writer for the hopeless

https://catchyouintherye.carrd.co/

[itscatchyouintherye]

Patience [ReaderxAaronHotchner]

Aaron Hotchner has been through a lot. Physical affection now seems impossible, intimacy unthinkable. You were vaguely aware of this, but the extent of his loneliness reveals itself in his reaction to the most trivial gesture.

“I said stay on the ground!” Hotch yells at the unsub, his gun pointed at them.

You involuntarily flinch at it. Hotch raising his voice will never not startle you. Yes, he can be loud and scary, but what really catches you off guard is simply someone who appears always so painstakingly stern, to outburst with emotion.

"John, this ends now. You're going to give yourself up, and you're going to face the consequences of your actions." His tone is firm, with an edge of aggression.

"You don't know what it's like, Agent Hotchner. The darkness that follows me... the need to make them pay."

Hotch takes a measured step closer, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to know your excuses. You've taken lives, and it's time to take responsibility. You think you're the only one who's suffered?"

The unsubs eye’s flicker between you and Hotch, his fingers twitching at his side. "You don't understand. The lives I've taken..."

Hotch's gaze remains unrelenting, his voice growing colder. "I'm not here to be your therapist. You're going to face the consequences of your choices, one way or another."

"I can't go back to prison. I won't survive in there."

Hotch’s voice becomes harsh, cutting through the unsub’s desperation. "You should have thought about that before you decided to take innocent lives. You're going to prison, and you're going to pay for what you've done!"

The unsub’s shoulders slump, and the tension in the room begins to dissipate. With a trembling sigh, he raises his hands in surrender, defeated.

“Alright, alright.” The guy mutters and gets on the ground.

Hotch gives you a nod and you put your gun away to cuff him. Before you can reach him, though, Hotch warns: “My colleague will put cuffs on you, if you only look at her wrong, I will fucking shoot you.”

You probably look as shocked as the unsub you’re about to arrest. You know Hotch been on edge, especially in the past week, especially since the unsub evaded the first arrest by using you as human shield.

When you pull the unsub to his feet, his hands tightly strapped to his back, you look back at Hotch. He’s still holding his gun, shoulders tense, eyes narrowed.

You hand the unsub over to local law enforcement and give the rest of the team that’s coming around the corner a thumbs up.

Slowly, you walk up to Hotch and put your hand on his to gently make him lower his gun.

“It’s alright. We got him.”

He takes in a shaky breath.

“It’s okay.” You say quietly, nodding. Hesitantly, he holsters his gun, his eyes still very much alert.

You put your hand on his again and squeeze it to make him look at you.

“Hey, Hotch.”

“Yeah?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t seem alright.”

“I’m fine.” He insists, but his voice sounds off.

It’s not the usual dark, calm, commanding sound, it’s falsely toneless. Like he’s trying to suffocate something in his chest.

Your eyes dart over his grim face and to the side of his neck. You can see that his pulse is quick and that he has goosebumps.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Neither of you move. Hotch only stands there, right next to you, avoiding eye contact but doing absolutely nothing to put distance between the both of you.

“Do we need a medic?” Morgan’s calls and breaks the spell.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to make sense of Hotch’s reaction earlier. You’ve seen him upset, that wasn’t it…resting your forehead against the window of the jet, you let out a quiet sigh.

Your thoughts get interrupted when JJ flips open the file, starting the debrief.

“John fits a profile of a disorganized killer. He targeted victims randomly, leaving behind a chaotic crime scene."

Emily nods: "Yeah, and his victims were from different backgrounds, no apparent connection. It was all about opportunity for him."

Morgan leans back, crossing his arms. "We saw the signs though, even if they were subtle. The escalating violence, the changing victimology."

Rossi adds: "And the fact that he's got a history of petty crimes. This was his way of gaining control, of making a statement."

Reid, his fingers intertwined, comments: "It's interesting how his victimology didn't have a consistent pattern. It suggests he might've been trying to regain control over something he felt he'd lost."

JJ flips through the pages. "The fact that he staged the crime scenes - it's like he was trying to project this image of chaos, but he was meticulously controlling every detail."

Neither you nor Hotch say anything. You just nod while he stares at the floor with his arms crossed.

“Nice job locating that hidden basement, by the way.” Emily comments, looking at you.

You give her a half-hearted smile, basically already forgotten that that happened.

~

You’re in the elevator up to the BAU. It’s you, Reid, and Hotch, after seeing the deputy director to report for the past quarter.

Reid and you are talking casually while Hotch stays quiet. He often does; however, usually, after you had an official meeting like that, he gives instructions for the next performance review.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him press the button to the floor of the BAU. When he lets his hand fall back to his side, you notice his fingers twitch and how he rubs his thumb and index finger together.

You glance up at his face, and despite the neutral expression, his eyes seem…grey? As if his irises themselves had a shadow.

You wonder for how long they have been like that and why the hell you haven’t noticed before. Did you notice and just chalked it up to focus on the case? Tunnel vision so to say?

After all, Hotch is very good at controlling his micro expressions.

And you’re used to simply not question him and his judgement. And apparently, while doing so, you forgot to remember that he’s a human beyond his position as SSA.

~

You meet Hotch in the car park on the way out. He’s looking at his phone, probably reading a report about government funding.

“Hotch!” You call, making a decision before you even properly think about it.

He looks up, appearing surprised.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to catch a movie?”

He stops in his tracks.

“A friend was supposed to go with me, but she canceled last minute.”

Hotch blinks as if you just spoke in a foreign language to him.

“I’ll pay.” You add.

The smallest smile spreads on his lips: “I wouldn’t dream of it. What movie?”

“If you pay, you get to choose.”

You walk over to his car, determined to make this happen even if you have to take the metro in the morning because you left your own car here.

“I have no idea what movies are on right now though.” He says as he opens the passenger door for you.

~

Hotch left his suit jacket and tie in the car, after you told him that he’s overdressed for the movies. He even let out a chuckle while he threw them on the backseat of his car.

It’s quite bizarre, to see Hotch in surroundings like this. Especially because he’s here to buy popcorn and see a movie and not negotiate a hostage situation or something.

Since you got here at a random time, it’s still twenty minutes until the movie starts. So, you sit down in your seats, basically the only people that are in the theatre already, and quietly talk. You keep smiling at Hotch while you snack on your popcorn, amazed that he actually came with you. More so, that he even seems to relax a little.

When you hand him the popcorn so that you can take off your jacket, your hands almost touch. They are just close enough to feel the warmth of the skin. Which is enough to make Hotch shift in his seat and avert eye contact.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you look around, watching the other people slowly entering the theatre, to win some time to think.

There are three theories, well explanations, you come up with.

Hotch is nervous because he is in a casual surrounding with his colleague / subordinate.

He has a crush on you and is flustered.

He is so fucking touch starved that he reacts this strongly to even the smallest amount to physical closeness.

Number one you cross off the list simply because you cannot believe that anything could make Agent Hotchner nervous. Number two might be flattering, but you’re not sure about it. Number three though…is what explains all the little things you noticed over the past weeks.

The lights being dimmed give you a certain calmness, and you turn back to Hotch. He’s looking at you, holding the bag of popcorn with both hands. You take it from him and put it on the empty seat next to you. He furrows his eyebrows.

You lean a little closer and lower your voice even more than before.

Instinctively, he leans down as well.

“Would you like to hold hands?” You whisper.

His mouth falls open.

“This is not me flirting with you or anything.” You go on. “I just thought it might be nice.”

“Oh.”

You absolutely cannot tell what emotion he just vocalized.

Forcing yourself to keep up the eye contact, you offer your hand to him.

Hotch gulps, eyes darting to your hand and back to your face. You tilt your head questioningly.

Eventually, after what feels like at least an hour, he puts his hand in yours.

You start to smile brightly. Hotch mirrors it and moves his arm so that he can fully grab your hand.

You run your thumb over his knuckles and shift in your seat to lay your hands down on the armrest and put your head down on his shoulder.

Hotch lets out a hum and leans his cheek against the crown of your head.

Quietly, you stay like that, fingers intertwined, bodies resting against each other, until the movie starts.

Then you both lean back up to see properly, not letting go of each other’s hands.

~

By the time the credits roll, you’re holding both his hands, continuously caressing them. They warmed up against your skin, offering you just as much comfort.

You’re both reluctant to let go of each other but eventually do so to go the restrooms and then meet back up outside. You barely talk, you just look at each other now and then while you walk towards the car.

You can tell that Hotch wants to say something, but he only manages to speak up when you’re parked in front of your apartment.

“Why did you lie?”

“What?” “When you said a friend stood you up. That was a lie.”

You chuckle: “I wanted to make it easier for the both of us to agree. To not give it a weird undertone.”

“Right.” He shakes his head.

“Hm?”

“I- I am still trying to figure out how you managed to make it not awkward to hold hands.”

“I think we saved each other’s lives often enough to have the trust to do that.”

“Yeah, but just to think of that…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not so sure myself.” Hotch admits, giving you a lopsided smile.

“But you were not uncomfortable?”

“No!”

“But?”

He clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I don’t want…pity.”

You lean back in your seat.

“I don’t think I pity you. I think I deeply care for you.”

His head shoots around.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Apparently.” Hotch sighs. After a pause, he adds: “I’m not sure what this means.”

“Me neither…but would you like to do it again some time?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out, nodding.

You smile at him and open your seatbelt. Before you open the door to get out though, you turn back to him and lean closer.

“I’m going to kiss your cheek.” You declare.

“Oh, okay.” Hotch chuckles and leans down, offering you the side of his face.

“Good night.” You say between two kisses to his cheek.

“Night.” He replies in a voice so soft, you almost don’t recognize it as his.

~

The following Saturday, you wake up to three messages from Hotch.

9:12: Would you like to do something today? I’m free in the afternoon.

9:13: If not that’s okay.

9:15: Sorry if I just made this awkward.

You smile brightly at the screen of your phone. You honestly did not expect Hotch to initiate something himself.

After you fixed yourself a coffee, you write I’d love to! Did you have anything in mind?

Within a few minutes, he replies.

10:25: No idea.

You chuckle.

When was the last time you were at the Smithsonian?

10:26: Years ago.

It’s settled then, because I fucking love dinosaurs

10:26: Language.

Sorry, bossman

10:27: Don’t you call me that on a weekend.

Sorry, Sir

10:28: Had I knows you’re this annoying off the clock I would have never texted you.

:(

10:28: I’ll pick you up at 3.

:)

~

You’re really excited when your doorbell rings, and you make your way down the stairs in record time.

Hotch is standing by his car, surprising you with casual attire consisting of a sweater and slacks.

“Hi there.” You greet and walk up to him.

“Hi.” He uncrosses his arms.

You lean up and kiss his cheek before you squeeze his upper arm and tell him: “You look nice in normal clothes.”

“Normal clothes?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, you always look nice.”

Surprised, you blink.

“I-“ Hotch presses his lips together.

“My god you’re awkward outside of work.”

He bursts out in laughter, surprising you even more with the high pitch of it.

~

You’re sitting on a bench, looking up at the large dinosaur skeleton after you made a round through the exhibition.

“This is nice.” Hotch says.

“Yeah, it is…I was very surprised when you wrote me.” You find his eyes.

He nods slowly: “I’ve been debating if,” he clears his throat, “this is appropriate.”

It makes your heart heavy for a second, but then you remember: “Since we’re here, I assume you came to the conclusion that it is?”

“I came to the conclusion that I, we, deserve it.”

You squeeze his hand: “I’m glad.”

He gives you a small smile and holds his breath before raising his arm and asking: “Would you like to sit closer?”

Deeply touched by his gesture, you nod frantically and scoot over until he can put his arm around your shoulder, and you lean into his side.

Hand on his knee, you enjoy the warmth of his body, feeling safe and content and excited (that mainly because of the surrounding dinosaur skeletons).

~

3:16: Movie at my place tonight, right?

Yes! Should I bring any snacks?

3:18: I just got groceries and stocked up on snacks.

Nice! See you later then.

“Hi there.” Hotch smiles and leans down so you can press a kiss to his cheek.

You let out a quiet little delighted giggle and then stride past him.

“What are we watching?”

He opens a streaming service and hands you the remote: “As always, you choose.”

“I start to feel bad that we always watch my movies.”

“Why? I like it.”

“Well…okay.” You sit down on the couch while Hotch grabs beer and snacks from the kitchen.

By now, he even wears sweatpants when you meet at his place, which feels weirdly special to you.

He reenters the living room with a smile and puts everything down on the side table before he sinks into the couch next to you.

“Found anything good?” He takes a sip of his beer.

“Of course.” You lean back and he puts his arm around you, which is the most normal thing by now.

What did not happen before, though, is the peck on the lips he gives you when you smile at him.

Both of you freeze, staring at each other.

“Sorry.” Hotch apologizes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He takes his arm away.

You straighten your back to properly look at him.

You’re confused by how that made you feel.

“I-“ You’re not sure what you want to say.

Hotch rubs his face and apologizes again: “I’m sorry. If you want to leave, I understand.”

“No, no.” You shake your head.

You gesture with your hand for him to come closer: “Let’s do that again.”

His eyes widen in disbelieve: “Really?”

“Yeah, I liked it.”

“O-okay.” Hotch leans in and you tilt your chin up to press your lips to his.

It’s a pretty chaste kiss, but it feels very intimate, nonetheless.

He smiles widely: “I haven’t kissed anyone in years.”

“I can tell.”

“Hey!” He pinches your thigh.

“Sorry, come here.” You chuckle and put your hand on his cheek to pull him in for another kiss.

Hotch lets out a quiet sigh and leans into your touch. Even when your lips part, he lets his head rest in your palm, eyes fluttered shut.

You enjoy looking at his relaxed face for a long moment before you whisper: “Thank you for trusting me so much.”

He nods and presses a kiss to your palm before he puts his arm around you again and you start the movie.

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

10:37 [ReaderxJamesWilson]

You’ve been hiding at home, avoiding James, ashamed of how bad you’re doing; but James is determined to be there for you. With you.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut, but you are way too uncomfortable to find any rest. Instead, you tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling of the bathroom. It’s blindingly bright but at the same time the room feels dim.

You hold on to the edge of the bathtub, repositioning your legs, wondering how much longer until you either get up or hold your breath under water until you’re close to passing out.

You really would like to be in bed right now, but your body is too heavy; and you would have to dry off, and…

You hear the door to your apartment being unlocked.

Instinctively, you make yourself smaller in the tub.

“Are you home?” James’ voice sounds from the hallway, and you can hear him pacing around, looking into every room.

You consider not answering, and to hope he might just leave. Maybe, if you make yourself even smaller, he will not notice you.

Even when he pushes the door open and looks straight at you, you keep still until he enters the room. Blinking slowly, you watch how he hurries over and kneels next to the tub, visibly agitated.

“What are you doing here?” You finally find your voice. It’s small and breathy.

James takes your hand and presses kisses to your knuckles. You barely feel it but muster a smile anyway.

“Your hand is ice cold.” He whispers.

“Sorry.”

“How are you cold in the-“ He touches the water. His eyes widen and he scrambles to take his jacket off. “How long have you been in there?”

“What time is it?”

Looking even more concerned, he tells you: “Almost eleven.”

“Shit.” You rub your face. Now that you felt James’ warm hand, you notice how cold you actually are.

ames pushes the sleeves of his shirt up and unclogs the tub to let the water drain. Then he turns on the shower head. The noise startles you enough to focus back on him.

“Like three hours, maybe.” You finally answer his question.

“Jesus…” He shakes his head. He knows that means rather close to four.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

He does not raise his voice, but you flinch anyway.

As soon as the water is down to your waist, you pull your legs to your chest. A feeble attempt to warm yourself up; but mostly to hide your body from James. Who simply lets actual warm water run over your shoulders and neck. It makes you sigh, and your eyes fall shut again, your forehead coming to rest on your knees.

Your body is so sensitive to the heat that you feel every single jet of water coming out of the shower head. Now and then, James raises his arm to let water run over your hair as well, making the formerly clammy strands sticking to your skin less unpleasant.

He also runs his hand up and down your arm until he eventually asks: “Can you get up?”

“Yeah.” You nod, not moving otherwise.

He turns the water off and stands up to get a towel. While doing so, he leans over and kisses your temple. You almost start to bawl on the spot.

Slowly, you get to your feet, giving James a thankful nod when he drapes several towels around you. He does not let go of you for a second, his hands constantly on your hips, while you get out of the tub and then let him guide you to the bedroom.

Letting out a shaky breath, you sit on the edge of the mattress.

“I should have come over sooner…” He shakes his head, gently squeezing your hair out with one of the many towels.

“You’re not my doctor.” You laugh lamely.

“I’m your boyfriend who also happens to be a doctor.” He strokes your cheekbone, making you hold onto the towels tighter. “And I knew something was wrong.”

“I mean, there always is.”

“You’re allowed to feel extra bad. You’re allowed to ask me to come over. Please just say something.”

Your head falls at his warm, worried voice, and your chin rests on your chest.

“Pl- Can you look at me?”

You blink rapidly and lightly shake your head: “I’ll cry.”

“Oh, darling...” He maneuvers you to lie down, still wrapped in the damp towels, and pulls the blanket over you as well. Then he sits on the side of the bed and holds your hand, waiting patiently for you to say something or look at him.

You squeeze his hand and pull it to your chest, holding it close. Your body feels better, warmer, alive, less in pain. You feel yourself drifting off, and don’t have the strength to fight it. Instead, you tug on James’ hand again and he immediately climbs over and into bed with you. He makes sure to keep holding your hand while he drapes himself around you.

You melt into him more and more, running your thumb over his knuckles even while you’re barely conscious. It calms you as much as it calms him.

When your knees start to hurt and you’re forced to readjust your position, you roll into James, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smells so nice, and warm, and comforting, and like ten-hour old coffee.

“How was your day?” You mumble. You have to talk to not sob; the gratitude and love you feel threatening to overwhelm you.

“The organ transplant for the patient I told you about the other day got approved.”

“Yeah?” You look up at him. “That’s great!”

He nods and holds you a little tighter. He then goes on to tell you more about House’ case he consulted on today, and how he told Cuddy once again that House is into her, and how Thirteen is taking part in an experimental study…You listen intently, nodding along and asking questions, but then he suddenly stops mid-sentence.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers after a pause.

“What? Why?” You prop yourself up on you elbow to find his eyes.

Reluctantly he looks at you; you know the pain displayed on his face a little too well.

“I was…I even said I should come check on you…” He shakes his head. “I was at a bar, drinking, while you-“ His voice wavers. “You laid in a cold bath for four hours.”

“It wasn’t cold the entire time.”

James snorts and shakes his head again, his bottom lip trembling.

You lean over to kiss him, your hand resting on the side of his face. You let it wander into his silky hair, playing with strands while you deepen the kiss. James follows the movements of your tongue and pushes his hand to the small of your back, pressing you into him as much as possible with all the fabric between you.

“I’m sorry that I turned out to be like House.” You whisper eventually.

At that, James leans back and looks at you…hurt?

“Why do you think that? Because you’re chronically ill as well?”

“Well, yeah…but mostly because I’m someone you have to drag out of a bathtub on a Friday night…instead of having fun at a bar.”

“Funny you should say that, because House was the one who dragged me to the bar.”

You quietly laugh while not sure if you’re able to express adequately how you’re feeling.

“I-“ You clear your throat. “I am not trying to talk down on House…you know that I love him almost as much as you do!” James smiles and nods. “But, I-“ You exhale deeply. “I don’t want to be pathological behavior.”

“You are not taking advantage of me.” James replies sternly. “There is nothing wrong with enjoying taking care of people.”

“No, but-“

“We’ve been over this before.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He sighs loudly and you’re worried he might yell at you or simply leave for good.

But then he grabs your chin and makes you look at him. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“You keep creating this horrible stand-off for yourself.” He says. “If no one comes over to help, you suffer. If someone does, you make yourself suffer.”

You blink.

“You are not like House, not at all. Only in one regard: you’re both addicted to a certain type of sadness. It’s not quite loneliness, that’s too simple. It’s not pure helplessness either. It’s…”

“Nothing.” You finish the sentence. “Nothingness. Because when everything is absent, the pain is too.”

James slowly nods as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. You let out a shaky breath and lean into his touch.

He scoots closer until your faces are right in front of each other.

“You want to be nothing. I want to be everything. Maybe together we can be something.”

You gasp, heart violently beating in your chest, a few tears spilling out of your eyes. James rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re very wise, James Wilson.”

You can hear him inhale to object, but you silence him with a kiss.

He smiles against your lips and lets out a quiet sigh when you let your hands wander over his body.

You know where to touch him. How to make him restless in your arms.

Slowly, you trace his spine, all the way up to the back of his head where you splay out your fingers and then drag your nails over his neck, down again his chest and to the small of his back.

He begins to pant and rut his hips. His kisses become sloppy and needy, and he murmurs your name repeatedly.

“I- Oh god…” He grunts when you gently bite his shoulder, just at the base of his neck.

“I don’t…” He tries again.

You ghost your lips over his: “What is it?”

“I’m not sure how-“ He clears his throat and scoots back a little to look at you. “I thought this was me taking care of you?”

“But you are.” You reply, groping his crotch. At that, James curses loudly.

“Letting me touch you like this is the epitome of taking care of me.”

He claws into your sides.

“Can I touch you back?”

“Wherever you want.”

That makes him groan and pull you in again.

While gnawing on your bottom lip and kissing down your neck, James unwraps you from all the towels. You help him with a giggle and then begin to unbutton his shirt.

He lets his hands glide over your body, up your sides, down your thighs, and back to your tits.

“Your skin is still cold.” He whispers while pushing off his pants. “But I know how to change that.” He flashes you an excited grin.

“Do you now?” You raise an eyebrow and pull him back up until you have his hot body all over yours. You can feel the heat seep into your skin and revive your insides.

The first moan you let out when you feel James’ hard dick press against your thigh. James, in return, whisper-shouts profanities when you reach down and take his dick into your hand.

He rolls over and onto his back, giving you free reign over the pace of his pleasure. You switch hands and lean on your side so that you can reach his chest and neck with your lips (and teeth) (and tongue). You keep a steady but slow rhythm, watching how his eyes fall shut and his lips part.

Suddenly, his head turns to you, and he asks: “Do you mind that I am not as skinny anymore?”

You freeze for a moment, completely taken off guard, and then scoot a little closer and slowly take your hand away from his dick. With a gulp he adds, trying to sound lighthearted: “I just thought since we’re tackling the difficult subjects tonight…”

“What made you think that?”

“Well, I mean…I am aware that I am not as skinny as when we met, and I know that you like…what did you call it? Men that look like they could break in half when you ride them?”

You snort: “I said that?”

“We were two bottles of wine deep into the evening and I finally dared to ask you what your type was.”

“Jesus Christ…I’m amazed you didn’t leave.”

“Oh, I became hard on the spot. As hard as one can get that drunk.”

“Wait. Was that the same night we made out for the first time?”

“Excessively.”

You shake your head with a soft smile, fond of the memory (as much as you can remember of it).

Then you say: “No, I don’t. And you are still lean, by the way. Or, to put it differently: you still look like you could break in half when I ride you.”

Despite the advanced foreplay already happening, James’ cheeks flush.

“Should we try?” You grin and begin to move up his body.

But James stops you: “I’d like to keep you right here for now.”

You give him an expectant look.

He also gets on his side and drapes your leg over himself, opening you up to him. You both scoot even closer together until he can reach your cunt with his dick. You inhale sharply when you feel the head of his dick run through your wet labia.

James moans from deep inside his throat and you both reposition your bodies frantically until you’re fully intertwined, holding on to your each other. Then he pushes into you and your head falls back and you moan loudly. James makes even obscener sounds as he begins to thrust.

While he goes deeper with every thrust, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his hot breath on your skin. Arms around him, you move your hips down to meet his, sighing and moaning into his ear.

Soon, James whispers your name and you tilt your head down to hear him better.

“I-“

You press a breathy kiss to his lips, scratching down his back.

“Argh, jeez, I-If you keep this up, if you keep making those noises and clench so fucking hard…I’m going to cum. Like now.”

His eyes flick up, pupils wide. And a guilty look in them.

You both stop moving, panting, shaking in pleasure and dwindling self-control.

Gently, you push him onto his back, hissing as he slips out of you. James is almost limp, just looking up at you with puppy eyes. While kissing him deeply, you move to straddle him, hands on his chest. He puts his hands on yours, squeezing them. Harder when you drag your cunt over his shaft.

He gasps into your mouth when you roll your hips and push him back into yourself. You use it to push your tongue into his mouth, pinning his to the roof of his mouth, making him sputter.

To let him breathe, you lean up to fully sink down on his dick, sighing in relief when he’s fully buried inside of you again.

James looks up at your through hooded eyelids, running his palms up your arms before reaching for your center. One hand, he rests on your thigh, with the other he finds your clit and begins to circle it. A deep groan slips past your lips, and you begin to move your hips.

“Shit…” He curses and his head lolls to the side. Smug, you observe his face contort in pleasure, biting your bottom lip at the visual. You bathe in it, soaking in the sounds he makes alike.

Then, like lightning, an orgasm shoots down your spine. Your legs tense and squeeze against James’ sides, your hands lock around his upper arms, and your hips snap back and forth on their own accord. You moan, clenching so hard, it almost hurts, release washing over you. The heat from your clit that James mercilessly keeps rubbing radiates up to your stomach and down your thighs.

“Fuck, James…” You whisper, head hanging down, eyes fluttered shut.

“God, you’re so hot when you use me like that.”

Surprised, you find his gaze, your body slowly relaxing.

“Use me for pleasure.” He adds. “I make you feel so fucking good, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You breathe out, sinking down to kiss him.

James snakes his arms around you and thrusts upwards while eagerly reciprocating the movement of your lips.

You tilt your hips to make it easier for him to plow into you from below and eventually break the kiss to whisper: “You take such good care of me, James. You always make me cum so fucking hard.”

Halfway through the first sentence, James starts to cum. His hips stutter, he moans, and then stills completely.

Since there are plenty of towels to clean up, you don’t even have to get out of bed. Instead, you get to stay close to James, your overheated bodies looking for closeness and safety.

Buried deep under the blankets, he holds onto you tightly until he calmed down enough to find your eyes. He gives you a blissful smile and kisses you once more.

“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly.

“Definitely warmer.”

“Yeah?” He grins and strokes your cheek.

You nod and rest your head on his chest again.

You both drift in and out of sleep, staying tangled up until the early morning hours.

“James.” You whisper into his ear.

“Hm?”

“I love you very much.”

His head snaps around; and even though he looks half-asleep, you can tell that he hears every word you’re saying.

“I’ll try to say it more often.” You add.

He has to clear his throat, voice thick from sleep. “You don’t have to.”

“Maybe not. But I’d like to.”

His lips form into a soft smile and he moves to be able to kiss you.

“I love you too.” James whispers back. “And remind me to drag you to a bar.”

“No chance in hell.”

“That or I invite House over for Scrabble.”

“Don’t you dare, motherfucker.”

“Oh, what was that? I should ask Cuddy if she wants to join? We could make it like a ‘couple’s evening’ and try to get them to-“

“Fine! We’ll go to a bar.”

James chuckles and kisses your cheek: “That’s my girl.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

So May We Start [ReaderxJamesWilson]

James cooks you breakfast, and you say thank you in a way he didn’t expect but very much appreciates.

You’re barely conscious when the scent of coffee tiptoes into your dreams. It winds its way around the fog in your head, warm and rich, coaxing you gently toward wakefulness. There's a clink—the soft sound of a mug being set on a nightstand—and then, just above you, the low murmur of a voice that never quite lost its boyish charm.

"Hey," James says, gentle as the morning light leaking through the blinds. "I brought reinforcements."

You let out a groan and pry one eye open to look at him, vision still somewhat blurry. “You’ll need them. Why are you waking me up on a Saturday at…” You glance at the clock. “Eight thirty…?”

“Internal clock woke me up.” He shrugs his shoulders, though he’s clearly pleased with himself.

You chuckle and grab his wrist, pulling him over you.

“Come here.” You murmur and kiss him as he stumbles and catches himself left and right of your head.

He kisses you back, letting you trace his bottom lip with your tongue before he pulls back with a grin. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” You feign innocence.

He pokes your side, making you laugh.

“Fine, fine.” You concede and get out of bed. Not, however, without pressing another soft kiss to his lips before you slip on your sweatpants. James hums and guides you to the kitchen, his hand on the small of your back like he wants to make sure you don’t sprint back to bed.

The moment you see the kitchen table, you cannot help but let out a quiet gasp. The table is filled with pancakes, and waffles, and bacon, and eggs and…

“Oh my god, you made this?” You look at him, flabbergasted.

He gives you a surprisingly bashful smile: “I hope you like it.”

You kiss his cheek and sit down at the table, stomach grumbling.

“Did you rob a diner?” You ask teasingly, already digging in while he sits down across you.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm: “More like the breakfast isles in the grocery store.”

“You went to the store this early?”

“I certainly didn’t get all this from your empty-except-energy-drink ass fridge.”

You kick his shin under the table.

“Rude!” He calls out. “I made you breakfast, and this is how you repay me?”

You begin to grin as a thought forms in your mind.

“Oh, oh.” James says. “What are you plotting.”

“Just considering all the ways I could repay you.”

“Is that so?” A small smirk spreads on his face.

You chuckle to yourself and keep eating while James’ ears begin to flush.

You take another bite of pancake, chewing thoughtfully before pointing your fork at him. “So, what’s the catch?”

James blinks. “Catch?”

“You made all this,” you gesture around the table, “on a Saturday morning, no less. What’s going on? Are you buttering me up for something? Did you crash my car? Invite House over without telling me? Agree to another oncology conference in Vegas?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Wow. The level of suspicion in this relationship is deeply hurtful.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’m not buttering you up,” he says, then pauses. “I just… woke up early. Thought it would be nice to make you something. That’s it. No hidden motives.”

You narrow your eyes, mock-serious. “Hmm. Or you’re trying to distract me from the fact that you’ve been on your phone answering patient emails all week at 2 a.m.”

He has the decency to look sheepish. “Okay, maybe a little buttering up.”

You sip your coffee, letting the warmth settle over you. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you said no to more of them. The extra consults. The late-night second opinions. You don’t have to be that guy all the time.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But sometimes being that guy means someone gets an answer they need. Or a shot they didn’t have before. I can’t turn that part off.”

You look at him for a beat, your expression softening. “I know. I just hate seeing you worn so thin.”

He reaches across the table, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of your hand. “I’m okay. Especially with you in my corner. And, you know... occasionally feeding me caffeine and sarcastic commentary.”

You grin. “Ah yes, the pillars of emotional support.”

He chuckles and leans back in his chair, watching you with that same warm, quietly amazed look he always seems to have when the two of you are alone.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says after a moment, almost to himself. “That I get to have this. You.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm. “Stop. You’re going to make me fall in love with you or something.”

James gives a mock-gasp. “The horror.”

You raise your eyebrows, your grin growing just a little wicked. “You know, you're awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t really been thanked yet.”

