Fucking Gi hun when he still was married. In their house, in their bedroom and their space making him arch his back and let out pretty moans that in no way his wife can recreate. Making their bed creak like it never had before. And all of a sudden his honey sweet moans and pleas are interrupted by the sound of keys jingling and the door opening. His eyes widened and he covered his mouth with his hand. You heard his wife call for him but no answer. "Guess they decided to go out" she said to herself. The walls were pretty thin. You smirked and started moving your hips once again, not hard enough to make sound but effective enough to get him to silently beg you to stop. One hand holding his waist, your free hand went to his cock and started stroking him. You could hear his wife tidying up the place in the other room. 'please-" he begged you, taking his hand off his mouth momentarily, the single word he said being interrupted by a moan. You were sure his wife couldn't hear it. Nonetheless you leaned into his ear, "you are so cute trying to muffle your moans darling" you said. "But not well enough. What if your wife hears you? What if she notices that you are being fucked by your 'best friend"? What then?" Your words him squirm in your grasp. You started pressing open mouthed kisses to his neck. You know he's sensitive there. This made his hand go from his mouth to your back, desperately trying to ground himself. He came with a loud moan, a moan the whole block let alone his wife could most definitely hear. And before he could realize his mistake you heard the footsteps of the only other person in the apartment getting closer to their bedroom.
Warnings: GN reader, oral (all), praise (Hawks), nothing in this is serious lmao, all characters are 18+... I think that’s all the warnings, for now. This also might suck a lil.. I’m a bit rusty
WC: 860
Amajiki Tamaki
It was a quiet day in the Tamaki house hold. Well, quiet until Y/n plopped down beside Amajiki with a wide grin on their face. Amajiki knew that nothing good came from that look. Still as reserved as ever, looked down at y/n. “Yes, sweetheart?” he asked cautiously.
“Can I lick peanut butter off your cock?” Y/n asked with a smug grin, knowing that he wouldn’t shoot down their question. He looked at y/n with a slightly surprised look before ultimately nodding his head. And, that folks is how y/n ended up with a jar of peanut butter beside them while kneeling between Amajiki’s legs as he sat manspread on the couch.
“Nngghh, y/n-” Amajiki nearly choked on his own spit as y/n gave a particularly harsh suck, sending shocks of pleasure through his body. His thighs shaking as his orgasm hit him like a truck. Y/n pulled off of him with a ‘pop’ and smirked, satisfied with the way he groaned and rolled his head to the side…
Shota Aizawa
“No.” Aizawa shot y/n’s request down without a second thought. Looking at them with his irritated red eyes. “Why would you- don’t answer that.” He sighed, knowing nothing good would come out of that question. “B-but, Shota..” y/n frowned and laid their head on his shoulder, giving him the best puppy dog eyes they could muster.
“Fu-fuck, y/n… I'm close.” Shota grunted with his head thrown back, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut as y/n tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Licking off the remnants of the sticky peanut butter. y/n looked up at him through their eyelashes. For someone so against the idea, he damn sure seemed to be enjoying himself.
As he came with a grunt of y/n’s name, Aizawa pushed y/n’s head down. Making them engulf his cock, their nose hitting his pubic bone, his hair tickling their nose and top lip. His cum shot down their throat, they had no choice but to swallow. The taste of his bitter sweet cum and the peanut butter sliding down their throat.
“I may let you do that more often…” Shota peeked out, y/n’s face lit up. “I said I might!” oh, well… it wasn’t a no.
Togata Mirio
“Hell yeah, let’s do it!” Mirio was ecstatic at the idea of you licking the sticky peanut butter off his dick. So much so that he pulled you to the kitchen and grabbed the jar himself. He popped the lid open and smeared some of the thick butter onto his length. You chuckled, ‘he was more excited about this than you were’ you started to think.
You soon found yourself on your knees. The hard, cold tile pressing against your legs as your warm mouth engulfed his cock. You bobbed your head with a steady pace. His hand gripping your hair as moans and groans fell from his soft, pink lips. Your tongue swirled around him as you took him deeper.
“Just like that…yeah, I’m finna cum- fuck!” Mirio came with a grunt and tug of your hair. His blue eyes stared down at you as he lifted you to your feet with a smirk. He picked you up and sat you on the counter, grabbing the jar of peanut butter once more. “Your turn now…”
Takami Keigo
“You want to wha- you know what? Let's try it.” Keigo said with a small smirk adorning his face. If his s/o wanted to try something in bed, he wouldn’t object. Especially not when it comes to you having your soft, plump lips wrapped around his pretty cock. But, what you weren’t prepared for…is for him to have you in a 69 position. Praises spilled from his mouth as he pulled away from your middle. Peanut butter on his lips, he licked your juices and the peanut butter off his lips as he came off of you with a pop.
“You’re doing so good, baby.” he moaned, his cock still had spots of peanut butter on it. Your tongue swirled around him, small whimpers falling from your lips as you continued to suck him off. His cock twitched and his hips stuttered as he came down your throat with the prettiest moan. You swallowed and were about to move when he bit the inside of your thigh. “Where do you think you’re going, little bird.”
Childhood best friend oc x bottom reader. No gender specified for reader. "You guys" is used gender neutrally.
a little angsty in this one, happy ending. some fluff. i talk too much. unrequited love from reader's pov. he went through a breakup. then had an awakening. you fell first but he fell harder. Subtop character. you fuck in the wilderness. blowjobs, handjobs, overstimulation, fingering. cum as lube. you ride him. pathetic tops <3 he's in it for the ride dw. last half is a little rushed, mb. no proofread. 8410 words
---
You've known your best friend now for.. how many years? Too many.
You met each other when his family moved right next to yours when you were just children and were inseparable all throughout school. Knowing each other's likes and dislikes were a given. Knowing each other's everything was pretty much a given. He can't stand the taste of carrots, absolutely adores any sort of wildlife (even if they don't like him), and how he have always been a little hesitant going into things alone. Personality-wise, he never really changed--always bubbly, positive, energetic. Attached to you. Not that you minded.
In fact, you liked it. You liked him, for a while now. Love, even. You didn't know when you fell, but you do know that you fell hard. It was probably halfway through high school when you first realized you get jealous when he gets a little too close to his other friends. Of course--he's allowed to have friends and it's not like he's ignoring you. You two are still inseparable. But you're still jealous. You wanted his attention on you.
This feeling of jealousy gets worse when he brings up his crushes. You wanted to be a good friend. You wanted to see him happy. Every time he comes to you for advice or help, you gave it to him. How to ask someone out, what to wear for dates--but you wanted it to be you. You wanted to be with him, but it never seemed like he notices, and you try to not let it show.
Eventually, you learned to live with it. You have been trying to suppress your feelings. Maybe, even trying to move on. But you couldn't bring yourself to.
These feelings lived you until now--halfway through college. But now there's a new problem. Recently, it feels like he's being...avoidant? You hate to think this way, but it does seem like he's trying to avoid you. He's still bright and chatty when you guys do bump into each other, but whenever you try to make plans, he always seemed to be busy. He's also been making fewer plans to go out together. Usually you guys take turns thinking of something to do.
You didn't really know what incited this behavior--as far as you know, you were perfectly normal. Same as you've ever been. You didn't do anything or say anything that might've made him avoidant. Or at least you didn't think so.
The only thing you can think of is his breakup a few months ago. He and his ex were together for close to half a year before they decided that the relationship just wasn't working. While the mutual breakup itself wasn't messy and the other party was apologetic about it, it did hurt him. And whenever he is hurt like this, he goes to you.
So that's what he did. Late one night, he knocked on your door, on the verge of tears. Thankfully, your roommate was out for the weekend, so no one was disturbed by the arrival of a guest at 2 AM. You were shocked to see him--it is 2 AM after all--and he's the type of call or text before he shows up.
The moment you opened the door, he pounced. He almost knocked you over with the force of his hug, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your shoulder, sobbing. You froze for a bit before slowly closing the door and just letting him cry. You held him there for who knows how long, his mop of unruly dark curls tickling you.
Eventually you managed to shuffle him to the couch with him still latched onto you. You sat the two of you down and he pretty much laid himself on top of you and stayed there, unmoving. You were honestly trying not to sneeze for a good while because of his hair in your face.
Now, you're facing a dilemma. On one hand, you want to be there for your best friend and comfort him. On the other, the one person you've been pining for was essentially cuddling you on the couch. You hated that you felt this way--he was upset. You shouldn't be feeling this way when he's this vulnerable. He's here because he trusts you.
Well. He fell asleep eventually. You didn't dare move. Your whole body when numb by the time morning came. You didn't sleep too well that night.
When he woke up, he was incredibly apologetic. He looked embarrassed--big, brown eyes swollen from all that crying the night before, voice croaky, hair more of a mess. He probably got drool all over you but you changed out of those clothes soon enough. You also gave him clothes to change into. Your clothes. You tried not to think too much about it.
You did as most as you could to make him feel better that weekend. He stayed over for a few, crashing on your couch. For the first day, he was clingy, but he barely replenished any of his usual energy. He looked like a dejected puppy following you around silently. You took care of him though, making food for the both of you and ordered takeout when you didn't feel like cooking. He was a lot quieter that day as well. That night, you sat together on the couch and just had something on for background noise while he spilled his feelings about the breakup to you. You just listened.
He understood why his ex felt like things weren't working--he was fearing it too, but he was just in denial. But he blames himself. He knew he shouldn't, and that it was normal for personalities to clash one you get to know each other, but he still felt awful. He did bring up another thing though.
"It felt like they thought that I- you- ugh. I don't know."
He stopped himself short, shaking his head and muttering something they said--something about being clingy, about feelings, about hiding--and became apprehensive to pick that topic up again. He claimed he didn't understand, and the two of you just left it at that. No need for you to push further. He'll tell you when he feels like he's ready.
The rest of the night you tried to take his mind off of this by playing. Messing around. Video games, card games, board games--whoever loses at the end of the night has to treat the other to food next week. Eventually, you tired yourselves out after a pillow fight and promptly fell asleep. Neither of you remembered who won.
He spent the next few days getting his energy back, slowly but surely becoming himself again. You noticed that with you, he seemed to flip between his old self--always clinging you, joking with you, just together with you--to being...shy. A little more hesitant. More scared of overstepping boundaries. Scared of invading your personal space.
You chalked it up to the influence of his breakup, but he has never acted like this before. You've been through almost all of his previous breakups, but none of which affected him like this. You were hurt at his apprehension towards you--his hand literally flinched away when your hand got near. It hurt you, but you couldn't blame him. You never could.
But yeah. You noticed for the past few months now that he's trying to subtly (but very obviously) avoid you, and you really didn't understand why. Your mutual friends thought a fight or argument happened, but even they didn't believe such thing. They even tried asking him, but he just shook them off, claiming it was nothing, saying maybe he was just tired.
It got so noticeable that both your parents caught wind it. You blame his extroverted nature--he makes too many snitching friends.
You really didn't want to have a conversation like this with both your parents, but they were adamant. You've been friends for so long, this behavior is too concerning not to talk about, even though both of you were insisting that everything was fine. So, they called an "emergency" meeting one day. Attendance mandatory. And thank fuck college wasn't far from home, or else you would've had the time of a long ass commute to dread this.
The two of you left separately, but got home around the same time. Your parents ushered you next door to his for this impromptu meeting, but the two of you would rather bury yourselves in the dirt. Walking in, he could only give you a fleeting glance before pretending that nothing happened, looking away. Your heart ached.
Your parents sat the two of you down on one of the couches as they surrounded you, sitting on the opposite facing couch, in nearby recliners, in chairs--they are taking this way too seriously. You nervously fidgeted with your sleeve, and you noticed that he also couldn't sit still, his leg bouncing. The last time your two families sat you guys down like this was when they caught you two egging a teacher's house. To be fair, that teacher sucked ass and everyone knew it.
"Now, children-" his mother started. You noticed him tense. This really does feel way too serious.
"I have heard through the grapevine that the two of you haven't been getting along."
"No, it's nothing like that-"
"Ah-ah-ah. Don't even start with that--I could see it from the way you two walked in the door! No eye contact. How insane is that?"
The two of you tried to defend yourselves from both your parents' interrogation but to no avail. None of them are allowing the two of you breathing room or chances to explain things. You buried your head in your hands. You didn't know what to think, but you may have felt his eyes on you. Looking over at him though, he was sprawled out on the other side of the couch, desperately avoiding your eyes, while he's still trying--in vain--to explain that nothing happened and that the parents are being nosy. At this point, you won't be surprised if they think one of you murdered someone and the other found out. It wasn't that serious, but of course, they won't listen.
The "meeting" eventually ended up as a big dinner, since you two came home anyway. Your fathers cooked, chatting to themselves, while your mothers sat you two down next to each other at the table. Just like when you guys were kids. They kept trying to "fix" things between you, have you two talk it out, explain your feelings (which you would rather die), but all was in vain. At first this "meeting" seemed quite charming. It was nice to know that your families loved you two so much they cared enough to try to handle any disagreements, but having it go on for this long is draining. He's always been an endless ocean of energy, but now seemed out of it as well.
"Well, how 'bout this--since you two are both adults and there's no need for us to meddle," your father said as he brought plates over. You didn't even try to guess what he's trying to propose. His father joined with the rest of the plates.
"-we send you two on a camping trip! I remember you two always rambling about wanting to live out there together eventually, so why not spend spring break in the woods? I know a friend who owns a nice piece of land. I can ask her if you kids can spend the break there."
"Oh, that's not necessary-"
"Oh how wonderful!! That such a nice idea! Then you two can have a heart-to-heart talk--we won't be there so you two can have some privacy~"
Your mother interjected you, excited and giggly at the thought that you're now a big kid and need privacy with your best friend. Almost as if she knew of your debilitating crush. You hoped she didn't. You shot her a lighthearted glare before burying your face again.
A camping trip would be nice, but with how things are now, you wouldn't even know how that'll turn out. How awkward it'll be. You have been trying to make plans and hang out with him for the past few months, but he always brushed it off, so maybe feigning to "give in" to your parents' suggestions may convince him to join in.
You looked over at him, and he looked away.
"So, any thoughts? Camping for spring break? I mean--I'm free."
