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gardensgatekeeper · 3 months

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Money Talks

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1,843

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Little bit of fluff, angst, swearing, degradation, dom/cocky Jake, allusions to being paid for sex work, daddy kink, rich/sugar daddy Jake, sir Jake, penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, minor choking. As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Partially inspired by this little moment from bourbon and beyond 🫠

They say money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy silence.

The sun peeking through the window was every so slightly blinding as your eyes squinted open. Rolling over, you couldn’t help but smile at his soft features and the little snores that escaped his mouth. You don’t know how, but Jake had to be the world’s heaviest sleeper. You recall one morning where you’d gotten up to make breakfast but not without setting off the smoke alarm. Needless to say, you were extremely confused when he didn’t come downstairs to investigate the loud commotion. There he laid, unmoving and still knocked out in bed like nothing had happened.

You remained there in bed with him for a bit longer, taking in every ounce of the warmth his body was radiating. But eventually, your bladder was screaming at you to get up. After doing your business, you got ready for the day. Though you had no plans, it was a rare day where both of you didn’t have any work commitments and you wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon with Jake doing whatever your hearts desired.

Not wanting to disturb the sleeping beauty just yet, you headed downstairs to make breakfast, sans smoke alarm this time. You kept yourself busy, tidying up the house a bit and catching up on some chores before you started feeling a bit stir crazy. The clock on the wall read 12:19pm and you knew if there was any chance of doing anything with Jake today, you were going to have to quite literally drag him out of bed.

Heading back upstairs, you found your lover still snuggled under the covers, sleeping the day away. “Jake.” You called out. Nothing. “Jake.” You said a bit louder this time, dragging out his name. Still nothing. Shaking your head, you walked over to the bed before pushing him over on his back, climbing on the bed and straddling him. Leaning down, you grabbed his face and placed a soft kiss to his lips. “Jakey, time to wake up baby.” You whispered in his ear.

That seemed to finally do the trick as you felt his hands escape from underneath the covers, gently resting on your hips. His eyes peeked open, taking in the sight of you in front of him. “And to what do I owe the pleasure m’lady?” He rasped out. The way his morning voice sounded like pure sex sent shivers straight to your core.

“Well, we both have the day off and I was thinking we could do something fun like take a stroll downtown? I think that new bakery on fifth finally opened! Then maybe we could go-”

You paused for a moment when Jake suddenly shifted up in bed and reached over to grab his wallet from the bedside table. Curiously, you watched as he pulled a fresh $100 bill from the worn leather and casually dropped in the space between your two bodies.

You were extremely confused and just assumed he was looking for something in his wallet. Shaking your head, you continued to speak, sharing possible activities to fill what was left of the afternoon. Oddly enough, for every new idea you mentioned, he seemed to pull out another bill.

Does he normally have this much cash on him?

“Jake, what are you doing? Why are you pulling money out of your wallet?” You finally asked.

“Babe, I love you to death, but the only thing I’m interested in doing today is enjoying some peace and quiet.” He quipped.

“Oh, so what? This is your way to shut me up? Bribery?” You gasped, clutching your chest in faux hurt and devastation.

His eyes twinkled with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite pick up on. “Seems to be that way, I suppose. Would you say this amounts to be worth your time? Is it too much? Or has your rate gone up?” He spoke lowly, glancing down at the pile of money in between you.

“I think you should toss a few more in there just to be safe. Though I’m sure we can always make a deal to work out any discrepancies.”

Your jaw dropped slightly as he flipped his wallet over completely, opening it and letting more cash fall out. There had to be at least two or three thousand dollars in front of you. Your mouth hung open in complete shock with a slight grin as you looked back at the smirk Jake was wearing. Of course you knew that being a rockstar had its perks, especially financially, but Jake wasn’t the type to go around flaunting anything. But the thought of him (literally) throwing his money at you ignited a flame you never knew existed.

He seemed to notice the switch in you as he suddenly moved, or rather pushed you off his lap while throwing the covers off himself. The movement of the covers sent the cash flying all over the bed and you sat up on your elbows as Jake towered over you.

“So, you were sayi-” He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence as you reached up to grab his face, pulling him down on top of you. The kiss was feverish and hungry and you found yourself subconsciously moving your hips up, trying to get even the slightest bit of relief. He helped you shimmy out of your jeans before slipping your top over your head.

Jake sat up and you realized just how quickly the roles had been reversed from the position you were in not even two minutes prior. His eyes darkened at the sight in front of him. There, you laid on a pile of his money in just your bra and panties. From Jake’s perspective, it was something straight out of a wet dream, except this time, it was real.

Leaning back down, he gave his full attention to leaving a trail of dark love bites from your neck all the way down to your hip. You couldn’t help but wrap your hands in his hair for leverage, humming out from the pure bliss his touch left you with. He toyed with the band of your panties for a moment, biting at the elastic before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped out at the slight sting that quickly faded into pleasure.

He chuckled before diverting his focus back to your folds that were now slick with desire. His fingers ghosted over your sensitive nerves and your hips bucked forward in response. “Jake please.” You begged, not even caring how desperate you were at the moment. “I’ll get you there, just be patient, hm?” He offered, softly nibbling at your earlobe.

He started out easy with just one finger, but it wasn’t long before he added a second, and then a third. His fingers pumped in and out of you tirelessly and you couldn’t help but clench around him tightly everytime his fingers curled inside you. He very quickly found the one spot that sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head, a plethora of pornographic sounds leaving your body. His thumb added pressure to your clit and you swore you saw stars. “You feel like velvet, so soft. It’s like this pretty pink pussy was made just for me.” He hotly whispered in your ear.

“D-Don’t stop Jake. Gonna c-cum.” The words were barely coherent as they left your mouth but he understood just fine as he continued to work his fingers into you while still circling your bundle of nerves. You were right there but just before you reached the euphoric state, his fingers retreated and you whined out from the orgasm you were just robbed of.

“Jake, what the hell?” You breathed out. He brought his fingers up to your lips and you wrapped your mouth around them, cleaning off the juices coating them. Just when you thought he was about to pull his fingers back, he pushed them back further until they touched the back of your throat, making you gag around them.

“Now I thought we had an agreement here. All this compensation and you’re still yapping. Not a very good deal if you ask me.” He taunted, finally drawing his fingers back and letting you catch your breath.

“Fuck, I- I’m sorry Jak-“

“Ah ah. Try again.” He interrupted.

You smirked slightly before responding. “I’m sorry Daddy. I’ll be good, I promise. Please, just fuck me.” You pleaded with a sultry tone.

His eyes darkened at the unexpected name and you swore you heard him quietly moan. You knew he liked being called sir, but decided he fit the sugar daddy role a little better right now. Quickly slipping off the linen pajama pants he still wore, he nestled his knee in between your knees. He teased his hard cock a few times, making you more frustrated by the second. “Plea-”

Before you could even finish, he snapped his hips against yours without warning, bottoming out fully. You cried out, more out of shock than pain and his eyes searched yours to wait for confirmation to continue. “Fuck, keep going.” You panted.

“Yeah? You like being fucked on my money? Just a groupie after my cash? That’s all you are aren’t you? Pathetic fucking gold digger.”

You and Jake both knew that his money was not a factor in your relationship, but something about the way he was speaking to you like this turned you on more than you could explain, and he could tell by the way you subconsciously clenched around his dick.

His hand moved up to your neck before resting around your throat as he continued to rock his hips into you. The slight restricted blood flow to your brain mixed with the intense pleasure he was giving you was an indescribable feeling. Leaning forward, his hot breath whispered filthy insults in your ear. You were too far gone to comprehend everything he was saying but somehow still managed to pick up on words like “whore” and “slut,” which only fueled your impending orgasm. Jake shifted a bit, pushing both of your legs up against your chest. Your breath hitched as the new angle allowed him to hit a spot deeper than before. Digging your nails in his back, all you could mutter out was a mix of “Jake” and “fuck” as you neared your release.

“C’mon, give it to me. Let me have it.” His demanding tone seemed to be the final thing you needed before your orgasm violently overtook you. Jake continued rocking inside you until you felt him reach his release as well. The two of you stayed there for a moment to come down from your highs. After a moment, he slowly pulled out and rested up on his arms, just barely hovering above you, the biggest shit eating grin on his face.

He reached up to grab a few of the bills by your head before bringing it back between the two of you, casually slipping them underneath your bra strap.

“Now, what is it you were saying earlier?”

✶ ✶ ✶

Taglist:

@jannysarcher @bimbokiszka @stardustcatcher

#greta #greta van fic #gvf #gvf imagine #gretavanfleet #gvf jake #jake gvf #jakekiszka #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x you #jake kiska fic #jake kiskza x reader #gretavansmut #greta van smut #gardensgatekeeper

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suzukiblu · 6 months

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Day two NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

"Well, you are the plan guy," Kon says, grinning again and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. "Supreme?"

"Works for me," Tim says. It's meat and dairy and bread and vegetables and Kon is probably invulnerable to heart disease, so he figures that's basically health food to him, right? Especially if he needs more calories than the average guy.

Pizza's sure as shit gonna be more satisfying than a protein bar, if nothing else.

Tim's definitely ordering like, breadsticks or wings or something too. And maybe a two-liter or two. Cinnamon bread. Something. Hell, he'll buy all that and then some if he has to. He's got the money.

Who the hell decided it was okay to let this happen? Really. Is there literally no responsible adult in Kon's life to intervene in this situation? Dubbilex was made by Cadmus too and has his own issues with managing to have an out-of-lab life, Rex Leech is apparently out of the picture, which might be a blessing anyway, Tana Moon is equally MIA, and Superman has apparently lost his entire damn mind, so . . .

There's literally no responsible adult in Kon's life to intervene in this situation, is there. There's no irresponsible adult in Kon's life to intervene in this situation. As far as Tim knows, every single other one Kon knows is either Cadmus-employed or a supervillain or just completely uninvested in his existence.

Maybe Tim should be talking to Red Tornado about this. Is this something he should be talking to Red Tornado about?

. . . sure, that'd help. Red Tornado is about five minutes back into being a person and has Traya and Kathy and the whole team to worry about, and absolutely could handle something like this while also trying to figure out his own shit and keep an eye on all the rest of them too. Sure. That'd work.

This is a problem, Tim thinks.

This is a definite problem, in fact.

He has no idea what to do about this problem, though, so he just orders a truly inadvisable amount of pizza and wings and double-iced cinnamon bread for pickup. They've done weirder than get takeout in the Super-Cycle and they'll do weirder again. Besides, it could use the . . . exercise, or whatever that counts as. Not like the Super-Cycle has muscles, but it does get tired sometimes and seem to appreciate getting out and–well, whatever. That's just something to figure out later, probably.

Tim really should figure that out, though. And also if the Super-Cycle is gonna be down for going supervillain, because yeah, that's obviously a thing to keep in mind.

He flies it to the pizza joint, and spends the flight casually grilling Kon about his coworkers and employee benefits and the Cadmus security systems. The answers are: a lot of lab-born clones and too many grown-ass adults who have no excuse not to know better, work-related health care and nothing else, and Kon and Guardian, mostly. And also some random weird death traps and a couple of cameras here and there, apparently, but it all sounds incredibly dated to Tim's ears and it really seems like Kon and Guardian are taking on the lion's share of everything more complicated than watching a feed or flipping on an alarm system. Like, it really does.

So that's not great.

"Jesus, man, how much did you order?" Kon snorts with a laugh while Tim's paying the girl at the drive-up window in cash. He doesn't really want to explain this particular expense on the Bat credit card. Generally he doesn't want to explain takeout and junk food on there at all, in fact, though obviously he makes a point of going to Batburger with Steph once a month, just to hear Bruce sigh about it later. Appropriate teenage nonsense and all. He gets the kids' meal and the terrifyingly purple Spoiler shake every time. It tastes like acidic cotton candy. Yes, literally. "Like just the whole menu or what?"

"Of course I did. I've got a Kryptonian to carry it all for me, don't I?" Tim replies with a smirk he doesn't really feel after everything he's learned today. Everything Kon just told him, because he doesn't see what's wrong with any of it.

It reminds him of the abused kids he meets on the job who insist they're fine, and they don't need Batman and Robin to save them.

He wonders if Jason was like that, when Bruce first met him.

He also wonders if he maybe did over-order a little on the pizza, but worst case scenario the leftovers should fit in the fridge.

. . . maybe, anyway. Probably.

Mostly?

Kon immediately cracks into the cinnamon bread on the flight back because he has absolutely no manners whatsoever, and Tim rolls his eyes at him and tries not to visibly brood over the five-alarm fire burning down his brain right now.

He just . . . doesn't understand how Superman is apparently just fine with this situation. He doesn't even understand how Kon is fine with this situation, but is increasingly certain that the answer to that might just be that Kon doesn't think he has another option.

He doesn't have another option, as far as Tim can tell. What would he do, crash at the base and just mooch off everyone else for food and gear and whatever else he needs day-to-day?

Yeah, not exactly a sustainable lifestyle, that.

Not even a little bit of one.

Technically, Tim could just pay for whatever Kon needed, between his allowance and his trust fund and without even taking his Bat-stipend into account, but there is no possible way Kon would ever actually go for that. He's way too proud, and even someone with no pride at all would probably find "please let me pay you to quit your horrible job" a hard pill to swallow from a teammate, much less the leader they only barely recognize the authority of.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby Kon

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discordantwritings · 6 months

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Imagine- Sugar Daddy Sir Crocodile (SFW + NSFW) (Modern AU)

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS I don’t care that some of these are SFW. More detailed warnings right before the NSFW

Note: look at me and tell me this man isn’t prime sugar daddy. Also if you want more of this let me know cause. Boy there is so much I could write.

