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#like he could at the VERY least take the blazer off
luveline · 8 months
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Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)
Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!
thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k
"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 
"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."
You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 
It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 
Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 
"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 
"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 
"Do you have any water?" 
He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"
"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 
"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 
You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 
Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 
Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 
"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 
"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 
"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 
"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 
"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 
You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 
"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.
You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 
You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 
"She's coming around," Hotch says. 
Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 
"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 
You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 
"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 
"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 
"No, you sound funny." 
"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 
"She's okay," Hotch says. 
You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 
"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 
"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 
You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 
"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 
"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.
"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."
"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 
"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 
"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 
"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 
"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 
"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 
Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 
You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.
"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 
"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 
Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 
"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 
"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"
"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 
"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 
Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 
Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 
"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 
Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 
You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 
"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 
If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 
You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 
He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 
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bitchlessdino · 1 year
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Do it already (m)
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Pairing: best friend's brother!Chan x afab!reader
Genre: smut, slice of life
Word count: 6.5k
tags: actor!chan, childhood friends!chan, possessive!chan, yearning!reader, plot rich, reader with tits, reader masturbation, kitchen counter sex, reference to drugs, oral (giving and receiving), mouth fucking, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink, unprotected sex. tender love and care
Summary: You and the Lee siblings were like three peas in a pod. That didn't last long when Chan went for his dream and left you and sister to yourselves. That was no problem since she was the best friend you could ever have. Now he's back, hot, fit, oozing sex appeal and you're wondering what it'll take for him to rail you like a train on tracks.
author note: this banner took 3 minutes to make. It's take a lot shorter if i didn't have so many spelling errors. point is this banner is the coolest bc i found a template already premade. it's been a while since i wrote a lengthy chan thing that wasn't just smut so, here you go. enjoy! and thank you to everyone that voted on the poll to make this happen. also, every thought the reader had been once my own, I overindulged once again
tag list: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han
You remember Chan eating dirt at the ripe age of 5. You were the cause of it. You thought it was funny to make a dirt and worms pie with real dirt and worms. You were right. He’s hated you since.
His sister, Chanmi, agreed with you. She thought you were really funny. Chan eventually got over the dirt pie, and found it incomplete without your presence. You became best friends after that and basically followed them everywhere. You always wanted siblings and since mom couldn’t afford to push out anymore, you settled on being fake siblings with the Lees.
Then Chan decided to pursue his dreams when he was 14. That was okay. You had more in common with Chanmi, anyway. His disappearance made you and Chanmi closer. She relied on you and you doted on her. It was a mutual symbiotic relationship. You couldn’t see a life without each other.
You ended up in the same college as well, living across the hall from each other in the same dormitory. Now you really couldn’t see a life without her. 
When it was time to graduate, you really worried you’d drift apart by now. When she reassured you wouldn’t, you trusted her word, as she trusted yours when you made that same commitment. It was time to commemorate it, so in came your joint graduation party. Your families and mutual friends had joined together and celebrated the end of an era. You would now go off into a world that you feared more than it would fear you. But you had Chanmi. You couldn’t imagine a better person to do it with.
Chan had hardly crossed your mind in all these years until the very moment he walked through your front door. You could hardly recognize him in the Armani blazer and dress shoes, but it was him. He had the same sharp yet attentive brown eyes since he was a teenager. He was simply all grown up now, as have you. Chan had come to visit a few times in the time he’s been gone but you only ever saw him a brief passing, caught up in your own life. 
Once our eyes have landed on him, it’s as if time has stopped. The acting school must’ve done this because his image seemed to be crafted in utter perfection. He was slightly taller than you remember, chiseled than you remember, and the least of all, more handsome than you remembered. You emphasize that you never saw Lee Chan attractive, not once, but here you were, devouring every detail of him.
He saunters over with flowers in his arms–noticeably two bouquets, one full of daisies and another with sunflowers–and stands before you and your best friend with a smile on his face. He congratulates Chanmi, handing her the bouquet of sunflowers and a hug, and within earshot saying how he knew she could do it.
Then came you. The expression on his face is something you’ve never seen him make. It bordered the line of surprised, startled, perhaps aroused, and you don’t know what to make of it. You clenched your legs anxiously before you pushed yourself up from your seat, seeing how much taller he really gotten since. It was funny since you had gotten used to being the taller one in your youth but it seems some of that has changed, along with everything about him.
“Congratulations, Y/n.” He hands you your daisies, unable to tear his gaze from you, fingers brushing against yours as he places them in your hands and electricity flows through you both.
“No hug,” you ask, trying it. His grin gets wider, arms now coming around you, and you feel his larger than life biceps close in a tight embrace. The scent that entered your personal circle now engulfed your senses, blackberries and cream. He smelled sweet, comforting, and if you help it, down right edible. 
You sigh, hugging closer, closing your eyes to fully appreciate his warmth and he spoke to a lethally soft tenor, “You’re looking good, Dirt cake. Welcome to adulthood.”
He felt strong and safe, yet left you breathless when he smoothed his hand over your back. You wonder how there can be so much tension in a seemingly platonic gesture. He makes you feel like the only other person to exist, but it ends when he pulls away, and his ghost lingers over your form.
The attention is all on him when his parents see Chan arrive, proud to have gotten the family back together again. Your parents greet him the same, having once known him to be a placeholder of a son they would’ve loved to have. Everyone is joyous.
You couldn’t stop thinking about him, the rest of the party or the rest of the night that matter, thinking only what he’d like underneath those clothes. As children, you’ve had your fair share of beach days, pool parties, joint family vacations to rented lake houses, but that was a time when Lee Chan wouldn’t even be considered in your dating pool. You were both children, almost like family at some point, and thinking of him in any manner besides that was icky. So, so icky.
But you’d be lying if you didn’t watch him tear off that blazer and put it away in a closet. His muscles ripple through his expensive dress shirt, sleeves pulled up to cut off at the elbows, revealing blue veins so thick and pulsing you imagine how they’d feel against your tongue at the sight of them. You lie in bed at the thought of them, overwhelmed at the pool it causes between your legs and goes to reclaim your arousal. Your digits languidly follow the trail of their escape and bite on your other pillow to muffle your ache.
Your head throws back into the duvet as you plunge two eager digits in your sopping core. The perfect arch you make goes unnoticed in your lonesome. You pleasure yourself in solitude, when in your mind one other person takes your fingers’ place.
“Cum all over me, sweet angel. I can feel you close.”
He had never uttered those words in his life, at least not you, but can hear them almost as clear as day.
Your hips slew in a circular type motion. Your moans get more curt as you bite hard into the cotton felt. Legs tense up, lifting off the bed, and hushed whimpers are all you communicate as you’re overcome with your release, taking the time for your legs to settle down. Your pulse would take a longer time to process your journey. Chan was still on your mind after all. Along with all the guilt built up from the considered betrayal you’ve made to his sister, your best friend, you were wondering if you could ever face her, or Chan, again.
“Oh my god, when was the last time we were out together like this?”
Chanmi’s enthusiasm combated your desire to hide away forever from guilt. You pick apart your burger, making sure there were no pickles as you’ve requested, and humming content as your message was received. “3-4 years. If you include that lunch, Chan took off in 10 minutes.”
The culprit chuckled, depositing a fry in his mouth. “I'm in high demand. You should be proud to be sitting so close to me.”
Chanmi snickers, shoving a nugget in his face, “Here, shove this in your pie hole.”
He happily accepts the excuse to shut up and enjoys it like it’s the most delicious thing on earth. “Yummy.”
You all laugh at his lighthearted nature and talk as if no time has passed. It’s familiar, warm, but jarring, because seeing you all united together proved that time came with age, and apparently for Chan, a new appreciation for a fully equipped gym.
He’s the same personality-wise, but you can’t help but focus on the physical. Looking at him while talking felt like he had been body swapped with some foreign adonis. You don’t forget the more stylish hair cut he sports, tapering slightly short at his sides and longer up top. He was becoming everything he meant to be.
“How’s shooting,” you curiously ask, “I’m sure it’s really exciting to be working on a bigger project like this.”
Chan took off the middle of your childhood to enroll in a boarding performing arts school. He wanted to pursue acting professionally one day, and he believed the networking and immersion of the curriculum would allow him to hone that skill. He made a pretty penny doing TV commercials in his attendance there, but his senior year he finally got cast in a small film. His mini break.
He played a minor role but got all the perks of a lead, besides the fame. He pushed himself hard to get recognized in his field of work. Corpses on criminal mind-esque shows, taking on five-minute extra characters, becoming a regular on a cable show with a beloved modest fandom, and finally now he’s done it. He was going to be a lead on an online streaming series that would be broadcasted internationally. Although, he hadn’t gotten the male love interest he strived for. He had claimed the role of the second love interest instead, and everyone always loved the second lead more than the first, he rationalized.
“It’s so exciting. Everyone is so talented and cool. I almost can't believe it.” He expresses with an excited glint in his eyes.
“It’s a big deal,” You cover his hand with yours, squeezing it affectionately. “You deserved this.”
You exchange proud smiles at each other. You wish you could feel the warmth from his lips as he lets out a quiet “thank you” as he places his over hand on top of yours. This feels too tender to be real, and you wonder how you could ever have noticed those creased smile eyes in the past.
The moment is interrupted when a text tone goes off and Chanmi claims it. “Oh, gotta go. I have a date.”
Chan rolled his eyes as his giddy sister hops out of her chair, releasing himself from your hands, and they suddenly drop cold. “Can't believe you planned a date in one of the few days I’m in town.” 
Chanmi lands a quick peck on your cheeks and sticks her tongue at brother in defiance, scurrying away in a quick farewell and she’s gone behind those double doors of the restaurant. This leaves you three: you, Chan, and the impending arousal that slicks your walls for being alone with him any longer than a second.
“It’s crazy isn’t it,” Chan breaks your silence, “you guys graduating, me being in a lead. It’s so wild how far we’ve come.”
You nod, “It really is. Everything’s different now.”
“Well, besides school, what else has happened? Now’s the time to catch up.”
You hummed, “where do I start?”
Let’s see where you could start.
The moment you walk right through that front door, I cannot stop thinking about your hands on my body how you would press me up against a wall and fuck me senseless, stupid, or just straight up use me until I can’t even remember my own name. It’s been only a few days since I last saw you, but every day since then I thought about you. I touch myself to the thought you. I wondered how you would say my name. I wonder if you would say my name at all. I even wondered what you would want me to call you, if that was even necessary. For you, I would lay my body with only the purpose of fulfilling every one of your desires. I’d have myself milk you until the end of our days.
You kept that to yourself. You were ashamed those words even ran through your mind in the brief moment it did, and you held your breath. “Well, since college is over, I can focus on the internship I got into. It’s a lot less intense than I’m expecting, just waiting for that adrenaline to pick up when it does.”
“You’re so grown up. I can believe I missed that.” There’s so much tenderness and fondness in his eyes.
I could say the exact same about you.
“So, Chanmi’s dating. You seeing anyone lately?”
If I was, they’d be gone the second I saw you.
“No, not really,” you respond, averting your gaze to your drink, “college guys kind of suck if I’m being honest.”
Humor is evident as Chan stifles a laugh, wiping away the reminder of his sandwich away from his face. “That I’ve heard of. Good. You deserve more than a guy just trying to get his dick wet.”
You halt, pleasure churning in your stomach at his vulgar language, hunching over the diner table in anguish. The pool of arousal spreads further. “That’s one way to put it. And you? Anyone caught your eye?”
Please say no. For the love of god and Buddha, say no.
“No luck on my end, either.”
Fuck yes.
“Oh, well, that sucks.”
“I have had a lot of work on my hands, so I don’t really fall into the practice of dating. I guess I’m just taking things as they come”
You nod, completely aligned with him. You didn’t see the point in dating apps if its purpose was only to put you out there in the world. You did plenty of that on your own. 
“And sex?” What are you doing?
He snorts, his pearly whites on display. “What about sex?”
Stop before you’re in too deep. “Are you having any?” For Christ's sake.
He bites his lip, amused, taking the last sip from his sprite before setting it aside. “At the moment, no. Why? Are you offering?”
YES.
“No,” you scratch your head, blinking in feign innocence, “just gathering intel to sell to paparazzi before you become a superstar and leave us.”
He crumbles up a napkin, a scrunched up smile on his face, before launching it at you, “You jerk. And no, I’m not fucking anyone.”
God, the way he cusses feels like drugs in my veins.
“Are you asking because you are,” he asks, “are you having sex with someone?”
There’s a sense of childish curiosity in his voice, like peers gossiping about the latest tea, but beneath it is something else. He circles his drink from his hands, eyes locked in place, mouth dropped in a way that screams ‘I dare you to answer’ and how his jaw tenses up after immediately asking, sets a fire into your inner thighs.
You let out a suffocated breath, pinching the skin of your thigh to snap you back into reality before the heat in his gaze singed your mouth shut. “Nope.”
He hums, relief grazing his harsh brows. “Not hung up on anyone?”
“No. Need an ex to be hung up with someone,” you quickly answer, before the bitter taste of regret stings your tongue.
“Interesting.”
You narrow at him. “What's so interesting about it?”
You want me. Just say it so I can lunge across this table to get to you.
“I haven’t seen you in years and you’re beautiful, smart, single. It doesn’t sound right.” He answers with a shrug.
Call me beautiful one more time. I will suck your dick right now under this table. I don’t care about being caught.
“There’s not really a reason, it’s just how it is. And maybe I’m not looking. Considered that?”
The only person I’m looking at is right in front of me—God, I can smell your cologne from here. Fuck. I want to devour you.
“Maybe, but me personally, I’d sweep you up before any guy could get the chance.” He chuckles.
Then do it. Stop teasing me.
“Chanmi would probably kill me tho. Probably say it’d ruin our dynamic.”
Oh shit. Here you were, lost in a head fogged up with lust and you hadn’t considered your best friends seeing you get shacked up with her brother. You were betraying her every second you though about her brother in a lewd sense. Although, she made no indication she’d be bothered by such a thing, but who wouldn’t? You weren’t going to let yourself off on a technicality.
“Don’t think we have much to worry about, though. I think we’ll be just fine.”
His words were like an anchor dropped in your gut. You didn’t know what was worse. Messing around with your best friend’s brother or the possibility of him rejecting the idea before it even started. You lose feelings in your legs, exhaling through your nose, and cry a little on the inside. You force an agreeing smile on your face. “Yeah. Chanmi doesn’t have to worry about anything.”
The meal comes to a close and you tell Chan you should get going home and he insists on driving. You were insane if you were going to spend another second in his presence, knowing fully well how he made you feel. He’s basically rejected you. It was over. Quit trying.
“Let me know if the AC is too cold. I can turn it down.”
You were that insane. 
“All good.”
You sit in silence. The radio envelopes the air and you interlock your hands in discomfort, while Chan focuses on the road. It's not a long drive from your place, but it sure felt like it was. But it gave you all the time to reflect. You needed some of that. Maybe you could get your common sense back.
Of course, Lee Chan wasn’t going to fall for you. Not like this. Maybe if you and his sister weren't attached at the hip, it’s possible. But then again, he would be living a life of fame, the spotlight, other people way hotter and more suitable for him. Face facts.
“So, since you haven’t dated anyone, I’m assuming you’re a virgin.”
Oh. He was going to keep going.
“Um, not quite,” you chuckle nervously.
He raises a brow. “So, you lied to me.”
You shake your head, “Of course not. I’m not having sex right now with anyone or a single person consistently, if that’s what you were saying, but I’ve had sex.”
“Did you?”
Something in his tone makes you want to turn your head to his side. You don’t regret your decision seeing the whites of his knuckles as he grips the wheel. His voice may have sounded friendly, but he held himself taut, visibly restraining himself.
Oh, Chan.
“Yeah. I didn't consider them exes, just flings,” you thought to add.
“Flings.” He repeats. 
You grin to yourself. “Yeah. I think a few times in high school and then a few more in college.”
“My, my. Aren’t you all grown up now?” You can almost hear him gritting his teeth, and you relished in it.
“Well, this is me.” You point at the building Chan forces himself to park at. He tightens his jaw in view, tapping the leather of the wheel in contemplation. Possibly at the revelation you’ve revealed to him. You lean in where your face comes into view, smiling an innocent smile. “Want to come in, Chan?”
You can see the dilemma in his eyes. There's a war going on his brain and either way, he was losing. Inevitably, he helps you unbuckle his seat before deciding to do the same thing to him. He plays your game with a humorless smile. “Why not?”
When you’re finally alone in the comfort of your home, it took everything in you to not jump him right then and there. His eyes scan over your living area, taking in the kick knacks, the tchotchkes you bought over time. It was as if he was rediscovering you, all of you, and for some reason, that made you more nervous than anything else. But that meant he was curious about you. He wanted to know more past what he saw as a child. He wanted to see you.
He snorts, crossing his arms, eyes finally landing on you. “I like your apartment. Am I the only guy you brought here you haven’t fucked?”
That could change.
You shrug, gallantly walking further and further away from him. “I don’t usually bring people over here. If I’m hooking up, it’s usually at their place.”
You let him watch. His eyes trained on your walk, a resisted urge tempted in every step you take. “You know that’s incredibly dangerous, right?”
“Anymore dangerous than letting them know where I live?” you retort.
He saunters over to you, side grinning in challenge. “Why are you trusting towards me?”
“Because,” you mimic his arms, “We have nothing to worry about. You said so.”
He glares down at you, taking one step closer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever do you mean, friend?”
He cocks his head, “You’re really testing your luck aren’t you, Y/n?”
You shrug, an obvious grin on your face, “I’m not testing anything. Exactly what are you implying?”
“Don’t push me, Y/n. You don’t want to find out what happens.”
“That’s funny,” now you’re the one backing him in a corner, pushing him, showing him, knee his shins until his fingers grip back in the arm of a couch, saying words you only ever dared to think, “Maybe don’t be a coward and fuck me already.”
His breath noticeably hitches and drinks in your assertion and feeds you back tenfold, pushing himself off the couch and colliding your lips, and a shock of immense arousal takes over your body. Goosebumps pebble your skin and involuntarily you moan in the lip lock, taking you longer than necessary to realize that Chan has backed you against a wall.
Your hand crawls into his hair, pushing him down to deepen your kiss as his hard member prods at your stomach. Hands run down to catch him, his clothed cock in your hands, feel how the zipper of his pants constricts him from taking up any more space, and you help spring him free.
“All this fat cock all for me? Chan, you shouldn’t have,” you playfully comment.
“It's what you wanted, isn't it?” He thrusts up against you, hiking up your leg to dig into your already pulsing core. “You want me to want you. To fuck you? Is that it?”
“Yes.” You answer definitely. “I want you to want me so bad it hurts. Just as badly as I want you.”
“It’s not some addiction you have? Move on from one fuck thing to the next?” He questions, venom on his tongue. He speaks with doubt, but his body defies him, drawn to you like opposing ends of a magnet, in need of you as much as you were in need of him.
“I don’t say things I don't 100 percent mean, Chan. If I wanted to just fuck you, I’d do it already.” You squeeze around him slightly tighter, wrapping your fingers around strands of his hair harder, hearing that stuttering grunt of his to reveal itself. “There's fucking, and then there’s you, Chan. I  don’t just want to fuck you. I want to worship you.”
You catch a glimpse of his reaction to your startling response before lightly shove him off of you to get on your knees, scraping them against the textured wood. Lowering yourself gave a good view of the shift in his eyes, watching how they go from pure animosity to earth shattering enthrallment. Your hands come up to his hips, fingering from the waistband of his briefs and pulling it down with his pants, just to push it aside. His cock is big, hard, veiny, perfect to push down your throat. 
You wrap your fingers around his girth, fingers trailing over his veins, counting the estimated inches. Disappointment didn’t even cross your mind.
“You have such a pretty, pretty cock,” you gasp, “have you thought about it? My lips wrapped around your cock. I know I have.”
Chan’s bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth. His eyes dilate as your lips purse over the curve of his tip, kissing the slit. His mind then settles on your previous words, wondering what they entail. “Worship? With that kind of offer, I’d hate to refuse. What about you?”
“What about me?” His shaft hugs the curve of your cheek.
“If you’ll worship me, what’ll happen to you?”
Your smile stretches across your face before kissing his length between speeches. “Well, if you let me. I’ll be all yours. Your tits”—kiss—“ass,”—kiss—“your pussy,”—“your mouth. I’ll be all yours.”
Chan can’t help but smile with you. His hand finds a way to thread through your hair, getting a good angle tug, and ripping a flirtatious giggle from your lips. “I get all that? Deal of the century.”
You hum in agreement before you feel him hug the inside of your mouth, fluttering your eyes at his size. Your tongue runs along his skin, taking it calmly, slowly. You make sure you’re breathing from your nose, savoring every second. 
Chan breathes out controlled breaths, boring his lust driven gaze into your presence. His cock is more than pleased in your hot, wet mouth coating him in drool Your sweet, swollen lips were like the cherry on top of sundae. They were gloriously full and glossy getting him off. “Your lips are perfect around me. And this mouth is mine, you say?”
You nod as you bob down, not expecting him to thrust inside you, flinching against the wall. He puts either hand on either side of your head, holding you in place. Your eyes shut tight, feeling him twitching in your throat before pulling out. A ribbon of translucency stretches from your lips to his head.
“My pretty, little mouth.”
There is a darkness in which he stares at you, like releasing of pandora’s box. He was lost in power, greed, filth. Whatever it was, you were ready for more and you didn’t mind what it took. He pets your hair, dragging his fingers from root to tips, saying his scary final words before he fills your cheeks more with his cock. “Cherish that last breath. You’ll need it.”
Your head stays pinned to the wall, cock plunged in your mouth, the view of Chan’s unfailing erection and groin the only sight you’re able to take in this moment of suffocation. He wasn’t slow with it and he didn’t plan to be. Groaning, his hips push in your mouth, the back of your head hitting the wall behind you with every thrust, and the length flossing the pipe of your throat. You become a makeshift version of a glory hole. Your hands steady themselves on his hips until they are forced to pin above your head.
