#beauty bay shampoo

[betweenujb]

nothing better

sana x jihyo

warnings: fluff, smut, soft morning sex, slight somno

The rain started late last night. It was pouring when Jihyo let her eyes finally close and surrender to some much needed sleep. She could vaguely remember the light rumble of thunder outside of the little cottage they rented and the sound of the rain pattering against the window.

That same rain woke Jihyo up early in the morning. The sun had barely started to rise as she stretched her body, feeling stiff but well rested. She laid her head back against her pillow and let out a long yawn, blinking a few times to wake herself up a bit more.

She didn't really want to wake up yet, given that she had gone to bed late, but she knew that if she went back to sleep, she'd just toss and turn. So, Jihyo carefully pushed the covers from her body, careful not to disturb the still sleeping girl beside her.

She stretched again and walked towards the multi-paned bay window and stared out at the expanse of land beyond the cottage. It was quiet. Much quieter than Seoul, and it was something Jihyo thought she could get used to. As much as she loved the hustle and bustle of the city and constantly being busy with schedules and interviews, she also liked not having anything to do.

As Jihyo stared out the window, she glanced behind her before turning back to unhook the latch carefully and quietly in between the windows. She pushed the right window open slightly and put her hand out to test how heavy the rain was. Deeming it was a light enough sprinkle and not one of those weird sideways rains, she pushed the window open halfway. The sound of the rain was louder now, but only just.

Jihyo took a deep breath, a sleepy smile drawn on her lips as the smell of wet grass filled her nose. Spring just started, and it was perfect for the French countryside. She had been in Paris with the girls a few months ago for the tour, but she wanted to see more of the country. She also wanted to have a little alone time with one of her favorite people.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted by a half-asleep groan. Sana rolled over, instinctively reaching for Jihyo’s body that hadn’t been in bed for the past ten minutes.

Jihyo softly chuckled and crept back to the bed. She slipped under the covers and her arm found its way back across Sana’s waist with ease. She pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her lover’s head, the scent of her vanilla and cinnamon shampoo filling Jihyo’s senses.

Although she wasn’t going to go back to sleep, the peace she felt just lying beside Sana and the feeling of her warm body pressed against her own, was enough to keep her in bed for a little while longer. Jihyo closed her eyes so she could focus on the sound of the rain and the feeling of Sana’s silky lingerie top against the palm of her hand as she traced small circles on her belly.

Time seemed to slow down despite it being the last full day of their little getaway to the French countryside. They had only gotten three days to themselves, but they were the most relaxing and healing three days that Jihyo could remember.

The longer Jihyo laid beside Sana, her front pressed close against her girlfriend’s back, the more aware she became of the heat she radiated. The more she noticed the soft skin of Sana’s legs against her own. And the more she felt the swell of Sana’s ass pressed against her sleep shorts.

Jihyo took in all the new senses that flooded her brain and took a deep breath. She shifted slightly to try and relieve the now prominent ache between her thighs, but Sana only scooted closer. Despite being fast asleep, Jihyo and Sana had slept in the same bed enough that the older girl’s body instinctively sought out the younger’s and vice versa.

After a few minutes of trying to control herself, Jihyo gave up. They had gone at it for hours last night, but seeing Sana’s beautiful body in the early morning light was something different. Her skin seemed to glow, and her sweet scent was intoxicating.

Carefully, Jihyo slid her hand under Sana’s barely there lingerie top. She traced her fingers over the flat of Sana’s belly, her touch featherlight as she made her way up to tentatively touch just below her breast.

When Sana didn’t move, her breathing still steady and slow, Jihyo cupped Sana’s breast. It was warm and soft and fit perfectly in her hand.

Jihyo took a shaky breath as she gently kneaded Sana’s breast in her hand. She took her time, just brushing her fingers over her lover’s nipples before she moved her hand back to her belly. She knew Sana’s nipples were sensitive, and she didn’t want her to wake up just yet.

Her heart practically beating out of her chest, Jihyo moved her hand lower until it rested on the waistband of Sana’s panties. They were lacy and pink — perfect for Sana. They were as smooth as the silk top that Sana was wearing, and Jihyo wanted nothing more than to rip them off her. But Jihyo knew that she needed to be slow and take her time.

It wasn’t the first time that Jihyo had touched Sana while she was sleeping, but it had been a while. Sana gave her the green light to do whatever to her body while she was sleeping, but Jihyo was still a little hesitant. She liked it when Sana was awake. She liked hearing the beautiful sounds that fell from her lips when she hit that perfect spot, and she liked seeing the flush on her cheeks.

Jihyo let out a breathy gasp as she pressed her fingers against the wet spot on Sana’s panties.

Did she really get this wet just from a few light touches? She’s not even awake.

Encouraged by Sana’s subconscious reactions, Jihyo slowly pushed her hand into Sana’s panties. She laid her forehead against the back of Sana’s head to muffle the gasp she was about to let out. Sana was even wetter than she thought and the slick covering Jihyo’s fingers already was enough to drive her overboard.

Jihyo teased her fingers up and down Sana’s dripping wet folds a few times before she pushed a shaky finger inside. Sana was still tight despite the hours they spent ravishing each other last night. Her walls were soft and hot and hugged Jihyo’s finger perfectly. She carefully moved in and out of Sana’s tight heat. It was like it was being hugged by velvet clouds.

It only took a few seconds before Jihyo’s need for more took over. Her brain was clouded by the feeling of Sana’s wet walls squeezing her fingers and the overwhelmingly strong scent of something so undeniably Sana filling the small room.

Jihyo pulled her finger out and carefully slid Sana’s panties off. She tossed them somewhere in the room to join the rest of their clothes that were hastily stripped off the night before. Her free hand gripped Sana’s waist as she tugged her closer.

Before she dipped her fingers back into Sana’s folds, Jihyo brushed her lover’s hair back from her neck. She gently nipped and sucked at the soft skin on her neck, a small smirk on her lips as she kissed over the red and purple marks already there.

Leaving just one more mark to go along with the rest that were peppered along Sana’s sensitive skin, Jihyo moved her fingers back to Sana’s pussy. The heat it was radiating drew Jihyo even closer as she pushed two fingers into her lover.

She let out a quiet groan as Sana’s walls stretched to accommodate one more finger. She started out slow to let her body get accustomed to the intrusion before she gradually picked up her speed.

Sana stayed asleep, her breathing slow and steady for the first few thrusts. Soon, though, the all too familiar stretch and pleasant ache of being filled sent signals to her brain.

With her eyes still closed and her breathing a bit more labored, Sana took a shaky breath. She wasn't fully awake yet, but the feeling of Jihyo's fingers curling inside of her sent a beautiful reminder of last night to her thoughts.

Still under the guise of sleep, Jihyo's lips brushed against the shell of Sana's ear. She gently added a third finger as Sana's slick started to run down her hand.

"You feel so good, love," Jihyo whispered as she curled all three of her fingers. She felt the spongy spot that drew the most pleasure from her girlfriend and jumped a bit when she heard the whimper from Sana's mouth.

"Don't stop." Sana's words were barely audible as she laced her hand with Jihyo's own on that was holding her waist.

Jihyo never had any intention to stop but still nodded. She squeezed Sana's hand as she started to move her fingers in and out of the velvet folds faster and faster.

"I can't believe how wet you got. Just from me holding you?" Jihyo chuckled softly and kissed the soft skin just behind Sana's ear.

All that Sana could do was let out a gasp and nod. It had been no more than a few hours since Jihyo's fingers had been inside of her, but it felt like they had been apart for weeks. Every single time they made love, it was like the first time all over again.

"Ji- ah- close." Sana bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowed together as she arched her back. Her hips instinctively thrusted into Jihyo's hand in a poor attempt to get her girlfriend's fingers to reach deeper.

"You gonna cum for me, love?" Jihyo's heavy breathing matched Sana's as her hand moved at a lightning speed. The wet and sloppy sound of her fingers thrusting in and out of Sana along with their labored moans filled the cottage bedroom. They drifted out of the window and into the early morning air of the countryside.

Jihyo squeezed Sana's right hand tighter as she curled her fingers on every upward thrust into her. She angled her hand inward a bit more so she could apply pressure to Sana's clit, rubbing it with in small, deep circles.

