#All Dreams Were Worth Keeping | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 year

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Far From An Imposition - AO3

@wincestielfttfwin asked for some A-Yao feels: may I humbly offer you 10k of kind-of plotty smut with feelings? This is another pre-’All Dreams Were Worth Keeping’ NieYao smut oneshot, a direct follow-up to my other pre-fic NieYao smut oneshot in this universe, ‘Seems Like A Good Thing’. I just really like them fucking and being shit at communication while they do it, okay? 😂

-//-

“Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao, currently up to his elbows in other people’s bullshit problems, doesn’t bother looking up at Nie Mingjue looming in his doorway.

“Yes?”

“You know it’s 6, don’t you?”

“Rest assured, Mingjue, I always know what time it is.” Meng Yao’s reply is perhaps a bit too tart, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem fazed by it. Rather he steps into the office fully and shuts the door behind himself with a quiet click. The office is likely emptying out quickly enough on the other side of it that the extra layer of privacy isn’t strictly necessary, but Meng Yao doesn’t mind. He simply makes a note of it in the background of everything else running through his mind and dismisses it just as easily. Whatever the reason for it, it doesn’t matter right now -

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue says, low under the furious tacking of Meng Yao’s keyboard, and Meng Yao freezes. Entirely without his permission, his near-perfect memory replays the moment Nie Mingjue had called him that in the dark of a hotel room, the pair of them finally daring to cross a line Meng Yao had never thought he’d see himself cross. Nie Mingjue’s good at that, inviting him to see ways of doing things, possibilities for his life, that he wouldn’t have bothered to think of without him. Whether that’s necessarily a good thing remains to be seen.

His breath hitches in his chest in the moment before he returns to typing, though he does at least look up from the screen to meet Nie Mingjue’s eyes only to find him looking…concerned. Concerned? For him?

“Mingjue,” he acknowledges with audible hesitation – this is as much uncharted territory as that night (that week) at the hotel had been, and he hates being caught off guard no matter how many times Nie Mingjue does it.

“Whatever you’re working on can wait. It’s Friday.”

Meng Yao blinks and, despite his best intentions, fails to see the point of this argument.

“Yes, it’s Friday…that means two days of leaving things unfinished and an extra workload for Monday morning, which I’d rather avoid.”

“What are you working on that’s so time sensitive?” Nie Mingjue asks then with the beginnings of a glare creeping across his unfairly handsome face. Meng Yao can never tell if he loves or hates that Nie Mingjue is just as attractive when he’s pissed as he is when he’s happy or – as Meng Yao’s brain is still unhelpfully replaying for him in exquisite detail despite the last example of this having happened weeks ago now – completely blissed (read: fucked) out.

“There was a scheduling error in accounting and a report that was meant to be sent out two days ago hasn’t even been started. I would have worked on it earlier but there were other things I needed to wrap up first, and I understand that overdue work should take priority but -“

“A-Yao, I’m not trying to interrogate you,” Nie Mingjue interrupts. “I trust that you did everything in the best way you could and that I would’ve done it the same way if I’d known. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I just wanted to know what it was – so you’re doing this report right now?”

Meng Yao has to blink a few times through the euphoria of being trusted to be competent. Just like that. No questions, no hesitation. Nie Mingjue trusts him, and Meng Yao still doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

“Yes, I started about half an hour ago. I expect it’ll take me another hour or two to sort through everything and get it all in place, and then I’ll have to spend some time double checking it all to make sure it’s correct, then I can…um..-“

Meng Yao trails off as Nie Mingjue’s expression sours further, definitely glaring now. “Literally none of this is in your job description,” Nie Mingjue frowns. “How did this end up with you?”

Meng Yao barely refrains from rolling his eyes sheerly out of self-preservation. The overwhelming number of things he does for this company that aren’t in his job description goes way beyond covering for the accounting department’s clerical fuck-ups, but he’s pretty sure if he says something to that effect his reputation amongst the others in the office will plummet even further when it makes them subject to Nie Mingjue’s irritation.

“I try my best to help solve any problem I can,” he demurs instead, but Nie Mingjue’s fierce expression doesn’t budge an inch.

“What do you have left to do today that is in your actual, normal job description in my office, not accounting or marketing or whoever else decided they need you this week?”

Meng Yao checks his mental list quickly, double checks it against the written list next to his computer, and says, “Nothing. Your schedule for next week is all in order, my inbox is cleared of everything urgent, I’ve returned all the necessary calls for the week, and the next project I’m expecting to need to handle won’t cross my desk until Wednesday at the earliest with the print delays in marketing for the rebranding needed before next month’s product launch expo.”

Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly with a shake of his head as if to clear it. “Yep. Good. You’ve done more than enough - send what you have so far back to accounting, tell them to fix their shit by Wednesday, and then come get dinner with me. We can talk about work if it’ll make you feel better about skipping out on time.”

Meng Yao stares first at Nie Mingjue and then at his monitors, one far too bright with a nearly-blank spreadsheet and the other sporting multiple open windows full of figures that he’s only just begun to make sense of, considering he doesn’t know much of anything about the intricacies of accounting yet.

“But-“

“I can buy you takeout to go home with if you don’t want to eat with me.”

“No, it’s not that! I just-“

“Do more than I would ever ask you to. Come on, A-Yao. I’m heading out, and I’m not leaving my office manager behind to do shit that isn’t even his job while I go home for the weekend. Send an email back to whoever it is that dumped this on you – use me as an excuse if you want, tell them you have to prioritize a project for me and they can sort out their own mistakes.”

God, what Meng Yao wouldn’t give to have that sort of easy authority. That unquestionable confidence in his own word having that much weight behind it. He doesn’t have it of course, and likely won’t for as long as he’s in this position, but for now he doesn’t have any qualms about borrowing Nie Mingjue’s with his explicit permission to do so.

Under the other man’s watchful eye he closes down everything but the spreadsheet and his inbox. He opens the email he’d received from accounting and attaches his meager beginnings to the message, along with a text body full of polite business-speak bullshit to the effect of what Nie Mingjue had told him to say. He doesn’t apologize, and he doesn’t offer to look it over again. It’s surprisingly heady to just wash his hands of the problem and tell the people responsible to actually take responsibility for their shit.

By the time he shuts the computer down Nie Mingjue’s frown has faded into something vaguely smug, and he stands up from where he’d sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, his hands tucked into his pockets with his thumbs sticking out of the too-tight fabric. (Meng Yao knows from careful research that his ass looks absolutely indecent when he does that, and he thinks again of that week and how many times Nie Mingjue had let him fuck him with a sort of wistfulness that nearly knocks him breathless.)

“Do you want to go out somewhere for dinner or do you want to come to mine?” Nie Mingjue asks as they head for the elevator together through the dimmed office. He offers a nod and a smile to the cleaning staff they pass in the hall and Meng Yao wants to climb him like a fucking tree.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Neither option is an imposition or else I wouldn’t have offered, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue huffs, but he sounds a little amused at least. “Seriously. Just tell me where you want to go and we’ll go.”

Meng Yao very very quickly weighs the pros and cons of both choices against each other, and in the end it’s not even a competition. “Yours, then,” he says as nonchalantly as he can, like the deciding factor wasn’t the likelihood of getting Nie Mingjue in bed being so much higher in the man’s own house than if they go out.

“You got it.”

The elevator opens again then and they stride across the main lobby in step, both of them offering a nod to the evening security guard behind the desk. Nie Mingjue thankfully doesn’t live too far from the office, his house tucked away in one of the older neighborhoods in town, old enough to have weathered the corporatization of the city around it intact, at least for now. Meng Yao steps down out of Nie Mingjue’s SUV and tries not to be too obvious about glancing around the bit of the street he can see, but Nie Mingjue isn’t looking at him anyway.

“There you are, da-ge, what in the world took you so long?” Nie Huaisang calls from the front door and Meng Yao stiffens. He’d completely forgotten about Nie Huaisang’s existence, let alone his presence in the Nie house – they don’t really interact too much at work considering Meng Yao’s hectic schedule and Nie Huaisang’s aversion to anything resembling even a token effort at productivity, but that’s no excuse for Meng Yao to have forgotten he’d be here.

“I had to force Meng Yao to leave, it took some convincing,” Nie Mingjue snorts as he strides up the walk. “If you’re that hungry you should’ve just ordered something.”

“And miss out on your cooking? Not a chance,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. Meng Yao follows behind Nie Mingjue and tries not to think too hard about the man’s constant fussing over him to eat and take care of himself in the context of apparently doing the same to Nie Huaisang, albeit apparently a little less nicely than he does it for Meng Yao which is…something.

A Thing.

He’s not thinking about it.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Nie Mingjue tells him when they step over the threshold. As if this isn’t one of the more surreal moments of Meng Yao’s life; as if this is a completely normal Friday evening; as if they do this.

He comforts himself at least with the knowledge that Nie Huaisang seems just as uncomfortable with his unexpected presence, eyes darting around like he’s nervous Meng Yao is going to ask him to do something work-related out of hours and in his own house.

“So. Um. Hi,” Nie Huaisang eventually titters.

“Hello Huaisang,” he replies politely, because if he doesn’t retain the basic social skills Meng Shi drilled into him as a boy then he has nothing left in this life at all. “I apologize for interrupting your evening, I hope you won’t mind.”

“No no no, not at all, not at all. Da-ge can invite whoever he wants over, of course-”

“It’s just dinner, A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue calls from somewhere in the depths of the house – most likely the kitchen, seeing as it’s punctuated with a pot being set down a little too hard on a ceramic cooktop. “Don’t make it weird, you’ll freak him out except he’ll be too polite to say so.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable, Mingjue,” Meng Yao lies through his best customer service smile. Nie Huaisang seems to study him for a moment before he shrugs and flounces off into the house after his brother, leaving Meng Yao free to slip off his shoes and carefully place his bag down just so right beside them, attempting to take up as little space as possible in the Nie home.

He heads down the short hallway when he’s finished to find that it opens out into the living room directly, stairs to the second floor straight ahead and a shadowed hallway tucked just to the left of them. Directly to his left is the kitchen, currently more brightly lit than the lamps in the living room can provide, and he turns to find Nie Mingjue has already shrugged out of his suit jacket and is rolling his sleeves up his ridiculously muscular forearms – a feature Meng Yao has never felt all that strongly about one way or the other…right up until he’d gotten to see Nie Mingjue’s up close and personal on that Fucking Work Retreat (as he’s officially dubbed it for his mental filing purposes), and now he’s discovered that so long as Nie Mingjue’s are the forearms in question, he’s…intrigued.

“Want anything to drink?” Nie Mingjue offers without looking up from the knife he’s sharpening with casual expertise, quick and fluid. “We’ve got white or red wine, whiskey, water, juice, I think A-Sang’s got some of that weird kombucha stuff stashed at the back of the fridge becoming sentient..”

“Wine would be lovely. Whichever you think will go best with dinner,” Meng Yao is quick to assure before he’s subjected any further to Nie Mingjue being casually thoughtful in a way that has no right to make him as flustered as it does. Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to think anything amiss, just nods and fetches a glass down from the top shelf of the cabinet in front of him (with an ease that just isn’t fair, the fucking giant). Nie Huaisang snags a bottle of red from the fridge – Meng Yao can’t see the label from where he’s hovering uncertainly in the doorway to know if it’s any good or not – and within moments Nie Huaisang is ferrying the glass from the counter at Nie Mingjue’s elbow to Meng Yao’s waiting hands.

This is too damn weird, but Meng Yao is in too deep now, and Meng Shi didn’t raise a quitter. If the Nie brothers want to act like this isn’t definitely the weirdest meal they’ll ever have then fine, Meng Yao can play that game too. Definitely.

He’s halfway through his glass of wine and reeling a little bit from watching the brothers interact in their own element, without the structure of the office to guide their behavior, when Nie Huaisang suddenly looks over from where he’s poking at Nie Mingjue’s cheek while he cooks to instead lock his sights on Meng Yao. He stiffens a bit in anticipation of being drawn into their easy banter – something he’s not sure he could ever manage even with serious effort – but Nie Huaisang just gives him a wide smile and dramatically declares to the room at large,

“House tour!! I love giving house tours, come with me!”

Meng Yao, amused despite his best intentions to remain neutral, simply transfers his wine safely to one hand just in time for Nie Huaisang to grab his arm and loop his own through it as casually as if they’re not just (slightly uneasy) workplace acquaintances. Nie Huaisang uses their linked elbows to drag him out of the kitchen trailed by the sound of Nie Mingjue calling out, “Dinner’s in 20 minutes, A-Sang!”

“Okay da-ge!”

The next few minutes pass in a blur of cheerful, slightly absent-minded chatter about the interesting spots around the house that Nie Huaisang shows him to – the den just off the living room; the sunroom down the hall, currently full to bursting with potted plants under various soft yellow grow lights; the garden out the back, though there’s not much to be seen in the dark like this besides the koi pond glittering in the light spilling from the living room windows. Nie Huaisang also points out the dim, hulking form of a prefabricated wooden shed tucked away on the opposite side of the garden from the pond and explains that it’s Nie Mingjue’s studio for his leatherworking projects, the idea of which is so thoroughly distracting Meng Yao barely notices it as they return inside and head upstairs.

“That’s da-ge’s side of the house to the left, and mine is over here to the right,” Nie Huaisang gestures, oblivious to Meng Yao’s distraction. “Da-ge’s got a home gym and that’s his bedroom right at the end of the hall, and then here’s mine!” Nie Huaisang flings the door open with a dramatic flourish that leads Meng Yao to suspect that this is the entire goal of this little ‘house tour’.

A hunch that turns out to be entirely correct, as far as he can tell, as he’s immediately cajoled into helping Nie Huaisang choose an outfit to wear out clubbing after dinner. It’s a small mercy that Nie Huaisang doesn’t really want his opinion other than to approve the choices he’s already made, since his mind is full of pleasant static created by the knowledge that post-dinner it’ll just be him and Nie Mingjue alone in the house and his tentative hopes might not be dashed after all.

Dinner, when they head back downstairs in response to Nie Mingjue’s call, is..noisier than Meng Yao would have expected. Nie Huaisang pouts and jokes and teases his brother just as much as he had while he was watching Nie Mingjue cook, and Nie Mingjue takes it in stride with just enough mildly-snappish retorts that Nie Huaisang doesn’t take anything too far towards genuinely irritating. Meng Yao is, thankfully, left mostly to his own devices to eat and observe them interacting together like a behavioral scientist, fascinated by the dynamic of two such different people. Nie Huaisang ropes him into the conversation enough that he doesn’t feel left out, but also doesn’t attempt to get him to tease Nie Mingjue with him, leaving him free to maintain at least some semblance of professional distance without ending up too isolated.

It’s an extremely delicate balance, and Nie Huaisang handles it masterfully. Meng Yao puts a tick mark or two on his mental list of how many reasons he can spot to perhaps try to get a little bit closer to Nie Huaisang.

When their plates are empty Nie Huaisang jumps to his feet to clear the table, and Meng Yao raises an eyebrow at the surprising display of industriousness as Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“He can’t leave to go out until he helps me clean up,” Nie Mingjue explains with a sigh. “And just dumping the dishes in the sink unfortunately counts as ‘helping’ in the loosest sense of the word. It’s not worth debating it with him, believe me.”

“Done, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang chirps and practically flies out of the kitchen to hurry upstairs and, presumably, get changed into the outfit Meng Yao had ‘helped’ him pick out by making appreciative noises at all the right times.

“Is that a house rule or simply a rule for Nie Huaisang?” Meng Yao asks around the rim of his nearly empty water glass. He’s supremely glad he’s not predisposed to blushing, as he has every reason to be embarrassed about his obvious attempt at fishing to extend his stay long enough that he won’t be expected to leave when Nie Huaisang does. “Am I also forbidden to leave until I help you clean up?”

