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[grozusa]

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[b3ach-bunn7]

WET CIGARETTES

Gojo Satoru, your prettiest customer, insists on ordering the most insane drinks possible. As a barista, it’s your duty to fullfill them.

alternate!universe, fluff, happy ending

(This is a long one guys 🙈)

——————————————————————

You love your job. The truth is, the people who romanticise working at a coffee shop were exactly right. Yes, the hours can be long, and the occasional Karen can turn what should be a five-minute interaction into a half an hour one. And sometimes you go home with burns from a hot coffee pot, or spills on your favourite trousers. But you love every part of your job.

Except for Gojo Satoru.

Your most troublesome customer. You know he goes to your university, because you’ve seen him wearing a hoodie with its logo on it. You assume you both have different majors, because you don’t cross paths at all.

But he comes to the shop every day without fail. And he orders the most complicated, diabetes-inducing drinks known to man. He strolls up to the counter, blinking those bright blue eyes at you, with his perfect smile and his hair that looks so soft to touch and starts rattling off his order.

Okay, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Gojo is easy on the eyes, and it’s quite funny to see how far he’ll take it. You’re not exactly sure if he even consumes the stuff he buys. Maybe he’s trying to impress you. Maybe he’s trying to annoy you. You think he succeeds more with the second option, but it’s fine. You like the little challenge everyday.

Today, you’re wiping down the counter when you see him appear behind it and begin drumming his fingers against it.

“Hi, sugar.”

You look up, unamused. He’s wearing a black compression shirt that hugs his muscles and grey sweatpants. He’s probably come back from the gym, judging by the sweat that sticks some strands of his white hair to his forehead. He looks good. Whatever.

“Gojo. What monstrosity will it be today?”

He hums under his breath. He rests his cheek on his palm. His skin is so clear. For all the coffee he drinks, at least.

“I would like… A single shot, 4 pumps sugar free peppermint, nonfat, extra hot, no foam, light whip stirred grande white mocha.”

Your mouth gapes. “Gojo. What? That’s not- what even is that?”

He laughs, loud and boyish. The shop is quite empty, so, you can take your time to mock his ridiculous request.

“I don’t know. Thought I’d try something different, you know?”

“You try something different everyday. I think this one wins the stupidest order yet.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. You know you like it. I bring some joy to the darkness that is your shift.” He pouts and leans forward.

You rolls your eyes. You turn and grab a cup to begin concocting his drink.

“Don’t call me that. And it doesn’t bring me joy. It does test my memory, though,” you pause, “How many pumps of peppermint was it?”

“Four. And what’s wrong with sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart, Gojo.”

He groans. He watches as you flit around behind the counter, going to steam the milk for his drink.

“Come on, what else am I supposed to call you? I don’t know your name.”

You point to the name tag pinned to your shirt.

“Yes you do.”

“That’s not your name.”

You nod and insist that it is. His eyebrows raise and he nods towards it.

“Your name is Brian?”

“Cute, right? I don’t like strangers using my real name, so they let me print a fake one.” You smile.

“It’s a shame, really. Brian suits you.” You stick your tongue out and Gojo grins.

The drink doesn’t take long. You make one of the fancy milk designs on the top, and slide it over to him.

“Here you go.”

He thanks you. He peers at the design at the top, eyeing the drink.

“I like this. You should learn how to draw my face on there.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right, that does sound like a great way to pass my time.” You nod sarcastically.

He sips the drink carefully. His nose scrunches and he sticks his tongue out.

“Oh, that is not good. At all.”

You laugh. You reach over and grab the drink, taking a swig. Gojo protests, but you can tell his effforts to get it back are half-assed. You wince, the warm peppermint drink sliding down your throat.

“Yeah, gross. How did you even come up with this?”

He shrugs, “They just come to me.” He nods at the cup in your hand, “You know, we basically just kissed.”

You snort, “You can keep dreaming, Gojo.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in my dreams, baby. All the dirty ones.”

Oh, he’s feeling brave today. You turn to hide the flush that dusts your cheeks. You wipe down the steamer.

“Baby is gross.”

“Tell me your name then.”

You point at the name tag on your shirt. Gojo groans and runs a hand through his hair. You glance down at the ignored drink on the counter.

“Gojo, you haven’t even touched your drink.”

He shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s not like I can’t pay for it.”

You hum under your breath. Rich people.

The shop starts filling up, and your manager pops his head around the door to tell you to get a move on.

“Sorry, Gojo. You gotta get a move on.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wave him off, sighing as he drops his drink in the trash.

——

The next day, Gojo walks in with someone else. A girl, short brown hair and an unlit cigarette in her mouth. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. Maybe she’s a girlfriend. Gojo seems awfully close to her, a smile gracing his lips as she says something to him.

You’re staring. You turn away quickly. It’s none of your business what he’s up to and you don’t care, anyway. Gojo could be married for all you care.

He bounds up to the front. Gojo has a way of taking up every space he’s in, and as he leans across the counter, he’s all you can see.

“Hey, cutie.”

“Hello. What can I do for you today?”

“Aw. No complaints. You like cutie?”

“Feels like something a 12 year old would call his discord girlfriend, but. Sure, let’s go with that.”

He laughs, but he straightens up quickly.

“Look, I’ve got no time for our cute banter today. I’ll have a Venti, triple-shot caramel macchiato, with three pumps of vanilla, two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of caramel, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and extra whipped cream on top.”

“No time for banter, but time for all of that.”

“Oh, and a mocha.”

You smile. “Who’s that normal order for?”

He points at the girl he came in with, who’s gone outside to smoke her cigarette.

“Shoko. Luckily for you, she likes normal people drinks.”

You turn to start making their drinks. Today’s order is much tamer than usual. It actually sounds like it might taste nice, and it’s sugary enough to satiate his sweet tooth. You wonder if he’ll ask that girl to try it for him.

“So. You got any plans today?” You say.

“Mhm. My friend and I are going shopping. She asked me to keep her company, but I think she likes my credit card’s presence more than mine.”

“Makes sense. At least she gets something out of the card.”

“Ha ha ha. Come on, she gets mean when she’s impatient.”

You shake your head, waiting for the milk to steam. “It takes as long as it takes.”

“Okay, Carla.”

“Wrong.”

“Bridget?”

You tell him he’s wrong again and laugh at his whining. You finish his drink off with an alarming amount of whip cream, to his request, and place it and the mocha on the counter.

“Done in record time.” You wink.

He tries it, and perks up.

“I’m impressed. This one actually tastes nice.”

He slides it over to you, and you take a sip.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is nice.” You say, incredulously.

“Can I have a sip?”

You look to the left and Gojo’s ‘friend’ has appeared. She smells a little like cigarettes but she’s so breathtakingly pretty that you don’t think anyone‘s really worried about that. She takes a drink before Gojo can protest, and she winces.

“God, it’s so sweet. You’ll die an early death if you keep going on like this.”

“Well, good thing it’s not for you.” He grabs it and passes her the mocha.

The girl looks over at you and smiles.

“Hey. I’m Shoko. It’s nice to meet you. Gojo doesn’t shut up about you.”

You tilt your head at the boy, who is looking away from the two of you, and coo.

“Aw, how sweet!” You awe, pressing a hand to your heart.

“He calls you Barista girl. Says you make the best drinks.”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t say best. I am the only one who will make his insane orders, though.”

“That’s true. He doesn’t even drink them half the time. Just throws them away the second he leaves. It’s like the only reason he comes here is so-“

“Okay! Okay, we’ve got to go.” Gojo claps his hands together, cutting off Shoko, and steering her away.

She grins, waving at you. She yells it was nice to meet you, and you say it back, much to Gojos dismay, and wonder what the real reason he comes here is.

——-

The next time Gojo comes in, he looks good. He’s wearing a black button up, the top few buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. There’s a silver chain around his neck, and his hair is done up in a way that looks effortless and prepared at the exact same time. He’s also holding a bouquet of pretty flowers, pink and white and perfect looking.

God. You move away before he notices you blatantly staring at him. It’s almost closing, and you’ve got ten minutes before you’re free to go. You should be annoyed at his presence. You and Choso, the guy you were working with tonight, had just cleaned up, and you know Gojo’s order would probably need every appliance in the building. Any other customer would be shunned away, a quick point at the clock.

But Gojo’s not any other customer. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Hey, Gojo.”

He smiles. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Your cheeks heat up. God, if only he wasn’t so attractive. It would be so much easier to act like you don’t care when he calls you all those things.

“You look nice. You going somewhere after this?”

“Mhm. I’m going on a date.”

You pause to where you’re emptying out the coffee pots. A date? He was seeing someone else after spending god knows how long flirting with you?

You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never asked you out, and Gojo is attractive enough to be someone who doesn’t care about girls' feelings. You know you should’ve seen this coming. It probably was just a little fun he had everyday, joking around with the oblivious, head-over-heels barista who allowed him to act like a dick with his stupid coffee orders.

Whatever.

“That’s nice. What can I get for you? You need to hurry up though, because we’re closing soon.” Your voice is flat, and your hand rests on your hip.

“Uh. Just a coffee.”

You frown. “No obnoxious order today?”

“Nah. I’ve got places to be. And I need to be awake tonight, if you get my drift.” He winks and you scoff.

You turn and fill the coffee pot, a little more aggressively than normal. You unfortunately do get his drift. Before you can say anything in response, Choso comes out from the back.

Choso is cute. He looks intimidating, always monotoned and looking sleep-deprived, but he was a sweetheart. He always ties his hair into little buns, draws cute designs on top of the lattes, and always makes sure you don’t close alone. Plus, he looks good in an apron. You think you’d like him if it weren’t for an annoying blue-eyed boy and his stupid orders.

“You okay if I clock out?”

You turn to him and smile. “Yeah, I’ll lock up. You working tomorrow?”

Choso takes his apron off and drapes it over his shoulder. You turn to face him, effectively ignoring Gojo.

“Nope.”

“What? Choso, come on, I can’t work if you’re not there, it’s so boring!”

He laughs, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. It make the muscles in his arms stand out, and wow. Does he work out? Probably.

“You’ll be fine without me.”

“I won’t.” You pout.

“Goodbye.” He walks away, nodding at Gojo, who looks just peachy waiting for his coffee.

“So who’s that?”

You turn back to face him. “Choso. He works here.”

“Yeah, I figured. You like him?”

“Yeah. He’s great. My favourite coworker.”

Gojo nods slowly. A weird sort of quiet settles over you two. A part of you wants to ask who’s he’s going on a date with, but you respect yourself too much for that.

“What time do you get off?” He speaks up.

You pause slightly. “Me?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “No, the other barista behind the counter. Yes, you.”

“Oh. I’m done in ten.”

“Okay, good. Our reservation is in half an hour, so we should make it.”

The coffee pot whirs to let you know it’s ready. Instead, you keep staring at Gojo, who’s looks all too serious for somebody speaking nonsense.

“What?”

“It’s a nice place, don’t worry. Thought I’d splurge, to impress you. These are for you, by the way.” He thrusts the flowers towards you.

“I- What? Gojo, what’s going on?” You laugh, a little hysterical, confused as to what the hell is happening.

He grins. He walks right over to the you, leaning over the counter, so you’re a couple inches away from each other.

“You really think I’d ask anybody else out? I’ve been asking for these stupid orders at for weeks now just to throw them out so I could talk to you, that wasn’t a hint?”

“Yeah, but I just. I don’t know, I thought you were just messing around!”

“Are you really that clueless?”

“Hey! You-“ You stop for a second.

You take the apron from around your neck and throw it behind you into the office. You cross your arms and you nearly laugh at the nervous look that crosses his face.

“Did you make a reservation and dress yourself up for a date you didn’t even ask me to?”

Gojo scratches the back of his head. “I-“

“And then come in here and just tell me when it’s happening, without even giving me time to prepare myself?”

“I- Barista girl, I can explain.” He clasps his hands together.

“And you still don’t even know my name.”

He sighs. “The mystery is part of the fun, babe.”

You smile slightly. You have no idea what went through his head, but it’s cute he tried so hard. Even if it was a little weird.

“What if I had plans tonight, huh?”

Gojo shrugs. “I was hoping you’d cancel them for me.”

“And if I didn’t?”

“Not too sure. Maybe throw the coffee I’m still waiting for in your face?”

You perk up suddenly, remembering the pot that was still bubbling behind you. You take a cup and fill it for him, fit it with a lid and give it to him.

“So. Are you going to ask me out properly?”

He nods. His face is determined and he grabs the flowers from your hands. He takes two steps back and he walks forward.

“Barista girl, will you do me the honours of going on a date with me tonight?”

You frown, sighing dramatically, “I don’t know. I’ve had such a long shift. I’m tired.”

Gojo grabs your hands, pulling you towards him. The counter gets in the way, but you don’t think he cares. The two of you are still close enough that if you moved a couple inches forwards you’d be kissing. He smells like something expensive, and it overwhelms your senses. His lips quirk up in a little smirk, and you think your skin is buzzing where he’s touching you.

“I’m sure I can help wake you up, baby. You just gotta say yes.”

“I- I kinda look like shit, though.” You whisper.

“Don’t say that, you look beautiful.”

You know you don’t. Your hair is being held up poorly by a claw clip, random strands falling out of it. Your mascara is slightly smudged under your eyes, and there’s a lovely new coffee stain on the shirt you're wearing, courtesy of Choso knocking into you before you got a chance to put your apron on.

But he’s looking right at you like you’re the most incredible thing that he’s ever laid his eyes on that you feel like you might actually believe him.

“Okay. Okay, fine. If you let me go home and freshen up. Put a dress on, or something.”

“Oh, I can get behind that.”

You snort a laugh, stepping back. The nervousness from before is gone, and he’s grinning at you excitedly. He waits the few minutes it takes you to lock up, and holds his arm out for you to take while he walks you to his car.

It’s seven in the evening and the sun is just starting to set. The sky is beginning to turn, seeping from blue to orange to pink, and the light is catching off Gojos face. He’s speaking animatedly as he talks about the restaurant he’s taking you too, oblivious to your staring. He’s planned every last detail, somehow remembering when you said that you loved Asian food about a month ago.

You don’t really know much about Gojo. You do know enough to say that he is so sweet it makes your teeth rot.

You say your name, then, softly enough that he nearly misses it. He stops mid sentence and turns to you.

“Is that your name?”

You nod.

“You have a very pretty name.”

You smile. “Thank you.”

He nods slowly. “You can call me Satoru, by the way.”

“Okay, Satoru.” The name feels nice on your tongue.

He groans when you say it, hand reaching up to cup your face.

“God, it sounds so beautiful when you say it. It’d sound even better if you were screaming it, though.”

You roll your eyes, face a fiery red, and let a laughing Satoru lead you into his car.

——————————————————————

AUTHORS NOTE

Gojo satoru the man that u r.. also that cosplayer is EXACTLY how I envision him in my brain.. so obsessed..

again, any requests r welcome! (I’m literally lost for ideas)

[carnal-lnstinct]

Hard At Work 🥕 -  One-Shot

Pairing: Farmer Goku  x Female Reader Rating: Mature /18+ . Minors DNI Summary: Goku asks reader to come with him to the farmer’s market to sell off his new stock. A/N: another beautiful idea inspired by @blue-wristbands​​. Always a treat to discuss Goku related scenarios with you ♥ Sorry this one took a bit! I’m also starting to see a trend of my fics w/ Goku and public areas.  Warning: ( established relationship, explicit language, semi-public blowjob, implied semi-public sex ) 

Goku was happy to have you tag along with him to the Farmers Market to sell off his new stock. Having your company while he worked made it feel a lot less boring and uneventful, and more like a fun little date. He was quick to add how having a pretty girl like you hanging around would draw in more people to his booth as well. Most of the farmers were men who worked just as hard as he does who could use a fresh breath of beauty like yours after digging through fields for hours. Charmed by the implication, you encouraged that all his hard work practically sold itself and he didn’t need you for that. You tagged along for the enjoyment of his loving companionship more than anything and curious to what one can find at a real Farmers Market, secretly hoping to try free samples of fresh foods and see some baby animals too.

It was the first time you came to a Farmers Market as authentic as this one. You quickly discovered how beloved Goku was among the other market vendors as almost everyone greeted him the minute they saw him, though you weren’t surprised for someone as kind as he was. They weren’t even phased by the many large drums of vegetables tied together that he carried on each of his shoulders with ease, a weight that would take multiple men to haul. Your presence, however, did surprise the lot of them. They were finally able to put a face with the name of one mentioned so fondly by Goku many, many times. They were sure to make you feel as welcomed as he was, and just like you hoped got some free samples out of it!

The two of you settled at a vacant booth, you stepping to the side as Goku unloaded his shoulders and set everything in place for display. It didn’t take long after for some of the other farmers to request help from the saiyan, a usual affair for him among the other vendors and even some customers familiar with his strength. He happily assisted, leaving you to hold down the fort while he disappeared into a growing crowd. 

Easy enough! He at least had some means of weighing out the vegetables by the pound. You took to it naturally selling his stock in his place and getting some one-on-one with the other vendors eager to get to know you when they checked in. Goku would then return and pick up where he left off, but shortly after another person would come running for his help taking his attention away once again. So much for a little date with you. It happened so frequently you figured this was normal for him, but being pulled away from his own business to give labor to another’s seemed a bit off. It could come off as they were taking advantage of him for his abilities and he was just too nice to realize it. They queued up at his booth more for his help than to buy from him. But then he would come back to you, excited, with a handful of money and goods as a reward for his help. And, amazing you, a handful of those same people would return to buy a few pounds of vegetables as well. It was quite the exchange of services, but it kept the money flowing and stock selling. If Goku was happy, then you couldn’t complain about it. You even saw a glimpse of his surprisingly tactful negotiation skills, which was quite a display. Especially the little winks he would give you when the terms fell into his favor. It was all probably some form of training for him to keep his blood pumping and a little bit of showing off for you. 

At least with your help and drawing in a curious crowd of your own to those interested in the woman dating the “Super Farmer” and former martial arts champion, he wasn’t missing out on selling his stock on your watch! Plus, more free samples for those grateful for Goku’s efforts. You were making quite the team for your first day. You even made a little game out of hiding him behind the booth so he could catch a break and at least eat something before he was needed again, taking the time to catch up and just enjoy each other.

It really showed how busy the Farmers Market could get and what really made Goku’s presence so attractive to the people. He took pride in every bit of it, still. The saiyan was kept so preoccupied and moving around so much, you would lose him in the gathering crowds, occasionally some large immovable object is, well, visibly moving along in the background of vendor booths hinting to where he was. He really shined here as much as he did anywhere and no deed he completed went unrewarded. 

Goku then appeared with his Instant Transmission behind you, using his scarf to wipe the sweat from his face. He then removed it from his neck, following the jacket to cool himself down in the shade of his booth. You did a double-take as he came up beside you and took in the sight of him up close, large arms exposed and lightly flexed as he leaned on the booth stand. How his black tank top clung to his skin and molded out the shape of his firm torso left a detailed image of what was underneath it.  When that wide smile and bright eyes of his stood out so much for him, it was a little too easy to forget that masked under that delicate fabric of normal clothing was the carved body of a man who trained it to hell and back practically every day since he was a child. It’s a miracle the fabric didn’t tear at the seams when he breathes and his broad chest expanded, testing its hold on him. The dull sheen of sweat along his muscles certainly eclipsed that cute face right now. You didn’t realize you zoned out in your staring until he waved a water bottle in your face.

“Hellooo, Earth to (y/n).You okay? Got a tummy ache from all the little muffins you ate?” Goku teases you with a light laugh. “Don’t worry, we did amazing today so we should be wrappin’ up sooner than I thought. You can take a break if you need to.” At a momentary loss of words, you simply nod and take the water bottle he offered you as he finished his own.

Like clockwork, he was set back out to help someone but didn’t go empty-handed, taking a bundle of carrots and lettuce with him in a box and tucking it in the crook of his arm. He didn’t get too far from your gaze this time, and you could do nothing but eat up the sight of him moving around with his exposed physique. All the subtle flexes in his muscle movements highlighted the definition of his toned body in different angles. How is he fitting that body into normal clothing? The jacket and scarf did well to hide his upper body muscles, but the minute he took it off to cool down it was like looking at a different person. Hell, if he just showed up like that he certainly wouldn’t need you here. The men and women of the market would flock to him for one reason or another more than they do now. Access to such a gifted body was just one free sample you didn’t get to have today with how busy he’s been.

And that’s just not fair.  “...Somethin’s aching.” You murmured to yourself before twisting the top off your water and taking a sip as a smirk formed.

What you had in mind could have waited for later since everything was finally started to wind down. But then Goku looks back to you, cheerful, bright eyes betraying the mass of his body, and waves a hand in response to your stare. Your smile grows, not so innocently, waving your fingers back at him before motioning a finger for his presence. He has a brief chat with the other vendor and a customer, then hurries back over to you stuffing money in his pocket.

“That’s some more sold out! We’re killin’ it!” He proudly announced approaching you, his other hand outstretched to give you a high five.

“That’s because everyone here really likes you, Goku!” You kindly pointed out high-fiving him, but locking your fingers with his and guiding him back around into the booth. “I’m proud of how hard you’ve worked today.”

“Oh, thanks (y/n)! But I couldn’t have gotten rid of all those vegetables nearly as well without your help today. Told ya, your pretty face was good for business!”

“Yeah...about my face.” You reach behind you with your free hand and tug on the pulley that dropped the curtain over the front of the booth, taking away the afternoon light and shielding you both from the outside crowd. “It’s been a little lonely without you today. I think you more than deserve a reward for all your hard work.” You leave no space in between you as you drew him in and plant a kiss on his lips.