"Fuck! Ji!" Sana's cry was met with a few more pumps of Jihyo's fingers. She unlaced their hands quickly and reached backward to hold onto Jihyo's head, wanting her girlfriend as close as possible. Sana's body trembled as her thighs clamped down on Jihyo's wrist. Her walls tightened as she let out a high-pitched moan.

Despite the vice grip on her wrist and her fingers, Jihyo managed to curl her fingers and rub Sana's clit. Her breath came out in pants as Sana's body convulsed through her orgasm. Jihyo's whole hand was covered in Sana's cum and their bodies were coated in a thin layer of sweat.

After a few moments of another powerful orgasm, Sana's thighs slowly relaxed and her grip on Jihyo's fingers loosened. Her breathing was heavy as her hand drifted back to Jihyo's hand on her waist.

Sana took a deep breath, whining when Jihyo finally pulled her fingers out. She wiped them on a stray shirt laying at their feet and kissed the back of Sana's head.

"Good morning."

Sana leisurely turned in Jihyo's arms. Her hair was dampened from sweat and her vanilla and cinnamon scent was now mixed with the scent of sex. Jihyo thought it was perfect.

"Good morning," Jihyo mumbled, a goofy grin plastered to her face. Sana cupped Jihyo's cheek and brushed her thumb over her girlfriend's lips.

"You haven't woken me up like that in quite a while," Sana said as she pressed a gentle kiss to Jihyo's forehead.

"You were sleeping so peacefully and you looked so beautiful. I couldn't resist." Jihyo's hand stayed wrapped around Sana's waist. She traced small circles on her hip bone with her thumb as she memorized every inch of her skin.

"Well, maybe," Sana started as she pressed another kiss to Jihyo's forehead, "we could start all over. I wasn't really able to enjoy all of it, you know."

Jihyo playfully rolled her eyes and kissed Sana's cheek. The soft patter of rain had finally stopped. The morning air was now filled with quiet birdsong and a gentle rustle of leaves.

"I think that could be arranged."

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is too lazy to shower and you’re too weak to resist each other.

> est. relationship, fluff, v brief smut bc aftercare, some angst / wc: 4.7k

> warnings: subby!jk, implied edg♡ng and or♡l (and mention of f. receiving), brief h♡ndj♡b, c♡m eat♡ng, oc lowkey possessive oop, jungkook cries bc he is so full of love then i cried too </3 oc washes jk in the bathtub <3

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is stepping up what else can i say 🤷 and yea it’s jk at the ck event for the second part <3 this is… the sexiest time u’ll get from me i just felt the need to establish exactly how jk is smitten for oc. like i need u to understand!!!! before the next drabble bcoz 🥲 as alwaysss i love hearing your thoughts thru comments/reblog/asks !! <3

—

jungkook’s rhythmic knocking prompts you to blindly fumble for the handle with a slippery hand, sliding the glass door open to get rid of the barrier separating the two of you.

“what?” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut as you spread the shampoo in your hair.

your boyfriend gingerly wipes away the bubbles posing threat to your vision, allowing you to finally open your eyes and bask in his breathtaking beauty this fine morning. he stands by the door wearing only his black boxers, untamed hair and starry eyes softening the edges of your sharp temper. you will never not hate waking up early.

his voice is muffled by the pink toothbrush hanging from his lips as he beseeches you, deliberately using the charm of his pleading doe eyes.

“will you wash me, too…? i’m so tired, baby. i barely slept.”

“okay, babe.” you let out a sigh as you turn on the shower again. “but don’t get frisky. i can’t be late for work again.”

your approval makes his face light up as bright as a clear, sunny sky. why is he acting as if this is the very first time he will be standing underneath the shower with you? you fail to keep an endeared smile at bay.

“wait for me, okay?! i’ll just feed song and ppaeng real fast.”

he carefully closes the glass door, and then you hear it — his heavy feet stomping on the floor as he runs out of the bathroom as if he’s being chased by the hands of the clocks in the apartment.

“so annoying.” you snicker humorously, burying your face in your hands as you allow the water to wash away the thick foam from your hair.

—

“so annoying!” you exclaim as you turn off the shower for the final time, wholeheartedly meaning it this time around. you even took your time washing the conditioner off your hair and cleaning your body, but your patience has thinned and disintegrated into dust.

you reach for your towel, and in that moment, jungkook finally barges in the room.

“you’re finished?!”

your piercing glare meets his ingenuous doe eyes, and he winces guiltily.

“i got distracted with chores. sorry.” he bravely takes several steps closer, stealing a quick peck from your lips. “but i packed up your lunch so you’re ready to go.”

as of recent, your boyfriend has added cooking your lunch to his daily routine so you can spend your midday break at the park instead of a busy and stuffy restaurant. and although you’re dreading the exhausting day that awaits once you step foot outside the house, your heart melts when you think about the hour reserved for you to savor the food he cooked with love from his heart. it’s so easy to feel isolated in this world, but if you think about how the food that you eat requires effort and care to be made beyond fuel to live, doesn’t it make you feel a little lucky to be here?

“i guess i have some time to wash your hair.”

“i’ll take it!” he almost cuts you off, jumping at the offer before another precious millisecond is wasted.

you chuckle at his ardent display of eagerness. “will you fetch my robe then?”

—

jungkook comfortably settles in the far left of the drop-in bathtub where the showerhead is attached to the wall. meanwhile, you’re by his side facing him, sitting on the second step of the low white chair stool you both agreed to buy specifically for this type of situation.

with the heel of his palm, he wipes away the lone tear that trickles down his cheek as he lets go of another irrepressible yawn. he thought that the iced americano he was leisurely drinking in the kitchen already woke him up, yet here he is being lulled to sleep once more.

it was wrong of him to expect you to simply drizzle products on his hair and wash them off in a hurry. so wrong. you refuse to live your life halfheartedly, and that bleeds into your daily actions, he realizes.

you didn’t forget to comb his hair, untangling the knots painstakingly, before instructing him to sit under the shower. and once you were finished with generously applying the shampoo to cover his head, your artful fingers weave into his long hair to massage his scalp in small, circular movements. it’s not much, but you’re hoping that even with only five minutes of this small gesture, you can bring him some sort of comfort after having a bad night’s sleep.

“ah- this feels so nice. you’re healing me.” he sighs in relief, instinctively leaning into your affectionate touches.

you swoop in to plant a quick kiss on his lips before you take a peek at his phone. he has been diligently protecting it from the water, along with his hands.

“so, you’re buying a new polaroid camera?”

he nods, round eyes anchored in the screen as he reviews the product description displayed. “i couldn’t sleep so i started checking them out last night. i don’t really know what i’m looking for this time… i just want it to be black.”

“what made you think of it so suddenly?” you curiously inquire, ignoring the growing soreness in your arms as your fingers travel their way down to the lower half of his hair, consistent with the light pressure to release his tension.

“i want to do that thing.”

“what thing?”

“you know… tha-that thing, putting a photo of your favorite person on the back of your phone.” he stutters, lips curving into a sheepish smile. “you do it, too. sometimes.”

you snort, cracking up in laughter as you’re reminded of a running gag in your relationship. every time they have a new album release, he goes out of his way to ask for his photocards so he can jokingly present them to you as gifts since he’s your ‘favorite idol’. you do own quite a lot of phone cases, including a transparent that you use every and now then. the last one you put in the back of it was a random from his photofolio, the one in which he was doing a kissy face. how many people out there can say that their boyfriend was a vampire once?

“don’t laugh!” he whines grumpily. “you need to pose for them cutely, okay?”

“i’ll dress myself up prettier so you’ll look at me longer than the screen.”

a brand new camera always means having jungkook follow you around like a lost puppy, devoted to learning how to use it as an expert photographer and filmographer.

“but you better be sure not to burn my eyes with the flash again.”

it’s an honest mistake he’s done one too many times, even with his phone.

he scrunches his nose in shame, cackling. “it will never happen again. never. i really, really, really mean it this time.”

“sure, i should trust you.” you grimace, picking up the scalp brush on your lap before standing up to grab the shower head. “put your phone away now.”

swift to obey, he stands up to cross the distance between him and the highest floating shelf where you store the essential oils and small towels, leaving the device in between them for meantime. when he returns to his previous position, you begin rinsing his hair.