When he first approached you about the position you were caught off guard. You were a very low ranking member of Baroque Works and never saw much of Sir Crocodile so when you got called into his office you were sure your were getting fired. But, in a way, you were getting a raise.

He doesn’t pressure you into becoming his sugar baby, hell you don’t really give him the chance. A powerful, attractive, rich guy like him? Why would you even think about saying no?

Immediately you stop doing whatever job you already had and get a huge wad of cash. He tells you to buy yourself some nice things to wear since the two of you will be going out to dinner together frequently, and you should look right at home in all the fancy restaurants he will take you to.

So you do. You have the shopping trip of your life, finally able to spend money without having the crippling worry of not being able to pay for your groceries next week. You’re giddy by the time dinner rolls around and it’s time for your first date with Sir Crocodile.

He picks you up and appreciates the outfit you picked out for the night, his eyes wandering over you, putting you slightly off kilter. Being judged (even in a good way) by a man so large and influential was nerve wracking. But, ever the gentleman, he held out his hand and guided you into the car.

He takes you someplace you’ve never heard of before but when you see the menu has no prices listed you know you’re someplace special. He encourages you to order whatever you like and you eat some of the best food you’ve ever tasted.

Admittedly at first getting conversation started is hard. You’ve never had many interactions with him and there was one burning question that you couldn’t get out of your mind.

“Can I ask, why me?”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a long draw from his cigar. “You’re smart, attractive, and I could see that you might have had some interest in me too. Not much to it.”

You flush a bit when he points out that you had an attraction to him- the few times you did see him at work you did have to admit you were enraptured by his stature and the way he commanded the room. At least you’re not getting killed for it.

After that the conversation flows a bit better as he gets to know some of your hobbies and you are able to learn about his love for him bananawamis. It’s adorable how much he loves those things.

He, of course, picks up the check and drives you home. He holds your hand the entire drive home and you have to admit, you love it. Once you get to your place he gets out and opens your car door for you.

“I know we didn’t discuss if there would be anything more to this than going out to events with me, so if you don’t wish to extend our arrangement that’s fine but-“ He steps into your space, towering over you. “I would love to kiss you.”

Arrangement or not you can’t help but nod and let him pull you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. He tastes like harsh sunlight and cigars but you don’t mind it at all it’s so distinctly him. He steps away and grins and lets you go for the night.

NSFW

Warnings: phone sex, possessiveness, limited description of genitals to fit all readers

But you can’t help but think about him all night. Remembering how the kiss felt and how much you wanted just a bit more from him you got brave and texted him about what would need to be done to “extending your arrangement” even further.

Your phone almost immediately rings and you wonder if it’s a good or a bad sign as you pick up.

His voice is gruff over the phone, you think you also might have caught him in bed. “Now why are you thinking about our arrangement so late at night love?”

You’re not sure what affects you more, the accusation or the term of endearment but either way you feel the heat rising on your neck. You take too long to respond and after some shuffling on his end he speaks up again.

“I have a busy morning so if you don’t speak up…” He trails off and you know you have to answer.

“I was hoping, next time maybe, we could kiss again and…”

“And?” His voice is sharp, demanding.

“More than kissing.” You finish.

“So you’re up late at night thinking about me fucking you?” His straight forward rhetorical question hits you deep and you would be more embarrassed if his words didn’t turn you on so much.

“Yes.” You breathe into the phone. You hear more shuffling on his end and his voice is much lower when it returns.

“You all worked up thinking about me?”

At first you nod, but then realizing he can’t see you you manage to vocalize another “Yes.”

“Good. I want to hear you touch yourself.” From the way his breath sounds over the phone you think he’s touching himself too and that sends electricity through your veins. You snake your hands down your pants and moan as you touch yourself.

“That’s it love.” He rewards you when he hears your vocalizations. “Need to hear everything since I can’t see you. Do that for me.”

Being commanded like that makes you work faster, and you gasp as you tell him exactly what you’re doing. Your peak is coming up faster than it normally does when you masturbate and you tell him that too.

“Me too. Imagine how fast I’ll ruin you when I see you next. You’re mine now, got it? You won’t be able to think of anyone else now that I’ve got my hands on you.” His words are gruff and breathy and you can hear him working himself faster, just like you are.

“I’m close.” You whine to him.

“That’s right, cum for me, make yourself a mess for me.” At his words you come undone, yelling his name as pleasure rides over you in waves. As you come down from your high you hear loud grunts on his end and then heavy breaths, signaling he had cum as well.

There’s a few moments of silence as you both just breathe into the phone, enjoying just the slice of each other presence you have. Crocodile is the one to speak up first.

“Make sure you get yourself cleaned up before you fall asleep. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, love.” The term of affection has you grinning from ear to ear.

“And also,” He adds. “Don’t bother wearing underwear.”

Yeah, you’re going to love being Sir Crocodile’s sugar baby.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x you #crocodile x you #discordantimagines

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cupid-styles · 8 months

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the first date

a sugar daddy h blurb!! in which harry just wants to show mia how much he adores her, but it turns out they both have some reservations to hash out.

word count: 2.5k

content warnings: none! a little bit of angst but all gets solved in the end<3 lmk if you wanna see any other blurbs from these two ! :)

masterlist | talk to me

"Mia—"

"No."

"Mia—"

"No."

"Please?"

Mia lets out of a huff as she pulls her legs into her chest. For the past hour or so, Harry's been trying to convince her to let him take her out on a date — in his words, their first official date, despite going out to dinner the night that they met.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate the way Harry tries to woo her and constantly make her feel special, but it can get so overwhelming, especially because he's him. Gorgeous Harry with a stupidly perfect face, a stupid amount of money, and, for some reason Mia's yet to understand, a stupidly large crush on her.

Over the past month or so as they've begun seeing each other more seriously, Mia and Harry have been content with their little routine of cooking dinner at his place, watching crime shows, and the occasional event Mia will accompany him to, but Harry's a romantic. He wants more, especially since he hasn't even asked her to be his girlfriend yet. He wants to show her everything she deserves.

And, unfortunately for her, she can hardly resist that little puppy dog pout he does, and it makes her want to lean over and smush her face into his feather-filled pillows.

"If I say yes, I don't just wanna sit at dinner or whatever it is rich people do," Mia says, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

Harry chuckles at that and wraps a loose arm around her shoulders, bringing her back into the comfort of his side. As usual, while her words have a bite, her actions never do.

"So, what you're saying is... you want me to plan something special for you?"

Mia rolls her eyes before pushing her face into the crook of his neck. She inhales quietly, letting the musky, warm scent of his cologne invade her senses.

"I'll go on a date with you." she mutters into his skin.

"Hm?"

"I said," she removes her face from his neck just for a moment, repeating her words barely a decibel louder, "I'll go on a date with you."

Harry smirks and lifts a hand to run it through her hair, smoothing the messy strands. "You're cute. Thank you for humoring me."

"Mhm," she replies, pressing back into the gentle grasp he has at the back of her head, "Can we go to bed now?"

"Whatever you want, baby."

. . .

From: Harry🫀

Clear your schedule for tomorrow, please. I'm taking you out on that date you agreed to.

Less than 24 hours from Saturday, that's what Mia receives. In classic Harry fashion, his texts are always cryptic, a true showcase of their age gap. (She's been trying to convince him to use emojis more, but he's insistent on his claim that they're unnecessary. Still, he'll use the occasional red heart or smiley face, and it makes Mia's lips curl up into a small smile.)

They typically spend Friday evenings together, but tonight, he has some sort of work event that required his attendance, and Mia just didn't have it in her to pull on an uncomfortable dress and heels and pretend to laugh at his employees' jokes. She appreciates how understanding Harry is, and when she said she needed a night in on her own, he was more than happy to do that.

(After getting off the phone earlier that day, he also sent her $100 on Venmo with the description, Order yourself some takeout on me and make sure you get dessert, too. 🍰)

And her evening alone was actually quite nice — she sent Harry a picture of the dinner she ordered from her favorite diner, complete with a piece of cheesecake. She watched three episodes of Gilmore Girls, worked on her crochet project (a half-assed attempt at a scarf for Harry, but it wasn't going all that well), and basked in the scent of the pumpkin vanilla candle she snagged from the shops last weekend.

But now Mia's panicking. Because she was honestly banking on Harry forgetting about that date he insisted on taking her on, especially since their schedules are so busy. She should've known better — Harry never forgets a thing when it comes to her — and now it's 20 minutes past midnight, and she's trying to come up with some excuse to get out of it.

It has nothing to do with him. Truthfully. She adores spending time with Harry. He just... spoils her so much, and the thought of him setting up something official so he can do even more for her is enough to make her head spin. Even over the past month, Mia sometimes has gotten in her head and questioned why Harry was even interested in her. She didn't see what she had to offer the same way he did. On her worst days, she was just some girl eight years his junior who managed to get a lucky break.

Eventually, that's what she falls asleep thinking about. It's the only thing that calms her heart rate enough as she curls up on the couch, snuggling the sweatshirt Harry left behind a few days ago. She promises herself that it's just a fluke, that he'll realize he can find someone better, more mature, and on the same stature as him before the sun rises.

. . .

Mia is starting to realize that Harry knows her a little too well.

Because she doesn't say anything about her minor breakdown last night, and he still shows up to her apartment at half past 10 with coffee and a bagel from her favorite bakery. Not to mention, it's seriously out of the way for Harry (he lives in the opposite direction, so it's not like he stopped on the way over), and Mia has no choice but to swallow her insecurities down and wash them away with the iced pumpkin chai he brought her.

Harry's dressed in what she affectionally refers to as his "weekend clothes" — a stark difference from his typical suits and blazers during the week, instead opting for trousers or baggy jeans and soft cardigans. Meanwhile, she's still in her pajamas, zoning out and staring into space as she sips on her coffee.

Harry clears his throat from beside her, ripping her from her thoughts. "Are y'alright, Mi?"

"Hm?" she asks, turning to look at him with slightly widened eyes, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, it's been 15 minutes and you haven't said anything. I know I make fun of you for rambling sometimes but I like to hear your voice, y'know."

She can tell that Harry's attempting to make light and she smiles gently, murmuring out, "Sorry, just tired."

"'s alright. Are you feeling okay enough to go on our date today?"

"Sure," she forces out, tucking the straw between her lips, "What are we doing?"

"That's a surprise, love," he says with a lopsided smirk. "Go ahead and get ready, hm?"

Mia nods and shuffles upstairs to her bedroom, willing herself to get rid of the negativity clouding her thoughts. She knows she's in a funk and she's not being fair to Harry and she wishes she could just flip a switch and be... better, somehow. She breathes deeply as she washes her face and swipes her skincare over her face, quickly getting dressed and meeting Harry back downstairs.

"Pretty girl," he coos from the couch, pushing his phone back into the pocket of his trousers, "Ready to go?"

She hums and follows him out, locking the door behind them and walking out to his sleek car. Mia knows it's an expensive one — it has all those nice features, like seat warmers and tinted windows — but she's never been a car person, especially if her modest Honda Civic is anything to go off of.

Harry's a good driver, and she's grateful for the way she feels just a little bit more at ease in the passengers seat of his vehicle. He plays soft indie music that she doesn't know but still finds comfort in, probably because it comes from him.

With his hand grasping her knee, he squeezes it gently as he pulls into the parking lot of their presumed destination. They pass a sign that reads botanical gardens, which makes Mia's heart warm. She'd mentioned a few weeks back that she'd been wanting to visit the gardens for the longest time but hadn't had time.

"We're here," Harry announces softly, putting the car into park. "I hope this is okay. You said you didn't want to go out to dinner and I know you wanted to come here before they close for winter."

Mia swallows, realizing there's a small lump forming in her throat. She clears her throat and nods, blinking owlishly — and if she's not entirely too off base, she thinks she notices the slightest twinge of nervousness in Harry's own voice.

"This is perfect, Harry," she murmurs, looking out the window to assess the plush mazes of greenery, an abundance of seasonal flowers seemingly everywhere. "Can we go in?"

He grins, making his eyes crinkle. "Yeah, we can go in."

In true Harry fashion, he pre-purchased the tickets earlier this morning, prepared as ever. Mia's breath hitches in her throat as they walk through the array of marigolds, mums, and chrysanthemums, her face in pure awe at the smattering of warm colors.

"D'you like it?" Harry asks quietly, catching the shell of her ear. The only other people visiting today are other couples and small families, quiet murmurs being exchanged so not to disturb the peaceful scenery.

"It's beautiful. Thank you so much for taking me, H."

"'Course," he wraps an arm around her shoulders, "Y'know I wanted to be a florist when I was younger?"

Mia looks up at him, a surprised smile on her lips. "Really?"

"Yeah. My mum had a gorgeous garden that I loved spending time in. She told me that I could make a living doing it and I became obsessed with idea of spending my days with flowers."

"That's so cute." she replies, giggling at the thought of a younger version of Harry, traipsing around the garden with his mom back in London.

Harry's steps pause as they pass a particularly bright bunch of hydrangeas. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and Mia shuffles to the side, assuming he wants to photograph the flowers.

"What are you doing, baby?" he asks, "I wanna take a picture of you in front of the flowers."

"Oh." Mia mumbles, making Harry chuckle. He playfully guides her to stand besides the white and blue-hued flowers and raises his phone up, peering over his sunglasses to see better.

"Smile, sunshine."

She giggles and flashes him a quick grin before quickly stepping around him, grabbing his phone out of his grasp.

"Your turn, old man," she smirks, switching spots with him.

"Old man, huh?" Harry teases back as he crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. "That's not what you were calling me when we were—"

"Okay!" Mia exclaims, passing his phone back to him after taking a few quick pictures, "Let's keep walking, hm?"

