SUMMARY: Yuki decides to let Choso come and play with her girlfriend.
PAIRING: Choso Kamo/Yuki Tsukumo/Female Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, voyeurism, penetrative sex, use of a strap, orgasm denial (if you squint), basically just Choso being a desperate mess wanting to fuck reader.
A/N: Originally this was supposed to be for Kinktober but due to the insane schedule I just got from my work that's probably not happening anymore. So, I figured I'd post this so it doesn't go to waste. :') Title inspired by Voyeur by James Blake :)
WC: 750
MASTERLIST
-
“You okay, Cho?”
The sound of your voice cuts through him like a knife. The soft coo of breathless lungs pulling him out of his own stupor as he pants.
Laid before him are both you and Yuki. The image of bare chests and legs creating a heat throughout his body he can’t sweat out. The kind that already has him squirming on the edge of the bed; digits twitching to grip the sheets beneath him so tight he swears he hears the sound of them crack.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, but he does. The sound of his own voice muffling in his mind as his gaze shifts from body to body, eventually trailing up to see thick silicone pushing through your folds. Both of you are lying on your sides, back to front while Yuki’s arm —toned and heavy-handed—wraps around your neck as she nips at your ear and laughs.
“You like when Choso watches, baby?” she asks, and truthfully, it takes everything Choso has not to slip in between and take his fill in that moment. The temptation nearly breaking him, especially when he watches your lips start to part slowly; the sensations you feel taking over your mind as you let out a hearty breath.
It makes his chest ache, witnessing such a sudden pull of air mixed with the push of the strap entering your cunt —rendering you useless until you find it in yourself to nod. The vulgar sight causing Choso’s hands to start to fiddle with the fabric. Each of his fingers rubbing the texture of silk between each pad, pretending they’re you. Imagining that instead of Yuki gently fucking you with that god-awful piece of plastic it’s him instead; fingers and all providing you with the pleasure you need. The feel of your back pressed roughly against his chest filling him with an intense need for more.
At which point, he hears you whimper from the impact. Each shift of the strap making you squirm beneath the blonde’s touch. Visions of arms and legs struggling to get away from the brutalizing pace she quickly sets appearing in Choso’s view.
With a huff, it forces him to throw all caution to the wind and move one hand to cup his cock, gently rubbing it through his clothes. Allowing the tension you’ve built to ever so slightly subside when he feels that initial pressure release. The presence of something to grind against as he tries to remember to breathe.
Unfortunately, though, it’s not enough. Not when he can see Yuki violently snapping her hips while saying his name; reminding you to put on a good show for him. No, at that point he has to go a bit further and slip beneath his waistband to properly touch himself. The feel of his already hard cock twitching before he even has the chance to wrap himself around the base.
Which is an act that proves almost futile when he hears Yuki laugh, prompting his eyes to flicker up and see the arm that’s wrapped around her neck move to grip your jaw. The sheer force of her fingers jutting it over to catch his eye, making you whimper.
“Look,” she says then, smirking as she watches your gazes line up. Both of you staring each other down as she fucks you while he fucks himself. Your respective pleasures building when he catches the rhythm of your breath and starts to match it. “Already so desperate for you. Can’t even wait until I’m finished.”
Swallowing hard, he feels his chest begin to gradually empty. Each pass of air within his lungs failing to return when he rubs his thumb over his head, already feeling the warm stick of pre-come collecting on the very flesh he wants to put inside you.
“Cho?”
This time, Yuki addresses him. Unlike before though, he doesn’t look at her. Instead, he just stares at your face, memorizing each moment of tension that builds as he hums in response, hoping that’s enough.
“Cho, sweetheart, I need you to wait, okay? You’ll get your turn, I promise.”
All he does is nod, keeping hold of himself but doing nothing else, knowing he can’t. Not when the promise of you all spread apart for him to fuck is waiting in the wings. Or when he can see that faint flicker of desire in your eye when you ultimately come, knowing you’re in for another round.
Pairing: Tiefling OC / Human OC
Contains: 18+ sexual content, male character POV, light dom/sub dynamics, teasing, restraints, bratting, collaring, hand job, blow job, inappropriate use of mage hand, established relationship, domestic fluff, modern au.
Word Count: 8,185
Note: This is apart of an AU a friend and I developed a while ago. I posted it elsewhere ages ago during my absence but we’re back to writing so here she is again!
Also, if you'd prefer to read it on AO3, it's been posted there as well.
She’s been gone for days now and Leon already misses her. The lack of contact making him needy and unbearable as he lies on the couch, barely paying attention to the slasher film on the screen as his eyes focus on his phone.
It’s been hours since she’s texted back. Which is like her, but still, it sucks because it’s his birthday. The one day that’s selfishly his, and yet, the one thing he wants is a thousand miles away speaking at some bogus magical conference, failing to answer his texts.
Huffing grumpily, he pulls up their last point of contact. They video called for an hour before she fell asleep. Then, he texted her that he loved her and in return he got nothing. Just a bunch of radio silence the whole damn day which is genuinely starting to worry him. Prompting him to call her once, twice, wondering if a third time is too much before deciding fuck it and trying again.
However, during that last one, he hears a knock on his door that has him jumping out of his skin. A wave of anxiety rushing through his system, already assuming the worst as he hangs up and races to the door. His body roughly crashing into the wall when his socks carry him across the hardwood a bit too far, causing a bit of the wind to become knocked from his lungs as he unlocks the door and rips it open to find her standing there like she hasn’t been giving him a god damn heart attack all day.
He could kill her if she wasn’t so pretty. So, instead of scolding her or slamming the door shut for ignoring him, he quickly relinquishes his grip on the handle to reach for her waist and tug her close. To kiss her senseless as she eventually tries to shove him off.
“Leon.”
She’s laughing as she says his name, which might be the greatest birthday gift he’s ever been given: seeing her smile like that as he moves his mouth to her cheek instead, curiously humming as he takes a step back to fully pull her into the apartment.
“So, this is why you’ve been ignoring me.”
She’s wearing a long black coat—something a detective from one of those cheesy noir films might wear—prompting him to give her a long, much needed once over. Taking his time as his gaze curiously travels around trying to figure out where she got the damn thing.
“Sorry.” She interrupts his thoughts by leaning in to steal another kiss, which definitely grabs his attention. "I wanted to surprise you.”
“Damn near—mmm—gave me a heart attack,” he says, lips still partially pressed against hers while his hands grip her hips before slowly but surely wrapping around to cup her ass. “Brat.”
Almost immediately, she huffs in response and tugs at his hair, resulting in a grunt that she swiftly swallows down with more kisses. Every press becoming more and more needy as his grip grows tighter and her mouth gets hungry. Both of them feeling like they’re on fire until Leon eventually growls from the desperation and lifts her up, maneuvering her legs to wrap around his waist as he practically sprints to the bedroom.
At which point he throws her onto the bed, crowding over top to start tugging at the tie around her waist and the buttons that are done up way too high for his liking. To the point where he’s tempted to just rip the damn thing off and offer to buy her a new one.
“Why the hell is this so—“
He cuts himself off with a groan as his finger slips from one of the buttons. The lack of cooperation suddenly making him irritated until he hears her laughing and feels her fingers gently wrap around his.
“Hey, calm down.”
He’s not sure why he finds his misery so funny. So, he pouts and presses more of his weight against her, as if deflating like a balloon. “How do you expect me to be calm when you’ve been gone for four days?”
“Three and half.”
All he does is scoff and roll his eyes before tucking his face into the crook of her neck. Using the space to hide away, knowing just how ridiculous he’s being.
They used to hardly see each other when she was still a student. Back when everything was heaps more complicated, he’d be lucky to see her twice in one month, so he reminds himself how lucky he is that he gets to spend most nights with her now. How privileged he is to share his space with someone so smart and beautiful and—
“Can you get off of me for a sec?”
At first, he just grunts in protest, gripping onto her harder. But then he hears her laugh again and suddenly he’s lifting his head and narrowing his eyes, wondering what the hell is so funny tonight.
“Are you high or something?”
More laughter spills out as she shakes her head and pats his leg—a clear indicator that she wants him to get off of her already so that she can—well, he doesn’t know, but he does protest for a minute. Refusing to move as he offers a mock glare that definitely does nothing to sway her into talking.
So, he quickly just gives up. Huffing again as he flops onto his back beside her, glancing over in annoyance.
“That coat is the devil, you know that right?”
In response, her face scrunches up, appearing both amused and confused as she leans over top of him to place a hand on either side of his head as she cocks her own. “Why? Because you lack the patience to take it off?”
Grumbling back, he continues pouting as he reaches up to play with the tie around her waist, twirling one end around aimlessly as he avoids her gaze on purpose. “No, because I hate it.”
“Because it’s inhibiting you from seeing what’s underneath.”
“No, because—“
He quickly pauses to repeat her words in his head, finding the teasing, yet matter-of-fact tone of them somewhat odd. Because usually she’s one or the other, not both. Which definitely triggers his mind into thinking that something’s definitely up. Something that clearly has to do with the coat he immediately slides his hand beneath, letting his fingers trail up her legs and thighs, finding nothing but lace underneath.
“Oh, you little—“
She’s laughing again. But this time it’s not as offensive as before because at least she’s also moving to straddle his lap and undo the buttons. Letting him catch a glimpse of the dark red fabric underneath, each sliver that slips out driving him more and more mad as he grips her thighs.
“I can’t believe you didn’t start with this.”
“I was planning on it, but you grabbed me and dragged me in here.”
“So?” He narrows his eyes, looking almost offended until he catches a glimpse of the garter belt on her waist. Then, he’s practically groaning right then and there, letting his head fall back as his lip pulls between his teeth with a satisfied hum. All while his hands slip up only to get smacked back down.
“Wait.”
It’s simultaneously the hottest and most torturous thing he’s ever heard. The way her voice sounds stern but also soft, like she knows what’s best for him.
Honestly? She probably does, he thinks. So, begrudgingly, he keeps his hands on her thighs, kneading the soft flesh a little harder as more of her is slowly unwrapped like a sweet little present.
“You’re killing me.”
All she does is snort and lean down to give him a chaste kiss. The kind that’s almost not even worth it since his mind’s processing time is currently suffering at the sight of her tits and how they sit in that god damn bra.
“No, I’m serious. One wrong move and I’m—“
He feels her palm over his mouth before he can even finish what would’ve been a terrible joke, and truthfully he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to be underneath her right now, watching the way the lace hugs her curves. Feeling the warmth of her skin practically teasing him through his clothes as he gives her thighs another squeeze.
“Stop talking.”
Despite the obvious desire to be stern, she’s still grinning as she leans down to brush some hair from his face. Subtly baring her fangs in a way that has him swallowing and shifting and generally just feeling the discomfort of the developing hard on that he’s sure she can feel by now.
“It’s my turn to make you feel good, okay?” Her expression softens alongside her voice as her fingers run through his hair and her other hand slips off his mouth to settle against his throat. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
There’s a part of him that wants to argue, but then he remembers how long it’s been since he’s been taken care of in the way she’s clearly insinuating. Because with her, it always feels like he’s on autopilot, moving so fast to give and take that he always winds up becoming the one who calls the shots.
“You sure?”
She nods and leans in, giving him a proper kiss that has him literally melting into the bed as he grips her thighs to keep him afloat. To keep him tethered to the feeling of her hips shifting forward and back against his crotch, causing him to groan into her mouth.
Which only makes the urge to simply flip them over and move her panties out of the way so that he finally fuck her immediately come to mind. The sudden image of her beneath him, blissed out and wanton only making the fact that she’s still grinding against him all the more painful as his hands try and move towards her hip. Only to be interrupted again by a rough nip to his lips that gives him pause.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m not.” He pouts.
As expected, she doesn’t buy his argument for a second. Why would she with his track record?
“Yeah, okay.”
Her expression immediately grows sceptical as her hands slip down his chest, moving down the sides of his ribs and waist until they’re grabbing the fabric of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Revealing bare skin that she’s lightning quick to drag her claws down.
He hisses at the contact, prompting her to tense up and rub the offending marks that are already blooming a bright red.
“Too much?”
He almost laughs at the thought as he shakes his head, telling her, “No. Just right, sweetheart.”
At which point, he can spot the relief in her eyes alongside the heavy breath that escapes. Resulting in her needing to take a moment to reset before she’s back to taking control. Using her body to render him all but useless as she scratches and grinds, occasionally adding the odd kiss or two throughout the process.
And it’s torture. Every time she tells him no or gently punishes him with her claws and teeth, it’s like time stands still, making the fact that she’s finally taking off the rest of his clothes all the more brutal when she brushes her fingers against cock. Teasing him with a wicked grin that only creates more trouble for him when he can’t resist the urge to smack her ass before giving it a rough rub.
Which winds up being worth it when he hears that squeak she often makes whenever he surprises her. At least, until she magically slips off the bed entirely, leaving him high and dry without any time to even try and protest.
“God, I hate when you do that.”
She’s at the dresser now, rooting through his drawer of toys with a hum. Not even sparing him a glance until she’s grabbing the familiar cuffs and walking back over.
“Yeah, well, I hate when you don’t listen,” she says, smirking now as she presses a forceful hand to his chest, using it as leverage to crawl on top of him. “Arms up.”