He gave you a quick look before looking away again, eyes staring at his hands fiddling his fork.
"Well, I don't kn-"
"Oh of course he wants to go! C'mon, it'll be fun!"
His mother spoke for him, ruffling his hair, already rambling on the things that you guys could do on your trip, while all he could do was give a weak smile and reluctantly agree. Of course, after hearing that he agreed, his mother was ecstatic. His father had to essentially hold her down or else she'll leap off the table and gather everything you two needed. You could definitely tell where he inherited his usually bottomless energy from.
---
The rest of the night went well. Dinner went on without a hitch, and you and him offered to wash the dishes like you two always had. There were small jokes thrown around--jokes about your families' unrelenting enthusiasm, comments about how much you missed family dinners, and even some plans for camping. You then splashed him with a bit of water out of habit, froze, and stared at him, scared he'll shy away again. He stared back, then immediately started enacting his revenge. You were having so much fun, it felt like the whole "avoiding you" thing never happened. It felt nice. You missed this.
Unfortunately, the night ended too soon, and the two of you had to head back for class in the morning. Just because home wasn't far doesn't mean it's close enough to be a nice commute to class.
As you left, the two of you said goodbye to your families. Your parents made you guys promise to actually go through with this camping trip or else they would be very sad. Your father joked that he would stuff you two in a barrel and ship you to the camp site and you just laughed, rolling your eyes.
Like how you arrived, the two of you left separately. The drive back was much nicer. There weren't many people on the road and you were no longer dreading a family "meeting." When the both of you arrived back, you went to him for a little chat. Just to plan for the camping trip, you say.
He felt hesitant to be alone with you again, making you start to feel worse. You didn't want things to be this weird between the two of you, but he's not making things any better.
"Just to clarify--I won't force you to go camping with me if you really don't want to. I can always make up an excuse to our parents," you told him. You would like to go though, it would be a nice break from everything. If he skips, then you guess you're going alone, your heart aching.
"No, it's not that. I just-- I-I don't know," he groaned. He looked distressed about this--torn between something.
"I know I haven't been the most...present, and I'm truly sorry. It's not you at all, I just don't know how to deal with myself at the moment."
You assured him that he didn't have to deal with things alone and that even if you might not be able to help, you could still listen. Moral support, y'know? He sighed and shook his head.
"I really, really appreciate you're trying to help, I really am. I just don't know if I'm ready to face it yet. B-but, I can definitely go camping with you. Maybe all I need is a little break."
Again, you didn't pry. His reassurance didn't do much though, but you were glad he agreed. The two of you then agreed on a time and place to meet before heading out for camp, and decided that it would be most convenient to just take one car. You guys could go shopping together for materials and tools needed before then as well. Maybe then things would start looking better. All there is to do now, is wait for spring break. It's only a week away.
---
That week flew by fast. Not much progress was made between the two of you, unfortunately. You blame it on your professors cramming you with work right before break. He was mostly MIA too, which was honestly quite upsetting. Even if he was busy, he should've replied to your messages with something right? You literally saw his speech bubble pop up a few times, but he never said anything. You really do hope that all he needed was a break--you didn't know how much longer you can take this. Your heart could only take so much.
You met up with him at the designated spot, and he also looked a little disheveled. And off the two of you went, heading to buy supplies first, then actually setting off. It will be a long drive.
The two of you couldn't sit in silence--you couldn't sit in silence. He seemed nervous and fidgety while he drove, so you tried your best to make small talk. You got him conversing with you about classes, about professors. Stuff you've already heard about, but you'll take anything at this point.
Eventually, the conversation switched to him again, about how he acknowledges that everyone around him is increasingly getting concerned with his behavior. How he seemed too troubled. How he hasn't even been responding to your texts. Hell, even his ex thought it was weird. They ended the relationship mutually, but they never would've thought it would affect him like this.
"I-I promise--I will talk this out with you this week. I know I've been selfish and I've been keeping you in the dark, but I'm just...a little scared."
"Scared? Of what?"
"That... it won't end well. I would never forgive myself if it won't end well."
"I also promise, that whatever you throw me, it won't change anything. We've known each other for so long--what could a conversation do? We would literally bury a body for each other."
He chuckled at your comment, but you could tell he was still stressed. What the ever-loving fuck could get him this stressed??
---
The car ride ended up being more relaxed than you could ever hoped. Sure, maybe you stared at him a little too often, but you two were having nice conversation. It eventually devolved into you both threatening each other with catching fish and stuffing it in each other's sleeping bags. Feeding each other to bears. Throwing wasp nests into each other's tents. By the time you arrived, the two of you were in a better mood than you were at the beginning of the drive, the would-be "talk" far from your minds.
The first thing you guys do is to unpack. The majority of what the two of you brought was food and clothes. You didn't bring much else because it'll be insanely annoying putting everything back again, and you know for a fact you won't be able to roll up your sleeping bag up the same way you did before leaving. And of course, you packed enough portable chargers just in case. You promised you won't be on your phone much this trip, but you never know. Maybe you just need a few hours of doomscrolling one night.
Then came the tent pitching. Neither of you pitched a tent before, and you probably should've looked up how to before you left. Service sucks out here, so looking it up won't yield much. Pitching the tent took you guys a good few hours--most of it was spent making fun of each other, throwing dirt at each other, and deliberately messing with the other's tent. Your heart swelled hearing his laughter again. It was more fun than you imagined.
Unfortunately though, you might've messed around a little too much and accidentally ripped a large hole into the side of his tent. The two of you stood there frozen for a bit, just staring as the edges of the rips fluttered in the wind. You stared at each other, and burst out with laughter.
"Why did you do that??"
"Me???? You started it!"
"It's against the rules to use a stick, y'know??"
"You threw a rock at me you fu--"
The playful shouting match ended up as a wrestling match, but it didn't get anywhere. After exhausting yourselves, you laid next to each other on the floor, breathless, but still blaming each other. Just like when you were younger. You turned your head to look at him, but you were met his his eyes already on you. A little caught off guard, he looked away. You swore you could see his ears flush a little. You're starting to wonder why he's getting shy again--everything's going so well so far! What could it be now?
"Well, what's the plan?" you asked. "We can't really leave one of us outside being eaten alive by bugs."
"I feel fine leaving you out to be eaten by bugs--at least then I'll be spared."
You smacked him and the two of you laughed. You let your hand rest on his arm, testing the waters. He flinched slightly, but didn't pull away.
"But seriously though--I think we have to share a tent. Sleeping outside with bugs for a whole spring break will actually be considered cruel and unusual punishment."
He stayed silent for a beat too long. The silence felt like an eternity and it suffocated you. Your heart thundered.
"Y-yeah, that works with me. We still have our separate sleeping bags, and it's not like we've never had sleepovers before."
You let out an internal sigh of relief, but you're thinking more and more about why he's acting like this again. It feels like he would rather die than look in your direction right now, and he sounds...flustered? Are you reading this right? First he avoids you for months, paining you to no end, and now he has the balls to be shy?? And he's said it himself--it's not like you guys never had a sleepover before.
...
Could it be?
You sat up and buried you face in your hands again, which were now shaking slightly from the rush of sudden rush of emotions. It couldn't be, right? At this point you're just trying to convince yourself to not jump to conclusions. Sure, you've been dreaming of this being real for years, but it can't be that easy right? He basically ignored you for months because he liked you back???? You don't know whether to be pissed or ecstatic at this revelation.
"Uh, you good?" he asked, sitting up as well, concerned. His caring nature was not helping your situation right now.
Your brain spun while you tried your best to think of some reason that wouldn't expose your internal turmoil at the moment.
"Um. It's getting late--how do we wash ourselves?" Nice save.
"O-oh, yeah. We do have dirt all over us, don't we?"
"I'm guessing that lake is our bath for the week, but if I find that a spider climbed on me when I'm butt ass naked we're leaving immediately."
The two of you laughed again, but unfortunately that did seem to be the only solution. Either that, or hope there would be rain often enough so you won't stink. Which doesn't seem likely, nor does it seem pleasant.
Eventually you guys agreed that the bathing should happen when it's still light enough out. Both of you would hate to have someone rescue you in from drowning or spiders when you can't even see each other. But as you mentioned, it was already getting late. You two are literally watching the sun set while sitting on the forest floor right now. So, taking turns bathing would probably take too long.
So of course, as the idiots you were, you both (didn't want to, but still did) agreed that dunking yourselves in the lake together would be easiest.
You were dying inside, and pretty sure he was too. From the last light of the sun, you could see that his ears are positively burning. And he's still refusing eye contact. Now you were almost positive he likes you back. You're still kinda pissed, trying to wrap your head around this reality.
You psyched yourself up enough to get up and pull him up along with you, getting yourselves ready to wash off all the dirt on you. You just have to remember, it's not like you guys are bathing together, just in the same vicinity or else someone will be bear food. And it's not like you guys never went to the pool together--it'll be just like that. At least that's what you're telling yourself.
He maybe tripped way too much on the way to the lake. It was incredibly cute but you were not much better. You definitely didn't run face first into branches. You made fun of each other for being so clumsy, but it was honestly weird to even acknowledge that the two of you were bumbling around like fools because neither of you want to confess you like each other.
Now, confidence started building in you. You kinda want to see just how much more flustered you can make him before he realizes that you like him back. Maybe you can tease him a little, pretend you don't notice how shy he gets now, work him up even more. As payback. He's the one who first ignored you for months after all. Of course, you have to get your own head in the game first. Calm your giddy self down to even begin trying to pull this off...which might take a while.
You were jittery even undressing and getting into the lake. Making your way into the water, you dunked yourself fully underneath the water, trying to clear your mind enough to enact the "revenge." The water was warm, which was nice. You could feel the ripples of the water as he made his way into the lake as well. First step should probably be getting closer to him now, right?
You did surface eventually, and you did catch him looking away at the last minute again. With a plan in mind now, you decided to splash him--you were originally tempted to pull him underwater with you, but you did remember that you're both naked. So for now, splashing it is.
He did turn around, a little hesitant. You watched as his eyes briefly glanced at your figure before deciding to look at anything but you. You could also see the gears in his head turning before he decided to splash you back, laughing as another war began. You used this as an opportunity to get closer to him, getting within arms reach. You kept aiming your splashes at his face and laughing, he tried to defend himself. He instinctively grabbed onto your arm to slow your onslaughts and oh!
Whoops!
You slipped!!!
While slipping in water doesn't really work the same as tripping on land, but you definitely didn't purposely fall on him. Definitely.
He caught you and froze immediately, eyes wide and face flushed deeply. Your heart thundered in your chest while you gave a lighthearted apology, claiming you got too into dueling him you slipped on mud and lost your balance. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. There were so many emotions running through you right now.
You became more nervous as his grip on your arms tightened just slightly. You stared at him, drinking in the sight in front of you. He looked incredibly delightful right now--his hair and skin were all wet, the last rays of sun shining on him, making him look like he's glistening. His chest was heaving as he took deeper breaths, whether it's from all the splashing or your sudden proximity, you didn't know. You could just catch a flicker of his eyes behind his hair as he stared back at you. And of course, he looked away right after, looking at anything but you.
But on the other hand, the pit in your gut gnawed at you while you feared this teasing would backfire. Would push him too far out his comfort zone. Would result in him cutting you off more. You're afraid of scaring him off. There was a reason why you never made a move until now. You could feel the hand gripping onto your arm shake a little now.
You really, really hoped you weren't doing the wrong thing.
"W-why. Why are you always so good to me?" His voice shook as he muttered his question. It was so quiet the beating of your heart almost drowned it out. It caught you off guard.
"What are you even saying?"
He continued gripping onto your arms, trying to push you away slightly but yet not letting go. You stood your ground.
"You're always there for me. A-always there to comfort me, to give me advice. To share the blame when I did something wrong. Even after I essentially ignored you for months--you never hesitated to want to help me. To solve my problems. Problems I placed onto myself. Problems that are actively hurting you."
You stood there speechless, just listening to everything he had to say. He couldn't look you in the eye, but couldn't let you go either. You slowly inched forward, testing the waters and hoping that he won't run from you. He didn't. His head hung low as his voice started to quiver.
"I don't know what I ever did to deserve this. T-to deserve you. I took you for granted. You're still here even though I treated you so awfully--I'm sorry. I really am sorry."
He's finally looking at you now. His gaze was still shy. Hesitant. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, pulling on your heartstrings.
"I won't ever forgive myself if I lost you."
You're so close to him now. Almost instinctively, he laid his head onto your shoulder, arms around your waist. His voice was barely audible.
Your head spun to comprehend this. He's confessing. Your heart swelled, affection fueling you to cup his face. He tensed up just slightly.
"Why would you ever lose me? We've been through way too much now, you can't get rid of me even if you wanted."
He gave in and leaned into your touch.
"My ex made me realized just how close I am to you. How attached I am to you. How much I needed you. I was s-scared it'll scare you away--it scared me. When they left I was left with with nothing to distract me from those feelings. I hid and ran away from it for so long I didn't even realize how much it affected you. I was so a-afraid of destroying what we've had for years that I started actively ruining it."
Tears started welling up in his eyes and you brushed them away. The look he was giving you was making your heart burst. Cuteness aggression is getting harder and harder to combat.
"I don't even know how to make it up to you-"
"Kiss me."
He looked at you with his eyes big, unsure of himself. His hand around you tightened.
"A-are you sure? I know this is sud-sudden and we're all the way out here alone but I-I don't want you to feel pressured to do a-anything you would regret because of me-"
You wanted to smack some sense into him. This fucking idiot. He's literally holding you, naked, and he's still scared that the feeling's not mutual.
"Sudden?? I've been waiting for this since high school--do you want to make it up to me or not? Now kiss me or I'm not letting you touch me tonight."
He didn't need to be told twice. Only after a fleeting seconds of hesitation, his hand cupped your jaw so softly, as if you'll fade away if he's too eager. He pressed his lips against yours, quivering, kissing you slowly but desperately. He's still nervous, but he needed this. Needed you.
You tangled your hands into his dark curls and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He held onto you like you'll disappear at any second. You licked his lips and he let you in, tangling his tongue with yours, groaning into the kiss, breathing out your name like a prayer.
