loverontheleft

[loverontheleft]

[loverontheleft]

[loverontheleft]

See Me (revised)

Sub!(ish)B x reader (I know; I’m surprised too)

2.5k words

Warnings: dirty talk and language

-||-

You’re leaning against a wall backstage, hands clasped in front of you and legs crossed, waiting for him to come off stage. Your black sheath dress curves over your body, hugs your chest, and skims your thighs; you’re entirely overdressed, but you’ve got a plan, and the access a dress provides is essential. The sound of Brendon’s footsteps brings your focus back to the moment.

He appears, and he falters as his eyes drink you in. You meet his appreciative gaze with one of your own. He’s exhausted and shirtless, with a sheen to his skin that’s a combination of sweat and sheer exhilaration. His hair, tousled out of its earlier styled form, falls damp against his forehead, and his face is flushed but his eyes are bright as he looks at you.

“Damn, Urie,” you drawl, grinning when he laughs and runs a hand through his already-messy hair. “You put on one hell of a show,” you tell him, letting him hook an arm around your waist and pull you close for a soft kiss.

His warm lips on yours: the feeling is the same as sliding into freshly washed sheets or stepping into a hot shower after a day out in rainy, cold weather. Comforting. Soothing. Familiar. Amazing every time. His fingers trace the material of your dress over your hip and you smile against his mouth, running your hands over his bare shoulders. His skin is hot from the stage lights, and if this were any other night, you’d cling to him and beg him to carry you back to his dressing room and cover you in his warmth.

“I like this,” Brendon murmurs, voice rough and eyes dark. “You should let me take you back to my dressing room and show you just how much I like it.” You smile to yourself; you love that you two know each other so well. His thumb is drawing hearts on your hip, and you press a kiss to his jaw, letting him tangle your fingers together. “Gonna let me, pretty girl?”

“Mmmm, maybe,” you tease, hip-checking him playfully as you stroll hand in hand to the dressing room. “I’m pretty sleepy…” you tell him, grinning when he whines; it’s a soft, disappointed sound that melts your heart. He hip-checks you back before pulling you firmly to him and leading you down the hallway to the dressing room. He pushes the door open and follows you in, turning to close it behind you and locking it. “Are you allowed to do that?” You arch an eyebrow. “Zack won’t shit a brick over not being able to get in and lay eyes on you?”

“Please do not talk about Zack right now,” Brendon says with a short laugh, kissing you softly. “I’m focused on you.” You grin and pull him closer, moaning quietly into his mouth when his hands clutch at your hips. “Yeah, honey, love when you moan for me. Goddamn, you look so fucking pretty. My pretty girl…” Brendon whispers to you, moving his lips down your neck and holding you close.

“You think I look pretty, B?” You murmur back, tugging his hair. He nods, trailing a hand down your thigh and flexing his fingers. “Then,” you pause, pulling back and meeting his eyes with a playful smirk. “You should see me in a crown.”

You don’t even care if he’s missing the blatant Billie Eilish reference—you’re more interested in how he’ll react to you taking charge. You love when he’s dominant, but you’ve both been experimenting with you taking the lead lately, and it’s been thrilling. Now, alone in his dressing room, you want to see how far you can go.

“Yeah?” He grins. “You are my Princess, so I suppose it’s only appropriate. But while you in a crown is a very appealing image…I don’t have an extra one.”

“Who said anything about an extra one?” You tease, freeing yourself from his hands to pluck the crown he received during ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ from the top of the wardrobe case. “I’m gonna take this.” You set it on top of your head with a smug smile.

“And what am I supposed to wear?” Brendon pouts good-naturedly, adjusting the crown so it sits at an angle. “Though you do look damn good in it…” he tells you, running a finger down your cheek tenderly.

“I’m sure you’ve got a snapback around here somewhere,” you say with a smile, kissing him again. “Because I don’t think you’re getting this crown back for a while.” Your eyes fall on an abandoned baseball cap and, stretching out for it, you snag it by the strap and place it on his head. Brendon laughs and spanks you lightly, telling you that he’s gonna get that crown back one way or another eventually, grinning when you squeal and rock forward.

“Not even with a spanking,” you tell him, wiggling against him. “This is mine now, and tonight, I’m not your princess. I’m your queen.” He grins, letting his hand wander down the back of your thigh, lifting so your knee is up by his hip. The hemline of your dress rises and you give him a faux-scandalized look. “Bad boy,” you murmur, biting your lip. “Trying to get my dress up…”

“Mmmm, but my queen likes it when I’m bad,” he murmurs as he places warm, soft kisses down your neck. “Wha—oh,” he exclaims and then sighs contentedly as you push him down to his knees. “You want me to be really bad, don’t you, baby?” He smiles up at you and tugs at your dress. “Either the heels come off or you come down here; you’re too tall for me to play with you when you’re standing,” he tells you, looking up at you adoringly. “I’ll be as bad as you want me to be, but I need you closer.” Both hands on his shoulders, you drop to your knees and let him kiss you. Shifting carefully, you settle back so you’re seated with your knees pressed together in front of you. You scoot backward until your back is against the couch cushions, and Brendon grins, turning his hat around so the brim is in the back.

You whimper and bite your lip; that move drives you fucking wild, because you know he’s about to eat you out like his life depends upon it. And the way he talks about how badly he needs to taste you, it sometimes does. Brendon’s leaning forward to crawl towards you on his hands and knees; as he approaches, you lift a leg and press just the toe of your shoe against the strap on his forehead. He freezes and whines when he sees the seductive smile playing on your lips. When you finally speak after a long silence, your voice is firm, level, and controlled.

“Beg.”

“Wha—?” Brendon starts, but you silence him with a single raised eyebrow.

“Beg,” you repeat simply. There’s a beat of silence, and you press slightly harder, making him sigh your name longingly. “If you look closely, you’ll see I’m not wearing anything under this dress…” You grin when he inhales sharply. “You want it, B? You want my pussy?” Eyes on his, you move your foot from his forehead to rest on his shoulder, letting your legs spread to emphasize your point. He nods weakly, moving forward—you make a small scolding sound, bringing your other foot up to stop him in his tracks. “Then beg.”

“Babydoll,” Brendon groans, bracing himself on one hand so he can caress your calf draped over his shoulder. “Please—let me—” he cuts himself off, shuddering with want. “Please. I need—I gotta—you look—oh fuuuuck, I can see that your sweet cunt is so ready for me,” he groans, eyes wide and darting between your eyes and the delta of your thighs. “Just let me—fuck, honey—the taste; you know I love how you taste. Let me just—fuck, I need you on my face, Y/n, please—babydoll, let me—” he falls suddenly silent, eyes sliding shut as you allow his hand to creep higher, over your knee, his arm stretching now so his fingers graze your upper thigh. He turns his head slightly and your foot moves to press against his temple as his lips brush your calf. “Babydoll, you’re so—honey, I need to…oh my god, baby, fuck I want it, I want your pussy, I want you,” Brendon groans, sliding his hand to your inner thigh and grunting when he feels the slickness there. “So damn wet for me, my pretty baby, oh god—wanna lick you so badly, wanna eat your—honey, fuck—”

“Mmmmm,” you purr approvingly, letting your other foot dangle over his other shoulder now. With nothing to stop him, he looks at you eagerly, waiting for permission. “You’ve almost convinced me,” you tell him, stressing the ‘almost’ with relish. He groans again, knowing you’re gonna make him beg even more. “But I wanna hear more about how much you love it.” His eyes light up, and you smile at him affectionately. “Yeah, B. That’s what I want to hear.”

“Oh, babydoll,” he murmurs, crawling forward so that your knees fold over his shoulders and you can cross your ankles on his back. “You know your pussy drives me fucking wild—tasting you, licking you, suckling you, touching you, spreading you with my fingers to really tease you with my tongue, watching you gasp and writhe and moan and feeling your hands in my hair, tugging every time I make my baby feel good…” he pauses, shifting back to rest on his heels. You yelp and uncross your ankles so you’re not sent sprawling to the floor under him, and he apologizes quickly as you adjust, legs still over his shoulders but at a higher angle.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe, grinning at him. “Don’t let me distract you.”

“You, honey, are very distracting,” he says with a soft laugh. “But now that I’ve got you like this…” he eyes you appreciatively, your arms spread across the couch cushions as you recline back against them, your legs draped over his shoulders for him. “And I can do this…” his hands slide up your thighs, framing your hip bones before pivoting slightly to slide his thumbs down, brushing over your wet heat. “And I can do this…” he continues, turning his head to kiss your calf, sucking teasingly. “And this,” he murmurs against your skin, before dropping a hand down to support himself as he starts kissing lower and lower, mouth moving higher and higher up your leg. He’s leaning forward to lower himself down, tongue dragging over your inner thigh, eyes shut and face flushed with pleasure. Finally he looks up at you again. “I’m quite happy.”

“Yeah?” You grin, inhaling sharply as he nibbles at your inner thigh. “Quite happy? What would make you happier?”

He looks at you, dark eyes filled with want. “You know what would make me happier,” he tells you simply, adjusting the hat again with a sly smile. You grin and tell him to keep going. “Well,” he says thoughtfully. “I want to have you under me, gasping and moaning and shaking when I make you come from my tongue.” You smile and lift one hand from the couch cushion, indicating he should keep going.

“Be more specific, huh?” He smiles, kissing your inner thigh again. “I want to spread you out under me and kiss every inch of you. I want to tease your perfect cunt by kissing and licking and touching until you’re nice and slick for me…gonna trace you with the tip of my tongue just to watch you moan and tug on my hair because I know what you need to come. I want to slide my tongue up into your pretty pussy and taste my babydoll properly, keeping your legs spread wide so you can roll your hips up into my mouth…I want to wrap my arms around your thighs and eat you out til you’re the one begging me, promising me you’re ready…and I’ll know you’re ready when you’re wetter than you’ve ever been. That’s when I’m gonna lick and suck your pretty clit and finger your cunt like you love, two fingers deep in you curling and rubbing, til you come, squeezing my fingers, soaking my face, and moaning my name.” He’s breathing hard and you’re trembling; you can feel that your inner thighs are slick now.

“And if you can take it,” Brendon adds in a soft voice, licking his lips. “If you can take it, I want to get you up on my mouth riding my tongue, pulling my hair, and rubbing your gorgeous cunt all over my face til you come again. Want to feel your wet pussy all over my face; want my entire mouth and chin to be slick and shining with your juices, baby. Want to make my babydoll come like she deserves…”

“That sounds pretty good,” you manage, grinning. Brendon smiles up at you, both hands up under the hem of your skirt now, stroking your thighs and massaging lightly. “I want all of that.”

Carefully, you lift your legs from his shoulders and lower them to the ground, spread wide on either side of him. He moans when he sees how wet you already are, biting his lip and closing his eyes to take a few steadying breaths. “You want it, baby?” Your voice is soft and you shift slightly to stand up. “Get up here and unzip me so you can show me how much you want my pussy.” He clamors to his feet, hands finding the zipper and tugging eagerly so your sheath pools at your feet. The black lace bra makes him groan, and he looks at you for permission. “Take it off too,” you instruct, tracing circles on his shoulders. “Strip your babydoll. Get me naked for you.” With no hesitation, he unclasps the bra and you let it slide from your shoulders to join your dress on the floor.

“Now,” you purr, cupping his face affectionately, kissing him softly, and adjusting the hat so the strap across his forehead sits higher. “Lay me down and eat me out, Urie. Show me how your favorite food is pussy,” you instruct, giving him a sweet smile. “Make me believe it, and I’ll let you come.”

“My love,” Brendon murmurs, guiding you back to the couch so he can stretch you out on it. “You already know you won’t need to do a damn thing to make me come; I can come just from the feeling of your perfect cunt on my face.” He crawls on top of you and kisses you firmly. Your smile widens and you reach up to rest a hand on the top of his head, pushing him down. “Fucking love when you do this,” he groans, letting you guide him exactly where you want him.

“I know,” you say softly. “I also know I won’t need to do a damn thing, as you put it. But you’ll notice I said ‘let you come,’ not ‘make you come.’” You giggle when he looks up at you with wide eyes. “I know your perfect cock will be leaking and throbbing just from eating me out. I know you’ll be aching to get inside me and let go. Trust me, honey. I know you’ll be ready to come. You’re going to need to prove to me that I should let you come.”

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #brendon urie #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Fuck me he’s pretty

[loverontheleft]

[loverontheleft]

This was my birthday present and I loved it 🥵

Use My Body

5.6k Words

Warnings: Public sex

Author's Note: Hi all :) I'm posting this as a late birthday present for someone. But if it's bad then ChatGPT wrote the whole thing and not me.

“Brendon! I need your body!” You call from your home office.

“Coming, dear!” He shoots back. After about thirty seconds, he strolls in, looking sexy as always. He must have come from working out in the garage because he's shirtless, flushed, and a little sweaty. Not gross sweaty, just shiny and warm. “What do you need?”

You finish the sentence you're on and wrench your eyes away from your computer screen. You spin around in your chair to face him. “I need to see if a scene is possible. Can we block it together?”

His face lights up. “Hell yeah!” He gives you a hand and pulls you up out of your chair against his body.

You let him get one long kiss in before you let him down gently. “Don’t look so excited, baby. I’m on a deadline. Your pants have to stay on.” You sigh. You really wish he could fuck you right now.

Brendon pouts. “That’s no fun.”

You make a sympathetic noise. “There, there. You’ll survive. Now, uh, get on your knees and sit back on your heels,” you instruct, pointing to the bed.

Brendon scrambles onto the bed and assumes the correct position. It's purely luck that you work from the guest room and always have access to a bed for workshopping, but it's fucking brilliant and you don't know what you'd do without it. “Are you comfy? How are your knees?” you ask.

“Yeah, it feels fine.” He stretches back on his hands, arching his back. “I'm glad you force me to stay limber,” he laughs. “I'm in better shape than my twenties.”

You snatch your notepad off your desk, jotting that down. You toss your notepad onto the bed and straddle Brendon's lap, already questioning how realistic this position is. Your tits are almost right in his face for one, and you're not sure how much leeway either of you has for movement. “Hm. Do you think you could thrust into me like this?”

Brendon pushes up against your cunt through your jeans. You feel him throbbing. You’re caught by surprise, snapping you out of your concentration. You have to bite your lip to keep from snickering. He's too easy. “How are you already hard? I just climbed on top of you.”

He pecks your lips. “You know you get me absolutely raring to go, baby.” He winks. “but admittedly, you interrupted a proofreading session- I was already halfway there.”

You have to fight back a smile, but it creeps into your cheeks anyway. “So the new chapters I sent you are good?”

Brendon gives you a “no shit they're good” look. The man is going to give you an ego. “That scene right before Carter and her dude get engaged. That's based on our honeymoon, right?”

You’re thrilled he recognizes it. It's maybe your favorite sex scene you've written. You nod, swallowing hard. “Fuck. You were being a fucking tease all day in those black swim shorts that hugged your ass just right. And you kept checking me out in my bikini, and I could see your fucking cock swelling through them. But you made us wait until we're in bed together and sunkissed and couldn't keep our hands off each other.” Brendon nibbles your neck, briefly making your brain go totally fuzzy. “It was your first time without a condom, and not having that barrier between us felt so special.”

“I came so fast,” Brendon remembers fondly. “A couple minutes I think? Less than five definitely. You were pissed, baby. I think you contemplated divorce right then and there.”

You sigh in content. “Until I realized you fucking stayed hard. Which I swear is not possible, and if my editor read it in a draft, she'd say it's unrealistic and I need to fix it. But it happened, and your hot come was inside me while your cock was inside me, and you were moving your hips in perfect time with my heartbeat.” You grind on his erection absent-mindedly. “Any chance of you pulling that off again?”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, if I could, I would. Can you imagine the bragging rights?”

You roll your eyes. “Please don't brag about your cock.”

“You're the one writing about our sex life for thousands to read.” He smirks. “Speaking of, do I get a writing credit? Some of that dialogue sounded awfully familiar.”

“Not my fault that you represent the pinnacle of dirty talk, baby.”

“Yeah? You like it when I talk about how I can feel your pussy even through all this fabric, and it's driving me fucking crazy because I know you'd be hot and wet and pulsing around me right now?”

Fuck, you know where this is going, and it does not end with your manuscript being submitted on time. “Bren-” Your protestations are cut off by him bucking hard against you. He knows your body well, knows where to put pressure, so that your whole body lights up.

“You like hearing me talk about how as soon as I'm released from my husbandly duties, I'm going to jack off and look at pictures from our honeymoon and finish your fucking incredible sex scenes and come hard and loudly in our bed? And how I'm going to send you voice messages while I do it because I know that's the best way to cure your writer’s block?” His voice is low and husky. “But you know you won't need voice messages because you'll hear me across the house.” He slides his hands down your back to grab your ass, rocking you forward on his dick and then allowing you to slide back before he rocks you forward again. “You know the very thought of my girl’s fucking perfect pussy makes it impossible to stay quiet.”

You whimper. “Bren, baby, l have work to do.” He ignores you, increasing his tempo. He buries his face in your breasts, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. You're so glad you wore a low-cut top. “Fuck, fuck. Harder,” you plead.

He grabs your ass harder, practically slamming you forward. “Yeah, darling, I can thrust a little,” he pants, finally answering you. “But you'd have to bounce on my cock. You’d have to ride me like the perfect cockslut you are.”

God, he's a calculated bastard, waiting until you've found the perfect groove to fulfill what you called him in for. You throw your head back, giving him better access to your cleavage.

Brendon smiles before he slows to a stop. You continue to wiggle on him incessantly. “Baby, I gotta let you work. I'll stop being a tease.”

You disregard him, sliding along his length and moaning rhythmically. The seam of your pants presses against your clit perfectly.

“God, you're fuckin’ pretty,” Brendon marvels, squeezing your ass again. “But c’mon, I'm your biggest fan. I need more content. The way you incorporated the motif with the cigarettes? Fucking brilliant.”

You clench your teeth, arousal burning deep in your stomach.

“And the way you wrote their emotions was almost palpable. So good, honey.”

And you're coming. You’re nearly screaming as your body convulses in pleasure. “Bren, shit, coming,” you choke out. “Fuck! You're so good,” you shriek, rubbing hard and fast on him.

You slump forward bonelessly. Brendon eases you off his lap onto your back and lies down next to you. “Are you-” you inhale, struggling to catch your breath. “Are you going to apologize to me?” you demand.

Brendon rolls onto his side towards you, so you can see his face. He's smiling slightly in amusement. “For?”

The absolute nerve of this guy. The audacity. You want to fuck him so bad. “For disrupting my writing session!”

“Hmm, depends.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “Are you going to apologize to me?”

You furrow your brows. “What did I do?”

His eyes snap toward his crotch. “Forcing me to change my pants.”

The crease between your brows only deepens in further confusion. “Did you…?” you trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. You don't remember feeling or hearing him come.

He laughs softly, pressing his pelvis forward. You can clearly feel his erection. Brendon recovers quickly, but not this quickly. Not outside of your honeymoon that is. “Darlin', you came. Hard. And messily.”

You blush. “I didn't think it would have soaked through to your pants.”

He takes your wrist and guides it to the front of his pants to feel. The soaked fabric clings to his cock. You scramble for the button of his pants, struggling to get them open with one hand. Brendon pulls you away- gently but firmly.

You whine wordlessly, begging him with your eyes.

“You have to finish writing,” he says, his voice a warning.

His subtle slip into dominance just makes you want him more. “And you have to get off,” you argue. You slip out of his grasp, but he catches you before you can go back to groping him.

You exhale. “Fine. I'll behave myself. Thanks for your help.”

“Any time.” He winks before he climbs out of bed and kisses your forehead. “Do your job, baby. I'm very proud of you.”

You melt. “Aww thanks.”

He gets about halfway through the door before your orgasm-induced haze clears enough to remember the other reason you called him. “Wait- Brendon,” you stop him.

Brendon turns around quickly, leaning against the door frame and facing you. “What's up?”

“Are you coming to my book signing tomorrow?” You try to stay neutral in your question, but you're secretly begging the universe he says yes. He'll make the day so much more fun.

“Uhh, let me check.” He pulls out his phone to look at his calendar. “Well, I can, but I probably shouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I show up at too many, people are just going to go for a shot at meeting me. I don't want to take attention away from you,” he explains.

You scoff. His beautiful and talented and smart, but his ego is a little too much sometimes. “Honey, first of all, your fans are going to show up anyway. And second of all, is it to crazy to think that I might have a following of my own because of my best-selling erotic novels?” You're not offended, but you're slightly annoyed.

He raises his hands in surrender. “No, you're right, I was trying to be considerate and supportive, but I just made myself sound like an ass.”

“Well you are an ass,” you retort, but it's playful.

“You are what you eat?” Brendon offers unsure. He purses his lips and squints his eyes in consideration of his own joke.

You throw a pillow at him, laughing. “Whose ass are you eating? Because it's certainly not mine,” you say. “If I called you a pussy? Sure. A dick? Maybe. So many weed brownies that you can't move because the first one didn't kick in right away? Of course.”

He scoops the pillow up from the ground. “Point taken.”

“So you're coming to my signing?”

He blows you a kiss, pivoting to walk out of the room. “Of course. Anything from my gorgeous,” he lowers his voice, “bossy,” he raises it again, “perfect wife.”

“For that you’re driving!” you call after him.

“Bossy!” He retorts.

•••

You shut the book, and, to your relief, applause fills the packed library auditorium. Brendon shoots you a grin and thumbs up from the front row before clapping along with everyone else. He's wearing stereotypical “I'm a secret celebrity” attire: hoodie, sunglasses, hat. You're pretty sure he's just drawing more attention to himself, but you're so glad he's there regardless.

You feel your heart rate settle back to baseline now that the hard part is over. You were terribly nervous to read new material aloud for so many people, but it went extremely well in your opinion. The audience was on the edge of their seats- including the boyfriends who got dragged along against their will. You even noticed a few people who got so worked up they had to excuse themselves partway through. You'd call that a success.

The applause dies down after a few seconds, and you clap your hands together to transition to the next segment. “Okay! I think I have time for a few questions before the signing.” To your surprise, about twenty hands shoot into the air. Sweat beads on your temple, a combination of the stage lights, physical exertion, and nerves.

“I don't have time for everyone,” you say apologetically. “But I will try my best! You in the purple, you in the back, and then you with the hat.”

A young woman in a purple sweater stands up. “Um, I was just wondering if you write from experience?” Her voice shakes a little, and you feel for the girl.

Your eyes flit to Brendon, who’s grinning. You hope he “Well, I've never been kidnapped by the mafia, so no,” you joke, referencing your first and least favorite book. The audience laughs lightly with you. You got pressured into writing a mafia romance by your publisher at the time in exchange for an almost life-changing advance. You got your foot in the door, but you think mafia romances are horribly uninspired, unrealistic, and immature. You love your share of cliches, but you wish you hadn't agreed to sell your soul a little. Plus the royalties are abysmal.

The next person in your queue stands to speak, a larger woman in a floral dress. “Hey! I love your books.”

You smile warmly. “Thank you. I worked hard on them!”

“My question is where you find inspiration to write.”

Brendon mostly, you think to yourself. Sometimes you'll have such an incredible session with him that you have to put it to paper. But you can't very well say that. “Everywhere really,” you answer aloud. “Music, movies, other books. My favorite is people-watching at the beach. I've even had some dreams that heavily influenced my writing. And yes,” you make eye contact with the woman in purple, “real life experiences.” You know you're speaking fast, but you’re slightly rushing to get to more people. “Uh, let’s see, who’s next?”

Hat guy stands up, staring at his phone. You think he's an inconsiderate douche, but he redeems himself once he starts talking. He's clearly reading from the screen. “My girlfriend is in surgery, but she has asked me to tell you she's your biggest fan.” He talks with a bit of an accent, but you can't quite place it. He pauses to scrolls down. “And she would like to know how you write such realistic sex scenes.”

The crowd murmurs excitedly.

You find it fascinating that everyone is gathered to hear you read from an erotic novel, but the explicit mention of sex still feels rebellious and taboo. You don't look down at Brendon this time, but you feel him staring at you smugly. It's like all your fans conspired together to indirectly ask about your sex life with your husband. “Tell your girlfriend thank you, and I hope her surgery goes well,” you say to start. “I'm not sure if she's performing it or receiving it, but my best regards either way.”

You weren't quite making a joke, but everyone- hat guy included- laugh politely.

You walk across the stage. “Has she considered maybe you're just copying your moves from my books, and that's why my scenes are so evocative of her experience?” you ask cheekily.

The man doesn't get flustered. “Ah, you have figured out my secret.”

Another round of tittering and chattering rolls through the room.

You wait a beat for everyone to settle down. “Well, let's keep it between us then. Tell her that my sex scenes come from a lot of research,” you answer. “Most of it far less saucy than I'm sure you guys are imagining, unfortunately. Quite academic. But some is hands-on. Or mouth-on when needed.” You wink.

You’re glad when you get the signal to wrap it up because you fear you've already said too much. “Okay, that's my time, but I will be signing books in the lobby in just a few minutes.” You wave the audience away, smiling. “You guys have been lovely. Thank you for showing up.”

People file out of the auditorium, conversing with each other excitedly.

The auditorium has a door that connects to your small makeshift green room that you eagerly retreat to. You collapse on a folding chair and chug a bottle of water. Your job isn't physically taxing, but it's deceivingly exhausted to be on “on” mode for an extended period of time. It reminds you of your job as a cashier before you started writing full-time. The emotional labor was harder than the physical labor.

Brendon comes into the room after about five minutes. You assumed he waited until the auditorium was clear and no one would notice him slip in with you. “That was fucking great,” he exclaims. “Can I get you anything right now?”

You shake your head before putting it down on the plastic table. “I don't have this signing in me,” you whine. You're going to go out there and give it your all, but you need to bitch and moan a bit first. The cool pressure from the table feels great against your forehead. You can feel a nasty tension headache forming.

“A’ight, here's the plan,” Brendon says, leaning in conspiratorially. “We'll have Marge run across the street to the Party City and buy a wig. You and I will swap clothes, and I'll do the signing. No one will know the difference.”

You exhale weakly. “I think your stubble would give it away. And your lack of tits.”

“Oh shit. I'm sorry, baby.”

You strain to pull your head up, stretching gently. “Nah, I'll be okay. Any chance you can hand me an Advil from my bag and buy me something cold and caffeinated from the vending machine?”

Brendon dons his sunglasses and pulls his hood up. He looks like Damian from Mean Girls. “On it.” He check his watch. “Oh shit. Showtime in two. I'll hurry.”

You blow him a kiss.

•••

“Listen up, here are the rules,” your hired security guard barks at the line of guests snaking their way through the stacks “No cutting, no pushing, no holding up the line, or you will be removed from the premises and you may risk termination of your library privileges.” You and Brendon fight back laughter. This man means business. You appreciate it, but the situation is really not as serious as the ex-marine is making it out to be. “And Mr. Urie is not here to sign anything or take pictures with you, so do not ask.”

Brendon grins. “Pretend I'm not even here. I'm just keeping Y/N company,” he tells the line before burying his face back in your book.

You had to beg the director of library events to allow Brendon to sit next to you at the table. Nobody explicitly said it, but you could tell managing and protecting a “real” celebrity was a bit above everyone’s paygrade. Fortunately, a generous anonymous philanthropist donated a few thousand with explicit instructions to dedicate ninety percent to the youth music program, and the rest to the library special event budget. What a felicitous coincidence.

Once the housekeeping is in order, the first person in line scrambles up to you. She's a girl you'd definitely consider too young for your books- maybe sixteen. But you were sneaking LiveJournal smut on the family computer at sixteen, so you really can't judge. Her mom lingers awkwardly behind her, clearly trying to give the girl space without leaving her alone completely.

She fidgets anxiously. You have to hold your hands out to prompt her to hand you her book. She silently thrusts the hardcover novel into your hands, and the familiar weight of it is comforting. “Can I make it out to someone?” you ask patiently. You know you have a whole line of people waiting, but you try to make each interaction meaningful and intentional with each person. You learned that from Brendon. He told you that you won't remember meeting every fan, but every fan will remember meeting you. It's a lot of pressure to make a good impression with everyone, but it's satisfying too that you're touching so many lives.

“Oh um, Alexandra, if you don't mind- or Alex is shorter if that's easier,” the girl sputters out. “Please.”

“Alexandra is a beautiful name,” you say, jotting down: “Don't make yourself smaller for anyone else, Alexandra. - Y/N Y/L/N :)”. You shut the book and hand it back to her.

“Thank you so much,” she says appreciatively. “I love you guys.”

“Thank you for coming!” you smile.

As soon as Alex leaves, the next person replaces her, and you settle into a comfortable routine. Almost everyone is extremely polite and respectful, which you hope is a positive reflection of your fanbase and not just intimidation from your security guard. You'll take it either way though.

Brendon, of course, is charming and gracious for everyone that comes up and talks to him. He stays true to his boundaries or not signing or allowing pictures, but he happily shakes hands and answers the odd question or chats about video games while you write. You're secretly delighted that everyone in line seems to primarily be there for you with Brendon as a fun bonus for the Panic! fans. Even the people starstruck by Brendon, talk about your books with enough intimate knowledge that you believe they're actual fans.

You do have the occasional sour experience. A few obvious resellers, a couple people ranting about the wait, maybe a dozen with noticeably poor hygiene. But the bad apples don't spoil the bunch, and you're generally enjoying yourself.

One thing that starts to distract you is Brendon enjoying himself too. To pass the time, he has your book open to skim when people aren't chatting with him. The deluge of sex scenes are starting to get to him. The signs are almost imperceptible, but you know him well. His breathing is quick and sharp and his face is slightly flushed. He keeps fidgeting in his seat: crossing and uncrossing his legs, tapping the table restlessly, and biting at his cheeks and lips.

You'd be able to ignore it, but you've been craving his cock since last night when he left before you could play with him. He has the perfect cock. The skin is soft and smooth and warm over a firm, pulsing shaft. He's big enough that you can comfortably take him in your hand and mouth while still being able to fill and stretch you, hitting all the right spots.

You know you have a floating fifteen minute break within your two hour signing window; although, you had planned to forgo it in favor of getting through as many people as possible. Security cuts off the line, but there's always a few hopeful stragglers in case you have an extra minute, and you love the satisfaction of helping them out. But you don't owe them anything, so now you're wondering if you can yank Brendon into an empty study room to pay him back the orgasm you owe him. You don't love to give blowjobs, but do you love to watch him as you suck him off. And you know he'd come fast enough. “Mrs. Y/L/N?” Or maybe you can lay back on a table and let him fuck your pussy until his knees are too weak to keep standing. “Excuse me?” The next person at the table finally manages to jerk you out of your concentration.

She smiles awkwardly without teeth. “I'm sorry- you seemed preoccupied, but I didn't want to hold up the line.” You shake your head to clear it, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“Oh sorry, I get lost in my own head sometimes,” you apologize breathlessly. You squeeze the Sharpie.

You distractedly get through the next dozen or so people before Brendon finally sets you over the edge. He angles the book towards you and points to a line.

Damon’s mouth waters at the sight of Safa’s shiny, wet cunt. She fingers the button on the stopwatch with a smirk. “Oral for an entire hour, really?” she asks incredulously. She was amused by the idea originally, but she didn't think he would actually be able to go through with it. “Your jaw will get sore.” In truth, she doubts her own ability to stave off an orgasm more than Damon’s ability to eat her out for that long.

“Having doubts?” Damon taunts. “Because I don't have to lick this perfect pussy. We can watch a movie instead. I don't mind. I have nothing to prove.” He's bluffing slightly. He'll be crushed if he doesn't get his mouth on her.

He leans in, covering his mouth. “I'd love to do that to you, baby. Eating your pussy for a full hour? That's a fucking dream. And I'd edge myself the whole time. I’d come so hard inside you,” he whispers into your ear.

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” you finally work up the courage to ask, internally pleading that no one nearby can hear you.

He hesitates. “Baby I- I really shouldn't stand up right now,” he explains regretfully.

You clench your teeth. Hard. You slip your hand under the table, grateful for the table cloth hiding your activity. You place your non-dominant hand firmly on Brendon's thigh, your pinky just barely grazing his cock. Brendon turns to you with wide eyes. He grabs your wrist under the table, and you almost deflate. He's right, you shouldn't touch his cock in front of all these people. But, fuck, you're aching to feel his arousal.

However, to your surprise, he doesn’t move your hand away- instead, he guides it right between his legs. You squeeze him, giving him one last warning before you start touching him. He doesn't even flinch, just focuses hard on his book. You start exploring his body eagerly through his pants to warm him up. Though, from the obvious erection you can feel through his jeans, he doesn't need much preparation.

You graze along the length of his cock before your find the swell of his balls and rub them to really give him a tease. You manage to multitask well, continuing to sign and chat as your fingers dance around the sensitive areas of Brendon's inner thighs and crotch. But Brendon gets antsy. You can feel him staring at you, willing you to give him more.

You give in rather easily, anxious to feel him directly. You unbutton his pants and then cough loudly to cover the sound of his zipper opening. The people in front ask if you’re alright, but you wave them off with your free hand and then take a swig of your Dr. Pepper, relishing in the tension of making him wait another second. You regrettably take your hand off him for a moment to slip it between your own thighs. You slide your underwear to the side under your dress and coat your palm in your slickness. The feeling of your hand against your hypersensitive cunt is heavenly, and you struggle to pull yourself away. But the moments between undoing his pants and snaking your hand into his briefs crawl by, heavy with possibility. Brendon closes his eyes, his whole face clenched in concentration. He looks visibly aroused in front of dozens of people, and you don't even care.

You finally take pity on the man, fearing audible noises of frustration if you tease him any longer. You slip your hand inside his underwear, pleased to feel him fully erect. “Baby, is that-” he hisses, referencing the wetness on your hand. You don't answer. He already knows.

You stroke him inside his pants at first, knowing you shouldn't take the risk of fully exposing him. Brendon exhales in satisfaction, but you don't have as much freedom to move as you'd like, and you imagine he feels uncomfortable trapped inside his restrictive jeans. You snake his cock out of his pants and grasp it hard. When you first became intimate with Brendon, you were far too timid. Now you know he likes you to be firm and slightly aggressive when playing with his cock.

You keep your thumb on his glans and then stroke him hard and fast. “Fuck!” Brendon exclaims, and you gasp, fearing that he's blown it for you two. He manages to recover though. He smacks the side of his neck and rubs it. “Ah, damn, neck cramp,” he explains to the people looking with concern. “Excuse my language.”

It tests the very limits of your coordination to rub circles on his sensitive head, stroke him up and down, and continue to sign. You almost misspell your own name at one point. Still- The adrenaline from your deviance makes this ten times hotter. You're acutely aware of everything happening around you, making the sensations even more intense. Your clit hums demandingly. Each of Brendon's breaths sound like moans. You're convinced someone will catch you. You dare them to catch you. That's one thing you miss about touring with Brendon- the clandestine trysts in front of band mates and road crew. You fucking love an audience. Love the thrill of sneaking around.

You sense Brendon’s having a similar experience. He's leaking precum like crazy, allowing you to stroke him even more easily. And his eyes are getting more glassy and unfocused as you continue to work. You hope he knows this is just the appetizer. When you get home, you are fully taking advantage of having your mouth and other hand at your disposal.

Even without being able to verbally communicate, you know he's close when he turns to you with frenzied, panicked eyes and bucks uncontrollably into your hand.

You don't know what to do. Your emergency stash of tissues in your backpack has been depleted by a particularly nasty allergy season, but you can't let him get come on his clothes or the table. And leaving him hanging is not an option. Brendon needs release.

You eye the line. It's down to about fifteen people. You don't think he can hold off long enough for them to be done, and, even then, you'd barely have any privacy.

So you take a risk. You allow your trusty Sharpie to slip through your fingers onto the floor under your table. “Sorry!” You say to the man you're signing for. “All this writing is making my hand cramp. I'm ready to finish! Let me just grab it.”

You make eye contact with Brendon, and he nods ever-so-slightly. You slip onto the ground onto your knees.

“Oh I can help,” the man offers, lunging forward to kneel with you.

You glance at your security guard, and he thankfully takes the cue, standing in front of the table and the line. “Stay away from Mrs. Y/L/N,” he demands. “She will finish the signings in a moment.

You crawl under the table, easily sliding your mouth on Brendon’s cock even in the darkness. You fondle his balls, but it's unnecessary. He's coming before you've even fully closed your lips around his head. Come drips down your chin as hot spurts of it shoot into your mouth. He grabs your hair instinctively, twitching violently in your mouth. For a split second, you fear he may never stop coming and you'll be trapped under this folding table and polyester tablecloth forever. He groans- clearly aroused, and you hold your breath again. “C'mon, you're taking forever with that pen,” is his cover this time. You don't think anyone’s buying it.

He finally stops coming, and you scramble to find the actual marker. “Sorry, I can't find it in the dark.” You emerge from the table, trying to surreptitiously wipe your mouth. Brendon slumps against you. You two must look utterly fucked. “Does anyone have a pen?”

People scramble to look through their pockets and bags to no avail. You're at the end of your time anyway. You smile apologetically, handing out pre-signed copies. “I'm sorry they're not personalized, but you guys take these signed copies and keep your other copy to give to a friend. Thank you all so much for coming out!”

•••

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, sliding into the passenger seat.

Brendon leans over and kisses your neck. You shiver. “Fuck no. I haven't come that fucking hard in months. And from a handjob?” He bites your earlobe. “God, those people were looking at you- were looking at me all day. Thinking about us together. And then we fucking gave them a show, didn't we?”

You laugh. “I'm glad we didn't get arrested.”

“We wouldn't have gotten arrested. I'm famous,” Brendon says. He licks his way down to your cleavage.

You squeal. “What has gotten into you?”

He pulls away. His pupils are massive. “I just fucking love you, and I'm so proud of you, and I love that you're mine.”

You stretch to kiss his cheek. “Aw, baby. Was it hard to share me with all my adoring fans?”

He shakes his head. “Love your fans. Just love that I get to take you home with me.”

“Yeah? Gonna ‘help me write’ when we get home?”

He nods eagerly. “But I may need a banana and a Gatorade first. I get the sense you're going to make me work hard.”

You laugh. “I can make that happen. Unless you wanna check for run-on sentences. You don't need to hydrate for that.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “No fucking way, pretty girl. Bend me, fuck me, tie me up however you want. I'm yours.”

You grin. “God, this sequel is going to be good.”