His head falls back with a groan, wanting to resist further—to see how far he can push her. To see whether or not she’ll simply give up and give him what he wants or if she’ll hold out.
“You know, you’re one to talk for someone who’s just as bratty when I tie them down.”
She rolls her eyes at that. Shaking her head as she goes to grab his wrists, finding him quickly move them away with a grin.
“Oh, sorry, did you want these?”
He wiggles his fingers at her before immediately going for another spank that has her shutting her eyes and biting her lip, resisting the urge to make a single sound despite clearly enjoying it.
“Aw, were you expecting this to be easy?” he teases, letting his fingers toy with the waistband of her panties, twisting them playfully as he cocks his head and flashes her an even wider grin. All while watching her remain still to catch her breath.
It takes a few moments, but eventually she manages to reset once again. That subtle sternness from earlier doubling before his very eyes as she grabs his wrist, deliciously digging her claws into his skin while she wrangles them above his head. Struggling against him as he chuckles over the sheer effort it takes to get him to submit.
“Wow, look at you,” he eventually says once she’s managed to get him restrained. “So powerful.”
He’s obviously teasing, but deep down he is actually kind of proud of her. The sight of her overcoming a struggle—regardless of how niche it is—filling him with a sense of warmth that has his expression softening and his chest tightening.
“You’re such a brat.”
She leans in, pressing her forehead against his to roughly grab his face and give him a look that screams I hate you but in the most loving of ways.
It’s the kind of look that makes him want to surrender for the sake of it. To relent so that she can finally feel the satisfaction of giving him what he clearly needs. Also, to earn that very same thing. Since he can feel himself getting more and more desperate.
Because with every shift and press he can feel his temperature rising and his cock twitching—silently begging for that release he knows will probably take ages, considering he’s got at least two strikes against him. But he doesn’t care. Not when she’s swiping her thumb across his lip, looking like she wants to eat him alive with that half-lidded gaze and that hint of a grin.
“Can you be good now, please?” she asks, her tone soft and sweet and—
God, yes, he thinks. Though, what comes out is more of a needy hum as he nods his head, feeling the pad of her thumb just slightly slip into his mouth from the motion. The accidental act causing his tongue to seek it out—to lap at her flesh like a man starved until she merely gives in with a look of surprise and lets him have it.
At which point, he gently nips at the digit. Not enough to cause any pain—just enough to latch on as he looks up, noticing the way her cheeks start to go a bit violet. The heat of obvious arousal mixing with her usual tone of blue to create the most perfect hue. The kind that damn near leaves him breathless as his tongue slips out to taste her thumb.
As expected, it tastes like every other time he’s gotten his mouth on her skin; her flavour making him salivate and softly groan. Prompting her thumb to push further in as she leans forward to kiss forehead, then temple, followed by the edge of his mouth which he turns to kiss hers instead.
Which makes him wonder if he’ll get punished for that too. The thought immediately sending a chill up his spine as he chases each kiss, borderline whimpering for more each time she teasingly pulls away.
“Mmm , you want a kiss?”
As she speaks, the thumb that was in his mouth swipes across his cheek, leaving a trail of his own saliva that’s hardly even registered when he rapidly nods. Immediately falling prey to whatever she’s willing to offer.
Because he’d honestly do anything at this point. Bark, roll over, fetch some fucking toy half way across the city—anything to get a sliver of her lips. And he’s sure she knows that too, based on the way her bottom lip pulls between her teeth and her eyes take in the expanse of his face, clearly admiring her own work.
“Yeah? You’re gonna be a good boy from now on, then?” she practically purrs, letting her palms run across his skin, moving from his face to his shoulders before slowly sliding up his arms to thread their fingers together.
Which puts him in a rather precarious position now, considering instead of her mouth being close to his, it’s her tits, still clad in lace. Both of them staring him right in the face, mocking him as he lets out a shaky sigh and looks up.
As expected, she’s already looking down at him. Her expression amused while his partially falls, because he’s trying to be good. However, she’s really keen on making such a task incredibly hard with the way her left hand slowly releases his, backtracking down his arm at such a leisurely pace he winds up literally squirming. Finding it impossible not to move against the barely there touches that feel almost ticklish now.
“Baby, please—“
His eyes flicker down for the briefest of moments, catching a flash of red lace, before darting back up and softening. A newfound desperation that somehow wasn’t already there coming to life to beg for more. To plead solely with his gaze, hoping that if he remains silent and willing she’ll throw him a bone.
“Please?”
She’s mocking him now. Teasing him to the point of madness as he feels that same hand slip away and move to her chest, watching her paw at the fabric. Letting her fingers toy with the lacy edge in a way that looks like she might tug it down but doesn’t. Prompting him to press his lips together to suppress a ragged groan and nod.
“Can you say it again for me?"
He’s not sure if the word will even work, but he says it anyway, hearing the way his voice wavers from the heat under his skin and the firm swell between his legs that’s starting to ache from the lack of attention.
“P-Please, Zay—please, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, sweetheart. Please .”
By some miracle that seems to do it for her, because not long after she’s pulling a single cup down to reveal half of her chest. Granting his mouth access as she lowers her other hand to weave through his hair and hold him close. Forcibly leading him to take her nipple into his mouth and suck.
Which he has no problem with; especially when he hears those soft little sighs that come along after. Or, when he feels her back arch towards him as she curses under her breath—something she only does when she’s really satisfied.
It’s mesmerizing, he thinks, seeing her like this. Being able to feel the resolve of dominance slipping from her grasp with every brush of his tongue. Seeing the way her eyes begin to shut when he gently nips the sensitive skin. Feeling the way she slowly maneuvers his mouth to travel down her body, leading him from her chest all the way down to the lowest parts of her stomach until he has to lean back, knowing what she wants.
She wants to be devoured. She wants to feel his tongue between her thighs, hungrily lapping until she’s completely lost. All of which he gladly plans on doing as he feels her shifting above him, holding the hands still strapped above his head to keep her steady as she crawls onto his face and hovers over top.
At which point, she’s breathing a bit harder. Practically panting and shaking with anticipation as she rests her thighs on either side of his head and looks down.
“If you need to breathe just tap my hand twice,” she tells him, mimicking the motion with her forefinger as they remain laced in his.
“I’m sure I'll be fine.”
She lets out a breathless laugh, clearly finding his confidence after all that whining a bit funny. “Yeah, well—just in case, okay?”
Instead of responding, he merely tips his head to the side to kiss her thigh. Keeping his eyes locked on her as he watches her draw in a deep breath and arch her back again.
“Mmm…”
“Good?”
Her eyes are shut now as she nods. “Really good.”
“Really good?” he says, pretending to be surprised as he languidly licks whatever part of her skin he can get to at the moment. “High praise from you.”
Despite clearly wanting to be in that dominant headspace, she cracks a smile and lowers her hips down to his mouth. Allowing herself to finally open her eyes as she watches him try to nudge the fabric of her panties out of the way with his nose at the same time he kisses her cunt.
Which he can tell is immediately overwhelming when she tightens the grip on his hand—moving the other from his hair to impatiently move the offending fabric to the side to grant him better access.
And it’s fucking incredible. Even if it’s also the opposite of relieving, it’s ridiculously sexy, which is more than enough motivation to latch onto her clit. To lap and suck at every nerve ending within reach until she’s practically grinding on his face and whimpering his name.
He’s tempted to give in, then. But at the same time, he can sense she’s just as desperate as he is, resulting in a few mischievous thoughts he can’t quite deny as he stops his ministrations entirely. Forcing the pleasure to come to grinding halt, causing her to groan in frustration, knowing what’s to come.
“Leon—“
He hums against her, prompting her to stubbornly lift her hips just enough to grant him the chance to talk. Not that she wants to hear it right now. “I need a bit more relief, sweetheart.”
She narrows her eyes, trying to look annoyed despite the flush of her cheeks and the weight of her breath making it hard to take her seriously. “Do you now?”
He gives her thigh a quick nip, grinning against her skin as he nods. “Mhm.”
In response, her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. Probably because she knows how stubborn he can be. Not to mention patient, even though he’d rather not have to be—hence the poorly timed negotiation currently taking place.
“God, you— ahhh —“
He cuts her off with a long, much needed lick across her entrance. Using the simple tactic to remind her just how capable he is at making her submit before he replies, “Oh, does that feel good?”
This time the curse that slips from her lips is an angry one. The kind that’s filled with all the hatred in the world as she tugs his hair back with a huff. “Fine, you want relief?”
Before she’s even finished her words, he feels the presence of a hand around his cock. Its grip firm and drastically cold, causing him to scrunch up his face with a hiss.
“Jesus, Zay—“
He doesn’t get a chance to express his shock any further, though. Thanks to the impatient way she plops back down against his mouth—effectively interrupting the sudden chill to his system by warming his face with her cunt again.
At least, until he feels the hold she has on him start to move. Then, he’s thrown off balance again, pausing the use of his tongue to make a choked out sound of delight when he finally gets that relief, causing him to emit a low groan against her skin at the same time his hips buck up, needing more.
Which thankfully she gives him by tightening the hold around his cock without hesitation. As she continues to grind against his face, both of them quickly devolve into a series of moans that fill the room. The sounds they make in response to the other echoing off the walls to create a cacophony of fulfilled pleasure. Every whimper or moan easily spurring on their efforts to get the other off.
It’s hard, but he manages to maintain enough focus to angle his head upwards and prod her clit with his nose. All while his tongue draws patterns across her folds—ebbing and flowing along the heated flesh at the same time the hand that previously held his slips away to grab his hair.
At which point, he realizes that there’s three hands touching him. The one that occasionally bumps his face as she holds her panties to the side, the one in his hair, and the final one now fully jerking him off.
It’s the kind of discovery that makes him groan even louder, resulting in that third hand—which he now realizes definitely isn’t hers—to pick up the pace. It’s hold on him tightening as the thumb roughly runs along his tip.
Bucking his hips again, he finds himself growing more and more distracted by the second. His own efforts becoming sloppy—almost half-assed as he seeks out his own release only to have it stripped away when the hand comes to a stop at his base.
“I come first,” he then hears her say—breathless and commanding and so fucking hot he can’t even be mad. Not after all the times he’s denied her of her own orgasms in the past. Not after he’s been spent the entire night pushing her buttons. Not after that last moment of pure selfishness.
He has to make up for all of it. So, he does by doubling down. Using every lap, lick, and suck he can think of to bring her to her peak. To feel her legs tremble against his cheeks as her cunt continues to soak his tongue.
As expected, it takes a decent amount of time—not too short, not too long. Though, in certain moments when she decides to command the third hand to give him the odd stroke, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel like time was literally standing still.
Regardless though, he manages to make her come. The familiar rush of adrenaline that hits right before it happens making his mind go fuzzy as he feels her twitch against him. Every jerk reaction causing the slick against his lips to spread across his skin when he decides to use his nose again in an attempt to add to the pleasure.
Which clearly works because not even a second later she’s freeing up his face with a ragged groan from the loss. Quickly forcing herself to slip off of him only to return to slot her mouth over the head of his cock.
It’s a sight he’s seen more times than he can count. And yet, it never fails to make him melt. Probably because the way she hollows her cheeks as she sucks him off just does something to him. Like some sort of hypnosis, it draws him in immediately, pulling his gaze down to share her own, noticing how delirious she looks. Almost like she’s drunk off of him—off the taste of his skin as her head bobs in time with the mage hand he can finally see now that she isn’t in the way.
“Fuck baby, you look so pretty down there,” he blurts out.
Because truthfully he’s always been a talker. In and out of bed, he likes to yap; especially when it comes to praising her. Which he does, almost immediately. With every languid lick or rough suck, he’s groaning out her name without hesitation, telling her how stunning she looks with his cock in her mouth or how good she’s being just for him. Anything to show his appreciation as he continues to follow her mouth with his hips.
“God, wish I could touch you.”
Despite the depth of her focus, she manages to come to pretty quickly when she hears that. Letting her mouth slip away while the mage hand still continues to do the job well enough to keep him at a certain level.
“Do you want me to un-cuff you?”
Her voice sounds raw now. Somewhat broken by the assault of her throat, causing his expression to soften as he nods. “Please. Just—need to feel you for a little bit.”
For once, she doesn’t get him to do anything in return. Instead, she simply nods back and maneuvers herself up his body to unlock each cuff. Pausing to give each of his wrists a gentle rub with her thumbs before placing a kiss to either pulse point.
Which damn near makes his heart explode with how tender she suddenly is. The innocence in her movements directly juxtaposing his thoughts which are filled to the brim with visions of holding her down. Forcing her into the bed so that he can absolutely ruin her.
“They weren’t too tight, right? I realize I forgot to ask earlier.”
All he does is shake his head and wrap his arms around her waist, bringing her down to press a series of kisses to whatever patches of skin present themselves first. The temptation from just a few seconds ago only growing when he hears her sigh, resulting in the mage hand to stop entirely.
He knows then that she’s distracted. So, he rolls her over to fully press her into the bed, using what strength he has left to push her chest down while his other hand pulls her hips up. Then, he immediately crowds in behind her, lining himself up with her entrance as he leans overtop of her.
“You know, teasing me for that long probably wasn’t a good idea.”