As everything was drawing to a close, Goku’s presence was certainly missed throughout the market. It’s not exactly unlike him to just vanish without a proper goodbye, but despite the closed appearance of the booth, there was evidence he was still around with nothing else being put away. He was just MIA among the vendors. Now he was in your tender loving hands, thoroughly rewarded for his labors. Goku was on the edge of his seat, hunched over the top of the covered stand as you were on your knees in front of him with your head nestled between his muscular legs. His black top was lifted up his chest and clenched between his teeth, his core muscles all tensed as he fought back the urge to thrust the length of cock down your throat. 

The warmth of your mouth sucking him in as you moved your head closer and how your tongue serviced the head on your drawback made it difficult for him to keep his voice low, his whines vibrating through the fabric between his lips. For a well-earned reward, you were surely teasing his pleasure out of him instead of just giving it. The slow cater of your succulent maw caressing up and down him ran deep into the subtle tremble of his legs. It was only made worse when he opened his eyes and find yours smiling up at him with your lips shaped around his length. Your mouth looked so irresistible and full, he couldn’t hold back his hips anymore. He needed it faster, jerking out of your pace into one of his own and daring to thrust further toward your throat when you gave no resistance. You braced your hands against his abs and wrap the other around the base of his cock as a buffer, tilting your head to allow him to go at his leisure.

Goku’s breaths shorten and grew more audible as he dropped his shirt from his mouth with bits of his moans slipping free and falling to your ears making you soothe your free hand down his thigh in response. He braces his feet and start to thrust more unevenly and quick, drawn close to coming by how you curled your tongue to his mass. Closer and closer it was coming as his face flushed with heat. His hands gripped the curtains before him fervently and he suddenly hears his name spoken from the other side.

Goku’s eyes shot wide and he came to an abrupt stop with a brush against your throat, making you whimper. He jerks himself up straight as part of the curtain was being lifted from the other side. 

“Oh, you are still here. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.” An older male voice finds your ears as well and sends your heart into a panic, quickly backing yourself into the little “hiding space” you set up for Goku beneath the table stand as he scooted the chair forward boxing you in and hiding his own body from the chest down. You help him out a little by pulling his shirt back down round his torso in time for the daylight piercing through the raised section of curtain as an older farmer lifted it enough to find Goku, appearing to be sitting alone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you closing up, thought I’d catch you ‘fore you left. Do you still have any carrots to sell t' me like we talked about earlier?”

“Uh...” Goku’s voice croaked nervously as he leaned on his elbows and twiddled his fingers trying to think up something on the fly. “Sorry mister, they’re all gone for today.” He gives the man a small smile with an even more nervous laugh. Good, he’s getting rid of him. Even if it’s business, you’re a little done with sharing Goku’s attention for today and you don’t want him to be pulled away for something else right now.

“Ya sure, thought I saw some on the back of your tractor.” The old farmer asked looking to make good on his own promise.

“O-oh those!” Goku jumped in his seat when he felt your mouth wrap back around his sensitive cock. You could feel its twitch between your lips and bobbed your head with vigor as you sucked him in along your tongue. The way Goku’s face twisted and fist slammed against the surface of the stand he looked like he was suddenly afflicted with pain instead of the intense stimulation of pleasure building between his hips. His legs were restless on each side of your head, one bouncing and the other’s heel scraping for grip upon the little tarp around you. He was getting so close to his orgasm again. “Someone... a-already bought them?” He agonized to speak slow with a shrug of his shoulders to try to seem normal for the older man. It clearly didn’t work from the confused look he gave him.

“You okay? You didn’t hurt yourself workin' too hard today, I hope.”

“Just s-something I ate, I’ll be okay.” He nods fervently. The man doesn’t press any further and gives Goku a small smile in return.

“Alright. Maybe next time then, I’ll be sure to catch you earlier. Take care of ya self and be sure to bring your pretty lil gal with you again. She’s everythin’ you said she’d be. Proud of you, my boy.” The man winked at him and gave him a thumbs-up before the curtain fell on its weight, the light and old farmer disappearing behind it. Goku waited, feeling the footsteps fade away. Biting into his bottom lip, his hands gripped your head and he bucks his hips into you mouth, throwing his head back with a muffled yet indiscreet moan as he came in your mouth. Each excited spasm dumping a string of his seed into your throat forcing you to swallow it down. His chest rising and falling with softer groans in his pants, his hold around your head slacking off as he slips himself from your mouth with a noteworthy pop from you lips. Soothing his own cock with a hand and rubbing your saliva and his own cum into his hold. You peeked up at him with an impish grin and lick your lips with a delighted hum.

“Proud of you.” You repeated to him with a wink of your own, placing a kiss on top of his thigh.

Goku breathes easy now with satisfied relief, looking down at you to see your smug little grin at him. “That was close...” His eyes lower into an alluring leer down at you, his expression changing with a smirk of his own. The chair is pushed back and he slides down to his knees in front of you. “Just whose side are you on anyway?”

“My side, I’m done sharing you for today, Super Farmer.” You admit with a shameless shrug. You recline to lie back flat upon the tarp spread out around you and lift your own legs from beneath you to place along his shoulders. “What d’ya say? Wanna bring me back to do it all over again?”

The saiyan pulls your hips up onto his lap and removes your clothing from the hips down, readjusting your legs over each of his shoulders again. “Maybe I don’t wanna share you, either. I don’t wanna make it a habit.” His lowered tone vibrates off you skin when he placed kisses along your exposed skin, caressing your legs down to your thighs. Your hips are then lifted from his lap and legs pushed back towards your own body, feeling him press close against your ass and slowly dragging his length back and forth against your folds. “But you deserve a reward too for all your hard work. I’ll give it to you.”

[scummy-writes]

A Helping Hand

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1753

Pairing: Arthur/Mc

Tags: Fingerfucking, Vagina Fingering, Flirting

Full fic under the cut!

Preview:

Admittedly, it took you a moment to take in what he meant, and his chuckle at how quickly you blushed only further flustered you as the heated puffs against the shell of your ear sent a jolt of arousal through you.

“My, someone is thinking dirty thoughts.”

“That’s not- you started it!”

“I don’t mind finishing it,” his tone dipped lower, his hand tracing your side until the pads of his fingers rubbed against the fabric of your skirt, "if you'll let me."

-----

Cleaning the study usually didn’t bring forth any issues. The residents often left you alone as they preoccupied themselves, neither of you paying much attention to the other. Usually the only one to give you any sort of trouble was the resident flirt, Arthur, who took any chance he could to make heat rise to your cheeks.

You knew it was a game of some sorts- how could it not be? Since the night you arrived, the two of you had been dancing around the flirting teases you were both guilty of. Foolishly, you wanted to defend yourself when it was brought up, making flimsy excuses to yourself that it was just playful banter that Arthur had started. But as the weeks turned into months, it was harder to dismiss the other ways he managed to make you blush. Or the way you found yourself jealous of the women he played with so often, or the way managing to make him smile outside of flirting made your stomach flutter…

But today, as Arthur toyed with your hair and almost closed the space between your bodies, you couldn’t dismiss the fluttering feeling as your heartbeat drummed in your ears.

“Arthur…”

“Are you using a new perfume? Why, it smells just like the one I suggested to you the other day.”

You blushed, feeling the back of the couch press against you as you attempted to step back, “i-is it? I didn’t realize…”

“Come now, you don’t have to pretend, you know? In fact, I’d be pleased to know you bought it because of me- my only complaint is that I wished you’d let me buy it.”

“I don’t need any pointless gifts, though.”

“Would a thank you gift for all your hard work be pointless?” Arthur let your hair drop from his nimble fingers, instead tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. An attempt to make you answer, or fluster you further… You weren’t sure which was the real reason.

“Well, at the time you didn’t say it was for a reason like that!”

“I’m aware. In fact I remember it quite clearly. You looked positively radiant that day and I saw it fit to-”

Embarrassed, you pulled his hand away so you could look away from that smug grin of his; but he wasn’t deterred, instead he continued, “I saw it fit to attempt spoiling our lovely housekeeper on her first day out of the dusty old mansion for the first time in weeks.”

“I go out more than that,” you huffed.

“Grocery shopping and chasing after us for forgetting a brolly doesn’t count, luv.”

You crossed your arms, thankful it gave a bit of space between the two of you, as the smell of his cologne was beginning to make you lose your reason.

“Still…”

“You are so delightfully stubborn,” he murmured before perking up again, “there’s always other ways I could show my appreciation though- ways that don’t involve money.”

Admittedly, it took you a moment to take in what he meant, and his chuckle at how quickly you blushed only further flustered you as the heated puffs against the shell of your ear sent a jolt of arousal through you.

“My, someone is thinking dirty thoughts.”

“That’s not- you started it!”

“I don’t mind finishing it,” his tone dipped lower, his hand tracing your side until the pads of his fingers rubbed against the fabric of your skirt, "if you'll let me."

Suppressing any further noise was difficult, as a quiet and aroused gasp tumbled out of your lips before you rushed to cover your mouth. Because it wasn't as if you didn't want to feel Arthur like this, it was just the embarrassment of being so needy with such a flirt felt as though it'd eat you alive before any vampire could. But Arthur caught the slip of pleasure, testing a brief kiss to your cheek.

"Mm, I do so love those sounds of yours," his hand rucked up your skirt, fingers dancing along your inner thigh, "say, let's draw out more, shall we?"

Arthur had you pinned to the back of the couch, but he still didn't push further once you cautiously grasped at his clothes- one hand still grazed your sensitive skin, while the other rested on the couch. The pause let you gather your thoughts, let you think a bit more clearly, yet the first words out of your mouth quickly gave yourself the answer you sought.

"W-what if someone else comes in?"

Arthur didn't miss a beat, pulling back to give you a smirk, "I do spend a fair amount of time in here, dove, I'm certain no one will stumble upon us-"

"B-but-"

"But if they do, you can blame me for anything that comes from it. Besides, I don’t intend to go too far."

You blushed, grip on his vest tightening.

"Then… what do you intend?"

That drew out another low laugh, his head ducking to press slow kisses along your jawline, "to let my favorite bird have a moment to relax, after all your hard work about the place."

"Th-thats it?"

"I'm always willing to provide more if you'd like?"

Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you finally spoke once your thoughts returned, "T-this is fine, f-for now."

Arthur waggled his eyebrows, "for now?"

You turned your head aside, embarrassment overtaking you. But he gently kissed your cheek, sliding the hand between your thighs up.

"I'm just teasing, luv. Now, let yourself relax, and tell me if you want me to stop."

"A-alright…"

With your permission shakily given, your shame ebbed away as he began to trail kisses along your neck, as if each brush of his lips against your skin was a reassurance. At the same time, Arthur stroked your slit through your underwear, letting out a small groan when he found the fabric damp. Your hands instinctively tugged him closer by his vest, resisting the urge to clamp your knees shut. This time he didn't tease you with that silver tongue of his, but you could feel his smile on each kiss.

You weren't sure what exactly he was getting out of this, but you tried to dispel those thoughts. Instead your face buried against his shoulder as his fingers dipped into your panties, quickly sliding over your clit and giving a few gentle swirls.

"My~, look at how wet you are…"

"H-hush…" The scold came out weakly, a groan shuddering out when his fingers began to stroke your sensitive nub in earnest.

He didn’t seem deterred by your retort, instead shifting to tease your entrance briefly before slipping his fingers inside. Eyes fluttering shut, you let this pleasure slowly build up in your abdomen, mentally thanking whatever Gods were out there for giving you the courage to accept Arthur’s offer.

“That’s it… Just like that,” his knee slotted between yours, a shiver running through him when your thigh brushed against his crotch. Momentarily, you could feel just how much this was working him up, but Arthur pushed your focus elsewhere again, nipping at your ear as he continued, “let me hear all of those little gasps, hm?”

The palm of his hand rubbed against your clit as he pumped his middle and ring fingers inside, focusing on the right spot that made you tremble and tighten your grip on his clothes. And thankfully, much of Arthur’s teases didn’t go too far. He just murmured soft praises and encouragements, many of which drowned themselves out as you kept trying to keep ahold of yourself for as long as possible.

It was… Embarrassing, to a certain extent- to get this close to the edge so quickly. But really, how long had it been for you since someone else had pleasured you?

Somewhere along the process you managed to nuzzle into his neck; hiding both your blush and muffling the few louder cries that spilled out as he thrusted harder. In this unplanned position, it was easy to feel the rumble of his chuckle through his chest. You just wished it didn’t send another wave of excitement through you.

“A-Arthur-!” You twisted your fingers in the fabric of his clothes, your body betraying you and rocking against his hand impatiently. In response, he carefully forced you to look up at him, and in the deep blue of his eyes you could see how easily your face betrayed your emotions. His lips quirked into a small smile, then he ran his thumb over your chin.

“I know a much better way of doing that,” Arthur spoke softly against your lips before taking them in his own, luxuriating on your taste once your tongues met. He kept the kisses slow in contrast to how hard his fingers were working your sweet spots, and you felt your legs tremble against your will as the wash of your orgasm overcame your senses.

Arthur quickly used his free hand to keep your head in place, greedily stealing any kisses he could as you gasped between them, still pumping inside of you until your eyes watered. It wasn’t until you blinked a few tears that he finally slowed his hand, kissing the stray salty droplets away. When you struggled as he stepped back to pull his hand out from under your skirts, he eased you to rest fully against him as you caught your breath.

There was some shuffling as Arthur brought out his handkerchief to wipe his hand clean, pouting a little when you denied his offer to help tidy you up, but otherwise he let you linger as much as you wanted. He combed his fingers through your hair as he waited, breaking the silence only after it was clear you were calm.

“While I’m confident not many come into the study, I’m sure if Sebas starts to notice your absence, he might start to search…”

Ah.. Feeling a little dejected, you pulled away. Catching sight of Arthur’s sympathetic gaze earned you a quick peck to the cheek.

“I did rather enjoy myself,” he admitted, helping you resituate your clothes, “I hope you did as well, dove.”

You smiled, indeed feeling a bit bolder knowing that his flirting wasn’t for nothing, “I did… And perhaps it’s giving me a few ideas for a return ‘thank you’ gift as well…”

"Then next time I wouldn't mind slipping under there myself," he gave your skirts a gentle tug, grinning when your cheeks bloomed red and you swatted his shoulder, "have a care, luv! Only if you'd let me!"

----

Arthur may say this is just for her, but I think we all know he's going to remember this fondly on lonely nights.

This has been in my drafts for some time now... I finally sat down today and just powered through and finished it... Second old draft I've done within a month! I hope I can keep this streak going... Thank you all for always being so patient with me qq

Masterlist | Ikevamp Server (18+)

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[bjy-on-ao3]

Hi, I really love your writing on Ao3! I was wondering if you could write an Adachi x reader where Adachi slips it in while reader is sleeping? Maybe halfway through being fucked reader wakes up but pretends to be asleep anyway because they are enjoying it? I imagine that they'd probably already have a preexisting sexual relationship and have talked about the sex that they are okay with (that could be a creative choice for you tho idc. manipulative adachi sexy). best wishes!

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page)

Here you are, anon! This one really struck a cord with me, and I knew I had to fill it, eventually.

Summary 

Adachi gives Reader a pleasant morning surprise to indulge a desire they previously confessed to him.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Hair-Pulling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex

Rise & Shine (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

The early rays of morning scattered through the window blinds, bathing the otherwise dark bedroom in pale stripes of yellow and gold. The cloying spring heat had yet to creep in, some remnant of the coolness of night lingering, lending a refreshing feeling, rather than one hot and clinging. Tohru Adachi stirred on the bedsheets of the mattress next to the mostly shuttered window.

He started to disentangle himself lazily from the light sheets, but stopped. A look of confusion spread across his face when he noted sitting up wasn’t as easy as it should have been, the cause your prone form tucked so securely against him. He remembered falling asleep at your apartment after some drinks at Shiroku and a couple rounds of fun, but you had fallen asleep with ample distance between you. Adachi decided you must have unconsciously snugged up to him while the both of you slept.

Though he was confused, that didn’t mean Adachi wasn’t exactly displeased. Neither of you had bothered to re-dress at all before passing out the night before. That left you naked, pressed against him, at least before he tried to extricate himself from your grasp. His eyes roved unchastely over your bare skin, exposed where the sheets rode down past your hips. Lying flat on your stomach after he had escaped your cuddling, your arms splayed on the pillows, legs spread haphazardly. He eyed the swell of your chest pressing into the soft mattress and the tantalizing curve of your ass, his gaze lingering as his hunger was roused.

In that moment, Adachi recalled a conversation that had taken place between the two of you not long ago. You had opened up to him a little with your fantasies and wants, admitting with a thoroughly hot face and hushed tone how badly you wanted him to use you. You hadn’t described exactly how, though, only that your desire for him to use your body however he pleased existed. He remembered how excited the confession had made him, immediately diving into imaginations of how he planned to take you up on it. Somehow, though, the thought had slipped his mind until that instant.

The gears were turning in his head, and Adachi’s lips curled in a sinful, lecherous grin as he came to a decision. What better way to grant your wishes and use you only for his pleasure than to fuck you while you slept, when he had little reason to worry about your satisfaction or concerns. His cock jerked to life at the thought, and his mind was made up.

He drew the sheets the rest of the way off, flinging them to the side where they would remain unwanted and forgotten for some time. The full sight of your body laid out nude before him met him, and another punch of hunger seized him, his reacting in along with it. For a second, Adachi wondered if you would even notice. He couldn’t remember if you were a light sleeper who woke at even a hardly intrusive touch, or if you slept like the dead and would drowse through it all. But he was going to find out very soon. =============================================

It was the touch of something solid and cool between your legs that eased you from the warm, comfortable haze of sleep. It prodded at the soft pink of your cunt before slipping inside with little resistance. At first, you thought you were having some kind of vivid wet dream, but you recognized the strange dark line of half-consciousness, so it was no dream. Something had buried itself inside your cunt, wet and welcoming even while you dozed. The sensation of whatever it was wriggled and curled, easing in and out for a moment before withdrawing altogether.

The thick fog of sleep threatened to lure you back into its clutches with the retreat of whatever had been intruding; you had nearly convinced yourself even if it wasn’t a dream, you had  imagined it. Just a figment of your muddled, half-asleep mind. But whatever it was returned, clamping over your thighs and carefully prying them apart to spread your legs wider. The tip of something far more hot and hard poked at your slick lips, the sensation giving your growing consciousness a jolt. You froze, making yourself remain still despite coming further to, and the thick intrusion sank past your lips and your entrance.

A low, blissful groan caught your attention when the hardness filled you completely, and your cunt clenched reflexively around it. Several debauched noises longed to free themselves from your throat at the aching fullness, but you quashed them, forcing yourself to feign sleep. The groan no doubt belonged to the man you had fallen asleep beside the night before, there was no denying that. You were led to a conclusion even your hazy mind could make: Adachi was the one buried deep inside your cunt, basking in the tight embrace of your soft, wet flesh around his cock.

The realization didn’t alarm or upset you, though. In fact, it only made your cunt feel wetter, and your walls tightened around him again, eliciting another erotic, gravelly noise from Adachi, A wicked heat blossomed in your gut and made your heart drum in your chest, your pulse beginning to race. It almost embarrassed you how much being fucked while you ‘slept’ turned you on, and you wondered fleetingly if he noticed how readily your body responded to him. Would he think nothing of it and just assume you were still dreaming and none the wiser?

Any thoughts were drowned out, though, when Adachi’s hips pulled back and he thrust back into your heat, the start of a steady rhythm. He rocked his hips languidly against your backside, obviously in no rush. A series of small, carnal, and oh-so-arousing sounds drifted from his lips as he pumped his cock in and out of your core. Sounds quiet enough that if you had really been asleep, you doubted you would have noticed at all. You struggled not to react too noticeably to them or from the roll of his hips. But you couldn’t help squirming here and there, a muffled, sleepy whimper escaping every once in a while. You hoped Adachi chalked them up to simply unconscious and involuntary reactions.

Whatever the case, your wriggling and tiny, nearly incoherent gasps and murmurs spurred Adachi onward, and his pace increased, fucking you more thoroughly into the bed. Each deep thrust made you want to swoon and melt and moan. The weight of Adachi’s body pressed into your back, his skin already growing slick with beads of sweat, radiating heat against you.

“Y’know,” he growled casually in your ear, “you’re a really bad actor.” His pace didn’t stop, and he his came to tangle in the sheets beside your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your cunt more roughly.

You ignored him, unsure if he knew you were awake and was telling the truth, of if he was searching for some kind of conscious reaction to find out. Things were too enjoyable though to let them end so easily. Until Adachi could prove you were awake, you were more than pleased to let him have his way with you.

A moment of silence punctuated only by the sounds of sex passed, and then a low, contemplative hum droned beside you. “Well, I guess if you’re really sleeping through this, I can do whatever I want,” he said coyly, and to some it might have sounded almost like a threat. Right then, to you, it was a sinful promise you silently bade him to fulfill.

His hips snapped harder against you, and it was even more of a struggle to fight back the noises that wanted to break free, each thrust so deep it provoked a guttural response. He adjusted himself, tilting his hips and pressing his body more firmly against yours. You didn’t know if it was out of mere convenience for him, or on purpose to overwhelm you and shatter your charade, but the new angle brought on a greater ordeal.

Each rough stroke of his cock, besides sinking so deep, brushed against a much more receptive spot that made your gut twist in a distinctly pleasant way. You tried to disguise the way you turned your head to push it into the pillows as an unconscious reaction, though you unsure how long Adachi would continue to buy your act, if he didn’t already know the truth.