#brendon urie smut #not my work #but a gift for me #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #he could fuck me any way he wanted #brendon x reader #fanfic #imagine

[loverontheleft]

Can You Come Over? (Revised)

Brendon x reader

6k words

sex and angst

“Can you come over?” His voice is soft but he can’t hide the desperation there, and the booze isn’t helping either. You wonder why you answered the phone. At this hour, there’s only one person it would—could—be. “Miss you. Please. Will you come over?” 

Oh, you think to yourself as he purrs the last part into the phone. That’s why.

“Brendon,” you groan, pressing the heel of one palm into your forehead as you try to be strong. “You can’t—we can’t—you have to stop calling.” He is silent and you almost wonder if he hung up but—no, there’s the soft hitch in his breath that comes after he takes a too-big-slug of whiskey. You hate that you know that. “Brendon?”

“M’okay,” he mumbles into the phone. “M’fine.” You tell him you don’t believe him, and you curse yourself for staying on the phone. Your subconscious is screaming at you to hang up, turn your phone off, and take a sleeping pill before you can be tempted to turn it back on and check on him. 

You don’t hang up. You don’t turn your phone off. You don’t take the sleeping pill. You never do. 

“Baby, please come over.”

You inhale sharply. “Don’t call—Brendon, you shouldn’t—you can’t call me—”

“M’sorry,” he says, but you don’t believe him. “Really sorry. I’ll never do it again.” That silence and that hitch in his breath once more. “Please. Can’t—can’t take—I can’t take another night in this bed without you here. Miss you. Your laugh. Your smile. Your touch. Your kisses. Your… ” He’s still going but you’ve tuned him out desperately. Funny that he only feels this way after a full bottle of whiskey, you think to yourself, trying to temper the lust pooling in your stomach.

 “Need my girl.” 

You freeze. You close your eyes. You know the pattern by now. You know what’s coming next. You could time it. You do. He sighs your name once and then…silence. Ten…nine…eight—Hitch. Seven…six…five—You’re done for. He’s got you, and he knows it. Four…three— You brace yourself. Two…and one. 

“Need my Kitten.”

“Five minutes,” you tell him, hanging up without waiting for his response, loathing yourself the entire time.

-||-

He’s shirtless, leaning on his front porch railing, hands clasped around the near-empty bottle as he waits for you. His hair is a mess, and he hasn’t shaved in easily three or four days. You take all of this in as you pull into his driveway, slamming the car into ‘park’ before throwing your door open. He’s stumbled down the porch steps, bottle abandoned, and you fall into his arms, flailing a leg behind you to kick your car door shut. 

His mouth is on yours as his hands clutch at you. You cling to his back, the smoky taste on his lips telling you he’s moved to the good liquor. You’ve always loved the taste of good bourbon on his lips. He drags you inside and pushes you up against the now-closed front door.

 “Missed you so fuckin much,” Brendon moans as he tugs at your shirt. You raise your arms and he pulls it off over your head, flinging it somewhere. He makes quick work of your bra now—“thas’nice,” he slurs as he drops the lacy piece you changed into before leaving the house. “Real pretty, Kitten. My pretty Kitten.” He’s kissing your neck now, his hands sliding lower to press you to him. “My pretty Kitten,” he repeats, suckling at the spot behind your ear and making you moan. “Does Kitten wanna gota bed?” The words hit you hard and you’re sent reeling; you fight to stay in the moment but you can’t fend off the memories.

“Does Kitten want to go to bed?” He’s smiling at you teasingly and you purr playfully, batting at his shoulder. “Does Kitten like her nickname?” You nod and crawl up into his lap, kissing his neck. “Yeah?” It’s early in the relationship and things still feel new and exciting; this new nickname is particularly delightful to you though. You want him to call you that while he fucks you, you think, blushing. “Prettiest girl, my Kitten,” Brendon murmurs, brushing his thumb over your lips. “My pretty Kitten likes the nickname?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, rocking in his lap a bit and sucking gently. “So fucking hot.” He grins and says he’s glad; he wasn’t sure if you’d like it or not. “Love it. Didn’t know how much I loved it til I heard it.”

“Mmmm,” he makes a soft sound of agreement, hands moving all over your back and hips, pulling you closer. “My girl is so fucking hot, so it’s a good name for her then.” You giggle and shriek, clinging to his shoulders when he stands up; he locks his hands under your thighs so he can carry you into the bedroom. “Love my Kitten,” he murmurs in your ear as he places you on the bed and crawls up over you.

“Kitten loves you.” You preen under his attention but pout after a moment. “You need a nickname, too!” You point at him accusingly. “You can’t call me Kitten if I don’t have something to call you.”

“What do you want to call me?” He grins and rolls off of you, arms behind his head as he stretches out in his bed. You curl towards him, running a hand over his stomach and teasingly brushing over his erection through his sweatpants. “Call me anything you like, Kitten.”

“Mmmmm,” you purr, kissing his shoulder. “You gonna call me Kitten all the time or only when I’m being a bad girl for you?” He asks if it makes a difference and you laugh, nodding. “If it’s all the time, that’s one thing. If it’s only when I’m misbehaving in fun ways, then I need something to call you that’s more…submissive,” you say with a giggle.

“I was going to call you that all the time, I suppose…” Brendon murmurs. “I mean, I’ll call you other things too. But Kitten…that’s special.” He grins and you smile up at him. “Call me anything you want, honey.”

“Well, now I don’t know!” You say, laughing.

“Call me Sir,” Brendon suggests with a broad smile. “What do you think of that, Kitten?”

“I think,” you whisper, kissing his neck, “that it’ll go straight to your head if I call you Sir.” You both laugh, and your hand creeps lower to stroke him more firmly. “Or maybe straight to your dick…” you murmur, grinning. “So in that case…yes Sir.” You both groan when his cock throbs in your hand and he rolls over, kissing you hard.

“So sexy, Kitten.” Neither of you speaks for a while after that; his lips are moving down your neck and yours are tight around two of his fingers, sucking teasingly as he moves lower and lower to lap at one of your nipples longingly. When you cry out in pleasure, he nods approvingly and closes his mouth around the bud, rolling it with his tongue. You whimper around his fingers in your mouth, letting your tongue rub over and in between them.

“Does Kitten wanna gota bed?” You nod, realizing he must have repeated himself, and back him up towards your—his, you correct yourself. It’s just his bedroom now. He lets you push him down onto the mattress and watches you through heavy lids as you wiggle out of your jeans and underwear.

“Off,” you tell him, nodding at his sweatpants. “Off.” He nods urgently and shoves them down his thighs; both of you audibly reacting to his erection, now unencumbered by fabric. He seems to be sighing in relief while you’re biting your lip and whimpering. “Don’t wanna waste time,” you whisper, kissing him hard again and hovering over him so you can guide his cock right where you need him. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, clinging to his shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Lemme,” he mumbles, shifting so he’s over you now. “I’ll go slow: promise.” You whine and cling to him, both legs wrapped tightly around him so you can pull him close. You both cry out as he fills you and you close your eyes, realizing with a sense of pride how long it must have been since you caved and came over if it feels like this. “So fucking tight,” Brendon groans in your ear. “My Kitten’s cunt is always so slick ‘n tight for me; she’s fuckin perfect,” and you moan, tightening your legs to keep him from pulling back to thrust.

“No,” you tell him, chest heaving. “Stay.” Your eyes lock, and he doesn’t hesitate; his mouth is on yours and you’re pulling his hair and rocking back against him. His hands are everywhere, touching and squeezing and holding you close.

“I missed you s’much,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “I miss you s’much.” You shush him, not wanting to get into feelings right now—you’ll cry if he—

“Kitten, my sweet girl,” he manages. “Angel,” and you swear under your breath because he’s pulling out all the stops with the pet names and it’s breaking your heart. “I’m so sor—”

“You broke up with me,” you finally say, cutting him off.  He freezes, and you stare up at him, unsure of what comes next. You two don’t talk during sex—not since—“You broke up with me, and you keep calling me and I don’t know what to do about it. I—”

“Please, honey,” he begs, dropping his head to your shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about this now. We can—”  

He’s fumbling for the right words, frantic eyes locked on yours. “We can just—”

“Get off,” you mutter, and his eyes get wider. You realize how your interruption sounds like a continuation of his sentence, and you groan. “Get off of me,” you clarify, shoving at his chest. He obeys and falls onto his back beside you. Tentatively, he stretches out an arm to indicate you should come closer. When you do, he tightens his grip around you and you let out a muffled sob, then curse again. You hate crying, and you especially hate crying in front of him. “Stop looking at me,” you tell him in a dull voice.

“How am I supposetado that when you’re the mos’ beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?” He speaks softly, words still slurring faintly, fingers stroking your arm. You close your eyes and try to breathe deeply. Finally, when you’re composed, you tell him he can’t say things like that anymore. 

“Why?” He sounds genuinely confused. “That doesn’t have anythin to do with our relationship. It’s just a fact. You’re the mos’ beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and you’re here, in my bed, in my arms. How’m I supposedta stop lookin at you? Why should I?”

“Because,” you snap, raising your eyes to his. You inhale sharply. That was a mistake, meeting his level gaze. He’s always been able to reduce you to a soft whimper with one look. You decide to try again. “Because I shouldn’t be here in your bed or in your arms. Because you ended it and it’s over and yet you’re still calling me and I’m still answering.” You look down, the tears still rolling.

There’s a long silence before his voice breaks the stillness, sounding significantly more sober. “That doesn’t sound over to me. And…even if it is, you know it doesn’t have to be over.” 

You don’t respond—you can’t, so you roll away from him and clutch at his pillow, trying to work up the strength to stand up, get dressed, and go home with what dignity remains. He must be able to tell because he reaches out for you. “Kitt—I’m sorry—Y/n, please. Please don’t go. We can do whatever you want. I’ll shut up and do whatever you want. And if you want to go home and never see me again, I—” his breath catches in his throat. “I understand. And I’ll stop—stop calling.”

There’s a sense of resignation and despondent finality to his words and you break, rolling back to him and grabbing at his face and hair as you bring your mouth to his. He immediately responds, both arms hauling you closer as your lips move together. Wordlessly, because he seems to sense that he should be silent now, you shift so you’re under him again, legs spread. While he guides his slick length back against you, his hand cups your face and his thumb moves in soft circles over your jawline. You press your face into his touch and moan, low in the back of your throat, as he fills you.

The sex is rough and unrefined; you’re both moaning and grabbing and clutching and moving against each other, gasping into each other’s mouth and breathing hard. His hips are moving urgently, driving you both closer and closer to orgasm when—you let out a desperate whine as he pulls back and out of you. “Turn over,” he tells you in a hoarse voice. “Turn over,” he repeats. “I remem—I know how you like to be fucked,” he says. 

You whimper and flip over onto your hands and knees before stretching out so your chest is flat against the bed and your fingers are curled around the edge of the mattress. You both fall silent again as far as words are concerned; the only sounds are your gasps and his grunts as he holds your hips firmly in his grasp and thrusts hard and fast. You spread your knees wider so you can dip your back down, giving him a new angle and he swears softly as you squeal—he can go deeper, and his fingers are rubbing your clit torturously along with every thrust.

“Oh fuck, oh god, you’re gonna make me come,” you announce in a high, needy voice. “Brendon, please!”

“Be my best girl and come on my cock,” Brendon tells you in a firm voice. “Be my good Kitten, and let me feel your pussy clench my thick cock when I make you come.” His words are too much for you; whereas before they’d push you over the edge to a screaming climax, now they shoot your lust in the foot. With a gasp, your legs go flat and he’s out of you, groaning at the loss. “Honey, you didn’t—”

“You can’t—”  you whimper. “You can’t just talk to me like you used—like everything is good. It’s not. Just because I was fucking weak and came over—again—doesn’t mean you can just…” you close your eyes, frustrated. “Brendon, you ended it. You didn’t want me to be your best girl anymore. You didn’t want me to be your Kitten or your Angel or your honey or your baby anymore.” Each pet name comes out with a sense of bitter loss, and you bury your face in his pillows with a soft cry. “You broke up with me and I don’t know why, and I definitely don’t know why I keep coming back when nothing changes. We fuck, and you roll over and go to sleep and I go home and wait—like a goddamn fucking idiot—for the next time you’ll call, hating myself the entire time.” 

You’re crying harder now and his hands close over your hips so he can flip you over. Stubbornly, you clutch the pillow to your face even now that he’s got you on your back.

“Y/n,” he says softly. “Y/n, please. Can we talk?” You mumble something and he tugs at the pillow. “Please.” 

Something in his voice makes you cave and you let him pull the pillow from your grasp. “I’m the idiot.” His words are simple and yet you can’t process them. You blink at him slowly, and he shakes his head, obviously beyond disappointed in himself. “Y/n, I’m the idiot. I ended it, I broke up with you, because I was afraid of how much I cared for you. I was terrified that I would do something stupid like ask you to mar—no, fuck, please don’t cry,” he says desperately when your face twists in anguish and the tears flow faster. 

He’s wiping at your face delicately with the pad of his thumb, obviously heartbroken at the pain that he’s caused you. “I only meant—we’re still young, and I was sure if I asked you…that, that I’d find a way to screw it up and hurt you. I’m not saying that asking you to—asking you would be stupid; I’m saying that I’m an idiot and I’d find a way to ruin it. I had to protect you.”  

“So you broke up with me? You decided to protect me by hurting me and ending it with no explanation?” 

He can hear that you don’t believe him.

“I told you I’m an idiot. I thought—I thought you’d find someone else that would treat you right. I thought that I’d find someone else. Someone I’d be okay with hurting—no, that sounds bad—I don’t mean—fuck, I just mean I’m an idiot and I hurt the people I love. And I figured I would never love anyone as much as I loved…love you, so it wouldn’t matter if I hurt them or not. I couldn’t bear to break your heart. So I thought I was keeping you safe by ending it, and it wasn’t until you were gone that I realized I’d broken us both. I tried to be strong; I tried to not call you. But when I started drinking, I just—that first night, I didn’t expect you to come over. And I was so happy you did, but so angry at myself because I knew then that I had done something incredibly stupid in letting you go. I promised myself I wouldn’t call again. I promised I’d let you move on and find someone who would take care of you and wouldn’t hurt you like I had. And I keep breaking my promise. I’m so sorry. Y/n, please. I’m so sorry and I—fuck, I love you so much. I miss you so much.”

It’s too much for you to process. There’s a roaring sound inside your ears, an ocean of frustration and loss and longing, and he’s looking at you with tears in his eyes and you can’t help it; you grab his face and bring his mouth to yours. “You’re such an idiot,” you murmur against his lips, and he moans, nodding. “So do something smart and fuck me,” you finish, and he pulls back to stare at you with wide eyes. “I didn’t misspeak,” you tell him. “You broke up with me but now you say you love and miss me? Prove it.”

He groans and, a hand on either side of your head, kisses you softly before moving his lips down your neck and lower still, kissing gently between your breasts and down over your stomach and hips. You whimper and squirm under his touch, gasping when he nibbles on your hip bones. “Can I—?” 

The pause hangs in the air and you’re not sure if he’s leaving an action unspoken or a pet name, but you want him to keep going, and you look at him expectantly. 

He must sense this, and he rests his head on your pelvis as he caresses your hips. “Can I eat my sweet Kitten out?” 

You inhale sharply—it was both he was keeping silent, and the phrase brings back another memory.

“I just wanna eat my sweet Kitten out,” Brendon murmurs, tugging you down onto the bed and rolling over on top of you. “Please, baby? I’m really good at it,” he adds with an exaggerated wink. “I’ll make my girl feel so good.”

“You’re a unicorn, B,” you tell him with a grin. “Begging to eat your girlfriend out?”

“You know I love it,” he practically whines, thumbs hooked into the waistband of your jeans. When you nod, he lets out a yelp of glee, grinning at you in ecstasy. “Thank you, Kitten. Promise I’ll make you feel so goddamn good.” Together you get your jeans off and he moans at the sight of your lacy panties, dark at the core. “Kitten,” he murmurs. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did, Sir,” you tell him, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You did this to your Kitten. You made Kitten so wet and needy.”

“It had better have been Sir,” Brendon says with a grin, tickling your inner thighs and making you spread your legs. “Because Sir is the one who’s gonna make Kitten come.”

“Please,” you whimper, hips rocking as he kisses all over you, tongue flicking out to tease you.

“Please?” Brendon groans, looking at you with wide eyes. You nod and bite your lip. He mouths “thank you” as he settles between your legs, mouth closing over you and moaning when your legs spread and he can really taste you. “Kitten,” he murmurs, running his hands up your inner thighs and spreading you with his thumbs, licking eagerly. “My sweet, perfect Kitten…”

“Bren,” you whimper, clutching at his hair and tugging, whining and rubbing against his mouth. “Feels so good.”

“Miss you so much,” he whispers, shifting his hand to slide two fingers into you and making you moan. “Miss making you feel like this all the time,” he tells you. “Miss just being able to take care of you whenever I want. Whenever you want.” 

“Baby…” Brendon whines, nudging you with his foot from the other end of the couch. “I’m booooooored.” You look up from your book and laugh as he crawls over and rests his head in your lap. “I’ve never been so bored in my life,” he announces dramatically, sighing and meeting your eyes.

“Your life must be pretty hard, my love,“ you tease, flipping the page and ruffling his hair affectionately. “How can I help?”

“Well,” Brendon says briskly as though he’s been thinking about this. “You could let me eat you out.” You look up from your book with eyebrows raised. “I know you’re reading,” Brendon says quickly, grinning. “You can keep reading your book. Just take your leggings off and spread your pretty legs for me.”

Without hesitation, you close the book and fling it onto the coffee table. “What book?” 

Brendon laughs as you raise your hips to let him pull down your leggings and panties. “Like I’m really just gonna keep casually reading while you go down on me,” you say with an amused smirk. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” he shoots back quickly, dropping onto his knees in front of you and hooking a hand behind each of your knees, tugging you forward to the edge of the couch. “You comfortable, Kitten?” He smiles when you nod. “Good,” he says. “You’re gonna be here for a while.”

“I miss you.”

“I know,” you say breathlessly, closing your eyes and scratching at his scalp. “I know, B.” His tongue goes deeper and your toes curl, gasping. “Fuck, that feels so—” you whine as he keeps going, tongue rubbing and fingers twisting. “Oh baby, you’re gonna make me—fuck! Now! Oh god, now, baby, now!” 

You’re shaking and trembling under his touch and he watches you with dark eyes, hair falling into them as you come. You look down and meet his eyes, whimpering at the sight. Hair a mess, lips swollen, cheeks flushed…he’s so gorgeous, and it’s breaking your heart. He kisses your inner thigh and the feeling of his tongue on your skin is overwhelming.

“You called me baby,” Brendon murmurs as you moan softly; he pulls back and smiles at you broadly. “You aren’t—you’re—have you forgiven me?” You look uncertain, and he falls silent, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sorry Y/n—I shouldn’t have—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know if I’ve—Brendon, you really hurt me. You broke my heart.” You take a shuddering breath and shove yourself back so you’re sitting up against his headboard. He looks defeated, so you beckon him closer and he crawls up the bed and sits next to you. Tentatively, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and you sink down, pressed into his side. “You really hurt me.” He nods and remains silent. “I want…what do you want? I want to know what you want.”

Brendon doesn’t hesitate. “I want you. I want a chance to show you how dumb I was and how much I love you.” You exhale hard, burying your face in his chest. “Kitten…” he says tentatively, and you seem to be okay with it—at least, you don’t visibly react, so he keeps talking. “Kitten, doesn’t this just feel right? You being back here, in our bed with me?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. It feels good, but I don’t know that good and right are the same thing. You broke up with me—as much as you say you loved me—”

“Love,” Brendon protests, and you bite your lip. “I’m sorry, keep going.”

“As much as you say you love me, you still ended it. You still fathomed a world without me and you didn’t only fathom it, you created it. You actively took steps to remove me from your life, and I know you think you were protecting me, but you hurt me, Brendon. You destroyed me when you left without any explanation. You didn’t hold me when I cried, you didn’t stop me when I moved out, you didn’t do anything until you got shitfaced and called me. And every time you call me and I come over, you fuck me in silence and then lay there, not even looking at me. What am I supposed to do with that?” You’re breathing hard, trying not to cry.

“It’s because I hate myself for bringing you over here and being too much of a coward to ask you to come back. Because I expect you to hate me, and I don’t want to talk and give you a reason to leave. Because for those moments, laying there in silence, feeling you in bed beside me, even though I know it’s only a matter of time before you leave…for those moments, it feels like you’re home. And then you leave, and I fall apart all over again.”

“You…” you brush at your tears furiously. “You don’t know how to communicate, Brendon.”

“You’re right,” he agrees readily, wrapping you in his arms. “You’re absolutely right. I know you’re right, and I know I need to work on that.”

“You shut down and shut me out and expect me to read your mind, and then when I don’t because I can’t, you assume that you’ve hurt me and you retreat further into your own world.” 

You’re trying not to be angry now and he can tell; he loosens his hold on you, but it has the opposite effect. “Don’t fucking let go—you always let go when you should hold me tighter. You push me away and give up when you should be fighting for me!”

“I’m fighting now,” Brendon protests and you laugh bitterly, sinking down lower on the bed and resting your head on his lap. His hands stroke your hair tenderly, and you start to cry; you can’t hold it in anymore. “I’m fighting now,” he repeats, voice softer. “Kitten, I’m fighting now.”

“What if it’s too late?” Your voice cracks and you whimper, rolling to press your face to his stomach. “What if there’s nothing left to fight for? What if—” you break off, crying harder now. “What if—” and it’s too much; you close your eyes and try to catch your breath. “What if this is it? What if there’s no point? What if we never—”

“Don’t say that,” Brendon begs, and you can hear the catch in his throat. “Baby, don’t say that. I wouldn’t—you wouldn’t—we wouldn’t keep ending up here like this if there wasn’t a point.” He laughs desperately. “Baby, don’t say that. Don’t—just, let me try.”

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I just don’t know if it’s—what if it doesn’t work, what will we do then? I just don’t know.”

“I don’t know either, but I do know I can’t bear to see you walk out of that door again. Can’t bear to—” he stops talking and you look up at him, stunned to see the silent tears rolling down his face. “Kitten, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You lost me once; you could do it again,” you whisper. “You did it once. You could do it again. You’d manage. You’d be fine.”

“No,” Brendon shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t lose you. I let you go. There’s a difference. If I were to really lose you, I wouldn’t make it. We both know you’re wrong. Even now, having let you go, I’m not fine. If I were really fine, if I were really surviving, I wouldn’t get drunk and call you. If I lost you and couldn’t call you, if I knew I’d never see you again—Y/n, I love you. I love you so much. I don’t—I can’t lose you.”

“Dammit, Brendon!” You’re frustrated and you sit up, punching at his chest. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

Your punches must be doing something because he grabs both of your wrists and pushes you flat on your back so your head is towards the foot of the bed. Your hands are pinned over your head and he’s kneeling over you, straddling you. “Brendon,” you repeat, your tone very different now. You’re both suddenly aware of how naked you both are; your eyes flick to his erection before moving back up.

“Y/n,” he echoes you, eyes on yours. “You gonna keep punching me?” You shrug as best you can with a wry grin and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you pinned down, hmmm?”

“Guess you will,” you murmur, wiggling under him. The silence is thick, and you’re both breathing shallowly, staring at each other. You decide to break the stillness of the room. “We’ve always been good at this part,” you tell him. When he looks confused, you explain. “Sex. We’ve always been good at sex.”

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, leaning down to kiss you lightly. He seems relieved that you’ve found common ground. Your lips brush together and he whispers your name tenderly as you embrace. “We have. We have always been really good at sex.” You rock your hips back as he shifts on top of you. His lips meet yours again as he thrusts into you. “Really good,” he repeats as his tongue teases yours.

“Brendon,” you groan, lurching up to kiss him fiercely as he rocks against you. “Feels so fucking—oh god, Brendon, please!”

“Yes, Y/n,” he murmurs in your ear. “Yes, baby. Want you to feel good.” You whimper and move against him, linking your ankles behind his back for leverage. He’s on top of you and you can each feel the other’s heartbeat. “Tell me you miss this,” he whispers, desperation in his voice. “Honey, tell me you miss this.”

“I do,” you moan, pressing your chest to his. “I do miss this. Oh god, Bren—I’m gonna—right th—oh fuck fuck yes!”

“So come back,” Brendon says softly, watching in awe as you tremble and reach your climax. “My sweet girl, come back to me.” He gasps as you squeeze around him, and he bites your neck lightly, groaning when he comes.

“I can’t,” you finally say, breathing hard. “I can’t just—” you pause and shake your head, taking a shuddering breath. “I can’t. I need—I need time.”

“I’ll give you time,” Brendon promises,  closing his eyes and resting his forehead on your shoulder. “I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

“What if I’m never ready?” You whisper, and he sighs, rolling off of you and falling flat on his back. You move with him, curling into his side. “I’m not saying I’ll never be ready, I’m just—I’m scared, B.”

“I’m scared too,” Brendon murmurs, kissing your temple. “I’m terrified to lose you. But I’d rather try again and know I might lose you rather than let you walk out of this door without ever even attempting. We were good, baby. We were so good. And I can be better, which means we’ll be better. I love you.”

“I—” you hesitate and he kisses you softly, telling you that you don’t have to say it yet; he understands. “Thank you,” you whisper as he pulls the blankets up over you both.

“Of course.” His voice is quiet and you turn in his arms, resting your head on his chest as his grip on you tightens.

-||-

When you wake up, he’s sprawled on his back and you’re curled into his side, one arm draped over his stomach. You know what you have to do, and you feel sick. 

Your dreams were more like nightmares, and you know that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be able to fix this, fix the two of you. He may be ready to try again, but the damage, as far as you’re concerned, has been done. You wish you could find it in you, because you really do love him. 

But at some point, you tell yourself, you have to protect your heart. And he is a risk you simply cannot rationalize at this point. It was too much the first time; you’ve been torturing yourself with these late-night trysts— you can’t fathom going through the entire thing again. No, you tell yourself, better to end it now. Better to have loved and lost and attempt to heal than love, lose, and repeat til the brink of insanity. As you crawl from the bed, you keep your eyes on him, not wanting to disturb him. You shake your head and frown. You’re breaking his heart but trying not to disturb him. 

The truth of the matter is, he will be disturbed when he wakes up and finds you gone. That cannot be avoided. Gingerly, you crouch and pick your clothes up so you can dress quickly before you tiptoe out of the room. He stirs and you freeze, eyes locked on his body in the bed. The blankets are rumpled and you can see the impression your body left in the sheets beside him. You muffle a sob and turn on your heel, moving swiftly through the house. As you pass through the living room, you see the small notebook he always kept on the end table to jot down his random thoughts that came to him while he watched TV. 

You rip a sheet from it and grab the fountain pen you bought him on a whim—it’s his favorite and it always rests beside the notebook. The ink flows freely across the small page, bleeding as your tears fall. When you’re finished, you retrace your steps back and place the note on what was your pillow. You retreat again, trembling from head to toe.

Brendon’s eyes flutter open as your car starts. Confused, he lifts his head and sees the white sheet of paper, a stark contrast against the dark sheets. He sits up and takes it in his hand. I’m sorry. I do love you. Please don’t call me. Take care of yourself. 

The ink bleeds more.

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #fanfic #he could fuck me any way he wanted #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Don’t Take Me Home (revised)

Original request: oooh maybe car sex with b? perhaps teen!Brendon and you need a place bc both of your houses are occupied so you take this long romantic drive out into the middle of nowhere and just…

Brendon x reader

Warnings: dirty talk and language, car oral and sex.

Word count: 4.9k➡️5.5k

-||-

“Brendon,” you murmur, clinging to his hand with both of yours as you leave the theater. “I don’t wanna go home.” He turns to you and meets your eyes, biting his lip. “Don’t take me home yet.” You’re practically begging now. “It’s a Thursday night, tomorrow is a teacher workday…don’t take me home.”

“But your parents…” Brendon’s hesitating, understandably so, and you squeeze his hand.

“Are at that wedding three hours away, and are staying the night. They got the sitter for Henry for the whole night.” You give him a suggestive smile. “So they won’t know when I get home. But…” and you tug him closer as you get to his car, leaning up against the side so he presses against you. “Home is also not an option. We’d never make it upstairs without the sitter noticing, and the couch is therefore obviously not a viable location for making out.”

“Hmmmm.” Brendon’s face tells you he’s seriously considering your request. “Well, I do want to make out with you.” You nod and tip your head up to kiss under his jaw. He groans and presses against you more. “I really want to make out with you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist, fingertips brushing the waistband of your skirt. “Damn, I mean…Y/n, I…fuck,” he sighs helplessly.

“What about your house?” You look up at him hopefully, and he shakes his head, pushing a hand through his hair. You can feel the frustration and regret rolling off of him. “Oh wait, your parents are having that dinner party, aren’t they?” He nods, eyes shut. His cock is stirring against you, and you rock your hips, seeking more. You love the pressure, and he leans against you more firmly. “We should at least get in the car,” you tell him, lips moving over his neck again.

“You’re right…get in the car, Angel,” he tells you, moving his hands down your back and over your curves. “Get in the car, please.” He shifts you slightly so he can open your door. “God, get in the car so I can kiss you, darlin.” You slip under his arm and settle into the seat while he crosses around the front of the car and yanks open his door. “Come here.” He beckons you urgently and you clamber over the center console to settle in his lap, your skirt spreading, as he reaches down between his legs and slides his seat back.

“Hi, B,” you giggle, cupping his cheek. He turns his head slightly to kiss your palm before brushing a finger down your jawline to curl under your chin and draw you close. At his touch, you weaken. At his kiss, you melt into him. You can feel his groan rumble through his chest as your tongue teases his; he clutches you closer and you rock against him as he murmurs how much he loves you.

“I love you too,” you tell him. “I love you so much.”

“So much. Let me keep kissing you,” he begs, snaking an arm around your waist and rubbing back against you, matching your movements. He’s urgent now, thrusting up, pressing his cock right where you want him, and the friction against your underwear is incredible; it’s driving you closer and closer to the edge, and you know he’s got to be just as desperate as you are. “I gotta—Angel, please.” The petname sends a thrill through you. You nod, telling him yes, and he freezes. “Yes?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful, but you can feel his body tensing under yours.

“Yes,” you repeat. “I want you too. Fuck, I need to come too.” At his stunned silence, you pause and look at him carefully. “Shit. That isn’t what you meant; oh god, Bren—I’m—” and you cover your face with your hands, blushing deeply. The two of you have only been sleeping together for a few months now, and you’re obsessed with the way he can get you worked up with just a single look or touch. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about sex with him all the time.

“Hush, Y/n,” he says softly, kindly, moving your hands and crushing your mouths back together. When you part for air, he stares at you longingly. “That is what I meant—but we can’t—not here.”

You glance around, confused, and he clarifies. “I mean. It’ll have to be here in my car I think…I mean, if you don’t object…we don’t have a lot of options,” and he grins ruefully, nuzzling your nose with his. “…but not here. Not in the movie theater parking lot. We need to go…somewhere else.”

“So take me somewhere else,” you whisper, nuzzling his jawline. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.” He nods and kisses down your neck, hands squeezing your hips and tugging you down against the bulge in his jeans for a brief moment before urging you back into your seat.

“We might be driving for a bit,” Brendon warns you, his hand moving up your skirt and over your thigh. “But I’ll try to be quick.”

“We’ve got nothing but time. Just get me somewhere we can be alone safely,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder and shifting slightly so his hand slips between your thighs. He groans and nods, fingers flexing gently. “Need you,” you murmur, resting your hand over his. “Bren, I need you so badly.”

The drive is agony, and you’re both silent; his eyes are fixated on the road while yours are on his face. His thumb is rubbing soft circles over your inner thigh, and you’re subconsciously spreading your legs so he can move his hand higher. You’re both tense, and you know as soon as he parks the car, you’re going to be on top of him. It isn’t long before he pulls off the road and kills the headlights; as he does, you’re unbuckling and scrambling into his lap. “My sweet girl,” he says softly, caressing your cheek. “I love you, you know that—right?” He looks at you seriously, and you nod, nuzzling his palm. “Good,” he whispers. And with that, he leans in to kiss you softly as your hands move to his jeans. Quickly, you unbutton and unzip them so you can reach inside and wrap a hand around his erection. “Fuck,” he groans, letting his head drop back on the headrest. “Your hand, baby; your hand is so good.”

You stroke him firmly and he grunts, hips bucking up to your grasp. “If you think my hand is good, wait til you see what else I have in mind,” you tell him, and he laughs a little desperately, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you in place while he leans to rummage through the glovebox. When he produces a foil packet, you take it eagerly and rip it open, meeting his eyes as you roll it over his hard length. “Need you,” you murmur, rising up above him slightly so you can guide him into you.

“Fuck, Angel,” Brendon groans, fingers flexing against your hips as you sink down and settle into his lap. “You’re my fucking angel; I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you tell him, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too; fuck, you feel so good in me.” You gasp when he moves against you, lips finding yours. “Oh god,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. “Brendon, I can’t—I can’t like this—” you’re at a loss for words, your thighs burning and back starting to hurt. You look at him helplessly, frustration and discomfort evident.

“It’s okay, we can stop,” he tells you, and you protest, whining and shifting so you’re resting against the steering wheel, telling him to fuck you like this.

“Yeah?” Brendon watches you carefully, staring at your face as you work yourself down against his cock. “Is this okay? Is this better?” You nod, and he leans over to kiss your neck. “My dirty Angel, begging me to fuck her in my car; she’s such a bad girl, but just for me, isn’t she? She’s my bad girl, my best girl. Love her so much.” He’s whispering this against your skin as he nibbles along your neck and collarbone. “My girl gonna come for me?”

“Yeah,” you moan, back arching off of the wheel as you press yourself against him. You’re both fully clothed, with his jeans down just enough and your skirt bunched around your waist. “Yeah, I’m gonna—”

“Be my sweet girl and come for me,” Brendon pleads, hips moving faster now. You close your eyes and nod, clinging to him. “Baby, you gotta—I can’t hold—you feel too good,” he murmurs. “You gotta come first, oh fu—yes, fuck!” His voice drops into a guttural moan as you clench around him, coming hard. “Yes, Y/n, come for me,” he encourages, panting and thrusting urgently.

“Fuck! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!” Your eyes are wide, and you’re moving against him eagerly. “Your…fuck,” you manage. “Your turn.” He bites your shoulder and you feel him pulse with his orgasm, the heat—even with the condom—spreading through you. “Oh god yes, Brendon, yes!” He’s gasping your name as you tug at his hair, both of you moving gracelessly, frantically against each other. “Holy fuck,” you whisper when your pulse evens out. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you can launch yourself forward and kiss him hard. “I love you,” he repeats, your lips moving together tenderly. “I love you so much.”

-||-

“Brendon!” You squeal with laughter as he lifts you off your feet and tosses you over his shoulder outside the bar where he’s just finished a small acoustic set. The rest of his bandmates laugh and turn away, giving you some privacy. “Urie, you’re drunk,” you declare, beating your fists against his back gently. “And I’m drunk. Put me down.” Obligingly, he places you back on your feet and looks at you.

“Are you actually drunk?” Brendon’s examining your face closely. “You know my rule, Y/n.” He wags his finger at you playfully. “No sex if you’re inebriated.”

“Well now I know you’re not drunk,” you shoot back teasingly. “Getting ‘inebriated’ right on the first try.” He laughs and pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, murmuring that he’s high on you, but not drunk. “I’m not either,” you promise, scratching at his back idly. “Definitely tipsy and in love, but not drunk.”

“Yeah? You wanna hang out for a bit more, sober up, then get out of here?” He looks at you suggestively and you nod, wrapping your arms around his waist. “My place is off limits; Shane is hosting game night,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Hannah is doing some Mary Kay party,” you say with frustration evident. “So it sounds like both of our places are off the table.” You’re both visibly frustrated by this, until you see an idea register on his face. “What?” You look at him suspiciously. “You’ve got your thinking face on…”

“Mmmm,” he agrees, kissing your jawline. “Thinking about senior year, when we fucked in my car after the movies.” You blush, and he gives you a teasing look. “You remember, don’t you, Angel? You begged,” and he stresses the word ‘begged’ with relish, “me not to take you home yet. You were desperate for me.”

“I always am,” you murmur, tipping your head back to give his lips more space to roam. “Don’t you know your girl is addicted to you?” He grins, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Shit, you can’t do that,” you warn him. “Feeling you start to get hard like this gets me all worked up, you know that.” He mumbles that he does know that and he likes it. “Tease.” You give him a playful shove, and he bites at your neck in response. “Fuck,” you groan. “You gotta stop, Bren. You’re making me want you more and more, and now I know I can’t have you. We don’t have any place to go.”

He pulls back and gives you a curious look. “Angelbaby, didn’t you hear me say that I was remembering senior year?” You nod, and he grins when he realizes that you clearly aren’t getting it. “We’ve got my car,” he tells you. Your eyes widen. “Yeah. Exactly. We’ve got my car. Give me twenty minutes and a bottle of water, and I’ll be good to get us out of here and somewhere we can be alone.”

After he’s sober enough for both of your liking, he loops an arm around your waist and pulls you close, leading you back out into the parking lot. “Take me somewhere we can be alone,” you tell him, running a finger down his chest. “Want to be someplace private with my man.” He nods and opens your door for you, closing it after you. He settles in the car and inhales sharply when your hand rests over his erection. Without commenting, he puts the car in drive and leaves the parking lot, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel. “You doing okay there, Urie?” You tease, squeezing lightly. He nods, giving you a quick glance.

“I’m doing great. Thinking about eating out my girlfriend in the backseat of this car, getting her hot cunt all over my face. You?”

“Fuck,” you mumble, letting your head roll back as your fingers trail over his erection. “That wasn’t what I was thinking, but it sure is now.” He grins, telling you to keep thinking about it. “I will,” you promise. “The way you kiss my inner thighs and along my pussy, letting your tongue tease me…” you close your eyes. “Damn…want you between my legs, baby.”

“I want to be there,” he reassures you. “Want to taste my sweet girl as she rubs against my face. Wanna make her come with my fingers and my tongue. Wanna lick her clit and make her squeal, wanna see her lose control from my mouth. Wanna watch her from between her pretty thighs, wanna hold her hips and kiss her all over…”

“Brendon,” you moan, wriggling in your seat. “Need you. Hurry.” He nods and, scanning the road once more, pulls off into a deserted clearing. “This isn’t sketchy at all,” you remark as you climb into the backseat. He laughs as he follows you.

