strain your voice by shouting, so you started poking his shoulder repeatedly. That woke him up.

He quickly lifted his arm off his head, jolting awake. He stared at you, processing the current situation, before wiping the saliva off his chin with a quick brush of his hand.

"What...?" He slowly laid back on the couch once he assessed what's happening, letting out a tired sigh.

"Get up. It's time for your glow up." You explained, looking at him expectantly.

Another groan got out of his lips. "...Eh, can I at least eat breakfast first?"

"... It's noon."

. . .

You occupied your time by mercifully cleaning his trash while he was busy eating his "breakfast". It would all end soon, the repeating words in your head kept you calm enough to not get pissed off for having to do it in the first place. In reality, you'd probably miss having him around, no matter how infuriating he was. You two had some good times together, mostly watching anime. You gave his serie a try - it was mid at best, but Gordon seemed entertained. And his reactions were just too cute to ignore. He seemed to instantly light up whenever you made a positive comment about it, even though he tried to brush it off as quickly as he became aware of doing it. He could not seem not-depressed, otherwise you'd throw him out, right?

Positively surprised at Gordon washing his plate after eating, you came up to him with your already established plan.

"Alright, since you're done, wanna start on your makeover?" You asked lightheartedly, not wanting to appear as threatening as yesterday. You thought this approach would work better than just pushing him to do it forcibly. Giving him some sense of... choice.

He just sighed, too given up to argue. "...Yeah."

"Don't worry, I'll help you." You offered, gaining an unsure raise of his eyebrow. "But first, you gotta bathe. You stink."

He groaned in dismay, slumping his arms like a teen who had just been asked to do their homework.

"...Unless you need help with that too?" You deadpanned, mostly joking. His focused expression had you thinking he probably didn't take it as such, which made you feel a bit embarrassed. He knitted his brows, thinking over your proposition for a bit too long for your liking.

Gaining a surge of arrogant confidence, he shrugged. "You can come wash my hair, if you wanna."

He didn't have time to look at your dumbfounded expression as he lazily walked past you, heading to the bathroom. Did he just- fuck with you??

"Wait-" You said unexpectedly, making him turn on his heel to face you. He had a smirk on his face. You felt yours getting hotter, acknowledging how your sudden remark must have sounded. "I gotta give you a clean shirt beforehand. You're not wearing your tanktop again, I gotta wash it."

He seemed almost disappointed but didn't show it much, patiently waiting for you to bring him some fresh clothes. You returned after grabbing some of the clothes from your room that could fit him. He lazily took them off your hands, disappearing past the bathroom doors.

The next few minutes passing were excruciating. Were you actually supposed to just, go there...? Wouldn't it be weird as hell? I mean, he would be naked. Yes, that's what people do before getting into the bathtub. But did he really mean it? Wouldn't you just seem like a fool by mindlessly following his teasing request? Probably. But... He'd be out of your hair soon, right? Then, you could both forget the potential cringe outcome of your decision. Not like many people would see the G-man in his most vulnerable position, or at least that's how you tried to rationalize it. But... were you really that chill with seeing his dick? You would rather not dwell on the answer. You didn't wanna embarrass yourself any further. ... Soap! You remembered you had a very bubbly soap, which would probably cover anything below the water. Check that off the list of the potential worries.

Two more minutes passed, and you had to make a choice, or else he would come out before you had a chance to make up your mind. You didn't know what pushed you to proceed with the stupid decision, but your knuckles soon met the wooden doors.

"It's open," he exclaimed in almost sing-song voice. God, what were you even doing?

Not daring to look at the focal point in the room, your eyes didn't meet his until you properly closed the door behind you, approaching closer like a cat scared of a cucumber. Thankfully, he was covered by the bubbles. He looked at you with a cheshire cat grin, obviously pleased and probably amused with your actions, leaning his arms on the bathtub's top.

"And here I thought you'd never come," he teased, squinting his eyes in amusement. How was this man so cocky while being naked in front of a stranger?

"I don't know why I came in the first place," you muttered out of embarrassment, but then quickly corrected yourself. "...I mean. I was supposed to help you."

His smirk became even more apparent, sloshing the water around by lazily adjusting his position. "And I really appreciate that."

You cleared your throat to chase away the leftover lump residing there. "So, did you... wash yourself, and all...?" Trying not to look at his exposed chest was much harder than you realized.

"Yep. Squeaky clean." He sized you up with his stare, making you feel even more on edge. "So, you gonna do your thing now?"

Ignoring the rising, uncomfortable feeling growing in you, you walked behind him, grabbing the showerhead. You weren't really sure if the feeling was of stress or... something else. It just felt too intimate.

"Close your eyes," you prefaced, shifting into a get-the-task-done mode to spare yourself the torture of looking too much into the situation. Gordon did as you requested, feeling the water drip down his hair. You were mindful not to get the shampoo in his eyes as you gently applied it. Gordon fully enjoyed the treatment, letting out a content sigh. It wasn't subtle though - as if he wanted you to know how much he liked your fingers playing with his hair. It felt ...weird.