He’s kidding— partially. Though, he’s tempted to keep the charade of revenge up as he gives her earlobe a light nip, causing her to whine. The sound of it only spurring him on further as he slowly enters her with a ragged groan. One that she’s quick to match as her claws curl into the rumpled sheets beneath them.
And normally, he’d probably make some comment about how hot she sounds, but because he’s been denied for so long his focus goes straight to his dick and how it feels finally wrapped around her. Every pulse or flutter of heat causing his thoughts to slip away as he starts to thrust forward, burying himself as deep as he can before slipping back and repeating the process.
At first, he starts off slow. Allowing her to get used to the way he’s able to fill her up with ease before he starts to pick up the pace. However, after about a dozen or so passes, he’s quick to let go entirely. No longer holding back as he roughly fucks into her—using one hand to keep her hips raised while the other tugs on her horn.
“Fuck, you feel god damn good,” he grunts, feeling her tighten around him. “Gonna— ngh, fuck —make you feel nice and full. Okay, baby?”
As he continues, he begins to mark whatever portions of skin he can get his mouth on. Nipping and sucking as much colour into her flesh as he can so that later he can look back and be reminded of the best birthday present he’s pretty sure he’s ever received.
Well, until he inevitably comes. Then, he’s sure that’s the best present. What with the way she’s moaning his name and grinding against every thrust that makes its way inside of her.
He hates to admit it, but it comes out of nowhere. Every part of his body suddenly feeling warm and taut before that familiar shake of his muscles arrives, forcing him to loosen up as he comes inside, feeling her shudder too.
And by that point, they’re both panting. The heat from their lungs pushing and pulling, trying to regain a sense of composure as he lazily slumps overtop of her, feeling every inch of her spine curl against his chest. The way she stretches it out while releasing a long, much needed sigh making him do the same.
It’s perfect, he thinks. She’s perfect. So much so he finds himself tucking his face into the crook of her neck to press a series of featherlight kisses to her skin. Just barely giving the space the attention it deserves as he feels her tail slowly wrap around his calf.
“You always do that,” he immediately points out, laughing now as he reaches down to pet the base.
“Hm?”
She sounds confused, which makes sense considering he probably fucked her a little too hard. Not to mention he knows sometimes it takes a bit more brain power to be the one in control.
So, he gives her a little grace, grinning as he moves his lips to her cheek. “You always get all possessive afterwards. With your tail.”
Grumbling softly, she turns her head, glancing up with tired eyes and a bit of grin that damn near forces him to lean in and steal another kiss—a proper one this time. Since he was too occupied earlier.
She raises a brow. “Should I not do that?”
Without hesitating, he shakes his head, feeling her grip around his leg tighten. “No, it’s cute.”
And it is. Among other things that he’s definitely trying to ignore right now as he carefully maneuvers them on to their sides. Keeping her back flush against his chest so that he can wrap his arms around her waist while still remaining inside.
Because truthfully, he doesn’t want to lose her quite yet. Even if it’s borderline torture to feel the subtle aftershocks as they periodically appear, he wants to feel close to her. To drag whatever form of intimacy he can manage out since he knows how busy she is. Always bouncing from one task to the next.
“I missed you.”
As he speaks, he makes a point of tightening his arms around her waist. Tugging her as close as humanly possible once he hears that happy little hum slip of her lips.
“Missed you, too.”
“It’s so boring without you.”
This time, she huffs out a breathy laugh before turning back to look at him. “You know you can see your other friends when I’m not here, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re not you .”
She rolls her eyes at the same time he reaches up to to detangle a few pieces of loose hair that’ve made a home amongst her horns. Allowing his fingers to gently pull the strands off the topmost point with narrowed eyes.
“God, I hate having horns sometimes.”
He smirks, briefly looking down to see her pouting with her eyes closed. Her expression appearing almost weary as he continues his work. “I like the horns. They make you look intimidating.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah, it’s hot.”
She laughs again while peeking open one eye to examine his work. “You would think that.”
“Hm, yes, god forbid I like the way my girlfriend looks,” he says, fully craning his down to press a few kisses to her temple. Applying a bit more pressure than probably necessary because he wants to drown her in it. His affection. Just for a minute or two so that she knows how much all this means to him.
How much she means to him.
“I love you. Horns, tail, blue skin.” He could go on, listing all her unique characteristics, but he wants to kiss her more—wants to feel the way she leans into every touch like a cat who’s desperate for attention.
“Fake eye, too?”
“Mhm.”
In that moment, he can feel her melt beneath him. Every movement gaining a bit of fatigue as she releases a heavy breath and reaches for his hand to thread their fingers together. Almost as if she needs to hold on so she doesn’t slip away.
“I love you, too—all of it,” she tells him, then. Barely getting the words out before he’s using his free hand to grab her face and place another, much needier kiss to her lips.
It’s the kind of kiss that’s given in thanks. Not because of the surprise visit or the lingerie or the sex, but because she means it. Because she loves him for who he is and she’s not afraid to say it loud.
It’s a strange thing to explain, but it's a feeling he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to. Or be able to thank her for in a way that she’ll ever really understand, knowing she’s terrible at being vulnerable most of the time. So, he thanks her by gently prying her lips open to find her tongue. To playfully brush his own against it as he sucks the air straight from her lungs, holding her face in the tenderest of ways while the grip on her waist grows impossibly tight.
And he does this all for ages. Up until the point they have to break away and breathe because his own lungs are burning. Not to mention, his cock is starting to harden again, despite still being exhausted.
“Can we go again?”
His voice is quiet—pleading. A phrase of desire he knows will soon be echoed back when she gets enough energy.
“Yeah, just give me another minute.”
He grins at how predictable she is. Then, he kisses her temple again before settling into the crook of her neck to patiently wait. Using the last few moments of their reprieve to absentmindedly play with her fingers and just chat.
“I like the outfit by the way. I don’t know if I said that.”
“I think I gathered that,” she replies, amused.
In response, he huffs. “I’m going to selfishly assume you bought that just for me?”
“I did, yeah.”
He can feel his stomach flip at the thought of her going into some fancy shop and sifting through the rack. The sight of her focused face deliberating between two pieces for probably far longer than she needed to, causing his hips to instinctively shift up with a groan.
Which thankfully she doesn’t protest. Instead, choosing to embrace his endless neediness by pushing back. Granting him access to go as deep as he can before slowly sliding out, keeping his movements relaxed because he doesn’t want to rush it. He wants to prolong it—to force her into feeling every inch of flesh that slips along her walls.
Also, he wants to draw out those little sounds he loves so much. Mostly because he was too distracted earlier to really get a chance to hear them. So, with his free hand he reaches down to feel the now stretched out panties against her clit, pushing it aside again to rub in circles while kissing her neck.
“Feels good?”
A ragged sigh hits his ears a second or so later. Followed by a nod that bumps against his face. “Y-Yeah. Keep going, please.”
Grinning a bit, he moves his hips in time with his hands, still keeping every movement long and languid to draw her further out of her sleepy shell. “Only cause you’re being so polite.”
“I’m always polite.”
He offers a skeptical sound, punctuating it with a deep thrust that makes her squirm. “You’re usually polite,” he argues, leaning down to nip at her neck.
“And you’re usually not.”
Instead of replying, he adds a bit more pressure to his fingers. Swirling them around the sensitive flesh before slipping them up and down to reset the sensations. Using each movement to break the pattern before repeating in order to keep her sated. So that he can feel her squirm in his grasp as his freehand moves to cup her breast where it’s warm and heavy. Every muscle and bone heaving with effort as he roughly massages her skin and continues to thrust, making sure to move both parts in tandem.
As he does, he also continues to kiss her neck. Applying languid licks and nips between soft whispers of praise. All while grinning deliriously as he feels his own peak fast approaching despite wanting to drag things out.
The only problem with that is her —how she sounds and feels and smells. How she whimpers his name and almost tries to crawl away only to get tugged back against his chest with a grunt and a thrust. How her cunt is so soft and inviting and his to take. How her perfume—all spicy and floral—still manages to hit deep within his nostrils despite the scent of sweat and sex permeating through the room.
Because just the thought of any of those things has him shutting his eyes and groaning against her neck, trying to imagine literally anything else to keep himself steady. Even if the effort only earns him an extra second or a few good thrusts.
Unfortunately though, it’s times like these when he’s already so far gone that he can’t even begin to help himself. As he continues his movements—barely holding on—it’s as if the tides are coming in. Every swell of water taking the shape of pulsating walls and wanton moans that quickly envelope him. Dragging him offshore to drown with a final thrust, once again spilling out at the same time he presses his face into her skin to muffle a ragged moan.
At which point, he’s officially done. Every muscle in his body feeling stretched past their limit while his bones tightly lock around to cage her in as he breathes into her neck.
For some reason, it makes her laugh and reach for the hand on her chest, giving it a tight squeeze before pulling it up to kiss his knuckles.
“Good boy.”
She’s teasing him now, but he can’t be bothered to care when he’s sated and sleepy. His body barely holding on as he softly huffs in amusement.
“I feel like I should be the one praising you.”
“For lying here?”
He presses a kiss to her neck, then her jaw before lazily trailing up to her cheek before she finally understands what he wants and turns to let him kiss her lips too. “Mmm, yeah. Taking my big, fat cock is hard work,” he jokes.
Which makes her laugh. Loudly. The kind that has her head falling back against his shoulder, causing him to let out a chuckle of his own as he tightens his grip.
He can feel her chest heaving, then. Much like his earlier, it rises and falls pretty quick. Only instead of being caused by pleasure, it’s amusement. Rumbling with a sense of mirth he obsessively seeks to pull from her.
“I’m serious,” he eventually tacks on—after her laughter’s died down and he finds himself missing it. “The durability you have down there is insane.”
As expected, before he can even get the words out they’re both erupting again, amusement filling the room for a good minute or so before she finally winds up taking a few deep breaths while wiping her eyes.
“God, I love you,” she says, and it makes his chest swell with pride.
“Yeah?”
She nods, offering a soft hum and a warm smile that has him reaching up to cup her cheek, smiling back just as big.
“Love you, too.”
“Happy Birthday.”
He’s so tired at that point he almost repeats the same words back to her. Parting his lips to make that initial ha sound before stops himself and leans in instead to give her another kiss. Hoping she didn’t notice.
“Thank you. Best present—“
He doesn’t know what he does to trigger such a response, but before he can finish his sentence she’s breaking from his hold and scrambling out of the bed, causing his cock to slip out rather unceremoniously. Resulting in another ragged groan that has him pressing his forehead into the mattress wishing just once she’d sit still.
Unsurprisingly though, she’s too busy racing around the bedroom in search of something to care about such feelings, flashing him a decent view of her tail whipping around as she bends over to eventually root through the bottom drawer of his dresser to produce a large black box.
Which immediately piques his interest, prompting him to sit up and glance between her hands holding it and her face suddenly looking equal parts excited and nervous.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Your birthday present,” she replies almost proudly.
His expression immediately softens at the thought of another gift—as if her appearing scantily clad for a surprise visit wasn’t enough—finding her far too thoughtful as always.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Well, I did, so—“
He cuts her off by leaning over to grab her cheek and kiss her. This time keeping it soft and sweet before his attention shifts to the black box between them. Its thick rectangular shape forcing his eyes to narrow curiously as he takes it into his hands to untie the ribbon and tear off the lid, finding himself at a loss for words.
Inside there’s a pair of leather collars, each one carefully crafted into these beautiful works of art that have him losing the air in his lungs on top of the words that still fail to push through his lips to thank her.
“I uh—you mentioned that you liked the idea of collaring a while back, so I did some research,” she explains, her voice suddenly sheepish as she shifts closer, settling in to sit beside him rather than across to lean her head on his shoulder. “I thought you might like that one, but also thought it was a little bit intense, so I got two. You know, in case you wanted something more subtle for everyday.”
As she speaks, she motions to the top one first, which is black with three tiers of O-rings—all of them varying in size and surrounded by intricate cut outs and silver hardware. Then, she points to the simpler one beneath it, its dark red hue immediately drawing his attention when he sees the way it tapers at the centre, creating a slight V shape that frames its single O-ring far too perfectly.
In fact, it’s all too perfect. The gift, the night, her. All of it proceeding to make him a bit emotional as he clears his throat and wraps his arm around her waist to tug her into his lap so that she’s facing him.
“Zay, I—“
She can already sense the words that are about to come out. So, she shakes her head and quickly covers his mouth, denying the thought. “Just… let me put one on. Please. Just to see how it fits.”
He swallows hard and nods against her hand, watching her awkwardly twist her spine to grab the black one and wrap around his throat.
Taking her time as she peeks her head around to properly do up the clasp before eventually pulling back to admire the sight with a small grin. “Does it feel good?”
Still a bit overwhelmed, he reaches up to give it a tug to test out the strength of the rings before nodding in response, watching as she tries the same thing out for herself.
Unlike his, her tug is gentle. Barely enough to actually pull him forward but he finds himself leaning in anyways. Getting up in her face as he takes a deep breath to try and calm the way his stomach flips and his chest aches at the sight of her pretty, little fingers wrapped around the ring like that.
“It suits you,” she ends up saying. After a lengthy, longing silence fills the air between them.
“Does it?” he croaks out.
“Mhm.”
The hum she offers is happy. Content. The sound of it puncturing through the nerves currently radiating through his system to pull him back into focus. Allowing him the chance to finally breathe with relief as he wraps her in a tight, almost bruising hug, muttering a seemingly endless stream of thank you’s he hopes she understands the weight of.