“Do you want me to go back to driving so we can keep loo—oh god.” He cuts himself off when you slide your jeans down your thighs, leaving you in his favorite pink lace underwear. “If you don’t mind, I’m not driving anymore,” he tells you, kneeling between your legs on the backseat.

“You look horribly uncomfortable,” you remark, watching him try to bend down far enough to taste you. “We can reevaluate positions if you need.”

“Yeah,” he groans, rolling his neck. “I love eating you out and that position was going to ruin it. I’m just gonna—” and he slips off the seat so he’s kneeling in the foot space, back against the back of the passenger seat. “Now if you’ll scoot down and—” he beckons you and as you move, he reaches up and spreads your legs while coaxing you forward. “Is this comfortable?” He pushes one of your knees up so it’s parallel to the back of the seat.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic. You?”

“Definitely better. It’s a tight fit, but I’d put up with far worse circumstances to get my tongue in your perfect pussy, Angel.” He grins at you and rubs his thumb over the dark center of your panties. “Right through…damn…” Brendon sighs, and you watch his eyes dilate in pleasure at the mere thought of tasting you. “So wet, Y/n…”

“I am,” you agree in a low voice. “You should do something about it. It is your fault after all.” You grin at him and he laughs appreciatively, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your thigh as he shifts higher onto his knees to get closer and work your underwear down your legs. “This is an interesting change, you being on your knees for me.”

“You make it sound like I don’t—” Brendon starts to protest, clearly insulted at the idea of him not loving to eat you out, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no—I just mean this position. You’re very generous with your mouth, baby, and I love it—and you. But we’re usually in bed or I’m on top of you. You’re not normally literally on your knees. That’s all.” You tug his hair affectionately and roll your hips towards his mouth.

“That’s better,” he comments with a grin. “Didn’t think you were taking my mouth for granted or anything…but I’d hold out on you if I needed to prove a point.”

You pout, and he laughs. “We both know I wouldn’t last long.” He gives you a teasing lick, letting the tip of his tongue move in a quick circle over your clit. You gasp and your back arches; you tug at his hair and he makes a soft sound of approval, switching to deep, slow strokes while his fingers slide into your heat.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop,” you groan, rocking under him. “Brendon, baby, so good; lick it honey, just—oh god, so fucking good!” His fingers curl while his thumb rubs; his eyes meet yours as he mouths over you, tongue rolling repeatedly against your clit. “Oooooh shit!” The squeal is practically ripped from your body and your eyes snap open wide. “Brendon, yes! Yes yes yes!!” The leg that is parallel to the seat back drops and pins his head between your thighs; he groans, pressing closer and keeping his fingers moving. “Oh god!” Your voice is high and tight, and you’re rocking eagerly against his mouth, holding him in place with your grip in his hair and the pressure of your thighs. “Making me come, oh fuck!”

“Come for me, Angel,” he begs in a muffled voice that sends you over the edge, shrieking and moaning and swearing. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs when your hips stop moving and your legs part, freeing him. He starts licking your inner thighs idly, watching you with dark eyes. “My Angel knows how much I love her coming on my face. Love tasting you, licking you, sucking you…my best girl.” He places a soft kiss against your hip before crawling up on top of you, propping himself up on his forearms over you.

“Kiss me,” you say softly, craning your neck to reach his mouth. “Need you.” You throw an arm around his back and press him to you; he grunts as his full body weight comes down on you and your legs tighten around his hips. “Any chance of you whipping that cock out and fucking me while we’re back here?”

“You did not just use the phrase ‘whipping that cock out,’ did you?” Brendon looks at you in amusement, body shaking with suppressed laughter. “I cannot take you seriously with those words coming from your perfect mouth.” You blush, and he laughs, catching your lips again. “I will fuck you, but only if you promise to never ask that way again.”

“That’s a more than fair deal,” you agree, before zipping your lips shut. “I got a little carried away, sorry. I was going for ‘desperate,’ but in hindsight, not my most sexy phrasing.” He laughs again and kisses you hard, one hand cupping your face while the other works between your bodies to unzip his jeans. When, together, you’ve worked his jeans down his legs, he grips your thigh and rocks into you slowly. “Oh god,” you moan, closing your eyes. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah,” Brendon groans, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Oh god, yeah. Angel, you feel so fucking good…” He’s moving at a painfully slow pace, and you squirm under him, trying to get more. “Patience,” he chides, lifting your leg higher on his waist so he can fill you. “I’m gonna take care of you, Y/n. You know I’m going to take care of you and make it so good for my girl.”

“Yeah,” you manage, both hands clawing at his back through his shirt. “Yeah, feels so good; Brendon, my god, yes!” His mouth is moving over your neck and the way he’s holding you, keeping your hips tipped up so he can go deep, is sending you closer and closer to the edge with each thrust. “Brendon, baby, you’re gonna make me—oh god, please don’t stop, please, please, please!”

“Yes, Y/n, oh god, your pussy feels so—you feel so—oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come,” Brendon groans, picking up speed and biting desperately at your neck. “Can I come, Angel? Can I come in you?”

“Fuck, please!” You scratch at him desperately, the pleasure you’re feeling evident in every breath and word and movement. You two have only recently made the choice to stop using condoms, and you’re still enthralled every time he asks to come inside you. You can’t get enough of him. “Come, Brendon, come for me. Come in me.” You feel his body shudder against yours; it pushes you over the edge. You let yourself tense around him as your back arches. He groans, and you whimper when he comes. “Yes,” you moan, clinging to him. “Oh fuck, yes!”

“Angelbaby,” Brendon murmurs, breathing hard. “My sweet girl, my good girl, my perfect girl looks so good coming on me…” he’s stroking your hair now, lips pressed to your forehead.

“Brendon,” you whisper, tipping your head back to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he replies, twisting a lock of hair around his index finger. “I love you so much. Goddamn, I want to marry you.”

You freeze and look at him with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice is soft, and he raises an eyebrow in amusement, though you can see the nervousness reflected in his own eyes. You pause. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” Brendon tells you without hesitation, his voice steady. “Yes, I mean it. I—but this isn’t me asking—I’ll do it better, my love; I’ll make it so romantic and special for you, and I’ll—dammit, I’ll have a ring too. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything by saying something now—ah, shit Y/n, I’m so sorry; you deserve—”

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing him. “Yes. Yes, Brendon. Yes.” His face lights up, and he takes you in his arms, peppering your face in soft kisses, laughing when you squeal in pleasure. “Yes, I will marry you!”

-||-

“Y/n Y/m/n Urie, your husband needs you!” Brendon’s voice rings through your bedroom, and you shake your head with a laugh, heading for his closet. “Hi, Angel,” he purrs, opening his arms for you to step into his embrace. “You look gorgeous. Love this dress on you. Will you pick out a jacket for me?”

You both look at the pile of clothes on the floor. “B,” you say with a smile. “You are thirty-four years old and what’s more, you manage to pick out clothes for and dress our children every day. You can’t pick out your own jacket?”

“I just want to look good,” he grumbles playfully, swinging your entangled hands back and forth. “Throwing my Angel a birthday party tonight, and I just want to look good enough to be on her arm.”

“You’re sweet, Brendon,” you murmur, hugging him. “You know you’ll look good in anything.” He looks at you expectantly and you smile, bending down and selecting a black jacket with metallic detailing. “This one. This will look good with my dress.”

“I hope you know I don’t mean to make it about me,” Brendon murmurs in your ear as he slips his arms into the jacket. “I just—” but you silence him with a kiss.

“It’s all good, B,” you assure him, kissing his neck and pushing him back against the wall of the closet. He groans and rolls his head back, letting you step closer so you can keep working your lips up his neck and behind his ear. “Want you to be comfortable. Want the photos to look good—know we’re gonna be taking photos, so…” you nip behind his ear and let your hand slide down between his legs; you grin when he grunts and rocks forward into your palm.

“Angel, don’t tease me right now,” Brendon pleads, wrapping an arm around your waist and rubbing himself against your hand. “You know I want you.”

“And I want you,” you retort playfully, flexing your fingers. “You want me to drop to my knees and take care of you the way we both want?”

“That,” Brendon manages in a strained voice, “sounds more like a birthday present for me. Today is your birthday.”

“True,” you murmur, nibbling at his earlobe. “But neither of us have ever needed a birthday in order to get the other on their knees.” Brendon laughs appreciatively, and you think you may have won and are moments away from talking your husband out of his pants, but instead, his hand comes up and tangles in your hair.

“We can’t be late, Angel,” Brendon whispers, and you can hear the regret in his voice. Instead of pushing him, you slip out of his grasp and coax him to the door, curling a finger as you linger in the doorway. Without hesitation, he follows you, all the way out to the driveway.

“Does it ever amaze you that we’ve been wanting each other for seventeen years?” You look at him with a sweet smile once you’re both settled in the car. “We started dating the night before my seventeenth birthday. And here we are now.” You rest your hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

“Here we are now,” Brendon agrees, moving your hand higher. “Married with two beautiful children; meanwhile you don’t look a day over twenty-two.” You laugh and thank him for making you old enough to drink; when he kisses you, you palm his dick through his pants gently, rolling your hand to hold him in place while still driving him wild. He wraps a hand around your wrist to keep your hand against him. “God, you get me so hard,” Brendon groans after a minute, and you flex your fingers. “Fuck, Y/n, teasing me so good…”

“Me? Tease? Never. But my husband is so hard for me…really I’m just teasing myself…” you moan and squeeze his erection. “Seventeen years with you and fucking you, and I’m still insatiable.”

“Like I mind,” Brendon says, watching you through heavy eyes. “Wanna fuck my Angel good for her birthday…” you both glance ahead of you, gauging the distance to the venue and then at the digital display clock. “I think we have time,” he tells you. “I’m gonna pull over now.” Brendon guides the car off the main road, into a shopping center and parks behind one of the stores, positioning the car behind a loading dock.

You smirk at him and open your door so you can crawl into the backseat. “You’re bad, Urie,” you tell him.

“You love it,” he shoots back, following you. “Now, I want that dress up, the panties down, and you should brace yourself against the window.” You obey and put a hand flat against the window, raising your hips in offering to him. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs as he rocks into you from behind. “Seventeen years together, so she knows exactly how she likes me to fuck her. Such a good girl, my Angel. But she’s my dirty girl too, isn’t she? Look at her, on her knees in the back of this car, showing me her wet pussy, spreading herself with two fingers, showing me exactly where she wants my cock. Yes, honey, yes, you know I’m gonna give you my cock,” Brendon groans as he starts moving slowly.

“Brendon!” You yelp his name, and he spanks you gently. You give a small squeal of pleasure at the contact and push back for more; he obliges and moves faster, moaning your name as he works. Carefully, you move your other hand to the window so you can fully brace yourself against the glass. You spread your knees slightly so you’re more stable on the cushion of the backseat; Brendon shifts with you and just the feeling of his hands on your hips as he thrusts into you hard is overwhelming your senses. “Yes, Brendon, yes!” Your voice breaks with pleasure and he moans, kissing your neck and digging his fingers into your hips.

“My - Angel - gets - fucked - good - for - her - birth - day,” he pants, filling you fast and hard with one hand moving to rub your clit while the other wraps your hair around his fist, tugging gently and making you moan louder than you have yet. “That’s right,” he murmurs in your ear. “Let me hear how much you love getting fucked in our car like we’re still horny teenagers. Desperate for each other, can’t keep our hands off each other; just want to fuck you til we both collapse—you like that, Angel? You gonna come on your husband’s hard cock?”

“Brendon! Love it, love you, love your cock, oh fuck fuck fuck! Brendon, make me come!” You’re gasping and moaning and bucking back against him, head tipped back so he can hear you clearly. “Fuck me, make me come!”

“My Angel wants to come all over my cock?”

“Please!” You’re whimpering now and he bites your neck lightly, making you squeal and tighten around him as he thrusts hard.

“Good girl, begging for it. Come,” Brendon tells you, doubling his pace before bending over you and resting his hand on the window to keep himself upright. “Oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come, gonna make me come!”

“Ooooh shit!” Your words come out high and loud, and you push back onto him as you come. “Oh fuck shit Brendon yes fuck fuck fuck!”

“Angel, fu—” Brendon just manages his pet name for you before his body tenses over you and you feel him come, fast and hot. “Yes, fuck yes…”

Both of you are breathing hard and trying to steady yourselves when he pulls back and out of you. “Fuck,” you say with a breathless laugh as you turn around and curl into him. “The car has changed, but we have not.” He laughs too, dropping a hand down to fix your hair. “Do we have napkins or anything? We have to go be polite and civilized and appropriate at this party, don’t we? And I’m fucking soaked and have your cum dripping out of me. God.”

Brendon groans, settling into the seat beside you and running a hand through his own hair before he guides his pants back up into place. “Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. I think there’s a pack of tissues in the glove compartment. I’ll check.” Leaning forward now, Brendon rummages through the glove box and center console, finally producing a few napkins. “Here we are. But I’ll be honest, the thought of you wet and dripping with us all night is not a bad one,” he says with a laugh. “Just think about it; the two of us slow-dancing, my hand pressed to the small of your back, mouth dipping down to your ear to ask if you’re still wet for me. We both know you will be.” You whine and swipe between your legs before tugging your panties up into place.

“You’re being a tease,” you tell him, pushing your dress down before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Maybe a bit. Should I be sorry?”

“No, probably not.” you smile up at him, snuggling into his chest as he drapes an arm around you. “We broke tradition,” you point out, tracing hearts on his pant leg. He gives you a curious look, and you smirk. “We always fucked in the car after whatever we were at because we couldn’t or didn’t want to go home.”

“Oh no,” Brendon says in mock horror, grinning a little. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text and when he catches your inquisitive look, he laughs. “I just asked Steph to stay later with the kids.” You raise an eyebrow, and Brendon squeezes your thigh affectionately. “I asked because it sounds like I’ll have to fuck my perfect wife in the car again before we get home to our beautiful children. My life is so hard, clearly.” He gives you a faux-longsuffering expression, making you laugh.

“Mmmm, your life is hard,” you agree, kissing his cheek and palming him through his pants. “Just make sure that when we leave this party, your cock is too.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #he could fuck me any way he wanted #fanfic #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Happiest (revised)

Original request(s): I would love an imagine where the reader and Brendon are at Disney World, and he proposes in front of Cinderella Castle and it’s just so fluffy and sweet? Thanks! Aaaaaaand I would love to have a Brendon x reader imagine during a slow dance in their home followed by really slow, passionate, fairly vanilla sex.

Brendon x reader

Word count: 3.9k➡️5k

Warnings: nothing really. Pretty vanilla per the request.

-||-

“Bren, why are we walking so fast?” You’re practically trotting alongside your boyfriend, your hands tangled together as he cuts through the crowd—well, as he follows through the parting of the people Zack makes as he cuts through the crowd while Jake brings up the rear, his camera in tow. “Our next Genie+ pass isn’t until—” you pause to think.

“5:30. For the Seven Dwarves. But—” Brendon cuts himself off and tugs you close so you’re flush against him as a tour group in bright yellow shirts marches by, chanting at the top of their lungs. “But we’ve got somewhere to be,” he finishes, stroking the small of your back. “Come on, my love.” He nods in the direction where Zack and Jake are waiting patiently. Before starting though, he adjusts his hat as the stragglers of the tour group shoot you both furtive looks. You nudge him and look up at him, and he looks back at you. You’re silently asking the question, and Brendon nods. There’s a bit of time.

He waves at the teenagers, who squeal in stunned recognition, while you dart away to tell Zack that Brendon needs five minutes. Mission accomplished, you move back to where your boyfriend stands, and offer to take the photos. He beams at you, and the girls are gushing with gratitude to you both.

Photos taken and Zack alerted, he’s back to his brutal pace, and you and Brendon are laughing as you stumble over each other to keep up with him. Jake is taking his time, stopping and shooting his own photos seemingly at random but always catching back up with you by weaving through the crowds effortlessly. When you finally come to a stop, you stare up at the castle in front of you. “Brendon, what are we—” but your stomach growling interrupts you before you can finish the thought. He smiles.

“Fixing that. Come on, Y/n. We’re having lunch at the castle!” Brendon beams at you as Zack leads your group into the tunnel cutting through the castle and opens an ornate door on one side. You must look like a child at Christmas when you launch yourself at Brendon, hugging him tightly, and you can hear the shutter of Jake’s camera going crazy. “Happy, Princess?” Brendon murmurs in your ear. You nod, still clinging to him.

“You do make me feel like a princess,” you tell him, smiling radiantly. “I’m the luckiest, happiest girl.”

He kisses your forehead and holds you close as Zack lets the cast member at the hostess stand know the four of you are here. “Zack doesn’t mind being the responsible adult, handling all of this for us, does he?” You cling to Brendon, and he shakes his head.

“Nah. For one thing, he knows I shouldn’t do it myself. Best to lie low whenever possible. Small things like the photos earlier aren’t a big deal, but…my name on a lunch reservation feels different. And our anxiety manifests differently. Mine, I need to avoid it all. He needs to feel like he’s in control. And this way, he is. Despite what he may say or how he rolls his eyes, he likes taking care of you. He knows you’re important to me,” and Brendon breaks off so he can kiss you softly. “He knows you’re important to me, which means you’re important to him. He knows you make me the happiest I’ve ever been so…he’s going to keep you safe and keep you around.” Brendon shifts a little, biting his lip. “I love you.”

Your eyes are welling, and you clutch him to you. “I love you too. Thank you for treating me so well.” Brendon smiles and brushes his lips over yours once more, murmuring that he’s only treating you the way you deserve to be treated. “Still…” you trail off when Zack beckons. “Oooh! Time to go,” you say giddily, tugging at Brendon’s hand. “Let’s go, baby!”

-||-

“How do I look?” Brendon angles the plastic crown on his head and looks to you for approval. “That bad?” He teases when he catches your rapt expression. “Yikes, I knew I’d look dumb, but—” and as he reaches to remove the crown, you shoot out a hand and slap his away.

“Don’t you dare. You look gorgeous,” you murmur, transfixed on him. “Absolutely gorgeous. My Prince Charming.” He beams at you and raises his glass to yours, tapping them together lightly. “To us,” you say with a smile. He echoes your toast happily, and you both drink. Zack and Jake mimic the two of you, making you and Brendon blush and laugh.

“Sorry guys, we’ll try to stop living in our own little world,” you offer, and Jake shrugs, urging you two to lean together so he can take a photo. Brendon gets up and moves around the table to wrap his arms around you, and you smile up at him, forgetting about the camera and everything else. You tend to do that in his arms. There’s the snap of the shutter—you both blink, adjusting your expressions for the camera.

“Don’t bother,” Jake says with a wave, studying the preview screen. “That candid was everything.” He turns the camera to show you both, and you gasp quietly. “I know, right? It’s perfect.” Jake looks ridiculously pleased with himself, but you have to concede that the photo is definitely your new favorite.

Brendon kisses the top of your head before moving back to his seat. Once seated, he reaches across the table, taking your hands.

“Alright, time for a confession.” You look at him with wide eyes, and he smiles nervously. “This technically isn’t just a vacation.” Brendon pauses, and you nod, encouraging him to continue, even though you’re confused. “I have something important to do later. But if you’ll bear with me, I promise it’ll be worth it.” He smiles reassuringly and squeezes your hands. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” you tell him, raising your intertwined hands to kiss your interlocked fingers. “You always keep your promises. What do you have to do later that’s important?” He mimes zipping his lips and grins at you as the server places your side salads in front of you. You’re distracted; you give a quiet squeal of delight and gesture at your salad bowl. “Bren, even the croutons are shaped like Mickey!” He laughs delightedly at your glee and nods, watching you happily. “B, this is amazing. You’re amazing. Even if you won’t tell me what we’re really here for, this is amazing, and I’m so happy.”

“I’m glad. You being happy is all I ever want.” He shoots Zack a playfully dirty look when Zack gags into his cheeseburger, and you all laugh before digging into your food. “I mean it,” Brendon murmurs later over the slice of cake you’re sharing for dessert. “You being happy is everything to me.” You stab a piece of cake with frosting and bring it to his lips, smiling when he delicately plucks it from your fork.

“I am happy. I'm so happy. Brendon, my love, I’m the happiest. Are you?” You ask the question softly, taking your own bite. He nods eagerly, echoing your statement and strokes your hand that’s resting on the table with his index finger. “Good. You are so good and kind and wonderful. You deserve to be the happiest you can be,” you tell him, leaning in and meeting his lips for a soft, chaste kiss. As you part, the server approaches with the bill; Brendon holds out his wrist to tap his magic band to the scanner. Quickly, he signs the slip she offers and adds a tip before the four of you stand.

Brendon slips an arm around your waist and holds you close so Zack can lead the way out of the restaurant. You duck your head and follow Zack out, Brendon right behind you. His hand on the small of your back is soothing; you relax into his touch. Once you’re outside, you both slip your hats back on and check each other. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, kissing you quickly.

“Perfect. I’m good too?” He asks, tugging at the brim of his hat, and you echo him, taking both of his hands in yours and swinging them back and forth. “Good,” he affirms, squeezing your hands. “Let’s go,” he says after a moment, beckoning you to follow him. You’re at a leisurely pace now, and Zack pauses by a building designed to look like a fire station on Main Street. He knocks on a door, and it opens; Zack herds you and Brendon inside.

“Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, shrugging out of his leather jacket, leaving him in black jeans and a black t-shirt. You shiver just looking at him, and he slings it over your shoulders. “Cold, sweetness?” When you nod, he presses his lips to your forehead. “Then I’ll leave it with you. And my hat.” He nests it over yours. “Keep those safe for me?” He asks, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Where will you be? Wait, where are we?”

Brendon smiles sheepishly when a Disney cast member trots up with a clipboard in hand. The back of the clipboard has a familiar wreath logo on it, and you gape at him in disbelief. “Are you…no…wait. Are you—are you going to be in the Disney Christmas parade?” You’re whispering, even though everyone in this huge room seems to be in on the plan.

He grins at you and nods as another cast member appears with a garment bag. She unzips it swiftly and whips out a jacket you’ve never seen before, but it’s definitely meant for Brendon: the gold swirls look like a recent tour jacket, but these are slightly more precise, more uniform, and they look like—you grab his arm. “Those are Mickey heads!”

Brendon smiles and nods as he slips into the jacket, and yet another cast member comes up with a small black case that opens to reveal his signature golden microphone. “Urie, you sneak!” You exclaim in a stunned whisper, unable to stop grinning. “I didn’t even know they were recording today. This is the best surprise ever.”

“Hopefully not ever,” he murmurs with a small smile, passing you the microphone to hold while Zack slips him the box with his cufflinks; they’re a custom black opalescent set you got him last Christmas with his band’s logo engraved in them, and you get a little thrill every time you see him wear them. “Okay. I’ll see you soon, my love.” He kisses you once more, holding you close and breathing you in. “I won’t miss our Genie+ pass. Promise.” He pulls back and smiles, eyes shining. “I love you, Y/n.”

You whisper it back, hand him his microphone, and he blows you one last kiss as he’s whisked away by the cast members; you whirl around to look at Zack and Jake. “You guys knew?” They exchange looks and then meet your eyes. “Oh, of course, you knew. He couldn’t take one step without one of you knowing about it. Okay, so…now what? Do we get to watch? Where do we watch?” You’re impatient; you just want to see him perform. You know they’re taping and will require several takes, but you don’t care. You love watching him perform and want to see every moment of it.

At your question, a woman looks up; she recognizes Zack and waves the three of you over. There’s a cluster of large monitors and chairs; Jake makes himself comfortable in one and you do too, settling in to wait.

It’s been probably about twenty minutes when one of the cast members who is standing around introduces herself and says she’s in training to work in the boutique doing hair; she asks if she can practice on you. You’re not opposed, but you don’t know the plan. When you glance at Zack, he shrugs and nods, telling you you’ve got the time.

She flags down two fellow cast members to do your makeup and nails after begging to let them practice on you, and before you know it, your vision is entirely blocked by the woman doing your makeup and, honestly, you don’t mind. You know they’re not filming yet, so you're not missing anything, and the brushes feel good on your skin. You only did the bare minimum this morning: a tinted moisturizer, some mascara, and your lip gloss. But Shannon, as she introduced herself, is going all out, studying you from different angles while Tori works on your hair, debating between different styles behind you, and Renee works diligently at your cuticles. The camera shutter startles you; you look up, and Jake is grinning at you innocently, telling you Brendon will want to see you all done up.

-||-

“God,” you marvel, looking at yourself in the mirror. “You’re all incredible!” They blush and thank you before turning their attention to the monitor where you can see Brendon’s float just edging onto the screen. His voice carries through the air, and you’re swooning internally, watching him work the crowd from the Nightmare Before Christmas float he’s been assigned. Everyone else in the waiting area is mesmerized too, and your heart swells with pride. Your man is so talented and makes people so happy. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and you can’t wait to curl up in bed with him and have him tell you all about it.

It’s been maybe thirty minutes of repetition, of pulling the float back to reshoot from a new angle, when Zack checks his watch and comments that your clothes, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with Brendon’s leather jacket thrown over it, don’t really match your face and hair. The three women guide you out of your chair and lead you away with knowing grins, telling you not to protest.

“I blame you for this, Zack!” You call back teasingly before falling into stunned silence when Shannon flings open a door to a room that’s filled with what looks like dresses in every shade and every type of fabric known to man. “Well,” you say with a good-natured shrug. “You’ve done my hair, nails, and makeup…might as well dress me up too.”

-||-

“Oh Y/n!” Zack exclaims in a teasing voice. “You look like an absolute princess!” You roll your eyes at him and smooth your hands over the black crepe sheath dress Tori convinced you to put on. Brendon’s jacket is still keeping the chilly air off of your otherwise-bare shoulders and you insisted on keeping your high-top converses on; still, you do actually feel pretty fantastic.

Zack checks his watch again. “Right. Come on.” He reaches for you, and you shoot him an alarmed look, saying you’re not going anywhere; you need to go change out of the dress. “No time. We’re going now.” He’s putting a hand on your shoulder and steering you towards the fire station entrance and back towards Main Street, despite your protestations. “Come on, let’s go.”

When you step out onto Main Street, your breath catches. The parade is still going, and it’s absolutely incredible. Zack keeps walking, the hand on your shoulder propelling you gently forward. As you approach the castle, Zack waves at another cast member with a clipboard and headset, and there’s a call to pause. Brendon’s float is centered in front of the castle, and Zack nudges you through the floats. You look up; Brendon is waiting for you, an expectant smile on his face and—is that anxiety in his eyes? “

Brendon, what is this?” Your voice shakes, because you think you know. At least, you hope you know. The hair and makeup, the change of clothes, the manicure, the perfect positioning of the float in front of the castle—it’s all hinting at one thing, and you know you’ll be disappointed if you’re wrong. “Brendon?”

Instead of answering, he holds out one hand for you; you take it, and he leads you to the center of the float, smiling at you reassuringly, his thumb moving in soft circles over the back of your hand.

“I love you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. Your eyes are wide, your legs are trembling, and your hands are shaking as he raises the microphone back to his mouth. You’re more sure than ever that you know where this is going, and you take a steadying breath. He’s worked so hard to make this all possible; you’re going to take it all in and remember every single detail.

“Two years ago, you made me the happiest man alive when you said yes to being my girlfriend. It’s been two amazing years, and I can honestly say you being by my side for the highs has made them that much sweeter, and the lows have been so much more bearable. You’re perfect for me; we complement each other so well, and I’m so wildly in love with you. I don’t want to go a single day without you in my life. Y/n Y/l/n, will you make me the happiest man alive once more?”

Your hands are over your mouth, and your eyes are brimming with tears as he drops to one knee while fishing a small box out of his suit jacket. Eyes on his, you drop your hands, letting him take your left hand with one as he holds the open ring box carefully in the other. “My love, my dream girl, my princess—can we add one more title? Will you become my wife and do me the honor of marrying me?”

You’re nodding, repeating your “yes” over and over again before the whole sentence is even out of his mouth, and he’s on his feet in an instant, his arms around you as his lips find yours for a passionate, ecstatic embrace. The crash startles you both; you pull away and start laughing giddily as the gold glitter fireworks explode behind the castle. “You’re absolutely incredible; you’re the best man I’ve ever known,” you tell him, forehead resting against his and lips brushing.

“Because you make me strive to be. Let me put your ring on your finger, my love,” Brendon murmurs, stepping back and taking your left hand again so he can slide the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit and truly stunning; it’s a large, round solitaire diamond that shines like nothing you’ve ever seen before. “It looks beautiful on you,” he tells you softly, and you fling your arms around him again, telling him it’s absolutely perfect as you kiss him deeply. His hands slide down your back and move past your waistline; you arch into him, desperate for more. Zack clears his throat, and you pull apart, beaming at each other and breathing hard.

“You’re on a float for a family parade in front of Disney’s castle; everyone is watching. Keep it PG,” Zack intones. “Good news; that was the last take for Brendon. You’re both free to go.”

-||-

“I have one more surprise for you,” Brendon murmurs, stroking your hand lovingly as you sit snuggled up beside him on the grass at the fireworks viewing party following the dessert buffet he booked for your group. You look at him in wonder; he’s had surprise after surprise this afternoon.

“It’s a good one,” he assures you, and you laugh, nudging him with your shoulder and telling him that each surprise has been perfect. “I think you’re really going to like this one though,” he says with a smile. “I hope.” He slings his arm over your shoulder and you burrow against him, warmer now that you’re back in your original clothes—though you appreciate his sneakiness earlier; he knows you well and knew you wouldn’t want to be in jeans when he got down on one knee. The first firework goes off, and he turns his head slightly to kiss your temple. “I love you,” he whispers. “Thank you for making me happier than I ever thought possible. I truly am the happiest I’ve ever been.” You smile up at him and murmur it back, cupping his face in one hand and drawing him in for a long kiss.

When the fireworks come to an end, Brendon stands and offers you his hand; you clamber to your feet and wait for the crowd to disperse. Zack is standing close by and Jake is leaning against the fence of the garden seating area, having gone for a walk to take some photos. When the people thin out, Zack nods and follows closely behind you while Brendon leads the way. Your hands are tangled together and he’s beaming when you approach the castle again. “Brendon, dinner here too?” You’re teasing, but he nods, running his thumb over your ring.

“Sure, we can order room service if you’d like.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

“Honey, we’re home,” Brendon says in a dramatic voice, knocking on a door. “We’re staying in the Cinderella Suite. Just for the night though,” he amends with a grin. “A gift from the Mouse to us, celebrating our engagement.” A cast member in an opulent blue velvet uniform swings the door open and greets you by name with a broad smile. He guides you inside and invites Brendon to tap his magic band against a small panel under a painting of the glass slipper. He does so, and elevator doors slide open. You’re in awe; Brendon guides you in after the cast member, Nathan, and Zack and Jake bring up the rear. As the doors shut, you’re still staring at Brendon in silent wonder. The doors open to a marble foyer, and Nathan leads the way, giving you a brief tour of the space.

Once he leaves, Zack checks in with Brendon, who nods and tells him that you’re both fine and definitely in for the night. “Go back out, have fun,” Brendon tells Zack and Jake, who don’t need to be told twice. The elevator doors close after them, and Brendon turns to you, eyes soft.

“Alone at last,” he murmurs, taking you in his arms. “My sweetest girl. My gorgeous princess. My love. My fiancée.” The word makes you beam; you throw your arms around his neck and he lifts you up slightly, carrying you into the living room, or the salon as Nathan called it.

Brendon places you gently on the couch so you’re sitting, and he turns towards the bookshelves, messing with his phone. After a moment, Sinatra’s “All The Things You Are” softly fills the room. “Dance with me, sweetheart?” He extends a hand to you, and you place yours in his eagerly, letting him pull you close.

He’s singing softly in your ear as you dance slowly, one of his hands sliding down your back to rest at the curve of your spine. “All that I want in all of this world is you,” Brendon’s voice is low and smooth, and you find yourself melting into his arms. He holds you tightly before carefully dipping you, and you swoon playfully. You giggle as he brings you upright again, and you cling to him. “I’m the happiest man alive,” he tells you, kissing you softly. You nod, going on tip-toe to kiss him back tenderly.

As the song closes though, you tug at his shirt, leading him back towards the bedroom you saw earlier. You’re ready to really celebrate. “Bedtime, sweetness?” He follows eagerly when you nod, practically tripping over himself as you both laugh and race to the bed hand in hand.

The large bed has an ornate canopy over it, and he lifts you up and lays you out over the plush comforter. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, and you nod, already barefoot as his fingers work at your jeans.

He makes quick work of your clothes and it’s not long before you’re both under the covers, pressed against each other with roaming hands and eager mouths. “Brendon,” you murmur against his lips. “I need you.” Your hand sneaks down to stroke him gently, and he kisses your temple. One of his hands slips between your thighs and nudges them apart so he can trace his fingers against the wet heat he finds there. You’re moaning and squirming, desperate for more; you drape your leg over his waist, and he pulls you even closer.

“Need you,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing against him. “Brendon, please.”

“I know, sweetness,” Brendon murmurs, kissing you softly. “I know. I need you. But I also need to get you ready for me; can’t just—” and his hips rock forward. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I just stripped you naked to get my cock in you?”

“Fuck,” you whine, clinging to him. You’re not sure if it’s the feeling of him against your thigh or the things he’s saying, but you’re overwhelmed with lust. “I know you’re being wonderful right now, but—”

Brendon laughs, shaking his head and kissing your forehead. “But nothin, sweet girl,” he teases. “We’re going to do this right, okay?” When you sigh your acceptance, he moves down your body and presses a gentle kiss to your hip. Your back arches just feeling his warm breath on your skin, and your legs fall open wider for him. “Good girl.”

“Oh, yes,” you moan, delving your hands down under the covers to grip his head. “Oh please, Brendon, yes!”

His tongue is moving with delicate strokes, lips caressing and breathing heavy. You’re glad he insisted on foreplay; you love his mouth so much. Brendon’s making soft, desperate sounds as he buries his face in you more firmly, his fingers wrapping around your waist and holding you in place on his mouth. After a moment, both of his hands move behind your knees, guiding them up so the blankets drape over him loosely.

You can’t stop moving against him, can’t stop whimpering his name and praising his tongue or the way he’s slipped two fingers in deep and is curling them back. You gasp, and Brendon nods, murmuring that he wants you to come for him. “Come on my face; give me all this sweetness—love you so much, want you to let go, really come for me. Know you can, and you know I want it all. Give your man everything you’ve got.”

You kick the blankets off, needing to see him. His dark eyes flash up from between your legs; you moan when his tongue rubs against your clit, and then you’re coming hard. Your body is trembling, eyes wide open, lips parted, and your fingers curl in his hair as you come with a loud squeal.

Brendon groans, tongue caressing while his fingers keep stroking through your climax, and you’re trembling when he crawls up the bed to take you in his arms. “Hi, my love,” he murmurs, grinning when you clutch him close and kiss him desperately. “It was good, then?”

“Yes; god, so good,” you whisper, nodding to reinforce your point. Brendon sighs contentedly, running a hand between your legs and stroking over his length. “Need you,” you remind him, and he agrees, situating himself over you and kissing you as he pushes in. His quick intake of breath matches your short gasp of pleasure; he caresses your face as his hips move slowly. “Yes,” you repeat, raking both hands through his hair and holding his mouth close to yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Brendon says as he rocks forward again, going deeper this time. “Does this feel good?” You tell him yes, you can’t get enough of him; his mouth is on yours again, and he’s got one hand resting on your thigh while the other cups your face, lingering between you and the pillow. You’ve got one hand playing with his hair at the nape of his neck while the other strokes over his back. “I love you so much,” he repeats, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you whisper, clinging to him. “So much. I’m going to be your wife.” At the word, both of you break out into uncontrollable grins, and he holds you tight, both of you moaning and moving together slowly. “Oh B,” you whimper, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” Brendon groans, breathing hard. “Y/n, love, my sweet girl, you feel so—”

“Yeah,” you agree in a tight voice. “Yeah, you feel so good—oh god, Brendon! Brendon! Now!”

“Y/n, yes!” The hand framing your face moves to caress your hair and his mouth is on yours with urgency. You’re both moaning into each other’s mouths, your tongues touching and lips moving together as his stomach tenses, and you feel him come. Feeling him brings a hot second wave of pleasure through you, and he groans, clutching you close as you tremble under him. “That’s it honey, come for me. Come for your future husband.”

“Ooooooh fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you quiver in his arms. “Brendon, yes!”

“Y/n,” Brendon murmurs after a moment when both of your breaths are steady and even again, nuzzling your nose. “You’re so beautiful. All the time, but especially when you come for me.”

“God, Brendon,” you say with a soft laugh. “You’re—you’re perfect.”

“You are too, Y/n. Perfect and perfect for me,” Brendon says as he brushes your hair over your ear and pulls you closer still. “You’re so damn perfect for me. You’re everything I've ever wanted in a partner. I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers in your ear, stroking your thigh.

“I’m pretty sure they call Disney the happiest place on earth,” you mumble, resting your head against his chest. “Well, I can confirm that’s true. I’m the happiest girl alive right now, and I will be, as long as I’m your wife. So basically forever,” you say with a soft smile. “Since I’m always going to be yours.”

“They also call it the place where dreams come true,” Brendon tells you, kissing your forehead. “And, to quote the love of my heart, the light of my life, and my future wife…I can confirm that’s true, because you’re my dream girl, and I’m always going to be yours.” He kisses you once more as you snuggle in closer. “Y/n…all of my dreams came true today. I love you so much.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie fluff #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #brendon urie fanfiction #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Angel (revised)

Original request: Uhhhh I have a request based off of the most recent picture you reposted by @panicattheforeheadsblog.. I get such dom energy from that picture and I can’t handle it. I’m just thinking so he’s live on twitch talking to his fans about tour and stuff, and the reader wants his attention really bad so she creates a Twitch account with a username that makes him know that it’s her, but not any of the fans. Then the reader starts teasing him, begging for him. When he sees it he tries to ignore it but she knows he knows and starts messing with him more. Until he finally says he needs to sign off for the night. He comes into the room and punishes her for acting out and gets all dom 👌. Lots of spanking 👀☕ Sorry if that’s too specific I’m in a place and I got carried away 😂😂

Brendon x reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Thigh-riding, oral (both), sex, spanking, language.

-||-

Brendon pauses the stream, and his eyes flash behind his glasses. “Y/n. I know that’s you. Stop it.” His composure breaks, and he grins. “You’re being so bad, baby.” His voice is a low purr, and it takes all of your self-control to not whimper.