His smirk falters for half a second, then returns with more heat. “Oh?”

You take another slow sip of your coffee. “Mmhmm.”

And that’s when your leg starts to move beneath the table.

This time, you don’t kick him, you let your foot glide up the outside of his calf and all the way up to his thigh.

James jolts, freezing, fork halting mid-air.

“What are you doing?” He asks, voice already breathy.

You tilt your head, all innocent curiosity. “Saying thank you.”

His eyes flick down to your leg beneath the table like he’s trying to catch it in the act. “That’s… not the usual way people do it.”

“Guess I’m not people,” you say, smiling slowly. You press your foot a little higher, just brushing the inside of his thigh now, deliberately slow.

He sets the fork down. Gently. Carefully. Like if he moves too fast, he might break something.

James clears his throat, but it’s shaky. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” you purr. “I’m just showing my appreciation.”

His fingers curl lightly around the edge of the table, knuckles going white for a second as he tries to hold onto his composure.

He pushes back slightly in his chair, just enough to slide one hand under the table and catch your ankle. His thumb rubs a slow, deliberate circle against your skin.

“Careful,” he says, voice low and velvet-rich now. “You keep doing that, and breakfast’s going to get cold.”

You bite your bottom lip.

His hand doesn’t let go of your ankle. If anything, he’s pulling you a little closer now, letting his fingers trail up to your calf, then back down again. Your pulse stutters.

“I was trying to be good,” James murmurs, eyes still locked on yours. “Get up early, cook for you, play the part of the perfect boyfriend.”

“You are the perfect boyfriend,” you say softly, the smile falling into something a little more serious. A little more raw. “But you’re also incredibly hot.”

That’s the last crack in his restraint. James stands, slow and smooth, his chair scraping back. He crosses the short distance to your side of the table and leans down, his hand sliding into your hair as he presses a kiss to your mouth—no teasing now, no hesitation. It’s full of heat and need and something deeper that’s been building for a while.

You stand with him, arms slipping around his waist as you kiss him back, letting yourself get pulled into the moment, into him. The kiss deepens, his hands already moving, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to find your skin.

“I really hope you’re not attached to finishing those pancakes,” he mutters against your lips.

You just grin and push him back down in his chair. He plops into it with a small gasp, which turns into a sharp inhale when you sink to your knees in front of him.

His eyes go wide—surprise, anticipation, and a flicker of disbelief showing across his face.

"You're serious?" he breathes, already a little wrecked from the sight of you like this: on your knees, looking up at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

Your hands trail up his thighs, slow and deliberate, the fabric of his pajama pants soft beneath your palms. “You made me breakfast,” you say, voice low and teasing. “Let me return the favor.”

James swallows hard. His fingers tighten on the edge of the chair, knuckles paling again. You watch the movement, then meet his gaze. His eyes are dark now, pupils blown wide, jaw tense with restraint.

You press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, your lips barely brushing the skin through the thin material. His breath stutters. You smile to yourself and do it again, higher this time, lips lingering a little longer.

“God, you’re killing me,” he mutters, voice rough now. One hand lifts from the chair to slide gently into your hair. He’s not guiding you—yet—but he’s definitely holding on.

“I haven’t even started,” you whisper.

You shift between his legs, your fingers trailing to the waistband of his pants. You glance up again, silently asking for permission.

James nods once, quickly, eyes locked on yours. “Yes,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You tug the waistband down slowly, teasing him with every inch you reveal, every breathless second that ticks by. You kiss his hip, then lower, lips brushing across his skin with maddening patience. The way his breath hitches tells you he’s barely holding on.

Your lips ghost over his skin, inching lower, until his hips twitch beneath your mouth. You smile at the reaction, loving how responsive he already is—even when you’ve barely touched him. You press a soft kiss just below his navel, then lower your mouth and finally let your tongue trace a slow, deliberate line along the length of him.

James lets out a sharp, unguarded sound—half moan, half gasp—and his fingers curl in your hair. His hips shift again, and you feel the tension in his thighs, the effort it takes him to stay still while you tease him.

“You’re… really not playing fair,” he says, voice strained, almost hoarse.

“I’m not trying to play fair,” you murmur.

You close your lips around the tip of him, slow and warm and purposeful, and the sharp inhale he lets out tells you it’s working. His hand tightens in your hair, and his head falls back against the chair with a thud.

“Oh, god—”

You hum around him in response, letting the vibration tease him even more. Slowly, you take more of him into your mouth, never rushing, letting every inch feel deliberate. You hollow your cheeks slightly, then pull back with a slow drag of your tongue, just to hear the sound he makes—a low, helpless moan that punches straight through you.

James looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and the way he watches you—like you’re sacred, like you’re undoing him piece by piece—only fuels you more.

You trail one hand up his thigh again, fingers splaying over the waistband of his pants still bunched at his hips, the other resting on his knee for balance. You pick up the pace just slightly, the heat building between your body and his, the soft slick sounds of your mouth around him filling the quiet morning air. His breaths are coming faster now, ragged and uneven, his composure unraveling with every passing second.

“God, you feel—” He cuts himself off with a groan, voice thick with need. “You’re going to make me lose it if you keep—”

You pull back slowly, lips just barely touching him now as you speak. “That’s kind of the idea, sweetheart.”

You can see the shiver that runs through him at your words, his hips lifting slightly to chase your mouth. You smile, a slow, wicked curve of your lips that makes his breath catch. You don't tease him this time, taking him fully into your mouth in one smooth motion, your tongue swirling around him as you begin to move in earnest.

His hands find their way to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he tries to hold onto something, anything, to keep him grounded. But you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles quiver with the effort it takes to keep from thrusting into your mouth. You redouble your efforts, your head bobbing in a steady rhythm, your hand mirroring the movement, stroking him in time with your mouth.

The sounds James makes are pure music to your ears.

His hips start to move in time with you, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You can feel him swelling in your mouth, his body tensing as he nears the edge. You increase the suction, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of his length, pushing him closer and closer to the brink.

"You're so close," you murmur, pulling back just enough to speak, your breath hot against his skin. "I can feel it."

You can see the strain in his face, the way his jaw is clenched tight, his eyes squeezed shut. You take him back into your mouth, your hand working in tandem, your other hand reaching up to tease his nipple through his shirt.

His body jerks in response, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth. He's close, so close, and you can feel the pulse of his impending release. You double down, your movements becoming more urgent, more insistent. His hands tighten in your hair, his body tensing as he chases his release.

“Baby! Oh God!” He gasps out. “I’m gonna- fuck!”

His body tenses, every muscle coiled tight as he teeters on the edge. You can feel the pulsating need in his cock, the way it swells and throbs in your mouth. You increase the suction, your head bobbing faster, your hand stroking in sync with your movements. Your other hand slips lower, cupping his balls gently, rolling them in your palm, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"Fuck, yes!" he cries out, his hips lifting off the chair, driving himself deeper into your throat. You relax, taking him in, your gag reflex subsiding as you focus on pleasuring him. The sound of your slurping fills the room, a wet, obscene symphony that only serves to heighten the moment.

His fingers are tangled in your hair, gripping tightly, using your mouth for his pleasure. You can feel his legs trembling, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. But you don't want him to hold back. You want him to let go, to explode in your mouth, to give you every last drop of his release.

You hum around him, the vibration sending shudders through his body. His eyes fly open, locking onto yours, and the raw, primal need you see there spurs you on. You redouble your efforts, your head moving faster, your hand stroking harder, your fingers rolling his balls with just the right amount of pressure.

"Oh god, I'm gonna come," he grunts, his voice strained, his body tensing. "I'm gonna come so hard."

You pull back slightly, just enough to whisper, "Come for me, James. Come in my mouth."

His response is a guttural moan, his hips bucking wildly as he releases. His cock pulsing, spilling his hot, salty seed into your mouth. You swallow eagerly, your hand continuing to stroke him, milking him for every last drop. The taste of him is intoxicating, and you can't help but moan around him, the vibration prolonging his orgasm.

His body goes slack in the chair, his breath coming in deep, shuddering gasps. You pull back slowly, your lips popping off him with a soft smack. You look up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you lick your lips deliberately, savoring the last of his taste. A wicked smile plays on your mouth as you stand up, your body brushing against his.

James is still breathless, head tilted back against the chair, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven waves. You watch him for a moment, admiring the flush across his cheeks, the slight tremble still in his fingers, the dazed, blissed-out look in his eyes.

You run your hand gently through his hair, brushing the strands back from his forehead. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct—like his body already knows where it’s safe.

“You okay?” you ask softly, voice warm with affection.

He lets out a shaky little laugh, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest at your hips, fingers light and grounding. “I’m fantastic,” he murmurs, voice rough around the edges. “You… I—yeah. Wow.”

You smile, your hand still moving slowly through his hair. He turns his head slightly and presses a kiss to your wrist, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“Come here,” he says, but you don’t sit—just step closer, letting him wrap his arms around your waist. He buries his face against your stomach, the soft fabric of your shirt damp from where you’d pressed your body close earlier. His breath is warm through the cloth, and when he exhales, it sounds like every ounce of tension has left his body.

You cradle the back of his head, fingers threaded in his hair, and press a kiss to the crown of it.

“I should’ve made breakfast sooner,” he mumbles, voice still muffled.

You laugh, the sound low and soft. “You’ll have to keep raising the bar, you know.”

He tilts his head back to look at you, eyes clearer now but still heavy-lidded with affection. “I’m doomed.”

“You’re adored,” you correct him gently.

That earns you a small, crooked smile—the kind he only gives when he’s caught between embarrassment and love.

He slides his arms more securely around your waist and sighs, nuzzling into your shirt. “So… pancakes,” he says after a moment, voice a little muffled.

You chuckle. “What about them?”

“Well, I made enough to feed a family of five, and you, uh…” He glances up at you, lips curving. “Had other breakfast plans.”

You smirk, fingers brushing idly through his hair again. “I regret nothing.”

James groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the chair. “They’re gonna be cold now.”

“Poor pancakes,” you murmur, completely unsympathetic. “They died so that you could be very thoroughly appreciated.”

“I don’t think that’s how pancakes work.”

“Then clearly, you’ve been using them wrong.”

He huffs a laugh, then finally pushes himself to his feet—still a little wobbly, like his legs are trying to remember how to function. You steady him with a hand on his arm, and he gives you a grateful look before leaning in to kiss your temple.

“Bed?” he asks.

You nod, lacing your fingers with his. “Bed.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

After Hour [ReaderxGregHouse]

After a rough day, House needs an outlet to proof himself.

It’s already dark out when you find House in his office, sitting at his desk, reading a report with his glasses on.

“Hey handsome.” You smile at him.

He wearily returns your smile.

“What happened?” You ask as you walk around his desk to put your arms around him from behind to kiss his neck and hold him for a moment.

Sighing, he takes off his glasses and leans into you, his head coming to rest against your shoulder.

“Shitty day.” He tells you sullenly.  

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You murmur and kiss his temple.

He sighs again, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

When they open again, they have a heat in them that wasn’t there before. A heat that your proximity often causes.

“Want to make me feel better?” He asks with a gravelly voice.

“Always.” You reply, already guessing what he’s getting at.

Tilting his head, he steals a kiss before he whispers against your lips: “Close the blinds and get on your knees.”

“Yes, Sir.” You giggle and hurry to close said blinds and then pull his chair back a little to crawl under the desk.

“Oh my.” House chuckles.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”

“You don’t know me as well as I thought then.”

He chuckles again and settles in his chair to get more comfortable and spreads his legs to let you kneel between them.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath when you scoot closer and undo his belt. “You’re really going to…?”

You grin wickedly: “If you want me to.”

“Christ, yes I do.”

When you reach into his pants, however, House stops you, putting his hand on yours.

“What is it?” You ask softly.

“I don’t think I can be patient. Or gentle.”

You pause, looking up at him. There is a hint of darkness in his facial expression that makes you shiver.

“That’s okay.” You whisper.

“You sure?” He asks even though he looks like he’s about to come apart at the seams.

“Very.” You smirk and continue undressing his lower half.

House lets out a groan at your eagerness and lifts his hips so that you can tug down his pants.

You’re absolutely elated to find his dick hard and dripping when you reach into his boxers, giving it a few lazy strokes.

“Fuck.” House hisses as his head falls back against the chair.

You take him deep into your mouth, your lips stretching wide to accommodate his thickness. House's hands find their way to your hair, gripping tightly as he starts to move his hips, fucking your mouth with a relentless rhythm.

You gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat, but you don't pull back. You want this, want to feel him lose control, want to be used by him. You relax your throat, taking him deeper, your nose pressing against his pubic bone.

House groans, a deep, primal sound that resonates through his body. His hips move faster, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with wet, obscene sounds. You can feel his balls slapping against your chin, his body tensing with each thrust.

You look up at him, your eyes watering, your mascara likely smudged, but you don't care. You want him to see you like this, want him to know that you're his, that you're willing to take whatever he gives you.

He meets your gaze, his eyes dark with lust, his jaw clenched tight. "Fuck, you look so good like this," he growls, his voice hoarse with desire.

He speeds up, his hips moving in a frantic rhythm, his cock pounding into your mouth. You can feel your own arousal building, your body responding to his raw need. You reach up, your hands gripping his knees, holding on for dear life as he fucks your mouth.

You can feel him getting closer, his body coiling tight, but then he pulls back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. You look up at him, your lips swollen, your breath coming in ragged gasps, waiting for his next command.

House looks back at you, chest heaving, eyes wild, hand on your cheek.

“You’re doing so well. But you can do better, can’t you?”

You nod, eager to please him, to pleasure him even more.

It makes him smile and he grips his dick, slapping it against your lips a few times before he rasps: “Open.”

Obediently, you open your mouth and let him slip his cock back into your mouth.

“God, your mouth is perfect.” He groans, looking down at you through heavy eyelids.

House starts to move his hips again, but this time, he's even more relentless. He's fucking your mouth with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust. You can feel your gag reflex kicking in, but you fight it, determined to take everything he gives you.

He slaps your cheek gently, a reminder of who's in control. "Relax your throat, baby. Let me in deeper." His voice is a low growl. You do as you're told, forcing yourself to relax, to open up for him completely.

He groans as he slides even deeper, his hips pressing against your face. You can feel him in your throat, the head of his cock pressing against the entrance to your esophagus. You fight the urge to gag, focusing on breathing through your nose, on taking him as deep as you can.

House' hands tighten in your hair.

He starts to move his hips in short, sharp thrusts, using your mouth for his pleasure. You can hear the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, can feel the pre-cum leaking from his tip, coating your throat.

He looks down at you, his eyes wild with lust. "Fuck, you're taking it so well. Such a good little slut for me, aren't you?" His words are crude, degrading, but there is a fondness to them, awe, that’s not lost on you.

You moan around his cock, the vibration making him groan.

As House continues to fuck your throat, you feel a familiar heat building between your own legs. You're so turned on, so wet, and you can't help but reach down, your hand slipping into your panties.

You gasp around his cock as your fingers find your clit, already swollen and sensitive. You start to rub yourself in time with his thrusts, your hips bucking slightly as you chase your own pleasure. The dual sensations of his cock in your mouth and your fingers on your clit are almost too much to bear.

House looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust as he watches you touch yourself. "Fuck, that's so hot," he groans, his voice hoarse with desire. "Touch yourself for me, baby."

Your eyes roll back, and you slip two fingers into yourself, grinding desperately against your hand.

“Oh, fuck!” House moans your name as he sees you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck! I’m gonna come down your pretty throat.”

You barely register his words, too focused on the heat spreading from between your legs through your already overheated body.

Cradling the back of your head, House holds you in place as he comes with a few deep thrusts. You groan, swallowing as best as you can while you fuck yourself with your fingers.

You pull your head back to finally breathe properly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip of House’ cock.

“I’m close.” You say, voice raspy from the rough fucking of your throat.

“Fuck, yes.” House breathes out. “Come for me.”

Your body begins to convulse and tense, your fingers moving frantically, your other hand clawing into his knee to keep yourself up right.

“Oh!” You gasp as your orgasm shoots ups your spine, making your head fall back and your toes curl in your shoes.

You shake, clenching around your fingers, your clit throbbing against your thumb.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You pant as your thighs twitch with aftershocks.

You take deep breaths and slowly pull your hand from between your legs. Eyes still closed, you kneel there and lean your head against House’ leg as you come down.

He runs his fingers through your hair, massaging the back of your skull.

“You okay down there?” He eventually asks.

“Yeah, yeah…” You mumble, clearing your throat twice before you look up at him.

When he sees your face, he inhales sharply.

“God, you’re a mess.”

You let out a laugh and hold still as he grabs tissues to clean up your face.

House gently wipes away the remains of spit and cum on your chin, your smudged mascara, and the tears that spilled onto your cheeks.

When he’s done, he strokes your cheek and tugs on your hand. “Get up here.”

Still dazed, you crawl out from under his desk to settle into his lap.

House rubs your side as he puts his arm around you, pressing kisses to your shoulder and neck.

“You’re incredible.” He murmurs.

You manage to find his eyes and smile at him before you nuzzle your face into his neck.

House holds you tighter against him.

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Zero Sugar [ReaderxLisaCuddy]

Cuddy and you had a special connection from the moment she hired you. It takes three even more special moments until you do something about it.

Now that you think about it, you were a goner the moment you shook hands.

Because even though you were focused on nailing the interview and signing the contract for your new job, in the back of your mind, a thought sneaked in. You wondered. You looked at Lisa Cuddy and wondered how not everyone who laid their eyes on this woman didn’t immediately fall to their knees before her. Including yourself. You have no idea how you found it in yourself to keep your legs working and your hands from trembling while you talked to her.

By now, funny enough, you know that she actually felt similarly towards you. Which is absolutely unbelievable to you, but she assured you many times that it’s true.

By now, you have her in your bed regularly and can show her just how much you worship her.

But that took some time. Well, to be exact, it took three times.

I)

It started with a crisis. Because of course it does.

A toxicology report had gone missing. Not just any toxicology report. One of a crashing patient who was only stable enough for one biopsy. The attending was furious, the lab workers close to tears. Oh, and of course the patient was a VIP. A Senator’s daughter or something.

You were neck deep in damage control when Cuddy appeared beside you.

“What’s the hold up?” She asked. Cool. Calm. Collected.

You, on the other hand, had ink smudged on your wrist, a coffee stain on your coat, and were running on two hours of sleep. Your appearance would have embarrassed you if you had had the capacity to feel anything but stress.

“I’m chasing down a lab report.” You told her, feeling like you were out of breath without running. “They were supposed to be uploaded hours ago but there is a gap in the chain of custody.”

Cuddy raised an eyebrow: “You think someone dripped the ball in the lab?”

“I think someone threw it in the fucking dumpster and set it on fire.” You muttered.

To your surprise, she didn’t scold you, but laughed. Actually laughed.

Then she spent the next six hours with you combing through records, making calls, coordinating with the lab director and the patient’s doctors. Somewhere around 1 a.m., she passed you half a protein bar with a soft “eat”, giving you a look that was way too caring and tender for a boss to give her employee.

“Don’t you have to go home?” You asked as you both sat at a conference table, surrounded by papers. You just had to say something…her beauty made you too nervous to bear it in silence.

She let out a soft chuckle: “Don’t you?”

You gave her a sheepish smile: “Only got a cat waiting for me. She’ll be fine.”

That made her grin and reply: “See, and I don’t even have a cat.”

Another stretch of silence while you chewed the protein bar before you spoke up again: “Thank you for helping me.”

“It’s my job.”

“You could have just fired me.”

“And look for the report all by myself?”

You had laughed. Too loudly. But hey, you could blame it on the sleep deprivation.

At 3 a.m., the tox report was found. Crisis averted.

And yet, neither of you went home immediately.

Instead, you sat in the empty lobby. Quietly. Just being next to each other.

Eventually, Cuddy told you: “You’re good under pressure.”

“So are you.”

She held the eye contact for a beat too long.

“Remind me why I didn’t promote you sooner?”

You had smiled, heart skipping a beat.

“Because you didn’t know you needed me yet.”

It hung between you like the faint scent of her perfume: the joke that wasn’t quite one.

II)

You had been looking for Cuddy for a good while when you finally spotted her in a near empty hallway, leaning against a wall, breathing heavily.

You immediately knew that something was wrong, and you wouldn’t turn around and leave before you found out what.

Hastily, you approached her: “Are you o- is that your blood!?”

“No, no…” She murmured absentmindedly, staring at the wall.

“Then whose?”

“I-“ Her eyes darted to your face for a moment, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

After a moment of silence, you gently took her by the wrist – an electric shock went through you at the skin contact, but you ignored it, focusing on her – and lead her to the changing rooms. No one was there and you locked it, making her sit down on one of the benches.

Tentatively, you crouched next to her. “What happened?” You asked, trying to ignore the streaks of blood covering her blouse and parts of her neck.

She let’s out a deep sigh and tells you something almost inaudible about a patient collapsing and an artery bursting and…She sighs again and covers her face, her breath hitching.

You’re not sure why this got to her so much, concerning her usual resilience towards stress. But maybe she had even more going on, not that it was of your concern…

“Okay, okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You had said quietly and gently pulled her hands away from her face. Her palms were cold.

“Okay?”

Cuddy nodded, seemingly still not fully there.

You opened your locker and pulled out a sweater. It was absolutely not what Cuddy would usually wear, but that’s all you had.

With shaky hands, you began to unbutton her blouse until she could shrug it off. She didn’t seem to mind that you saw her in only her undershirt. On the contrary, for some reason, she became calmer.

You put the besmirched blouse aside and grabbed a towel to wipe her down. The warm, wet cloth made her sigh and lean back against the wall, letting you do as you pleased. She just sat there, eyes closed, allowing you to brush over her skin over and over until the blood was gone.

“You’re okay now.” You had murmured now and then, no idea if she was even in the state of mind to listen.

Eventually, though, she replied: “Thank you.” And then she said your name in an equally hushed tone, and you could have fainted on the spot.

You gave her a nod and a small smile, wiping the last of dried blood off her inner arm, making her shudder.

“There.” You said and got up to wring out the towel in the nearby sink.

“Thanks.” She muttered again, even softer now.

It broke your heart to see the Dean of Medicine like this. All small and scared. It was something you never thought you’d see.

Handing her your sweater, you said: “Not board-certified, but best I can do.”

It made her lips turn upwards. Not a full smile, but something.

Then you turned around to give her privacy as she took off her undershirt too before she slipped on the sweater.

“You can look.” She eventually said, voice still unusually quiet, but less shaky.

When you did turn around, you looked at Lisa Cuddy, wearing your sweater, being the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.

III)

The day had been nothing short of exhausting. A pileup on the freeway had sent a rush of patients into the ER, the clinic was overloaded, two residents had called in sick, and you had not even had your second coffee yet. To make matters worse, a pharmaceutical rep had taken it upon himself to make the rounds, supposedly promoting a new antihypertensive medication, though from what you could tell, his real agenda involved smiling too much and hitting on every nurse, tech, and physician he deemed charming enough to corner.

You had already brushed him off twice. But just your luck there he was again.

You were walking through the main corridor, clipboard tucked to your side, lab coat slung over your arm, hair pulled back from the heat of the day and your patience nearly gone. You barely had time to register his cologne – something sharp and citrusy that tried a little too hard – before he fell into step beside you.

"Come on," he said with a half-smile, leaning just slightly too close for comfort. "Just coffee. I promise I won't even mention the drug."

You gave a quick, polite laugh, but didn't slow your pace. "You're really not good at taking no for an answer, are you?"

"And you're not good at letting yourself have fun," he countered, flashing that rehearsed grin again. "Loosen up a little."

You opened your mouth, about to give a firm and final response, when another voice cut in behind you. Calm, cool, and unmistakably unimpressed.

"She's working."

You turned around.

Cuddy stood a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, one eyebrow arched in a way that could stop a man dead in his tracks. Her expression was unreadable – but there was steel in her eyes.

The rep offered a sheepish smile, clearly thrown off his game. "I didn’t realize you were her boss and her bodyguard."

Cuddy did not so much as blink. "I’ll let security know you’re done for today."

He faltered, his confidence crumbling in real time. "Right. Of course. Good seeing you." He said, backing away with none of the swagger he had arrived with.

You watched him leave before turning your attention back to Cuddy, still a little stunned.

"Okay. Wow." You said, blinking.

Cuddy's eyes were still fixed somewhere down the hallway, her jaw tight. "He was wasting your time."

You tilted your head, stepping a little closer, your voice softer. "He was annoying. But I had it under control."

That got her to look at you. Really look at you. Her gaze flicked down to your mouth, then quickly back up to your eyes.

"Doesn't mean I liked watching it."

The air between you shifted.

Whatever had always lingered quietly beneath the surface – respect, camaraderie, maybe a little friendly tension – suddenly pressed in closer, warmer, sharper. The silence stretched long enough to feel it between your ribs.

You took another step toward her, not closing the distance entirely, but enough to feel the heat of her. You said it carefully, almost teasing.

"You know he wasn’t actually going to get anywhere, right?"

"I know," she said, and for a second, that was all. Then she added, more quietly, "Still didn’t like it."

Your heart thudded – once, hard – before settling into something faster and a little dangerous.

"Are you... jealous?"

Cuddy hesitated. Her lips parted slightly, as if to dismiss the idea, but the words didn't come right away. Instead, she gave a tiny laugh, more breath than sound. She turned her head to the side, just enough to avoid your eyes, and you saw the faintest pink creep up her neck.

"Don’t be ridiculous," she said, but it lacked her usual sharpness.

You smiled, small and sure. "It’s not ridiculous."

She looked at you again – this time without the practiced expression, without the professional mask. For a few suspended seconds, she just stood there, her eyes searching yours like she wasn’t quite ready but also couldn’t help herself.

When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

"I don’t like the idea of someone else getting to you first. That’s all."

Now)

“I still cannot believe you said that.” You tell Lisa with a chuckle while you lie on the couch together, your naked legs tangled under the throw blanket.

“What?” She looks up at you.

“That part about not liking someone else getting to me first. When the pharma rep hit on me.”

She laughs, leaning up in your arms to press a kiss onto your neck. “Well, it’s true.”

“Still an insane thing to say to your employee.”

“Not as insane as the things you moaned our first night together.” She shoots back.

You immediately flush and hide your face in her hair. “Shut up.”

She laughs again, low and smug and impossibly fond. “Oh, come on. I liked it. You sounded... enthusiastic.”

“Lisa.”

She pulls back just far enough to look at you, her brows raised in playful challenge. “You going to deny it?”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Are you always this obnoxious after sex?”

“Only when I’m still thinking about it.”

You cannot help the way your eyes soften at that. Or the way your hand moves to brush her hair back from her face, slowly tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her teasing fades just slightly as you look at her.

“God, you almost kill me every time you look at me like that.” She murmurs.

“I’m just looking at you.”

“Exactly.” Lisa leans up and kisses you again, pushing her tongue into your mouth.

Her kiss starts slow, but there is nothing casual about the way her tongue slides against yours. It is intentional. Possessive. The kind of kiss that says she is not done with you yet.

You let out a soft breath against her lips, your fingers already finding their way beneath the hem of the sweater she borrowed earlier. The one that still smells like you, clinging loosely to her body, now pushed up by your palms as they explore the warm skin of her waist.

Lisa shifts above you, deepening the kiss, her hand sliding up the back of your thigh under the blanket. Her nails drag lightly, making you shiver, and you can feel the grin she tries to suppress as she pulls your bottom lip between her teeth.

"You’re doing that on purpose." You murmur, breathless.

"Doing what?" She whispers back, her lips brushing yours with each word. "Touching you? Kissing you? Making you melt into the damn couch?"

You exhale a soft laugh, even as your fingers dig into her hips. "Yes. All of it."

"Good." She says, before claiming your mouth again.

The blanket shifts as she moves, her thigh slipping between yours, pressing with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. You feel her smirk as you react to her, your hands gripping the fabric of the sweater.

Her kisses trail down your jaw, then lower, warm and slow and searching, until she settles her head in the crook of your neck.

She lingers there, her breath warm and steady against your skin, lips brushing a spot that makes your toes curl beneath the blanket. Her hands are patient but deliberate, sliding along your body like she already knows every place you’ll tremble for her.

You feel her shift above you, one hand bracing against the cushion beside your head, the other slipping beneath your shirt again. Her touch is slow. She is not rushing. She is savoring. Unraveling you with a kind of practiced tenderness that makes your chest ache.

You tilt your head back to give her more room and she kisses along the exposed curve of your throat. Her mouth is soft, then firmer, then teasing again. You can hear her breath hitch when your fingers trail under the hem of her borrowed sweater and tug it higher.

She pulls back just enough to sit up, straddling your hips, her eyes dark and focused. Her hands slip under the hem, and she pulls the sweater over her head in one slow motion, baring herself to you without a hint of hesitation.

Your breath catches.

Lisa Cuddy, in your lap, hair tousled, lips swollen from kissing, eyes heavy with something raw and open. It knocks the air from your lungs.

You reach for her like gravity, pulling her back down to you with a hand at the small of her back, the other slipping through her hair as her mouth finds yours again.

When your hips lift to meet hers, she gasps against your lips; a sound you will hold onto forever.

Eventually, you cannot hold back anymore and whimper: “Lisa, I need you.”

She smiles, less smug and more tender. “I know, baby. I know.”

You shudder at her purr as she shifts her weight.

Lisa is now straddling one of your thighs, and you feel her slick heat against you.

“Fuck, Liz.” Your head falls back at the mere sight, let alone the fact that it’s the Dean of Medicine who is currently grinding against your thigh.

She scoots up further until her cunt meets yours.

“Fuck!” You exclaim. You never scissored before; you only went down on each other – with hands and mouths.

“Yeah? You like that?” She asks with a roll of her hips.

You nod, prying your eyes open to watch her. She’s fully nude, eyes dark and heavy, transfixed on you, her hips rolling rhythmically.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” You breathe out.

Despite her dominant position, she blushes.

“God bless whatever workout you do to go at me like this.” You add after a few minutes of moaning and writhing; of Lisa Cuddy’s cunt against yours.

She smiles, widely, and you smile back.

“Can you cum like this?” She Lisa pants.

“Y-yeah, I think so.” You nod, clawing into her hips now to guide her.

“That’s it, baby.” She murmurs, encouraging you. “Let go for me. Show me what a good girl you are for me.”

“Oh god!” Your back arches and a gush of wetness spreads between your legs as you come hard against her.

You’re still convulsing when you feel Lisa collapse onto your chest. Your eyes are rolled back in your head, and you barely manage to put your hand on her back to hold her.

It takes you another long moment until you come down and are even able to hear Lisa talk to you.

When you finally look at her, she bites her bottom lip, smiling: “There she is.”

You chuckle and wipe your face to make yourself focus. “Holy shit.” Your head is still spinning from your orgasm.

Lisa moves her body to lie next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies as you slowly cool down.

Finally, you turn your head to look at her: “I love you.”

Her eyes widen almost comically.

“You do?”

“I fell in love with you the night we looked for the lost lab report.”