Nie Mingjue snorts at that and downs the last dreg of his after-dinner whiskey (which reminds Meng Yao way too much of the fact that he’d also ordered a whiskey for himself after that first dinner as well on the Fucking Work Retreat a mere hour and a half before he’d let Meng Yao fuck him senseless) but, and this is crucial, he doesn’t say no.

“Normally I’d say a guest isn’t allowed to help, but something tells me you’d really hate sitting around not doing anything while I take care of things in here,” Nie Mingjue says, and it’s teasing and snarky and relaxed in a way Meng Yao wants to hear so much more of.

“Correct.”

“Alright. Then yes, you’re forbidden from leaving until we’ve cleaned up.”

“Perfect, I’ll get started then,” he says in his best ‘I’m-just-the-most-helpful-man-you’ve-ever-met’ voice that he uses exclusively at work. Nie Mingjue laughs at that, his extremely rare belly-laugh, and this time Meng Yao does blush just a tiny bit on the back of his neck as he stands up to gather up the last few dishes – his water glass, Nie Mingjue’s empty whiskey glass, a random handful of unused cutlery – and take them over to the sink.

They’re halfway through washing the dishes side by side at the sink when Nie Huaisang swans past the doorway to the kitchen in a froth of lace and glitter and far more skin showing than anything that would be permitted in the office. Meng Yao smiles a little to himself as he hears Nie Mingjue sigh heavily, but he keeps whatever comment he likely has in mind behind his teeth.

“Don’t wait up for me, da-ge! We’re doing breakfast out tomorrow before training so I’ll just stay with Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang calls and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s sweeping out the door and pulling it firmly shut behind him, the electronic lock humming and clicking over a second later.

“Training?” Meng Yao asks, both out of genuine curiosity as well as in an attempt to keep their abrupt solitude from becoming awkward.

“Martial arts. He’s friends with some other business family kids in the area – well they’re not kids anymore, but you know – and they all go to the same gym in town to work out on Saturdays. I’ve been trying to get A-Sang to actually train while he’s there, but I haven’t had the time to go with him since our dad died, and no one else bothers to make him. He just goes to hang out, and then they all go out again together Saturday night.”

“Ah, I see,” Meng Yao hums and keeps the flood of further questions at bay. Nie Mingjue isn’t the most forthcoming man – not that Meng Yao has any room to talk, he knows – so the details of his personal life are more than a little lacking in Meng Yao’s mental files about him. This seems like a better chance than any he’s had so far to get Nie Mingjue to open up and satisfy some of his curiosity, but considering Meng Yao has…other possibilities in mind for the evening, it’s probably a better idea to appear as polite and unassuming as possible to avoid ruffling feathers.

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence as they work, Meng Yao washing and rinsing each dish before he hands them off to Nie Mingue to dry and put back where they belong. He navigates the kitchen with ease and confidence, which Meng Yao knows is only to be expected since it’s his kitchen, but it’s still unfairly attractive to see him not only in his element but also..comfortable. Casual. His sleeves are still rolled up from when he’d gotten them out of his way to start cooking, and Meng Yao finds the hand drawing wide, soapy circles around one of their plates slowing down as he gets a bit distracted thinking of how nice they look – and how much nicer they’d look on either side of his head while Nie Mingjue pins him down.

Without Nie Huaisang here for a buffer, Meng Yao finally has no choice but to confront his own motivations for accepting the invitation into Nie Mingjue’s home. It leaves him feeling strangely squirmy, the slick curl of anticipation escaping him a bit and slipping dangerously close to anxiety before he reins it back in.

They finish washing the rest of the dishes as Meng Yao makes his peace with his own selfishness and the ways it’ll probably come to bite him in the ass later, and when he looks up from drying his hands one final time it’s to find Nie Mingjue already watching him, a bit of tension in his shoulders and the hard line between his brows.

“A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue starts with an effort. “I know we didn’t really ah…talk about what happened before…you know, at the hotel when we-“ Nie Mingjue clears his throat and seems to be forcing himself when he meets Meng Yao’s gaze again- “but I mean..if you want-“

Fuck it, Meng Yao thinks somewhat savagely and throws caution to the wind.

“Mingjue if you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds I’m actually going to castrate you,” he snaps to put them both out of their misery, and he’s pleased to startle a genuine laugh out of Nie Mingjue. He braces himself against the counter as Nie Mingjue crowds him against it, and then he’s being wrapped up tightly in stupid big, strong arms against Nie Mingjue’s chest, and he’s helpless to do anything but melt into the hungry press of Nie Mingjue’s mouth against his.

That first night, he’d thought it would no doubt be a one-time thing. It had been fun, the slow buildup over the afternoon, driving Nie Mingjue insane at dinner, waiting to hear if he would do anything about it once they were back in their room. It had been so freeing to let himself want, to be wanted right back. He hadn’t thought he’d get more than that – but then Nie Mingjue had asked for him again, and again, and so Meng Yao had happily fucked him every single night they’d spent at that damn conference. It’s the only thing that had made all the schmoozing and corporate chatter truly worth it, if he’s being honest. And when that had ended he’d thought for sure that would be the end of the line. He’s nothing if not realistic.

Except now, right there in Nie Mingjue’s own kitchen, the man slides a hand into the back pocket of his trousers to grope his ass while he tries to fuck Meng Yao’s throat with his tongue and Meng Yao is very abruptly a live wire from head to toe, without much room left in his brain to be very realistic about this at all. He releases his death grip on the edge of the counter pressing into the small of his back in favor of wrapping his arms tightly around Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders and he digs in with his nails when it just makes the man hold him even tighter.

“Can’t believe I almost picked a finance spreadsheet over this,” he mumbles when Nie Mingjue lets him breathe, ducking down to nip at his neck a couple times in quick succession before he just stays there, face buried against his throat and breathing slightly ragged.

“What do you want, A-Yao?” he finally asks, his lips hot and wet against his skin in just the right way. “We can do anything you want, just tell me.”

Meng Yao tips his head back to thunk against the bottom couple inches of the cabinet behind him and forces down the first few thoughts that crowd into the front of his mind – things that he wants that no one has been willing to give him, things he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to ask for, things that would require more time than the few hours he has until the last train of the night runs, or more energy and stamina than either of them likely have at the moment.

But that still leaves – “I want you to fuck me.” He bites down the urge to ask for a back massage while they’re at it and just leaves it at that, but it’s more than enough.

Nie Mingjue shivers against him with a little hum in the back of his throat, teeth teasing and scraping at the side of Meng Yao’s neck just firmly enough to make him gasp but not enough to mark him. He suddenly, desperately wants to be marked, to be kissed so greedily it lingers for days, a delicious ache he can dig his fingers into to keep feeling it until it fades. But how is he meant to ask for that? How can he tell Nie Mingjue he wants to walk away from this with irrefutable evidence of what they’ve done when he already knows that no one else can ever be allowed to know about this?

“Right now,” he breathes instead. “I want you to fuck me right now. Mingjue-“

“Okay,” he agrees easily, like it isn’t one of the most selfish things Meng Yao has ever asked for. “Okay yeah, definitely, fuck.”

Meng Yao exhales sharply in the split second before Nie Mingjue kisses him again, all tongue and teeth in a way that satisfies at least a small part of him that wants this to hurt. He slings his legs around Nie Mingjue’s waist when the man lifts him up with broad hands under his thighs and refuses to stop kissing him long enough to take Meng Yao upstairs. It means Nie Mingjue getting worked up enough to slam him up against the closest wall a few separate times to grip his thighs tight enough to bruise (he desperately hopes it’ll bruise) as he rolls their hips together with a juddering, anxious rhythm – which means it’s perfect.

They make it there eventually, though, and Meng Yao forces himself not to cling to Nie Mingjue when the man leans down to set him carefully on the edge of his mattress. He feels like he’s being torn in half when Nie Mingjue steps back and leaves him cold and bereft there on his loosely-made king sized bed, and so he distracts himself with scooting backwards onto it properly and getting comfortable on the mountain of pillows while Nie Mingjue does something in what he assumes is the en-suite on the other side of the room.

“Lights on or off?” he asks when he emerges shirtless, foil condom packet, lube, and a washcloth in hand. When they’d fucked around in the hotel each time it had been in the dark, groping hands and fumbling kisses, exploring each other with trembling fingertips and the sweat-slick glide of skin on skin.

“On,” Meng Yao says, though he leans over to click on the bedside lamp so Nie Mingjue turns off the overheads again before he finally comes back to him. Meng Yao, despite how much he’s itching to yank Nie Mingjue down on top of him, takes a deep breath in to try to calm down as he admires the sight of Nie Mingjue lit rather dramatically from the side with a warm yellow glow as he slips out of his trousers to leave them in a puddle of fabric on the floor. He sets his spoils down on the nightstand and then, finally, the bed dips under his weight and Meng Yao is allowed a bit of relief from the desire to claw and cling to any good thing he can get his hands on.

Nie Mingjue sprawls out on top of him, pins him down to the mattress with his bulk without making him feel like he’s suffocating, and Meng Yao exhales slowly, eyes drifting shut as he relaxes utterly involuntarily. Nie Mingjue props his weight up on one elbow and curls his hand under Meng Yao’s shoulder to dig his fingertips into the tension at the top of it while he skims his free hand up and down his chest a few times, trading kisses back and forth as easily as breathing. Meng Yao settles further then when Nie Mingjue starts working deftly at his shirt buttons, popping each one free with quick twitches of his fingertips and slipping his hand under his fabric when he has enough room to just press his palm flat against his chest, thumb brushing back and forth over his sternum.

Meng Yao’s hands gradually still and loosen where they’ve been clutched around Nie Mingjue’s shoulder and the back of his neck, and only when he’s completely relaxed does Nie Mingjue continue, still kissing him like they have all the time in the world as he finishes getting his shirt open to push it away to either side.

The press of Nie Mingjue’s too-warm bare chest against his is like heaven, a relief and sweet torture all at once.

He’s fairly sure, because this is Nie Mingjue, that he’d taken the request to fuck him at face value. Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao has learned, is…uncomplicated. Straightforward, with his black and white views on just about everything and his habit of taking most things he hears fairly literally, without much deeper thought unless it’s openly encouraged. There’s little chance that he sees Meng Yao’s request as anything more complex than his own desires had been on that ridiculous work trip – an itch to scratch, a fun way to spend an evening (or a week of evenings).

As far as Meng Yao is concerned, that's absolutely fine, as the truth involves far more vulnerability than he’s willing to show.

Nie Mingjue, always a surprise, rattles him out of his anxious spiraling with nothing more than a slow, dragging caress up the outside of his thigh and Meng Yao shivers through it ever so slightly, lips parting to gasp around the heavy press of Nie Mingjue’s tongue against his. The sensation is muted a little by his trousers, which Nie Mingjue seems to realize at the same moment if the unhappy little noise in the back of his throat and his sudden pawing at Meng Yao’s belt are anything to go by. He hurries to help the other man strip him properly – and slips a finger under the waistband of Nie Mingjue’s underwear to tug at them until he gets the point and slides those down too – until there’s nothing but miles of warm skin and soft sheets and Meng Yao thinks he could die happy just like this.

Nie Mingjue runs a broad, warm hand down the side of his thigh again and this time he’s nearly hypersensitive to it, tracking every millimeter of dry, slightly calloused scratching against his bare skin. By the time Nie Mingjue curls his fingers under his knee and carefully guides it up and back a bit Meng Yao is more than happy to comply and he eases into the stretch with a little sigh, hands tangled in the long part of Nie Mingjue’s undercut and his mouth too easy, too soft, too pliant but he’s unwilling to force himself to stop being goaded into giving in. Nie Mingjue pushes his knee back a little further, and then a little further still – and then suddenly he’s pulling back enough to look down between them so Meng Yao blinks his eyes open, thoroughly confused as to why he’d stopped when they’d been doing so nicely a moment ago.

“Mingjue?”

Nie Mingjue responds by propping himself up further on his elbow and pushing Meng Yao’s knee even further back towards his chest, an unfairly adorable frown puckering between his brows — not unlike that first night in the hotel when he’d seemed completely unable to understand why Meng Yao had been startled to find multiple condom sizes in his bag, why Meng Yao might be surprised to learn that someone like Nie Mingjue not only isn’t aggressively a top himself, but also doesn’t just assume that anyone smaller than him is a bottom. (The bar is criminally low, Meng Yao knows.)

“How far back does your leg go?” Nie Mingjue suddenly asks with another bit of hesitant pressure against his knee, like he’s almost afraid of finding out.

“Oh, that,” Meng Yao dismisses the question breezily to hide the little surge of smug pride that flashes through him. He saves them both some time and curls a hand over his shin to apply enough pressure to bring his leg all the way back, further even than his chest until the top of his knee is pressed to the bed beside his arm, his thigh tilted just a bit to the side to accommodate the necessary angle. “Problem, Mingjue?”

Meng Yao stays still as Nie Mingjue runs his hand down from his knee to his ankle in a reverent sweep, and a smirk steals across his lips when Nie Mingjue curls a massive hand around the fine bones of his ankle to coax it up, up, until his leg is half extended and Nie Mingjue only has to turn his head to be able to press a flurry of kisses along his calf.

“How the fuck are you this flexible?”

“It’s a long and very boring story. Would you like to stop and listen to it, or would you like me to throw my leg over my head while you fuck me?”

“Are those my only choices?”

Against his will, Meng Yao snorts at that and can’t quite keep himself from smiling in amusement, despite the fact that he doesn’t laugh during sex. That’s not allowed, and so he schools his features as quickly as possible in the moment of distraction while he does just what he’d said and extends his leg fully until Nie Mingjue is pressing his ankle into the mattress above and behind his head.

“They aren’t the only options, no, but are you going to attempt to claim that you’re not interested in it when I can feel the evidence otherwise?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Nie Mingjue sounds properly chastened so Meng Yao just smirks and reaches up to coax his fingers away from where they’re clenched tightly around his leg to instead prop his ankle up on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. He guides their linked fingers down the outside of his leg then, a slow, exploring drag from calf to knee to thigh and then down between their hips pressed so tightly together. He hitches his other knee up just enough to press against Nie Mingjue’s ribs, opening himself up fully and without any question at all as to his intentions, and thankfully that’s really all it takes to get Nie Mingjue firmly with the program again.

Nie Mingjue isn’t necessarily violent, that’s too strong of a word, but he’s definitely not tender either, which Meng Yao appreciates. He’s already on edge from daring to ask for something so selfish when he already knows firsthand how much Nie Mingjue likes to bottom for him, it wouldn’t do to push his luck any further by asking for tenderness as well (nor does he exactly feel prepared to offer it himself in return anyway). It doesn’t necessarily hurt when Nie Mingjue shoves a lube-slick finger inside him, far enough in one fell swoop that the rest of his knuckles grind too hard against the sensitive skin around his entrance, but it’s definitely not comfortable, and the groan that punches out of his chest is a mixture of pleasure and protest that he hopes will go unheeded. He can take it a little rough, likes it that way even, and it’s a relief that Nie Mingjue seems to like it as well without them having to actually talk about it.

Nie Mingjue is merciless. Meng Yao does his best to encourage more of it with anxious rolls of his hips and tight, grasping hands in Nie Mingjue’s hair that make the other man gasp in between heavy kisses, each following exhale shuddering on the way back out against the crook of Meng Yao’s neck damp with sweat already, and they’ve barely even gotten started.

A whine, utterly involuntary and humiliating, escapes his throat when Nie Mingjue not only withdraws his hand but also sits up and back, resting his weight on his calves to kneel between Meng Yao’s legs. Meng Yao shivers as he’s suddenly bereft, untouched save for where his ankle is still hooked over Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, and Nie Mingjue thankfully turns his head enough to smear a kiss to his calf in apology as he fumbles for the condom he’d brought from the bathroom.