Because it means so much to him to have her take an interest in something he’s longed for. Even if she potentially thinks the concept of collars is a bit weird or dated, she’s still putting in the effort and that’s more than enough to convince him that throughout all his failings in life, she’s definitely not one of them.
Oh the intimate moments of 2 men that're way too horny for their own good😌🙏
I GOT A HELLA GOOD COMMISSION BACK FROM GIO, AND THEN SUMMER WROTE A SHORT FIC ON IT AND I'M -- DKSJJDJWJE ❤️❤️
Art by: @gixsess
Fic by: @tripleyeeet
Fic tags: Smut, Gojo Satoru x Male OC, biting, overstimulation, slight humiliation
Read below ⬇️
Satoru’s breath is heavy. The air that pushes from his lips bordering on literal steam as it puffs into the crook of Shichiro’s neck. The sound of it low and rhythmic, matching the low smack of flesh meeting flesh. Hips driving into ass to create a low groan that breaks through.
With a smile, his mouth curls into a grin and moves towards his partner’s skin, edging for a kiss to the throat that never comes while he drives further in. Every part of him watching in amusement as the man wrapped inside his forceful hold, shudders under his touch. His arms wobbling under the pressure of his pleasure, causing Satoru to hum.
“Aw, barely been at this and you’re already whimpering like a little pup.”
His voice is low and chastising. The desire to tease higher on his list of things to inflict as his fingers imbed themselves into Shichiro’s roots to roughly yank and pull back his head, smirking when their eyes finally meet.
“Thought you were tougher than that, Chiro.”
In response, Shichiro grits his teeth, a low growl emitting from his throat that only drives Satoru to pull away his hips and piston back. The rough sensation only making it harder for him to think of a comeback.
Because now that his mind is far focused on the feeling of Satoru’s cock wedged deeply in his ass, he can’t really think straight. Not when there’s this pressure building inside of him; the steady flow of movement practically ripping him apart as he wobbles on sore hands and knees against the floor.
So, instead he takes it. The pounding of Satoru’s cock; the teasing tone of his annoyingly smug voice; the pain of knowing he’ll inevitably lose this round and never hear the end of it. He takes all of it begrudgingly, knowing that, despite wanting to argue —to defy and conquer the man he often seeks to pick fights with— he just has to relent for once. To give into his more human desires in the form of groan that just makes Satoru laugh.
“So noisy,” he teases. “Might have to muzzle you next time, huh?”
Again, Shichiro just growls, not really helping his case. Especially not after Satoru’s hands start to roam to new places including his own cock to gently stroke and make him twitch. A shiver of motion running through his spine that has the man wrapped roughly around him starts to pick up the pace. Both his cock and hands moving in tandem to render Shichiro practically useless.
Panting loudly, his fingers dig into the floor beneath him, itching to hold onto something as he’s stimulated to all hell. Every part of his body allowing that same pressure to build without protest as Satoru works him up, muttering words of humiliation in his ear —telling him what a pathetic mess he is, until Shichiro’s coming in the man’s hand. His breath absolutely ragged as his head dips down and his eyes close, everything becoming too much as Satoru refuses to stop.
At which point, his gaze gets a little hazy. Alongside his emptying mind, all he feels is the subtle pain of continued pleasure. The sensation bordering the exit of enjoyment as Satoru continues to have his fill, pushing harder and faster while his hand moves back to Shichiro’s hair for support —the other digging his fingers into his hip.
“Fuck, Toru, I—“
Satoru huffs, his hips alternating positions until he feels himself teetering on the edge, his body leaning forward to engulf his partner. “Just be a good boy for me, yeah? Just —shit— just for a sec.”
Giving in, Shichiro just nods and breathes. Everything feeling too much as Satoru’s mouth moves to his neck, offering an uncharacteristically soft nip that he laps at with a groan. The sound causing both of them to twitch and writhe, eventually trigger their shared pleasure to end when Satoru finally comes, too.
SUMMARY: During a long shift, a certain regular catches your eye. Possibly your heart too, after treating you to a night of pampering.
PAIRING: Shiu Kong/Female Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex that turns somno, basically just a lot of soft, unrealistic domesticity really.
A/N: Life's been hard so here's a super self indulgent fic about Shiu simply taking care of reader <3 I've literally been writing this for nearly 3 weeks straight so hopefully somebody likes it.
WC: 9K (oof)
MASTERLIST
-
After around the fourth or fifth Friday in a row of seeing him, you finally notice he's staring. With heavy-lidded eyes throughout the night, his gaze is seemingly locked onto your frame as you rush around the bar, tending to everyone’s needs. His body angled so that he can get a good look at you grabbing bottles and garnishes while carefully weaving around your coworkers like you’re dancing to the beat of the music that blares through the speakers.
When you notice, you feel your focus flicker for just a second. As you stop to speak to a pair of women, chatting about something mundane and entirely uninteresting, suddenly it’s like there’s this target locked against the side of your face. The imaginary barrel of a gun pointing directly at you, ready to take the shot, causing your gaze to shift.
Like usual, he’s tucked into the farthest corner, casually leaning against the bar. His expression appearing almost empty as you glance over to see he’s clad in a simple suit. His jacket discarded onto the bar top beside him, leaving only a button-up and a loosened tie, prompting you to raise a brow.
He usually never stays long enough to take off his jacket…
“Uh, hello!”
Deep in thought, suddenly the drunken snarl of one of the girls pulls you back. A wave of annoyance washing over as you release a breath and look back, making sure to smile. “Sorry, what was that?”
Afterwards, you let out a casual laugh and joke about your bad hearing before they thankfully laugh alongside you, eventually repeating their order. The simple exchange giving you the chance to refocus on the task at hand, moving over to the ice machine to start filling up your shaker tins.
“Seems like someone’s got an admirer.”
While pouring various spirits, your coworker, Himari, gently bumps her hip against yours. A signal that she recognizes the familiar man, too. His presence continuing to linger in ways that make you let out another laugh, this time the sound echoing your nerves. “Calm down, I’m sure he’s just looking for a top-up.”
Almost immediately, she shakes her head. “Nah, he’s fully giving you the eyes, babe.”
At that, you roll your own and give her an almost smug look, your eyes flickering to see him almost smirking —as if somehow he can hear you talking over the music. “Yeah, okay.”
“You want to go talk to him?”
You shake your head almost immediately, even though deep down you can’t deny your interest. Considering he’s practically become a staple over these last few weeks, there’s a part of you that wants to say hi. Maybe to introduce yourself so that you can better build that classic bartender-customer rapport. But then, you notice the huge crowd of people swarming around. Every one of them vying for your attention with drunken minds and heavy pockets, causing the desire to earn money to outweigh everything else.
Which ultimately ends up costing you a lot of energy in the long run. As the night quickly progresses, you can feel your mind begin to cave in on itself. Each customer that comes after the next becoming more and more of a chore to deal with thanks to the intake of alcohol. Eventually, testing your patience towards the ragged businessmen who always demand Old Fashions or the group of young college kids who scream for more tequila shots.
Every passing moment makes you wish you’d taken your coworker up on her previous offer. Especially now that the bar’s completely packed, leaving barely any room to breathe let alone speak, you wish you could turn back time. Stop the clock and wind it back so that, instead of just watching the man who still idly sits, almost acting unaware of the chaos that surrounds him, you could talk to him. Maybe ask him what he does or how his day went. Using his presence as an excuse to take a load off while you offer up all your usual jokes in hopes he’ll slowly warm up to you.
And the longer you think about it, the more the idea foolishly creates a sense of longing. Your stomach tightening at the sight of him shifting in his seat, wondering if that’ll be the moment he finally calls it quits. The sight of him only moving just to further settle on the stool making you scrunch up your face in annoyance, realizing how crazy you’re acting.
Considering he’s nothing more than a stranger, the impulse you feel to connect with him is completely ridiculous. Nothing more than some silly delusion brought on by the exhaustion, you tell yourself. His residency amongst the rowdy crowd serving as nothing more than some false oasis that’ll inevitably disappoint you if you go over.
So, you don’t. Instead, forcing your mind to think about the money, you allow every tip to fuel you. Each one navigating you further from his frame, your mind too immersed in the task at hand until suddenly last call rolls around.
At which point, you find yourself forced to talk to him. After you notice your coworkers pushed deep into the trenches of last-minute orders, you realize then that you just have to do it. To be the one to bite the bullet and find out why exactly this guy’s decided to pick tonight of all nights to linger and stare. Your tired feet pushing you to stand directly across from him, arms spread across the counter to hold yourself up as you offer a smile.
“We’re doing last call,” you tell him, watching him slowly glance between you and the empty beer bottle in his hand. “You want one more?”
He ponders for a minute, his other hand moving to stroke his chin as he sort of smiles to himself, eventually shrugging. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
In response, you give him a nod and shuffle over to the fridge to get him another, grabbing the opener off your belt to shuck it off before trading him for the old one. “You got a tab to close?”
He nods.
“What’s it under?”
“Kong.”
This time, you nod, rushing away to grab his receipt —typing in the name to find a rather abysmal order of four beers, not including the one you just gave him.
That’s all he drank? Damn…
“So, how’s your night been?”
Handing him the receipt after it prints, you watch as he pulls out a handful of bills and tosses them on top of the piece of paper. His expression seeming a bit distracted as he eventually looks at you and blinks. “It’s been fine. A bit dull, honestly.”
“Yeah, how come?”
“Nobody to talk to,” he simply says. The sound of his voice expressing such a casual tone despite the weight of his words hitting you like a brick. The implication of his admission making you swallow hard before awkwardly laughing, not sure if his comment was even necessarily meant for you.
“Yeah, well, Friday’s are a little nuts, unfortunately.”
Glancing around, he takes a moment to take in the sight of all the drunken bodies crowding around, waiting for their final turn. The gears in his head turning for a bit before he looks back at you. “I’m starting to realize that.”
“Yeah.”
Releasing a low hum, you then wonder if maybe you should say your goodbyes or linger a bit longer, knowing deep down you should probably do the former. Seeing as it’s your job and already you can sense the frustrations of those who surround the space you’re currently occupying, looking at you with desperate eyes, it’s probably better if you just throw in the towel. Call it night and maybe try again next week. But then there’s a moment where you look back at each other and there’s this feeling. A pressure in your stomach that makes you swallow hard and start to settle. Your body practically leaning into his space as you narrow your eyes.
“How come you’re here so late, anyway?” you ask, allowing the curiosity you’ve secretly harboured all night to finally release.
Once again, he shrugs. Only this time, there’s a faint smile pulling across his face. “Figured it might be fun to people watch for a bit longer.”
Bullshit.
Regardless of such a thought, a smile of your own appears in response —your mind unconvinced. “Was it fun?”
“The people watching?”
You nod.
He shrugs.
Then, both of you become lost in this strange limbo of charged silence. Your thoughts now drifting to wonder why all of a sudden he seems so… interesting as you continue to watch him lift the beer to his lips to take a sip.
“S’pose it was alright.”
Slightly taken aback by his bluntness, you can’t help but snort in response. Your eyes rolling as he chuckles and you reach for the cash in front of you, taking a moment to count it, realizing it’s well over the asking price. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a total bore for you,” you tell him after, shoving it all into the pocket of your apron. “Otherwise you might not come back.”
“Didn’t realize you cared if I came back.”
As soon as you notice the smug expression that begins to appear across his face after he speaks, your mouth presses into a thin line. Realizing then that your words are the perfect fuel for him to keep the conversation going.
“I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“Sure did, sweetheart.”
Again, he chuckles and takes another sip, continuing to stare. His eyes practically memorizing every move you make as you try to appear busy by reaching for a handful of dirty glasses and tucking them under the bar.
“Well, can’t deny that I’d hate to see you go. You’re one of the good ones.”
“Am I?”
You grab a cloth and start to wipe down the counter, watching him lean back to give you more space. His expression continuing to showcase how pleased he seems at your words. “I mean, yeah. You’re quiet, you wait your turn, you tip,” you begin to list off a handful of reasons, each one piquing his interest as he watches you dart around, continuing to close. “You’re also not creepy. Unless you count the staring problem.”
Despite your comment, he merely just takes another sip, completely unfazed. “Caught that, huh?”
“Hard not to when you don’t even try to hide it, Mr. Kong,” you tease.
“Shiu.”
At that, you scrunch up your face in confusion. “Sorry?”
“My name,” he clarifies. “It’s Shiu.”
Shiu.
Standing there for a few moments, you repeat the name in your head so it doesn’t get lost. Committing the sound to memory before you offer your hand across the counter, saying your own name in return. Immediately clocking the way he seems to repeat your tactic, allowing it to sink in.
“Nice to finally put a name to a face.”
“Likewise.”
Still shaking his hand, you then hear the sound of Himari calling you. The sudden sound pulling you from this strange bubble of ease you’ve somehow settled in, causing you to swear under your breath. “Sorry, I uh—“
“It’s okay. Duty calls?”
Glancing between him and the never-ending line of customers still waiting for their final drinks, you release a sigh and nod. “Unfortunately.”
“Good luck.”