“Really? The protein bar did it for you?”

You laugh and poke her side: “Shut up, I’m trying to be romantic.”

She gestures at your sweaty and sticky, intertwined bodies: “Bold moment to try that.”

You roll your eyes at her but cannot stop smiling.

“Come on,” Lisa murmurs and pulls you up and towards the bathroom, “let’s shower so I can say it back.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Hot To Go [ReaderxMarkS]

You get your first music dance experience, promptly sparking something new between you and Mark.

It’s been a tough week. First, your computer had a catastrophic malfunction—one second you were refining numbers, the next, your screen froze, glitched, and then…nothing. When they took it away for repairs, you hoped for a quick fix. Instead, the worst happened: all your data was lost. Every decimal you had meticulously sorted, every category you had confidently refined, erased like it had never existed.

Now, you had to start over. While the others steadily progressed toward completion, you were back at square one, trying to claw your way back to where you had been before. It was frustrating, to say the least. But Mark had been… well, Mark had been unusually sweet about it.

He had a way of noticing when you were at your breaking point—when the numbers blurred together, when your fingers tightened on the keyboard a little too much. That’s when a cup of coffee would suddenly appear next to you, warm and perfectly sweetened, just the way you liked it. Once, he even smuggled one of his precious wellness tokens into your drawer when he thought you weren’t looking. You found it later—a small, circular reminder that someone here actually cared.

You were at 86 percent when your progress was wiped. Now, as you finally reapproached the 50 percent mark, a familiar click of the door made you look up.

Mr. Milchick entered, pushing a cart draped in a sleek black cloth.

“Woah.” Mark's voice was quiet but intrigued.

You turned in your chair. “What?”

He nodded toward the cart, a small smile twitching at his lips. “An MDE.”

Your heart skipped. “No way.”

You sprang from your seat, excitement bubbling up as the rest of the refiners glanced at each other, then back at the cart. You had heard about Music Dance Experiences before—fleeting, whispered stories passed between refiners—but you had never been lucky enough to participate in one.

“Please,” Mr. Milchick said, his voice smooth and encouraging. “Step forward and choose your genre.”

You practically bounced toward the cart, scanning the laminated cards laid out in front of you. Bawdy Dunk. Bouncy Swing…Lofty Orchestral…

Your fingers hovered over the choices before settling on one. You grinned.

“Maximized Rhythms.” You declare.

“Great choice.” Mr. Milchick’s grin widened as he crouched to sort through the vinyl records.

As the others stood from their desks, leaning in anticipation, Mark stepped closer. His voice was low when he murmured, “No one ever chose that before.”

You glanced at him, smirking, you nudged his side playfully. “Can’t wait to see you dance.”

His eyes widened—just slightly—but instead of stepping back, he only cleared his throat and stayed exactly where he was. If anything, he seemed to shift into position, waiting for the music to start.

“Refiners!” Mr. Milchick clapped his hands, his grin unwavering. “I urge all of you to participate in this very special MDE.” He lifted a camera and snapped a quick picture of you and Mark standing near the cart. Then, his expression shifted—still smiling, but now a touch more serious as he looked directly at you.

“You highly deserve this,” he said, voice brimming with something that almost felt like… sincerity. “Enjoy it.”

Then, he set the needle on the vinyl.

A crisp voice counted in:

"Five, six, five, six, seven, eight."

And the music began.

The beat pulsed through the room, infectious and undeniable. You moved instinctively, letting the rhythm guide you. When the overhead lights suddenly flickered, then burst into a kaleidoscope of flashing colors, you grinned, spinning slightly as the music swelled around you.

I could be "the one," or your new addiction It's all in my head but I want non-fiction…

You turned toward Mark, your body already moving in sync with the beat. He was smiling now, the kind of smile that wasn’t just for show—the kind that softened his features, made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

He started swaying, at first hesitant, then loosening up as the music urged him on.

Milchick, in his usual theatrical enthusiasm, twirled toward Irving, hands in the air. But you barely noticed. Your attention was locked onto Mark—the way his awkward sways smoothed out, the way his eyes never left yours.

As the lyrics repeated, you couldn’t help but shout along, pumping your fists to the beat:

H-O-T-T-O-G-O, you can take me hot to go H-O-T-T-O-G-O…

Your body moved instinctively, your steps aligning with Mark’s as you danced around each other, shoulders rolling, hips shifting in rhythm.

You don't have to stare, come here, get with it…

A burst of confidence flared in your chest. Grinning, you pointed at Mark, then beckoned him closer. His eyebrows lifted, but he obeyed without hesitation, letting you take his hands.

The others were dancing too—well, moving, at least—but they weren’t nearly as lost in the moment as you and Mark.

Then, suddenly, a thought struck you.

The song… it felt familiar.

Your movements stuttered for just a second. Your gaze flickered to the cart, then back to Mark. He noticed immediately, his brows knitting in concern.

Leaning in, he whispered, “You okay? We can stop if you—”

“No.” You shook your head, your voice quieter now. But being this close, you caught the faintest trace of his cologne—warm, slightly woody, mixed with something clean and familiar.

The lyrics wrapped around you again:

What's it take to get your number? What's it take to bring you home?Hurry up, it's time for supper Order up, I'm hot to go

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Mark’s lips quirked up, sensing your amusement, and together, you fell back into the rhythm.

This time, your movements became more fluid, more deliberate. You and Mark circled each other, your arms shifting with the beat, feet stepping in perfect time. The colors, the music, the moment—it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

You shift closer without thinking, drawn in by the music, by the way Mark matches your movements with an ease that surprises you both. His eyes flicker downward for a second—maybe to watch your feet, maybe just to steady himself—but when they lift again, there’s something different in them. A quiet focus, like he’s fully present in this moment with you.

Your fingers graze his wrist as you spin, and though the touch is fleeting, it leaves a warmth behind. Mark exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly as if he can’t believe this is happening. You don’t blame him. Neither of you is the type to command attention, but somehow, right now, the rest of the room barely exists.

The beat intensifies, and so do your steps. You challenge him with a quick side-step, and he follows. You twirl once, then shift forward, closing the space between you again. His hands lift instinctively, hovering near your waist—not touching, not crossing any unspoken line, but close enough that you feel the heat of him.

Lights flash red, then blue, then neon green. The walls seem to pulse with the bass, and for a second, it feels like the whole world is built of rhythm and movement and Mark’s steady, unshakable presence right in front of you.

He moves in sync with you now, not hesitant, not uncertain. Just there. His hand brushes yours again, and this time, neither of you pull away.

“Guess you can dance,” you tease breathlessly.

Mark huffs a small, amused noise. “Guess so.” His voice is low, warm, nearly lost in the music. “Must be the company.”

Something about that sends a thrill through you, but you don’t let it break your momentum. Instead, you shift closer, close enough that your shoulder nearly bumps his, that your breath nearly mingles with his in the electric air between you.

The song pushes toward its peak, the beat intensifying. You’re both moving faster now, caught in the pulse of it, the energy spinning tighter, tighter—

Then, suddenly, the music cuts out.

The silence crashes down around you like a wave, and in its absence, all you’re left with is the sound of your own breath, Mark’s breath, and the realization of just how close you’ve ended up.

Neither of you move right away. The aftershock of the dance still hums between you, in the lingering warmth of your hands, in the way Mark’s gaze flickers down and then back up again.

A beat.

Two.

And then Milchick claps, the sound startlingly loud. “That,” he says, grinning, “was exceptional.”

Just like that, the moment dissolves. The colors dim, the others filter back into your periphery, and Mark shifts slightly, straightening but not stepping away entirely.

You glance at him, catching the way he runs a hand over the back of his neck, the flicker of something thoughtful in his expression. And then, before either of you can say anything, Dylan whistles.

“Damn,” he says, smirking. “Didn’t know we had a whole performance in us today.”

You roll your eyes, still catching your breath, but when you look at Mark one last time, his lips are quirked in a small, private smile.

-

“Great performance out there.” Mark chuckled as he stepped next to you in the kitchen.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice, not expecting him to be standing so close. The space between you feels charged now, after everything. You manage a breathless laugh, your chest still humming from the lingering energy of the dance.

“Yeah, who knew we had it in us, right?” You wipe your hands on your pants as a way to distract yourself from the fact that your heart is still racing.

Mark leans against the counter, his gaze never quite leaving you. "You looked… good out there," he says, the words more sincere than you were expecting. His voice drops a little lower, almost like he’s testing the waters.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Good, huh?” You tease, your lips curling into a playful smirk.

Mark’s eyes flicker down, his fingers tapping lightly against the countertop. “I mean, you really got into it. It was… pretty impressive.”

There’s a beat where neither of you speaks, just the soft hum of the refrigerator in the background. His gaze lingers on you, and you feel a pull, the quiet tension still lingering between you from the dance.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, meeting his eyes. You’re not sure why the air between you feels different now, but it does. The playful vibe you’d had during the MDE has shifted, and what’s left is something else—something harder to define.

“Really,” he continues, his voice a little quieter now, “I didn’t expect that.” He smiles, just a little, and you feel your stomach flutter at the small shift in his expression. "I didn't know you had moves like that."

Your eyes narrow teasingly, “Maybe you should’ve asked me to dance sooner.”

Mark chuckles, a low sound that makes your heart stutter in your chest. He straightens up a bit, but there's still an openness to his posture that you hadn’t seen before. "Maybe I should’ve," he agrees, his gaze a little warmer now. He rubs the back of his neck again, almost absentmindedly, and you realize how much the simple gesture feels like an invitation to keep the conversation going.

But before you can respond, there’s a soft clink from the hallway—the unmistakable sound of someone walking toward the kitchen.

-

Every day that passes, it gets harder to focus on anything other than Mark. Not the numbers, not the deadlines, but the way his presence seems to fill the room, the little moments that feel like they stretch longer than they should.

The coffee he brings you every morning now, always at just the right temperature, with the perfect amount of sugar. The way he’ll always linger for a second longer than necessary when he hands it to you, like there’s something unsaid hanging in the air between you. You notice the little things—the brush of his fingers when he reaches for your mug, the soft laugh he gives when you crack a joke.

And the glances. Fuck, the glances. At first, they were subtle, almost imperceptible. A quick look when you’re not paying attention, a brief meeting of eyes before they both quickly dart away. But now… Now, they linger. When you turn to speak, his gaze is there, steady, unwavering, and it makes your heart race every time.

You start to feel the weight of it all. The tension that’s been building with every passing day. The way your interactions with Mark seem to dance around something unspoken—something that both of you are too hesitant to name. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes to ignore.

You find yourself lost in the moment when he’s near, suddenly aware of how close he stands, how his scent lingers in the air, how his eyes seem to follow your every movement. You can’t tell if it’s the heat of the dance still lingering between you or if something more has shifted between you two, but you can feel the pull.

You need to act on this.

The problem? You don't know how to make the first move.

Every time you try to talk yourself into it, a sense of doubt creeps in. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if this is just some weird, intense work dynamic that you’re reading too much into? But then you remember the dance—the way the music felt alive in the air, how his smile reached his eyes, how the space between you had shrunk until it was just the two of you moving together in perfect sync.

You can’t pretend that didn't mean something. You can’t pretend it wasn’t more than just a moment in the midst of a routine.

So, the next time he brings you coffee, and you notice that same, lingering smile on his face, you decide to stop waiting. You can’t just keep wondering what might happen if you took the leap. You have to find out.

“Mark,” you start, your voice surprisingly steady despite the flutter in your chest. He looks up, startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to break the silence. But he doesn’t step back, doesn’t shy away. His eyes are still soft, patient.

You step closer, feeling the heat rise between you, and say, “Can we talk? Just—just for a minute.”

His eyebrows furrow, concern flickering across his face. “Of course,” he replies, his voice low, quiet, like he knows this is a moment that matters.

“I-“ You look around. The surroundings feel incredibly inadequate.

Not that the restroom would be much better, but at least you would be alone. You check the clock. The others are scheduled to come in within the next half hour…

“Come.” You take his hand and pull him towards the restroom. He follows you more than willingly, even though he appears equally surprised.

You close the door and lock it behind you.

“Listen, Mark, I…I’m not sure if I’m being an idiot, or, or…” You stumble over your words, barely able to look at his face.

You fall silent when he steps closer and murmurs your name.

“Yes?” You ask, breathless and very aware of his proximity.

He’s right in front of you now, having you cornered.

“I think we should kiss.” He states.

Your breath catches in your throat, the words hanging in the air between you. The reality of the moment settles, thick and heady. You stand frozen, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to laugh it off, as if this were just a fleeting thought, a moment of weakness. But the way he’s looking at you—the quiet intensity in his eyes—tells you this isn’t a joke. This isn’t some playful flirtation.

“I…” You start to say something, but your voice falters. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough that you swear he can hear it. His gaze drops to your lips, just for a second, before meeting your eyes again, waiting.

“Mark,” you whisper, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. “Are you sure?”

He steps even closer, until there’s barely an inch between you, and you can feel the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne that makes everything feel suddenly too overwhelming. “I’m sure,” he murmurs, his voice steady, full of a quiet certainty that makes something inside you loosen.

Then, without another word, he leans in. It’s slow, deliberate, but it’s there—his lips brushing against yours, soft and warm. For a second, it’s almost like a question, as if he’s waiting for you to respond, to pull away, to tell him it’s not the right time. But you don’t. You let yourself sink into it, your lips meeting his in a tentative kiss that deepens as the seconds stretch, as the weight of everything you’ve been feeling presses down on you.

His hand finds the side of your face, fingertips brushing against your skin with a tenderness that makes your pulse race. Your breath quickens, matching his as he moves closer, pulling you just a little bit deeper into the kiss, as if he’s trying to show you, without words, how much this means.

Your lips part slightly, and Mark takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the curve of your mouth with a gentle pressure that sends shivers down your spine. Your hands, still trembling at your sides, rise of their own accord, reaching up to cradle the back of his head.

As you kiss, his hands move down to your waist, fingers wrapping around your lower back to pull you closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours like a slow-burning fire. You feel his hands drift down further, his palms pressing against the skin at the small of your back, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

His hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your pants as he pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours with a gentle, insistent pressure.

His hands move up to your shoulders, fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer still, his body swaying into yours. You feel his hands slide down to your arms, fingers wrapping around your wrists as he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his body pressing against yours with a slow, building intensity.

You’re cornered now, pressed against the restroom door, Mark grinding against you.

“Mark!” You gasp when he bites your bottom lip gently.

“Yea- yeah?” He pants.

“I…oh god…” Your head falls back, and your exposed neck gets immediately attacked by his hungry lips.

You reach for the buckle of his belt and then everything moves very quickly.

“Shit, you sure?” He asks while his pants hit the floor.

“Yes, very.” You nod and open your pants too, stepping out of your heels.

“Okay, god, okay.” Mark looks at you with dark eyes and a smile as he helps you strip your lower body.

Mark's hands move swiftly, unfastening your pants and sliding them down your legs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You feel a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of panic as you realize the situation, but Mark's hands are already on your hips, pulling you closer as he positions himself behind you.

His body presses against yours, his chest rubbing against your back as he wraps his arms around you, holding you in place. You feel his lips on the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he whispers "yes" in your ear.

You feel a surge of adrenaline as Mark's body moves forward, pushing against your lower back and causing you to lean forward, your head falling onto the doorframe as you cry out in surprise. Mark's hands move down to your waist, fingers digging into the skin as he pulls you closer, his body thrusting forward in a swift, urgent motion.

The sound of his grunts and the creaking of the doorframe are the only sounds as Mark's body moves against yours, his lips on the back of your neck and the nape of your neck sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your hands find their way to the doorframe, gripping it tightly as you feel yourself being pushed to the limit, your body screaming for more.

As Mark's body thrusts forward, his cock slides deep into your pussy, the head pushing past your lips and into the tight, warm space within. Your inner walls clench around him, gripping his shaft like a vice as he buries himself to the hilt.

His balls slap against your ass, the sound echoing off the doorframe as he pounds into you with a fierce, animalistic intensity. His cock is a blunt, thrusting force, driving into your depths with a relentless rhythm that sends shockwaves through your entire body.

Your pussy is stretched to the limit, the walls straining to accommodate Mark's thick, rigid length.

The sound of his grunts and the wet, slapping noise of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy fill the air, a filthy, obscene symphony that's both shocking and exhilarating.

As Mark's body surges forward, his cock hits the back of your pussy, the head bumping against your cervix with a jarring, pleasant shock. Your inner walls convulse around him, the muscles rippling and clenching as you feel yourself being driven towards a shattering, explosive climax.

The doorframe creaks and groans under the force of Mark's thrusts, the wood straining to hold your weight as you're pinned against it, your body helpless to resist the onslaught of his cock. Your hands grip the frame tightly, your fingers white-knuckled as you feel yourself being fucked with a ferocity that's terrifying and thrilling.

As Mark continues to thrust into you, he suddenly slows down, his movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. His cock still fills you completely, but now he's taking his time, savoring the sensation of being inside you.

For a moment, he just holds still, his body pressed against yours, his chest heaving with exertion. Then, he starts to move again, but this time it's with a slower, more intense rhythm. His thrusts are deeper, more deliberate, as if he's trying to reach the very center of your being.

You feel his cock sliding in and out of you, the head rubbing against your inner walls, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. His balls still slap against your ass, but now it's with a slower, more measured pace, as if he's trying to build up to something.

As he continues to move inside you, you start to feel a growing sense of tension, a building pressure that threatens to explode at any moment. Mark's slow, deliberate thrusts are like a ticking time bomb, each one winding you tighter and tighter, until you're not sure how much more you can take.

But just as you think you're going to shatter into a million pieces, Mark suddenly picks up the pace again, his thrusts becoming faster, more frantic. His body slams into yours, his cock driving into you with a fierce, unstoppable force, and you feel yourself being lifted off the ground, your body weightless as you're propelled towards a shattering, explosive climax.

As Mark's thrusts become faster and more frantic, you feel yourself being driven towards a precipice, a point of no return where everything will come crashing down. Your body is a tense, coiled spring, ready to unleash a torrent of pleasure and sensation.

Mark's cock is a blur of motion, sliding in and out of you with a rapid, piston-like rhythm.

And then, in an instant, it happens. Mark's cock drives into you one last time, your inner walls convulse around him, the muscles rippling and clenching as you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, a sensation that sweeps you away and leaves you gasping, breathless, and shattered.

As the wave recedes, you're left feeling limp, spent, and utterly drained. Mark's body is still pressed against yours, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His cock is still buried inside you, the head throbbing with a gentle, pulsing rhythm as he slowly comes back down to earth.

Then, slowly, you start to come back to reality, your senses returning as you feel Mark's body relax against yours. You're still pinned against the doorframe, your body weightless and helpless as Mark's cock slowly slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty, hollow, and utterly satisfied.

It takes you another long moment until you can move. With shaky legs, you lean against the wall, panting, eyes glazed over.

“Holy shit, Mark.” You breathe out, cheeks flushed and voice hoarse.

“You okay?” He asks, very sweet and almost worried.

You just nod, closing your eyes for a bit. You open them again when you feel Mark starting to clean up between your legs with a paper towel.

“You- you don’t have to do that.” You chuckle.

“I know.” He replies but keeps going diligently.

You hiss when the paper towel brushes against your sensitive clit and Mark apologizes breathlessly.

While he throws the towels away, you pull your pants back up and begin to straighten out your clothes.

Finally, your sight clears enough that you can really look at Mark. He has a deeply satisfied look on his face, a smile seemingly permanently tilting the corners of his mouth upwards.

“Come here.” You murmur and hold out your hand, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

When you part you add, whispering: “Don’t you dare make a hot to go word play now.”

Mark bursts out laughing: “How did you know?”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Bloodwork [ReaderxMarkScout]

When Mark finds a love bite on his body, he decides to have some fun too.

based on a request by Fluid_boy_crusher

“Glad you’re getting over it, motherfucker,” Mark mutters at his reflection, voice thick with something between self-loathing and bitter amusement. The fluorescent light above casts a harsh glow on his bare skin, making every imperfection stand out—the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and most notably, the bruise on his chest.

The love bite is deep purple at the center, blooming outward in messy red specks, some already fading into a sickly yellow at the edges. How long has it been there without him noticing? Days? Longer? He drags a fingertip over the mark, pressing down just enough to send a sharp pulse of pain straight to his gut. A shiver runs through him.

God, he wishes it didn’t feel good.

He presses harder, sucking in a breath as the pain twists into something else. His skin remembers—remembers the warmth of another person, the weight of their mouth against him, the pressure that left this mark behind. The sensation is a ghost now, but his body reacts anyway, aching in a way he can’t ignore.

Fuck, he needs to get laid.

You spot him the moment he walks in.

Mark moves like a man who doesn’t want to be seen but knows he’s being watched anyway—shoulders hunched, gaze flicking toward the bar before quickly away. His jacket is wrinkled, half-zipped over a faded t-shirt, and his hair looks like he’s run his hands through it too many times. The dim bar lights cast uneven shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones.

It takes you a moment to notice the way he’s holding himself, just a little too stiff. Then his fingers ghost over his chest—brief, instinctual, like he’s remembering something. And that’s when you catch it, just barely visible beneath the collar of his shirt: the dark edge of a bruise.

A love bite.

Your stomach twists at the sight of it. You don’t know why. Maybe because you weren’t expecting it. Maybe because you weren’t expecting him to be the kind of man who’d let someone leave a mark like that on him. Or maybe because the way he touches it—quick, secretive, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to soothe the ache or press into it harder—makes you think that whatever happened to leave it there, he’s been thinking about it all day.

When he finally makes it to the bar, he doesn’t sit right away. Just exhales, slow and measured, and rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to shake something off. Then he catches your eye.

And for a split second, you swear his gaze drops—to your mouth, your throat, before snapping back up.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough.

You’re not sure if it’s an invitation or a warning.

“Hey.”

You reply without missing a beat, offering him a small, knowing smile. “Glad you could make it on such short notice.”

It’s strange how natural this feels, considering you only started talking a few hours ago on that godforsaken dating app. A few sarcastic messages, a joke about bad first dates, and suddenly, here you are.

Something about him—his dry humor, his hesitant way of engaging—drew you in. But now, seeing him in person, you can’t help but wonder how much of what he said was earnest.

Because Mark… well, he looks the part of a lonely man, sure, but the evidence suggests otherwise. His slightly rumpled clothes, the tension in his shoulders, and—most obviously—the love bite peeking out from under his shirt. A fresh one. Dark and obvious. Whoever left it wanted it to be seen.

You’re still processing that when he speaks again, catching you completely off guard.

“I don’t know how it got there.”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

“The love bite you were staring at.”

You let out a startled laugh, a real one, unable to stop yourself. There’s something about the way he says it—so blunt, so utterly unbothered by his own lack of context for it—that cracks you up.

Mark chuckles, too, though he clearly wasn’t expecting that reaction. Some of the tension in his face eases, the corners of his mouth twitching as he shifts in his seat. He flags down the bartender with a quiet nod and only fully sits next to you once he’s placed his order.

“I—” He runs a hand through his already-mussed hair, exhaling like he’s debating whether to explain himself. Then, finally, he settles on, “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” you tease, letting your gaze linger on him just long enough to make a point.

That gets another amused huff out of him, and as if conceding something, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the stool. He leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the counter, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy, clean, but lived-in.

Whatever he’s here for tonight, you’re suddenly very curious to find out.

-

Mark drums his fingers against the bar, the slow, absent rhythm a contrast to the way his gaze lingers on the bartender pouring his drink. His lips press together, thoughtful, like he’s still deciding how much he actually wants to say—or how much he can get away with not saying.

“So,” you prompt, tilting your head slightly, the edge of your glass cool against your fingertips. “Do you always wake up with mystery bruises, or is this a special occasion?”

That earns you a smirk, small but real. “Not usually on my chest.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, taking a slow sip of your drink. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

Mark exhales a short chuckle, shaking his head. When his drink is finally placed in front of him, he wraps his fingers around the glass but doesn’t lift it just yet. Instead, his gaze flicks to you, the amusement in his eyes shifting—softening into something more appraising.

“Why’d you swipe right?” he asks.

You blink at the sudden shift in conversation, caught slightly off guard. “Why did you?”

His smirk widens, just a fraction. “I asked first.”

You roll your eyes but lean in slightly, indulging him. “I don’t know. You seemed… interesting. A little sad.” You shrug, letting the words settle between you before continuing, “Figured it could go one of two ways—you’d either trauma-dump on me in a way that ruins my night, or you’d be decent company. So far, I think I made the right call.”

Mark snorts at that, finally taking a sip of his drink. He makes a slight face at the burn of it before setting it back down, rubbing his thumb along the rim of the glass. “Guess I should be flattered.”

“You should,” you say, shifting your leg slightly until your knee brushes against his under the bar. The touch is casual, barely there, but it lingers. “Now answer the question.”

He hesitates—just long enough to make you think he’s going to dodge it completely. But then, with a small sigh, he relents.

“You didn’t have anything weird in your bio.”

You blink. “That’s your reason?”

Mark gestures vaguely with his glass. “I’ve seen some shit on that app.” He shakes his head like he’s recalling something particularly awful. “People saying they ‘live for the grind.’ Way too many pictures of dead fish.” He shudders for effect. “But you? No inspirational quotes. No exes awkwardly cropped out of your photos. You seemed normal.” He pauses. “Or at least… close enough.”

You laugh, setting your elbow on the bar and resting your chin against your hand. “So, what I’m hearing is, I was the least unhinged option available.”

“Pretty much.” He takes another sip of his drink, his smirk barely visible over the rim of the glass.

You shake your head, but you’re still smiling. “God, that’s romantic.”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh, his eyes flicking to your mouth for the briefest second before snapping back up. The shift is almost imperceptible, but you catch it. His voice is quieter now, a little rougher at the edges when he murmurs, “Yeah, well… depends on how the night goes.”

-

It’s not even that much later when the two of you are tucked into a booth in the back of the bar, drinks dwindling, bodies turned toward each other in a way that makes the space feel smaller than it is. The air between you is warm, charged, the kind of atmosphere that builds when two people are getting comfortable with each other—when the conversation starts flowing just a little easier, the laughter coming a little quicker.

“…and then,” you say, still catching your breath between laughs, “this absolute idiot tries to play it off like it was part of the plan—like, ‘Oh yeah, I meant to set off the fire alarm in the middle of dinner service.’”

Mark snorts, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

“I know, right?” You grin, shifting slightly, your knee pressing against his under the table. Neither of you move away. “So, tell me something embarrassing. I can’t be the only one sharing.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I can top that.”

“Oh, come on.” You nudge him lightly with your shoulder, the movement small but deliberate. He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat of him, the fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. “There’s gotta be something.”

Mark exhales, shaking his head. “Fine,” he says, pausing for a second like he’s debating whether he should really admit this. Then, finally: “I once—very confidently, I might add—explained the plot of Blade Runner to someone, only to realize halfway through that I was actually describing The Matrix.”

You gasp dramatically. “No.”

“Oh, yeah.” He grimaces, dragging a hand down his face. “And the worst part? They let me finish. Didn’t correct me once. Just sat there, nodding along like I wasn’t an absolute idiot.”

You burst out laughing, tipping your head back against the cushioned seat. “That’s amazing.”

“It was tragic,” Mark corrects, but he’s grinning now, watching you with a kind of quiet satisfaction, like he’s already cataloging the sound of your laughter in his mind.

There’s a beat of silence then, not awkward, just… charged.

Mark’s fingers drum absently against the table, his other hand resting on his thigh, so close that if you shifted just slightly, you’d be touching. He exhales, slow, contemplative, before tipping his head toward you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice lower now, quieter. “Your turn. Tell me something real.”

You pause for a long moment, looking at him over the rim of your glass.

Eventually, you settle on an honest answer.

“I like you, Mark.”

It’s simple. It’s direct. And yet, it hangs there, hanging between you like an unexpected confession.

His expression doesn’t shift immediately. There’s no immediate reaction—no smile, no awkward shift in posture, just… stillness. But you notice the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch against the edge of his glass.

And then, finally, he leans in just a fraction, closing the distance between you. His voice is low when he speaks: “Yeah?”

You nod, your heart beating louder in your chest than you’d like. “Yeah.”

Mark exhales slowly, almost a laugh, but it’s something softer, more intimate. He shifts closer, his leg brushing against yours again, and this time, neither of you make any effort to pull away.

“I like you too,” he says, his words just barely above a whisper.

And before you can even think about it, Mark leans in, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before his lips finally brush against yours. It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting for some kind of signal from you—testing the waters, measuring the space between hesitation and desire. The touch is gentle, but it carries an undeniable pull, a quiet invitation.

For a moment, the kiss stays light, almost chaste, but it doesn’t take long for the tension to dissolve. As the contact lingers, you both let out a soft sigh in unison, a sound that feels almost like relief. Then, the kiss deepens, the pressure building as your lips mold against each other, eager and familiar.

You smile against Mark’s mouth, the feeling of it sparking something warm inside you, and he smiles back—slow, a little shy, but full of that same hunger. He leans in closer, his hand finding the small of your back, pulling you toward him with just enough force to make your pulse race.

His lips part, inviting you in, and without thinking, you do the same. You let your tongue slip past the barrier of his mouth, tasting the faint bitterness of whiskey still lingering on his lips, a warmth that spreads through you as soon as you taste it. There’s something raw and honest about the moment—the shared breath, the way your bodies seem to align without a word spoken.

A small, breathless moan escapes you as you explore the taste of him, the urgency in your kiss rising. Mark pulls you closer, his grip tightening, his fingers sliding over the curve of your waist as his kiss deepens even more.

-

Without breaking the kiss, Mark's hands begin to roam, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. You feel a shiver run down your spine as his touch sends sparks flying through your entire body. Your own hands, seemingly of their own accord, find their way to his chest, your fingers spreading wide as you pull him closer, your palms pressing against the warmth of his skin.

As you stumble backward, Mark's lips never leave yours, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that's both fierce and tender. You feel the edge of the couch behind you, and then you're moving again, Mark's hands guiding you toward the bedroom.

Clothes begin to fall away, shed like skin as you both stumble toward the bed. Mark's shirt is the first to go, pulled over his head and discarded on the floor. Your own shirt follows, torn off with a urgency that's both frantic and delicious. The air is filled with the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of skin on skin as you both strip away the barriers between you.

Mark's hands are everywhere, his fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips. You feel a moan build in your throat as his touch sends shivers running down your spine. Your own hands are just as busy, your fingers exploring the contours of his body, the ridges of muscle, the softness of his skin.

As you reach the bedroom, Mark's lips finally leave yours, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that's both fierce and tender. For a moment, you just stare at each other, the only sound the ragged rhythm of your own breathing. Then, without a word, Mark's hands reach out, pulling you toward him with a force that's both gentle and insistent.

In the dim light of the bedroom, you see the love bite on his chest.

With a weird rush of arousal, you trace it with your finger, making sure to press hard enough that he feels it. And considering the sounds he makes, he really feels it. More importantly, he enjoys it.