Each time he drove back inside, you lost more resolve to keep pretending, and to disguise and smother your moans and the way your body so badly wanted to meet his thrusts. The molten feeling that had grown in your belly served only to weaken you further, welling up inside and proving more demanding and wild than the sounds of pleasure seeking escape.l

You pressed your face into the pillows more as a particularly stubborn moan bubbled up, much louder than any of the others, trying in vain to stifle it. Though as soon as the sound left your lips, smothered as it was, your little game of pretend was over. A rough hand tangled in your hair, grabbing tightly and jerking your head back and away from the pillows. Your new position left you no choice but to moan freely into the air, already hot and thick with sex and sweat. The stubborn moan seemed like the bursting of a dam, and there was no stopping the myriad cries that followed it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Adachi hissed in your ear, amused and breathless. “Pretending you had no idea what I was doing and getting off on being treated like the little cock sleeve you wanted to be?”

With your act revealed, you had no reason to try to fool Adachi any longer. You gave into the carnal heat swelling inside you, crying out and finally slamming your hips back to meet his. “Fuck, yes! Use me, please,” you begged, and Adachi’s stinging grip in your hair tightened reflexively. “I want to be your plaything; use me however you want!” your voice broke with your admission, shattered by a stroke that stole your breath away and made your made briefly go blank.

The words were a catalyst, stoking Adachi’s already boiling lust to even greater heights. He rutted harder against you, feeling the urgency of an orgasm dawning on him, your shameless enthusiasm speeding it along. He relished the outpouring of bawdy shouts and moans bubbling from your mouth now that he had called your bluff. His fingered remained snared in your hair, pulling your head back almost painfully and ensuring there was no chance to muffle a single sound more.

You could feel Adachi’s desperation mounting behind each thrust, even through the lingering haze of sleep clouding your awareness. You felt it in the tension of his body, pushing yours so forcefully into the bed, and in his fingers, both in your hair and on your skin. But you were already ahead of him. The sheer excitement of being fucked in such an obscene fashion made your body tense and burn white hot. Each time Adachi filled you up again, it forced another cry from your lips, and the liquid heat wound tighter and more intense.

Your breathing hitched, becoming quickly ragged and sharp, and Adachi’s was just as labored in your ear. You bucked back against him mindlessly, seeking the last little push you needed and thinking of nothing else. When you came, his named rolled off your tongue in waves, interrupted by moans that pitched more desperate and airy as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He bent his head, and his teeth scraped the nape of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he could find to leave a colorful, stinging mark. The sharp sensations added to the ripples of pleasure dancing through you, and your voice cracked in your ecstasy. His tempo slowed, gaining force where it lost momentum, until the smack of his skin on yours was clear even through the chorus of groans and cries ringing out. When he finished, he bit down again, harder, so hard a moan turned into a brief yelp, even though he hadn’t broken the skin.

With each spurt of his cum that filled you, Adachi groaned, long and low, the noise feral and thick. The sounds made you shudder, and your cunt squeeze him tighter, even though your orgasm was wearing away and coming to an end. Finally, Adachi was spent, and you were left sweat-slicked and nearly panting, his grasp on your hair loosening. You couldn’t think beyond the feel of him still sheathed in your cunt, or the sound of his heavy breathing beside you. Even smothered beneath his weight, your mind had room only for the pleasures of the afterglow.

You rested limp and pliant against the bedsheets as Adachi released your hair, and when you lay your head on the pillows again, they felt blissfully cool. You were too tired and out-of-sorts to move when Adachi withdrew, vaguely noting the sensation of something warm and thick trickling down your thighs.Adachi didn’t bother laying back in bed, instead rolling to the side and getting to his feet. You summoned the energy to roll over and watch him as he went about getting cleaned up before searching for his clothes and re-dressing.

After several minutes, Adachi had sorted himself out and made himself presentable - or at least what counted as presentable for detective with his routinely messy hair, crumpled clothes, and crooked tie. By then, you had regained steady breathing, watching him lazily and propping yourself up on your elbow. He took one last glance over himself, patting the pockets of his slacks for his phone and keys and ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything, Satisfied everything was accounted for, he walked to the beside, bending down and taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger before tipping your head to meet his gaze.

“I’ve gotta get going now, sweetheart. Be good while I’m gone and maybe I’ll indulge more of your sick little fantasies the next time I come over,” he promised, punctuating his words with a kiss. It was a gesture that might have seemed sweet or affectionate, were it not for the sharp, hungry bite he left on your bottom lip.

Then, he was gone without another word, leaving you with a burning face, an aching cunt oozing cum, and many angry marks that would soon turn various shades of blue and purple. Yet, you were left also with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction that outweighed everything else. You slid back down onto the bed, recounting what had just happened. Even just the memory sent your arousing spiralling out of control all over again.

It was going to be torture waiting for the next time you could get together.

[mandoinevarro]

NO REFUNDS

Words: 5.1k :))

Rating: E, baby

Warnings: Smut (surprise surprise), bad words :0, masturbation, a biiiit of praise kink, face fucking, cumplay? let me know on the comments, etc. etc. 

a/n: Happy Star Wars day!! The first few lines of this are an attempt at dumb comedy, but humor me a little and you’ll get a reward (smut) along the yellow-brick road

Finally, the lanky kid behind the counter stops air drumming with two chicken bones gnawed dry and trails his dopey eyes from the gloved fist on the table, up a bracer, and along a flexed arm, until they settle on the Mandalorian helmet staring him down and waiting for an answer. The employee removes the music bandeau from around his ears and settles it down, its noise so loud Mando can hear it from where it lays. The kid scratches the whiskers of facial hair growing patchy on his cheeks and thoughtfully nibbles on one of the bones, trying to figure out what one does when a client shows up.

“Uh, what?”

“I need to speak to the owner,” the Mandalorian repeats slowly.

“Oh, uh.” Mouth gaping like a fish too stupid to know it should fear hooks, the kid calmly turns his attention to the four walls of the hardware store, searching for guidance in the fluorescent signs hanging around the room and dictating the store’s rules like they’re ancient scriptures:

NO CHILDREN

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

NO IMPS

NO REPUBLIC OFFICIALS

NO REFUNDS

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

“You, uh,” the kid continues, lingering on that last stanza and flicking open a dusty agenda that probably hasn’t been touched since the war ended, “you got an appointment, uh, sir?” He drags a greasy finger down the planner, squinting at nothing and pretending to read the page that Mando can clearly see is empty.

The bounty hunter sighs, holding on to the last reserves of patience that hang precariously on the cliff of his self-restraint, threatening to let go and leave him to his own anger. “No. But she’ll see me.” You better. You better fucking see him. “I was sold equipment here a few days ago, some of it faulty. I need to speak to her.”

The navigator. The fucking navigator. Of all the bunch of overpriced, black market scraps you’d somehow convinced the Mandalorian to buy from you last time, it just had to be the navigator. He still has his old blasters. Pumps are cheap. Even the deflector shields he could’ve done without for a couple of months. But the fucking navigator. The lack of droids on the Crest means that Mando relies solely on the navigator to set coordinates. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way out of a system, let alone make hyperjumps. Even worse, the model is so old, its glitching isn’t recognized by the control panel, so he had to hover around the atmosphere of this damned planet for three days before figuring out what it was, throwing off his schedule and losing track of two bounties in the process. All because you sold him a damaged version of the one part he can’t do without.

But your gaping-mouthed kid worker seems too unused to visitors to really care about Mando’s request, too entertained nibbling on a bare bone and eyeing the costumer in front of him as a knowing smirk cracks his lips and he says, “I dig it.”

“You…you ‘dig it’? I don’t…”

“The whole, y’know.” He draws circles in the air with the bone, signaling the beskar armor while he wipes the sauce around his mouth with a sleeve. “The, uh, Mondolarian vibe you’ve got going on. Very retro, dude. I dig it.”  

Mondo…? Bewilderment overshadows irritation for a second, and Mando focuses all his energy into searching the kid’s vacant eyes for a sign of intelligent life. “I…I am a Mandalorian.”

Fucking stars above, it’s never easy with you. If not your endless teasing, it’s the exorbitant prices, your unwillingness to compromise, or your scurrying around so he’s forced to play cat and mouse with you. Your latest impossible challenge for him to tackle is, apparently, getting a straight answer from the obtuse employee you must have handpicked from a catalogue of idiots to torture Mando. Maker, he’s surprised your store hasn’t gone bankrupt yet. He can’t imagine anyone else in the galaxy putting up with your whims. And he only does it because…well, because…

After dedicating a couple of seconds to crafting the perfect response for what appears to be his very first client, the kid muses, “Well, shit, what do I know.” He flashes a toothy smile as he rereads the dogmas on the walls. “Says nothing about Mondolarians here, but, uh—”  

��—Look,” Mando bargains with your gatekeeper, trying to level the exasperation escaping the vocoder, “I only have one faulty part. Let me talk to the owner, and—”

“—Shit. I bet it was the microvalves.” Your staff of one hangs his tuff of hair in shame, swaying it limply from side to side, before staring straight at the visor apologetically. “My bad, dude, I’ve been trying to get them right, but I always fuck them up. It’s hard, y’know? Red with red, white with white. Why not red with white? Or—”

“—No. What? No. Listen to me. You sold me a busted—”

“—I sold you?” the kid scoffs, his eyes suddenly snapping wide and offended, ignoring Mando’s clenching fists, which usually make normal people cower. “Excuse me, mister Mondolarian sir, but I don’t, uh, don’t recall selling you shit, in fact—”

“—Not—not you personally, the store, look, just—”

“—in fact, I’ve never even met a Mondolarian before and you’ve, uh, no right—no right— to judge my microvalves that I worked hard on—”

“Let him in.” Your voice carries its usual amusement as it cuts between the Mandalorian and the kid, breaking off the bickering from both ends and drawing their attention to the melody’s source. You lean on the doorframe leading to your workshop, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a wrench in the other. Grease is smeared on your face, where teeth bite down on a playful smirk and the twinkle in your eyes speaks of terrible intentions—like always. You tilt your head back to the room behind you. “C’mon, Mando. Let my receptionist work.”

With a sigh, the hunter moves towards the separate room, not before glancing back at the receptionist, who throws him one last disapproving look and wraps the bandeau that never stopped blasting music around his ears.

“Why do you keep him here?” the Mandalorian grunts as you push yourself off the doorframe to move inside your studio.

You shrug. “It’s him or droids.”  

Mando trails after you inside the cramped workshop, filled to the brim with piles and piles of sensors and motors and all the other scraps from dubious origins you collect, fix, and resell. He closes the door behind him and pushes a large tube hanging from the roof to the side to walk closer to you.

Facing him, you plummet on your wheeled chair with a sigh, your arms dangling off the armrests, still holding the wrench and the pliers, like you’re the monarch of your little kingdom of junk granting him an audience.

There, Mando finally gets a good look at you, and—much to his annoyance—you’re as lovely as always. Glistening and greasy, you’re still beautiful with oil stains on your skin and fat droplets of sweat trailing your temple. You beam at him from your squeaky throne with that faint grin that attracts nothing but trouble. Maker, no wonder you always manage to talk circles around him. But not this time. This time he won’t fall for your little games. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t. Tonight he’s walking out of here with all of his money, no matter how much you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

The Mandalorian squares his stance and straightens his back in a futile attempt to intimidate you, strutting ahead firmly and pointing an accusing finger at your face.

“You sold me a—”

“—a busted navigator.”  You roll your eyes and push yourself to your legs abruptly before the hunter can get any closer. He stops dead on his tracks. You wave the wrench and the pliers in the air like the conductor of an orchestra. “I sold you a busted navigator.” The vowels are dragged out with an exaggerated tune to make fun of him. “Yeah, I heard you the first four thousand times, Mando.”

Without looking, you drop the pliers to the side. They land dead center on an open storage box. Perfectly. Almost rehearsed. Something clicks. The Mandalorian suddenly finds the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t know needed solving, and he feels his shoulders deflate and release some of the anger that drove him to your store in the first place.

You peacock closer to him, one foot in front of the other and swaying your hips as you look down to the wrench in your hand. “But, you should know by now,” you murmur once you find yourself only inches away from the beskar, your voice morphing its earlier mock exasperation into the tone you only use whenever you two aren’t talking business. You look up at him, failing miserably at masking the mischief in your eyes. “I don’t do refunds.” You lift the wrench and grin as it taps the beskar breastplate lightly with a tink.

And before you can blink, Mando’s hand flies to your wrist to clutch it roughly, squeezing without hurting you, but with enough strength to force your fist open. Just like he knows you like it. The wrench falls to the floor with a bang that makes you jump. It’s Mando’s turn to smile when he pulls you by the wrist to press you closer against him. The cocky glint in your eyes dulls into confusion.

“I never said it was the navigator,” he informs you lowly.

You tense under his grasp and shift your jaw. “You knew I’d come back,” he continues, encouraged by your grimace. Staring at your feet, you half-heartedly try to wriggle away from his grasp, but he grabs your other wrist instead and holds you flush against the cold beskar. “Okay. I’m back. Now give me my money.”

But his satisfaction is short-lived, because if there’s anyone in the universe who knows no shame, that’s you. So you simply bite your lower lip and move your head from side to side to shake hair and embarrassment off your face. When you look up at the visor again it’s with that brazen insolence that secretly gets the Mandalorian going like nothing else in the galaxy.

“A girl gets lonely in here,” you purr. Your wrists relax, and make no attempt to pull away. “Can you blame me for wanting you back a little earlier?” Your plush lips curl into the perverse smile of someone who’s holding all the cards, making heat rush involuntarily to his crotch. And it drives him fucking insane. He could have you tied, shackled, or bent over, and you would still sneer at him like you had him wrapped around your finger.

At his silence, you wedge a leg tightly between his thighs and massage it against the bulge between. Your gasp in fake surprise when his length hardens at the first hint of a brush, too unused to any sort of physical contact to remain neutral to your bold caresses. He bites down hard on his lip to suppress a moan. He won’t give you the satisfaction.

Mando’s learnt, though, that his restraint only feeds your audacity. Only makes you taunt him more. His lack of response spurs you on, and you crane your neck forward to lick a slow line along the beskar of the chest. You blink at him playfully as you go, stuffing your tongue back into your mouth once you reach the top edge of the breastplate.

You must find it funny. How his ribs expand and contract in anticipation. How he tends to roll and unroll his fists in an attempt to suppress the instinct to throw you on top of the table so crowded by clutter that he can barely see the surface beneath and fuck the smirks off your face. How he always gives in. How he stiffens both scandalized and impossibly aroused every time you introduce him to some newer, filthier act. You must think it’s so fucking funny.

And as much as the bounty hunter wants to shove you back against your crumbling wheeled chair, he knows you’ll only enjoy it more. So he simply lets go of your wrists and steps back.

“I’m only here for my money,” he lies.

The vicious grin grows wider. “Oh, so you’re making me work for it tonight.” You step back and lean against a table with your arms crossed over your chest, purposefully pushing your tits against the cleavage. Mando shifts in his place. Licking your lips until they glisten, you give him a once-over. You study him inch by inch, and an uncomfortable rope knots in his stomach when he realizes that this is how his bounties must feel when he watches them wordlessly.

Your eyes settle on his visor, and a decision seems to cross them as you walk over to sit on your creaking chair. “Or maybe you just want to hear me beg.” You part your legs wide and clutch the armrest with one hand while the other disappears under the waist of your pants. The contour of your hand shifts up and down slowly inside the crotch of your trousers, and your lips crook into a full O as they release a deep, foul moan. “Is that it?” Your eyes are glossy and malignant, trained on his visor. “You want me to beg for your cock?”

His leather gloves ball into fists, trying to coax blood into his head and away from his…well, his other head.

Yet you hold him in place with that sinful stare and the lewd whimpers that you know get him off, and yes, fuck yes, he wants to hear you beg and sob for him all night as much as he wants to clog your throat with his shaft and make you swallow your teasing.

But he can’t let you win. You can’t scam five thousand credits out of him and expect him to throw himself into your arms no questions asked. He wants to put an end to your little tyrannical rule on his cock. And he wants his fucking money back.

So the powerful Mandalorian watches helplessly as your hand quickens under your clothing and you throw your head back in ecstasy. That fucking smirk doesn’t leave you, though. Even less so when your palm picks up some speed and you hear his breath hitch involuntarily at the visual, loud enough to override the vocoder.

“C-come on, Mando, don’t—” Your hand sinks deeper into your pants and you hum at the adjustment. “Don’t you wanna teach me what—what proper cos-costumer service looks like? Huh?”

His cock jumps in his pants when you say his name in a wanton gasp, and Mando can see you’re sweating and moving your hips faster against your palm. He’s so hard it hurts.

Your smile falters and you frown impatiently as the pent-up tension threatens to snap in your body.

“Don’t cum,” Mando blurts before he can stop himself.

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t give you what you want.”

Your movements halt on command, and the hunter almost envies the control you have over your own body to be able to backtrack on the very edge of your release. You hold your hands up in triumphant surrender as you watch the Mandalorian approach and stop just a breath away from your body. He stands tall before you, crowding you with his size and turning down the volume on the nagging voice that reminds him that he’s letting you win.

Eyes on the prize ahead of you, you lick your lips and snake a hand beneath your sit. You pull a lever and the chair plummets a few inches until your mouth is directly in front of the rigid tent growing in his pants. Expert fingers undo his belt and lower his fly, but, stars, nothing is fast enough when Mando already feels the veins of his cock growing thicker and thicker. Skipping all formalities, your hand sneaks inside, cups his balls, and pulls all of him outside. He groans when you grab his shaft and squeeze hard from base to tip, your bare palm catching awkwardly on his equally dry skin. Mando melts into the sensation all the same, but you seem displeased with your palm’s lack of fluidity.

“Fuck. Hold on.” A pair of fingers disappear into your mouth and down your throat as far as they’ll go. You choke on them dramatically and your eyes water slightly, but they shine when the two small intruders drag outside your mouth, pulling a thick string of elastic spit with them and dropping it on his shaft, pulsing with anticipation. You lean forward and look up through your lashes as you unroll your tongue slowly and more gooey saliva dangles from it. It’s too dense to spill onto its target, so you pluck the heavy ropes from your mouth and smear it manually on his cock, while a thread of it hangs on your chin.

“Fuck.” Your tiny clenched fist wakes up every nerve in his body as it drags up and down his shaft, obscene and perfectly lubricated. Mando’s hips buck into its grasp involuntarily, so suddenly that you flinch at the unexpected jolt. It’s a small comfort for him, to see that he can also surprise you. But then you’re giggling again, locking him in place by grabbing the buck of his belt with your free hand.

“Eager,” you remark. You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on the tip that digs into his spine. Maker, it was barely anything, but he’s so hard and your mouth is so close. “Aren’t Mandalorians,” you tease, “supposed to have self-restraint?”

Mando’s only answer is a low groan and a gloved hand that tangles on your hair and pushes you forward. You resist, though, instead wrapping a fist around his base and dragging your hot tongue up his underside, stopping just before the tip. A tortured whimper echoes around the helmet, and the Mandalorian is not sure if you could hear it because his muscles pull tighter, drawing his attention to his cock and your mouth and the fact that the latter is not wrapped around him for some reason. As if you could read his mind, you suddenly engulf him whole. Spit gathers on the edge of your lips as you suck on his length, swallowing around the tip and swirling your tongue around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking g-good at this.” You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft that make his knees buckle. He always forgets how good it feels with you. He forgets that you take him perfectly like all your holes were made for him to fuck. That you make his blood run hot with every swing of your tongue and every spasm of your cunt and every insolent remark that escapes your lovely mouth, now busy pleasuring him.

You settle on his head and suck on the bulb, hollowing your cheeks to let him feel the delicious inside of your mouth. Mando grabs handfuls of your hair with both hands, still trying to extinguish little whimpers before they leave his throat. And you can tell. He knows you can tell because determination clouds your eyes as you yank him closer by the belt. You drag your tongue in a circle around the ridge of the head, before dipping into the slit on the tip and finally earning a punched out groan and some beads of precum as a reward. Somehow, you moan and chuckle at the same time, opening your mouth as strings of spit fall to the floor.

“You’re hard, Mando,” you coo, pumping his length while you rub it on the side of your face, “throbbing and so, so hard. You should’ve come to me sooner, baby. You’re desperate.” You suck on the head again, and the Mandalorian’s grip on your hair turns to steel, pulling you into him and no longer asking. Moaning, you let him, taking him as far as you can and wrapping a fist where you can’t reach. Your other hand releases his belt and snakes down to your lap, fumbling with the waistband of your pants.

Somewhere in the swamp of sensations drowning his thoughts, an idea flashes in Mando’s head, and he holds on to it before you can suck it out of his tip. One glove lets go of your hair and quickly grans the hand lowering into your heat to resume touching yourself. His cock still in your mouth, you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and a silent question.

“You can’t c-cum,” he explains, forcing words out of a throat that right now only wants to moan, “un-until you give me my—my refund.”

You groan and roll your eyes, taking your mouth off him with a pop. “Fuck no,” you breathe as you pump him faster and harder, almost making Mando lose his resolve. Almost. His hold on your wrist tightens. “It’s store policy.”

“Y-yeah?” You continue sliding your fist along his shaft, as you lean forward and lower your face to start lightly licking his balls. The room spins around Mando, and his grip on your hair pushes you into him until you suck on one ball gently. “Is—is it store p-policy to—ngh—to f-fuck your clients?”