You wretch at his sheer force, but take every inch. Your tears burn your cheeks, feeling the tremble of your limbs. You cough, gag, swallowing him as you’re pushed past your normal limits and finally meet the base of his cock. He rams in you, lips to lap, mouth stretched and sore. Full didn’t even begin to describe how it felt for him to fuck your mouth like this. 
He shows mercy when he feels close, thrusting in all the way and holds in your mouth for an exact five seconds until he lets you go. Your saliva and his pre-cum dribble all over your chin and neck, but a dazed smile on your face despite the mess. A hand to your neck, he pulls you up from the ground, pressing you full bodily back in the wall. 
“Well, aren’t you a pretty fucking whore.” he hisses.
His hand invades the depths of your pants. Your sopping folds are easy to find as they coat his fingers like syrup, sweet and thick. “Pussy’s mine, hmm? Ass too?”
“Yes. yes, take all of me.” You impulsively part your legs, the gateway of your throat closing up as his grip gets tights. All the stars you were seeing shined brighter than the stars in the damn sky.
Chan tugs off your bottoms, throws it aside like garbage and lifts you on top of a kitchen counter. The cool marble stings your ass cheeks but you hardly notice as Chan nose deep in your pussy. His fingers dig deeper, tongue flicking starved at your entrance. “Sweet Jesus, you’re fucking wet. Fucking dripping down my arm.”
“I wasn’t lying to you, Chan.” Your leg hangs off his shoulder, feeling light as his tongue makes himself home in your warmth. “I want you, every part of you.”
They were more than enough words of encouragement as he’s lost in your thighs. The curve of his lips suck on your clit, eliciting a moan and would forever be ingrained to every wrinkle of his brain. His fingers–now down to his knuckles–traveling you at an unforgivable pace. He makes it known that he’d give you what you want, anything and everything in between, but he wouldn’t give you his patience.
His hand comes down at you hard on the center of your core, rubbing between every strike as he licks deep stripes, causing your whines of ache to grow louder. “More, Chan please. Touch my pussy more, like that.”
Your pain receptors could usually take so much pain, but with Chan, you’d sacrifice your nerves just to have him cum covering every inch of your body. 
Swiftly, he reveals his upper body. Taut, firm muscles, packed in every region. Gleaming with sweat, his honey glazed abs flexes from the tension in his stomach. God, it was better than you ever imagined.
You watch as his strong arms pull you closer in his mouth. He latches on you like a leech, draw circles, finger fucking you until you’re drawing out his name in short bursts. Your jaw drops slack, clenching around his tongue, and pressing himself against you until you’re close. Oh, so close.
He pulls off at the worst moment and before you could protest, you taste your arousal on his tongue, feeling him pull off your blouse in the process. Tits in either of his hands, he roughly squeezes them, pinching tight at your stiff peaks enough for you to let out high pitched screeches. “Chan hurts!”
“Good.” He takes one in his mouth, nibbling one in his teeth before pinching the other one just as hard as before. You’re stuck between pain and pleasure, but as liquid escapes past your legs and the victor is clear.
“My tits…taste so sweet…like honey.” he mumbles.
You feel loved, worshiped, wet. You were wrapped around his finger, and if you get to be soe lucky, he’d feel that same way about you. After he’s done swelling your skin, he’s escorting you to what clearly is your room despite the first time of him being there and he dumps you on the bed.
“Ass in front, right now.”
Promptly, you do as he says, getting on all fours on the bed, lifting your ass welcome for him to take.
“Spread wider. I want to see that pretty pussy.”
Your legs naturally part further, the pigment of your sensitive flesh clear on display. Chan takes initiative. Putting himself between your divide, his tongue finding that familiar sweetness he parted with only a few minutes ago. “You taste so fucking good. I forgot all about saying that while in there earlier. You seem to do that to me.”
His hands come over the flesh of your ass, the sting of his hand is momentary before his tongue’s presence takes over, tasting you, inhaling you delicious scent, “Condom?” He manages to breathe out.
You shake your head, perspiration trailing your forehead. “But I’m clean, and on the pill. Like I said, you can do anything with me.”
Chan is blown over with a sense of relief, fishing his erection before lining up at your slit. He takes full strokes inside you, achingly slow, and you quiver at the fullness but whine when you’re immediately empty. He does that repeatedly, giving you the sensation before he rips it from you in mere seconds.
Yo pound your frustrated fists in the mattress. “Chan give me your cock… I want you please..”
“Really, Is it me you want?” He teases, “Or it is my cock fucking so deep in your pussy you feel it in your mouth?”
Vivid images in your head, you shudder at the depth of his now husky voice, “I want that from you. Only you. Please, I want you to cum in me…”
“Shit.” Hearing that made close already. “F-fine. Just shut the fuck up.”
He thrust in you, finding a pace to reside in. His mouth makes an o-shape at the clench of your wall. “Fuck wet pussy,”—slap—“wet, tight. All for me.”
Chan recalling your moans laced with ecstasy. Hearing you, watching the recoil of your ass hitting his lap, it was something he could get used to, but he could try. He forces his knees on the bed, pushing deeper inside you. He finds your hair before pulling, pushing you into to the mattress and muffling your moans until they melt into an oblivion.
“That reminds me,” he thinks to bring up, not minding the fact you were drowning in the duvet, “what is it you like being called?”
You muffle a response but if you were being honest, you could hardly think with his weight pushed back into you.
“Come on. What is it? Pick your poison.” He slows his pace, a hard, deep stroke taken with every term of endearment, “Baby? Sweetheart? Angel?”
You moan, but not enough.
He blinks, thinking it’s going somewhere when a light bulb goes up in his head. “Mmh, let's try this then. Clench harder, slut.”
You moan even louder, immediately following his command. He then pounds harder in you, lacking any clear remorse as his language becomes grunts, calling you ‘slut’, ‘whore,’ ‘fuckhole,’ every name in the book until you buck at his hips.
Shake as hard as an earthquake, saying his name, speaking your orgasm into existence. It’s all you feel as your vision becomes further away from the comprehensive. You become a lifeless body that takes every second as if you never would again, collapsing on the bed. 
Chan, a man with solutions, flips you on your back. A leg of yours comes up on his chest, ankle over his shoulder and he bottoms out inside you, another tidal wave that jumpstart your adrenaline. “I’m not fucking done with you yet. You said you’d be mine and you will be for as long as I want.”
Your leg takes his side as he folds into you, lips messily meeting yours, tongue tasting the inside of your mouth, he takes you even deeper and your way to feel can't be described as anything else but bliss. You caress his face, while his hand reconnected with your neck. You’re trailing down to feel down his torso, the pads of his fingers pushing against the column of your neck tighter. Life leaving your body, you count each ab, cup each peck, palm over each stiff peak, and trace over each muscle. If you could leave earth by this method, you would. Your voice is raspy, but takes no break from praising him. 
“You’re fucking my pussy so good, feel so fucking good in my hands. Don’t. Fucking. Stop.”
“You like that,” kissing you in a curt repetitive action, sweeter than intended, “can you take…my…cum?”
“Yes,” you frantically nod, “cum in me. I want all your cum in me. Breed me please. I want you, only you, to fuck me, empty out in me, and repeat.”
His load is as warm as a home cooked meal, shooting in you, jerking into your body in a well-practiced motion. His body embraces you, closing in on you, while he tucks you in tight. You only remember the smile on his face when he cums. It looks like love in his eyes, warmth, and you are positive that that’s what it is because you're looking at him the same way. It feels like a perfect happy ending.
But nothing is over until Chan says it is over.
That day turned into night before you know it and all you’ve done is be in each other arms and fucking your shared cum back into places they belong. Despite the performance, Chan ended up being a gentleman, asking you where your spare clean towels were and helping you clean up the mess you’ve made. All the time and energy drained you both and with the lack of motivation to cook, you both called food to be delivered.
In an attempt to be presentable, you take the shirt he once wore and display it on yourself, his scent enveloping you like it were his embrace. That meant Chan had to walk around topless, and by George, that was quite the sight. You join him on the couch. His arm slings over your side, tenderly kissing your face as you feel up his body. You couldn’t help but grin like a love stricken puppy, memorizing every dent of every chiseled muscle, appreciating its entirety. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
Chan hums, before muffling a thanks and taking your kiss-swollen lips in his. “I think you’re sexy.”
You giggle, reciprocating, already finding yourself straddling his lap, and that erection that’s already gone and inflated himself. This man had it all didn’t he?
Then it dawned on you. Maybe too late, but it did.
You part from him, eyes furrowed in worry.
Concern is written all over his face, and he curls your hair behind his ear, “what’s wrong?”
“What are we going to do about Chanmi?”
His expression soon matches yours as he sighs. His hand comes behind your head, kissing foreheads, and curls up in a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for us.”
“And If she isn’t?”
His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt. “She’ll just have to.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“And she’s my sister. And I’m her only brother. We are two people she cares about and we’re happy together. Why wouldn’t she be happy?”
Your lips curl up in a small smile. “We’re together?”
His smile reaches his eyes. “I don’t think I’d spend all day like this with you if we weren’t.”
You kiss him, chaste and slow, and letting go before the heat travels back to your head, fogging your rationale. “I like you a lot, Chan.”
“I like you a lot, Y/n.”
“What about your career?”
He rolls his eyes, filling rubbing circles in your hips. “Why? Scared this superstar will run away from you for his chance in the spotlight?”
You grin mischievously, “No, aren’t you worried I’ll outshine you on the red carpet? I’ll be your date for every one of them now.” 
“Then they’ll have no choice but to put me in everything under the sun.” He grins back.
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matrixbearer2024 · 1 month
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After reading the "Club Catastrophe" could I please request a Vox POV after the Club rink and it's just him going home and letting all of his questionable feelings for Reader out of his systems(See what I did there?)
A Heart's Conundrum
Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader
A/N: I love writing introspective chapters like this in Vox's POV, lets me mess around with his brain and just have him actually face the music that this is in fact something entirely different. What he has with our dear Reader is actually special, and that he's fucking terrified by it. Usually I've seen Vox often "tending to himself" in other fics when he's obsessed over someone but I notice it's usually because he's got a facination and interest but not something quite complicated like this. Bro doesn't feel lust here despite the closeness and he's very VERY confused. I wasn't initially going to write something like this to keep things pretty goofy but it actually slots into the narrative pretty well to have the resident TV man take another gander at attempting to understand his emotions after the emotional whiplash he'd gone through in "Reunited Again Aren't We?". Bonus points that we kind of get a jealous Valentino confrontation HAHAHAHA-
A/N: This chapter kind of mentions Vark being a good boy and taking care of his emotionally constipated owner lol, I love myself a good doggo. I plan on reader meeting the funny little dude in a later interlude but for now it's just going to be mostly Vox. Anyway, I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this series- I just wanted to say thank you to those sending me love through my inbox too! I read all the things you guys say so it makes me really happy to see my work so well recieved. As always, I hope you guys enjoy this interlude and happy reading!
When Vox had warned you back then to be careful at a party and not to drink too much-
He only said it out of courtesy in good faith that you knew how to hold your liquor.
Disclaimer, you didn't.
Another thing he didn't expect was just how easy it was for you to get drunk.
It was like your tolerance was nonexistent.
The two of you had just been hanging around by the bar and ordering drinks when he noticed you were starting to sway slightly in your seat.
That made the overlord glance over to see you'd just gone through two margaritas and you were holding a third.
Vox had been drinking a lot slower than you have, adopting a leisurely pace and just trying out the different cocktails that the bar had to offer.
Though seeing what you were doing made him wonder if you were still kind of new to casual drinking.
Rolling his eyes, the overlord finished up his martini and plucked the half-finished margarita from your hands.
"Okay doll, maybe that's enough for you."
"Whaaaaaa? Whyyyy??"
"Because you're drunk dollface, so I won't let you have any more."
"Awwwwwhhhhh... can't I at least finishhh itttt??"
Your words were slurred and your breath absolutely reeked of alcohol, your movements clumsy as you tried to grab your beverage back.
When you ungraciously slumped against his chest in a giggling mess while trying, Vox was fairly certain you were hammered out of your mind at this point.
That took a lot less than he originally thought it would.
Placing down your glass at the bar, he let you stay leaning on him while he shrugged his blazer off and wrapped it around you instead.
Your fluffy ears just wiggled around slightly when he'd done that, making Vox raise an eyebrow at you.
Especially when your arms clumsily circled his waist in a hug and kept him there.
"Mhmmmm... warmmmmm..."
Pfft, you were really out of it this time.
He couldn't help the smile on his face at your antics, but as cute as it was-
It would be really irresponsible to still keep you here in the club.
When he noticed Vaggie was nearby, the overlord waved her down to get her attention.
He didn't know if the mild surprise from her was because of how clingy you were or because he wasn't really reacting to it.
"Woah, what happened to (Y/N)?"
"Drank a bit too much too fast. I'm gonna take (Y/N) back to the hotel so they can rest."
"Sure, we'll meet you there. We'll only be staying a little while longer anyway."
"Whaaaaaaa?? Nooooooo- I don't wanna gooooooo-"
"Nope, you need rest. Let's go."
Vox just sighed when you made a small fuss about leaving and being carried.
You were cute, but your drunken stubbornness was not.
Especially with how difficult you made it for the overlord to properly carry you.
In every other way he tried to grab hold, you squirmed out of his grip and it almost made him drop you multiple times.
He panicked a few times when he almost did but it just made him feel more tired when he saw you were fine-
He did eventually find a compromise though, since it seemed you didn't have too many issues being carried on piggyback.
Your head rested on his shoulder by the time he walked you both out of the club, arms wrapped around his neck while he held up your legs.
"Vooooxxyyyyyyy~ Where are we gooiiinnnnnn~?"
"Back to the hotel, you're wasted dollface."
"Aawwwwhhh? I wanted to keep partying witchuuuuuuu-"
"There's always a next time doll, just don't drink too much again."
You giggled at his response and Vox couldn't help but smile.
Your ramblings were entertaining, and it gave him some food for thought while walking back to the hotel.
He just hummed and agreed with some of the things you would say, even if it was nonsensical or not to show he was still listening.
Of course, that was until you said something that nearly made Vox trip on his own feet.
"Mhhhmmmm- you're really cute ya knowww~? I like that yooouuu alwaayyshhh take care of meh-"
"I'm not cute, but thank you."
He tried to brush off the comment, struggling to reign in his own emotions in lest he accidentally overheat and burn you.
He already had trouble just getting over your antics, the last thing he needed was to accidentally bluescreen and drop you because you drunkenly said something cute.
Well, that was until his processing froze anyway when you nuzzled your head into the back of his neck and mumbled something he couldn't quite catch.
His heart jumped into his throat and he had to stop walking for a moment, willing himself to calm down.
Static charge began to wind up in the air around him, and he took a moment to focus and dissipate it before moving again.
He almost zapped you, and it would'be been completely your fault-
You were making it really difficult to just- exist at the moment.
Not that Vox was complaining, he just didn't really know what to do with himself at the moment.
He wondered slightly if you'd even remember any of this come tomorrow, but that wasn't really his problem.
He used his powers to open the hotel doors before stepping in, immediately making his way towards your room.
Vox already knew where it was, especially since he'd walk you there whenever he visited before leaving to return to Vee tower.
He let out a tired sigh before gently placing you down on the bed mattress, just leaving his coat wrapped around you while he tucked you in.
Considering that you were already out like a light, the overlord could only guess that you'd fallen asleep just a little earlier while he was still walking.
Not that he'd have been able to notice when he was too busy trying to keep his abilities from going sideways because of you.
Vox looked back to your resting form and couldn't help but fondly smile, slowly moving to your side and brushing away a stray hair that fell over your face.
Your expression reminded him of the one night he'd been at your side after that horrible situation with your ex back when you were alive.
You just looked so peaceful, not plagued by any worry or fear of anything else.
That made him just that little bit more relaxed compared to earlier.
Before he knew it, he placed a soft kiss to your temple while you slept.
"Rest well my dear."
Vox stays there for a while to make sure you're actually asleep before getting up and walking out.
His limbs feel heavier than earlier, to the point he actually needs to make a conscious effort to leave you.
By the time he's walking out of the hotel, he feels weird.
Like he's just extremely tired, but... pleased?
Once he gathers his bearings again, he travels through some wires to get back to the Vee tower.
However, he's a bit absentminded when he walks through the doors.
"Hold up, where's your blazer?"
Vox doesn't even look at Velvette when he replies, his posture slightly slumped to reflect his exhaustion.
Compared to his typical work day, this wasn't really much.
So he wasn't entirely sure why he felt so out of it already.
"(Y/N) borrowed it, I'll just get it tomorrow."
He mumbled, walking past the youngest Vee towards the elevator.
The overlord's only goal right now was to get to his room and just rest.
By the time Vox shuts the door behind him, he leans back against the cold metal with a sigh.
His back sliding down until the overlord finds himself sitting on the floor with his screen in his hands.
Today was... something.
From how eager you were to teach him how to skate-
Then the anger he felt from that other sinner trying to make a move on you-
To becoming one adorably messy drunk.
Not to mention the kiss you'd given him-
His fans whirred louder when he raised a clawed hand to where you'd pecked his cheek.
You nearly crashed his systems with that one.
Only when he hears a yip and some cooing does he snap out of it and look up.
Ah.
"Hey Vark..."
The hammerhead moved closer to him and whined slightly, prompting Vox to start petting him in comfort.
The little guy always seemed to know if there was just something up with his owner.
Today was no different.
"I'm okay, just tired. Today was... weird."
The shark kind of just sat there, accepting pets while the overlord talked to him about his day.
The ups and downs-
Even some of the random things you mentioned-
He recounted everything, talking to the hammerhead about it to get it off his chest.
It didn't matter if Vark couldn't say anything in response, the little guy was just listening attentively to his owner regardless.
And as silly as it was- Vox just had to let all of his thoughts out.
It wasn't like there was anyone else he could talk to about this stuff either.
"And it's so odd... I almost didn't want to leave the hotel earlier when I dropped her off."
The shark just made a displeased noise.
"Oh come on, you know I wouldn't leave you by yourself here. Hm, it's almost time for your dinner."
While preparing Vark's food, the overlord finds his mind wandering back to you again.
Especially that time you had to watch over your friend's puppy.
He didn't really understand why he did the things he did back then either.
Placing the pet bowl down in front of the hammerhead, Vox wanders outside to the common room and plops himself down on the couch to surf his phone.
He had nothing better to do, and as tired as he was-
He didn't feel like sleeping quite yet.
When the couch dips beside him, Vox looks up from the small gadget only to see Velvette gazing at him inquisitively.
"Gotta say, this is probably the most chill I've ever seen you."
The overlord scoffs and rolls his eyes, was he really that subdued today?
"I drank quite a bit earlier at the club so I'm still feeling the buzz from the alcohol."
That was a lie, he didn't really drink much compared to his usual.
It just seemed like the most sound excuse he had that didn't involve you.
Still, Velvette just rolled her eyes at his deflective response.
"Right. Anyway, how was it?"
"How was what?"
"Your thing with (Y/N)?"
"Why not just ask her yourself?"
"She's not responding and I've got to know the details old man."
Vox just looked at his colleague for a moment, debating on shrugging off her question.
Hm...
Well, he was feeling nice.
He could indulge her a little.
"We just met together at the club to catch up. We talked, we sang, we danced, and then I saw (Y/N) off at the hotel before coming back here."
"Wow, that has got to be the most boring date ever."
The overlord just shrugged nonchalantly, he left out a vital piece of information on purpose but it was mostly because he didn't know what to do with it.
Yeah... he still wasn't sure how to make heads or tails of that kiss.
And it wasn't even a proper kiss either.
But suddenly, the loud slam of a door from behind them made the other two Vees quickly look to see who caused it.
And in strolled a clearly irritated pimp overlord.
"A date? You're kidding me Voxy, you actually went on a date?"
"I wouldn't necessarily call it that, but I did go out today. Why?"
"Don't fuck with me right now Vox, did you or did you not go on a date?"
Despite the buzz of the alcohol in his systems keeping him more pacified than usual, Vox narrowed his eyes at Valentino annoyed.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because it's unlike you to just go on a date without needing something from someone. Like a deal or to conduct business, and I checked in with your secretary amorcito, you didn't have anything scheduled for today."
Velvette just stared between her two colleagues.
She wasn't about to get involved in this drama.
After all, it was Vox's fault if he couldn't properly handle his relationships.
Even if a small part of her did grow concerned about how (Y/N) factored into this.
"I just went out to a club, drank a little and came back. What's that to you?"
"Oh Voxy~ If you wanted to go clubbing why didn't you invite me~?"
Valentino moved closer to the couch, adopting a flirty tone and sensually grabbing Vox's arm.
To which the technology overlord just shrugged off his advances.
It felt wrong.
Just, all sorts and levels of wrong.
Predictably, the moth wasn't pleased with that reaction.
All the more when he had caught a wiff of something new.
That perfume didn't belong to any of them-
So who's was it?!
"You fucking liar! Who the fuck were you with at the club Vox?!"
"I wasn't with anybody, I just went to go drink and unwind. It's been a long week."
"Oh please, as if that's the case. Which new plaything did you find? Don't tell me you actually have feelings for some random tramp you found off the streets?!"
Vox didn't really know how to react to those words.
On one hand, he was absolutely livid that Valentino thought you were just some 'random tramp'.
But on the other hand, that just brought his feelings back into question again.
You were both friends-
And that was it.
Right?
Still the overlord couldn't help but question if that really was just the case.
"Fuck off Val."
"You wouldn't go around dating with just anybody, what the hell were you doing and with who?"
"I'm going to sleep."