The next few minutes were spent in a complete silence, filled only by the faint sounds of the water splashing due to his brief movements. He seemed completely relaxed, engulfed in the moment. If you weren't so stressed during the entire ordeal, you'd think he looked pretty nice like this. It could be a nice, domestic moment between you two, if only it didn't feel illegal.

Soon enough, the washing part of his head was done, leaving you to spray his hair with water, getting out the leftover soap. Briefly glancing at your work, he looked like a wet cat. ...Cute?

He opened up his eyes once he heard the showerhead clank into it's original place, looking over his shoulder. You went to grab the towel, careful not to be too rough while drying his hair. He patiently waited for you to be over.

"Five stars treatment, I see?" He shot you another one of his cocky remarks, making you roll your eyes, half serious.

"Yeah, you better appreciate it." You quipped back. "Now get dressed." You said, nonchalantly leaving the bathroom, just to think over the entire situation a few more times in your head.

Gideon lazily got out of the bathtub, using another one of his towels to get himself dry. He didn't hurry - he wasn't really looking forward to your next activities. Well, unless they were as fun as this one. He had a good time teasing you, even to the point of feeling pretty energized. Even though you'd probably deny it, he knew he had to have some effect on you. I mean, why else would you keep this loser of a man in his house? He knew he was hot, and he was gonna use it.

Examining your clothes, he thought... they weren't really his style. But, they'd have to do. Not like he had a choice in the matter. Slowly extending his hand to grab them, he stopped in the middle of the action. Glancing over the closed doors one more time, he lifted the shirt up to his nose. Not like you'd ever know he did that. It smelled of you. Not even embarrassed with his actions, he took another quick sniff, before putting it on himself. It wasn't his fault you smelled so good?

Gordon emerging from the bathroom startled you only a bit, distracting you from the repetitive train of thought. Your eyes traced his new look, with your clothes on him. You didn't know how much you'd appreciate the sight.

He put his glasses back on his face. "So, what now?" He asked casually while still making sure he didn't sound too invested. You had to know he wasn't looking forward to it.

Briefly squinting your eyes, you thought of your next move. "You need to get rid of the stubble."

"I need a razor for that."

"Well- back to the bathroom then," you said, gesturing him to follow after you into the now steamy and hot room. Gideon did as you said, entering the place he left from not too long ago. Grabbing your handy razor from the cabinet, you turned to him. "Can you shave by yourself, or do you need help with that too?" You raised your brow in a halfly amused expression.

"Hm..." He put on a dramatically thoughtful expression, "can I trust you won't cut me by accident?"

"...Um." You actually stopped for a moment. Well- You couldn't assure him of that, so you came clear, forcing him to manage his expectations. "No, actually, I can't promise you that." Just a bit guilty grin sneaked into your face.

He exhaled, disappointed, "fine, I'll do it by myself." He yanked the razor out of your hand, lazily approaching the sink to splash some water onto his face. Not wanting to just awkwardly stand there, you decided to remove yourself from the situation, heading back to return to the couch. Before you could properly exit, Gordon's voice stopped you.

"Shaving cream? Something??"

"Oh, right - on the top shelf of the cabinet," you instructed, glad of not forgetting to buy it last time you went shopping. You didn't use a lot of it, so Gordon had almost a full bottle. ...You guessed it wouldn't be as full next time you used it. Hearing the hum of acknowledgment, you were finally free to sit back on the couch. You used the free time to grab a comb from your room, prepared for your next task once Gordon was done with his shaving.

A few minutes later, Gordon greeted you with his presence once again. No stubble this time. Scanning over his face with your eyes, you noticed he really did start to look better. Fresh clothes, fresh face, almost fully dried hair. It looked so fluffy. You felt the urge to touch it.

"Can you sit on the floor?" Gideon gave you a confused glare, tilting his head just slightly. You quickly enlightened him, "It's gonna be comfier for me that way. I'm gonna brush your hair. You can watch TV in the meantime."

He seemed to accept your explanation, sliding down to sit cross legged with his back turned to you. You hunched over to entangle the comb into his hair, pulling his jet black hair on it's teeth. Your other hand secured the small strands of hair so the action wouldn't bring him any pain. You were right. His hair was soft.

Gordon watched the mind-numbing TV show, not daring to question your choice of getting so invested in his makeover. I mean, why didn't you just tell him to do those things himself? He was in no position to complain though, enjoying every bit of your merciful attention.

Even though all of his previous partners were devoted to him, he rarely got pampered. He was the one dolling up his possessions, he was the provider. Of course, he treated himself to all the joys money could give him as well, but rarely did his girlfriends brush his hair, for example. And you weren't even his? ...Not yet, at least.