“You love when I’m bad,” you tease when you’re sure your voice won’t tremble with desire. You’re making a conscious effort not to look up from your phone where you’re messing with the Twitch app you’ve just installed purely to fuck with him because he isn’t fucking you. “Besides, I’m not doing anything.”

Brendon scoffs playfully, and you smirk. “Okay,” he murmurs. “So the username that is a combination of my anniversary with my still-not-public girlfriend and her dog’s name is…who then?” You shrug, still not making eye contact, murmuring something about strange coincidences. “I swear to god, Y/n,” Brendon laughs, shaking his head. “If you send one more message into the stream that’s just our safe word,” and now you look at him, grinning. Everyone else in the stream has been ignoring your single-word messages of ‘fondue,’ but you knew he was seeing them and you just knew it was getting to him. “You’re gonna need it,” he finishes, the longing and underlying tension clear in his voice.

You hesitate, unsure. “Wait…is…is that supposed to make me not send it again? Because honestly, that’s not very convincing. You should try harder, B.”

You stretch a little in the armchair opposite him on the couch, moaning at the pleasant burn through your legs. “You know I love it when you get a little rough. You feel guilty, but you shouldn’t; I love when I’ve got marks from you all over my body. Fingerprints, bruises, bite marks, anything. Hold me tight, claim me, fuck me hard, make me tear our pillows apart with my teeth because you’re pushing me to the edge with your tongue and fingers and cock. God, my absolute favorite thing is when you eat my pussy from behind while I’ve got my face pressed to a pillow. The way you smack my ass and pull me back onto your mouth so you can rub your tongue against all of me; I just can’t stop coming.” You’re bouncing one leg crossed over the other, your tone sugary sweet despite your words, and your eyes still on your phone.

“Y/n, please,” Brendon groans with a smile, closing his eyes. He takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “You’re killing me. You’re so…god, baby, you know I want you.” You drop your phone and raise your eyebrows teasingly. “You’re killing me. Come over here.” He slips his glasses back on and pats his lap, rubbing his thigh. “Come sit, baby.”

“Someone is still supposed to be streaming…” you point out, giving him a suggestive smile, stretching again. “But that same someone,” you murmur, “is baiting me. Wearing his glasses, calling me ‘baby,’ asking me to sit on his lap…someone knows I can’t resist any of those things.” He grins and closes his laptop, setting it to one side. You groan when he pulls his glasses down seductively. “Fuck, Brendon…you’re teasing, but you know I can’t resist that.”

“So stop resisting,” he tells you with a smile. “Come here, Angel. You wanted my attention so badly? I’m going to give it to you. And if you ask nicely, I’ll give you something else too.”

You grin and roll off of the chair, landing on your hands and knees so you can crawl over to him, hips swaying. “You’re killing me. You’re fucking killing me,” Brendon groans as you work your way across his living room at a glacial pace and bite your lip, eyes on his. “No—fuck, Y/n, don’t fucking slow down—no!” He fists his hair in frustration when you teasingly move even slower, mimicking a sloth to perfection as you crawl in slow-motion. “Better.” Brendon nods approvingly when you switch back to your original seductive speed. “Get over here.”

When you come to a stop at his feet, he beckons you closer, so you rise up enough for him to bend forward and snake an arm around your waist and haul you into his lap. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, nudging your ear with his nose. “There’s my Angel who needs some attention, hm?” You nod sweetly, and he grins, pulling back to kiss you softly. “You’ve got my attention now. Why don’t you settle on my thigh here and let me give you my full attention?” You shift a little so you’re straddling his thigh. “Hi love,” he whispers, tugging a lock of your hair affectionately. “Ride my thigh. Make yourself feel good; let me see you come like this.” You rise up to shove your leggings down and he stops you. ”Nope. Like this. Fully clothed. Want my angel to come for me fully clothed. Once she’s done that, then she can strip for me, and we’ll go from there.”

“You’re bad, B,” you scold him teasingly. “Making me come in my panties and leggings.” He smirks and tells you it’s payback for the way you were being bad earlier.

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce with a shrug and rest your hands on his shoulders lightly as you start to move on his thigh. Brendon grins and points out that you’ve admitted you were being bad if you’re agreeing this is payback. “Hush, B. That was then. This is now. Fuck,” you mumble, closing your eyes. “Fuck, this feels so good. Your thighs, Bren…they’re always talking about your thighs and wanting to ride them and come on them, and Jesus if they only knew how good—oh, fuck!” Your voice jumps an octave when he starts kissing your neck. “Brendon, god, you know I love that.” His hands wrap around your hips, and he pulls you higher up his thigh so the top of yours is pressed to his erection. “Yes baby, fuck yes yes yes!” You squeal when you come, the seam of your leggings pressing against your clit and driving you over the edge; you’re babbling incoherent gratitude for his making you come as he rubs back against your thigh while making small sounds of pleasure. “Oh fuck oh god Brend—what are you doing?”

You’re disoriented and panting when he turns and pushes you onto your back so you’re stretched out on the couch. “Oh fuck, baby, what are you doing?” You’re breathless now as he tugs your leggings and panties down in one swift movement and wiggles so he’s kneeling between your thighs.

“Speaking of amazing thighs,” he mumbles, pressing warm kisses up toward your pelvis, starting at your knees and alternating between legs. “My baby has the best thighs. And the best pussy. And the best clit. And now that she’s been good for me and come on my thigh, I’m gonna eat her perfect pussy until she comes again.” You’re squirming like crazy by the time his mouth closes over you and his tongue rolls out; you both let out broken moans of pleasure as his tongue moves deeper. “Honey,” he gasps against you. “Angel, my perfect girl, oh fuck.” His arms curl under your thighs and he spreads you wider for his mouth so he can really torture you with his licking and gentle sucking and moaning and kissing. “Want to eat you out forever; shit, you’re the best.”

“Oh god Brendon, baby, yes, eat it!” Your head is pressed back against the couch armrest, and your hands are in his hair as his mouth moves faster and sloppier; he’s abandoned his refined technique since both of you know exactly what you need to get off right now. “Don’t stop,” you moan as his mouth moves over you, tongue licking in broad, wet, warm strokes while he teases your clit with the tip of his tongue using delicate little licks. “Oh fuck, Brendon don’t stop.” His lips are sliding over you; it actually feels like he’s making out with your pussy and, given the way he’s moaning, clutching your thighs, and rubbing against the couch, he’s loving it as much as you are. “Gonna make me come,” you manage, voice high and tight. “Gonna come, oh Jesus fucking Christ fuck me; Brendon, yes!” Your squeal of pleasure is ripped from you; you’re breathing hard, pulling at his hair, gasping and grinding as you praise him. “So fucking good, oh—oh fuck Brendon—making me come oh fuck baby the best you’re the best oh god yes yes yes now!”

“Holy fuck,” Brendon groans, licking at you eagerly. “Goddamn, you’re so sweet, Angel. Oh shit, come for me one more time, my love. Need more.” His fingers slide into you and curl insistently. “Once more, baby.” You moan as he rubs against your G-spot, and your entire body convulses.

“That’s my girl,” Brendon murmurs against you, tongue already moving and swiping over you tenderly. “My baby comes when she’s told. Damn, you’re such a good girl for me.” He scoots up and rests his head on your stomach, trying to catch his breath. “Sweet girl. Love you so much.”

“Oh god,” you whimper, reaching down and bending to the side to grope for his erection. “I fucking love you. Brendon, baby, I love you and I need you. Oh fuck, please, please, let me have you!” He nods and props himself up on one arm to move over you. You tangle a hand in his hair and pull his mouth, still slick with you, down to yours. “Fondue, baby, oh fuck, fondue.” Brendon pulls back and looks at you, obviously confused that you’re safe-wording now.

“If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to die. Save me.” You grin at him, and he groans, crushing his mouth to yours and sliding into you; you scratch and claw at his back as he goes deep.

“Fuck, Angel. I’ll always save you.” You both gasp as you clench around him; his eyes roll back at the feeling, and you’ve tangled your legs around him—your lips are parted in silent ecstasy as you both move together. “God fucking damn,” Brendon manages, trying to focus on your face. You whimper and nod, rocking upward to meet his hips. The movement makes the crown of his cock brush over your clit and you’re dizzy with lust; you can already feel your impending orgasm, and he’s close too if the breathless praise he’s murmuring is any indication.

“Ow!” Your yelp of pain is sudden; you’re both frozen, and then start laughing after the shock passes. “Your glasses, B.” You reach to one side to grab the frames that have fallen off his face from his frenetic movement. “Here you go.”

“Should I go put my contacts in?” Brendon is laughing too as he places his glasses back on his face. You scoff and wiggle backward so his erection slips from you; you roll onto your stomach before arching up onto your hands and knees. “Baby?” His voice is a little strained as he watches you settle onto the couch, making yourself comfortable while waiting for his cock.

“No. Keep them on. They make me so hot. You’ll just have to fuck me from behind so they don’t fall off.” You’re grinning at him over your shoulder, and he smiles as he shifts too and grips both of your hips. Abruptly, he comments how you won’t be able to see them on him though. “So? I’ll know they’re there,” you murmur, winking at him. “Fuck me, Urie.”

“Oh god,” Brendon groans as he thrusts forward. “Fuck, baby, you feel so—love getting you like this—miss your pretty face, but I love holding you and going hard like you love—oh shit, Angel, yes, so goo—fuck!” His voice breaks off in a strangled moan as you tighten around him again; you’ve got your face buried in your arms as you work hard to meet him thrust for thrust. “Gonna come,” he warns you.

“Come, Bren,” you pant, lifting your head and turning to meet his eyes as best you can. “Come in me. Come in your Angel.” He groans again, lurching forward to kiss over your neck. The edge of his glasses presses against your skin, and you can’t control the whimper that comes out of you. “Fuck, Brendon!” He nods, tongue teasing behind your ear as he presses himself flush against you, his chest to your back. “Baby, I’m—right there, I’m gonna—”

“Come,” Brendon gasps, biting down lightly. Your shriek fills the room, and he bites harder, which makes your hips spasm as your orgasm rips through you. “Oh fucking hell, Angel; I’m coming in you,” he grunts, lips grazing your neck. “Oh fuck! Yes, come on my cock, yes!” His fingers dig into your hips, and his once-smooth rhythm is gone as he convulses, gasping your name and filling you. The heat makes you quiver; you tighten around him instinctively, wanting more. One of Brendon’s hands leaves your hip and snakes down between your legs to tease your clit, and it’s an instant reaction.

“Yes yes yes yes yes!” Your entire body is shaking with exertion as you chant and fall apart under his touch. “Oh fuck, Brendon, yes, there, now, fuck!” Your voice is tight, and your eyes are clenched shut; you can feel his breath on your neck and his middle finger is still moving over your clit in gentle circles. “Brendon, fuck!”

“Yeah Angel, say my name,” Brendon groans, resting his head on your shoulder blade. “That’s a good girl.” You’re both breathing hard; you can feel his chest heaving against your back before he scoots back and out of you. You whine at the loss, turning to give him a pleading look as he collapses in a seated position on the couch. “Come here, my love,” he murmurs, patting his lap. You turn and curl into yourself, head resting in his lap. Lazily, you run a finger up and down his still half-hard cock; he shivers, and you grin up at him. “Angelbaby,” he says softly, stroking your hair. “Someone still has to be punished for misbehaving while I was streaming.” He takes a lock of your hair and twists it around his index finger, tugging affectionately. You smile up at him, wriggling closer to his erection so you can lick at the base of his cock, grinning when you feel him twitch at your touch. “Don’t think you can blow your way out of this,” Brendon says with a laugh, tugging at your hair again.

“Oh I know I can’t. I’m just offering.” You grin and wrap a hand around him, pumping slowly. “Think you can spank me while I blow you? I promise not to bite your dick.” You smirk up at him, squeezing the head of his cock and licking eagerly at the rest of his shaft. “I promise,” you repeat, eyes closed as you taste yourself on his cock.

“Fuck, Y/n,” Brendon says helplessly, raking his hand through your hair, eyes wide. “You’re so…”

“Sexy? Dirty? Good? Amazing? I’ll take any of those,” you tell him with a small smile. He laughs and massages your scalp as he tells you E, all of the above. “Good answer,” you murmur, shifting onto your hands and knees and swallowing him down for a brief instant before pulling back with an audible pop as you let his cock slip out of your lips. “How many spankings did I earn, sir?” You’re rocking back and forth, wiggling your hips in anticipation. “Angel was such a bad girl,” you purr, licking at the tip of his cock.

“She was,” Brendon agrees in a low voice, still stroking your hair lovingly. “How many does my bad girl think she’s earned?”

You pause to mull this over, stroking his cock idly as you think. “Well,” you muse. “Let’s consider what exactly I did. I teased you, certainly.”

“You did.”

“And it was public since you were streaming.”

“It was.”

“And I made you cut your stream short so I could get off on your thigh,” you point out. “Three things.”

Brendon nods, considering. His hand leaves your hair and starts rubbing gentle circles over your ass and the backs of your thighs. “I think twenty for the teasing,” he decides, and you nod, telling him that sounds fair. He grins down at you. “And another ten for the public factor.” He pauses for another moment. “And another ten for ending the stream.”

“Forty?” Your voice is small, and he nods. Using his free hand, he cups your face and raises it gently so you meet his eyes. He searches your face, concern evident.

“Angel, we don’t have to—please you know you do not have to—we can—I don’t expect you to always—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Forty is good. I’m okay.” He nods slowly, fingers stroking your face now tenderly. He’s your first partner you’ve trusted enough to confess your interest in spanking; forty is certainly the most you’ve ever earned, but he’s been so good and compassionate as you both explore this.

He was quick to tell you he’d never spanked anyone before, but if it’s what you wanted…the first night you tried was one that solidified your faith in and love for him—both of you giggling and moaning and touching and teasing throughout, both of you surprised at how much you both enjoyed it. Because of that, you have full faith he’ll take care of you, and you both know he’ll stop before you safeword if there’s even a hint of you being uncomfortable.

“Just…” you falter, trying to find the words. “Pace yourself,” you finally say, arching your back into his touch. “Maybe only do the last…ten at full force.”

“Of course, Angel. Whatever you want,” Brendon soothes, kissing you softly. “Don’t bite my dick.” You giggle and kiss him back, shaking your head.

“I promise. Will you be counting since my mouth will be full?”

“Yeah honey,” Brendon murmurs. “I’ll count. You just focus on my cock.” He shifts slightly and pats you gently, almost as a gentle warning. “You ready?” You nod and suck the head of his cock in between your lips. “Fuck,” he grunts, letting his hand make contact. “My Angel sucks my cock so good. That’s one.” His hand pulls back and lands again. “Two.” You suck him down deeper, relishing how his cock twitches in your mouth when he spanks you. “Oh fuck, yes!”

-||-

You’re squealing around his cock, mouth tight and body rocking back and forth gently as Brendon reaches the final five. He’s at full force now as promised, and you’re so wet that it’s spread down your inner thighs. “Thirty-six,” Brendon groans, and you lurch forward under his hand. Your mouth tightens even more as your head moves to take him deeper. “Fuck, Angel, just the tip,” Brendon tells you in a tense voice. “Just the tip. That’s a good girl. Thirty—sev—oh fuck yes, such a good girl for me, sucking on my cock so nicely, shit baby, oh god, thirty-eight, yes yes yes love, thirty-nine, oh Jesus fucking Chr—shit!” Brendon is gasping as you suck hard, your hand clenching around the base of his cock and stroking upward urgently. You’ve been moaning and whining at each bit of contact, each time pushing you closer to the edge. “Gonna come with me?” Brendon groans, shifting slightly so the hand he’s been using to spank you is now between your legs and his other hand is angled, a bit awkwardly, to deliver the last swat. You nod as best you can with his cock in between your lips and he groans again, breath hitching. “Fuck, Angel. Jesus, okay, forty—holy sweet god in heaven yes!” Your own orgasm sends you reeling and you’re shrieking around his cock for the split second that he isn’t filling your mouth. His fingers slide into you and he curls them, doubling the intensity of your orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Brendon’s helpless chant fills your ears and you swallow eagerly before letting him slip from your mouth when he’s spent so you can let out your own squeals of pleasure.

“Brendon, baby, yes!” Your voice is hoarse and he immediately wraps an arm around you and flips you onto your back before settling between your legs, laying flat over you so your chests are together. “Holy shit,” you murmur after a moment, brushing your fingers over his face tenderly, lingering on the frame of his glasses almost in awe. “You’re…you’re incredible.” You bite your lip before you kiss him gently and he meets your embrace, lips moving over yours.

“No, you are, my love,” he counters when you part. “You’re something else entirely. I love you so much.” You repeat it back to him, letting your head rest on the throw pillows. He slumps over you, face in the crook of your neck. “Is it nap time, my love?”

“Hell yes,” you say with a laugh, running both of your hands through his hair as he nuzzles your shoulder. “I don’t think I could move an inch.” He smiles against your skin and makes a soft sound, agreeing with you. “Rest, baby,” you whisper to him, closing your eyes.

“You too, Angel,” he murmurs affectionately, turning his head to kiss your neck gently. “My good girl worked hard, taking those spankings and sucking my cock; she deserves a good nap.” You yawn, already half-asleep as he continues to praise you sleepily, so you’re not positive, but you think the last coherent thing he murmurs is, “god bless these glasses.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #brendon urie fanfiction #he could fuck me any way he wanted #fanfic #my work #imagine #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Let’s Play (revised)

Let’s Play

Original request from littledoodlebaby: Okay but sitting in Bs lap while he plays video games and he starts messing with the settings and realizes he can change the vibration intensity for the controller, can you imagine his dumbass smirk and he’d have one hand around your neck, not a lot of pressure but just holding you there like a sign of dominance and the other hand holding the controller to your clit and cycling through the vibration options nonstop and it’s not strong enough to get you off but it’s just enough to make you squirm and whine and he’s whispering in your ear and telling you to beg before he gives you something more sweET JESUS (plus glasses because damn).

Brendon x reader

Word count: 2.1k➡️ 2.8k

Warnings: language and dirty talk, use of controllers for non-video game purposes, praise, begging, sex.

-||-

“Fuck, Brendon, you know what your glasses do to me,” you say helplessly as you walk into the living room. You drop your purse and crawl into his lap when he beckons; he smiles and kisses you softly as you play with his hair. “Not fair,” you murmur against his lips, grinning. “It’s not fair that you can have me weak and wanting like this with little to no effort.”

“Little to no effort? Love, I think you’re forgetting what a burden it is for me to be this sexy,” Brendon says drily, rolling his eyes behind said glasses at you teasingly. “It gets positively exhausting, constantly trying to temper my sex appeal. But I do it for you, my love. If I didn’t work so hard at it, we’d do nothing but fuck.” You pout and call him a jerk, and he chuckles as he kisses down your neck. “I’m kidding, doll. You know I’m kidding.”

“But you’re not,” you whine, pulling back to look at him. “You may think you are, but you aren’t. You look this good all the time, and you make me behave. Think about it. You’re not on tour, you’re not working on anything right now, and I work from home. We could fuck literally all the time. My perfect day? You wake me up with soft kisses that grow more and more needy, and then you carry me to the shower where you fuck me fast and rough, both of us slick with silicone lube. After we’ve both come so hard we can’t stand, we’d collapse on the couch downstairs and eventually eat breakfast. Then you drag me back to bed for a midday nap through lunch, followed by slow, lazy sex. I make dinner when we wake up, and you definitely get your cock in me from behind. After we eat, we’d snuggle on the couch, and for dessert, you eat me out til I’m screaming your name. Then a nice bath and bed.”

Brendon’s breathing hard, his eyes are dark, and he’s clearly fantasizing about any one of those things you’ve listed. You continue. “That could be our life right now, but you make me behave and do things other than totally worship you with my mouth and body and hands.” He grins and tugs affectionately at your hair before bringing your mouth back to his. “Bren, I want you.”

“God, Y/n, you know I want you too,” he whispers, hand moving down your waist and over your hip. “Can’t you feel how hard I am from your little speech? I always want you. But I promised Jake I’d play for a bit. Can you be my best, patient girl? Sit with me, my love?” You nod and turn in his lap so your back is to his chest. You know realistically you can’t have him fucking you constantly, even though you want him. His arms are wrapped around your waist, and he rests his head on your shoulder. “Good girl,” he praises, nudging your head affectionately with his. “I love you, honey.” You murmur it back to him, closing your eyes.

“But… just out of curiosity,” you say in a purposefully neutral tone after a moment of silence. “How long were you playing before I got home?” Brendon’s silent, and you laugh, squeezing his thigh. “More or less than four hours?” Your question hangs in the air. Finally, he mutters the word “more” under his breath, and you grin, squeezing again. “That’s what I thought. More or less than six hours?” He repeats himself, and you shift in his lap. “Then I think you can play with me for a bit,” you purr.

“I am playing,” Brendon points out, messing with the controller. “And you’re here, so technically I’m playing with you.” You can hear the teasing note in his voice, and you mumble that he’s already lost if he’s resorting to technicalities.

“Oh!” His voice is a soft exclamation, and you open one eye, confused. “Well that’s interesting,” he murmurs. You’re unsure of what he means, until one of his hands leaves the controller and reaches up to caress your throat. You both love when he holds you like this; it’s never restricting or uncomfortable for you, just a reminder of the way you give yourself over to him and trust him to fully satisfy you. He always does, so you trust him now with whatever he’s just discovered.

Now, he’s nuzzling at your neck, murmuring how good you feel in his lap, and his other hand angles the controller so it’s resting between your legs. “Yeah, babydoll, let’s play.”

“What are you—oh!” You gasp as the controller pulses against your clit. “Brendon,” you sigh, hips rocking slightly when you feel his cock throb under you. “That feels—oh, fuck, B, take me to bed; don’t tease…” He smiles against your neck, and messes with the controller again. “Ooh shit,” you whimper, moving against him more now as the vibration intensifies. “Bren, it’s right against my—god, yeah; rub it against my clit, yes!”

“You wanted to play with me,” he whispers in your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “So we’re going to play.” His fingers flex gently on your throat, and you whine, rubbing back against him through his sweatpants with purpose. “You sound so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, pressing the controller against you more firmly. “You like how that feels? You like that firm pressure, the way it buzzes right against your clit? Not as good as your man licking it for you, but still pretty good, huh?”

“Uh huh,” you manage breathlessly. “Feels good. Need more.”

He kisses your neck and fiddles with the controller; you gasp when it buzzes against you insistently. “Fuck!” You’re really moving now, rocking and rubbing and grinding in his lap; his fingers flex over your throat again, and you sigh, relaxing back against him.

“Patience, my love,” he tells you gently, stroking the side of your throat with his thumb. “Don’t get carried away. We’re playing, remember?” You whimper and nod; he smiles and kisses your neck again. You shudder happily, and he laughs. “Sorry, babydoll. I know what that does to you. And feeling the edge of my glasses pressing into your skin? It’s a wonder you haven’t come in my lap yet…”

“You won’t let me,” you counter with a slight whine to your voice. “You know I need more to come; you’re not giving it to me.” He makes a soft sound of thinking and nudges your neck with the edge of his glasses again, chuckling when you moan. “Brendon, please.”

“Please, what?” Brendon purrs in your ear, pressing the still-buzzing controller against your heat firmly. “You’re asking so nicely, baby, but I don’t know what you’re asking for.” His lips move down your neck, and you arch against him, grabbing at the controller. “Nuh uh,” he scolds softly, pressing it back against you and fiddling with it so the buzzing amps up even higher, this time with a pulsing pattern. “You wanted to play. We’re playing.” Brendon pauses for a moment. “Is this okay, love? We can stop.”

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper, pressing your head against his shoulder. “Please, I need more. I need more, B. Need you to make me come.” He nods slowly, moving the controller slightly so it rubs up and down against you. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, eyes clenched shut. “Oh fuck, that’s so good. I need more. Need more, just give it to me.” He murmurs that he loves when you’re needy and demanding, and you laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss under his jaw. “Make me come, Brendon.”

“Would love to see and feel you shaking as you come just from being touched, pretty girl. I want to keep you worked up for me though; want the moment I slide my cock into your wet cunt to be the moment you lose control and really let go.”

“Fuck, Brendon, I’m so damn close…”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come all over me, aren’t you? You gonna be my dirty girl, riding me hard and soaking my cock? Or you want me to get you on your hands and knees in front of a mirror so you can watch yourself come and see how fucking good you look when I come in you? God, you look so good taking my cock, baby. Shit, you feel how hard I am for you? This hard cock is all for you.”

“I want it,” you whimper. “I want it so badly!”

“It’s yours,” Brendon murmurs, hitting the button again so the vibrations move back to a steady hum. “You know my cock is all for you. Only you, doll. You’re the only one who gets to feel me sink into you, feel my cock throb inside you, feel how hard I come.”

“I’m gonna come,” you gasp desperately, squirming and breathing hard. “So fucking close; need to come—I need your fingers, need your cock, need you.”

“Shit, babydoll,” he says softly, fingers flexing around your neck for a brief second. “You know just what to say, don’t you?” You nod and rock your hips forward against the controller; he nips at your earlobe and drops the controller before pressing three fingers firmly against you. “Make yourself feel good,” Brendon tells you, groaning when you respond enthusiastically by grinding against his fingers. You’re working yourself forward and then back against his erection; you’re both moaning as his hand on your neck slides down to your hips and pulls you back firmly against his cock before moving back up to your throat, just gently holding you in place. “Good girl,” he whispers, kissing over your neck. “Grind on my cock; rub your clit against my fingers til you come. My good girl knows what she likes.”

“More,” you insist, bucking against his hand. “More, give me more.” He bites your neck gently, and you cry out, gripping his wrist with one hand and shoving at the waistband of your leggings with the other. Desperately, you press his hand against your slick heat once your leggings and underwear are on the ground; he inhales sharply and rubs against you. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, biting your lower lip. “Oh fuck, Brendon, yes yes yes!” He’s achingly hard for you; you can feel his erection pressing against you and every time his fingers slip against your entrance, his cock throbs. “Fuck, just go in,” you beg, rocking forward and whining. “Give me your fingers, B. Need to come on your fingers.”

“My good girl wants my fingers?” His voice is low and tight and in control, but you can hear him close to breaking. “My good girl needs my fingers?” You’re whimpering, whining, and writhing in his lap; when his fingers slide into you, you toss your head back and moan. “God, Y/n, you get me so fucking hard,” he pants in your ear, letting his fingers go deeper and spread. “Is this what you wanted? Us to play like this? My fingers in your sweet pussy?”

“Yes,” you gasp, moving against him more now. “Yes, yes, yes. Brendon, more, give me more.” He smiles against your neck and rocks his wrist into you. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, biting your lip.

“My baby still need more?” Brendon slips his fingers from you and, when you whine, he presses the controller back against your clit while grinding up into you. “Does my baby want more?” You’re nodding eagerly, moaning and whimpering and bucking frantically against him. “Does my baby want my cock?”

“God, you know I do,” you groan, clawing at him. He sighs happily and drops the controller; the hand from your throat moves down and both close over your hips. “Yes,” you whimper as he lifts you.

“Up, sweet girl. Stay up for one second so I can get my—yes,” he coaxes, and you shift onto your knees over him. He shoves his sweatpants and boxers down and kicks them off; you turn so you’re facing him as his hands grip your waist again, and he pulls you down, lowering you onto him. “Oh shit,” he grunts as you squeeze around him, tightening as you settle onto his cock. “Y/n, so hot, always so ready for me, so good. My good girl; god, I love you.”

“Brendon,” you moan, rising up and sinking back down. “Oh god, so good to me. Love you. I love you. Baby, fuck, don’t stop.” Brendon groans and his hips move under you; you lean against him and he flings an arm around your waist, holding you firmly against him. “Yes, yes, yes!” You’re chanting as you both move together; his face buried in your neck and your hands on his shoulders. “Oh god, oh fuck, Brendon, I’m gonna come!”

“Come for me,” he murmurs, gripping your hair and tugging gently. “Come for me, my good girl. Come.” You’re keening, bucking, wailing his name as you fall apart; his teeth sink into your neck, and you shriek, your back arching. His voice is low when he speaks again. “Oh fuck, baby, gonna come. I’m gonna come in you.”

“Come,” you beg, “Come in me, Brendon, please!” He nods vigorously, moaning your name. “Come, please!” Your voice is high and tight, and he’s gripping you so tightly, his glasses pressing sharply into your skin. You’re both moaning and gasping; his fingers flex against your hips, and you feel him fill you. “Yes!” Your cry of pleasure pierces the air, and he’s breathing hard. “Oh god, you feel so good, so fucking good in me,” you whisper.

“Baby,” he groans, kissing your shoulder. “My love. You’re perfect. My perfect girl, my sweet girl, my good girl. Fuck, so good. The best.” You whimper and slump against him, trying to catch your breath. “Need a bath, baby?” You nod, laughing. “Yeah, me too. Let’s move to the bathroom. My sweet girl…” Brendon murmurs, nuzzling your ear. “My good girl.”

“I love you,” you whisper, standing carefully. You both moan when he slips from you, and he clambers to his feet, taking you in his arms. “I love you so much,” you continue, relaxing against his chest.

“And I love you,” he returns, kissing the top of your head. “I love you more than anything. Let me take care of you, my sweet love.” He turns slightly and scoops you into his arms. “Let me take care of you.”

“As if I’d say no,” you murmur, flinging your arms around his neck. “Take me to the bath.” He nods and starts walking, stopping every now and then to kiss you longingly. “Bren, baby…”

“Yes, love?” His eyes are dark behind his glasses and you play with his hair idly as he reaches the bathroom. “What can I do for you?”

“Wanna get you in that tub and ride you more,” you whisper, smiling when his eyes flash with longing. “Wanna feel your cock throb in me as I take you deep, wanna feel your hands on my body as I make us both feel so fucking good.”

“Want that too,” Brendon groans, setting you down for a moment so he can turn the water on and plug the tub. “Up again, honey.” You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you, both hands curved under your thighs. “You feel what you do to me?” He holds you close, rubbing his stiffening cock against you. “Already hard for you again; I’m already wanting my good girl on me again…”

“And think,” you whisper in his ear before resting your forehead against his, grinning. “You almost made me behave.” Brendon laughs and shakes his head, kissing you softly. “Aren’t you happy you let me be bad?”

“Babydoll, I’m always happy to let you be bad,” he murmurs, stepping over the edge of the tub and lowering you both into the steaming water. “My good girl going to be bad some more for me?” You nod, and he grins, kissing over your neck and passing you the silicone lube. “Good. Let’s be bad together.” He looks up at you through slightly-fogged glasses. “Let’s play, baby.”

“Oh fuck, Brendon,” you moan, kissing him fiercely. “Let’s play.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #brendon urie fanfiction #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Yes (revised)

Original request: ok, this request is very specific because I fantasize about it a lot. you and b are roommates (nonfamous AU) and ur in the shower, rubbing one out, having a grand ol’ time and b gets home and BARRELS into the bathroom cuz he has to pEE like nOW and obvs catches on to what ur up to and offers a hand. or a mouth. or a dick. whatevs.

AU!Brendon x reader.

Word count: 2.7k➡️6.7k

Warnings: language, dirty talk, oral, brief thigh-riding because it’s me, shower sex, talk of spanking, general feelings and shit.

-||-

The shower is the perfect temperature; the ceramic tiles are no longer cold to the touch and you’re leaning against the wall with your handheld shower-head pulsing on a low pressure between your legs. “Oh fuck,” you sigh, rolling your hips against the stream. You’re lost in the sensation, letting yourself imagine Brendon’s soft, eager tongue working at your clit, when the floor outside your bathroom door creaks. Before you can do anything, the door slams open; Brendon’s flying into your bathroom, and you’re shrieking.

“Shit! What the fuck?!”

Brendon babbles his apologies. “Got stuck in crazy traffic had to pee barely made it inside couldn’t make it to my bathroom,” he says in one breath, sighing in relief. You’re trying to catch your breath; the showerhead is still between your legs and when you move it, it hits at just the right angle. You whimper a little, before clapping a hand over your mouth in horror.

“Y/n?” You can practically hear Brendon’s head cock to the side. “Are you…okay?”

“Uh huh,” you manage in a strained voice, silently willing him to leave.

“Okay…you just sounded…Wait a minute—are you getting off in there?”

There’s a long pause, and you know that says more than enough. You choose honesty. “I was trying to,” you say through gritted teeth, and he makes a thoughtful sound. “Until my roommate came bursting in and threw off my—”

“Groove?” Brendon suggests, and you want to throttle him. “My bad. But if you want to start again, I could hel—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, replacing the shower head in its clip and slamming the water off.

“Just saying, I apparently owe you, and I’ve helped bef—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, wrapping yourself in a towel and flinging the curtain back. “We said we wouldn’t talk about that again.” His gaze moves slowly over your body wrapped in the towel, and he looks up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Seriously, Brendon. That was a one-time thing; we were both incredibly drunk and horny, and we didn’t even—you just—we just—I just—” you falter, fumbling for the words. You’re equally aroused at the memory and frustrated that he’s being so casual about it. All these months later and you still aren’t sure what his feelings are, but his joking now makes you think it wasn’t that serious for him—which hurts. But the way he’s looking at you now—

“Yeah,” Brendon murmurs, cutting off your thoughts and still eying you. “I just fingered you while we just made out and you just gave me one of the best han—”

“Shut up!” You press your hands to your face. “You promised!”

Brendon holds up both hands innocently as he heads for the door. Stepping through, he looks back at you. “Well, the offer stands. You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

You freeze at the name and turn to stare at him. He arches an eyebrow and bites his lip suggestively; you storm past him into your room across the hall.

“Oh, don’t be angry, Y/n. I just want to help!” He calls through your door, which you’ve just slammed shut. “I’m sorry, darlin!”

-||-

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—no!” You moan, rolling onto your stomach, fingers rubbing at your clit furiously. “Why—fuck!” You’re almost in tears, and you bury your face in your pillow, moaning in desperation. You need to come. “Well, the offer stands. You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.” His voice echoes in your head, and you freeze, remembering that night. You can feel your heart rate spiking; you try to press the memories back into their small box.

-//- 6 months earlier -\\-

It’s been a hell of a week for both of you at your respective jobs, and Brendon has declared it Drunk Movie Night as a coping mechanism. He’s in the kitchen, and you’re sprawled on the couch waiting for him to come back with the first round of drinks. He’s promised something incredible and delicious, and you’re looking forward to it.

You can hear his footsteps; you look up. He’s got two large glasses in his hand, filled with clear liquid. “What is that?”

“No spoilers,” Brendon chides playfully, passing you a glass. He takes a long sip, and you do the same. You choke, immediately coughing. “It’s straight tequila,” he admits, making you laugh.

“You aren’t fucking around on this drunk movie night thing, I see.” Better prepared now, you take a small sip from your glass. Brendon nods and settles on the couch at the opposite end. Glass in one hand, remote in the other, you turn on the tv. When you open Hulu, prepared to scroll, Brendon flings a hand at you and then points at the screen.

“Black Swan,” he says. You blink at him. Brendon can see your confusion, and he clarifies. “Black Swan. The Natalie Portman ballet movie. Wait. You’ve never seen it?”

You shake your head, commenting that he doesn’t seem like the type for a ballet film, and Brendon shrugs. “It’s deeply fucked up. You’d like it.”

“…thanks, I think?”

He grins, lounging back against the couch cushions. You click Play.

-||-

You’re both done with your first tumblers of tequila and halfway through a refill. You’ve done the math; the two of you are drinking from sixteen-ounce glasses, so being halfway through a second glass means you’re at the equivalent of your sixth margarita, sans any mixer. But you don’t need math to know you’re both more than a little drunk when Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis lunge at each other in the bedroom. You toss a pillow in Brendon’s direction; it ricochets off his foot and falls to the ground.

“You pervert. This is why you wanted to watch Black Swan?”

“It’s a definite factor,” Brendon murmurs, his eyes on the screen. You glance back at the tv, and your breath catches. You’re not enjoying this the way Brendon is; instead, you are painfully aware of how long it’s been since someone pushed you onto a bed like that. You’ve been so caught up in work, but you’ve also been trying to process your feelings for Brendon. Living together has been mostly great, though having him in such close proximity has been hell on your emotions. You’d honestly expected living together to end your romantic interest, because you’d see all of his bad habits and annoying tendencies—but it hasn’t. If anything, it has only solidified your feelings.

“I should‘ve known you didn’t care about ballet,” you grumble, and Brendon laughs, draining his glass. As he swallows, his eyes leave the film, and he looks at you. You’re aware of the heat in his gaze; your breathing gets even shallower. He’s never seemed interested in you, but the look in his eyes now makes you wonder if you’ve been missing signs from him the way he’s been missing them from you.

You cave. “What?”

Brendon shrugs. “We’ve lived together for fifteen months, and you haven’t had anyone over.”

Your mind catches on the ‘fifteen months’ detail; you can’t help but think that he’s been keeping track. Why not just say ‘a year’ or ‘more than a year’? He clears his throat, and you realize he’s waiting for something. “Oh, sorry. Was that a question?”

“I guess my question is, don’t you miss it?” He gestures at the screen, where Natalie Portman is writhing on her bed. You desperately do, and you desperately want him. You can’t tell him that though; you need to deflect.

“I don’t miss Mila Kunis eating me out, no,” you manage, and Brendon snorts, shaking his head. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you need to get laid.”

“…Do I?”

You wonder if he can feel the tension and desire radiating from you. He nods, turning to face you more fully, and you think your heart is going to explode. His face is flushed, his hand is inching across the space between you, and his eyes are moving between yours and your lips. You can’t breathe.

“Yeah. You do.”

You can feel your pulse in your ears. Before you can respond, Brendon’s sliding across the couch and kissing you deeply. You gasp when his tongue finds yours, and he pulls back. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

But you cut him off, grabbing him by the back of the head and crushing his mouth back over yours. He groans into your mouth, and you move together as he guides you into his lap so you can straddle him. The kiss is desperate and urgent; you’re tugging at his hair, he’s clutching you closer, and your hands are roaming over each other. He’s hard, and you’re keenly aware of how wet you are. You moan and scratch at his chest, begging for more. Instead of giving you more though, Brendon pulls back and looks at you closely.