He lets out a loud laugh, ducking his head back slightly as Mia scurries away. He's fast in catching up with her, hooking his arm through hers with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"You seem more at peace here," Harry notices lowly. "I know you said there wasn't, but... was there something bothering you this morning?"

Mia swallows nervously. She knows the switch in her energy was apparent, mainly because the nerves had effectively faded away when she saw Harry's casual planning of their date. She also knows it wouldn't be fair to continue acting as if everything was fine, when she'd nearly talked herself into a tizzy the night before.

"I just get overwhelmed, I think."

Harry nods. As they approach a bench, he stops their leisurely pace, sitting down on the faded wood. He pats the spot next to him and wordlessly encourages Mia to sit.

"Overwhelmed about what?"

She sighs, "Not... not you, exactly, but maybe your lifestyle. I have a habit of convincing myself that this is all a joke. You're so much more established than me, and I just feel like you'll eventually find someone who actually matches you so much better than me."

"Mia," Harry croons through a concerned expression, "That's not true at all. Just because of our... age difference, and yeah, I know we're in different places in life, but... that wouldn't deter me from being with you. Ever."

"I was just nervous about today," she mumbles with a shrug, "I love that you enjoy taking care of me and doing nice things for me, but sometimes it does feel a bit... much."

"What would you qualify as being too much?" he questions, nibbling his nails, "Sending you money for dinner? Paying for your nails? Your bills?"

Mia smiles gently at his immediate worrying, placing a hand to his thigh for a semblance of comfort. "All of that is wonderful, H, and so, so helpful. But... maybe the weekly flower deliveries... and you definitely don't have to send a car to take me to your place whenever we have plans. There's also no need for me to get a new dress every time I accompany you to a work event."

Harry nods, a perplexed look on his face as if he's mentally checking off boxes, ensuring that he keeps track of her asks.

"Okay. I can do all that. Am I... doing anything else that's making you uncomfortable?"

Mia's stomach immediately twists into knots, a sharp pang of hurt shooting through her body. She turns to look at the wounded expression on Harry's face and she wants to grab his cheeks and smush them together, promising that she's here, she just can't quite verbalize that right now.

"You're not making me uncomfortable, Harry, not at all," she rushes out with a shake of her head, "I just... I don't know. Maybe I want to level the playing field a little? I know when we started this we were different, but... I don't want it to feel like that. Does that make sense?"

He nods slowly, the cogs turning in his brain as he processes her response.

"Yeah. I'm sorry if I was overcompensating at all. I just want you to be happy, Mi."

For the first time, she can see the insecurity radiating through his facial expression. His eyebrows are pulled together and a small frown curls at the edges of his lips as he picks at the skin surrounding his nails. It's then that she realizes: She's not the only person in this relationship that's feeling it. He's scared of losing her, too.

"I am happy, Harry," Mia says, willing her voice to sound as strong and confident as she feels. "With you, I'm so happy."

He looks up at her, his eyes slightly widened. "Really?"

"Of course. I love spending time with you, going to events as your date, hanging out at home together. I wouldn't change a single thing about us, H."

Harry grins at that, reaching forward to intertwine the fingers together as his posture straightens. "I feel the same way. I really like you, Mia. I... I want you to be mine. My girlfriend."

Her heart warms at the admission. She ducks down to catch his lips in a kiss, firm but soft, a silent gesture of mutual affection.

"I'm already yours, Harry."

#writing #harry styles blurb #Harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #fanfic #harry #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles smut #Harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #sugar daddy h #Harry styles x you

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songmingisthighs · 1 year

Text

Sweet Strawberry Gloss

February Filth Fest - 2; oral fixation

group : ateez

pairing : sugar daddy!seonghwa × reader

genre : smut

word count : 3.6k

warning : mdni, oral sex; blow job, slight humping, kind of voyeurism ?? (seonghwa having his dick sucked in an online meeting), idk what else ngl

a/n : second fff post !!! how am i doing so far ?? be honest

buy me coffee ?

"You're doing it again,"

You snapped out of your daze to be met with Seonghwa's teasing smirk. "I was not," you huffed, defending yourself against Seonghwa's accusation. Though, after thinking about it, you furrowed your eyebrows, "What was I doing anyways?" Seonghwa chuckled at you as he shook his head in disbelief at your utter adorableness. He moved away from his laptop for a bit to reach out to you on the left side of his position on the dining table, "You were sucking on your thumb again like a child," he scolded, taking your red thumb away from your lips.

It was embarrassing that he saw you like that and then having him call and treat you like a child. You pouted and slapped his arm out of retaliation, "Shut up I'm bored," you grumbled.

Seonghwa is a businessman, a successful one at that being a C-level executive at one of the biggest business firms in the country. He's charming and smart and so absurdly sexy. You love him and being with him, he just makes you feel so special and beautiful and precious and in return, you made him feel like he's worth more than just his money. You never complained during days like this one, having to just stay inside, ordering cheap, MSG-dunked food, while Seonghwa deal with whatever business he had to deal with you accompanying him. Truly, he couldn't ask for a better girlfriend. Well, it WAS only sugar baby but how could he leave room for the chance of another guy swooping you away? Not that you'd leave anyways.

One of the things you love about him was how much he knows you. He spent a good amount of time studying and understanding you. Every time you both spend together, every intimate time, he'd put all of his attention and focus on you. But that also means he can anticipate your actions and even understand what it means.

Seonghwa chuckled at your words and took a moment to part from his laptop, he let the hand you slapped to take your chin in his soft grip and have you gently look at him, "I'm sorry baby, you know I need to be on standby because the American clients will be up and about soon and I just have to make sure we land this deal," he pouted, showing you the time on his phone's screen that showed it was 9.47 pm in Korea which means it was near office hours in New York. You sighed, understanding where he came from but you just couldn't help but want to spend private time with him. So you took the hand that he used to caress your cheek in both of your hands as you started peppering kisses on the soft palm. "I know Hwa, I understand... I just... Well..." you paused, hesitating for a moment. Your hesitance only intrigued him, however, knowing full well that there was something you wanted to ask of him but you don't know if you should say it.

To urge you, Seonghwa tilted his head down and to the side slightly, seeking your gaze, "Well... What? Is there something you want, honey?" he asked, smiling gently as an encouragement. God, he has such a nice smile. It was the smile that made everyone swoon for him and yet it was the smile he reserved for you. Still hesitant, the pecks your lips were giving him turned to soft grazes. The glossed surface of your lips caressed the supple skin of Seonghwa's palm, making his jaw tense almost immediately.

"I don't know if I should say..." you muttered, eyelash fluttering to look at him from under it. Seonghwa had to brace himself by clenching his other hand, not wanting to get worked up too much before his client meeting. He let out a whispered shaky breath as he tried to maintain his eye contact with you and his smile, "You can tell me anything, baby. I will give you whatever it is you want," he ensured, just wanting to know what he can do to help you. And also because he had a feeling that he was going to like what you had to say.

With his encouragement, you took a deep breath and stood from your seat, surprising him when you plopped down onto his lap with your arms around his neck. As his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist securely, you nestled your face on his shoulder. Your breath hit the skin of his neck and was soon followed by your lips grazing around the area, the sudden feeling made him shudder slightly, delighting in the sensation. "I want you, Hwa... I've wanted to taste you for a while now," you confessed, gripping his crisp white shirt tightly in your fist, making him grip at the fabric of the shirt you were wearing with an even harder grip, "Please, I need to taste you now," you whined.

Now Seonghwa found himself in a bind. Between the clock on his laptop glaring at him, showing that his meeting will start any minute, and you who were begging for him, for his taste, he so obviously wanted to choose you. But he still had his responsibilities that he couldn't abandon. "Baby, I-I," he halted his words to let out a groan when he felt you nipping upwards, to his earlobe and then slowly left trails of kisses to the corner of his lips. "I..." His words died down when he felt your tongue swiping at his bottom lip, seeking permission to enter his mouth but all he could think of was the taste of strawberry lipgloss that he knew you knew he loved so much. "Please..." you muttered against his lips, clearly becoming more desperate after having even just a small taste of him. To make things worse, you had started to grind down on him, allowing him to feel your warm cunt riling his cock to harden. He shifted in his seat, not knowing whether it was from the discomfort of having his dick hardening or wanting to seek more pleasure from your cunt.

The reminder alarm going off from his phone snapped him from his pleasure haze, mind clearing up for a bit when you tensed up and detached your lips from his to look at the source of the sound. "Shit," he muttered, having had half the mind to coax you off of his lap so he could work. But as he looked at you, he saw your eyes staring back at him, seemingly more glistening than usual (but that could be his imagination) and to make his heart clench even more, you were pouting at him, your glossy lips seemingly inviting him for a taste. Park Seonghwa is a man of strong will, he was known as The Brick Wall in his industry, having known for never moving from the deal he wanted that forced his opponents to bend to his will instead. But even The Brick Wall knows he was no match for his girl's influence on him. When it comes to her, he's putty.

With a huff, Seonghwa pulled his chair back and ushered you to stand up, making you think that he was telling you to go for a split second. Your eyes widened when he began undoing his belt and pants. "I told you I'm gonna give you anything you want, baby," he smirked, letting you know that he was going to let you suck him off whilst he was doing his meeting. You immediately perked up, looking very excited as you waited for him to tell you what to do and how he wanted you. "Okay, get under the dining table," he instructed, having already taken the bottom half of his outfit off and kicking them to the side, near his chair. You, however, had your eyes transfixed on his hardening cock. It still looked quite soft as it hadn't had enough attention earlier but you know what it will look like once it's fully hard and you just couldn't help but only think of the fact that you want to have him in your mouth. "(y/n), baby," Seonghwa called out, causing you to shake yourself from the daze you were in before embarrassedly looking down to your feet when you realized his cocky stare, "Can you please get under?" he asked in a teasing tone. You simply nodded and got under where he wanted you to be.

Seonghwa soon pulled the chair back in position, leaving slight room for you to situate yourself. With his legs spread just enough to accommodate you, you immediately placed your hands on either of his thighs, leaning in to get ready to put him in your mouth. But before you could even get any closer, Seonghwa hissed and tapped his foot to get your attention on him. Displeased that he was preventing you from having his dick in your mouth, you let out a whine and frowned up at him. "I need to open the meeting first baby, I can't have you sucking my cock whilst talking, they'll know something's going on!" he explained through gritted teeth, eyes moving between you and the screen of his laptop to open the application where the online meeting will be held and making sure that the camera only captured the area from his chest up. Hearing him talk like that made your pussy clench with want. Despite desperately wanting him in your mouth and his cock just sitting idly by in front of you, bobbing along with Seonghwa's breathing. You know you couldn't so you defeatedly held back, leaning on Seonghwa's right thigh with your gaze on his cock as your mouth opted to suck on your thumb instead.

Once he was sure that you wouldn't try anything, Seonghwa opened his mic just as meeting attendees entered the meeting room. One by one, Seonghwa greeted them with a professional smile, not knowing that behind the camera, Seonghwa was naked from the waist down with his lover between his legs, lusting after the taste of his cock.

The meeting had barely started, everyone was still waiting for the others to come in as they prepared their point for the meeting. Seonghwa took this chance to mute his mic and covered his mouth with the papers in his hand to talk to you, "You holding up good there sweetie?" he teased, knowing full well that you were not doing good. You looked up at him with a glare, hating how easy it was for him to tease you like that. To tease you more, Seonghwa nudged the hand of the thumb you had between your lips, wordlessly telling you that you shouldn't suck on your finger. The nudge was had enough that your thumb fell out of your mouth much to your dismay. You scoffed and were about to say something when you heard Seonghwa's name called by someone from the meeting. Seonghwa gave you a warning glare before his whole demeanour changed into a professional one.

You loved watching Seonghwa in his professional mode; his demeanour, his words, his choice of clothing, everything exudes confidence in a minimalistic way, subdued but it was evident. There was a strong pull towards this side of Seonghwa, a pull that made you whimper and repositioned yourself so you were sitting on one of his legs. From the way Seonghwa's pointer finger twitched on his knee, you realized that he didn't expect you to do what you just did. You smirked to yourself as you began grinding onto his leg with your hands taking anchor on his chair, your lips peppering kisses onto the skin of his thighs. You caught Seonghwa's hands clenching as he felt you teasing him and he knew you were doing it intentionally to rile him up because you were just a brat like that. Seonghwa had no choice but to will himself to not react as best as he could no matter how much he wanted to get some stimulation as much as you were getting it from humping his leg. Poor man almost yelped when he felt your lips leave his skin only to put his thumb in your mouth, sucking gently with eyes closed, clearly enjoying yourself. His cock twitched as the thoughts of you sucking his cock appeared in his mind, how much you'd enjoy the feeling and taste of him.

So in the end, Seonghwa relented, he couldn't handle the teasing anymore. He pulled his hand off your grip and place it on his thigh, close to his half-hard twitching cock and simply tapped on his flesh, signalling for you to come up and finally have a taste of him.

Giddily, you leaned forward to take the tip of his dick in your mouth, eyes rolling back and thighs clenching. Meanwhile, Seonghwa had to mask his moan with a cough from the sudden impact, excusing himself by telling everyone that his throat was dry. You tried your best to hold in your chuckle, amazed and amused at Seonghwa's attempt to remain professional despite the treatment you were giving him. But you couldn't care less at that moment. Sure, you cared about how much Seonghwa cared about his job and his professional demeanour around people from his work. But how can you when you have his cock in your mouth? You revelled at the feeling of his cock twitching and hardening in your mouth, knowing that you were the only one who could make him do that, knowing that you have an effect on him. You've heard of blowjob horror stories from your friends, mostly about how the men who expect to get a blow job from them seemed to not consider the importance of keeping hygiene. But not Seonghwa, the man was a nutcase about housekeeping, you can only assume that he wouldn't let his dick in an unhygienic state. You can initiate blow jobs with him at any time and you'd always have the same reaction, a pleasant surprise.