At this point, Vox was just done with the conversation.
He didn't want to keep dancing around the obvious question and it just made him feel more tired.
Rising from the couch, he attempted to walk past Valentino and just head back to his room.
Well, that was before the pimp roughly grabbed his arm and prevented him from leaving.
"Who the fuck was it Vox? I swear to god I'm going to turn the entire ring upside down and find that bitch if it's the last thing I-"
The moth didn't even have time to finish his sentence before he got a heavy punch to the face.
Staggering back, Valentino looked at his colleague with wide eyes when he realized what had happened.
All the more surprising was just how royally pissed his colleague looked.
Vox's screen glitched as sparks and small jolts of electricity jumped across his body, his left eye swirling with rings as he just finally put his arms down and just glared at Valentino.
"If you so much as harm a single hair on their head I will personally kill you myself."
His voice was distorted by some static overlay, the white noise only fizzling away when Vox had managed to compose himself properly.
Velvette merely glanced between the two worried this altercation might end up devolving into something worse.
Thankfully, it didn't.
Valentino just grit his teeth and glared at the technology overlord, watching as he held his arms behind his back and briskly walked away.
That punch fucking hurt!
By the time Vox had returned back to his own bedroom, he sighed as his colleague's words just echoed in his mind.
He didn't have feelings for you-
You were both just very close good friends.
But when he passed a nearby mirror, he almost didn't recognize himself.
This wasn't the smiling telecaster overlord that had total control over hell's biggest technological empire.
This was just... him.
Tired and disheveled in a light blue turtleneck practically falling to pieces because he couldn't understand what was going on.
And this was considering that Vox was already a pretty self aware person from an emotional standpoint.
After all, he had to make sure not to have freak outs too bad or it could cause the entire pentagram city to lose power.
So why...
Why was he such a train wreck whenever it came to you???
Inadvertently, he'd changed over time because of your influence.
How he felt towards Valentino being more than proof of that.
And again, his chest bloomed with a warm fuzzy sensation he couldn't properly comprehend at the thought of you.
Sizzling his wires and just feeding his systems with an electrifying feeling that Vox just couldn't begin wrap his head around.
Again, it was because of you.
He stared at the mirror for a good minute before catching himself with a tinged pink screen.
Wait a minute-
He's seen this kind of situation play out before.
After all, he's aired enough shitty and cliche romance dramas to know.
There was just no fucking way.
He couldn't be foolishly head over heels in love with you.
And still, as he continued to look-
The more things in the past started to click into place.
His emotions and reactions around you just started to make more and more sense when love was inserted into the context of the situation.
The reality crashed into Vox like a freight train and he just stared at his reflection in disbelief.
"You have got to be kidding me..."
He was completely fucked.
A/N: Now if y'all are expecting Reader to start dating Vox after his oh so overdue realization- they're not. Cuz our dear (Y/N) is hilariously dense and Vox just does not wanna make a move when he's still trying to understand when and how the heck this happened without him noticing lmao so still more suffering and shenanigans that are going to make us and the Hazbin cast absolutely appalled at how a pair of people can be so blind to a truth slamming into their faces-
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bunnybabecantwrite · 1 year
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can you write where kusuo saiki acts like nothing around us but inside he’s like head over heels for us that just stalks us daily and steals clothes to jerk to and sometimes he takes place of a cat so you could give him kiss and hugs 🤭
thanks from pufa
this one turned out a bit shorter that expected but i hope you enjoy!
The cat’s outta the bag
Saiki x fem!reader | saiki is head over heels for you but is to shy to make any moves. | Tw: fluff, a little bit of smut, Saiki being a perv, stalking |
You tried so hard to make friends, you really did, but even though you managed to befriend everyone in your classes there was one person that never really liked you. His name was Kusuo Saiki, he wasn't very social to begin with, but you still tried to get him to like you. Somehow he was always in your circle of friends even though he barely even acknowledged your existence. Or at least that's what you thought, little did you know that cute scrawny cat you'd spend all your time with was him. 
“See ya on Monday!” shouted Mikoto as she left in the direction of her house leaving you to walk the rest of the way to yours, by yourself. You didn't quite mind walking the rest of the way alone since you lived rather close, but the area of town you lived in was sketchy nonetheless. However, there was something that did excite you for the walk home. That “something” was an oddly friendly stray cat you would invite into your home to keep you company. Perusal you found him, the scrawny white cat you have affectionately named Tomoya for his friendliness compared to other street cats you have met. Quickly scratching behind Tomoya’s ears you walk the rest of the way to your house, the cat following closely behind. Once at your house, you kicked off your shoes and fled to the kitchen to make a snack for the both of you. You decided on making something easy, tamagoyaki. Putting the rolled omelet on a plate you went to sit down next to the cat who before noticing you was rummaging through your left-out basket of laundry.  Turning on some trashy tv you ripped a piece of your omelet and gave it to Tomoya, it was slightly difficult to do so since Tomoya was stretched out along your torso, face tucked into your blazer. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep, but your little friend was just waking up. Who you thought was an innocent little kitty-cat called Tomoya was actually someone much less innocent. Tomoya or should I say Kusuo Saiki took advantage of you sleeping, taking time to switch from his alleged cat form back to human. Already having roamed your house before he knew exactly where your room was. It only took a little bit of searching for him to find just what he wanted, your used panties. Hearing your sniffles as you woke up, Saiki quickly pocketed the little treasures he found and returned to his cat form so suspicion doesn't arise. Now awake, you groggily opened the door for the cat assuming they wanted to return to whoever their owner is. Happily, Saiki trotted out your door already plotting all of the defiling things he was going to do with his newfound prize.
thank you for reading <3
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whiskersz · 1 month
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Hihi I got a one shot request!! Vox x Reader where reader takes charge of date night! I feel like everyone headcanons, rightfully so btw, that Vox is 100% a fancy expensive restaurant for every date kind of guy. Maybe Reader takes care of date night for a change, opting for something more simple and comfortable over expensive clothing and expensive food. Fluff!!! I love the fluff (*≧∀≦*)
Hello there! Writing this was so fun, I might've not made it fluffy enough so feel free to tell me to change stuff or request something similar next time. Tried to make Reader as GN as possible too!
Have a nice time reading ^_^
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Vox x Reader - CEO of a Good Time
The moon shined brightly outside of the V Tower, its rays illuminating the rooms of the headquarters a bright red; you stared at your own reflection in the mirror of your room, the color of the pretty yet conservative outfit you were wearing contrasting against the red coming from the large window behind you.
A quick glance at your phone informed you that it was almost time to head out, so you grabbed your belongings and made your way towards the door. Opening it revealed the tall figure of your boyfriend, dressed in a dark blue striped suit with a touch of red from the tie neatly tucked into his blazer. You had told him to dress comfortable, and well, if this was his definition of that you couldn’t judge him, really.
A relaxed smile on his TV screen, he lowered the hand that was hanging in mid-air, ready to knock on your door;
“Oh, ready at the same time.” He pointed out, “I assume it’s time to get on our limousine then?”
You chuckled, linking your arm with his and walking towards the elevator.
“No silly, we’re driving there. It’s not that far anyways.”           
From the corner of your eye you could see Vox blink, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Still, for you he was willing to show his more gentlemanly side.
“Ah, I see...then let me drive.”
Once in the elevator you pressed the button supposed to lead you to the ground floor, opting to not say goodbye to the other Vee’s; Velvette was probably busy anyways, and Valentino...well, your dislike of him was apparent to everyone in the tower. Plus this was supposed to be a night for you and Vox alone, and a very special one at that since your boyfriend had allowed you to choose everything about it: the location, how to get there and what to do afterwards.
You set Vox’s arm free once you two reached the garages, letting him retrieve his black Pontiac Chieftain; he took the time to walk over to your side of the car and open your door, and once you were both inside he entrusted you his phone.
“Set the location to where you want us to go, hot stuff.”
“Gladly, princess.”
Vox glitched, choking on his own saliva.
“Told you not to call me that...”
“Yeah, in public!” you let out a chuckle, fiddling around with his phone.
Once the location was successfully set you placed it in your lap, as this car wasn’t equipped with a phone holder. Vox groaned as you blew him a kiss, and started driving and following the directions of the GPS.
---
The pizzeria you had chosen was humble, certainly not a place that Vox would’ve chosen had he been in charge that night. It was located in a cute little alleyway – well, as cute as those can be in Hell – so Vox struggled for a bit before he could find a parking space. When he did though, he once again made the effort to open your car door, earning a little kiss from you.
“I’ll trust that you’ve already been here and tasted the food, at least?” he questioned as you began walking towards your destination.
“Oh, don’t be so distrustful. My friends speak very well of this place!”
Saying the entrance was surrounded by LED lights would be an understatement; arrows pointing at the door and pizza-shaped lights almost blinded you, reflecting the light off of your boyfriend’s screen.
Once inside though, the pleasant smell of pizza immediately reached your nostrils and you were met with a quiet buzz typical of small taverns like this one. As your eyes adjusted to the dim orange lights, the owner themselves welcomed you.
“Greetings, greetings! We’re very pleased to serve a couple as grandiose as you!” She bowed, recognizing you and Vox. She then referred to you; “A table for two, like you said?”
“Yes please, and thank you!” you replied politely, letting her lead you to a square little table near the fireplace like you had asked earlier on the phone. Vox hesitantly followed the two of you, his gaze falling on the Imps sat at the other tables staring curiously, probably surprised that a couple such as you and your boyfriend would choose a place like this for a night out.
You sat down in front of each other as the owner of the pizzeria promised that a waiter would’ve been at your service in just a few minutes, and handed you two menus to choose your pizzas from.
“What are you going for?” you asked absentmindedly, scanning through the options.
“Well, I’d rather play it safe and get a Margherita, since we’ve never been here and all.”
You both ended up choosing your own pizza and letting it know to the waiter as they brought you breadsticks as an appetizer.
You stared at the flames flickering, the relaxing atmosphere of the pizzeria and the warm temperature embracing you like a fuzzy blanket. You think you would’ve fallen asleep if Vox hadn’t tapped his finger on the wooden table.
“Don’t sleep, the pizzas will be here soon.” He reminded you almost gently.
“I’m not sleeping, just resting. Isn’t this a nice change from the usual busy rich people restaurant?” you quickly realized what you said, stumbling on your own words as your boyfriend raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Not that I don’t appreciate it when you organize dates, it’s all very sweet...but this is cute, no?”
Vox scanned your face, your gentle smile and soft cheeks illuminated by the fireplace’s light almost making him short circuit. He cleared his throat and awkwardly adjusted his tie when he realized that he had been staring for a bit too long without offering you a reply;
“Ah, yes, it’s not...as bad as I thought it would be, how did you find this place again? Your friends?”
You explained that, while you were usually busy working at the V Tower, your friends had a little more time on their hands, so from time to time they’d organize little hang outs with each other in places they didn’t know. Vox focused on the first part of your sentence: you didn’t have much time to hang out with your friends. He’d make sure that this changed once back at the tower, or at least he was going to let you choose where to go a little more often than usual.
He listened as you complimented the ambience of the place, and took a moment to admire it himself, ignoring the curious gazes of the other demons sat around you. Maybe it was a nice change, especially seeing you this happy, yeah.
The pizzas arrived soon, the waiter placing a candle at the centre of your table.
“Romantic!” you commented, “Vox, take a picture!”
Vox did as you told him to, ignoring the notifications on his phone and concentrating on shooting the perfect picture of you, even telling you to strike different poses. When he did so you raised your eyebrows, your mouth slightly agape.
“What? Got something on my screen?” he asked, switching to front camera to check for stains.
“No, it’s just...you usually say you need to check your notifications and all first, so I was a little surprised is all.”
He stopped admiring himself and refocused his attention on you;
“...Oh. Well, can’t really be an asshole all the time I guess,” he smirked, taking a surprise picture of you. You barely restrained yourself from yelling at him for that – jokingly, of course – and instead opted for stealing his phone and deleting it immediately as he laughed.
The pizzas were delicious, both you and Vox practically devoured them and even offered the other a slice of each other’s pizza. He also decided not to order alcohol as he was supposed to drive you both back, and drinking is never a good idea in these cases.
He led you back to his car, an arm draped across the small of your back protectively as you passed various groups of ill-intentioned individuals; it was late at night when you left the pizzeria, after all.
This time you ran forward a little, opening the car door on the passenger’s side for him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“
“After you, sweetheart.” You teased, a smug smile plastered on your face. He rolled his eyes, taking you by the hand and letting you sit instead. “Aw, boring. I thought I was the one in charge tonight.”
“Maybe next time I’ll consider your strange proposals.” He said, walking to the other side of the car. Before he could start it you placed your hand on his, making him turn towards you.
“Thanks for...indulging in this. Next time the lead’s all yours.” You said sincerely. He smirked at you, pulling you in for a quick kiss.
“Nah, I can handle a little change.”
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angelsdean · 5 months
Text
any continuation hinges on whether they're taking the "cas helped" at face value as "he's out of the empty and alive". the winchesters not showing cas with bobby and jack was pretty glaring and imo the right choice as it left room for chuck won theories to prevail and suggest that cas really ISN'T in heaven. plus jack dressed in a chuck-coded white blazer and acting a little off gives me hope that they'll lean into the chuck won theory or at the very least that the "god-power" is messing with jack and slowly corrupting him. like a lot of people always bring up "how will they undo the finale? they're dead. sam grew old and lived his whole life, if they bust out of heaven and go back to earth so many yrs will have passed" and well, first of all, this is supernatural. crazy shit happens. they could bust out of heaven and then time-travel, who knows! but, the simplest solution imo is, fake-heaven isn't real. it's a container for chuck!jack to keep his toys so they don't go messing with anything anymore (except, well, that didn't work out so well, dean already busted out once to save the multiverse. likely will happen again). and then sam on earth? another illusion. a pocket universe or a djinn dream-like state. not much time has passed at all, that's why sam looks young when he meets dean in heaven. like, sam presumably cuts ties with everyone he ever knew. marries some blurry wife. his whole life passes in montage, it would be so easy to say none of that was real. just something to keep sam occupied and placated so he doesn't go poking into things and realizing Something's Not Right.
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calxkrbd · 1 year
Text
dawn of love (genshin characters are your classmates)
-
classmate!venti who’s always late and out and about. unlike most students who study until the early hours when finals week is around, you’re more likely to bump into him at the town’s local bar, wine in hand, and with the least of worries for his barely passing grades.
classmate!venti who became your partner for a project worth 70% of your grades. you’re a high academic achiever, and it's safe to say you were worried. he doesn’t have the best track record as a groupmate, so you could only hope he lessens his drinking and won’t be a freeloader.
classmate!venti who surprises everyone one day when he’s on time for his morning classes, as he was notorious for skipping them every monday for a quick nap. he has also been a great help with your schoolwork, so maybe your partner isn’t as bad as you think he is.
classmate!venti’s gaze wanders to your figure from across the room, and he could only shake his head at your denseness. he hoped that he wouldn’t have to resort to flat out kissing you just so he could set his feelings straight.
-
classmate!xiao who’s fiery glare intimidates everyone, and you weren’t an exception, as he scares you with how much he stares when he thinks you’re not looking. does he hate you that much?
classmate!xiao who lives just right across your street, but you never see him outside of school. it’s weird how as soon as the bell rings, he’s bolting out of campus. maybe the rumours of him doing sketchy business were true?
classmate!xiao who you encounter one day under a misty sky, rain entrapping the both of you under a waiting shed. he sighs upon seeing your wet clothes and stands up, taking you off guard. you almost flinched when he made the move to remove the blazer from his shoulders and wrapped it around your own.
classmate!xiao bit the inside of his cheek to reign in his giddiness. you looked so cute wearing something of his. one day, he'll finally be able to gain the courage to confess to you, and maybe then, he’ll allow you to steal all his clothes, very much like how he allowed you to take his heart that was solely yours.
-
classmate!heizou who has everyone swooning. self proclaimed as the best criminology student in school, he was thrown off his high throne when you entered the picture, a young exchange student deemed a prodigy, originating from his rival school.
classmate!heizou who you hated with your whole being. He’s egoistic, harsh, and doesn’t take no for an answer. you’ve come to realise of the third fact, as he didn’t even let you have a say on his proposal to you two fake dating. it was beneficial for both of you, he argued. he gets to shake off the girls after his tail, and the people who bother you won’t dare lay a hand on someone who’s romantically associated with him.
classmate!heizou who kisses your cheek the moment he walks into your classroom, resulting in your classmates being rendered speechless. you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his gestures; he was always so dramatic.
classmate!heizou whose eyes soften as he starts to think that maybe, asking to fake date you was only a way for him to feel what being your boyfriend would’ve been like. Who would’ve thought that while you saw your "relationship" as mere acting, he was never pretending in the first place.
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classmate!kazuha who considered the campus his second home, for even during the weekends he could be found cleaning the school library and assisting his professors. It was endearing, so whenever you have free time, you accompany him.
classmate!kazuha who catches you off guard when he’s suddenly at your doorstep, soaked in the rain and eyes brimming with tears. you were dumbfounded, for you were used to seeing him so composed. nevertheless, you welcomed him with open arms, and you found yourself wrapped tight around his that night.
classmate!kazuha who shares that he’s been financially struggling, which is why he takes any job available at your school. heartbroken, you offer to just live together and split the rent. He tried declining at first, but after much insisting, he said yes. after all, he could never say no to you.
classmate!kazuha who sees you as his angel, who knew ever since you first met that he’d fall hard. you were with him during his long days, and at first he was afraid of being too clingy, but now he could get used to basking in your presence every day.
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bandgie · 5 months
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could you do yeonjun as a rival or enemy with dom fem reader?? hate sex all the way
a/n: omg I've never written hate sex, lets see how it goes ~
synopsis: Working up the corporate ladder has never been easy for you, but to see Yeonjun flash his fake smile to get the very positions you should've gotten make you seethe with anger. He needs to be put in his place, one way or another.
warnings: MDNI 18+, shoving, face slapping (m!), overstimulation (m!), degrading (m!), choking (m!), spitting, mentions of subspace (m!), reader is a neglectful dom, maybe some attempted murder oops, sex lol
2.6k words
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He started out as a simple desk job worker and made his way up to a director within a span of a year. A fucking year. You've been here for five, yet barely an assistant to him. 
Maybe it's because your skill is lacking, or maybe you just simply aren't cut out for the corporate life, but seeing Yeonjun act so unbelievably snobby about his position makes you stay just out of pure spite. 
The worst part is, he knows it. He can see how you loathe him, the way your eyes throw daggers when he's at a board meeting with you merely taking notes. You rarely ever help with actual work, yet he likes to pester you with mundane tasks. 
"A coffee would be nice.""Fax these numbers out to Soobin please.""Did you even ask for sugar in this?"
Yes, you did ask for sugar. But now you're wishing you had asked for some rat poison instead. If you ever want to wipe that stupid smirk off Yeonjun's face, you'll have to endure this for now. 
It's after hours at work. Most people have left, lights have dimmed, and computers have been shut down. You stayed though, not to help Yeonjun with his job, but for the chief talent officer, Soobin, to notice your overtime. 
If you stay quiet and not use the company phone, Yeonjun might forget you're here. That doesn't work out though, and you hear his irritating voice through the intercom from the phone. 
"I need you in my office. Urgently."
This makes your eyebrow quirk up. Yeonjun prides himself in doing work alone, then boasting about it to you. Saying that you're only useful for getting snacks and coffee. He's never said he needed you, let alone urgently.
Maybe this time you'll have actual work to do.
You rise from your chair and make your way to his office, knocking on his door before opening it. 
His appearance makes you stop in your tracks briefly. Yeonjun has discarded his tie and blazer. The top buttons of his long sleeve are undone, along with the sleeves being pushed up to his elbows to expose his delicate wrists. 
It angers you to see that he’s actually working rather than mucking around. That way, you could've reported him to Soobin and seen him step down from his position, or at the very least reprimanded. Instead, you have to pull your eyes away from his figure and take the remaining steps towards his desk.
"You called for me?"
Yeonjun nods, pushing an empty coffee cup in your direction and tapping the rim. "Refill." He gives you a saccharine smile.
You stand there, puzzled. Not that you should've expected anything less from Yeonjun, but you were hopeful he’d actually called you in for a legitimate reason for once. 
"Excuse me?" You don't hide the offended tone in your voice. 
"Coffee?" Yeonjun is ever degrading in his words. "I need a refill."
You narrow your eyes at him, "You called me here...to refill your coffee?" 
Yeonjun rolls his eyes, as if irritated that he would call you here for anything else. "No shit. What else would I need you for?"
This makes you scoff, arms folding across your chest. Yeonjun's eyes fall to your breasts, the way your cleavage barely shows at the top of your button up. Too caught up in your anger, you miss this.
"Well, I dunno maybe to do some fucking work? I'm staying over just to help out your ass and all you're asking for is coffee." Shit, maybe you shouldn't have cursed. But you can't find yourself to be concerned about that.
Yeonjun's tongue pokes out from his cheek. He stands from his chair, walking around his desk to properly face you. You've always known he's tall, he towers over most of the men in the building. In this moment, however, you can't help but feel like he's puffing out his chest. Trying to seem bigger than you, better.
It makes you enraged. 
"You? Do some work?" He laughs. "Don't be silly, assistant. You can't do shit. Only good for coffee, and even then you still fuck up."
It happened in a flash. The way your hands pushed him so harshly that his lower back hit the desk. He let out a small noise of pain before shoving you back. You know better than to put your hands on anyone, let alone a man, but those consequences are the last on your mind.
You take a few steps back from the force, and he quickly follows you. When you shove him again, he lands on the sofa nearby. Yeonjun places his hands on the couch to boost himself up, but you shove him again. 