“Hang on a sec. Are you drunk?” He asks in a rough voice, hands framing your face and thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he peers into your eyes. You know he knows how much you’ve had. He’s been pouring the tequila all night. You know there’s no point in lying. You nod, and you know the answer to the question you’re about to ask.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Brendon admits, breathing hard. “Should we—you can’t consent if you’re—I don’t want to push—”

“Let’s just…not have sex then,” you suggest, still trying to convince yourself that it’s the right choice, the responsible choice, even as the words leave your mouth. You really want to have sex with him.

“Let’s just not have sex,” Brendon agrees, staring at you longingly. “But…if it’s okay with you—can we keep—” and he gestures between the two of you.

“Please,” you moan, kissing him again. You can feel how hard he is, can feel his erection pressing into you. You bear down against him; you think you could probably come even if all you two do for the rest of the night is make out. If he’ll let you grind on him while he kisses you like this, you know you’ll come.

-||-

You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing when you find your hand wandering down and your fingers grazing his cock. He curses under his breath, staring at you hungrily.

“Is this okay? Me touching you?” Your voice trembles, and Brendon nods, leaning back. You can’t take your eyes off of his erection, can’t stop tracing the length of him; meanwhile, Brendon is groaning your name and pressing his hips up to feel more of your hand. Hearing him say your name like that makes you brave enough to ask. “Is this from me, or from Natalie and Mila?” You’ve chosen a teasing tone, but you’re desperate to know.

His own hands have made it down to your hips, and you can feel his fingertips tease the waistband of your leggings. “Fuck, it’s all you. It’s all for you. Can I touch you?” When you nod, he works a hand down into your leggings, murmuring how he can feel how wet you are through your underwear. “Is this okay?” He’s caressing you through your panties, pressing and rubbing lightly in a way that makes you regret suggesting abstinence.

“So okay,” you murmur, curling your hand around him through his sweatpants. “Is this?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says quickly. His face is slightly flushed; his hair is a mess, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. You stroke him intently, wishing you could really feel the hot weight of his cock in your hand.

“Even though we’re both drunk?” You don’t want to stop. You just don’t want him doubting anything or stressing.

“I think as long as we don’t actually have like—sex. Hands are fine.” You can see in his eyes that he desperately wants you too, and you love him for showing restraint. You also know that you can’t tell him you love him. Not now, anyway. Not like this. He interrupts your thoughts. “Hands are good. Are fingers good too?”

It takes you a moment to process what he means. When it clicks, when you register his two fingers between your thighs and the way they’ve spread to tease the edge of your underwear, you make yourself a little dizzy and nauseous from how fast you nod.

And then he’s got two fingers inside you, and everything aligns for you in total clarity. It just feels right: Brendon holding you, touching you like this. His fingers are, and you tell him this breathlessly, better than good—they’re absolutely perfect. His thumb rolls against your clit; your head falls backward, and you wonder if you should be embarrassed by how quickly he’s going to make you come.

“Hands aren’t sex, right?” You ask the question to try to temper your lust. You know your personal answer, but you need to make sure you’re on the same page. Brendon shakes his head.

“Hands and fingers are foreplay,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Right. Yes. Good. When does foreplay become sex?”

“Mouths,” Brendon says reluctantly. You whine, even though you expected that. You’ve been thinking about his tongue replacing his fingers, and if his tone is any indication, he has too.

“Mouths,” you agree, shifting to get his fingers deeper. “Can I—” and you tug at his sweatpants. “I want to touch you more. If you’d like that.”

“I really fucking would,” Brendon tells you, lifting his hips a little and leaning against the cushions to make moving his sweatpants and underwear down easier. You’ve shifted back in his lap, his fingers are still in you but at a different angle now, and you can’t stop staring at his cock. You’ve had your hand all over him, but feeling him through his sweatpants and seeing all of him, fully hard and curving back so the tip presses to his stomach, is different. Seeing the way beads of pre-cum roll from the head down his shaft makes you wish mouths didn’t count as sex. But you know Brendon is right. Better to linger here with hands and fingers.

Still, you need to hear it again. “Mouths are definitely sex, right?” You rub your thumb lightly over the tip of his cock, spreading the slick pre-cum and hoping he’s imagining your tongue doing the same thing. You’re definitely imagining his tongue replacing his thumb on your clit.

“Mouths are sex,” Brendon repeats, his eyes closed and head tipped back. “Wish they weren’t. Wish I could—wish you could—god, just your hand though…”

“Would normally just spit in my hand,” you tell him, and he opens his eyes to look at you. “But I should probably use something else to keep me from eventually…” you fumble for the words, but you can see he knows what you mean. If you just used spit to slick up his cock, you’d eventually end up sucking him off. You need to use something that’ll keep you from blowing him. “Lotion,” you decide finally, making him laugh.

“Gonna make me feel like a teenager again,” he murmurs. “Except your hand on my cock, jerking me off while we make out will be much better than anything I experienced as a teenager. Plus,” he adds, “I’ve got my fingers in your wet pussy.”

“Which is hopefully an upgrade from your masturbation sessions,” you tease, squirting some of the hand lotion you keep in a basket on your end table into your palm. You press closer to him again, whimpering happily as his fingers slide in deeper.

“Definitely an upgrade,” he assures you, bringing you in for a long kiss. You wrap your hand around him, already stroking eagerly. “Goddamn,” Brendon murmurs into your mouth. “Darlin, your hand feels so fucking good.”

“Love that,” you moan, working your fist over him. “Love you calling me that.”

“Love calling you that too.” His fingers curl inside you, seeking your G-spot, and you squeal, rocking against his hand. “You like that?”

“So good; you can go harder though,” you pant, squeezing his cock as you stroke downward. “Is this how you like it? Show me how you like your cock played with.”

“You’re so damn hot,” he groans. “Yeah, do it just like that—squeeze when you get to the base, twist on the way up, fuck yes…yes, god, you’re incredible. Don’t stop.”

“Won’t stop,” you assure him, moving against his fingers. “If you don’t. Shit, I’m close. The way you press right—yeah, like that, yes! And your thumb, fuck that’s—that’s gonna make me—oh god, Brendon, yes!”

“Want you to come all over my hand,” Brendon says, curling his fingers more insistently and picking up his pace. “Want to feel you let go; come hard, darlin.”

“Want to come together,” you counter, kissing up his neck and nipping at his earlobe. “Can we come together?”

“Fuck yeah; if you keep tightening your grip like that and then rubbing the tip with your— shit, is that your pinky pressing on, teasing my balls? Oh fuck, that’s great…”

“Guitar Hero was good for something—stretching my pinky,” you laugh breathlessly. Brendon chokes on his laughter, staring at you in wonder. “What?” You’re a little self-conscious, but you also love his eyes on you.

“You’re incredible,” he says simply. “Just incredible. God, I’m gonna come if you keep—darlin, need you to whisper in my ear that you want me to come.” He’s tense under you, his fingers are working steadily, and you’re right on the edge.

“Bren, I want you to come for me.” Your lips are right under his ear. “Need you to come for me so I can come on your fingers. God, I’m holding back, holding on; want you to—”

Brendon cuts you off with a desperate groan, kissing you fiercely and rocking his hips up into your grasp. “Coming,” he manages, flexing his fingers in you. “Come for me, darlin.”

You let the tension leave your body, and your orgasm rocks through you. You can feel him spilling over your hand, and you know from how he’s gasping your name that it feels good for him. Meanwhile, you’re trembling on his fingers, clutching his head to keep his mouth against yours. It’s hot waves of pleasure coursing over your whole body, and you can barely breathe from how good it feels to come like this with two of his fingers still curling and thrusting while his thumb keeps moving on your clit.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, and you nod, going limp against him. He holds you close and slips his hand from your leggings.

“Fuck,” you agree, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You’re both trying to catch your breath when you ask, “was that a mistake?” You freeze. You didn’t mean to ask that.

Brendon tenses under you. “Do you think it was a mistake?” His voice is hesitant; you can’t read his tone otherwise.

“I don’t know.”

You do know. You know exactly how you feel. You don’t think it was a mistake; you love him, and you’re so content curled into him now. But if Brendon isn’t sure, if Brendon’s regretting it, then you’re not about to volunteer any of that.

“Okay…should we talk—”

You know where this is going. You have no interest in hearing him tell you how much you mean to him as a friend and how he doesn’t want to lose you or ruin your living situation.

You cut him off. “We don’t have to talk about it.” You can hear the shift in your own voice now. You’re getting guarded. You’ve never liked being vulnerable, and this feels pretty vulnerable.

“But maybe we should—”

“I’m gonna head to bed. We don’t have to talk about it,” you manage, crawling out of his lap. Your main goal is to get to your room before you burst into tears.

-//- the present -\\-

You open your eyes, groaning. You couldn’t stifle the memories, and you can’t stifle the feelings. Worse, you’re remembering how good his fingers felt. “No,” you say out loud. “No. No.”

His shower across the apartment turns on, and you freeze. “You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

“Fuck.” You roll onto your back again and close your eyes, wondering if he’s touching himself while thinking of you. You remember how he moaned your name and bucked into your fist as his tongue teased yours and his fingers worked inside you. You can still feel his fingers curling when he made you come, and you can remember how his cock throbbed in your grasp. Fuck.

You can picture him in the shower, stroking his cock and panting your name. Your fingers move faster, and you’re arching your back, gasping and moaning; you’re almost there when — “You know where to find me if you decide you need me, darlin.”

“Son of a bitch.” There’s a shift internally; you feel like you’ve come to some conclusion. His voice in your head is breaking your concentration, so clearly you need to just go to the source.

You throw yourself out of bed and slip into a t-shirt and shorts, well aware of the slickness on your inner thighs. You’re not sure what your plan is as you pad across your apartment and toward his bathroom door quietly; still, you’re sure this is what you need. The water is running, but you can hear him through the door.

“Fuck,” he grunts, followed by a low groan of your name. You’re desperate for more, and you know it’s a bad idea to twist the doorknob and slip silently into his bathroom. You do it anyway. The room is foggy, and you lean against the wall opposite the shower.

You’re telling yourself you aren’t going to do anything—you’re just going to listen for a bit, then sneak back to your room and get yourself off—when you hear his fist start to slide over himself. Is he using shampoo, conditioner, or lube? The question pops into your head and you blush, biting on your knuckles. And what is he imagining? That night, your hand on him, stroking him urgently while he rubbed your clit? Or—is he thinking about your mouth? You feel a rush of want, and it makes you dizzy. You’re grateful for your knuckles in your mouth because they muffle your whimper.

“Y/n?”

Or you thought they did. You freeze.

“Y/n,” he sighs, his hand audibly picking up speed. You relax. He was just imagining things. “Darlin, your mouth,” he groans, and that’s one question answered. Your stomach tightens. “Honey, you’re gonna make me come if you keep sucking my cock like this; that’s it, fuck, please—oh shit yeah, suck just like—I’m gonna—god, I’m gonna eat your pussy so good, just you fucking wait.”

You can feel yourself getting wetter, and you try to slip your hand inside your shorts without making too much noise. A voice in your head tells you not to be greedy, to just keep this moment in your mind while you go back to your room, but you can’t walk away. You want to get yourself off by listening to him touch himself to the idea of a blowjob from you or going down on you.

“Y/n, oh God, you’re fingering yourself while you blow me? So hot. That’s it, darlin; ride your fingers, think about taking my cock. Fuck, you look so damn sexy, three fingers deep in your cunt. Think about my cock filling you; I’ll give it to you.” You’re in a lust-driven fog; you feel like you’re obeying him as you slide a third finger in. You feel incredibly full, and you can’t stop remembering how your fingers had to stretch to fully wrap around his cock. He’s right; three fingers are more realistic for imagining him inside you. You whimper again, and it’s silent for a moment.

“Fingering yourself, Y/n?”

At first you’re confused why he’s repeating himself, but then you realize that his tone is different this time; it’s less sex-fueled and more knowing, more amused. Fuck.

He pulls the shower curtain back with a snap; you don’t have time to pull your hand from your shorts, and he’s looking at you, hair soaking wet and plastered to his forehead, his erect cock in his hand.

“I—” you squeak, face aflame. “I’m—I was—” you realize your hand is still between your legs, and you yank it out quickly. It makes both of you moan—you at the loss, and Brendon at seeing how your fingers shine with your arousal.

“You here because you need some help, darlin?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, staring at his naked body and the way his fist is wrapped around his erection. The water is dripping down his body, his cock is throbbing, and he looks like he’s moments from coming. You want to watch, you want to make him come, you want him to keep groaning your name. You want him.

Brendon extends a hand, smiling at you softly. There’s no way you can spin this. You’re inside his bathroom, listening to him jerk off, and you’ve got your hand in your shorts. It’s obvious what’s happening. You’re in too deep; you might as well give in.

“Oh, hell,” you mutter, stripping your shirt off and shoving your shorts down before accepting his hand.

The water is hot, and you gasp as he presses himself to your back; you whimper when his mouth finds the back of your neck, and his hand reaches down to tease your entrance. “Brendon,” you moan when he slips two fingers into you; he groans that you’re so fucking tight, and he’s right, you are. He feels so good, and you desperately want more. His dick is pressed against your ass now, and you’re grinding back against him. “Give me three, let me really imagine your cock filling my pussy,” you beg.

“You heard that, huh?” He grins and bites gently at your neck. “Yeah, baby, I’ll give you three.” He pulls his fingers out instead; when you protest, he nips at your earlobe. “Patience. Need to do this right; don’t want to hurt you.” He stretches for a bottle of silicone lubricant on the built-in shower shelf, and you squirm against him happily. His cock throbs against you while he pours the lubricant over his fingers; you spread your legs and lean back against his chest. “There we are,” Brendon murmurs, sliding three slick fingers against you. “Now I can take care of my girl.” Your heart lurches happily at his words, but before you can comment, his fingers are back inside you.

“Darlin,” he murmurs, his breath hot in your ear. “You gonna make me promise not to talk about this later?” You let out a wordless whimper, and he bites down before sucking hard. “Because honestly, that’s just not going to work for me.” You gasp, and he grins, lips pressed to your skin. “If I’m doing this, if we’re doing this, it’s because you want me. Not just because you want to get off.”

“God, Brendon,” you sigh, arching your back and rubbing against his cock. “Yes.”

“Yes, you want me?” His voice is soft. “Or,” and his fingers stop moving in you, making you whine. “Yes, you’re gonna make me promise not to bring it up?”

“You,” you manage, grabbing his wrist and trying to get him to move again. “You.”

“More specific, honey.” He bites down again in a new spot as his fingers flex; you go limp against him with a soft cry, and he wraps his free arm around your waist. “Yes or no, do you want me? Beyond sex—do you want to be with me? Because that’s how I want you. Been driving me fucking crazy since that night; I can’t stop thinking about you. Have wanted you for so long.”

“Yes,” you whisper, rolling your head back on his shoulder.

“Yes or no, you’re going to let us talk about this later.”

“Yes,” you repeat, turning in his arms and clinging to him. His mouth crushes over yours; you kiss him urgently, desperately. “Yes, yes, yes,” you murmur between kisses, your hips rocking as you press his cock between you. “Yes.”

“Good,” Brendon says simply, sinking to his knees. You become aware of his thick bath mat, and you file that away for future reference before your mind goes blank. His arm around your waist tugs you closer; he nudges your legs apart with his shoulder. “Spread these perfect legs for me.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, both hands on his shoulders. “Brendon.”

“Yes, darlin?” He looks up at you from between your legs, and you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. He looks so serious; there’s not a hint of playfulness in his expression now. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and he smiles faintly, biting his lip. You can read his mind. “I do know other words besides ‘fuck,’ ‘Brendon,’ and ‘yes,’” you manage, and he licks between your legs. “Fuck!”

“I’m sure you do,” he murmurs, “but I’m not sure that you’ll need them in the near future.” And with that, his face is pressed between your legs, licking and sucking eagerly as his fingers work their way up the back of your thigh. He laps at your clit tenderly and, when you’re moaning, he slips three fingers deep inside you from behind.

“Fuck!” You cling to him. You honestly think you could come right now if he told you to. Instead, he moans against you. It vibrates up through your body; you bend over, clutching his head. “Brendon,” you choke. “Please.”

“There’s a new word,” he mumbles, fingers speeding up while his tongue moves in gentle circles. “A good word. Please, what?”

“More,” you pant, hips rocking against his face. “More, baby, please.”

“Darlin,” he moans, grabbing one of your legs and guiding it over a shoulder. He’s breathing hard and licking over you longingly. “Love when you ask so sweetly.” His can fingers go deep now that you’re spread wide with a leg draped over one of his shoulders; you gasp, hips spasming. “More?”

“More,” you moan, nodding frantically and leaning back against the shower wall for leverage. “I can take more; give me more—really eat it, eat my pussy, B; oh fuck!” Brendon groans again, and his tongue goes deep between his fingers, rubbing alongside them as his lips close over you. He’s sliding them over you so gently while his tongue strokes you, and you think you may lose your mind from how good he is at eating you out.

“Oh god,” you whimper, tugging at his hair. “Oh fuck, Brendon!”

He nods against you, and his tongue presses and rubs; you cry out with your orgasm, legs shaking and trembling. His tongue and fingers keep going, keep pushing you over the edge, and his arm around your waist tightens when your legs give out; you slide off of him and drop to your knees. You’re both breathing hard, kneeling on the floor of his shower, with steam and hot water flooding your senses. He’s smiling at you so brilliantly, and you moan, pulling his mouth to yours. Both arms tangle around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, one of his legs slotting between yours. You whimper into his kiss and grind tentatively on his thigh, both of you gasping at the feeling.

“Hang on, darlin,” Brendon groans. “I can make it better.” He stretches an arm to reach behind him, and when he brings his hand back, you see the bottle of silicone lube again. Without taking his eyes off you, he pops the lid and pours it freely onto his thigh; you start moving again, and the ease with which you can ride his thigh now makes you louder than ever. “Ride it, grind this sweet pussy all over me, make yourself feel good.”

“Want you to feel good too,” you murmur, rocking your hips fervently. “Want you to feel good.”

“Trust me,” he grunts, grabbing your hair and pulling you in for a long, heated kiss. “Trust me, I feel good. You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You nuzzle a spot under his ear, and he groans, grabbing your ass with both hands and moving you faster, pressing you down harder. “You like this?”

“Only thing better than feeling your sweet cunt against my thigh would be feeling you on my cock,” Brendon whispers in your ear, tongue flicking out to tease the shell, making you shiver. “But it’s okay if you’re not—if it’s too—”

“Brendon,” you whimper, squeezing his erection firmly. “Yes. I want to.” You reach down between your legs to collect some of the silicone lube, and, watching him longingly, you start stroking a slick hand over his cock.

“Fuck, darlin,” he moans, kissing you gently, his tongue brushing yours. You clutch the back of his head, your other hand still stroking fervently while your hips roll. “Gonna let me get you on my cock and make you feel so damn good?”

“Please,” you manage, kissing down his neck. “Please.” He jerks back suddenly and you moan at the loss, but he’s climbing carefully to his feet and tugging you up too. “Brendon,” you gasp, and his lips are on yours as he pushes you up against the shower wall, nipping and sucking down your neck and collarbone. “Brendon, please.”

“Yeah, darlin, say my name.” He’s rocking against your thigh, cock slick with pre-cum and whatever he was using to jack off earlier, and you cry out. “I remember you liking how rough I fingered you,” he whispers in your ear. “You like getting fucked that way too?”

“Yes,” you whimper, spreading your legs on the mat, grateful for its traction keeping you upright. “Yes.”

“Shit, Y/n,” he groans, one hand gripping his cock as he guides it to your opening. “I’ve been thinking about this, about you, since—”

“Me too,” you admit, spreading your legs slightly to sink down on him. “Oh god!”

“Y/n,” Brendon grunts as he sheathes himself in you fully. “Your cunt—god, you’re incredible.” He grabs both of your hands with his and pins them over your head, thrusting into you quick and shallow. “Honey, if you’ve been thinking about it too—I gotta know, why did you go to bed that night without letting us talk about it?”

“Thought you thought it was a mistake,” you groan, crying out happily when he tugs at your hair.

“You’re the one who asked if it was,” Brendon points out, and you whine, nodding. “I never said I thought it was. Just asked you—and then you went to bed and made me promise the next day to never bring it up.”

“Got scared,” you admit. “Was self-conscious and scared, and—harder,” you pant, pushing your hips into his to meet his thrusts. “Harder, fuck me harder.” He groans and speeds up while going deeper, making you cry out with every stroke.

“Yes!” You squeal when he angles himself slightly and presses right where you want him with the head of his cock. “Fuck, yes, Brendon, yes, yes!”

“Up,” he commands, one hand leaving yours to grab your thigh. “You’re not going anywhere; I won’t let you fall.” You nod and carefully wrap a leg around his hips. “Other one too.” You lift the other, and he bites a spot low on your neck. “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I want you. Want this,” he groans, hips rocking again. “Want us. Want you to be mine, want to be yours.”

“Brendon,” you gasp, tightening your legs around him. “Please. Please.”

“What do you need, darlin?”

“Make me come,” you beg, hands tangled with his as he holds them over your head. “Make me come. I’m yours, all yours. Make me come.”

“Mine. Darlin, if you don’t come on my cock, I’m going to spank you.”

“Oh shit,” you whimper. “Bren, I—I love—getting—”

He grins. “You love getting spanked?” You nod, and he thrusts into you harder. “I knew it. I knew I had a wild girl on my hands.”

“On your cock,” you correct with a breathless laugh, and Brendon laughs too before grabbing the showerhead and aiming it against your clit. “Oh god, yes—fuck—Brendon, hold it right there—god, yes! Just thinking about you spanking me—and it’s right on my clit, baby, yes oh god—Brendon, please, please—oh!” You fall apart, crying his name, and he kisses you hard, hips snapping forward as he fucks you through your climax.

“Honey, I’m fucking close,” he groans. “If you want me to pull out, I will, but you gotta tell me—Y/n, I’m gonna—tell me now!”

“Oh god, in me,” you pant, your legs tightening around his waist. “In me, I want you to come in me, fucking give me everything.”

“Fuck,” Brendon grunts, burying his face in your neck. You can feel him pulsing in you, can feel the warmth spreading, and you close your eyes. You desperately want to remember this moment forever. When his breathing evens out against your skin, you carefully untangle your legs from his body.

“Fuck, B, that was so damn good.”

“Yes,” Brendon groans, kissing you. “Yes, it was.” He reaches to the side and turns off the water before opening the curtain and snatching a towel to wrap around you. “Here, darlin.” He kisses your forehead, and you melt, hugging him tightly. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, holding you to him. “Y/n—can I take you to bed? Want you in my bed.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and he twists your hair into a rope around his hand, wringing it out gently. “Please.”

-||-

“You’re unreal,” he moans, sucking on one of your nipples as you writhe under him. “You’re incredible, darlin.”

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” you say with a short laugh. “B, I’m so sorry I got scared and didn’t let us talk about that night. About us.” You reach over to stroke his cock. “Hard again,” you marvel and he grins, switching breasts.

“Easy when my bed partner looks like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “Darlin, no need to apologize. We’re here now; we’ve talked. God, I’m just glad we finally got our shit together.”

You whimper in agreement, and he sucks harder, one hand moving down between your legs. “Love those sounds you make for me.” He sighs when his fingers trace through your heat. “Wet again,” he says in a tone that matches yours. You smile and tug at his hair.

“Easy when my bed partner looks like this,” you tease, gasping when his fingers slide into you. “Oh, Brendon, baby, yes.”

“Or it could just be that my girl let me come in her, and that’s why her hot cunt is so slick,” Brendon murmurs, grinning when you moan. “Have I mentioned how much I love when you say yes?” He’s shifting to hover over you. “Can I have you?”

“Yes,” you sigh happily as he pulls his fingers out and thrusts into you gently. “Yes.”

“I’m gonna be slow and gentle with you this time,” Brendon tells you, kissing your cheek. “Loved having you in the shower like that, but I want you every way. You deserve to be loved slowly and deeply, and I’m gonna be the one to do it.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Brendon, yes.”

“God, darlin, don’t know which I love more, my name on your lips or you telling me yes.”

“I could, oh fuck, say another name,” you tease, and his eyes narrow playfully. “I think we have your answer then.”

“Damn right. I’m yours, and I’m committed; I want you to be committed too. I want you to be mine. I want to be the only one making you feel like this. I want to be the only one getting to see you come undone, getting to feel you take my cum. I want to be the only one fucking you, making love to you, getting you coming like this. Yes?”

“Yes,” you agree breathlessly. “Yes. Have wanted you, have needed you for so long. I only need you, and I only want you. You’re mine, Bren, and I’m only yours.”

“Good,” Brendon murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. “We’ll talk more later, but Y/n, I’m entirely yours. You know that means I love you, right?” You smile radiantly and nod. “And you love me, don’t you?” Brendon’s voice is soft, hopeful.

“Yes.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon x reader #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Finally (revised)

Original request: Could we just get a separate imagine or whatever, where Brendon is just super protective of the reader. she has been his best friend for so long and he doesn’t like when anyone treats her like she isn’t worth a thing. She wants to thank him for standing up for her and it just leads to some very sexual things. i even maybe during the sexual things it comes out that he has loved her since high school? i would forever be grateful Cece. 💜

Brendon x reader

Warnings: drinking, dirty talk and language, oral (both), rough sex, spanking, arguable exhibition, and I think that’s everything.

Word count: 5.1k➡️8.4k

-||-

Brendon leans against the bar, facing you and making the most appalled faces. “No. No way,” he mouths over Darren’s shoulder, who is standing in between the two of you. You ignore him and focus on Darren. Brendon’s finally successful in getting your attention when he says your name; your head snaps up, and he emphatically mouths, “This guy sucks. Walk away.” You roll your eyes.

“So I was hoping I could take you out tomorrow night,” Darren murmurs as he reaches for your hand, and you feel a rush of excitement wash over you. “And I’ll take care of your drinks tonight,” he says casually, turning to the bartender, who looks between the two of you and nods disinterestedly.

Brendon protests from behind Darren. “She’s already on my tab.”

“It’s fine, Brendon,” you say, raising your eyebrows trying to give him a look to chill out. You turn back to Darren. “Thank you. And I’d love to do something tomorrow night.”

Brendon throws his hands in the air in exasperation before turning to face the bar fully and downing the rest of his beer. Darren dips his head toward yours to murmur that Brendon’s being weird, and you laugh, touching Darren’s arm. “He’s just sulking; don’t mind him.”

And with that, Brendon walks away. You do feel a little bad; you did come here with Brendon after all. But, in your defense, he’s your best friend and this is your regular Friday meeting point for all of your friends. Brendon just happened to offer to drive you. You didn’t know Darren, the new guy at your office, would be here. He’s cute, funny, and generous; you’re not going to turn down a date with him if he’s interested.

Brendon can get over it, you think to yourself. It’s been twelve years of friendship, and you’ve pretty much given up on anything happening between the two of you, no matter how much you want it. He’s not interested, but Darren apparently is.

-||-

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Darren is by your side and replacing your drink often; Brendon is with your other friends, and they’re all sending Darren dirty looks from across the bar. “You okay?” Darren is peering in your eyes, and you giggle, gripping his arm.

“Yeah. I don’t normally drink this much—Brendon usually makes sure I don’t get carried away. I get tipsy but I don’t get drunk. That’s the rule. Tipsy, not drunk.” Darren nods slowly, taking your empty glass as he passes you a new vodka and cranberry juice.

“Are you drunk?”

You nod vigorously, hiccuping a little. “B would never let me have—is this my fifth drink? Sixth?”

Instead of answering your question, he studies the ceiling. “Brendon is pretty controlling, isn’t he?” Darren finally muses aloud, and you glance at him, ready to defend your best friend. Darren seems to realize he’s crossed some line, and he backtracks. “I just mean that he doesn’t seem to like you spending time with me, and he doesn’t let you drink…and he’s still staring at us…” he trails off.

“I never thought about it that way,” you say. Sure enough, Brendon’s eyes are on the two of you, and he’s not making any effort to hide the fact that he’s looking. A warm feeling spreads through your body as you watch Brendon watch you. You love that he seems jealous, even though you know that’s not mature.

You attempt to distract Darren and, admittedly, yourself; you gesture to the drink in your hand. “This is really good.” If Darren heard the slight slur of your words, he doesn’t say anything; he just smiles and holds out his hand to you when you exclaim a moment later, “I fucking love this song!”

No one ever dances in this bar—the music is for ambience. But sure enough, Darren is leading you to an open spot on the floor, and you’re faithfully following when your vision tilts. Before you can fully process what’s happening and grab onto one of the cocktail tables, you stumble, laughing when you hit the floor. There’s broken glass all around you, and your cranberry-tinted vodka is spreading across the floor, soaking into your jeans. Darren’s reaching a hand down to you, but Brendon swoops in, brushing his hand aside.

“And this is my cue,” Brendon says, lifting you from the floor. He murmurs your name as his arms circle your waist, and you lean against his chest as you find stable footing. “You’ve had enough. Let’s get you home.”

Darren protests that he was going to take you home later, and you’re trying to tell Brendon this too, but Brendon silences you with a look. You like when he’s assertive like this; it’s reassuring and, if you’re being honest, pretty sexy. You slump against him, stroking the soft cotton of his shirt and closing your eyes. All of your lighthearted, flirty energy is gone; you’re drained. He turns his attention to Darren as he holds you close. “Y/n is very drunk; she needs to go home, and she’s not leaving with a guy she barely knows. She’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I think going home is her call to make, not yours, dude. If she wants to go home with me, that’s her choice,” Darren says casually, and you open your eyes now to see Darren staring between you and Brendon. Darren does make a good point about it being your choice, you think, but you’re not sure you want to go home with him, back to his house.

You hadn’t realized that’s what he meant, but hearing it now, you’re sure you don’t want that. It is your choice after all, so you’d like to choose Brendon’s house. You’re about to say this, when Darren keeps talking. “You’re not her keeper, bro.”

Brendon stiffens, and his arm around your waist tightens. Oh. That feels good. You’ve always known that Brendon’s protective, and you love when you become the focus of his protective instincts. It’s as close as you’ve ever been to feeling like he wants you, and you try to savor it every time. Now, you stare up at him happily through your vodka haze.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your ‘bro.’ Second, I’m not her ‘keeper’ either,” Brendon agrees in a tight voice, “but I am her best friend. We take care of each other, and I know her far better than you do. She needs to go home.” He looks down at you softly, tenderly, while his fingers stroke your hip, making you melt into him more. “Hey, Y/n. I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. You ready to go home?”

“Yes, please,” you groan, wrapping your other arm around Brendon. “Drank too much. Need to go home.”

“We can go home. I can make that happen for you. You want me to take you to your place?”

You’re crashing hard, and home sounds good. You nod sleepily, then look up at him intently when you process the question he just asked. “Wait. No. Not my house. Take me to your house, B. Not my house. Want to go to your house with you.” You drop your head on his shoulder again. He has nice shoulders. You tell him this, and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before turning to give Darren a triumphant smirk.

“Right. You’ll need to excuse us, because she’s chosen for me to take her back to my house.”

-||-

“Oh fucking fuck,” you groan, and Brendon rubs your back soothingly, kneeling beside you in his bathroom. “Oh god, I’m gonna—” you cut yourself off with a retching noise, and Brendon scoops your hair up, wrapping it around his hand while the other moves in circles over your back.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “Just let it come. You’ll feel better.” You shake your head, moaning before throwing up again and apologizing, and Brendon tells you not to worry about it. This is a reversal of roles; you’re never the drunk, irresponsible one. Granted, he thinks, you don’t have to hold his hair back, but you do always lean in the doorway, telling him encouraging things and holding a plate of saltines and a Gatorade. Speaking of which. “Y/n, I’m out of Gatorade, but I have Pedialyte. Is that okay?”

You nod and wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, cursing as you try to stand up. “Okay, hang on, don’t try to stand just yet. Let me think. I really don’t want to leave you here unsupervised; don’t want you to bash your head against the toilet or floor. Hang on one sec.” You groan, listening as Brendon rummages around his bathroom closet. “Got it. Extra trash can. Here we go, Y/n. Take this trash can, okay?” You grip the plastic tightly, whining when Brendon lifts you up. “Can’t leave you alone, but I don’t want you to try to walk when you don’t feel good. We’re going to go grab the Pedialyte and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah?”

You moan your agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hang tight,” he says softly, moving slowly to the kitchen. “You’re doing so good.”

When he gets to the kitchen, he carefully places you on the floor, letting you lean against the oven while he searches his fridge. “Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, cracking open the cold bottle of Pedialyte and passing it to you. “Small sips.” You drink from it hesitantly, grimacing at the salty, fruit-adjacent taste but drink steadily anyway. You know it’ll help.

Brendon settles himself on the floor opposite you, and he thinks from the way you’re leaning toward him that you desperately want to curl up against him. He definitely wouldn’t mind, and he extends a hand. “Come here, Y/n.”

You crawl over and drop your head down onto his thigh. “Don’t mind you getting comfy, but you’ve gotta keep drinking,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. You groan, and he smiles, stretching a hand over his head to the drawer where he keeps the straws. “Here we go.” He places the bottle of Pedialyte between his knees, slides a silicone straw into it, and angles the straw toward your mouth. “Now you can have both.”

“You’re the best,” you mumble, sucking diligently at the straw.

“Oh yeah?” Brendon pauses, internally debating his next question. “Better than Darren?”

“Much,” you tell him, yawning. “You’re my favorite.”

Brendon leans back against his kitchen island, grinning to himself as his fingers play with your hair. He knows it’s not a huge victory because you’re still drunk, but he’ll take what he can get. And there’s also the fact that you wanted to go home with him, so he’s feeling pretty good. Being able to take care of you like this almost makes up for the fact that his plan to confess how he feels about you was ruined by Darren and his never-ending supply of vodka and cranberry juice.

When you yawn again, Brendon glances down at you and sees you’ve finished more than half the bottle. “Good girl. That should help with the nausea and hopefully avoid a bad hangover. Ready for bed?” When you nod, he carefully maneuvers himself out from under you so he can stand and lift you back into his arms.

“I can walk,” you mumble, going limp against him anyway.

“You can,” Brendon agrees. “But as previously determined, you don’t feel good, so I’m gonna carry you.” You bury your face in the curve of his neck, and his fingers flex against the underside of your thighs. Your sleepy breaths are soft against his skin, and he can feel how your lips have parted, practically caressing his neck—these things are more arousing than they should be right now, and Brendon knows he’s got to stay on task. You’re very drunk, and he’s now remembering that you tend to get promiscuous when you’ve had even a little bit too much. He needs to get you into his bed and then give you space, because he knows there’s a very real chance he will not be able to resist you.

Still, Brendon knows he absolutely has to resist you. You’re drunk, and you’re not fully aware of what’s going on; he wants and needs you to be completely coherent when he tells you how he feels. Now is decidedly not the time to make any kind of move or confession if he wants something real, something lasting with you—and he desperately does.

Brendon places you on his bed once back in his bedroom, and he studies your cranberry- and vodka-spattered clothes. You’re in skin-tight jeans and a shirt with a plunging neckline. He’s been trying not to look all night, but you’ve got a significant amount of cleavage showing. That, Brendon realizes, probably means you’re in a push-up bra of some kind.

He closes his eyes, trying not to visualize you in said bra. He’d planned on you sleeping in his bed while he took the couch, but he hadn’t considered what you’d actually wear to sleep. Clearly you can’t sleep in what you’ve got on. Not comfortably, anyway.

“Do you want a t-shirt or something? You know, for pajamas?” He makes the offer casually, though he’s trying not to get turned on by the mental image of you in his clothes, tangled in his bedsheets. You yawn and nod, stretching your arms and blinking hard.

“Do you have a t-shirt preference?” You shake your head, slumping over on his bed, and he grabs one at random to pass to you. “You gonna be able to get changed?”

“Uh huh. I’m really good at getting undressed,” you mumble, setting the Pedialyte on his bedside table, and Brendon laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “No really,” you protest with a small hiccup, “I’m so good at taking my clothes off.” You meet his eyes. “It’s the putting clothes on part—anyway, I’m real good at getting them off, watch.”

Brendon presses a hand to his face; every word out of your mouth is teasing explicit thoughts out of his subconscious. He’s got to get out of here if he’s going to avoid kissing you.

“Okay, well I’m gonna go crash on the couch; you yell if you need any help. Keep drinking the Pedialyte. Don’t fall off this bed,” Brendon warns, and you shake your head seriously.

“Stay.” He falters in the doorway, and you point to the space beside you. “Stay. It’s your bed.” He looks unsure, and you pat the bed. “You always make me stay in bed with you when you get super drunk and crash at my place in my bed,” you point out, sounding strangely sober for a moment. “Stay.” You stand on shaky legs and start pushing at your jeans. “Help me get my pants off and stay,” you order.

“Thought you were good at taking your clothes off,” Brendon murmurs, leaning against the door and turning his head to not look at you. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve been reading into him requesting you stay in your bed when he’s drunk at your house; that answer determines if he should read into you demanding he stay in his bed with you tonight. “You’re a bit bossy when you’re drunk, huh?”

“Shut up. I am good at getting undressed. But I need help. So come help me, and then get in bed.” He doesn’t move, and you pout. “Brendonnnnn, take my clothes off.”

“Fuck, Y/n, you’re really drunk.” Brendon can hear the defeat in his voice, and he crosses the room. Standing in front of you, his eyes on yours, not looking down, he unbuttons your jeans and unzips them. “Better?”

You nod and shove your jeans down. Brendon groans softly, his eyes on his ceiling fan. “I’m trying so hard to be respectful,” he says aloud. “You’re killing me.” He offers you a pair of sweatpants from his dresser now, still making a pointed effort to not look at you in your underwear.

“No sweatpants,” you tell him, hiccuping again. Brendon sighs and crosses to the other side of the bed with the sweatpants still in his hand. “You’re staying, right?”

“I’m staying,” Brendon says. “Against my better judgment, I’m staying.” He kicks off his own jeans and pulls the sweatpants on.

Meanwhile, you’ve fallen onto the bed trying to wiggle out of your jeans, and, finally successful, you strip your shirt and bra off before tugging on the t-shirt Brendon handed you. You work your way under the pile of blankets, rest your head on the pillow and sigh, curling into the fetal position.

“Come to bed, B,” you murmur as you stretch out a hand, and he’s once again struck by how sober you sound at this moment. He’s also trying not to imagine those exact words from you in a sexual context, but when you’re in his bed, reaching for him, stripped down to nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts, it’s hard.