“Sorry A-Yao,” he hums and his voice is wrecked already. “Just two seconds, I promise-”

Meng Yao tucks the wounded animal whining in his chest away to lie through his teeth and say, “It’s fine, Mingjue,” because the alternative is to beg for Nie Mingjue to come back, and that’s just…not even remotely an option.

Nie Mingjue keeps to his word, at least; Meng Yao is fairly sure he’s never seen someone roll a condom on as quickly as Nie Mingjue does with an impatient jerk of his fist down his shaft, and the desperation with which Nie Mingjue hurries to come back to him is both flattering and comforting. At least he isn’t alone in his wanting, though he’s not exactly comfortable enough to say that.

He relaxes again when Nie Mingjue lays out over him, when his heat and weight and the subtle, masculine scent of his cologne – deepened and muskier than usual after a day of work – become the only things worth paying attention to to Meng Yao’s sex-addled brain. He groans in relief when Nie Mingjue presses two fingers against him, pressing and testing for a long moment before he slides them inside in an almost perfunctory check to make sure he’s ready. He is, of course – Meng Yao typically prefers to top but there’s plenty of topping one can do while getting split in half, after all – but it’s sort of sweet that Nie Mingjue wants to double check, even if he does it roughly.

“Hips still feeling okay?” Nie Mingjue asks as he withdraws his fingers again and audibly begins slicking himself up, rhythmic and wet down between them.

“Mhm. Don’t worry, I’m more than bendy enough to keep this up at least until you come.”

“Well don’t make it sound like it’s only going to take me 30 seconds,” Nie Mingjue huffs, playfully irritated. Meng Yao smirks and turns his head enough to catch Nie Mingjue’s eye at the same moment he gives his hair a little yank and rolls his hips up to press his leaking cock to the back of the other man’s hand still wrapped around his own erection.

“I don’t think it’s that inaccurate of an estimate.”

Nie Mingjue’s breathless laugh and subsequent, “Go fuck yourself,” are both so fondly amused that Meng Yao doesn’t worry at all that he really means it.

His extra polite work voice is back when he replies, “Apologies, I was under the impression you were going to handle that for me.”

Meng Yao startles just a little when Nie Mingjue swats him on the outside of his thigh for that (lightly) but he doesn’t have much of an opportunity to attempt to categorize how getting hit in bed, even playfully, makes him feel before he’s suddenly extremely distracted by the feeling of Nie Mingjue pressing into him, just too hard and too fast enough for the stretch of it to burn just right.

Nie Mingjue swallows down the gasp that Meng Yao is absolutely helpless to stop, but the whimper that follows goes humiliatingly unmuffled. Meng Yao shivers with embarrassment but thankfully Nie Mingjue either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he just keeps pressing in, in, in, leaving Meng Yao to scrabble at his back and tug at his hair as he attempts to find some way to deal with suddenly finding himself so full.

“Relax,” Nie Mingjue rumbles against his jaw when he’s finally bottomed out, though he doesn’t stop hitching his hips forward just a little every few seconds as if testing to see if he’s actually as far in as he can get. “Breathe, A-Yao, you’re going to make me come if you don’t loosen up.”

“And you were so confident it would take longer than 30 seconds,” Meng Yao teases in a rush, his head falling back down onto the bed as he trembles and tries his best to listen to Nie Mingjue’s objectively good advice. “It’s not my fault you’re such a light touch-”

“It is absolutely your fault. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks, I’ve been half-hard for you all goddamn day, why wouldn’t I be easy for you now?”

Well that’s just. That’s. Something.

Anyway…Moving on.

“Fuck me then, you don’t have to wait,” Meng Yao grumbles to hide how that Does Things – unacceptably mushy things – to his heart that apparently doesn’t remember all the men who have hurt him in the past when he’s pinned under the one man who hasn’t yet. “I want to…” Meng Yao trails off, takes a deep, shuddering breath in, and admits in an embarrassed rush, “I want to feel it tomorrow, and Sunday too if at all possible.”

Nie Mingjue grunts something that vaguely resembles a heartfelt, “Fuck,” and jerks his hips back only to snap them forward again after just a couple inches. It’s a potent mix of friction and keeping him feeling full and Meng Yao can’t stop the whimper that manages to escape his iron control. Thankfully (unexpectedly), this newest whimper seems to do the trick because Nie Mingjue starts fucking into him like he’s trying to make sure they’ll never be able to separate again.

That marks the end of them attempting to talk to each other, which Meng Yao finds he can only be grateful for. The more he’s reminded that this is Nie Mingjue he’s fucking — his boss who’s rigid but fair and ultimately a good man if a little rough around the edges — and the more the man makes him laugh, puts him at ease, the harder he knows it’ll be to remember that this doesn’t mean anything, that he’s little more than a convenient fuck. Much better, then, to have nothing to listen to but the sound of skin on skin and groans through ragged breathing in between the slick-soft release of their mouths each time they break apart.

Meng Yao actually isn’t sure how long they’ve been going at it like that by the time he’s abruptly and painfully empty, and Nie Mingjue pulls away from his mouth just in time for Meng Yao to be unable to stop the whimpering, “No,” that tumbles from his half-numb lips, hands already grasping to try to drag Nie Mingjue back in, just for a little longer.

As he’d done before, Nie Mingjue smears his lips and tongue against the part of Meng Yao’s leg nearest his face in apology, a clumsy approximation of a kiss. But since that isn’t even close to everything Meng Yao wants he still forces himself to open his eyes long enough to glare up at the other man.

“Shh sorry, come here,” Nie Mingjue mumbles, hazy and nonsensical. He carefully nudges Meng Yao’s leg down off his shoulder and Meng Yao begins to panic that they’re done, that Nie Mingjue had come somehow without him realizing it and is on the verge of telling him to get dressed, grab his things, and go. The panic is enough to shock him out of the sort-of-hazy place he’d been happily floating through and he feels it the instant he tightens up again, eyes sharp as he braces himself to be hurt, and not in the way he wants to be.

Nie Mingjue’s hands on his hips are strong and inescapable as the man helps guide him into flipping over onto his stomach, and then he’s lifting his hips up for him enough to slide a firm pillow beneath them and the snarling thing chewing on his diaphragm pauses in its anxious gnawing. Nie Mingjue wastes no time pressing inside of him again the moment the angle is right and Meng Yao is forced to muffle his groan of pure relief in the mattress beneath him, arms up and curled backward over the top his head so he can grab his own hair for an anchor.

Not getting kicked out, then. Just a change in position. Meng Yao breathes through the fading spark of adrenaline making room again for pleasure, and when Nie Mingjue leans down to wrap an arm tightly around his chest and surround him with warmth and his comforting bulky weight Meng Yao is glad he can hide his face to let a couple of overwhelmed tears slip free to immediately soak into the sheets. He releases one hand from clutching at his own hair to reach further back and clutch at Nie Mingjue’s hair again instead, sinking his fingers deep into the long part of his undercut without bothering to care that he’s tugging a braid or two loose with his grasping fingers. For his part, Nie Mingjue just hitches him a little closer and buries a few scratchy kisses into his neck and hair as he resumes fucking into him, so Meng Yao just holds on tighter and sinks away again properly into pleasure.

It takes some long, hazy minutes of just-shy-of-too-hard fucking before the little noises escaping unbidden from somewhere deep in Meng Yao’s chest manage to condense enough to turn into broken calls of Nie Mingjue’s name, soft whimpers that tumble clumsily from his lips to be smushed into the mattress, his arms. They escalate quickly from whimpers to moans, though, as Nie Mingjue starts fucking him somehow even harder, panting harshly against his shoulder and slamming into him hard enough to ache even after he pulls back, to smack their hips together noisily, and when Nie Mingjue slides his hand down his chest, his stomach, to manage to wrap it around his cock for a few rough tugs Meng Yao is powerless to stop the sensation from tipping him over the edge.

He muffles himself at the last moment in the crook of his own elbow as his entire body strains, pleasured and aching and tired but not wanting the ecstasy of his orgasm to fade. Nie Mingjue fucks him through it, slower now but still not gentle, still not tender, still rough enough for Meng Yao to feel like he can sink his teeth into whatever they have, whatever they’re doing, and keep it.

“Fuck, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue finally grunts against his neck and Meng Yao finds enough muscle coordination to pull Nie Mingjue’s hair and tighten up around him as Nie Mingjue comes, hips hitching in desperate little shoves forward like before as his nails bite into Meng Yao’s hip (Meng Yao has enough pleasure-soaked brain cells left to be glad Nie Mingjue had let go of his softening cock before being overcome by his own orgasm).

When it’s over, Meng Yao settles happily enough with a little hum to let Nie Mingjue know he’s perfectly happy with the way the other man has collapsed on top of him, solid and heavy and real. It’s grounding, centering, and Meng Yao doesn’t even care that he can only breathe shallowly or that he’s way too hot despite the way their sweat is trapped clammy and slick between his back and Nie Mingjue’s chest. There’s the faint scratch of sparse chest hair against his shoulder blades and Nie Mingjue’s thundering heart drumming against his skin and his cock going soft buried deep in his ass and their legs tangled together in a messy heap and Nie Mingjue’s cheek resting against the side of his head and —

“Already back to thinking too much, hm? I can fuckin’ hear it,” Nie Mingjue mutters in his ear, punctuates it with a sloppy kiss just below it that makes him shiver.

“Always,” Meng Yao mumbles, cheek still smushed against the bed beneath him.

“Should I be offended that wasn’t enough to tire you out so much you stop thinking for five minutes?”

Meng Yao smiles a little, sleepy and sated and therefore thoroughly willing to delude himself into thinking he’s allowed to have post-coital teasing.

“Maybe you’ll just have to try harder next time.” The sleepy warmth suffusing him abruptly disappears at his own words – his presumption that he’ll get to sleep with Nie Mingjue again, and that if they do that Nie Mingjue will want to top for him again. He braces himself for the let-down, for Nie Mingjue to tell him this was a one-time deal in that blunt way that he approaches everything. It’s so refreshing in every aspect of the non-sexual sides of their relationship to never have to doubt what Nie Mingjue’s thinking or feeling, but right now he thinks that if Nie Mingjue were to reject him before they’ve even stopped basking in the afterglow it would absolutely crush him.

“Deal,” Nie Mingjue agrees easily with a noisy kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Only fair after you fucked me so well last week, ah?”

Meng Yao blinks a little at the easy acceptance of it – maybe one day he won’t be startled by how easily Nie Mingjue accepts his space in his life in such a casual way, but it’s doubtful. But if Nie Mingjue wants to see this as a trade – a tit for tat – then Meng Yao isn’t above taking advantage of a more..transactional approach than anything approaching actual vulnerability. Actually that sounds like a nice bonus.

“Only fair,” he agrees and starts a little when Nie Mingjue suddenly ducks down closer to kiss the corner of his mouth clumsily as if to seal the deal. Meng Yao turns his head enough to get a proper kiss and then they settle down again into comfortable silence for a few minutes as heartbeats slow and sweat (and the mess under Meng Yao’s hips) becomes too cold and unpleasant for hanging out together like this to be feasible anymore.

“Okay, gross. Off,” Meng Yao mutters with a hand thrown out blindly behind himself to smack weakly at Nie Mingjue’s thigh and the man groans a little as he sits up enough to hold onto the base of the condom and pull out, Meng Yao shivering hard as he’s left empty and cold. He hides his face fully in his arms for a long moment of necessary privacy to get himself back under control, tucking away the biting loneliness with the ease of many years of practice while Nie Mingjue rolls to his feet and starts cleaning up.

“Do you want to take a shower or anything?” Nie Mingjue offers as he chucks the used condom in the trash and steps back into the bathroom to run the tap for a moment. Meng Yao chances a glance up at him out of the corner of his eye when he returns and it’s to find he’s wet the washcloth he grabbed earlier and is returning to bed with it. In the interest of maintaining some shred of his dignity, Meng Yao forces himself to sit up and take it from Nie Mingjue’s outstretched hand to take care of a perfunctory clean up on his own.

“No, I’d better head home, I’ll just take one there,” he forces his slightly numb, kiss-bruised mouth to say.

“Suit yourself. Want a ride?”

Meng Yao would fucking love a ride instead of having to sit on the train with a (pleasantly) sore ass and probably very clearly having just gotten fucked within an inch of his life, but with the post-orgasm glow officially gone reality is creeping in cold and harsh from the sidelines. He doesn’t get rides home from hookups, just like he doesn’t use their showers or let them hold him for longer than it takes the buzz to fade. It’s too much – too much to ask for, too much to reveal of himself, too intimate for people who are just going to hurt him sooner or later.

“I’m alright,” he says with a smile to temper the second rejection. “I’m not far, don’t trouble yourself. Just relax.”

Nie Mingjue looks at him in silence for a long moment before he shrugs and offers an easy, “Suit yourself.” Meng Yao lets out a silent sigh of relief once Nie Mingjue’s back is turned so he can tug on a pair of sweatpants out of his dresser. And nothing else. God Meng Yao needs to go home or he’s going to do something stupid like ask to stay the night so he can get fucked again as soon as physically possible. There should be a law somewhere that anyone with a dick as nice as Nie Mingjue’s isn’t allowed to wear gray hip-hugging sweatpants, especially while going fucking commando.

Instead of begging to stay, he stands and gets dressed, though he doesn’t bother buttoning his shirt all the way up or combing his fingers through his hair to make sure it’s laying flat – none of it will help him look less sex-drunk so what’s the point?

When they’re both relatively presentable, Nie Mingjue walks him downstairs and leans against the wall of the front hallway with his arms crossed over his bare chest, expression inscrutable as he watches Meng Yao bend over to tie his shoes.

“D’you want to come over again next week?” he asks abruptly, like he’d been meaning to keep it back but gave up. “A-Sang and I have dinner together every Friday night but he always goes out after we’re done, so it’s just me hanging around here by myself.”

Meng Yao takes a deep breath in and straightens, messenger bag on his shoulder (the strap digs into a bruise Nie Mingjue had left at some point on his collarbone and his breath hitches traitorously in his chest with a little zing of pleasure. He hadn’t even had to ask for it after all).

“You don’t think Huaisang would mind me intruding again?”

Nie Mingjue shrugs and Meng Yao very pointedly does not watch all those stupid big fucking muscles of his shift under tanned skin. “I already told you earlier it’s not an intrusion, but even if it were I wouldn’t really care if he minds. He barely stays long enough to eat before he’s running out to go clubbing anyway, if it bothers him he can just eat out with his friends instead.”

As wildly uncomfortable as Meng Yao is with the idea of forcing Nie Huaisang away from the routine dinners he has with his brother in their own home, the prospect of turning this into something regular – at least until Nie Mingjue has paid him back for the week of evenings he’d spent fucking him – is too much of a siren call to ignore.

“Then yes, I’d like that.”

Nie Mingjue shoots him a crooked smile, one that makes a dimple pop in his cheek, and Meng Yao very quickly worries for the integrity of all the rules he sets for himself around hookups. He’s so busy shoring up his defenses again, in fact, that he completely misses that Nie Mingjue is leaning in until he feels soft, warm lips and the scratch of his mustache pressed firmly against his cheek.

“I’ll see you Monday morning, then?” he asks quietly, still far too close for anything remotely resembling ‘professional work relationship’.

“Mhm!” It’s not a squeak but by god is it close.

“Good. If you can’t still feel this by Sunday feel free let me know then and I’ll spend the whole week thinking up how I can do better next weekend.”

Meng Yao does not blush, he does not blush.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good. See you Monday, then. Get some sleep.”

“Mm.” Meng Yao hesitates for one long moment before he goes up on his toes to kiss Nie Mingjue’s cheek quickly, chastely, and then he’s out the door without a second glance to see how that was received, he doesn’t want to know. He heads down the street at his usual fast clip and lets thoughts of planning his route home using various public transportation networks distract him from how his cheeks are burning as he leaves the Nie house behind.