It’s the last thing you hear from him after you offer an awkward wave goodbye. The tone of his voice, forever casual and polite. A direct contrast to the type of response you’re used to getting from men who try to talk to you, causing your mind to regret not reaching out sooner.
Because maybe if you had, the rest of your night wouldn’t have been so awful. As you shift back into bartender mode, ushering person after person to order their drinks as fast as possible, maybe you could’ve felt content instead of disappointed. The feeling of satisfaction fuelling your drive rather than allowing the sadness to slow you down, knowing you might have to wait a whole other week to see him again.
And that’s if he decides to come back. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that plagues you even after you’ve finished cleaning the fridges and the floors and the—
“Saw you talking to Shiu.”
Your thoughts are interrupted again. The mention of him making you faintly smile even though the mere thought of him also kind of stresses you out. “Yeah. He’s… surprisingly nice.”
“I know. I’m the one who usually serves him.” Himari smiles almost proudly when she says that, her teeth peeking out from between her parted lips as she throws her bag over her shoulder, following you towards the door.
“You must like him then,” you joke, nudging your elbow against hers. “With the way he tips and all that.”
Himari snorts and pulls her keys out, spinning them around her finger as you push open the door, allowing her to follow behind before turning back to lock up. “It’s definitely a plus, I’ll admit. But he’s a decent guy, too —fun to talk to.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, distractedly pulling out her phone to shoot her boyfriend a text. Most likely telling him that she’s finished for the night and heading home like she usually does before glancing back up. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes either.”
Upon hearing that, you can’t help but swallow a bit. Especially after you clock the way her expression immediately turns mischievous. Her lips curling upwards as she wiggles her brows, forcing you to turn away and shove your hands into the pockets of your coat. Your mind foolishly starting to concoct his image without warning. The sight of his warm, slightly aged features shifting to the forefront of your thoughts causing you to narrow your eyes.
“Yeah, I mean, I guess he’s… decent,” you lie, knowing deep down he’s definitely more than that because if anything he’s exactly your type.
Which is why Himari quickly glances at you, completely unconvinced as she begins to walk, leading you around the corner to where the two of you usually park your cars. “Just decent?” she then pries, raising a brow.
At which point, you know your reaction is a dead giveaway. Thanks to the way your mouth awkwardly opens and closes, unable to come up with a viable enough answer to make it seem like you see him as anything other than attractive, you know she knows. Prompting you to huff in response and look away, hearing her laugh as she pokes your arm.
“You know he thinks you’re cute too, right?”
Your neck practically breaks from how quickly you turn to face her, your brows knitting together in slight shock. “What?”
“What? You seriously didn’t pick up on that? Why do you think I was trying to get you to talk to him earlier?”
You shrug your shoulders, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know, I just figured you were—“
“Trying to set you up with some random guy?”
At first, you pause, then you sigh, realizing yes. That's exactly what you figured she was doing.
“Is that why it took you so long to go talk to him?”
You realize then you don’t really have an answer that doesn’t sound completely selfish, causing you to cross your arms over your chest and sort of pout as you walk the rest of the way to your cars in silence. Noticing from the corner of your eye another vehicle that's parked a few stalls away, a familiar body occupying its driver’s seat.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you hear Himari practically sing then. Her voice filled with a specific air of humour that has you scoffing and lightly shoving her aside. The act causing her to retaliate with a shove of her own that makes both of you laugh, inevitably catching the attention of the driver.
Slowly but surely, his eyes move to make eye contact with yours, stilling for a moment before lighting up entirely. And it’s a sight that makes your stomach twist a bit. As you watch the lines around his eyes become more prominent before they’re whisked away by the turn of his neck, you can’t help but deny your attraction. That undeniable pull from earlier returning with a vengeance as you deeply breathe and try to turn back to Himari, realizing she’s already halfway inside her vehicle, waving goodbye.
“You’re leaving already?” you then whisper through clenched teeth —your eyes darting between her and Shiu who’s back to staring. The pupils of his eyes practically boring holes into your skull as you see him reach to pop his door open.
“Have fun,” you hear Himari say. Then after a few painfully short seconds pass, she’s gone. The rumble of her old, worn-out car drifting into the distance as you continue to stand there, confused as to how you’re meant to proceed now that there’s not a bar top wedged between you or another body to turn to for guidance if the conversation gets stale. The lack of crutches making you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans and awkwardly clear your throat, watching him move forward, his expression amused and soft. The kind of look that makes you both terrified and interested. A mix of anxious energy flowing through your veins as he stops in front of you, offering what appears to be the subtle etchings of a smirk as he mirrors the hands inside your pockets.
“Long time no see.”
You hum and nod, your lips curling into a small grin. “It would seem so.”
“Have a good close?”
Shrugging your shoulders, you turn to glance around the parking lot, immediately clocking the absence of the usual buzzing energy that surrounds you whenever he’s around. The lack of drunken bodies and blaring music making the conversation abruptly stop. Your mind suddenly failing to fill in the blanks as you continue to stand, distractedly picking at the fabric inside your pocket.
Which is something Shiu recognizes as he lets out a chuckle and looks at the ground, his expression shifting from confident to nervous in a single second, making you feel weirdly calm as you join in, laughing over your shared silence.
“Sorry, I tend to forget how to properly talk after a long shift,” you eventually admit, moving your hands to rub your eyes.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk,” he replies. “We can just stand here.”
As your hands slowly peel down your face, you can’t help but curiously narrow your eyes at that. Your interest piquing as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes, popping a single one in his mouth before pocketing the box, and switching it out for a lighter.
“You smoke?”
“Sometimes.”
Cupping his hand around the end, he flicks his thumb against the spark wheel —the familiar crackle of flame sounding between the two of you before he sucks and sighs, releasing a plume of smoke strategically away from your face.
“That’s a bad habit.”
You can’t help but snort, watching as he hands it over. His fingers gently grazing against yours in the process. “Bit of a hypocritical statement, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I don’t smoke.”
“Ah, of course. So this is one of those healthy cigarettes they’ve supposedly invented?”
He motions towards your hand, nodding. “Good eye.”
At that, you roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile as you press your lips around the aforementioned cigarette. Allowing that familiar bitter taste of nicotine to hit your tongue as you take a deep breath and hand it back. His fingers brushing against yours for the second time.
“So, what are you still doing here anyways?”
You know it’s a bold question, despite the answer being obvious. More than likely he’s here because he wants to talk to you. To speak to you without the pressure of a purchase or a time limit lingering in the background. To vocalize whatever thoughts might come to mind without having to yell across a counter coated in the remnants of sticky cocktails.
All of it’s obvious to you before you even ask, but still, there’s a portion of your brain that can’t help but deny it. That small sliver of space making you question his intentions. Your insecurities lingering, making you wonder if he finds your pretty or interesting or if he just wants to fuck.
“Thought I’d wait to see if you wanted to continue our conversation from back there.” As he speaks, he motions in the general direction of the bar with his chin. All while his hand rises to take another few puffs of smoke into his mouth. His lips parting to push the excess out in a steady stream before he grins again. “Sorry, is that too forward of me?”
You shake your head almost immediately. Then, you raise your hand for the passing of the cigarette, holding it for a moment as you try to articulate your thoughts into words. Eventually settling on, “No, I like forward. Forward’s good, makes things easy.”
In response, he raises a brow, watching you part your lips and suck, his eyes never leaving yours even after you’ve finished smoking and have moved to give it back. His stare intensely making you almost shiver when his fingers bump against you. “Glad we can agree.”
You let out an approving hum and cross your arms over your chest. The urge to do something with your hands overwhelming your mind as you look down at the pavement and readjust your stance, moving a tad bit closer.
“So, uh, do you want to hang out or just…?”
“Just what?”
His expression contorts again, the previous casualty of it shifting into some foreign and heavy. The weight of it making you clear your throat and glance at the ground again, trying to find the right words to say in order to convey your preference without actually outright stating it.
“Hang out,” is what you end up saying, your tone a bit more suggestive, praying he understands the difference.
“Hang out or hang out?”
“Yeah….”
The moments that pass are awkward. A mess of silent tension and narrowed eyes. His gaze lingering against the side of your face when you inevitably turn your head in embarrassment, knowing you’ve fucked it. Whatever this is, you’ve absolutely, truly fu—
“Can I pick both? Is that an option or is it more of a red pill, blue pill situation?”
You quickly turn to face him, unable to hide the surprise that appears across your face as you open your mouth, partially stuttering. “I’d uh —I’d be fine with both, yeah.”
He hums almost happily as he finally takes another drag. After flicking the excess ash that’s formed, he smiles around the smoke and takes a few deep inhales before he makes the pass, watching you shake your head before he drops whatever’s left on the ground to stomp it out.
“You hungry?”
You are —starving, actually. But, at the same time as you look around, trying to gauge how to say that, you can’t deny the lack of options. The obvious late night hour forcing a potential limit as you inevitably look back and your eyes sharing a flicker of something you can’t quite place before you say, “We could go back to mine and I can make us something?”
It’s enough to force his smile to branch out further. The obvious excitement taking over when you then ask for his phone, inputting the address to your apartment before you tell him you’ll meet him there. The anticipation of it all nearly killing you as you appropriately part ways to your respective cars, wondering what happens next.
As expected, the whole way there your mind fills with various scenarios. Each one eventually leading to the same result, prompting you to instinctively tighten your fingers around the steering wheel with a heavy breath. Every end scene making you swallow hard and feel a bit warm, imagining what he might be like. How he might approach the hang-out portion of your time spent together. What his hands might feel like. Or his mouth.
By the time you arrive, standing outside waiting, your thoughts are a mess. The wreckage of lewd thoughts mingling with more appropriate ones to create a buzz of nerves as you shift your weight on each foot. Your body slowly but surely pacing across the length of your apartment entrance as you quietly hum to yourself, thinking about how to greet him. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that causes you to spiral further. The expectancy to be charming and appealing suddenly becoming less of an afterthought now that he’s going to be entering your space.
No longer in a neutral zone, you’re well aware you have to make some sort of impression that isn’t just flirting behind a bar for tips. You have to be nice and attractive in a less abrupt, business-y way. To give him what he wants without being too desperate. To be endearing. To keep him interested despite knowing next to nothing about him or what he likes or wants or needs.
Biting your thumbnail, it comes to a point where you’re left exhausted before he even shows up, and stupidly, the thought of cancelling on him does cross your mind. Feeling the expectations are suddenly too high you debate waiting until he gets here to make some bullshit excuse about being too tired or feeling sick. But then he parks and gets out of his car, offering you that same soft grin from earlier and you kind of melt on the spot. All of your previous desires rushing to the forefront of your mind, causing your heart to beat a little quicker when you press your fob against the edge of the door and invite him in. No longer feeling as anxious as you walk up the stairs to the third floor, casually chatting about the drive.
“You didn’t get lost or anything?”
He shakes his head, following you down the hall. His face still sporting that same grin that makes your own mouth upturn without warning. “I’m assuming you found your way without any trouble, too?”
You scoff out a laugh and nod, eventually reaching down to unlock your door when you make it there. Feeling your fingers twitch as you work the lock and push it open, suddenly realizing that he’s here —stepping inside your apartment like it isn’t the most nerve-wracking experience you’ve endured in a while.
“You can hang your coat there if you want,” you then tell him, motioning to the hooks behind the door when he slowly closes it. Your eyes lingering as he casually steps out of his shoes before following your instructions; his own eyes glancing around.
“Nice place.”
Moving towards the kitchen, you drop your stuff on one of the stools that line the island, offering an appreciative hum. “Thanks. It’s a bit small, but it’s just me, so…”
After nodding, he steps further in to continue surveying. His eyes focusing on the overflowing bookshelf in the corner and the cluster of plants near the window. His eyes shifting position with each new object he takes in, clearly finding certain things more interesting than others.
“You ever get lonely all cooped up in here?”
As expected, the question catches you a bit off guard, but you quickly recover by turning away to open the fridge. Taking a moment to scan the contents before deciding that some kind of stir-fry is probably your best chance at a proper meal. “I guess sometimes I do,” you eventually say after gathering your thoughts. All while collecting a handful of veggies from one of the lower drawers before turning back around to place them on the counter. “Why?”
He presses his palms against the marble that separates you, his expression softening when he looks up to see you already whizzing around to grab an apron and tie it around your waist. The speed of your hands afterwards darting to grab a knife off the magnetic strip on the wall, making him huff.
“You said you lived alone,” he points out, watching you dip down to grab a cutting board from one of the drawers beneath you —your head bobbing in and out of view before returning not long after. “Got curious.”
“About my loneliness levels?” You raise a brow at him, reaching for a handful of mushrooms to chop.
“Yeah, what would you rate them?” He grins.
As you quickly guide your knife back and forth, you smile back and glance up for just a second. “Right now? Probably a two.”
“Okay, but how about in general?”
You scrunch up your face, trying to think of an accurate number. “Maybe a seven?”
“A seven?”
Sensing that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, you let out a nervous laugh, feeling your hands begin to still as you look back up, watching the shock on his face. “What? Is that bad?”
He lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “That’s a dangerously high number, sweetheart. Don’t you have friends that can help lower that?”
In response, you roll your eyes before pushing your chopped mushrooms aside and reaching for some carrots. Your thoughts shifting to whether or not he’s simply flirting or if there’s a genuine hint of concern in his voice.