Speaking of hard, he thinks to himself, with a small groan. His hand falls just below his waistline, willing himself to not get any harder than he already is. Your voice startles him. “Get comfy, Bren. You never sleep with your shirt on at my place. Take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.”

He hesitates, and you groan and shift onto your knees on the bed. You’re a little unsteady, and you reach for him. You both inhale sharply when your hands make contact with his stomach; you slip your hands under his shirt and start sliding it up. You can’t help it; you rotate your hands slightly to caress the warmth of his body. You can both feel him tense under your touch; you whine a little and stare at him.

“I’ll do it; fuck, I’ll do it,” Brendon chokes out, stumbling back from you. “I’m—I’ll—you don’t need to—”

You’re still staring at him, and he’s only half-aware of the apology slipping from your mouth; he’s distracted by the sensation of your fingers tracing his stomach. So much for not getting any harder, he thinks to himself.

Shirt off and abandoned, Brendon sighs and crawls into bed: he’s making a conscious choice to stay close to the edge. Right now you’re too drunk and he’s too tired, but he can very easily see himself reaching for you in the night.

“Wake me up if you need anything,” Brendon murmurs as he faces away from you, and you promise. You squirm, sighing a little and then moaning as you stretch out your legs. A soft whimper slips free when your head finds a good place on the pillow.

A minute ticks by. Two. Three. Brendon’s laying beside you and counting silently, because he knows there’s no way he’ll actually get good rest when you’re practically naked in his bed making those sounds. Even with his choice to lay near the edge of the bed, he’s still deeply aware of your presence.

All Brendon can think about is rolling on top of you and silencing you with a deep kiss before coaxing louder whimpers from you with his fingers, then his mouth, and maybe even his cock. He feels his dick twitch, and he rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. He wants you so badly, but he wants you to be hyper-aware of your circumstances and know exactly who’s bringing you to the edge of ecstasy and driving you wild. The cool softness of his pillowcase rubs against his cheeks as he presses his face into the pillow more firmly; he can’t help but imagine the same cool softness of your inner thighs as he presses his face to—you reach out and touch his shoulder, giggling when he flinches.

“Bren, I’m cold,” you whisper. There’s a beat of silence between you as Brendon debates what the right answer is here. He’s in a lust fog, and he would love to take you in his arms and keep you warm, which means that’s exactly what he shouldn’t do—so he starts to get up to get another blanket. “Nooooo, you donhave to do that,” you say, tripping over your words in your rush. “Will you just hold me?”

Brendon turns to look at you, wondering briefly if you can read minds. “Are you sure you don’t just want another blanket?” You shake your head and smile at him innocently. He sighs and crawls back into bed, facing you this time. He looks at you carefully, trying to prepare himself. Fuck, he thinks. You look so damn good in his t-shirt, and now he’s going to have you in his arms.

You scoot over, and he holds out an arm; even with the invitation, he’s still surprised when you press yourself flush against him. “Y/n, you are so drunk,” he sighs, feeling the swell of your breasts through the shirt and your bare legs brushing against his sweatpants before you hitch a leg over his waist to press even closer. The smooth skin of your inner thigh slides against his hip, and he groans inwardly, almost choking on his tongue when you rub against him with a low, satisfied sound. Your underwear is so thin; he swears he can feel the heat of your body radiating through the fabric. He wants to die and kiss you and shove his face between your thighs all at the same time. He knows he can’t do any of that.

“Goodnigh’ Bren; I love you,” you mumble, eyes closing as his arm tightens around you; he wills himself to fall asleep after telling you he loves you too. You doze off quickly, but Brendon lays there with you in his arms, replaying the moment you told him you loved him. He knows you meant it in a best friend sort of way, but that knowledge isn’t transmitting fully to his body.

You sigh in your sleep against his bare chest and stroke a hand down his stomach, and Brendon wonders briefly if you can feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh, given the way you've got your leg draped over his waist. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Instinct tells him to let one rest on your thigh, but a voice in the back of his head tells him not to open that can of temptation. It’s going to be a long night, and if your hand wanders any lower, it’s all over for him. He knows it.

-||-

“Ugh,” you groan, burying your face in Brendon’s chest, trying to block out the light. “Too bright.”

“I’ll tell the sun to knock it off,” Brendon murmurs, fatigue evident in his voice, and you laugh. “Any other requests?” You’re about to request bacon, when his fingers trace little circles on the small of your back before dancing idly up and back down your spine. You’ve watched him play guitar, and you’ve always fantasized about what his hands would be like moving over you in a similar fashion. Now you know that his touch is absolutely electrifying.

You’re lost in the ecstasy of his stroking fingertips when it hits you: there’s nothing between his fingers and your back. He’s caressing your bare skin.

You look down—you didn’t really think you were naked, but you’re still relieved to see clothes. Then, you process the fact that you’re in a pair of panties and one of his very thin t-shirts, which his hand is currently under. That, plus you can feel that you’re not wearing a bra, all means you’re deeply aware of how you’re pressed to him. “Fuck, sorry,” you blurt, scooting away from him and rolling onto your back.

“No, I’m sor—I shouldn’t have touched—” Brendon falters, and you shake your head, repeating your apology for clinging to him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I intended to sleep on the couch but…you were really drunk and determined to keep me in bed.”

“That does sound on brand for drunk me. Shit, I’m sorry, Bren,” you moan, and he shakes his head. “God, did I—what else did drunk me get me into last night? Did I do anything stupid?”

Knowing yourself, you probably tried to make out with him. Or—fuck, you think, did you try to blow him? Your mind is racing. You can’t trust your drunk persona, which is a large reason why you’re so glad Brendon keeps you in the tipsy zone. You want him so badly. You’d drop to your knees for him if he ever asked, and if you’ve got too much alcohol in your system, you know you’d do it even if he didn’t ask. You wonder briefly if it’s still slut-shaming if you’re talking about yourself, but Brendon brings you back to the present.

“Nothing stupid, besides agreeing to go out with Darren.” You freeze. Brendon looks like he almost regrets it for a moment before he sits up and crosses his arms, defiant.

“Considering I wasn’t drunk when I agreed, I’m going to say that doesn’t actually count as a stupid decision.”

“It’s the mother of all your stupid decisions last night,” Brendon scoffs. “You let him get you drunk, and then he almost wouldn’t let me take you home. He didn’t give a shit about you or how you felt; he just wanted you there to fuck with. Y/n, you cannot go out with him.”

“Wanted me there to fuck with?” You repeat in a low voice, your head pounding. “Is it so hard to believe that he might actually, genuinely like me and want to spend time with me?” You stand on shaking legs and stalk out of the room, not even caring about your state of undress.

Brendon follows you into the living room. “It is hard to believe when he was getting you wasted! He didn’t want to spend time with you—he wanted to get you drunk and away from your friends.”

“Maybe because my friends hover and try to control me! All of you spent last night just watching us. You need to get a life, Brendon; Darren was exactly right—you’re too busy trying to control me!” You wince; you didn’t mean to shout. Brendon’s eyes narrow, and you almost feel bad.

“Yeah, we were all watching. To make sure the guy you hardly knew who was getting you drunk didn’t pull any shit or try to take advantage of you. But sure, it was about control. So, if I was trying to control you by picking you up off the floor when you were too drunk to stand, I’m sorry. If me telling him he absolutely wasn’t about to take you back to his place was trying to control you, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you by taking you here and making sure you were safe like you requested, I’m sorry.”

You can feel the flush of shame through your whole body; you know he’s right. You’re about to apologize, but Brendon keeps talking. “If I was trying to control you when I held your hair back while you threw up, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you when I brought you Pedialyte to make sure you were hydrated, I’m so sorry. If I was trying to control you when I held you all night while you slept because you were cold, I’m really fucking sorry, Y/n.”

He’s pissed; you feel sick, and it isn’t hangover-related. You protest that that isn’t what you meant but— “No? Well let’s be perfectly clear: here’s me trying to control you—I don’t want you seeing him again.” You can feel the tension roiling off of his body, and you understand. He’s not pissed; he’s furious. Still, you can’t let his last comment go without an answer.

“I don’t think that’s your choice to make, or your place to voice an opinion,” you snap, and Brendon laughs.

“Really? You really don’t think I get to give my opinion on who you date?”

“No Brendon, I don’t think you do! You’re not my dad!” You’re yelling now, and you know you’ve already lost this argument if you’ve resorted to ‘you’re not my dad’—especially since your dad doesn’t get a vote either. Your head hurts; you just want to go back to his bed and start over. It was so good waking up in his arms, feeling his fingers trace your body. You want to go back to that moment and live in it a bit longer.

Brendon’s eyes are wild, and he tugs at his hair. “You’re goddamn right I’m not your dad. I’m your—” and he stops.

You know exactly what he’s going to say, and it makes you so angry. The anger is coming from so many different places, and you know each is a little irrational, but each is real nonetheless. You’re angry he doesn’t want you the way you want him, you’re angry he makes you feel like he does and then slips back into ‘best friend’ mode, you’re angry that he’s right in this moment, and you’re angry at yourself for letting Darren get so close to taking advantage of you.

“You’re my what?” You lob the words at him like a challenge. “Best friend?” You laugh bitterly. That’s all he’ll ever see himself as in your life. You’ve accepted that, but you don’t have to be happy about it. “Sure. My best friend. But you don’t get to decide who I date! You don’t get to make those calls! Now, if you were actually interested in m—” and you freeze. You’ve gone too far, said too much, and Brendon’s staring at you with wide eyes and a heaving chest.

“If I was—? Y/n, you seriously don’t know that I’m—goddamnit!” He’s collapsed on his couch, his head in his hands, and you’re actually a bit concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?” Your head is spinning and you need to lie down, but you don’t see that happening any time soon. “Brendon, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my best friend, and I’m so sorry. We’re both tired and—fuck, can we just go back to sleep and—” Brendon looks up at you, and the look in his eyes silences you. You feel pinned to the spot under his gaze, and you remember how he silenced you with one look last night too; you can’t stop the flood of arousal moving through your body. Wordlessly, he stands, crosses the room, and delves a hand into your hair; subconsciously you know what’s coming, so you tilt your head up to meet his rough embrace. You think your brain is going to explode, either with shock or joy—or both.

“What are you—” you manage, even though it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.

“Shut up,” he tells you in a hoarse voice, the hand not in your hair moving down your back to press you against him. You moan into his mouth, and his fingers flex against your ass, making you rock your hips forward. You gasp his name, wrenching your mouth away from his. You never want to stop, but you also need to hear him say it. You meet his eyes, silently begging.

Brendon is staring at you, breathing hard. “I’m your best friend, but fuck, Y/n, I have loved you since freshman year. Since goddamn freshman orientation at that stupid hellhole of a high school, you’ve been the only woman for me; I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Finally. Fucking finally.

But—his voice is anguished, he’s backing away, and he can barely meet your eyes now. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucki—”

You can’t let him be sorry for this. Can’t let this devolve any further. “Shut up,” you command, crushing your mouth back over his. “Just shut up.” You pull his hair hard, and he grabs your waist, lifting your legs as your tongue tangles with his. “I love you, Brendon. God, I fucking love you too. I want you. Take me back to bed? Please?”

He nods desperately, kissing you deeply. He’s just holding you, and as much as you’re enjoying it, you need him to walk, to get you to bed. “Bed, Brendon,” you plead, and he groans, carrying you back to his bedroom. Once in there, Brendon places you gently on his bed and crawls over you, kissing your lips briefly before working his way down your neck. You’re squirming under him, and he lays flush on top of you, holding you in place with his body weight. He groans your name, and you give his hair a sharp tug. “Have wanted you for so long. Kiss me,” you say softly, wrapping your legs around his waist and bucking up against him. He’s shirtless and in a pair of light gray sweatpants; you can feel his erection straining against the thick material. You’re not sure how far this is about to go, but your whole body is tense with need. “Fuck, Bren—you’re this hard for me?”

He nods, eyes closed and face flushed as his lips move back over yours. You can’t help it; you rock up against him, seeking more pressure. Once your hips move, he takes it as permission for him to move too, and then he’s grinding into you, moaning and gasping against your mouth. His hand in your hair is tugging steadily while his other is squeezing your ass, making you rub back against him. “So fucking hard for you,” Brendon groans in your ear, and you whimper happily. “Y/n, I gotta—I need to ge—I’m sorry—I need like five minutes—God, not even that many probably, and I’ll go to the bathroom—I’ve just wanted you for so long too, and—fuck, you were in my bed last night pressed against me all over me; I couldn’t stop thinking about you—I’m so fucking hard for you, and I don’t want to—while we’re kis—god, I’m so damn into you. Just give me a few minutes; I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, hang on,” you pant, your head resting in his hand against the pillow. You try to catch your breath while you process everything he just said. You need to be sure you’re understanding him before you make your offer. “Are you asking to go to your bathroom to jerk off, so you don’t come in your pants while we’re making out?”

Brendon stares at you. “That about sums it up, yeah,” he says finally. “God, when you say it like that, I sound like such a—”

“B. You don’t have to go masturbate in your bathroom,” you tell him with a small smile. “I’d actually prefer you didn’t. Since you need to come, I can think of much more enjoyable ways that involve me.”

He looks at you blankly, and you reach down to grab his erection through his sweatpants. “I’ve wanted to suck your cock for the longest time,” you admit. His mouth falls open, and you giggle, pushing on his shoulder to get him flat on his back. “Is that okay? I can blow you, can’t I, Bren?” You pause to evaluate. You’re sober. Hungover, but sober. This isn’t Drunk Y/n just trying to get some dick. This is you and Brendon, finally. Finally.

“Jesus,” he groans and nods, his eyes closing as you curl up between his legs and yank his sweatpants down. “God, yeah, you can—oh shit,” he gasps when you give the tip of his cock a soft kiss before licking over your palm sloppily and wrapping your hand around him. You give him a few short strokes and slide him into your mouth, suckling at the head. “Y/n,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “You’re so damn sexy; your mouth feels so good—”

“You taste good,” you tell him, kissing over his thighs and lower stomach, dragging your tongue along the defined V you’ve always tried to ignore on pool days but usually failed. “I knew you’d taste good.” He groans helplessly and bucks into your hand, whispering about how wonderful you are for doing this for him. “I am pretty wonderful, and I trust you’ll reciprocate at some point,” you tell him, and his eyes flutter closed as he moans happily and nods, already mumbling about how badly he wants to get his tongue in you, how he would’ve started there if he’d thought he’d be able to make you come without losing control and coming too.

“I can be patient,” you tease. “Besides, I’ve got your dick to keep me occupied while I wait. You’ve got such a great cock, Brendon. You’re the perfect length; I can tell you’re gonna fill my cunt just right, and you’re so nice and thick—fuck, it’s gonna feel so good for you when my lips are stretched around you, working hard to get you to come in my mouth.” You keep stroking him before licking up his length and taking the head in your mouth again, sucking eagerly at the slit to collect his pre-cum.

“I should warn you,” you gasp after a moment. “I’m greedy. I want to get all of your cock in my mouth and I want to swallow for you. I don’t like being called a cock or cumslut, but…” you shrug helplessly with a small grin. “I’ve wanted this—you—for so long.”

Brendon groans and promises he would never call you either name and fists your hair, not forcing you down but just holding on for dear life.

You grin to yourself and slide your lips down to take him fully, moaning because you know it’ll feel good for him, but also because his cock in your mouth is so nice. He really is the perfect length; the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your tongue is satisfying as your lips stretch around him. He grunts when you moan around him again, and his hand curls in your hair as he praises you.

You pull back and then take him deeper, gagging a little before breathing carefully, adjusting. The tightening of your throat when you gagged must have felt good, because you can tell he’s fighting hard to not thrust into your mouth. You don’t mind at all if that’s what he needs; you just need to change positions. You let his cock fall from your mouth, and you scramble off of the bed, kneeling beside the edge. “Come here,” you beckon, and he shifts, feet settling on the floor. “Fuck my mouth,” you tell him, hands sliding over his thighs. “I know you want to. Tangle your hands in my hair, slide your cock across my tongue, and fuck my mouth until you come. I’ll swallow, don’t worry.” He groans and you stroke him tenderly, sliding him back between your lips.

He’s reluctant, murmuring something about not wanting to be rough, and you realize you’re going to need to convince him. You meet his eyes and give him your most desperate look; you grip his thighs as you start rocking your head back and forth, relaxing so that when he hits the back of your throat, you don’t gag and the tip of his cock can slip down. “Holy fuck,” Brendon moans, his hips starting to move in short thrusts. Finally.

“Baby, your mouth, your fucking mouth—” he picks up his pace, and you let one of your hands slip down between your legs to rub at your clit. You love knowing he’s getting off on the feeling of your mouth, the sight of you begging for more with your eyes. “Gonna come,” he whispers helplessly after what feels like no time at all, biting his lip briefly. “Wanted this for so long, you’re so fucking hot, I’m gonna come—oh fuck—now, now—fuck! Yes! God!”

And he comes, warm and salty, down your throat. There’s so much of it, and you’re swallowing hard to keep up with him; he’s moaning and fucking your mouth with deep, desperate thrusts through his climax, watching in amazement as his slick cock slides effortlessly between your lips. You’re moaning too—you love how he’s lost control—and gripping his thighs, pressing closer, with your lips at the base of his cock and your nose pressed to his pelvis. You’re trying to focus on swallowing, not gagging or coughing—you don’t want to waste any of his cum, but you can feel smears of it on your chin and around your mouth. When his hips go still and his cock slips from your mouth, he stares down at you in awe.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he says quietly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re incredible.” You’re both breathing hard, and he looks down at you, nipples visibly hard through his t-shirt, your panties dark at your core, hair messy, eyes fully dilated, and his spent cock twitches again. “My god, you are fucking incredible,” he mumbles, falling back on the bed. “Come up here, please, baby.”

You scramble up on the bed and you straddle him, gasping in pleasure as his cock presses against you through your soaked panties. He doesn’t even need to be hard for it to feel good; you could come just from grinding against him like this. “All the way up,” he urges softly. “Gotta get hard again. Need to get you off. I know a way to do both.” You cock your head, curious and hopeful, and he smiles.

“Come sit on my face.”

Fucking finally. You’ve brought yourself to a screaming orgasm by imagining those very words too many times to count. But now, it won’t be your fingers rubbing your clit, your mind piecing together what those words would sound like from him. It’ll just be him. Finally.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, crawling up over him and settling on your knees above him. “Let me take these off,” you murmur, standing on his bed a bit unsteadily as you shove your panties down your legs and kick them off the bed.

“Shit, baby, you are so damn gorgeous. Come here, come sit right on my face,” Brendon groans from under you. He’s already wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking and squeezing. You know he’s not hard again—not yet, not after coming like that—but you love that he’s so desperate to fuck you that he’s trying to get himself to full hardness so quickly. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat through your body; you whimper and feel yourself get even wetter. You need him; you realize he’s staring up at you expectantly.

“Love hearing you call me ‘baby,’” you whisper. “But you know we’ve got to talk about this—about us, right?” You ask, dropping back to your knees as his hands grab your ass.

“We do. But right now, my mouth has a far more important job,” he tells you, licking over you and smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan and settle down onto his tongue. “Ride my tongue,” he says, and it’s a bit muffled, but you do as he says, rocking back and forth, whimpering when he snakes two fingers up inside you and adjusts so his tongue is over your clit. You’re gasping and panting and you tug at your—his—shirt to get it off, hands flying to your nipples as you pinch, squeeze, and roll them between your fingers.

“Fuck, Brendon,” you whine, rocking harder. He nods, tongue rubbing gently over your clit while his fingers inside you curl and press and rub. “Oh fuck,” you groan, hips shifting from small circles to rapid back and forth thrusts. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—now! Holy shit, now! Fucking—coming! Yes!”

His fingers press firmly as his tongue works over your entrance; you know he’s tasting you from the way he’s moaning and closing his eyes. After a moment, he drops his head back so he can lick his lips and look up at you with longing. “That’s right, play with your tits, tease your nipples, let me watch you drive yourself crazy as you rub your hot, wet cunt all over your man’s face. Come for me again; let me taste you, please,” Brendon practically begs, and you whimper, one hand leaving your chest so you can reach back and grasp his cock. “Shit,” Brendon grunts. “Your hand feels so good, Y/n. Feel how hard I am for you already? Fuck,” he whispers helplessly. “I want you.”

“Make me come once more like this. I’ve wanted you so badly, still want you—want your cock, but need your mouth once more,” you beg, “and then I’ll slide back and ride you until neither of us can take it.” Brendon groans, murmuring how much he loves you and how much he loves you on his face, and then his mouth is moving over you again, fingers thrusting rapidly and tongue lapping insistently.

“Oh Christ,” you whimper. “Oh dear God in heaven; I love you, I love you so much and I’m gonna come from your mouth. Fuck, Brendon, hearing you call yourself my man—finally, fucking finally—makes me fucking wild; fuck yes, lick my clit, eat my pussy, that’s it—eat it, eat it!” You spread your legs wider over his face and rock back and forth; you’re so close.

He flicks his tongue against your clit and spanks you firmly with his free hand; you shriek, your eyes rolling back. You fall apart, bucking over his mouth, and his hands encircle your waist to hold you in place while he licks you over and over again, moaning in pleasure.

“Okay, baby,” he finally sighs, licking his lips. “I’m rock hard for you; if you still want it, you can sink this hot cunt down on my cock.” He gives your ass another sharp slap, and you cry out happily, crawling backwards to sink down onto his length. Finally.

“Oh,” you gasp, shifting to adjust. “I want it. Want you. You feel so good.” You lean forward and kiss him longingly, moaning when you taste yourself on his slick lips. “You’re—god, you feel huge,” you whimper, gripping his shoulders as your hips roll to help your body accommodate him. “Fuck, this is so good; I’m stretched so full from your cock,” you whisper, kissing him again, whimpering a little. Brendon looks worried, and he asks if you’re okay; he’s throbbing inside you, and you just want to ride him hard.

“I’m great,” you say with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, your cock is perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long. Feels so good to just have you inside me. Fucking finally.” You raise your hips and sink back down on his length slowly, both of you moaning. He grabs your hair and pulls your mouth down to his so he can kiss you roughly as your hips rock. “You’re—damn, Brendon, I can feel every inch of you.”

“Yeah? Your pussy is so hot and wet and slick and tight, Y/n, I may not last long.”

“I’m gonna make sure you do,” you counter with a smile. “We’re gonna make this first time last.” You concentrate on the pulsing of his cock inside you, and you find a good rhythm, sliding up gently before grinding down. His breath catches, and his hands fly to your waist; you grin, pausing in your upwards movement, so just the tip of his cock is in you. “Don’t come,” you tell him breathlessly. “Do not come.”

He nods, shuddering in pleasure under you, and you hold your breath to stay still. His breathing evens out, and you sink back down onto him firmly. “That’s my man, not coming in me yet,” you murmur, and he groans, grabbing your ass. You repeat this torture several times, watching him longingly. “Hang on for me. Don’t come. I haven’t come yet either, but I promise I’ll let you come in me,” you tell him, and he nods, reaching up to touch your breasts.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, and you feel his dick throb inside you. You smack his hand away lightly, grinning when he groans. “I wasn’t gonna come yet,” he protests, and you shrug.

“Just making sure,” you say softly, grinding slowly. “We’re getting close though, I can tell. We’re both gonna need to come soon, yeah?” Brendon moans his agreement, watching you roll in his lap on his cock. You’re both lost in the other’s eyes, panting and praising each other, when your phone rings. Brendon gropes for it on the bedside table and passes it to you.

You’re about to tell him to ignore it when you glance at the caller ID. “It’s Darren,” you manage, passing the phone back to him, and Brendon’s eyes light up.

“I’m gonna answer,” Brendon groans. “Is that okay?” You laugh and shrug, because you assume he’s kidding. However, no sooner have you shrugged than Brendon’s thumb is sliding across the phone screen to pick up. “Good morning Darren,” Brendon says in a rough, obviously sex-fueled voice. “Yeah, she spent the night. How is Y/n feeling?” He repeats the question for your benefit as his hips snap up and press the head of his cock right to your G-spot.

“Brendon,” you hiss, a little horrified but mostly amused. You know you could tell him to hang up and he would, but you’re actually interested in seeing how this will play out. You have always loved when he’s protective and possessive of you. So, instead of telling him to hang up, you cry out in pleasure while Brendon, with his free hand, rubs at your clit. “Oh Brendon, yes, touch me right there,” you whine; you’ve realized suddenly that you don’t care if Darren hears. There’s actually a part of you that wants him to hear, just so he’ll fully understand that you’re not even a little bit available.

“She feels…tight and hot and wet and slick and fucking perfect on my cock,” Brendon says clearly into the phone. “But I knew she had a phenomenal cunt even before I got my dick in her; you see, I ate this perfect woman’s gorgeous pussy for breakfast earlier. I got her coming all over my face and tongue, and she tastes so damn sweet.”

You moan and ride him harder, gripping his shoulders and bouncing urgently. You want to come all over him while Darren listens. You’ve never been into exhibitionism before, but something about Brendon’s cock deep in you and the way he’s bragging about how good you feel on him and how much he loved tasting you makes you want to show off even more.

“But that’s just physically,” Brendon manages. Oh, I shouldn’t forget—her mouth is phenomenal too; it was so damn good, seeing her perfect mouth full of my cock, having her fucking beg to swallow for me—But if her whimpering of my name or the way she keeps kissing me now is any indication, she’s feeling emotionally pretty good too.” Hell yes you are, and you groan this in the background. Brendon laughs breathlessly; he hangs up and drops your phone off to his side.

“That was not nice,” you say with a short laugh, gripping his shoulders and riding him harder. “Hilarious, and unexpectedly hot as hell, having you brag about the ways we’re fucking, but not nice. What if he calls back?”

“Let him,” Brendon counters. “What will we let him hear next? He thinks I try to control you? Maybe we let him hear me fuck you hard from behind. Would you like that?” You nod desperately, and Brendon groans. “Let’s make him understand what happens when I’m really in control. I’ll get you on your hands and knees, pull you back so I can fill you up with my thick cock and fuck you hard; I’ll pull your hair, smack your ass, and rub your clit til you’re screaming my name, begging me to take you even harder, begging me to let you come on my cock. Let him call back; I want him to hear us—want him to hear the moment we fucking ruin these sheets.”

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, biting at his shoulder. “God, that sounds so good.” Brendon chuckles and tugs at your hair playfully.

“Which part? Stupid Darren hearing me fuck you, or how I plan to fuck you?”

“Mostly your plan, but both, honestly,” you tell him, blushing. “Want people to hear us. Want people to know I’m yours.”

“God, Y/n,” Brendon says breathlessly, “you are mine, aren’t you?” You grin and shrug, biting your lip. “Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns with a small smile, and you giggle. “Okay, you asked for it.”

He lifts you off of him and flips you over with ease, crawling behind you and smacking your ass hard as he rocks into you. “Oh fuck yes!” You yelp, and he bites your shoulder and pulls your hair; he dips his head down to ask if this is okay, if you want to be fucked like this. “Brendon, yes—shit, just like this, fuck me like this; oh god!”

“Whose are you?” His voice is low and tight and his hips are slamming into you from behind. “Say it. Say my name.”

“I’m yours,” you moan loudly, dropping your face into the pillow. He grabs your hair and guides your head up, telling you to let him hear you. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Brendon; fuck, I’m all yours,” you chant, rocking back against him.

“Damn right,” he says with a short laugh. “Mine. Say my name.”

“Brendon,” you moan. “Oh god, Brendon, fuck me, fuck my pussy, fuck my wet cunt; I’m all yours.”

You’re beginning to think Darren’s not going to call back, but you do want him to hear this—so you decide to take matters into your own hands. You reach for your phone as Brendon fucks you desperately, clicking Darren’s name on the call list and letting the phone drop next to your pillow. “I’m yours, Brendon, I’m all yours.”

He glances down, sees the call connect, and laughs appreciatively. You’re moaning and whimpering and thrusting back against him hard, gasping as his cock fills you. “Mine, finally,” he murmurs, pulling your hair.

“Yours,” you agree. “Fuck, Brendon, I’m finally yours. Fuck me good, take me from behind, make me come. You’re gonna make me come all over your thick cock; shit, I’m gonna lose control, can’t take it, gotta—oh fuck, Brendon!” He grunts in your ear that you’re going to come, and you let out a shrill moan when his two fingers find your clit. “Yes,” you shriek, hips spasming as you come hard. “Yes, play with my clit, fuck me! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!”

“You feel so good on my cock,” Brendon manages. “I’m gonna come. Can I come in you? Know you said I could, but need to hear it—can I come in you, give you all my cum?”

“Please,” you moan, fingers tangled in his sheets as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Please, claim me, take me, come in me, come in my hot, wet cunt. Give me your cum; I want it all.”

He comes with a sharp moan, his hips losing their rhythm as his cock throbs and pulses inside of you. “Oh fuck,” Brendon groans when he thrusts toward once more. “God, I fucking love coming in you.”

He pulls out of you and falls onto his back, reaching for you. “Come here, my love.” You roll over, squeezing your thighs together, and burrow your face in his chest. He pulls you firmly against him and kisses the top of your head. “So…you know you can’t go on a date with Darren tonight, right?” He grins at you as you both brush the other’s sweat-dampened hair out of each other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree, giggling.

“And why is that?” Brendon asks, raising an eyebrow.

You’re still laughing when you pull him in for a long kiss. “Because,” you murmur against his lips, “my super controlling boyfriend that I’m wildly in love with said so.” You grin, and he smacks your ass, laughing. “Because I’m fucking finally yours.”

“Damn right. Finally.” His lips capture yours again and you fumble with the phone, hanging up.

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #fanfic #he could fuck me any way he wanted #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

I’m Angry (revised)

Brendon x reader

Warnings: sex and toys and dirty talk and discussion of spanking and mild choking.

Word count: 2.4k➡️3k

-||-

“Urie!” You’re yelling, and your husband’s head snaps up as you come into his backyard studio. “Hello, Dillon.” You acknowledge him calmly, politely, before rounding on Brendon. “You.”

“Me?” He looks surprised, almost innocent—you’re stunned at his audacity. You nod and, as he stands to embrace you, you launch yourself at him, punching his chest hard enough to make a point but not actually hurt him. “Honey,” Brendon laughs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m punching you.”

“Yes, I can see that. May I ask why?”

“Because I’m angry.” You stress the last word and land a few more punches. “I’m angry,” you repeat and Brendon looks concerned.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t play dumb, Urie; you know full well,” you scoff as you take up punching again. “You know exactly what happened today.”

“I really don’t,” Brendon says, a bit more concerned now. “What happened?”

“You,” you spit, “you had the nerve—the audacity—the brazenness to—to—”

“Love, whatever I did, I didn’t mean to upset—”

“Those photos!”

Brendon stops, looks at you, head cocked in confusion. “Photos?”

“Your photoshoot,” and you punch him, “with fucking Billboard,” and you punch again, “was released today and,” you punch again, and he’s starting to catch on, which means he’s starting to look both annoyed and amused.

“You look so fucking sexy and I can’t—I’m so—” you punch him one last time before he grabs both of your wrists and holds them in his hands. “Oh.” The word leaves you as a soft sigh, and his eyes darken. He backs you against the wall and pins your wrists over your head.

“Serious question. Are you going to keep punching me if I let go?”

“Probably,” you admit, breathing hard and Brendon laughs, shooting a look at his friend.

“Dillon, can we have the room? We can keep mixing later. I know you’re on a roll right now, but…” Brendon turns back to eye you meaningfully. “I need to have a conversation with my wife.”

Dillon laughs to himself and grabs his things, leaving in a hurry. Once he’s gone, Brendon rests his entire body weight against you, keeping you pressed to the wall with your wrists still above your head. “Do I need to get Penny’s thunder blanket? Will that calm you down?” He’s amused, and you’re frustrated and squirming against him. Just when you thought you couldn’t get angrier, he starts to get hard; you can feel the stirring of his cock.

You know logically it’s from the way you’re wiggling against him, but in your head, this is not your fault. It’s just one more example of your husband being infuriatingly sexy. His hips press forward, and you gasp, looking up at him. He’s waiting for an answer. “Love, I need you to answer my question. Will Penny’s thunder blanket calm you down?”

“No, it will not.”

“Then I’m going to keep you against this wall,” Brendon tells you, forehead resting against yours, lips barely brushing yours. “Until you can calm down.”

“I’m so fucking ang—”

“You mentioned that. You didn’t explain why,” Brendon points out. “Only that my shoot came out today.”

“And you look so goddamn sexy.”

“So you’re punching me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but you nod anyway. “I’ll be honest; I don’t see the logic.”

“You’re so fucking sexy that it defies logic, and it makes me angry sometimes. I mean—what the actual fuck.” Your breathing is picking up again, and he leans against you more firmly. “How dare you look like that and not give me any warning! I mean, Jesus, I thought I was gonna—okay, that thunder blanket might be a good idea,” you admit.

“I actually don’t think it’ll cover enough of you to make a difference,” Brendon tells you with a small smile. “But I have a suggestion.”

-||-

“You’re my thunder blanket?” You giggle as he lays on top of you on the floor of his studio, both of you fully clothed. He’s still got your wrists over your head and, between that and the way his pelvis is pressed against yours, you’re not going anywhere.

“I’m your thunder blanket,” Brendon confirms. “You need to calm down, and my entire body weight is the next best thing to a weighted blanket.”

“I’d argue,” you counter, “your entire body weight is better than a weighted blanket.” You crane your neck to kiss his. “Because while I could do this with a weighted blanket, it’s way more fun with you.”

“I can think of a lot of things that are way more fun with me,” Brendon says with a small laugh. Your breathing is starting to slow, and Brendon murmurs your name. “How you doing, love? Are you calm?”

“No,” you admit. “I want to say yes, but I’m not. Even now, looking at you, I’m so fucking angry that you—you just—you fucking look like this! I mean, who gave you the right to be so—so goddamn beautiful? I’m angry, okay?”

“Are you always this angry when you see me?” Brendon inquires in a neutral tone. “Because that’s something we should probably discuss, if my appearance enrages you. As your husband, I have no interest in making you angry.”

“Only rarely does my sexual attraction manifest as anger,” you tell him. “But when it does—god—I just—fuck! You’re so—you just look like this! You wake up gorgeous without doing shit, and then you get dressed and you look so fucking sexy; I just want to hit you, because it’s not fucking fair that you just—”

“Look like this?” He asks drily, and you nod, panting. “Right. So, what do you propose we do about this?” He’s still laying on top of you and your hands are still pinned over your head; you’re so fucking turned on by him that you can barely think straight. You blink at him, clearly confused, and Brendon smiles. “What I mean is, how do you normally solve this little problem?”

“Well,” you admit, “this is the first time it’s happened while you’ve been home—you’re usually on tour—so normally when it happens, I go and lock myself in our room and put on one of your shirts. Then I touch myself while looking at whatever photo set me off in the first place. And,” you pause. “Then I’ll call you, and that’s when I’ll beg for phone or FaceTime sex. If you don’t answer, I leave you one of those voicemails you love so much.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brendon whispers, and you can feel his cock throb against you. He’s so hard, and you’re so wet; what you wouldn’t give to—“I’d hate to ruin your routine, and I’d love to understand better.” His voice is low in your ear, and you whimper. “How about I take you inside and you can show me?”

-||-

You’ve settled into bed and are pulling on the shirt he’s offering you—the one he just stripped off while you shed your clothes as well. You grab a second hair tie and tighten the shirt by gathering the hem and twisting before wrapping the hair tie around it. At his questioning look, you smile. “I like the shirt tight so it really rubs against my nipples when they’re hard.”

“Fuck,” Brendon whispers, eyes wide. You grin and grab your phone, scrolling before showing him the photo.

“This. This is why I’m so angry.” He chuckles, and you look offended. “I’m sorry, I don’t see what’s so funny. You’re fucking sexy as hell.”

“I just—” and he shrugs. “I can’t say that about myself. I’m such a goofy guy; I don’t see myself as sexy.”

“You’re too modest,” you inform him, groping for your vibrator. “Too modest and too sexy.” You switch it on and lean over to kiss him fiercely. “Normally I don’t get to kiss you, so this is not part of my routine, but fuck it; I want your mouth.” He moans into your kiss and shifts to hover over you, hands roaming over your chest and waist and hips, pulling you close. “Now,” you murmur, pressing the tip of your vibrator against your clit. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

Brendon’s tongue moves down your neck while his fingers press into your hip. “So fucking sexy,” he groans, watching you slide the toy in deep, and you can feel his erection against your thigh. “How many times do you usually come before you call me?”

“Usually,” you pause to catch your breath as your hips buck hard, “usually four or five.”

“Fuck,” Brendon sighs. “That’s a while before I get to play.”

“I’ll meet you in the middle with two,” you offer, and he grins, kissing your forehead.

“Deal.” He settles onto his side to nestle against you, mouth returning to your neck and shoulder while his fingers spread around the vibrator. “Just wanna feel it, hot and slick with you,” he tells you softly, eyes heavy. “Fucking love you.”

“I love you too—oh—oh god—I’m…fuck, Brendon, will you—?”

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, shifting up higher on one arm to meet your eyes. “Tell me what you need and I’ll—”

“Mouth. Nipples.”

“Through the shirt or shirt off?”

“Through the shirt,” you gasp, back arching as his lips close around your left nipple, tongue working over it repeatedly before sucking gently. “Yes, B,” you sigh, taking the hand previously tangled in the sheets and gripping his hair, pressing his mouth closer. “Just like that.”

“So sexy,” Brendon says, muffled from your breast, but his eyes on yours translate if he was unclear. His hips press forward and you can feel him, hard against you.

“Fuck,” you whine as your first of the night hits and Brendon gasps with you, sucking harder, fingers teasing your right breast, pinching and rolling gently. “You’re so—” and your eyes fly between the photo of him on your phone and the real him on top of you, his eyes shut as he moans around your nipple. “So fucking—oh god—” you break off suddenly, a wordless cry ripping through you. “Fuck, that’s two; please fuck me,” you gasp, and you grab his arm, tugging urgently. “Take me.”

He pulls away from your chest and groans, watching as you pull the toy out. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses before gripping your hair tightly, eliciting a sharp moan from you. “Know you love that,” he says with a grin as he aligns his cock with your entrance and pushes in gently. “As much as I do.”

“Yeah,” you gasp, writhing under him. “Fuck me; get rough and fuck me, Brendon.”

“And you beg for it,” he groans. “I fucking love that. Beg, baby.”