For now.

#the untamed fanfic #NieYao #Meng Yao #Nie Mingjue #Nie Huaisang #Modern AU #Far From An Imposition #Pre-fic for #All Dreams Were Worth Keeping #and something of a sequel to #Seems Like A Good Thing #Also the gray sweatpants NMJ puts on at the end are absolutely Lan Xichen's #which is why they sit too tight on his hips #MY: Do /not/ fall in love with the good good dick and absolutely do not act like this is anything other than a quick fuck #NMJ: holy shit I think I might really really like this guy oopsies #Time to be Totally Normal about it

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anastasiabowe · 24 days

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𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙃 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙇𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙉 — As a broke college student, it’s not wrong to want a rich boyfriend! That doesn’t mean you’re a gold digger, or will stoop so low you will ruin your worth, it just means you want a man who will take care of you, and guess what? You found him.

note: this will be a 3 part series! First one I’ve ever made and may be my last! So please not too much on these writings! Luv you!

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙄 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙄𝙄

Content Warnings: language, suggestive content

Nanami is a man of morals. He usually keeps his hands and eyes to himself, he holds the door for anyone, women especially, he respects boundaries, and if anything that causes him to think inappropriately he will kindly excuse himself to make sure he doesn’t seem like a creep. But Nanami is just like any man.

Nanami longs for a lover, a wife. He desires children, a family. But in this cruel, sick world, he can’t find a woman who wants him for him. Nanami is one of the top 10 richest men on the planet, he not including himself, but his company in that title.

Every woman he has attempted to date tries to put on their best “I love you for your heart not your money!” act, but it slips the second they tell him “oh no! I forgot my wallet!”

Nanami knows every trick in the book, he knows the look women give him when they are impressed by his wealth, he knows the lip biting they do to show interest in his looks, he knows the voice and excuses they say to make him fall down to their feet, which he never once has done nor will do. He knows it all. So dating people that have seen him before he’s met them makes it all the more boring.

So, when Nanami’s friend, Haibara introduced him to dating apps, he obviously was shook.

“You really had no idea there were dating apps?” Haibara blankly looked at him. Nanami bit his thumb in uncertainty.

He grumbled a little “no.” And his friend smiled. “Then sign up! What can you lose? They don’t have to know what you look like.”

Nanami hated that idea. “No, I want them to know who I am.” His firm voice erased that idea completely from his friends plan.

“Well, 80% of this world knows who you are, that wish you want isn’t going to happen.” Nanami sighed knowingly, just tired from his sad lonely life.

“Haibara, thank you for this..” Nanami thought carefully of his words. “Great discovery, but I think it’s best you head home and I sleep on it.” Haibara understood, and firmly grabbed Nanami’s shoulder on his way out.

“You’ll find her, I know you will.” Nanami placed his hand firmly on Haibara’s in a thank you, and Haibara left.

After Nanami heard Haibara leave, he hurriedly sat down on his couch and opened the dating site.

“RICHTON THE DATING APP FOR THE WEALTHY!”

Nanami quickly laughed at the cringe advertisement, but it was a popular app, so something was working.

Nanami put in his information and had to choose which photos to put on his profile. He chose the first decent ones he could find, not caring too much about perfection, and he was brought up with the interests slide.

He clicked three random ones and pressed continue. The app asked to use his camera to verify his age and photos. Nanami positioned the camera to where it said to and he was verified. The app welcomed him to a very ugly woman.

Nanami had skipped the tutorial at the beginning and just swiped towards the X like he has seen on TV. This app was the definition of a gold diggers dream. Rich men pay to speak with women that aren’t even all that.

Nanami swiped and swiped towards the x. No woman looked like a decent women. They all looked like they seduce men or are prostitutes, maybe both. Nanami frowned seeing all the half naked women.

“Should I really be on this app?” He thought to himself. He continued to swipe, heart sinking each swipe to the left seeing women who don’t know their worth. Ass in the camera more than their face just to get a quick buck. Nanami swiped one more time ready to turn his phone off, and his thumb froze.

A girl with straight hair smiling in what seems to be senior photo. She was in a white summer dress posing in a daisy field. The beach was calm behind her and he couldn’t help but stare at her smile. She seemed so pure, so innocent and that was exactly what he was looking for. He swiped right on her profile and it opened up a message saying:

“YOUR FIRST MATCH! SEND HER A MESSAGE WITH THE AMOUNT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEND!”

Nanami saw a text box and a drop box. The drop box has let Nanami type in the amount he would like to send. The minimum was 5 dollars. He typed in $100 and pressed on the text box.

His thumbs again froze. What should he say? Should he compliment her? Introduce himself? Nanami combined them. He typed.

“Hello, my name is Kento and I couldn’t help but be in absolute awe seeing your photos. You are absolutely beautiful.” He sent it without looking back, this was already hard enough.

Nearly instantly you saw his message and typed.

Y: “Oh my god, you did NOT have to send that much money!”

He imagined your voice as he read your message. He chuckled to himself like a madman and he started typing back.

N: “I wanted to, you are so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.”

He nervously tapped his thumbs on the side of his phone waiting for your response.

Y: “I really do appreciate the compliment but $100 is too much, I can’t accept that!”

N: “Too late, I want you to have it, I want to talk to you.”

Y: “You can’t talk to me for free!”

N: “That’s not how this app works..?” Nanami was confused.

Y: “Oh, right.. I forgot you have to pay to chat.”

N: “Please don’t be alarmed by the money, I’m not running out anytime soon😂”

Nanami cringed at himself for using such an emoji, but he wanted you to feel at ease.

Y: “Thank you, you really didn’t have to though. I won’t stop saying that.”

N: “Then let’s change the subject. Why are you on this app?”

You saw his message but didn’t text back. Did he ask a triggering question? You soon started typing, and his nerves came back.

Y: “You know, a broke college student who needs a little extra cash😅”

He chuckled, for a girl who didn’t want a hundred bucks, that’s sure what she was looking for.

N: “Haha, so you won’t mind if I send more?”

Y: “Don’t send more! I’m not that broke😭”

Nanami smiled. He smiled as if you were really there. He imagined having this conversation with you and how hard you would make him laugh with your silly remarks.

N: “Don’t worry, I won’t 😂, but it’s not like you’re going to stop me.”

Y: “I’ll send it back😜✌🏾”

N: “I’ll send it back!”

Y: “And I’ll send it again, it will be a whole thing if you make it💀”

The fact you both were arguing over money is crazy, Nanami never argued with a woman about sending them money. They usually do a “oh no you don’t have to do that!” But will eventually accept. You on the other hand are just outright refusing. Nanami is now intrigued by you.

N: “If you won’t accept my money via here, how about dinner? I’ll pay, and I won’t argue about it when we get there.”

You again took your time typing, very obvious you are unsure.

Y: “Okay… but where are you tryna take me?”

N: “I was thinking…. Hermes?”

Y: “You’re joking!”

N: “What?”

Y: “I can’t afford that!”

N: “You’re not paying.”

Y: “Still, I can’t make you pay for that!”

N: “I want to pay for it, I eat there all the time.”

Y: “Not for two☹️”

N: “I’ve paid for 10.”

Y:“Kento..”

N: “Y/n, please. I want to meet you. You intrigue me, I’ve never met someone like you. I don’t want to seem like a begged, nor do I want to pressure you, but I would love to meet you and enjoy a nice dinner with you.”

Nanami felt desperate even though he just met you not even an hour ago.

The long response time again happened, and Nanami felt like he blew it. The once time he felt like he actually found someone worth the time, he blew it.

Y: “Okay.”

Nanami’s heart fluttered seeing your message.

N: “You will have dinner with me?”

Y: “Yes! I’ll have dinner with you😂”

Nanami felt like a little boy again. He hadn’t felt this excited to ask a girl out since never and it felt good.

N: “How does tomorrow sound? I know that’s soon, but it’s the only day my schedule isn’t busy.”

Y: “Yeah, tomorrow would be great!”

N: “Alright, I’ll see you then!”

Y: “See you!”

The next day Nanami felt different. His head was somewhere else, somewhere lighter, happier. He felt… excited? He wasn’t sure, he hasn’t felt this way until his first client offered him half a million dollars as he started his journey in this company.

Nanami played more upbeat music, very different from his normal taste, and he swayed and stepped with every beat to the song as he ironed his clothes. He had opened windows and instead of wincing from the sun hitting his eyes, he smiled.

“What a beautiful morning.” He thought to himself. Nanami must have been in a different place that he didn’t even know was so negative until now. He was looking forward to a dinner with someone. He hasn’t felt that way in years and he just wishes he could meet you right then and there.

Nanami nearly put on his freshly ironed clothes and grabbed his briefcase and blazer. He locked his garage door and headed straight to his black Porsche that he usually doesn’t drive, but today, why not?

Nanami drove to work with a smile on his face. Haibara greeted Nanami as he stepped out of his car and a valet stepped in for him.

“Good morning.” Nanami smiled and Haibara walked beside him.

“Good morning…” Haibara stared at Nanami’s face.

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you win the lottery? What’s got you so happy?”

“Haibara.” Nanami stopped and turned towards his friend, “Thank you.”

Haibara wanted to laugh, he didn’t even do anything, right?

“for what” Nanami smiled at Haibara.

“For showing me that ‘app’. I’m going to meet someone for dinner tonight.” Haibara smiled at Nanami.

“That’s great, Kento! What’s her name?”

“Y/n.”

“Hm, is she pretty?”

“Beautiful.”

“Is she rich?”

“Eh..”

“Is she young?”

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean by ‘kind of?”

“She’s… 20..” Nanami purses his lips waiting for Haibara’s reaction.

“20?!” His eyes were wide and he laughed. “You’re 34!”

“She’s very aware of my age.” Nanami said not amused by his friends reaction.

“I mean, hey, if a woman 14 years older than me asked me out, and she was hot, I’d go out worth her too.” Haibara threw his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ pose and Nanami rolled his eyes.

“We meet at 6, so I just need to get through today.” Nanami said more to himself. The happy facade started to break, and he felt the butterflies pool in his stomach.

He was nervous. He hasn’t been on a date with someone he actually wants to meet in over 10 years. He doesn’t remember how to be charismatic, he doesn’t remember how to be enticing and interesting. Work has been the only topic that’s been keeping his conversations alive. He doesn’t talk to anyone about anything personally other than Haibara and that is hard enough.

Haibara saw Nanami. He knew Nanami for nearly 6 years and this was the look of nervousness. He’s seen it countless times, but that’s only because he knows him. He can tell from the slight twitch in his jaw and the subtle fidgeting with his hands.

“Come on Nanami, let’s go to my office.” Nanami nodded and followed Haibara.

In Haibaras office, he gave Nanami tips.

“Now I have met countless women. Hard to believe, I know, and I know how to get them wanting more.” Nanami cringed at the thought of his good friend seducing women.

“I’m not trying to get anything from her, I just want to hold a conversation and hopefully get to know her more.”

“Alright, I got you.” Haibara walked over to his whiteboard and wrote “NANAMI’S FIRST DATE”

“This isn’t my first date, Haibara.”

“I know, but you’re acting like it is.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, and Haibara clapped his hands together.

“I have cancelled all meeting that require you to be there, and will have your secretary fill in for the ones that don’t. We have all day to get you ready for your date, alright?”

“Ok.” Nanami replied. Nanami felt silly sitting in the chair and listening to his younger friend teach him how to act right on a date. Nanami usually lets the women talk since he usually doesn’t care too much about them. He usually just lets his colleagues recommend a woman and set up a date. Nanami regrets every single dollar he wasted on the money thirsty women. But he wants to try with you. He wants to talk to you and let you talk. He wants to actually get to know you, maybe even go on more dates and hang out.

“Ok, first step. Do NOT let them talk the whole time. Even if they ramble, try and have a mutual conversation. Sometimes when they ramble, they think it’s because you aren’t interested and they will want to make sure you're still intrested” Haibara took in a huge breath, “OR they are nervous.”

Nanami nodded.

“You just have to read their body language.”

“Well, how will I know if they are nervous or not?”

“You’ll know. If they look around when talking, when they cover their face when talking, when they hold their hands in their lap, if they look tense, come on, you know what nervous looks like.”

Nanami nodded again.

“Use your words, this is practice. Don’t just nod your head,” Haibara mocked him by aggressively nodding his head “say things like ‘I agree’ or ‘I’m listening’ or ask them about whatever they’re talking about so they know you’re listening.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t just say ‘okay’.” Haibara mocked again. “Try and be more creative! Let’s practice.”

Haibara sat down in his seat and tried his best to look more feminine.

“So yeah, me and my friends went mini golfing and I didn’t know what to do so I just sat and watched them play.”

Nanami sat there. What did Haibara want him to say? Haibara looked at him, waiting for a response.

“Oh, well that is very sad.” Nanami said unsure. Haibara sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Yep, might as well pay the bill and leave.” Nanami sat there dumbfounded. What was he supposed to say?

“What should I have said instead?”

“Nanami, I can’t tell you what to say, but that would have sent her home crying. You sounded like you didn’t care. You should say something along the lines of ‘did you ever end up knowing how to play mini golf?’ That will at least let her know you’re listening.” Haibara stood up and sighed.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

After many hours of preparing, Nanami’s watch chimed. It was 5:30 and he needed to head home and change.

“Thank you Haibara, this was very helpful.” Nanami shook his friends hand and headed towards the front of the office.

“Don’t try too hard! Just let it come out naturally!” Haibara cakes out to Nanami. Nanami smiled back at his friend and Haibara sighed.

“Please don’t screw this up.”

#nanami x you #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk kento #kento smut

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syddsatyrn · 2 months

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Omg your requests are open. I've seen some of your work and it's amazing❤️

Can you do a smut with Lucifer. He's become my new obsession.

⛧Idle Time is the Devil's Play⛧ By Sydd Satyrn

⛧Pairing: - Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

⛧Warnings: Shameless smut, fingering, swearing, fluff

⛧Words: 2.5k

⛧Notes: This was actually rather fun to write, thank you for the request! My head canon in this one is that Lucifer wears reading glasses.

The day started out on the wrong foot from the second you woke up. The dishes are piled up, laundry needs to be done, and how is there so much dust in here?! Nifty does her best to keep up but she's only one tiny person. You begin with the dishes, stack and stacks of plates and bowls, cups and flatware cover the counter. You let out a sigh of disappointment. After working for a short while, Angel Dust walks in with a surprised look on his face. “I thought you were dating the King of Hell, why are you wasting your time with chores?” The tall spider asks, holding a stack of dishes from his room. “Angel, I work here. I don't know how many times I have to tell you…” You reply with an eye roll. “Yeah, yeah, Charlie’s dreams, blah, blah, motherly nonsense. I’m just sayin’ you could totally slack off and get away with it.” He says, placing more dishes on the counter. You give him a side eye, and Angel laughs. “Chill out toots, I’m just playin’.” He says and heads back to his room. He’s right, you could slack off if you wanted to, but you felt the need to try for Charlie. You and Lucifer have been dating for a little over 6 months and within that time you’ve become rather fond of his sweet daughter and her dreams to rehabilitate sinners. So you took on a role at the hotel and did what you could to help make it possible. You wanted to impress Lucifer's daughter, maybe one day she might even see you as family, if you’re lucky. You finally finish the dishes and take a step back and admire your handiwork. A clean sink, and counters, all the dirty dishes are now washed, dried and put away. It took a good chunk of the morning but it was worth it. The kitchen looks spotless and you decide to move onto the next chore. You tidied a few empty rooms and then delivered clean towels to each room with an occupant. You’re already running out of energy and it's only noon. “You look like you could use some coffee.” Husk says from behind the bar while wiping down the countertops. “You read my mind, Husker.” You say and take a seat at the bar. He pours you a cup of black coffee and sets it in front of you. “Thank you, you have no idea how much I need this.” “Don’t mention it” He says and returns to his countertops. Husk may seem grumpy all the time but you’ve come to know him as a rather genuine and helpful person.