“wait- you hold this instead.” you hand him the shower, which he accepts unwittingly, moving it back and forth so he’s covering the entire area.

while he does that, you use his purple brush to be certain that the chemicals will be removed and washed away from his scalp, gentle fingers combing portions of his silky hair aside to reach every spot.

he cheesily smiles to himself under the stream of refreshingly cold water. as someone who goes out like a light when his hair is played with, jungkook is living his best life.

until he’s not.

“shit, shit, shit- i have to get dressed up.” you panic as your phone in the bedroom wildly blares the alarm sound that serves as your final warning. “oh well, i’m done anyway.”

abandoning the brush on the edge of the tub, you regain possession of the shower and run your fingers through his hair one last time for good measure, turning it off straight after.

“drive safe today. i love you. i love you. i love you.” you cage his wet face in your hands to kiss him repeatedly, tasting the coffee on his lips.

jungkook is left alone in the bathroom as you get yourself ready for work.

he side-eyes the bottle of conditioner with disgust. “guess it’s just you and me now.”

—

“i really need to shower but i don’t want to… aish, i wish i had someone to help me.” jungkook sighs dramatically as he rubs his stinging eyes. he expectantly looks over at your figure lying on the sofa, stroking your bare shins propped up by his thighs.

but you pretend that you don’t hear a single word he says, too engrossed in the anime ‘cells at work’ playing on the television to spare your boyfriend a glance. a sad frown appears on his face. he’s yearning for you after long hours of being apart.

he drops down to rest his weary body over yours, hugging your hips and face nuzzling the side of your chest. this impels you to wrap an arm around him, his half ponytail caught between your middle and ring fingers, but your hand remains idle on the back of his head.

he pitifully sobs as he whines, squeezing you tightly. “why am i like this? i don’t want to do anything… i’m too lazy… it’s seriously getting annoying now. what do i doooo?”

his speech is slightly slurred because his cheek is squished against your side. you can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, and your tickled laughter mixes in with the laughter brought by a funny scene. a minute later, the outro rolls in, which is your cue to wiggle out of his snuggling.

with his elbow anchored in the couch, jungkook watches you with disappointment swimming in his eyes as you pause the next episode and begin walking away.

“where are you going?”

you stop on your tracks, turning a little to the side to innocently flutter your lashes. “taking a shower so i can go to bed.”

your answer lights the fuse inside of jungkook, to put it lightly. still dressed in the all-black outfit he wore to an event today, minus the button-up and the stompers, he staggers on his feet. he hastily pulls out the hem of his t-shirt from being neatly tucked into his pants before bringing it over his head. he throws it aside without care, and there he stands with a sparkling silver chain dangling over his bare chest, looking like a walking daydream.

your droopy eyes widen as you’re taken aback by the rather alluring view. it seems that neither of you is making this game easy. “excuse me, mister? what are you doing?”

“well, what does it look like?” he shoots you a smirk, bangs falling over his eyes when he looks down to unbuckle his belt with practiced ease.

and you think that if you just play your cards right, he might wear them around your wrists next. oh no- no, no, no. the only restraint you should be thinking of right now is self-restraint, damn it.

“no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am.”

“no-”

“yes.”

your heart violently races when he begins wrapping the belt around his large palm, raising an eyebrow at you. but still, you stand your ground with a sweet, sarcastic smile.

“you’re not a baby. you’re 27 years old. i’m pretty sure you can shower on your own by now.”

and with that, you sprint to the bathroom before your hot boyfriend can strip off his pants, because you know it would be impossible to resist his charms then.

jungkook collapses on the couch, eyes turning into little crescent moons as uncontrollable giggles rack his body. at last, it dawns on him why you’ve been acting a certain way.

he may or may not have unintentionally snapped at his mother over the phone last night, rudely spitting out the two sentences you just used against him. despite witnessing him call and apologize not long after, you still have your own playful way of scolding him, it seems.

“what a brat.” he snorts as he chucks the belt on the table, having a feeling he will have another use for it later.

he sets his hair free from the ponytail and wears the hair tie around his wrist, running his fingers through the locks to tame the unruly mess. he shakes his head as another airy laugh is invoked from him by sheer amusement, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he huffs.

“____ is really setting me straight like this…? ah, i’m angry!”

since he’s already half-naked anyway, he decides to remove his accessories, too. he starts with the silver bracelet around each of his wrists, tilting his head to the side as he reads the subtitle of the frozen frame on the television screen.

In the human body, there are roughly 37.2 trillion cells…

“i think i met the right person.” he nods to himself.

—

the air around him is sweltering and he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“ohh fuck, fuck! i’m so— i’m so close, if you d-don’t stop-” jungkook cries out in desperation, losing any semblance of control he has over his body as he writhes on the mattress. “please, please… it feels too good, please. i’ve been behaving.”

“hm, go on, my love. want to taste you.”

your merciless hand pumps his length and your sinful lips scatter sloppy kisses along the tense muscles of his thighs. lewd, unrestrained moans escape his cerise lips as sparks of electricity burn beneath his eyelids, hips frantically rutting forward to chase his high. driven by lust in his dazed state, he holds himself up by his elbows to watch you reward his tip with languid licks of your tongue, sultry eyes staring back at him, and his head tips back into the pillows as he completely falls apart.

he lies absolutely boneless in the aftermath, mind and body floating in the abyss as he attempts to get back in touch with reality and recall his godforsaken name. his white-knuckled fist’s grip loosens, allowing his slender fingers to slip away from your hair when you remove yourself from between his legs. he covers his eyes with his tattooed arm as his chest heaves, catching his breath.

but then he is pulled out from the darkness by the sound of your giggles, bubbly and achingly familiar, coaxing his damp eyelashes to part from his flushed cheeks. with a blurry vision, he watches you scoop up some of the come that landed all over his chiseled abdomen. you push your middle and ring fingers past your lips, evidently debauched and delighted as you hum. your glasses hang loosely over your nosebridge, and he’s clueless how it managed to be clean while staying on your face.

all over again, the filthy scene pricks his skin with desire and coils the heat in his stomach… it looks reminiscent of your first kiss. but after being edged for what felt like an eternity, he’s afraid of what would become of him if he feels another ounce of pleasure.

“baby, you’re so fucking mean.” he croaks out, voice low and hoarse from choked sobs and begs. it cracks, sounding as though he doesn’t even have a voice left.

you’re more straightforward when you crave to be touched, whimpering a simple ‘i need you’ or ‘please take care of me’ with a pleading face as you play with his fingers. however, on the rare occasion that you get into a very… particular mood… you sigh and say ‘i’m bored’ before looking at him with faux innocence in your blown-out pupils… and because you’re just too damn enticing to resist, he ends up in this position — completely exposed while you’re cozily dressed in a t-shirt over your slip-on night dress, the one he was wearing before.

consequently, it has been making his life difficult. he instantly becomes turned on when you utter the commonly used words, even when there’s obviously no other meaning behind them. like when you’re in public. especially when you’re in public. he can foresee this moment flashing in his mind when he finds himself in the same predicament again. at this point, all he can say is heavens help him, he is so fucked. the angel they sent is well-versed in driving him wild.

“i love you.” he follows up, and your smile grows when you meet his hazy eyes.

“i love you more.” you reply in a sing-song voice, also raspy after having him down your throat. you bend down to plant a featherlight kiss on his pelvis, but he wants it somewhere else.

with his remaining shred of strength, he tugs at your arm to pull you in for a hungry kiss, his hand cupping your nape and his thumb rubbing your cheek. your tongue ghosts over the metal ring piercing his bottom lip, and he shakily breathes out a quiet moan.

you’re the first one to break away, pampering his lips with chaste pecks as you mumble, “my boyfriend is so pretty. mine. mine. mine. love you better than anyone could.”

jungkook’s heart does somersaults, the butterflies inside of him multiplying by the thousands with your every declaration.

you pout as you lovingly brush away the locks of hair sticking to his honey skin, glistening with sweat. “oh? are these sweat or tears? you cried again this time?”

with watering eyes, he can’t help but to dumbly stare at your glossy and swollen lips as you coo.

“but you took it so, so well. you were so perfect, baby boy. thank you.”

“don’t act so innocent.” he mutters, tattooed arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, longing for your weight on top of his. “you know what you did.”

you chuckle as you drag the blanket over his body, concerned he might freeze from the blasted airconditioner now that the ecstasy is ebbing away. “but it felt good, right? did i do anything you didn’t like?”

he gets a sinking feeling when you look at him, asking for confirmation as if you didn’t reduce him into this incoherent puddle of beyond satiated appetite. holy shit, he’s the luckiest man on earth.