As you kept your mouth busy with bringing Seonghwa to his full length, Seonghwa was trying his best not to move. He kept reminding himself that he only needed to talk for a few more moments before he can kill his mic. His head was clouded with the pleasure you were giving him, though. Since the beginning of your relationship, you've always shown a certain interest in giving him head and the longer you both were together, the more apparent it was for him that you actually GAINED pleasure from pleasuring him in your mouth. From said interest, you gained more and more expertise in blowing him. Only him. Your tongue was tracing his cock from the base to the tip whilst you had one of your hands holding the base gently whilst simultaneously cupping one of his balls, the other free hand you used to "anchor" yourself on his thigh, massaging the flesh gently. Seonghwa nearly bucked his hips and let his eyes roll back. Had he had less self-control, he would've absolutely moaned from how heavenly it felt to be in your mouth.

As soon as his opening statement ended, Seonghwa handed the meeting over to the clients and his partners, excusing himself to mute his mic so as to not disturb the people speaking. The very moment his mic went mute, Seonghwa let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward which he masked by pretending to cough again with his clenched fist over his mouth.

Hearing him letting out sounds that he would absolutely hate to let out in front of other people, you took it as an opportunity for you to be vocal yourself. You chuckled after letting your mouth off of his dick but let your lips remain on the tip, making Seonghwa let out a shaky exhale from between his lips. "You taste so good, Hwa, I couldn't help myself," you said, defending your actions. Seonghwa pretended to sort through the paper he prepared for the meeting, making sure his mouth was covered so he could talk to you, "You're that horny for me huh, slut?" he hissed, bucking slightly when you began stroking his whole hard length with the hand that was holding his base. You looked at him with a mocking pout, "Can you blame me? I just can't help myself, Hwa, not when it comes to you," you said in a pitiful tone. Whatever words Seonghwa was about to use to call you out on your bullshit died in his mouth when he saw you wiping the precum that leaked from the slit of his tip around your lips. His eyes widened when your tongue darted out to lick the substance off, mixing it with whatever remnants of lipgloss you had before moaning out loud.

You went back to take his dick in your mouth, greedily swallowing the appendage and slowly bobbing in rhythm. Seonghwa found it so hard to hold himself, everything just felt too good to him and you were just treating him so well. With his full hard length receiving stimulation continuously, Seonghwa felt so close to cumming. He couldn't even begin to decide whether he wanted to cum in your mouth, on your face, on your tits, or even to hold off until he got the chance to fuck you. He winced when you delivered a particularly harsh suck, the sensation of the harshness of the suck itself paired with your soft lips on him shot straight to his spine and this time he couldn't help but shudder.

"Something wrong, Mr. Park?"

Seonghwa froze while you just scoffed into his dick. With a slightly trembling hand Seonghwa turned his mic back on to talk, "I uh... Got the chills suddenly. Please continue ladies and gentlemen, I will adjust my thermostat for a bit and return momentarily," he said before turning both his mic and camera off. As soon as he was sure that he wouldn't be heard or seen, he pushed his chair back slightly, just enough that he could see you clearly and immediately placed his hand to the back of your head, pushing you into his dick deeper, causing you to gag slightly. You didn't care though, because the burn of him being harsh with you felt so good. "F-fuck," he moaned out, "You better make me cum fast, baby or else I'm gonna edge you for hours after this." Your ears perked up at the challenge, heart swelling with excitement and need to prove to him that you could also give him whatever he wanted.

It was like a race against time. You were bobbing your head at a pace that wasn't too quick as you focused more on taking him in your mouth. The part that your mouth couldn't fit was occupied by both of your hands, pumping him just how you know he liked. With the freedom of not having to care about his appearance, Seonghwa had his head thrown back in pleasure as he let out moan after moan. The sounds he made were melodious to your ears, it pumped your ego as you know that you were doing a really good job. You began moaning into his dick, the vibration it produced added even more pleasure for Seonghwa. His eyes opened when he felt like he was seconds away from cumming and from his point of view, he was able to see the screen of his laptop that showed professionals in the middle of work and at the same time, he saw you sucking him off as your hips ground itself onto the floor beneath you. He could only assume that you left a puddle there. Was it bad that he kind of felt a sense of pride knowing that his girl was pleasuring him in front of other people despite them not being able to see?

Closer to the edge, Seonghwa held your face in its place to thrust into your mouth instead of having you bob your head up and down. When you looked up at him, you saw that he had his eyebrows scrunched and a look of determination on his face. On the other hand, you were looking up at him with glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips that has his cock slipping in and out of it. With the aid of how you looked, Seonghwa let out a grunt and a last thrust of his hips before cumming hard, filling the cavern of your mouth with his seed. The warm sensation made you close your eyes and moaned softly, looking absolutely in bliss. Seonghwa smirked at this, feeling a sense of pride from being able to make you react that way and even more when he pulled himself out of you, making you whine and chase after his dick. But he knew he had no time for that as he still have to see the meeting through.

You stuck out your tongue for him, showing that you had swallowed his load like the good girl you are, making Seonghwa chuckle at how the way you were acting. Seonghwa gently pulled you up and out of the place where you hid, ushering you to go to his room to wait for him with a smile on his face. You nodded obediently and slowly walked away. You halted in your tracks halfway, thinking that you wanted to do something for him first.

"Seonghwa," you called out, catching Seonghwa's attention before he could turn his camera back on. You simply lifted your shirt, flashing him your tits with a proud smile on your face while Seonghwa had a look of utter shock; big eyes paired with stuttering lips that soon broke into a boyish grin. "Good luck with your meeting, I'll be waiting for you!" you said cheekily before running off to his room.

Seonghwa can only shake his head at your antics, clearly amused with you. As he returned to his meeting, some of his coworkers noticed how he seemed to be calmer and more serious, looking like he had millions of thoughts running in his head. Little did they know, Seonghwa was thinking of ways to return the favour to you.

FFF taglist :

@senpai-of-doom @doom-fics @kawennote09 @cherryxsang @ssaboala @k-drizzle

taglist :

@bobateastay @kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @thesolarplanetarysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @jo-hwaberry @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @jcngh0-hq @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @imswitchbabemox @haatohwa @youngestdelacour @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @angelicyeo @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama

@chloepurpy @cutie-wooyo

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sillylil-sideblog · 10 days

Text

I had this idea for a Lucifer x Reader. It was inspired by @annwe24 ‘s Sugar Daddy Fic (Which I love so far btw!! ❤️)

To put it simply it was Lucifer falling in love with the Reader at first sight, and with some slightly-misguided advice from the Hotel Residents, had began going to dinner with them & doing stuff for payment, since I think he’d like to use his money as a gift-giving love language. Though, the way he does it is rather wrong, and is perceived badly by the reader. So after a while, they finally talk.

It isn’t the full idea really, but it is a snippet of it. :] I haven’t really written fics before so I’m pretty proud of it.

Let me know if you guys like it ^^ or if there’s any tips you got.

(I’m sorry if it’s not very good, this is the byproduct of a 1am idea & those typically don’t of well ^^;)

MENTIONS: Hella angst, mentions of sex, reader has four arms (because they’re cool)

———————————————

“… I can’t do this anymore, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s concentration lifts up from his half-unbuttoned shirt, his eyes shifting to Y/N with a puzzled expression.

“Why, w-whatever do you mean, darling?”

Y/N’s back was turned away from him, head looking down as their upper hands froze at hem of their skirt.

“Oh! Did ya want to try something new tonight? I’m happy for any suggestions, you know I’m not against much, my dear—“

“No, Luci, I… I-I mean all of this. Our arrangement. It’s done.”

Lucifer turns his body slightly to face them, his brows slightly furrowed as his hands gently moved from his shirt’s middle button.

“Everyday it’s the same dry conversation… the same restaurant, the same sex, the same paycheck, the same cold silence that befalls my apartment each night, the same crimson jewelry— which isn’t even my favorite color, by the way! I don’t remember saying crimson was ever my favorite…”

Y/N turns at their comment of the jewelry, a hand grazing the bejeweled necklace that laid across their neck.

“W-WEHell… uhm… why didn’t you say so, my love! W-We could’ve always went somewhere else, y’know! And I could get you something else, w-whatever you’d like, dear! N-No need to get so upset—“

Lucifer replied, an air of confidence, not reassurance, that plagued his voice in his last few words and stung through their heart. Their hidden, glaring eyes shut as their muscles tightened.

“It’s baby yellow, by the way.”

“…Wh—“

“I like how warm and light it is, like if a loving hug were a color. And I’ve always hated fancy restaurants because I’ve never seen the appeal of spending hours dressing up to go to a place and spend over 100$ for like a 4 ounce salmon; and for what? Just for some prissy pathetic snobs to give me the side eye for not knowing which of the fucking dozens of forks to use?”

They lectured, body fully facing him now, eyes staring practically into his very soul.

“I prefer thunderstorms over clear skies. Tea over coffee. Cats over dogs. I rarely, if ever drink alcohol because I hate its bitter taste and the warm feeling it pulses in my ears; and I hate who I am when i’m tipsy. It’s why I never smoke, or never did drugs, either. Not because I wanted to be better, but because I didn’t want to become worse. Because I didn’t want to fucking atrophy like everyone else has in this god-forsaken place and lose who I am to people who don’t care about me.”

Y/N clutched the fabric of their dress tightly, tears pricking their eyes as their voice cracked, but they continued on. Their words became louder and stronger with each syllable. Though it broke as their tears fell, eyes now softened as they stared upon a shocked Lucifer standing near the foot of his bed.

“...I am not going to lose myself again. And I can’t let you take that from me.”

“S…S-Sweetheart, what are you saying—“

Lucifer pleads with a heave of his breath. He’s focused now; palms gripping onto air as his gaze shifts so chaotically as if trying to break their hardened gaze. Y/N slowly step over to the wrapped present, cradling it gently in their grasp. Their eyes stiffen at the sight of it as a sigh escapes their lips. After a pause, they looks up, turning their face to Lucifer’s. His eyes were wide; and Y/N swore they saw the red tones in his eyes shift like a whirlpool as his surprised, almost scared expression were fixated on them.

“..This box contains all the money you’ve given me in these past few weeks...”

As Y/N’s lower arms support the box, their upper ones slowly lift up to unclip the dark crimson necklace that was freshly placed on their neck before. They then lift up the lid, and slide the necklace inside. Lucifer’s eyes sharply follow as it slips into the box. His heart sank at the sound of it clanking among the other jewelry inside, tears threatening to fall across his porcelain skin.

“…And all the jewelry you have ever gifted me.”

Lucifer stared at the box in bewilderment.

“W-Why… Y-You don’t need to give that back, that’s yours— a-and there more to come we— *huff* We don’t have to do it tonight, we can do whatever you’d like, and we’ll go to dinner again.. t-tomorrow, and…”

They look at him with a softened gaze, but not one in love, but in acceptance; A simple, bittersweet realization behind such bright eyes. A look that killed him inside. Because he knew what it was.

“…Thank you for this opportunity. And I hope you find someone better worth your time.”

They spoke, their tone soften now as they gently grabbed their things and put their hand on the doorknob. As Lucifer heard the click of the lock his tears finally broke out of their prideful cage, as he swiftly made his way over to them and grabbing them by the hand.

“Swee- Y-Y/N, please. I-I never meant to do that, any of that! We don’t h-have to go back there again, I’ll give you light yellow jewelry a-and whatever you desire, there’s nothing I can’t do, please! I-I’ll be better this time, better for you!”

Y/N looks down at Lucifer as he’s on his knees, pitch black arms practically gripping onto their gloved hand like he will fall into the vaccum of space if he doesn’t. Golden tears fall down his face in an almost bittersweet rhythm, his eyes swirling in sorrow and shame and he looks up to them as if for salvation. Their muscles relax, but their gaze doesn’t falter.

“Just please don’t go.”

They remain there for a few seconds; a few seconds that felt like such a stabbing eternity. As if you could feel the weight of 10,000 years upon its air. As if it were there before. They take his hand, slowly, up to their face.. and gently place a kiss upon his soft knuckles. A small, light tear streams down their face as their eyes close in earnest. They slowly lift their head up, and look down upon Lucifer with a firm glare once again.

“…Goodbye, your majesty.”

They let his hand slip gently through their fingers as they open the door and step out of his room, closing it with a swift shut behind them. Lucifer’s hand remained there, outstretched, as his ears wailed at the sound of their fading footsteps.

Y/N strutted down that darkened hallway, the moonlight shining down from the windows slowly fading from their form. As they walked towards the mansion door, the tears finally broke, streaming down their face as they undauntedly marched forward; and opened the door.

————————

#lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #I am so in love with this man but sometimes I just want to watch the world burn #Sweet man #What an autism to be honest #/vpos

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tieronecrush · 7 months

Text

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter six: an angel cries

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 8.2k

a/n: no smut in this chapter but i promise (i hope) you'll all still love it!!!! so sorry this took so long but life got messy this last month and now hopefully has returned to somewhat normalcy (whatever normal is for me is still mostly chaotic but hey!) and i can get this series and some other new writing posted for y'all CONSISTENTLY. and thank you thank you thank you as ALWAYS @northernbluess for beta-ing. couldn't survive this hellscape of a website without you <3

In the first class after your argument, Javier doesn’t bat an eye when he marks you absent on the attendance log. He figured that you would skip, wanting to be able to avoid the lecture hall himself but being forced to do his job regardless. A small part of him hoped you wouldn’t break your perfect record, ever the attentive student, but that small part was naive to think that what he said — what he shamed you for — was easily forgotten in the name of a flawless attendance grade for the semester.