As your finger presses against the love bite, Mark's eyes flutter closed, his head tilting back in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The sound that escapes his lips is a low, husky moan, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes your own arousal spike. You can feel his body tense beneath you, his muscles coiling tight as he absorbs the sensation.

Emboldened by his reaction, you lean in closer, your mouth tracing the edge of the love bite. You can feel the raised skin, the tender flesh, and you know that you're touching a part of him that's already been claimed by someone else. The thought sends a spark of possessiveness through you, and you press your lips against the mark, claiming it as your own.

Mark's hands come up, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. His mouth finds yours, and the kiss is fierce, almost savage. You can feel the hunger in him, the desperation, and you know that you're the only one who can satisfy it.

As you kiss, your bodies begin to move, the tension between you building to a fever pitch. You can feel Mark's erection pressing against you; your own body is responding, your nipples tightening, your breasts aching with a sweet, heavy sensation.

The love bite seems to be a trigger, a catalyst.

As the kiss deepens, you feel a surge of power and desire course through your veins, like a potent elixir that's been unleashed within you. Your heart rate accelerates, your senses heighten, and your body begins to tingle with anticipation. You push Mark back, your hands on his chest, and he yields to the pressure, falling back onto the bed with a soft thud. The mattress creaks beneath him, and the sound seems to reverberate through the air, heightening the sense of intimacy between you.

As Mark falls back, his eyes never leave yours, and you can see the hunger and anticipation burning in their depths. His gaze is like a flame that's been ignited, and it seems to scorch your skin, leaving you feeling breathless and wanting. You can see the desire etched on his face, the tension in his jaw, and the faint flush that's rising to his cheeks. His eyes seem to bore into yours, as if he's trying to convey a message that only you can understand.

You follow him down, your body covering his, and your mouth trails down his neck, leaving a path of gentle kisses in its wake. Your lips brush against his skin, sending shivers down his spine, and you can feel the goosebumps rising on his flesh. You continue down, your mouth tracing the contours of his chest, the curve of his pecs, and the flat plane of his abdomen. Your tongue darts out, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin, and you feel a surge of pleasure at the sensation.

Finally, your mouth reaches its destination, and you wrap your lips around his erection. The heat emanating from him is like a palpable force, a warm glow that seems to envelop you. You can feel the pulse of his blood, the rhythmic throb of his heartbeat, and you know that he's ready for you. His body is tense, his muscles coiled, and you can sense the pent-up energy.

As your lips wrap around him, you feel a shiver run down your spine, a frisson of pleasure that seems to electrify your entire body. Mark's eyes flash closed, and his head tilts back, his mouth opening in a silent cry of pleasure. His hands come up, his fingers tangling in your hair, and he pulls you closer, his hips arching up to meet you. The movement is almost involuntary, as if his body is responding to a primal urge that he can't control. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you deeper, and you feel a surge of pleasure at the sensation.

As you take him deeper, your mouth moving in a slow, sensual rhythm, Mark's body begins to writhe beneath you. His hips are bucking now, his cock throbbing in your mouth, and you can feel the tension building in him. His hands are clenched in your hair, pulling you closer, and you can sense the desperation in his touch. His fingers are tangled in your locks, his nails gently scraping against your scalp as he tries to hold you in place.

You suck harder, your mouth moving faster, and you feel him start to lose control. His body is tense, his muscles rigid, and you can feel the strain in him as he fights to hold back. But you're not going to let him. You're going to push him over the edge, to make him come apart in your mouth. You can feel his cock pulsing in your mouth, the veins throbbing with each beat of his heart, and you know that he's getting close.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his thickness, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly, but you don't pull back. Instead, you relax your throat, letting him slide deeper, and you feel him tremble with pleasure. Your throat is constricting around him, the muscles contracting and releasing in a rhythmic motion, and you can feel him shudder as he realizes how deep he is.

Mark's hands are tightening in your hair, pulling you closer, and you can feel his hips arching up to meet you. He's fucking your mouth now, his cock sliding in and out of your lips, and you can feel the friction building. Your mouth is wet, your saliva mixing with his pre-cum, and you can taste his arousal. The flavors are mingling on your tongue, a heady mix of musk and sweat, and you can feel your own desire rising in response.

But you're not going to let him cum yet. You're going to tease him, to make him wait, to make him beg for it. You slow down your pace, your mouth moving in a slow, torturous rhythm, and you can feel him straining against you. His hips are bucking wildly, his cock throbbing in your mouth, and you can sense the desperation in him as he tries to cum.

You pull back, your mouth coming off him with a soft pop, and you can see the frustration in his eyes. Mark's face is contorted, his brow furrowed in concentration. You're going to make him wait, to make him beg for it, and you know that he'll do anything to cum.

-

“Please, god, please.” Mark begs as you slowly, languidly ride him.

“What, hm?”

“Please, let me cum.”

"Let you cum?" you repeat, your voice low and husky, as you continue to ride him with a slow, torturous pace. "I don't know, Mark. You've been a very bad…you showed up to a date with a hickey, like a damn slut. I'm not sure you deserve to come."

Mark's eyes flash with desperation.

“Please, I'll do anything. Just let me cum."

You smile, a slow, cruel smile, as you lean forward, your breasts brushing against his chest. "Anything?" you repeat, your voice dripping with skepticism. "That's a pretty big promise. What makes you think you're worth it?"

Mark's hands are clenched in your hair, his fingers tangled in your locks, as he pulls you closer. "I'll do anything," he repeats, his voice hoarse with desire. "Just please, let me cum. I'll give you anything you want."

You laugh, a low, throaty sound, as you continue to ride him with a sensual pace. "Anything I want?" you ask again, your eyes glinting with amusement. "That's a pretty tempting offer. But I'm not sure you can deliver."

Mark's face is twisted in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, his eyes flashing with desperation. "I can deliver," he gasps, his voice barely audible. "Just please, let me cum. I'll give you anything you want."

You smile down at him, leaning over to kiss him, hungry to taste his lips again.

“Then cum for me.” You whisper, rolling your hips harder and faster.

“I- are you sure? Oh my god, are you sure? Fuck!” He mindlessly whisper—shouts.

You nod, your lips finding the mark on his chest. You begin to bite it. Refreshing the love bite.

As you make sure to make it even bigger, darker, and bite deeper, you feel how he comes apart.

With a loud gasp and a deep grunt, Mark cums.

He’s shivering, his fingers digging into your skin, his back arching upwards.

With a smile, you watch him intently, every small movement of his face getting registered by your mind.

The crinkles around his eyes, the few unruly eyebrow hairs, his soft hair that’s sweaty and sticking to his forehead, his parted lips, his…voice.

“Holy shit…” He groans, panting and looking up at you through hooded eyelids. “Fuck…” He keeps cursing under his labored breath, his hands slowly relaxing their grasp on your hips.

“I-“ He stares up at you with something close to awe on his face. “I will never leave this bed again, as long as you’re in it.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Open Doors [DanaScullyxFoxMulder]

When Scully walks in on Mulder and a colleague from HR in a compromising position, she is no longer able to hide her jealousy.

The elevator hummed softly as it descended, its fluorescent lights casting a cold, sterile glow on the polished metal walls. Mulder stood rigidly near the control panel, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture tense.

Beside him, Sharon from HR leaned in closer than necessary, her voice low and smooth as she spoke.

“You know, Agent Mulder,” she said, her fingers brushing lightly against his forearm. “You don’t really take advantage of the perks that come with the job. Most people would kill for what you’ve got access to.”

Mulder forced a polite smile, his eyes flicking to the floor numbers ticking down above the doors. Four. Three. Two. “I’m pretty happy with the basics,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort to keep things neutral.

Sharon tilted her head, a lock of hair falling perfectly into place as she laughed softly. “Oh, come on. You deserve more than the basics. I could make it happen, you know.” She leaned closer, her perfume faint but noticeable, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Off the record, of course.”

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open with a smooth hiss. Standing there, holding a file against her chest, was Scully.

For a split second, everything froze.

Her gaze landed on them immediately—on Sharon’s proximity, the way her fingers lingered on Mulder’s arm, the intimate tilt of her head as she spoke. The scene was suggestive, damning even, though Mulder looked more like a man trapped than a willing participant.

Scully’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker in her eyes, a flash of something that cut through Mulder like a blade. Hurt? Betrayal? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of cool detachment.

“Am I interrupting something?” Her tone was perfectly flat, but the sharp edge beneath it was not lost on Mulder.

He stepped back immediately, putting space between himself and Sharon as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Scully—”

“Oh, not at all,” Sharon said breezily, her hand slipping from Mulder’s arm as she turned to face Scully. Her smile was polished, professional, and just smug enough to set Mulder’s teeth on edge.

“Agent Mulder and I were just discussing his benefits package.”

“Of course,” Scully replied, her voice icy. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared at Sharon with the kind of steady, unflinching gaze that could level mountains.

Sharon hesitated, then stepped out of the elevator with a small laugh. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” She brushed past Scully, her heels clicking against the tile as she walked away.

Scully stepped into the elevator, her movements sharp and deliberate. She jabbed the button for the basement even though it was already selected.

Mulder lingered in the doorway, half in, half out, his eyes fixed on her. “Scully, it’s not what it looked like—”

“I don’t care what it looked like,” she said, her voice cutting him off. She didn’t look at him, her eyes locked on the control panel, but her jaw was tight, her grip on the file rigid.

The doors started to close, and Mulder hesitated, caught between following her and giving her space.

“Scully—”

The doors shut, sealing him out.

-

By the time Mulder made it to the basement, his tie was askew, and he was slightly out of breath from taking the stairs two at a time. He found her at her desk, typing furiously on her laptop, though the screen showed a report that didn’t seem to have changed in the last several minutes.

“Scully,” he said, stepping into the room.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Mulder?”

“I need to explain,” he said, his voice calmer now but still edged with urgency.

Her hands paused on the keyboard, her fingers hovering for a moment before she sat back and finally looked at him. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were stormy, her frustration barely contained.

“Explain what?” she asked, her tone cold. “That the rumors are true? That you really have a thing for HR?”

He blinked, taken aback. “What? No! She cornered me about my benefits package, and I was just trying to be polite—”

She cut him off with a sharp laugh; there was no humor in it. “Polite? That’s what you call it?”

“Yes, Scully, polite! She leaned in to tell me she could ‘bend the rules’ for me, and I panicked and told her I already had dental!”

That stopped her. She blinked, her lips twitching despite herself. “Dental?”

“Yes, dental! She was too close, and I didn’t know what else to say, and then the doors opened, and you were there looking like—”

“Like what?” she challenged, leaning forward slightly.

“Like I’d just kicked your puppy,” he shot back, exasperated. “You think I don’t notice when you’re upset, Scully? You think I don’t care?”

Her posture stiffened, her shoulders drawn tight like she was bracing herself against a storm. And yet, despite the tension radiating from her body, her eyes never wavered from his. She stared him down, her expression carefully composed, but the heat in her gaze betrayed the turmoil beneath.

“I think,” she said at last, her voice quieter now but no less sharp, “that you don’t get to care when you’re in an elevator with someone like that.”

The words landed like a challenge, each one cutting with precision.

Mulder stepped closer, his movements slow, giving her the chance to push him away if she wanted. His hands came up slightly, palms out, a gesture of surrender. The frustration that had driven him to follow her into the basement had melted, replaced by something gentler, something he couldn’t quite name but had felt for years.

“Scully, you’re wrong,” he said softly. His voice, usually full of wit or sarcasm, was stripped bare. “I’ve cared about you since the day I met you, and I’m not about to stop just because Sharyl from-”

“Sharon.”

“Because Sharon from HR thought she stands a chance against you.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Her breath hitched, the faintest of sounds escaping her lips, and Mulder caught it like a thread unraveling between them. Her walls—the ones she’d built so carefully over the years—were cracking, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he could see her hesitating to hold them up.

But still, she didn’t look away.

“You don’t get to do this, Mulder,” she said finally, her voice trembling, though she tried to steady it. She crossed her arms, a weak attempt to shield herself, but it was clear she wasn’t entirely in control of her emotions anymore.

He tilted his head, stepping closer again, cautious but resolute. “Do what?”

Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat. She turned her head for the briefest moment, looking at a spot just over his shoulder as if trying to gather the courage to say it. Then her eyes flicked back to his, and her voice broke on the admission.

“When you make me feel like this.”

The words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they reverberated between them like thunder. Her mask cracked wide open, and for the first time, Mulder saw everything—the hurt, the anger, and the fear, all tangled up with something else she could no longer hide.

He stopped moving, letting the weight of her words settle over them. His expression softened, the lines of tension easing from his face.

“Scully,” he said, his voice a plea wrapped in an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Before he could finish, she moved.

It was sudden, decisive, the kind of action she didn’t think through but simply acted on instinct. She stepped forward, her hand reaching out to steady herself on the edge of his tie.

And then she kissed him.

The kiss was neither tentative nor practiced. It was urgent, raw, and filled with all the things they had left unsaid for years. Her lips pressed firmly against his, and for a moment, Mulder didn’t react. He was too stunned, too overwhelmed by the reality of what was happening.

But then he did.

His hands found her waist, hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t sure she’d let him touch her. When she didn’t pull away, he held her closer, leaning into the kiss with equal intensity. Her fingers tightened in his tie, pulling him down to meet her fully, and he could feel the frustration, the longing, and the relief pouring out of her.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Scully didn’t let go of his tie, and Mulder didn’t step back. For a long moment, they just stood there, staring at each other, their foreheads almost touching.

“Okay,” he said softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I think we need to talk about your definition of not caring.”

Scully’s breath hitched again, but this time, it was accompanied by the smallest, most reluctant smile.

Scully didn’t reply, not with words. Instead, her fingers tugged his tie, pulling him back to her, and their lips met again—this time with more intensity, more certainty. The kiss was no longer a question but an answer, the culmination of years of unresolved tension and unsaid truths.

Mulder’s hands slid from her waist to her back, pulling her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. She pressed into him, her fingers slipping from his tie to the collar of his shirt, gripping the fabric.

Her lips parted, and he deepened the kiss without hesitation, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat.

“Scully,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with want. His hands roamed higher, brushing against her shoulder blades, his fingertips just grazing the bare skin at the nape of her neck.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper, her lips moving against his.

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid lower, one finding the curve of her hip while the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss even further. She responded with a quiet gasp, her body pressing into his as if trying to close a gap that no longer existed.

The desk hit the back of her thighs, and she leaned against it, pulling him with her. His knee nudged between hers, and her fingers worked their way up to the back of his neck, her nails grazing his skin.

Mulder’s heart pounded as the heat between them surged, the years of unspoken feelings, suppressed desires, and lingering glances all pouring out in this moment. Scully’s hands slipped from his collar to the back of his neck, her fingers threading into his hair. Her lips moved against his with an urgency that matched his own, their breaths mingling as the tension that had defined their partnership unraveled, strand by strand.

His hands settled on her hips, steadying her as she leaned further back against the desk. The pressure of his touch sent a shiver up her spine, and she arched toward him instinctively, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

“God, Scully,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice ragged. The way her name fell from his lips was different this time, less restrained, more intimate.

Her only response was a soft hum of acknowledgment, her lips parting as she deepened the kiss herself, giving as much as she was taking. His hands began to explore, one trailing up her side, fingers grazing the hem of her blouse where it had ridden up slightly. The barest brush of skin beneath his fingertips sent a spark through both of them, drawing a quiet gasp from her.

The sound was intoxicating. He leaned in closer, pressing her further into the edge of the desk, their bodies fitting together as though they had always been meant to. His knee shifted between hers, and she welcomed the intrusion, her thighs parting just enough for him to step closer still.

Scully’s head tilted back as his lips left hers, trailing a heated path along her jawline and down the curve of her neck. Her breath hitched again, her hands gripping his shoulders to anchor herself as her pulse quickened. “Mulder,” she whispered, her voice low, almost reverent.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice strained, though his hands remained firm where they held her. “If this isn’t what you want—”

She shook her head, silencing him with a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “It is,” she said softly, her gaze steady despite the flush creeping up her neck. “It always has been.”

For a moment, the air between them stilled, the weight of her words settling over them. Then Mulder surged forward again, capturing her lips with a renewed fervor, and Scully responded with equal intensity, her hands pulling him closer as though afraid to let go.

Mulder’s hands, steady but deliberate, slid from her hips to her waist, his fingers tracing the curve of her body through the thin fabric of her blouse. The sensation sent another shiver coursing through her, and she clutched at him harder, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Their kisses grew hungrier, deeper.

Scully’s hands roamed restlessly, exploring the broad expanse of his chest beneath his dress shirt, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Her touch was tentative at first, but when he groaned softly against her lips, it emboldened her, and she let her palms slide lower.

Mulder couldn’t think clearly—couldn’t focus on anything but her. The scent of her perfume, the way her lips felt against his, the warmth of her body pressed so tightly against him…His lips traveled back to her neck, lingering at the spot just beneath her jaw where he could feel her pulse quicken under his touch. Her head tilted back further, a soft sound escaping her as her fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him even closer.

The edge of the desk pressed into the back of her thighs, but she hardly noticed. Her world had narrowed to him—his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered her name like it was both a prayer and a confession.

“Mulder,” she breathed again, her voice catching as his hands slipped beneath her blouse, his fingers finding the bare skin of her lower back. The contact sent a rush of heat through her, and she pulled him down to her, their foreheads brushing as their lips met once more, more fervent than before.

The sound of a distant door closing somewhere in the building broke through the haze, but neither of them moved. The basement office was silent save for their breathing, the weight of what they were doing hanging in the air like a fragile secret.

Scully’s fingers tightened on his collar as she met his gaze, her eyes searching his for something—reassurance, understanding, maybe even courage.

“I want you, Scully. But not here.”

“Why not? It would be so fitting, wouldn't it?”

Mulder chuckled, still breathless, running his hands through his disheveled hair.

She tugged on his tie again, making him groan.

“If you do that again, I will come in my pants and then it’s a lose-lose.”

Scully laughed loudly, making his heart flutter.

The shift in the air between them was electric, thick with tension that had been building for years and was now threatening to consume them both. Scully’s voice, soft but urgent, cut through the haze. “Please, Mulder.”

It wasn’t just her words—it was the way she said them, her tone so raw and vulnerable that Mulder felt something deep inside him snap. He was a goner, utterly and completely.

Without hesitation, he moved, his hands firm as he guided her toward the desk. His movements were deliberate, almost rough, as though he couldn’t bear to waste another second. Spinning her around with a surety that left her breathless, he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

“Fuck, you sure?” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly as his hands found the hem of her skirt and began to push it up her thighs.

“Yes!” Scully’s response was almost a whine, her voice carrying a desperation that made Mulder’s head spin. His focus narrowed to her—her body, her voice, the need radiating from her—and he was determined to give her everything she wanted. Everything she deserved.

Dropping to his knees behind her, he tugged her panties down in one swift motion, baring her to the cool air of the basement. The contrast made her shiver, or maybe it was the intensity of the moment, the way Mulder’s hands roamed over her skin with purpose. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was touching her.

And oh, was he touching her. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, his thumbs kneading gently as they reached the curve of her ass. He spread her open with an almost reverent urgency, exposing her completely to his gaze. The first swipe of his tongue against her sent a jolt through her body, her knees almost buckling.

“Fuck, Scully…” Mulder’s voice was muffled, his breath warm against her. He didn’t wait for her to respond before doing it again, licking another long, slow stripe up her center. Her breath hitched, and she squirmed against him, her hands gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself.

He didn’t hold back, his tongue finding her clit and circling it with maddening precision before dipping lower to tease her entrance. His pace was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and firm, deliberate pressure that had her thighs trembling. Her arousal slicked his face, and he didn’t care; he wanted more, needed more.

“Mulder,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body arched toward him.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low and rough, the vibrations of it sending shivers through her. “You really think I want to taste anyone else but you?” he murmured, his hands tightening on her thighs. “You think I want anyone else to cum on my face?”

Scully couldn’t form words. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat, her mind fuzzy with sensation. Her body trembled uncontrollably as his words, coupled with the relentless attention of his tongue, pushed her higher and higher.

She came undone with a sharp gasp, her body seizing as pleasure coursed through her in waves. Her lips parted in a string of curses, her voice trembling with the intensity of it. Mulder didn’t stop, his mouth working her through the aftershocks until her body sagged against the desk, spent and shaking.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening, he pressed a kiss to the back of her thigh, his hands still steadying her. Scully glanced over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded but glowing with satisfaction. Mulder smirked, his expression a mix of pride and adoration.

The aftershocks of her release still coursed through her as Mulder straightened, his hands steadying her trembling body. She was warm and pliant under his touch, and he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of her—flushed, glowing, utterly undone, and so achingly beautiful it almost hurt.

Gently, he reached for her, his hands skimming up her arms before settling on her shoulders. With a soft nudge, he turned her around, his touch careful, as though he were handling something precious. Once she was facing him, his fingers found their way to her face, cupping her cheeks with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His thumbs traced slow, soothing circles over her skin, grounding her, calming her.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the intimacy of his touch overwhelming. She leaned into him, her forehead coming to rest against his chest as she let out a soft, breathy laugh. The sound was light, almost disbelieving, as though she were trying to process everything that had just happened.

“Christ, Mulder,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt but carrying a hint of amusement.

He chuckled softly, his hands drifting to her hair, his fingers combing through the strands in a way that was both affectionate and comforting. “What can I say?” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin she could feel even without looking. “I’m enthusiastic about you.”

The words were teasing, but the sincerity beneath them was unmistakable, and it made her laugh again, this time louder, the sound fuller, freer. She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of lingering exhilaration and something softer, something deeper.

His smile widened at the sight of her, and he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. His lips lingered there, warm and steady, before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again. His hand slid to her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly along the curve of her cheekbone.

“Can you keep going?” he asked, his voice low, the question both a challenge and a request. His expression was a mix of mischief and concern, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

She took a deep breath, her body still tingling but her mind catching up, and gave him a small, knowing smile. Her hands came up to rest against his chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. “I think,” she said, her voice steady despite the teasing glint in her eyes, “you’d better show me just how enthusiastic you are.”

Mulder’s grin turned into something downright wicked, and he stepped closer, his hands sliding down to her waist as he leaned in again. “Oh, Scully,” he murmured against her lips, “you have no idea.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

The Fifth Temper [ReaderxMarkScout]

You moved in next to Mark a few months ago. Tonight, you get talking after he accidentally runs over your trash can.

wdym there is no reader-insert porn for this sad little man???

The sound comes first—a dull thunk, followed by the slow, scraping drag of plastic against asphalt. You glance up from your phone just in time to see your trash can teeter, then flop onto its side in the glow of a pair of headlights. Mark, your quiet neighbor from next door, stares at it through his windshield for a long moment before sighing and stepping out of his car. He looks over at you, expression hovering somewhere between sheepish and exhausted. “Uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I killed your trash can.”

You stare back at him. Not only did he just run over your trash can while you were unlocking your door, scaring the shit out of you, he also just said more words in a row than he ever did before.

“Are- are you okay?” You ask, taking a step towards him.

He looks like he’s about to collapse and you’re not sure if it’s because of shock or because that’s just his aesthetic.

Mark blinks at you, like he hadn’t considered that possibility. “Uh. Yeah. I think so.” He glances down at the trash can, then back at you. “Sorry about that. It came out of nowhere.”

You huff a quiet laugh, crossing your arms. “Right. One of those wild, free-roaming trash cans. They’re a real menace.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t quite stick. Instead, he exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. Up close, he looks even worse—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’s carrying something heavier than just the weight of his mistake.

“I’ll, uh, buy you a new one,” he says, nudging the sad, dented can upright with his foot.

You shrug. “It still stands. I think it’ll live.”

Mark nods, staring at it like he’s considering something deeper than the structural integrity of a trash can. Then, almost hesitantly, he says, “You just get home?”

It’s the first time he’s ever initiated a conversation with you, and for some reason, that feels bigger than the crime scene he made of your recycling bin.

You nod, a little thrown off by the fact that he’s actually making conversation. “Yeah. Late shift.”

Mark makes a small sound of understanding, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Long night?”

You let out a breath, glancing at the battered trash can before looking back at him. “Could’ve been worse. At least no one ran me over.”

That almost gets a real smile out of him. “Glad to hear it,” he says dryly.

For a moment, there’s just the hum of the streetlights.

Mark shifts on his feet, looking like he might say something else, but then he just gestures vaguely at his car. “Guess I should… park like a normal person.”

You arch a brow. “And I guess I should… mourn my trash can in peace?”

His lips press together, almost amused. “Right. Sorry again.”

He turns to go, but before he can slip away, you surprise yourself by saying, “Hey, Mark?”

He pauses, glancing back at you.

“You wanna come in for a drink or something?” You hesitate, then add, “Not as a guilt offering. Just—if you want.”

For a second, he just looks at you, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped. But then, to your surprise, he nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I’d like that.”

You step aside, pushing your door open wider as Mark follows you in. The air inside is warmer than the chilly night outside, and you suddenly become aware of the mild clutter—an unfolded blanket on the couch, a half-finished mug of tea on the coffee table. Nothing embarrassing, but enough to make you wonder what he sees when he looks around.

Mark lingers near the entrance, hands still stuffed in his jacket pockets, as if he’s not sure whether to fully commit to being here. “Nice place,” he says, though it sounds more like an observation than a compliment.

You snort. “You don’t have to lie. It’s lived-in.”

That actually gets a real, if small, smile out of him. “Lived-in is nice.”

You head toward the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder. “Beer? Whiskey? Water, if you’re still recovering from the tragic murder of my trash can?”

Mark exhales a short laugh, following you in. “Whiskey, if you have it.”

You pour two glasses and hand him one. For a moment, you both stand there, quiet, the only sound the clink of ice shifting in the glass. Mark takes a slow sip, then glances at you. “So… how long have you lived here?”

It’s a simple question, but coming from Mark—who has spent the last few months barely acknowledging your existence—it feels like something else. Like he’s trying, in his own tired way, to actually know you.

“A few months,” you say, leaning against the counter. “Long enough to know you keep weird hours.”

Mark huffs, staring down at his drink. “Yeah. Guess that’s true.”

You hesitate, debating whether to push, then decide to take the chance. “Work?”

His grip tightens slightly around the glass before he nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s… complicated.”

You don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, the way his gaze flickers somewhere distant. But he’s still here. Still talking. So you just nod, letting the silence settle comfortably between you before saying, “Complicated jobs suck.”

Mark exhales, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. Then, slowly, he nods. “Yeah. They do.”

And just like that, something shifts. Not big, not obvious—but enough that, for the first time since you met him, Mark actually looks like he’s here.

The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… easy. Mark rolls his glass between his hands, staring down at the amber liquid like it might give him answers. You don’t push. Whatever complicated mess he’s dealing with, you get the sense that talking about it isn’t something he does often—if at all.

Instead, you take a sip of your drink and say, “So, do you make a habit of running over your neighbors’ trash cans, or am I just special?”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re special.” He pauses, like he just heard himself, and quickly corrects, “I mean—I don’t usually run over things. Or talk to people.”

You smirk over the rim of your glass. “Wow. Two firsts in one night. Lucky me.”

He gives you a look, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just a flicker of amusement that fades as quickly as it came. He takes another sip of whiskey, then sets the glass down with a quiet clink. “I’m not… great at this,” he admits.

You tilt your head. “At what? Holding a drink? Making small talk? Vehicular trash can manslaughter?”

That gets a real chuckle out of him, soft but genuine. “All of the above.”

You let that sit for a moment before shrugging. “Well, good news: you’re doing fine. And you only mildly traumatized my trash can, so I’d call it a win.”

Mark huffs, shaking his head slightly. But there’s something different now, something a little lighter in his posture, like the weight he’s carrying isn’t crushing him quite as much.

After a beat, he glances at you again. “You ever have a job that makes it hard to feel like yourself?”

The question is sudden, out of place in the easy rhythm of the conversation. But his voice is quiet, almost careful, like he’s asking something bigger than what the words imply.

Instead of answering his question, you ask: “What’s your job?”

Mark’s fingers tighten slightly around his glass. He hesitates, like he’s weighing how much he should say—or if he should say anything at all.

Finally, he exhales and mutters, “I work at Lumon.”

Your eyebrows lift. “What do you do there?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Data refinement.” The way he says it is flat, practiced—like it’s been drilled into him.

You take a sip of your drink, watching him carefully. “Sounds… vague.”

Mark exhales a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. It is.” He rubs a hand over his face, then shakes his head. “Sorry. I—probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

You tilt your head. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a good answer,” he admits. “Not one that makes sense.”

That hangs between you for a moment, heavy and strange. There’s something unsettling in the way he says it.

But instead of pressing, you set your drink down and say, “Okay. So you can’t talk about work. What can you talk about?”

That gets another small smile out of him. “Trash can fatalities, apparently.”

You smirk. “Great. I’ll add that to the list.”

Mark’s posture loosens just a little, like he’s relieved to step back from whatever abyss he almost walked into. He picks up his glass again, taking a slow sip before meeting your eyes.

“I can also talk about movies,” he offers after a moment. “Books. Uh… the weather.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you giving me conversation menu options?”

He shrugs. “Just making it easier.”

You shake your head, amused. “Alright, let’s go with movies. What’s the last one you watched?”

Mark thinks for a second, then says, completely deadpan, “A documentary about beekeeping.”

You blink. “Beekeeping.”

“Yeah.” He takes another sip of whiskey. “It was… surprisingly intense.”

That’s the first time he get’s a full, honest laugh out of you and it makes him light up in response.

Mark doesn’t exactly smile—at least, not in the way most people do—but there’s something warmer in his expression now, something real. You can tell he’s not used to making people laugh, or maybe just not used to wanting to.

“Intense how?” you ask, still grinning.

He leans against the counter, tilting his glass slightly as he thinks. “There was this one scene where a beekeeper was trying to relocate a hive, and for a second, it looked like the whole thing was about to collapse. Thousands of bees, just—everywhere.” He shakes his head slightly. “The guy barely flinched.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you related to this?”

Mark exhales a short laugh. “What, because I give off ‘man calmly drowning in bees’ energy?”

You shrug, smirking. “I mean. If the shoe fits.”

His gaze flickers to his drink, but he’s still smiling. It’s small, barely there, but you can tell it’s genuine. “Guess I walked into that one.”

You take another sip of your whiskey, watching him. He seems more settled now, like something inside him has loosened just a little. The tension is still there, coiled beneath the surface, but for now, it’s quieter.

After a beat, you say, “Alright. Next time you watch a weirdly intense documentary, let me know. I feel like I’m missing out.”

Mark glances at you, like he’s checking to see if you’re joking. But when he realizes you’re not, something shifts in his expression.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I think I will.”

After another pause, you both speak at the same time.

Mark says: “Sorry, I probably overstayed my-“

And you say: “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Mark stops mid-sentence, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting that question. To be fair, you weren’t really expecting to ask it either, but now that it’s out there, you realize you kind of want him to stay.

He hesitates, then glances toward the clock on your wall, like he’s only just now remembering what time it is. “Uh… no, actually.”