You chuckle against his taint. Your head straightens to set your attention back on his tip, where he’s leaking an almost embarrassing amount of precum. A thumb brushes over his slit, gathering the pearls and bringing them into your mouth to taste him. The way you rub your core slightly against the chair is sneaky enough, but the Mandalorian catches the movements and tugs your hand and hair tighter as a warning. Your shoulders slump.  “I’ll give you half,” you offer.

Mando guides your hand lower and curls it around his swollen cock, silently begging for your attention. His hand wraps over yours as he squeezes your fist and drags it along his shaft at a pace of his liking that sets his insides ablaze. “Eighty.” The helmet falls back as he revels in the wet sounds of your hand sliding back and forth his cock and giving him a nice enough memory for when he inevitably goes back to the Crest and is forced to take care of his needs himself.

You let him guide you, cupping his balls with your other hand and swirling your tongue around his darkening tip. Mando’s chest trembles with a long moan at the toe-curling feeling of your warm spit and your clenched fist working so hard for him, until you drop him from your mouth and answer, “Seventy.”

“N-no, I—”

“—Seventy,” you repeat and twist your hand away from his grasp, leaving his seeping cock throbbing and abandoned, “or you don’t cum.”

Fuck, he was close. He was so fucking close, before you turned the tables. Like fucking always. A part of him cradles his already bruised pride, shaming him for—yet again—not being able to hold it together around you. But his cock tugs harder. More insistently. It pulls every fiber in his body and screams at him to give you whatever the fuck you want.

“Fine.” He nods his head once, before his better sense can convince him otherwise. “Seventy.”

A full, beautiful smile that almost makes Mando forget he’s getting scammed graces your plump lips. You waste no time shoving your hand inside your underwear again and moving your arm frantically as you give him a couple of throaty whines. You open your mouth as wide as it’ll go and blink up at him, inviting him to take you however he so pleases. He tangles his fingers on your hair and shoves you against him as you wrap your lips around his cock and muffle your mewls on it.

The Mandalorian starts fucking your face, getting his money’s worth as he moves you back and forth. Your eyes water and you gag with every shove, but you work earnestly for him, hollowing your cheeks and moving your tongue and pulling just about every trick on your toolbox to make Mando’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

And stars, even through your pants and his helmet, he can still smell your arousal. He hears the wet squelching of your fingers working your pussy fast and if he could only get a look. One look is all he needs to cum, he’s sure, one fucking look at your clenching cunt and he’s done.

“F-fuck, l-let me see,” he pants, “let—let me s-see you—see your p-pussy cum, just—fuck—just a mo-moment, please, j-just…”

Tears from all the gagging fall out of your pretty eyes as you open your mouth and stand up, taking your trembling hand outside to fumble with your trousers. Your thumbs are hooked under their waistband and push down slightly before you suddenly stop and stare at the Mandalorian gulping all the oxygen he can get and waiting for you. “Sixty,” you say carefully.

Too intoxicated with you and too focused on the blood beating hard on his cock, Mando couldn’t care less. He doesn’t give a shit about percentages or money or parts or whatever half-forgotten excuse he had to come here tonight. All that matters and all that’s real is whatever he needs to climax, and if it means letting you win, so be it. “S-sixty. Yes. Whatever. Just—just take your fucking pants off.”

One swift movement and your pants and underwear pool around your ankles. Yanking hard on the hem, you manage to pull the right leg off your boot. You don’t bother with the other one, letting it hang on your left leg as you climb back on the chair, spreading your legs and hooking one thigh over the armrest to offer him the best view possible.

Mando’s cock threatens to spill at the sight. You’re fucking soaked. Your folds are blushed and slick and swollen with all the blood accumulated on your cunt. Three fingers rub your aching clit and everything around it with messy strokes, as you stare at the bounty hunter with raw lust and moan for him loud and clear, and this. This is worth the fucking navigator.

As soon as his shaft ghost over your face you lean into it and reach for him with your mouth. Mando takes your head between his hands and resumes his previous brutal pace, his eyesight now directed at the way your cunt spasms and seeps more juices with every circle you press against your lips. And, fuck, you’re taking him like you’re hungry for his cock. Pushing harder and further and faster despite the gagging, you’re making Mando see blotches cloud his vision and feel how his muscles turn into hot, thick magma. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t hold it in anymore. His balls start pulling up as a warning and you’re sucking harder and mewling around him.

“I—I…I’m gonna—I—”

Mando can’t find enough words to put together for the life of him, but you nod and manage a chocked “Mhmm” and bob your head to the pace of your quickening fingers and stars oh fuck—

The wave of his climax hits him hard on his back and makes him curl around you. He braces himself against the top of your chair and the change in position makes his cock slip outside of your mouth, but his vision goes completely black and all he can feel is the rush of pleasure crushing his bones into dust. Maybe your name is falling from his lips, but he can’t be sure. The never-ending spurts of cum falling somewhere hoard most of his attention, and he focuses on that thick and heavy release, so rare for him that he puts his mind into savoring every second.

It’s not until the echoes around his ears dissipate that the Mandalorian hears you’re still whimpering. Hunched over you, he opens his eyes just in time to see you gather some of the seed that he spilled on your neck and bring it down to smear it over your bundle of nerves, rubbing it one, two, three, four times, before you’re sobbing long and loud. Your hole tightens around nothing, your forehead resting on his cuisse, and Mando thinks he could get hard again just from the image.

You both stay like that for a while, curled into each other and panting in turns, until Mando gathers all the energy left in his system to pull himself upright and shove his softening shaft back into his pants. It’s only then that he sees just how much of a mess he made: Cum landed everywhere. It hangs thick all over your face, on your neck, on your hair, on your clothes. He blushes darkly and he’s about to open his mouth to apologize, but you sense it. Somehow. You wink and brush off his shame with a smile and a wave of your hand, standing up to get dressed. But Mando’s quicker. He kneels in front of you and gently raises your underwear until it hugs your hips, wishing for a fleeting second he could press a kiss on the supple flesh there. You grab his pauldron for balance to sneak your foot into the pantleg that Mando holds open for you.

For once, it’s he who breaks the silence. “I…I do want my sixty percent, you know.”

“Of course.” You smile sweetly at him, reaching back to your work table to grab a clean rag, rubbing it against your face and neck. “I’ll even throw in some free microvalves for good measure.”

—

Taglist of two so you can keep each other company :) : @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon

[echo-of-sounds]

birthday quickie

-Present Mic x f!reader-

Headcanons and a smut drabble for Hizashi’s birthday!

He would absolutely love a birthday party. It doesn’t matter where, as long as his friends are there. A birthday dinner would be best at a bar. Preferably one with his favorite food and live music. If you wanted to plan an actual party, it would be best at home. He gets so loud and excited, you’d get kicked out of any bar. And don’t bother with a surprise party. No matter how hard you try to keep it a secret, he will find out. He can squeeze information from his friends too easily.

Even though he would love a small trip with just the two of you, it’s difficult to take off for a weekend because of his jobs. Plan a trip for the end of summer, right before school starts up again. It sucks since it’s not on his birthday and you’ll have to wait but it’s worth it when you’re finally on a beach somewhere. It’s a nice relaxing time before he heads back to his stressful jobs.

He’s pretty easy to shop for. He’s constantly in need of hair products. You don’t have to buy the most expensive, best-selling products out there. Any and all is his good in his eyes.

Another option is to find an obscure musical instrument. Nab a dulcimer, lur, or didgeridoo and he’ll be ‘serenading’ you into the night. He may not know exactly how to play them but he will definitely figure it out. The neighbors will come complaining about the godawful sounds while he’s learning.

You could also buy a ton of cough drops and gum for future use. He uses them all the time to protect his throat. It’s not a serious gift but he would still be thankful.

Your phone lit up with a chime. You let go of Hizashi’s hand to read it. “Kayama and Aizawa are on their way to the bar.”

“Tell them we’ll be a little late.”

“Why? We’re almost there.”

The car slowed, coming to a stop on an empty dark side street. You didn’t recognize where you were. The headlights flicked off and the music changed to R&B. You looked at Hizashi to question him but you couldn’t actually ask anything because he immediately kissed you.

He held your neck and bit your lip, raising the intensity quickly. You had to push his chest away to ask, “You seriously can’t wait till later?”

“No.” He took off his glasses and snatched the phone from you, dropping them on the dashboard. He pulled you in for more kissing.

Hearing the click of his seatbelt, you did the same, speaking against his lips, “Let’s get in the back then.”

You stumbled between the seats with a single street lamp for light. He followed, struggling more than you. Your quiet laugh was covered by his own grin. Teeth clinked against yours. You ignored the jolt and took off his jacket.

As he reclined, you leaned towards him. Your kisses drifted down to his jaw. Hands skimmed up your dress to the zipper.

“I don’t need to take it off. I can just pull the bottom up.”

“I want it off.”

You sat up. Lipstick colored his skin.

“It’s my birthday,” he smiled.

You shook your head, unable to hide your own smile. “Fine. Just know that if I come out of this looking terrible, it’s your fault.”

“You could never look terrible.”

You turned for him to unzip the dress. He helped you slip out of it without ripping or tearing anything in the small space. 

Once free, you settled on his lap, meeting his tongue. You felt him growing as you slowly swayed your hips. Thankfully, his hair wasn’t styled so you didn’t have to worry about ruining it while you raked your fingers through the loose strands.

The make out was interrupted when he undid your bra. You took it off then reached for his belt and pants, undoing them just as easily. The top of his boxer briefs bulged. Pulling him out, you sat back, watching him swell from your touch. 

He squeezed your breasts. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.” He bit a nipple, hard. The gasp you tried to suppress still came out loud. His tongue soothed over it before he focused on the other one, doing the same. The sensitive skin fluttered under his soft moans.

You stopped pumping, ready to have him. With his mouth attached to your breast, you moved your underwear to the side and lowered. His sounds increased the further you fell. 

Fully seated, you kissed his temple. “Happy birthday, honey.”

He straightened, looking for your mouth. He hummed a ‘thank you’ and kissed you.

Grabbing the back of the seat, you used the leverage to grind. You spread your thighs, flattening as close to him as you could. He fit so perfectly inside. Friction found on your clit with his moving hips.

Your head dropped. Lips attached to your neck. The fluttering from before turned into strong vibrations. You swore, grinding faster, wanting more stimulation.

“Fuck! Baby-”

You covered his mouth, stopping his rising voice. “People might hear.”

The mumble was barely audible, “I don’t care.”

“I do. I don’t want to get caught.” Removing your hand revealed another pout. “I love you, Hizashi, but we could get in trouble. You can be as loud as you want later. I promise.” You kissed the sulk away.

“Fine. But I’m gonna fuck you so hard later you’ll hurt.” He silenced your reply by biting your lip and leaning forward.

You reclined backward with steadying hands on his knees. Arms held you tight to him. The angle pressed him towards your front wall. You rolled your hips with his. He alternated between your nipples. The constant sucking made them tender.

You whined his name. Fingers bore into your back, urging you to snap back and forth faster. Feeling secure and stable in his arms, you let go of his knee to touch your clit. You clamped around him. His groans deepened and you moved harder.

As he leaned over more, he pushed deeper. Your other hand flung around his shoulders. You jerked in his hold and stroked yourself harshly. It sent you over. You bit your sore lip through the orgasm. Muscles tightened, cramped, then weakened.

He brought your slumped body back into a sitting position. His hold released, letting you slip off to the side to suck him. He grabbed your neck while lazily thrusting. Swollen and salty, he came quickly. 

He drummed on your back. “You good?”

Swallowing, you sat up. “Yeah. Please tell me you have some gum in here.”

“I do somewhere,” he laughed.

You redressed carefully. He had to help with your dress and you wiped the lipstick from him. While he found a parking spot, you fixed yourself to look presentable. It wasn’t as put together as when you left home but it was fine. And he assured you still looked beautiful.

At the bar’s doors, you noticed the last smidge of lipstick on his jaw. “Hold on.” You wet your thumb to wash it off, also running your fingers through his tousled hair. “There. Handsome and ready to go.” He kissed you.

The door opened. “Save it for the bedroom. We’ve been waiting,” Aizawa gruffed, glaring at you two.

“Traffic,” you both said.

“Sure.” He walked away.

[grozusa]

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[ms-demeanor]

It was kind of your side rant in a rant but, is it really not normal in most areas to expect everyone who drives to have at least very basic knowledge of cars? At one point it was nearly a required class in our schools!

Auto shop in my school district got cancelled in 1997, four years before I would have been able to take it. I don’t know what the driver’s ed requirements are like now but I never had to take even a driver’s ed class (I think because I didn’t get my permit until 6 months before I turned 18?). At one point I tried to convince my Girl Scout Troop that we should earn the Car Care Badge but my troop leader was pretty aggressively against it (back in my day the “drive for a greener world” section was “learn how to change your oil” and my troop leader was worried we’d get crushed to death by a car or something).

Beyond that, in spite of living in the strongest car culture in the world, pretty much nobody has ever talked to me about how cars work unless I’ve intentionally sought that information out.

I didn’t know much about working on cars until I started dating my partner, who does all his own car maintenance. Since I started dating my partner and learning how to work on cars I’ve:

replaced my air filter (this is literally the easiest bit of car repair you can do. You’re probably due for it, google “how to change air filter on X type of car”, get a filter from autozone for $17, replace it, and cackle because Jiffy Lube will never again be able to charge you $50 to do it; if you’ve never worked on your car do this now you will feel so powerful and you’ll want to do more)

changed my oil

flushed my transmission

replaced a water pump in a Saturn engine (Saturn engines get bonus difficulty points because they’re so tiny that they’re impossible to work on; part of the reason I’ve done so much repair stuff is because my partner’s hands couldn’t fit in my car’s engine)

replaced a thermostat in a Saturn engine

replaced a bunch of fucking belts (including once with only one wrench and a headlamp in a dark parking lot for a friend)

replaced O2 sensors on three different saturns (delightfully simple; I borrowed a wrench from my dad to replace an O2 sensor once and went outside and came back in five minutes later and he was like “Couldn’t get it done?” and I was like “What? No? I’m putting your wrench back because I’m finished” and he was floored - my dad doesn’t work on cars *at all*)

changed spark plugs

replaced 2 radiators on one miserable 1984 mazda truck

replaced 1 jeep radiator

changed so many headlights

done my brakes a bunch (pads and drums; this shit is so fucking easy please do your own brakes don’t pay the dealership like $600 for $20 in parts and half an hour’s work)

dropped my gas tank to replace the in-tank fuel filter

replaced my valve cover gasket after spending four miserable hours sitting in the engine compartment scraping the old one off

and I’m currently halfway through an ABS deletion on my 1989 XU. (gotta re-run brakelines and it’s annoying and we keep losing track of the double flaring tool)

I am not, by any means, a mechanic but I like working on cars and it’s not as hard as it might seem from the outside.

However I had to go looking for all of that information myself (when we started dating my partner didn’t expect me to work on cars with him, I had to ask him to show me) and anybody else who wants to work on cars has to do the same, at least around here.

Most new vehicles come with a maintenance schedule in the shitty little manual that comes with the car. If you buy new from a dealer they’ll probably have some kind of basic maintenance agreement during the warranty period.

None of that shows you how to jump a car or change your windshield wipers.

Anyway, if you are reading this and you want to learn how to fix your car here are some tips:

Get a real manual for your car. The shitty little twenty page booklet that tells you where the hazards are is good for quick reference but bad for fixing things. Get a Chilton’s Manual. And yeah, I would recommend Chilton’s over Haynes. These are manuals made by independent companies who bought the car in question, stripped it down while documenting it and taking pictures, and put it back together. These are *great.* I give out as gifts.

Go look for a forum on your particular type of car - this works if you’re having in-the-moment problems too. At one point my buddy was going to pick me up but his car wouldn’t re-start; we looked on a forum, discovered it was a fuse problem, found the super secret re-activation button hidden under a panel in the center console, and were able to drive off on our merry way to try to replace the fuse (I bought four sets of fuses before we gave up - turns out it was an accessory fuse for the brake light on the camper shell and also Toyota makes it so that a burned fuse on an accessory can pretty much kill your car, so that’s fun!)

Look for youtube videos of the fix you want to do. They’re not going to be out there for everything, some car communities have more nerds than others (jeeps jeeps jeeps jeeps jeeps jeep nerds are NERDS and there are videos for everything) but you’ll at least be able to find something similar to cross-reference the fix with your Chilton’s Manual.

If you want to learn or read about general repair stuff check out the Wrenching tag on Jalopnik. I find Jalopnik very soothing and read it a lot.

See if your local community college has an Automotive Technology program - there should be introductory courses and advanced courses and it’s a lot of work to take a class like that but it’ll be extremely worth the time and effort.

Ask to help when people you know are working on their cars. Your buddy  probably could use a spare set of hands to do his brakes and you can learn by watching and helping.

[hockeyboysiguess]

Let’s Fall in Love for the Night

a/n: i listened to this song (let’s fall in love for the night by FINNEAS) and immediately got hit with matty vibes. enjoy! let me know if you wanna see more tkachuk writing!

Let’s fall in love for the night

And forget in the morning

Play me a song you like

You bet I’ll know every line

I’m the boy your boy hoped you’d avoid

Don’t waste your time on jealous guys, fuck that noise

I know better than to call you mine

You slammed the shot glass down on the bar, your face scrunching up as the tequila burned down your throat. You shook your head as the liquid settled in your stomach and then let out a sigh.

“I think I need another one,” you shouted over the music to your friend Jess.

“Whatever you need, babes,” she said, already leaning across the bar to wave down the bartender. “I know you just asked for space, but you need to dump his ass now.”

“I know what you think. You’ve been telling me every fifteen minutes,” you threw back at her, “but it’s not that easy. We’ve been together forever and I don’t really know what my life looks like without him anymore.”

“You get to hang out with me more,” she sang at you as two more shots appeared in front of you. “The biggest thing, babes, is that you deserve better than him on literally every level.”

You took the shot, knowing she was about to continue her rant of trashing your long-time boyfriend that she’d started five minutes before you’d even arrived at her house to pregame together.

“You are smarter than him. You are hotter than him, like look at you!” She gestured to your body and you rolled you eyes. You used her outstretched hand as an opportunity to put her shot in her hand. “Your ass looks killer in those pants and you and I both know it. Where was I? Oh, right! You are the breadwinner in that relationship. He has that lame-ass, poor-paying job and he refuses to get a better one even though you have the same degree. Who the fuck does that? You pretty much pay all of the bills while he does god knows what.”

She found a pause long enough to take her shot, which very clearly did not go down smoothly. She stuck her hand out to indicate she needed antoehr second before she could continue. You took the moment to order a drink, an actual beer instead of another shot.

“Most importantly of all!” Jess drummed her palms on the bar as she worked her way up to something. “He is terrible at sex!” You tried to shush her because she had shouted that loud enough to get the attention of a few interested parties around you, but you had no luck. “I mean, did her ever make you finish once? In three years? God, he sucks so bad and you need to actually for sure dump him and kick him out of the apartment you pretty much pay for by yourself. ”

You sighed, not loving your life choices that led to this moment right now. You were grateful the bartender dropped your beer in front of you so you could hide behind the bottle instead of answering. Part of you knew she was at least a little bit right, but you didn’t know what everything looked like without him and there were some parts of him that you couldn’t let go of, some moments that pulled at your heart when you thought about. He’d been so much worse lately though and you were having a hard time continuing to give him chances because a second chance happened so long ago you might have run out of numbers.

“Any reason a girl who looks this good is looking sad and drinking a pretty shitty beer at a bar on a Saturday night?”

You turned to see who had spoken and were met with piercing blue eyes and a mess of curly hair. Stubble coated his jawline and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. Objectively attractive. Objectively your type. Objectively trouble.

“I’m Matthew,” he told you. “You are?”

You sighed, debating if you should cut him off with mercy like you were used to doing. Jess cut in before you could, telling him your name and hers before you could back out.

“So, about that terrible beer,” he picked it up and slid it close to the opposite edge of the bar from you, “can I buy you a better one?”

As if he knew, your phone lit up on the bar with your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen, the hearts on either side of his name mocking you. You sighed and opened the text anyway.

I know you’re out with Jess right now and I just wanted to say that I know we’re taking some space right now, but space doesn’t include seeing other people to me. So I’m not gonna do it and I sure hope you’re not.

“Oh my god, give me your phone,” Jess whined from Matt’s opposite side. “I need to throw your phone into a blender. He needs to stop texting you.”

“Boyfriend?” Matthew asked you, an eyebrow raising at the question. “Seems like the jealous type if he’s texted that much.”

Your eyes shifted from your phone to Matthew and back again. He was trying to control you even after you asked for space. You were done just like that. You shot off a quick text to him that simply read ‘We’re done. Get your shit out of my apartment,’ then shoved shoved your phone into your purse, deciding to forget about him and whatever he was about to do next for the rest of the night.

“No, my ex. He still has shit at my apartment and is trying to figure out when he can come get it,” you replied

Jess started freaking out behind you, her fists pumping into the air in wild, uneven movements in her drunken excitement.

“Good,” Matthew smiled at you, “so, about that drink?”

Three more drinks each in an hour and you were stumbling through the front door of Matt’s apartment, his mouth clumsy against yours thanks to the alcohol and his efforts removing his jacket at the same time. You giggled when he cursed against you mouth as he had to pull way to actually get his jacket off. He tossed it somewhere behind you as his mouth reconnected with yours.