The venom laced in his voice that night felt so foreign coming out of him. The words spewed out of his mouth with only the aim to hurt you as badly as he had hurt when he saw you with the other man.

Callow, brutal, vile, spiteful, scared. No matter how many adjectives he used to attempt to brush away those words, that night, the broken look on your face, the tear streaks on your cheeks, he couldn’t get rid of the searing acid bubbling up from his stomach and blistering his throat. Every time he found himself surrounded by some quiet, found himself alone in his office or apartment or car, closed his eyes to fall asleep, all he could see was you, shattered in the streetlamp light, and all he could hear was your voice, coated in emotion and hurling pain back at him:

“I really thought you were different…”

“How can you say that shit when you tell me how much you care?”

“Fuck you, Javier. Fuck you.”

“Don’t fucking call me, don’t pull me after class. We’re done.”

As soon as he said the words, he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth. If it were about any woman, he would be shocked to hear them from himself.

But especially regarding you.

His angel. His Bebita. His fresh start. His girl.

The woman he had tripped into meeting and fallen for as quick as that first flash of your smile. He wasn’t going to let you go without trying.

Which is what led him into a routine of waking up each morning, giving your cell a call, and leaving a voicemail. He did the same before going to bed, and would call to leave you messages when something reminded him of you during the say.

“Morning, angel. Jus’ thought I’d try you again. And I know you said not to call, but I need to keep telling you how sorry I am. What I said was…vergonzoso. Disgraceful. Horrible. You never deserved to hear that…I’m so sorry, Bebita. You probably don’t care what I have to say, but hope you have a good day.”

“Hi, baby. Callin’ again. Missed you in class today, I haven’t gotten notice that you dropped from my course, so I do hope to see you Wednesday. Don’t worry about your grade…doin’ just fine, sabelotodo (smarty pants)...I, um, I’m wearing that navy suit of mine, and I reach into the pocket to try and find my faculty ID. Pulled out one of your lil’ doodles, and it’s of me — think ya nailed it. You captioned it too: ‘Relax your brow and smile, grumpy pants.’ Thanks for the reminder, Bebita. Sin embargo, eres la única razón por la que sonrío (You’re the only reason I smile, though.) I’m so sorry.”

“At this point, I know you’re not gonna answer, angel. But I can hope you listen to ‘em before deleting ‘em, so I’m saying goodnight…haven’t seen you in a couple a’weeks. Baby, I know I don’t have any right to ask but can you just let me know you’re alright? That you’re alive? You can call me and give me another ‘fuck you’ if you want…m’worried. Te extraño. I miss you. Parte de mi corazón falta sin ti. (Part of my heart is missing without you.) I’m so sorry.”

He knows it’s a bit pathetic to be calling still after two weeks of unanswered calls. 34 calls, to be exact. 34 voicemails left. About 134 times he wanted to time-travel backward and punch himself in the fucking face before he said shit.

And he’s gotten even more pathetic, even more desperate for any sign of life from you, that he’s taken up a daily email in the last week.

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#4)

Hi angel,

This might push you over the edge to receive yet another email and all of the voicemails I’ve been leaving, but I think if you know one thing about me, baby, I am un culo terco (translation: a stubborn ass). And you are probably going to block my number and my email at some point but until then, I’m going to keep apologizing.

Can we please talk, Bebita? I don’t deserve forgiveness but if you can give me some of your time, I want to apologize to you in person. It’s the least you deserve.

Any sign of life would be appreciated. I’m worried about you, baby. I’m so sorry.

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#7)

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I hate being away from you. I hate the words I spoke to you. I hate how I belittled you. I hate how I made you cry. I hate how I didn’t care for you. That’s all I want to do, Bebita.

I hate myself.

And definitely not what you want to hear from me, but in case you are reading these and in case I am still in fact your professor, midterm assignments are due in my office mailbox by Friday noon. I know yours is going to be amazing, sabelotodo. Miss you.

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

I’m so sorry.

The bell toll of a new email rings over the computer’s speakers on the desk you’re sitting at in the middle of the library. A few students around you snap their heads over their shoulders or around in their chairs to glare at you; huffing out a breath, you sink lower in your seat after turning the volume dial until it clicks off.

4:30PM. It’s the usual hour for his daily emails, something that has been stacking in your inbox for the last week. You should have expected it or could’ve if you had been paying any mind to the digital clock in the bottom corner of the screen. Instead, you’ve been staring at the blinking cursor, stuck in the middle of a sentence in one of your midterm essays.

Of course, it’s for Sociology of Deviance. Of course, he has to send you yet another reminder of him, of his regret — another apology — while you are forced to think about him anyway for this assignment.

The stunted sentence is the product of your mind trailing out, pulling you by a rope wrapped around your heart to that night again. It’s been two weeks, and you haven’t seen Javier at all, but you can’t shake the image of his face, twisted into an anger you had never seen from him but with a pain so deep in his eyes that you could fall into it and never know your way back up. And you can’t silence the echoes of his words to you, each repetition sounding even more cruel, even more virulent than the last.

“I’m a job to you, just work.”

“Don’t. Don’t pull that shit, you knew what you were doing.”

“You know, I thought when I was signing up, I would have someone just for me. Didn’t expect to get someone for everyone.”

“Was I really just some fucking job, a shift you scheduled every week?”

That night, standing in front of him at his car, you were so remorseful for what you had hidden from him, what you had lied about. Thinking it was all done for his sake to keep at a distance and not hurt him. It was done for your own protection. Not wanting to get hurt yourself. The amount of care that you hold for him — even still, as angry as it makes you — scares the shit out of you. It feels different from anything else, like your eyes have been opened fully, vision clear, and your heart is beating to a new rhythm.

Instead, now it thumps in slow, tired pulses. Aches in your chest at all hours of the day, every day. Even after trying your best, Javi had left a mark, a big one.

And the calls, the emails, they all kept pressing into that mark, thumbing that deep-tissue bruise to turn it to a muddy purple. You hate yourself for the amount of times that you have thought about forgetting what he said, calling him up, and saying you needed him. You knew it was pathetic. A bigger part of you hates yourself because you know it’s true. You need him. Not in the can’t-function-without-someone-to-be-dependent-on way but in the I-need-somewhere-to-put-all-this-love kind of way.

You love him. No point in denying it now. And your love is screaming at you every second of the day to pick up one of his phone calls, to interrupt him as he’s leaving yet another voicemail, to send a note in response to an email.

Those screams are still getting tamped down by your anger — that side of you that is still more powerful, tougher, and grittier than its opposite: the tender, pliant, delicate you.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you navigate out of the document and into your inbox. The subject is bolded along with his name, the mark of it being unread. Titled the same as the rest, you click it open expecting more of the same. And while it starts out in the usual manner — typed apologies and varied descriptions of how he feels about himself, what he said, how he hurt you.

But the second to last line makes your stomach flip, something out of the ordinary:

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

Is he giving up?

Why the fuck is he giving up? Has he decided you’re really not worth the effort? He can’t be damned to actually see it through, to hold out hope that you would maybe respond?

Anger bubbles in your gut, sending the simmering heat across your body and kicking up your heart rate. Seriously, fuck that. You may have gotten annoyed with the constant contact, but at least he was trying. Clearly, he doesn’t care to try to apologize in person that much, or to hear any sign of life from you.

God, why does it have to hurt this much?

Redirecting your rage proves useful to start the essay again, words flowing from your fingertips and the clicks and clacks of the keyboard drowning out the voices in your head. By the end of the night, six hours later, you pull your hand away from the mouse; assignment proofread multiple times, a confidence in your capabilities blooming when you drag the cursor to press the ‘Print’ button.

When you gather your papers from the printer across the room, stapling them together ordered and aligned, the sinking feeling returns. After midterm break is over, you’ll have to go back to class. To see him twice a week, watch him lecture with his furrowed brow and a perpetual frown. To listen to his voice and wait to hear his usual affections that won’t come. To simply be around him and to try to not fall right back into his arms.

Muscle memory carries you from the library to the bus stop, getting on your usual route home with those thoughts continuing to consume your spare space in your mind. Simple reminders flash in your head between the thoughts, all conjured up in Javi’s gentle voice: Third floor up to your apartment, baby. Turn the key to the right to unlock. Remember to close the curtains, angel — locks in the minimal heat to make it last through the night and keeps you out of view from the street. Drop your backpack on the ground for tomorrow. Kick off your shoes, take off your coat, cariño. Brush your teeth and wash your face, you can shower in the morning. Change into your pajamas, and don’t forget to turn out the light next to your bed. Go to sleep, my good girl, get your rest. Goodnight, Bebita.

Clicking the end of a pen over and over, Javier watches the clock as the deadline for his grad-level midterm ticks closer. The curriculum notes sitting in front of him blur as his mind drifts from his work — back to you, of course.

He’s forgone his voicemails for the last two days, emails drafted and left there. If there was any chance for you to agree to meet him in person, he didn’t want his incessant, honestly a bit obsessive, contact to be resented. You asked him not to call, not to say anything. And he did the exact opposite of that, thinking it was right.

Without the outlet of speaking to you (even if you weren’t listening or reading), his thoughts have been able to spiral and morph, recognizing in himself exactly what he was afraid of at the moment he saw you with someone else.

It wasn’t about you, it never was about you. Those words he spoke were lashed out in anger, in fear for what was possibly waiting for him on the other side of this ‘arrangement’ with you. He was all in, he was in love and held out hope that you felt the same way. You care, that is obvious to him, but without openly communicating, he was left to pack away his feelings to keep the dynamic normal for you.

But when you were with someone else, laughing at whatever the hell he was saying, making you smile, touching his arm, he couldn’t tamp down the repeated thought — I want to be the only one for her.

And what did he expect? How could you want to be with someone like him anyway?

Damaged, jaded, flawed, worn-out, and starving for something he doesn’t deserve: happiness.

Did he do it all wrong? Come on too strong and you went somewhere else to find what you wanted, even if it was just a job? He didn’t even ask if you wanted a relationship. He was so head over heels that he fell into it, treating you as if you were his girlfriend without ever asking you.

Is that why you don’t feel the same? Because you can’t see anything but his past with him? Half of your relationship with him is born out of his professional failures — never being there when they caught Escobar, the Cali godfathers with a future that they might walk freely, resigning from the DEA.

Is he even capable of loving you the right way or being loved back? There has to be an answer, and he selfishly is aching to know. Did he give you enough love, or did he love you in the right way? The answer must be no, for you to keep up with other men, other clients.

The sound of quick-moving footsteps pulls him out of his derailing train of thought, the thumps of the feet on the carpeted hallway slowing right in front of his office. In the crack between the floor and the door, he sees the shadow of whoever is on the other side, and one quick look at the clock tells him it is a last-minute submission. The slip of paper against paper sounds, the stack dropping into his plastic mailbox that is next to the entrance to his office.

The shadows of the student linger, seconds clocking down until he goes to open the door and collect. Part of him wants to drag himself out of his seat and do it now, simply to see who this last submission was by in person, but he waits — at least that student got it in on time, they don’t deserve the professor intimidation.

Shifting around, the shadows of the shoes under the door fade as footsteps begin to slowly recede, giving him a cue to get up and collect the assignments. Opening the door, he sticks his head out and checks both directions down the hall, no sign of a student in sight. With a sigh, he turns to his mailbox, dreading reading some — actually most — of the essays in the group. Just because you get into grad school, doesn’t mean you need to be there. And he isn’t even that much of a stickler for grading, some people just…don’t have the academic talent for essay writing. And they shouldn’t be sharing their opinions.

With an eye roll to no one except himself, he takes the stack of papers and allows his eyes to fall on the first one to flick through. Reading the name on the top of the page, he freezes in place at the door to his office, straddling the line between the public space of the hallway and the privacy of his office.

Yours.

That means that it was you outside of his office only a few minutes ago; you lingered, and the pull of your force is nearly driving him to go in search of you in this building or across the whole campus if he could see a glimpse of you.

All he can picture is you standing at his office door, knowing he was probably on the other side. You stayed, even for a few seconds — were you debating on knocking? Were you thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you? Did he lose a chance to talk to you, to see you, because he sat around for a few seconds after you walked away?

Immediately, his eyes drift down to the material, starting to read and be brought into whatever thoughts you have had in the last two weeks. It may be only relevant to the subject of the course, but he could listen to you speak about anything for any amount of time, and reading your work is all the same. A slice of you, even if the focus is on something totally different from what he is desperate to know from you.

At that moment, the stack of assignments doesn’t seem as bleak, and he sets them all down on his desk, shrugging the suit jacket off his shoulders and discarding it across the sofa. Sitting down in his chair, he’s determined to get through the essays and submit the grades to the Dean, a plan formulating in his head about how to see you while he flips to the next page of your assignment.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, making his limbs feel lighter and his steps echo heavier in his mind. In one hand, he holds the stapled packet curled in a C-shape, running the pad of his thumb across the edges. Perfectly timed, he approaches the entry to the building as a resident walks out, exchanging a nod in acknowledgment with the man as he slips inside. Craning his neck up, he looks at the staircases, relieved to hear silence. Climbing to the third floor, he halts at the last stair, taking in a deep inhale and letting it out slowly, his nerves prickling across his skin as he faces whatever is ahead of him.

Taking a handful of steps forward, he settles at the door that is his destination, holding his breath for a few seconds before reaching his hand up to knock on the door. It’s confident but not aggressive, and hopefully, intriguing enough for the knock to be answered.

With bated breath, he hears the faint sound of footsteps, the same familiar cadence as yesterday. The click of the deadbolt being undone and the scrape of the chain being released quickens his pulse, hands toying with the papers in his hands. With a breeze, the door swings open and his eyes immediately find your face.