You nod toward the kitchen. “I was about to make something. If you’re hungry, you could stick around.”

Mark shifts on his feet, clearly debating whether he should. You can almost see the tug-of-war happening in his head—like he’s weighing the risk of staying against the comfort of being here, of not going home just yet.

Finally, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to—”

“You won’t be,” you cut in before he can finish. “It’s just food.”

There’s a beat where he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what the catch is. But then, slowly, he nods.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

You try not to seem too pleased as you head toward the fridge. “Good choice. Hope you like… whatever I end up throwing together.”

Mark huffs a quiet laugh and leans against the counter, watching as you start pulling things out. “As long as it’s not honey-glazed, I think I’ll manage.”

“No way!” Mark exclaims, laughing as you finish the story about how the FBI arrested your neighbor for planning to eat someone. Back when you still lived in the city.

“You’re making this up! You were in the elevator with the agents and-“

“It’s true! There even is a newspaper article about it.”

He shakes his head again, looking at you.

Your dinner is long finished, and the plates sit empty on the table while you moved to the couch.

Mark leans back against the armrest, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, I’ve heard of weird neighbors, but that? That’s on a whole new level.”

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “You wouldn’t believe the half of it. He had a whole ‘menu,’ apparently. I didn’t stick around to see the details, but I heard some… unsettling things when the cops showed up.”

Mark chuckles again, but there's something different about the way he’s looking at you now, more attentive, as if the ridiculousness of your story has made him see you a little more clearly.

“Seriously though,” he says, his voice softening, “you just… casually walked out of an elevator with FBI agents?”

You shrug, setting your glass down. “What can I say? I have a talent for finding chaos. It's like it follows me around.”

His smile widens, though there’s a hint of something else there—something warmer than amusement. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t end up on the ‘menu’ yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard by the comment. It’s offhand, but there’s an underlying sincerity to it, and it lands heavier than you expected.

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your tone light, though something shifts in the air between you. “That would’ve been a bit of a buzzkill for my week.”

Mark snorts at the terrible pun, and for a second, the tension slips away. But when he meets your eyes again, it’s like something unsaid lingers there. He doesn’t break the gaze this time.

“You know,” he says, after a beat, “I’m glad I ran over your trash can tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, your gaze never leaving his. “Oh? Is that your way of saying you’re glad we’re hanging out, or just an excuse to kill some plastic?”

Mark’s eyes flicker, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tries to suppress a smile. “I mean, killing plastic was an unintended bonus, but… yeah, I think I’m glad. It’s not every day I get invited inside for whiskey and, you know, not to be murdered by an overly ambitious neighbor.”

You laugh softly, your heart picking up its pace at the way his voice has softened, the way his smile feels a little too personal. “Well, I do like to make my invites memorable.”

His eyes narrow playfully as he shifts a little closer on the couch. “I’ll admit, you’re doing a good job of it. Who knows what’ll happen next? Maybe I’ll end up really liking your cooking.”

“Is that your way of complimenting my skills, or are you just trying to butter me up for the next time you run over something of mine?” You tilt your head, a teasing smile forming on your lips.

Mark raises his eyebrows, taking a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving yours. “A little of both, actually. I’m pretty good at the whole ‘play it cool’ thing, but I don’t mind saying I enjoy the company.”

The tension in the air thickens, the playful banter simmering under something more serious now. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way he’s studying you as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, or if it’s real.

“You know,” you say softly, setting your glass down on the coffee table and shifting to face him more fully, “if you wanted to stick around more often, I wouldn’t exactly kick you out.”

Mark’s gaze flickers down to your lips for just a moment, and when he meets your eyes again, it’s like something unspoken passes between you. “I’m starting to think I’d be okay with that.”

A grin tugs at your lips, and you lean in just slightly, close enough to catch the warmth of his breath. “Good,” you murmur, “because I think we’d both be better off if you didn’t.”

For a second, neither of you moves, the quiet stretching between you thick with possibility. Mark’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a tension in his posture—almost like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

So, you do. You let your gaze flicker to his lips, then back up to his eyes, giving him a silent invitation.

-

“Oh, god.” Mark mumbles while climbing onto you, pressing you into the couch.

“What, hm?” You ask quietly, nudging his jaw with your nose.

“I-“ He kisses you again, soft and tentative but bolder than before. “I can’t remember the last time I went home with someone.”

“Bold of you to make it all the way from the front yard to my house.”

“Oh, shut up.” He groans and kisses you, deeper this time, parting his lips.

You let out a quiet sigh and run your hands over his chest, down to his sides.

Mark’s breath quickens, his hands coming to rest on either side of your face as he deepens the kiss, the gentle pressure of his lips turning more insistent. You can feel the heat between you, the rush of something raw, something new, building. His thumb brushes your cheek as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

You smile against his lips, your hands trailing lower, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. “You really think you can shut me up that easily?” you murmur between kisses, your voice a little breathless, teasing.

Mark chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I’m willing to try.” He leans in again, this time kissing you with more urgency, the intensity of his touch betraying how long it’s been since he’s allowed himself to let go.

You respond in kind, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug him closer. His body presses against yours, the weight of him comforting and steady, like it’s meant to be there. The room feels smaller now, the space between you shrinking with each passing second.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy. “Are you sure about this?” His voice is rough, his usual calm demeanor slipping, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability in his eyes, a crack in the mask he usually wears.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, your thumb grazing his lip. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I wasn’t,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves beneath your skin.

Mark’s expression softens, and without another word, he kisses you again—this time slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s meant to ground you both in the moment, to remind you that this is real. His hands are gentle now, but the need in them is undeniable.

“Would you maybe like to see my bedroom?”

“God…You’re so pretty.” Mark murmurs shyly, avoiding eye contact as you throw your shirt aside.

“Come here.” You murmur, gesturing for him to join you in bed.

After a long moment of nervous hesitation, Mark moves and crawls into the sheets, right back on top of you.

“Hey.” You speak softly, smiling up at him while you run your fingers through his soft hair.

“Hey.” He replies equally quietly and leans down to kiss you, his eyes darting between yours.

His lips brush against yours, slow and searching, like he’s memorizing the feeling. There’s something achingly sweet about the way he hesitates, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the slight tremor in his fingers where they press into the sheets beside your head.

You smile against his lips, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, coaxing him out of his nervousness. “You don’t have to be so careful,” you murmur between kisses, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I want this, Mark.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, almost like he’s trying to steady himself. “I know,” he says softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just—” His voice falters, and he swallows hard, eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for reassurance. “I don’t do this much. Not since…”

He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish to understand. There’s something unspoken between you—some quiet grief he doesn’t want to name.

You reach up, your fingers tracing gently along his jaw. “We don’t have to rush,” you say, voice low, soothing. “Just be here with me.”

Mark exhales slowly, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he nods. Then he kisses you again—less hesitant now, like he’s letting himself feel it this time. His hands skim down your sides, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he presses closer, his weight settling against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs against your lips, smiling just a little.

You grin, arching into him. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

He doesn’t answer you, he just kisses you again. And again. And then with his tongue seeking entrance.

You part your lips and let him push his tongue into your mouth. It makes Mark sigh, and he lets more of his weight rest on top of you. And when you graze his tongue with your teeth, he lets out his first moan.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach. There’s something intoxicating about the way he responds to you—like he’s losing himself in this, in you.

Mark presses closer, his hips slotting against yours, his hands bracing against the sheets like he’s holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s struggling to keep himself in check.

You slide your hands down his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin, and his breath stutters. He breaks the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales shakily.

“You okay?” you whisper, voice teasing but gentle.

He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect that to feel so good.”

Your lips twitch into a smirk, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. “You mean kissing? Or—” You scrape your nails down his spine again, slow and deliberate.

Mark groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “That,” he mutters against your skin, his voice rough, unsteady.

You smile, tilting your head to give him better access.

His lips brush your throat, hesitant at first, then firmer when he hears the quiet sigh you let out. He lingers there, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his breath warm against your pulse.

And when you shift beneath him, rolling your hips just slightly, Mark whimpers.

The sound sends another sharp thrill through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected him to be so responsive, so utterly undone by something as simple as a kiss, a touch, the press of your body against his.

You tighten your grip on him, hands splaying across his back, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your fingertips. “Mark,” you murmur, breathless.

He makes a quiet, desperate noise in response, his lips trailing higher, brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. He lingers there, his breath unsteady, like he’s gathering himself—or maybe just savoring the moment.

“You’re not playing fair,” you tease, tilting your chin up to give him more access.

Mark huffs a laugh against your skin, but it’s shaky, edged with something deeper. “Neither are you.”

You smile, sliding your hands beneath his shirt, fingertips grazing up his spine, feeling the way he shudders at the contact. You let them wander lower, teasing at the waistband of his slacks, and Mark gasps—a sharp, choked-off sound that makes your stomach flip.

“You really are dangerous,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

You grin against his skin, tilting your hips up just enough to make him suck in a breath. “You keep saying that,” you murmur, fingers teasing just beneath the hem of his slacks. “Starting to think you like the danger.”

Mark groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “I think I might.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes your chest tighten.

He lifts his head, eyes dark, searching yours. His fingers twitch against your waist like he’s trying to keep himself steady, like he’s bracing for something inevitable. “You—” He swallows hard. “You sure?”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart stutter.

Instead of answering with words, you guide his hand, pressing his palm flat against your skin, just above the waistband of your pants. “Mark,” you say softly, watching as his breath hitches, as his pupils blow wide, “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him seems to unravel at that.

And then he’s kissing you again—deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate. His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you beneath them, and when he shifts above you, pressing closer, you can feel how much he wants this, too.

-

He’s been going down on you for at least fifteen minutes, dragging several orgasms out of you with lustful determination.

It’s like he wants to make sure, really sure, that you’re into this. That you’re enjoying this. And no matter how many times you told him, he only seems to accept your thighs tensing around his head as definite answer.

“Mark!” You gasp, back arching, thighs pressing to his head, hips lifting off the mattress as heat shoots through you. Your sight goes white despite the dimmed light of the bedroom and your hands claw at the bedsheets.

Actual tears pool in your eyes at the overstimulation, and you have to tap his shoulder, “I can’t, oh god, I can’t…”

He lets up, making you let out a relieved breath, and kisses your hips, rubbing your shaking thighs.

You don’t feel much besides the heat between your legs and how it radiates through your body, so it takes you a bit until you realize that Mark is lying next to you. His hand is on your side, drawing circles with his thumb, while he waits for you to come down enough to acknowledge him.

“Was that okay for you?” He asks eventually.

“I-“ You have to clear your throat, voice raspy from moaning. “Yes, god, more than okay.”

He smiles, lips glistening with your arousal, and pulls you closer.

You take another few deep breaths before you look at him, eyes still glazed over.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He mutters. “Especially like this.”

You run your fingers through his soft hair again and down his neck and scratch over his back. It elicits a groan from him and you smile, whispering: “There are condoms in the nightstand if you want to keep going.”

Mark Scout knows how to take his time. He knows how to be patient, thorough—how to make sure you’re completely unraveled before he even thinks about losing control.

But shame on you for thinking that’s all he knows.

Mark Scout fucks.

Yes, he’s sweet, and careful, and made more than sure that you’re into it…but shame on you for thinking he only knows how to take it soft and slow. That might be how he went down on you, but that’s not how he’s currently fucking you into the mattress.

One of your legs is hooked over his shoulder, his grip firm on your upper arm and the side of your neck, holding you in place as he moves. His thrusts are deep, precise, leaving you gasping beneath him. Every time he pulls back, it’s only to push in again with more intent, more purpose. Like he wants to memorize every reaction he can pull from you.

“You feel so fucking good.” He pants.

You whimper and nod, the ability to form full sentences long gone as you clench around him.

Mark’s lips curve slightly. “You’re so responsive… Do you like my dick that much?”

The teasing lilt in his voice makes your stomach tighten, and when you don’t answer right away, he snaps his hips forward, making your breath hitch. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yes, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”

His grin is all satisfaction as he presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips warm against your skin.

And then his hand begins to trace its way down your body, slow and deliberate, skimming over every sensitive point along the way. It lingers at your hip, his fingers pressing just slightly into your skin, teasing, making you arch toward him instinctively. He lets his hand linger there a little, tantalizing you, making you tilt your hips to get his hand closer to where you want it.

He’s still moving, still keeping that unrelenting rhythm, but he’s watching you now, like he’s waiting for something.

You’re about to beg when he finally – finally – brings his thumb down to circle your clit.

It elicits a gasp from you and your hips lift off the mattress.

“Fuck,” Mark hisses, his voice rough as your body tightens around him in response. His movements stutter just for a second before he adjusts, finding a new angle, thrusting deeper. The shift makes his breath catch, makes him groan low in his throat.

The obscene sound echo through the room as you make eye contact, both of you panting and starting to sweat.

“Look at you,” Mark speaks up, breathing heavily, “all I had to do is run over your fucking-“

“Oh, shut up.” You groan and snake your leg around him to push him over and onto you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, propping himself up left and right of your head.

“Feisty.” He comments with a grin.

You roll your eyes at him but smile and pull him for a kiss. It’s a sloppy kiss, with lots of tongue and groans and lips being bitten down on.

Mark groans into your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his body flush against yours. There’s a desperation to the way he moves now—like something in him has completely given in, like he’s lost in the feeling of you beneath him. His hands trace down your sides, his touch firm but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you. The heat between you builds with every roll of his hips, every quiet, breathless sound that escapes into the space between your lips.

Mark exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting second before he shifts his weight, pressing you deeper into the mattress. His pace slows, not out of mercy, but to drag it out—to make you feel every inch of him, every deliberate, agonizing thrust. His hand slides down to your hip, fingers digging in just enough to keep you right where he wants you. "You have no idea," he murmurs, voice rough, almost wrecked, "how fucking good you feel."

Your nails scratch down his back, leaving faint, red trails in their wake, and the sound he makes—half growl, half moan—sends another rush of heat straight to your core. His grip tightens, his hips snapping forward harder, as if he’s chasing the friction, chasing the way you gasp his name like it’s the only word you remember. "Mark—" you pant, legs wrapping tighter around him, pulling him in as deep as he can go.

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "Say it again," he mutters, his teeth grazing your pulse before sucking just hard enough to make you squirm beneath him. "Say my name."

“Mark,” you breathe again, voice wrecked, barely more than a gasp, and it does something to him—you can feel it in the way his whole body shudders against yours. His thrusts stutter for just a moment before he finds his rhythm again, deeper now, slower but no less intense. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s trying to make this last.

His lips trail down your neck, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat across your skin, his breath heavy and uneven. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, like he’s losing himself in the way you feel, the way you sound. He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide, hair damp with sweat. “You’re so—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, like the words are too much, or maybe not enough.

You arch beneath him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down into a desperate, messy kiss. He groans against your mouth, his hips driving into you harder, needier. Every movement, every sound he makes is unraveling you, winding you tighter and tighter until you’re right on the edge again, and he knows it—he can feel it in the way your body clenches around him.

His thumb finds your clit again, pressing in slow, teasing circles that have you gasping into his mouth. “Come for me,” he whispers, his voice strained, almost pleading. “Let me feel it.”

The way he says it—low and rough, almost desperate—sends a sharp pulse of heat through you. Your body tightens around him, every nerve alight, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Mark feels it, too. You can tell by the way his breathing turns ragged, by the way his thrusts grow uneven, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge right along with you. His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in like he needs to hold onto something, needs to ground himself in you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice strained. “Come for me. Let me feel you.” His thumb presses down just right, and it’s enough to send you over the edge.

Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your whole body tensing before shattering apart, heat flooding every inch of you. A broken moan spills from your lips as you arch against him, hands gripping his shoulders, nails dragging down his back.

Mark groans at the feeling of you tightening around him, his own rhythm faltering. He presses his forehead against yours, breath hot and uneven, his body trembling as he loses himself completely, spilling into you with a shuddering gasp.

Mark stays buried deep inside you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants against your lips. His body is still trembling slightly, his muscles taut like he’s bracing himself, even as the last waves of pleasure roll through him.

You smooth your hands down his back, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way his heart pounds against your own. He exhales slowly, as if trying to gather himself, and when he finally lifts his head to meet your gaze, his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it—raw, unguarded.

A lazy, satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead, “are going to ruin me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “I think you’ll survive.”

Mark hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, like he’s savoring the moment. Then he shifts, carefully easing out of you, and you both let out quiet, contented sighs. He doesn’t go far, though—just rolls onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest.

You close your eyes, resting your head against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns along your spine, and for a while, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. The quiet between you feels full, warm, like something neither of you wants to break just yet.

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

just want to let you know that I'm addicted to your Greg fics😅

Like, addicted

oh it's so sweet of you to take the time to tell me!

Just so you know, I have many more, but mainly post on Ao3 and Wattpad. This story, for example, has a part II on there.

Thank you for reading and commenting, it mean a lot to me < 3

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Kiss me once, then once more

You don’t mind that James shares his apartment with House. On the contrary, you always wanted to see how far you can push it with the two of them.

You’re rummaging through the fridge, looking for a snack to share with James. He’s still in the bedroom, catching his breath. You settle on grapes, the ones that taste like cotton candy and are incredibly expensive.

“Thief!”

You close the fridge door to find House standing at the entrance of the kitchen.

“I know for a fact that James bought these.” You reply.

You’ve seen House before, but only fleeting. James always tries to avoid that you’re here at the same time. Not because he’s ashamed of you or anything, he just worries that House makes you uncomfortable or says something inappropriate.

You did make a few comments towards James how you wouldn’t mind House being inappropriate towards you. Which he chuckled at, and then looked like he didn’t dare to ask if you were serious.

You’ve been sleeping with him for a few months now, ever since you met at the coffee shop and neither of you could take your eyes off each other.

You haven’t really talked about being exclusive. You both know, however, for a fact that your schedules are too busy to see any more people.

Anyways.

All this leads to you shamelessly checking out House, who is raking your eyes over your exposed legs. You’re wearing one of James’ sweaters that barely reaches the middle of your thighs, and panties. Well, and socks. But that’s it.

House leans on his cane, tilting his head.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re checking me out.” He says.

“Oh, but you know better?” You raise an eyebrow.

His lips twitch.

“What’s taking you so long?” James’ voice sounds from the hallway. “I want you back in my bed, now! Shit, House. What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” House looks him up and down. James is only wearing his briefs.

You giggle: “Jeez, I’m coming, James.”

“I heard that one earlier.” House comments.

“Oh my god.” James covers his face with both hands.

“That means I don’t have to introduce myself by name then?” You ask while walking over to give James a kiss on the cheek, but then look immediately back at House. “After all, James just yelled it.”

“I like her.” House says, eyes glimmering while he holds your gaze.

“Great. Come on.” James grabs your hand and basically drags you back to his bedroom.

“Nice to meet you, Gregory!” You call over your shoulder, hearing him chuckle.

James closes the bedroom door behind you, starting to apologize: “I didn’t know he would already be here, usually-“

“I don’t mind.” You give him a peck on the lips. “Grape?”

He lets you feed him one and then turns you to put his arms around you from behind, kissing the nape of your neck.

You sigh, letting your head roll to the side to give him better access.

After a moment, he murmurs against your skin: “You really don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” You push another grape into your mouth.

“Should I be jealous?”

You turn in his arms, putting the bowl down on the nightstand.

James looks at you with his puppy eyes that always disarm you immediately.

“I find him attractive, but I wouldn’t try to start anything with him.”

“Why not?”

The both of you seem equally surprised by James’ direct question.

“I rather have you.” You kiss him.

“Just me?” He squeezes your hips.

“If that’s what you prefer.”

James kisses you again, this time with open lips and a sigh.

Then he looks at for a long second, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“What do you really want to ask?”

“I-“ He breaks the eye contact and sits down on the edge of the bed.

You sit down next to him.

“I-“ He tries again but his voice falters.

“Do you want just me?” You ask him.

His head shoots around and he nods frantically: “Yes!” It makes you smile.

Then James finally blurts out: “I like how jealous House looks; and I wonder what if-“

He sighs, rubbing his face. He mumbles under his breath: “Oh god. I never said this out loud.”

“It’s pretty tame so far.”

He glances at you and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“How about this: I tell you what I wondered. And there is absolutely no pressure behind those words, okay?”

“Okay.” James nods.

“I wondered what it would be like to have sex with the both of you.”

He inhales sharply.

“At the same time.” You add.

“Good god.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a positive reaction or not.”

James puts his hand on the side of your face and pulls you in.

“Oh!” You breathe out surprised when he immediately pushes his tongue into your mouth and lightly squeezes your neck with his free hand to keep you close.

When you break the kiss, panting, he whispers: “I want you to flirt with him. I want you to drive him insane. I want to see him crumble. And then I want you to have sex with me. Regardless of him being there.”

A few days later, you find yourself lounging on the couch with James. He has his arm around your shoulder and you your hand on his thigh. You’re both in comfortable clothes, watching TV.

You hear the front door open, and then the signature sound of House’ cane hitting the hardwood floor.

You look at James, raising an eyebrow. He gives you a nod and a coy smile.

“Hey, House.” He calls.

“Wilson, do I hear you watching that awful Spanish telenovela again? I thought I deleted all the tapes.”

“I know someone who knows someone.” James replies, referring to a friend of yours.

“I-“ House walks in, falling silent when he sees you sitting on the couch next to James.

“Well, hello.” He smiles at you.

“You wanna watch with us? It’s surprisingly tolerable.”

“Hey!” James pinches your shoulder. “You said you like it.”

“I only said that to get you to sleep with me.” You giggle.

“Unbelievable.”

House’ eyes dart between the two of you. His face shows little emotion, and you wonder what he’s thinking.

“You are really trying to become the next ex-wife, huh?”

“House!”

You pout at him: “Sorry, were you trying to achieve that?”

“I prefer him as my concubine.”

“You want to watch with us or not?” James sighs.

“If you insist.”

House sits down in the armchair next to the couch, putting his legs up on the side table. Meanwhile, James rewinds to were you where before House came in and then snakes his arm around you again. You smile and rest your legs across his thighs. James rubs them absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the screen.

House stays surprisingly quiet, but you can feel that he’s looking at you quite often. You only glace in his direction a few times, mostly keeping your focus on James; whose hand rests by now on the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your crotch.

You put your arm around him as well, playing with his hair in the back of his neck. When you rake your nails gently over his scalp, James sighs and leans more into your touch.

“My god just get a room.” House finally comments.

Your head snaps around, pleased that he couldn’t stand it anymore.

James looks at him as well: “Are you jealous, House?”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Is it working?” You shoot back.

At that, he appears stunned.

James’ lips twitch and he squeezes your thigh.

“You’re bluffing.” House says.

You tilt your head and hold the eye contact, staring right back into his crystal blue eyes. You swear his cheeks flush.

To not overdo it immediately, you get up and ask: “Anyone else want a beer?”

“Yes, thanks babe.” James smiles.

House rolls his eyes and gets up as well, presumably to just leave.

You stride towards the kitchen and get two beers from the fridge. However, as you open the bottles, you hear that House follows you.

He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you intently. You take a step towards him, eyes darting over his body. He’s leaning on his cane, biting his bottom lip.

You’re not sure if he tries to come up with something to say or if he waits for you to speak first. Either way, you relish his attention.

You walk closer, until you’re right in front of him and can make out every detail of his face. Even though he’s surely trying to hide it, you notice how his breathing fastens.

You lean up, and his eyes flick to your lips. You press a light kiss to his neck, just below his jawline.

Then you grab the bottles and return to the living room as if nothing happened.

You return to the living room with a wide grin. When you lean over the headrest to kiss the side of James’ neck and hand him a beer, you see the noticeable bulge in his sweatpants.

He shivers when you press your lips to his skin, your tongue leaving behind a wet trail, until you purr to his ear: “I got you a beer, baby.” The way you whisper makes it sound as if you were dirty talking.

James head snaps around and he kisses you while you’re still leaning over the back of the couch. You put your arms around him, one beer in each hand, and press the cool bottles to his pectorals, hopefully against his nipples.

You apparently did because James lets out a loud gasp. You swallow it with another hungry kiss.

His puppy eyes are warm, and pleading, and dark when he looks at you.

You smile and walk around the couch to sit down next to him. He immediately pulls you into his lap. His legs are lightly spread, and you sit on one thigh, resting your legs on the other. Just so that the back of your knees cups his hardening dick.

You hand him his bottle with a smile and take a large sip from your own beer.

Even though James is obviously very aroused, you ask, quietly: “Are you okay?”

He nods, his palm caressing your side.

“What did House say?” He asks in an equally hushed tone.

“Nothing.” You reply. “He didn’t have to.”

“He just stared at you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

James chuckles: “House never stops himself from making comments, no matter the circumstances.”

“I don’t think he stopped himself.”  You press another kiss to James’ neck, knowing very well how sensitive he’s there. “I think he genuinely didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, I do.” James gnaws on his bottom lip.

“And what is that, hm?”

His hand wanders further up until he can rest it on the side of your face and pull you in for a slow and longing kiss.

Then he murmurs: “Sit on my dick.”

It causes your eyes to widen. And you immediately scramble to move in his lap to straddle him, hastily ripping off your shorts while at it.

James lets out a hum, grabbing your hips and guiding you to grind down on him.

“I like it when you wear nothing but panties and my sweater.”

You giggle, burying your hands in his soft hair and kissing him with an open mouth.

When James suddenly presses his fingers against your clit, you let out a muffled groan. Using his middle finger, he draws circles over it.

“You’re so fucking wet, you drenched your panties.”

You nod, now grinding down even more enthusiastically.

“Since when?”

“I-“

“Come on, be a good girl and tell me.”

You freeze, but your thighs twitch.

He never called you that before.

Yes, he is very caring and also praises you during sex, but never like this. Never with a demanding undertone.

“Since you started touching my inner thigh.”

With the hand that isn’t continuously stimulating your clit, he gently caresses your thigh.

“Right here?”

“Yes.” You breathe out.

“And what about House?” He asks, pressing down on your clit harder and clawing into your thigh.

You inhale sharply.

“I liked how…bothered he became.”

James bites his bottom lip, seemingly highly enjoying your reply.

Then he pushes you back slightly. Before you can complain, though, he slithers his hand into his pants and frees his cock. You help him, yanking on the elastic of his sweatpants and then let it snap back under his balls.

“Shit.” James hisses, his cheeks flushing even more.

You snicker and kiss him as you begin to stroke his incredibly hard, hot, and dripping dick. The waistband keeps pressing against it, basically tilting it up for you.

His hand finds your crotch again, but this time he hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them to the side.

You scoot further up until he can run the tip through your labia, teasing your entrance.

He had a vasectomy and neither of you carry an STI. The perfect combination, in your opinion.

It allows for the two of you not only to really go at it, but you also noticed that it’s a big turn on for James when he gets to cum inside you. Once, he even ate you out afterwards, dragging another orgasm out of you, admiring the mess he made.

So now, you stare at each other, mouths agape, as he pushes into you, using his precum and your wetness as lubricant. And there is plenty of either.

His hips lift off the couch to push into your further. You enjoy his panting and neediness a little longer, until you finally fully sink down on him.

James moans and collapses into the couch, his head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.

You smile and lean down to suck on the skin over his pulse point, purposefully contracting around him without moving otherwise yet.

His dick stretches you widely and you like to spend some time simply feeling full.

Suddenly, House calls from the hallway: “Jeez, is the telenovela that good?”

James’ eyes shoot open, and he looks at you like he forgot for a bit where you’re doing it.

Then he chuckles and pushes his hand into your hair, to the back of your neck, to kiss you hotly. It gives you the confidence to roll your hips.

“How is-“

House basically chokes on his words when he walks in on you and James.

You break the kiss to look at him over James’ head. From where he’s standing, it must look like you and James are making out heavily and that you’re sitting on him. But you don’t think he realized yet just how seated you are on James.

“What?” James asks, barely glancing over his shoulder. “You never seen two people kiss?”

You chuckle at the suggestive tone he puts in ‘kiss’ while also sounding belittling.

You reward him with another roll of your hips. Which makes him claw into your waist.

House takes a step closer when you look back at him. He appears positively bewildered, but definitely turned on as well.

“I changed my mind.” He speaks up. “I would like a beer as well.”

“You can have some of mine.” James replies. “I’m feeling generous today.”

“Lucky me.” House huffs.

You raise your eyebrow at him: “You’re welcome to take one from the fridge.”

“Wilson, can you get it for me? My leg is killing me.”

“Not a chance, House.” James grins and his hips buck up.

You clear your throat to not fully moan.

“Oh, come on.”

“I really can’t right now.” Wilson replies, guiding your hips to move them faster.

House takes another step closer.

The only reason he cannot see James’ dick disappear into you is the sweater covering it.

He does, however, see your naked legs and your disregarded pants.

His eyes dart between you and James, who looks at you with a dizzying mix of adoration and smugness.

“Do you have a bet going on or something?” He asks, trying his best to sound annoyed.

“No.” James says.

“Actually,” You glance down at him one more time. He gives you a nod. “we’re having sex.”

House rolls his eyes: “Sure.”

“What do you think this is?” You laugh at him.

“Well, by now I am convinced that Wilson finally called the number I gave him. I am also hurt that they sent their most attractive girl to him, and not me.”

“You think I’m prettier than the prostitutes you hire?” You reply.

House looks at you intently, his eyes flicking to your lips several times.

James, meanwhile, pulls you down by the neck to be able to press kisses to your throat.

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment.

When you open them again, House is standing almost right in front of you. Just behind the back of the couch.

“You want a beer or not?”

His lips twitch.

You lean back to grab a bottle from the side table. James holds on to you tightly, ensuring not only that you don’t fall, but also that he stays inside of you.

“Oh.” House pouts. “I thought we were no longer about beer.”

Instead of replying, you reach for him, grab his shirt, and roughly tug on it. He almost immediately gets to his knees. Well, to his knee. So that his face is level with yours.

A smirk on your lips and your eyes fixed on him, you take a big sip without swallowing it.

You then lean closer to him.

But then dip your head down to kiss James instead.

Who groans, greedily swallowing the beer you let run into his mouth.

You hear House curse under his breath.

Even when being lowered, he is still tall enough to see when you lift the sweater. Just enough so that James can latch onto your nipples, palming your tits. Furthermore, enough for him to finally catch a glimpse of your cunt as James fucks into you harder from below.

You whisper, only for James to hear: “Can I kiss him?”

“Yes. And do that thing with your tongue. Make him beg for another.”

“Fuck.” You whisper-shout, now clearly audible for House.

You put more weight on your knees to be able to, this time for real, touch House’ face. His icy blue eyes pierce into you as you lay your index finger on his jawline and your thumb on his chin. He grabs the headrest of the couch with both hands as if to stop himself from collapsing into your touch. His beard is scratchy – not that you mind.

“Come on, House.” You tell him, your breath hot on his cheek. “Say it.”

“Say what?” He tries to sound snarky, but his voice cracks after the first word.

You grin at it, but then pull him in for a kiss. He immediately smashes his lips onto yours, your teeth almost colliding. You lean up even further to deepen the kiss.