He could get used to this. Completely relaxed, he dreaded the moment it would end. He would have to move out, and then, what? He'd have to look for another person to take care of him like that. And it's so hard to find someone like that. Of course, he could just go to a hairdresser, pay her to pamper him, but where's the fun in that?

With you occupied, he took the time to actually think over his plan for the future. ...You would be in there, for sure.

Although your movements were slow, sooner or later, the session had to end eventually. His hair was fully dry now, presenting itself in it's best form.

You retreated your hands, "I'm done."

He combed the fingers thru his hair, feeling pretty good. He almost forgot how good it felt to be all clean and well-maintained due to his brief depression episode. Well, glad you did it for him.

"Mhm. Anything else on your 'list'?" He asked, glancing over at you.

You put a thoughtful finger on your chin, thinking whether there was anything else you'd miss. You decided there wasn't.

"Well, no... But I have something for you."

His eyes lit with curiosity, "Hm? And what would that be?"

You scooted over to your room, bringing him the nicely looking suit, draped over the hanger. He analyzed the item after getting it into his hands, "Oh. A suit."

"Yep. You gotta have one if you're gonna go on a job interview." You watched as his sight examined the new thing, skimming over it with his eyes a few times. He seemed pleased. "Do you like it?"

"It's not bad," he responded very nonchalant, but you could tell he was happy.

"Wanna put it on?"

He cocked his eyebrow while glancing your way, but didn't care to come up with any more remarks. "Sure." He briefly looked over to the bathroom, wondering whether he had to head the cursed room once more to change.

"You can just quickly dress in here," you said, not like seeing him in his boxers would be anything outrageous, given you already seen him pretty much naked. He wasted no time, swiftly getting out of his pants. You did the polite thing and not stare as he got dressed. Once the pants were on, the top was quick to follow. He had lots of experience with buttoning up, wearing lots of suits in his glory days, so it went relatively quickly. Glamorously, he turned over to you to present himself in his new, fancy outfit.

Your eyes thoroughly wandered over his new look. He looked... Hot. Very hot, actually. It seems he noticed you staring, as another smirk was plastered on his face.

"Like what you see?" He taunted, his voice rasp and seductive. You felt your cheeks involuntarily heat up. Shit. Your lecherous stare was quickly averted, feeling as if you got caught doing something bad. He did notice that, too.

"You just look better than you do on the regular," you explained, trying to regain a bit of your pride back.

"Oh, is that right?" He approached closer to you, and you'd be inclined to step back, if not for the weird effect he had on you. You stood your ground, and soon enough, Gordon was mere inches from your face. He almost challenged you to do something about it. You could feel his warm breath against your skin with how close he got to your personal space.

"Well, you can look at me all you want," he teased, the sultry look not leaving his expression for a moment. "But, is that the only thing you wanna do?"

That left you speechless. How dares he- The sudden silence and appall radiating off of you was a good enough for him indicator that he got you wrapped around his finger. His smirk only widened, and the staring game began.

"Well, darling?" His use of a pet name only fueled your embarrassment further. "We both know you wouldn't come to see me in the bathtub if you didn't want it."

"Wha-" Your words hitched slightly, you were too caught off guard to process what you were gonna say next, "I came there because you asked me to!"

"No, honey, I said you could come, if you want to." His expression softened into amusement. "And, seems like you did. So, my point stands."

Silence from your side, again.

It took you another few seconds to gather your thoughts and game-plan. Well- Not like there was any point in trying to save your pride anymore. Trying to convince him otherwise would be pointless, he already made up his mind. And... granted you an opportunity...?

Trying to keep your voice at a normal volume, you finally gave up on trying to save face. "Well... So what?"

A very proud snicker escaped his lips, "so why not do what you actually wanna do?" His arm snaked over to your waist, pulling you ever closer, your bodies touched.

You were totally not in your comfort zone, but you couldn't deny, you were into this. Hesitantly, your hand slowly wandered over his chest, as a way to silently show him your approval.

"...Good decision." He grinned, wasting no time and swiftly placing his soft lips onto yours, fitting together a puzzle. Kissing him felt ecstatic - he was definitely a good kisser, probably the best one you seen so far. You didn't know whether that spoke more about him or you. As expected, his tongue invaded your mouth pretty soon. You meekly tried to reciprocate the intense kiss, giving him even more signals that he would be the one leading this tango of tongues. You didn't mind, you were just there for the ride.

His hands started to trace over your body with even less grace, hungrily grabbing what he now established as his. The pace had you feeling goosebumps, this guy was straight to the point. Too focused on his hands trailing down your lower back, trying to figure out whether he'd be bold enough to grab your ass, you almost didn't process his lips leaving yours, instead moving onto your neck.

A quite unmanly sound left your mouth as Gordon sucked a sensitive spot on your skin, slowly turning it red. Damn you, Goose, above the collar? How are you gonna cover that? Not like he cared in the slightest, though, quite the opposite - he liked marking his things. It was almost as if he wanted it to be very visible to people who had the chance to look at you, to see that you were already taken. It was too late to ask him to stop, and it's not like you didn't enjoy it. You were just afraid to see yourself in the mirror later.