You straddle him, hands enclosing around his neck before applying pressure. He yelps, his fingers reaching up to wrap around your wrists. If Yeonjun really wanted to, he could easily get you off. At the same time, he rather likes the feeling of your heated body on his, soft hands desperately trying to squeeze the life out of him.
Even though you’re in work pants, he can feel your warm cunt. How it grinds against his clothed cock as you keep choking him. Maybe it's due to the lack of air, but Yoenjun can feel the hard on growing in his trousers.
Now you feel it, his erection. It's poking your ass, encouraging you to keep moving against it. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head, his face turning red. You release your grip on him quickly, hearing how he coughs and gasps for air.
You should be concerned about his well-being. You nearly tried killing him. Instead, you're far more interested in his perverted arousal.
"Fuck, you're hard from that?" 
Yeonjun's still trying to gulp in oxygen, but he weakly shakes his head at you. 
"Yeah you are," you laugh. "Got all hard from me hurting you. Fucking disgusting." Despite humiliating him, you slowly grind against him, watching how his mouth falls open in a soundless moan. 
Your hands wrap around his throat again. This time, Yeonjun doesn't fight back. He instead places his hands against your hips, trying to get a momentum going. 
You pull one of your hands back and slap him across the face. The sound echoes in his empty office along with the sound of him groaning. Yeonjun's eyes sting with tears, a pink hand print quickly rising to his skin. 
"Don't fucking touch me," you spit. 
Half expecting him to disobey you, he listens instead. Yeonjun forces his hands back down to his side, clutching the cushions of the sofa. His face is stinging, it hurts to even breathe with you cutting his airways, but he's so desperate to feel you that he's willing to endure it all.
Yeonjun's face twists in pleasure when you resume humping him. He wants nothing more than to buck into you, feel you closer to him, but he remains still. He’s letting you use him like a fucktoy.
You're making sure not to squeeze too hard. You still want to hear his moans, his gasping whines. All of it goes straight to your pussy. Your underwear is sticking to your cunt. You can only assume it's the same for him and his cock.
"You like this huh?" It's too easy to berate him. "Gonna cum in your pants like a whore, aren't you?"
When he doesn't answer, you slap him again. He cries out a lot louder this time, his other cheek matching the bruised one. 
"Fuck you." Yeonjun collects a glob of saliva saliva before he spits it in your face.
It lands on your cheek, sliding down until you wipe it off. "You missed my mouth."
Yeonjun looks as if he has something to say, but you cut him off by squeezing his throat. He lets out a strangled cry, crumbling underneath you once again. The pain and pleasure blurs in his mind unsure if he wants more of your touch or none of it.
A precise drag on your hips has him moaning. Yeonjun realizes how close he’s getting and he hasn't even seen your tits. He doesn't want to cum, not like this. Staining his pants white with the burning memory of who did this to him.
You notice this. How he's moving wildly, knuckles turning white from keeping in his place, how his hips can't help but match your movements. You're debating if you should let him cum, if he even deserves it. The desperation in his voice, however, motivates you to finish him off. 
Yeonjun is trying his best not to cum, head thrashing around in an attempt to fight it. But he's starting to feel weird, the feeling of suffocating nearly gone. There's no pain left when all he feels in you on the verge of fucking him to death. Why should he hold himself back from pure pleasure? From that dreamy state his mind so badly wants to seep into?
With no more fight left in him, Yeonjun cums with a loud cry. He can feel the wet substance coat his boxers, dripping on his thighs. It smears as you continue to ride him, uncaring how uncomfortable it must feel.
Yeonjun almost whines when you stop. You grab him by the shoulders, pinning him back down flat on the couch. He's still coming down from his high when you're unbuckling his pants, peeling off his soiled clothes before you bare witness to his leaking cock.
"Look at that," you say more to yourself than to him. "Cumming all over your pants at work. Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would Soobin say?"
There should be a sense of panic in Yeonjun at your empty threat. Will you take pictures of him and send them to the company group-chat? Maybe even print out the pictures for everyone to see what a slut Yeonjun really is? He doesn't care, he doesn't even think about those things.
Yeonjun focuses on the way you abandon your own dress pants, your underwear. He moans at the sight of your swollen clit, the arousal sticking to your thighs. His cock twitches in excitement. 
He wants it bad. 
It's hard to hover over him, but you make do. One hand grips his cock while the other is on his neck. He doesn't make a peep when you pump his sensitive cock. Where Yeonjun is right now, there's no overwhelming pleasure to be felt. Just the aching desire of wanting to feel his length between your gushy walls.
You slide his tip over your clit, lowering his cock enough until it teases your entrance. 
"God. Can't believe you're still hard. You gonna cum again?"
It's not that Yeonjun doesn't want to respond, he simply can't. There's not a coherent thought in his brain, yet hearing you say 'cum' makes him start whining. 
As if it was possible, you get wetter. Watching the very man who's humiliated you becoming a babbling mess. It's tempting to keep teasing him, but you don't think you can hold out much longer. 
To test how far gone he is, you give a soft smack against his cheek. 
No response, no stunned look. Just hazy, crossed eyes looking up at yours pleadingly. "Fuck," you moan. "There's nothing in there huh?"
You finally pop the head of his cock inside. It stretches you out, a slight stinging sensation from its thickness. You sink a few more inches down before dragging yourself off it, then back down. 
You do this a few more times until Yeonjun's deep inside, your ass pressed against his thighs fully. You shiver on top of him, hands finding purchase on his chest. You rock on him, letting his cock rub against your walls before you pick up your hips just to slam them back down.
Yeonjun throws his head back, whimpering at the feeling. It's so tight inside you, he doesn't think there was anyway he could go back to jerking himself off. 
His hands are flailing around, trying to find something to grab onto. You take pity on him and place them on your hips. Yeonjun doesn't bounce you on his cock like you think he would, he doesn't even have a tight grip on you. He's just finding pleasure in your warm skin as you find pleasure in him.
Finding rhythm is easy, especially when Yeonjun is pliant below you. Moans and wails find their way out of you. His cock is perfect inside you, pussy clenching onto him relentlessly. No matter how much of an ass he is, at least he's got good dick.
You feel him twitch inside you, small gasps leaving his lips. You take in the ugly bruises on his neck, the red marks on his face. Yeonjun looks absolutely ruined. You've dwindled him down to nothing, just a piece of flesh desperate for pleasure. 
He's going to cum again. He wants to cum again. Yeonjun tries to let you know but all he can say is, "Cum! Cumming!"
There's a small voice in your head telling you to stop. To pull him out and make him finish on his stomach. It's not a good idea to have the person you hate most finish inside you, but the thought of getting off his dick is impossible.
So you don't stop. You don't stop bouncing on him even after he cums. There's no rest for him, no chance to properly ride out his high for the second time tonight. You're milking his orgasm, forcing some of his cum out of your pussy from how quickly you're riding him.
Yeonjun slips further into his floaty space, finding comfort in the euphoric feeling. Small little uh uh uh's are all he can manage. It should hurt, but pain is the last thing he's feeling.
"Not fair," you're breathless. "Getting to cum twice while I haven't once. You're really good for nothing."
You're getting close though. The cum from Yeonjun and the arousal your cunt is producing make great lubrication. Your hands move from Yeonjun's chest to your clit. 
It would be better if Yeonjun was the one playing with your pussy, but he's clearly incapable of anything right now.
You clench around his semi-hard cock when you rub yourself. The increase in pressure makes Yeonjun shake. He starts to cry, soft tears running down his face. Even if his mind can't keep up with the overstimulation, his body can.
Both of you are on the brink of orgasm. You plant Yeonjun's cock deep inside, switching to swiveling your hips instead. Your fingers move faster, desperate whimpers on your tongue.
Yeonjun cums before you, not that it's surprising anymore. It's a broken noise that leaves his lips. The sound brings you to the edge, finally finishing on his abused cock. 
Warmth leaks out of you, seeping onto his dick. You stay on his dick, letting your pussy pulse and twitch around his length. Just to hear him whine again, you bounce yourself on him a few more times before slipping him out. 
Your cunt overflows with cum onto Yeonjun's stomach. It drips onto his couch, embedding itself there.
He's spasming, still moaning like he hasn't stopped cumming. Yeonjun's eyes are closed, eyebrows pressed together, mouth hanging open. You grab Yeonjun's pants, using it to wipe yourself clean before you drop it back down to the floor.
Then you're getting dressed. Slipping on your drenched underwear and buttoning your pants at the top. You kneel down to Yeonjun's wrecked state, guilt tugging at your conscience. 
Maybe you should clean him up, or at the very least, snap him back to reality. That's the morally right thing to do, but he looks like he might fall asleep instead. 
Would he wake up covered in cum? Or would Soobin find him in this perverted state? The thought is too tempting to give up, so you stand back up, deciding to leave Yeonjun in his pathetic condition. 
When he does wake up, he'll remember who did this. Who humiliated him beyond comprehension.
His 'useless' assistant.
a/n: feedback is appreciated! thank you @then-make-me for editing and revising!!
213 notes · View notes
appleblueberry-pie · 2 months
Note
nanami please with a darling who was injured by someone else 😼
yay more food. my dinner
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You sigh as you open the door, taking off your shoes, placing them neatly in their respective places before ridding of all of the other things you brought outside with you. Keys, purse, you kept the small bag of groceries in hand for cooking tonight's dinner. The sun was going down and the sky was turning dark. Kento should be off of work by now.
You sigh once more, eyebrow twitching as you ignore the pang of pain in your lower stomach. You wash your hands before washing the vegetables and turning on the stove. How were you to hide this from him? I mean, you did a great job at patching the wound, making sure the bandages didn't show. I mean.....it wasn't that bad. Just a small robbery accident. It's not like you lost any of your personal items. Your face scrunches in stress as you continue to quickly chop the vegetables.
An hour passes when the front door unlocks. Kento steps through the front door and his shoulders relax at the smell of dinner wafting up his nose. You always knew how to settle him when the day ends. The thought of you puts a smile to his lips as he takes off his shoes, placing them in their respective places as well. He was going to turn around when he felt the familiar warmth of your hand on his shoulder and he turns, seeing your pleasant and radiating smile. "Hey, honey." He murmurs, pressing a soft peck to your lips, and wrapping his arms around your waist. He melts into the soft hug you both share.
"Hey," You reply, "How was work?" He almost pulls you back into the hug when you let go of him and begin taking off his cream colored blazer. "Not much different," you place the blazer on a hanger in the closet and Kento loosens his tie, willing himself to walk towards the kitchen instead of following you. "Just wish I didn't have to spend my time with that unsufferable freak for any longer than 2 minutes. Or 2 hours, for that fact." Nanami rolls his eyes as he recalls the memory of spending his time attempting to exercise a curse with Gojo.
"You mean Gojo? I haven't seen him in a while. How's he been?" You follow him into the kitchen and check on the chuck roast in the oven. Nanami scoffs. "Doesn't matter. I would rather not entertain the thought of him...at least not when I can talk about you." He waits for you to close the oven before softly smiling at you.
"How's your day been? Gone out somewhere? Did anything fun?"
Nanami allowed you to roam freely within the house without him having to watch you a year after kidnapping you. And it took a second year to get him to trust you to never leave the city, and do almost anything you want outside the house without his supervision. When you first were captured, you never ever asked him if you could leave. Because you knew eventually, if you played the long game, you could go back to living as normal as possible. Nanami wasn't.....a bad captor. He certainly was a horrible man deep down, but he never hurt you. Besides, you didn't have to do anything other than be his "wife". You didn't have a job and he always told you to use his card. So you had all of the time in the world to do whatever you pleased.
When you first left without his supervision, it was basically like he was there with the amount of times he called you and texted you to know where you were. You constantly sent him photos of the things you were getting, selfies of yourself, and calling multiple times to "make sure you were alright". He was at the front door already waiting for you when you came back. He was so relieved and was very proud of your behavior, which eventually led to him rewarding you when bedtime came.
You worked so hard to get to this point. And you would rather jump into a boiling pot of water than have your freedom that you worked so hard for taken away from you. The chains. The hand-feeding. The baths. You hated it all. He didn't even let you look at clocks for some reason. You only knew how long it had been since he kidnapped you when your birthday came around. And since then, the dynamic had finally formed into something you could work with.
A pang of pain once again struck you when he asked you that question. You forgot to take pain meds and internally cursed to yourself. You had to hide it from him.
"I went to that coffee shop that you recommended to me. And you were right, it was really nice. I loved their Chai Tea and chocolate chip muffins. We should go sometime." Kento held your hands and stared at you as you spoke. He could stare at you for hours and never get bored. You continued, "Then I went back home to do some cleaning. And when I finished, I realized that I wanted to make roast for dinner, so I left out again to go to the grocery store."
Kento nodded and lightly squeezed your hands. "So I got the groceries," Got shoved into an alleyway and was straddled by the biggest man you've ever seen. Your purse and groceries were knocked out of your hands onto the ground. The man smelled disgusting and his breath wasn't any better. He had a knife in his back pocket, you could see it. When you struggled to get off of him, he pulled it out, immediately going for your throat. You dodged and managed to sock him in his face, which threw him off. You shoved him off of you and scrambled to stand up. He crawled towards you, attempting to quickly get himself onto his feet, swiping the knife in your general direction. Of course, your luck was horrible. It managed to make some sort of gash on your lower stomach.
You gasp more in fear than in pain, making distance between you and your attacker. Neither of you were great at fighting, which made this whole thing so tough to get through. He growled, attempting to make his way towards you again. Your heel dug into his face as you kicked him and he yelped in pain, scrambling back. You took that time to gather your stuff, running out of the alleyway towards the direction of your house. You forced yourself to hide the wound and bought an entire first aid kit at a convenience store on the way back. You stumbled and took it to another dark alley way to deal with the wound yourself. You'd be damned if you were caught bleeding by Kento if he makes it home early. You downed a few pain killers, knowing it wouldn't be enough and opened the kit, grabbing the alcohol to clean the wound. The entire process was a blur, but you gritted your teeth through the stitches. Thank god for your suture training from that one high school internship.
".......and made it back home just in time to start dinner before you got back." A soft smile reached your face as you fiddled your toes together. Kento smiled back and nodded once more. "That sounds great honey. I can't wait to try it. Your cooking never disappoints me." He lets go of one of your hands and caresses your face, thumb slightly swiping under your eye. "You look tired, did you get enough sleep last night?" You leaned into his touch and nodded even though your stomach lurched in nausea. "Yeah." He muttered an 'okay' and kissed your forehead.
"I'm going to take a shower. And if there's anything else you need help with, come tell me." You nodded once more and watched him walk towards the bathroom. When he was out of your sight, you quickly finished up with dinner, taking the roast and vegetables out of the oven.
---------------------
It was around bedtime that Kento really started to feel the affects of his job wear him down. He almost seemed to be excited to go to sleep, immediately crawling under the covers when you curled up on your side of the bed. You sigh to attempt and calm your heart. You were only wearing your nightgown and underwear as usual. But you prayed to whoever was in the sky that Nanami wouldn't touch your bandages.
You hear him turn off the lamp before wrapping his big and warm protective arm around your stomach. He sighed into your neck, silently pecking the area and closing his eyes. He rubs your stomach, getting as close to you as possible to share your body warmth with his. "Goodnight, Ken." He lives for the nicknames you give him and hums in appreciation. "Goodnight, baby-" His eyes slowly open at the feeling of a lump on your lower stomach. Nothing is heard in the house besides his calm breaths, not even yours reaches the air.
Before he can say anything, you softly grab his hand and place it higher to where it was before, eyes still closed. Kento blinks and thinks to himself. "Baby?" You stay silent for a second to pretend you're going to sleep. "Hm?" You respond. He says nothing. But he does attempt to touch it again, to see if he was wrong. You don't let him bring his hand back down.
"What's that?" You caress his hand. "....what's what?" Kento scrunches his eyebrows at your behavior and uses more force to pull his hand down, you don't let him again. "Y/n." You purse your lips and open your eyes. You fucking hate him for even deciding to even touch you tonight. You weren't ready. You didn't know that man was going to hurt you. Why do you have to suffer for the things others have done to you?? A deep force settles in your stomach. You've never felt as anxious and fearful as you did right now.
Kento brings his hand down with no fight this time. He touches the bandages once more before sitting up and removing the covers. He lifts your night gown and sees the long bandage that crosses over your entire lower stomach. "What....?" He shakes his head and lightly brushes his fingers over the bandage before looking up at your face. You don't dare meet his eyes and attempt to control your breathing before you begin crying.
"Y/n, what the fuck is this??" You sit up and hang your legs over the edge of the bed and Kento immediately crawls over the blankets to sit next to you. "Y/n-" "No. Please." You choke out a sob and wipe a tear that falls down your face. Kento brings you into his arms, caressing your head as you cry into his neck. "Oh my god..." Kento mutters into the air as he considers all of the possibilities for why you're hurt. Did you do this to yourself? Fuck, he knew it wasn't safe to let you deal with knives. It looked like a very recent gash, so it must've happened today. It isn't bleeding through, which is good...
Did someone else do this to you? His muscles immediately tense at the thought and his heart drops as he looks down at you. He pulls you out of his embrace and and gently pulls your hands from your face. Your bloodshot eyes and damp face breaks his heart into a million pieces. But not like how seeing that gash did. He coos and wipes your face of the tears as much as he could. "Darling, you know I love you and would do anything to keep you safe, you know that right?"
You sob again and shake your head. "Please don't...I don't wanna-" He cuts you off and tightly grabs your hands. "No. Don't even. I would never force you do anything. I just want you to answer my questions, okay?" He gently grabs your face and stares into your eyes.
"Did somebody do this to you?"
You stay silent.
"..........yes." You whisper.
Kento's face contorts into one of frustration. "Who did this to you?" Your ears ring and you feel yourself get dizzy with nausea. Everything about this just made you think you would end up back at square one. You gulp down bile that threatens to crawl up your throat. "Some guy....that I....saw when I left the store."
"What did he look like?" You shake your head. "I couldn't see his face....he was really big and tall. Wearing all black. 'nd he had a knife. He hit me with it." Kento nodded and pulled you into his arms once more. "Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me." He kisses your forehead and caresses your head. "Good girl. So good for me. Can I check it?" You slowly nod and he creates some space between the two of you to peel back the bandage. He hesitates, not wanting to see the damage. His heart lurches when he slowly peels it back, seeing the stitches that were done. They looked neat and cleaned. "Who did these?"
You look up at him when he puts the corner of the bandage back on your skin. "I did." He remembers that you took a class for medicine back in high school and nods in remembrance. "Okay. They look great. But I'm going to have to leave soon."
You know what that means and make no moves to stop him from getting up. He once again hugs you before kneeling on the ground to meet your eyes. "Next time this happens...please, please tell me. No more secrets. Remember what I said about secrets?" You nod and mess with the edge of your nightgown. "No more secrets.....I'm sorry." He softly smiles at you and wipes any stray hairs from your face. "It's alright, no need to apologize. I understand."
He presses a sweet and long kiss to your lips. Reveling in the soft plush of your lips on his. A lingering taste from your tears fall onto his tongue, but he doesn't care. He pulls back first, caressing your face. "Come on, let me tuck you in." You lean back into the soft blankets and mattress, Kento brings the blankets up to underneath your chin. He once again kisses your forehead and smiles sadly at you. "Goodnight, my love. Have sweet dreams. I will be back as soon as possible and will be here when you wake up." You nod and stare at his face. He seems to have newfound energy about him as he grabs some clothes from the closet, taking them with him into the bathroom to change.
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darkened-writer · 6 months
Text
imagine| On The Nature Of Daylight
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This is a part two to 'Star', since I feel like it deserved a happy ending, despite the bittersweetness of the first part. I honestly could expand this into a series if I want to, so let me know what you all think! Enjoy!
PAIRING || Astarion x Tav (Reader)
WORD COUNT || 1,090
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Daylight always felt so odd, because even in a big city, the night was always more comforting. Especially for those who could never truly sleep well. ‘Insomniacs’.
The times that Tav did sleep, they’d see glimpses of stark white locks, red speckled irises, and a cheeky grin. All unfamiliar to see in a society where the only white hair you would see is on older people and people with odd hair dying choices. And, red eyes? It’d be associated with Albinism. The dots could never really connect on who this person plaguing their dream were.
Every night.
Every nap.
Every single time.
Doctors prescribed meds for PTSD, Insomnia, but nothing ever worked.
So, Their nights were filled with mindless activities and scrolling their phone, as most people do.
Wondering who exactly this man could be.
And, why his skin felt so natural against theirs.
The sun peeked just out of the curtain of their room, only slightly illuminating the space that was covered with various papers that had sketches scrawled across them, some with eyes, some with swirls to resemble curls, and mouths, shaped into smirks, two sharp teeth peeking out from under them. So beautiful yet out of reach, even so slightly.
The bed felt so empty.
But, at least there was the library.
It was a small job, paid decently well, gave Tav access to all types of books, ranging from non-fiction to fantasy to even greek tellings and local legends.
Though, fantasy was always one that piqued their interest.
Busy streets, walking with a blazer wrapped around their figure, a coffee in their hands, messenger bag in the other.
Eventually, the quietness of the library surrounded them, a few people sat at table reading books or typing away at computers. A few stood inbetween shelves, examining every aspect of the books they hold from the front to the spine.
Wyll, he was the head of the library, was clocking out and waved with a smile, glasses pushing up towards his nose as he walks away, carrying a stack of books. He was the nicest coworker you could ever have, always leaving a tupperware full of baked goods. Assortments of cookies, cupcakes, mini pies, all very sweet. Though, his hobbies outside of work were always involving sword fighting and fencing.
Cookies, this time around.
Red velvet.
The red looked practically bloody.
There was a ding, and Tav looked up, a red-haired woman holding a few books.
Demonology?
“Will these be all?”
“Yes…”
“Demonology, huh?”
She was quiet, opting to hug herself as she waited for the books to be checked out, hand rubbing against the muscle under her leather jacket.