“mhm-mhm. more than good… always. you’re too good to be true.”

he sighs in contentment when you offer your arm as his pillow, embracing him tightly. his eyelids flutter shut as he feels the soreness of his muscles taking reign. oddly enough, he doesn’t mind the pain at all. he revels in it, almost. gradually, his heartbeat returns at its normal rate.

he doesn’t flinch when he feels a metal straw nudging his lips, instead he sips heartily to soothe his throat. you have pink hearts for irises as you adore his face, falling in love with your lover all over again.

“i love you. you’re so cute.” you giggle, tucking his hair behind his ears as you hold the water tumbler for him. “you’re so red- especially your ears- it’s so cute.”

this makes him smile sheepishly, bunny teeth biting the straw. he pops it out of his mouth to bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing breathily.

“well if you point it out, i’ll turn redder!”

“is that so bad? then you’ll be cuter.” you squeeze his cheeks together to tilt his head towards you. “come on. how do you feel…? maybe a bit better? let’s get cleaned up so you can rest.”

he frowns. “i want to taste you, too.”

want to get his payback, more like.

“later, my lov-”

he doesn’t waste time in ducking down, hooking a finger around the waistband of your underwear while he sucks a bruise on your inner thigh.

“jungkook!” you giggle, dragging him off you by his hair. “no! stop! i just wanted to play and make you feel good.”

he refuses to relent, stubborn in his defiance, chasing and chasing until his puckered lips touch your soft skin again, peppering sweet kisses. pulling his hair only spurs him on, it looks like, so you end up using both hands to guide his face inches from yours.

“your busy bee needs to go back to work.” you give his pout an apologetic kiss, knowing full well that you’ll be in bed for much, much longer if you indulge him.

you still need to finish the due project you abandoned in your laptop because you would rather do this. or him? for a lack of better term.

“you can do it however long you want if you wait.”

he beams upon hearing your saccharine promise, eagerly nodding in agreement. and with a naughty smile, he pushes his luck. “then will you wash me now?”

and when you take more than three seconds to answer, he rushes to defend himself with- “i deserve it this time!”

—

jungkook is still and silent as he sits across you in the bathtub, extremely drowsy after you gave him another one of your soothing scalp massages when you washed his hair. the scented candle melting over the sink mixes with the drops of lavender oil you added into the water, and not far from it is his phone playing mellow music.

however, that changes when he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“you’re too gentle. are you sure i’m being cleaned?”

an irritated expression is drawn on your face as you grab his wrist, forcefully making him hold the soapy wash cloth you just started using. “then you do it yourself so i can focus on me instead.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding!” he winces when you make a move to stand up. he reflexively seizes your arm to stop you, lisp discernible as he grumbles. “babe, i can’t do it. i have no energy left and it’s your fault!”

you roll your eyes, reclaiming the cloth from his hand. you add a little more pressure to address his concern as you move on to lathering his tattooed arm, a coat of small bubbles decorating the diverse colors of ink covering his skin. you make a game out of neatly smoothing down his body hair.

“you know you have sensitive skin but you’re too rough when you do it. what’s the point of using a mild body wash?”

his brain fails to process your scolding, still weak and fuzzy like cotton, overcome by fragmented thoughts. the beckoning sound of your voice. the intoxicating scent of your newest perfume, strawberry clinging to your skin until now. your cleverness paired with seduction equals his blissful doom. your tenderness while you were making him cry. after making him cry. even when he’s not crying at all.

“____,”

your eyes flicker up to him in confusion. why is that you feel a little more real when he says your name?

“what?” you squeak out.

“you’re so beautiful.” he thinks out loud, ‘lovestruck’ written all over his softened features. “i wish there’s a better word for it. ehh, uhh, there probably is but…”

his forehead creases as he exerts mental power to flip through his dictionary, eyeballs pointing in different directions as if he will read the word somewhere on the walls.

“but i can’t think of one right now… my brain isn’t working.”

the compliment told dreamily makes your fragile heart beat louder inside your ribcage. concealing a flattered smile, you shake your head in disbelief.

“you think changing the topic like this will work?”

the water sloshes around as you inch closer, running the cloth over his shoulders and across his collarbones.

“i mean it.” he replies firmly, hands sneaking in to caress the sides of your waist, fingertips grazing your skin to trace amorphous drawings. “i didn’t always get the chance to look at you… like take my time and, really look at you. i hate that.”

you reach for the tallest bottle on the corner of the bathtub. as you spritz more body wash on the cloth, you give him a fleeting glance. “you’re doing it right now. that’s what matters.”

“i am.” he nods timidly.

his vision is fixated where your gentle scrubbing travels down to his chest. he sharply inhales, and exhales, choosing to pour every ounce of his attention on you. his tattooed hand slides up your body, gliding across your skin until he reaches your face. and as if he’s doubtful that you’re truly tangible and not a figment of his imagination, the back of his fingers tentatively brushes your cheek.

it rises under his touch as you sneakily steal glances of him getting lost in a trance. with droplets of water dripping from his wet hair, he blinks sleepily. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the lump in his throat, suppressing the new wave of salty tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

he doesn’t want to roam the roads of the past too much but — years after he broke your heart, has he become a man worthy of soaking in a bathtub with you? it’s an honor. it’s a joy. everything is clear. you’re not here to fill in a gap but to consume space. his body is permanently stained by the colors of your soul. he is loved.

considering that he still looks gorgeously wrecked from earlier, you only take it as a sign that he’s still not entirely present in this sphere. you want to give him more water, but neither of you feels the need to speak. wave to earth’s ‘evening glow’ is more than enough to fill the evening’s restful silence.

as he painfully yearns to do so, he takes his time, and you spread the body wash on the curves of his waist slower than you normally would.

his calloused thumb traces your jaw, and your breath hitches when he pauses at your bottom lip. he applies just enough pressure to memorize the softness of the flesh under his touch, slightly separating it from your upper lip. he fails to take notice of his own lips unconsciously mirroring yours. and he swears on his life, all the clocks in the world have stopped ticking to let him live in this moment forever.

on the other hand, you also fail to shut out your own impulses. your lips pucker to kiss the pad of his thumb with a smooching sound. he breaks out into a toothy grin, the long dimples running down his lower cheeks popping out.

he delicately holds your face steady in one hand, pointer finger digging in one cheek and his thumb on the other, before he draws in to grant you a proper kiss. his nose bumps against yours when it breaks.

“need to sit on your lap so i can reach your back.”

“i’m all yours.” he whispers while he guides you into position, softly squeezing at your hips.

with you straddling him, he can embrace you as he likes, his chest pressed against yours. he happily tucks his chin over the shoulder of your unbusy arm, and he’s on top of the world. he hums and sings along to johnny stimson’s ‘honeymoon’, harmoniously swaying in the limited space as you knead his back. he is undoubtedly, thoroughly drunk. the 80- to 90-proof bottles of whiskey gathered in the kitchen cabinet got nothing on you.

he sniffles quietly, using his wrist to pat his tear-stained eyes and cheeks dry. he plants a small kiss on the soft flesh under your ear before succumbing to the heaviness weighing on his eyelids.

jungkook’s adorable snoring contests with his phone’s high-quality speakers. almost, almost too identical to the sound of the candle wick burning.

“oh, for fuck’s sake.” you curse under your breath, splashing water on the expanse of your boyfriend’s back to wash away the bubbles.

“…it’s 9pm. did i seriously tire him out that much?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn���t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (writing masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, if you always wanted a Gothic Victorian, this is a fixer upper, (but livable), for only $235K and it's a lot of house for the price. Built in 1870, in Grenada, Mississippi, it has 5bds, 3 & 1.5ba.

The gorgeous porch needs some scraping and new paint.

Lovely original stairs, light fixture, transoms, and original wood painted white. You can live w/the carpet- it's in good shape, and check out that big gold mirror. So far, so good.

Spacious reception room has a bay window with shutters, original fireplace and light fixture.

Double glass doors open to the large sitting room with another original fireplace, alcove and original lighting.

The kitchen redo- hate the tile choice, but it's functional. You can work w/the cabinets but someday replace the tiles.

The powder room has a cute antique vanity sink and stylish new tile.

This main floor bedroom just needs carpet shampoo, maybe new paint, and it has an en-suite.