You drink your coffee slowly and contemplate what you should do next. There are so many chores that need to be done, where should you even start? Nifty should be cleaning the bathrooms or taking out the trash by now. You decide to start dusting next, it shouldn't be too hard.

After dusting the common areas, you begin on the hallways. You start at the top floor and work your way down. You hum quietly to yourself while wiping the window sills. As you turn a corner, you run into Angel Dust, and spill dusting spray all over his jacket. “Shit!” He says while wiping his jacked off with his hand, Angel looks frantic and upset, you’ve never seen him so scared. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” You immediately apologize. “Y/N, I can't find Fat Nuggets anywhere! I took my eyes off of him for one second and he disappeared! My poor baby!” Angel says, clearly in a state. He looks like he might even cry. It’s gonna be okay, we just…need to split up! I’ll head downstairs and you stay up here.”You say, trying to remain calm. Angel nods, and you both go your separate ways.

You search all the rooms on the first and second floor, the lobby, the bar, and even the basement. There is no sign of the little pig. You were sure you would find him rooting around somewhere in the kitchen but still, no Fat Nuggets. You notice the back door is slightly ajar, you definitely didn’t use that door when you were down here earlier. You open it, expecting to have solved the mystery, but still nothing. You lean against the wall and let out a defeated sigh. “Dammit, Fat Nuggets, where are you?” You say out loud. Suddenly there is a rustlin noise inside a tipped over trash can. You lift the lid and inside is a very happy looking little pig. You scoop him up and give him a big hug, he must have gottens stuck out there looking for a snack. As you carry Fat Nuggets upstairs you hear a shriek of joy coming from Angel Dust. “My baby!” He cries as you hand him over. “Don't you ever leave my side again!” He says, baby talking to the little pig while giving him a snuggle. “I owe you one, Y/N.” Angel says with a smile. “Dont worry about it, I’m just happy we found the little guy.” You gently boop the little pig’s nose. —------------ As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky, a sense of tranquility settled over the hotel. The warm glow of the fading sunlight painted the walls in soft, golden hues made the place feel somewhat serene. Finding Fat Nuggets took up the rest of your afternoon and you were feeling unusually exhausted.

You head down to the lobby and see Nifty cleaning up the last of the dusting you did earlier.

She greets you as usual. “Good Evening, Miss Y/N! How was your day?” She pauses her cleaning and stares up at you with her single cyclops eye. “I am so worn out, Nifty. How are you?” You return, smiling down at her tiny figure.

“I’m okay. There aren't as many bugs in the hotel to squish anymore so I’m getting pretty bored.” You smile at her, Not entirely sure how to respond to that statement. She always says the wildest stuff, but you’re used to it. Alastor says she's always been pretty quirky. “You should go spend time with your boyfriend.” Nifty teases,”I’ll deal with the rest of the chores.” “Thank you, I could really use a break. Today was a mess.” You say with a sigh of relief. After walking down the long, lavish hallway to Lucifer's room. You open the door slowly, you don't want to wake him if he is asleep. The King is already in bed wearing nothing but a robe and his reading glasses. The lamp next on the bedside table is the only source of light in the room. The blonde haired man is reading a book and glances over at you when he hears you come in. “I was wondering when you’d be here.” He says with a smile on his face. He closes his book and sets it on the nightstand along with his gold rimmed glasses. “Sorry I’m late, I’ve had a really long day.” You admit as you sit on the edge of the bed. “Oh? What did you get up to today?” He asks and crawls toward you. “There was a lot to do around the hotel today, a mountain of dishes and so much cleaning. Like seriously, where does all this dust come from?! Then Angel lost Fat Nuggets and he was outside…” You ramble on and Lucifer listens intently. “Fat Nuggets?” Lucifer chuckles and cocks his head to the side. “His pet pig.” You remind him. “Oh, I see…” Lucifer places his hand on your cheek. His warm touch sends shivers down your spine. He pulls your face closer and kisses your lips gently. Your heart flutters and you kiss him back, blushing slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” Lucifer laughs, knowing exactly what he's doing to you. “Sounds like you need some time off. I notice you do a lot around here, you shouldn’t wear yourself out like that.” “I just want to show Charlie that I support her dream and believe in her.” Your words make Lucifer’s heart swell, the fact that you are trying so hard to impress his daughter is quite possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He smiles at you, his expression full of love and admiration. You return his smile, your face bright red. He pulls you in for a tight hug, burying his face into your hair. “You’re doing just fine, my love. You can let up a little.” He whispers in your ear, “You should let me take care of you for a couple days.” Lucifer's voice is sticky sweet, you can see why Eve was so easily swayed. You melt into his arms and he kisses the top of your head. “I know exactly what you need…” Lucifer days, his voice laced with a mischievous tone. “Do you…?” You ask and giggle at his bold statement. He reluctantly lets go of you and takes off to the bathroom connected to his room. You can hear him turn on the faucet to fill up the tub. Lucifer walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he grabs your hand and pulls you close, his eyes half lidded. He kisses your cheek and wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Come with me, my dear.” He leads you to the bathroom, the tub is filled about half way with warm water. The room is filling with steam and the lights are low, a few candles are lit. The ambiance is warm and charming just like he is. Your eyes widen and you feel Lucifer hands tug at your clothes, silently telling you to take them off. Your face feels hot as you start to remove your clothing, piece by piece. You leave them in a pile on the floor, trying your best to keep your composure. “I have to admit I wasn’t expecting this…” You say, Lucifer smirks, pleased with himself and your reactions. He removes his robe, revealing his perfect body. He steps into the tub and turns to you.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He teases, you take his hand and slowly get in the tub with him. He sits behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you just a bit closer. Together, you both leaned back against the edge of the tub, letting the warmth of the water soothe your weary muscles. The stress of the day melted away, you could feel your muscles relax, you lean the back of your head on his shoulder, breathing him in.

"See? Isn't this much better?" Lucifer purrs in your ear.

You nod and let your eyes close. You can feel him kiss your temple and you can't help but smile. “I definitely needed this…”You murmured, Lucifer's hands begin to roam your body, his hands trace down your arms.

"You have the most beautiful skin...I can't help but touch it." He whispers and kisses your neck, you sigh softly. "And you always smell like vanilla, I adore that..."

“You flatter me, Lucifer.” You reply. He kisses the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands begin to massage your shoulders, "Are you cold?" He asks, noticing the goosebumps forming on your skin. With gentle hands, his fingertips traced delicate patterns along the contours of your skin. In the hushed ambiance, time seemed to slow, as if caught in the embrace of the moment. “No, I’m fine.” You assure him.” You’re just really good with your hands.” “Is that so?” Lucifer says with a playful tone. He can barely contain himself, the way your body responds to his touch is fascinating to him. Lucifer's hands travel lower down your torso and gently cup your breasts. You hum softly and push your body closer to his.

"My, you're a needy one tonight, aren't you?" He chuckles and runs his thumbs over your nipples. "I think I know exactly how to help you." His hands travel lower and lower until they reach your core. Your breath hitches and your face turns a bright shade of red and Lucifer notices. "Is that okay, my love?" He asks, making sure he's not overstepping his bounds.

"Y-yes, it's more than okay.”

Lucifer's fingers explore your folds, teasing and prodding. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of your body. You gasp as he enters a finger into you. You moan softly and your back slightly arches. "That's it, my love, just let go, let me take care of you." The King’s tone is lustful and alluring. Lucifer adds a second finger and starts thrusting in and out, his thumb rubs your clit. He moves his fingers faster and harder. “Luci…fuck…” You swear followed by another moan, the pleasure is overwhelming. You can feel him smile against your skin, his hand working wonders between your thighs. You bite your lip and whimper, gripping the edge of the tub. Lucifer bites the tip of your ear and quickens his pace. “That’s it my dear, are you gonna cum for me?” Lucifer groans and pushes his fingers deeper inside you. You let out a whimper, a feeling of warmth growing deep within your core. Between the steam from the bathtub and all the stimulation you start to feel a little dizzy. Lucifer groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck. He focuses back on your clit, his middle finger massaging little circles, picking up speed with each second that passes. You can't stop the moans from escaping your mouth, the pleasure is too much. You can't hold back any longer and your body is rocked with wave after wave of pleasure. Lucifer's fingers move slower, helping you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your face is bright red. Lucifer pulls his fingers out and wraps his arms around you, hugging you tight.

"Are you alright?" He asks, kissing your neck. You nod and completely relax into Lucifer's body. You lay in the bathtub together, his fingers caress your arm, he presses another kiss to your temple.

"I think it's time you got some rest." He says, barely above a whisper. You both get out of the tub and Lucifer wraps a towel around you.

"You're absolutely perfect." He says with a grin and kisses your nose. You smile at him, continue to dry off and wrap your hair in a towel. Lucifer loans you a pair of his silk pajamas, they are just slightly too big for you. But all that does is add to how comfortable they are. You lay in bed next to him, the covers pulled over your shoulders. He pulls you close and runs his fingers through your hair.

"So, tomorrow you will do no chores, no errands, just relax and take it easy.” He says, with a slightly demanding tone. You lay your head down on his bare chest and he picks up his book. “Yes sir…no chores…” You murmured against his skin. “He chuckles, "Good girl. That's what I like to hear.” He praises while putting his glasses back on. You're exhausted from the day and can barely keep your eyes open. Before long, you fall asleep in the arms of your love, ready for a trouble free day tomorrow.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer x y/n #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #syddanswersasks

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cherry-writes-yanderes · 1 year

Text

so tiny~

(könig x gn! reader)

a/n: had a fever dream and I just HAD to write this 🤭

cw: dead dove do not eat, just filthy smut, mention of being fuckbuddies, possessive sex, size difference, tummy bulge, claiming, fucking while unconscious, cumming inside without permission, noncon near the end, mention of kidnapping

“S-So fuckin’ tiny~..” König never failed to choke out every time that he pushed inside of you. It was like a tradition now, praising how tight and small you were compared to the massive, hulking man on top of you.

You never failed to shed a tear every time he pushed in, his cock practically breaking you apart the first time. It luckily had gotten easier, but your hole still struggled to take him every time. He made you cum better than anyone else ever had, so it was all worth it in the end.

This time, he was too excited to wait for you to adjust before thrusting his hips, his dog tags jingling softly from his pace. Your moans made him growl, burying himself deep inside to watch your belly bulge from his massive cock. He loves doing that, your moans get so loud and cute!~

He suddenly presses your knees to your chest, making you squeal as he fucks into you over and over. König huffs, biting lovingly into your calf as he watches his big dick disappear into your hole and reappear again, his hips kissing yours every single time just to hit that spot that he knows makes your eyes roll back.

“Mmh… gonna cum in you this time- you’ll be mine-“ The giant man grunts, his grip on your thighs even tighter as he quickens his pace. Your veins run cold. He’s never done that before. You two agreed that this was just a hookup thing, not anything serious!! You try to pull yourself away from him, your legs pushing off of his broad and scarred shoulders.

“Ah ah!” He shouts, pausing his relentless thrusts to hold your down at your arms, his leg coming around and hooking his knee over your leg to keep you from kicking too much. Sweat dripped from his rough skin, mixing with yours as he descended onto you once again.

“M’ sorry… I jus’ need you so bad…” He slurs slightly, a telltale sign that he was close to cumming. He resumes the desperate thrusts of his hips, managing to pound against your sweet spot with every stroke. “Mine, mine, mine~” He chanted, punctuating every slap of his skin to yours with a claiming note. You couldn’t stop yourself from cumming all over him, gushing and shaking as he fucks you through it to reach his own high.

König’s end came quickly, his thick and hot cum spilling into you like a waterfall as his shaky hips press against yours to keep it all inside. “Alles meins…~” He whispers into your ear, his breath heavy from his orgasm. His grip stays, his fingers digging into your skin just to feel it under him. You belong here. Right here, under him. All pretty and full for him~

His eyes were blown wide, staring at your beautiful figure as he started to move again. He didn’t need long to cool down, he was so insatiable when it came to you! Orgasm upon orgasm wracked your little body, sending you into cockdrunk stupor with your eyes barely open; and even then, König refused to stop using your pretty hole. You were long unconscious, but he was still chasing that high of the crown of his cock catching on you and sinking in. He lived for that, his head falling back from how tight and perfect you are.

He planned to never let you leave. You are his, and you’ll be happy, he knows it.~

~i do not condone yandere behavior/noncon irl~

#call of duty mw2 #könig mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #könig smut #yandere könig #dead dove do not eat #mordern warfare 2 #könig #tw noncon #könig x reader #konig cod #könig fanfiction #mdni #call of duty modern warfare ll #call of duty #cod könig #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #könig cod

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osaemu · 3 months

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I'LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES (I'LL MAKE A MILLION MISTAKES): SATORU GOJO

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: the moment satoru's child comes into the world, his life turns upside down.

contents: fem!reader. fluff & angst (mostly soft angst). established relationship (marriage). inspired by dear theodosia. written on a whim.

satoru's only felt true heartbreak three times in his life.

the first time was when suguru left jujutsu high, shattering everything satoru was certain he could trust.

the second time was when his best friend died in his arms, draining the color from his life.

the third time was when he first saw his child, and the soft cries slipping out of his lips broke satoru's heart. in that moment, his reality fragmented again. any perception satoru had of his own strength faded the moment his eyes settled on his son in your arms, and in that moment, it took everything in his chest to keep himself from falling apart.

satoru's child has eyes eerily similar to his father's—it's almost as if he's peering into a mirror the longer he gazes at his son. it's only been a week since you brought his son into the world, but in that time, satoru hasn't been able to take his eyes off the two of you. maybe it's just the lack of sleep, or maybe it's just the fact that today is his birthday, but he can't help but wonder if his child is doomed to live the same relentless, demanding life as his father.

satoru isn't quite sure he remembers what life was like before you were in it, and it's scary—terrifying, even. what would he become if something happened to either of you, the only two bright spots in his heart? he doesn't want to know, and the nightmares he describes to you make you hope that you'll never have to know.

all satoru's life, he's been revered as the strongest, even as a child. thanks to his father's insistence that he bring the gojo clan back to its former glory, satoru couldn't help but wonder if it was even worth trying to have a normal childhood. after all, he'd never really be normal, would he? the world of jujutsu didn't allow it—and neither did his family.

but thanks to an extended hand from a boy satoru'd never forget, his high school years became the best of his life—in fact, maybe they were joyful enough to make up for the rest of his lost childhood. even though death was too close for comfort every day, and even though it took a new life every week, satoru would never trade those years for anything in the world.

right now, you're fast asleep, head resting on satoru's chest as you mumble sweet nothings in his arms. his son's sleeping peacefully in your lap, granting the three of you a rare moment of quiet. it's almost surreal to satoru—just a couple years ago, he could've never dreamt of living in peace with a wife and child, and now, it seems like it's almost too good to be true.

somewhere in the back of his mind, satoru wonders if this is a dream. maybe in another world, he's still fighting sukuna, who might still be in control of megumi's body. and maybe this is his mind's way of easing the transition from life to death—by giving him the life he never had.

whatever the case, the warmth in your hands and in his chest feels real enough to him, and that's all he needs.

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cherryredstars · 5 months

Text

1K Prompts

Pairing: Actor!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Talks of Making a Sex Tape, Talks of Impregnation

Summary: Every movie star needs a costar.

Word Count: 910 (Not Edited)

It was different, a good different.

Miguel doesn’t remember the last time someone had no idea who he was. Sure, maybe some people didn’t know him by name, but at least they recognized him from one of his roles. Even then, he was met with a ‘you look familiar…’ before it clicked. But not you. You don’t even have that fake calmness when fans pretend to be chill about meeting celebrities. You genuinely looked like you had no idea who he was. He thinks that's the exact reason he became so attached to you.