You needed more, and you could feel that he thought so too. With your bodies pressed together, you could feel every bit of his desires. You rubbed against him just slightly, earning a groan from him. He's kissing you like his life depended on it, and you could feel the heat of his flush from his face travel all the way down his chest. You could feel his warm body trembling against yours.
You hands wandered his body while you broke the kiss, his shaky breath on your lips. You pressed kisses all over his neck, shoulders, and collarbones, your previous months of anxiety and pain resurfacing as frustration.
"I wanted you all to myself since we were fifteen-" You sucked on a spot on the nape his neck, his voice caught in his throat.
"-but you were never interested in me. Never noticed. Too oblivious and in your own little world to realized how much I wanted you to be mine. So I never made a move. I didn't want to lose what we had. Make you uncomfortable-"
You shoved your leg in between his and he gasped, brows knitted, muttering apologies as he held onto you tighter, keeping himself grounded.
"-and then you had the guts to ignore me for months. Made me think that our years of friendship were for nothing--and now you wanna make it up to me? Then I'm not letting you off easy. We're not done until I'm done with you tonight."
You pushed him far back enough shuffle you both onshore, and he whimpered. An adorable sound.
You laid him on his back and you straddled his hips, intertwining your fingers with his as you leaned down to kiss him again. You moved downwards and latched onto his nipples, his voice cracking and back arching as you took him into your mouth.
He looked at you with a deliciously desperate expression. He ran his hands wherever he could reach--over your thighs, up your sides, squeezing your hips, before tangling his hand in your hair.
You switched to the other bud, your free hand toying with the one you just left. You could feel him get harder underneath you, hips bucking into you to chase pleasure. You're not letting him have any relief.
You pulled away and sat up.
"Nope--we're not doing that," you said, holding his hips still. He whined.
"W-what? Not doing what? I'm not-"
"You-" you pointed at him. "-are not getting anything more than what I give you. You're not touching yourself or coming until I say so. This is revenge whether you like it or not."
"W-what? No, please, I'm so sorry-"
You didn't let him finish. You kept a hand on his chest to keep him down while your other grabbed his hardened dick, giving a good stroke before settling yourself at its base. He gasped, hand flying to your wrist.
"At-at least give me a warning before you-"
"Nope!"
You continued stroking him and his shyness pretty much flew out the window--you turned him into a desperate, needy, babbling mess. You discovered he loves it when you tease his tip--one small squeeze and he wailed, precum leaking out like a faucet. You loved it.
"M-more, ple-ase," he whined. You smiled, then contemplated. Well, he was being very good for you. He was adorably vocal, voice shaky and breathy, chest rumbling under your hand while he begged, turning you on so much. His thighs trembled underneath you while he tried his hardest not to move his hips to fuck your hand. He held onto you hips like his life depended on it.
You gave him a quick peck on the lips--he tried to chase your lips for more when you pulled away, giving a small whine and a barely noticeable pout. You would love to draw more reactions from him from just kissing him, but you move downwards. You settled yourself in between his legs, eyeing the cock now in front of your face. You gave it another stroke before kissing his sensitive tip.
He threw his head back with a broken moan. You are so excited to break this man.
You kissed down his length, licking a stripe on the underside of his cock after reaching the base, hands playing with his balls while you're down there. You felt him twitch. His fingers found their way in your hair again.
"Stop t-teasing me, please," he whined. He almost sobbed when yo mumbled your refusals against his dick.
"I said so before--you're only getting whatever I give you. As payback."
Instead, you doubled down on your teasing. You licked his tip, running your tongue over his slit, and sucked it. You could taste his precum. With a cry, he bucked into your mouth.
You held him down with more effort, but continued to take him further into your mouth, licking and sucking whatever you could. You found a prominent vein on the side of his dick and attacked it, kissing and sucking it from the base to his tip. By this point, he sat up and propped himself on his elbows, chest heaving.
You took him all the way to the back of your throat and he gave a drawn-out groan, gripping your hair tighter, pushing your face more into his pelvis. You hollowed out your cheeks to suck him and he cried out.
"Ahh- I-I'm-I'm close. I'm so close-"
You tried to pull away to deny him his orgasm, but before you could, he grabbed your face and bucked into your face a few times, his dick hitting the back of your throat. He twitched, and with a silent scream, he came.
His ropes of cum choked you just slightly, running hot down your throat. He took a few seconds to recollect himself before pulling you off him. You coughed, gagging slightly, and he immediately started apologizing, holding your face and trying his best to clean it.
"I'm s-so sorry--are you ok? I-I didn't mean to-"
"You-" you cut him off again, poking a finger into his chest. Your jaw was a little sore and your voice was a little croaky now, but how dare he.
"-I said you could only come when I say. But since you wanna cum this badly, then-"
You pushed him back down again, and grabbed his softening dick again. His eyes widened and his hand immediately flew to your wrist.
"W-w-wait, wait--I'm sorry. I'm sorry-- please, I just came-"
"Nope--you wanted to cum. I'm just giving you what you want."
You removed his hand on your wrist and held it against his chest, pressing down and keeping him still as best as you could. You straddled him to keep his legs from squirming. Your hand stroked his cock back to hardness and he threw his head back, crying out apologies and pleads for mercy. You're not giving him any.
He's shaking harder than you could imagine and his voice louder than ever, now incoherent. The filthy squelching of you jerking his cock is fueling your lust. You could see tears streaming down his face as his free hand tried to grip onto anything he could.
His ramblings slurred, devolving into whines and cries as he melted in your hand. With one squeeze of his tip, he came again, body curling to the point he's almost sitting up. Cum came out in small spurts, eventually slowing to a dribble. You kept your hand on him, pumping him slowly as he rode out his orgasm. He sat up fully and wrapped his arm around you, laying his head on your shoulder as you sat in his lap. You gave him time to recover just a bit. His breathing was shaky and heavy, his body still shuddering under yours.
You ran your clean hand through his hair and held him there for a bit. He was positively drenched in sweat and your other hand was covered with his cum. It took a moment for his breathing to calm, and you honestly thought he was going to fall asleep.
Instead, you felt him nuzzle against your neck before pressing small kisses there, light and gentle. You giggled at the sensation--it was more ticklish than anything. Eventually, his soft kisses and pecks became more desperate, sucking and nibbling you, leaving hickeys to mark you as his. You groaned, but then laughed.
"You're not done? I thought you about to fall asleep. Never knew you were this insatiable."
You could hear a small pout in his voice when he replied.
"I-I never got to touch you, and you spent all your time getting m-me worked up, so I thought tha-that I should at least let you finish too, y'know," he mumbled into your neck, voice a little raw. You smiled. He really is just too cute.
"Who said I'm not gonna finish? I'm not done with you yet."
He tensed again, hugging you tighter and burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. It was almost as if he's trying to cage you in some way so you would stop torturing him.
"W-wait--wait. Wait please. For j-just a little bit. I think I'll actually die if you make me cum again t-this fast."
You laughed at him but you agreed. You're not that mean.
"Then work me open. I doubt either of us brought lube, but since you came so much, we can use that for now."
He happily--but bashfully--agreed. He looked a little weirded out when you pretty much handed his own cum to him, smearing it all over his hands, but he got to work immediately. He kissed you, savoring your taste before moving downwards and sucking on your collarbone. He shifted you on his lap and you felt his fingers prod your hole, circling, massaging. His name fell from your lips breathlessly.
He licked your nipples before taking one in his mouth. At the same time he pushed a finger into your heat, earning a groan from you. You gripped onto his hair when he inserted another. He thrust his fingers in and out of you slowly, scissoring you open as you gasped. You squirmed in his lap but he held you still. Your back arched, whining, as he pushed in a third.
At this point you were breathless. You moaned out his name and grinded your hips against his fingers as he pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. Understanding that he found your sweet spot, he attacked it with vengeance, doubling his efforts in both fingering you open and sucking on your skin. The coil within you tightened and you felt that it was about to snap.
"S-Stop. No more," you said, pushing away slightly. He looked at you like a kid who was caught doing something he shouldn't, big eyes staring at you with both concern and disappointment.
"Is s-something wrong?"
You gave him a quick kiss before moving to nibble on his ear, whispering into his ear.
"I want to come on your cock. May I?"
You felt his grip around you tighten and his dick twitch again. He's so easy. You loved the amount of power you have over this man.
"Wh-wh-what--h-how. D-don't just say that out of nowhere. Y-you were never this blunt when we were back in high school. Then neither of us would've had to wait this l-long."
You flicked his forehead and he pouted.
"Because now it's finally mutual dumbass. You were the one who ignored me for years. Stop being so flustered now and let me ride you."
He took his fingers out of you, leaving you disappointed at the emptiness, but all that was replace with excitement as you swiftly grabbed his cock. He's hard again. You smiled. How insatiable.
He grabbed onto your hips, whimpering as you lined him up against your hole. His hot tip pressed against you and you shook from anticipation. You groaned in unison as you pressed his head in.
You sunk slowly, feeling his grip tighten the more you took him in. Whining, he felt you press flush against his hips, now all the way in your tight walls. His voice cracked when you grinded your hips against his.
You pushed him onto his back again, resting your hands on his chest while you started moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming yourself back down. You screamed as a wave of pleasure shot through you. You waited too long for this.
His dick filled you up just right, hitting every sensitive corner as wanton moans spilled out your lips. You kept a steady pace, bouncing on the dick you wanted for too long. The wet slap of skin mixed with the chorus of your moans was obscene.
He was also holding onto his sanity by a thread, hands sinking into your hips with so much force you won't be surprised if he left hand prints. His brows were knitted as he thrusted into you to as much as he could, crying with you on his cock. You screamed when his tip hit the spot he previously abused with his fingers, once again attacking it over and over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you arched your back and rode him.
Your rhythm started getting sloppier, and you both could tell you're close. He was too--you felt him twitch inside you as his voice got louder. You redoubled your efforts in riding him, bouncing on his dick, grinding into him, and clawing at his chest like an animal possessed.
Slamming your hips down, you came with a drawn-out shout. You tightened around him as you shook, ears ringing and vision white. Your head swum as he continued to thrust for another moment before coming as well--for the third time that night. He cried out your name as he held you against his hips like it was his lifeline, cum dribbling out in small quantities now. It was still hot.
He fell limp against the lake shore, exhausted and spent. His hand held onto yours. You laid yourself on top of him, cuddling him in the dirt while you two recollected yourselves. You just wanted to sleep.
"P-please tell me you're done for the night," he murmured after catching his breath. You laughed, but reassured him that you're also drained. He let out a lighthearted sigh of relief before holding you close.
"D-does this mean I'm forgiven?"
You hummed. Maybe.
"Please?"
His half-lidded, glossy eyes stared at you. You can't fight it. It's too hard.
"Maybe. But you're forgiven at least for tonight."
With a smile, he kissed you, slow and sweet. You savored it, swallowing the taste of him.
---
You don't know how long you've been laying there with him in silence, appreciating each other's presence. The night was warm, so the fact that you two were all sweaty and sticky didn't bother you too much. You were about to reluctantly get up and rinse yourselves off so you won't catch a cold, before he frantically yelped, startling you.
"OhmygodIthinkIfeltaspider-"
You both laughed as he dragged you back into the water with jelly legs, quickly washing yourselves off before more bugs decide to climb you two like a tree. Drying yourselves and throwing on clean clothes, you guys ran back to the tent to the best of your abilities, giggling like children.
Throwing together a quick campfire (not quick--neither of you knew how to do it, but you managed eventually), you sat together on little popup stools to eat something. Only then you remembered neither of you ate an actual meal since that morning. You two cooked hot dogs over the fire (maybe burning a few) and made s'mores for dessert.
It was almost 1 AM when exhaustion caught up to you again. Unfortunately, your sleeping bags weren't big enough to fit two, so you guys just scooted yourselves close to each other before falling asleep, full and content. You're looking forward to the rest of break alone with him. And of course, more payback. You had the whole week to yourselves after all.
---
"Sooooo how was camping? Do anything fun?"
Spring break ended and the two of you arrived back on campus, deciding to hang out at his before getting ready for classes again. The two of you were draped over each other on the couch, cuddling while scrolling on your phones, showing each other stupid memes from time to time. As if she knew you guys weren't doing anything, your mother called, immediately interrogating you.
"Was everything figured out or do we have to arrange another date for you two?"
"What are you even talking about-"
"Don't play coy with me child, everyone within a ten mile radius could tell you were head over heels for him. Well, except for him apparently."
She laughed while you watched him flush red, burying his face in his hands and groaned.
"It's not like I was oblivious on purpose," he said meekly.
"Oh goodness! You are both here! That can only mean it ended well!! Now dear, tell your mother everything--you don't know how long all of us have been rooting for you two to get together! Who confessed first? Did you-"
You hung up, incredibly embarrassed. Not even a second passed before your mother texted you a winking emoji and told you two to have fun. You groaned as your eyes met with his. You both laughed and continued to enjoy yourselves on that couch--as much as you could before classes started again, at least. You could face your parents later.
(Obey Me!) Lucifer x gn!Reader . Smut/Fluff . Submissive Lucifer/Dom Reader, Bottom Lucifer/Top Reader, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Kisses, Begging, Handjob, Vulnerabilty, Pet Names
Reader Is Called; 'Master'. Lucifer Gets Called; 'Baby' and 'Good boy"
" You begin the night straddling Lucifer's lap. Gradually you coax his pride into allowing him to slip into sub space. "
Ao3 Mirror . 1,139 Words
Kinktober Day 2: Sub Space
Under 18 do not interact with this post, please and thank you
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m.list |
Pride can be a troublesome thing. Occasionally getting in the way of things such as relationships, hindering one's own happiness. It was a thing to be balanced. As too much or too little can very well lead to misery.
Lucifer had a decent grip on that balance. Restraint being something he was rather skilled in. Able to understand the concept of being in the wrong, and even apologize for it. Not to mention he's referred to you as his master before. Generally not quite as stuck-up nor arrogant as his brothers sometimes say in their complaints.
Though you have witnessed two areas where his pride can become an obstacle. His tendency to bear burdens alone. And right now. Where he looks to be having an internal struggle underneath you.