Tav slides the books across the counter.
“Hope these help your studies!”
“Thank you.”
She walks away, Tav now opening the tupperware to grab a cookie, taking a large bite and humming a bit at the taste of the white chocolate chips.
Always so good.
“Hello? Earth to Librarian?”
Her hair was stark white, next to her snowy complexion, a silver necklace adorning her neck as she waved a petite hand in from of their face.
“Oh… sorry.”
The girl handed the books over, watching closely as Tav scanned them.
“You ever dabble in witchcraft?”
Tav perks up.
“Uh. No. But, it does seem interesting.”
“You should check these out once I’m done with them. Spells of protection are major within witchcraft, you know?”
She takes the books, grinning.
“Have a good one, Librarian.”
Sauntered off, leaving Tav to contemplate why no one ever read their nametag.
But, there was no time for that, there were books to put away.
So, they grabbed a cart, stacking returned books onto it before pushing it to certain aisles, sliding books in their rightful places, humming a small tune that's been stuck in their head. Eventually, the fantasy section comes up, a lot of empty slots to fill as they stop and begin to put boots in, until someone snatches up the book they just put in.
Red-Speckled eyes.
A devilish grin.
White locks.
“Oh, hello…”
His voice was smooth, an accent buried underneath it all.
“Hi.”
“Apologies for snatching this book from you, Love. You see… I’m very fascinated by fictional works, especially fantasy and this work, from Ms. Tyler, well, it’s an excellent work.”
He shows the cover of the book, which had a piece of art that depicted a small group of people.
“It’s okay, uh… we are getting a shipment soon of the next part after that one. The conclusion. If you’d like, I can have a reminder sent to you for it?”
His grin widens.
“That’d be perfect, Darling, Thank you.”
He peers down.
“Tav.”
“That’s me.”
“My name is Aster, but you can call me Astarion.”
Tav smiles a bit.
“You seem vaguely familiar, have we met before?”
“I believe we haven’t but, we can get to know each other?”
He was charming, his eyes looking directly into Tav’s with a familiar intensity.
“Sure. But, check out the book first?”
He nods, smiling as Tav walks away with the cart, mind swirling with thoughts.
Exactly like the dreams.
They looked just like the person in his dreams.
And, he had to know more.
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“Just this book?”
He had just set the one book onto the counter, eyes more trained on Tav then anywhere else.
But, the sun through the window was hitting him just right, the red of his eyes more bright in the unexpected light, giving a odd sense of comfort. He was all too known in Tav’s mind, the resemblance uncanny of the man in their dreams. His touch could practically be felt still, his hands brushing the hair out of their face.
“Yes. And, red velvet? Good choice.”
A grin sprouts on Tav’s face.
“My coworker made them for me, they're good. Want one?”
“Sure.”
Their hands graze as Tav hands him a cookie, scanning the book and handing it over to him again as he grabs it, other hand holding the cookie as he take a bite, nodding to himself.
“Quite good.”
“I know right?”
A beat of silence.
“I’m sorry if its weird but, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met you..”
“I feel the same way.”
Both perk up.
“Would you want to maybe… go get coffee or something? I know a place down main street, ran by this really nice guy, Halsin.”
“I’d love to, my dear.”
Both just look at eachother, a knowing look, red eyes looking into theirs.
“See you soon?”
“See you soon.”
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jreads · 10 months
Text
A Total Coincidence (Part 01)
Rating: totally family friendly 👍🏼
Word Count: 3.4K
Warnings: Foul language, Mentions of blood, It's pretty angsty
A/N: OHHHHH we're so back. If you're new here, welcome. If not, welcome back! I am extremely excited for this. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. You can comment on this post or the masterlist to be added to the taglist!
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You work a tiring and thankless corporate job. It pays well but it’s draining. You put a façade on in the office, one of polite, unruffled professionalism, but it slips quite quickly as soon as you push your way through the polished revolving glass doors of the modern high-rise.
He knows all of this because he watches you.
It’s not creepy, he attempts to convince himself, because he goes to that coffee shop too. The cozy, dim-lit one that overlooks your place of work. Granted, he used to only go once every blue moon. He’s there far more often now, in a darkened back booth, at the same time in the day. 
A total coincidence.
Simon Riley never used to spend a lot of time in London. He has a permanent address there, under a fake name, just to smooth over certain legalities. He never bothered too much with the details. In between assignments he comes back to ensure everything is as it should be, and to water the small cactus on the windowsill, a joking gift from MacTavish following their op in Las Almas. It’s one of those low-maintenance ones; you should soak the soil once every two months just to ensure it doesn’t turn a duller shade of green. Simon is half certain he could feed the thing gasoline and it would still flourish. But he liked his routine. It was touch and go, busy, never too much time in one place. The injury threw a damn wrench in it all.
The team had been deployed somewhere in the South American jungle, attempting to uncover part of an elusive arms trafficking operation. While the job had been successful, Ghost had been rewarded with one in the gut. Hemorrhage, internal bleeding, the works. They had patched him up real well, but the Captain had insisted he take some time, at least until after Christmas. He hadn’t wanted to. There’s nothing to do. It gets all too quiet when he is left to his own devices. He gets restless. But in this café, under warm string lights and surrounded by chatter, it isn’t as lonely. Especially for the ten minutes just after 17:00 hours when you come in to place your order.
He isn’t entirely sure what had drawn him to you in the first place. I could have been any number of things. The light gait of your walk, the way you struggle with the heavy door, your sweet voice, or the way you treat the serving staff. They all like you. Especially the ginger kid with the glasses… he likes you a bit too much. It could have been the way you shrug off your blazer in the late summer heat, folding it into the crook of your elbow and rolling your neck. It could have been the way you usually fumble to hold everything in one hand, always one cup, one paper bag, along with your purse, jacket, blue light glasses. Peppermint tea, he had found out when he had walked too closely past you one day. You were delicately trying to pry the lid from your cup to let the drink cool and—even through the mask—he had smelled the fresh aroma of it. He lists all the possible causes of his interest as if there is some hidden, puzzling meaning behind them. Realistically, it’s probably just because he finds you real fucking pretty.
Whatever the reason, he has formed some strange one-sided connection with you. You haven’t noticed him, maybe you never will, because he sits in the darkest corner of the shop, hood pulled over his head and medical mask in place whenever he isn’t eating or drinking. He’s been reading a lot recently, James Patterson, John le Carré, but George R. R. Martin is his current. It’s a welcome change of pace. And a good excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon here, nursing a black coffee and croissant BLT. 
It's still summer and in central London, it’s sweltering. The café has their AC blasting, but as the sun dips low between the buildings it reflects off city glass and into the tiny shop, heating it like a microwave. The warmth feels oppressive today, even with his change to an iced coffee. The hoodie doesn’t help. That’s one of the only downsides of being here; he can’t shuck the damn hoodie. The tattoos would draw enough eyes, but the scars would make people stare. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people not minding their bloody business.
The ginger kid, Harvey, as his name tag says, sets an oscillating fan atop the espresso machine. Fat lot of good it’ll do on a day like this. As if in spite of his inner dialogue, its artificial breeze flutters Simon’s bookmark right off the table and to the wood-panelled floor. Reflexes faster than his memory, he bends down to grab it and bites his tongue to fight back what would have been a rather nasty string of curses. 
“You’ll have to watch it for a bit. No folding forward or back, or to the sides.”
“So I can’t even fucking move now, hey?”
“Just be careful. The stiches should hold, but I don’t want you testing it, alright?”
Well now he had just gone and bloody tested it. Fucking hell. He had copious bandages overtop, but he needed to make sure nothing had pulled. If it had, he’d be sitting in a pool of his own blood by dinnertime. Masking another grunt of pain and fighting off his dizziness, he heads for the bathroom. No one will bother the shit on his table, the employees are usually pretty good about that. 
The fluorescents flicker on automatically as the door shuts. He lifts his hoodie up and inspects the damage. Nothing is showing through, thank fuck. But he bets when he changes the wrappings later tonight, the gauze underneath will probably hold evidence of his stupid mistake. 
He hates it, the wound. And hates himself for it. It’s a reminder that he’s not invincible… that he’s anything but. That despite the skull mask and the layers of armour and the assault rifle slung over his shoulder, he’s only human. Weak. He’s had injuries before, stabs and slashes and broken bones. But none quite so severe as one well-placed gunshot wound. Usually he bounces back pretty fast, but this time…
Simon hates the paleness of the face in the mirror. He thinks, just for a moment, of throwing his fist into the glass, just to rid himself of the reflection. Opting instead for a frustrated sigh, he rearranges the sweatshirt once more before throwing the door open and rounding the corner, stopping just inches from where you lean against the wall, waiting on the barista.
Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Your back is to him and you’re on your phone, texting away. He snoops, just a little. He’ll reprimand himself for it later. It’s your mother. She’s asking if you’ve eaten and sending pictures of a mischievous looking grey cat. He watches your shoulders shake in a light laugh. There’s a lock of hair obscuring the pulse in your neck and he wants to brush it away.
Enough, you bloody creep.
“Pardon,” he mumbles, pushing past you.
“Sorry.” You press yourself close to the wall as he moves, barely looking up from the screen. He can smell your fragrance. You’re so small compared to him; he can’t stop himself from picturing what his hand would look like splayed possessively over the small of your back.
Fucking hell, he needs to stop.
You’re oblivious to his thought process, engrossed still in the conversation with your mum. Only when the employee says your name do you look up, smiling even wider and profusely thanking as you reach for your cup. He likes your name, he thinks. It suits you. What would it sound like on his tongue if he said it aloud?
He’s going bloody soft. Simon theorizes that Johnny is largely to blame. He had been introverted before that op, preferring to work alone, avoiding interaction with others unless completely necessary. Since then, he found himself missing the raucous laughter of the task force, the cracking of army humor jokes. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much, though. After all, it’s not like it was making him any worse at his job.
His reputation had preceded him in the jungle. Once the cartel had caught wind of 141 touching down, they were talking about him, fear lacing their voices. El Crânio, they called him. The Skull. The kill count had been fucking brutal.
It feels strange to be thinking about that in a place like this. It’s like two different lives that don’t ever intersect. Three even, if he counts his real identity. Ghost, Simon, and William. Will is the name he gives to the barista here, the one on the bills that come to the flat, the one attached to the SIM in his phone, the one on the fake driver’s licence and motorbike certificate in his wallet. He hates it, but he wasn’t the one who got to choose it.
He watches the way you play a coin from your change between your fingers, spinning it over the back of your thumb before catching it. You tend to fiddle with things while you wait: debit card, pens, hair pins, like your hands are aching for something to do. He can empathize. He’s started biting his nails again.
The employees have worked fast today, and you have your tea and biscuit in hand in record time. It almost seems unfair. Five minutes he gets with you, watching at a distance. At least he knows he’ll see you again tomorrow.
And he does. Again and again and again. Over a few weeks, the hole in his gut starts to heal, but it’s replaced with a new one. Something more insistent and far less easy to treat.
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One day, you’re late. He starts to ruminate without meaning to but naturally, his mind goes down darker routes. He shakes the unwanted thoughts off, trying not to dwell on just how much they unnerve him. But you show up eventually, smile still plastered on. He wonders if it’s real. 
“They’re extending my day,” you’re telling the server. “Not by much, just one or two hours.” Something about an expedited move from digital to hardcopy files. “At least it’s overtime pay.” 
He doesn’t like it. The days are getting shorter; it’s getting darker earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the shadows of the London streets. Crime is on the rise; there’s all sorts lingering around the city at night. But then again, it shouldn’t bother him. It’s not his commute; you’re not his.
He sticks around most days though, just to make sure you get out alright. 
Today is different. It’s different because it’s 19:00 hours and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring at nothing in particular and when the barista hands you your drink you say thank you, but you don’t smile. You always smile. And he’s trying to tell himself that it’s none of his business, that it’s not his problem but it is. Suddenly, it’s his biggest problem.
He holds the door open for you as you leave because it’s all he can do. You thank him, quietly, but don’t even look up from the floor. He won’t follow you; that’s crossing a line, a breach of privacy. So, he turns towards his own flat, looking back only once to see you disappear behind a street corner.
He sees your haggard face in his dream that night.
The next few days are more of the same. Even the coffee shop employees are starting to talk about it. How you look tired, shaky. Harvey talks about asking for your number as a way to cheer you up. The baristas all shut him down pretty quickly.
Weeks pass. He’s almost done the Game of Thrones series. But you’re only getting worse.
It’s October now, and the autumn chill is starting to set in. You wear a black trench over your office clothes, tugging it closed to fight the cold of the wind. Your eyes look bloodshot, hollow, like it’s been weeks since you’ve slept. He knows the look intimately; he sees it enough in the mirror. Ginge has asked for your number anyway, and you’ve politely declined. Ever the diplomat. He feels bad for smiling at the dismayed look on the boy’s face. Luckily, it hides behind his mask.
It rains the next day. Torrentially. It’s the kind that can dampen a thick cotton sweater within seconds, so he begrudgingly takes an umbrella with him. The shop is warm and ambient, a world within a world. The coffee tastes better on a day like today, warm, bitter, and reviving. He loses himself in his book, looking up only to realize that it’s passed your time. He thinks for a moment that he might have missed you, but that’s impossible. He could have blindfolds on and still feel your presence. 
You haven’t shown up. There’s a twist of something akin to anguish in his chest and he tells himself to calm down. Maybe they kept you late; you’ll show up eventually.
Except you don’t. 
Soon, the workers are wiping down tables and raising chairs. He has no choice but to abandon his station and venture back out into the cold. Something is off. It might seem silly, but he’s learned never to discount his hunches. So, he sets up camp in the courtyard, umbrella obscuring what little is visible of his face, and he waits. And waits. And waits. 
It’s nearing 22:00 hours when you finally exit the elevators and break for the revolving doors. He knows something is wrong immediately, your feet are moving too fast and you’re casting glances over your shoulder as if you’re being followed. As soon as you exit the building you’re running, as fast as your heeled pumps can allow.
“Fucking hell.” He’s up within seconds, umbrella closed and leaving him open to the onslaught of rain. He jogs to try and keep up, a safe distance behind but you’re too fast. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s lost you.
He’s checking each cross street, turning back on himself. The patter of raindrops is almost deafening, the cabs sending sprays of sludge up from the gutters as they race down the laneway. But through it all—as he’s been trained to—he hears sounds of a struggle. A scream, half muffled. It’s yours. He knows it immediately. Simon follows it as if he’s tracking you. One block north, one west. A half. Retracing his steps. There’s no sounds past the slick splash of car tires on wet asphalt. An alley lies to his left, no streetlights. He’s about to venture down it when you come hurtling around the corner, straight into his chest. Your coat is ripped, hair soaking, and he swears there’s blood on your clothes. Your tired eyes are panicked and laced with fear, looking at him with desperation. He doesn’t have time to be shocked. Because from behind you comes a hooded man, tall build, muscular, though not nearly as big as him. Taking hold of your forearm, he draws you behind him. The man pauses.
“Can I help you?” Simon asks. His voice is anything but friendly. The man seems to size him up and decide the fight is unwise, turning on his heel and walking briskly back the way he came. Good. He’d go after the guy, but he sure as shit isn’t leaving you alone in the middle of the street.
You ‘re clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking like a leaf. He has slid into that lethal calm familiar to field work, assessing the location, noting information, protecting. Once the man is out of sight, he’s got your face in his hands and your skin is so soft but so cold.
“You alright?” he asks, already fully aware of the answer. You can’t even speak, barely looking at him, just back down the alley as if your pursuer might remerge. Shock, he thinks. What was he supposed to do with a civvy in shock? Get them to a safe place, speak calmly and stably, check for injury. 
“Right, come on.” He pulls you lightly by the arm and you follow without much resistance, probably too weak to refuse. Like hell he’s letting you go anywhere by yourself right now. It’s almost unsettling how small your wrist feels in his hand, fragile, too easily breakable. 
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His flat is warm, but you’re still shivering. Simon had deposited you on the couch after helping you shrug out of your destroyed jacket. A blanket sits around your shoulders now, and the kettle is boiling. He’s retrieved his somewhat depleted med kit from the bathroom, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Distantly, he curses himself for not replenishing bandages from the drugstore. There’s a nasty cut on your upper arm, open and bleeding, a knife slash. Anger isn’t something he can afford to feel right now.
“Let’s have a look,” he says, more to himself then anything. You haven’t said a word to him. But when he dabs at the wound with clean gauze, you grasp at his forearm, inhaling sharply. 
“I know. I gotta clean and stitch it though, alright?” He’s never been great at patch ups, but he has been trained. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you can’t keep bleeding either. Fucking hell, he wishes he had gentler hands. Or something stronger than ibuprofen. 
“You drink?” he offers. You nod. Good enough. He brings you back a glass of whiskey. You down it, wincing at the strength, offering the empty glass back to him. He takes it, placing it on the low table before assessing you again. 
Clean. Disinfect. Needle, thread, vertical mattress stich. Under up, under down and tie off. This would be a breeze for the field medic. But his fingers are thick and much less nimble. You keep clutching at his arm through the sleeve, squeezing to stave off some of the pain. His eyes flicker up occasionally to check your face, but your own are tightly shut. He can tell you’re gritting your teeth, but you barely make a sound. Impressive, though it’s probably partially due to adrenaline. He ties off the final stitch. “Done.”
When you open your eyes there’s relief in them. And a loosening of tense muscles that is worrisome because it’s happening too fast. Your upper body is swaying, and your features are going unfocused, and he knows what happens next. 
He manages to cradle your head just before it hits the arm of the sofa.
Bloody fucking hell.
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You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours. 
It’s plain. In fact, the whole room is. Grey-brown drywall and exposed brick. White sheets, white bedspread. The only real piece of décor is a bookshelf, spanning a considerable length of the wall, practically exploding with titles. What the hell? 
You rise onto your elbows only to gasp in pain. 
It’s a nasty looking cut, red and swollen around the edges but tied together with neat stitches. The sight of it opens a floodgate of memories, one after the other, ending with the man who saved you, shrouded in darkness.
Shit. This wasn’t good. None of this was good. You need your phone, but all of your belongings had been in your handbag, lost in that alley. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, onto cool tile. Tiptoe out the doorway, taking in pieces of the quiet apartment as you go. Industrial design, morning light, a view of the city, a tiny cactus on the sill.
“You’re awake.” The Manchester accent is heavy and laced with concern. You spin on the source only to stop dead. 
His brown hair is so light it might as well be blonde, eyes dark with the shadow of lowered brows, skin peppered with pale pink scars. Prominent ones over his left eyebrow and bottom lip. The hint of a tattoo peeking out the collar of his t-shirt. Though eerily beautiful, his face is one that might send people running. But you find you aren’t afraid of him, not in the slightest.
“You wanna tell me what happened back there?”
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kai-anderson-whore · 8 months
Text
One night stand (smut) (jeff wald x fem reader)
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Summary: you meet Jeff wald at a house party of some celebrity and get more than acquainted
Warnings: smut, p in v sex, cowgirl, oral (jeff receiving), alcohol, I think that's it.
A/n: this was a request on wattpad also its my bday today I'm officially 18 🥳🥳
Word count: 2k
•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•. .•°˚˚°
Blinding multicoloured lights flashed within the room of some rich guys house. You had been invited to a house party of some film star, you never really went to these sorts of things only being freshly new to the limelight.
You weren't a very social person, Unless you had a few drinks down you. So that's what you did now on your 3rd glass of alcohol starting to feel a buzz. It was very hot in the living room of this rich guys house. Pushing your way through the crowds of body's till you reached the balcony connecting to the room you were in previously feeling the fresh air hit you.
A soft sigh left your lips taking a small sip of your cocktail that you got from the bar within the house. Turning your head observing the area, seeing a few familiar faces talking amongst each other all laughing drunkenly or probably high you couldn't tell.
Suddenly your eyes landed on him Jeff wald. One of the top film producers of this decade. He was handsome to say the least his dark short shaggy hair that matched perfectly with his eyes that seemedso full of joy and life, the way he wore his crisp white shirt with a few buttons undone showing a little of his chest.
He was talking to another celebrity laughing at something they said to him. Turning his head finally locking eyes with you. Feeling the blush rise to your cheeks your finger traced the rim of your glass. Jeff kept his eyes on you but you turned your attention back to the view of the city lights that lit up the dark.
"Hi don't think I seen you here before" a voice caught your attention seeing it was Jeff. A small smile invaded your features, "I'm new to the whole showbiz thing" you said as Jeff pulled a cigarette packet out his blazer pocket offering you one which you took. "So what part of showbiz are you in?" He then asked taking a cigarette for himself lighting his up then yours.
"Modelling and a little acting nothing big" you shrugged blowing a cloud of smoke from your lips. Jeff was infatuated with you he thought you were so beautiful from the second he laid eyes on you. "I'm Jeff wald" he introduced you let out another smile giggling, Jeff felt his heart skip a beat hearing the way you giggle.
"I know I'm y/n y/l/n" you introduced back. Jeff's eyes widened a little remembering hearing your name on a newspaper of some sort of new talent. "I think i seen something about you in a newspaper" he said taking another drag of his cigarette. "Probably" you replied.
You and jeff spoke for hours taking your conversation somewhere quite with a bottle of whisky. You assumed that you were in one of the quest rooms of the house but that didn't really matter. You could still hear the music from downstairs blasting but not too loudly anymore from this end of the house.
You laid on your stomach on the bed your dress hiking up a little but enough for Jeff to notice. He sat down on the chair close to you pouring the bitter whisky into two glasses. Handing you one you took a sip grimacing at the taste. "So what kind of modelling do you do y/n" Jeff asked shifting in his seat.
"Just modelling for some brands like luxury clothing and that, originally it was supposed to be topless but my family wouldn't approve" Jeff listened to every word you spoke like there was something hidden within. "Better money doing brands" Jeff chuckled. "Yeah I didn't want to do topless anyway or I would have stayed back home in w/y/f".