His chest felt pretty good under your fingers, even if it was obstructed by the suit's fabric. Gordon didn't mind the attention, still assaulting your jaw, neck and throat with the continuous kisses. His teeth began to lightly scrap over your skin, teasing you in just the right places. His tongue brushed over the new marks, satisfied with the effect he had on you, that he was able to do that so fast.

He eventually pulled away, leaving you slightly breathless and flushed. Gideon took his time admiring your pathetic state before speaking in a low, sultry tone.

"Am I going too fast for you, sweetie?" He asked, pretending to be concerned. You'd think it'd be caring of him if not for the hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You wish," you replied with a weak chuckle, trying to downplay the effect he was having on you.

He raised his eyebrow amused, the smirk returning to his face. "Oh really?" Gordon leaned a bit closer, "I'd think your breathing tells a different story."

He had a point, you clearly weren't hiding your excitement very well, but there were no way you were gonna admit that. One of his hands snaked it's way to your hip, making your breath hitch as it slid under the fabric of your shirt, while the other did what you anticipated for a while: grabbing a good portion of your ass, forcing another squeak to escape. You'd feel as if things were going too fast if not for the constant excitement he filled you with.

A smug grin appeared on his face once he felt how much you shivered from the bare touch of his cold fingers against your hot skin. This bastard clearly enjoyed having this kind of control over you. But at the same time, you couldn't help but feel aroused by the attention. He was probably the first person to rile you up so quickly. He wasn't even doing much, and yet, you were already putty in his fingers. A cheeky smirk spread across his face and you knew it wasn't a good sign.

Before you could react, he pushed you back until you hit a wall, pinning you between his body and the cold surface behind you, caging you entirely with his form. His sharp, sly eyes scanned your face, obviously loving your helplessness. Not giving you a chance to respond, he slotted his knee right between your legs, teasing your slowly making itself known arousal.

"Nf-" Your weak voice cutting through the silence got him even more determined to hear other sounds you could make for him.

A small huff left his lips at the sound of your moan, a mocking laugh following right after. You wanted to punch that smugness right off his face, but you were currently too busy dealing with another problem. You hated when he was like this, acting like a total prick. And yet, at the same time, your body seemed to betray you, reacting to it positively. You were quickly losing the fight against his advances, too lost in the pleasure he gave you. It was so tempting to just give up and just ravish him, but you still fought to keep your composure. Why were you holding back? Because you didn't want him to have the satisfaction of confirming that he did indeed have you wrapped around his finger.

Gordon leaned closer until his face was right next to yours, his knee still grazing against the sensitive spot between your legs in an excruciatingly slow pace. Your hips chased the pleasant feeling, lightly rubbing against him.

"You poor, poor thing." He taunted you, the desire was clearly present in your look, fueling his cockiness even more. "I bet you just can't wait for more."

Any possible response you could tell him would only incriminate you further, so you decided it would be best to keep your mouth shut for the moment, instead replying with a soft groan.

His unoccupied hand gently reached to hold your cheek. "What's wrong, princess? Cat's got your tongue?" He asked, his voice annoyingly smooth and velvety. The name irritated your pride just a bit, causing your brows to furrow together, even though his teasing grew on you a little.

He chuckled at your expression. "Oh, don't make that face sweetheart, you know you like it." He stated confidently, knowing how flustered the pet name was making you, despite your efforts to hide it.

His hand left the warmth of your face, going lower now. Giving his knee a rest, his palm took the job of granting you pleasure, rubbing the fabric of your pants, uncomfortably stretched by now. You bit your lip when his fingers brushed against your erection, you felt far too needy to keep up your unfazed expression.

"Stop teasing," you warned, even though it sounded more like a plea.

The corners of his mouth went up as you gave up trying to act as if you were in control. He was probably enjoying himself to the fullest, you couldn't deny that at this point it was pretty clear who was driving this ship.

"'Stop teasing' or what, doll?" He repeated, his tone dripping in mockery and arrogance. "Are you gonna do something about it?"

Gordon's hand was still making friction, not letting your body ease up. His touch alone made it harder to think.

"I- I will…!" You tried to threaten unconvincingly, still trying to maintain the little bit of dignity you had left. His response in the form of an amused chuckle made your blood boil. "Shut up," you muttered through gritted teeth, annoyed at how much his attitude was getting under your skin.

Gordon took notice, his hand moving even slower now, as if to spite you. "I don't think I like your tone." He stated with a displeased hum, stopping all of his movements.

You couldn't hide the displeased expression. Finally deciding it was time to do something, your surge of confidence was immediately halted. You didn't expect his hand to slip under the waistband of your pants, grabbing you in an unexpected hold, making you gasp in surprise. He leaned down closer to your face once again.