Another bedroom with newly built shelving.

Hallway with a closet. Lots of Plantation shutters throughout.

Laundry room and full bath. Like the floor tile.

2nd level has an original light.

Primary bedroom has access to the sun porch.

Hall with original tile.

En-suite in the hall.

The sun porch is beautiful and has a newer floor.

Another large bedroom across the hall has a fireplace.

Here's a walk-in closet in one of the rooms.

Beautiful Gothic details.

Pergola in the yard.

Nice large shed.

This is cute.

The yard is very large, but they don't list the measurements.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  TO THE KEY OF EVERGREEN

SUMMARY : while dean dreams of things he’s too shy to share, the reader takes matters into her own hands when dean’s deep in sleep dreaming of something else. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : two nameless tentacle aliens

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, angst, tentacle kink, p in v, unprotected sex, somnophilia, description of dpdr

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

A/N : the devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — somnophilia. I’ve always wanted to write a tentacle fic for my favourite boy, dean winchester. reader pov then Dean’s dream pov switch by dividers. I swear more in my writing than I do irl, expect me to never curse irl honestly 😣😔

Dean was absolutely fucking adorable. 

He looked stunning, he always did, especially as he slept. 

Relaxed. Peaceful. Comfortable. Safe.

The moonlight poured into the cabin from the window, lightning up the breathtaking features of his face. Her most favourite parts of Dean’s body and face were illuminated by pale moonshine, enhancing his beauty. 

His plump, pink lips were parted slightly. Soft mumbles and quiet sighs fill the silence of the dark room as they slip from between slightly chapped lips. He snored occasionally, too—the cutest snores she’s ever heard. They made her laugh, but she pursed her lips to silence the sound, a loving smile remained on her face, her eyes tender as she beheld her sleeping lover. 

Although she couldn’t sleep, the sound vibrating through him had nothing to do with it. 

She knew he generally did not like to be stared at when he slept. To Dean, the worst was the thought of Chuck’s presence lingering and scrutinising. He wasn’t a threat anymore, but the thought that they’d lost haunted her—the possibility that everything was a dream. Unreality. The final torture. 

It couldn’t be. Cas was safe. Sam was safe. The whole world was safe. And now it’s just Dean and her waiting in a cosy cabin for the rest of their family and friends to get there when Christmas did, too. 

She wants him to be happy. He deserved that after everything that’s happened. She thinks he deserves it more than anyone else in the entire universe. Even if he’d sacrifice himself for the happiness of everyone else, she’d sacrifice everyone else for the happiness of a single man. 

She’d do it in half a heartbeat, even if that’s the last thing he’d ever ask of her. 

She had to admit it was strange to just stare at Dean as he lay unconscious in their bed, but she was bored and entirely in love with him. But mostly, she couldn’t sleep. 

She leaned over to press her lips against Dean’s forehead, placing a lingering kiss to the faint wrinkles she adored to cement herself to reality. She moved away to nuzzle her nose sweetly into his hairline, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, then she brushed her fingers against his stubble. The prickly hairs tickled, but it was nice to feel all those things, to see him in bed, breathing, sleeping. His warmth kept the cold at bay, even as he laid naked beneath two downy blankets.

Finally, they were free from the cold concrete walls of the Bunker. At least temporarily. A breath of fresh air somewhere new. Just the two of them. Close to Bobby’s old—now destroyed—place. Slowly weaning off the comfort of the Bunker as home to truly move forward, and hopefully to retire. 

Dean began to sleep deeply now. Knocked out cold by the effect of melatonin tea. He told her that he dreamt more and that it wasn’t nightmares anymore, not always. She didn’t know if he was lying to make her feel better and ease her disconcertment, but she didn’t push it. If he wanted her to help, he’d go to her and tell her when he feels ready.  

One part of her regrets not drinking the tea with him. But the other part of her knows it’s too frightening, the sensation of sedation, the feeling of unreality. It took her breath away, like being slammed into a wall, a sensation that made her want to scream, run, and cry. A feeling that almost confirmed that everything was in fact a dream. 

Instead of dwelling on her doubts, she waited for sleep to blanket her. 

Maybe watching Dean wouldn’t lull her to sleep. Maybe, but it didn’t stop her. 

His eyes moved beneath closed lids, his long, thick lashes rested against his freckled cheekbones, curled upwards with eyebags faintly defined beneath them. 

Where to begin? Honestly. The now relaxed space between his brows? 

The lovely crinkles that stretched beside his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling or laughing?  

The curve of his nose? The handsomeness of the shape despite the slight crookedness of it near the top? The slight upturn of it that most people would draw onto their faces to feign they had it?

The splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks like sprinkles on cake? The way they frosted over his forehead, down his neck, over every inch of his exquisite body like the whole universe when looking through the James Webb Telescope? 

Maybe the curve of his mouth? His pillowy, pink, slightly chapped kissable lips? The dip above his cupid’s bow? 

The patch of hair below his lip? The stubble that he was letting grow longer and longer? 

The line of his jawline? The little pillow of skin beneath?

The darker freckles that stood out?

Now that she’s taking him in. Why were his ears pretty, too? 

She wanted to kiss him so bad. To touch him. 

Her heartbeat began to elevate and her body became hot. She squeezed her hands together tightly to resist caressing him and turned onto her side, sliding her bare leg against his. If she could just pour herself over his entire body like warm caramel on his favourite pie, she’d be happy.

A moan rumbled deep through him and her brows flew up. She waited for more as he shoved the two blankets down to his hips, his fingers gripping the cowboy-themed blankets tightly. For a few moments, she held her breath, waiting for a nightmare to wake him while her blood turned cold, making her shiver. 

Instead, he turned silent and looked away from her, lifting his other arm over the pillow. 

She breathed out slowly and relaxed, dropping a soothing kiss on his bare shoulder. 

She bit her lip the longer she stared at his now exposed torso. He really hid all his sexiness beneath a million layers of jackets, Henleys, plaid, and flannel. It made her smile in amusement. He was way too pretty, way too hot, way, way too alluring.

He wasn’t very hairy and whatever hair he did have was too light. He had no chest hair. No happy trail… She never found that attractive anyway. Although, now that she thought about it, she wondered if she’d feel differently if he did have it… Probably not, it’s Dean. He even managed to change her mind about beards as he began growing his own in secret (a secret from Sam).

She envied his body. Who wouldn’t? He ate so much, it was adorable, but none of it showed. Maybe it was the combination of his metabolism and all the hunting. He’s definitely beefier than before. It might be ageing that changed his body from slim, model-like to this thick, lumberjack. Very sexy. Good job, body. Goddamn, he’s aged so damn fine. Whatever it was it kept him taut and toned, fit.

She licked her lips, staring from the tattoo beneath his collarbone to his hip bones, the dip of them on each side reminding her that he was completely naked beneath the fluffy covers. She felt guilty. Dean was usually the one who would touch her between her legs as she slept, or had his face buried between her legs to wake her with an orgasm, a few times he’s actually been fucking her. 

He’d smirk down at her when she woke up, kissing her passionately as she sobered from her sleepy state. She’d cling to him as he pounded her into the mattress, her orgasm came faster than she cared to admit. It’s never been off the table, but it’s usually him that proposes and suggests for her. 

Would he mind if it was the other way ‘round?

Dean ran through unfamiliar metal hallways.

Fucking hell. Was the hallway getting longer or was he running too damn slow? 

Dumbass nightmare logic didn’t stop Dean from running as fast as he could. He wasn’t tired, but slowly, as Dean realised he was only dreaming, he was able to get out of the hallway which then turned into a red console room.

Yup, he’s in a stupid dream. 

He grunted out in annoyance, looking around for something to use as a weapon.

A loud bang from the door he just came through—well, it wasn’t a door at first, but it is now—made Dean jump. He looked around the room and stepped towards the console as the lights stopped flashing red. He thought he could make sense of the made-up letters, but as the door was smashed in, Dean reached for a random baton with a lit edge at the tip of the colour violet.

Large, jet-black, shiny tentacles held the inside of the room from the doorway and Dean exhaled slowly, backing up slowly as the monster teased his entrance into Dean’s dream. As Dean hit the wall, he gasped when he started to fall through.

For a few moments, Dean waited for death and did what he thought was closing his eyes in his dreams, only to land gracefully on his two feet—painlessly. 