Vulnerability seems to bring difficulties from time to time. Despite the prior mention of your title, the words back then only came out of his mouth after going on about 'belonging to him, not the other way around'. Plus he was under the effects of a certain syrup.. It was something, though it can take a bit of extra effort to crack that internalized shame in certain moments. He wasn't against submission, not if it's for you, the problem was his subconscious doesn't always deem it acceptable.
"Comfortable?" You check from your position, straddling his lap atop his bed.
"Yes." Lucifer responds back, simply.
"Title." You remind him. There's that special word you'd like him to try calling you tonight.
"Yes.. master." He manages it after a breath, receiving the reward of a kiss to his forehead, 'Good' muttered against the skin. Not 'good boy', you're not quite there yet. You don't want him to feel coddled, or infantalized, nor fluster him too much in a way that'd result in him feeling the need to pull away. You'll start with simple.
Leaning back up you trail gentle hands down his chest, "Can I remove any of your clothes?" The question is considered shortly, only for a second, before he nods. Yet you remain where you are, keeping still to allow him some time to decide if he's truly okay with it. When he only stares back expectingly do you start to undress him. Keeping trust in his word to speak up if he changes his mind about something.
After some work on both your ends are you free to take in the sight of his form left in only his boxers. He's beautiful. You had already figured– but seeing the sight is something else. The eldest, Diavolo's right-hand man, an Avatar of sin. No one else in the history or future of all three realms would ever have this opportunity. Because most importantly he is yours. Your lover, as you are his. So you will cherish him accordingly.
Your hands return to their motions. Up his torso, nearly meeting his shoulders, then trailing back down past his ribcage and to his stomach. Permitting himself to be exposed seems to be a feat of sorts to him. Face flushed and trying to remain still. Ignoring the faint prideful urges to run away, or force you off. Internally reminding himself that in this moment he is alright– he is safe. With you he is safe to be exposed. He wills that knowledge to be embedded into his instincts.
Still, he cracks a half-joke, "You better not be planning on taking any pictures." Alluding to his brother's failed attempts to catch a photo of him declothed, just for the sake of selling it.
"I won't." You're quick to affirm, "Not unless I have your permission. And even then it'd be for mine and your eyes only. Kept under a secure folder."
"I'll have to keep that in mind, then." Good, he's beginning to properly relax. Less tension in both his muscles and expression. Thoroughly believing in the security you offer him. You take that as a sign to continue.
Kisses are peppered across his body, adorned to every inch that you can reach. Going as far as crawling down to show his lower half some love, but not yet making contact with his crotch. That'll come later, if he's still in the mood. Your eyes flit up to catch glimpses of his face, seeing he's turned slightly bashful. But his body language still reads acceptance. To the point of trying to meet your lips whenever you come up to his face. You indulge him, how could you not when he's being so earnest with you?
"Master." He whispers, close to your ear, "Touch me more." What a sweet tone. One that stirs the arousal you had put aside.
"Can you say 'please'?" You're testing your luck a little, you know that. Knowing this could accidentally push him in the wrong direction. But he sighs a content sigh.
"Please. I want you to touch me, master. Please touch me more." Oh, he's begging. You've already got Lucifer begging. Showing his need by taking hold of your wrists and placing them where he wants you. Down, down, to the one piece of clothing you hadn't removed.
"Do you want these off, baby?" The pet name slips out. You can only hope he doesn't mind it.
Contrarily his eyes gloss over further once he hears it, "Yes. Please." And you oblige. Stripping him down to full nudity. Fully hardened, just waiting for you to pleasure him. Maybe even use him.
Your fingers ghost over the shaft. A light, barely-there start. It doesn't take you long to press the pads against him, followed by leisurely wrapping the full hand around his cock. Lucifer's body gives little jolts, their frequency increasing once you begin to stroke him proper. Thumbing the tip whenever you can, leading to his own pre getting smeared along him.
His eyes are focused on your ministrations. Mouth opened giving way to small pants and even quieter moans. Something tells you he's holding his noises back.
"Let me hear you, baby. Don't hold back." His eyes flutter close, head resting further into the pillow. Relishing in every movement, every stroke.. your proximity, your body heat. The trust and vulnerability; How you won't take advantage of it. You'll see all of who he is and cradle him with nothing but love.
He practically melts. Growing more vocal, just like you asked. Somehow he becomes more beautiful by the minute. Blush extended to his ears, eyes shut, chest rising and falling. Rising and falling. It's mesmerizing– He's mesmerizing, your darling.
"Good boy." You finally tack on that extra word. And he moans, loud and unabashed. You can pick up on the word 'master' trailing off in the end.
He's fully yours. Finally left behind anything holding him back. You're definitely going to savor it and take good care of him.
Warnings: name calling, smut, position not mentioned but Niragi is putting it in
Niragi’s groans echoed around the room as the sound of the skin slapping on eachother became louder and louder. “Taking me so well you fucking slut” he whispered into your ear as he pounded into you, making you moan louder.”you were fucking made for this huh? Made to take my cock” he continued, watching your eyes well up with tears from the pleasure. “You gonna come?” He asked, his voice filled with lust as you nodded frantically “should I let you come, huh? That’s all you care about anyways huh? Would sit back and let me fuck you all day if you could.” He continued as tears rolled down your face. “Are you crying? Does the slut need to cum this badly?” He continued, his smirk only growing bigger at the sight of you nodding.”come on my cock then” he said as his own cum filled you, the warm liquid mixing with your own. He started kissing your neck, leaving little hickeys on you as you both calmed down”you were fucking amazing” he whispered,leaving another hickey on you.
A/N: heyyy!! It’s a little short but I had no other ideas on what to do 😭
SYNOPSIS : you find spy alone in his smoke room where you confess your dying wish before the tumors from the bread take you all out: to be seduced.
TAGS : 11k+ words, smutfic, oneshot, angst at the end, inspired by the animation “expiration date”, coworkers to lovers, dancing, make shift dinner dates, drinking, pet names + praise (mademoiselle/monsieur, chère/cher, mon cœur, mon petit chou-fleur, mon chou, dear, darling, “good girl/boy” ), strip tease, hickeys, romantic, mdom to msub to mdom again, oral (reader receiving), multiple positions (cowgirl and missionary), body shots, creampie, nipple play, lots of eye contact, mentioned aftercare.
NOTE : | 5/24/26 | this fic took so long for me to complete, but it’s been with me through so much. it’s my longest fic currently in my masterlist, and i hope you all can forgive me for that. this fic just had a mind of its own. this fic means a lot to me because there was so many things that inspired me when writing it. so please enjoy <3.
[RED BASE]
[70 HOURS TIL DEATH]
“See you all in Hell,” Spy loudly announces, taking out a cigarette from his disguise kit as all the mercs shuffle out of the room in clear disinterest.
Really, what was Spy thinking? This was a complete waste of his time: gathering all the mercs into one room and having Scout gather everyone’s dying wish. If this is the “bang” or the last “hurrah” everyone wanted to go out with, then so be it.
Having left the room, you linger outside the hallway, staring at the closed door you have just walked out of.
Spy is still on the other side of the door.
You clutch the small piece of paper to your chest, the contents of the paper having your last dying wish. You didn’t want to have your wish to be with the other papers in a bucket, to be read aloud to all your coworkers; no, your wish is much more personal.
There’s an anxious feeling that stirs in the pit of your stomach: are you going to let this opportunity slip past your fingertips?
Hesitantly, you slowly begin walking back to your quarters. You still definitely need time to work up the courage before your confession. But as the time on your death watch ticks away, the numbers lighting up the dark hallway, you’re grimly reminded about how working up the confidence to talk to Spy is on a time crunch.
[SPY’S SMOKING ROOM]
[58 HOURS TIL DEATH]
The sound of slight crackling fills the room, and the embers from the fireplace emit a soft glow throughout the dark setting.
Spy is seated comfortably in a lounge chair by the fireplace, choosing to spend his last days sipping away from his cup that has his favorite type of whiskey, reading the newest monthly issue of ‘Dapper Cadaver’.
Spy sets the glass down, turning the page of his magazine, before a light knock interrupts the moment.
“Go away,” Spy flatly answers.
Why would anyone want to bother him at this hour?
“I don’t mean to intrude, but I wanted to share my wish with you.”
Spy’s eyes widen, setting his magazine down on a nearby side table, urgently getting up to answer the door. If it were Scout or that Bushman at his door, he would’ve ignored them. But instantly, he recognized the sweet-sounding voice.
Before opening the door, he adjusts his tie, looking himself over in the mirror on the wall, making sure his appearance is flawless.
Handsome as always.
You wait a couple of seconds, unsure if you really should be troubling the Spy. Your worries are reassured when you hear shuffling behind the door.
Spy lets out a breath before he opens the door, the usual frown that is associated with him instantly dissipating into a pleasant smile as his icy gaze is met with your [eye color] eyes.
“Bonjour [mademoiselle/monsieur],” Spy greets you, reaching out to your hand, gently raising the back of it to his lips.
“Hi, Spy,” you bashfully greet back, always taken aback by how sweetly he’s always treating you.
It’s something you’re quick to take note of. Ever since your arrival, the mercs have slowly welcomed you like family, gaining their respect from the [frontlines/backlines]. You were scouted for your skills and talents. After all, it takes some guts to put your life on the line every day. But that wasn’t why Spy treated you with such care.
To put it bluntly, you’re completely different compared to the rest of the mercs, to anyone else who has struck his fancy. You deserve to be cherished.
“Come in, come in,” Spy ushers, his gloved hand guiding you at the small of your back into his smoke room, “You know you’re always welcome.”
Spy leads you to the lounge chair he was sitting in previously, and you immediately feel pampered when, instinctively, Spy walks over with another poured glass of whiskey.
You weren’t expecting to be drinking today, but, to be kind, you took a small sip of the amber liquid, your taste buds instantly savoring its spicy, oaky notes.
There isn’t another chair for the Spy to sit in, after all, he’s usually alone. Alone in his work, his missions, his day-to-day life; It’s what he prefers. But Spy is always willing to make an exception, especially when it comes to you.
Spy instead chooses to accompany you by standing beside the lounge chair, resting his arm on the top of the backrest.
The Spy watches intently as you set the glass of whiskey next to his own, his gaze holding tenderness and fondness, the type of look that makes you shift in your seat in a fluster.
You can feel your stomach flutter as the whiskey goes down.
These feelings always occur when you’re alone with Spy, which isn’t often, but every time he enters the room, you secretly pray that eventually it empties, and it’s just the two of you.
An excuse, a reasoning, anything to validate your feelings.
You know Scout has told you his feelings for the Spy before, that he’s untrustworthy, an asshole, a snake. But as Spy’s tall figure looms over you, you gulp, practically feeling the warmth confined behind the many layers of his suit.
You recall and briefly reminisce about the countless nights you have been kept up for imagining yourself being this close to Spy. Wishing for Spy’s warmth, craving his skin on yours.
It’s difficult for you to maintain eye contact with Spy, his intimidating nature making you second-guess whether it was a good idea to be here in the first place.
You snap out of your daze when Spy starts speaking, his smooth voice relaxing you instantly, “So, what was it that you wanted to discuss, mon [chère/cher]?”
You feel your face burn beneath your hands, placing them on your cheeks in embarrassment. This snake has bitten you, and you think that you like the venom.
Spy takes a swig of his own drink, and the dark ring of condensation on the table is what you choose to pay attention to, knowing that if you choose to look up at Spy, your words may die out before they come off your tongue.
You can’t have that happen; you have to tell him before time runs out for both of you.
“There was a last wish I had written down,” you admit, playing with the piece of paper in your hands, “it kind of took me a bit to think of...”
As you trail off, your eyes glance to your side, automatically meeting Spy’s. You’re startled, not expecting Spy to be so close.
Spy hums, gazing down at the folded piece of paper. He nods his head expectantly.
Did you want to read it to him, or did you want him to read it to himself?
Letting out a deep breath, you take Spy’s gloved hand, placing your wish in his hand, “I trust it with you.”
Spy’s eyes wash over your face; he has a look of curiosity you’re able to make out from the holes of his balaclava. Feelings of anticipation and nervousness return as you try your best not to focus so intently on how gently Spy opens the paper.
The warm, fuzzy feelings harboring themselves in your heart are only worsened when you catch a waft of Spy’s scent. A deep and musky fragrance of his cologne mixed with the scent of smoke, it has your stomach doing flips as you focus on Spy’s expression.
Spy gasps, rereading the sentence over and over again. Was this another foolish joke? Like when Scout only filled the bucket of wishes with drawings of Spy having intercourse with the Eiffel tower, and drawings of the Eiffel tower having intercourse with Spy.
Spy clicks his tongue, testing the words, “You wish to be seduced?”
Even just asking for confirmation, it didn’t feel real.
“I wish to be seduced,” you confirm boldly, getting up from your chair in order to assert yourself better, “I wish to be seduced by you.”
There’s an undeniable smile that reaches the corner of Spy’s lips. You haven’t seen him smile this widely, not even when he was taunting on the battlefield.
“[Name], mon cœur,” Spy asks, “are you sure?”
Spy has always used pet names with you. There is a sense of pride that comes from hearing the special names he calls you. But in this moment, it makes you shiver in delight.
You swear you feel your heart melt into a puddle; it pounds like it has a mind of its own. Was this man asking for permission to seduce you?
Spy has always been professional, keeping all his coworkers at arm's length. But there was a softer and kinder side to him that you’ve paid attention to when working with him.
Your frightened face turns into relief when Spy backstabs an enemy Scout that has been chasing you. Before Spy gets to cloak himself, you thank him, and he swears, seeing that look of peace on your face despite being on the verge of death, Spy has made it a purpose to always protect you.
It’s really those small things that have made Spy consider and ponder his feelings more, daring to cross the line of professionalism and wanting to have you closer.
Like, whenever there’s a group meeting of some kind, whether it’s at the cafeteria where all the mercs are about to have breakfast, or at actual team meetings where everyone discusses new battle tactics, you’re always trying to find him in the crowded space.
Always complimenting his appearance, your genuine kindness towards others. It was a shame, even when you’ve saved a seat for Spy, he still feels too far from you.
Spy respects you too much to make any bold moves, but when you look up at him with those half-lidded eyes, pleading with him, it makes him weak.