“Bren, please,” you whimper, “you feel so good. Fuck me. Fuck me hard, pull my hair, choke me, spank me; Brendon please, it’ll—”

“Fuck the anger out of you?” He says with a breathless laugh. “Is that how that works?”

“Yeah,” you moan, rocking your hips up to take him deeper. “Take me; be rough with me.”

“If I’m gonna pull your hair, choke you, spank you, or just be rough with you, I’m gonna need a free hand, which means I’ll only be able to hold your hands with one. You gonna try to take control?”

“No,” you gasp. “No, I’ll be good.”

“Yeah you will; you’ll be my good girl, won’t you? You’ll let me be in charge?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, just fuck me, please. Can we do that thing where I’m not allowed to talk but I keep talking anyway and you tell me to just shut up and get fucked?”

Brendon laughs, nuzzling your neck. “I’m still not going to tell you to shut up, love. How about ‘hush’? Will that get you off?”

You whine under him, and he raises one eyebrow. You know he’s serious about not telling you to shut up; he really dislikes the idea of it and flat-out refuses. But ‘hush’ could be good. You toy with the word in your head, and finally nod. “Yeah, ‘hush’ will work. But you gotta ask me questions that require me to talk. Gotta set me up for a punishment.”

“Why—”

“Because if I don’t have you set me up, I won’t get punished. And you know how much I enjoy you punishing me for being a bad girl.”

“You do love it, my little freak.” Brendon gives you an affectionate smile. “Okay, deal. ‘Hush’ but I’ll ask at least one question. What are your safewords, baby?” He always checks, and you bite at his shoulder desperately. “Nuh uh, pretty girl. You don’t get it rough until I know you know what to say.”

“Red, or stop, or mango,” you recite, staring up at him longingly. Your third word had originally been ‘pineapple,’ but there’d been an incident early in your relationship. You’d been about to say ‘please,’ and Brendon, hearing the ‘p,’ had immediately stopped. You still don’t begrudge his caution, but your orgasm slipped away, and you both hate edging.

“Good girl. Turn over.” His voice is soft but firm, and you catch your breath as he pulls out of you. “Over.” He frees your hands, and you roll onto your stomach, whimpering when he grabs your hips and shoves a pillow under them so you’re at a better angle for him. He stretches back out over you, sliding deep into you and locking your wrists in place over your head with one hand. The other hand digs into your hip as his teeth sink into your neck. “Stay,” he groans against you as his hips snap forward, entire body flush against yours.

“Fuck ye—”

“Hush,” he tells you. “And don’t move, unless you’re fucking yourself back on my cock.” He makes you fucking wild when he takes control like this. It’s not his default style in bed with you, but every once in a while, you’ll beg him to be rougher and more dominant, and he always rises to the occasion.

“Fuck, Brendon!” you gasp into the pillow. “It’s so good—”

He groans and takes his hand from your hip and pulls your hair firmly. “I said hush. You’re being such a bad girl. Moaning and whining is good, but no talking. You know the rules. You’re the one who always begs me to tell you to shut up and take my cock. You know your safewords if you need them. Otherwise, not a word.” You whimper and feel yourself tighten around him, and he grunts your name in your ear. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet on my cock. Gonna come for me?” You don’t speak, and he nips at your earlobe. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.” His hips rock forward again, and you choke back a cry of pleasure. “Answer me.”

“You’re sending mixed signals,” you groan. “You were gonna punish me if I talk.”

“Only because I know how much you enjoy your punishments.” His hand tightens around your wrists as he picks up the pace.

“Yeah,” you admit, rocking back hard. He licks the shell of your ear, thrusting into you roughly.

“Up.” You hesitate, unsure of what he wants, and he tugs your hair again. “I said up.” You arch your hips up, and he flips your vibrator on and shoves it under you, finding your clit. You squeal; his hand pushes you back down so you’re flush against the vibrator, and he’s groaning in your ear. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”

“Brendon!”

“You must really want to be punished,” he tells you, hips stilling and sighing in pleasure when you tighten around him. “Bad girl, breaking the rules, talking. I’m gonna come in you, and you can’t come yet.”

“Baby—”

“You’re gonna come into my studio when I’m working, start punching me because of how sexy you find me, then you expect to get fucked and you want to come whenever you want?”

“Ye—”

“Don’t talk. You don’t get to talk, and you don’t get to come until I’m done with you.” He grins against your neck; you both love when he’s like this. It may always be you who hints or suggests or outright begs for him to slip into this persona, but you know he loves it too. He loves how good you are for him, how desperate you are for his touch and his cock. Even when you’re bad on purpose, you both love how he spanks you firmly as a punishment.

“Gonna—”

“Don’t. Talk.” He repeats, rhythm faltering as he thrusts into you hard. “Gonna come in you. Take it, take my cock.” You gasp happily as he shudders over you. “Good girl, taking all my cum in her perfect cunt,” he murmurs as he finishes, moving the hand from your hip to your throat and squeezing gently. “Now you can come.” His grip tightens and you gasp your orgasm, a squeal ripping from your throat. “Come for me, babygirl.” You buck against him roughly. “Tighter?” He whispers in your ear and you nod. He bites your earlobe and sucks hard while the hand around your throat tightens further.

“Oh shit,” you moan, coming hard. You can feel his cum dripping down your inner thighs, and you gasp as another wave rips through you. His hand loosens when your hips fall against the bed, and you sigh at the feel of the wet sheets under you. You love when he makes you come like that. “Brendon,” you whimper, and he pulls out of you, rolling onto his back and guiding you close. He knows you need to be held after he’s rough; he loves being able to take care of you.

“Hi sweetheart,” Brendon murmurs, stroking your hair. “How was that? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Bren, it was so good,” you moan, curling into his side. “Not too rough at all. Loved how you told me to be quiet, especially when you told me not to talk and just take your cock and cum. It was exactly what I needed, getting fucked like that. I’m sorry I was being crazy.”

“Crazy can be fun,” Brendon says with a laugh. “I’d rather you be this kind of crazy than any other kind.”

“Yeah?” You smile at him, running a hand through his hair. “You like my crazy?”

“I mean, I’d rather we just have wild sex,” Brendon says with a grin. “But if I have to take some crazy to get there…well. You’re more than worth it. I love you so much.” He pauses so his lips can meet yours for a long, tender kiss. When he pulls away, he looks down at you fondly. “Am I allowed to be angry at how sexy you are?”

“It seems only fair,” you admit, rolling onto your back and stretching out, his shirt going taut across your chest.

“I’m angry,” Brendon deadpans, giving your hair a tug. “You’re so sexy, and I’m angry.”

“Better let me fuck the anger away then,” you say with a small smile, flipping over and straddling him.

“Guess I’d better,” he says in a faux long-suffering voice, tugging your hair as you settle on top of him. “Fuck me good, honey, I’m so angry.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #fanfic #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Like You Want (revised)

Warnings: language, dirty talk, playful degradation (slut), sex, oral, mildly rough sex, spanking, arguable edging, etc.

Word count: 4.1k➡️5.8k

-||-

You can hear the sound effects of his video game the moment you step into the kitchen from the garage, and you smile. You’ve missed him today, and, if all the texts he’s sent are any indication, he’s missed you too. You drop your purse on the counter and head into the living room.

“Hi, Sugar!” Brendon’s eyes light up and he sets the controller aside, patting his lap. You crawl onto him and you kiss his forehead as you stroke his hair.

“Someone’s in trouble,” you murmur, and he makes an intrigued noise, laughing. “No, really. You were supposed to tell me what you wanted as a wedding gift last week.”

Brendon’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, love. I guess it slipped my mind, because I don’t want anything—other than to marry you, of course.”

“B, it’s a tradition.” You pout now, running your hands down his chest. “You said you wanted all of the traditional stuff, right? The bride and groom exchange gifts.” You give him your biggest, saddest eyes and shove his shoulder lightly, playfully. “Tell me what you want. Let me get you a gift.”

His hands move up the back of your shirt and he gives you a soft smile. “I do want all of the traditions, yes. But I don’t need a gi—no wait, I’ve got it. Take some sexy photos for me. That’ll work.” His smile slides from gentle to seductive, and his fingers caress the clasp of your bra. “Don’t get me wrong, every photo of you is sexy, but—”

You grin, cupping his face in both hands. “You asking me for boudoir photos, Urie?”

“Depends. Are those the ones where you’d be sprawled in our bed, stripped down to next to nothing, looking like a fucking fantasy? Except, you know, not explicit. I wouldn’t mind explicit photos, but I don’t want someone else taking them. I’ll take those myself.” You laugh and kiss him, and he caresses your cheek. “I’m talking about ones that highlight the absolute work of art that you are. Tastefully suggestive. Artfully erotic. Are those boudoir photos?” His eyes are dark, and his voice is husky.

You nod, and his lips attack your neck while he works on unfastening your bra. “If you’re comfortable with it, those are what I want. So what do you want?”

There’s a beat of silence, and he nips lightly at your neck before lifting your shirt off over your head. You wriggle free of it, tossing your unfastened bra to the side, and tug at his shirt, giving him a desperate look. Brendon groans under his breath, and you can feel how hard he is. He pulls his shirt off, flinging it in the same direction as your clothes. “Sweetness, if you say ‘nothing’ or ‘I don’t need anything,’ I will wage a tickle war the likes of which this house has never seen,” Brendon warns, making you laugh and shake your head.

“Oh no,” you tell him, “I definitely want something.”

“Go on.” His voice is a low purr now; he cups your breasts in both hands, stroking them reverently and paying extra attention to your nipples. “Take all the time you need to think, sweetness; I’ll just be right here, playing with your incredible tits. Goddamn, you are perfect.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Brendon says quickly, and he shifts you from his lap to lay you out on the couch next to him. He moves on top of you; you can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants. You wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to grind against him longingly.

“Well no, not right n—I mean, I do want you now, but that’s what I want for my wedding gift. You to fuck me.”

He sputters out a laugh. “Okay, surely that can’t count as a gift. We fuck all the time!”

“No,” you argue, “we don’t. We have sex all the time; we make love all the time. But I want you to really fuck me. Hard, rough, whatever you want to call it—I don’t care. I want to fuck.”

Brendon’s eyes are dark; you suspect he’s about to say something, so you rush to keep talking. “Don’t get me wrong, I love our sex life. Still, I can’t stop thinking about that night on tour last month, when you—and we…it was so—we were just all over each other, and it was unlike any other time. The way you held my—and how you grabbed—B, we both came so hard. But then you apologized the next morning for being so rough with me, and I don’t want you to do that. Don’t want you to feel like you have to apologize, because I want you that way too. Urgent and desperate and wild. I want you that way too, and I want you to fuck me, really fuck me.”

His hands cup your face, and he kisses you softly. “Sweet baby,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to do this for me. I’m more than satisfied with our—”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Urie,” you say with a grin, pressing two fingers to his lips to cut him off. “I love you and want you to be happy, but this is my wedding present. Mine. As in, a gift for me from you. This is not some gesture on my part, like ‘oh, I’ll let my husband fuck me because he wants to be rough,’ or whatever. No. I want it. Me. You’ve been holding back, and I don’t want you to. I can take it, Bren; I promise.”

He studies you and moves a hand from your face to the back of your head so he can tangle his fingers in your hair. “You want it rough?” His voice is velvety smooth, his eyes locked on yours, and you nod. He tugs your hair lightly, and you can’t stop the moan that bubbles up. “Use your words, Sugar.”

“Y-yes,” you manage, and he grins, going back to your neck with renewed vigor.

“You want me pushing you up against the wall, pulling your hair, grinding my hard cock into you?”

“Yes,” you moan, rubbing against his erection with greater urgency. Your body is on fire, your mind is racing, and it feels like electricity is coursing through your blood. Every inch of you is craving him and his touch.

“You want that? You want us frantically pulling our clothes off until I’m lifting you up and fucking you against the wall, or pushing you onto our bed and taking you from behind, my hips slamming into your perfect ass while I pull your hair and rub your clit? You wanna feel it the next morning? That ache between your gorgeous thighs because of how good you took my cock?”

“Yeah, want all that, want to be sore from how you fuck me—god, Brendon, please,” you whimper, your head rolling back against the armrest of the couch. You’re luxuriating in his words, getting lost in the fantasy he’s building for you both.

“Dirty girl,” he sighs, grinning and tugging your hair again. “Begging for it. Love that.” He presses his erection firmly against your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “You feel me? You do that to me. You make me fucking crazy. I have been holding back—not because I think you can’t handle it, but just because I want to worship you like you deserve. I love you so much, and I want to treat you like an absolute fucking queen, my perfect girl.”

You whine, kissing him fiercely, and his tongue fights yours for dominance. When you part, he tugs your hair again, smiling when you moan his name. “But if my sweet girl is actually a bit of a dirty girl, if she wants to get fucked hard, if she wants me to bend her over a bed and take her, fill her wet cunt from behind while I pull her hair and spank her,” you moan and his hand that’s not in your hair goes to your ass and squeezes firmly, “and just really fuck her,”—he’s breathing hard; you both are—“then I’ll really fuck her. God, I’ll fuck you so good.”

“Shit, that’s what I want, Brendon,” you whimper, grinding up against him. “You’re so fucking hard.”

“Of course I am,” he says in a rough voice, suckling a path up your neck before biting softly. “My gorgeous, perfect fiancée is practically begging for my dick; she just told me she wants to have wild, rough sex. Who wouldn’t be rock hard right now?”

“Can I ask for something else that will probably keep you hard?” You stroke his chest, nuzzling his neck the way he loves.

“Ask me for anything, sweetness.”

“How would you feel about not using condoms anymore?”

Brendon’s eyes go wide, and his lips part slightly; you can tell he’s trying to fully process this. You also know from the way his cock is throbbing against you that he’s very interested in what you’re suggesting. “Keep talking,” he finally manages.

“After the wedding, I think we should stop using condoms. I’ve got my IUD, so there still would be a low risk of a pregnancy.”

“Okay—but then why—”

“I want to feel you come in me, want to feel all that hot cum I normally swallow for you fill my pussy instead.”

“Sweet fuck,” Brendon groans, clutching you. “God, yeah. We can stop—fuck, you’re so—shit, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, B,” you murmur, kissing him softly. “No one has ever come in me—I want this with you. Only you.”

“Only me,” Brendon agrees, stroking your hair. “And I’ve never come in anyone. I’ve always used a condom. But I want this with you, and only you.”

You tangle a hand in his hair, kissing him more fervently now, while your other hand works its way down between your bodies to grasp his cock through his sweatpants. “Any chance of getting a preview now?”

He chuckles and shakes his head; you moan when he gets your hands pinned to the couch above you. He sucks on your lower lip and grinds into you desperately before pulling away. You take a moment to catch your breath, and you stare up at him longingly.

“Nope. You want this as your wedding present, so you’ve gotta wait for our wedding night to get it.”

“Brendon,” you pout, and he taps your nose.

“Don’t sulk, sweet baby; it’s a good way to earn yourself a spanking,” Brendon says with a wicked smile.

“What if that’s exactly what I want?”

“Then you’re well on your way to getting exactly what you want,” he tells you. “God, I fucking love you. I’ll make love to you now, because we both need it, but I’m going to force myself to be slow and tender. I’m not going to fuck you until our wedding night.” He attacks your mouth with new vigor and, breathing hard, murmurs, “Oh, and by the way—for the photos, I prefer black lace.”

-||-

“Not much longer,” Brendon whispers in your ear, and you grin, squeezing his thigh under the table at your reception. “Not much longer until I’ve got you bent over and on my cock, so I can take your sweet, wet cunt hard and fast like you want.”

You have to stifle a moan as you try desperately to not look aroused. You’ve been aiming for a ‘blissful newlywed’ expression all night, but your husband is making it hard to maintain with his explicit whispers and filthy promises. You fucking love it.

“First, it’s gonna be soft and slow and gentle. I’m gonna make love to my sweet girl, my bride, my, and—fucking finally I can say this—my wife. But after our first time as a married couple, I’m gonna take you hard.” His voice catches in his throat, and he looks at you longingly. “I love you so much, Sugar.”

-||-

“Patience, baby,” Brendon soothes, kissing down your neck as you tug frantically at his jacket and shirt. “Patience.” He’s one to talk, you tell him; he’s just crossed the threshold of the honeymoon suite with you in his arms, and he’s already trying to get you out of your dress, fingers working at the tiny pearlized buttons that start at the nape of your neck and run the length of your spine. He laughs, acknowledging your point. “How many—”

“One hundred and fifty.”

He lets out a groan, and you push his suit jacket down. He pauses on your dress buttons long enough to let the jacket fall, and you start on his shirt. “Want you naked at least,” you murmur, shoving his shirt off, watching hungrily as he wriggles out of it and pulls his undershirt off over his head. “God I want you,” you whisper, taking in his chest and the hard planes of his stomach leading down to the defined V above his pants.

“Want you,” you repeat helplessly, sinking to your knees and mouthing over the swell of his cock through his pants. You look up at him longingly, and he groans; the sight of you on your knees in your wedding dress is too much for him.

“You are so gorgeous,” he mumbles, stroking your hair. “You are so goddamn gorgeous. Your eyes, they fucking kill me. Gotta get you naked, gotta show you how much I love you. And gotta get you off your knees. The first sexual act in our marriage is not going to be you sucking my cock.” He gives you a small grin, reaching down to offer you a hand. “Personally, I think our first sexual act as a married couple should set the precedent for what we want our married sex life to be. So, I think it should be my head between your thighs, eating your sweet pussy until you come all over my face. What do you think?”

“Yeah,” you agree in a shaky voice. “Yeah that sounds good. Do want to suck your dick at some point, but yeah, you can—yes, please.” You stand again, and his hands move to your back. He pulls you close so he can work faster, and you can feel the bulge in his suit pants. “God, I want your cock.”

“You’ll get it, sweetness. Maybe you should lay down,” Brendon suggests in a low voice, leading you over to the bed. “Maybe it’ll be easier for me that way.” You nod, lay down on the bed, and bury your face in your arms, ready for his hands on your body again. He straddles you, and you can feel his erection pressing into you needily. He’s moving faster with the buttons, hips grinding slowly into you and leaning over to kiss each new part of your back that’s exposed as he frees a button. You’re gasping and trying not to squirm under him, and he chuckles. “Feels good, baby?” His breath is hot on your back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “yeah, feels good. Love your hands and mouth on me. And,” you pause, blushing even though he can’t see you and you know you’ve got no reason to be embarrassed. “Your hard cock pressing against my ass.” He groans, and his hips buck helplessly. “Grinding into me, making me think how good it’s gonna feel when you’re fucking me like this.” He frees another few buttons and his lips trace over your back. He’s gotten low enough and made enough progress that he can’t keep pushing against you and teasing the new skin, so he sits up and tightens his thighs around yours, holding you still for him to really rub his cock against you while his fingers keep working. “You will fuck me like this, won’t you?” You’re breathless, needy, begging. “I need you to fuck me like this.”

“Of course I will.” He makes a small noise of triumph when he frees the last few buttons. He slips off of you and runs his hand down your exposed back. “Stand up, sweetness.”

You obey and he shifts to sit on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs. His hands ghost up your sides and he tugs gently at the delicate straps; his breath catches when your dress slides off and pools at your feet. “You’re—my god, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you’re mine,” he whispers, his arms encircling your waist and bringing you forward to straddle him as you sit in his lap. “You’re my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your neck and rubbing circles over your hips before moving up to cup the swell of your breasts in the white lace lingerie you picked out specifically for this night.

It has the effect you hoped for; he’s touching you reverently. “You are so—” Brendon stops to catch his breath, eyes locked on yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you reply softly. “You’re my husband, and I love you so much. Gonna get me out of this lace and into our bed?” He groans, urging you to stand again, chest heaving with his labored breaths. His thumbs hook into your panties, and he slides them down your thighs for you to step out of before moving back up to your breasts and reaching behind you. “It opens in the front,” you whisper; he swears, reaching for the tiny, almost imperceptible clasp between your breasts. He unhooks it, the lace parts, and you’re entirely open to him.

“Baby,” he groans, pulling you close so he can lick at your nipples and kiss down your stomach and move lower, breathing hard. “Gotta get these pants off,” he mutters, unbuckling his belt and shoving them down. His boxers go too, and you’re biting your lip, desperate to get your mouth, hands, and pussy on his cock. He kicks the pants off and looks up at you, lust burning in his eyes. “Come here, my love.”

You settle in his lap, your slick heat sliding over his erection, and he grunts when you move forward with purpose. “Love you,” he repeats, shifting slightly and cradling your head in one hand as he turns on the bed to stretch you out under him. “Love you so much.” Brendon kisses you softly, fingers moving down your sides and curling under your thighs.

He works his way down your body, kissing a warm path and when he’s low enough, he looks up at you tenderly. “My beautiful bride. My sweet wife. My forever love. Can I taste my best girl?”

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Please.”

Brendon’s fingers are warm on your hips, and he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Spread for me, love.” You spread your legs eagerly, reaching for his hair and guiding his mouth exactly where you want it. “Goddamn,” Brendon moans, resting his head on your hip for a moment. “I know our week of self-imposed abstinence was for this exact reason, to make our tonight even more intense, but my god, I’m about to lose my mind over your cunt, baby.”

“Do it, then,” you groan, making both of you laugh at your desperation. Brendon’s mouth closes over you, tongue rolling gently while his thumbs work between your thighs to keep you spread wide for him. “Oh my god, I have missed your mouth.” You’re breathless, gripping his head and rubbing back against his eager tongue. “Shit, you’re the fucking best, Bren—yes, fuck, curl—oh!”

Brendon’s worked two fingers deep into you, and he’s curling them back to press against your G-spot while he sucks at your clit; this is one of his go-to moves that always leaves you squealing and squirming against his face. It makes you come hard, and you’re always a little self-conscious, but Brendon’s consistently said that the moment when he’s worried he might actually drown in your cunt is when he’s happiest. He teases that he’d die without any regrets, doing what he loves most—getting his best girl off.

Now, you shriek his name as your back arches; you’re rigid as your orgasm rushes through you, and all you can do is tremble under his touch and praise him for the way his tongue is urgently lapping at you.

When you’re both sure you’re done, Brendon rolls onto his back between your legs, breathing hard and gripping his cock. “Fuck, your cunt is to die for. I’m fucking addicted to the taste of your pussy, my love.”

“I think I lost consciousness for a moment,” you say with a soft laugh. “Shit, that was intense. Come up here, B.”

Obligingly, Brendon rolls back over and works his way up your body. He’s pressing soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, and you can feel how hard he is. You reach down between your tangled legs and squeeze his cock, making a small, desperate sound. “I know, sweetness, I know. I need you too, so damn badly. Let me just—” he hesitates as you’re cradling him between your legs, and he reaches for the bedside table before remembering you’re not at home, which means there’s no box of condoms in the drawer. He pauses. “Wait—you said we didn’t have to use—”

“No,” you say softly, locking your legs around his waist and keeping him in place. “We don’t have to. I want you to come in me, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, kissing your neck as his hands roam, groping and caressing. “It is so okay with me.”

-||-

“I love you,” you gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he rocks into you over and over again, his thrusts deep and slow. “I’m, oh god, gonna—”

“Come for me,” Brendon murmurs, kissing the pulse point behind your ear that makes you fall apart. “Come on my cock; let me feel you.” You let out a breathy sigh and whisper his name when you feel your orgasm hit; he moans low in your ear. “God, that’s incredible; feeling you directly on—shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna come,” he says quietly. “I’m gonna come in you; is that still okay?” You nod, legs tightening around him, moaning that he’d better not even think of pulling out.

“Fuck,” he gasps, groaning your name, and you feel him: hard, hot, throbbing; the sensation of pulsing heat filling you makes your eyes roll back.

“Oh god,” you whimper, “you feel so good. Your cum feels so good in me, filling me; fuck, Brendon, yes.”

“Fuck,” Brendon gasps, breathing hard as he collapses beside you. “That was insanely good. God, your pussy…with nothing in between us. Just the two of us, feeling your slick cunt squeeze my cock, and then coming deep in you…I need just a minute, but then I’ll be good to go. Gonna fuck you hard and fast like you want, I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper, eyes closed, trying to catch your breath. “Yes, please.” It’s been maybe ten, fifteen seconds before he’s rolling onto his stomach and crawling between your legs. “Brendon?” You sound surprised, and he looks up at you. “I thought you needed—”

“I know. I thought I needed a minute too, but this is what I really need. Your hot pussy on my face.”

“Oh shit,” you whimper, clutching the sheets when his tongue licks over you swiftly. “But you just—oh fuck, you just came in—”

He pulls back, kissing your inner thighs while his hands stroke your hips. “Don’t even care. I’ve just always loved the idea of tasting us together. Before now, it would’ve been the taste of your sweet cunt mixed with latex. But now, I can—if you don’t mind. Is that—is this okay?”

You take a shaky breath and nod. “Of course. I just didn’t know—I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

He grins, curling his hands under your thighs and spreading you for him. “I will always want to eat your pussy, Sugar. Don’t ever worry about that.” And with those words, his mouth is on you, and his tongue is working deep inside you, moaning and gasping as he eats you out.

You tangle your hands in his hair and grind slightly against his face; after a moment, he pulls back, licking his lips. “You’re so damn hot. Want to make this incredible for you. Wanna sit on my face?” You blink at him, and he grins. “Let you really be in control while I fuck you with my tongue. You can ride it, baby.”

You can’t stop the moan that bubbles up from you, and his smile widens. He crawls up over you and rolls onto his back.

“Come here, love. On your knees.” You shift as instructed, and he gestures for you to straddle him. “Let me guide you,” he murmurs, both hands on your hips with his fingers curling back and pressing into you. “Just—yeah, just like that,” he says as you settle down over him with one hand in his hair and the other clutching the headboard. “Feels so fucking good; just move how you want, and I’ll keep up,” he groans, slightly muffled, and you sigh happily when his tongue flicks out to taste you. “Gonna get you coming on my face,” he promises, hands tightening around your thighs.

“Oh shit, yeah you are,” you whimper when he goes back to licking and sucking eagerly. He’s eaten you out before, obviously; your man loves pussy, but he’s never had you like this, never on top of him like this. It’s driving you fucking crazy, and you start to move in small circles.

“Brendon,” you sigh, the hand in his hair tightening. “You make me feel so good.” He moans against you and you settle in a little lower, gasping when his entire tongue rolls over you before going deep, fucking you roughly only to pull back and suckle at your clit.

“Oh god,” you hiss, head tipping back. “My pussy, my fucking pussy—you’re gonna make me—oh god, oh god, Brendon please—fuck! Brendon, I need something in me right now, your tongue, your fingers, something, god baby, ple—oh shit!” He’s managed to get two fingers deep in you, curling to hit your G-spot and rubbing urgently as his tongue rolls in circles against your clit.

You’re shrieking your climax, and his tongue is working hard, lapping up everything you’re giving him. Your fingers curl around the headboard and you’re bucking against his face hard, squealing and shrieking and gasping as you come. When it subsides, you try to catch your breath and end up slipping off of him, curling into his side.

“It was good?” He asks quietly, the smile audible in his voice. “You enjoying yourself?” He’s got a fist wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, eyes glazed over, clearly still lost in the feel of your pussy on his lips and tongue, and how you trembled when you came for him.

“Fuck yeah,” you breathe, eyes closed as he pulls you in close. “Damn, that was—I can’t even—it was just so…”

“I know,” he agrees, his voice low. “I know.”

“You gonna keep being rough with me?” You open your eyes and look up at him longingly. “You gonna fuck me hard?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, kissing your forehead. “I will fuck you however you want.” You smile and reach down to curl your hand around his dick. “God,” he sighs a little helplessly, “your hand feels so good. All of you. So soft and smooth and warm and—fuck, mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, sitting up to gather your hair into a ponytail. “All yours.” You take a shaky breath.

“You okay, honey?” He sounds concerned and sits up next to you, hands moving up your back and his lips pressing to your shoulder. “You need anything?”

“Water,” you admit with a smile, and you stand. Brendon protests, saying he’ll get it for you, but you wave him off, stretching and stumbling towards the kitchen in the suite. When you get back, you have another glass in your hands for him. “Thought we should both hydrate,” you murmur, passing him the glass.

“I’m reluctant to do anything that will wash away the taste of your sweet cunt,” Brendon tells you with a soft laugh. “But I suppose you’re right; hydration is key. Can’t drive you wild all night long if I’m dehydrated.” He sips at the water slowly, eyes tracing over your body. “And,” he adds, “I do plan to drive you wild.”

“I can’t wait,” you say with a little sigh. “God, I can’t wait for you to fuck me and call me your slut, pull my hair and slap my ass, tell me spread my legs and take your cock. Did you bring handcuffs by any chance?”

Brendon blinks at you in surprise. “What? No—I don’t think we even own—hold on, do you want to be cuffed?”

“Kind of,” you admit, grinning at him. “I want to do all kinds of dirty things with you. And getting restrained before you just lose all control and start fucking me senseless sounds pretty dirty.”

“You’re such a bad girl,” Brendon groans, laughing under his breath. “How did I not know my wife is such a bad girl?”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think I knew until we really fucked on tour; even then, I didn’t fully know,” you concede, taking another long sip of your water. “I’ve just been thinking about this a lot.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Brendon murmurs. “So tell me, what are you thinking about right now?”

“I’m thinking about how you tangled a hand in my hair while I pulled you down on top of me on the couch of your dressing room, how you got my legs spread wide with one up on the back of the couch, the way I scratched at your back, begging for you, while you started thrusting like crazy—can’t get the sound of your hips meeting mine out of my head; it was so hot. We were both so loud, and you held out for so long; you made me come twice before you finally let yourself come. Thinking about how good it felt to have you moving over me like that, grunting against my neck and shoulder, grabbing my ass and telling me you needed me to come on your cock.”

Brendon’s breathing hard now; even if you ignore the way his dick throbs in his hand, you can still tell how turned on he is.

“So,” you continue, “I was sort of hoping you’d fuck me like that again. But I think I want to try being on my hands and knees.”

“Sweetheart, are you sure? I don’t want you to feel—”

You cut him off with a soft kiss; you know exactly what he’s going to say. “I’m not going to feel degraded if you fuck me from behind,” you reassure him. “You’ve done it before.”

“Yeah,” Brendon acknowledges, “but we were on our sides then; I was spooning you, remember? And it was slow and gentle. I could get my hands all over you, hold you close while making love to you. You promise you’ll tell me if you don’t like this?”

“I promise,” you murmur, kissing him again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Brendon replies, holding you close. He sighs your name and then kisses your forehead. “Okay, sweetness. Hands and knees.” You obey and he groans at the sight, running a hand from the back of your thighs up over your ass and across your back. So pretty, baby,” he whispers, settling on the bed behind you. “My sweet girl, begging for me to fuck her hard.”

“Please,” you moan, burying your face in the pillow. “Please, Brendon, I need you to fuck me like this.” You’re rocking back, whimpering, gasping his name when you feel him shift behind you again. “Please,” you whisper, turning slightly to look at him. “Give it to me. Let me take your cock like this. Fuck me.”

“You’re the best,” Brendon tells you, gathering your hair in his hand, tugging gently. “Don’t come until I tell you that you can.” And with that, he’s thrusting into you, and you’re immediately clenching around him.

“Shit,” you whine, arching and pushing back for more. “God, you’re—can you feel how you’re pressing right against my—fuck, Brendon, I could come right now; you feel fucking huge like this, oh god!”

“Thanks,” Brendon laughs breathlessly, thrusting hard.

“No, you’re always—you always fill me perfectly, but this—I can feel every inch of your cock stretching me and going deep, and it’s—god, how does it feel for you?”

“Fucking phenomenal,” he admits, pausing to catch his breath. “Hot, wet, tight—shit, your cunt is incredible. Don’t come though,” he warns, hips rocking. “Don’t you do it, not yet. Have some patience; do not come.”

“But I—” and you’re aware of how high and needy your voice is. “B, I need to—”

“You don’t,” he counters, teeth sinking briefly into your neck as he curls his body over yours. “You’ve come plenty; you’ve come on my cock and on my face; you don’t need to come. You want to come. There’s a difference.”

“I want to come,” you agree breathlessly. “I want to come so badly.”

“And I said no.” He spanks you firmly, making you squeal. “Don’t be a greedy slut; take what I give you.”

“Oh god,” you groan, biting your arm to temper your want. “Oh fuck, I love that so much—if you keep calling me your slut, I swear I’m gonna come—”

“If you come before I tell you to, if you come on my cock,” Brendon warns, fingers tightening in your hair, “I will punish you.” His voice is teasing though, and you can tell he won’t do anything too bad. You almost want to see what he’d do. “Don’t tempt me. Do not fucking tempt me, my sweet, slutty baby.”

“Oh fuck,” you hiss, your head falling forward to the pillow and your body tensing as you give in. “Brendon, you’re too good—I can’t st— can’t—oh god yes, fuck, all over your cock, fuck, fuck!”

It’s as if a bomb has gone off inside you; you’re shaking and squealing, biting at your pillow as you feel yourself come with a wet rush of heat. Your eyes roll back in your head, and you can’t stop the sounds coming from you—you’re not sure if you’ve ever come this hard before.

His hand comes down fast, and you cry out, pushing back for more, begging him to make you come again, to keep spanking you, to keep fucking you. “I said no,” Brendon repeats, rubbing soft circles over where his hand just landed. “I told you no, and you did it anyway.” He spanks you over and over again, making you shriek in ecstasy. It’s a blur of pleasurable pain and soothing touches, and you’re pretty sure you’re still coming. You can’t quite tell; everything is blinding pleasure, and your entire body is tense and trembling as he fucks you mercilessly.

In between now, desperate groans, you’re begging him to punish you, and his tone has shifted to taut amusement. “That’s it, baby, come for me. Come from how I spank your perfect ass while I fuck you—you’re gonna be a bad girl, gonna be my slut and do it anyway, so come for me.” You’re moaning and cursing, and you’re pretty sure it’s all nonsense, the shit coming from your mouth as he grips you tightly and tells you to come.

“Need you to come too,” you gasp, scratching at the sheets. “Come in me, fill me with your cum!”

“Such a slut, begging for my cum. Say please,” Brendon manages, pulling your hair and sucking hard at your neck.

“Fuck, please!”

“God, sweetheart, now,” he grunts, slamming his hips against you and gasping in relief as his body tenses over you. You gasp too, feeling him come deep in you, and you reach behind you, groping for him. He grips your hand in his, still thrusting into you.

After a moment, you can feel him start to relax, and he slips from you, still murmuring soft praise and gathering you in his arms so you’re face to face. “Brendon,” you whisper, and his lips press to your forehead while his arms tighten, grounding you.

“I’m here, honey.” His voice is soft and his hands are moving in slow circles over your body. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, my love. I’m here. You did so well, my good girl.” He presses his lips firmly to your forehead, then guides your head back so he can capture your lips. “My best girl, my sweet girl, my wife. I love you, sweetheart.” Once his lips are on yours, his hands move down to cup your ass and he scoots you higher, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, nuzzling your ear. “So much. Always.”

“I love you,” you manage, clinging to him. “Always. Holy fuck, B, that was—” and you break off in a short moan, clutching him and kissing him fiercely. “So good. So hot.”

“I know,” he whispers against your lips. “You okay?” You nod, assuring him you’re better than okay, and he makes a soft sound, holding you close. “My sweet girl,” he repeats, reaching to grab the blanket with one hand. “Get some sleep, baby; we’ll shower in the morning.”

“Okay,” you agree with a small yawn. “God, that was—you are so—Bren, you’re fantastic.” He chuckles and pulls the blanket up higher, making sure you’re covered.

“You are too,” he tells you. “Some people are just built to fuck hard, and you, my love, can fuck hard. Or get fucked hard, as the case may be.” He grins and kisses you again. “Goodnight, Mrs. Urie.”

“Oh shit,” you whimper. “You calling me that makes me want to start all over again; fuck, that’s so hot.”

“Yeah?” He nudges your earlobe with his nose. “You like being reminded that you’re my wife?” You nod desperately, and Brendon kisses your forehead. “Love that. You think you can take more?”

“…no,” you admit with a laugh. “Not right now. But,” you say with another yawn, “wake me up like that and see what happens. Want to climb on top and ride you, and I still want to get fucked against a wall. Want you to push me up against it, tell me to beg for your cock. Want it hard and fast; don’t care if we’re face to face and you’re holding me on your cock, or if I’ve got my whole body pressed to the wall while you fuck me from behind.”

“God, tell me what else you want,” Brendon groans.

“Gladly. Want you to bend me over the bed; want to feel your hands on my hips as you fuck me and call me your needy slut. Make me scream into a pillow while you take me with deep thrusts. And I still want to suck your cock clean after you come in me. Fill my cunt with your cum, then push me to my knees and tell me to suck.”

He swears under his breath and closes his eyes as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, my wife is a bit of a slut and a tease, isn’t she? Feel free to remind me of all that tomorrow, though I doubt I’ll forget. If anything, I’m gonna dream about your hot, slutty mouth all over my dick after I’ve had you bent over our bed, begging.”

You whine, clinging to him. “Your wife is a slut and a tease,” you whisper. “But don’t worry. She’ll deliver in the morning. Goodnight, Mr. Urie.” He groans, and you grin as you succumb to sleep. “Told you it was hot.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #he could fuck me any way he wanted #fanfic #my work #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

Sore Winner (revised)

Original request: here’s a prompt Brendon comes out of the bathroom and he appears to be naked; like he’s got his dick out you know, then you look down and you realize he is wearing nothing except for bright pink crocs.

-I think you were kidding, but I’m not-

Brendon x reader

Warnings: language, dirty talk, sex, spanking.

Word count: 2.7k➡️2.8k

-||-.

You’ve woken up, checked your phone, realized what day it was, and abject terror has instantly struck. Brendon knows it too; he’s just rolled over and taken you in his arms, kissing your neck. “Ready for today, my love?” His voice is scratchy with sleep, and you could turn in his arms and shove him on his back and sink down between his legs and blow him, just to have him moan your name in that voice—except. Except. Except it’s against the rules.

“Is it the end of the month already?” You ask breathlessly, hoping for an error, a reprieve, something. He nods, still kissing your neck and shoulder, fingers running over your side.

“It sure is, babydoll.” He lets his tongue caress your earlobe. “And I’m so fucking ready.” He rolls onto his back, stretching and groaning. You watch needily, whimpering as his erection proudly tents the sheets. He’s just begging to get blown, teasing you with his cock like this. “I’ve got a really good one this month. I mean, a really good one.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is it. This is my month, I can feel it.”