He relaxed as he looked around the white, padded room, seeing bright panels displaying images and videos he couldn’t quite comprehend. He stopped his analysis of the panels when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned to face the woman he loved most, coming from a stairway he never saw in the first place with one of those weird tentacle aliens behind her. 

Suddenly, he wasn’t inside the padded room, instead he was outside. The outside of a place that was definitely not Earth. The grass was still green, but there were a million colourful caterpillars beneath his feet and a cliffside beside him. The sky looked like the ocean, blue and green-like waves, misty clouds were violet, like the surface of Jupiter.

“Dean,” she called him again, but she was also the alien at the same time. It was too confusing, when she touched him, she was soft and human. And now, the spaceship he was in was long forgotten as she appeared to him naked. 

It happened too quickly, now he was on his back and she was kissing his neck and his chest. Her mouth sucked kisses into his skin, licking his nipples making him shudder. He could feel how hard he was, he knew her hand was wrapped around his cock, that he was naked, too. But the pleasure was too far away, faint like perfume on stored clothes.

Why did his wet dreams never allow him to feel full pleasure?

She wasn’t kissing the taut flesh between the v-shape pointing down to his cock, she had her lips wrapped around the tip, sucking wantonly, positioning herself so could take him deeper into her mouth, taking his cock down her throat. 

She pulled away from him abruptly and he watched her move away, as he sat up. Now, he was on top of the cliff and instead of caterpillars, there were colourful baby chickens that climbed into his lap. 

Why couldn’t he ever finish in his dream?

He groaned and whined out her name, but all of that was merely a distraction because he was on a ship again. A different one that looked like the TARDIS, but also, it wasn’t the TARDIS at all. Beaceuse where the console should be, there was a table, and she was splayed over it. 

Those black, glistening tentacles made a return and Dean cursed his stupid kink for making him both aroused and afraid. She was partially in the ‘arms’ of the alien, its tentacles slathered a clear substance over her body, hotly sucking red marks against her skin.

Her moans captivated him, the tentacles moved around her breasts, fondling, sucking. They moved all over her, teasing her weeping folds obscenely, parting her labia with the tips of two tentacles in exploration of her body. Then, one suction latched to her clit and she moaned his name, begging for him to join her and the curious, lewd alien. 

Dean whined quietly, stepping closer to the table as the second tentacle temptingly circled her entrance before plunging only the tip of the tentacle in and out teasingly. The wet sound drove him crazy. She reached behind her to ground herself using the alien, except Dean’s brain couldn’t complete its image so he didn’t really know what it actually looked like.

All he felt were tentacles move over him, too. Just like they did to her, they slathered him in something warm and sticky. They tried the same thing as they had with her, wrapping around his chest, sucking his nipples, wrapping around his throat to suck at his pulse in the exact same way she always did. 

When the slimy arms began to explore between his legs, Dean shut his thighs bashfully. But the alien pried them open again and he was being pushed forward towards his girlfriend as she got fucked by the other alien. The suctioning sensation as the tentacle curiously experimented with motions of up and down along his erect cock felt more real now. 

This is the weirdest foursome he’d ever been a part of. He can definitely say he’s never been fucked by unidentifiable aliens in his life, especially ones that didn’t have genitilia save for the phallic-like pitch-black arms that slithered into her and wrapped around his cock.

Could it be considered a foursome if the aliens weren’t getting any pleasure?

This was probably gonna be part of Dean’s top-ten favourite wet dreams. 

Dean woke up with a gasp, groaning softly as warm breath tickled his lips. He blinked to clear his bleary vision and moaned in annoyance as the bed beneath him moved. He tried to get a clear view of the disruptor of his most awesome dream and put his entire palm on the face of his girlfriend who was on top of him.

“Dean,” she laughed, moving his hand away to place it on her breast. He moaned softly again as he felt a familiar pressure between his legs, deep in his tummy the discomfort of an edged orgasm sobered him and squeezed her breast roughly. “What were you dreaming of?” She murmured seductively.

He was fully awake now, Dean blinked a few times and inhaled sharply when he saw his naked lover grinding her hips sensually in circles, her legs spread far apart, her strong thighs lifting her upwards just a few inches so he could see his wet cock disappear inside her.  

“Holy… fuck,” Dean drew out with a moan, clinging to her hips instantly. “I’m not gonna last,” he gasped, throwing his head back into the pillow. Nonetheless, Dean attempted to hold back. She knew he was as his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, sending sparks of painful pleasure through her body.

“Oh, shit… Dean,” she moaned, her pussy tightening around him as he throbbed inside her. He growled softly, squirming. She refused to lift herself up any higher, but it felt good anyway, and she looked far better than she did in his dream.

With her back arched, her brows furrowed in concentration of her pleasure, and her lips parted to release quick, short breathes, and praises—occasionally, out tumbled a few teasing words. It just felt so good every time, the way he stretched her so deliciously, the way she got his cock to brush repeatedly over the same spot inside her, and how each roll of her hips made her clit brush and rub over his pubic bone. 

“Come, then, if you’re that fucking needy,” she teased, arching her back as she dug her fingernails into his chest. 

Dean bucked his hips upwards and clamped his hand around her hips so tightly she couldn’t move. A tingle moved up his spine and made him shiver. He wanted to hold back and wait for her, but she felt so hot and wet around him. His orgasm felt different than before, but still marvellous. While he spilled into her, she ground her hips down against him to stimulate her clit, bouncing again slightly when he loosened his grip on her to ride out his orgasm with a loud groan of her name. 

As she finally orgasmed, he began to whimper from oversensitivity, but let her use him as she finished, the walls of her vagina squeezing and pulsing around him. A breathless laugh tumbled from between her parted lips and she leaned forward to drop her forehead to his shoulder.

He pressed kisses along her hair, the soft strands tickling his nose as he nuzzled into the fruit-flower scent of her shampoo. His fingers slipped into her hair, tousling what was already messy to tug gently, bringing her swollen lips to his for a hungry and grateful kiss. She moaned against his mouth, both of their lips parting for their tongues to explore and lick, tasting each other once more—as if for the first time.

Saliva connected their lips when she pulled away with a smirk, his fingers carefully untangling from her hair. He panted and stared at her with his lips still parted, “what were you dreaming of?” She inquired once more, slowly lifting herself from his cock. His eyes flickered downward, watching his limp cock lean against her thigh before falling between his legs, coated in her cum, both creamy and clear. Droplets of his cum dribbled down her thighs like melting whipped him and he inhaled deeply, staring with wonder as more of their mixed cum slipped from her slippery folds.

“Hey, sexy, answer me,” she jabbed, dropping down next to him, letting herself bounce over the mattress before scooting into his opening arms. She kicked the covered upwards until she could reach with her hands and pulled it up their naked bodies.

“Uh,” he mumbled thoughtfully, laughing while wrapping his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to kiss her temple. “Aliens, tentacles, a foursome,” he confessed, brushing his fingertips up and down her shoulder.

“Real hot,” she murmured, placing her hand over his chest where his heart was beating. “We should bond over your porn again,” she suggested sleepily, tangling her legs with his again. He laughed again, then brought his hand over to her breast to play with her nipple, rubbing, pinching, tugging her sensitive nub. 

“You got mad at me the first hundred times,” he reminded her, playfully squeezing her breast.

“Well,” she started, “that was then… and now, I think differently.” He hummed deeply, closing his eyes, then he sleepily turned to his side with her still in his arms. “Like… maybe… I won’t be jealous because those are fantasies. I know the women you go for in the real world have always been nothing like the unrealistic, skinny, big titty, models with photoshop, surgery, pink everything, an-”

“I mean… you have nice tits, a juicy ass, pretty pussy-”

“No,” she laughed, “you just like me alot.”

“I love you,” he whispered, shutting her up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We can ‘bond’ over it for fun, but I haven't gotten off on any of it since I met you… well, I have, but only because I miss you, and I want to do it to you, or watch you do it to me-the point is… yeah, they’re fantasies. I don’t wanna indulge in it because I’ve got the real thing. Maybe I'll look something up for ideas, but not because I need something to get off.” 

“No, yeah, I know that,” she murmured, tucking her head under his chin. “That’s not what I meant,” she laughed softly. “I just want you to know that nothing you’re into will make me… less into you.” 