“It’s been so long, Spy,” you confess, dreamily, “If we’re all going to die, then let me die in your company.”
Your hands hold onto his gloved ones, the warmth of your skin seeping through the thick leather material.
If you think he was going to deny you, then you’d be a fool.
With his quick thinking, Spy conjures up a plan on how he plans to seduce you within the remaining hours.
You feel your breath catch in your throat as Spy leans in close, his lips mere centimeters away from your ear. Feeling his breath fan the shell of your ear, he seductively whispers his next request, his French accent you’ve always found attractive, heightening all your senses.
“Come back here in about an hour, get as dressed up as you want, and prepare to be seduced~.”
The joy emanates from your features as you take in Spy’s words, squealing in delight as you skip out of his room. Spy can only react with a chuckle as he makes haste for his next plans.
“Don’t keep me waiting for too long now, mon [chérie/chéri]~.”
[NAME’S ROOM]
[57 HOURS TIL DEATH]
You stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, taking in your appearance: you adorn the nicest shirt you own, [a fitted skirt/fitted pants] that makes your ass look good. You smile to yourself in the mirror at the thought, hoping Spy would take notice and think the same. Nice dress shoes that complement your outfit, and any last touches with jewelry, accessories, or makeup that finally make your outfit complete.
Your face adorns a permanent smile that hasn’t left your lips after leaving Spy’s smoke room. With one last look in the mirror, make sure your hair looks perfect as you chose to style it differently for the special occasion. After all, if you’re going to die soon, you might as well look beautiful when they find you.
You look at the death watch and note the time. It seems like you should start heading back to Spy’s smoke room.
Before you leave, you spritz your favorite fragrance onto all your high points.
With one last look in the mirror, you blow yourself a kiss.
You look jaw-dropping.
You can’t hide your excitement as you exit your room; there’s a spring in your step while you make it back to the smoke room.
There’s an enticing aroma that fills the hall that you practically trail after.
[SPY’S SMOKING ROOM]
[57 HOURS TIL DEATH]
With all things being said, a secret Spy thought he was going to take to his grave was that he was a hopeless romantic. The cobwebs are carefully dusted off his heart, the beat of his heart creating a melody that he subconsciously sways to as he prepares a makeshift dinner for two.
If only he had more time to prepare something much more superb, something better to match his caliber, because simply put, you deserve so much better and more. But with death’s soon arrival, this will have to do, Spy thinks. Under normal circumstances, it would be fresh bread as appetizers served with your favorite type of spread, but due to the current outbreak, Spy hopes you can forgive him.
Spy is a gentleman; skipping appetizers is not something he intends to get away with. Contemplating what he can substitute for the absence of appetizers, Spy’s head, instead of being filled with dread for the inevitable, is filled with thoughts of you. Ranging from sweet, wholesome, and romantic scenarios, that you can’t possibly bring to life within the 57 hours remaining. To more lustful and intimate scenes, Spy covers his face, feeling his face redden as he extinguishes the thought. It wouldn’t be as satisfying to rush to dessert.
Admittedly, it’s something Spy has dreamed of dozens of times, but they’re not thoughts he chooses to entertain for too long. Spy’s chest is flooding with the warmth of suppressed feelings, it unravels furiously like it’s ready to burst.
Like he’s a young teen falling in love for the first time all over again.
After setting the table, the secret dinner is hidden away by a metal cloche. Spy adjusts his necktie once more, checking his breath, just in case. After all, how will Spy seduce you if he wasn’t looking the part?
There is a knock at the door that cuts off Spy’s next thought.
Perfect timing.
Opening the door, Spy is left utterly speechless by your appearance, a comedic and audible gasp leaving his lips, and the cigarette he was smoking falls to the floor. You can’t resist laughing at the sudden cycle of events, and once again, Spy feels his heart being struck by Cupid’s arrow.
Spy shakes his head, composing himself as he brings out his hand. A rush of warmth adorns your cheeks when you bring out your hand once more, Spy’s smooth lips kissing your knuckles. Your other hand clutches your chest, atop where your heart would be, underneath your palms, you can already feel your heartbeat quickening.
Below your heart, you can hear your stomach growling in hunger as your nose catches the scent of something delicious.
It’s not just one kiss, as the kiss Spy planted on your skin before, but multiple that trail up the back of your hand, and up your arm. You giggle to yourself before he can reach your neck.
“You look ravishing, mon petit chou-fleur~.” Spy whispers against your skin, savoring the feel of your smooth skin against his lips, the fragrance you applied, a lovely greeting to his nose.
“Thank you, Spy,” you reply, letting your hand release from his grasp, bringing it up to cup his covered cheek, “you’re so sweet to me~.”
Spy leans into your gentle caress, yearning for the space his balaclava is separating between his bare skin and your soft hand to be gone.
“But of course, you deserve only the best,” Spy affirms, looking up at you, his blue-gray eyes stunning you in place as validation washes over your body.
It really has been forever since you’ve truly been appreciated, hasn’t it?
Your head is already up in the clouds as Spy is wrapping you up in his undivided attention, when all of a sudden, he surprises you once more:
“I also wanted to give you these,” Spy reveals, pulling out a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers, wrapping paper, and a ribbon securing the bouquet together in one big embrace.
You gasp, your heart wishing to burst from all the affectionate gestures. Spy definitely knew how to sweep you off your feet. You reach out to hold the bouquet, admiring its beauty.
“I wasn’t sure what flowers you enjoy,” Spy admits, “so I chose these as they reminded me of your beauty.”
You giggle at his compliment. What a smooth talker! But when you stare deep into Spy’s eyes, there’s no doubt or speculation of his words; you know he’s speaking the truth.
“How did you even manage to get these?” You ask, the realization hitting you. It’s only been an hour, how could Spy manage to acquire such a lovely floral arrangement within that time?
“It’s a secret,” Spy teases you, sending you a wink to emphasize his point.
Chuckling once more, you abruptly wrap your arms around Spy, hugging him close. All at once, all of your senses are overwhelmed by Spy. His eyes widen, taken aback by the sudden action, but hesitantly, he returns your embrace. He surrounds you, his scent rubbing off on you, and you nuzzle your face into his pristine suit. The fabric feels soft against your cheek as his large hands rub your back, his grip making you feel small.
Spy doesn’t release you from his grasp until you let go. Already missing your warmth, he doesn’t realize he needs that hug until he loses it.
Spy coughs, clearing his throat, embarrassed. For God’s sake, he feels like a young schoolboy with an undeniable crush.
Fidgeting with his tie, a compulsive act that helps him regain his poise. He steps to the side, revealing a beautiful candlelit dinner that feels so distant, so nostalgic. It’s everything you can ask for.
“I know the perfect place to display them,” Spy recommends, nodding his head towards the table.
Behind Spy, in the center of the room, there’s a rich, dark oak table that is only complemented by the moody lighting being shed by the overhead chandelier. There’s an empty vase in the middle of the table, half full with water, perfect for the bouquet in your hands. You can only imagine running your hands across the side of the vase, feeling the ridges on its surface due to its intricate design.
Your eyes drift to the metal cloche on the table; you can only imagine what delicious food is under it as your mouth begins to water.
Loudly, the sound of your stomach rumbling rudely interrupts the scene.
“Yes, I’d like to display them,” you sheepishly agree, covering your burning face with your hands, “please.”
You can only hope Spy didn’t hear your stomach, and if he did, you’re glad he didn’t say anything. You wouldn’t want that to ruin the mood.
“Ah, but of course!” He exclaims, his gloved hand reaches out expectantly as you hand back the bouquet, his other hand returning to meet your mid back, guiding you to the table.
There’s a rupture of flutters that gets released when you get closer to the table, your mind finally processing the significance of this very moment. You’re going to spend your last living hours with the Spy, and you’re going to love every moment.
Instinctively, you reach for the back of the wooden chair before Spy playfully clicks his tongue at you, “Allow me, my Dear~.”
With one hand, Spy gently nudges your hand off the back of the chair and, with a firm hold, pulls out the chair for you. You thank Spy, taking your seat as he pushes your chair forward. Your eyes form stars as you’re awestruck by the set table. The rich, red table runner underneath the pristine plates and the silverware that are exactly an inch apart. You fight back a chuckle. Spy does seem like the type to worry about the small and meticulous details, even at death’s door.
“So,” you start, feeling giddy in your seat, “what do you have planned for us?”
Spy chuckles at your question, rearranging the flowers in the vase as he places the glass back in the center of the table, turning the arrangement towards you. You stare in wonderment at the stunning petals, their beautiful colors adding vibrancy to the room and warming your heart.
“Eager, are we?” Spy asks, unfolding a linen napkin and placing it over your lap, after all, he would hate to have your attire be potentially ruined by the food he had prepared. You look so lovely today, and he can’t have that.
“Very,” you confirm.
“I assure you, for what I have planned today, you will be anything but bored.”
You like that answer, you think to yourself.
Assertive, efficient, and initiative. You haven’t met another person like that in all your years of living. How lucky you are to meet someone who is exactly your type in the midst of war.
You feel your nervousness and enthusiasm twist and overlap each other, forming knots that you can’t seem to undo until Spy interrupts your thoughts with a simple question.
“What kind of music do you enjoy, [Name] Dear?” His back is turned to you, his fingers gliding over something you can’t seem to make out from where you’re sitting.
You answer bashfully yet honestly, a bit taken aback by the sudden question, but you’re flattered nonetheless by the personal question. Even with your quick answer, Spy matches your energy perfectly by asking you why, to explain why you enjoy that music genre, and why it’s your favorite. No silence is shared between you two, a constant back and forth of conversation that flows perfectly. As you reply, Spy nods, his way of showing you he’s listening without turning towards you.
“I wouldn’t have expected that from you,” Spy starts. It makes your stomach drop, and you're afraid he's judging you. “But it makes sense.”
Your smile returns, letting out a sigh in relief as he makes a small comment to himself, as a small cherry on top, “Maybe I need to listen to some [music genre], too.”
You laugh to yourself, pushing aside any other fearful thoughts, embracing Spy’s warm words: “You definitely should.”
Spy hums in approval, when all of a sudden, music begins to slowly and gently fill the atmosphere. Spy finally turns around, revealing the record player in your field of vision. The disc Spy carefully chose, slowly spins as he begins to bob his head to the melody.
“I don’t have any [music genre] records, but I hope this is okay.”
You take a few seconds to listen closely to the sweet symphony that plays from the record as it mixes and mingles within the air, and you even feel your own shoulders unconsciously rock back and forth from its influence.
“It’s perfect.”
“Excellent!” Spy exclaims, clapping his hands together.
You watch as his tall and graceful figure moves towards the shelves, several fancy liquor and wine bottles lined up next to one another, “A refreshment for my lovely date~?”
You beam at the question, thinking hard on your favorite type of alcoholic beverage, “Do you have any [drink]?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do,” Spy teases, pouring you a glass and setting it on the table for you. You watch as he pours himself another glass, setting this one in his seating area.
You thank Spy for his generosity, waiting patiently as his hand rests over the handle of the metal cloche. Your gaze was on the dome until you look back up, your eyes immediately meeting Spy’s, you both laugh together in shared anticipation.
“I hope pasta is okay with you, mon cœur,” Spy starts, revealing the large plate of noodles, the tangy sauce filling your nostrils.
For a man whose occupation required him to conceal everything about himself, the way his eyes wavered in worry told you everything you needed to know.
“It’s more than okay,” you reassure, grinning from ear to ear, realizing just how pampered you’re feeling, “It’s perfect.”
Spy lets out a sigh of relief. He didn’t realize the pressure he was feeling: wanting to make sure you have the best experience, the best last hours. Grabbing a pair of tongs, he sets out a portion of pasta for you first. When Spy is sure he’s given you the portion size you wanted, he then moves onto his plate, setting some noodles down onto the porcelain, until finally, he sits down.
“A toast for our last moments together?” You ask, bringing up your glass.
“To us and to these last moments between us, mon [chère/cheri],” Spy agrees, clinking his glass with yours.
And like one last hurrah, you both clink your glasses together. In unison, you take a sip from your cup before you both dig in. The warmth that rests between your ribs can only burn brighter as you take a bite from your food; every little thing is another puzzle piece to the bigger picture in front of you, and every piece is something you cherish and appreciate. Your favorite flowers sitting between your favorite person and you, your favorite alcoholic drink, your new favorite music genre that blends into the background, and even down to your favorite type of pasta noodles. This is all planned for you.
Despite both of you only having a couple of hours left before death arrived, the conversations you share are lighthearted and deep. As if you still had time to reread your favorite books you’d brought up, or as if Spy still had time to visit France when you asked him about his origins. Enjoying the moment as if tomorrow were promised.
You’re hooked by the rich flavor that bursts in your mouth as you eat the pasta, enamored by Spy’s laughter that comes out in a deep rumble from within his chest. More of the alcoholic beverage goes down, giggling at any clever quip or flirt, Spy would respond with. You feel yourself ease in your chair, who knew getting the French man alone at a dinner date would allow you to see what feels like a different and more vulnerable side of him.
You’re almost finished with your dinner, eating more slowly as you prop your chin atop your palm, leaning into Spy’s words.
It’s a haze for the next few moments, you nearly miss the sputter of Spy’s words as he’s startled by your foot that begins rubbing up his leg from under the table.
Spy takes a deep breath, finishing his sentence with a small quip to his lips. What a tease you are.
Your fingers tap on the table to the beat of the song, trying your best to hang onto the Spy’s words. You can’t help it, though, getting entranced by the unfamiliar melody. It’s a song you don't know the name of, but the lyrics come to you naturally. You take another sip of your drink, for good luck. Setting the glass down, you abruptly stand up. Spy’s gaze flickers with curiosity; it’s ironic the way he looks at you, as if he weren’t the walking mystery that you wish to uncover.
You stride towards him, a sway in the way you move, the look in your eyes: it was all screaming one thing, ‘dance with me’. Fortunately for both of you, Spy is no man who will ever deny you. There’s a mischievous grin that plays on his lips as he slides his chair out; no words are exchanged as Spy brings his hand out, and as if it were an action you both have done over and over, like it was a ritual, like it was familiar, you lay your palm into Spy’s own. Spy plants a kiss on the back of your hand, and although your last few hours have been filled with Spy’s kisses, it seems like your mind and heart will never get used to the gentle feeling of Spy’s smooth lips against your skin. Your mind wanders, wondering how his lips would feel pressed up against other parts of your body as Spy guides you, how gentle his usual rough voice would sound, blessing your ears with his sweet praise between each kiss.