The wind is knocked out of him, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. His vision tunnels, focus on dragging his gaze around to catch everything he’s missed. Supple lips still slicked with your glossy lip balm, soft skin of your cheeks that his fingers are itching to run across, the glittering of light in your eyes that sends a tingle down his spine. You’re clad in an oversized sweater and sweat-shorts, plush socks on your feet.

You look as beautiful as ever to him. But you look tired.

And he knows that it’s because of him.

“Hi, Bebita.” He barely manages a greeting before he hears your voice for the first time in two weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Javi,” you huff and shake your head, reaching up for the door and starting to close it. One quick step lodges his foot in the doorframe, catching it before it closes fully. One of his hands grabs the edge, an inch above yours.

“Javier, move your foot.”

“Wait, wait, hold on—”

“What do you want, Javier?”

“I came to return your midterm — I didn’t know if you would be in class, and you deserve to get your grade back when everyone else does. I guess this is technically before everyone else, but…I wanted to see you.” His big brown puppy dog eyes face you as you take him in, gripping the door harder. The buttery, relaxed leather jacket stretches across his shoulders, one of his usual button-downs on underneath. His legs taper in from his torso in his dark blue jeans, black boots pointed toward your door. You can see the desperation in his face, the anxiety present in his wide eyes, chin tilted down, and gaze looking at you through his long, dense lashes. His mouth hangs open slightly before he takes another breath and speaks, “Y’know, you really fucked the curve for the whole class by gettin’ a hundred percent, sabelotodo.”

Javier passes the paper to you, unfurling it and showing off the marks at the top of the page.

“Graded completely objectively. This was excellent work…” He stands in silence while you look at the red ink on the page, your stomach rolling with pride and sorrow. “I really think we need to talk, Bebita.”

“The nickname. Please, Javier,” your voice is thick when you look back up at him, tears threatening your waterline.

“M’sorry, sorry…do you—would you give me five minutes?” Swallowing hard, he wipes his free hands on his jeans, clamminess coating them from the nerves. You take a moment, weighing your options.

Getting to slam the door in his face would be satisfying. A dig back at him without having to say anything.

But the louder part of yourself is scolding that behavior, telling you to let him in to at least allow him to apologize. And that same part selfishly wants to know what he has to say and if it will relieve any of your thoughts and growing insecurities born out of this whole situation.

“Oh, fuck’s sake…” you mumble under your breath when you reach your decision, pulling the door back open with a sigh. Your eyes avoid Javier as you nod in the direction of your living area, “Come in…got five minutes.”

“S’all I need. Promise I will leave when you want me to.” He passes you, clasping his hands together as he gets a waft of your perfume and your shampoo melding together, squeezing with the urge to wrap you up in his arms and press his nose into the smell.

Pausing steps in through the doorway, he looks over at you and tilts his head down to his feet, glancing back up at you as he shyly remembers, “Shoes off, right?”

A flicker of something lighter crosses your eyes, a small nod in confirmation. Javier toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, clad in a pair of socks you pointed out in a store a few weeks ago and giggled about in the middle of the shop: light purple, patterned with black and white cows feeding on patches of grass.

Maybe he’s projecting, but he can feel his heartbeat skip as he watches the most minuscule lift at the corners of your mouth.

Glancing around the familiar space, he notices a few differences from how it’s normally kept. Blankets are strewn across the couch, clearly unraveled to free yourself to answer the door; dishes dot the surfaces around — mugs, bowls, plates, cutlery, wine glasses all dirtied and left there; your hobby crafts are abandoned on your small bistro dining table, all aside from a sketchbook that you quickly shuffle over to flip closed.

Disarray. At least, from what he’s been privy to. Never has he seen you in this state, either at his place when you made yourself at home or here at yours when he stayed over. You’re tidy, and you certainly were never bored with all that you did to occupy your time — it was either roping him into doing something, playing a game, posing for a doodle, or, well, other activities that he was definitely a willing participant in. But this — this wasn’t like you. You could be distracted, sure, but never to the point of a sedentary lifestyle.

He can feel his skin burning and chest cinching painfully as if almost completely caving in on himself. He’s itching to discard his jacket, to feel the cool air on his skin, but he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable and, in reality, he doesn’t think that would help. Shame snakes into the spaces between his ribs, nestling deep within his chest cavity and coiling around his heart, the slow tightening squeeze of the pain he’s caused you trickling down his blood supply.

He didn’t know what to expect, but this was much more than he ever considered. Bile rises in his throat, simmering in his esophagus as a question replayed in his head — selfish and indulgent.

Did you feel that much for him to be this hurt?

“You can sit down on the couch if you want.” He can hear the trepidation in your voice, eggshells cracking under his feet as he treads lightly, both physically and with the words that he’s planned out to the syllable. As he was grading last night, he took breaks in between each assignment to work through what he wanted to say to you if given a chance. Almost to the point of writing it down, he packaged up his apologies to hand to you with a plea.

Carefully sitting down on the couch, his eyes track your movements as you stand, debating whether or not to take the seat opposite of him on the couch, or to take a seat at the dining table on the other side of the room, still close enough in your budget apartment to speak comfortably.

Javier can’t begin to describe the jolt of energy, soothed with cool relief when you choose to sit on the sofa. Curled up into the corner, pillow tucked into your lap to form a shield against the confrontation, but nevertheless, you’re the closest you’ve been to him in the last two weeks. The entire place smells of you and exudes your energy through the walls covered with your own art and other pieces that you’ve collected over the years, from thrift stores and flea markets or handed down from relatives. Soft furnishings in a gradient of colors melt him a few inches further into the cushions, a complete opposite to his place that is especially drab and boring without you there breathing the life into it — into him.

Toying with the tassels of the throw blanket laid underneath him and over the back, he clears his throat in the silence. He follows the flick of your gaze to the brass-framed clock hanging above your table, the click of the pencil-thin second's hand ticking loudly in the lack of conversation.

Five minutes. You said five minutes and here he is wasting time saying nothing.

The turn of his stomach revitalizes the anxiety thrumming in his veins, the pump of his pulse, and the rush of his blood in his ears sounding like the crashing of ocean waves despite being in the middle of a land-locked city. His fingers twitch with nerves, his whole body feeling as if it’s on high frequency, overwhelming energy shocking his limbs to stillness while his brain fights for dominance of his nerve endings.

He’s felt more confident in interrogations with deadly criminals or negotiating hostage situations.

Swallowing hard, he finally takes enough deep breaths to slow his heartbeat and gain control of his body, a long inhaling before he stutters out a pathetic beginning to his apologies, “Um. Fuck—sorry, I’m no good at this…”

The first words out of his mouth after two weeks of begging you to hear him out, and it’s ‘I’m no good at this.’ Are you wasting your time? Is this going to put you in a worse place?

All you want is for something to settle — the uncertainty of holding out on him or not knowing what he’s going to say to you exactly has eaten you alive after so many long days. Whatever the outcome is, you can deal with it, but this limbo — the purgatory before knowing if you have to survive your time in hell or can be brought into forgiveness, for him and for yourself — heightens your already present fears and festers your growing insecurities.

“I take it you’ve never had to apologize like this?” It comes out harsher than you meant it; some of it was meant to cut, but another part of you was genuinely curious. Has he never had a relationship like this? Has he never had to apologize to a woman he’s dating because he doesn’t date or because he leaves before an apology is necessary?

Are you about to be one of those women that he leaves before he apologizes?

“No — I mean, yes. Wait, no, fuck, I have had to apologize like this before. I mean, it’s me we’re talking about, I fuck up everything…” he chuckles at his own attempt at a joke to lighten the mood even a fraction, “I had this whole thing planned out from last night. Tried to rehearse it and everything, but seeing you, it’s completely wiped my mind. You don’t deserve some line-by-line bullshit apology.”

He shifts in his seat, inching closer and cheating his body to face you completely. One leg on the cushion, bent and hooked under the one that keeps him grounded. The change in his position makes you scoot, centimeters closer to the edge, plotting your escape to the bathroom or your bedroom when the inevitable tears start and when Javier walks away, possibly for good.

The tiniest voice in your head is yelling at you for feeling so sorry for yourself, for him probably coming over here to give you an apology and leave you behind because you’re used, you’re shameful. The voice is telling you that you should be angry with him, not crying over him any more than you already have the last fourteen days. When the sound of Javier’s timbre floats to your ears, that voice is silenced and the craving for him begins to unfurl itself from the tiny compartment you packed it away in.

“I am sorry, angel. So, so fucking sorry. What I said to you was completely out of hand and so disrespectful and absolutely not what I feel about our situation or about you. Not an excuse, just trying to explain to you what was going on in my head…I just — when I saw you with another guy, all I could think about was how I wanted to be the only one for you. It was naive of me to think that you wouldn’t have any other clients, I mean, I was the new addition and I thought I was the only one because you were the only one to me. And that is completely my choice, the whole damn reason I signed up for the service in the first place was to find someone that I could spend time with to avoid my loneliness, and well, it worked maybe too well for me. I was, and still am, completely enamored by you, cariño. The second I saw you, in that first class, I was done for. And then when it turned out to be you that I was talking to through our emails, it felt like it was a sign from the universe or God or fate, whatever you want to call it, but it was natural. I remember thinking to myself that night at the bar, ‘Of course, it was you’.”

“And all those feelings that I kept to myself, all the times when I wasn’t clear with what I thought we were, it all caught up to me that night at the event, and seeing you with another man, I was so afraid for what I was about to lose that I cut it off myself and lashed out at you. Anger is all I have known for so long, angel, and I never wanted you to be on the other end of that. I was nasty, and malicious, and I wanted to hurt you in that moment because I was hurt. That was completely unfair, unwarranted. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never explicitly lied to my face to say that I was the only one you were seeing…I know I fucked up. I regret everything I said to you that night, and I hate myself for hurting you. I know you probably don’t want to hear it but I need you to know how sorry I am. It was fucked up, what I said, and I understand if you still don’t want anything to do with me if you still want to end all of this. I wouldn’t blame you.”

It takes a few beats of silence after he’s given you everything to consider, the words taking their time to sink into your mind and truly register all that he is saying to you. It would be easy, comfortable, to completely brush everything away and accept his apology outright, but you know that if you want anything more out of this…relationship, then the two of you have to work on your communication, and you have to be honest.

Clearing your throat, you sit up from your sinking posture and raise a shaking hand to your face to skim over your skin, flicking away the hairs from your periphery. Tears sting in your eyes, a quiet sniffle filling the silence between the two of you. Thrumming with anxious energy, your body jitters and your voice wavers as you speak back to him, mustering the courage to sit in your discomfort of confrontation and say your piece.

“I told you that I thought you were different because you were different to me. I did have other clients when we were together in our own arrangement, but from the moment I met you in person as ‘Angel’, there was a shift. Something out of the ordinary from all the other times I’d met someone new…I cared, Javi. I still do. I care about you so fucking much, and that’s why it hurt so much that you said all that you said. If anyone else that I was ‘with’ told me that they thought all that about me, I would simply roll it off and terminate our arrangement and move on. But you — Javi, you are so much more than a job to me. You were never a job, even from that first night. I was always excited to see you, catching your eye in class and sneaking off into your office hours even just to steal a kiss. I forgot how we even met, technically.”

In the breath you take, Javier affirms what you said, “I forgot, too. I think I forgot what it all was the second I found out it was you that I was talking to. It didn’t matter how I got or kept your attention, just that you were giving me any.”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands fiddling with the pillow in your lap, lifting them from the plush square to rub your eyes, the tears you had been fighting slowly winning their battle.

“That was why it hurt so much, Javier. I couldn’t believe what you were saying because it was so unlike you, and to hear it from you, the person I care the most about, it was just…devastating. When there have been other people in my life that have found out what I do, and they’ve said the same type of things, it hurt, of course, it did, but you, Javi—” A choke of a sob interrupts you, tightness building in your chest as you swallow them down, you tears falling faster and emotion thickening your voice. “You made me feel so small. So insignificant, and—and dirty. I couldn’t live with myself thinking that you felt that way when you looked at me. That I was used, that I was merchandise bought and returned to many times and now I get to be tossed aside…I could compartmentalize when other people told me the same things because I justified it as my job. But you were never a job to me, so when you told me that you weren’t expecting ‘someone that was for everyone’, I just…I immediately felt like I was less because I wasn’t serving you how you assumed I would. That I wasn’t living up to your expectations…”

“I quit. I wasn’t in class this week ‘cause I’ve been having meetings with my academic counselor to figure out if I can manage classes with a different job…when I quit I told them to refund you everything that I could give back to them. What happened, completely changed it all for me and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go right back into it and act like it was normal when I felt so horrible about what I was doing because you don’t like it…”

“Cariño, no, no, no. I hate that you think all of this because I was being fucking stupid. And you absolutely did not need to quit, I would hate my fuckery to be the reason you have to add more stress to your life by balancing a different job and school. I mean, even searching for a job is a lot—”

You interrupt his rambling, wanting to soothe his spiraling anxieties about your well-being, and not wanting to seem like any more of a burden that he has to care for or take on. That your insecurity around being dependent on men like him, on him on his own, is still present despite your resignation. You want him to see you as strong, independent, formidable. Someone he doesn’t have to worry about.

“It’s alright, Javier. I have a new job already. Don’t have to worry about anything for me…” The lie is blatant to you, but hiding your face down toward your lap aids in disguising your tells, and it skates easily out of Javier’s radar. He doesn’t need another reason to think less of you.

“Angel, m’always gonna worry about you…”

Your bravery streak continues when you lift your head, facing him across from you head-on. The sight you’re met with takes you back, Javier bent over with his elbows to his knees, his hands covering his mouth and his eyes red and glistening with tears of his own. The shine of damp tracks on his cheeks is shown in the low lighting of your apartment when he turns his head toward you, the absolute disappointment, guilt, and pain oozing from his big, brown eyes.