"You should watch that mouth of yours." Gordon warned, his voice now slightly cold and serious. He had fun messing with you, but at the end of the day, he was the one in control, at least in this situation. Even though the house he was living in belonged to you, your whole body now urged for his attention. He had to remind you of that.

His thumb was now gliding over the tip, his pace slow but steady. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sudden assault. His touch felt hot against your skin, so you instinctively moved your pelvis against the grip. The small movement didn't go unnoticed by the other man. With his other hand, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. "Is that clear?"

You hated how commanding he sounded and how it was affecting you. Gordon could be a real dick at the most inappropriate times, but it somehow was still working for him. You tried to glare, pissed off that he was dominating you like this, but the look came out way less resentful than you intended, and he knew it.

"I hate you." You mumbled. You heard a snort in response.

"Well, I don't think your body would agree with that." He teased, the hand inside your pants giving another stroke that sent the shivers down your spine. You groaned from the feeling, your head leaning softly against the wall. You hated it, you hated that he was so damn sure of himself when he did that.

He chuckled when he saw the conflicted expression between anger and pleasure on your face. He loved to see you struggle to keep your act up while he was clearly the one in control.

"You look so handsome like this." He mused. "And the best part is, you're all mine." He whispered, the last word making your heart beat faster. Why was he so sure of himself? Since when??

"Am I?" You inquired breathlessly, cocking your brow at his bold statement.

"Yes." He said, still radiating confidence, "if you want me to continue, that is."

"And if I don't?" You countered with a snarky note in your voice, trying to regain the power you felt you lost.

Irritation invaded his features, leaving as quickly as it appeared, instead being replaced with nonchalance. The challenge in your voice clearly getting on his nerves. His hands disappeared out of your pants, and you halfly regretted your words.

You bit down on your lip, feeling slightly annoyed with yourself. You wanted to provoke a reaction out of him, and that's exactly what you got, but at the price of being left hanging.

"You know," Gordon said, his tone now seemingly less invested, "I suppose I've had enough of you for today anyway." He began to pull away.

"Have fun taking care of that yourself." He gestured towards your hard on, now painfully obvious.

"Thanks for the suit, though." He gripped it's fabric, as if to admire it again. "I guess I'll go looking for that job now."

You couldn't stop the frustrated forcing itself out of you. No way he was serious, he couldn't-

"Wait, no, please-" You blurted out, cursing yourself at how whiny you sounded. But he couldn't just stop after turning you on like that.

Gordon's face looked quite pleased with your response, he knew you'd have a hard time dealing with that by yourself. He stepped closer again, leaning towards you.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Your face burned with humiliation from having to be the one to cave in. You were the one in charge! He was the freeloader here, he shouldn't be pulling this kind of bullshit on you. You knew you had to swallow down your pride for this if you wanted to get what you craved, though.

"Don't leave." You choked out through the lump in your throat. "I'm sorry for being a smartass, okay? Just- ...please touch me."

Pushing out the words felt like having to vomit, especially when his smug expression was pulling at your nerves.

His smirk grew wider after your plea, completely satisfied from the position he reduced you to. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You decided it would be best to ignore his remark. Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire, you hated having to play his game. You shook your head, throwing away last bits of your pride.

"Good boy."

His voice was low, and the praise went right to your crotch. You were about to die from how embarrassed you felt, but you couldn't deny how his word affected you. It was worth it, you convinced yourself.

He chuckled, seeing how easily you reacted to his praise. He thought you looked cute like that, even though you tried to portray yourself in a more dominant light. It was endearing.

Clearing your throat, you finally spoke about more important matters. "Better take off that suit."

He tilted his head with an amused smile, were you commanding him?

"I don't wanna wash it if it gets dirty." You muttered, noticing how his expression softened once he got your way of thinking.

"Ah, of course." He complied, slowly undoing his buttons. The satisfaction was still present on his face as he watched your gaze follow his fingers, patiently waiting. He didn't even have to ask if you liked the view, seeing as your apparent boner spoke more words than you.

Finally, the fabric opened, giving you a good view of the pale skin underneath. After he finished taking the top part of his suit off his shoulders, he put it on the nearby chair. Your eyes couldn't help but admire his torso as he unbuttoned his pants too. He paused, noticing your lingering gaze.

"Not even gonna take off your shirt?" He asked, staring at your wholly dressed figure, his voice teasing and impatient.

"There's nothing stopping you," You shot back, starting to get impatient. He raised a brow at your reaction, a smug grin invited itself on his face again.

"Are you implying I should do it myself?" He inquired, interested in your request.

"Maybe I am." You quipped back, a hint of challenge in your tone. If he wanted to be in control so much, why not do everything for you?

Gordon chuckled while taking a few steps in your direction, closing the distance between you. The look on his face now resembled a cat that got a mouse in it's clutch. He put his hands on your sides, gripping the hem of your shirt. The smirk didn't leave his face as he leisurely slid the fabric up, over your head, pulling it off in one swift motion. You instinctively raised your arms, letting him undress you. When he finished pulling the shirt off, he tossed it next to the rest of the clothing, his gaze then falling on your naked torso. He had to admit, he liked what he saw.