You melt as you’re able to feel the warmth behind Spy’s gloved hands as they find purchase on your waist, his other hand clasping with your own. From the proximity, your nostrils instantly fill with his musky yet alluring scent: it makes you feel lightheaded. As you sway from side to side, moving along to the groove of the melody, your breath hitches, staring into Spy’s hungry gaze. With the tension of your bodies being so close to one another, the sort of closeness that has only ever been replicated on the battlefield, where Spy drags you into the safety of the shadows, away from an enemy chasing after you. Or the accidental collision when you don’t notice him in his cloaked form. It was brief: something you had to quickly brush off with your heart aching for more. But this: this dance, it was long, deliberate, and full of intentions. The hunger in Spy’s eyes made sense, and truth be told, you’re just as starved. It was only a matter of time before either of you lost your patience. Who is going to be the first to crack? Who is going to be deemed the winner and loser in this battle?
Spy extends his arm, guiding you into a spin that he nearly regrets. During the turn, subtly, you brush your ass up against Spy’s bulge. Brief enough for you to play off, but enough friction between your ass and his hard-on for Spy to let out a silent groan and for you to flash him a cheeky smile.
If that’s how you’re going to play, Spy is going to play along.
Pulling you in close, your eyes widen, your hands latching onto his shoulder in surprise. All of a sudden, he’s close, the scent of his minty breath mixed with the scent of [fav alcoholic drink] close, unable to escape his captivating eyes close, your front rubbing close against his own.
Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, Spy doesn’t miss the subtle, satisfying hum that slips between your irresistible lips. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, refusing to be the one to break. Swaying your hips back and forth, it forces Spy to follow your lead by taking a step back to steady himself. Now that you’re close to the table, you grab one of the glasses, still wrapped in Spy’s hold, not sure if it was Spy’s or your drink, and take a quick sip from it. When you finally set the glass down, you laugh to yourself, feeling a sudden thrill run up your spine. The rhythm takes you away from the table; every sway of your body is synchronized with the beat as one of your hands slides up Spy’s neck, resting the palm of your hand on the side of Spy’s face.
The feeling of his balaclava was smooth against your skin. Spy notices your hesitation, his eyebrows that are visible from the eyeholes of his mask are arched as you stroke and caress his cheek. The enticing thought of having his mask come off plays in your mind briefly, but what would be the fun in that?
No, it’s always much more fun to play with your food.
Spy leans his face into your hand; the action is almost cat-like. You don’t tell him that, resisting the chuckle that wants to creep its way up your throat.
Your dance moves are much slower, much more sensual. Spy gulps at your half-lidded eyes, your expression, and your movements are hypnotizing. Gradually, Spy’s trousers are beginning to feel a bit tight.
Your hand that is cupping his cheek moves a bit down, down enough for your thumb to reach Spy’s bottom lip. Your thumb brushes against the smoothness of his lips; of course, this man would take care of his lips. Spy chuckles at the touch, kissing the pad of your thumb in acknowledgment.
Boldly, your thumb pushes past Spy’s lips, his eyes instantly widen from the delightful intrusion. He doesn’t let his suave persona falter; instead, he puckers his lip over your digit, licking and sucking it.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Spy?” You ask, a coy smile playing at the corner of your lips.
Spy tightens his grip around your waist, feeling a bit mystified by your sudden confidence. Just a bit.
“Are you?”
You hum in agreement: yeah, you’re enjoying yourself, maybe a bit more than you anticipated, feeling how much [wetter/tighter] your underwear is getting.
“I’m glad,” Spy agrees, kissing your thumb before he pulls away from your hand, “so am I.”
Your gaze follows his hand: he grabs both of the glasses, handing you one of them. You really can’t distinguish which one was originally yours, but that’s okay. That doesn't matter when you plan on sharing the night.
Instinctually, you both clink your cups together, taking a swig. You weren’t drunk by any means, but the fuzzy feeling of being in the presence of Spy added to the tipsy feeling.
Spy peers into his cup, carefully, the storm in his eyes circling within his eyes, looking into your half-empty cup, when a thought crosses his mind.
“I know a wonderful way we can make this drink taste better,” Spy offers.
Your intrigue and curiosity form in the shape of goosebumps up your arms. You gulp, feeling your nerves build up in your full belly.
“What is it?” You ask Spy, feeling more warmth flood your cheeks when you feel his hands brush your side.
“It requires us to strip,” Spy acknowledges, casting his eyes down, the hand that brushes your side playing with the bottom of your shirt, “if that’s alright with you, [Name] Dear.”
You look down at where Spy is looking, noting how close he is to slipping his hands down the waistband of your [pants/skirt], but he doesn’t dare, not without your permission. Instead, his gloved hand is accidentally tickling your side as he plays with the fabric.
When you look back up at Spy, instantly, you're met with his bold gaze. You feel yourself shrink in his hold, his directness turning you on.
“It’s alright with me~.”
“I’m glad it’s alright with you, darling~,” Spy sighs out, afraid yet understanding if you choose to back out now.
Spy begins to unbutton his red blazer, with each button that slips out between each slit, you can’t help but gulp in anticipation. You comedically fan yourself with your fan, watching Spy strip himself from his blazer.
You’re screaming internally, surely Spy’s aware of the effect he has on you. When he’s looking [up/down] at you intently, biting his bottom lip, tugging at his tie with one hand, loosening it, and unbuttoning a few buttons from the top of his white dress shirt. Your eyes linger slightly at his collarbone; there’s a line where his balaclava ends, underneath it, a sliver of his smooth skin.
Spy chuckles, snapping you from your fixated trance.
“Sorry,” you attempt to reconcile, your tone absent of any apologeticness as you lick your lips.
“Don’t be, mon amour,” Spy reassures, “don’t even think of shifting your eyes from me~.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” you muse.
Looking down at your outfit, you suddenly feel overdressed. Looking back up at Spy, your eyes pleading with him. If only you knew just how irresistible you are.
“Would you care for my assistance, my Dear?” Spy asks, tilting his head at you.
“Yes, please,” you giddily answer.
“How polite,” Spy praises, “Good [girl/boy]~.”
Your mouth is left agape. Did you hear him correctly?
Spy’s gloved hands reach towards your top, slowly, teasingly, taking it off your figure. You shiver; your bare skin is warm, contrasting the temperature of the room. More notably, Spy’s lips are on the shell of your ear, kissing it. Your eyebrows scrunch together, trembling from Spy’s breath fanning across your ear.
“Lay down on the table for me, mon chou~,” Spy instructs.
Despite confusion washing over your features, you comply. Spy helps you by moving all of the plates, glasses, and silverware off the table. Carefully, he picks and sets the vase of flowers on a nearby side table.
You let out a small shriek, not expecting Spy to suddenly scoop you up, placing your rear onto the wooden table.
Scooching yourself back, eventually you lie down horizontally; this seems to be the most comfortable way one could lie on the table.
You wonder what Spy has in store. Watching him, you fidget with the bottom of your [bra/binder/undershirt]. From the corner of your eye, you can see Spy swishing around the liquid inside the fancy bottle, forming a small cyclone.
Spy sets the bottle back down next to your head. Hovering above you, Spy keeps himself propped up by his arm that’s next to your head, and by his bent knees at your sides. His other hand rubs up and down your bare arm, the smooth fabric of his gloves soothing down your goosebumps.
“May I-?”
“Yes!” You cut Spy’s question off short, already knowing what he is intending to ask. Your heart aches, truly. He is the perfect gentleman. But in this instance, you wanted him to strip himself of all his manners and respect. You want him to kiss you, unforgivingly. To touch you, purposefully.
“Please!” You quickly added in response to Spy’s surprised expression.
“But of course~.”
Spy acknowledges your enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, finally, his lips are on yours. It was a small and brief kiss, one of innocence and sweetness. Pulling away, instantly, Spy’s lips connect with yours, like magnets. His lips part and move against yours, the kiss deepening as you tilt your head to the side. You sharply inhale from your nose, your breath being stolen from Spy’s lips as his tongue slowly inches past your parted lips, the muscle inviting itself in.
A familiar song rings in Spy’s ears, a type of rhythm and melody he hasn’t experienced in what feels like forever, like a song you don’t know the name of, yet you know the lyrics and dance anyway. Spy continues to tease you, his lips purse as he sucks on your tongue, while down below, his free hand creeps its way to your torso. His usually skilled hand is stumbling over itself as it caresses your waist, slowly sliding beneath your [bra/binder/undershirt], unable to hide his excitement and nervousness.
“Oh!” You cry, your body jolting, pulling your lips away from Spy’s lips in surprise.
You whimper, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched together as Spy toys with your nipple between his pointer and thumb finger. Pinching and pulling at the bud, your face can only burn in embarrassment at his cruel ministrations.
“Oh, how adorable~,” Spy praises, watching the way your eyes snap shut. You can only wish to avoid eye contact with the Spy; his striking eyes peering into your own would be too much for your soul.
With one last flick at your bud, much to your own dismay, a small squeak slips past your lips. Opening your eyes slightly, between the space of your lashes, you watch Spy pull his hand away from your chest, lifting his hand to his lips. Shyly opening your eyes, your pupils wavering between Spy’s eyes and his teeth. His eyes refuse to look away from you, paying close attention to your flustered expression. His teeth slowly, tauntingly pulling off the black fabric from his hand.
Your expression softens, noticing the state of Spy’s hand. His nails appear well cared for, neatly trimmed, and clean. Long, elegant fingers that are always kept away, radiating warmth as they latch back onto your chest.
You hum in amusement, basking in the sensation of his caresses. Looking at his hands, feeling them on you, you wouldn’t know they are the hands of a mercenary, hands that have stolen lives on the battlefield that now worship you, that handle you with a roughness with only seduction and care as their intentions.
Your own hands claw at his back, your nails digging into the fabric of his white button-up, afraid that if you let go, then he might pull away. But that isn’t true, no, because Spy is already delving his face into the side of your neck.
You crane your neck to the side, granting Spy more access to your neck, tormenting the revealed skin with chaste kisses, his teeth that nipped at your skin, and the tip of his tongue that would soothe and circle the bitten area. Pulling away to latch onto another sliver of skin, leaving a trail of hickies. Every time Spy’s lips leave your skin, he leaves you no time to miss them. After all, you both have spent way too long craving for one another, yearning for each other.
When your bodies are discovered, at least they’ll see your bodies wrapped around each other. At least they’ll see Spy’s marking left on your skin.
Your skin blossoms with various love bites, trailing down from your neck to your collarbone and to the valley of your chest.
You smile to yourself, if you got to see the sunrise, you would be sure to jokingly scold him for showing your tender skin no mercy. How on earth would you be able to cover all of his marks? The other mercenaries are bound to see them. And Spy would flash you his typical smug smirk, shameless in his actions, “Let them see~.” The silly thought warms your heart despite the dark implications of no tomorrow.
Dreadful thoughts don’t make your mind feel any less fuzzy. You can’t believe that all of this pleasure isn’t part of some elaborate dream your mind has come up with. But no, the ticking of your death watch is real, asking the Spy to seduce you not that long ago is real, Spy’s warm mouth on your skin is real, and so is the [dampness/tightness] between your legs.
Rubbing your thighs together, the heat residing between them becomes unbearable. You whine at the sudden friction as Spy brings his knee up, stroking up and down your crotch with his pant leg. His bare fingers continue to play with your hardened nipples, giving both buds equal amounts of attention. Every action is drawn out. Spy wants to savor the moment, to savor you.
With one last kiss to your chest, Spy takes hold of your chin with his ungloved hand, leaving your mouth agape. You allow Spy to tilt your head up, his forehead leaning onto your own. From this angle, you’re unable to escape his soft eyes, eyes that you never want off you.
“My Dear, I wish you could see the look on your face,” Spy whispers.
“Huh?” You ask in confusion, eyebrows knit together, having trouble paying attention to Spy’s words, especially with how his knee was still rubbing up your [slit/hard-on].
“You look delectable,” Spy chuckles, finding delight in your reactions. Your body feels like it's on fire, everywhere Spy is touching you, burning with desire for more.
Spy surprises you, tucking stray hairs that cling to your damp forehead to the side, kissing the precious skin. You can’t help the small gasp that leaves your parted lips at the sweet gesture, yearning for his lips, the intense and intoxicating scent of nicotine, and Spy’s musky cologne becomes faint when he sits up on his knees.
Holding onto your arms, his hands slide up to your wrists, placing them onto his mid-section, beckoning you to unbutton the rest of his shirt. You comply, biting down on your bottom lip as more and more of Spy’s smooth, tan skin. Your eyes continue to lower, taking in every new sliver of skin, practically making your mouth water as you take in the gradual hair from Spy’s belly button, the hair of his happy trail becoming much denser and ending where the start of his belt and pants begin.
Your whole body shudders at the sight of Spy on top of you. Spy rips his tie off, throwing it in some forgotten corner. When your hands are lifted and placed onto Spy’s chest, his body trembles slightly in excitement, feeling his erratic heartbeat underneath your palms, you realize the shared feelings of nervousness you both are feeling, comfort and reassurance swell inside your heart.
You groan when you feel Spy buck his hips into you, his bulge rubbing up against your crotch, reminding you of the precum that is beginning to soak your underwear.
You blink, looking back up at Spy when he drawls out, “This is what you do to me, mon cœur~.”
“What a tease,” you hissed as Spy continued to grind his bulge down on you.
“I believe the saying goes, ‘do unto others as you want done to you,’” Spy playfully recites, his voice heightening in delight when you interrupt his response by trailing your own hands down his chest, just to pinch and pull at his nipples, as he has done with yours.
Before you get carried away, several teasing “stops” are mewled and muttered under Spy’s breath as he gently pulls your hands away. You’re about to sit back up, curious when Spy grabs the alcohol bottle near your head, until Spy makes you lie back down by lightly pushing you with his gloved hand.
“Lie still for me, mon [chérie/chéri]~,” Spy instructs, popping the cork off the bottle.