He didn’t have to pretend with you, didn’t need to put up that celebrity persona for you. You enjoyed him, not the man who played make believe roles. You weren’t disappointed when he didn’t act like one of his movie characters. In fact, to this day, you still get the movies and characters mixed up. You liked him and he couldn’t have been more grateful.

He did feel bad when your relationship got exposed. He was stressed, scared all the gossip and constant invasion of privacy would get to you, that it would end everything between the two of you. But you were strong, resilient. You came to him with your concerns, not the press or the tabloids. It meant a lot that you trusted him instantly, pushing aside the horrible rumors because you knew who the real Miguel was. He has no idea how he got so lucky. Doesn’t know how he was able to find someone so good and pure in the mist of glitz and glam.

And he makes sure you know how grateful he is. He offers to take care of you, having the money to make your dreams come true. God forbid you make a joke about him buying you something crazy, you’ve made that mistake before. You only ask for simple things, nothing too fancy or screaming celebrity status. You’re so modest, getting upset when he buys you something so ridiculously expensive. You are constantly scolding him that there are better things to be spending money on than an overpriced pair of shoes that don’t even look like it's worth half of its retail price. That there are so many other people he could be spending his money on, like good charities or people who are actually in desperate need of it. He makes it his monthly gift to donate a couple thousand dollars to your organization of choice.

Since he can’t show his love through gifts, he does it through actions most of the time. He makes you a nice dinner even when he’s tired from a day of shooting. He offers to help you do things around the house. Drags you out of bed early in the morning for a coffee date before he has to go on set. Brings you to his latest movie set and shows you around if it's a calm day, his acting getting a hundred times better knowing his cute little girlfriend is in his chair watching him work. His favorite thing to do is to show his love by keeping you pinned to the bed as he ruts into you.

He loves watching you wither on the bed, clutching onto him for dear life. You look better than any model or actress as you stare up at him, mewling so nicely for him. He coos into your ear, telling you how pretty you look taking his cock. He’s constantly pressing into that gummy spot inside of you, causing your back to arch and to look up at him with glassy eyes. You look like a goddess, a fucking pornstar as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck, hermosa. Feels so good,” he mumbles into your ear, nipping at it as he groans. “Look so fucking good, too.”

You whimper under him, only capable of responding in sounds of pleasure. Reducing you to this state, where nothing but pleasure and lust consumes your body, is better than any award he could get. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, his release quickly approaching.

“Should make our own movie. Make you my good little actress,” He grunts as he puts the last of his energy into his thrusts. Your walls clench so damn tight around him at the idea, making him hiss out. “Yeah, you like that? Want me to record you being a good little bunny for me? Huh, amor?”

He props his hand in between the two of you, flicking your clit to elicit a response. You can only nod, babbling nonsense as your walls pulse wildly. With a few more pumps, your walls hold Miguel in a vice grip as you come. You let out gasping breaths, desperately reaching for Miguel. He’s quick to hold your hands, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he coos down at you. He bullies his cock into you as much as he can with your walls spasming around him, giving a few more sloppy snaps of his hips before he stills.

He lets out a desperate moan as he empties into you, panting into your ear. Both of your bodies are flushed and sweaty, but buzzing with love. Miguel holds you close, not having the energy to pull out. He mumbles sweet nothings into your ear, kissing any skin he can reach.

Hopefully, the next tabloid rumors will be whether or not he’s fucked a baby into you.

Part 2

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yanderambling · 11 months

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omg i’m thrilled that y’all like him so much!!! and these ideas were soso tasty ugh your minds~ i had a lot of fun with this, maybe too much if you look at the wc lol, so i hope y’all enjoy <3 ALSO continuity note: since Adrian is so popular, i won't carry major events through different stories unless requested, that way everyone can have their own version of his story! but i'll be keeping general facts about Adrian the same unless otherwise specified, like his parents being rich because i find it funny~ thank you and goodnight <3 (and yes i switched this gif with the last part shhhh it’s okay)

pairing: Masochist Puppyboy!Yandere(m) x Bully!Reader(gn)

words: ~ 4.6k

you can read the previous part here!

CW: 18+, NSFW, yandere behavior, stalking, bullying, physical/verbal abuse, BDSM themes, poor BDSM etiquette but neither party minds

Adrian nearly choked when he heard his name read next to yours for the school project.

It took you a second to recognize his; you mostly just call him mutt. Once you realized, you loudly groaned at the prospect of spending the week with that pest.

Adrian couldn’t hear it over his racing heart.

As soon as class lets out, he's right at your side, yammering on about project materials and meeting arrangements and times and "we should really meet at one of our houses so we don't have to worry about distractions, I'm fine with coming to yours! It's closer to school anyway, right? It'll be more private- I just think it makes sense-"

You finally shut him up by making the executive decision that you’ll work at his house (you don’t need him shedding on your furniture, or potentially getting any personal ammunition against you; he is way too interested in being inside your home, and how does he know it’s closer to school?).

Adrian was crestfallen that he wouldn’t get to go in your house (and smell the pure you imbued in your furniture, and pretend he’s really your dog while you sit together- maybe in your bedroom!-, and snoop through your underwear drawer when you go to the bathroom, and snoop through your bathroom when he goes in right after you...), but he was still over the moon at the idea of having you in his space.

(He’ll just visit your window later tonight like usual, anyway- he'll still get high off that closeness alone. Win/win!)

Adrian doesn't think about anything else for the rest of the day, zoning through his classes and plastered to your side whenever he gets the chance, just alight with energy and anticipation and not shutting up about it- he's lucky there's too many witnesses for you to knock him quiet (oh, but he would feel so much luckier if you did).

You would totally bail on this project if you weren’t already failing this class, which is mostly on account of you bailing. You’re wondering if all those cut classes were worth having to work with this, but you’re not feeling hopeful.

The day seems to drag on forever for both of you, for vastly different reasons. By the time school lets out, Adrian is buzzing out of his skin and you're seconds away from ripping it off him.

As you two start the trek to his place, Adrian can't get over how surreal it feels to walk beside you. It's like you two are a couple, and you're walking him home for an after school study date!

He gets lost in the daydream easily, giving you a brief reprieve from his energy, and allowing you to absently notice his rapidly wagging tail almost propelling him down the sidewalk. You can't help but smirk a little at the image that conjures in your mind.

He's truly ridiculous, you can't really believe him sometimes. Doesn't that thing ever get tired? What does he think is gonna happen that's got him so damn excited? That he's gonna get in good with you somehow (hopefully) and you'll leave him alone? (never in his wildest dreams.)

Yeah, fat chance.

When Adrian stops at his house, you think he's joking. But then he walks right up the driveway of this random McMansion, motioning you along eagerly, and enters a security code before holding the door open for you with a clearly anticipatory smile.

...The fuck.

You did not count on Adrian’s family being loaded. He certainly doesn't dress or groom like it.

You consider berating him for not mentioning it, but decide against it for the risk of seeming stupid- to Adrian of all people. You do make a mental note for your future errand requests, though.

Adrian’s parents aren’t home, he tells you his mom is always traveling and his dad basically lives at his office. You’re relieved that you won’t have to put on a nice face for the folks, but there’s apparently still a live-in housekeeper that floats around (are you fucking kidding?) so you stay diligent.

Adrian suggests you two work in his room; you figure the further from watchful eyes, the better.

Despite it being his idea, Adrian can't help his giddy nervousness as you enter his room (he’d texted the housekeeper to make sure it was clean as soon as you decided to come over, lucky he keeps his souvenirs hidden away whenever he’s not admiring them).

The room is frankly ridiculous, easily twice the size of yours, a king bed in the corner, a desk and coffee table and two dressers, and yet adorned with piles of clothes and clutter and more genres of nerdy shit than you even knew existed.

"Yeah, okay, parts of this make sense."

Adrian cocks his head, opening his mouth to ask what you mean, when he suddenly chokes on air.

You've made a bee-line right to his desk, covered in books and papers for hobbies and school alike, but also holding a locked drawer at the very bottom in which he keeps his "school collection" (just discarded pencils with bitten erasers, torn up notebook paper he can still smell your hands on, old gym shorts you were probably gonna replace soon anyway, a bandaid here, a plastic fork there; nothing crazy).

He watches with bated breath as you sift through the contents of his desk, occasionally scoffing or chuckling at what you find. He lets out a sigh when you seem to grow bored, just for you to move on to his dresser and have his stomach doing somersaults all over again.

Maybe he should've asked the housekeeper to hide his stuff better and just braved the questions later...

You move throughout the room like you own it (you do, as far as the both of you are concerned), making little jabs at his various posters and figurines which make his whole body flush hot with pleasure because you're noticing things about him, but every other move you make sends his heart jumping into his throat in a completely different way.

It only takes a minute or two for the stress to get to him.

“Ah- hey! Uh, maybe we should- maybe we should start on the project, right?”

You bark a laugh and spin on your heel to face him, an incredulous half-grin pulling your lips and revealing a gut-twisting flash of teeth.

"We?"

Oh, yeah, he much prefers those intense eyes boring into him.

He starts spluttering placations immediately. "No! Well, uhm, I didn't mean- you, you don't- have to- obviously, I mean, I don't- I wouldn't-"

You roll your eyes and shove past him, effectively cutting him off as you flop down onto his abominably soft mattress. "Right, yeah, whatever. Let's get one thing straight here, okay?"

Adrian nods, his whole being drawn to focus at your entrancingly commanding tone. Although, it's incredibly hard to focus on anything with the sight of you on his bed right in front of him; he's already planning how to avoid that area so it'll retain your scent longer, he wonders if he could cut that part of the duvet out and keep it in an airtight container, maybe the sheets under it too just to be safe...

"This is not a "we" situation, got it? I'm not lifting a damn finger for this bullshit, that's what you're there for." Adrian has a purpose to you! "I am only here to make sure you're actually doing it, which shouldn't be a problem because if we get anything less than an A, it's gonna be your ass."

As tempting as it is to see what punishment you would inflict upon him, Adrian really really really wants to please you- and he's pretty good at this subject anyway!

You then cross your arms and lean back just enough to look down your nose at him. "Got it?"

Adrian can't answer fast enough.

"Yes! Yes, that's perfect! Awesome, good- great!"

But then he doesn’t make a move. Ha.

He looks a little lost, standing in the middle of his own room, barely biting down a grin and wringing his hands as he seems to wait for another command.

Apparently, you’ve trained him well.

You scoff and let yourself fall onto your back as you pull out your phone (Adrian's gonna need a bigger airtight container).

"Well, go on then, we don't have all day."

Adrian scrambles to get to work. He quickly positions himself on the floor by the foot of the bed and pulls the coffee table closer, emptying his school bag carelessly onto the carpet.

You huff a laugh at the sight, all this money and the kid's parents couldn't buy him any class. Maybe sloppiness is an inherent trait, like his apparent passion for service- nobody with this much money should be such a pushover. And yet...

Adrian couldn’t be happier, sitting on the floor while you lounge across his bed and periodically weigh in with (mostly incorrect) corrections or snide remarks, an almost alarmingly wide grin settled on his face as his tail taps a steady rhythm against his carpet.

It’s not an unpleasant picture, you muse absently as you look up from your phone, it’s almost comforting to have your little puppy on the floor, cheerily working away for you while you laze about. It certainly beats doing the work yourself, or having to threaten a student with an actual spine to do it for you.

Still, it doesn't take long for you to get bored. Bored enough to notice your empty stomach, at least.

"I'm hungry."

Adrian's head shoots up from the book he was hunched over, ears raised at attention and eyes glittering with something you're not sure you care to identify.

He's on his feet in the next second, knocking his knees on the way up loud enough to startle you yet showing no signs of even noticing.

"I-I'll ask Len to make something!"

He darts out of the room before you can tell him what you want, but you trust he knows your moods and tastes well enough by this point to predict. (Oh, he does, and Len's not going to be making anything- they don't know all the special ingredients!)

The second he leaves, you decide to really cure your boredom by snooping around in earnest. Certainly this creep has something actually weird hidden in here, you just have to look in the right places.

You waste no time in sifting through his bookshelf (nerd shit), closet (nerd clothes, some dirty), a dresser (nerd clothes, mostly clean), under his bed (dirty clothes, nerd shit in boxes)- the door opens behind you.

“Wha-? Oh! Ah- Wh-what- what are you doing?”

You don’t even bother moving from your crouch, most of your upper body shoved under the bedstand while the rest of you... is not.

Adrian’s mouth is completely dry for several reasons.

“What’re you, blind? I’m snooping.”

Adrian slowly comes further into the room, hesitantly setting the serving tray on the low table. He can’t stop his voice from cracking as he stutters out,

“Uh- yeah, okay, yeah, but- um, would you maybe mind- um, not?”

You snicker, at least he has some manners. “Yeah, I do mind, actually. What’s the matter, mutt? Got something to hide?”

“N-no!”

The answer is so immediate, so fervent, that it has you pulling up just to give him an unimpressed look. He stares back at you, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Jesus you’re a bad liar.”

Looking at him now, you can see sweat glistening on his face and his hands clenching by his side. His eyes dart toward the dresser you haven't checked yet.

Bingo.

You jump up from your position and stride across the room with purpose. You only make it a few steps before Adrian seems to materialize in front of you, making you stop short and almost yelp from shock.

“S-sorry! I’m sorry, I just-" he's waving his hands wildly, head ducked as his gaze rapidly flicks between your face and the floor, "You-you can’t- please, please don’t-”

“Okay, creep, I get the gist.”

You shove past him, and he wishes he could relish the firm pressure of your hands on him.

He whirls around and watches in horror as you approach the dresser. He needs to do something, he needs to stop you, but what can he do? You’ve clearly made up your mind, it’s not like it's his place to try and change it...

All he can do is watch, a high ringing in his ears and his body filling with static, while you meticulously sift through every drawer until his clothes are strewn about the floor and you're panting with frustration.

He's about to let himself take a breath when you suddenly squat down and stick your arm into the shallow space underneath. He nearly swallows his tongue when you let out a disbelieving huff and awkwardly slide out a long lockbox.

You look up at him triumphantly, eyes sparkling with glee, and he almost mirrors your smile just for how captivating it is.

"Open it."

"N-no-"

You lean up toward him and cock your head, he has to stop himself from being drawn in by the magnetism of your narrowed eyes. “The fuck did you just say to me?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't- just, I can't-"

"Oh, I think you can. Or you're not gonna like what happens next."

That's where you're wrong, and it only really strengthens Adrian's extremely shaky resolve. He tries to keep the grin off his face as he habitually starts to picture the punishment you might give him; a cuff on the ears, a knee to the stomach, a punch in the face-

But you just roll your eyes and groan, no longer in the mood now that something more interesting has presented itself.

Instead, your gaze floats down to the flimsy looking combination lock on the box, then it fixes on some heavy-standed figurine you'd knocked off his bookshelf earlier.

Yeah, good enough.

Adrian barely has time to flinch before you're snatching it up and breaking the lock with a sound crack.

Then you're lifting the lid.

"No!"

He starts to lunge forward, but your sharply raised hand halts him dead in his tracks.

Fuck.

It's too late anyway, judging by your wide eyes and slightly slack jaw (god how he wishes he could focus on the glorious curve of your open lips, or the way your perfect teeth peek over them, or how it might feel to have those teeth sunk into his skin-)

"What. The. Fuck."

"I-I can explain- It's not-!"

"I literally do not believe that you can."

Adrian's throat goes dry, he feels tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry! I never meant- it's not like-"

You tune Adrian out as you focus on the stacks and stacks of photos arranged in the box before you. There even seem to be books underneath those, thick ones despite the shallowness of the container. You’d say there’s easily hundreds of pictures in here.

But, more concerning than the amount of photos… is their content.