“Think I don’t know that already?” He asked with a grin. “You’ve been with me for years now. I know…” He paused, hesitating suddenly, insecurity gripping his heart. “I hope you won’t leave… all things considered, you’ve seen parts of me I never woulda shown anyone. Had you not been in my life all this time, I’d be single right now.”

She pulled her head out from where it was to look straight at him, then she laughed. “Tragic.” 

He laughed with her and kissed her quickly, his eyes crinkling lovingly as he gazed down at her to tell her: “I’d rather be single than without you.” He licked his bottom lip charmingly, tasting the words on his tongue as he sucked on his pillowy lips before slowly releasing it, leaving it wet, pinker, and more tender. “And, uh… do this more in the future...” 

She giggled and threw her arm around his shoulder to bring him in for a tender kiss.

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[sseniita]

i'ma leave the window ooooopeeen

It was dark, stormy, and the villain was still an hour away from home. Her car had broken down (the police chase was its final straw), her phone was dead (it was run over during said police chase), and the rain was mercilessly pounding against her thin jacket. Coincidently, she had found her way to the alleyway of the Hero’s apartment. She wasn’t supposed to know where the hero lived, but after one day she surprisingly appeared in her apartment and stole her food and stayed the night (she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that night) she rationalised that it was only fair that the hero let her crash on her couch for a night. Despite her better judgement, she climbed on the fire escape and made her way up. 

The hero didn’t lock her windows, she was practically begging the villain to raid her fridge. The villain made her way in through the small window, slipping off her shoes being careful not to track in mud on the couches under the bay window. This was to no avail, once she was finally standing in the apartment she was dripping wet onto the hardwood floors. She took in the dark apartment, cosy. She was sure that in the daylight it followed a pleasant palette of pastel pinks, blues, and greens, but the only lighting was the occasional lightning that burst outside, allowing only for speculation of the hero’s taste in home decor. She did however, make out the crocheted plushies and framed watercolour paintings scattered throughout. It was a small apartment, the one main room cramping the kitchen, dining, and living room all in one. A quick glance to a door left ajar confirmed the hero must be sleeping soundly. Her cautious steps made their way to the fridge, hoping to find leftovers she could eat cold. Before even opening the fridge she felt a blunt pain to the side of his skull, a force with enough strength to toss her onto the checkered flooring of the tiny kitchen.

“Who are you! How did you- oh. Ith’s you.” The hero stood above the villain, bat in hand, wearing a tiny tank top and even tinier night shorts. Good lord. The villain’s hand quickly came to the side of her head to feel for any bleeding or swelling. 

“What the hell?” She screamed. The hero turned on a light, revealing her messy bun and retainer smile. 

“I’m thorry, I thought you were an inthruder” The villain brought herself up, supported by the countertop. The hero had put down their weapon and seemed unconcerned at her own indecent appearance. 

“In your defence, I am an inthruder.” She said, way to smug for someone who couldn’t stand up without the floors moving. The hero rolled her eyes at the jest at her lisp, without shame, she spit out her retainers, returning to her room to put them in their little case. 

“What are you doing here?” She said on the way, “How do you know where I live?” 

“Same way you knew where I lived.” 

“By being an obsessed stalker?” She yelled from her bedroom. The villain finally opened the hero's fridge, finding nothing but a few apples, a loaf of bread, and three heads of cauliflower. 

What is wrong with this woman? 

“Yup. You got any actual food?” 

“Nope. Get away from my cauliflower!” The hero threw a towel on the villain, a towel she considered an invitation to stay. 

“You stink.” she sneered. 

“Running around this city’s alleyways on a rainy night will do that to ya.” She winked. 

“Ya well, take a shower or something.” She yawned.

“Sounds heavenly, care to join me?” 

“You wish, Beautiful” 

The villain made their way, oddly excited to find out what shampoo the hero used to make her hair always smell so good. 

Cotton Candy Raspberry Explosion. Got it. She thought as she stepped into the shower.

The hero seemed to yawn the tiredness away, once the villain was finished with her shower she found the hero watching mindless late night tv on her extremely plush couch. The hero cradled a pillow close to her chest, the mess on the floor cleaned and a plate of grilled cheese still warm on the coffee table. She didn’t seem to notice when the villain appeared in the bathroom doorway with nothing but a towel covering her. 

“Uh, you wouldn't happen to have some ex-boyfriend’s stolen clothes around, would you?” 

The hero’s vision quickly moved from the tv to the villain’s arms. The villain's body had been laden with scars throughout the years, causing an annoying insecurity within the villain when on display, but something about the hero’s stare made her ego rise dangerously high. 

“You look fine like that” she smirked. 

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s a bit chilly.” 

“I can give you a blanket?” 

“Clothes. Please.” 

The hero laughed, as she stood from the couch, motioning the villain over to her bedroom. Being naked in the hero’s bedroom with only a tiny pink towel that had ‘beach babe’ written on it was a humbling experience for the villain. As the hero rummaged in her closet the villain found herself hoping she didn’t actually take out some ex boyfriend’s ivy league sweater for her to wear. Instead she pulled out a huge snuggie, which she initially thought to be a comforter. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Really? Cause it’s pink?”

“That’s not the problem here.” 

“Well I have nothing else for you! You’re huge-” 

“Sure am.” She interjected.

“-and unless you wanna wait around naked for an hour while your clothes dry, this is the only option.” The hero threw the snuggie at the villain and she almost caught it before realising that would require both hands, one of which wasn’t available for it was busy gripping the towel for dear life. The towel was so damn tiny it couldn’t even wrap around her completely. She let the snuggie fall to her feet and admitted defeat.

“A little privacy?” 

“You, alone in my bedroom? No way. Use the bathroom.” 

The villain used tiny kicks to get the snuggie into the bathroom all while the hero’s laughs mocked her from behind. 

The hero was lucky her grilled cheese tasted so good; so there she was: pink snuggie, pink towel on her head, eating a grilled cheese and watching family feud reruns with her arch nemesis at 2 in the morning. She was half hoping the hero to offer to cut her cuticles. 

“So what are you doing here, anyways?” 

“Police chase.” She said through bites. “Phone died. Awful storm. And you just happened to be close by. Thought I could crash on your couch tonight.” 

“Why would you think that?”

“Hmm?” 

“I’ve been trying to arrest you for four years.” 

“Well, I’m taking the grilled cheese as a truce.” 

The tv continued for a while as the both women got comfy, the villain had long lost any tiredness, but the snuggie was proving comfortable to the hero at her side. It was 3 AM when the hero’s head had finally fallen onto the villain’s shoulder. It was 15 after when she started snoring. The villain had to remind herself how much of a pain in the neck the hero was to resist pulling back some hairs from her cheeks. They had gotten too comfortable. To buddy-buddy the villain's superior had said. The villain vowed to never fraternize again after they went a tad bit too far once. But god was it good to look back. 

They had both anticipated awkwardness or total avoidance but it seemed neither of them wanted it. Opting to ignore the fateful encounter and pretend it never happened. But it happened. It really happened. As slowly as she could she turned off the television and began to scoop the snoring hero into her arms, she tossed a little, murmuring something about her cauliflower while lifting her up. She ignored with great strength the soft skin of her thighs against her fingers and the way she cradled her head into her neck as she carried her to her bed. The crocheted plushies never ended, a bee, a dinosaur, a plushie that looked strangely like it was wearing the villain’s suit. She ignored the heat in her cheeks and set the hero down on the squishy mattress. 

“This is a terrible mattress for your spine.” She whispered, tucking her in. 

“Mhhrrm” she responded. 

She was about to leave and rummage through the hero's closets for a blanket when a hand softly gripped her wrist, with eyes stilll closed the hero mumbled something almost incoherent. 

“Stay,” she whispered. 

“We shouldn’t, hero.” 

“We won’t do anything. It’s just cold.” 

“You have like 14 blankets on your bed.” 

“It’s still cold. I have no more for you to cover yourself with.” 

“Ever the sacrificial type, hero.” She allowed himself the pleasure of finally getting the hero's hair out of her face, resting her hand on her cheek. She sunk into it, releasing her grip on her wrist. The villain couldn’t help it any longer, she made his way to the other side of the bed. 

“It’s my job”

“Just tonight, hero.” The second she was under the blankets she was met with the hero’s warm presence gripping onto her. 