“I mean, I’ve got weird work hours, so no. Not really.”
“What about Himari?”
You shrug. “She’s usually with her boyfriend.”
He goes silent for a couple of seconds after that, causing you to look up and see him appear lost in thought before he inevitably catches your gaze. Both of you staring at each other for a couple of seconds, your eyes narrowing in curiosity until Shiu finally clears his throat and wanders around the counter to your side, holding out his hand.
“You shouldn’t be cooking for me after a long shift,” he suddenly tells her. “Especially not if I’m the first friend you’ve hung out with in ages.”
You’re not sure whether to be offended or flattered at that moment, so you just resort to parting your lips and staring. The entirety of you unable to comprehend why this guy —this incredibly stable and attractive-looking guy— has decided that out of the blue, you’re his friend and he needs to cook for you.
“It’s not a big deal. I like cooking.”
Stepping closer, he starts to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt and roll them up, shaking his head the entire time. “Nobody likes cooking, sweetheart. Not after a shift of dealing with shitty college kids throwing money in their face.”
“No, seriously it’s—“
He cuts you off with a huff. The kind that instantly has you pressing your lips together, knowing deep down he’s right. Aside from the hunger in your stomach and the desire to impress him, the last thing you want to be doing is cooking. So, you don’t argue when he eventually pushes his hand closer, wiggling his fingers for you to transfer over the knife, or when he tells you to take off the apron and sit down.
“Good girl. Now what am I making here?”
When he looks down to take a quick inventory of the ingredients, you feel your stomach flip at his words. The very obviously suggestive term of endearment making your eyes slightly widen when you know he’s not looking before you quickly reset your face and reply, “I was just gonna make stir-fry.”
“Okay, good I can work with that. Where’s your sauces?”
You’re about to stand when he points the knife at you, scolding your behaviour like you’re some sort of child he’s been tasked with keeping in line. The sight of him making your eyes roll as you point to the cupboard left of the oven’s hood vent. “Noodles are to the right, too.”
In response, he puts down the knife, appearing pleased before he turns to gather everything he needs. His arms stretching upward, causing your eyes to trail the length of his back with interest, admiring the view.
“Do you have any hon— were you just staring at my ass?”
Looking up, you blink and part your lips before shaking your head in embarrassment. “No.”
“No? Then what were you looking at?” As if to better prove his point he looks down at the space around him, examining seemingly every aspect of the kitchen before he looks back at you with a skeptical look. “I feel like you’re lying.”
“I’m not, I swear.”
Holding back the urge to laugh, you press your lips together and breathe, watching him shake his head before continuing the process of chopping produce and putting together a simple sauce. Both of which he performs with a surprising amount of ease while cooking the noodles and making conversation.
“So, how’d you wind up bartending?”
“Started doing it during college and realized I liked it more than sitting in a classroom. So, I dropped out and started doing it full time.”
“Good money I’m guessing?”
You grin and nod, prompting him to snort as he eventually begins to sauté. His wrist flicking the pan with every burst of flame that surrounds the base. “What do you do?”
When he hesitates to respond, you already know it’s bad. Or, at the very least, an answer both of you know has the potential to change the trajectory of the night. A detail you don’t particularly want to think about now that you’ve decided that he’s actually kind of…
“I’m kind of like a mediator,” he eventually says, his tone unsure as he stares at the pan, watching the veggies begin to crisp above the heat of the stovetop. “Basically, I connect a pair of clients together and make sure the jobs they collaborate on go according to plan.”
“Bit of an odd way to describe a job,” you point out, leaning your elbows against the counter as you hold your chin in your hands. “I’m assuming it’s a little less than legal.”
That comment surprises him. You can tell because almost immediately after he’s looking at you like he’s angry. All narrow-eyed with pinched brows and a frown, causing you to laugh.
“Relax, I work a service job in one of the shadier parts of town. I’ve seen my fair share of illegal things.”
“Right.”
He seems skeptical, but thankfully he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Seeming to accept your answer in at least some capacity, he instead moves on by turning his attention back to the food, combining all the finished ingredients to create a delicious looking dish that has your mouth already watering.
“Question though, you wouldn’t happen to be a chef on the side would you?”
He snorts and wanders around your kitchen in search of bowls, eventually finding the right cupboard on his second try. “No. I’m just a guy who knows how to cut shit up and cook it in a pan.”
“Hey, you made noodles and sauce, too. Give yourself some credit.”
This time, he rolls his eyes and hands you a bowl before opening a random drawer to successfully find your cutlery, causing him to grin. “You should probably try it before offering any sort of praise.”
“Fair,” you respond with a laugh, taking the fork he inevitably offers you with a dramatic before digging in without question. Your mouth practically inhaling the food he so graciously made with a hum.
“Good?”
“So good,” you mumble, using the back of your hand to hide your lack of manners as he lets out a sigh of relief and starts to dish some up for himself.
“Thank god. Imagine I made all this and it ended up tasting like shit. Fucking embarrassing.”
Too distracted to do much of anything but eat by that point, you merely chuckle and continue shovelling forkful after forkful down until you’re done. The entire concept of conversation lost as you focus on filling your aching stomach. Something you’re sure Shiu finds a bit awkward as he lingers near the oven, opting to lean against the back counter to eat and sometimes stare rather than sit next to you.
“You must be starving over there,” he eventually points out. "My food can’t be that good.”
Leaning over to rip a piece of paper towel off the roll on your counter, you pause to wipe your mouth before smiling. “Tourist season is so insane. I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner during my shift,” you reply honestly, dropping your napkin to prepare one of your final bites. “This is also really good, though. Better than mine.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, finishing the meal off. Every part of you feeling satisfied as you sink further into your chair, watching as Shiu’s face subtly lights up at your praise. “Really good sauce. How’d you measure?”
“With the heart? I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, flashing you a smug grin that has the inside of your stomach doing somersaults. Your body shifting in your chair to set down your bowl and slowly stretch. All while trying not to think about the way his eyes seem to linger on your frame, taking in your sudden discomfort —studying it with slightly narrowed eyes that cause you to anxiously glance away.
Which only makes the fear that grows worse, unaware of where his gaze might sit. Considering he seems to be far more curious and attentive than the average person you’ve experienced, the lack of awareness only serves to quicken your heart rate. The pounding drum of your organ making you swallow hard and slowly look back, watching as he reaches for your fork and bowl, turning his attention to the act of cleaning instead.
“Oh, no, you don’t—“
Without missing a beat, he looks up at you with those same eyes as before. Two thin slits warning you to back off as he deposits each dish carefully into the sink. Then, without protest, each of his hands shift to grab your soap and sponge, lathering everything up beneath a steady stream of warm water.
“You always this stubborn?”
You frown, staring at his hands as he speaks, noticing the etchings of scars and freckles. Clusters of markings both grown and inflicted littering his skin like constellations. “No.”
He scoffs out a laugh, prompting you to look up and see him shaking his head. “Hm, I have a hard time believing that.”
“Why?”
He moves each dish to the drying rack as he speaks, his tone lowering a bit, like he’s revealing a secret. “Well, first off, you’re clearly not used to the whole concept of being taken care of,” he points out.
You scrunch up your face at that, causing him to snort and shake his head again as he reaches for the tea towel that hangs off your oven door, using it to dry his hands.
“See? That’s a typical reaction from someone who’s overly independent.”
“I’m not overly independent. I’m perfectly fine.”
Well aware of how you’re merely trying to defend yourself, Shiu then breaks out into a small smirk and leans across the counter, resting his elbows on the edge as he inches forward. His body ever so slowly attempting to enter as much of your space as he can. “Then you won’t mind if I keep doing what I’m doing, then?” he asks, raising his brow. “Without complaint.”
At first, you don’t really understand what he means. Thanks to the fact that you’re more focused on the proximity of his face to yours, the comment entirely flies over your head. The sultry tone of his voice failing to hit your ears as you narrow your eyes and cock your head, trying to make sense of it all.
Because truthfully, he doesn’t make much sense to you. With his pretty face and casually, suave demeanour, you can’t understand why he’d willing to dote on you merely for the sake of sex. Or, why, despite your lack of answer to his statement, he remains entirely still —his patience unwavering even after you’ve let out a gentle huff.
“I’ll warn you now, I tend to complain a lot.”
“During sex?”
Almost immediately, you close your eyes in embarrassment, remembering that the trajectory of your conversation has since changed to that, prompting you to sigh. “No, I mean, just like, in general.”
In response, he lets out a chuckle, causing you to pinch the bridge of your nose and release a deep breath, trying desperately to figure out how to recover until you feel his hand gripping the curve of your elbow, guiding it down to rest on your thigh with gentle fingers.
“Ah, so not during sex,” you then hear him say, the cool tone of his voice forcing your eyes to open back up realizing he’s now at your side, twirling your stool around to face him. “Noted.”
Somehow feeling even more nervous, you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Your appearance resembling the classic fish out of water look —all dead-eyed and empty-minded. Every previous thought and feeling lost once you’re ripped from the crest of the waves only to become wedged between his fingers.
Which is a look that, unsurprisingly, makes him laugh as he lowers himself down to your level when he sits down next to you. While using his hand to curiously explore the exposed parts of your forearm, you can tell he’s enjoying your response. The way your body slightly twitches forward to chase his hand or how you uncomfortably shift and avoid his gaze. It’s obvious he finds it amusing, because not long after he’s drawing patterns into your calloused palm with a smile; his thumb circling each patch of roughness he finds, soothing the aches and pains of scrubbing bar tops and serving drinks.
“You’re not used to this much attention, are you?”
As he chuckles, you huff, unable to hide the obvious. “Not really, no.”
“That’s a damn shame.”
Suddenly, you feel his other hand move to steady the one he’s massaging; both thumbs dragging down the centre of your palm towards your wrist, causing you to hum and flex your fingers, the desire for more slowly growing. The needs you’ve long since pushed to the back of your mind returning with a vengeance in ways that make you swallow hard and glance between his face and the efforts of his labour.
It makes your chest ache pretty much instantly; the sight. Considering it’s been ages since someone has touched you like this —like you simply deserve to be— you’re starting to feel a bit breathless. The gesture of his hands ripping the air straight from your lungs as you open your mouth again, needing to speak.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
It’s a question that’s pretty much driven you from the start. From the moment he first laid that hefty tip on the counter in front of you during your shift, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from wondering what he wants from you. Why he’s been so kind and giving despite knowing so little about you.
In response, he shrugs his shoulders, continuing his ministrations. Refusing to stop for even a second as a small grin peels across his face and he looks up. “I don’t know. Felt like you needed it.”
And it sounds like nothing when he says it. All nonchalant and casual, as if he does this kind of thing all the time, but to you, it’s everything. It’s complicated, yet simple. Painful, yet pleasant. A reminder that sometimes you’re human and need these kinds of things despite constantly brushing them off.
More importantly, though, it makes you feel desperate as your other hand shifts through the air to cup his cheek. And again when you suddenly lean in, pressing your mouth to his in order to finally taste the smoke on his tongue from your shared cigarette. The bitter flavour embedding itself in the cracks of your lips, driving you to push through the voice at the back of your mind telling you to stop.
Because usually, that’s what you do. Whenever you feel any sort of tether, you take a knife and sever them off; refusing to get close. Defying the urge to connect in order to protect yourself. Avoiding the offers of hands that might want to hold you through the hard times.
However, beneath your touch, as Shiu stills for a moment in response, you don’t feel that at all. Instead, you just feel magnetized. The desire to move closer taking over when he inevitably joins by moving a hand to your waist —another to the back of your neck to pull himself further in.
Humming softly, you then feel him tense beneath your fingers as you hungrily pull at his clothes. The rough touch of your roaming hands trying to find purchase in a place where the distance will hopefully feel less separate, driving him mad as he lifts you onto the counter and groans. Both of his hands returning the favour in unrestrained pushes and pulls as he maneuvers you to his liking and grins.
“Can’t say I was expecting that,” he ends up telling you after you part ways; his tone haggard and heavy. The obvious presence of desire gracing the base of his throat, causing the heavy puffs of breath you share to quickly become the only sound other than the shuffling of fabric as he slides his fingers across the waistband of your jeans.
“Me either, to be fair.”
His grin widens a bit at that. “Not in the habit of kissing strangers I’m guessing?”
As you go to shake your head, you feel his fingers start to fiddle with the top button of your pants. His knuckles brushing against the exposed parts of your lower stomach. Every subtle motion making you feel incredibly warm as your own hands find a home in the fabric of his collar.
“I tend to leave before the kissing happens. If I’m honest.”
“How come?”
You shrug, not wanting to get into it. Instead, wanting to feel what it’s like to continue moving forward and propel yourself into the unknown as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. Your scattered mind gradually calming down when his fingers understand what you need and begin to discard the lower half of your clothes. Each piece of fabric clumsily shifting off your skin, prompting Shiu to curse under his breath while you laugh and lift your hips to help.
“Could you wear tighter fucking jeans, Jesus, it’s like a damn chastity belt.”
You snort and feel his fingers immediately pull your underwear to the side once he tosses your pants onto the floor. The dip of his mouth open and already watering, causing you to let out a panicked sound when he licks a long strip up your slit.
“Just relax.”
The immediate heat of his words only serve to do the opposite as you try and shift your hips away only to be brought back and dove into once more. His hands now embedding themselves into your thighs to get a better angle, causing you to huff.