"You know, you look better like that," He said, his eyes shamelessly roaming all over your bare chest. The comment wasn't expected, but you couldn't deny the shiver that went through your body after his praise. You really were a sucker for his words, it was embarrassing.

While you were trying to get your emotions in check, the man continued his exploration of your body, his palms touching and caressing it shamelessly. Your stare fixated on his hands slowly wandered lower, only now noticing the excitement present on his body. His underwear let you see it quite clearly now. You swallowed as you watched the obvious hard-on, you were so caught up in the view that when his fingers pulled down your pants, taking the boxers with them, you got a little startled. The cockiness was back on his face, amused at how distracted you were.

"Here we go, doesn't that feel better?" He said, glancing down at your obvious arousal. You couldn't deny you got bit self conscious as the feeling of cold air hit your skin. Gordon didn't seem to share the same opinion, quickly ridding himself of the underwear as well. He was quite proud of his physique.

And here you were. Standing naked. With the former owner of 2 record labels, a movie studio and 14 animal shelters. How did things manage to move so fast in so little time? You couldn't help feeling a bit overwhelmed, but you were also excited and nervous. The whole situation was surreal to you.

"Lie down." He instructed, not giving you time to think as he pulled you towards the couch. You fell once your legs hit the edge after he pushed you. You were glad for cleaning it beforehand, otherwise you'd probably have bits of Doritos stuck to you by now. On instinct, you leaned up on your elbows as your back hit the surface, but Gordon quickly pushed you down again, pinning you to the couch as he climbed on top of you.

"You stay there, doll." He said, as if sensing your urge to push back.

He put his hands on your chest, caressing your skin and running his fingers over it. He didn't wait any longer, starting to plant kisses over your neck and collar bones, tracing over the previously given marks.

The warmth of his member brushed against yours, sending a wave of electricity and impatience. You were both already aching for some sort of release, but Gordon had to take his precious time with you. Getting to see you at your limit was his main goal, overshadowing any other need.

"...Gordon," you finally uttered the sweet word he wanted to hear from the beginning. It was laced with desperation, urging for things to happen faster. You just couldn't take it anymore.

He knew exactly what you were begging him for, and he was going to deny you that for a little while longer. You felt his lips linger on your skin, sucking and nipping over the sensitive flesh, only silently looking at you with smug satisfaction.

"Please," you found yourself whining, "come on, just..." The rest of your sentence became incoherent as he moved his attention to your nipples, giving them the same treatment.

It was already driving you crazy when he suddenly paused, moving away from your chest to look at you again. Your eyes connected, as you were left panting impatiently. He couldn't help but grin, seeing what a mess he made you become.

"You need something, sweetheart?" He asked in a playful tone, he knew what you wanted. He just wanted to hear you say it.

"I need you to fuck me," you finally admitted, too annoyed at the excruciatingly slow pace he took. Your heart hammered inside your ribcage, eager for him to finally get on with it.

You had no idea how much it would affect him.

"Oh, I know." He deadpanned, his voice huskier now.

He leaned forwards, putting more of his weight against your body. His hips brushed against yours, making you let out a shaky breath.

"But do you think you deserve that after being a smartass?" he inquired, lolling his head to the side.

You bit down on your lip, a pang of frustration overtaking you. He was really going to make you go back to begging after you already embarrassed yourself the first time. You weren't sure if you could survive going through that again.

"I think I deserve that for letting you live here for free," you barked, honestly tired of his mind games. Your words seemed to be just what Gordon wanted to hear, soaking in the way he could get you pissed off. He let out a scoff, his eyebrows raised in amusement. He liked hearing your frustration, enjoying the attitude and confidence you showed.

"Please, just-" your words were shakier than you'd like "I can't- I need you, okay? Jesus, please, I-" You paused, closing your eyes for a second. His gaze was too intense.

He watched how your words became an incoherent mess as you continued speaking, taking in the image of you begging for him. The whole act of you being the one to give in drove him crazy. He hummed a few seconds to himself, seemingly considering whether you've shown enough vulnerability for him to finally give you what you wanted.

"Fine," He said with a sigh, finally taking some pity on you, as if your request was something annoying. " I'll give you what you need. Since you asked so nicely."

You were so desperate at this point, and he drank up the sight of you completely at his mercy, your body quivering under his weight. He really had you right where he wanted, he was going to make sure you would never forget this moment. Gordon leaned forward again, his body pushing down against yours. His head dipped down to your face.

"But first, say you belong to me." He sharpened his stare, focusing all of his attention on you.

"What?" You looked at him dumbfounded, not expecting that.

"I said, say... that you're mine. C'mon, Y/N. Don't make me wait." His tone was impatient, but in a dominant way. Somehow, him calling you by your name made an even bigger impression on you than his stupid pet names.