Peeling his hands away, they twitch with the need to reach out for you before settling in his lap; Javier shakes his head as he takes in your own visual emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I am so, so incredibly sorry that I ever made you feel any less than you are…” His own words are coated in emotion, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. “I can’t apologize enough for hurting you, baby, and I will do anything I can to mend any of those wounds I created with my careless, angry, thoughtless words. There is nothing you have to live up to, angel. I miss you. So fucking much. And I’m the biggest fucking asshole on this planet to make you feel any less beautiful and incredible and caring and angelic and lovable than you are. You deserve so much better than what I gave to you, and I would give anything to try to make it up to you. Even if nothing more comes of it, I would love your permission to earn your forgiveness.”

Javier takes in an audible breath, a slow exhale as he moves closer to you, still enough distance in between that you can read that he doesn’t want to cross a line. Every part of him faces toward you, completely tunneled on you still folded into the corner.

“I’m all in for you, Bebita. I could give two shits about whatever arrangement you had, what you did in the past, nothing. All I want is you, all I need is you in my life and that is it. I will work every day to earn your forgiveness and earn back your trust. I want to show you how much I care about you, angel. I don’t want to go anywhere, just want to be wherever you are and do anything I can to take care of you and protect you and make sure you know how fucking special you are. You’re my one-of-a-kind girl, Bebita, there’s nobody else like you.”

His assurances, his pledges to spare you from any more hurt, from him or others, swell your heart. Drawn toward his again, it beats loudly in your ears, drowning out any doubt, and the deep, quick thumps flush out the confusion and the shame that was growing within your chest. Sincerity is evident in his words and in his tone; there isn’t room for anything but a genuine promise to make it up to you, to work to prove himself once again.

Forgiveness may be a long road, and a terrifying prospect to start out again, uncertainty of the future disguising any pain it might cause you. But the fear flashes in your mind as excitement for half a second, a shock to your system after the last couple of weeks. Looking at Javier at the end of that night two weeks ago is completely different to him now, vulnerability clear in his eyes and feelings voiced; the sight of him shaken up takes you back to that night, walking outside to find him leaning over the hood of his car, breathing erratic as he stood with his eyes closed, trying to calm down.

In that moment, all you wanted to do was curl up around him, and show him that you care despite his annoyance and anger with you when he went out to smoke on the patio. It’s the same now, your feelings, your love, desperately begging your body to move toward him, to break out of the locked box that you had attempted to keep it in since he broke your heart. You had told yourself to be strong, to fight what your heart was telling you, but it occurs to you that strength can be listening to what you want, what you need, not what you think you should be doing. Battling with your mind has exhausted you, and now you want to return to comfort — return home. To come back to him, even if it will take a long while to feel how it did before.

“Okay…” you start, voice softened and anxious energy channeled into your fingers fiddling with the trim of the throw pillow in your lap. “You have my permission to earn my forgiveness, Javier. But I can’t make any promises to you about when or what it’s all going to look like—”

“Bebita, as long as I have you in my life somehow, I don’t give a damn about anything else. I only want to be around you, for as much or as little as you want me.”

Another silence falls over the room, much more comfortable than the previous one. There’s a clearness, a breath to the air that was heavy and dense before; your shoulders feel looser, your heart the tiniest bit lighter. Blinking back the pooling tears at your waterline, a handful fell freely in the process, carving out the last of the streaky paths that littered your cheeks down to your chin. Javier’s hand taps the pads of his fingers against his dark blue denim, the same hand slowly reaching out for you, fully extending to rest on the pillow in your lap. His pinky stretches sideways next to your own hand, nudging your little finger before you hook them together without a word.

Sitting with a pinky promise made without a word, warmth passes between the two of you and you can feel his pulse through the minor contact; it slows the longer the two of you are still, breaths returning to normal, regulating the calmness you always felt around Javier in quiet moments like this.

The tiniest of voices breaks the silence streak, making the first sound at the next tick of the second hand from the clock on your wall; it’s Javier who speaks, gaze focused on you as he meekly, more tentative than you’ve ever heard him, “Can I hold you, Bebita?”

The name no longer feels like the burn of a branding, instead feels like sinking into your own bed after being away for days or weeks; plush, cozy, comforting. Just right. A small smile finds itself tugging at the corner of your mouth, nodding slowly with the tears dried on your face. Unraveling yourself from the curled-up position, you discard the pillow to the floor and crawl over to him, a short two feet. Before you make any movement to draw yourself any closer, Javier takes advantage of your willing proximity and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to settle in his lap. Strong, steady arms tighten around your frame and press you flush against him, his eyes combing over your face with devotion before he curls into you, face notching into the space between your neck and shoulder. The weight of his head drops onto you, drawing you to melt further into him.

Your own arms snake their way around his neck, wrapping him up in an easy hug.

“I don’t wanna leave you again…” he confesses in a whisper below your ear, rasp roughing up his words but raising goosebumps on your smooth skin.

His tension completely relaxes under your touch, heated breaths exhaling condensation against your skin before the molecules of his breath evaporate with your rising body heat. The scent of his hair flutters your eyes closed, the loss of your one sense heightening your ability to pick up the subtleties of his smokey whiskey, the spice of his burnt tobacco, the freshness of his vetiver and bergamot aftershave.

“You can stay if you want…haven’t really been able to sleep without you.” The admission pulls his face out of its spot, leaning back with the same tight hold around you keeping him close. Brown eyes search yours, softness and sadness rounding them as the slightest frown finds his lips.

“I’m sorry, Bebita. S’not gonna happen again, I won’t let it. M’gonna be here for you, always.” One of his arms loosens, pulled to the front of you, and reaches up to tuck your hair away from your face and delicately trail over your cheekbones, down your jaw to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. “Always, Bebita.”

In deliberate and careful movements, Javier leans in, testing if you’ll turn away. When the denial doesn’t come, he inches closer, nudging his nose against yours before catching your lips in a tender, fragile kiss. It’s sweet and conservative for Javier, the man who is normally confident in every one of his actions. Aiding in settling his nerves, you return the kiss with a hair more heaviness, deepening it to breathe him in and taste him on your lips. A craving satiated, fulfilled before anything moves further.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand holding your jaw and the other running his fingertips up your spine. His touch is expert at relaxing you, melding you two together again with his heat, pulling and shaping you to fit exactly where you belong — with him.

A whisper back to him, as meek as his initial request to draw you close, “You promise?”

“Lo prometo, Bebita. No quiero dejarte ir. (I promise, Bebita. I don’t want to let you go.) I mean always when I say always. Whatever you need from me, I’ll give to you, baby. Te adoro. (I adore you.)”

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umadosedepascal · 5 months

Text

MASTERCHEF FAIL | Pedro Pascal x f!reader | One shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner: @ithedevilsbaby

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: With a busy schedule, Pedro finds some time to spend with you. You promised him to cook his favorite food. Maybe things get out of hand and dessert comes before dinner.

wc: 4.7k

rating/warnings: [no minors][sex in the kitchen][unprotected PIV][smut][first person][oral sex][f receiving] [m receiving][Pedro a little dom] [curse words] [fingering] [daddy kink] [chocolate in sex]

Weekends are always a box of surprises, I never know if he will be available, in the middle of so many jobs.

I understand when he needs to be away, sometimes we can see each other only in the middle of the week, a quick date, but as a good surprise, here I am.

I pick up my phone in the middle of the bed sheets and see that it's 7:32 p.m., it's Saturday, it's cold and there's a light rain, the day flew by.

Whenever we decide to watch something together, we spend more time trying to choose a movie than actually watching something, and when we finally choose and finish watching it, it's already night time.

I’m so hungry and even before I can say anything, Pedro says…

“You promised you would cook for me today, remember?“

He says excited as he pulls the duvet of my body and gently caresses my right thigh, which shivers at the same moment I feel his fingers.

“How could I forget? You spent the day saying you went shopping just to taste my food“ I answer between laughs while I pull him for a lazy kiss before getting out of bed.

“I want to see if you didn't forget anything.”

I leave the room heading towards the kitchen, Pedro comes right behind me going down the stairs yawning and commenting on scenes from the movie, laughing at me saying that he knew when I confessed to having dozed off in some parts of the movie.

I go into the kitchen and open the fridge, while I see it inside it I'm mentally checking everything I'm going to use is there. I let out a little laugh and bite my lip when I see that he bought chocolate, the same ones I once mentioned are my favorites.

“Got everything you need, babe?” He asks as he sneaks up approaching me, he runs his hand over my waist and pulls me making my body close to his chest, feeling his lips on my neck kissing me, then I answer..

“You did pretty well, you got the essential” I say laughing when I feel his beard tickle me. I turn my body facing him, pushing the fridge door with one hand.

“Now you can leave it to me”

Pedro stares at me raising his eyebrow after asking for the second time if I want help, even though I say that he doesn't roll his eyes mockingly, he gently kisses my neck and raises his lips to my ear and says…

“I'm excited to know if your food tastes as good you do.. my sluty chef.”

I laugh loudly and squeeze my hands on his chest, playing with the lace of the sweatshirt he wears, in an attempt to disguise how just a few words coming out of his mouth can affect me so much.

He lets me go and turns towards the cabinets and I open the fridge again taking everything I need, trying to force my brain to concentrate and ignore the distraction that is Pedro walking through the kitchen.

_It's a fucking distraction_

The rain is constant outside, some thunder mixes in the midst of our conversation,

Pedro tells me how chaotic the traffic was today, he tells me while he helps me get the ingredients from the pantry, so I ask him

“How was your day babe?” He responds excitedly while distributing the ingredients across the countertop

“Was amazing, got to meet a lot of great people and had a blast... Even got this jeans... Humm do I look sexy for you all jeans?”

I approach him with a jar of sugar in my hand, I say…

“You are so sweet i can't put more on you now... Let's turn on the music?”

He turns around and turns on the speaker that is on a small shelf next to the closet and asks me to connect my phone to whatever I want to hear.

*The Weeknd- After hours*

I decided to cook for him something quick and delicious, a truffled parmegiana with rice.

I ask Pedro to finish picking up the dry ingredients in the pantry while I start cutting the chicken breast and seasoning it before sealing and putting it in the oven.

“Do you want help whit that?”

He says approaching me, passing one hand on my thigh and the other hand he puts on my hand that holds the knife.

“Babe, get some wine for us? But come back here closer...”

With a quick kiss on my neck he moves away and seconds later comes back with a bottle and two glasses, he serves us and walks towards me, behind me.

He holds the glass with wine with his left hand and the right he takes my hair off my neck and starts taking light bites on the uncovered skin, he says that the smell is wonderful and that he can't wait because he is starving.

He brings his body closer to mine, resting his cheek on my head, he hugs me and stays there, just feeling my body in his and listening to the music. I can still make some movements with the knife, cutting the meat, but it's getting so hard to resist.

_He knows the power he has over me and he abuses it_

I let go of the knife when I feel his hands holding me and turning in front of him

“That chicken takes some time to cook huh?” He asks and I say yes, sliding my hand through him, landing on his cock that is already hard.

I look into his eyes and say..

“You always have to tease me huh?” He laughs and shrugs, as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

“Aren't you hungry Pascal? Let me cook for you.”

He removes the cup from my hand and puts it on the side, on the countertop and presses his body on mine, his hands holding the edge of the countertop, holding me there, between him and the marble.

My eyes sweep his face, his beard starting to turn gray, some gray strands on his chin, it makes him so fucking sexy.

“I could eat another incredibly tasty thing and I would be satisfied.” He talks and puts his hands on my waist, pulling me closer, through the fabric of his sweatshirt shorts I can feel exactly the position that his cock is and I feel him pressing against me.

_Fuck_

I look into his eyes and drag my hands inside his t-shirt, feeling his hot skin automatically shiver when I run my nails through his ribs.

He is hot, I inhale the perfume, still feeling present, but the smell of his skin surpasses any expensive fragrance.

I feel his breath close to my face, I look into his eyes and there are those abandoned puppy eyes, but there is also a look that asks what my next step will be.

“What if I cook for you and then you choose whatever dessert you want.” He raises an eyebrow and smiles in the corner, biting his lip and presses the cock more on me, his hands go down to my ass and squeezing, he kisses my neck and between kisses he says

“You know I can be really picky about desserts, right?” He says and run his tongue from my collarbone to my ear biting.

“I'll give you whatever you want.” I answer and pull him by the back of the neck, gluing our lips, his stache has some wet threads of wine, his tongue tastes like wine and danger, I bite his lip and pull between his teeth and he sighs squeezing my ass harder.

“You won! But will you please let me help?” He says and kisses me again, this time in a hurry.

His lips are soft and overwhelming, the taste of wine only makes everything more intoxicating, and for a second I forget that I should be making a dinner!

Pedro squeezes my waist more, pushes me a little and presses my ass against the kitchen island, I feel the cold marble on my legs. He moves the hair that is over my shoulder and gives a soft but warm kiss, that's enough to make my whole body shiver.

He is calm and patient in all his actions, without the slightest hurry. The tic tac of the oven timer mixes the music, it makes my thoughts about dinner get lost.

_I can't think with him so close to that_

He kisses my neck and soon his breathing starts to get panting, just feeling his breath makes me horny. He presses his cock against me, every time I run my fingers around his neck I feel the pulsating vein against my skin, I run my fingers through the curls of his hair.

“Are you going to help me or make me burn the food?” I ask almost in a whisper trying to hold the moan stuck in my throat while he squeezes my ass shamelessly rubbing his cock on me.

“I'm helping babe...” He says in a fun tone of voice as his hands rise back to my waist, he lifts me up making me sit on the bench

“... I'm helping to kill time while the food is in the oven.”