They’re all you.

Undeniable, from every angle and range and setting you could imagine, it’s all you. There’s you at your spot with your friends, sitting in class, in the cafeteria, running errands in town, sneaking off to that private spot nobody else is supposed to know about, asleep in your bed- in dozens and dozens of iterations, like you could probably make a flip book of every scene.

It’s offensively redundant, honestly, a gross waste of paper. Maybe equally as concerning.

(Adrian needs to keep physical copies, and hard drives, and backup hard drives, and another box further under the dresser... What if something happens to his phone? What if he lost all his treasured photos forever? He doesn’t know what he’d do.)

"You're a bigger creep than I gave you credit for." You murmur, mostly to yourself.

Adrian never thought he'd feel anything but sheer joy from hearing that word leave your mouth. "N-no! It's not- it's not like that! I'm not- I don't-"

While Adrian's still blustering and working himself into a tizzy, you're just... processing.

It's oddly unsurprising, once you consider all the other factors together. Looking at it now, of course Adrian had more perverted reasons for complying to your cruelty, what else could he have been getting out of it? You guess you kinda always knew, on some level, but you never thought it would be like this.

But, since it is, you can't help but wonder just how far this perversion has gone, how far it will go...

This night has been boring enough that you're entitled to a little fun, right?

And besides, looking at him now- all wide eyed and droopy eared, his tail pulled between his legs and clutched in his trembling hands- Adrian actually looks a little bit... cute? In a pathetic, dirty stray caught in the rain type of way, of course.

The only real difference is that you'd be much kinder to the stray.

"Alright, shut it, stalker."

Adrian's mouth snaps closed, his tail trying to tuck further at your dangerously low voice.

"Obviously, this severe-" you flap a stack of photos at him, causing him to duck his head and whimper, "-invasion of my privacy can't go unpunished."

Adrian's eyes become impossibly bigger as they flash up to watch you stand. His ears suddenly perk, his tail tugs against his grip as it tries to hesitantly wag.

Jesus, he's shameless.

This is gonna be fun.

But first, a plan. You don't want Adrian getting too bold, so what better way to keep him in his place than by tying him there? Looking around his room, you don't have much to work with, but you're resourceful; a lace from his sneakers should do just fine (who keeps shoes in their room? what a creep).

"Alright. Sit."

Adrian is falling to his knees before his brain can process the words. When it does, he isn't quick enough to bite down on the high keen that builds in his throat.

You scoff, mentally scorning yourself for ignoring his shit for so long, then go to pull a lace. Adrian watches in rapt attention as you test its strength, your hands flexing so tantalizingly as you pull the string harshly several times over.

He holds his breath on instinct when your scrutinizing glare scans the room again.

"Okay, bed. Back to the headboard. Now."

Adrian scrambles up immediately, pulling some of the sheets off in his hurry, eager to obey before you change your mind.

You follow right after, kneeling up and leaning over him to tie his hands to the headboard above him. His dry throat click as he gulps.

You're so close, your heavenly scent filling his lungs like a sweet paralyzing vapor, he can feel the heat radiating from your skin despite the clothes between you, he could probably taste you if he just stuck out his tongue...

He whines as you yank the shoelace tight with a grunt before tying it off. You tug on his hands once more, forcing the string deeper into his skin, and your hum of satisfaction is drowned out by Adrian's low groan.

What a wonderful feeling, the sharp sting of the lace grounding him down like he needs to be; he can't help twisting and pulling until the burn intensifies, imagining it's your firm hands holding him so tightly...

"Jesus, freak, you're already getting into it?"

Adrian just whimpers, barely registering the question past your condescending tone as he continues to squirm.

You suddenly grab the front of his shirt and pull him forward until he's partially hovering off the mattress, the combined pressure of your knuckles under his chin and the shoestring grating his tender wrists pulls a breathy moan along with.

You lean in close, practically growling as you say, "Don't do my job for me, mutt."

You press a relatively fresh bruise on his arm just to see him twitch and bite his lip (it’s actually from a week ago, that’s how good he is at maintaining your marks for you!). It is pretty gratifying.

Almost as gratifying as the bulge you spot between his wantonly spread legs.

A breathless laugh punches out of you. It's oddly jarring to see, and you would later deny that it's slightly impressive, but it's not an entirely unpleasant sight.

"God, you're fucking pathetic. But you know that, don't you, you little creep?"

If your words weren't enough to have Adrian shaking out of his skin, you lean closer and nip his ear; he jerks back instinctively at the pain, which only makes its sting so much sweeter when you sink your teeth in and pull back.

He doesn’t bother trying to keep himself quiet.

“This isn’t even a punishment for you, is it? Is it, you fucking perv?”

Adrian is so far beyond saving face, he’s mostly beyond communication of any kind, so he just shakes his head fervently and grunts and hopes it’s good enough.

“Use your words, mutt.”

He gasps as you yank his throbbing ear, pulling his face closer to yours- oh dear god he can feel your hot breath against his cheeks, every detail of your perfect face so confident and dangerous and ethereal, your sparkling eyes look positively deadly and Adrian is ready to submit himself to their perils-

“Answer me," your sharp words make his lashes flutter, but he keeps his eyes wide open to stare at your taunting smile hanging just inches from his face, "are you getting off on this?”

He nods, he’s starting to get dizzy with all this nodding but he doesn't feel capable of much else, then you tug his hair back with the most glorious burn-

“Ah-Yes! Yes, I love- I love it, please- give me- more- please, I need- I need-“

He cuts off with a choked sound as your fingers slide up his throat and tighten, all too happy to oblige.

"That what you want? You happy now?" You taunt, your breath against the shell of his ear raising goosebumps all over his body.

He tries to nod against your grip, causing you to smirk and push further.

Oh god yes please-

Garbled moans fight their way from his throat as his eyes roll back in ecstasy, his straddled legs pressing tightly together as he thrashes desperately against the headboard, his whole body trembling and pushing up and up in search of contact- but you keep pulling away, putting more pressure on his neck to support yourself, bringing out the most pitiful little whimpers.

"Use your words, puppy."

Puppy.

Adrian chokes for reasons entirely unrelated to your hand on his neck. His tail, which had been beating a rapid tempo since you sat him down, starts flailing into overdrive.

It takes considerably more effort, but Adrian needs to please you- maybe you’ll even reward him!- so he coughs and gasps until he can force out,

"Y-Yes,” a strained cough, “Tha-agh-thank- you-"

A smile curls your lips unbidden. Such initiative! You let your fingers stroke over his throat as your hand presses in harder.

"There, that's a good boy."

Adrian's vision whites out.

He’s not even aware of the stream of whines and moans that force their way from beneath your fingers, he doesn't notice how his body squirms against the pressure of you on top of him, he couldn't tell the frantic thumping of his tail from that of his heart- all he can focus on is the red hot ecstasy filling every inch of him to bursting, the transcendent bliss of being so thoroughly claimed, so completely controlled, so wholly owned by you.

He's still hiccupping moans and thumping his tail when you withdraw your hand for fear of suffocating him, these needy little noises escaping his already bruising throat.

His head lolls back and his mouth falls open as you remain suspended above him, taking in your handiwork.

He’s so vulnerable, his entire body open and happily exposed to you, every muscle trembling in the aftershocks. His chest heaves as sweat and tears drip down onto his shirt, but he seems to pay no mind as his vacant eyes flutter up at you. He struggles to keep them open as a dopey grin spreads across his bitten lips, and you have to bite your own to stop from returning it.

Then, your eyes travel down to the steadily shrinking tent of his pants, now adorned with a dark wet stain- just like you expected.

Hot.

"Pathetic."

You sit back on you heels, seemingly alerting Adrian to your absence as his hand flies up to grab his throat with a high whine- but you cut that shit off right away.

"Yeah, no, I'm not trying to catch a murder charge tonight, thanks. Besides," your eyes pointedly flick down between his spread legs, causing his face to heat up though he makes no move to close them, "it looks like you got more than your share- frankly, you should be grateful for anything I'm willing to give you."

Adrian's voice is hoarse when he tries to insist, "I am! I-" he cuts off with a heavy cough, which only has you wincing with guilt a little. "I'm- I'm grateful. I am!"

You don't doubt it, especially looking into those watery, red-rimmed puppydog eyes of his. However, you do like to be cruel, and you did just get a bunch of texts from some of your friends about this 'super crazy thing you don't wanna miss and you gotta get down here right now!', (and you're maybe feeling a little uncharacteristically giddy as you fully process your situation) so...

"Doesn't matter, I can't reward this insolence."

You untie the shoelace with a deft tug and slide off the bed without another word.

Adrian just barely stops himself from whining again, the sudden loss of the pressure around his wrists leaving him feeling untethered. He has to dig his nails into his hands as he watches you collect your things (the covered platter lay forgotten on the table, insult to injury), just to keep from reaching out for you.

He wants desperately to follow you, but he can't make his body move for how relaxed and heavy it feels, and he knows it would probably just upset you more anyway- and not in the good way.

“Oh, and Adrian?” You slap the doorframe as you hang off of it, and your use of his name has Adrian's groggy head springing up to face you instantly, ears high and eyes hopeful.

“Next time you want a picture of me, just ask. That way I can knock some sense into you right away.” You tap the frame again, a crooked grin fixing your lips before you push off.

“See ya tomorrow!”

Still too fuzzy to move, and in fresh shock from that almost-genuine smile, he can only listen forlornly as your steps grow fainter and fainter until the door shuts downstairs. Then, he's helpless to do anything beyond replay the events of the past ten minutes in obsessive detail in attempts to permanently document every single sensation you gave to him.

He only manages to move about a half hour later, when his phone buzzes with a text.

He slowly leans over the bed and lifts his phone from the floor, blinking blearily as he reads... your name. Attached to a ludicrously extravagant lunch order for tomorrow.

The phone drops from his fingers like lead.

How?

His heart starts racing as he wracks his brain to recall when you put his number in your phone- then, his tail starts up again as he wonders if he'll be punished for already having yours in his (not for anything weird! he just likes to type out walls of text complimenting every part of you and telling you exactly the ways he wants you to destroy him and then deleting them- but maybe he'll send the next one).

It must mean something good if you want to keep in close contact with him, right? That must mean you aren't really mad at him, right? That must mean you like him, right? You still think he’s a good boy, right?

Another text lights up his phone. He scrambles to grab it back, hands shaking as he holds the screen close to his face.

[ur gnna b my bitch 4evr now]

A shaky giggle escapes him.

Those are easily the most beautiful words he’s ever read.

thanks so much for reading! feel free to send a request <3

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#yandere x reader #yandere x you #soft yandere #sub yandere #hybrid yandere #puppy yandere #male yandere #bully reader #gn reader #dom reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere requests

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peachesofteal · 6 months

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Black Sun

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 5.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Dark and twisty. Explicit sex, dubious consent, forced breeding/pregnancy kink, praise kink, size difference, creampie. Simon is insane about you. Panty sniffing/stealing. Obsessive behavior. Possessive Simon Riley. Alcohol. Reader is prescribed/taking muscle relaxers. Toxic but I think it's sweet. Angst, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort. Tags are for your health, not mine. Simon never wanted a divorce.

Simon does not consider himself a common criminal.

A war criminal, perhaps. The things he’s done for the 141 would put him behind bar in over fifty countries, and on death row in at least eight. The things he’s seen alone make him eligible for life in a padded room, and that’s if you don’t count the things that have happened to him.

But he’s never stooped to petty crime like this before. Before this mess. Before you asked for a divorce, insisted he move out, demanded time apart.

There’s a first time for everything, he thinks. First time for a lot of things, actually. The first time he actively tried to avoid the divorce paperwork, first time he let his obsession take him this far, first time he indulged in his darkest fantasies, things he wouldn’t even dare whisper about to Price-

The door welcomes him like it always does, squeak gone from the hinges, greased out by his hands in the middle of the night last week, swinging wide so he can silently step across the threshold… into his house. Into yours.

Riley whines in greeting, lowering himself into a play bow, and Simon kneels to pet him, rubbing his between the ears and under the chin just how he likes, before instructing him back to his bed, to keep watch. He’d maul another man who tried to step foot in here, per his training, but his dad- his dad is okay. His dad is allowed.

It’s not that he’s too far gone to recognize the complete dismantlement of your boundaries, it’s that he doesn’t care. The chilling fear of losing you has seeped deep into his bones, fostering the growth of a plan that he knows is not rational, or right.

He knows what he is doing is wrong, but he cannot stop himself.

You are his. His wife. His life, his person, his reason for it all. You’re the sun and the moon and the stars and everything that makes this miserable fucking existence worth living.

He’ll do anything to keep you.

Anything.

So, it doesn’t feel wrong when he stands in the bedroom at the foot of his bed, watching you sleep, twisted up in the blankets, favoring your one side like your shoulder must have been bothering you before you fell asleep. It concerns him, worries him, this lack of improvement regarding your pain, and he wonders if maybe you should be in physical therapy.

It doesn’t feel wrong, when he traces the curve of your ass, perked up in the sheets, as if you’re waiting for him to strip your ratty little sleep shorts down to your knees and shove his cock to your cervix. He wonders if you’d even wake up if he rubbed his nose across the seam of your cunt. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, through thunder or commotion, you’d stay sweet with your lashes flush against your cheeks, mouth slightly open in a soft snore.

He leans over you in bed, stroking the back of your head with his hand before pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple, something he knows won’t stir you, not with you how deep you’re dreaming, and certainly not with the muscle relaxer in your system.

He is a stealth operator, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been watching, observing your new routines, the changes to your schedules and habits that have appeared over these last few months. The muscle relaxers, for example, that were prescribed for the strain in your neck and shoulder, that you’ve been taking once an evening for a week and a half, around six thirty. They’re extended release, usually able to keep you mostly pain free through the night, and he’s grateful to your doctor for insisting upon them. For more reasons than one.

He gives you another light kiss before pulling the sheet up around your shoulders, tucking you in how you like. You get cold in the middle of the night, icicle toes usually wandering across the mattress to seek the space between his thighs for warmth, shocking him into a gasp that would elicit a string of sleepy giggles from your mouth. He makes sure you’re comfortable, before slinking onto the second part of his routine.

The bathroom.

Every night, he holds his breath as the medicine cabinet pops open. He hates the anticipation, the fear of what he could discover, dreads the idea of having to start the clock over or worse, swap them for placebo. You never disappoint him though, and he catalogues the perfectly color-coded rows of birth control pills that haven’t been touched in over a month, not since his last op with wicked desire hearting his belly. What a good girl you are.

Before, he would have told you the opposite. He did, tell you the opposite. He told you were good, so good, for taking your pills, for making sure that you were safe for him, that there wouldn’t be any accidents. Guilt would eat at him each time the two of you had the argument, the ‘discussion’, about having a baby, and you would cry with misery staining your cheeks.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He tried to tell you, dozens of times, that he didn’t think he’d be good at it, that he wouldn’t like being gone so much, leaving you at home all the time with a baby.

“I love you, Simon. I want to have a baby, with you. My husband. Is that so wrong?” You would cry, and he could feel the weight of his choice breaking you apart, the pressure cracking beneath his skull.

“You… you don’t understand. I- I can’t.”

It’s not why you asked for a divorce, but it certainly played a part.

Something catches his eye when he turns to leave, a wayward item of clothing hanging haphazardly outside of the hamper.

Your underwear.

He plucks the scrap of blue lace and cotton from the edge and balls it into his fist, bringing it to his nose with a deep inhale. It’s sick, the way he needs you, the way the smell of your dirty panties, the honeyed ambrosia of your musk, makes his mouth water like a juvenile. Before he can change his mind, he shoves them in his pocket. He doesn’t usually take things, too aware of potentially tipping you off, but this; this is something he needs.