His hands were so different compared to your ex. You felt bad comparing them, that your mind was wandering there, but you couldn’t help it. Matthew pulled at different parts of you than he did. His hands on your hips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, one of his legs pushing between yours as he guided you so your back was pressed against the nearest wall. One of his hands ran up towards your chest, your shirt riding up with it. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Matthew groaned when he saw move of your body. “You’re so fucking sexy.” 

“Then stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

Your last words came out as a moan as his mouth found your neck. He chuckled against your skin as he travelled down, sinking low so his lips could kiss along the edge of your low cut shirt. His large hands wrapped around the back of your thighs and he suddenly lifted you, drawing a yelp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders for stability. 

“I hope you know what you’re in for.” 

Apparently what you were in for was the best sex you’d ever had. Your chest was steal heaving with your second orgasm when Matt slid off the bed. He stepped into his boxers before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand. 

“Any idea where my purse is?” you asked him. 

“Uh, I think kitchen counter?” He said it like a question, so much so he threw in additional, “Maybe?” 

You sighed and rolled yourself out of his bed, sliding on your panties and bra before heading toward the kitchen. Your purse hadn’t quite made it to the counter, falling short onto the floor. You grabbed your phone and headed back toward’s Matthew’s room. You audibly groaned when you saw the notifications on your phone. 13 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 26 text messages. All from him.

“Jesus,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I know I’m pretty good, but already moving on to god-like compliments?”

Matthew’s joke brought you out of the spiral your brain had started to go down. You scrunched your nose up at him and stuck your tongue out, which made him throw his head back and laugh. 

“So you had a good time then,” he chided you. His phone hanging loose in his hands as he did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes were raking up and down your body right now. “Wanna go again?” 

“Give me like ten minutes,” you mumbled. 

You barely registering what he’d said as you started to scroll through his texts. Each one was crazier then the last. Guaranteed, you had ended a three-year relationship with a guy you lived with over text, but you hadn’t realized quite how unhinged he could sound sometimes. You’d barely gotten a quarter of the way in when your phone was taken from your hands.

“Hey, that’s mine!” you whined. Matt was dangling it above your head, completely out of your reach. “Matthew, give it back.” 

“Mm, nope. It’s mine for tonight and so are you,” he informed you. “Pick a song.” 

He offered his phone out to you instead, Spotify open for you. He wiggled it a little from side to side to try and peak your interest. 

“Let’s forget about that douchebag after I just fucked you way better than he does, okay? You pick a song and then we’ll go again and I’ll fuck you even better. Deal?” 

A smirk pulled at the corner’s of his mouth. He knew you weren’t going to say no before you’d even decided to say yes. You weren’t sure how he’d known it was your ex. You’d probably given it away somehow. Your mom had always told you that you were an open book, begging to be read. You sighed and took his phone, deciding this night you might regret was better than dealing with you current problems.

You played the first thing you could think of. You regretted your choice as the first few chords started and Matt started laughing at your choice. 

“Sorry, that’s super fucking lame,” you mumbled as you began your search for a new song. 

“No, no,” Matt’s hands wrapped over your to stop your movements. “I love this song, even though it’s definitely super fucking lame.” 

You smiled up at him and it made a mirroring smile come across his face. You let go, letting yourself be entirely in this moment tonight. You let yourself forget the texts and voicemails waiting for you. You let yourself forget how horrible it going home tomorrow was going to be. Instead, you let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a mess of curls distract you. You made him yours for the night, thinking that was all it could be. 

You need a pick-me up?

I’ll be there in twenty-five

I like to push my luck

So take my hand, let’s take a drive

“Are you up?”

Matthew usually texted you. By usually you mean over the past two months where you’d seen him at least three times a week. Fresh off your breakup, he’d become a great regular distraction that made it worth your time to text him instead of trying your chances at the bar again. Apparently he was either drunk or couldn’t read a clock because it was midnight on a Tuesday and he was calling you.

“Well, I answered the phone,” you groaned as you rubbed your eyes with your free hand, trying to wake yourself up a bit. “What’s up, Matt?”

“You didn’t answer my text and I wanna see you tonight,” he told you.

“You’re the worst hook up I’ve ever had for my sleeping schedule,” you mumbled. “Look, Matt, I had a shit day at work and I really just want to sleep and-“”

“Get your shoes on. I’ll be there in like, half an hour.”

He hung up without even bothering to wait for an answer. You tossed your phone down your bed as you let yourself fall back into the blankets. You wanted to let them swallow you up and drag you back to sleep, but you knew Matt was showing up regardless of how you felt about it. You let your feet drop heavily on the floor and let out a sigh before pushing yourself out of bed. You threw your hair up, at least grateful you’d made yourself shower before you went to bed, and grabbed the first clean clothes you could find. The fact that he’d asked you to put on your shoes was odd, but it was Matt. You couldn’t really expect anything because. 

The time flew by and Matthew was knocking on your front door before you could even fully process the situation. How he looked this good with joggers hung low on his hips, and a workout t-shirt at midnight you didn’t really know.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Matt sang softly. “I thought you knew that part was non-negotiable.”

“You called me after I’d already been asleep for two hours. You should be amazed I’m vertical right now,” you grumbled at him as you slid on the nearest pair of sneakers you could find. “Where are we going?”

“You said you had a bad day.” Matt verbally skated around your question as he stepped into the hallway of your apartment, propping the door open for you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you sighed. It had just been one of those days where there were too many little things that individually all sounded fine, but when put together had made you miserable. “How was your day?”

Matt shook his head at you and tsked softly, “Sharing is caring. And you can’t expect me to share if you don’t.”

“Do you like to try and sound like a kindergarten teacher to piss me off,” you stepped into the hallway and began fussing with the lock on your front door to get it to close, “or do you think it’s a kink for me? Spoiler alert, Matty, the answer is I fucking hate it.”

Matt laughed a full belly laugh and you finally heard the lock click into place. You spun on your heels to face Matthew. He smiled down at you and jutted one of his hands out into the space between you two.

“Let’s go for a drive. If you’re a good girl, I might even throw in some French fries at the end for ya.” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth as he added, “And an orgasm or two because I’m feeling generous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile forming on your lips betrayed you. You practically slapped your hand against his as your grabbed it.

“Careful with the merchandise!” Matthew shouted. You shushed him, knowing your elderly neighbor was already none too thrilled with you since her bedroom wall was shared with yours. “Oh, that old bat has heard worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Matthew dragged you out to his car. Part of you, a part of you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, noted just how boyfriend-like this whole evening was. Or at least, that this isn’t what people who are just hooking up typically do. You pushed that thought aside. You knew this was just how Matthew was. This wasn’t serious and wasn’t on its way to it, but it could be self-contained serious. Each night could be serious. You could fall for him each and every single night you were with him if you wanted to, as long as the feelings were gone by the time the morning came.

I love it when you talk that nerdy shit

We’re in our twenties talking thirties shit

We’re making money but we’re saving it

‘Cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it

You won’t stay with me, I know

But you can have your way with me ‘til you go

“Okay, okay, try me again,” Matt said slowly, his fingertips tapping slowly on table between you. “I definitely won’t get it this time, but it’s hot when you’re smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a frequent occurrence, and shook your head softly. You grabbed your orange juice and took a few swigs of it before trying to explain the intricacies of your problem at work to him. He was cute and he was really good at hockey, but his ability to understand your job was lacking. Matthew still tried to understand though, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get it. Your ex could understand, you’d gone to school together, but he never tried. It was the morning though, so you couldn’t be in love with Matty right now. That feeling, that temporary love, was reserved for nights in his bed or yours.

“Okay, I still don’t get it,” Matthew sighed, clearly a little frustrated with himself. “But you clearly know what you’re doing and you’re way too smart for me. I hope our babies get your smarts, but my hockey sense. You still can’t figure out offsides.”

“How many babies am I pushing out here, Tkachuk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but you knew he was just talking shit, trying to get a reaction out of you. “Also, offsides is complicated and I’ve got a college degree taking up space in my brain where you have hockey knowledge.”

“I was thinking three,” Matt told you as he tossed his coffee cup between his hands, sliding it across the table with each toss. “I’ll strap them in skates as soon as they can walk, make them fall in love with hockey before your brains take over and they decide to become doctors or something ridiculous.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that just be the worst thing if little Matty became a doctor instead of a hockey player?” You lifted your glass to your lips and smiled against the edge. “Absolutely the worst thing that could happy to him.”

“Exactly.” Matthew’s smile was evident in his voice. “Glad you’re on board with this plan.”

“Mm, I think you owe me some jewelry and a big party before I pop out any kids for you, Matt,” you sighed as you set your cup back down on the table.

“You’re so fucking picky. I’m just going to stand there in the jewelry store with a blank check and let you go ape shit,” Matt informed you.

“Thinking about wifing me up, huh?” you joked.

The words came out of your mouth and you knew you’d gone too far. Everything else was just running your mouths, something you both needed to keep things light and non-committal. But that joke was walking dangerously close to asking for a real commitment and a future.

“Do you want me to be thinking about it?”

You had absolutely no idea how your were supposed to feel after hearing his response. He was pushing the issue back on you, trying to get you to admit if your question was a joke that didn’t quite land or if it was serious. The problem was you honestly didn’t know. You knew you weren’t looking for anything. You knew you hadn’t let Matthew take you home the night you met at the bar to start anything. He wasn’t the type of guy you would have ever seen yourself with, but maybe that’s because you’d only ever pictured your future with one specific person.

“Is it okay if I don’t really know?”

The question was risky, because up until that moment everything was completely casual. You were forcing an issue that you weren’t even sure was really what you wanted or not.

“I’m good however you want to be. I just like being around you,” Matthew told you. “Whatever you want that to look like, I’m down for.”

You smiled and took his open ending as an opportunities to change the ton of the conversation with, “What if I wanted to move to the Bahamas and become a scuba instructor with you and our three kids?”

“Give up my hockey career to see you in a bikini everyday? Sign me the fuck up.”

I know better

I know better

I know better than to ever call you mine

It was like that conversation had only happened in your mind. You’d left the diner that day and Matthew acted like everything was exactly the same as it had been when you walked in an hour prior. You pretended too, because what else were you supposed to do?

“Okay so,” Matthew tossed the stress ball from your desk up into the air and paused to ensure he caught it on its journey back down. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to this party thing the team’s having. It’s like, kinda nice, but I promise it’ll be low-key. I’ll even buy you a new dress for it. Well, I’m gonna let one of the guys’ wives do it. Call it a gift for putting up with me for so long.”

You had said yes without even thinking really. Also, you said yes without realizing Matthew was totally lying about how nice the event was. When the dress arrived on your doorstep, you unboxed it, expecting something just on the right side of too revealing. Instead, you found an absolutely stunning right, knee length formal dress.

“Matthew,” you sighed to yourself in your empty apartment, the dress in your hands. “What are you doing here?”

You mentally blocked out more time to get ready than you’d previously been planning, knowing you had to step up your game this time. Still didn’t mean you weren’t rushing to put the last bobby pin in place when Matthew knocked on your door that Friday evening.

“It’s open!” you shouted from your bathroom.

“You know, that’s not really safe!” Matthew shouted back, his voice getting louder as he came toward you, his dress shoes tapping against the floorboards as he walked. “You know I could’ve been- holy fuck.”

You turned to see Matthew standing in the doorway of your bathroom, his eyes raking up and down your body unabashedly. One of his hands gripped the doorframe in support as his eyes lingered at his favorite areas of your body.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “You look unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. Your nerves were rising under his intense gaze and you kept fidgeting with a strand of your hair. “Thank you for the dress. And thank whoever picked it out for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely gonna have to thank her.”

You giggled a little at just how in shock he still was. Guaranteed, he’d never seen you actually try and look this good before. The best you’d probably ever looked for him was the night at the bar where you met.

“Are you ready to go?” Matthew asked after clearing his throat. He finally had collected himself enough.

“Just gotta our the heels on and then yes,” you replied, motioning for him to get out of your way so you could get to your heels in your bedroom across the hall.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and began winding the straps of your heels around your ankle. Jess has picked them out when she saw the dress. They were a little cumbersome to put on, but they looked incredible with Matthew’s gift, so you dealt with the hassle of getting them on.

“Hey um, I wanted to talk to you about something before we go,” Matthew asked, his voice shaky.

For someone who was usually so confident it was almost a turn off, he was practically green when you looked up at him, taking a physical and mental break before putting on your other shoe. His hands were clenching and in clenching at his sides.

“Look uh, I know you’re,” he paused and looked you over again before continuing. “Well, you’re you and I’m me and this is stupid why did I start this?”

He sighed and let his head fall back, his curls flopping back as he gathered his thoughts. He cursed softly before looking back at you.

“I know I said I’d be whatever you wanted in the diner, that it was up to you and anything would be fine with me.” He finally met your eyes. “But I don’t think anything is fine with me. Fuck, I know better than to think you’re mine, but you feel like mine. God, you really, really do.”

He had crossed the room and was standing in front of you before you could process the words coming out of his mouth. Matthew’s hands grabbed yours and he pulled you to your feet, keeping you steady because you were still only wearing one heel.

“I love being around you,” Matthew told you, his baby blues looking into your eyes. You felt like he was looking straight into you, into the parts that made you who you were. “You’re one of my favorite people I’ve ever met. I know I shouldn’t ask. You’re so successful and smart and strong and you deserve so much better than me. I know better than to think you’d want to be with me, but fuck, do you want to be with me? Because that’s what I really want.”

You didn’t even have to think about your answer. You knew it. You steadied yourself against him and pressed your lips to his. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground to eliminate the rockiness from the one heel situation. His mouth felt different against yours, eager, but tender and caring in a way you’d never felt before from him or anyone.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, his smile making kissing you too challenging in that moment. “You’re mine now.”

“Kinda already was,” you laughed lightly. “Glad you’re taking the position of boyfriend up officially.”

“Oh shit. Miscommunication. I was promoting myself right to future husband,” Matthew joked. “Guess I gotta earn that promotion now, huh?”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Band Sessions: Dowoon

Pairing: Yoon Dowoon x reader

Genre: band au / university au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 2681

Thank you to everyone who supported Band Sessions.

Index: Jae | Sungjin | Young K | Wonpil | Dowoon

It was the biggest scoop thus far for you to take on as a reporter for the campus newspaper. You had only transferred to this university at the start of the semester, and since the roles in the editing room had been well established before you came along, you had been lucky enough to be writing a weekly column as it was. Still, there was only so much of your journalism skills you could exercise in the highlights reel you had been assigned to.

So when a seasoned writer for the paper, Maggie, had fallen over skiing in the weekend, well, you had been worried for her, of course.

And secretly grateful for the opportunity to snag some of her workload.

“This is a big deal, Y/N. Day6 won another band competition on Friday night and we need someone to interview the members and write about their growing population on and off campus as a band.”

“I can do it,” you assured your editor-in-chief with a confident nod.

Gerrie sighed and looked around at the rest of the hustle in the office and then back at your face. You could tell he was hoping he could rely on someone else, perhaps someone who had already proven their talent in his eyes.

But this was going to be your moment. You had been accepted onto the newspaper team because of the stellar recommendations from your past university. There, you had usually held the third most important story of each edition. You had even saved the dying campus cafeteria after writing about their surprising culinary art.

So writing about a campus band would be a piece of cake.

“Alright, you have four days to interview them and present your article to me. It’s running in our next release.”

“I’ll get it to you on time, Gerrie,” you confirmed and picked up your notebook you had been scribbling in, shifting up out of the chair in front of the senior.

“Y/N,” he called out and you stopped to look back at Gerrie. His gaze pierced yours. “Don’t mess this up, I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t let you down, boss.”

Returning to your desk, you let an elated smile cross over your lips momentarily. You were wired up, excited to finally let your reporting prowess shine. Glancing down at the name written in the middle of the page of your notebook, you picked up your pen and circled Day6 a couple of times.

Oh yes, this would be amazing.

Once you found out who Day6 even was, that is.

Thankfully, it was never all that hard to research anything and your lack of knowledge about the five member band had been replaced with notes on all of their current accolades, how many gigs they had played this year, a fansite address, and most importantly, where their studio was located. You had even contacted the band over their official Instagram account and arranged an interview for the following evening. On your way over, you hummed along to one of their songs, Better Better, playing on Spotify through your phone, feeling more than ready to meet the band now known as regional finalists.

You could tell upon the studio door opening that this title was a big deal for them.

Sungjin, their leader, laughed heartily after greeting you, clasping his hands together and looking towards his members as he gestured for you to take a seat. “I never thought we’d be interviewed by the school paper.”

“Given you were interviewed by the local news station, it can’t be all that bad to have me here today.”

Having memorised all the members’ names, you smiled at Wonpil when he bashfully smiled, waving his hands around to dismiss the notion. “No, we’re really happy. Thank you for thinking of us!”

“Dude, you’re shaking, are you really happy?” Jae teased and leaned forward in his chair. He attention then switched to you. “You’re not taking a photo of us tonight, right?”

“No, I can use a photo from your latest gig, if you’d prefer. Your manager has sent me more than enough photos to pick from,” you offered and he somewhat relaxed, a lazy smile crossing his lips. You smiled knowingly, he definitely had a relationship with their manager as you suspected from her glowing conversation about the lead guitarist in particular.

Clearing your throat, you launched into your prepared questions after confirming it was alright to record the interview. It didn’t take long for Brian and Jae to take over, answering what you needed to know with relative ease. You picked up that whilst Sungjin was the leader, answering questions on the spot was more Brian’s forte. Still, the former was present, throwing in some witty remarks and making sure his younger members did participate.

You noticed that every time Dowoon talked, his ears would turn pink and he’d chuckle a lot. It was rather endearing, and you wondered just how many of their fans liked his shy persona. You could almost guarantee he was the type to get embarrassed being stopped on campus for a signature or photo.

“Oh yeah, he’s totally the type,” Jae confirmed with a laugh at the expense of the drummer. And then he nodded. “But Dowoon is the dark horse of our team.”

“Without a drummer keeping you all on time, how can you effectively work together,” you agreed, smiling brightly at the student now almost as red as Wonpil’s shirt. “How do you feel about the term Jae mentioned?”

Dowoon rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly and then grinned. “Well, uh, I guess I’m kind of important.”

“Kind of?” Brian echoed with a laugh. “You’re definitely important.”

“Shall we go as far as to dub you the most important member?” you offered with an encouraging smile and Dowoon shook his head. “Come on now, if you don’t keep the time, then how can you play together as in sync as you do?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

You clapped your hands together and beamed at the rest of the group. “Thank you so much for your time today. I’m looking forward to your future achievements. And the show this weekend, as well.”

“Oh, you’re coming?” Sungjin asked and you nodded.

“Sweet, if your article goes well, you can come to the after-party,” Jae offered and shrugged when Wonpil gaped at him for suggesting it on those terms.

You merely chuckled. “Well I’ll consider myself invited since you all made it easy for me to write this up, I can tell.”

You thanked them all again for their time and then headed towards the door to the studio, smiling back at everyone before stepping out.

You felt relieved. Not only had the interview gone well, but you already felt inspired to draft up your first copy of the piece. Hurrying towards the elevator, you only hoped that your hands could keep up typing the thoughts now swirling around in your mind.

“Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m super impressed,” Gerrie announced when you handed in your article for submission. You beamed with his compliment, watching as he tried not to smile at you when he looked up. “I guess the highlights reel was not the right place to put you.”

“No, I think it humbled me.”

“Well, I’ll have to do some rearranging of the team. We’ll definitely need more of your articles running in the paper, Y/N.”

Thanking him repeatedly, you waited until you were out of the office before you began to celebrate. Pumping your hand up into the air, you let out a cheer, did a little dance on the spot and then patted your own shoulder.

When you were done singing your praises, you looked up and found someone watching you. Instead of feeling embarrassed, you grinned happily and approached the tall man whose ears were now the same colour as your blouse. “Destiny called you here, right?”

“Who’s Destiny?” Dowoon wondered and then eyed you carefully. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Never been better.”

“You ran around in a circle,” he pointed out with a small smirk. So he had enjoyed the performance you had just put on.

Nudging him playfully, you couldn’t contain your happiness. “My scoop on Day6 was a hit. I was complimented by the steely Gerrie Moore. That is not an easy feat and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Really?” he genuinely enthused and grinned. “Let me buy you a celebratory coffee then!”

“Only if you allow me to buy you a piece of cake to say thanks for helping me out,” you compromised and Dowoon laughed, nodding once.

“Are you free now?”

“Didn’t you see me just run around in a circle? Do you think I could possibly be up to anything more productive?” you mentioned with a laugh and Dowoon chuckled.

“Well then, coffee and cake it is.”

You had believed that conversation with Dowoon would be hard to achieve. Admittedly, at first, he had seemed shy. But he persisted through in asking you how you had been and you easily steered the conversation towards your hobbies and interests.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to learn the drums,” you mentioned and Dowoon’s eyebrows arched curiously.

“Really?”

You nodded. “Of course. How cool would it be to vent your annoyance by banging something?”

“There’s more to drumming than just banging at the instrument, Y/N. It takes a lot of skill.”

“Of course there is,” you agreed and then leaned over the table towards him. Dowoon eyed you cautiously. “Reckon you could show me sometime?”

“You… you want to learn?”

Nodding eagerly, you pointed to the exit. “Are you free now?”

“You just do everything on a whim, don’t you?” he asked with a laugh and you shrugged.

“When I have an idea, I want to follow it through. So, can you teach me?”

“I bet after thirty minutes you’ll never want to drum again,” he proclaimed and you gaped at Dowoon, rolling up your sleeves as if you were preparing yourself to prove him wrong.