He says that and runs his hands through my legs making them open automatically, he stays between them, his right hand slides from my thigh to my ass squeezing the flesh. His left hand goes up crawling down my back until it reaches the back of my neck, he holds me there completely at his mercy.

He remains calm and making every movement in such a precise way that it is agonizing, it only makes me more and more horny, he acts in such a way that it seems that he wants to taste every inch of my skin, without haste, as if the world were frozen and only the two of us were there.

Pedro slides the hand that was on my ass into my blouse, he finds my nipple goosebumps already, he squeezes and rolls between his fingers, at the same moment a moan escapes from my lips, this makes him growl low.

“We can't now Jose...” I talk trying to look like I want him to stop, but my body betrays me, my back arches while he pulls my blouse to get tangled over my breasts. The cold air makes me shiver, but his warm hands make me pulse. He bends slightly, just enough to run his tongue through my nipple, I watch his tongue rotate through my nipple and soon I see and his mouth cover my breast, sucking, delighting in my body.

_This is a fucking hot view_

“humm.. dessert cannot be served before dinner” I say

“I know babe, but can I taste just a little bit?” He asks looking at me with those puppy eyes, his mouth goes down my belly, leaving licks, but soon rises again to my breast.

“You are so fucking hot... Let me try just a little bit.”

His words cross me like a sharp knife, I feel my pussy so wet.

He gets up dragging his lips through my skin and kisses me in a way that takes the air out of my lungs. His hand is playing with the jeans in my shorts, going towards my pussy, the way he releases my lips with a bite and watches his fingers play with the button of my jeans is so hot.

He slowly opens the zipper, he looks into my eyes when I let out a moan in anticipation to feel his fingers on me

“Are you horny?” He speaks with a low laugh, he says that and looking into my eyes I feel him slide his middle finger into my panties, the feeling of his finger against my swollen clit is surreal.

'TRIIIIIIN'

The oven timer goes off, making us look scared at the oven. He laughs shaking his head and says

“It looks like dessert will really only be served after dinner anyway...”

Pedro is still between my legs, my hands holding the waistband of his shorts, ready to pull and finally feel him, with a sigh I move away from him and lean enough to reach the button to turn off the oven and tell him

“I'll let it a little bit open so we can have more time and don't burn it... The only thing I want it's you burning inside me...”

He takes the glass of wine next to me and takes a big sip, as if he were recovering, he speaks softly

“This is the way babe”

*OCT 33 - Black pumas*

Pedro puts the wine glass in place and pushes me to lie on the bench, his hand goes back under my blouse, grabbing my breasts, interspersing between one and the other, with his free hand he pulls my jeans by the legs and throws it to the floor, he passes his finger through the side of my panties, going down my groin until he reaches the center of my pussy he pulls the fabric to the side and rubs my clit and slide his finger to the end into me. The way he does it makes him use his thumb to stimulate my clit, with circular movements he looks at me, watching my whole body, smiling he watches me melt on his fingers.

I feel like cursing him screaming, but I also feel like just obeying everything he says.

He speeds up the movements of his fingers and says

“My dinner is you now! Do you understand?” I feel the orgasm coming, so close, I'm not able to answer I just fall on his fingers, cumming slowly feeling my body vibrate, my legs shake and start to close, he quickly removes his hand from my breast and holds my thigh stoping me from closing them, I just close my eyes and feel the pleasure taking over every cell of my body.

When I open my eyes I come face to face with Pedro licking his fingers with my cum, his eyes half-closed watching me, he’s lust in desire.

“Would you like something to fulfill you now?” He holds the cock drooling from pre cum

I'm not able to say anything, I just shake my head as if I were talking

"Yeah you motherfucker you did it!"

He positions his cock in my entrance and puts everything in, he moans low but hoarse, he holds my thighs and looks me in the eyes, biting his lip he starts to put slowly, he is looking me in the eye and his cock going in and out of me.

It penetrates me slowly but accurately, reaching a specific point inside me that makes me arch my back.

“like that huh?”

“Do you like it when my cock goes in like that slowly?”

“Do you want faster?”

“Say little girl.” Every word he says is a slow and lazy lunge inside me.

“Yes please fuck me! Please...”

So in a silent torture he stop moving and looks at me, his eyes pass from mine to my lips.

I try to raise my hip in the failed attempt to rub myself on it, at least one touch!

“I'm starving babe, let's eat? “ He says casually, he grumbles and takes his cock out of me and puts on his shorts again, he extends his right hand to me and smiles raising his eyebrow.

I can't believe it.

“WHAT? PEDRO? ARE YOU CRAZY? “ I say loudly in shock.

He laughs and picks up the glass, after a long and seemingly eternal sip of wine he shakes his hand ordering me and pick it up.

“I'm hungry babe... I said.��

I get up from the bench and he holds me by the waist and pulls me out, when my feet touch the floor my knees falter, but his hands hold me firmly. He brings his lips closer to mine listening to him say

“Just put on your panties, ok? I'll be waiting for you at the table.” He says and leaves as if nothing had happened.

I feel my heart racing.

“Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal come here right now! Are you insane?”

I'm alone in the kitchen, looking around not understanding shit.

_Am I hallucinating? Did he really leave me like this? _

I shake my head in an attempt to lighten my thoughts, I run my hand over my forehead and feel the thin layer of sweat that has accumulated. I still see myself naked and alone in the kitchen.

_Do you want to play Jose Pedro? Let's play then_

I put my panties on and I feel my pussy protest still wanting more, I put on my blouse and everything seems uncomfortable, I just want his cock until I forget my own name!

I serve the food, I do it in the best way I can, although I'm soaked and piss off I don't want it to be an ugly dish, after tidying up I put it on a tray and go towards the living room.

Pedro is sitting at the table quietly, he has his head turned towards the fireplace, the crackling fire mixes with the music, the room has low lighting, shades of red and brown take over the place.

I put our dishes on the table and he looks at me and gives a mocking smile.

_Breathe deeply, he's playing with you_

*Love is a bitch - Two Feet* starts playing, and that's enough to get me into the game he wants.

I sit at the table in front of him, and take the glass of wine, without taking my eyes off his I take a long sip, I put the glass back and with my index finger clean the small drop that has accumulated on my lip, sucking my finger.

Pedro lets out a small cough and straightens up on the chair, he is as horny as I am, but this provocation is hot and none of us wants to finish.

He looks at his plate and takes a bite, he chews slowly looking at me, his eyes never lose mine.

“Hmmm this is wonderful...taste amazing “ He says that while passing his finger on the corner of his mouth and licking, the same finger that was inside me a few minutes ago.

I don't say a word, I just get up, take the bottle of wine, and approach him, I bend in an exaggerated way, wanting him to see all the curves of my body, I fill his glass.

With a slap on the table he pushes the chair back and a growl comes out of his throat

“Fuck dinner! I'll eat you until you scream so loud.” So that's enough for him to get up and push me to the wall, my back hits the wall, my head hits, but I don't care.

He holds me tightly against the cold wall, his body so close to mine that we could merge.

His breathing is getting faster and faster, all my brain thinks about is feeling his cock pulsating against me. With a quick movement Pedro turn me against the wall, my back that were cold from the wall now find his chest hot, even through the T-shirt he wears I can feel.

His hands go to my hips, he pulls me making me lean towards him, he slides my panties down my legs, bending down along with the fabric, he takes it off my feet, and before throwing it in the middle of the room he inhales my smell…

With a deep voice he says slowly as he goes up until he stands behind me.

“I tried babe... I swear i tried... The food “ He talks whining, his right hand circles my body and goes towards my pussy, he rub my clit but soon slides his finger inside me again.

“Was really good... Oh fuck! But all I can think about is your pussy, let me eat that pussy babe”

I can't think of anything else, he knows that my answer will be a big yes, everything he asks I will say yes, I just need him to fuck me now, in every way he wants.

I turn my head and look over my shoulder, he looks beautiful, his eyes focused on my body, his mouth slightly open, the impression he gives is of a hunter watching the prey.

One hand he holds my waist firmly, the other he keeps it in my pussy.

“I've wanted this since the moment i walked into this kitchen, please... Please Pedro just fuck me!”

My supplication is like gasoline for the fire that is his body, he quickly moves away from my body and removes the clothes, throwing it everywhere, he holds the cock dripping pre cum and rub through my pussy, the right hand goes back to my clit, squeezing, teasing.

He grabs hard holding my waist so hard that I know that tomorrow I will have marks, his moan with every thrust is so tasty, I could hear it forever.

Pedro pulls me close to his chest, the hand that was on my waist goes up to my blouse, in a silent order I finish taking off my blouse.

He wraps an arm in my belly and a hand he rests on the wall, so it seems that his cock reaches deeper inside me, directly to my G-spot, I'm so close.

“Your food is really good babe... But damn, look what you do to me” He whispers in my ear as he gets harder and harder, our moans mixing the songs.

Pedro takes his cock out of me and guides me to the couch, he sinks his face into my neck and slide it back in, he punches it hard, it hurts a little.

He holds my left leg and puts it over his shoulder, my hands go to his back, sliding down his already sweaty, he kisses me and bites me in such an intense way.

*Post Malone- Circles* starts playing, making everything more intoxicating.

Pedro moans low and grunts in my ear, I look for his lips again, I don't want to stop kissing and biting those lips.

He feels that I'm almost cumming and so does he and that makes him intensify the thrusts, the way he holds me

_He knows, he notices my body_

“I want to cum inside you babe... But I know you like to swallow”

Our bodies slippery with sweat, he takes off his cock and sits on the couch desperately, I kneel and start sucking hard on his cock, he holds my hair and cums in my mouth, making me taste him, he moans my name softly and says “yes...yes...have it all.. aah fuck!”

I swallow every drop, I keep on my knees and watch him thrown on the couch, the irregular breathing he asks me

“What about that chocolate i brought to you?”

“Hmmm” I smile and get up, my whole body shakes, my legs are wobbly, I go to the kitchen and get the chocolate bar and then I think about melting it

As soon as I finish, I put it in a pot and return to the living room, Pedro is still thrown on the couch, the only difference is that now a joint is stuck on his lips, he raises an eyebrow for me when he sees me holding the bowl.

“What are you up to baby girl?”

I smile maliciously at him and get closer, put one leg on each side and ride on him, his hands go straight to my breasts, playing with my nipples, a caress full of lust.

None of us are satisfied yet.

I take the weed from his lips smoke it and slowly bring it back to his mouth

The way he's being on the couch is the perfect angle for what I have in mind. I dip a finger in the chocolate and feel that it is at the ideal temperature, I take my finger to his lips, and lick and kiss, removing any remnants.

He moans softly and says it's delicious.

I take more chocolate and make it drain from his neck to the nipple, I slowly lick everything, taking some bites, some light ones, some stronger ones that make him grun.

“Now I'm your dessert my little bitch?” He asks having fun with what I'm doing.

“Yeah daddy... What could be better than you with chocolate?”

I get up and kneel between his legs, putting the pot next to him, I dip my fingers again in the chocolate and let it drip on his cock, which is already hard again, I watch the chocolate drip from the head of the cock to the base. I hold his cock and lick everything, feeling the taste of his skin, the cum and the chocolate, all turning into a new flavor.

I take more chocolate and let drops spread on his thighs, lick slowly and bite, leaving a small bite mark on the left thigh.

“Suck bitch get daddy's cock clean so I can shove into that pussy huh” He says and holds my hair in a ponytail, he raises his hip and starts fucking my throat as if it were my pussy, making me choke I scratch my nails on his thighs, this seems to stir him up and makes him push the cock more in my throat, my lungs burn in search of air.

He pulls my hair, making me look into his eyes, my eyes are full of tears, he holds my neck and squeezes and pushes me to lie on the floor.

Pedro starts distributing bites over my belly, licking and biting until he reaches my breasts, he holds my right nipple with his teeth, biting until I arch my back with burning, soon he licks and sucks slowly.

His cock rubbing on my thigh, Pedro moves far enough to take the chocolate and spread it over my breasts, he sucks and licks and bites every little piece of skin.

“Damn this is the dessert I always want to eat...fuck bitch!”

He kneels between my legs, his left hand he holds my knee, leaving me more open, his right hand he holds his cock by the base and rubs the head of the cock through my swollen clit, he beats and rubs, he stays in this torture for a few seconds, almost making me cum like this

“Fuck me now!” I whine loudly

He starts slapping me, slaps me on the thighs, chest and face, so he holds my neck and says

“Beg just beg and I'll give you what you want”

“Please, I beg you please fuck me hard!” I say in the midst of moans

He slides his cock no mercy, taking a scream out of my throat, he sinks his face into my neck and moans my name in my ear, he curses disconnected things, I can barely understand when he grumbles "slut bitch bitch"

My nails scratches his back.

“Scratch me, show daddy how dirty you are...”

I moan more and squeeze my pussy on his cock, Pedro puts his hand between our bodies and begins to massage my clit, his middle finger circulating in a torturous way, without stopping to fuck.

He speaks in my ear, he moans as if he were suffering, but it is also a hoarse, almost animalistic moan

“Cum for daddy honey, cum on daddy's cock and scream, I want it!”

He orders and my body obeys, I cum strong, my back arching, my breathing heavy and difficult. He doesn't stop masturbating me, he says

“One more time babe, one more..”

My body seems to obey everything he says, I enjoy again as strong as the first.

“Now I'm going to cum inside you so you can have my cum everywhere!”

He goes harder, holding my neck and looking into myeyes he pushes it three more times and cums hard inside me, I feel the hot jets of cum filling me.

Pedro collapses on top of me, he laughs weakly and kisses my face, and gives one last lick and bite on my neck that still some chocolate.

“Let's take a shower?”

—————————————

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