“Simon, can we please just… can we please just meet up and at least look at these papers?” It’s early for you to be up, on a Saturday, and he frowns at the screen in contemplation. Before, you’d never be up this early. Before, you would have insisted he stay under the covers with you, would have draped your body over his eagerly to convince him, sweetening him to your side with barely a whisper.

“How many weekends do we even get, anyway? This is your first one home in weeks. Stay in bed with me.” And he would, because of course he would. Because there was no place he’d rather be in those moments, curled up in bed, his nose in your hair, watching the rise and fall of your chest just to be sure it was all real, that it wasn’t some cruel dream that would disappear as soon as he woke up.

“You’ve been home for two weeks and haven’t even looked at them.” He grits his teeth, pressing the hard edge of his phone into his cheek. He can’t be divorced if there’s no signature. But you sound exasperated, stressed, and he’s eager to fix it for you, easily agreeing without too much badgering.

“Alright, sweetheart. Alright. I’ll meet you.”

He cannot believe his luck.

You’re nervous. Your hands flitter about, constantly touching the table, the silverware, your sore shoulder, the manilla envelope before finding the stem of your wine glass and tilting it to your lips, swallowing the alcohol over and over without any kind of hesitation. You must not have taken the muscle relaxer. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch, and he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, soothe you, tell you that everything is alright but… it would serve no purpose for him tonight. Sorry, sweet girl. He sits at the little two top across from you with his arms crossed, watching his lack of interest in the conversation break you down, little by little, until you’re ordering another glass of wine, and then a third, all while he nurses the same glass of bourbon. The alcohol distracts you, strays you from your course, and you eventually stop trying to try talk about that bloody manilla envelope, leaning to one side a little more than the other in your chair. When you order a shot after dinner is over, he doesn’t protest, just watches your tongue follow the seam of the citrus wedge, dabbing along the spongy white fibers before your teeth dig into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

He loves you drunk. Loves you sober, loves you tired, or grumpy, or smiling. He loves you anyway he can get you, but sometimes, when you’re like this, your smile sweet like sticky toffee, buzzing and humming, it helps him get away from himself, helps him stay present and lost inside you, swept up in you. It makes him think about the honeymoon, your feet buried in the sand, tucked away in secluded cove, no one around for miles. He fucked you on the beach, fucked you in the ocean, fucked you in someone else’s cabana that day, and you giggled the whole time. Pearly pitched music that wrapped in him the strongest feeling of bliss, skin that tasted like brine and sun, your hand in his on the walk back the hotel, peeking under your wide brim hat every few minutes to press his lips to yours.

“Wan’ one?” He shakes his head, but pulls your hand into his, feeling the warmth of your skin. When you don’t pull away, his blood heats, churning through his veins like fire. “Figured.” You sigh, and then flash him a mischievous, coy grin. Cheeky girl. Think you’re so clever. “Want to get out of here?” You croon, and he smiles indulgently behind the mask. “Lead the way.”

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He coos, relishing in the way you moan with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Shhh. I’m here now, I’m gonna take care of it.”

“You have to pull out.” You slur, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. For better or worse.

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“I know. You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you want, what you’ve always said you wanted, the thing that made you cry in the middle of the night when he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

You blame yourself for the first time.

You blame your nerves. Your lack of self-control. You drank too much, trying to fight the anxiety that was threatening to spill from your mouth by way of your tongue.

And well, didn’t he just look too fucking good, sitting across from you at dinner. Eyes on your lips. Hand dwarfing the rocks glass. Shoulders broader than a door frame. He put on mass since you saw him last, and you spent half the meal trying not to think about stripping his shirt off so you could inspect for new wounds, new scars, new stretch marks.

And didn’t he feel so fucking good too, bending you over the kitchen table, sliding into you from behind with almost no prep, hint of pain making you see stars, just the way you like it. Fucking you like the man you married, like the man you fell in love with. Calling you his good girl and making you come all over his cock like a champ.

You blame him for the second time.

You could blame yourself, for inviting him over- but your intention was clear. Sign the papers. Discuss the house. Be done with it all and close this chapter. Move on with your life, with both your lives.

But he showed up on the wrong day, at the wrong time, with a bottle of your favorite wine, the malbec. The one from your first anniversary, with a large pizza, thin crust with extra cheese (your favorite) and an order of garlic knots.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d eaten or not, figured I’d pick something up, just in case.” He shrugged, and just like that, you were bereft of words, staring at him with nothing coming to mind. Didn’t you say tomorrow? You stood in the door, blinking, Riley whining behind you, already eager to see his dad. “Sweetheart? You feelin’ okay?” His hand was on your arm, warm, thumb rubbing a circle on the inside of your elbow, and even that small amount of contact, that little trickle of concern, sent you into a spiral, muscle relaxer already working its way through your system, slowing your response time, making your brain a little fuzzy. His eyes shimmered in the porchlight, and you nodded, robotically, feet still stuck in the doorway, until he was prompting you to let him inside. “Can I come in then, get this signing business done?”

You ate pizza and drank a glass of wine (frowned upon considering your medication, but one glass couldn’t kill you, right?) out of regular glassware (a sin, if anyone asked your poor mother) as the manilla envelope sat on the coffee table and practically watched the two of you, oozing with judgement.

You’re supposed to be divorcing. Not cozying up on the god damn couch. Weren’t you the one who told him to find a new place to live? Weren’t you the one who said the two of you wanted different things in life, from it? Weren’t you the one did this, pushed him away, shoved him out the door, told him it was all too little, too late?

But when his fingertips drifted to the top of your spine and then over, like he knew exactly where you were tender, you couldn’t stop yourself from melting into his touch, more and more until he had your back against his chest, strong grip on your shoulder, working your taut muscles with expertise.

His fingers dig deep, groan slipping between your teeth, breathy and low, enough that he’s immediately releasing you.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.” You shake your head, which only makes you dizzy. Probably shouldn’t have had that glass of wine. “Feels good.” He chuckles, and tucks you closer, head tipping back into his chest, eyes half closed. “Tweaked something in m’shoulder a few weeks ago.” For some reason, you feel the need to explain it, to tell him. “Went for a slide tackle, ended up halfway under the girl. And she was a lot bigger than me.”

“You still playin’ in that women’s league?”

“Every Sunday.”

You were so relaxed, so pliable, that you didn’t utter a single protest when he leaned you back on the couch like a doll, pulling your leggings down and off your ankles, sliding your panties away to bury his face in your pussy. You didn’t want to protest, or stop, or get up off the couch, even though, somewhere, in the back of your logical mind, you knew what you were doing was stupid. You knew, that doing this once was mistake, but doing it twice was just downright foolish. It’s just sex though. He can still just sign the papers and go. Who hasn’t had a little runaround with their soon to be ex-husband before the final nail is hammered in the coffin? You’ve never been a saint, after all.

“Lift your hips.” He taps your side, and you do, letting him slide a throw pillow under them, plumping it under your ass for good measure. “Good girl.” You beam, woozily, and he chuckles, face cracking into something that’s flooded with light, something happy, the face of the man who used to be your husband, used to love you, want a future with you, not just endless rotations around the world with the 141 and a sometimes wife that he sometimes saw.

“You have to pull out.” There’s backbone to your words, but it’s brittle, and easily breakable. “You didn’t listen last time, and ‘m still mad about it.”

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” His lips press against your thigh, and then your knee, trailing up to where he’s got your ankle in his hips. “You just feel like fuckin’ heaven.” You huff. “I will this time, promise.” He rubs your thigh, zinging your skin with a small slap, your yelp teetering off into a moan when he presses knuckle deep into your sopping wet cunt.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You don’t know why you say it, why you’re so compelled to draw the line in the sand in this moment, when you could have said it any time before hand. Or, even better, had him sign the papers like you originally planned.

“I know.” He shifts you, pulling his occupied fingers free to rearrange your legs, folding your knees back against your chest, the position combined with the pillow under your hips practically tilting you all the way back, the angle enough to make you a little dizzy. Your hand shoots forward to latch onto his forearm for balance, little whimper sneaking away from you, making his brow crease in concern. “I’ve got you.” He whispers against your cheek, lips ghosting over yours, plucking a sweet kiss from your mouth before there’s heat grazing your opening. He keeps a hand on your knee until he’s pushing inside, thrusting in one fell swoop all the way until he can’t go any further, punching your cervix with the head of his cock, swearing behind a tight jaw. It’s a lot of stretch at this angle, deeper, sharper, and you squirm, adjusting to the pressure of him splitting you open.

“F-fuu-ck.” Your eyes roll back in your head, off somewhere, somewhere not this planet, not this plane of existence where he’s practically in your belly, slick noises bouncing off the walls of your living room, his knees against the pillow, back sloped for enough leverage that he’s practically fucking downwards into you, bent forward with his chest against yours, torso locking you in place, arms around your head like crown. Or a cage. “Si- fuck. It- it hurts.” you babble, gasping into his neck, teeth dangerously close to his shoulder.

“I know, doin’ so good. Almost there.” You start to melt around him, gentled into it, the patting and cooing and kissing sweetening you soft by the passing second. “Easy love, open up for me.” He pants into your mouth, tongue licking in behind your teeth, invading your senses, your very existence, and it’s so much, too much, but you can’t stop. You let yourself get swept away, mind slipping deeper and deeper every time he thumbs your clit, rubbing a circle around the swollen bud, tapping across it just how you like. “Relax, sweetheart, that’s it.” He keeps bringing you closer and closer to coming, playing your body like only a husband could, plucking the strings that make the sweetest melodies, chords vibrating together until you’re clenching down on his cock, spine curling forward, everything inside of you exploding with a blinding, fiery orgasm that has you crying his name, body shaking underneath him with aftershocks. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He murmurs into your sweat-soaked temple, cock sliding out just to push all the way deep again, hips grinding against your ass in a circle. “Haven’t you, sweet girl?” You nod, because yes, of course. You’re always good.

“Yeeah.” You squeak, vowels heavy, eyes heavy, head heavy, everything too thick underneath the weight of your orgasm, his cock lodged inside you, the muscle relaxer mixed with the Malbec, the chagrined manilla envelope sitting on the table, a mere two feet from your prone body.

“I know. I know you have.” The muscles in his arm flex, tendons in his neck becoming more defined, and his movements stutter, fucking you in a frantic, desperate way, wild with some sort of chaotic need. “I’m gonna give you a gift for it. For being so good.”

“You- you-“ You mean to say you what? What do you mean? What are you talking about? But you can’t get any of it out, only able to watch him through half shuttered eyes, admiring the slope of his jaw, the white of the scar on his chin, the drip of sweat in his clavicle.

“I love you.” A big hand holds your hip upwards, steady, pinning you to the pillow, pace turning hungry, unrelenting, his forehead pressed to yours as he bottoms out, trying to fuck you as deep as possible, to consume you, to drown in you, shoving you further and further up the couch. It’s erratic, and insane, and so- so Simon, that the tears dripping down your cheeks feel normal, everything feels right in your hazy, fucked out brain. “I love you.” He tells you again, and his jaw clicks in your ear. “I love- fuck, fuck, I’m coming.”

You should have protested. You should have reminded him of his promise. Should have said no, remember, you did this last time. We talked about this. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Couldn’t even get your mouth to work right, too spun out on him, on yourself, on floating on a cloud, high above your life, like choices didn’t have consequences. You were blissed out on your own bad decisions, sleepy in the cocoon of an alternate universe with your hips tilted on a pillow, where your husband was still your husband, and not some absent ghost.

You didn’t even protest when he gathered you together in his arms and carried you upstairs. Didn’t mind that he got one of your make up wipes from the bathroom and cleaned your face, tucked you in, and kissed you goodnight.

You didn’t mind any of it, until you woke up the next morning and faced that manilla envelope.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because in a weeks’, two weeks’ time, he’d be somewhere on the other side of the planet, or hemisphere, or country, somewhere classified, doing god knows what. He’d be gone, and you’d be here, just like always. Just like old times. The sex didn’t matter. It meant nothing. You hardly remembered most it, just clips here and there, the taste of his mouth, the feeling of being so full of him. It didn’t matter, and you repeated those three words in the mirror, four, five times in the morning, intentionally not looking at the gleam of your rings, the wedding band and engagement ring, a fated pair… all alone.

Besides, you could always mail the paperwork. Address it to John. He’d make sure it gets taken care of.

You cringed when you thought about the note you’d have to enclose, the awful acknowledgement of your ineptitude- “Hi John, sorry, but could you have Simon sign these when you get a chance?”

And then, everything changed.

“LT!” Soap shouts over the din of the common room, jerking his head towards the office at the end of the hall. “Price needs ye.”

Price is standing behind his desk, arms across his chest when Simon pushes the door open. His lips quirk, head shaking with a sigh. “You have a phone call.” He motions to the landline, one of the only phones in this entire building, currently off the hook, open line waiting in the air. A phone call? “I’ll give you some privacy.”

When the door shuts, and he’s alone with the phone in his hand, he takes a deep breath, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?” His thumb strokes the silicone wedding band on his ring finger, rubbing it in a circle as he waits for a response. This number is for family members and emergencies, real serious shit, and he’s not-

“Simon?” It’s you. It’s your voice on the other end of the line, wet with tears. His heart stops in his chest, lungs frozen in place, anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. Your crying always puts him on edge, and it’s worse, with him here, and you alone, everything hanging on the precipice. “Simon? Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” He closes his eyes. Say it. Please. Fucking hell. Please.

“I- I need, I have to tell you something.” You’re still crying, hiccupping with distress, and he wishes desperately that he was there with you, holding you, telling you everything going to be okay to your face, instead of over the phone.

“What is it sweetheart?” He tries to encourage, relaxing back into the chair when you take a deep breath. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’m pregnant.” His palm covers the receiver immediately, just in case, and he thumps the top of Price’s desk with his fist, stupid grin stretching his face wide.

“You’re what?” He feigns shock, confusion. “Did you say… you’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” You blubber.

“I thought you were on the pill, sweet girl. I wouldn’t have-“

“I told you to pull out! And I was b-but I stopped taking it, like two months ago. I forgot and after the first time when you were home, after the restaurant I thought, oh well, I had only been off the pill for a month, less than, after being on it for like fifteen years!” You practically shriek in his ear, a mix of sob and hysteria, trying to suck air into your lungs before continuing. “Getting pregnant after being on it for so long just doesn’t happen. It’s almost impossible! So, I d-didn’t worry about it. And then the second time was only like, two nights after that night and I just thought- I thought everything would be fine! I’m s-s-sorry, I’m so sorry.” You’re babbling, gasping, and he rubs his neck.

“Alright, alright. Hey, hey listen,” you’re still crying, voice cracking over the line and his heart breaks for you, guilt swamping him over you being alone. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be home for this part, to be there for you, if it took. “Sweetheart, breathe. You need to breathe.” You struggle through a few deep breaths, nearly wheezing, and he winces each time. It can't be good for you, or the baby, to be stressed like this. “Good girl, that’s it. Nice an’ slow. Good.”

“I'm sorry. I don’t know what to do, but-” You whisper, like you’re telling a secret, and he closes his eyes, imagining you pacing in the kitchen, hand in your hair, on your hip, anxious. He knows you. Knows you better than he knows himself, anyone. Soap, even. He knows, the reason why you’re saying sorry over and over, isn’t because you’re apologizing for getting pregnant, the two of you did that together. Or rather, he did it.

It’s because of what’s coming next.

“I do know that I… I want this baby, Simon. I know you… you don’t want this. That you’ve never wanted it, and that’s okay. I can do this, alone. We’ll still get divor-“

“Stop.” He doesn’t enjoy cutting you off, but he needs to put an end to this talk, this idea that still seems to have a hold on you. “Look, I’ll… I’ll come home. We can talk and, figure out what we’re going to do, okay? You’re not alone sweet girl. I’ll be there.” You’re silent for a moment, a moment that feels too long.

“Okay. You promise?”

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“I promise.”

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