You smirked. “I’m competitive.”

“I can tell.”

“Come on then, let’s go so I can prove you wrong!”

You did in fact, last longer than thirty minutes. But you had to admit, it was a whole lot harder than you expected. Most of the time, Dowoon had you simply kicking the bass drum in a stable rhythm. That was relatively easy until your leg tired.

Dowoon smirked. “It’s not easy, is it?”

“I can do it,” you corrected, heaving in a deep breath and trying to regain your tempo. When you had it, you smiled smugly and gestured for what was next.

“Y/N, most people learn the basics for weeks on end. You need to build up your leg muscles on the kick drum first.”

“No I want to try and incorporate my hands too!” you bit back, looking at the drum kit before you. Pointing at a part of it, you looked over at Dowoon. “This is the floor Tom, right?”

“You know your parts,” he replied with a surprised smile.

“When I research something I have an interest in, I like to know all the facts,” you commented, heaving in another breath.

Maintaining this beat was a lot harder than you wanted to let on.

“Oh yeah, is that how you knew stuff about us?”

“Of course. A reporter’s job is to find the facts and bring the story to life with them.”

“So you know about us?” he repeated and you glanced in Dowoon’s direction, your focus narrowing as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I bet you know a lot about Jae and Brian. They’re popular with the fans.”

“Your favourite colour is red, you have a dog and a cat, you love most types of meals with meat in them and you strangely like green tea ice cream.”

Dowoon blinked, and his ears turned red. “You know all that?”

“What, that’s just after a simple search from your fansites. Kind of crazy to think you have fans compiling lists like this, huh?”

“I’m grateful,” he mumbled and you nodded.

“I thought you would be.”

“Do you know anything else?” he wondered, his hand mindlessly playing with the cymbals. You examined his motion for a moment before giving up on kick pedal, collapsing over the snare drum.

“I know that my leg is about to fall off,” you heaved and Dowoon chuckled. Looking up at him, you smiled. “And that you have a nice talking voice. Your laugh is really cute too. And when you smile, I almost forget what I’m talking about. At the interview, you were the one I wanted to hear from the most.”

“Really?” Dowoon tried not to grin but it spread across his lips all the same. “You like talking to me?”

“I do. And admittedly, you were right. I don’t think I’m cut out for drumming. You’re super talented, Dowoon. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

You chewed on your lip with hesitation. However, you were known to be bold with all your thoughts. It was how you were an excellent reporter. Sometimes, the risks you took were worth a moment of feeling out of your depth.

“Well, I saw what your ideal type was listed as and hoped I matched up well enough for you to want to spend time with me. And maybe go out on a date?” For a moment, Dowoon was frozen. You weren’t even sure he was breathing still and you watched carefully to ensure he wasn’t going to collapse or anything. And then he seemed to come back alive again, unable to control his emotions. His eyes were bright and he swapped between chuckling and grinning giddily. His ears were pink, as was his neck too. He seemed to be overheating.

Reaching out for his hand, you squeezed it, hoping he would calm down a little. It seemed to work, even though Dowoon had rested against the wall to hold himself up. “You’re bold.”

“I told you, when I show an interest in something, I need to know all the facts. There’s no point in me trying to play coy with you when I like you. But, if you don’t feel the same-”

“No, I definitely do. I just… you really do match my ideal type. I’m kind of surprised that you actually exist.”

It was your turn to blush finally and Dowoon seemed to like this a little too much. “Hey, about that after-party this weekend…”

“Want to come as my date?” Dowoon asked before you could suggest anything and you nodded happily, swinging your still linked hands back and forth gently.

“I’d really like that.”

“Can I request something though?”

“What?”

Dowoon grinned. “I don’t know nearly as much as you do. Reckon you could write up a facts list like the one you found on me? That way I can learn about you too.”

“Don’t you want to find out slowly like how most people do whilst dating?”

Dowoon shook his head. “If you’re going to know all you do about me first, I want to level out the playing field.”

“I’ll have it to you by tomorrow then,” you answered, standing up from the drum kit. You weren’t prepared for how weak your leg was, and stumbled, Dowoon reaching out to catch you. Your hands went to his middle and your eyes snapped up to his.

“Oh,” you commented, blinking slowly. “I guess that’s true too.”

“What is?”

“That drummers tend to have really good bodies.”

“Y/N!” Dowoon spluttered and then laughed. “Maybe you know too much.”

“It’s my job to know a lot about things,” you countered and Dowoon nodded. You then slipped your arms around his waist, nestling into his body. You waited to see what his reaction would be but he didn’t pull away, his arms gingerly sliding up to pat you gently.

“Let me catch up. I want to know a lot of things about you too.”

_________________

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[cadence-talle]

Ink Blossoming Across Your Skin

Pairing: Keefe Sencen/Fitz Vacker

Wordcount: 2,295

Summary: “Have we even met the owner? How do we know they don’t, like, beat people up?”

“I think you’re reaching,” Biana says. “Besides, I’ve seen the owners.”

Fitz blinks, reaching up to move one of the soil bags over on the shelf. “You have? When?”

“They’re right behind you.”

Other notes: Based on the amazing au created by @queersofthelostcities​ and @enbies-and-felonies​! It’s not completely like the prompt, but I hope it lives up to your original vision. 

Fitz first notices the shop on a Monday morning, bright colors of the We Are Now OPEN! sign in the window catching his eye as he crosses the street. He frowns, unlocking the door of his flower shop and setting his bag down. 

“Do you know what that is?” He asks Biana, who’s come in a few minutes after him. She shrugs, leaning out the doorway to glance at the store. 

“Looks like a tattoo parlour,” she says. Fitz wrinkles his nose. 

“Ugh. That’ll drive away business.”

Biana hums noncommittally and moves into the back to grab ice cubes for the orchids as their first customer of the day comes in. Fitz forces himself to focus and not think about the tattoo shop. 

It doesn’t work very well. 

“Look, I’m just saying, a lot of our customers are old ladies or moms with kids. Having a tattoo shop next door, with an entirely different vibe and clientele, is going to mess with us.” Fitz angrily stabs the salad he brought for lunch. 

His sister raises an eyebrow, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Are you really talking about the ‘vibe’ of our flower shop?”

“Ugh. I just- who wants to get a tattoo anyway?”

Biana looks pointedly at him and then to her arm, which is covered in twisting vines and flowers. Fitz sighs. 

“Point taken.”

He leans back against the front desk a few hours later, mentally counting the bags of soil they have stacked on the shelves behind the counter. 

“Have we even met the owner? How do we know they don’t, like, beat people up?”

“I think you’re reaching,” Biana says. “Besides, I’ve seen the owners.”

Fitz blinks, reaching up to move one of the soil bags over on the shelf. “You have? When?”

“They’re right behind you.”

Fitz spins around, almost falling over, just in time to see two people enter the shop. One, a short, smiling woman with silver-tipped hair, immediately moves into the shelves of potted plants. Biana taps Fitz on the shoulder. 

“I’m gonna go, uh, see if she needs anything.”

Fitz snorts but nods, and Biana disappears. The other owner, a man only a few inches taller than Fitz, leans against the countertop. Fitz gives him a once-over. Blond hair, blue eyes, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth- he’s hot. 

Only if you pay attention to that sort of thing, of course, and Fitz most certainly does not. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he currently can’t talk that has nothing to do with the man in front of him. 

“I’m Keefe,” he says. “You own this store, right?”

Fitz nods hurriedly. “Uh. Yeah. It was my mom’s- that’s where the name came from, her name’s Della- but now she’s retired, so now it’s mine and my sister’s, and- I’m rambling. Sorry.”

Keefe laughs. “It’s fine. I think it’s sweet.”

Face burning, Fitz glances down at the register. “So, what are you here to buy?”

“Nothing,” Keefe shrugs one shoulder. “Linh wanted to see if you guys had lilies, so we closed the shop and came over here.”

“You-” Fitz blinks at him- “You just… closed your store? Randomly?”

“I mean, what’s the point of owning a store if you can’t just close it at any moment?” 

“I…”

The shorter woman- Linh, Fitz remembers- appears behind Keefe with a pot of Canada lilies. She sets them on the counter and smiles at Biana. 

“Thanks for helping me find these,” she says. Biana flushes slightly. 

“No problem. Have a good day.”

“You too!” Linh picks up her flowers and turns toward the door. Keefe shoots Fitz a smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” he calls. “See you around.”

Fitz nods slightly before they’re gone. As soon as the door closes, tiny bell at the front chiming merrily, he lets out a long breath. Biana’s still staring at the doorway. 

“Uh.” She says. 

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees. “Yeah.”

-/-

To be quite honest, Fitz isn’t expecting to see Keefe (or Linh) the next day. He’s not sure he wants to. A nervous, bubbly feeling rises in his gut each time he thinks about it, and he needs to work. He should just focus on the flowers and not think about anything else.

Unfortunately, flowers are incredibly boring. Fitz loves them, but they’re not exactly the best distraction material; he waters the peonies, rearranges the daisies, and moves one vase of tulips over to the counter for better visibility. And then he has nothing to do. 

Not to mention that it’s Wednesday, which is always one of the lowest-traffic days in a week. Fitz has seen maybe three different customers by the time lunch rolls around, and he doesn’t even feel like moving into the back to eat. Might as well stay out here and watch people walk past the front window.

His head snaps up as someone opens the door. 

“Keefe!”

“Hey,” Keefe says, flopping down onto the stool in front of the counter. “Business slow over here too?”

“Yeah. What’d you need?”

“Well-” Keefe waves a sketchbook in the air- “I have to practice art, for stencils and all that, and I figured, flowers are fun to draw. It’ll be a change of pace, at least.” He grins at Fitz. “So, can I lurk in the corner of your shop and sketch?”

“Uh, sure?” Fitz blinks. “Just don’t interrupt customers.”

Keefe pumps his fist and moves his stool against the wall, leaning his sketchbook on his lap. Fitz does his best to ignore him and moves back up to the register to help the tiny blond woman who’s purchased a huge bouquet of marigolds. 

“Thank you,” she says as Fitz hands her back her credit card. “My girlfriend is going to love these.”

“No problem,” Fitz responds, smiling. “Have a nice day.”

He turns to look at Keefe after the woman’s gone, bent over his notebook furiously scribbling. Five minutes later, he slams the page down on the counter. 

“Eh?”

Fitz picks it up, marvelling at the accuracy; it’s the marigold buyer, the teasing light in her eyes somehow captured even in a black-and-white sketch. 

“Wow,” he says, handing the page back to Keefe. “This is amazing.”

“Psh.” Keefe waves a hand in the air. “It’s not that good.” Still, his cheeks have a definite tint to them as he snaps his sketchpad closed. “I should be getting back to the shop. My lunch break is definitely over.”

“All right,” Fitz says. He’s not sure why he feels so sad. “See you tomorrow?”

Keefe gives him a thumbs-up and ducks out of the store. 

-/-

It’s a week after the first time Keefe comes into the shop on his lunch break that Fitz finally says something about it. 

“Doesn’t Linh need you?”

Keefe looks up from his latest drawing- this one an inked recreation of the vase sitting in the front window. He’s been running his hand through his hair as he works, so it’s sticking up all over the place. Fitz chooses to ignore the warm feeling in his gut.

“Huh?”

“At the shop,” Fitz elaborates. “Don’t you two need to be doing, like tattoo stuff?”

“Nah. She’s on break right now too. Honestly, it’s just nice to get out of the store and away from her terrible attempts at flirting with Biana.”

“Wait, Biana’s over there?” Fitz blinks. “She usually goes to Starbucks for lunch. If she goes out at all.”

Keefe shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s been coming in to eat lunch with Linh for the past couple days now.��� He cocks his head at Fitz. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me or something?” 

The question is teasing, but the underlying edge shows how much Keefe cares about the answer. Fitz hurries to backtrack. 

“No! I was just- wondering.”

Shrugging again in a way that says it’s fine and also can we end this conversation, Keefe glances towards the door. “Today’s pretty low-traffic, huh?”

“Yeah,” Fitz says. “Wednesdays usually are.”

“Huh.” Keefe drums his fingers on the table, seemingly bored of sketching, before his eyes light up. “Do you know how to play Spit?”

“Do I know how to play what?”

“Spit! It’s a card game.” Out of nowhere, Keefe produces a deck of cards. Fitz looks around the empty shop and sighs. 

“Sure, why not. Let’s play.”

Fifteen minutes later, Fitz slaps his hand down onto the smaller pile of cards, yelling triumphantly as he picks it up. Keefe groans. 

“I win,” Fitz grins at him. This is the first game he’s won since they started playing, and he is probably far too excited. He slips off their stool, heading over to one of the tulip displays and picking out a wilting flower that had been bothering him. Behind him, he can hear Keefe get to his feet. 

“I should probably be getting back,” he says. Fitz nods and turns around to face him, hand holding the tulip coming out almost automatically. Keefe looks at it quizzically. “Are you… giving me a flower?”

“Uh.” Fitz says, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can. “Yes? I mean, if you don’t want it, that’s okay, I wouldn’t be offended or anything- not that there’s anything to be offended by, it’s just a flower-”

Keefe plucks the tulip out of his hand, staring at it for a minute. “It’s pretty,” he says. “Thanks.”

Then he turns and leaves the shop. 

-/-

Fitz is a little worried that the impromptu flower-giving is going to make things awkward, but when Keefe comes back the next day, there’s no sign that anything has changed. He still sets up in the corner, still jokes with Fitz between customers. They’ve settled into a peaceful rhythm; it’s simple, easy in a way things haven’t been in a long time. 

 And when, a few days later, Fitz hands Keefe another tulip on his way out, the smile he gets is genuine. 

They start to hang out outside of work, just little trips; heading up to the Bronx Zoo to see the elephants (Keefe claims he’s not invested in them, but the way he gasps as soon as he sees one says otherwise), walking along the boardwalk at Coney Island with Biana and Linh. Fitz smiles and takes photos and tries to ignore the looks Biana sends his way- they’re friends, this is what friends do. It doesn’t mean anything. 

It means so little that, when Keefe suggests they get matching ‘bros’ tattoos, Fitz agrees. 

He’s pretty sure he’s drunk. No, scratch that; he’s definitely sure he’s drunk. It’s been a long week, and he’s drunk, and this is not a good idea.

But Keefe- drunker than him, that’s for sure- is holding tight to his hand, pulling him along the street. He turns back, grinning brightly under the soft light of a streetlamp, and Fitz feels warm all over. 

So. They get the tattoos, and now Fitz has proof of his totally-platonic feelings inked along his collarbone. 

This is fine. 

-/-

“What do you think, lilies or asters?” Biana slides the tattoo book over to him, and Fitz examines the carefully-drawn designs. 

“Asters,” he answers, thumbing through the pages. “Assuming you’re getting them in color. Purple looks nice on you.”

Biana nods, tracing patterns on her as-of-yet uninked arms. Fitz frowns. “You sure you want to get flowers on your other arm too?”

“Yes,” his sister says confidently. “I didn’t go for both arms the first time because I wasn’t sure how good they’d turn out, but Linh’s doing these, so I know they’ll be beautiful.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “Linh’s doing these, huh? So you two will be alone in a room together for hours?”

Biana glares at him and Fitz offers her an innocent smile. “Look, you should just get together already. Ask her out or something.”

Offering him her most you’re being an idiot look, Biana snorts. “Like you’re one to talk. How many not-dates have you been on with Keefe?”

“That-” Fitz sputters. “That’s completely different!”

“Is it? How?” Biana picks her bag up off the counter- it’s almost closing time. Fitz scowls, clenching his hands into fists. 

“Because you have a chance!”

The store is silent for a moment before Biana sighs softly, giving him a quick hug. “Oh, hon.” She looks him straight in the eye, smiling a little. “You’ll figure it out.”

Then she shoulders her bag- “Gotta run!”- and leaves Fitz standing in the middle of the shop, completely and utterly confused. 

-/-

He’s still confused the next day, trying to focus on customers and work. He completes his to-do list for the next week just in one morning, and is getting a head start on designing flower arrangements for a wedding- a wedding six months away- when Keefe walks in. 

“Hey, dude,” he says mildly, dropping down beside Fitz. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Fitz responds, harsher than he means to. Keefe blinks. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Fitz says, and then, “No.” To hell with it, he thinks, turning to face Keefe head-on. “I’m annoyed at myself because I can’t control my feelings.”

Keefe tilts his head, a glimmer of something that might be hope in his eyes. “Control what feelings?”

“All of them,” Fitz laughs hollowly, “but especially the ones for you.”

He looks down at his lap, afraid to look at the other man. “We keep doing all this ‘friend stuff’ that feels like it should be a date, but it’s not, and I’m just- I just. I’m sorry, I’m rambling again-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Fitz chances a glance upward to see Keefe grinning at him. “I think it’s sweet.”

-/-

They can’t, unfortunately, remove the misbegotten ‘bros’ tattoos. Instead, Linh carefully inks two images next to each one; a heart, and a flower. 

[honeyyvee]

THE WALLS

Rating; Explicit.

Pairing; Yoongi x Reader.

Genre; smut.

Words; 4.2 k

Summary; Tension between you and your hot, next-door neighbor comes to a climax when his antagonizing you is taken too far by bringing pot brownies to your little Church’s Juvenile Choir Valentine’s get-together. 

Content Warnings; innadecuate drug use, explicit sex scenes, degradation, degradation talk, fingering, oral sex, mentions of underage drug use, mentions of religious themes, reference/implied cheating.

Notes; this was inspired by a Chase Atlantic song by the same title... basically pwp with little plot. I may write a sequel to this if people like it uwu enjoyy

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It's a dark kind of feeling that pulls you to him at first. Min Yoongi is just that kind of guy. Black jeans, black leather, pale skin, resting bitch face, and an attitude to go with it. His quiet, brooding nature fools everyone into thinking he's more mysterious than he actually is. But you know the truth, and it's such a much simpler answer. 

The truth is he's a—

"Bitch! Min Yoongi is a little bitch, and I'm going to rip his limbs apart one by one this very instant, just wait," you seethe through your teeth, next to a stunned Park Jimin. There's a weird aftertaste in your mouth, after having had a half piece of one of his horrible brownies. Pot brownies.

You march away from the kitchen counter, ignoring the sweet timbre of Jimin's voice calling your name over the jazz playlist you've specifically curated for the occasion. It's not a long way until you reach the hallway, turning to knock on the first door on the left with contained anger. Oh, Min Yoongi will hear you. The door to the room opens, and you are met with the expanse of his chest.  

"Whatever is wrong with you?" You push into the firm planes of flesh and bone. 

The boy let's himself stumble backwards, into the darkness. 

"You'll have to be specific on that one." Yoongi flashes a set of pearly teeth that gets your blood pumping in your ears. 

"Pot brownies? Really?" you accuse, with a raised eyebrow. 

Yoongi's low chuckle reverberates in your chest. Stirs something dark within. 

In yet another effort to antagonize you, your hot next-door neighbor has spiked the fruit punch and fed pot brownies to the attendees of your little Valentine's Church Choir get-together.

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Your hand shots out in the darkness to grab for his wrist, but finds his warm palm instead. It remains slack in your hold, so you tug at it, bringing the brunette into the light of the hallway. 

"Explain that." You point at the people sprawled on the living room's couches. 

Yoongi lazily scans the area pointed by your finger. A couple of his younger, fellow choir mates are sprawled on the couch and on the floor. Spaced out, engaged in hushed conversation, staring at the ceiling while laughing to themselves on occasion... leaning against whatever surface is able to hold them steady. The board games are scattered through the floor, in the background someone's playing the latest version of Just dance, terribly uncoordinated. 

It's a shit show. And it's your shit show, because the Valentine's get-together was your idea. Jimin offered his house as the place to do it, and you had accepted. Fully knowing it to be the habitat of an entire Min Yoongi. Shame on you. You should’ve known better. Yoongi’s and Jimin’s parents had coincidentally went out of town at the very last minute, to visit an old friend of the family who had fallen ill. An unchaperoned party, with the presence of Min Yoongi, was the setting for disaster.

"Some are minors, Yoongi" you grit through your teeth. "Their parents will come pick them up at eleven o'clock and what will we do then?" The minority of the choir are of age, like yourself, Jimin, Yoongi and a couple others like yourself who are in their early twenties... but most are, 16-ish, 17-ish, minors. When parents come to pick up their children at 11 o'clock sharp, all they’re going to think is that it was you who set the trap for them to fall prey of sin. When in reality, you’re just a victim of the circumstances. Namely, Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi does not respond, but instead stares. His dark, hooded eyes pin you into place. It registers a little too late, that his thumb's caressing the side of your hand. 

"We?" His hold tightens around yours. 

It's a treacherous feeling, the one that brews in your chest as your heart swells and skips a beat at the contact. It reminds you too much of simpler times, when you were both children and weren't at each other's throats. When Yoongi's way of comforting you would be to hold hands, playing with your fingers.  

You know it shouldn't be that way anymore. Because he's not who he used to be since his mother’s passing, and neither are you since he drifted away from you. He's not someone your strict parents would approve of, as he is now. They want you with someone like his step-brother, Jimin. And that’s just what is going on now, you’ve already gone in a date with the sweet blonde boy. Because you know in your heart of hearts that you deserve, and should be with someone like him. Clean, nice and proper. Not the definition of sin that is Min Yoongi. The bad boy cliché. With his inked skin, leather clothes, bad habits, and underground life.

“Stop.” You yank away your hand, as if burning. The most pressing feeling at the front of your mind should be being mad at him, cussing him out for doing something so wrong and so stupid. Handing out pot brownies at a Christian get-together? 