It’s very quiet, but you can hear House sigh.

You clasp his face with both hands to hold him close as you push your tongue past his lips. He willingly opens his mouth for you, his tongue welcoming yours.

You swirl it around and then push your tongue under his to pin it to the roof of his mouth. It makes it that he feels like he’s choking; for the fraction of a second.

Breaking the kiss, you let him breathe. He sputters, eyes widening.

“Good god, Wilson. There is no way you’re not paying her.”

James doesn’t reply. He just impatiently yanks you back down, fully burying himself inside of you again, and returns to the dutiful task of circling your clit with his thumb.

It makes your eyes roll back in your head and you claw into his shoulders.

Only then he tells House: “Wait till you feel her throat.”

“Fuck, James!” You inhale sharply in surprise. His words pushed you over the edge very suddenly. You tense, thighs shaking, clenching hard around his cock.

He slows down but keeps rubbing your clit until you push his hand away. You’re eyes still pressed shut, you pant as James pushes his hand under the sweater and caresses your back. You rest your forehead against his cheek, rolling your hips to ride out your orgasm.

“You like that, baby?” He murmurs. “You like it when I tell House how good you are for me?”

You nod, almost letting out a sob, overwhelmed with all hormones cursing through you.

House comments: “Of course you talk a lot, even during sex.”

For the first time, James fully turns his head to look at him: “As someone who never made her cum, you’re pretty chatty yourself.”

If you didn’t just cum, you sure as fuck would now.

You raise your head to find House back on his feet, jacket thrown aside, cane nowhere to be found. Your eyes are glazed over, and you have trouble focusing, but you are pretty sure that he has a hard-on straining his jeans.

You hold his gaze, which only gets interrupted when James pulls the sweater off you, and you his t-shirt off him. Raking your nails over James’ pectorals, you tilt your head questioningly at House.

Finally, House walks around the couch. You pat the free spot next to yourself and James. He not only sits down, but also accepts the hand you’re offering to him to help him down. The fact that you’re almost completely naked and have his best friends’ dick inside of you right now, probably makes him feel comfortable enough to let that happen.

He also uses it as leverage to pull you towards him until he can kiss you again. You can taste the coffee he apparently had in the kitchen after you left it, on his tongue.

“Hm, I knew you were a no milk but lots of sugar kind of guy.” You tell him.

“There is no way you were able to taste that.” He shakes his head, amused and aroused.

“There is something else I’d like to taste.”

James chuckles at your retort and pulls you back towards him to press his lips where House’ just were. He feels way softer, yet his kiss is bolder. He doesn’t shy away from biting your bottom lip, from pulling on your hair to make you gasp and use that to push his tongue into your mouth.

You kiss James back feverishly, but also let your hand blindly wander down House’ chest until you reach his crotch. You now know for certain that he’s hard. Apparently painfully so because he hisses when you squeeze.

You take your hand away and focus back on James, starting to bounce as he holds on to your tits, burying his face between them, nibbling on the soft flesh.

The unbuckling of a belt can be heard and both you and James look over at House.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the one being inappropriate.”

“You have to ask.” James states.

“No, I don’t.” House replies, pushing down his jeans. They pool around his ankles. His boxers he only pushes down far enough to free his dick, but still covering his scar.

Your eyes dart to his dick. It pulsates in his hand as he begins to stroke it.

“You do if you want her to touch you again.”

Once more, House lets out a huff. Once again, it’s not fully convincing. You can see how James especially enjoys this.

James and you, furthermore, not only have the upper hand but also get touch each other while tantalizing House with the lack of it.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, baby?” James murmurs into your hair.

You get off him, immediately feeling empty. House eyes dart to James’ heavy dick slapping against his stomach.

“Oh, I see.” He comments.

You giggle in delight.

While James makes room for you on the couch, you throw your panties aside and climb back onto it, getting on your hands and knees, facing House.

James taps your ass: “All the way back here.” He’s standing at the end of the couch, beckoning you to come closer. His brown eyes appear even darker than usual, his hair is disheveled, and his lips swollen, and you feel incredibly lucky that you’re not only getting fucked well but fucked well by him.

You scoot backwards, lifting your ass up higher.

He smirks, grabbing your hips as soon as he can reach them. You gasp when he thrusts forwards until his pelvis meets your ass cheek, once again stretching you open widely.

You stretch your arms out, head down between them, and arch your back as far as you can.

That way, James’ dick hammers against your g-spot with every thrust; and it feels like he’s burying himself in your guts, the tip of his dick grazing your cervix, making your writhe and moan; curses and praises leaving your mouth uncontrollably.

House endures that for no longer than two minutes.

Then you feel him grab your wrist and tug on it. You tilt your head and glace up at him.

You see his lips move, but he’s not saying anything out loud; his eyes are pleading.

You don’t relent.

A particularly hard thrust, makes your eyes flutter shut again and you bite your own arm to not drool onto the cushions.

“You take me so well.” James breathes out, followed by a whimper.

“I- fuck, James.”

“Do you want to cum for me again?”

You nod, face buried in the crook of your elbow.

“Show House how good you are for me and beg for it.”

You lift your upper body, propping yourself up on your hands so that you can look at James over your shoulder.

“Please. Please let me cum again.”

He smiles, forehead glistening with sweat, and leans down to grab your shoulder and pull you up even further. Pull you up until he can snake his arms around you and press you against his chest. Your head lolls to the side, cheek resting on his upper arm.

James kisses the side of your neck, gently sucking on the skin, and finds your clit again. It makes you jolt, and he has to hold you even tighter so that you don’t topple over.

You pry your eyes open to see in what state House is in. He looks absolutely out of his mind horny and desperate. You smirk at him, observing how he rapidly strokes his dick, lips parted.

James tilts his hips to fuck into you as deep as he did when you were on all fours. You meet his thrusts, chest tightening, grabbing his arm with both hands to have something to hold on to.

James groans into your ear, causing goosebumps to spread on your skin, making your nipples even more perk. Which House notices.

James apparently took note of your reaction earlier, because he rasps into your ear: “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You start to shake once more, clenching and moaning and sighing.

You’re stubborn enough, however, to keep looking at House. You see how the hand that isn’t fisting his cock holds onto the edge of the couch so hard, the knuckles are turning white.

His cheeks are flushed, and he watches intently as you become undone.

Only when your orgasm peaks, you lose control over your body and your eyes fall shut, throwing your head back.

James kisses your shoulder, talking you through it, only slowing down ever so slightly.

“Please!” House more or less shouts at you.

James snickers smugly, whispering another praise into your ear.

“Please just fucking touch me!”

James pulls out of you to let you catch your breath, and says: “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“Fuck you.” House barks.

“Happily.” You crawl towards him.

He lets go of his dick and leans back into the couch, breathing heavily.

You kneel next to him and grab the hem of his shirt. It seems to catch him off guard and he blinks in surprise.

You lean in to kiss him while you push it upwards. You do both slowly, wallowing in the satisfaction your orgasm left you with while also enjoying the rush of getting to touch House.

When most of his chest is exposed, you break the kiss and urge him to fully take it off. He does and you get to see the defined muscles the constant strain of the effort to stand up straight created.

You press kisses to his abdomen and up to his pectorals and shoulder and the side of his neck and then finally to his lips.

He squeezes your tits, and you could swear his hands tremble.

“Say it again and I’ll make you cum with my mouth.” You whisper into his ear while James gets on the couch behind you, lining himself up with your entrance.

You apparently managed to completely break him down, because he barely hesitates to plead: “Please, keep touching me. Just a little longer.”

You hum, peck his lips, and then finally lean down further to take his dick into your mouth.

House’ hands instantly bury themselves in your hair, and he groans loudly.

You decide to reward him and take him further and further down your throat as fast as you can. Then James plunges into you, and the force of it pushes House’ dick all the way down, until your nose meets his pubic hair.

You choke, but don’t lift your head off his dick. Tears running down your cheeks, you keep moving your head, the tip of his dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck.” He groans, making a fist in your hair.

You find a steady rhythm with James’ thrusts, and basically let him push you down on House’ dick while he fucks into you.

“I told you she’s incredible at giving head.” James tells House. It makes you moan around his dick.

“Shit, yes, I-“

Now he truly sounds like he is unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone a full sentence.

That is, until he looks at James to say: “She really is a slut for me.”

“Don’t call her that.” James replies sternly, voice breathy.

You let House’ dick slide out of your mouth and lean down even further to suck on his balls, curious to see how the battle between him and James plays out.

“What? A slut?”

“Oh, no, that’s accurate.” James chuckles. “Isn’t it, baby?”

You nod, fingers clawing into the inside of House’ thighs, similar to how James touched you when you were watching TV; just a little more intense.

“But don’t call her yours.” He adds as he speeds up his thrusts.

The snarky reply House surely was about to give gets smothered by another moan when you slam your throat down on his dick again.

“She’s mine.” James continues. “Only I get to make her cum, only I get to fill her cunt.”

A sudden orgasm shoots through you, having you go rigid and more tears stream down your face.

House is the next to cum, reacting strongly to the sounds you make, and how you choke on his dick again. His hips buck up and you can feel ropes of cum spilling into your mouth.

At last, James cums, collapsing onto you, biting into your shoulder as his hips stutter.

Finally, you lift your head, letting House’ cum run down his dick and your chin.

Loud panting echoes through the room.

James pulls out and helps you to move and nuzzle into his side. Your legs are like jello, and you feel exhausted, craving his affectionate touch. He strokes your head and outer thigh, caging you in with his arms.

You feel his cum seep out of you but cannot be bothered to really care. You just move your hips so that it won’t drip onto the couch.

James kisses the top of your head. You look up at him with a tired smile.

“Just yours.” You say.

He smiles back at you and finds your lips. The kiss is gentle and deep.

When you both look to the side at House, he has his dick back in his boxers, but not his shirt on yet. You stretch your legs to rest them across his thighs, close to his stomach so that you don’t put pressure on his scar. After all, you don’t know where exactly it is, James only described it to you.

He seems to appreciate it and runs his hands over your calves. You give him a smile and then find James’ eyes again. He kisses you once more, seemingly craving your closeness equally strongly.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, you all coming down, realizing how bold everything you just did was.

House chuckles and speaks up: “I really thought you were bluffing.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

hopedrunk

A pipe breaks in your neighbor’s apartment, flooding your bedroom. House, selflessly, lets you crash on his couch.

“You’re late.” House says while writing on the whiteboard, his back to you.

“Since when do you have a concept of early and late?” You ask while you sit down, out of breath.

Leaning on his cane, he turns around and raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a dress shirt today, blazer thrown aside, first two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. The arm he rests his weight on bulges and strains the fabric. His hair is also a little chaotic; apparently, he ran his fingers through it several times. His eyes are bright and pierce into you. God, he’s attractive…

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You rarely deflect.”

“And you are shit at psychological profiles.”

“We all know that’s not true.” House replies, unimpressed.

“Saying that everybody lies does, in fact, not make you a member of the BAU.”

“Ayo!” Chase gives you a high-five.

A smile spreads on House face: “Now that’s a deep cut.”

You think that might be the end of it, but after Chase and Foreman left the room and you’re hunched over files, House says: “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask a question. You made a statement.”

“Don’t sass me.”

Your eyes flick up: “I know you like it.”

“So?”

You sigh: “A pipe broke in my neighbor’s apartment and flooded my bedroom.”

He begins to grin widely.

“Yeah, exactly.” You go on. “I know what that sounds like.”

“Did ‘his pipe’” He makes quotation marks in the air, “burst this morning or was it late last night?”

“Her-“ You immediately realize that that makes it not one bit less suggestive.

“Nice!” House winks and offers you his hand for a high-five like Chase did earlier. “So you made her-“

“House!”

“So, you’ll ‘sleep’,” He makes quotation marks again, “at her place tonight?”

You’re very close to flipping him off when you realize what he’s asking indirectly.

“I’ll probably get a hotel room.”

“You can have my couch.”

Stunned, you find his eyes. They suggest that he’s actually serious.

“I- oh, erm.” You try to win time to not immediately blurt out an enthusiastic YES, but don’t know how to stall. “Sure, okay.” You say instead.

House nods and then says something about a new symptom that manifested itself this morning. You’re too astonished to react.

Thank fuck, Chase reenters the room and declares: “Petechial rash in reaction to the antidote. Otherwise no-“

“What?” Your voice shoots up, alarm bells going off in the back of your head as at least part of your mind is capable of doing your job.

“Petechial rash.” Chace repeats. “Otherwise, no reaction.”

“Have you taken their temperature? Just now, I mean.”

“No, why would I do that?”

Your head snaps around and you look at House, wide-eyed.

“Ice bath.” He says. “Now!”

~

House pushes the door to his apartment open and lets you enter first. Yawning, you walk past him and look around. The only reason you’re not completely losing it at the fact that you’re in House’ apartment, is that it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted beyond belief.

You throw your bag on the ground and take your shoes off while House locks the door.

“You sure you want to take the couch?” He suddenly asks.

“What?” You turn around, irritated. “You said I could crash here. Do you want me to-“

“Had I known you would end up here, I had thrown out my couch in the morning to leave you with no choice.” He appears nonchalant and joking but clears his throat twice while he hangs up his jacket. “Now I only can offer you the bed.”

“Yeah, right.” You scoff and trudge to the living room and sink into said couch with a groan.

“Beer?” House pipes up from the kitchen.

“How do you still have energy?” You barely lift your head off the backrest to look in his direction.

“Sleepovers are exciting.”

“I cannot tell if you’re making fun of me or…I don’t know.”

“Well, after what you did with your neighbor…I wouldn’t be surprised if my pipes would be broken by the morning as well.” He wiggles his eyebrows while he limps towards you.

“House!” You shout. “I didn’t fuck my neighbor! And what are you even- What is wrong with you!?”

He sits down at the other end of the couch and offers you a bottle, showing little reaction to your outburst. You roll your eyes at him but take the bottle and say: “If I weren’t about to pass out, I would leave.”

“I heard that one before.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You run your hand over your face and take a big gulp of the beer.

Make no mistake, you do enjoy the banter. But it’s getting inherently difficult for you to not bluntly flirt back and see if he goes through with it or if he’s only being an ass.

“You’re very attractive when you curse.”

Your head snaps around and you stare at him, not sure if he actually said that.

“I don’t think I heard it before.” He goes on, licking his lips before taking another sip.

“Stop messing with me.”

His eyes dart over your face.

“I’m vulnerable when I’m tired.” You add.

“I heard-“

“Yeah, yeah, you heard that one before.” You sigh and get up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“End of the hall.”

You walk up to it.

“House!” You call. “That’s the bedroom.”

“Oops.”

You open the door to the right and find the bathroom. Quickly, you slip inside, more hiding from House than anything else. With a groan, you rest your forehead against the wood. You knew he would mess with you. It’s House. However, you don’t think he realizes how badly you want to take any of his comments serious and jump him. Or he does and is consciously using it against you.

When you exit the bathroom, somewhat freshened up and ready to just get this over with and go to sleep, House is coming out of the bedroom, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. You enjoy his night-attire a little too much to immediately notice the blanket, well probably bed cover, he’s holding out towards you. His face is actually somewhat serious now, which confuses you even more.

“Thanks.” You say quietly when you finally take it.

He nods, one hand resting on the doorframe. Behind him, you see the very large, very comfortable looking bed and…don’t even think about it.

You look at each other for another long moment. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Night, House.” You give him a half-smile and make your way back to the living room.

You haven’t really thought about if you should just sleep in your clothes, or partially undress, or- A shirt lies on the backrest of the couch.

You look back in House’ direction, but the door to the bedroom is closed.

Stunned, you take the neatly folded, black t-shirt. It’s clearly House’. And it’s clearly for you.

You smell it. Of course, it fucking smells like him and makes you smile like an idiot.

~

You’re half asleep, huddled up under the blanket, hugging yourself, when steps in the hallway drag you back into full consciousness.

You hold your breath, listening. You expect House to simply go to the bathroom, but his steps get too loud. You freeze, doing your best to pretend you’re fast asleep and not have your heart beating in your throat as he approaches. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s going to the kitchen instead. To get water or something.

“Hey.” House’ voice is gravelly.

You don’t dare to react.

He puts his hand on your shoulder. You flinch.

“Hey.” He chuckles and you look up at him.

In the darkness of the apartment, you can just barely make out his face.

“Hm?” You’re confused as much as you are enjoying his hand on your shoulder.

“Come on.” He says softly and nods towards the bedroom.

“I-“

“It’s fine.”

That’s pretty much all it takes to convince you.

Slowly, you sit up and get to your feet. House does not take his hand away but moves it to your back instead. You let him guide you. All the way over the threshold of the bedroom and to his bed.

He lifts the blanket for you, and you crawl into the sheets. The soft fabric on your naked legs makes you remember that you’re wearing no bottoms besides your panties. Well, that’s really not what is tilting this situation towards inappropriate…

You let out a relieved sigh when you sink into the mattress, head hitting the soft pillow. It’s so much warmer, so much more comfortable, and smells so much more like House and feels so much more intimate.

And that is before he even gets into bed on the other side.

You know he’s tall, but now you, for the first time, get to witness what that translates to when he lies down in a bed. How it feels to have his weight dent the mattress. What it sounds like when he scoots closer and pulls the blanket over himself.

A little stiff, you turn to your side and try to find a comfortable position without accidentally touching House. You try to will yourself back into your sleepy state.

“Comfortable?” He asks after a minute.

“Hmh.” You hum. “Definitely more comfortable than the couch.”

“Good.”

After another pause, he speaks up again. His voice is closer now, meaning he has his head turned towards you. “I wasn’t making fun of you.”

His words hang heavy in the air. Your thoughts race without going anywhere.

“I know.” You whisper.

“No, you don’t.”

You laugh quietly. “Night, House.”

He doesn’t reply.

~

You remember a few half-conscious gestures of caring less about touching House’ arm or rolling towards his side. You do not, however, remember that he more than welcomed it.

So, it comes as quite a shock to you that you wake up with his arm around you. Actually, he is pretty much draped over and around you, face buried in the crook of your neck, lightly snoring into your ear.

It’s light out, but in the position you are in, you can barely see anything of him. You do, though, feel most of him. His warm chest, his heavy limbs, his soft skin, his scratchy beard.

You enjoy his closeness for a bit, even though it threatens to overwhelm you, to make you overthink and overanalyze.

“House.” You eventually whisper into his ear.

He inhales deeply and shifts but does not seem to really wake up.

You move your head and manage to reach his cheek. You press a kiss to it and murmur: “House.”

“Don’t want to wake up yet.” He sighs.

“Why not?”

“Nice dream…” He mumbles and shifts again, holding onto you tighter before apparently drifting off. You smile and for another minute you allow yourself to feel happy and content about this absurd situation. And maybe a little aroused.

Then you turn in his arms to get into a more comfortable position and hug him back, fearing this might be over any moment now.

You can hear his breathing pattern change and suddenly he presses kisses to the side of your neck, making you gasp.

“Now that I think about it,” His voice is raspy, “this is nice too.”

You shiver, running your hand over his arm, lightly squeezing it.

House hums and lets his hands wander too; over your sides, down to your outer thighs, back up, lightly skimming over you half-exposed ass. It makes you smile, and you huddle up closer into his arms. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head before he begins to play with your hair. You highly enjoy it and kiss his throat before sinking into his embrace, eye-lids heavy again.

You lie there for a while, House continuously caressing you and clearly basking in your closeness.

Suddenly, it occurs to you how haven’t kissed yet what you most desire: his lips. Timid, you lift your head. House shifts and gives you the room, arm around your back instead your shoulders.

When you make eye-contact, you smile. House does too, but he seems nervous. Very nervous and unsure.

“You okay?” You whisper.

“I-“ He seems to try to come up with a sarcastic reply, but the words get stuck in his throat.

Gently, and a little impatient, you rest your hand on the side of his face and pull him in. For the fraction of a second, House hesitates, but then he smashes his lips onto yours. You sigh and press your body into his. He groans and pushes his tongue into your mouth, grabbing the back of your knee to make you drape your leg over his hip.

Soon, you’re grinding against him, hands in his hair, House devouring you.

Panting, you suck on the skin below his jaw before you come back up to kiss him as deep and hard as you can. He groans loudly, flipping you over to fully lie on top of you, your leg still around him.

House yanks the blanket aside that was bunching up between your crotches and grinds down on you, making you inhale sharply when the tip of his hard dick hits your clit.

“Jesus, House…” You breathe out.

“I’ll be honest…” He murmurs, “My pipe is already about to burst.”

You snort.

“Oh god, just like in my nightmares…she laughs at me.” He adds.

Which only makes you laugh harder.

Leaning his forehead against your shoulder, he lets out a chuckle as well.

Then he trails kisses over your jaw and asks quietly: “Can I go down on you?”

You clench around nothing and are about to agree, but then say: “I always liked your hands…”

“Did you now?” He leans up to find your eyes, a smirk on his lips.

“And want to see your pretty face for a bit longer.”

House lets out a little huff.

“I’m not making fun of you.” You whisper.

He slithers his hand down your side. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” You laugh and move your legs so that he can reach your crotch easier.

“Maybe I don’t.” He agrees quietly and kisses you again while running his middle and ring finger through your audibly wet labia.

Before he can comment on it, you say: “If you make another burst pipe joke, I will fucking leave.”

“Oh, no.” He sucks on your bottom lip. “Making you wet and moan is no laughing matter.”

“Go-arrghh, shit.” Your head falls back when he pushes two fingers into you.

House tilts his wrist to massage sensitive spots deeper inside of you, making your moan and clasp his face to pull him in for messy kisses. He is quick to lean on his side to be able to fully kiss you whilst keeping his hand between your legs.

“Good?” He asks, peppering your cheek with kisses to let you breathe.

“Yeah, I- very.”

House smiles against your skin and sucks on the side of your neck. After another minute of making you writhe and roll your hips into his hand, he murmurs: “Harder or faster?”

“Faster.” You sigh, head thrown back, arms around him.

“What else? What do you need?”

“Just don’t stop.”

He finds your lips again, kissing you surprisingly softly; nudging your nose with his, spreading more kisses over your neck…and back to your mouth to greedily swallow your gasps.

“Fuck, House…” You warn, body stiffening.

“Please…please cum for me.”

You never heard his rough voice sound so needy.

With another groan, your hips lift off the mattress, and you cum around his fingers. He slows down, taking his hand away to caress your thighs while you shake, eyes pressed shut to enjoy the relief.

“You’re so pretty when you cum.” House whispers into your ear.

It sends a jolt down your spine, and you basically melt into him.

Panting, you bury your face in his chest. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and makes sure you’re fully covered by the blanket while you come down.

He’s being so sweet, it almost irritates you. Obviously, you imagined sex with House a lot. But, somehow, your phantasies never included how he would be afterwards.

“How’s your pipe?” You mumble.

It makes him chuckle: “I thought no more pipe jokes.”

“Not a joke. Serious question.”

“Painfully hard.”

You lift your head and finally look at his face again. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes focused on you.

Holding the eye contact, you slither your hand down his body to find his dick. It is, in fact, rock-hard. House inhales sharply when you touch it.

“Aw, that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

You give it a few careful strokes, which is already enough to make House thrust his hips upwards and curse into your ear.

“Where would you like to cum?” You whisper.

His lips part. “My god.” He breathes out.

“What?”

“I’m trying really hard to neither cum nor say something stupid right now.”

“But it would feel so good, wouldn’t it?” You purr into his ear, adjusting your grip of his cock, running your thumb over the tip.

House makes a choked noise.

“It has to hurt by now, doesn’t it? You’re so fucking hard and dripping…all the penned-up tension…”

“I-“ He bites into your shoulder. “Yes, yes…”

“So, where would you like to cum?”

“It- I feel-“

You lean back to find his eyes. You can tell that he’s about to lose it and wants nothing more than to cum, but it takes him another two, three strokes until he says: “Your thighs. I always liked your thighs. God…” He groans. “Your fucking dress pants that accentuate them…How the fuck do you make dress pants slutty?”

You smile and scoot down, throwing the blanket aside, to lay fully on your back and expose your completely nude lower body to House.

He manages to move and crawl onto you, straddling one of your legs. You rake your eyes over all the naked skin you get to see. The building upper arms, his clenched fist around his cock, his scarred leg.

You put one hand on his thigh, covering the scar with your palm and use the other to pull on his balls. Rigorously, House keeps jerking himself off, his eyes darting between your face and your thighs.

Then he grunts as hot ropes of cum begin to cover your thighs, some of them reaching up to your hips.

“God, fuck…” He breathes out, eventually toppling over and sinking into the sheets next to you. You grin to yourself and turn towards him, wiping his cum off with the blanket.

House rests his arm on his forehead, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. You lean in, kissing his neck and behind his ear. It makes him hum and blindly reach for you to put his arm around you and pull you in.

“I don’t like this.” He suddenly says, voice hoarse.

“What?” Bewildered, you look at him.

“You’re too good at this.”

When you don’t reply, he turns his head to see your confused face.

“I haven’t even cum inside of you yet and I already don’t want you to ever leave this bed.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Careerwise? Yeah. Otherwise: my refractory period is about ten to fifteen minutes.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Do you have a minute? [ReaderxStevenGrant]

Steven is a guest professor at your university for this semester, giving a lecture on Egyptology. The last class of the semester stresses him out so much that Marc needs to take over. No problem – he did this before. Then, however, he’s the one to finally realize that you were flirting with Steven the entire semester.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“Please don’t mess this up!”

“I’m not!”

“Seriously, I need this to go well.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“It’s just-“

“Do you want to do it?”

“I can’t!”

“Then be quiet.”

“Alright.”

“It will be fine. I practiced my British Accent, mate.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I need to hang up now to start the lecture.”

“Hang up? What? Oh- we’re already here.”

Whispering: “Who’s that hot girl staring at me?”

“That’s- Hey! She’s looking at me! And don’t say that. She’s very sweet and smart and nice to talk to.”

Outside – Marc & You

Steven’s eyes look different today, you think to yourself as you smile at him. He gives you a nod as he says something else into the phone before hanging up.

You wonder who that was. Honestly, the way Steven talked to you before made you think that he doesn’t, well, talk to other people. And somehow, for some reason, he managed to make that sexy.

You’re very aware that today is the last chance you get to ask him out. Yeah, sure, you like had coffee and he even invited you to have lunch with him one time; however, you don’t think he caught on to the fact that you’re into him – bad. Which, again, bless him, is sweet and somehow sexy, but you also really want to…

“Morning everyone!” He speaks up.

You furrow your eyebrows. He sounds different. You cannot really pinpoint it, but something is off. You look around: the lecture hall is busy, but no one else seems to notice. The conversations subside quickly, and people get their pens out. So do you.

Maybe you’re just nervous. That’s probably it. You are overanalyzing his every move, to find any indicator that he likes you or that he’s just being polite or- oh my god, shut up. Focus on the lecture and worry about everything else later.

You do manage to keep your eyes on the screen and take notes. Then, though, half an hour in, Steven keeps looking at you. It’s as if his own ability to focus on the lecture shrank.

In your peripheral, you can make out that he’s facing your direction and his gaze burns your cheek. You hold on to the pen in your hand tighter, forcing yourself to look at your notes. It almost hurts your eyes how badly you try to control them.

It’s rather embarrassing how extreme you react to him simply looking in your direction. You have to blink rapidly to be able to refocus and at least hear every second word.

You’re relieved when his voice finally is louder than the white noise that’s caused by your heartbeat again. That only lasts about three seconds, though. Because then you realize that he is walking in your direction.

It’s just impossible to not look up now.

You raise you head to find him almost in front of you.

You’re sitting in the second row, and he is looking up towards the last rows as he’s talking, but it still feels like he’s cornering you.

You gulp and give up on taking notes. You put your pen down and blindly reach for your water bottle to take a sip in hopes that it will calm you down.

It almost worked, but then he makes eye-contact. You immediately hold your breath, and your body feels like it’s sinking through the chair.

Steven’s eyes shimmer and the corners of his mouth turn upwards while holding your nervous gaze. You never reacted like that to him. Somehow, he suddenly is intimidating. Then he smirks at you. It’s inconspicuous and probably invisible to anyone who hadn’t paid attention, but it’s very visible to you. You press your lips together.

After another moment, he turns around and walks back to the screen to point at something. The entire silent exchange lasted maybe ten seconds, max. He did not interrupt his lecture once while it happened. That wasn’t necessary to leave you flustered.

You run your fingers through your hair and close your eyes, listening to his goddamn attractive voice. The entire semester he did not do anything like this during a lecture. He did smile at you whenever he came in and find you in your usual seat. He asked you about the essay you handed in, talking to you about it over a coffee. He wiped his hands off on his pants, drying his sweaty palms. Never, never did he so openly flirt with you.

Oohh, you breathe out through your mouth. It’s the last class – and he is obviously aware of that as well. Is he finally shooting his shot with you? Shit, is that what’s happening?

You’re not willing for him to do that, are you? It’s not you getting your hopes up unreasonably, is it?

Inside – Marc & Steven

“See, she like you.” Marc whispers while turning his back to the classroom so that the students cannot see his mouth moving.

“I think-“

“Shush. You know I’m right.”

“But what if-“

“Do you want to go out with her?”

“Oh my god yes.”

“Then I will ask her.”

“No, don’t! I-“

“As I was saying,” Marc turns back to the class.

Outside – Marc & You

The rest of the lecture flies by, you constantly bouncing your leg under the table.

You equally dread and cannot wait for what’s going to happen when Steven ends the class.

“Any last questions for me?” He asks.

“Yes, Professor Grant! Could you…”

You don’t listen to the student’s question. You’re way too amused by the fact that they call him Professor Grant. To you, he was Steven from the first time he spoke with you privately – he insisted. He does not request that from the other students. You smile.

Suddenly, everyone begins to clap. You enthusiastically join, catching on to the fact that the class is over.

Then Steven’s face changes for a moment. His expression softens, his eyes become a bit wet, and his posture shifts in a way that he looks smaller than before. He looks intimidated but also proud. It’s very sweet and the demeanor you are used to see.

When everyone starts to get up, he blinks several times and straightens his back, before looking at you. Other than the rest of the class, you show no intend to leave. It’s not entirely by choice. It’s more like you can’t really move, too entranced by the eye-contact. He looks excited.

You inhale deeply and finally get at least your arms to work and pack up your stuff.

Steven then quickly walks back to his desk and gets his stuff as well. He puts on his light-blue cotton jacket and swings his bag over his shoulder.

Slower than necessary, you stand up and zip your backpack.

The lecture hall is almost empty by now and there is not much time left until it becomes very obvious that you are lingering around on purpose.

But Steven is still at the front, turning off the projector and whatnot.

You start to feel like a fool, and disappointed. It’s fine. You shouldn’t have read so much into his behavior.

Legs wobbly, you turn around and start to walk up the stairs to the exit. Your heart is beating quickly and with every step you wonder if you should simply ask him. Maybe he’s too shy? Since he only was a guest Professor, it’s not inappropriate to go out after the class ended. You lightly shake your head, trying to get over the heartache before it can even fill your chest.