“Wait, it’s okay. You don’t have—“
You’re immediately silenced by the flattening of his tongue alongside his eyes which turn up in annoyance. His obvious distaste for your constant protesting becoming old, especially now that his mouth is wrapped around you, making your resolve quickly melt away when he applies a bit more pressure.
Breathing hard, you then keep your eyes locked downward, watching him pinch your thighs and explore with his tongue. The act of him pleasuring you for the sake of nothing in particular causing your mind to fog up. All the nervous energy you once felt seemingly evaporating like a puff of hot smoke now that he’s trailing his tongue through your folds, languidly inching his way across every nerve in search of something new. Like he’s mapping you out while he listens to every breath that falls from your open lips. Each pant spurring him further, prompting him to push his nose against your clit, prodding it with every movement he makes alongside the fingers that start to part your entrance.
Which overwhelms you completely. The presence of too many stimuli at once making you whimper under your breath and try to sneak away again. Your body craving some sort of release once you feel his tongue forcefully slip into your cunt; the softness of it slipping up and around until his face is practically embedding itself in your flesh. Joining you as one in ways that have you reaching for his hair just for something to keep you steady.
Because right now, you’re teetering on the edge of something. A precipice that you know should feel familiar, yet remains distant in knowledge. The feeling of him wrapped up in your thighs, eating you out like a man who’s never known the taste of something so sweet, causing you to revert to basic instincts. To touch and feel and groan and listen —every sense melding together as he pushes you over the edge and the rush of that something becomes everything at once.
He’s all you feel as you come. Quickly becoming all you want, too, when he ultimately pulls away, breathing so hard you honestly fear he might pass out on the spot.
“You okay?” you can’t help but ask, causing both of you to smile as he wipes you off his chin and laps it up with a nod.
“I should be asking you that. You look—”
“Rough?”
He scoffs out a laugh and cups the side of your neck. Then, he shakes his head and runs his thumb along your cheek, gently caressing you. “No, you look good. Just a little out of it.”
In response, you hum and let your eyelids shift downward, realizing then that you’re incredibly exhausted. Your body becoming loose and low —relying on his touch to keep you afloat as you reach for his shoulders. “I’m a little tired.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, mentally preparing to apologize and explain why until he starts maneuvering you like earlier. His hands gently forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he lifts and moves you further into the depths of your apartment in search of your bed.
“Where am I going?”
You point to the end of the hall, feeling him shift. The sounds of his feet padding across the hardwood becoming the only noise between you until he hits the carpet of your bedroom and thoughtfully hums.
At which point, you’re already half asleep in his arms. The weight of the day finally hitting your mind when he lays you out across the bed only to linger above you, watching your eyes flicker.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble out then, causing him to raise a brow and bring his face towards yours.
“What for?”
In your increasingly tired state, you huff and raise your hands to your eyes, rubbing them gently. “I didn’t return the favour.”
“Favour?” He scoffs out a laugh, his head dipping to playfully bump your noses together. “What do you mean?”
“You just… you did all that stuff for me and now I’m falling asleep.”
“Okay, and?”
He sounds almost offended that you would even insinuate that he cares. Something that you figure shouldn’t surprise you at this point considering he’s been nothing but giving.
“And…”
As you trail off, you suddenly force your eyes to open a bit wider —to be more present as you begin to work through the weight of your own exhaustion and pull him down. Allowing yourself to be the one to take the reins by kissing his mouth again. Forcing this need to solely be kind and chivalrous to disappear as you both start to rush through the fumbling of more discarded clothes. His obvious desire to continue whatever this is between you causing him to let you sit up to discard his tie and untuck his shirt. Your fingers clawing at item after item in a mess of blissed-out confusion until eventually he’s buried deep inside of you, groaning your name.
Which only fuels the impulse to be the one to take care of him. To show your appreciation for the company and the food and everything in between as you somehow shift to the top. Your body towering over his —hips melding together in a quick, steady rhythm of desperation.
“Relax,” you tell him then, leaning forward to run your hand across his cheek. “Let me take care of you this time.”
Despite the position you find yourselves in, he still manages to laugh. The call back to his behaviours making him merely roll his eyes and say, “Alright, go ahead then, sweetheart. Return your favour.”
Smiling back, you do. Slowing down the movements of your hips so that you can work your way back up. Creating a tension of needy fingers that grip onto your sides, helping guide you through the ebbs and flows of his cock. And at first, it’s nice —simple. The constant drift between you making you feel a bit lightheaded as you both mumble each other’s praises between lazy kisses. But then, you feel yourself melting further down. Your consciousness beginning to falter with every push and pull until he’s left doing all the work again.
Letting out a laugh, he wraps an arm around your torso and kisses your face, still pistoning up. “What happened to all that… hospitality you were boasting about?” he jokingly chastises between breaths, glancing down to see that your eyes are already closed; your breath heavy as you let out a groan.
“Too tired,” you mumble out. “I’ll make it up… tomorrow.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Shiu manages to hear it. And soon after, thankfully accept it too as he slows back down again, eventually stopping to breathe until he sees you lift your head and shake it.
“What? You want me to keep going?”
You just nod and drop your head back down again, hearing him scoff and follow through. Every muscle in your body feeling simultaneously loose and tight once he begins to move again, gently dragging himself in and out and quietly groaning as you slowly drift to sleep, already dreaming about tomorrow.
SUMMARY: Geto can't wait until morning to get his fill.
PAIRING: Geto Suguru/Female Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, somnophilia, choking, creampie.
A/N: Just a repost from my old blog that i figured suited this one more <3
MASTERLIST
-
There’s a heat between your legs that wasn’t present when you fell asleep. Feeling almost heavy, it steadily lingers in the form of hot puffs of air repeatedly hitting your entrance —teasing every inch as you try to shift your legs, realizing they’re already pinned.
Against your hips, there’s a pair of palms carefully splayed across your skin. Each digit pressing you into the mattress while Geto’s cheek rests against the edge of your inner thigh; his lips hovering above your folds in a way that feels almost sadistic. His position sending the kind of thoughts to your brain that have you losing your breath as you try to sit up, positioning yourself onto your elbows.
“Can I help you?”
Your voice is full of tease as you angle your neck to get a better look, noticing the desperate way he shares your gaze before opening his mouth to say, “No, you’re good.” All while pretending that the position he’s in is normal.
“Are you good?”
In response he just hums, the reverb of his voice rattling against your thigh before he places a kiss to your skin, lingering there for only a second. “Just missed you is all.”
Glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table, you narrow your eyes and look back at him skeptically. “You weren’t gone for long.”
When he doesn’t respond, your frown only deepens in annoyance, watching the way he ignores your words. Noticing the switch in attention as his fingers glide down the length of your hips, pinching the plushest parts.
Once again, it makes you twitch upwards, your body attempting to escape. A tactic that fails to work on account of the fact that you’re still half asleep; slightly lost to the haze of exhaustion considering the hour.
“You can go back to sleep if you want.”
Opening your mouth to respond, you’re met with the sudden urge to stop. The concept of protest failing to meet your mind as soon as you feel his fingers slip across your thighs, moving down to raise your legs over his shoulders, prompting him to grunt.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
His response tickles your thighs. Another breath hitting that previous spot with another wave of heat that has you accepting your fate. Allowing your eyes to slowly shut as you lay back down, moving a hand down to run your fingers through his hair. Pushing them gently across the base of his scalp as he inevitably kisses your cunt, slipping a soft tongue through the base before pulling away to breathe.
“That feels nice.”
“Yeah?”
You nod your head feeling his thumb trail along your inner thigh. A soft chuckle slipping out before he dives back in again, coating his tongue in your flesh. Flattening the organ down so that he can maximize the surface of your pleasure.
A habit of his you secretly hate because of how smug it makes him. Having pleased you more times than either of you can count, he can tell almost immediately how good it makes you feel. Based on the way you slightly arch your back in response, shifting the weight of your body from your torso to your legs, he can’t help but grin at you. The edges of his lips rising and parting as he curls his tongue to prod your entrance.
“Fuck —why are you so…”
Still too dazed to really speak, you trail off and allow it all to happen. Every thought lost to the sensations of his tongue moving while his hands tighten their grip, forcing you further down. Making damn sure that you rest as he continues to lick, languidly moving his tongue across you.
Which feels incredible, especially in tandem with the lack of consciousness. As you seemingly slip further out of existence, if you think about it, it sort of feels like the rest of your body is somewhere else. Its position lingering in this limbo where every touch is unnaturally dulled. Every sensation gradually building the longer he’s latched onto you, endlessly consuming while your eyes begin to drift close and your mouth falls open.
Before you can stop it, you let out a moan that only works to spur him on. The soft sound prompting another to quickly follow when you feel him pull away, replacing his mouth with his hand, slowing down his movements to explore. Forcing your body to shift upward again to give him a stern look.
“Give me a minute, yeah?”
You hear him let out a soft laugh before he licks a single strip across your clit. Once again rendering you useless as you fall back down, annoyed at the way he fails to provide the stimulus you need to come.
“I want to sleep, Geto.”
“Then sleep. No one’s stopping you.”
You want to tell him that he is, but instead, you just release a deep breath and settle back again, trying your best to focus on the movement of his hand. Specifically how it glides across your skin, tentatively pressing certain spots to test the waters. Moving at such a painstakingly slow pace that eventually you do end up falling asleep. Your mind going completely blank —every touch and sound fading into darkness until…
The timeframe is skewed. A jumble of numbers lost to your twitching cunt as Geto relentlessly pushes inside of you, quietly panting as he smiles down at your flickering eyelids.
“Morning sunshine,” he jokes, his voice somehow sounding like it’s underwater as you shift beneath him, suddenly realizing how warm and heavy you feel again.
“How long was I—“
Cut short by the drag of his cock, you swallow down a moan and move your hands to grasp his arms, suddenly needing the extra stability. Your body shifting beneath his as he carefully fills you up inch by inch.
“Couldn’t help myself.”
You mumble out some sort of garbled response —one that makes him smile and lean down to kiss your temple as he continues his pace. Ignoring the way you squirm beneath him, no longer able to retain that previous sense of calm as you begin to lose yourself completely. Craving his touch as you move one of his hands towards your neck, silently demanding he go rougher.
Which thankfully, he does. Obeying your request without protest, he holds your throat with enough pressure to elevate the experience. Using it like an anchor to drive further into you. Both of you groaning in unison at the newfound pace he sets, no longer caring about rest.
Too focused on making him come, you inch your hand up to grab the base of his hair, giving it a rough tug that has his hips faltering —the rhythm immediately falling apart as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours as he works to steady himself.
“What’s wrong? Distracted or something?”
You smirk up at him knowingly, feeling his fingers tighten around your throat as a warning. Timing it out with a particularly rough push that has a nervous laugh spilling from your lips, knowing you’ll regret that.
“Don’t make me put that mouth to good use.”
“Then hurry up.”
In response, he grits his teeth and does just that. Picking up the pace again —driving so roughly into you that all you can do is focus on the ache between your thighs building with each thrust. Your insides begging for release. Your lips parting to breathe only to be engulfed in his, resulting in a quiet groan he can’t help but mimic.
At which point, everything begins to build far quicker than before. Every rise and fall of your shared lack of breath becoming the backdrop of your orgasms coming through —taking over your systems in the form of twitching limbs, twisting to further connect you. Neither one of you wanting to part as he spills inside of you, far too exhausted to care about anything other than the release of pleasure that has you whining beneath him. Struggling to maintain any semblance of thought until you’re both lying there, staring at each other with small grins that make you laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
Still struggling to catch your breath, you roll your eyes and pull him down for another kiss, gripping whatever loose hairs you find along the way to hold him. To cherish the way his lips feel against yours before pulling away to shake your head.
“No reason. Just… laughing at how needy you are sometimes.”
Quietly, he grumbles before kissing you again. Trying his best to ignore the way your lips curl upwards in response.
SUMMARY: Astarion arrives to interrupt your sleep. Like always.
PAIRING: Astarion Ancunin/Female Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, oral sex (fem receiving), overstimulation, blood drinking, brat taming if you squint real hard.
A/N: I have no idea how this mother fucker got into my house but here we are. A little blast from the past.
MASTERLIST
-
The affection comes in waves. Like the ocean, they’re unpredictable and rough —enveloping you under the hurried embrace of an overly confident Astarion who often appears out of nowhere. The sensations of desperation always filling his features as he piles into your tent well into the night, still smelling of the viscera of his latest catch.
Whenever it happens, you’re hardly ready for it. With sleep still in your eyes and the confusion of someone who’s seemingly just awoken from death itself, it always takes you a few moments to register that he’s talking to you. And, that his needy hands have already begun to pull at your clothes, adjusting the fabric in ways that better cater to his curious eyes.
“Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he jokes. His voice low and hungry. A telltale sign that he’s here for something requiring not only your company but your undivided attention too, causing you to sigh.
“Well, I was sleeping,” you say, your palm moving up to rub your eye, feeling the pressure that’s already begun to develop as revenge for not immediately taking care of your already lacking sleep schedule. “But some bastard decided to ruin that.”
He tuts and further cages you against your bedroll, fingers idly stroking your exposed skin. “You want me to take care of them, love? Tear them to shreds for waking you up?”