"I didn’t bring those. It wasn’t me.”

As if you would buy that after years of sick little jokes like whoopee cushions, laxants, and spilled wine. Inexplicably however, the flames of ire have dozed off to tiny, crackling embers. There's a dawning haze that's clouding your mind with each passing second, an unsettling numbness of your nerves. Your eyelids feel heavy over your eyes, it’s almost like you’re looking at him through your eyelashes. Your arms cross over your chest in a nonverbal cue of I’m not buying your bullshit, and Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement. His dark gaze boring like he can see through cloth. 

“One of the guys asked me for a number, and I gave it to him.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and soon, you realize, you’re too close to each other for comfort. It’s an invisible force of magnetism that draws and repels you two. “Unbelievable as it may seem to you, it wasn’t me. I simply gave them what they wanted, it’s their decision from there. And I'm the bad guy?" 

“They’re 16 and above. They’re children. They don’t know what they want.” You snort.

“And, do you? Do you know what you want?” Yoongi presses forward. You stumble backwards, until your back hits the wall. “Why are you so insistent in looking for reasons to hate me?”

You draw in a sharp breath. “Because you make it so easy. It’s almost like you want me to hate you.”

“But what do you want?” His boots close the distance between your bodies with soft thumps. Nearly drown out the own drumming of your pulse in your ears. 

“Do you want to hate me? Or…” The air gets heavier by the second, as his body presses against you, you feel the tent of his denim pants poking your lower belly. You feel like drowning. Need some fresh air.

“N-no.” You push him off you. Scattering to the opposite side of the hallway, where the door exposes a sliver of the dark insides of what you assume to be Min Yoongi’s lair. There’s something wrong with your arms and legs. Their movement feels sluggish, as so feels your head. The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

“I never know what I want when it comes to you.” 

Min Yoongi's dark, slender figure stares at you for far too long, mulling your words over in his head, a little too out of it. “Why not find out yourself then?”

Blood rushes to your head so quick your vision spins. Yoongi’s keeping more distance now, but his presence still looms over you. His delicious scent clings around you. It all feels like an out of body experience, when you open your mouth to retort half-heartedly. 

“Don’t misunderstand, Min Yoongi. I do not want to fuck you.” Your voice wavers, but you hold your stance still. “You must think you are hot shit, walking and talking around like a jackass. That I will fall for your act like so many. Well, you’re not who you’ve convinced yourself, and your new little friends, you are. Gloss.”

This is not about the pot brownies, or the stunned boys and girls on the couch anymore. This is a one on one between your lost friend of infancy and you. In the spur of the moment, your mouth makes the executive decision to bring the big guns before your brain has time to process what you're saying. 

“And I’m tired of this…” you wave your hands at the air. “This half-assed, bad boy, womanizer cliché. You think your mother would want this for you?"

Yoongi's deceased mother. Tragically lost in a fire accident Yoongi still blames himself for to this day. You are an asshole.

"Well, maybe I want it," Yoongi deadpans. "Have you ever thought about that?" No, you think, you couldn't ever possibly have. You don't want to. Yoongi's voice's barely above a whisper, but there's a growl to his words as he spits them spitefully. "Maybe I want you to hate me, and for everyone to stay the fuck away, because I'm a fucking mess." 

You trip over your own words in an attempt to placate him."That's not true! You're so much more than what you think of yourself." Your hand instinctively reaches for him in the dim hallway. Yoongi does not take it, neither do you try to actually grasp him. 

"And how would you know?" Yoongi glowers. "You're not even sure about yourself. Playing the good little girl, who follows the rules, stays on line and never does wrong. Always following someone else's orders, wishes and expectations… tell me ____ when was the last time you did something for yourself? Something selfish?" 

You're stunned into silence. Around you, the air buzzes with ballooning tension. it feels as though if you open your mouth, bat an eye, take a single breath… it will all burst in your face. Yoongi snorts at your lack of response, takes your silence as yielding. 

"Right. Don't lecture me about existential questions like you're so above them." Yoongi scoffs. His chest puffs out ever so slightly as he crosses his arms, his posture straightens, resulting in an enticing show of his towering over you. "I’m an artist. That much I know. And you?” He lazily motions with a hand. “Take out choir and your religious devotion and who are you, besides a prideful, self righteous prude?”

Your cheeks swell with hot embarrassment. There's no preparing for the comeback your brain sputters out as a result of your wounded ego and numbed out senses.

“Whether you are a girl or a boy my tongue will make you cum? Please. Those are the words of an artist?" It's probably not your wittiest response. Not the smartest, really. It presents too many, too graphic, questions. And how come you recall those specific lyrics, from that specific song you've listened him practice that one time? The answer, well...

Yoongi shrugs. A contempt smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I take pride in my craft."

Of foucking course he does.

There's not a single coherent thought in mind. Not a single rational one, when Min Yoongi is standing so close before you, wrapped in that forbidden fruit allure. With his soft black hair, leather jacket, intoxicating smell, and stupid, perfectly pouty lips. If your next actions are reckless in nature, you can blame it on the pull that heightens the dark feelings brewing in your chest. The feelings that have always been there, ready to spill. 

"You're too much bark and no bite," you taunt. Fully conscious of where it'll take you. 

"False," Yoongi mouths. 

"Well, fuck it. I'll be the judge of that." 

It's an all over the place situation, or so it feels like, when you pounce on Min Yoongi and lure him into the darkness beyond the open door of the hallway. It's an entanglement of numb limbs and lips. There's several bites on your side. His lips are small but plush, the delicate shape of his mouth too innocent looking to fulfill the promise of its abilities. The taste of him in your mouth has unleashed a ravenous need never felt before. You break the skin to taste all of him. You want it all, the blood, the sweat and tears. 

His beautiful hands are all over your breasts, under your shirt. Petting, feeling, marking. There are rough and callous edges to his fingers, the sensation of them on your skin and his mouth on your pulse is aphrodisiacal. You're too loose with the sounds that leave your mouth, too responsive. The expanse of Yoongi's hands travel your torso until your blouse is off. Skin on skin contact makes you feel like putty in his hold. 

Some way or the other, both of you fall onto the bed intertwined. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but the weight of him over you feels marvelous. Right between your legs, that's where it feels he has always meant to be. 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this." Yoongi confesses between scattered kisses to your clavicle.

"Yeah, you neither," you gasp. The tips of his fingers are teasing the button of your jeans. Your hands, previously intertwined in Yoongi's soft tendrils of hair, reach between your bodies and pop open the button themselves. 

"Let's see if you really are more bite than bark," you pant. 

Your jeans are swept from your legs in a blink, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. The skin of your thighs prickles with goosebumps at the sudden exposure. Yoongi does not say anything in response to your taunt, but conveys a promise in the dark glint of his feline eyes. The weight of the situation is lost on you, in your heightened state of senses. Through the thickness of the lust and fog enveloping your mind, you are vaguely aware that you are high because of the brownies, but so is Yoongi. You're both on even ground. 

Yoongi's fingertips thread lightly over the inner part of your thighs in tentative up and down motions, coaxing your legs to open further for him. It's a natural response of your body, as is the gushing of your pussy, clenching on itself in anticipation.  Your panties are ruined, soaked through. Yoongi's hands reach higher and higher, until they are at the edge of the flimsy piece of clothing. 

Yoongi hums in contemplation. "So wet already." The pad of his thumbs hook in the lacy edges of your panties, your breath catches in your throat. Yoongi chuckles. "I haven't even properly touched you." 

There's a still moment, charged with pent up anticipation, when one of his fingers finally touches you through the soaked cloth. Yoongi's index and middle fingers run over your labia in a teasing dance. The added friction of the wet material is a welcomed sensation. But he stops short of your clit every time. Purposely so. He's teasing.

Your hips squirm in response, looking for that needed friction in that particular spot. There's a whine that must resemble his name, caught between your teeth and tongue. 

"Let me hear you," he rasps. 

You'll be damned if you do. 

Your expression must give your thoughts away because soon enough Yoongi's changing tactics. Your panties are slipped off your legs to your ankles. Yoongi's transparent hands are prying your legs further apart with scary resolve. He dives into your sex with the most breathtaking gaze of lust you've ever seen. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, an imminent threat. 

It's starts with an open-mouthed, hot kiss to your lips that has you clenching the sheets beneath your fingers. Yoongi's tongue alternates from there with sucking and licking your sensitive inner folds and swollen clit with varying degrees of intensity. The building ecstasy of his ministrations, courses through your body, from your core to the tips of your toes. It's impossible to restrain the ragged, audible breaths that leave your mouth at the sinful sweeping of Min Yoongi's tongue. You are so close to throwing pride out of the damned window… 

Through your lust fogged mind though, a little sliver of pride shines through, reminding you what your little 'misstep' is all about. You are not about inflating this asshole's ego. Even if he kind of has sensible reasons to think so highly of himself… (not that you would ever admit to that). So you bite your lip and stifle any and all sounds of pleasure. Even if your eyeballs threaten to roll their way back to your skull as his tongue flattens against your clit. In the dark of your mind you swear you actually see stars.

An involuntary groan crawls through your throat. You can feel Yoongi smirking against your sensitive skin. He seems to notice your holding back. The silent, issued challenge. A light chuckle reverbates in the back of his throat. The puff of cool air that leaves his nose as he halts his ministrations, tickles your sensitive core, sends a shiver through your whole body. His fingertips circle patterns over the most sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

Yoongi is a man of few words, but it doesn't matter, as everything he wants to communicate in this moment he can do through his expression alone. The slight curve of his lips and glint of amusement in his eyes read, Still not admitting defeat?

Your panting, laboured breaths, and contained expression of pleasure easily give you away. But Min Yoongi is a proud little piece of shit; he demands an explicit, spoken admission of your defeat. He sets his mind to accomplish the goal. His tongue circles, teases your hole, before the hot muscle plunges inside you. You're a goner. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull shut, with an appreciative groan. Yoongi's fingers trace the inside of your labia with feather-like touches that have your thighs clenching around his face. You're dripping onto the bed by now, and Yoongi's face and hands are covered in your juices. You're close, you're so close you could cry. 

Your hands find purchase on soft tendrils of black hair, and tug. Pride be damned, you pull him closer to your aching core, and whine his name. You need him to touch you, to press on the exposed bundle of nerves that ache for the attention of his fingers. He's stopped moving his tongue inside of you, barely touching you... You're very well about to lose your mind with how much you need to get your release.

Yoongi's dark eyes flick up to you, pierce through yours with heavy intention. He raises an eyebrow in silent prompt, you have to say it. You cave in.

"Please Yoongi, please, just—! Fuck me, fuck me with your tongue, fuck!" You buck your hips, thrashing about, on the border of tears. 

He holds your gaze as he fucks you with his tongue. One hand mindlessly petting your swollen labia and clit, the other one holding your bucking hips into place. Your eyes shut closed with the lewd image of Yoongi burning your mind. You feel your orgasm building up by the intermittent convulsions of your inner walls, reaching the point of no return as Yoongi retreats his tongue from your cunt and sits back to watch you writhe at his lack of attention. One hand strokes your inner thigh, as the other mercilessly rubs your clit until you feel like bursting. Your breath gets caught in your throat. 

"Cum" he rasps, breathless himself. 

And you snap. You cum with a cry that could easily be heard down the hallway. You can't care less about it though, as your body convulses and spams with abandon in pure ecstasy. Your eyes close as you ride the high, spasming around Yoongi's hand. It feels like you're falling and falling into an all consuming void. You let yourself melt into the mattress. He's caressing your cunt, gathering your slick in his fingers. Your hole is leaking with juices that run down your ass into the bed.

Yoongi's staring at you with the darkest eyes you've ever seen. His breathing is ragged, as he brings his hand up to examine his work. The collection of your glistening juices drips from his fingers onto your belly, and you wince. The bulge of his erection straining against his jeans catches your attention, your mouth waters, and your thighs clench. You briefly wonder if Yoongi is going to ask for some kind of retribution from you, which honestly speaking, you wouldn’t mind. Even if you are an inexperienced virgin, you convince yourself, you've watched enough porn through your restless nights to have a vague idea of what to do with that. 

Yoongi's attention drifts back to you, as his hooded eyes pierce through yours. He comes closer, hovering over your body; presents his slick-covered fingers before your face. Your cheeks flush red with embarrassment at the lewd evidence of the events transpired between the two of you. 

"Open up."

It’s embarassing how readily you give in to his demand. His voice, breathless but commanding, makes your insides tremble at the sound. You open your mouth, extending your tongue without complaint for him. It feels like an out of body experience. Like someone else has taken control over your body, and you are just a vessel for pleasure.

"Mmn… I love hearing you," Yoongi purrs. His voice sounds far away. "Maybe next time you can stop being such a prideful prude and let me hear more of you." He smirks, and gives you a wet kiss. You groan into it.

"N-next time?" you stutter. "Aren't you getting way ahead of yourself, Min?" There are actually high chances of a next time happening, but he doesn't need to know that. 

Yoongi shrugs, stupid, smartass smirk in place. His hand moves further down, two fingers slipping inside your cunt. They curl inside you, rubbing at just the perfect spot, producing a choked out whine from the back of your throat. Yoongi's slender fingers mercilessly pump in and out of your slick hole, all the way to the knuckle and out to the tips of his fingers. Yoongi's eyes are fixed on you, your eyelids flutter in an effort to keep your eyes open. This is not a loving fuck, this is a stress-relief, frustration-driven, fuck. And you try very hard to keep that thought at the front of your mind when Yoongi's eyes glint at you with the slightest hint of affection. Your pussy is throbbing with sensitivity, yet you feel so close to orgasm it only riles you up and further. You whine and curse, and buck into his sinful hand with abandon. You need his thumb on your clit, his mouth, anything. 

You're about to voice out your desire when the increasingly loud squelching sounds produced by the pumping of Yoongi's fingers catch your attention. They are embarrassingly lewd and loud to say the least. You briefly wonder if they'll be heard across the thin walls, only for a groan to be ripped out of your throat as Yoongi's hand thrusts hard into your hole. 

"Look at you, so dirty and wet for me." Thrust. "Moaning and whining like a whore." Thrust. 

"No one would guess it from that pretty face" Yoongi smirks ", but you're just another good girl who wants to get the good fucked out of her." Thrust.

There's an incoherent retort slipping from your blabbering tongue before Yoongi's hot mouth envelopes your swollen clit, pinching it for what it's worth, and you burst. Your head falls back with a groan, as your eyes screw shut. Your hands find purchase in Yoongi's locks of wavy black hair, your tighs bucking and thrashing into his lapping mouth. He grips your thighs and caresses the sensitive skin in long, patient motions. Yoongi laps your release with lazy, soft kitten licks. It's still too much to handle for your overstimulated, battered cunt. 

"Stop." You tug at his hair with a whine. 

Yoongi chuckles. "Enough?" There's another meaning, a hidden intention, behind the simple question. It extends a much more complicated, compromising offer. Does this stop now, or do you want more of this in the future? 

You turn away from the intensity of his gaze, only to find yourself face to face with a portrait of Jimin's smiling face. It's a picture of him smiling alongside you, to be precise. The portrait you gifted him for his birthday. It dawns on you. This is Jimin's bedroom. As you come down from your high, you find a mix of guilt and thrill brewing in your chest. Is that what Eve felt when tasting the forbidden fruit? You let Yoongi have oral sex with you in Jimin's bedroom. The guy you are seeing. His step-brother. It should feel revolting.

Surprisingly, though... You like it. You are inebriated with the taste of the prohibited, and do not want to let go. You realize it as you stare back into those dark, all-consuming pools. You can't go back. You don't want to go back. 

You like the darkness inside the walls.

[searchingwardrobes]

Self Promo Sunday

I have honestly really enjoyed going back to my older fics and making picsets for them to post here on tumblr. This one is a cute little one shot that came to me because I did a brief stint in direct sales and was HORRIBLE at it! (I sold - or tried to sell - scrapbooking supplies). I know Killian is good at charming his way out of trouble and using his charm to steal things, but I imagined that being a salesman wouldn’t be as easy for him. You see, I was horrible at sales because I don’t like talking people into buying something when they clearly don’t want to. Killian Jones is very passionate about choice and free will, so I imagined the following story!

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: G for silly, sweet fluff

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @teamhook​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @shireness-says​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @kday426​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @nikkiemms​​​  @optomisticgirl​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @snidgetsafan​

Emma Swan really hopes Killian Jones has a second job. Because she’s never seen a worse salesman. The first time he comes into the diner, the last thing she would have pegged him as is a salesman. All mussed hair and black leather with piercings and a tattoo. The heavy black vinyl bag leaning against the booth next to him that says Buy the Book: Direct Sales is out of place.

He’s so bad at it that it takes him forever that first day to give her his sales pitch. Until his second cup of coffee, to be exact. That’s when he hems and haws as he gives her his business card. She stares at it, wondering how she can politely decline as he scratches behind his ear and slides a glossy catalogue across the table. She normally wouldn’t have any qualms at turning down either a sales pitch or a pick up line with a gruff not interested, but he’s so adorably nervous. He starts pulling sample inventory out of his bag, and that’s when she’s in trouble because Henry sniffs out the books like a bloodhound. Her son hops from his stool at the counter where he’s been doing his homework, and eagerly starts looking through the books.

“Look at this one, mom!” Henry exclaims, holding up a pirate sticker and activity book. “It’s not for babies. It’s got cool facts about the history of real pirates.”

Yes. Emma Swan’s son is not your typical ten year old. He’s both a bookworm and a history nut. And she loves him for it. Which is why she buys it. Not because salesman Killian Jones has killer blue eyes.

She pulls a twenty from her apron pocket, hands it to him (because there’s no way she’s giving a guy she just met her credit card information), and tries not to swoon when he smiles. It’s killer, too. She’s his first customer, he tells her, and she can’t help smiling back. He frowns, though, when he realizes he doesn’t have change for a twenty, and then Emma rolls her eyes because, really? It’s just a nickel. He smiles again at that and, well, crap. That smile!

She rolls her eyes later when she sees the ten he left for a tip along with a note telling her she’s “bloody amazing.” The fool went and gave the majority of his profit right back to her. Yeah, he really sucks at this.

*********************************************************

The second time he comes into the diner, he wisely comes in the afternoon again, ensuring Henry is there doing his homework. But this time, he tries (and fails) to chat up fellow customers to get a few sales. They seem skeptical of a salesman who looks more like a biker/rock star than someone who peddles used cars. Emma almost laughs when the only single woman in the diner’s face instantly falls when Killian Jones produces his business card and a catalogue. Seems his blue eyes and his smile are powerless against a woman scorned. She huffs as she tosses her tip on the table and exits the diner post haste, leaving a clearly baffled Killian behind.

When Emma approaches his table, he smiles half-heartedly and she feels sorry for him. Once again, he doesn’t try to sell her anything until she fills his coffee mug a second time. That’s when he pulls out a book he thinks Henry might like, all about knights and castles of the Middle Ages. Henry eagerly peruses it, and Emma is a sucker once again. She buys it because Henry loves history so much he’s the only ten year old Emma has ever heard of who was pumped about a weekend trip to Gettysburg. It’s not because of the way Killian Jones swipes his tongue over his lower lip when he’s nervous.

*****************************************************

The next time Killian comes into the diner, Christmas music is playing and a garland of evergreen hangs in loops over the counter. It’s mid-morning, so Henry’s at school. After his second cup of coffee, Killian admits he came when he knew Henry would be at school because he was hoping . . . and then he’s hemming and hawing again, rubbing at his neck and scratching behind his ear. Emma thinks for a split second that he’s trying to ask her out until he pulls his company’s Christmas catalogue out of his bag. She tries to ignore her disappointment when he asks if she’s finished her Christmas shopping yet.

She ends up buying a “Daily Inspirations for Teachers” desk calendar for Mary Margaret and Nicholas Spark’s newest bestseller for David (a guilty pleasure she loves to tease him about). For Granny she gets a book of knitting patterns. Killian pulls out a book he thinks Henry would like: a leather bound book of fairy tales with the title Once Upon a Time embossed in elegant script across the front. Emma knows Henry would love it, but gasps at the price. A forty dollar book is way over her budget, and like the horrible salesman he is, Killian doesn’t push it. She orders two graphic novels for Henry instead, and when she places the order she slides her credit card across the table.

Killian tells her it’s his biggest order to date and smiles so wide Emma is able to confirm her suspicions. There are dimples underneath that scruff. She begins to second guess her assertion that he’s a bad salesman. Because she’s pretty sure he could sell beachfront property in Kansas with those dimples.

*************************************************

In January, Emma is alarmed when a dejected Killian Jones enters the diner and slumps in his usual booth, his head in his hands. Emma decides to stop the charade when she approaches his table.

“You don’t have to wait till your second cup of coffee.”

Killian lifts his face to hers and quirks an eyebrow in confusion, “I’m sorry, love?”

“You know,” Emma says, gesturing with her order pad, “selling me books. What do you have for Henry this time?”

Killian sighs and leans back in the booth, “Alas, Swan, I am no longer in the business. I’m pretty much the worst salesman in the world.”

Emma hates that she chuckles, but she can’t help it, “Yeah, you pretty much sucked.” Killian, thankfully, laughs as well. “I’m glad I was your best customer, then. While it lasted.”

Killian winces, “Actually, love, you were my only customer.”