-||-

You’re downstairs, wandering aimlessly from room to room before dropping onto the couch with a dejected sigh. “Alright, think,” you say aloud, rolling onto your back to ponder. “The rules are simple.” You review them.

“Rule one—it has to be the last day of the month, and both parties have to be awake. No springing it on them at midnight. Done.” You check it off mentally. “Rule two—anything purchased must be less than ten dollars; receipts should be available as needed.” Another check; you haven’t bought anything. “Rule three—all parties must still make seduction and sex a priority.” Check. You both want each other; there’s no issue there. “Rule four—no oral sex, because it pushes us both over the edge…How the fuck did this even start?”

You ask the question to no one; Brendon has been in the studio as soon as you finished breakfast. Brendon. This was all his stupid, yet hilarious idea.

-||-

“Doll, I have an idea,” Brendon murmured. You turned and kissed him, legs wrapping around his waist, moaning when you felt him hard against you. You reached down and tried to guide him into place, thrusting down to take him. You gave him a frustrated look when you couldn’t get more than the head of his cock in you. “Along those lines, yes,” he said with a grin. “I want to play a game.”

“I love games,” you purred, running a fingernail down his chest and squeezing around the tip. “Count me in.”

“Don’t you want to hear the game first?” He gave you a knowing smile. “We have great sex, right?” You nodded, unsure of where this is going. “We always say how sexy we find each other, and then follow up with some ridiculous thing to prove our point. For instance, yesterday you told me I could read the phone book and you’d come. No touching, just me reading it aloud would be enough.”

“Yeah…?” You tried to focus, but you needed more of his dick in you. You managed to wiggle down and get the head plus a solid inch inside you, but you needed more.

“I think, once a month, we should each try one ridiculous thing of our choosing and see if we can still make each other come.” He looked pleased with himself and his smile grew when you laughed delightedly. “There will be rules, of course. But the main objective is to make the other come while doing or wearing something utterly ridiculous. The first person to come loses.”

-||-

“It was a hilarious idea,” you muse, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t fault him there.” And, you admit to yourself, you’ve had some insanely hot, but mostly just insane, sex as a result. But this month Brendon is so confident, and you have no idea what to do. You don’t want to lose, even if nothing happens. There’s no wager or bet or stakes—just bragging rights. But you’re both fiercely competitive, and you’ve won the last two months. You’re unwilling to give up your title without a fight. “What the fuck can I do?”

You’re still pondering when Brendon comes in from the backyard and gives you a longing stare. “I’m gonna go shower, love. You should get in bed.” He must have been playing drums because there’s a sheen of sweat over his face and arms, his shirt is clinging to his chest, and his hair is a mess. Good, you think. He’s been hard at work, and the harder he works, the harder, and more, he wants to play after. And if the eye-fucking he just gave you is any indication, he left the studio with the intention of playing hard. Wait.

“Fuck.”

-||-

You stand outside the bathroom door, listening closely. “You better not be in there jacking off to keep from coming later,” you warn. He laughs and calls back that while he wouldn’t dream of cheating, he also doesn’t need to cheat to win.

You swear under your breath and head for the Halloween closet, grasping at metaphorical straws and literal costume pieces. Surely there’s something in here you can use. The shower is still going, and you’ve got a bit more time. But you could have hours left; it wouldn’t matter. You've got no inspiration. Absolutely—oh. Well, that’s an idea. Would it—?

The shower stops running, and you scamper back to your room, stripping and climbing into bed. He didn’t tell you to strip, but you don’t feel like wasting time.

When he comes out of the bathroom, you’re curled up in bed, waiting for him. It’s always satisfying when he dries off in the bathroom and then comes to the bedroom naked. You love seeing him naked; love getting to take him in fully—especially his cock. You love watching him react to you.

“You look good, fresh out of the shower,” you tell him, patting the spot next to you. “Highly fuckable. You always look good and you always look highly fuckable, but right now, in particular, I want your cock in me.” He grins and walks closer— that’s when you see them.

Your mind stalls out; you’re horrified, amazed, amused, confused, and concerned. “Brendon, what the fucking fuck are those?” He laughs and places a foot on the bed next to you. Since you can’t blow him anyway, you rip your focus from his cock, which is showing interest in your nude form and causing your mouth to water, and stare at his feet. “Where the fuck did you get bright pink crocs for less than ten dollars?”

“Your mom,” Brendon deadpans, and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m serious; these are Cathy’s. She said I could borrow them for as long as I needed. I don’t think she knew what I was going to use them for, though.” He winks at you and you keep staring. “Oh yes. I’m going to fuck you while wearing your mother’s crocs.” His face turns smug. “Told you it was a good one.”

“I have a good one too,” you counter, tugging him into bed and straddling him. “And I really want to fuck you, so if you could—” he grabs your waist and rolls you both over so you’re under him and his mouth is working over your neck. Meanwhile, his fingers move down from your waist to your hip to your thigh before hitching your leg up higher so you can feel his hardness against you.

“You’re bluffing,” he murmurs. “You’ve got nothing.”

“Nope, I figured something out,” you sigh happily. “I’m wet enough that you could just—oh fuck,” you whimper when his fingers delve deep. “Yes, play with my pussy, rub my clit, fuck me,” you gasp, writhing under him.

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to. And you’re going to come so hard, even with me wearing your mother’s crocs.”

“Okay, listen, you’re gonna need to stop mentioning my mother if this is going to happen,” you warn him, and Brendon grins, promising to not mention Cathy again as he shifts his hips so he’s aligned with you and you prep yourself since the delivery here is key. It’ll set the tone for the entire—he pushes in, and you grab his hair, bringing his mouth close. “I’m carving pumpkins, it’s almost Halloween.”

His hips go still, and he gives you a strange look. “What?”

“All my friends are wondering what they’re gonna be,” you elaborate with a grin. “What’s wrong, B? Thought you were going to fuck me.” He nods decisively; his fingers are in your hair and his hand on your thigh tightens as he returns to his steady pace. You’re desperately trying to focus on the lyrics and not let yourself come already, but he’s using all of the tricks that make you come for him; lifting one of your legs and pushing it towards your chest, sucking on and biting at your neck, moaning your name, telling you how good you feel on his cock, how badly he wants to feel your hot cunt squeeze his dick when you come on him.

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans in your ear, “even when you’re quoting my lyrics at me, distracting and strange as it may be.”

“The monster mash is playing, you’re—oh fuck—” he’s grabbed your hips and is angling you slightly so he can grind against you every time your pelvises are flush together. “Moving to the beat,” you manage, “and now we’re going to teach you—”

“It’s March, you know that right?” Brendon asks breathlessly. “Your song choice doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t matter; it’s getting to you.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“I’m totally fi—”

“To do the trick-or-treat.”

“I swear to god, if you move on to my chorus, I promise I will spank you with one of your mother’s crocs.”

You grin up at him. “We agreed you wouldn’t reference my mother anymore while fucking me. You know I have no choice now.” He groans and rests his forehead against yours, hips still rocking hard against you, mouth on yours to try to muffle your next words. “Everybody scream—”

“I’m gonna make you scream,” he tells you, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging. “I’m gonna make you scream my name while I fuck you hard from behind.”

“Promise? Everybody scream, it’s almost Halloween.” You’re panting, biting your lip, waiting for him to lose it. His thrusts have gotten shallower and sporadic, and you think you might just win. He’s been pushing himself over the edge just by trying to fuck you into silence; all you’ve had to do is remember lyrics and stay composed as best as possible.

“That’s it,” he growls, nipping at your neck. “Hands and knees.” He pulls out of you roughly, and together you flip yourself over so you’re burying your face in your arms, ass in the air, waiting for him to take you again. “You just love pushing me, don’t you?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Bad girl.”

“Mmmm,” you agree. “And bad girls should be punished.”

“And punished you will be,” Brendon promises you, and you can feel him grab at his feet, tugging. “Fucking pink crocs,” he says with a laugh, rubbing your ass gently with his hand. “Tell me to stop if you need me to.”

“And what if I want it harder?”

“Tell me that too.”

You’re grinning into the pillow and you wiggle your hips at him. “Do the trick or treat, do the tri—oh Jesus fuck,” you moan when he rocks back into you and spanks you hard with the shoe. “That stings,” you gasp, and he makes a concerned noise. “I didn’t say stop. Liked it.”

“My freak,” Brendon groans, and you squeal with pleasure when the shoe makes contact again. He’s thrusting hard, his other hand wrapped around your waist and lightly teasing your clit. “You still okay, baby?” He murmurs this, his tone soft and tender and you brace yourself with your forearms and grind back against him, moaning your confirmation. “Good.” He pulls almost all the way out and you hear the whistling of the air through the holes in that damned shoe before the contact.

“Fuck,” you moan, “that one hurt more. Not so hard.”

He instantly drops the shoe and flips you over, kissing you gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, one hand cupping and caressing your face while the other runs over your body before sliding down your back and rubbing gently at the tender skin. “What do you need? Tell me what you need; I’ll make it happen, my sweet girl.”

Your breathing is ragged. “I need you to fuck me,” and you arch your back so his dick, currently pressed between the two of you, twitches, hot and slick and hard. “And I need you to spank me because, fuck it makes me hot, but not as hard as that last one—Jesus, that rubber stings.”

“I can do that,” he promises as his forehead rests against yours. “I can do all of those things.”

“Yeah?” You turn under him, purposefully rubbing your ass against his leaking cock, moaning and whimpering as you do. “Gonna spank me, gonna fuck me good, fill me up, get me moaning your name, begging to come on your cock?”

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans again, clutching at your hip and kissing your neck. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy, grinding up on me, begging me to fuck you, like I’m not about to bury my dick in your tight pussy, shit.” He’s breathless, his voice tight and constrained. “You’re sure you want me to spank you?”

“It’s almost Halloween, everybody scream.��� You barely get the words out before his arm tightens around your waist and he jerks your hips up so he can fill you. “I haven’t, oh god, Brendon, yes, fuck me like that just—I haven’t learned my les—oh motherfucker, that feels so fucking—”

“Who’s bringing up her mother now?” Brendon says with a laugh and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You haven’t learned your lesson,” he agrees, and he’s fumbling for the shoe he dropped earlier. “We should fix that, yeah?”

“There’s a devil in the corner—oh my god,” you shriek, “fuck yes, do that again.” The shoe swings, and his hand tightens in your hair near the roots; he tugs just as the shoe hits, and you’re biting your lip trying not to come. “Baby,” you gasp, bucking your hips back needily. “Spank me, fuck me, make me come.”

“You wanna come?” Brendon’s voice is a low purr behind you and he spanks you twice more, smiling to himself when your sounds of pleasure move from high-pitched squeals to lower moans as you fuck yourself on his cock roughly. “You wanna come, even though you’ll lose?”

“I never lose when you make me come,” you quip, giggling to yourself and moving your hips in small circles. “Besides, you forget I know you, Bren. I can feel you. You’re close. You’re so close to filling my pussy with your cum, fucking me hard and fast and rough, spanking me, pulling my hair as you come in me. Come in me, Brendon, spank me and come in me. Spank your bad girl and fill up her pussy with your cum.”

“You,” and the shoe hits, “are,” and it lands again, “a bad,” and a third time, “girl. Love you so much though, my bad girl.” His words are choked out, his voice tight, his hand on your hip tighter. He’s still spanking you, and you’re moaning his name, begging him to come in you.

“Not gonna come first,” Brendon grunts, spanking you one last time before dropping the shoe and bringing that now-free hand to your clit and teasing. “Fuck, I can’t—can’t come fir—oh shit, I’m gonna—in you, oh fuck; take it baby, take my cock, good girl,” he groans, and you both let out a moan of pleasure as his climax rushes through him; you gasp your victory before letting go and letting yourself come.

-||-

“I won,” you point out breathlessly as you both collapse back into the bed after changing the sheets. You’re clinging to each other, touching lazily, and stealing occasional kisses. “I won. You were so confident, and I still won.”

“No one likes a sore winner, babydoll,” Brendon teases sleepily, kissing your jawline while his fingers draw small circles on your stomach.

“Listen, if you didn’t want a sore winner, you shouldn't have spanked me with my mother’s croc.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #he could fuck me any way he wanted #my work #imagine #fanfic #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

[loverontheleft]

What Next? (Revised)

Original request: random idea but what about a one shot where B comes home early from tour to surprise the reader and he finds some smut fanfics reader has been reading. he pushes her about it till she tells him everything and he then does everything she told him about in one of the fics that got her off??

Brendon x reader

Warnings/keywords: language, dirty talk, toys, thigh-riding, public sex, condomless sex.

Word count: 4.6k➡️5.8k

-||-

“Honey, I’m hooo- oh my god, baby.” Brendon’s voice drops from a sing-songy pitch to low and throaty desire; you shriek and jerk your fingers away from your clit, rolling over with such intensity that your phone goes flying from your other hand. “Well, don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs, dropping his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor and crossing the room in long strides to crawl onto the bed and kiss you fiercely.

You return the kiss, tangling both hands in his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist. It only occurs to you after that your fingers are wet, and with your legs around his waist, you’re definitely staining his sweatpants. You know Brendon doesn’t mind though; he’s always said he loves having your wet pussy all over him. “You’re home,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re home early.” You cling to him, and you’re sure he can hear the giddiness in your voice. “How are you home early?”

“Believe it or not,” Brendon teases, “they value my opinions and desires. Something about it being my band and my tour? Anyway, I missed you. I wanted to be with you. So I—”

“Please tell me you didn’t skip a show.” You know you look horrified, and he shakes his head, chuckling.

“No, love. I don’t think I could’ve gotten away with that. No, I just switched some in-studio interviews for phone interviews, did two promo shoots in one day instead of two, and hopped on a flight three days early. Wanted to surprise you. And,” he nuzzles your ear, his fingers curving over your breasts and pausing to circle your nipples with his thumbs, “it would seem I did surprise you.”

You nod and laugh, blushing a little. “I’m so embarrassed,” you admit, and he grins, hand slipping lower.

“Don’t be embarrassed. The number of times I got myself off to photos of you just this past month…damn.” His eyes darken a little. “Wait. They were photos of me, weren't they—whatever you were looking at?” His voice has taken on a playfully jealous tone and you nod unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie, sweet baby,” Brendon warns with a grin, off of the bed now and searching for your phone on the floor. “Ah, here we are.” He finds it, types in your passcode, and braces himself for whatever he’s about to see.

“Bren—” you start, but he holds up a hand, eyes scanning back and forth.

“Love…why are you on tumblr? And what the hell is Brendon Urie smu— wait, is this—are you reading—porn about me?”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. “I have so many questions. First, what does…’y slash n’ mean?”

You blush furiously. “Your name.” He looks confused, and you clarify. “It stands for ‘your name.’ It’s so the reader can imagine you’re…you know…saying their name. While you do shit. It’s a whole thing. Imagines. Also, it’s not porn. It’s erotica.”

His eyes move over the screen, thumb scrolling as he reads aloud. “‘and he groans as you arch and move under him. “You like being held down and fucked hard, honey?” You gasp your answer and he nods. “Thought so. Your pussy, Jesus Christ, so fucking hot and wet and god, I just—I might come from—fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Brendon gasps when you come with a shrill moan, tightening around him. “Babygirl, making me come,” he mumbles into your shoulder before biting your neck as his hips snap forward repeatedly and you feel him coming, hard and fast.’”

“Well,” Brendon says, finishing reading and crawling back into bed, “they certainly got the dialogue right. You been leaking our sex tapes, honey?” He grins at you and kisses you hard. After a moment, he pulls back. “Do my hips really ‘snap forward’ when I come? Because that sounds painful.”

“I mean, it certainly paints a visual, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. You like reading this?” He looks at you curiously. “No judgment; just intrigued.”

“It’s, well…yeah,” you admit, blushing again. “I like to see what other people think about doing to you. With you. Gets me so hot, knowing I’m the only one who will actually get the chance.”

“Does anyone write stuff about you?”

You can’t read the look on his face, and you shrug. “There’s a bit out there. Most of it is the reader having a threesome with you and me. There are a few where the reader and I fuck around without you and you catch us, but you let us finish and then fuck us both.”

“Well now,” Brendon purrs, rolling on top of you with a playful grin. “That’s interesting. Show me those.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say with a laugh, arching up to kiss him. “I don’t share.”

-||-

It’s two weeks later, late in the afternoon, and you’re curled up in bed together to indulge in your new hobby: reading various works of smut aloud and teasing each other with your hands. You’ve got your hand curled around his dick, stroking often enough to keep him hard, and he’s got two fingers rubbing your pussy, slipping in only once in a while.

You’ve been scrolling for a bit, searching through different pieces for one you saved last week. When you find it, you pass your phone to him. He reads the prompt to himself; you can see his eyes widen.

“They want us to do what now?” Brendon looks at the phone screen and back at you. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Not us,” you correct. “You and the reader.” He rolls his eyes and you shrug. “It matters. Anyway, the request is: But what if the reader was teasing B in public and he keeps trying to get her to stop and she ends up making him cum in his pants and he gets pissed and punishes her or something?”

“Baby,” Brendon looks at you warily. When you look back at him expectantly, he sighs your name. “This feels like a bad idea.”

“Did you or did you not say that you’d let me play with you based on these smut requests?”

“I did—but—”

“No take-backs, Urie.” You roll off of the bed and start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear. “Get up and get dressed; we’re going out.”

“Honey, is this really the one you want? Is it the best—”

“Read the response,” you call out from deep in your closet. “You might be persuaded. Read it out loud.”

You hear his sharp intake of breath. “What if after B comes in his pants, he gives the reader vibrating underwear to wear and he teases her like crazy so the reader comes multiple times, and then B and the reader end up having rough sex afterwards? Oh my god,” Brendon groans. “But…we don’t have vibrating panties.”

“Yes, we do,” you counter. He’s silent, and you grin. “I saw this post last week and bought them just for this. They came this morning; I’ve been waiting for them to arrive before showing you the post.”

-||-

Brendon groans quietly, murmuring your name when you kiss his neck surreptitiously as you sit next to him in the booth. “Love, we’re in pub—oh, right.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, grinning against his skin. “That’s the point. At least I was kind and asked for a table in the back.” You slip your hand down under the table and between his legs. “You getting hard for me, B?”

“Honey, you know I am.” His voice is low and his fingers dig into your thigh. “The only thing keeping me here is the idea of you with those fucking panties on, trying to hold it together. But that in itself is maddening.”

“Mmmm,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Well, the food will be here soon, and you can focus on that.” He rests his head on top of yours, trying to control his breathing. “Think about the food,” you tell him, rolling your palm over him, loving how hard he is.

“I’m thinking about something else I’d much rather eat,” Brendon mumbles, fingers slipping higher on your thigh. “But now I’m teasing you, and I don’t get to do that yet, right?” You nod and he sighs. “And you’re not gonna get me off here, are you? You’re gonna make this last, aren’t you? You little tease.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a grin. The waitress comes over with your food and you smile at her radiantly. “Thanks so much!” You chirp, and you palm Brendon faster, grinning when he lets out a strangled moan. The waitress looks at him, a little unsure, and you smile. “He’s just excited about the food.”

She nods and walks away, and Brendon looks at you with a longsuffering expression in his eyes. “That wasn’t nice.” You shrug and pop a fry in your mouth, winking at him. “You are in for it, you know. Once I’ve come, it’s your turn. And I am going to torment you,” he comments with a small smile.

A thrill runs through you, and you dip a fry in ketchup. He groans when you bring it to your mouth and lick it clean before sliding it in your mouth. “You’re killing me, honey.” His voice is a tight whisper and he’s bucking into your hand slightly, keeping his upper body still by leaning over the table. “All I want to do is fuck you.”

You ignore him, and nod your head toward the hostess, who is approaching with menus in hand. She’s leading a group of six to the booth one away from yours and you grin. Brendon exhales sharply, flexing his fingers on your thigh.

You giggle, reach for your drink, and wrap your lips around the straw, hollowing your cheeks out and sliding it deeper into your mouth as you suck. His eyes are locked on yours, and he’s biting his lower lip; you love him like this. You squeeze the bulge in his jeans before stroking again and pull back off of the straw with a satisfied “ahh.” His dick twitches under your hand, and you bite your lip now, wishing he were deep in you, fisting your hair and telling you he’s about to come.

You lean in close to tell him this, lashes fluttering, and he twitches under your touch again. “Or in my mouth,” you add offhandedly. “Throbbing in my mouth as you come, spilling down my throat, praising me as I swallow.” His breathing catches and you smile. “You’d like that, baby? Coming in my mouth, watching me take your cock in between my lips and swallow all of your cum?”

“Shit, you know I would.” He breaks the rules and slips his hand back between your thighs. “And I think you would too, you dirty little thing. You love sucking me off, love how I fuck your mouth, don’t you?” You nod, trying to keep calm, rubbing him frantically. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” His lips are near your ear, and you shiver. “Because I’m thinking about how easy it would be for you to slip under this table and take my cock in your pretty mouth and finish me off with that soft, wet tongue of yours.”

“We’re not alone anymore,” you point out, and he shrugs.

“You wanted to make me come in public. The public has people. I knew that going into this whole plan.” He grins and moves his hand from your pussy and presses your palm onto him more firmly. “I know your little request said I was supposed to try to get you to stop, but I really couldn’t care less right now. So fucking close, so hard for you. Finish me off, honey.”

“I’ll remind you,” you say in a breathless voice, “the request also said you had to come in your pants.” He nods, and you glance at him, rubbing and stroking him with the firm pressure he’s made. “You still want me to?” He nods again, letting his head fall back against the booth edge. “Say it.” You press closer, so your mouth is against his ear and your hot breath sends shivers through him.

“I want you to make me come,” he whispers, chest rising and falling sharply. “Right here. Right now.” You squeeze him sharply and he moans, low in the back of his throat. “In my pants. Finish me off, make me come in my pants.” He looks at you desperately, hips rocking under the table.

“Well, I did say I was going to make it last and not get you off here, but since you asked so nicely,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you’re pressed against him more fully, your head nestled into his shoulder. “Come for me.” Your hand is flying, curved over the bulge in his jeans, fingers curled around him so you’re squeezing and stroking and palming him all at once. “You’re so hard; you’ll feel so much better once you come for me, B.” He bites his lip and lets out the tiniest groan, his rhythm faltering. “Yes, baby,” you encourage, tongue flicking his earlobe before whispering to him, “that’s it. Come. Think about me down on my knees, begging for you. I want your cum, Bren. Your pants are so tight, but just pretend you’ve got your cock buried in my tight pussy instead; that’s it, thrust a little and think about fucking me, think about me taking every inch of your cock before I get every drop of your cum. Fuck my cunt, give it to me—”

“Oh god,” Brendon whispers, reaching down and grabbing your wrist to hold your hand in place as he rubs himself roughly against your palm through his jeans. “Oh god, tell me,” and his eyes are wild.

“Come for me, Brendon.” His eyes slide shut, his body goes rigid, and you can feel his length pulsing under your touch. “That’s it, come for me,” you murmur in his ear before sinking your teeth into his earlobe and tugging. He gasps, unable to stifle it, and you press your free hand over his mouth. “No noise; people will notice,” you remind him, and he nods, eyes blazing above your hand.

“Fuck,” he whispers when his hips finally go still. You move your hand and lean in to kiss him softly. “Fuck, honey, that was…” he shakes his head a little. “So glad I’m wearing black jeans.” You move your hand off of his dick and grin, walking your fingers up his length and rubbing your index finger where you know the head of his cock is pressed. You let out a soft sigh when you find the wet spot on the denim and press slightly. “Fuck,” he hisses, trapping your hand. “Don’t start again.” You pout and rub the spot teasingly. Brendon arches into your touch, murmuring, “Love, you know it’s my turn.”

“Mmmm,” you agree, wriggling in your seat. “Should I go put my panties on, B?”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Don’t you mean change your panties? To the vibrating ones?”

You grin and shake your head. Brendon inhales sharply and presses his fingers back between your thighs. “You mean—fuck, I can feel you. Yeah, go put those panties on and let me tease you.” You slip from the booth and wiggle a little, looking over your shoulder and winking. “Go,” he mouths, grinning. “And hurry back.”

-||-

“Ooh,” you whimper as you sit back down. He looks at you curiously, and you shift to get comfortable. “I may have spoiled myself,” you admit, and Brendon raises an eyebrow. You pull up a picture on your phone and pass it to him. “This is what I got us.” He groans low in the back of his throat and stares at you.

“You mean to tell me…”

You nod, grinning and passing him the tiny remote. “You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head, but his eyes are dark, and he’s toying with the remote in a way that already has your heart racing. Although, admittedly, that could be the three inches of curved silicone currently pressing into you. He presses a button, and you whimper when it starts vibrating, your nails digging into his thigh. “I’m gonna make you come so many times, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are fixed on yours. You know he’s going to keep that promise.

“Can you hear it?” You hiss the question, biting your lip. He shakes his head, eyes heavy with lust. “Okay, good.” You shift in your seat again, pushing the vibrator deeper—you rock forward so it’s pressing where you need it.

“Move to the other side of the table, sweet girl.” His voice is husky with desire, and he’s rubbing your thigh. “I wanna watch my dirty girl get off, wanna see the moment you come in your panties for me.” You nod and scramble up, and as soon as you’re standing, he hits the button again so the vibrations amp up; you gasp, your legs shaking. He looks concerned, and so does a woman at the other table.

“I’m okay,” you wave her off. “Leg fell asleep. Hate that, don’t you?” The other woman nods and smiles sympathetically as you slide into the booth.

“Jesus,” you whisper, reaching across the table for his hand. “It’s right where I need it; holy fuck Brendon, it feels so good.” You grab your plate with your free hand and pull it over, raising your burger to your mouth. He looks at you, amused, and you close your eyes. “Trying to focus on food,” you tell him and he chuckles, turning the vibrations down. “Thank you.” You sink your teeth into the burger while Brendon watches.

“How can you possibly be thinking about food? All I can think about is your pussy, clenching around that vibrator, your cunt fluttering so nicely the way it does when you’re about to come on me…goddamn, I wanna make you come.” He takes a bite of his own burger now, chewing.

“You’re gonna,” you tell him, spreading your legs slightly under the table. “So fucking hard.”

-||-

You’re breathing erratically, fingers clenched around the edge of the table, and Brendon turns up the vibrations even higher. “Hold it together, honey; I’m getting the check. Act normal when she comes over here.”

You whimper, letting your head rest on the back of the booth. There’s no accommodating the toy; legs spread wide or pressed together, it doesn’t matter: it’s deep inside you, buzzing insistently and pushing you closer and closer to climax. Brendon hands the waitress his card, and she glances down at it, her eyes wide.

“You are —oh god, I thought you were —I told myself it wasn’t—oh my god I’m so embarrassed but—I’m a fan,” and the poor girl is babbling, and you’re digging your nails into your thighs. You do not want to be rude to this girl; you cannot be rude to this girl. Holy fuck though, you need her to leave, so you can come. Brendon glances at you, and you know he can practically read your mind.

He turns back to the waitress and smiles. “That’s so kind. Thank you! I love meeting fans.” He strikes up a deeper conversation with her while he presses the remote again under the table.

You cannot react; you want to scream and writhe and buck wildly against your hand, his hand, anything, but you can’t. You focus on taking deep breaths. He’s talking with her, and she’s smiling so widely. You’re happy for him; he does love meeting fans, and you’re happy for her too: he and his music clearly mean a lot to her.

Brendon drops the remote on the booth bench and slides out to take a photo with her. You need the distraction, so you offer to take it and reach for her phone. “Thanks, love,” Brendon murmurs with a wink at you. Now she’s turning to you, talking about how much she admires you, and all you can think about is how she’s so sweet and so nice, but you need her to go away so you can come.

“But I’m babbling,” she realizes and blushes deeply. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just go get—thank you so much—I mean—okay, I’ll be back.”

“She’s sweet,” you say to Brendon, and he nods with a small smile. “We gotta go once she’s back though; I’m right there.” He looks at you sympathetically and turns the vibration off. “Hey!” You protest, hips twitching slightly. “I didn’t say stop.”

“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “But I’m saying it. I think you need me to stop.” The waitress brings his card back with the two slips and she thanks him again before going to check on the other table. He leaves a large tip, signs with a flourish, and writes her a quick note on the back of the customer copy, signing again. “Let’s go.” He stands and offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept, seeing as your legs are still shaking.

-||-

“Pull over,” you order, gripping his thigh. Brendon guides the car off to the side of the road, letting it disappear into the cluster of trees as the sun sets. “Hold still.” You unbuckle and climb over the center console, settling in his lap with a sharp whimper. “God, it feels so good.” Brendon is grinding up into you while he kisses you hungrily. Every thrust sends the toy momentarily deeper, and the curve means it’s vibrating right against your G-spot. “B, I’m gonna come,” you murmur against his lips, moving urgently against him.

“Do it,” he groans, tugging at your hair. “Want you shaking and squealing, coming hard on that toy. Pretend it’s my cock; soak it, baby.”

You bear down right as he thrusts up, and your entire body tenses. With one hand in his hair and the other clawing at the window, you’re shrieking as your orgasm rocks through you. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe; your head is spinning and your vision is speckled; you’re trembling on top of him, gasping for breath, and you kiss him urgently. “Fuck,” you manage, resting your forehead against his and laughing a little. “That was intense.”

“Intense to watch too,” Brendon tells you, stroking your hip with his thumb. “So damn good to watch.” You’re still squirming in his lap from the vibrations, and he reaches for the remote. “Should I give you a break?”

“Probably,” you admit. “I’d like to say no and keep going, but I probably need a break.”

-||-

You’re at the traffic light before you’d turn toward your house when Brendon turns the vibrations back up. You instantly grip his thigh, back arched and heart racing. Instead of turning left toward your neighborhood, he turns right. “Where are we—”

“Just wait.”

You close your eyes, taking shallow breaths, and you wonder if he has any idea how worked up you are. He must know what he’s doing; you’ve been married long enough to know the effect you have on each other, and Brendon particularly knows how needy you get when he teases you.

“Love hearing you breathe like that,” he comments. When you crack one eye to look at him curiously, he pats your thigh affectionately. “Those quick little breaths. They tell me you’re so on edge, so close to coming for me. My dirty baby, tense and achingly wet, ready to thrash and scream and totally let go as soon as I give her permission.” His thumb moves in slow circles on your inner thigh now, and you whine.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon murmurs. “I’m going to let you come.” With that, he parks, and you open your eyes.

You’re not in your driveway. You sort of anticipated that, considering he took the opposite turn, but you’d hoped he was just taking the scenic route. Instead, you’re outside of his favorite bar. You groan. “Brendon, I thought we were going home. I can’t. I can’t take it much longer. I need to go home.” He opens his mouth, and you cut him off, knowing what his argument is going to be. “It didn’t say mine had to be in public.”

He smirks, patting your hand. “Still, it was implied. But okay, fine; I will let you come at home if we get a quick drink. One drink, then I’ll take you home—okay, my love?”

It sounds manageable; you agree and let him guide you into the bar. His hand is warm on the small of your back—all you can think about is the warmth of his hands all over your body when he’s got you naked. Even when you’re both rushing, his touch is always purposeful and intimate. He manages to make every touch feel like he’s in utter awe of your body; he never takes for granted the opportunity to touch you and caress you.

“This way,” he murmurs, stroking your hip with his thumb. The owner maintains a small, private section in the back for his more famous clientele, and while you and Brendon don’t always use it, you’re glad he wants to get you somewhere private.

“Let me get the drinks,” you offer. “It’ll give me something to focus on.” He shrugs and nods, passing you his card. You keep it tucked in your hand as you cross back to the main area; you approach the bar and the owner behind the bar catches your eye, nodding.

“Oh motherfucker,” you hiss, clenching your thighs. Brendon’s obviously hit the button three times and you’re barely able to stay standing, let alone speak. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself against the bar, as the owner approaches. You order quickly, squeezing your thighs together tightly and praying internally. You’re shaking when you return to the booth in the back where Brendon has settled, his whiskey visibly moving in the trembling glass you’re holding.

“Baby,” he says soothingly, reaching for your hand. “You’re shaking.” You nod, biting your lip and taking a large swallow of your vodka and cranberry. “We’ll go home soon, I promise.”

The bar is filling up with more people, and you groan under your breath, closing your eyes briefly. “Or,” you murmur, “ we could stay.”

He looks at you, one eyebrow raised, and you continue. “If we leave, we have a car ride separating us from bed.” You squeeze his hand. “But if we stay…” You nod your head towards the bathrooms with a wicked grin.

“I love you far too much to fuck you in a bar bathroom,” he comments, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “But I also love that you want it that badly. Let me take you home.” He knocks the rest of his drink back and gestures for you to do the same. “Come on.” He pulls you to your feet and clicks the button again, making your knees buckle. Brendon quickly wraps an arm around your waist, practically holding you upright.

“Almost there, baby. I’ll get you home safe and sound.” You’re audibly whimpering and clinging to him, and the minute you’re outside, you start begging him to let you come. “You’ve been so good,” Brendon mumbles into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “My best girl; I don’t think I can make you wait til we’re home.”

When you’re both in the car, Brendon reaches down between his feet and shoves his seat back. “Come here,” he tells you, and you crawl into his lap, reaching above you to manually turn off the interior lights. It’s dark out now and no one should be able to see you.

You straddle his thigh and rock tentatively, moaning when the vibrator presses deeper into you. “That’s it, honey; ride my thigh, fuck yourself,” he encourages, hands sliding up your back. “Let me hear how good you feel. Let me watch you come.” You whimper, shifting on his thigh so the silicone piece is angled perfectly and you start moving again, kissing him. “So sexy,” he moans into your mouth. “So fucking sexy.” You nod, so close that you’ll agree to anything. “Gonna come? Gonna come in those pretty panties? Gonna let me take you home and fuck your hot, wet cunt?”

“God, yeah,” you moan, pressing down against his thigh and grinding against it hard. “Fuck me, Brendon, fuck me, please— oh shit yes!”

“Only if you center yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

You straddle him fully and rub yourself along his hard length. He’s gripping your hips and thrusting up against you desperately, and you tug at his hair. “Turn it up higher, fuck me hard, I can take it, Bren—please!” He does, and you scream, biting at his neck, writhing and thrashing as you come. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant, licking over the bite marks, hands moving over him. “Feels so good in my pussy; fuck, Brendon, give me more, more—I can take more,” you beg, and he obliges, kissing you fiercely when you cry out again.

Finally, you slump against him and bury your face in his chest. “I need you to take me home and fuck me for real, just give me your cock,” you whimper, clawing at his shirt, and he lifts you off of his lap, murmuring how he’s going to get you home and take care of you.

You settle back into your seat, shaking and trembling, staring at him longingly. “Don’t turn it off,” you groan when you see Brendon reaching for the remote. “Don’t you dare.”

-||-

“Bed,” he orders, placing you back on your feet. He’d carried you upstairs, both arms wrapped tight around you while you moved against his stomach, making yourself come again with a loud squeal.

You scramble for the bed; he shoves his jeans down and pulls his shirt off over his head. “Now,” he purrs and straddles you. You go limp and let him strip you, both of you moaning when he tugs your jeans and the panties down. “These are fucking soaked,” he groans, and you kick them off of you and onto the floor. “My dirty girl, coming in her panties for me.”

You nod, hips bucking, desperate for more contact. You need him. “Hands and knees,” Brendon tells you, and you turn onto your stomach with a happy sigh, gasping when he grabs your hips and pulls them back sharply, so your chest is pressed to the mattress. “Head down on the pillow and hold on, baby.” You love when he takes you like this; he’s able to get so deep and go as hard as you both want.

Brendon slaps your ass lightly, making you squeal, and then pushes into you. You both moan again—teasing each other all day was fun, but you’ll never get tired of having him inside you.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, reaching around to rub gently at your clit. You sigh happily, grinding back against the base of his cock.

“So fucking big,” you say, and he bites your neck, laughing a little. “Fuck, no really. You’re much bigger than what I’ve had in me all night. Longer, and—oh god,” you groan, “thicker, and—fuck me, Brendon, you feel so good—just hotter. Goddamn I love your cock. Love you, B.”

“I love you and your pussy too, honey. Shit,” he grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “So fucking much. Gonna come again, for you.”

“Come in me, please,” you beg. “It’s been so long; come in me, fill me, claim me, take me.” He groans above you and rocks against you harder. “God, you’re so—I’m gonna come all over your cock.”

“Do it,” he encourages breathlessly. “Do it. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” You let out a shrill moan and shove yourself back against him, bracing yourself with both hands flat on the mattress. “That’s my good girl, fuck.” Brendon is breathing hard now, and his hand slips down your thigh to rub at your clit more forcefully the way you love. “Be my good girl and come for me. Set me off by clenching your pussy around me and make me come.”

“Oh—fuck!” You don’t mean to shriek, but his fingers on your clit and his words and his cock—it’s all too much, and you feel yourself clamping down hard around him. He swears too and has to double his force to thrust against you.

“Now, now, now,” you chant, reaching behind you to tug your own hair. “Fuck me, I’m coming, coming for you, oh god Brendon, fuck my cunt, yes!”

“Fuck,” he grunts, groaning your name and thrusting once more before you feel him, a warm feeling that spreads and fills you. “God,” he moans, rocking against you sporadically, rhythm long gone. “I fucking love coming in you.”

“Baby,” you whimper, rolling your hips back to try to take him deeper, let him fill you more. “Brendon, I want it all.”

“My good girl wants all my cum, huh?” His voice is tight and he rocks forward once more, gasping as the last of his climax rolls through him. “Fucking love you,” Brendon moans, stilling inside of you. “Oh god, I love you so much, my perfect girl.” He pulls out of you slowly, and you whimper, letting your hips hit the bed. He drops onto his stomach next to you and pushes your hair out of your face. “Holy fuck,” he whispers and you nod, body still trembling. “You’re incredible.”

“The same to you, Bren,” you say with a soft smile.

Despite your mutually sweat-and-slick-covered bodies, he pulls you against him, both of you breathing hard. You’re both quiet for a moment, and he kisses the top of your head. “So,” he says, fatigue creeping into his voice. “My dirtiest, best girl. What’s next?”

“What do you mean? Next we sleep,” you tell him, a bit incredulously. “Or shower. Or both. Both would be good, actually.”

He chuckles and stands, crossing the room to your purse and grabbing your phone. He unlocks it again and goes back to tumblr, dropping the phone next to you. You look up at him, and he grins down at you with sparkling eyes. “No, honey, I know that. I mean…when we wake up and have recovered. What next?”

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