Your mouth forms a line, unsure where Spy is leading this.
“You don’t have to be nervous, Dear,” Spy reassures, “just keep your arms above your head and trust me.”
Your eyes scan his own, scanning and searching for any form of dishonesty. You think back to all the awful things your teammates have described Spy: a liar, manipulative, a snake. But when you look back into Spy’s eyes, the only thing shining back at you in his blue-gray eyes is complete and utter devotion.
“I promise you’ll feel good.” Spy states directly.
That is all you needed to hear, sighing in relief, listening to Spy’s advice, and folding your arms behind your head, using them as a headrest.
“Well? I’m lying still~,” you state, egging Spy on with a cheeky grin.
Spy chuckles, one hand rubbing up and down your sides, helping you calm down any remaining nerves, “That you are~.”
You make a noise, startled when you feel the sudden cold liquid slowly being poured into your navel. Some of the liquid spills, seeping down your sides from the way your body slightly writhes, completely unprepared for Spy to have poured the drink onto you.
You let out a comical, “Whoa!” Watching Spy latch his mouth onto your navel, slurping up the [fav alcoholic drink], his hands wrapped around your waist. Your stomach caves in, feeling ticklish from all the attention on your midsection.
Sweat trickles down your forehead, dampening your skin, and you feel hot from the warmth of Spy’s mouth and hands.
“How did that feel, mon [chère/cher]?” Spy asks, who doesn’t bother to wait for your response, already pouring another shot in your navel.
Your face burns, your head dizzy: Spy is unraveling you completely. Out of all the ways you predicted the night to go, you most certainly weren’t expecting Spy to be drinking off your body. But this news experience entices you.
“It tickles,” you answer honestly, your body shaking in laughter as Spy delves back into your navel, licking at the skin, getting every last drop of the delectable liquid.
Spy chuckles against your skin, the sound reverberating against you as you desperately attempt to keep still. Your arms behind your head don’t help; they want to wrap around Spy’s head, to smother his face into you, somewhere lower, somewhere that’s been longing for him since the very beginning.
“I really shouldn’t gorge myself here,” Spy comments, raising his head from your stomach, “that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.”
Spy, although with his usual confident smile, heavily contrasts his flushed face, which you can see peeking from the holes in his balaclava.
“You shouldn’t?” You playfully ask, one arm reaching to cup Spy’s cheek, taking immediate note of his heated skin.
“Non,” Spy answers simply, shaking his head.
“But I was really enjoying myself~.”
Spy’s body unconsciously shudders in your hold, loving the way your words purred in his ear. He looks back at the bottle, noting that there was still some content left in the bottle when a devious idea forms in his head.
You feel your breath hitch, anticipating Spy’s next words.
“If that’s the case, then we can continue, but...”
“But?”
Spy doesn’t answer, pouring the [fav alcoholic drink] back into your navel, your body shaking, you don’t miss the cold of the liquid.
“Don’t let any of this spill as I prepare you,” Spy orders.
“Huh? Oh!”
Your jaw drops. Is he doing what you think he’s doing? Your eyes dart everywhere around the room, your hand that was on Spy’s cheek falls to your chest, clutching at your [bra/binder/undershirt], your hands shaking, elated with Spy’s next move.
Spy’s hands find the waistband of your [pants/skirt], [undoing your belt, and carefully sliding down your pants./carefully sliding down your skirt]. Your [pants/skirt] scrunch up at your mid-thigh when Spy coos, commenting about how adorable your undergarments are. Your mind is reeling at this point, using all of your power to not make any sudden movements as Spy finally removes your [pants/skirt] with your help.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Spy consoles, condescension dripping from his words, like venom from a snake, “you can handle this.”
Gasping, you wish you could hide your flustered face as you peer at Spy, watching him bring two fingers to his mouth, coating them in his saliva. Spy’s tongue swirls around the two fingers greedily, being sure they’re properly lubricated. You feel your ears heat, perking up at the loud suckling, the lewd sound making your aroused [cunt/cock] throb.
Thinking back to what Spy said, you can only hope you can handle this.
Your body is sticky and sweaty, from the liquid at your navel, the sweat that clings to your skin, down to your hole where Spy begins to circle his wet fingers around. His eyes shoot up at you, telling you, “breathe out.”
Blinking, you let out a deep, shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. You barely make out the “good” Spy lovingly whispering into the skin of your thigh, kissing the area before he slowly pushes one finger into you. The loud thump of your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums as Spy slushes his finger around inside you. Your legs are thrown over Spy’s shoulders, giving his digit better access as it slowly moves in and out of your sweet hole.
“Fuck,” you mutter, the small kiss Spy plants onto your [clit/tip], melting your heart, feeling your muscles relaxing.
“Language, mon amour~,” Spy teases, licking a stripe up your [folds/shaft], your hole stretching and loosening around the single finger as it swirls around.
You cry out, Spy’s mouth cutting you off by wrapping his lips around your [clit/head], sucking. He really loves leaving you speechless, doesn’t he?
“Right, sorry!” You whine prettily, your legs shaking from the double stimulation.
Spy flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your [clit/slit], like he was a predator playing with his prey before he consumed them. Your stomach tenses, desperately trying your best not to squirm as Spy’s head lowers, opening his mouth wider, fully sucking onto your poor [cunt/cock].
Your pants fill the room, growing much more laborious as Spy easily slips another finger into you. Your back arches off the wooden table as a loud moan rips past your swollen lips, the tip of Spy’s manicured fingers pressing up against your newfound [g-spot/p-spot]. Your eyes that were previously glued shut snap open, the corners of Spy’s eyes crinkling as he chuckles around you, the sound reverberating around your sensitive [pussy/cock].
‘What a bastard,’ you think to yourself, wishing to let out some witty or sexy retort, but it gets pushed aside by another moan of his name.
Your body shakes slightly with each thrust of Spy’s fingers, abusing your sweet spot. The surface of the drink ripples as his fingers rock your body; there’s an irresistible glow from the overhead lights that makes the liquid shimmer so enchantingly.
“Your body is magnifique, [Name],” Spy’s eyes are half-lidded, a haze clouded over his steel colored eyes, one filled with complete and utter devotion and adoration.
Lovingly, Spy’s slurping feels like it's increased tenfold. You barely had time to process his words, attempts at thrashing around being prevented by Spy’s tight grip around your thighs. He works his fingers in tandem with his mouth and tongue, sucking and hollowing his cheeks like it was for show. Somehow, Spy manages to look so elegant even when going down on you.
Effortlessly, Spy unravels you with the mix of his mouth and fingers. Ripping your arms out from behind your head, they slap onto the back of Spy’s head, holding him in his place as your orgasm courses through your body. Spy’s eyes widen, unprepared for the intensity of your orgasm. Your cum gushes onto his tongue, every drop swallowed eagerly by Spy as the thrusts of his fingers continue to slowly move in and out of you, helping you ride out your high.
“Mon Dieu,” Spy murmurs, the bottom half of his face soaked in your essence.
You squeal slightly, feeling Spy slowly remove his two fingers, “I’m sorry, some of the [fav alcoholic drink] spilled.”
Spy cackles at your apology, one that is nothing of class and manners as it ends with a snort, “Oh, don’t be, mon chou.”
Although most of the liquid has spilled down your sides, a small puddle of what remains of the [fav alcoholic drink] pools in the valley of your navel.
Dramatically, Spy leans down and slurps up the leftover liquid. Bursting into a fit of laughter, you jostle around in Spy’s hold as he begins to blow raspberries into your tummy.
His slight stubble scratches and tickles at your smooth skin, his lips graze you as he utters his next words, “You’re now ready for me~.”
[SPY’S ROOM]
[54 HOURS TIL DEATH]
Frantically, Spy’s dress shirt, belt, and slacks are thrown to the floor along with your [bra/binder/undershirt]. Pushing Spy by his chest, his bare back hits the mattress of his bed.
You don’t take in the room around you, you don’t notice the subtle rose pattern of his comforter, the French literature on his bedside table, the collection of butterfly knives in a glass frame on the wall.
Instead, you notice the rise of Spy’s chest as he breathes deeply, in and out. You notice the beauty marks, freckles, and burn marks that litter his skin. You notice the strain of his aching bulge, tight against his briefs, the garters keeping his socks up wrapped around his shins.
“So impatient,” he groans. You notice the rumble in his throat as you climb on top of him, tearing off his briefs, rubbing the head of his cock around your hole, smearing and circling his precum around the precious muscle.
You notice his eyes that waver from your eyes, down to your chest, and down to your sex. He’s practically drooling.
“Of course I am,” you agree, “just look at you: naked and vulnerable for me.”
It didn’t sound real coming out of your mouth. Spy is never any of those things, but of course, today is a special occasion.
“Oui,” Spy loudly gasps, eyes blown out, hands quickly latching onto your hips as you slam yourself onto his cock.
You don’t waste any time on adjustments, enthusiastically bouncing onto Spy’s cock, letting his balls slap against your ass as you reach towards the headboard behind him, keeping yourself steady.
The stretch of his long, tan, and uncut cock slides deliciously in your hole, it has your eyes rolling in the back of your head as it reaches into the depths of your poor [cunt/ass].
Between bounces, you slowly grind against him, moving your hips in circular motions, making sure you feel every part of his cock before you pick up your pace once more. You feel Spy’s thighs tense up from underneath, his nails digging into the flesh of your ass as his mouth hangs open, unbelievable pleasure wrapped around his aching cock.
“Merde,” Spy hisses, “If you don’t slow down, I may cum..”
Listening to his warning, you ease down your bounces until you’re only slowly bucking your hips into him. Allowing Spy to catch his breath, he rubs your back comfortingly, hugging you close and flipping you both over. Now you’re the one lying down, back easing into the soft mattress, warm from Spy’s body heat as he hovers above you.
“Ah, this is why this is my favorite position,” Spy coos, caressing your cheek, his touch that you nuzzle into, instinctively wrapping your legs around his back.
Spy leans down, granting your lips a loving kiss. Pulling away slightly, his lips are mere centimeters away from your own lips as he whispers, “[Tu es belle/Tu es beau]~.”
Somehow, someway, you’re able to understand exactly what Spy had whispered to you. His eyes that held so much admiration for you, how could you not?
His gentle touch that is reserved for you, his increased body heat, all because of you. You feel so special in his hold as he brings his hips back, slowly moving them forward, thrusting in and out of you at a medium pace.
Both of your hands reach up, cupping Spy’s face, holding onto him dearly, tenderly. Moving his face to the side, softly, he kisses the palm of your hand. Your eyes squint as you smile, pinching the fabric of his balaclava.
“Can I see you?” You ask, nodding your head up, hinting towards Spy’s mask.
Spy’s movements falter, his eyebrows furrowing, clicking his tongue in thought. His hands that were once at your waist as leverage as he pumped his member into you, travel up to your wrist.
“I,” Spy starts, lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. It’s silent except for the slick sounds coming from where you're both connected, your deep breaths mingling.
There’s a sort of bashfulness in Spy’s next actions, his eyes cast downward, taking in your words as he lowers your hands to his chest.
Underneath the palm of your hands, you feel his heart pound against his ribcage. Was Spy feeling nervous? A sigh slices through the silence like a butterfly knife. Gathering up the courage, Spy slowly slips off his balaclava. Spy has nothing to lose.
Seeing Spy’s face for the first and probably last time, you drink in all of his features, sitting up, your hands quickly reach out to hold his face, his slicked back salt and pepper hair, the charming wrinkles near his eyes, his angular features, his smooth, clean-shaven face.
He was…
“Beautiful,” you compliment, awestruck by the man on top of you.
Sure, his mask still revealed most of his features, and based on how he carried himself, Spy was most definitely a handsome rogue. But this was different: seeing Spy in such an intimate atmosphere made him glow. His flushed cheeks, his clouded eyes, his glossy lips: it looked like he belonged in a painting or a photograph. If only you could capture this moment forever, to look back on it with fond eyes, to have it be your favorite memory.
Spy threads his fingers between yours, holding your hands as a warm smile takes over his lips.
“Merci beaucoup,” Spy sheepishly murmurs, his heart burning from your genuine compliment.
Steadily, Spy fastens his thrusts, the head of his cock kissing your sweet [g-spot/p-spot], forcing you to cry out, lying back down just to toss your head back into the plush pillows. They smell so much of Spy, you’re practically drunk off his scent as Spy humps into you.
A new melody fills the room, the lewd sound of skin slapping against each other, the creeks of the springs of the bed, the wooden headboard hitting the wall, all encompassing you and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
Your eyes can’t leave him, no matter how striking his steel colored eyes are, you keep eye contact with him through every thrust of his hips. You both share a fit of laughter as you wink up at him, the passion surrounding you is raw and real, his sweet affection genuine and void of any ill intent.
Ravishing you in this particular position made it feel innocent, emotional, sensual, and romantic. Sniffling, you’re embarrassed to admit that the intentions made tears form in the corner of your eyes.
“Too much for you, mon amour~?” Spy teases, taking note of your glassy eyes. Even in this heated moment, Spy is still a highly observant mercenary whom you’ve come to fancy.
“No,” you shake your head, “need more. Please move faster~..!”
You beckon Spy closer, hugging him and pulling him in with your legs that are wrapped around his torso.
Spy acknowledges your plea with a witty and charming grin, “Does mon [chérie/chéri] want to cum~?”
You hum enthusiastically, moaning his name when he adjusts one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.
“Yes, please,” you plead, gasping, feeling Spy’s cock sink deeper into you.
“Let’s cum together then, oui?”
You nod your head, babbling several pleas of “yes”, “more”, and his name. All the muscles in your body tense, your hole tightening around Spy’s shaft as he continues to passionately plunge his cock into you. Every thrust, his slick slides down his shaft, dripping off his balls and staining the bedsheets. A good Spy leaves no trail behind, but the evidence of your romantic rendezvous is intentionally kept present.
Spy eggs and encourages every noise that spills from your parted lips, groaning, his smooth thrusts turning sloppy as more and more precum leaks from his tip, “Oui, sing for me!”