You blinked a few times, your brain starting to function again after the pause. "I... I'm... yours." The words sounded weird saying out loud, but you were ready to utter anything if it allowed you to finally be touched again.

The corner of his lips curled up into a satisfied smile, hearing the affirmation. You were finally starting to show the submission he wanted.

"There we go," he murmured. While he was busy cherishing the effect he had on you, a thought crossed his mind."Say it again."

"You know, this is getting pretty annoying." You finally spoke your thoughts, flashing him your unamused stare. It really was starting to get annoying. "You're gonna kill my boner."

You knew he probably got off to his ego trip, but really?

He snickered, amused at your response, grabbing both of your cheeks with one hand and squeezing your face degradingly. "Aw, is my buddy is getting annoyed? What a shame."

"I'll- I'll let you stay here for much longer if you finally get to the fucking point," he had left you with no other options. You had to use your last card.

At that, his eyes flashed with interest. Was this really the thing he was after this whole time? You almost felt heartbroken.

There was a long moment of silence, but you weren't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

"Interesting," he finally spoke, looking intrigued and satisfied. You were almost scared for what he was going to say.

"Are you offering to be mine? Completely?" His voice sounded smooth and collected, but there was an undertone of excitement to it.

Oh. Alright...? Was this his way of... asking you out??

"...Completely, as in...?" You asked, unsure if you got it right.

He chuckled amusedly, seeing you hesitate. "As in you'll only be mine. Nobody else's. That means no other people, no dates, no secret meetings, no nothing," His hand let go of your cheek, instead grabbing a lock of your hair and playing with it.

"...Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

He sighed, almost annoyed at your simple way of thinking. But to make things simpler, he gave in.

"I prefer the term 'mine'. Because that's exactly what you're going to be. Mine."

Of course, being treated like a disposable object wasn't really your taste, so you had to take a moment to think it over. The offer sounded risky to you. He was a self-absorbed, manipulative and obsessive man, you knew that pretty well by now. Not to mention he had some of the most ridiculous requirements you've ever heard of, while basically being a homeless man living in your house for the moment. He just- appalled you. How does a man like him even exist?

The silence stretched on, Gordon patiently studied your expression. He could tell you were hesitant, which was a natural reaction after he basically demanded you to be his plaything. At least that's what you thought he had in mind, judging by the way he said it.

"And... what do I get in return?" You questioned, looking him in the eye. The man seemed to be expecting that question. A smug look appeared on his face, as if he had already prepared a response for that.

"Well, you get me."

The answer was short and not very convincing, but Gordon was pretty confident that you would agree no matter what he said anyway.

You couldn't stop the light laugh escaping out of you. "I'm sorry, but- you're gonna have to lower your expectations."

A flicker of anger showed on his face, displeased by the sound of your mocking laughter. He wasn't expecting you to so blatantly reject him. He was so certain you'd say yes as soon as the offer left his mouth.

"What is it that you want, then?" He was irritated but still collected enough to ask that question. He couldn't let you have the upper hand now when he was so close to getting you. How could you not want him? It's true he didn't have much at the moment, but he would get it all back! And in the meantime, you should appreciate him as he is.

"I'll soon get revenge on Matthew, I will get my empire back-" He went on, until you cut him off.

"Respect, sweetheart." You put it simply, copying his way of using pet names. You were too smart to get used like that, and Gordon had to get it through his thick skull.

He suddenly snorted in disbelief, almost finding it laughable that those were your only demands.

"...Respect?" He had to make sure he was hearing you right. "And- that's all?"

He didn't believe you'd be so easily satisfied with just that, there must have been a lot more you wanted. But perhaps he miscalculated.

"I mean... I guess?" You said, thinking over any possible repercussions of your decision. "It's plain and simple. Don't be a dick. Well, at least cool it down a little."

He squinted his eyes, taking in the words he just heard. That's... That's all? You patiently waited out his momentary silence. Gordon had to pick his words carefully if he wanted to have you, and so his teasing was put on hold.

"Of course I will respect you," he tried his best to come off as sincere, but you saw through his fakeness right away. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't?"

Raising your brow in an expression that properly conveyed your emotions, you spoke. "You better start with fucking me properly then." You were still on the fence about actually giving him a honest chance, but at this point, you couldn't care. You just wanted to get off. You'd give this relationship more thought later.

As if a switch was flipped, Gordon's movements became softer, more calculated. This was his time to convince you, and he had to use it well. He spit on his fingers like a gentleman, lowering his hand to your entrance, tracing over it teasingly before inserting one digit with precision. You groaned softly, adjusting to the feeling. His finger pushed further, then retreated, repeating the action in a slow rhythm.

You appreciated the gentleness, but the change seemed too drastic. I mean, you were not a total vanilla, and you kinda dug how Gordon took the lead - when he wasn't being a total dick.