About another hour and a half in you and jeff were a little drunk now both on the bed leaning against the pillows. Jeff had now taken his blazer off and undone the buttons on the arm of his shirt getting himself more comfortable. you kept giggling at story's Jeff told you about his job. Taking the almost finished bottle of whisky from Jeff's hand you took a sip spilling a little on yourself. "Oh shit" you chuckled wiping your chin and chest Jeff watched laughing.
"It's not funny jeff" you scolded trying to hold in your laughter but it was unsuccessful. Laughter filled the room you didn't realise you rested your head on Jeff's chest from laughing too much. Opening your eyes seeing Jeff looking down at you the mood in the room suddenly shifted. "Your really beautiful y/n" Jeff whispered moving a strand of hair away from your face.
"Yeah your not so bad yourself jeff" you teased now gaining a boost of confidence leaning up to press your lips to his. The kiss was soft your hand on his chest supporting yourself as you sat yourself up to straddle him. His hands roamed your thighs squeezing the bare skin there your dress rolled up exposing your ass.
A small gasp left your lips allowing Jeff to slip his tongue in your parted lips. Your hips grinding down on his growing erection, swallowing a groan from Jeff a smirk played on your lips knowing you had a effect on the film producer. Your small hands fiddling with the pearly white buttons of his shirt slowly exposing his upper half to you.
Your lips pulled away from his now plump ones, that same smirk still plastered your lips. Jeff watched your face like it was the last thing he would ever see. Your hands roaming his chest, your hips still teasingly rolling down on him. "I want you jeff" you seductively whispered.
A devilish smirk across Jeff's face, his rough hands removed your dress leaving you in your white soft satin undergarments. "Your so beautiful y/n" Jeff sighs before attaching his lips to your collarbone kissing up your neck.
Your hand on the nape of his neck holding him close, a moan leaving your lips as Jeff sucked on your sweet spot. Jeff continues his work on your neck and collarbone while his hands worked on taking your bra off peeling the flimsy fabric off your arms and on the floor.
You detached yourself from Jeff's lips. He looks at you with confusion as you shuffled yourself lower straddling his knees. Your soft delicate hands grazing over his lower stomach as you removed his pants and under. Jeff raised his hips up letting you slide the items of clothing  off and meet the same fate of the rest of the clothes.
Your hand wrapped around the length of his cock guiding your hand in small strokes. Jeff's breath hitched in the back of his throat as your lips placed small kisses on the tip then along the shaft. You couldn't help but smirk at the effect you had on his once more barely even touching him. Jeff felt like he was about to explode, bucking his hips desperate for some sort of release.
"Eager are we" you teased before taking him in your mouth. Looking up at him through your thick eyelashes his chest raising and falling, his dark eyes on you filled with lust and pleasure as you bobbed your head long his length, your tongue pressed flat against his shaft lips tightly secure giving him just the right amount of friction.
The sounds of Jeff's small moans and groans filled the room along of a string of praises of encouragement. You never missed a beat a sliver of drool connecting from your mouth to Jeff's cock as you pulled away for some air moving your hair over your shoulder then connecting back to his cock.
Your head continues to moving along his length swirling your tongue adding to his own pleasure. "Keep doing that I'm almost there" he groaned his hips slightly bucking up making you gag a little. Within a few more movements of your head Jeff let go in your mouth, you continue to Bob your head milking him through his orgasm swallowing every drop of his cum.
Removing yourself from Jeff you wiped away the remaining cum that was on the corner of your mouth, still remaining eye contact with Jeff licking it off your finger. Now standing off from the bed you wriggled out your panted completely bare for the man infront of you.
You never were one for one night stands sure you did it a couple of times but with Jeff you felt the urge to just have him. Crawling back on the bed your palms resting on his chest as you straddled him once again. Your lips connected with Jeff's once again hungrily erection formed as you teased him grinding down on him once again a moan left your lips as his tip brushed against your clit.
Once Jeff was fully hard you gripped the base of his cock lightly teasing him my dragging the tip along your slick wet folds. "Oh god I need to be inside you" he grunted out impatiently. A smile cracked from your lips lining him up with your entrance lowering yourself down on him.
You both moaned out in union his cock Stretching your walls out perfectly. "Fuck" you moaned out slowly riding him. Jeff's hands gripped your thighs his eyes watching how your breasts bounced. You could still hear the muffled music from downstairs not caring if anyone could hear as you gained a faster rhythm.
"You feel so good" Jeff groaned his hips assisting you with your fastening pace. One of his hands groping your breasts kneeding the flesh earning a louder moan from you. Your walls clenching around his cock desperately chasing your high.
You were sure by now anyone near the room you were in could here you both but neither of you cared, to lost in the moment. You couldn't hear the music anymore your mind was all fuzzy from lust and the euphoric feeling of Jeff. "Oh fuck" you moaned loudly your chest now pressed against his continuing to ride him.
Before you knew it you were laid back on the mattress, Jeff on top still inside you. Your legs hosted up on his shoulders, it felt uncomfortable at first but as he thrusted into you hitting places you never knew existed you got acquainted with the feeling. "Right there Jeff Oh fuck harder" you almost screamed.
Jeff complied with your request thrusted faster and harder. He was like a wild animal and you loved every second of it no one had ever made you feel like this you never wanted it to end. "I'm so close" you moaned out clenching your walls tighter around him. "Me too" he breathed out.
A few more thrusts you were like putty in his hands. Your head threw back mouth wide open practically screaming his name as you came over his cock. Jeff stopped for a moment to watch the beauty unfold infront of him mesmerised by how beautiful you looked coming undone under him.
His own thrusts got sloppy chasing his second orgasm pulling out and Cumming over your stomach. You felt limp and exhausted feeling Jeff collapse beside you gaining your breaths back. "I don't think I can move" you chuckled brushing your hair out your face. Your mascara staining your cheeks lipstick all smudged.
"Stay here tonight toni wouldn't mind" Jeff said grabbing a towel that laid on the table beside him handing it to you. "I wouldn't want to just stay here I barely knew the guy" you smiled cleaning yourself up feeling a little drunk still. "I'll stay too it will be fine" Jeff assured still a bit tipsy from the whisky.
"Fine" you yawned discarding the towel and laying back on the bed. You covered your naked body trying to get yourself comfortable. You felt Jeff wrap his arm around you from behind after he turned the light off. "Night y/n" he whispered placing a chaste kiss on the back of your head. "Night jeff" you smiled closing your eyes.
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thefrontofmymind · 9 months
Text
Proof Postitve 1
WARNINGS: smut minors dni!! alcohol consumption, smoking
series masterlist
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There was a sense of pride running through your veins. Seeing the band that you’d known and supported for years sweep the BRIT awards, winning all of their nominated categories. You’d been working as office support at Dirty Hit since their first album was released, you’d been with them through just about everything, every gig you helped organise, all the singles you did the logistics on, and you’d become a good friend of all of them.
There was one, though, a certain bassist that you were closest to. You and Ross had always had a sort of special relationship. There was rarely a conversation between the two of you that didn’t involve at least a base level of simple flirting; you asking him if all the things they say about bassist are true, him teasing by saying you should find out for yourself. It’d never gone all that far though, there was a boundary there that neither of you were willing to cross. And you thought that’s just how it’d be forever.
The pub Dirty Hit had rented out for the afterparty spared no expense, you made sure of that. Music was pumping, there were dozens of fluorescents illuminating the space, and the drinks were flowing–very much.
Of course, the band of the hour was everyone’s attention–you’d gotten in a quick ‘congratulations’ before they were totally smothered by the countless guests who wanted to do the same thing. Even being just on the outside of it all, it was suffocating to watch the four of them bounce around the room, never being left alone. 
You needed some air, so slinking towards the front door to take a break outside the front of the booming club–as best you could with the amount of shots you’d taken. It was still cold–not out of the ordinary for London in late February–and you wish you brought your coat with you. You breathed in and out shakily, hoping your fingers wouldn’t go numb as you scrolled through various social medias, seeing the fans’ reactions was always your favourite part of any endeavour the guys did. You were only a little acquainted with the fans, you’d mostly stayed behind the curtain, only the really deep fans knew of your existence, the ones that investigated all your socials when they put the dots together and discovered almost everyone involved with the band followed you, and you’d posted photos with them a couple times over the years. The general opinion of you was neutral, and you liked it that way, you didn’t have to worry.
In your peripheral, you saw a figure stand next to you, a veil of cigarette smoke around them. You turned your head as was met with the sight of your favourite bassist. He looked exceptionally dashing tonight with his suit and bow tie–you told him he looked like a sexy Fred Astaire, which he blushed and laughed at.
You gave him a nod to say hello, he returned it and took another drag.
“You alright? Saw you come out, thought you were leaving…” He said.
“Leave without saying goodbye? To you of all people?” You joked.
“I’d hope not, thought I’d trained you better than that!” He quipped. 
He slipped off his blazer and put it around your shoulders. You were immediately engulfed in the scent of his cologne, your goosebumps returned back into your skin and you felt more at ease than you have all night.
“I…I just…” You started. Ross looked over at you, big eyes and a smile–god, he was handsome. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I’m really proud of you…Getting to where you are now, I’m so honoured that I’ve gotten to see it.”
“Thanks.” He gave you a sincere smile. “And it does mean a lot coming from you, you’re one of the only people around us that actually tells us the truth.”
You jokingly flipped your hair and laughed. “Well, I try…”
A gust of wind blew through the street, chilling you to the bone. Ross noticed your slight shivering, and he put an arm around you, trying to give you as much warmth as possible, even with his jacket on, the cold was coming through. Ross chuckled at the sound of your teeth chattering. Something with the chill made you giggly, with the sudden inability to speak, the best you could do was laugh with him. 
Suddenly he had a hand on your chin, lightly directing you to face him. He slightly raised his eyebrows, asking your permission. Instead of answering, you just went for it.
You gently placed a kiss against his lips, and before you could pull away too far, his hand that was still on your jaw pulled you back in, this time with much more ferocity.
One of your favourite movies of all time was The Princess Diaries, though one part that always confused you was the legendary ‘foot pop’, but now, with Ross’ mouth on yours, you finally understood.
Within minutes, he had you pushed up against the wall of the club, his tongue exploring your mouth, while his hands did the same elsewhere. It felt like all the years you’d spent in a game of oscillating cat and mouse had finally led up to this night, the time was now.
You lightened the kiss, then pulled away. “How about I go and get my coat and you order an Uber?”
“Your place or mine?” He asked between kisses to your neck.
“Dealer’s choice.” 
You patted his chest a couple times before he let go of you and you handed him his blazer, and you made your way back inside. It was getting quite late, everyone inside had begun to spiral into one big drunken mess. You quickly grabbed your coat and purse from the small corner you’d hid them in.
You were almost out the door, before you heard a yell of your name.
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already!” Matty yelled, stringing an arm around your shoulder, mostly to keep himself stable.
“I am, unfortunately some of us have to work tomorrow, Healy!”
He blew a raspberry at your comment before kissing your cheek and bidding you goodbye. You all but ran out the entrance. You were met with the sight of Ross standing on the curb with the door of an unusually sleek looking Uber. You didn’t notice before, but your lipstick was smeared halfway across his face, the sight only made you more endeared.
“Shall we?” He asked, opening the door more to let you climb in.
After a polite introduction to the driver and a confirmation on the address–Ross’ place, which you preferred, you hadn’t quite tidied in a while so your flat wasn’t exactly in the right state for guests–you were off. His hand was placed firmly on your thigh, you swear you could feel electricity through his fingertips. You shuffled closer to him, and again, and again. By the end of the trip, you were practically on his lap and his hand only slid further and further up. You were worked up, to say the least.
He couldn’t open his front door fast enough, scrambling for the keys from his pocket as best he could while he was spending most of his concentration on keeping himself stood upright.
As soon as his door was open, it was shut just as fast, this time with you being held up against the inside of it. You barely had time to panic about it before he was grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you so you were face-to-face. You kissed a line from the top of his collar to the bottom of his ear. 
“So do you want me on my knees or you?” You whispered, lightly nipping at his earlobe.
You heard him sigh in response and his grip on your thighs only got tighter. 
“First I think you should have a little less clothes on?” He chuckled.
He dropped you back to your feet and in a flurry of clothes and stumbling between heated kisses, you were soon on his bed, in your underwear–thank God you had the gut instinct to wear your sexy underwear, all matching, black and lacey.
You lounged on Ross’ bed, watching as he hastily took off his shirt and trousers. You could see he was hard through his boxers. The sight of him made you salivate.
Without another thought, his mouth was back on yours and you were once again lost in his touch.
Wet, sloppy kisses were trailed down your neck, and chest, and stomach, and then peppered along the waistband of your underwear. He looked up to your face, cheeky grin on his.
“You don’t have to…” You trailed off. You’d heard the stories of women having amazing, mind-blowing orgasms when a guy would go down on them, but that hadn’t really been the case for you. More often than not, he would just get lacklustre in the middle and you’d get bored and fake it so he could be satisfied. You knew tonight was a special situation, you wanted Ross to just be as happy as possible.
“I already won tonight…” He toyed with your waistband, running the soft lace over his calloused fingertips. “Wanna make you feel like a winner too.”
You matched his smile and nodded. And he just dove right in.
He placed a light kiss to your clit over your underwear, and your body was immediately engulfed in warmth. Before long, he pulled your panties off, down your legs and discarded to some corner of his bedroom. He licked a long, wide strip up your pussy, collecting your arousal in a pool on his tongue. A wave of euphoria hit you as he sucked on your clit. Your hands immediately went to his hair, messing up his hair (that you know took close to an hour to perfect, you were there for the entire process).
You got closer and closer to the edge while he continued a cycle of suckling and licking at your clit, what you did not expect was for him to add 2 fingers into the mix. You let out a choked moan as his fingers got to work, slowly pumping in and out, in and out. You heard a small chuckle from him in reaction. Your muscles felt like they were on fire, you were so close.
“Ross…pl-please…” You got out between whines. “A-almost.”
His tongue was quickly replaced by his thumb and his face was soon by your ear. “Cum, baby…” He whispered.
At that, you did–like your body was somehow set up to answer any request from Ross, not that you were complaining. For at least a couple minutes–it could have been longer, you really had no way of telling–you were practically paralysed, just riding out the high of the orgasm Ross gave you, spurred on by a slew of “good girl”s in your ear.
Once you’d caught your breath and come back down to Earth–all under the watchful eye of Ross laying at your side–you could finally think about what just happened. One of your closest friends–a coworker–just went down on you and gave you one of the strongest orgasms of your life. There was no going back now.
You quickly moved to straddle Ross, and kissed him–taking him by surprise. You could feel his erection against your lower abdomen as you deepened the kiss. Without separating, you undid the clasp of your bra behind your back and took it off, throwing it to the side somewhere–to join the rest of your discarded clothes on the lush, carpeted floor. One of Ross’ hands instantly went to your breast, gently cupping it before circling your nipple. You couldn’t help but let out a small moan that was almost entirely muffled by his mouth on yours.
One of your hands left the side of his neck, trailing over his chest. You had to admit, you always loved his physique, big and strong but not like he tries too hard–not overly toned. Like a bear. Your fingers found his waistband and you could feel a slight grin in his kiss.
“You want this?” You asked, tentatively. You just wanted to make sure.
“Darling, I’ve never wanted something more,” he answered between chaste kisses to your jawline. “Been fantasising about this for…forever.”
That answer was all you needed for a go-ahead. Your hand dipped below his waistband. He was pretty much already completely hard, just a few pumps from you and you knew he was ready.
You both shuffled to get more comfortable, Ross shimmied out of his boxers with you still in his lap. He leaned over to his nightstand, opening the top draw and retrieved a metallic plastic square. Ross was nothing if not prepared. He slipped the condom on and you positioned yourself above him. In a smooth motion, his cock slid inside you. 
You couldn’t lie, he was bigger than you were expecting. More than pain, it just felt like an immense pressure on your pelvic floor. Ross patiently waited as you adjusted to him, listening to your deep breaths for only around half a minute. Once the pressure subsided, you were practically itching to actually fuck him properly.
You started slow, short movements; up and down, up and down, giving your leg muscles a small warm up before the workout of a lifetime. As you started, Ross closed his eyes, sighing in ecstasy. You began to pick up the pace a little, watching as Ross’ face contorted with pleasure.
Within minutes you felt like you were going full-hilt, but it just wasn’t enough. You were whining and whimpering, just on the edge but not getting any closer. Ross got the hint, thrusting up into you and meeting you in the middle of your bounces, this was it.
Ross began to circle your clot with his thumb and it pushed you into your second orgasm of the evening. You were sure his neighbours would complain with how loud you were moaning his name. Ross followed not long after in a slue of “fuck”s and gutteral moans.
You gently rolled off of him, feeling the soft, cotton bedsheets below you, stars clouding your vision. Ross discarded the condom before returning back to you. You readjusted to curl into his side, his skin was cold but covered in a thin layer of sweat–much like yours.
“So…” You started.
He chuckled. “Yeah…”
“Thanks…for that…” You said.
“Are you going home now?” He asked, anxiety in his voice.
“Do you want me to?”
“No! No…stay, please.”
And so you did. You raided Ross’ cupboards with him, looking for any snacks to replenish your spent energy. And you slept soundly cuddled into him–in one of his favourite graphic tees he let you borrow, no less.
You don’t think you’ve ever had a more peaceful sleep in your life.
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gainingfiction · 1 year
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Summary: Patrick doesn’t believe in curses. He certainly doesn’t believe that the oversized suit he bought as a gag costume is cursed to make him gain weight. And yet….
(Enjoy my 2022 Halloweight-gain-story! Better late than never, right?)
~
There’s no such thing as magic suits.
At least, that’s what Patrick told himself as he donned his Halloween costume for the evening. The idea was downright laughable. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought, if it wasn’t for the serious expression on the old salesman’s face when he issued his dire warning.
That guy was just weird, Patrick rationalized. It was true: the suit had been purchased from the octogenarian proprietor of an unkempt second-hand store, a heavily-accented man named Yuri who had sworn up and down that Patrick’s prospective Halloween costume was bound by some mysterious curse.
It was literally just a suit. A very big suit, to be fair, but that had nothing to do with magic: its former owner was just fat. Massively, enormously fat, judging by the way Patrick’s slender, athletic frame was drowning in yard after yard of Italian wool.
“You are warned,” Yuri had said. “You will grow into it. Will make you big man. Very big man.”
Patrick scoffed at the mere suggestion. He’d never weighed more than 180 pounds in his whole life. Well, 183, as of this morning. There was no way he’d ever “grow into” such a comically large outfit.
Feeding his belt through the loops, Patrick felt… nothing. No supernatural tingling, no sudden urge to gorge himself at a buffet. He just felt like a fit guy in a big suit. The old man was clearly trying to deploy some strange reverse psychology as a sales tactic. And, to his credit, it had worked. Patrick shelled out twenty dollars just to prove how ridiculous he found the idea of a so-called magic garment, even if it meant that he had no idea how to describe his costume. Sexy Biggest Loser contestant, perhaps?
He studied himself in the mirror, shirtless beneath the gigantic blazer. It wasn’t his usual slutty Halloween apparel, but foregoing a shirt allowed him to show off his tight little pecs and toned abs. Patrick was proud of his hard-earned body, and the way his sculpted jawline and strong cheekbones turned heads wherever he went. No “magic spell” was going to take that away from him.
With a smug smile adorning his perfect pink lips, Patrick left for the party.
The evening wasn’t as awkward as he’d feared. The host, Priti, was an old friend from his college days, and they hadn’t seen much of each other in the two years since graduation. But she welcomed him with enthusiasm, faithfully introducing him to his fellow partygoers: her coworkers from the pharmacy, a few college classmates Patrick had long forgotten about, and, most excitingly, her absolutely stunning cousin, Arjun.
To call Arjun a hunk would be an understatement. He was a walking deity, a 6’2” sculpted fantasy clad in a form-hugging Spiderman suit. If Hollywood needed a new Peter Parker for its endless reboots, they could scarcely do better. His white teeth almost sparkled, his eyes were as warm and deep as the summer sea, his glossy hair perfectly trimmed.
Patrick was smitten from the moment Priti introduced them, and he spent the rest of the evening practically hanging off Arjun’s big, brawny biceps. He was a personal trainer, of all things, and Patrick was quick to point out how much he looked the part. But Arjun didn’t seem put-off by Patrick’s incorrigible flirtation; in fact, he gave as good as he got, trailing his large hands across the lapels of Patrick’s massive suit and praising the quality of the fabric… and what lay underneath.
They were terrible guests, lingering by the snack table, locked in their own smouldering back-and-forth to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. But Patrick didn’t care, guzzling lager after lager and making come-fuck-me eyes at his sexy new friend.
And come-fuck-him Arjun did. They left the party as soon as they could without being rude, practically running to Arjun’s tidy apartment a few blocks over. And boy, did Arjun fuck him. He was a phenomenal lay, a deft top who could throw Patrick around like a ragdoll, bending him over and absolutely railing his toned, slender ass. Patrick came like a geyser, and, after a brief respite, came again.
When they finally collapsed into an exhausted pile, both men resolved to see each other again very soon.
“Very soon”, it so happened, was the next day. And the day after that. Arjun didn’t just look like a god, he fucked like a god, and Patrick couldn’t get enough.
As the weeks passed, Patrick caught himself snacking more than usual. He never kept junk food in the house, but whenever Arjun came over, he always brought something to eat: a bag of chips, a casserole dish of homemade lasagna, a box of fresh eclairs from the bakery down the street. For a personal trainer, he certainly had a taste for fattening treats. Not that he ever ate them himself: after their marathon lovemaking sessions, when they lazed on the couch, Patrick made short work of whatever offering Arjun laid out on the coffee table, while Arjun treated himself to the most occasional of bites.