Then he calls your name. You take another step before you register that he actually is talking to you and that it wasn’t in your head. Swallowing hard, you turn around.

“Do you have a minute?” Steven asks while following you up the stairs.

Oh, you have so many minutes for him.

“Sure.” You smile, expecting for him to maybe ask you what you thought of the lecture or-

“Would you like to go out for a drink with me?”

Your next heartbeat is so violent that you almost put your hand on your chest to stop your heart from jumping out of it.

“Very much, yes.” You reply.

His smile brightens: “Are you free tonight?”

“Yes!” You sound a little too relieved.

While you let your eyes dart over his gorgeous face, he gets out a notebook and a pen.

He opens a random page and holds it out to you: “Give me your address and number?”

Hands shaky, you take it from him. He’s actually taking you out, like, picking you up and everything. Jesus Christ – bless men over forty.

Trying your best to write legible, you scribble down your information.

“Does seven work for you?” He asks when you hand the notebook back.

You have no idea if it does. At this point, you don’t even know what day of the week it is. Of course, you agree, nevertheless.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Steven takes a deep breath: “I got this.”

“Just ring the doorbell.”

“You won’t be, like, watching?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay…”

“Ring the doorbell already!”

Outside – Steven & You

You want to look good, but you definitely don’t want to overdress. You don’t know how casual this will be.

When the doorbell rings at two minutes past seven, and you immediately open, you’re very glad that you didn’t put on heels. Steven is wearing his signature dress shirt and jacket – the shirt, however, looks very straightened. And he definitely showered and did something with his hair.

“Hey.” You breathe out and only now notice the flowers he brought. No one ever did that for you – you have no idea how to react. Giving you a slightly insecure smile, he holds them out to you. When you take them, your fingers touch and you almost let the flowers fall to the floor.

“Thank you so much.” You tell him, eyes darting to his lips and back to his eyes.

“I’ll put them in water and then we can go.” You quickly add and hurry to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill up a glass with water. He brought you flowers!

Is it embarrassing or weird that that makes you wet?

Lord, chill out.

Steven is waiting outside your apartment for you. Checking for your keys, you take your handbag and let the door fall shut behind you.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“There’s a bar I like nearby, is that okay?” He needs to clear his throat halfway through the sentence, making you realize that he didn’t say anything until now.

You nod.

“Or would you like to eat something first?” He backpaddles even though you already agreed.

“Bar sounds good.” You assure him. A drink will probably be good for both of you.

Miraculously, you’re able to make comfortable conversation on the way. It’s easy to talk about something that has to do with factual information. You really like when he gets passionate and shares his knowledge. For some reason, he seems surprised that you enjoy listening to him – even though you literally took a course in his field.

“Here we are.” Steven opens the door to the bar for you after a ten-minute walk.

“Thanks.” You really like this sweet, polite thing he has going on. You noticed it, of course, before, but never to this extend. After all, this is your first official date.

This is a date, you remember. You were so caught up in listening to him, that you forgot. You have to avoid eye-contact while choosing a table to have time to collect your thoughts.

Just enjoy it. This is what you so desperately hoped for. You better get your game on.

As soon as you have a drink in your hand, it’s like you’re able to reach the switch inside you that makes you flirtatious instead of awkward.

Steven shifts the focus of the conversation to you, visibly nervous but also really interested. His eyes are attentive and the way he asks questions tells you that he genuinely cares.

You do too, but you now and then lose your train of thought, distracted by your longing to kiss him.

What you dare to do, as you turn to the bar to wave over the waiter, is to put your hand on his to let him know that you want to order more. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his lips part. When the waiter approaches your table, you gently take your hand away to open the menu and point at the drink you’d like. Steven says: “I’ll take the same.” Without knowing what you ordered.

“Coming right up.” The waiter says and leaves.

You raise your gaze from the table to look back at Steven’s face. His cheeks are lightly flushed. It could also be the heat from the candle on the table, but you don’t think that’s the case.

His hand still lies where you left it: on the middle of the table.

Propping your head up on one hand, you reach across with the other and lightly touch his fingers. His eyes light up and he intertwines them with yours.

This officially makes this more than just a date with your professor (as if that weren’t already exciting enough). This is the both of you admitting that you want each other.

So, after gulping the next drink down, Steven pays, and you willingly get up as well. He only lets go of your hand for a moment, so that you can put on your coat, and then takes it again to lead you outside.

You walk a few meters away from the entrance of the bar.

Since it’s during the week, only a few cars are driving by, leaving you alone with the quiet humming of the street lantern.

“I wanted to do this all semester long.” He tells you.

You turn your head, surprised by his candid statement.

“Take me out?” You smile.

“No.” He tugs on your arm, making you step closer. “Kiss you.” Steven murmurs and pushes his hand into your hair to pull you flush against him. Your lips meet and you sigh, throwing your arms around him.

He kisses you softly, cradling your face. Despite the chilly air, it makes you feel hot.

“Me too.” You whisper and tilt your head to kiss him deeper.

When you break the kiss to take a breath, you ask: “Would you like to come back to my place?”

He leans back, hand still on the side of your face: “Yes, but…” His voice trails off.

You caress the back of his neck and wait for him to finish the sentence, your eyes soft.

“I want this to be more than a one-night stand.”

Your heart flutters and you press another kiss to his lips before telling him: “It will be.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Only if For A Night [KyloRenxReader]

Everything about him seems expensive. What really intrigues you, though, is the look in his eyes when he sees you. An AU in which you meet Sugar Daddy-esque Kylo Ren at the opera.

Climbing the marble steps of the opera house, you’re glad you brought a coat with you. The air is mild now, but you can feel that it will be chilling when the play is over. Your coat in one hand, your bag in the other, you enter the brightly lid building. Everything is white, except for the red carpets and the golden chandeliers.  A friend of yours works here, and whenever a new play or opera comes on, they can get you a free ticket. You quite like it, because for a night you get to pretend you belong to all the rich and beautiful people that are currently gathering in the entrance hall. 

The clicking of your heels is muffled by the thick carpets as you make your way to the box office. To not look out of place, you put on a pretty dress and some pumps. The most important thing though, you learned from your past visits, is the make-up. The right color of lipstick, combined with light eyeshadow and an expensive perfume apparently is the entry ticket to the high society sipping on champagne around you.  “Hi!” The cashier enthusiastically greets you by your name. They know by now who you are and immediately hand you your ticket. “How is everything?” They ask you and you make small talk for a minute, leaning against the counter. 

While you say goodbye, you see someone observing you out of the corner of your eye. When you turn to walk to the bar, you see him.  Tall, broad shoulders, sharp features framed by thick, raven hair, and a black suit that fits him immaculately. His enormous hand makes the glass in his hand look ridiculously small. A silver and black watch on his wrist sparkles in the bright light of the lobby. His dark eyes pierce into you as you slowly walk towards the bar.  Just when you’re about to turn your head away, he drags his eyes over your body one last time before looking back at the group of people surrounding him, saying something to the ginger man besides him that you cannot hear. Fuck, he’s handsome. You never seen him here before.  His eyes had something so intriguing about them. They made you forget, for a moment, that anything but him even exists. He looked at you like he was ready to pounce you. But maybe you just wished he looked at you like that. After all, you’re the one that got wet instantly. 

Throat dry, you order a drink and patiently wait for the barkeeper to mix it. You don’t dare to turn around and look in his direction again. However, you would swear you can feel his eyes on your neck right now. To distract yourself from the wild rhythm of your heartbeat, you start to read the labels of the different kinds of alcohol.  As the barkeeper puts the drink in front of you, you open the zipper of your purse to get out your money. When you look up, though, there is a black credit card being held out to the barkeeper. You freeze, staring at the large hand holding it. You know who it belongs to. You can feel the warmth of his body next to you. “Make it two.” The dark voice orders. The barkeeper just nods and grabs the card. Clutching your purse hard, so that your hands don’t shake, you hesitantly turn your head to look at him. He towers over you, a smile on his lips.  “Thank you.” You hear yourself say, barely conscious.  “My pleasure.”  Fuck. His voice turns you on.  Desperate to make conversation, you ask: “Do you come here often?”  His eyes dart to your lips, your cleavage, and back to your eyes. “No.” After a pause, he tells you: “Kylo Ren.”  The way he says his own name makes you smile. He doesn’t say it like a name. He says it like a statement. Like it is an explanation for everything. You hold out your hand: “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ren.”  He shakes your hand gently and says your name. “Right?” “Ehm- yes. How do you know?” His grasp feels really good. It’s embarrassing how bad you want him to touch you.  “You’re on the guestlist.” He states, slowly letting go of your hand, his fingers grazing your palm. You still don’t understand how he knows your name... Oh. He heard you talking with the cashier. That means he saw you before you even noticed him. Damn.

The second drink is placed on the counter next to you. Ren grabs both of them and hands one to you. It’s surprising that you’re able to take it without spilling the liquor everywhere. You immediately lift it to your lips and drink a questionable amount.  Ren observes you amused. Shit.  You clear your throat: “Sorry.” You clink glasses with him.  He gives you a nod and drinks as well, not taking his eyes of you.  “You like it?”  “It’s alright.”  “Pff.” You empty your glass. “It’s the best.”  That actually makes him chuckle.  “Allow me to show you the best?”  Your raise your eyebrows. He apparently takes that as a yes and orders something that sounds strong. By now, the entrance hall starts to empty as everyone slowly gets to their seats. He doesn’t seem to care, casually leaning against the bar. You see the people he talked to earlier lingering behind him. It’s all men, all in suits, looking like they came here after a meeting that involved lots of money. “Your group is waiting.” You say, pointing in their direction. Ren turns to look at them. Then he nods towards the stairs leading up to the balconies. No questions asked, they leave. “Your colleagues?”   “Subordinates.”  “Of course.” You grin.

The second round of drinks arrive. It’s served in tumblers and on ice. This time you’re patient enough to wait for Ren to lift his glass and clink it. You take a sip. At first you scrunch your nose at the bitter taste but then the golden liquid spreads over your tongue and fruity notes come through.  “Better than I expected.” You state. He shakes his head dismissively, before telling you: “We should get inside.”  “Oh. Right.” You grab your coat. You really wish you could stay a little longer. “Thank you for the drinks.” Checking your ticket, you make sure which door you need to enter. When you look back up, you see Ren still standing in front of you.  “Maybe we could-“ You start but fall silent when he offers you his arm. 

He is so calm and naturally about everything he does that you automatically link your arm with his and let him guide you up the stairs. He’s powerful and he fucking knows. Your hand on his upper arm, you feel his hard muscles.  “Do you know the opera?” He asks nonchalantly like you didn’t only meet fifteen minutes ago. “Yes.” You nod, eyes on the stairs, scared you’ll stumble. “I saw another staging last year.”  “So, you come here often?”  “Pretty much, yeah. I think I saw every production of the last few years.”  “Smart girl.”  You almost choke.  “I never sat up here though.” You don’t acknowledge his comment further. The noise you made was already too much. Ren just lets out a hum and leads you down the hallway, all the way to the balcony right at the front of the theater.  Oh, God. His colleagues subordinates. This will be so awkward. They know that you two just met. That he made you fall for him within minutes, seconds, really. “Good evening, Mr. Ren.” A worker in uniform greets him and pushes the thick curtain to the balcony aside.  You let out a relived sigh when you see that no one else is in the seats.  “Where are the others?” You whisper. “To the left.” He quietly replies.  That means he either always has a booth for himself or they knew what’s up and left it empty for him. Even though the second option is mildly embarrassing as well, you gladly take it over awkwardly sitting between them.

There are several large seats – armchairs might be more appropriate to call them.  You let go of Ren’s arm to walk up to the railing and have a look across the theatre. The view is magnificent. The lights are already dimmed, and a voice tells you that the play will start in five minutes.  On your left, where the others are supposed to sit, you are happy to see that there is a wall separating you and only if you would lean over the railing, you could see them. Or they you. When you turn back around, you find Ren already sitting in one of the chairs, vigilantly watching you. The chair that just looked enormous now looks normal sized that he’s sitting in it. You choose the chair next to him and sit down, putting your coat and bag on the floor.  You’re a little buzzed by the drinks but by no means drunk. Nevertheless, when the waiter asks if you want anything else to drink, you say: “Can I get some water?” Ren orders a bottle of champaign. Dear God.

Then you just quietly sit there and observe the empty stage.  “You said you know the play?” His rough voice is like an aphrodisiac. Having to blink several times before you’re present enough to answer, you nod: “Yeah.” “Can you summarize the story for me? I didn’t have the time to read it.”  Your head snaps around. Ren is leaning over, body turned towards you. His eyes sparkle even though its almost dark. His perfume wavers over to you.  Somehow, you manage to speak and explain to him what’s about to happen. He’s soaking up every word you say, his eyes constantly darting between your eyes and your lips. Your hands get sweaty, and you try to inconspicuously wipe them off on your dress. 

Just before the lights turn off, two waiters come in. They brought a table they put down next to Ren and hand him the bottle to look at the label. He nods and they fill up two glasses. In the meantime, Ren hands you a bottle of water. Thankful, you take a big sip. You’re glad there will be an intermission because there is no way you won’t have to pee halfway through.  The water cools you down. Clears your head. It makes you realize in what insane situation you’re in right now. You really got this extremely hot business guy splurge for you.  You’re not mad if he does it because he wants to fuck you. On the contrary, you hope he does. 

The tension is thick and you’re relieved when the lights go finally out, and the show starts. Of course, you still feel Ren right next to you, however, now that he can barely see you, you’re way more relaxed. You don’t feel like you have to monitor every single of your (and his) movements anymore.  The orchestra stars playing and fills the theatre with loud music. You tap your fingers on the armrest of the chair, mirroring the rhythm. The singers come on next and start the first number. Your eyes widen. The sound is way clearer up here.  For a few minutes, you forget who’s sitting next to you. Or that someone even is sitting next to you. 

When the number ends and the lights go down for a moment, Ren puts his hand on yours. You flinch in surprise but don’t take your hand away. Instead, you squeeze his fingers. However, you still don’t dare to look at him. You’re way too tense again. Your breathing hitches and your pulse is hammering away. As if he could feel your nervousness, Ren runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His large hand covers yours entirely and warms it up.  For the next number, you keep your eyes on the stage; but your fingers intertwine slowly. Your brain cannot decide on what it should focus – the music or the hand. It switches back and forth, making your head spin.  Eventually, you cannot bear it anymore and go to take your hand away. But Ren stops you. Automatically, your head snaps around. His eyes are dark, pulling you in.  He tugs on your arm and tilts his head, signaling you to sit with him. You hesitate. The chair is definitely wide enough for both of you, but that’s not the issue here. It’s how hard you clench around nothing just because he’s looking at you and indicating that he wants you to be closer. You take a few deep breaths to built up the courage to get up. 

Ren smiles when you stand up and come over. He scoots to the side so you can sit down next to him. Then he lets go of your hand to put his arm around you instead. It’s heavy on your shoulders. It’s calming. Nevertheless, you straighten your back. You cannot get yourself to relax enough to actually lean into him. He quietly says: “If you’re uncomfortable, tell me.”  The kindness in his voice offers you enough assurance to look at him and shake your head. “I’m just nervous.” You admit before you can stop yourself. Ren smiles and squeezes your shoulder: “Why?” You chuckle: “Are you serious?”  “Always.”  His deadpan answer is amusing as it is nerve wracking. 

“You’re really hot.” You whisper, eyes darting over his gorgeous face. His big nose looks like it would be a pleasure to have between your legs when… “You think so?” He raises an eyebrow, hand gently rubbing your shoulder. Shyly, you nod: “Yeah…” “Hot enough that I may kiss you?”  “God, yes.”  He buries his hand in your hair and pulls you into him as soon as the last syllable left your mouth. Now, your mouth is being smothered by his. The tugging on your hair makes you groan quietly and tilt your head back. Ren uses it to pry your lips open further and push his tongue into your mouth. He’s kisses you slowly, but not gently.  His hand, that’s not in your hair, cradles your face, wandering down the side of your neck and then back up to grab your chin. You sigh into his mouth when he pulls you even closer, making you lean into him fully. Pressed against his chest, you snake your arm around him to put your hand on the back of his neck and play with strands of his soft hair.  It elicits a soft sigh from Ren. A noise you didn’t expect to hear.

As if to thank you for the gesture, he nibbles on your bottom lip before kissing down the side of your neck. You get goosebump and claw into his thigh with the hand you rested on it.  Having to breathe and also to sort your mind, you lean back. He caresses your cheek before letting go of you and getting the glasses of champaign. His eyes are dark while he watches you take a sip. “That’s really good.” You mumble.  “Tastes almost as good as you.” He nonchalantly comments. You cough in surprise.  “At least what I tasted so far.” Ren goes on like he purposefully tries to make you faint. “But something tells me there are other sweet spots to kiss.”  “Fuck!” You whisper shout.  He smirks and puts his hand on your thigh. You tense for a second but then lean into his touch as you remember that no one can see you and that the show that’s still going on and you’re absolutely paying no attention to anymore whatsoever, drowns out any noises you make. While he pushes his hand up your leg und under your dress he says with a serious tone: “Tell me when you want me to stop.”  “I will.” You nod, eyes half closed.  “Good girl.” He murmurs pressing a kiss to the side of your neck just below your ear.  It causes your head to fall back and mumble: “Jesus Christ.”  “You like that?” He asks, audibly excited. You nod again.  “Words.” 

Your eyes shoot open, and you stare at him. His demeanor changed. He looks far more predatory now. In a good way, though. Like you’re the only interesting thing in the world. “Yes, I like it.” You eventually confirm. As soon as you said that his hand pushes your dress further up until he can easily reach your panties. You scoot forward a bit, towards his hand. He groans at your eagerness and presses his ring and middle finger against your covered labia.  Willingly, you spread your legs further so that he can find your clit. When he does, electric shocks run through your veins like waves crashing onto the shore. You press your lips together and only let out a whimper.  Ren starts to kiss your exposed neck again, sucking on the skin here and there. Then he increases the pressure on your clit, your panties providing extra friction. It gets really hard to keep it together. You’re so turned on. Just his presence made you lightheaded. This, this is just… 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He murmurs into your ear.  You can only acknowledge it by humming.  “Such a pretty girl, so smart, and cultured.” Somehow his voice dropped an octave.  It causes you to writhe under his touch. You desperately cling onto his arm, forehead leaning against his shoulder.  Then he says: “And letting me get her off in the middle of the opera.” And pushes his thick fingers into you.  It’s impossible to not moan at that.  “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He whispers into your ear.  “Just-“ Your breathing hitches when he starts to fuck you with his fingers. “Just for you, Mr. Ren.” You sigh. “Shit.” He breathes out. It makes you realize that he’s just as turned on as you are.

The loud music, the singing, your moans, and Ren’s whispers all blend together to a clusterfuck of overwhelming sounds that put you on the edge of a head-spinning orgasm.  He speeds up his movements and smashes his fingers into you, heel of his hand hitting against your clit. Holding on to his arm for your dear life, your head rolls back, just like your eyes.  “Do you want to cum on my hand?” He asks huskily.  “Hmh…yes.” You slur the words.  It makes him curl his fingers up and he hits that sweet spot inside you.  “Oh my God.” You breathe out as you are catapulted into an orgasm that sends your upper body flying forwards, your hips rolling into his palm. Ren puts his arm around you so that you don’t fall off the chair as your walls spasm around his fingers.  He slows down his movements but only stops when you tell him to by tapping the back of his hand. It makes a wet noise when he pulls his fingers out of you. You immediately miss the sensation of being stretched. But you have to take a break to slow your breathing. Hazily, you sort out your clothes.  When you turn your head towards Ren, you see how he’s licking the fingers that were just inside you. It makes you instantly press your thighs together. You feel the wetness spread over your inner thighs.  Driven wild, you grab his neck and pull him in to press a hungry kiss to his glistening lips. His hands fly to your head, and he clasps your face to hold you close. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss. His lips move more urgently by the second.  You run your fingers through his hair again. It’s so soft, you could spend the entire night just doing that. Ren groans and grabs your hips, making you climb onto him, straddling his lap. You grind your hips down into his crotch. You feel his hard dick press against you.  “Fuck.” He mumbles when you lean to the side to take one of glasses of champagne. You forgot that they are empty already. Ren simply grabs the bottle out of the bucket filled with ice and hands it to you. Grinning, you take a big sip. Then you offer it to him. While he drinks, the music stops. 

You know what that means and scramble off his lap, sitting down back in your own chair. The moment you run your fingers through your hair to tame it, the lights turn on and the voice informs you that there will be a twenty-minute intermission now.  When you look at Ren, you see that his lips are tinted red. You point at your own to signal him what’s going on. Smiling, grabs one of the cotton napkins and wipes his mouth clean. Then he leans over to rub the lipstick, that apparently got smeared onto your chin, off. 

There is still a visible tent in his dress pants when the waiter comes in to ask if you need anything and Ren has to cross his legs to hide it. It makes the corners of your mouth twitch.  “Could you show me the restroom?” You ask. “Of course, Ma’am.”  Legs still a little wobbly, you take your bag and follow him, brushing Ren’s arm as you walk by. In the hallway, you are remined that Ren arrived with company as you have to squeeze through the group of men to follow the waiter. You can feel all of them looking at you. It makes you raise your shoulders and clutch your bag. They surely know what’s going on. Your eyes are probably still glazed over.

Relived, you thank the man that led you to the restroom and enter. Of course, it’s secluded from the ones the normal people have to use downstairs. You lock the door and lean against it to take a few deep breaths.  A little scared, you step in front of the mirror. Thank the stars, you look quite put together. Only your flushed cheeks are a hint to what happened.  What happened. Holy shit. This demi-god of a man really finger-fucked you to completion while someone sang their soul out right below you.

You nowhere near done, though. You want more. You want it all. 

After you went to the toilet, wiping your legs clean and peeing, you let cold water run down your wrists to cool down at least a bit. Then you reapply deodorant and take another deep breath before you leave the restroom.  You almost run into the ginger man who Ren talked to earlier.  “Excuse me.” You mumble and try to walk past him, but he grabs your wrist. Equally shocked and confused you turn to look at him. His face is extremely pale and stern, just his eyes reveal his emotions. And it seems to be a mixture of aggression and lust. The dangerous one.  “Can I help you?” You ask politely.  “How much?” He asks sickly sweet.  “Excuse me?”  “How much for an hour? Maybe after Ren is done you could come back to my hotel room. You’ll be already nicely stretched for me.”  Your mouth falls open in horror. No one ever dared to talk to you like that. Violently, you rip your arm away. “Go fuck yourself.” You hiss and walk off, hoping that you don’t appear as intimidated as you actually are.

You honestly consider simply leaving. Just run off. You’ll never see them again. But you left your coat with Ren. Shit.

When you slip through the curtain, you see that Ren isn’t there. He probably went to the restroom himself. It means you have the opportunity to just grab your coat and leave without being confronted and forced to explain yourself.  Hastily, you grab it and turn to leave. But your questionable luck runs out and Ren enters the moment you want to push the curtain aside.  He immediately picks up on what you’re doing, and he sees the look on your face. “What happened?”  “I- Nothing, I just don’t feel well.” Unconsciously, you rub the spot Hux grabbed you.  Again, he puts the pieces together: “Who touched you?”  You shake your head and look at your feet, embarrassed.  “Who.” His voice is rough and it’s no longer a question.  “It was nothing, really.”  “Look at me.”  Reluctantly, you lift your head.  He waits for you to answer.  “The redheaded man.”  “Hux.” Ren spits out the name. “What did he do?” “He just stopped me to talk to me.”  “Quit downplaying it. What did he say?” Quietly, you repeat what he said.  Ren inhales sharply. Then he orders: “Wait here.”  You nod, not knowing if you’re relieved or even more embarrassed.  He gently grabs your chin: “No one gets to talk to you like that. I’ll take care of it.”  Gulping, you just look at him. He quickly presses a kiss to your cheek and leaves. 

You keep standing right behind the curtain to listen to what’s happening in the hallway. After about ten seconds, you hear commotion.  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Ren growls.  “Calm down.” Hux replies, sounding annoyed. It makes you incredibly angry.  “Why do you get all worked up? She’s just a prostitute.”  You hear a punch being thrown and a groan following up. You just have to peak through the curtain. Ren is towering over the ginger man, having him cornered. Hux is holding his cheek, looking at him wide-eyed. Ren gets in his face and hisses: “Even if that would be the case, you have no right to talk to someone like that.” 

The lights are dimmed, telling you that the second half will begin shortly. Ren notices and grabs Hux by the collar: “This isn’t over. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”  Then he turns around and stalks back towards you. Quickly, you take a step back. “I’m sorry.” Is the first thing he says.  “It’s not your fault.” You shrug your shoulders. “He works for me.” Ren states. After a pause, he asks: “Do you want to leave?”  “No.” You voice is steady. “I was actually quite enjoying myself.”  He chuckles, relieved.  “Come.” He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him lead you back to the chair. This time, you don’t hesitate to lean into his embrace. He kisses the top of your head. 

“You know,” You whisper as the lights go out completely, “seeing you manhandling this jerk actually turned me on.”  Ren hums into your ear, letting his fingers wander up and down your arm. “Even if it’s only for tonight, you’re mine.”  It sends shivers down your spine. You don’t think you ever enjoyed a sentence as much as that one.  “I’m yours.”  Your reply makes Ren rest his free hand on your thigh.  “And I’m the only one who gets to fuck you.”  Ah, correction. That’s your new favorite sentence.  “You’re the only one who gets to fuck me.”  He kisses your temple and affirms: “Good girl.” 

You scoot closer to him until your leg is firmly pressed against his. He puts both his arms around you, one around your back, one across your chest.  This feels way too good. This is dangerous, you realize. 

Only for a night, you repeat his words in your head like a mantra; Pretending it will protect you. 

The music picks up again and you allow yourself to get lost in it. Not thinking about anything else but how much you enjoy yourself right now. Blindly, you reach out for the bottle of champagne. Ren hands it to you. You take a big sip, eyes fixed on the stage.  Only when the stage goes dark for a minute for a scene change, your focus shifts back to the man next to you.

Nonchalantly, you put your hand on his sturdy thigh. He reacts strongly to your touch, leaning in your direction, inhaling deeply.  “May I touch you, Mr. Ren?” You purr.  “Please do.”  The begging undertone in his voice turns you the fuck on and reminds you that this isn’t a one-way street. He’s just as into you. Your hand flies to his crotch to grab his half-hard dick pressing against the restraints of his dress pants. You slowly rub it through the fabric. When you find the tip, you run your thumb over it, earning a restrained moan from Ren.  Encouraged by his reaction, you open his leather belt, then the zipper. You turn to the side to grab his pants with both hands. Willingly, he lifts his hips so that you can pull them down. They glide down his legs and pool around his ankles. His now freed dick slaps against his naked leg. 

Your mouth starts to water at the visual. It’s huge, matching his big-dick attitude.  You spit into your hand and grab it. Ren groans at the gesture and his eyes flutter shut. You start to jerk him off. A lazy tempo at first, now and then speeding up. Then you twist your hand around it and move it faster.  By now, Ren is clawing into the edge of the seat, lips parted. You lean over to press a kiss to them. His face follows yours when you retreat, and he finds your lips again. Sucking on your bottom lip, he grazes it with his teeth. “Sit on it.” He orders suddenly. “What?” You ask flabbergasted. He looks at you: “You heard me.”  “But what if-“ “No one will interrupt us.”  High on pheromones, you obey and let go of his dick to take your panties off.  “Perfect little girl.” He praises you.  It dissolves any hesitation that you had left, and you basically jump onto his cock. Your naked knees sink into the soft fabric of the chair and your bare ass is hit by the light breeze of the air-conditioning.  Ren tilts his dick upwards, and you sink down on it.  “Oh my God.” You breathe out. You have to sit down slowly. It feels like you might otherwise be torn apart. Ren’s fingers dig into your sides, his head rolling forwards until it rests against your chest. You bury your hands in his hair once again to have something to hold on to. Biting into his shoulder, you muffle your whimpering with the fabric of his suit jacket. “You feel…” He sighs. “You feel so good. So warm…” His voice trails off. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally bottom out. You’re literally impaled on his dick. He’s so deep inside of you, it’s a miracle he fits.  You’re both already panting, and you haven’t even started to move yet.  “Your dick is perfect.” You whisper into his ear, pressing kisses to the side of his neck.  It causes his hips to jerk up and you yelp at the pressure on your cervix.  “Sorry.” He mumbles.  You let out a laugh and press another kiss to his swollen lips.  Then you finally start to roll your hips. It’s devastating, for the both of you. 

Desperately, you put your arms around the other to keep them close. Something inside you clicks. Like a new form of lust was just unlocked. An intensity of desire you never felt before.  His dick, goddamn his dick, stretches you wider than you ever deemed possible.  You ride him slowly for several minutes to stretch you muscles. Like Hux said. But only for Ren. Only for him… He must think something similar because Ren says: “He could never. He could never make you feel this good.”  Shaking your head, you find Ren’s eyes.  “No one but me can fuck your perfect little pussy like this.”  You lean down until your lips are right in front of his, and whisper: “Only you.” 

Without a warning, Ren grabs your hips and lifts you off his dick. You whine at the emptiness you feel. “Turn around.” He tells you, pointing at the railing. Your eyes widen: “People will see.”  “Good. Let them see.”  Oh fuck.  Your body does as he says before your mind can protest. Trying to make it look like you’re just leaning against the golden railing to have a better view, you prop yourself up on it and look at the stage. It’s the middle of the third act.  You feel Ren step behind you and push your dress up until your ass is all exposed to him. He roughly grabs your cheeks and claws into the flesh. You desperately want to look back at him to make him fuck you already, but you don’t dare to. You have to keep looking at the singers, you tell yourself. Let your eyes wander over the orchestra to look as-

“Fuck!” You hiss.  Ren plowed all the way into you. Your legs almost buckle. You have to hold on to the railing as he starts to rail you. He felt big before, but in this position, he feels fucking enormous.  His hips stutter at the sensations that apparently is just as overwhelming for him as it is for you. 

Finding a steady rhythm again, he rocks back and forth. He starts by moving just a bit. Then he speeds up his movements, causing your entire body to vibrate. He keeps it up for the entirety of a song. Then he changes to long and hard strokes. Pulling out almost completely before pushing back into you.  He cannot see your face, but he can tell by the way you push your ass back to meet his thrusts that you love what he’s doing to you.  Ren reaches for your shoulders and holds on to them for leverage as he fucks you fast, hard, and steady. 