At that, you snort and move your knee towards the inner part of his thigh, spreading it slightly as a sign that, despite the interruption, you’re willing to forget his transgressions. “It’s alright,” you mumble. “I can handle him. He’s pretty weak.”
“Weak?”
You laugh at his dramatic response, your eyes slightly narrowing to better view the pout on his lips. His expression pinching in annoyance as you reach up and instantly try to smooth everything back out. “Apologies. I meant more so that he’s… distracted.”
“Right, of course.” He releases a huff and lowers his face to yours, a petty smirk now appearing. “That makes more sense considering the rather precarious position he’s found you in.”
“And what position might that be?”
As you ask, you can feel his hands moving to grip your waist. The surprisingly tender feeling making you twitch as he bares his teeth in amusement. His expression shifting from slightly annoyed to completely enraptured in the span of a second thanks to the instinctual reactions you offer in regards to his touch.
“Awfully willing to please,” he simply replies then, the coolness of his tone making you roll your eyes and raise your hands to pinch his cheeks.
“You’re disgusting, you know that? Crawling into my tent in the dead of night so that you can get off on my hospitality. Shameful.”
All he does is humorously hum and lower his face further, the warmth laced within your features spreading down the length of your neck as he aims to claim it with a kiss. “Be less complacent then.”
As if by routine, you open your mouth to argue further but quickly find yourself closing back up when his tongue darts out to taste your flesh. The slick, hot organ easily finding that spot that always seems to render you useless, causing your mind to turn off. Every verbal thought you once had vanishing against the movement of his hands hungrily holding your jaw and rising beneath your tattered tunic.
“I’d say be quiet so the others don’t hear but I see you’re already too blissed out to function,” Astarion chuckles, his lips brushing against you. The lack of previous contact leaving you writhing beneath him —hands moving to wrap around his neck in protest.
“Hey Astarion, for once, can you not tease me?”
He pretends to think for a moment, but ultimately refuses, showing his defiance in the form of slowed movements and a smirk that leaves you wishing you had the resolve to kick him out. “Mm, but what would be the fun in that?”
Again, you huff in annoyance. Even though you’d already expected this the moment he first arrived. Considering Astarion’s never been one the type to simply give into anything, it’s no surprise that even in bed there always has to be a challenge or a game involved. Some sadistic form of foreplay that often causes the end result to unfortunately feel all the more worth it when it arrives, causing you to blindly follow.
“It’d certainly speed things up so I can—oh, fuck you.”
He wastes no time riling you up some more. Before you finish your increasingly irrelevant argument, you feel his teeth drag across your skin, the sharpest points grazing your most sensitive spot with ease. “Language, darling.”
Almost immediately, you press your lips together in protest. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of fighting further as he lifts his head to study you. His eyes focusing on the various sections of your face —memorizing every inch as his other hand draws patterns into your side. A feeling that becomes almost unbearable as time goes on. Thanks to the way he’s staring at you —eyes filled with the desire to ruin— you can’t help but feel impatient. Your body shifting beneath him to garner some sort of response that might speed things along.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Then hurry up,” you practically whine. No longer caring about how desperate you sound. Or how you look when you grip the collar of his shirt to yank him back down again. “Otherwise I’ll kick you out.”
“Ha! No you won’t.”
“I will.”
Despite knowing otherwise, he concedes… slightly. Granting you the satisfaction of sharing the kind of kiss that starts off simple and sweet but quickly becomes tainted. The temptation of potential clouding your minds as Astarion reaches for the back of your head, gripping the roots of your hair —both of you pushing the other to gain control.
Unsurprisingly, it ends up being him that comes out on top. After a long battle of teeth and tongues, he inevitably pries himself away to look down at your breathless form. Admiring the way your chest repeatedly rises and falls, attempting to suck in enough air so that you can scold him for his actions.
“Gods, you certainly are adorable.”
“Oh—shut up.”
He laughs and shakes his head, moving a hand to your cheek. “No honestly, it’s incredible how much defiance one person can have,” he tells you, stroking your skin. “Normally, I’d have the average begging for release by now.”
“Not sure how resilience correlates to adorableness.”
He presses another kiss to your mouth. This time refusing to satisfy. “Hm, it’s more the lack there of that I find adorable.”
You roll your eyes. “Right, of course.”
In response, he lets out a laugh. Allowing the air to thicken around you. Your shared arousal fuelling the need to fall into your usual roles as you swallow hard and further spread your legs. No longer caring how submissive you look underneath his smug stare.
“Right to the point, I see. How” —he pauses, leaning in to place another chaste kiss to your lips— “Dull.”
All you do is huff and bump his thigh with your knee. The fussy action doing enough to disrupt his patience, causing him to scowl and grab your thigh, giving it a light squeeze.
“I see the lack of rest is making you testy.”
You narrow your eyes and release him, forcing your arms to cross over your chest. “I’d say the vampire refusing to fuck me is more so the reason.”
“Oh hush.” Shaking his head, he reaches down to detangle your defiant arms so that he can better see you. His eyes immediately making their rounds in ways that do numbers on your heart as you continue to lay there, always cursed to endure this little game of his. “In no way am I refusing. In fact, if you quit being so huffy I might go the extra mile and linger a bit afterwards.”
“Oh, my gods, like a sleepover?” you say sarcastically, bringing your hands up to hold your cheeks like a child. Prompting him to immediately swat them away as if the mere sight of them makes him want to vomit.
Which only makes you laugh and reach for his face, pulling him down for another kiss that quickly becomes something more than intended. The simple act fuelling Astarion’s desire to progress. To pin you down further into the bedroll as he inevitably detaches himself, opting for other parts of your body to cling to as he makes his way down. The process of it all driving your mind wild as he effortlessly nips and sucks a series of markings into your skin. His own mind finding the blooms of colour to be rather beautiful as he continues down your neck and chest, lingering at your stomach before he pushes your shirt over your head to gain better access.
“Beautiful,” you hear him mutter then. His voice soft and low —an echo of your own thoughts as you glance down to see him sitting up to discard your pants. His hands tucking themselves under the waistband to awkwardly shuck them down as you lift your hips to help.
Then, everything moves at exactly the right pace. As Astarion continues his descent to settle between your thighs, there are no more words needed. Only the resolve to survive as his cold hands graze the edge of your cunt, pushing the fabric aside so that he can get a decent look before pushing his thumb through your folds.
“Unsurprisingly ready, I see,” he practically scolds, but in response you say nothing. Instead, opting to buck your hips ever so slightly to egg him on, causing a low sigh to waft gently across your skin before he gives in.
At which point, you’ve already built everything up so highly in your head. The mere image of it making the actual act feel all the more satisfying as he begins to work your slit. Using both his thumb and tongue to taunt and tease —barely applying enough pressure to strengthen the imaginary band beneath your flesh.
It’s horrific, you think. The ability he has to render you so completely willing and useless. Because not only is it simultaneously the best and worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it’s obviously dangerous too. Bordering on a sign of weakness that has you whimpering for more as he eventually wraps his lips around your clit to suckle the sensitive skin. Humming in response to the sounds that slip from your lips as he continues to stimulate the surrounding area.
“Fuck, Astarion—“
Your voice catches. Failing to continue once it dawns on you that words aren’t really necessary right now. Not when he’s giving you what you want in the form of nips and licks that become almost pressurized once you feel the presence of his nose begin to make its way down. The end of it nudging the space where his mouth once was. Acting as some sort of placeholder as his tongue begins to ravage your folds in ways that make your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Your mind emptying to make room for your body to take over, causing you to reach down and grab the roots of his hair for something to anchor to.
Something you know he enjoys based on the hum that reverberates against your entrance. The sensation of it only furthering your arousal as he picks up the pace, driving you closer and closer to the edge with rough fingers that begin to push inside of you. Each one curling to stack the pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him —panting so loud that you’re sure the whole camp can hear you.
Not that you care, though. Not when Astarion’s pumping his fingers so ruthlessly. Not when he’s lapping hungrily through your flesh. Not when he’s moaning against your cunt, begging for you to let go.
In fact, the only thing you care about is the feeling of that final snap. The aforementioned band cracking against your base to create a series of punishing aftershocks that have you raising your hips. Your body moving to get away but finding itself unable when Astarion roughly moves to hold you down, continuing his ministrations as you cover your mouth to stop yourself from waking up the entire bloody camp.
Which only serves as fuel for him to lift his head and look at your writhing form. The entirety of you twitching and squirming as his fingers remained locked in their routine, unable to stop due to how delicious you look pleading for him to stop long after he’s dipping his head back between your thighs to sink his teeth into the plushest part. Drawing enough blood to feed as you cry out, no longer able to fight him.
SUMMARY: Kento worries too much, while Hiromi doesn't worry at all.
PAIRING: Higuruma Hiromi/Nanami Kento
WARNINGS: Mentions of potential injury, shameless flirting.
A/N: I wasn't planning on participating in @higunanaweek, but then @valleyofwater drew this amazing piece and I knew I had to write just a little something something inspired by it.
WC: 800
MASTERLIST
-
Exhaustion. That’s the first thing Kento sees when he looks at his partner; the sudden heavy rise and fall of Hiromi’s chest making him swallow hard and move to rest a hand on the lawyer’s back.
“You okay?”
Grunting in response, Hiromi rises from his knees to his feet, nodding. The low crack of his bones shifting back into place, causing Kento to frown.
“Old bones, don’t worry about it,” Hiromi mutters. Then, he claps a hand on Kento’s shoulder in return before moving forward. Each step he takes creating more echoes of pain that follow him back to the hotel room. The unwanted presence of old injuries slowly making themselves heard the longer he remains upright.
Foolishly, it breaks Kento’s heart. Seeing the man he loves having to stumble through the pain of trying to keep up. As he slowly follows behind, keeping pace in case Hiromi’s body decides to give out, he can’t help but experience his own aches in response. The tightness in his chest only growing when he sees Hiromi pause to lean against the wall long after the elevator stops at their floor.
“I can hear you worrying,” Kento hears him say, and even though he doesn’t deny it, he still huffs and wraps an arm around his partner. Allowing his fingers to tighten around his shoulder as he guides them both to their room.
“I’ll make you some ice packs after you’re situated.”
Hiromi chuckles, watching Kento sift through his pocket for the room key. Another annoyed breath spilling from the blonde’s lips, unimpressed with how nonchalant Hiromi’s being. “Stop worrying,” he reminds him.
In response, Kento shakes his head and opens the door, maneuvering them both inside before kicking off his shoes. Both of them stumbling a bit as his hand remains fused to Hiromi’s shoulder. “You know I can’t.”
“Then at least dial it down, yeah?”
Kento frowns at that, but relents. He doesn’t want to make the situation worse, so instead, he just helps his partner to the bed. Ignoring the awful groan that filters through the air as they both begin to carefully strip his clothes.
“Wish the circumstances were different.”
Kento raises a brow as he begins to take off Hiromi’s tie. “Circumstances?”
“You taking off my clothes.”
Despite the anxiety he feels, Kento manages to snort out a laugh. “Ah, yes. Those circumstances.”
“I’d wipe that worrisome expression right off your face.”
After a beat, Kento hums, trying not to let it show that he wouldn’t mind that as his fingers shift towards the man's shirt, carefully undoing button after button to reveal heated flesh he also wouldn’t particularly mind getting his hands on… if the circumstances were different.
“Do you need help with your pants?”
Hiromi smirks a bit, the temptation to take this little game of what if to new heights before he decides against it and shakes his head. “Nah, I got it.”
Feeling somewhat thankful, Kento nods and begins to discard his own clothes as he moves to the bathroom. His now somewhat shaky fingers pulling off his jacket before loosening his tie. Images of Hiromi half naked on the bed already taking precedence in his mind, as he discards his shirt and slacks, leaving him in just his underwear.
Which only spurs his thoughts further. Each one further delving into territories he’s well and truly explored before. The memories of past nights melding into current desires as he washes his face and brushes his teeth. Trying his best to make both his body and mind understand that now is definitely not the time. Not when he can hear Hiromi groan as the bed shifts. Even though the sounds are certainly reminiscent of similar kinds of activity, he shouldn’t be thinking like that.
Releasing a deep breath, Kento looks at himself in the mirror in annoyance. The evident signs of arousal painting his cheeks as he swipes a hand down the length of his face before moving back to the bedroom, knowing there’s no use in hiding it. Not when it’s Hiromi’s fault anyway.
“Want me to help you to the bathroom?”
Hiromi, already lying on his back, eyes to the ceiling shakes his head. “Too tired.”
“Still want that ice?”
This time, his head turns to face Kento, another smirk spreading across his face. “I never asked for the ice. Though, I’m sure you could use it right now.”
Kento, forever frustrated with the teasing, just rolls his eyes and moves to turn off the lights. His body acting solely on routine while Hiromi just chuckles.
“You’re such a brat.”
“I don’t see you complaining.”
“Shut up.”
After the doors have been locked and double-checked and they’ve fallen into darkness, Kento slips onto the bed, feeling the immediate presence of Hiromi tucking into his side. The simple gesture easing his mind knowing that he’s here and that he’s safe. And that, despite not being able to alleviate the kind of pressure he wants, he’s at least able to feel the worry in his chest subside once his partner slips an arm around his waist and promptly falls asleep.