Patrick knew he was overeating, and he tried to make up for it at the gym, but the weather was getting colder, and he often found himself skipping workouts in favour of a lazy afternoon with his insatiable fuckmachine. By the end of November, Patrick realized that his pants were getting tight.
He didn’t think much of it. It was winter weight, and he’d seen plenty of guys put on a few pounds in the early days of a happy relationship. And things with Arjun were going so well. He was a trainer, after all. Surely he wouldn’t let Patrick get doughy.
And yet, as the end of the year approached, Patrick was looking very doughy indeed. He was stunned when he stepped on the scale a few days before New Years and saw “197” flash across the display. How could he be almost 200 pounds?
He took a hard look in the bathroom mirror, still steamy from his morning shower. Pudge had piled up around his middle, hiding his abs and broadening his torso. And his pecs were looking noticeably puffy.
He turned around and studied his ass. Patrick’s butt had always been his favourite feature, kept trim and perky through years of dieting and rigorous exercise. It was still round and pert, but it looked bigger, now, and softer. There was more to grab and play with. Patrick cupped a handful, eyes widening as soft flesh gave way beneath his fingers.
“I need to go on a diet,” he said, frowning as he emerged from the bathroom.
Arjun looked over at him from the bed, his muscular body splayed out amid the messy sheets. They had been seeing a lot of each other, hooking up almost every day of the week, and Patrick knew that was part of the problem: Arjun was generous with food, and his visits were wreaking havoc on Patrick’s usual gym routine. It had been nearly two weeks since his last workout, and he was starting to feel soft and flabby.
Arjun’s eyes ran across his body, and he gave a small frown. “You look great to me,” he said, trailing a hand over his own abs. Patrick could see Arjun’s boner starting to tent the bedsheets. That was a little confidence boost, at least.
“I’m almost 200 pounds,” Patrick said. Saying it aloud felt shameful, even if Arjun was used to training far larger clients at his gym. But Patrick had never been big in his life. Even spread over six feet of height, 200 pounds felt like a bigger number than Patrick was comfortable with. “I’m getting chubby.”
Arjun shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you look sexy. Lots of guys are going for that beefy look, anyway.”
Patrick wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t want to be argumentative. Arjun was so easygoing, the last thing Patrick wanted was to seem high-maintenance. They hadn’t talked about labels yet, but Patrick was hoping to have that conversation soon. And if he wanted to be exclusive, he didn’t want to kill his chances by broadcasting his neuroticism to the hottest guy he’d ever dated.
But he couldn’t let it go completely.  “Still,” he said, laying a hand over his heart and feeling the flesh that gathered around his nipple. “I need to start working out again. It’s been too long.”
Arjun gestured to his erection, and then patted the bed next to him: “Well, how about we have a little workout of our own?”
Patrick grinned, and nearly leapt into bed.
By mid-January, Patrick absolutely couldn’t avoid buying new pants. His usual rotation now dug into his waist almost painfully, the button protesting against his excesses. And his ass and thighs were an existential threat to the seams, which looked about one wrong move away from total collapse. 
Patrick briefly considered a return trip to Yuri’s messy boutique, but he had no desire to see that weird guy again, or get another warning about magic spells. So he ended up at his favourite thrift store, where he was helped by a very handsome Middle Eastern employee in a Blondie t-shirt.
Patrick had to admit, size 34 fit a lot better than his usual 32s, and he felt his old confidence returning as he strode into the restaurant for a hot date with Arjun.
That confidence began to wane as he sat across from his jacked dinner companion, leaving Patrick feeling distinctly unimpressive. While Patrick had opted for a loose-fitting t-shirt, hoping to disguise his winter weight, Arjun filled out a tailored button-down like he was modelling it for a catalogue.
That night, they made their relationship official. They’d been practically exclusive since Halloween, anyway, spending almost all their spare time together. They fucked relentlessly, but they were also starting to act more like a couple: cuddling on the couch, window shopping downtown… and eating. Well, Patrick was eating, whether they were dining out, or staying in for the elaborate dinners that Arjun carefully prepared. A stud who could cook: Patrick felt like he had hit the jackpot. And now that stud was all his.
He was so excited to have locked down such a catch that Patrick didn’t think twice about polishing off Arjun’s half-finished chicken parm, and then eating 95% of the cheesecake they had planned on “splitting” for dessert.
As it turned out, Arjun was quite the romantic. Now that he was Patrick’s boyfriend, his generous doting ratcheted up to the next level: other couples might swap boxes of chocolate on Valentine’s Day, but Arjun started showing up with heart-shaped boxes of chocolate truffles four weeks before that. Big boxes. Patrick didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he dutifully munched his way through each one, even as he started to tire of so much chocolate, even as he grew uncomfortably full.
Patrick knew he should have been watching his weight, but his commitment to Arjun (and Arjun’s commitment to him) acted as a safety net, a way to avoid taking a hard look at the consequences of his new relationship. And those consequences were starting to grow: Patrick’s sides now sported a small pair of love handles, just big enough to overhang the waistband of his briefs, and a small dome of fat rested atop his torso. His ass swelled, his thighs thickened… he wasn’t just growing a gut, he was porking up all over.
When he stepped on the scale on Valentine’s Day, the number nearly made him faint. 213 pounds. This was bad. This was very, very, bad. Patrick knew he was gaining weight; his 34-inch jeans, not yet a month old, were already feeling snug. But to have stacked on 30 pounds of pure blubber in just three and a half months… Well, it almost defied belief.
For an instant, Patrick thought back to Yuri’s warning. Will make you big man. He shook his head. Surely this wasn’t the work of a magic suit. He had just gotten lazy, and perhaps a bit gluttonous. He had been to the gym exactly twice since New Years, but he was eating far more than he used to, even when he worked out almost daily. Of course he was bound to gain weight.
He broached his concerns to Arjun over dinner. “I really need to stop pigging out,” he said, eying the bread basket that the waiter had just set in front of them. He wanted to grab a piece of bread, but he restrained himself.
Arjun looked bemused. “What do you mean?” he said, as if he genuinely hadn’t noticed Patrick rapidly gaining 30 pounds.
Patrick rolled his eyes, and gestured to his middle. “Look at me. I told you I was getting chubby, and now I’m getting fat. It’s gross.”
Arjun’s face fell. “Don’t say that,” he said, reaching out to rest his hand on top of Patrick’s. “I think you’re every bit as hot as the day I met you.”
Patrick scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled, avoiding Arjun’s gaze. It was embarrassing: Arjun looked as perfect as ever; clearly he could control himself. And yet, Patrick had done nothing but laze around, sitting on his ass all day at work and then going home to eat. Having sex was about the extent of his physical activity, these days.
“I mean it,” Arjun said, firmly. “You’re gorgeous. I’m lucky to have you.”
That coaxed a smile out of Patrick, but he was still embarrassed. “Even if I’m letting myself go?”
Arjun’s face took on a defiant quality. “I hate that phrase. ‘Letting yourself go’. It makes it sound like you’ve given up on life. But you haven’t. Look at me, are you happy?”
As he gazed into Arjun’s eyes, Patrick considered it. He had the man of his dreams, things were going well at work… finally, he nodded. He was happy.
“Then you haven’t let yourself go. You haven’t given up on life, you’re enjoying life. And if it shows, it shows. I could not care less,” Arjun said, stroking Patrick’s hand, his eyes searching Patrick’s face.
“You work at a gym, though,” Patrick said, resting his free hand on his stomach. His belly now rubbed against the front of even his loosest shirts, making itself unignorable. “You’re surrounded by guys who are way hotter than me, hotter than I’ve ever been.”
“Honey,” Arjun said. “Stop. Let me tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to eat that bread, because I know you want to. We’re going to get a bottle of wine. You’re going to order the fettuccine, because it’s your favourite, and I’m going to treat you to that lava cake you love for dessert. Then we’re going to go home, get naked, and I’m going to show you how sexy I find every single inch of you. I know we said no gifts, but… I hear I’m pretty gifted.” He smiled.
Patrick had to admit, that sounded pretty good. 
Over the following weeks and months, the pattern repeated itself. Arjun showered Patrick with love, in the form of massive meals and piles of snacks. Patrick outgrew his 34s, and then his 36s. His weight slipped up to 224 pounds by the end of February, and 231 by the end of March. Even as “winter weight” ceased to be an excuse, and sunny April gave way to May, Patrick’s weight climbed beyond 240 pounds, and his 38-inch pants were getting uncomfortable.
He was confronted with a twinge of apprehension every time he checked the scale, every time he had to buy clothes in a size he never dreamed he’d need. And Arjun faithfully assuaged his anxieties, his gentle touch and loving words so soft and soothing that Patrick’s fears melted away.
But it wasn’t Arjun’s gentleness that made the biggest difference, it was his forcefulness. In the bedroom, his enthusiasm only seemed to grow alongside Patrick’s body. In the early days of their relationship, Arjun had been smooth and methodical, confidently gripping the firm edges of Patrick’s muscular frame. But lately, his lust was palpable, almost animal. Patrick could feel Arjun losing control as he gripped and squeezed Patrick’s broad, round stomach, cupped his budding breasts, slapped and groped and generally manhandled Patrick’s ever-fattening ass. There was a new intensity to their sex, already intense to begin with, that filled Patrick an unfamiliar, slightly disorienting sensation: excitement about his fattening body. A desire to grow.
He tried to deny it, at first, to dismiss it as a side-effect of the consistently Earth-shattering sex he was having. But even when Arjun wasn’t around, when he was all alone with just his fat belly to keep him company, that excitement didn’t abate. Something was happening to him. When he stepped on the scales on May 14th, his birthday, and saw that he weighed 251 pounds, he did still feel a little pang of anxiety. But he also felt something else, a distinct and undeniable stirring in his crotch that could only be arousal.
“Happy birthday,” Arjun purred, as they lay in bed that night. Patrick had just enjoyed the absolute best rimjob of his life, a sexual experience like no other. Arjun may not have been a big eater, but he ate ass like an absolute glutton, planting his face firmly between Patrick’s big, round buttocks and going to town with insatiable vigour. “Did you like that?”
Patrick could only nod, still trying to catch his breath. His extreme sedentariness, on top of gaining almost seventy pounds in less than 7 months, had left him seriously out of shape. His old workout routine wouldn’t just be a challenge for him, it would be an impossibility.
Arjun must have sensed how spent their sexcapade had left Patrick, since he gave a slight chuckle. His hand was draped across Patrick’s chubby chest, his nimble fingers stroking Patrick’s perky nipple. Patrick was acutely aware of his double-chin as he lowered his face to look down at his tits; he hadn’t expected that even his nipples would grow, but he was certainly enjoying the added sensitivity.
“You’re really good at that,” Patrick said, lamely, still trying to bring himself back to Earth. “Like, really good at that.”
“Well, you have a very delicious ass,” Arjun said, giving Patrick’s nipple a tweak and making him shiver. With a smirk, he added: “Like, very delicious.”
“Well there’s a lot of it, these days,” Patrick said. He didn’t even know how he felt about that: bitter? Gleeful? His emotions were so muddled, so clouded by his libido—especially in the afterglow—that they had become a Gordian Knot.
“More cushion for the pushin’,” Arjun said, simply, and patted Patrick’s gut.
“So you really like fat asses, huh?” Patrick said. Arjun’s inclinations had been obvious for months, but Patrick had been avoiding the conversation. He knew he was falling for this guy, but he was afraid that Arjun just saw him as a kinky sex-toy, someone he could fatten up and discard before moving onto the next unwitting twink. He knew that was irrational, and horribly unfair to a man who had been nothing but good to him, but he couldn’t stop looking for a catch.
“I do,” Arjun said. He looked Patrick in the eyes, and Patrick looked back. No matter what Arjun’s body looked like, those eyes could make any man fall in love. “But I specifically love your ass, fit or fat.”
“But you prefer it fat,” Patrick pressed on. He wanted an admission, tangible proof that Arjun had been knowingly spurring on his explosive weight gain. Surely it couldn’t be—
Patrick nipped that train of thought right in the bud. It wasn’t the fucking suit. There’s no such thing as a magic suit.
“Yeah, I like it fat,” Arjun said, biting his lower lip as he glanced away. It was a very cute look. Bashfulness suited him.
Patrick had his confession. Arjun was a chubby chaser, and Patrick was getting chased. He was quiet for a few moments, deciding what to do. Did he want to be thin again, an archetypical hottie who lit up a room? If so, he could destroy everything that might have caused this slide into obesity—because that’s what he was, now, fully and definitively obese. He could burn his old Halloween costume, kick Arjun to the curb, and diet interminably until he could see his abs again. It wasn’t too late.
He could also try to lose weight with Arjun; if he was telling the truth, if he really did appreciate Patrick’s body at any size, he would support him. He’d probably still burn the suit, in that case, just to be on the safe side.
But then, there was a third door. A very wide door, beckoning Patrick to step forward until his steps became a heavy, lumbering waddle. He could keep eating. Keep gorging. Keep gaining. Let himself blow up like a balloon, pack on the pounds until Arjun’s handsome face was entirely lost in a sea of ass-fat.
Patrick stepped towards door number three. Maybe he could try it, just for a while. What harm could a couple more pounds do, on top of the 70 he’d already gained? He smiled, lopsidedly. “How fat do you like it?” he asked, finally. “How fat are you gonna make it?”
Arjun looked up at him, mouth agape. “I—You—What?” he stammered.
Patrick doubled down. “What are you gonna do to my ass? How big are we talking: pumpkin? Beach balls? Minivan?”
Arjun inhaled sharply, no doubt surprised by this turn of events. Patrick could feel his boyfriend’s cock swelling against his pudgy thigh. The fact that the suggestion of a minivan-sized ass inspired that sort of arousal told Patrick all he needed to know. Surely he wouldn’t get that fat—it was a little bit of anatomically-implausable sexual hyperbole—but he definitely wouldn’t mind giving Arjun a bigger ass to play with. At least a little bigger.
Patrick didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Why don’t you go get the rest of my birthday cake and you can show me again how much you love fat asses?”
Arjun leapt out of bed like the athlete he was, bare cock standing proudly at attention. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”
Patrick grinned. His 25th year was off to a very good start.
It was hard to get used to the idea that he might actually enjoy being fat, and want to get even fatter. He was naturally thin—he used to be, at least—so the concept that weight gain could be something fun, something to be encouraged, was alien to Patrick at first. And yet, he couldn’t deny his body. His belly was growing accustomed to eating big, and his dick was clearly enjoying it. With those two powerful appendages urging him on, compounded by Arjun’s relentless feeding, Patrick continued to balloon.
I’ll gain maybe five more pounds. Ten tops, Patrick told himself the day after his birthday. And yet, a month later, the scale said he had gained 12. Okay, maybe ten more, he reasoned. 260 didn’t feel as big as he thought it would, anyway. Sure, he was huge, but he didn’t feel that huge. 250 and 260 weren’t so different, right? And besides, what was he supposed to do? Stop eating the food he’d come to love? Go back to the gym he’d abandoned months ago? Deny Arjun the great pleasure of his growing body?
He still had moments of uncertainty. When he couldn’t button his pants, and he realized that he had hopelessly outgrown anything smaller than a 42-inch waist, Patrick felt a pit in his stomach. What am I doing to myself? He wondered, as he made one last feeble attempt to stuff himself into a pair of 40s. 
But when he gave up, and let his hands roam across his gut, his nervousness evaporated. It was so soft, so fun to knead and fondle and play with. He’d gained so much, so quickly, that it still held its round shape, but rolls were starting to crop up, with a noticeable one forming between his breasts and his belly. His love handles expanded, too, and he realized how apt that name was: they really were like handles, slabs of side-fat that he could wrap his fingers around and properly squeeze, feeling the give of so much stretch mark-lined flesh. And he really did love them.
He let his hands slip up further, cupping his breasts, bouncing one and then the other. He felt like an absolute cow as mammary fat spilled between his fingers. Those last 12 pounds must have hit his chest and upper belly hard.
By the time Patrick stood, kicking off the jeans that could no longer handle him, he wasn’t anxious at all: he was horny.
Arjun took care of that.
Over the following months, Patrick felt like a kid who couldn’t go to bed. But instead of “ten more minutes”, it was “ten more pounds”. His ass, a feature that Arjun adored even more than Patrick himself, spread and swelled, and he found himself bumping into things constantly. He could still remember what it was like to have small, hard glutes, but that memory was starting to fade as he buried those glutes deeper and deeper under an ever-growing layer of pure, unadulterated lard. His perky little ass, the crown jewel of his twinkish body, had given way to a pair of vast, juicy buttocks. It was still holding its round shape, each cheek almost perfectly globular and still pert. But as he passed 280 pounds, Patrick could tell that gravity would have the last laugh.
By early July, he’d gained exactly 100 pounds, sitting pretty at 283. He hadn’t expected that gaining weight would make him hairier, but it made sense. More surface area needed more fuzz to cover it all, and his gut was getting massively fuzzy. That was one of many unexpected changes. Others weren’t quite as fun, like the soreness he felt in his lower back when he had to stand for more than 20 minutes, a side-effect of living life with a 50-pound medicine ball strapped to his abdomen. But even that wasn’t so bad: it gave him an excuse to live an even more idle existence, with Arjun happy to indulge him.
The sweating was another unwelcome companion. In the summer heat, he could really feel the hundred pounds of added insulation. He used to love going to the beach, playing volleyball with his friends and flaunting his slender body for admiring onlookers. This year, he preferred relaxing indoors, where he could let it all hang out and feel the cool AC on his sprawling belly. Arjun joked that his house was like an icebox, and Patrick pointed out that that was where a pig belonged.
They did make it to the beach a few times, including on Labour Day. Patrick shied away from taking off his shirt, at first, but Arjun talked him into it, and his expression of unrestrained adoration made it all worthwhile. They must have made quite the pair: the personal trainer, 200 pounds of rock-hard muscle, walking hand-in-hand with a red-faced porker who outweighed him by a hundred pounds, rolls of fat bouncing and wobbling as he ambled down the boardwalk.
“I think we’re confusing people,” Patrick said. He lay in the sand, tonguing an overloaded ice cream cone. A middle-aged couple openly stared at him as they walked past, looking from Arjun to Patrick and back again in search of a logical explanation. The explanation was obvious, but clearly beyond their comprehension.
“Well, you’re due for some more sunscreen. How about we really put on a show?” Arjun suggested, licking his lips.
Patrick leaned back, flicking down his sunglasses, and kept working on his ice cream as Arjun slathered his belly with creamy lotion. It was a blatant belly rub, and heads certainly turned at the sight of the stunning jock basting his beloved pig, but Patrick was so focused on the pleasurable feeling that he barely noticed the slack-jawed onlookers. Arjun pressed his fingertips deep into Patrick’s flab, a skillful massage that left Patrick wanting more.
When he finished his ice cream cone, he got his wish: “Roll over,” Arjun said. “I’ll do your back.”
Another shift occurred when Patrick crossed the 300-pound mark. He’d expected 300 pounds to be incomprehensibly fat, a size beyond all reason, but it didn’t feel that much bigger than 250. The difference between 250 and 200 had felt much more pronounced. Sure, he had more rolls now, and his gut hung out well in front of him, but he wouldn’t mind being bigger. He did dispense with the fiction that he’d stop in another ten pounds: he’d reassess at 350. That was a nice, round number, and it wouldn’t sneak up on him the way 10 pounds always seemed to.
He thought back to January, just nine months earlier, when he’d been terrified of crossing 200 pounds. It was an amusing thought; that version of Patrick was positively tiny compared to the man he now was, and he was far from afraid of growing. He was actually looking forward to it. Dating an incredibly sexy feeder had grown his confidence. It had changed him.
Or maybe it’s that suit, a nagging voice in Patrick’s head said. Sometimes, when he was self-conscious about how quickly he was ballooning, he fell back on that old line: it wasn’t his fault, he was the victim of paranormal forces beyond his control. But he knew he couldn’t blame a stupid Halloween costume for his out-of-control gluttony. It was all on him, and his encouraging boyfriend.
Changes were occurring in the bedroom, too. As fat became a bigger driving force behind his sexuality, Patrick leaned deeper into his submissive side. He liked feeling Arjun’s forceful hands all over his bulging body. He liked to hear what a fat, out-of-control pig he was becoming. Just hearing the word “hog” leave Arjun’s lips was enough to ratchet up Patrick’s arousal by an order of magnitude. He was a pig, a desperate little piggy who needed to be stuffed from both ends.
When he could feel Arjun inside of him, his voluminous belly tantalizingly close to brushing the bed, his fat jiggling with every forceful thrust… that was pure heaven. He honestly wasn’t sure he could go back to sex as a skinny boy again. Now that been told that he was Arjun’s pig, felt his hundreds of pounds shake and bounce as he bottomed, he didn’t see how it could compare.
“Can you believe we’ve known each other for almost a year?” Arjun asked one day, in mid-October. He was nearly done unpacking the last of his boxes, having moved into Patrick’s apartment as soon as his lease was up. That had been the source of some debate: Arjun’s place was nicer, but it was a fourth-floor walk-up, and Patrick didn’t think he could handle all that cardio. The rent was cheaper in Patrick’s building, anyway, and between the elevators and the air conditioning, it felt like a better fit for a growing fatboy.
“It feels like we’ve known each other forever,” Patrick replied. He meant it. He thought back to the person Arjun had met, and how much he’d changed in their time together.
There had been one other change since last Halloween: Patrick was starting to wonder if maybe there were such things as magic clothes. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t blame his weight on a spell, but still… Yuri had said Patrick would get fat, and fat was exactly what he had gotten. He was shirtless, his heavy thighs overloading a pair of stretchy basketball shorts. He eyed his gut, admiring the way it bounded forward into his lap, a crop of hair covering his impressive collection of stretch marks.