You whine loudly, your walls fluttering around Spy’s member as one of his hands slides between your legs, rubbing your [clit/cock] furiously as his other hand continues to hold your hand tightly. Your face contorts, the added pleasure causing your legs to tremble. Spy’s attention on your [clit/cock] is relentless, quickening his thrusts as a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. Spy really is spoiling you tonight, isn’t he?
The knot tightens with each thrust, with every rub. The warm feeling in your heart, the butterflies that fly and flap throughout your belly, adding to the pressure between your legs. Sweet memories fill your mind, remembering when you felt these feelings before: meeting Spy for the first time, you remember straightening your posture, rubbing dust off your clothes, wanting to impress him, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes despite your flustered feelings. Sentimental moments during the ceasefire, remembering how Spy told you just how enchanting you looked when the orange hue and glow of the campfire framed your features, which was funny, because you were going to say the same thing to him. Hiding away from enemy BLU in a forgotten hallway in their base, bodies hugging and flushed against the wall, undeniable shared smiles, like you were misbehaving children on the verge of getting caught. Who was going to be brave enough to steal the enemy’s intel?
You let out a full body sob, your orgasm catching up to you before you can realize it, your essence spilling as Spy encourages you to release all over him, your other arm hugs him close, wishing you can somehow absorb into one another, you squeeze your interlocked fingers tightly, calling out his name like a encantation.
Weakly you nudge Spy’s [fingers/hand] off your [clit/cock], he nods in understanding, and with a shuddering sigh, he cums right after you.
“Je suis navré, mon cœur,” Spy apologizes, pulling his cock from you, flustered as he watches his seed seep from your hole.
You chuckle, nuzzling your face into his pillows, suddenly feeling drowsy, you’d worry about cleaning up tomorrow, you tell him.
“Nonono,” Spy ushers, scooping up your tired body, insisting you both clean up together.
You don’t say anything, allowing him to whisk you away into a palace of bubbles and suds. He gently cleans your skin, taking care of you, and you think to yourself, how you wish he never takes his hands off you.
[SPY’S ROOM]
[52 HOURS TIL DEATH]
You blink and you swore you were still in Spy’s bathroom, but your eyes reveal to you the moody bedroom that can only belong to Spy.
Your head rests on Spy’s chest, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Your nose sniffles at the smell of smoke. Peering up, you see Spy take a drag from a cigarette, the smoke dancing around the air from the burned tip.
“Really?” You acknowledge, nodding your head towards the cigarette.
“It’ll be my last,” Spy answers, a small, sad smile etching his lips.
Spy’s words make your mind wander: how are your teammates treating their last hours? Is Demoman having his last few drinks? Is Heavy enjoying his last sandwich? Is Scout swinging his bat for the last time? Is he scoring his final home run?
Your eyes look towards the deathwatch, its glow taunting you as it shows the last remaining hours you have.
Your eyes begin to tear up again, sniffling loudly in Spy’s chest. He soothingly rubs your back, kissing your forehead. Looking up at him, he kisses your tears away, every one that dares to escape past your eyelashes.
You were never afraid of death, and even with having to deal with the initial scare and shock, thanks to the respawn machine, you never had to settle with death. But deep down, you know it isn’t death you’re scared of but of separation. Watching the numbers tick away, you wish there had only been more time.
When you close your eyes, will you still be able to meet with Spy’s blue-gray eyes or will you be unable to open them?
What comes next when you suddenly lose control of your body? Maybe it’s not too late to believe in magic, to believe in a heaven, even if with all the countless lives you’ve stolen, they won’t let you in. But maybe it’s okay, as long as where Spy goes to, you’re able to follow along.
Maybe it was okay to believe in love now that you’ve lost.
“I’ll miss you,” you somehow manage to utter through tears.
“I’ll miss you, too, mon amour,” Spy whispers to you gently, his own eyes appearing to be glassy, or maybe your vision was too blurry to see.
Sitting up, rubbing your eyes dry of any other tears, sniffling as Spy continued to rub your back.
“I’ll miss you, too,” Spy starts, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, sitting up and embracing you, “but that’s okay because at least I have you now.”
Is this really where your story ends? Your story with the Spy, ending in the same chapter it started.
Do you both truly die at the end?
Speechless, you wrap your arms around Spy, accepting his embrace.
It was too late for this. Or maybe, too early. You lost track of time long ago, glowy green numbers on your alarm clock reading 1:45 AM when you first stumbled back home with the pissed drunkard beside you, dragging you inside by your arm. You were practically sober now, your headache screaming as you felt the blissful simplicity of being tipsy leave your throat. You wish you drank more, did something more outrageous than give some stranger your number. Maybe you should’ve kissed him, should’ve stuck your hand down his pants instead of batting your eyelashes. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have to face your boyfriend’s wrath-- he’d have been too heartbroken to even think of reprimanding you.
But it didn’t matter now, not when he decided to deprive you of your senses while pumping round after round inside of you. It was a form of white torture, he hystericaly answered when your arms were jerked behind you, tied with what you thought might’ve been a makeshift restraint or a necktie, but was instead harsh braided rope meant for cattle or ransom victims. It scratched your wrists as he pulled your head back by a fistful of hair, promising that “you’ll be begging for his forgiveness by the end of this.”
With the blindfold he seemed much too prepared to have wrapped around your eyes, Malachi ripped off your skimpy underwear meant for the club, stuffing it in your mouth and narrowly avoiding your biting teeth.
When you both went to celebrate his cousin’s birthday party at a nightclub, you had partly decided to ignore him for treating you so possessively the past month, logic being thrown out the window with the sudden accompaniment of lemon drop shots and a handsome stranger showing you more interest than your jealous, pissed off boyfriend had in ages. You felt wanted, desired. It was nice, even when you felt daggers in your back, and a tugging hand on your shoulder every five minutes. The last straw was when you wrote your scribbled, illegible phone number on the strangers’ arm.
Saying Malachi was enraged was an understatement. You were jerked away, stumbling and laughing as you blew a kiss to your midnight affair. Did you want more? You didn’t know. All you knew, is you wanted a fun night out without having to cater to your obsessive boyfriend’s every need. You wanted to feel sexy, lusted after.
But maybe you should’ve pulled that stunt at a time when Malachi wasn’t around. Then, you wouldn’t be sobbing behind the gag, hearing the wet squelches of cock being bullied inside of you. Your insides felt bruised, nipples tugged and bitten as Malachi slamed in, in, in from below.
Normally, you’d have the power when sitting on top of him, grinding and allowing him to lay limp. But with your thighs spread apart on his flank, hands against your ass and every sense blurred, he thrusted into you as you barely held yourself up.
“This.. is.. what.. you get--!” He huffed, snarling as he slapped the growing welt on your ass cheek. You heard his gasped gag, hips stuttering with his broken orgasm splaying inside of you.
Which orgasm was this? You couldn’t remember, the vibrating toy milking out your sweet spot still going as a mixture of clear-white came to coat Malachi’s dick. He hadn’t eased you in, hadn’t given into the foreplay he’d usually tease you with, even when he normally hate-fucked you.
“You know better..hng, been taught, time, and time again… hah,” You tried to squeeze your legs shut to keep him out, but the hands keeping you lifted moved to violently pull your knees apart. You fell onto his chest with a choke, the sweat dripping from your cheeks mixing with the caked layer on his chest. “You’re just making it too easy for me to punish you, huh?”
You muffled through the gag, prating incomprehensibly as the painful overstim of your lower half was worsened by this new, weak position.
Malachi lazily rutted up into you while coming off his high, pressing your hips down each time to enter deeper. He always went to the hilt of his cock, so deep inside that it made your walls ache and splinter.
“I’d almost say you’re a masochist fr’me,” He panted, lifting you by the jaw to look into his eyes. “ Wanna be pounded by me for flirting with other guys, cheatin like a common streetwalker, mm’?”
You shook your head, unable to see him but knowing those green eyes were boring into you.
“Seems like you still don’t fucking get it then. Well, we’ll be here until you do.”
The gag was pushed deeper down your throat with his thumb, hips rising as he let go of spreading your cheeks to stabilize you. Skin smacked against skin as he pounded up, letting your poor hips fall each time he burrowed out.
“I can’t!” You muffled, the tight pain of another rising orgasm coming beginning to blind you. You couldn’t take this one, your body wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Attempting to slide off, you tried to maneuver your legs away, arms still bound as you struggled to inch off of him. If he was as tired as you, maybe you’d get a chance away.
“Oh no you don’t,” He growled, digging blunt nails into the fat of your thighs with one hand, while the other tugged at your scalp. “Think you get to rest? Get a chance to relax after cheating on me?”
The encircling vibrator was turned up tenfold with the sudden drop of your hair, fingers moving to tug at your ear. “No way, not leaving until I THINK you’ve suffered enough.”
Malachi got close, licking a long stripe inside its canal as he jutted into your weeping entrance faster. The squeaks of the mattress made you cringe, hearing the wetness of his cum layering between your ass and thighs, falling to the sweaty sheets.
His heaves for air grew louder, pushing your shoulders back to force you upright again. You still slouched, even with Malachi’s arm tugging your restrained hands down backwards.
“Gonna take my cock like the.. Hungry whore you’ve been..take it till you’re sorry. And even then, Hah…” He laughed, a pissed and out of breath laugh that made him work harder to bruise your furiously drenched hole. “--still won’t stop cumming inside of you.”
You could only crack a groan each time his hips snapped up, in rhythm with his movement as you felt the vibrator bring you to the brink of another painful, consuming orgasm. Tears and drool dripped from your face alike as you prayed for him to nearly have his fix, lest you pass out from the ecstasy and suffering of another round. Atleast it wasn’t another painful edge session, your hazy mind tried to comprehend. Though at this point, you wondered if that’d have been better.
“Waz.. Mnph, Drunk..” You tried to choke from the bundled up gag, hoping maybe he’d offer you some sympathy out of your previous lack of inhibition.
“Sorry, baby. Doesn’t matter, still actin like you wanna fuck other guys n’ front of me,” He circled his hips upward, watching as your already open mouth created a sweet ‘O.’ You couldn’t help the noises you released anymore, not when he used what you liked and abused it-- but your moans seemed to satisfy Malachi. “But you ready to say you’re sorry? Make it up to me, yeah?”
You nodded your head erratically,, wanting this to end no matter what you had to do. You were exhausted, the lessening vibrator making you sigh in relief despite the aching bruising still inflamed by the plunging cock hilted inside of you.
“Awe, you’re so cute. It’s not enough, though. Say sorry all you want, I wanna hear you.” The evil trick of the calming vibrator had snuffed your awareness, making you jolt when it was snapped back to a level 10. “But I’m not letting you off the hook when you still got so much left to pay for.”
When your boyfriend's DnD campaign goes a few hours over, you take matters into your own hands. Or mouth.
Contains: gn reader, oral sex (m receiving), semi-public.
🎃 kinktober masterlist 🎃
“We’ve been stuck in this tomb for six hours, can we just lock in already?” Shoko’s voice sounds from out of Satoru Gojo’s home office.
Dungeons and Dragons happens every Friday night, but tonight it’s gone three hours over the usual time.
Yuki cuts in. “Well, if Ino wasn’t in the corner with his mage hand the whole time maybe we could have –”
"This is why Nanami won't play with us," Shoko cuts in again.
"No," responds Satoru, "Nanami won't play with us because he hates fun." Quietly under his breath he adds, "and the dreaded penis monster that has eyes for him and only him."
A few groans ring through the speaker while Ino laughs.
“Okay, okay,” Satoru asserts, “like Shoko said, everyone lock in. Now, who’s turn is it to roll? Ah, Ijichi! You've been so quiet that I forgot you were here!”
Hours ago, the two of you made a deal. You get yourself turned on while he finishes playing, then he’d fuck you after. He’d be done at 9pm like usual.
Now, it’s midnight and you’ve made yourself cum four times.
It’s his turn now.
As you sneak in, Satoru’s too invested in the game to notice you crawling under his desk.
“A natty one? Yeah, you took a lot of damage. Ino, you're up!”
While adjusting your position under the desk, you hit your head on the bottom. Satoru looks under. You watch his face shift from confusion to understanding before he sits back up. He switches to his headset to block out the background noise.
"Yeah, sounds like a great idea," he continues as you unzip his pants. "And you rolled a 19? You backtrack to the last tomb and find another mage hand. I love that for you!"
You can almost hear Shoko and Yuki groaning from the other side of Satoru's headphones. He laughs.
With a tug, you yank his pants down to his knees. His underwear are quick to follow. Finally, his cock springs free with a cute bounce.
You wrap your mouth around the tip while your hands grasp his shaft. He's not fully hard yet, but he's getting there.
“Are–are you sure, you want to use an enlarging spell?” Satoru says into the headset, “okay, your choice. Roll for it.”
Meanwhile, you’re using an enlarging spell of your own. His erection has grown substantially enough to hit the back of your throat when you take him all the way into your mouth.
"I-" he gulps, "I uh, yeah. That lands."
Your head dips lower, sucking as much of him in as you can at this angle. His thighs tense. You bob your head a few times and listen to him stutter.
"A, um 12? You rolled that, fuck, uh. You can hit — er, it hits but it bounces off. Uhm, next up."
Your lips tighten around him, pulling back with a pop. After a few strokes, you lick from his base to tip, making him grip the desk.
“Oh wow, fuck. Uh, look at the time! I have to uhhhgghh, mmmm, and the remaining mummies get everyone and you all dhhiiiigghhh and the end.” You hear him pull his headphones off and throw them on the surface above you.
“But I rolled a 19–” Ino’s voice cuts off as Satoru snaps the laptop shut, slumping over his desk.
“Fuuuuck,” Suguru drools over his desk. His hands tangle into your hair, moving it out of your face. He leans back to watch. Moments later, his grip tightens and he throws his head back into the chair. With hips arching into your touch, he let's out something between a moan and a gasp. You can feel his cum gushing out, splattering the back of your throat. Your hands continue stroking him, pulling out every last drop.
As soon as he regains any amount of composure, he slides to the floor across from you. Leaning in, he kisses you like he needs it. After a minute, he pulls away, pointing at his newly revived erection.
“Round two?” he asks.
“It's round five or six for me,” you say, “but I think I could go for another.”
"Good," he says, pulling you to the bedroom. "And here, I thought I rolled a two by being so late to the party tonight."