Emma’s jaw drops at that and her sympathy grows exponentially. She never bought that much, really. She glances around for Granny as she slides into the booth across from him. Although, based on Granny’s reaction to the knitting book (Why don’t you kiss the man already instead of buying all his books?), she doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“Are you okay? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re starving and destitute, so I’m assuming you have another job.��

“Several, actually,” Killian says, drumming his fingers on the table. “My brother and I do seasonal work on the Cape with a boat charter we own.”

“Cape Cod?”

“Aye. The Cape is beautiful in the spring and summer, but in the winter it’s downright depressing. So I like to come here to Boston once we winter the boat. The hustle and bustle is a nice change of pace, and I love city life during the holidays. Plus, like your boy, I’m a bit of a history buff. I work seasonally at the bookstore down the street.”

“So why the direct sales?”

Killian sighs, “A foolish notion. The bookstore only hires me through the end of December. I thought with this second job I could stay in the city until spring,” he shrugs. “Turns out convincing a customer in a bookstore to buy J.M. Barrie’s original Peter Pan instead of the abridged illustrated version is a mite different from selling books all on your lonesome.”

Emma’s heart drops at the implication of what he’s saying. “So what will you do now?”

“Slink back to the Cape with my tail between my legs and help my sister in law at the ice cream shop, as usual.”

So he’s leaving Boston. He’s leaving, and Emma is surprised at how much it disappoints her. “An ice cream place on the cape can make it through the winter?” She almost face palms. Can she sound any more desperate to convince him to stay?

Killian doesn’t seem to pick up on any subtext, thank goodness. “Elsa inherited the place from her aunt. She and her sister helped out there since they were kids. They know how to make it through the lean months. Dull as tombs, though. Yet, as they say, spring will come again!”

Emma tries to smile, but she knows it’s half-hearted. Killian reaches into his bag and pulls out the leather bound book of fairy tales she couldn’t afford at Christmas. Emma arches an eyebrow, “Still trying to make a sale?”

“Oh no, Swan, this is a gift. To thank you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept that. You need to sell off your inventory, or you’ll lose everything you invested.”

Killian chuckles sardonically at that, “Too late for that, Swan. Besides, you’re the only one who ever bought anything, and you know it wasn’t for the books. You felt sorry for me.”

Emma’s face flushes, and she wishes she could tell him that wasn’t it. She’s always despised pity and vowed she’d never doll it out. But how can she explain that while still guarding her heart? Instead, she accepts the leather book and hugs it to her chest, mumbling a soft “thank you.” Killian smiles in return and exits the diner without ever ordering a thing. And she hates the finality of his departure and the possibility that there could have been a them, but now she’ll never know.

She looks down at the book in her hands and notices a little rectangle of cardstock poking out of its pages. She pulls it out, expecting it to be Killian’s Buy the Book business card. Instead, it says Jewel of the Realm Charters with the names Liam and Killian Jones and a phone number. Emma’s heart flips in her chest when she sees that Killian has jotted a note on the back.

I owe you and Henry a free day of sailing. – Killian

The fool still knows nothing about making a profit.

********************************************************

In February, Emma Swan walks into Any Given Sundae along the shores of Cape Cod. She convinced herself there was nothing stalker-ish about her showing up here, but now that the bell is jingling above the door and the blonde woman behind the counter is smiling at her, she’s having second thoughts. Killian had mentioned his sister-in-law’s name, so it’s not like she had to be a private detective or anything to find the place. Still, who drives all the way from Boston to Cape Cod just to visit an ice cream shop? In February?

“May I help you?” asks the blonde, and Emma fiddles with the end of her scarf. She was kind of hoping Killian would just be there when she walked through the door.

“Um . . . I . . .” and she almost laughs thinking of the way Killian would hem and haw when selling her books. She glances around the store. It’s one of those tiny places that beach goers walk in and out of on hot summer days. There are no tables or chairs anywhere in the place. But in the corner a display table has been set up. A display table of books. Emma walks towards it. “You sell books?”

“Oh,” says the blonde – Elsa, she assumes – with a dismissive wave of her hand, “that’s a failed business venture of my brother-in-law’s. Please buy one. I need to get those out of here before tourist season.”

Emma reaches out and runs her fingers along the edges of the books.

“Swan?”

Emma turns to see Killian standing behind the counter with a large tub of ice cream in each arm. He deposits them quickly into their slots behind the glass then comes around to face her. They stand there staring at each other for a few moments, grinning like a couple of idiots.

“Wh-what are you doing here, Swan?” he stutters, and she swears he sounds more nervous than he did when he was trying to sell books.

“Guess it’s too early for that day of sailing, huh?” she teases with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases back, “there’s a foot of snow on the ground, Swan.”

Emma bites her lip and fiddles with her scarf again, “Actually, I came to tell you thank you. For Henry’s book. He loves it.”

Killian raises his eyebrows, “You drove all the way out to Cape Cod to tell me that?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes Emma blush, and they just stare at each other again like goofballs. She sees Elsa laugh and shake her head out of the corner of her eye, and she thinks that she couldn’t possibly embarrass herself any more than she already has. So with a roll of her eyes and a screw this, she grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses the living daylights out of him.

He dives back in for more when she finally pulls away, and when Elsa tells them, “Easy there, tigers, you’re gonna melt all the ice cream,” they laugh against each others’ lips.

************************************************************

Two months later, Henry brings his book along when Killian takes them sailing. He reads parts of it out loud to them when Killian lays anchor, and Emma finds that it’s modern versions of classic fairy tales. Snow White is a bandit with a bow and arrows, Red Riding Hood is a werewolf, and Captain Hook is a hero who falls in love with a princess. And Emma thinks that she really likes this story. A pirate and a princess.

But she likes theirs better.

A salesman and a waitress.

Make that a horrible salesman and a waitress.

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, for Dummies p15 (epilogue)

a/n: its OVER! It”S Over AND OVER MEANS TA DAHHHHHH!! i hope you all enjoyed baby’s first fic series...More to come on other fronts. oh boy. i hope i di you, my readers and this series justice...enjoy xoxo...

You woke up one night with a start. You could feel your heart beating loudly within your chest. You cupped it and felt it all click into place. You were officially one millenia old. You felt an electric shock shift through your body at the thought. You shivered. 

Looking down beside you at the shirtless Master beside you, you played idly with his hair. His face smoothed of all the troubles he’d ever seen, despite the eternal youth, he still carried himself with the weight of the Drums and was forged into a perfect war machine from age eight. True the past nine hundred or so years were considerably easier for him. He had you. The bright spark in all the darkness. A reward for a rough life lived.

You were incredibly fond of him. 

“Blimey.” You thought, “One thousand years…” 

You sat, drawing the sheets over your body and took stock of your life. 

No matter what way you cut it, it was very good.

Sure, you also had yourself a rough start. Maybe not for as long as he did, but he was your bright spark as much as you his.

It was almost like destiny. Not that you felt like a predetermined force shoved you together, no, that was stupid. But destiny? That you were supposed to be the greatest? 

Yeah, you could buy that.

You stretched and stifled a moan as you slid out of bed and to make yourself a cup of coffee. All these years later, and you still were a coffee in the morning sort. Some things really never did change. 

You both had a long day the day before and you didn’t want to wake your lover up demanding coffee, no matter how much yours would always pale in comparison to his in all regards. 

You set the coordinates to the Eye of Orion and opened up the doors, grabbing an adirondack chair and moved it out there. You took in the positive ions and let the centuries wash over you. The piping hot mug sending steam into the atmosphere. You took a sip and stretched out, a distant memory niggling at the back of your head…

What was it?

You had to think for a few moments before you remembered.

Your first week in his TARDIS!

Of course…

You’d been on the defense. Wondering why he’d chosen you. What game was he on and how would it appear to the Doctor if you were found out. You found yourself guffawing quietly at your once fear that he was going to kill you. Crying and begging for him to kill you because of what a coward you were and his reactions to the minds of simple others. Then abruptly- your first date.

What a lifetime and then some that was…

A millenia…

If only all those who naysayed you as a small human could have seen you now.

You jokingly clucked your tongue.

“You know, you actually left a mark when you hit me.” You heard a voice behind you.

It was him, bringing out a cup of tea for himself and a matching chair. 

“You deserved it.”

“Did I?” He teased, ruffling his hair into a truly pretentious version of artsy. 

“I did it once, who’s to say I won’t hit again.” You stuck out your tongue.

“Careful, pet.” He goaded in a loving tone. “Might have to punish you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You conceded and drank in your coffee and the view. The Eye of Orion was one of your favorite places to visit on occasion. You thoroughly enjoyed the peace of it all and all the inner sanctum vibes. 

“I know you’re thinking about being one thousand.” He tapped his temple. “It’s a crazy year. I remember mine. I honestly didn’t think I’d be that old and all.”

“Easy for you to say.” You rolled your eyes a bit. “Yours is the species you’d expect to live that long.”

“Fair, but you know me.”

“Yes, I do…”

As far as knowing each other could go, it was like a second skin. You literally knew everything about each other. No secrets, even things that one couldn’t know, the other knew. The two of you were evenly matched and the fatal flaw of each other. 

Yet the greatest salvation of both.

To quote some probably long deceased relative of yours, Frick and Frack. 

You sat on quietly, enjoying the beauty of the moments and the restorative energies course through you and co mingle with the coffee.

“May I braid your hair?” He asked quietly.

“Sure.” You slid over to his chair and sat between his legs as he combed it with his fingers and slowly. He once in a while loved to braid your hair and lay kisses on your shoulders, inhaling your scent. It was his all-time favorite in the cosmos. Essence of you. Very intimate and very softening. 

He finished it up after a while and pulled you down, dipping you into a kiss. His mouth was wet with saliva and the trembling fire building within both of your chests. He positively flowed into you and found your cunt, maybe a tad bit moist. But it was a delicious kiss. You pulled his face down onto yours with hands and continued kissing him back, biting on his lips and tasting the peppermint and licorice on his lips. 

His palm at the top of your mound and him slightly stroking your clit as his pinky stroked the entrance of your folds. You could feel him bracing his other hand on the side of your hip, digging in nails slightly. You hitched your legs open and let him in. He went in and worked, pumping you with a finger, knowing exactly how to make you feel squishy inside. He added another finger and used his thumb to stroke and circle your throbbing, needy clit. 

Sex was still explosive and amazing. Never boring. Even simple stuff like this.

He finished you off quickly then got back to necking with you. You let him for a little while and flipped him over and returned the favor. 

After all, it was a partnership of equals...

It was a quiet day after that, he bathed you and brought you to several more orgasms.

He gifted you another dangly thing for your neck, “Oh! I like it! Thank you, Master.” You cooed as he affixed a small leather braided chain with a purple, shimmery gemstone of some sort. It matched well with your well worn, well loved old collar and the beautiful but deadly warpstar that you always wore. A three-tiered testament to your Master’s loving affection and him being rapt with you…

“I figure, you know, it’s a special day and all.” He blushed and stammered at the sight of you. His whore, his pet, his lover, his life.  

You crawled back into plotting mode after you both were finally dressed and unsexed. The coffee had been brewed, the coordinates set, plans set and traps ready to be laid...

The Universe was big and the masses were unruly.

It was big, and somebody had to fuck it into total submission.

Or somebody’s...

THE END

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Just a little thought I had a moment ago while seeing Roger and his drums - Imagine wanting to learn how to play the drums and (any era) Roger is more than happy and willing to teach you. He tells you to take a seat on his lap with your back to him. He places the sticks on your hands and starts guiding your hands and once you know some moves, he puts his hands on your hips and you start grinding on him. The rest is up to your dirty mind 😏.

Decided to knock these two awfully similar requests out real quick. (Pun maybe intended? I’m not sure.)

No direction in life. Wasting your life while the world goes by. No motivation. No interests other than partying all night and sleeping all day. You have the lecture you hear almost every day during your semester break from your parents memorized.

“Give me something to do then,” you challenged them one day. They weren’t wrong. You had no desire to do anything constructive with your time, because it took away from your rest and recuperation periods between social events.

Your dad was quite proud of himself when the idea popped into his head. His buddy had been feeling a bit down lately, not having much to do with his spare time, and long ago you mentioned that you wanted to learn how to play the drums.

You were a bit hesitant about it all. Roger Taylor. The man you’ve had a crush on for years, ever since your family moved in next door. He and your dad had become great friends, and your two families were always mingled, even going so far as to taking holidays together. It was cute at first, but the older you got, the more intense your thoughts would get when you’d see him, and it made you act like a complete idiot around him. He ate it up. It made him feel good about himself.

You wanted to back out of the lessons, but you knew if you did, your parents would nag you even more. So you went, to his house, in his little studio, just the two of you, and you were miserable. During the first lesson, he was so nonchalant about everything, and he would joke around with you and tease you and… It was hard. So incredibly hard not to let your hormones take over. But there was absolutely no way you could be that brash. Not with him.

By the third lesson, you realize that your hormones aren’t going to play nice, and if something isn’t done about it, you’re going to lose your mind. The way you see it, things can go two ways. He can ignore whatever advances you make – and you have to be really careful with how you go about this – or he can shoot you down and you go home, embarrassed and mortified and never see him again.

He’s not making it easier on you. His looks are getting more intense and linger for just a moment too long. His hands rest on your shoulders just a little too much. He stands just a little too close. Sometimes his voice gets a little too deep in your ear.

So when it came time for the fourth lesson, you decide that it’s now or never and opt to dress a bit more for easy access. Nothing fancy. Just those shorts you noticed him appreciating when your families were down in Ibiza the month before, and that tight tank top you wore with them. “I’m sorry I’m late,” you say when you walk in the door, purposely late so he would buy what you’re trying to sell. “I had to run to the shop and didn’t have time to go home and change.”

He just shook his head and laughed before escorting you to his studio. His looks are lingering even longer now. His comments treading that fine line between safe and dangerous. One of you has to make a move… It’s just a matter of who is going to be the first to cave.

You’re going to make sure he’s the one who does. When you sit at the drum set, you make sure he has to touch you. Only you get more than you thought you would. “No,” he laughs. “You’re sitting all wrong.” He tugs your arm for you to stand and takes a seat and taps his lap for you to sit down and you start to nervously giggle. “Come on, don’t make this awkward.”

You sit down and he moves your hips to put you straight. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, but you’re not sure what you’re apologizing for.

“You’re alright,” he chuckles, still holding your hips. “Double hand shuffle, 4 on the floor and keep it going,” he says.

You start pounding away at the drum, using a lot of arm movement, maybe on purpose. “No. Use more of your wrist,” he says, moving his hands from your hips to your wrists. “You need a firmer grip,” he says, tightening his hand.

One of the sticks slips out of your hand and falls to the floor. “I’m such a klutz,” you groan and bend down to pick it up, not realizing that you’re giving him a show when you do. Or maybe you do. Okay, you do. That’s why you bend over, slowly, making sure your moves are subtle. He’s trying to be subtle, too, but his hands grip your hips again. Maybe he’s just trying to make sure you don’t fall. Or maybe…

He adjusts you back on his lap when you sit back up, only this time he’s shifting you closer, not exactly in the proper position, making your ass press slightly against his crotch. “Now let’s try this again,” he says in a lower tone than he was speaking in before. “Comfortable?”

You smirk to yourself. Finally, he gets it. He gets what you’ve been trying to let him know for the past two weeks of these silly drumming lessons your father somehow convinced him to give you. You don’t care about playing the drums anymore. You keep showing up only because you want to get closer to Roger.

It’s hard for both of you to focus on drumming now. Not that either of you want to, but you’re both pretending to try. Your ass is pressing hard into his crotch and you can feel him start to get hard. “What about the floor?” you ask trying to sound innocent, but he isn’t buying it. He doesn’t care.

He starts to tap the peddle with his foot, still holding your waist, and you bounce just a little bit on his lap. You easily pick up on what he’s trying to do. You start to over exaggerate your movements, bounce up and down on his lap harder and harder as his cock get even harder and starts to press into you.

You lean back against him and he rests his chin on your shoulder, giving him a perfect view of your tits moving up and down right in front of him. He continues to harden as he stares at your breasts, not even trying to pretend anymore. You grab onto his legs to stay still as he starts to bounce his leg up and down with more vigor. He moves his hands from your hips and grabs on to your tits, and you hear him quietly groan in your ear.

“Is this part of the lesson, Mr. Taylor?” you whisper. He nuzzles his face in your neck and groans again as his grip on you gets harder.

His jeans are restraining him and making him uncomfortable. He pushes you to stand so he can quickly unzip them and pulls you back down. “Just relax,” he whispers in your ear. “Relax.”

You start grinding yourself on him without his coaxing. His groans are getting louder and he moves a hand down to your stomach before he stops. “You can go lower, you know,” you giggle. “If you want to.”

His face is still nuzzled in your neck and he takes a deep breath trying to snap himself out of this, but he can’t. “Do you want me to?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer. He knows that’s a stupid question. He slides his hand down under your shorts, under your panties, and he takes another deep breath. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, and you giggle.

“That feels nice,” you whisper, enjoying the feel of his slightly calloused fingertips gently rub on your already wet lips. “But I know you can make it feel better.”

He moves his fingers to softly toy with your clit, and you let out a quiet whimper. “Better?” he asks, and you can feel his smile on your neck. “You don’t need much convincing, do you?” Slowly he pushes a finger down to your entrance and groans again as he gently slides it in. “You’re so wet. And so tight.”

You slide yourself down a little and reach one of your hands behind you and feel around for his cock. It’s not difficult to find. And when you do, you slide your hand underneath his briefs and start to rub it. “Mr. Taylor?” you ask.

“That feels good, Y/N,” he mumbles. He pulls his hand out from your shorts and cleans his fingers off. “But I need more of this,” he whispers in your ear and nudges you off of his lap. When you stand in front of him, he pulls down your shorts and panties in one move before standing up behind you and moving you to sit back on the stool.

He gets down on his knees in front of you and smiles as he spreads your pussy lips with his thumbs and takes a big lick all the way up your slit. His tongue dives straight into your hole for a taste of your sweetness then moves gently up to your clit. “Oh!” you gasp, wiggling your hips. “That feels amazing.”

He pulls back and slides a finger deep inside you and looks up from between your legs. “Have you ever had someone do this before?” he asks as he works a second finger into your pussy.

“No,” you whimper. “No never. My boyfriend never…”

“So you’re telling me no one’s ever licked you here?“ You squirm and gasp as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, a little harder and a little faster each time.

“N-no, Mr. Taylor,” you gasp.

He smirks. “Looks like there are all kinds of things I can teach you,” he groans as he lowers his head back down. His tongue starts to lick around his fingers before finding your clit again.

“Yes! Yes!” you cry out as your body starts to shake. “Oh god! Don’t stop!” Roger suddenly picks up speed on your clit and you scream as you cum, harder than you’d ever made yourself cum before as works over your body.

He had taken his dick out of his pants at some point, and you can see him stroking it, long and hard. He catches you watching him as you come down from my orgasmic high. He stands in front of you, still stroking his cock, and looks down. “Have you ever…?”

He can’t even finish asking. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you quietly say as you run your tongue up his shaft several times while squeezing his ball gently with your free hand. You suck lightly on the head as you look up at him and smile.

“Oh fuck, Y/N,” he groans, watching you look up at him with those eyes. “You just can’t get enough, can you?”

You pause from your sucking but keep jerking his cock. “Is this a problem?”

“Absolutely not,” he tells you as he grabs your head with one hand and guides your mouth back down on his dick.

You giggle and moan as your head moves up and down, his hand running through your hair with your every motion. Your eyes gazed up at him letting him know you’re enjoying this. But he pulls back unexpectedly and pulls you up again.

“Hold on,” he tells you as he bend you over the drums. “And steady. Don’t want these to fall over.” He adjusts you so you’re at the right at the height for him to stand behind you and pound away. “Now be a good girl and let me teach you some new moves,” he tells you as he starts rubbing his pulsing tip against your pussy making it nice and slick.

“I don’t like being good,” you giggle as you move your hips, forcing him inside.

“Clearly you don’t,” he laughs, burying his cock inside you, his hands gripping your hips as you moan with glee as he starts pulsing into you from behind. “Does your boyfriend fuck you like this, Y/N?”

“No,” you groan, your voice shaking as he slams deeper inside you. “I’ve never been fucked like this before.” He pulls you back into him and gives you a playful slap on your ass, which only serves to encourage you to push yourself further onto his dick. “Go harder. Please,” you beg.

“I’ll show you hard,” he growls. He can’t go faster, but harder he can do. Your ass is bouncing like it did when he slapped it, only now it was from his hips beating into you. “I’ll teach you how to be properly fucked.”

“Teach me, Mr. Taylor!” you shout out. “I want to learn everything.” You squeeze his cock with your tight pussy, him filling every inch of you. You start jerking when he reaches a hand down and starts rubbing on your clit as he relentlessly pounds into you. He knows you’re close to cumming and holds you still while digging fingers in to keep you in place.

“I’m close,” he groans.

“Fuck me, Mr. Taylor,” you whisper. You’re shaking. “You feel so good. I love your cock. I need to cum.”

“Then cum for me,” he groans. “Show me how much you love my cock.” That’s all you needed to hear to make you gush. Every muscle in your body clinches before releasing very slowly. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

“Then cum in me,” you tell him. “It’s okay. I want to feel it.” He doesn’t need more encouragement. He pulls you hard back to him and pushes himself in as far as he can go, exploding everything inside you as you both let out loud moans.

He carefully pulls himself out and planted small kisses on your back shoulders. You stand and face him, completely worn out with a smile on your face. He grabs the back of your head and leans down, kissing you softly, all while smiling. “Maybe don’t tell people what you’ve learned today, huh?” he jokes.

“Don’t worry,” you giggle. “Our little secret.”

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