"...You can still lead with your pace, just-" You choked on your words - Gordon immediately picked up the speed, soon adding a second finger, searching for your prostate. He found it quite quickly, making sure to abuse it. Moans kept falling out of you, and you thought you were gonna come embarrassingly quick. The precum kept leaking, and Gordon seemed pleased at your reactions.

"G-ordon-" You squealed meekly, your desperate voice sounding like a sweet melody to his ears.

"Go on. Come for me," he purred, keeping up with the steady pace. The strings of white soon dirtied your stomach, he didn't even have to touch you.

He slipped his fingers out, giving you a moment to regain his breathing. In the meantime, he applied additional lube to himself and then aligned his hips with yours.

"W-Wait-" You weakly protested, still feeling overstimulated from your recent climax, but Gordon was too quick, already pushing deep inside you.

Your squeak was muffled by the rapid slaps against your skin. Thankfully he stretched you enough so it didn't feel as painful, but there was still some lingering uncomfortableness that slowly subsided with each thrust. He pinned your wrists above your head, locking eyes with you. Your flustered and sweaty face was like a beautiful painting, he could look at it forever. He didn't have the time to adjust the glasses that fell lower on his nose, not stopping the rough movements of his pelvis.

Each shove sent jolts of pleasure, hitting the exact spot to make you whine. You threw your legs around his back instinctively, giving even more control to him. Even though the situation was overwhelming, it felt heavenly. He surely had lots of experience and it showed.

"You look cute like that," he huffed out, a tired grin remaining on his face, "under me."

"I'll treat you well," he continued, "as soon as I get back what's rightfully mine-"

He freed one of his hands to slither down onto your dick, ripe with overstimulation already. He started jerking it, though it was hard to do conveniently with the pace he established. Your breath stuck in your throat, feeling like you're gonna explode any moment.

"You're gonna beg for me," he groaned, "I'll f-fucking show you-"

Soon enough, his thrusts became uneven and deeper, he was almost near his peak, and so were you. Keeping in mind his task of swaying you over, he was polite enough to ask with a strained voice, "you want me to mark you?"

You managed to speak through your halfly broken whimpers, "y-yes, inside, please-" You felt too good to say anything else, too sucked into the pleasure.

Gordon did as you asked, bottoming out in you. Your release came as soon as you felt the pleasant warmth fill your insides. Gordon took a moment to calm down his labored breathing, ignoring the sweat uncomfortably running down his cheek. He pulled out, leaving the cum to drip out of you. You didn't have the strength to get pissed about ruining your couch, untangling your legs out of his waist.

A few minutes of silence had passed until you both composed yourselves. Gordon tiredly flopped on the couch after you bent your legs so he could have space to sit on, finally getting a moment to readjust the glasses on his face. You stared at the ceiling, just reminiscing about the moments that happened a few seconds ago.

You had to take a bath.

Lazily getting off the couch, you looked at Gordon. "I know you just did not too long ago, but do you wanna take a bath?"

He turned your way, positively surprised at your offer. You just fucked, not like it would be anything shocking.

"Coming," he said calmly, securing his glasses on the table.

Following you, you arrived at the bathroom. You ran the warm water and got into the bathtub, waiting for Gordon to join you. He did, opening up his legs so you both could fit. Even though your relationship with him got pretty messy in it's details, it felt pretty nice. Post clarity, probably.

You still had your doubts regarding Gordon's honesty about treating you right, but you couldn't deny, the fuck was very good. You could keep him around, even if just for this purpose. Any issues stemming out of this decision would be a problem for your futureself.

"Want me to wash your hair?" He suggested, tone sweet like honey.

"Uh, yeah." You turned your back to him, hearing the pop of your shampoo opening. He poured some water on your hair and soon his fingers massaged your scalp with the applied hair product.

It was pretty relaxing. His movements were gentle and caring, so you had troubles not letting your guard down. You closed your eyes, letting yourself just enjoy the moment. After he finished getting the liquid out of your hair, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. You leaned on his chest, appreciating the closeness.

"So, are you finally convinced I'm good enough for you?" He asked, putting his chin on your shoulder.

You hummed in thought lazily, "...Yea, I guess. I mean," you hesitated a bit but ultimately decided it wouldn't hurt your ego too much to spill out your honest thoughts. "I was already considering dating you."

"Oh?" He cocked his brow with interest, "Did you now?"

"Yeah. When you aren't a total asshole and a slob. You also look cute invested in that anime you watch."

He tried to brush it off, but you faintly heard the surprised sound escaping his throat. He then chuckled. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"Cute isn't what I'd describe myself personally, but fine," he exhaled amused.

"...You still gotta find a job, though." You stated, feeling the need to say it. "I don't have the strength to work for two people."

His chuckle unexpectedly turned more devious. "Well..."

"What if I said that while it seemed like I wasn't doing anything, I was actually thinking of an elaborate plan, one that would get my empire back?"

You found yourself intently listening to his words.

"...Together, we will be unstoppable."

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