There is no way, should someone look at you, that they won’t understand what’s happening. The way your body is thrown against the railing. How his hands hold you by the shoulders. And the noises…The wet slapping sounds are a dead giveaway should anyone be close enough to hear it.  However, he fucks you so good, you honestly don’t care. Let them see, if it means that he carries on fucking you, it’s worth it.  Your legs start to shake, and you turn your head to look over your shoulder. What you see is a picture that you will remember forever: Ren took off his jacket and tie. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his lower arms, letting you see the veins running across them. His jaw is clenched and there is sweat on his forehead. The look in his eyes is animalistic, pure lust and longing. His hair is disheveled, partially sticking to his face. Slack-jawed, he’s observing you, chest heaving. You tighten around him. Your nerves start to feel raw. There is no way you can go on much longer. “Please.” You plead. “I need to cum.”  In reply, he pulls you up, forcing you to arch your back.  Shoulders pressed to his pectorals, you let your head rest against his collarbone. He puts one hand around your neck, not applying any pressure, just holding you close.  Adjusting his stance, he starts to fuck more upwards.  His breath is hot on the side of your neck. And now, that you’re closer, the music doesn’t drown out the obscene sounds that spill out of his mouth. 

With his dark voice, he utters curses and praises, interrupted by moans.  His thrusts get so violent, they almost lift you off the ground.  “Oh my…fuck.” You groan breathlessly. You can hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears.  “Kylo…” You whimper as your walls start to spasm. It’s the first time you said his first name.  It has a bigger effect than you anticipated. He bites down on the exposed side of your neck. Hard. But you don’t have the air in your lungs to shriek. You just let the burning sensation add to the fire already raging inside of you. “Say my name again.” He orders.  “Kylo.” You immediately moan. “Kylo, please…”  His hold on you tightens.  “Cum for me.” He whispers into your ear. Your legs twitch, your brain melts, and your lower body explodes as you cum around his cock that is mercilessly plowing into you.  “Kylo.” You slur his name in your barely conscious state.  “Oh my god, little girl.” He groans and his body tenses up.  Head hanging down, you clench around his pulsating cock while your orgasm still goes on, jolting through you in shockwaves. 

Only when you feel him pull out of you and collapse into the chair, guiding you to sit on his lap sideways, you open your eyes again.  High on the hormones rushing through your veins, you lean into him, letting him hold you.  He leans his forehead against the side of your head. Slowly, your breathing calms down. So does his while he keeps caressing your arms and legs.  Eventually, he quietly asks: “Can you stand up?” You chuckle: “I can try.”  And you do. “Oh god.” You curse.  “What?” He looks worried. “You fucked me raw.”  A smug grin spreads on his face.  Trying not to groan at every movement, you put your panties back on and straighten out your dress. Kylo puts his clothes back on as well. Except his tie. That he just puts in his pocket.  Then he hands you one of the napkins so you can clean yourself as best as you can in the dim light. He wipes his face and neck before taking a big sip of the champagne.  Then he takes one of the ice cubes and leans over to you. Expectantly, you wait.  Smiling, he runs it over your lips. You sigh at the cooling sensation, eyes fluttering shut.  He leaves a cold trail from your lips to the back of your neck and then your cleavage. When he’s satisfied with the state of relaxation you’re in, he throws it aside and backtracks the trail he left with his finger. When it arrives at your face, he pulls you in by the chin and presses a slow kiss to your lips. You put your arms around him. 

The room explodes into applause. For the fraction of a second you think they are cheering you and Kylo on. Then you realize that the opera is over. The lights come one.  For the first time in like an hour, you can properly see Kylo’s face. And he yours, for that matter. He’s so damn beautiful, it hurts.  “I- This was…” You try to explain how you feel but fail miserably.  “I know.” Kylo cradles you face. “I felt it too.” “You did?”  “Why are you surprised?” His hand glides down to your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You just-“ you clear your voice, “You just seem like this isn’t the first time you done something like this.”  Amused, he shakes his head no: “Never. Never before have I had sex like this.”  There is a lot that sentence implies, and you agree with every possibility.

Then you just sit there quietly, looking at the other, trying to figure out what this means.  The applause subsides, people start to get up, talk to each other, walk out.  Kylo and you keep sitting where you are until it’s almost silent.  “What now?” You ask then, with a small voice. “I certainly would like to eat something, how about you?” You nod.  “Great. My hotel has a really good restaurant.”  “Your hotel?”  Kylo gets up, not letting go of your hand: “You’re obviously not going anywhere but with me.” 

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Hit Me Where It Hurts [ReaderxGeneralHux]

An interrogation escalates. In several ways.

“Get up!” The General shouts at you.

You’re on all fours, head pounding from the slap he just delivered to your face. It was the fourth or fifth, maybe the sixth - you’re not sure at this point. Especially because you have been in a room with Hux for surely over an hour by now; and what started with stern and calculated questions, escalated to him trying to get something out of you with physical violence.

Apparently, you didn’t react quickly enough to his liking, so he rams his shin into your side, making you collapse and gasp for air.

Shielding your head, you lie on the cold ground of the interrogation room, wondering how to convince this spiteful man that you’re, in fact, not a traitor. The way he reacted the last million times of you telling him that…your future isn’t looking bright.

“Get up, you pathetic cunt!”

Hux using such vulgar language completely catches you off guard; More than any slap ever could. You look up at him, astonished.

His face is as hard as it has been since he closed the door behind you, but even he appears surprised by his own loss of composure.

The moment of stillness on Hux’ side, enables you to finally stand up and gather your thoughts. Whereas his escalating demeanor scared you before, you now begin to find it gratifying. You wipe your chin clean of the watered-down blood that dripped down. You bit your tongue, and it mixed with your saliva. You also straighten out your uniform and run your fingers through your hair. Anything to make you feel dignified. At least a little.

“I got up.” You say with the most nonchalant voice you can muster. “Now what?”

The General straightens his back and takes a step towards you. Against your efforts, it makes you flinch. A disgusting smirk tugs on his lips when he sees it.

“We’ll do this aaaaaall over again.” He tells you.

“How many times will until you believe I don’t know!”

Hux gets in your face, and you feel his breath on your neck when he snarls: “Until you beg.”

You lightly turn your head and let your eyes dart over his face and upper body. You’ve never been so close to him. At least not in a position that allows you to focus on anything but pain.

You notice the freckles on his cheeks and how truly fiery his hair is and how he’s lightly panting.

This is clearly getting to him in a way that makes him not relent. Otherwise, he would have executed you by now. Why does he insist to keep going?

“General…” You say quietly. “I don’t know who gave away the passcodes. Nothing in my personnel file would suggest that I am a traitor.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?! I-“

“Apparently, yeah.”

Oops. You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Hux strikes you again, but this time he immediately grabs a fist full of your hair to yank you back up. You yelp, painfully craning your neck to somehow relieve the burning sensation on your scalp.

“Do you have a death wish?” He growls.

“No.” You reply through gritted teeth.

“Then tell me who gave away the passcodes.”

You take a few deep breaths, willing yourself to neither cry nor beg; Giving up on the possibility that you might get back to your job after this and rather focus on if you even make it out the room alive.

“I told you,” You say, voice rough by now, “I don’t know.”

Hux lets out an annoyed sigh and goes to readjust the grip he has of your hair. The moment his fingers unclasp, you let yourself fall down and violently throw your body against his. With a surprised ‘oof’, he goes down with you, landing on his back.

You scramble to get off him, driving your knee into his stomach while at it, and hurry towards the door. You make it two steps, before his gloved hand grabs your ankle to stop you, causing you to stumble and fall right back down.

The air is pressed out of your lungs and your arms, you fell on to catch yourself, hurt like shit.

Relentless, Hux holds on to your ankle and drags himself over the floor and onto you. Next thing you know, he’s grabbing the back of your neck, fully body weight on top of you.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Me restating that I don’t have a death wish and would like to get out of here.”

“I’ve been going at you for over an hour, how do you still have the energy to be snarky?”

“The First Order taught me well.”

He chuckles. Hux actually chuckles at that.

You’re not so sure if that’s a good sign.

Either way, you stay still and breathe shallowly, your own breath ricocheting off the floor your cheek is pressed against.

Now, the next thing that happens will forever be up for debate. Did he start it? Did you? Was it on purpose by either party? What about the power imbalance? What about the violence? Is this romanticization? …

Mostly, this is happening right now, so you cannot care to keep pondering.

Hux moves again, not loosening the grip he has on your neck; it causes his crotch to drag over your ass and for the splinter of a second it feels good to have him on top of you.

You hold your breath to suppress that thought, but Hux senses it too. He feels it too. Because you both fall completely silent and the energy in the room shifts noticeably. All of a sudden, this isn’t a violent interrogation, it is General Hux dry humping you.

All of a sudden, Hux is desperate to convince you of something. It was obvious from the beginning that he enjoys this, but now a new kind of enjoyment became palpable.

You snicker.

He huffs.

Violently, he pulls you up as he gets to his feet. It hurts, of course, but you don’t cry out like before. You stay quiet. You force him to fill the silence.

“Last chance, Lieutenant.”

You don’t reply.

He finds your eyes, glaring at you.

You only wipe your cheek clean and blow your chaotic hair out of your face.

Unbelievably angry and reckless, he spins you around and walks you up to the wall, shoving you against it. You manage to absorb the shock with your arms, that are bruised and basically numb by now.

You usually, naturally, would have braced yourself for him to shoot you in the back of your head. But he walks up too close. His breath is too hot on your neck. He’s panting too loudly.

“What kind of sad strategy is this?” He asks. “Giving me the silent treatment?”

You press your lips together to not audibly react to his closeness. To the intensity this whole interaction gained.

He shoves you against the wall again and kicks your legs apart to fully lean into you.

You gasp.

He slaps the wall next to your head.

“Answer me, Lieutenant!”

“I have nothing to say.”

After a pause, Hux yanks your hips back and reaches around you to open your belt.

“I’ll give you something to talk about.”

You shiver, aghast to realize that you do not want to protest.

He rips your pants down and when he claws into your ass, you feel that he took his gloves off. He really wants to touch you.

He presses one hand between your shoulder blades to keep you in place while slithering his other down your thighs and back up to reach your cunt.

You flinch when he drags his fingers through your folds and finds your clit. It makes him circle it harder. Which occupies your thoughts enough to only realize that he took his hand away from your back when you hear him unbuckle his belt and open the zipper of his pants.

Within seconds, he is dragging his dick where his fingers just were. Impatiently, he tilts your hips further and adjust his stance to be able to tease your entrance with the tip of his dick.

You whimper at the sensation and the feeling of him being incredibly hard.

Slowly, he moves back and forth, never fully pulling out of you.

“I told you I’ll keep going until you beg.”

“And I told you I have nothing to say.”

“Your cunt suggests otherwise.”

He shoots back and pushes in further, causing a wet noise to echo through the room.

“So does your dick.” You tell him through gritted teeth.

Cursing you out, Hux snaps his hips and shoves his dick fully into you.

You yelp, not expecting him to be this big. After all, you haven’t seen his dick yet.

He bites into your shoulder and begins to thrust without giving you much of a break.

You groan, head lolling to the side, embarrassingly highly enjoying every second.

Hux plows into you tirelessly, proving to be as relentless as his politics suggest.

He also proves to be as cruel, because the moment he feels you tighten just a little bit, he pulls out and turns you around to face him.

“Beg.” He snarls.

You snake your leg around his hip and pull him closer. “No.”

Both panting, you stare each other down.

“Fuck you.” Hux says, lining himself back up with your entrance.

“Fuck you.” You hiss.

Then he pushes back into you, and you clasp his face with both hands and silence your first full-on moan with a kiss.

It’s an angry kiss. It’s a desperate kiss. It’s a yearning kiss.

You don’t break it for a long time. You deepen it. You tilt your head, he bites your bottom lip and thrusts harder, you push your tongue into his mouth.

When you do break it, he breathes out: “Pathetic cunt.”

“Feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

And then you’re devouring each other again, your thighs shaking, his dick twitching inside of you.

“I’ll apologize for hitting you if you beg.”

You have to blink several times to focus back on Hux’ face. To remind yourself who you’re actually fucking.

“Oh, so we’re bargaining now?”

“You proofed yourself to be good for something after all, might as well…”

“And what is it that I’m good for, General?”

“Being a wet hole I can fuck.”

This strikes a nerve with you. But not the one Hux intended.

Because you clench hard and cum with a groan.

“Shit, fuck…” He mumbles, working against the resistance of your spasming walls.

Clawing into his shoulders, you try your best to hold yourself up while you go rigid and waves of pleasure shake your body.

Surprisingly, Hux is the one to sink down. You follow him, straddling him as soon as your knees hit the ground, and rolling your hips to slip his dick back into you.

He kisses you, body overheated just like yours, and fucks into you from below. You’re barely able to meet his erratic thrusts.

Soon, his head falls back and his face contorts and he cums with a groan.

You both still, averting eye contact even though you’re too high from your orgasms to feel real shame.

After a long moment, you get off Hux and roll to your back to pull your pants up, ignoring the mess between your legs.

You hear fabric rustle as he does the same.

However, neither of you stands up. You lie on the cold ground, staring at the ceiling, shoulders almost touching.

“Thank fuck I deactivated the cameras.” Hux suddenly says.

You burst out laughing and finally look at him.

He’s already looking at you, eyes darting over your face.

“I really am sorry.” He adds, whispering.

You let out a hum but then say: “You almost got me.”

“Got you?”

“To believe that you’re sorry. And beg.”

“What do you think you’ll do first?”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

You lose some, you win some [ReaderxGeneralHux]

Ren tries to humiliate Hux in front of you by revealing an embarrassing detail. It gives you an idea Ren did not intend and Hux did not dare to dream of.

The bridge is busy, lots of shouting, lots of rushing. You do your best to stay calm and somehow manage ten lines of communication at once. It feels like you’re barely blinking while you basically attack the screen in front of you with command after command. You don’t lift your head for most of the time and only acknowledge information shouted your way with a nod or occasionally a thumbs up if it came from across the room.

You’re second in command on the bridge, after General Hux. Well, if you count Snoke and Ren, maybe fourth? That also does not account for Phasma…First Order ranks are obscure. Practically, it means, either way, that when Hux isn’t here, you’re the one who oversees the bridge. You would also argue that you’re doing a lot more than overseeing. Other than the aloof General, you are actually hands on. Which is what earned you the respect of the other officers – sometimes to Hux’ annoyance, because even when he is on the bridge, officers tend to talk to you first anyway.

Ren, on the other hand, finds it amusing. He does not explicitly appreciate you, but he also never has thrown you against a wall…or questioned your standing. To put it differently: he values your commitment that has the welcome side effect of pissing Hux off by proxy.

It made it ever more puzzling to him when he realized that you were not disrespecting Hux but flirting with him. Well, what started at teasing, turned into flirting. Because your body’s reaction to Hux shooting you an exasperated look made you realize that you like nothing more than for him to be worked up because of you.

Hux realized that recently as well and plays into it, you are sure of it. For him, what started as being agitated turned into being aroused. At least that’s what his flushed cheeks and Ren’s eyerolls insinuated.

Even though it was something you are excited to achieve, you don’t really know how to handle it. Hux and you are now more or less openly flirting with each other, but don’t talk outside of work at all or ever were alone with each other.

Today, Ren gives you the final push when he obviously intended the absolute opposite to happen.

It happens when you finally look up from your screen after what surely has to be at least two hours. You do so, because Hux approaches to tell you: “They found the outpost.”

You turn to him: “Thank fuck.”

“Language.”

“My apologies, General.”

The corners of his mouth twitch.

Before either of you can say anything else, Ren comes storming in.

“Why wasn’t I informed?!”

Irritated, Hux looks at him: “Weren’t you chasing that sand rat?”

“Careful.” Ren walks right up to him. They stare each other down. You enjoy the tension for a long moment before you defuse it by telling him: “We just got the confirmation, Sir. Noone is to approach before you give the order or fly there yourself.”

Surprisingly, he barely seems to register your words.

Instead, he keeps his eyes on Hux. Then they dart to you for a second and back to the General whose face suddenly contorts in discomfort.

“Out…of my head, Ren!”

“What are you so desperately trying to hide? A little inappropriate dream or…oh my!” He starts to grin.

“Don’t you dare!” Hux points at him.

“Would you please tell me what’s going on?” You throw your hands up, irritated that they engage in this pissing contest instead of focusing on the mission.

“Gladly.” Ren smiles brightly and turns to you.

“Ren!” Hux’ warning has absolutely no effect on him, and he goes on: “The General hasn’t made any advances because…how do I put it?”

“Ren!” Hux shouts, now sounding actually desperate.

“He is seriously worried an encounter would end…prematurely.”

You mouth falls open.

Aghast, Hux stares at Ren. And then terrified at you.

The three of you stand in silence for a long, very long, moment. Ren clearly relishing it. Hux obviously loathing it. You, however, have a picture in your head so explicit and obscene that it makes you flinch.

Satisfied with the situation he created, Ren gives you a nod and then simply leaves for the hangar.

“I-, I-“ Hux looks at you, back on the floor, and back at you. “Please excuse me.” He says and basically sprints to the exit of the bridge.

You have to blink several times until the realization catches up to you, leaving you flabbergasted.

“Good gods.” You whisper shout at no one in particular.

Shaking your head, trying to get rid of the phantasy this information evoked, you turn back to your screen.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” An officer calls from the next workstation.

You honestly don’t know how to answer that and simply give him a tightlipped smile before telling him: “Make sure that Ren doesn’t go rogue but has some fighters accompanying him.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You stare at the requests piling up on your virtual desk. Some of them, you would have to talk to Hux about. Well, you planned on asking him about as soon as he arrived on the bridge…

You cannot, you simply cannot shake the idea that popped into your head. Even after your shift, or rather especially then, you think about it. About Hux under you. About him desperately panting, trying his best to hold it off, really trying…but it’s just too much for him, and-

After pacing for exactly one minute, you grab your datapad and request Hux to come to your quarters. You considered showing up at his, but this way it leaves him the dignity of coming over on his own accord. He could ignore it. He could just delete the request and see you tomorrow on the bridge, put his stern face back on and pretend that nothing happened.

To your delight, however, he arrives at your quarters shortly thereafter.

You take a deep breath and let the door slide open. Visibly nervous, Hux stands right on the other side, having a hard time to look you in the eyes.

You gesture for him to come in and he walks past you. You notice how tightly he has his hands clutched behind his back.

After you locked the door, he speaks up: “Listen-“

“Is it true? What Ren said.” You interrupt.

Hux’ lets out a choked noise and averts eye contact once again.

Somewhat nervous yourself, you walk up to him. You give him another second to compose himself and maybe come up with a lie, but he doesn’t.

Not touching him, you lean in and murmur: “It is, isn’t it?”

Hux shivers. You smile to yourself and lean even closer. So close that he can feel your breath when you add: “Tell me. I’d like to know.”

“Why?” His voice is barely a whisper, and he has to clear his throat. “Why would you want to know that? To humiliate me? To have something to-“

You kiss the side of his neck. Your lips just barely ghosting over his skin. Hux gulps. Slowly, you trail kisses up to his jaw. When you’re close to his lips, you lean back to tell him: “Because it turns me on, that’s why.”

His eyes widen in disbelieve: “What?”

“I think you heard me just fine.”

“I…what?” He sounds like his brain just short-circuited.

You purse your lips, waiting for him to process what you told him. To actually react.

Hands suddenly clasping your face, he does. With a groan, he smashes his lips onto yours.

You breathe out a surprised oh! and then kiss him back.

Letting your hands wander all over Hux, you pry his mouth open to push your tongue into his mouth. He welcomes it with another groan and pulls you closer, flush against his body.

“Stars…fuck…” He mumbles between kisses, making you restless in his arms.

Panting, you tell him: “Bedroom is that way.” As you walk him in that direction. More than willingly, he follows your lead.

As soon as you have him sat on your bed, you start to open his jacket and urge him to strip. His uniform pants, however, you make him keep on by grabbing his hand when he goes for his belt.

Confused, he looks at you.

“Ever since…all I could think about the rest of the day is…” You bite your bottom lip and take off your top instead of finishing your sentence.

Hux drags his eyes over your chest, lingering on your bra.

Without further ado, you straddle him, immediately feeling his hard-on press against your crotch. He inhales sharply at the added pressure and claws into your hips. Grinding down on him, you put your hand on the side of his face and kiss him deeply. He bucks up into you, and you sigh at his dick rubbing against your clit through your pants.

You reach down and palm his dick as you bite his bottom lip. He moans and scratches down your back before grabbing your tits. You squeeze his dick, making him curse loudly.

“Language.” You whisper with a smirk.

“Fuck off.” Hux replies and kisses you greedily.

You open your mouth and let him take charge of the kiss, tilting your head the way he moves it gently by grabbing your chin.

When you find the tip of his dick pressing against the fabric and run your thumb over it, he inhales sharply. “I- do you actually want-“ He stammers, making sounds more delicious than you could have ever daydreamed.

“Yes.” You tell him, widely turned on and surely drenching wet.

“Good gods…” He breathes out and moves his hips to meet the strokes of your hand.

While he bites into the soft skin of your chest to muffle his moans, you go back to grinding down on him, dragging your clothed cunt over his twitching shaft. It offers you at least a little relief and you cannot help but let out one or two moans yourself.

“Shit…I-please…” He looks up at you. “I can’t, I have to, please…”

“Go on.” You murmur and move your hips faster as you snake your arms around him, resting one hand on the back of his neck to keep him close, devouring him with hungry kisses.

“Fuck…” Now he bites into your bottom lip, quite hard.

Then he tenses and grunts and stop thrusting up against you.

You roll your hips a few more times before you still and lean your cheek against his temple while he catches his breath.

Then you scoot back a bit so that you can look down and see the wet spot in his pants. It makes you clench around nothing, intoxicated by what just happened.

Leaning his forehead against your chest, Hux lets out a chuckle. You smile and run your fingers through his hair.

“This is certainly one way to be intimate for the first time.” He tells you.

After a pause, he leans back to be able to look at you. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils still wide. You smile at him and press another gentle kiss to his lips.

“I cannot wait for Ren to see this the next time he probes into my brain.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, no! Not like that! I just mean that now…”

You laugh and stroke his cheek: “It’s fine. But don’t let him see what we’ll do the rest of the night.”

“You want me to stay over?”

“You want to leave?”

“No! Of course not, I-“

“Armitage Hux…it is confusingly arousing when you’re stumbling over your words.”

“Really?” “Oh yeah.”

“I can certainly keep that up.” He kisses your neck and then adds: “I really need to take off my pants now though.”

“Speaking of. How do you plan on getting back to your quarters tomorrow? Walk the base with cum-stained pants?”

Hux grins: “Looks like I will have to stay forever.”

“How terrible!”

He pushes you over and lays down on top of you, his hand wandering towards your crotch.

“Truly an awful fate.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.

[itscatchyouintherye]

De/Stressed [ReaderxLisaCuddy]

When you come to pick your girlfriend up at the hospital and find her swamped with work, you decide to help her relax.

Lisa waves at you with a small smile on her lips as you quietly close the door to her office behind you. It’s already seven, and she’s on the phone, from the sounds of it, having a heated discussion about the necessity of a surgery.

You take off your coat and put your bag down. You’ve seen the apologetic look on her face often enough to know she won’t be able to leave anytime soon.

Nevertheless, you smile back at her, always thoroughly enjoying the view of your girlfriend.

She hangs up: “Hi, I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago…”

“It’s alright.” You meet her halfway and pull her in for a kiss.

Lisa sighs and rests her hands on your sides. You run your fingers through her curls and squeeze her hip.

“You’re wearing my blouse.” You murmur.

She grins: “I accidently took it home from your place and though I might as well wear it.”

“Sure...” You place your hand on her ass with a playful smile and she leans in for another kiss.

“You can keep it.” You add. “It looks better on you.”

Lisa cups your face and says: “Thank you…I-I’m happy to see you, really, but…”

“You can’t leave yet?”

“No.” She shakes her head, now looking sad.

“What’s going on?”

Groaning, she buries her face in the crook of your neck: “There is a dispute with the insurance of a patient about a surgery House wants to have done and…uugghh. Now I have to get a second opinion…”

You let out a hum and kiss her temple.

“Sorry, I don’t want to whine.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Sorry. I mean-“

You chuckle and lead her to the sofa in the corner of her office.

You help her step out of her heels and then sit down on the floor in front of you. Scooting to the edge of the couch, you gently start to rub her shoulders. Her head immediately rolls to the side.

You push her aside and kiss her neck before you begin to massage her shoulders and upper back.

“Hmm, yes.” She sighs, leaning into your touch.

You move your hands up to the base of her skull and trace it with your thumbs.

A small moan slips past her lips.

“Good?” You ask.

“Very.”

You keep going until the phone rings again.

Lisa leans her forehead against your knee, clearly annoyed, before she gets up to walk to her desk.

“House, I- Don’t interrupt me. I talked to the insurance company, but it takes time. I told you it’s late. Yeah, well, they don’t care about that. What about Wilson? Right. Fine.”

She hangs up and takes a deep breath. You can tell that she wants to apologize again, so you beat her to it and say: “Come here. Tell me about the case.”

She looks at you softly: “You sure? Wouldn’t you rather go out?”

“No.” You gesture for her to get back to the couch.

Lisa has her head resting in your lap while you play with her hair and caress her side. She lets out little sighs now and then, making your heart flutter.

Eventually, she concludes: “And now I have to keep the parents from calling an attorney while simultaneously asking them to agree to basically exhaust their-“

There is a knock on the door to her office. Lisa props herself up on your thigh, apparently not willing to fully get out of your arms.

Wilson walks in: “Cuddy, do you- oh. Hello.”

You give him a nod: “Hello.”

His eyes dart between the two of you. He knows Lisa and you are dating; he saw you together often enough. Nonetheless, he seems surprised.

You rub Lisa’s shoulder, and she speaks up: “What is it?”

“Ehm…”

“Wilson!”

“Sorry, right.”

He rattles off some information about tests and the patient and x-rays and you don’t really listen because the way Lisa is now sitting gives you a great view of her cleavage.

You only look back at him when he turns to leave but then lingers and asks: “Isn’t that your blouse?”

“Yes?”

“Why?” Lisa replies. “You want to borrow it too?”

“No! It’s just…”

“Jesus Christ, Wilson.” She rolls her eyes. “Get it together.”

You chuckle at his awkwardness.

He clears his voice: “House is in denial. This might change his mind.”

“In denial?” You ask, intrigued.

“He would not believe me when I told him Cuddy is dating someone. Or rather that someone is dating Cuddy.”

“They truly are like children.” You say to her.

“Hey!” Wilson opens his mouth to disagree but then stops himself and says instead: “No, you’re probably right. Good night.” And walks out.

Lisa turns to look at you and kiss you.

“To be fair,” She whispers, “I sometimes cannot believe you’re dating me either.”

“Stop it or you leave me no choice but eat you out right here on the couch.”

Blushing and eyes widening, she replies: “You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Oh, so you want me to be serious?”

“Possibly.”

You smile into the needy kisses she keeps pressing to your lips while she moves to straddle you.

Slowly riding her skirt up her thighs, you murmur: “You want me to take your mind off all this?”

She nods: “Please.”

The desperation in her voice makes you groan. All she has to do is show how much she needs you, and you instantly fold.

“You should close the blinds.” You tell her.

Giddy, Lisa scrambles to lock the door and close the blinds in front of the glass.

You watch her in delight and grab your jacket to kneel on it.

Cheeks now even darker in color, she sinks into the couch in front of you, biting her bottom lip.

Looking at her through your lashes, you lean down to trail kisses up her inner thigh.

She shivers and gasps when you yank her legs apart to be able to scoot closer and reach her crotch.

Her skirt is now all the way up at her waist and you can hook your fingers under the hem of her panties.

Suddenly, though, she grabs you hand and stops you: “Wait, I, maybe…It’s been a long day, maybe wait till we’re home and I showered and-“

“Shh sh sh.” You keep kissing her thighs, making your way further up as you pull her panties down.

You grab her ass and lightly tilt her hips so it’s easer to reach her clit.

“Oh!” Lisa breathes out when you lick her up and then circle her clit with your tongue without further ado.

“You taste impeccable.” You tell her when you open your mouth to intensify your effort and her pleasure. She lets out a moan and spreads her legs further, relaxing more and more into your touch.

You can tell that she has a lot of penned up tension by the way she writhes and gets wetter by the second, spreading her arousal all over your face. You know, you’ll have to fix your make up before you leave, not that you mind…

“Fuck.” She curses, chest heaving, burying her hands in your hair.

The delicious sounds she makes cause you to get wet as well, but this is all about her. And you know very well that she’ll be all over you as soon as you’re at her apartment anyway.

You keep going, mostly focusing on her clit now, on the spot slightly to the left you know she is most sensitive at, until you feel her thighs tense around your head.

You snake your arms around her legs so that you can claw into her hip, making sure to press all the way down until you hit the bone and leave marks behind.

It makes her arch her back and roll her hips to grind against your face. You smile at her eagerness but ask to make sure she actually can let go while in her office: “Can you cum like this?”

“Yes, yes…don’t stop.”

You don’t stop, even when her hips fully lift off the couch and she fists your hair. You hum into her pussy, caressing her outer thighs as she begins to shake.

You also don’t stop when she sinks back into the couch and twitches at every move of your lips, clearly sensitive beyond belief from her orgasm.

“Oh god.” She tugs on your hair.

You glance up at her. Her lips are parted and pupils wide.

The phone rings again.

When she tries to get up, you put your hand to her chest and stop her.

“What happens if you don’t pick up?” You ask.

“The call gets rerouted to-”

You push two fingers into her, and she collapses back into the couch.

“Good girl.” You tell her and begin slowly fuck her with your fingers, lightly curling them.

Her eyes widen.

You only called her that once before, and this time it has an even greater effect on her.

So much so that she begs: “Please say that again.”

“Be a good girl and cum for me again.”

She inhales sharply and her head falls back.

Smirking, you bury your face between her legs. You cannot get enough of this powerful woman being so smitten with you.

It doesn’t take much longer for her to cum once more, this time with a loud gasp.

Once more, you don’t relent. Instead, you speed up your thrusts, adding a third finger.

“Jesus Christ.” Lisa pants.

You curl your fingers more as you lean up to bury your face between her tits, nibbling on the skin. She rolls her hips against the heel of your hand and claws into your shoulder.

You begin to bite the supple flesh of her chest more roughly and then yank the blouse and her bra down to expose her nipple. You groan at the view before latching onto it, groping her other tit with your free hand while you keep fucking her with the other.

You can feel her tighten, even harder than during her last orgasm, and slow down a bit, just to pick up in pace again.

Then, very suddenly, you lift your head and ask: “What are the patient’s main symptoms?”

Her eyes shoot open, and she begins to list them.

You reply: “Looks like you need to cum a few more times when you still can think so much.”

“I-I-“ She stutters.

“One orgasm for every symptom you just described.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“I know you can.”

Lisa stares at you slack jawed while her walls begin to spasm around your fingers.

When you’re done with her, she’s a total mess, nuzzled up against you.

You keep caressing her until she is able to speak: “Noone…I mean, I- I don’t think I ever fully blanked like that.”

You chuckle: “So you liked it?”

“I loved it.” She leans up to kiss you. “But I think we need to stay here a little longer.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Lisa explains: “There is no way I will be able to walk anytime soon.”

Rye's Carrd

All the places to find me online.