“Priti’s throwing another Halloween party this year,” Arjun said, as he shelved some of his books. “Any couple’s costume ideas?”
Patrick mulled it over. Just six months ago, he would have been embarrassed by a costume that emphasized his fat. Now, he wanted to display the full magnitude of his size. “Farmer and prize pig? Fat guy, hot wife?”
“Oh, I know. Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia,” Arjun said, smirking.
“I would love to see you in that metal bikini, but you might get cold,” Patrick said. “We have some time to think it over, at least.”
Arjun nodded. “We could always just repeat our old costumes,” he said. “But I think ‘Biggest Loser contestant’ might take on a new meaning, in your case.”
“That may have been my worst costume ever,” Patrick said. “But I do remember one guy seemed to appreciate it.”
“Well, he sounds smart, and very handsome,” Arjun said. He tossed himself onto the couch, slinging his arm over Patrick’s protruding keg.
“Yeah, but he has a bit of an ego,” Patrick teased, kissing his man on the cheek. “Thank God he’s great in bed.”
Arjun snuggled in closer, and Patrick melted beneath his forceful touch, delighting as his bare belly was kneaded and rubbed. Whatever the costume, Patrick couldn’t wait to spend another Halloween with Arjun.
~
“I really don’t think it’ll fit,” Arjun said, staring at the suit that Patrick had worn for Halloween just three years before.
In that time, he’d gone far beyond doubling his weight: he’d shot past 400 pounds, and now hovered—or rather, sprawled out—around 460. Naturally, his gains had slowed down, but he was still growing at a fairly rapid rate, and he could see 500 pounds in the not-so-distant future.
“Just let me give it a try,” Patrick said, feeling defiant. The suit had been so outrageously large on him, swallowing his lean body. But as he held up the pants, each leg larger than his waist had once been, he was forced to reckon with the fact that they looked smaller than anything he usually wore.
He stepped into them as gingerly as a man of such impressive proportions could hope to, and started to pull them up. But as the fabric gathered around his thighs, he could feel trouble brewing. As he started to tug them over his ass, he knew that this was a fool’s errand.
Too proud to quit, he kept trying, his enormous gut swaying and wobbling from the motion, the exertion starting to take his breath away. He could feel his rolls quivering and his ample breasts bouncing as he pulled pointlessly on the waistband. He’d covered a little over two thirds of the sprawling hillsides he called an ass before he finally surrendered, out of breath and sweating.
He sighed defeatedly. “I definitely can’t wear this to Priti’s wedding.”
Arjun rubbed his broad back. “Hey, no worries. We can give it away. And who knows, maybe we’ll find a tailor who can turn a canvas tent into a kurta big enough to fit you.”
Patrick laughed. “Or maybe we can just go shopping at Big & Tall. And as for getting rid of this suit, I think I know where to go.”
He had to go back to the place where it all began, the source of this mysterious garment. There had been a brief window of time where it had actually fit, but for most of the time Patrick owned it, it had gathered dust in his closet, either too big or too small for public consumption, taunting him all the while.
He’d told Arjun long ago about Yuri’s bizarre warning, and Arjun had dismissed it as quickly as Patrick once had. Patrick knew it was nonsense, but still… if he had the opportunity, he wanted to hear it from the source.
He paused to rest and recover for a bit once he’d stripped off the pants, sitting on the bed as Arjun carefully placed the massive outfit on a hanger. Finally, Patrick got up and stuffed himself into an enormous pair of sweatpants, before pulling on a colossal t-shirt that nevertheless failed to fully contain his girth, leaving sizable swathes of fat exposed at the front and on the sides.
He waddled his way to the elevator, different rolls and bulges shifting and bouncing with every step. Finally, he reached Arjun’s car, relieved to be able to sit down again. He dropped himself into the passenger seat, and the car dipped to the side beneath so much added weight. Driving him to work must have been hell on poor Arjun’s gas mileage, but Patrick was getting too fat to safely operate his own little sedan.
He gave directions to the shop, eager to see if it even still existed. Perhaps that was part of the magic, and it had never existed at all… but no, eventually Arjun turned onto the quiet street at the edge of downtown, and parked mercifully close to the store’s shabby storefront. Somehow, it was very much still in existence.
Patrick lumbered through the doors, expecting to see Yuri doing some sort of mysterious ritual. Instead, he saw a handsome young man in a purple tracksuit, staring distractedly at his phone. The store was empty, just as it had been last time, and no neater than Patrick remembered.
He bellied up to the cash register, resting the frontmost portion of his gut on the counter to take some of the load off his back. “I’m—” he paused, realizing that the short walk from the car had left him out of breath. Jesus, I’m out of shape, he thought. He looked around for Arjun, who wore an unimpressed expression as he browsed one of the disorganized racks. “I’m here to donate this,” he managed, his breathing having slowed enough to converse.
The guy looked up from his phone, awestruck. Patrick was used to being the fattest person a lot of people had seen in a while, sometimes ever, and he had acquired a taste for their shocked expressions. He liked to watch their eyes try to explain to their brains the full scope of the human being in front of them. Patrick sat the suit down on the counter. “I bought it here a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t fit anymore.”
“Uh, okay,” the guy said. Clearly this was TMI. The cashier at his go-to thrift store always seemed excited to hear about Patrick’s escalating poundage, but he was a rare breed. “You can just leave it here.”
Patrick couldn’t just leave. He’d come here for a purpose. “But… I’ve got to know,” he said. He glanced around the store, still empty, and lowered his voice. He leaned towards the cashier, who looked more confused than ever. “Is this thing really cursed?”
The cashier goggled at him. “Cursed?” He repeated, probably questioning his hearing.
“Yeah. That’s what the old man who works here told me, but I didn’t believe him. I was smaller than you when I bought it, but now look at me.”
“Wh—old man? You mean uncle Yuri?” The guy said. His face broke into a broad grin and he covered it with his hand. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that suit is definitely not cursed.”
“Look at me, though,” Patrick repeated. “I’m a whale!” To drive the point home, he grabbed the part of his belly that poked out from under the hem of his shirt and gave it a shake, sending waves of gelatinous motion through his rolls of flab.
“Okay, but…” the cashier sighed. “Yuri is a weird guy. He likes fat guys. Half the clothes he sells are supposedly ‘cursed’ with some spell that makes guys fat. But it’s not real. He just thinks he can fatten guys up with the power of suggestion. I don’t know why he does it, it’s not like they ever come back.”
Patrick folded his chubby arms, forcing his voluminous cleavage together. “So the ‘power of suggestion’ made me gain 275 pounds?”
The cashier’s eyes widened. “Well, what have you been eating?”
Patrick considered his consumption that morning. It was only 11 AM, but he’d already eaten two breakfasts. The first was a handful of sausage McGriddles with a half-dozen hashbrowns, washed down with a large iced mocha, and followed up with half a dozen powdered donuts. “But… maybe it’s the suit that’s making me hungry,” he said, halfheartedly, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.
The dreamboat behind the register arched an eyebrow. “C’mon, dude. You seriously believe in magic clothes?”
Patrick hesitated. It all seemed crazy, to him, but how else could have turned into such a fatass? He’d been a hunk! There had to be a supernatural explanation.
The cashier picked up the suit and studied it. “I remember this. People don’t bring us bespoke Italian suits very often. The guy who gave it away lost a bunch of weight, he said he wouldn’t need it anymore. Does that sound cursed to you?”
Patrick frowned. His ego compelled him to come up with some explanation other than gluttony and sloth, something that would absolve him of responsibility for his own fattening choices. “Well, maybe Yuri put a spell on it.”
The cashier rolled his eyes. “Listen to yourself, man. Yuri was a professor of statistics at Lomonosov. Not some wizard. He moved to this country to hit on chubby American boys, like yourself, not to hex twinks, or whatever you think happened to you.”
“Chubby” seemed like an understatement, given Patrick’s current state of morbid obesity, but he appreciated the guy’s generosity. “So I’m… just fat, for no reason?”
The guy smirked. “Well, I’m sure there’s a reason, but it’s not this suit.”
As if on cue, the reason for Patrick’s staggering size appeared at his side. “So, no curse?” Arjun said.
The guy rolled his eyes. “No, no curse. I can take it off your hands if it doesn’t fit anymore, but I wouldn’t expect anything to change.”
Patrick was pensive as they left the store, contemplating what he’d just heard. So Yuri had just… made it all up? Because he was kinky? 
Then what was this all about? Patrick wondered. Surely there were more direct ways to indulge in your kink. It all felt a bit strained.
“I don’t know,” he said, as he waddled over to Arjun’s SUV. “I still think the spell could be real. I mean, I was wearing the suit when I met you, and you’ve been a horrible influence.”
Arjun seemed to consider this theory. “Eh, come on. I’ve dated gainers before, and they’ve all gained weight without magic clothes to help them. And now that the suit is gone, do you really think you’ll stop gaining?”
Patrick sighed. Was he the author of his own massive fate? Was there really nothing supernatural at play? He felt like pointing out that those guys had been gainers when Arjun met them, but he continued before Patrick had the chance.
“But…” Arjun rubbed his chiselled chin as he reached the driver’s side door. “Maybe you’re onto something. Maybe our relationship is the spell, the thing that’s turned you into such an insatiable gainer. Maybe it’s our love that’s magic.”
Patrick laughed out loud as he started the process of heaving himself into the passenger seat. “You’re so damn cheesy. C’mon, man. ‘Power of love’ my fat ass.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Arjun smiled. “Speaking of cheesy, want some poutine?”
Patrick pawed at his massive gut, which grumbled its demand. “That depends, lover boy. Is it magic poutine? Will it make me even fatter?”
Arjun’s smile broadened. “I think we can figure something out.”
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grapenehifics · 1 month
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Prisoner 224
I really loved writing Out of Sync for @fulcrum843's @topwan-obikin fest prompt, but fully intended it to be a one-shot until @somethingsteff started feeding me ideas and, well, I'm limited on free time right now so this is still only a ficlet but I couldn't help myself.
If you don't know the fic, the Council finds out about Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship and they quit the Order. Anakin punches Palpatine when he insults Obi-Wan and gets sent to jail, and Obi-Wan hurries to hit the Chancellor as well so they can stay together. This also fulfills @ficwip's Hey Sweetheart challenge!
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“Where are we going?” Anakin demanded. His hands were bound at the wrists in front of him, which didn’t make him look very threatening, but he gave his best glare to the backs of the heads of the troopers escorting him down the hall anyway.
Neither the troopers ahead of him nor the two at his back answered him. Their little group just kept marching along.
“I demand to know where you’re taking me,” Anakin tried, not pausing in his forward march but flexing his fingertips in preparation. He didn’t want to use the Force against them – besides the fact that they were probably just acting on orders from someone higher up the prison management chain of command, he was also pretty sure even something mild like knocking four guards out for a few hours would get his sentence extended and that was the opposite of what he wanted considering Obi-Wan was already slated to get out weeks before he did – but he also was not planning on taking a move to another cell block without putting up some sort of a fight.
He and Obi-Wan were kept apart for most of the day – Anakin in his cell and Obi-Wan in his – but because they were part of the same cell block, they were allowed to take both their exercise hour and their meal break together, Anakin holding Obi-Wan’s hand clasped in his as they jogged around the exercise track in their prison-issued tracksuits and rubbing elbows as they sat side-by-side with their dinner trays (and this only because they’d been told off for trying to sit on each other’s laps instead). But it was still a far sight better than not getting to see him at all, and Anakin hadn’t even done anything wrong (lately) and so really didn’t deserve to be punished like this.
“I want to go back to my cell,” he said.
“One of my batchmates is serving under Commander Cody in the 212th,” the trooper behind Anakin on his right said through his helmet vocoder. “CT-3812.”
“Sure. Punch, right?” Anakin said easily. “Yeah, I know him. But what has that got to do with anything?”
“That’s him,” the trooper agreed. None of the prison guards had ever told Anakin their names, just their badge numbers, although not for lack of asking. This one was one of the supervisors. Some of the younger guys were so green they had five-digit designations. “He’s met General Kenobi a few times.”
“Cool. So have I,” Anakin nearly growled. “That’s who I’m trying to get back to. So if you could just put me back in my cell, that’d be great. Or at least tell me what I’ve done.”
“Punch tells me he’s a real stand-up guy,” the trooper continued, as if Anakin hadn’t spoken. “Always makes sure his men have enough to eat. Doesn’t take unnecessary risks. That sort of thing.”
They rounded a corner. Anakin was starting to get desperate. “Just tell me where we’re going,” he practically begged. “I can call in a couple of favors and get myself reassigned back to Obi-Wan’s floor”-
“Punch also said,” the trooper on Anakin’s right said, so loudly he was almost shouting in Anakin’s ear, “that one time you and your troops joined up with their battalion, you threw yourself in front of a blazer bomb. Saved the lives of fifteen men.”
Anakin had done that enough times that that didn’t really narrow it down for him. “Which campaign?” he asked, but the trooper ignored him yet again, which seemed rude, considering he’d started the conversation in the first place.
A commlink chirped – Anakin instinctively looked to his own belt before remembering he didn’t wear one anymore – and one of the troopers at the front of their procession answered it.
“We’re ready for you, Sergeant,” the voice on the other end said.
“Copy,” the man said, replacing the device on his belt.
“Well, I’m not ready,” Anakin said, and he stopped walking. The troopers at his back nearly ran into him. “I’m not going any further without an explanation. If you can’t give me that, then you can just put me back in my cell, because” –
“We do regular maintenance, on all the cells,” one of the troopers injected, talking over the tail end of Anakin’s sentence. “Routine cleaning, things like that. Check that the water pipes are functioning properly, do a little light dusting…”
“I don’t care if my cell is clean or not,” Anakin hissed. “You can skip mine for the next five months if you want. Or let me do it myself. Is that the problem? Just give me the tools and leave me alone. If you’re worried I’m going to break out, I promise I won’t. As long as you’ve got Obi-Wan here I’m, like, the opposite of a flight risk.”
“It might take, say, three hours to finish the whole floor, wouldn’t you say?” the trooper on Anakin’s left asked the trooper on Anakin’s right.
“Maybe as many as four,” he responded.
“And we do these sorts of rounds every other week,” the first one continued.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Anakin demanded.
“If you’d just wait right in here, Prisoner 224,” the trooper who was friends with Punch said, and nudged Anakin in the back with the butt of his rifle.
“I told you; I’m not going. And you’re bluffing. You won’t shoot me.”
“That’s true,” the trooper admitted. “I’m not. What I am going to do is count to thirty, and by the time I get to the end, you’re going to decide to go, all on your own.”
“Ha,” Anakin said. “Like hell I am. What on earth do you think would make me” –
“Here we are, sir,” another of the troopers said, and he punched the button to release the door guard in front of one of the cells. He was wearing a bucket, but he somehow seemed to be able to stare straight into Anakin’s eyes anyway. “Four hours, every other week,” he repeated slowly, enunciating very clearly.
“I don’t care how clean it is,” Anakin insisted, just as he was very unceremoniously shoved forward into the new cell he absolutely did not want to be in –
“Oh. Hello, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan said, sitting up from where he’d been lying on his back across his bunk, his arms crossed behind his head. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“What” – Anakin stammered as the door guard slammed down behind him, locking him in. Locking him into Obi-Wan’s cell. With Obi-Wan.
Anakin opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. The binders around his wrists unlocked and fell to the floor with a clatter. “Send Punch my regards,” he said, without turning his head. He and Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped staring into one another’s eyes from the moment they’d faced one another. Obi-Wan grinned. Anakin grinned back.
“Will do, sir,” his friend said jovially, but Anakin missed hearing him as he launched himself at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan, laughing, caught him and lowered him down onto his bunk.
“Did I just hear you say something about four hours?” Obi-Wan asked mischievously, one eyebrow raising into a verbal question mark.
“Shut up and kiss me,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan did.
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yotasukes-toaster · 5 months
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kinktober day 31: phone sex : ̗̀➛
ODASAKU SAKUNOSUKE x afab!reader
contents. smut. f!masturbation, use of dildo, dubcon, use of pet names- i post track of time and forgot about this. this was almost a drabble
wc. 1.3k
sypnosis. you’ve been missing oda so much while hes been away that you cant help but get off to his voice while on the phone to him
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"It's so lonely without you here, Oda." You whined into the phone, hearing him sigh at your despair in the other line.
"It's lonely without you too, but I need to complete this mission. We'll be together soon." He leaned back in his chair, his cell pressed up right against his ear using one hand while his other was being used to sieve through a mountain of documents to read.
This was so humiliating. Was this taboo? Oda had been away for this mission for so long and you were longing for his touch so badly; your disappointment really settled in when it had dawned on you that there were still so many nights that you would have to suffer through alone. You knew that he missed you just as well as you missed him, but you understood that the ways that you two were missing each other were likely very different. Because while Oda's solution to his long-distance heartache was to call you late at night to help him get through the pile of papers he had to sort through, yours was to... Get off to hearing his voice.
Don't blame yourself, okay? Like you said, you had been separated for so long that it was almost agonising. You couldn't help but have your phone sat on your nightstand with it on speaker so you didn't have to hold onto it as your rode one of your pillows, your palms gripping tightly onto the headboard for support. Your panties and shorts had already been fully discarded of and tossed to the side of your bedroom, all that was left was to try and get through the night.
God, this was so perverted. Would Oda hang up if he knew what you were doing? Would he feel creeped out? These were the kinds of questions that flooded through your mind but you were opting to ignore out of pure desperation. Maybe he would, but at least you would've had the memory of his voice to go off on- and that was at least enough.
You were already in the process of leaning over towards the drawer in your nightstand to see if you could locate a toy that could help you out. To your luck, you were able to find your hands around a long box, which you were well aware of what was inside. You excitedly pulled it out of the night stand  and pulled it out of the box, swiftly discarding of the material and lubing it up ready as you licked your lips. 
"So— You're not getting ready for bed yet?" You questioned frantically, needing to hear his voice again after the agonising silence as you laid your back against your sheets.
"Absolutely not, I haven't even changed out of my suit yet. There's no way I could prepare for bed with this much work to do." He sounded disappointed and just continued to skim over the documents, signing shortly. 
"You haven't..?" You breathed out slowly as you felt the toy first enter your cunt, penetrating your folds so easily thanks to the lube and how wet you already were. But it took some time to adjust to the feeling, especially since you haven't had something, or somebody, inside you for so long.
"No. I've loosened my tie up a bit and took my blazer off, but I'm still basically in uniform."
Fucking hell this was so perverted.
You could imagine it well: Him leaned back in his chair with his legs parted just slightly out of fatigue. Yes, his blazer would be discarded, but his sleeves would also be rolled up to his forearms and you could see the muscle peek out from the fabric. Hearing him describe his loosened tie couldn't make you help but fantasise about just crawling on top of him and grabbing him by the cravat while you stuck your tongue down his throat.
"Couldn't you—" You felt the sudden need to gasp for air as the dildo hit your g-spot. "—Take your tie off completely?" You asked, trying desperately to bite back your soft moans as to not alert Oda of what was happening. "—I just think that since you're working so hard, the tie could get really irritating. If you get stressed, you're gonna have trouble breathing—Y'know..?"
"I guess you're right..." Oda hummed in approval and put down the paper he was holding to instead hook his finger back onto his tie to pull it off completely. "It's really heartwarming to hear that you care about me, darling." He smiled softly as his tie came off.
God damn it. That sweet and kind voice only fuelled your desire- But it really didn't help that Oda believed you had told him to do so out of the kindness of your heart when you were just really desperate to imagine him without his tie, his top buttons all undone.
"Of course... I care about you so much—" You had to whine that last part into your pillow so he wouldn't pick up on the filthy noises you were making.
However, Oda felt that something was was off and turned his attention towards his phone, donning a concerned expression.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" He queried, his voice laced with worry. "You sound like you're in pain."
"I'm not in pain..." You whined out, desperate to reach your high while his voice was still pressed firmly into your mind. "I'm actually— Doing fine right now..."
Oda just narrowed his eyes towards his phone, but decided to take your word for it.
"Okay... Well, if you're doing okay. I'm gonna go back to my work now, since I feel as if I'm getting a little sidetracked. Call me back if you need anything—"
"—Wait, no!" You cried out, feeling your entire face flush as a warmth spread across your cheeks. You swiftly stumbled over towards your phone at your nightstand to grab it, practically screaming down the microphone. "Oda, please stay on call. Please..." You begged pathetically, your legs trembling from the lack of satisfaction you were getting.
"So there is something wrong. What is it?"
Oh god, he sounded so worried. He was such a kind man, but how pathetic would it be to explain your situation right now? How much of a whiny crybaby would you need to be to tell him how desperate you were for his touch? You wanted to keep it to yourself, but the sound of his voice was just too enticing. It made it way too easy for you to let slip what was going on.
"We've just been away for so long... I feel so untouched." You let out in soft whimpers. "I need you so badly, Odasaku, but you're so far away. Your voice is the only thing that can help me."
"...Help you...?" His breath fell short.
"Help me pleasure myself." You let out softly.
Oda's eyes suddenly widened and his face blushed a light shade of pink. His skin got warmer and the crotch of his pants immediately felt extremely tight. The way you sounded so helpless, a trait you thought would end the call for sure, just enticed Oda. It made it sound like you were in a situation only he could help in— Which, of course, was the case, but it gave him so much authority. A sense of responsibility, if you will.
Slowly, Oda unzipped the fly of his pants to lift his cock from his underwear, his breathing extremely steady as he went through with the task. His length was already pulsating a little with desire, and he flicked his thumb over his tip, causing him to shudder a little.
The long silence on your end made you wince— You had no idea what was happening. All you heard was the blank nothingness, and it made you sure that he was about to hang up at any time now. However, instead of doing so, Oda brought his phone up to his ear once more, his other hand softly gripping at his cock.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll help you. As long as you promise to help me too.”
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