“Ya, you’re not my type anyways. I just want you for your body.” She muttered into the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around her, shocked at how perfect they felt together. Before the hero's quiet snores reappeared, the villain felt a smile against her skin. 

“Your bosses suck by the way.” 

“So do yours.”

“Hmm.” She readjusted herself. “I should start locking my window.” 

The villain chuckled. “Nah.” 

[shesmypoem]

CLIMB INSIDE ME

Olivia Benson x F!Reader

(Season one Benson, reader is and will always be 21+)

A/N: My first story in a little so please be gentle loves…

Summary: After a long night at work, Olivia and Y/N indulge in some shower sex.

Word Count:

1.5k (sorry <3)

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, fingering (Olivia receiving), dominant reader, choking…I think that’s all, enjoy loves!

You always enjoyed late night showers. Nothing or no one could bother you, you weren’t in a rush to do or go anywhere. You could simply just be. Soft ambient music filled the bathroom, as you close your eyes and allow the steady stream of cold water to hit your face. You’re muscles were sore so the cold water was a delightful mix with the music.

You breathe in the damp air, placing your hands on the wall in front of you drawing yourself further under the stream. You close your eyes barely being able to hear the music now, but it was still refreshing nonetheless.

Knock, knock.

Olivia hadn’t been home yet, or for the past two days for that matter. You missed her, the want of being engulfed by her kisses and sweet murmurs grew thicker every day that passed. You never thought you were capable of loving or being loved. The fear of being vulnerable with someone, always kept you at bay. But here you were, madly in love with a woman who is madly in love with you. The fear never leaves , but when looking in the face of Olivia Benson, it fades and when she smiles, oh, when she smiles it damn near disappears.

Being able to open up to her has been the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced. And being loved by her entirely is indescribable.

Again, Knock, Knock. “Y/N,”

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t realized that the knocking wasn’t in your mind. You step from under the water sticking your head out of the shower, “Its open,” you call back to her.

The door clips open and in steps Olivia, wrapped in her robe, with her hair clipped back. She was tired, yet she still look so damn beautiful.

“Wanna join?” You ask warmly switching the water to hot.

She nods as she unties her robe, it slips off her body and pools at her feet, she steps into the shower and for a moment you both are just admiring each other silently. You watch as her chest rises and falls, and she watches as the droplets of water kiss your skin. You move from under the water offering it to her.

She steps under it, both of you still not saying anything, you think about breaking the silence but she’s tired and you don’t want her to use her last little bit of energy to engage in a conversation with you. “Can you wash my hair?” Her voice just above a whisper and if you hadn’t been holding your breath you’re sure you would have missed it.

“Yes. I’d love to.” You grab the shampoo bottle and squeeze just enough in your hand to coat her hair. Her body shivers when the coldness from the shampoo touches her scalp. You being to thread it into her hair, trying not to be too aggressive like you are with your own.

“Is this okay?”

She hums in approval.

“Good. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” your nails scrap against her scalp and she shivers. Her breath gets caught In her throat.

You take notice of it, smiling to yourself as you do it again and this time a noise escapes her throat. “Do you like that?” You murmur.

She doesn’t answer, but you know she liked it. You finish washing her hair and she turns her back to the water to rinse, slightly leaning her head back, she closes her eyes and you rake yours over her body. You watch some of the droplets drip down her breast, stomach and in between her legs. You’re jealous of them, they’re closer to her than you have been in the last two days.

Though her eyes are close she can feel yours boring into her body. “Do you mind?” She smiles.

“What? I’m just admiring you, There’s nothing else to pay attention to in here.”

She opens her eyes, and drags them down your form, boring them into you as you were just doing to her. You become nervous underneath her gaze, you let out a chuckle and nod your head. “Ah, I understand what you’re doing. Point made.”

She returns the chuckle, and turns her back towards you to let the water beat on her face. You step closer behind her and wrap your arms around her back, your palms against her stomach. “Rough case?” She leans her head against your shoulder placing her hands on top of yours.

“Yes.” she whispers.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head, normally she’d talk about her cases, but some of them were too hard for her to talk about. So you never pressed her for details, if she told you she told you and if she didn’t, she didn’t and you respected that.

“Okay.” You nod at her response and place a warm kiss to her neck.

She turns her head to look up at you, “Kiss me, please,”

It takes you no time to do as your asked. You start off slow but she deepens it within seconds, “I want you to touch me.” she says against your lips. You look at her for a second, “You sure?”

Instead of saying anything she begins kissing you again, you untangle your hands from hers and slide them up her stomach to her breast. You take one into each hand, her nipples become hard immediately under your touch. You squeeze them and move your thumb to each nipple. You run your thumb over them a few times before pinching them and she moans.

“Tell me where you want me to touch you, sweetheart.” You say.

Your mouth travels down her neck, you scrape your teeth against the soft flesh. She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth as she grabs one of your hands from her breast and drags it down her stomach and in between her legs, “right here, please”.

Your hand brushes against her folds, coating your fingers In her wetness you smile against her ear, “Oh, sweetheart.” You say, your voice dark and thick.

“Please,” she says.

Your fingers run over her folds achingly slow, “one more time for me.”

“Please, Y/N. I need you.”

And with that you apply pressure to her clit, as you kiss behind her ear, Your other hand finds her exposed neck and you squeeze ever so slightly. “Do you like that?”

You whisper.

“Oh, Y/N, Yes.” Olivia says breathlessly.

You add more pressure and her breath hitches. “Please, fuck me.”

You don’t have the heart to tease her and make her beg again, so you slip a finger inside of her.

It’s you who moans this time, she’s so warm against your finger. Her wetness makes it easy for your finger to slip in and out. “Another one please.” you slip another one in with no question, pressing deep inside of her, you find her spot. That spot that makes her groan every time your digits press against it. You squeeze your hand around her throat a tad bit harder. “Tap my hand if it gets too tight, Okay?” She just nods but you need words so you slow down and she whines.

“I need you to use your words. Tap my hand if it gets too, Okay?” You repeat.

“Okay, Please go faster.” She groans.

You start your speed back up and she hums in satisfaction.

She adjusted to your two fingers quickly and as you begin to hit that spot again, “Another.” She moans, “Are you sure?” You ask her. She nods and you do as you’re told. You feel her trying to adjust to the three fingers and she slowly does. As they begin to slip in and out easily again you go faster.

Your heart is pounding in your cheats and you’re sure she can feel against her back. Her moans fill the bathroom and you can start to feel your own wetness drip down your legs.

Her walls start to tighten around your fingers,”Harder, Y/N” she moans out and though your hand is beginning to tire you pump them faster and harder against hitting her spot over and over again, you tighten the hand around her throat and her eyes roll back. You kiss up her neck, sucking at just the right pressure. Her body begins to twitch against yours. She gasps “I gonna…”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go, it’s okay.” And with those words her pussy tightens and she lets go. She comes around your fingers.

Her head lays on your shoulder, you both say nothing, you just breathe. Your fingers slip out of her and she watches as you bring your fingers to your mouth. You keep eye contact with her as you swirl your tongue around each digit. She bits her lip and after you finish she kisses you. A moan escapes her mouth as she tastes herself against your lips and tongue. You break the kiss and lean your forehead against hers.

“Thank you, Y/N.” She says softly.

“My pleasure.” You reply.

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Death Becomes Them chapter 3 is up!

Read on ao3 or below

(See ao3 for warnings/tags)

**********

Buck unzipped the bag Tommy had given him and pulled out what was inside. It had been a while since he’d packed it and he couldn’t remember what he’d put in there.

Sweatpants, a T-shirt, a hoodie, 2 pairs of underwear, 2 pairs of socks, toothbrush and toothpaste, a razor, a small bottle of shower gel and shampoo, and a phone charger.

He lifted up the hoodie and brought it to his face to smell knowing it would smell like Tommys laundry detergent. His heart simultaneously filled with warmth and broke at the scent.

Memories flooded his senses. Sliding in Tommy’s freshly made bed—that he’d made just for Buck—after a long arduous shift, Tommy taking him apart so thoroughly and expertly, Buck returning the favour and having the privilege of seeing Tommy Kinard broken apart underneath him. Doing laundry together or snuggling up on Tommy’s sofa under a freshly washed blanket.. it was all too much and a few silent tears fell from his eyes.

He took a second to allow himself to feel the pain, then shook himself out of it and headed to the bathroom to shower.

*

Tommy opened the door to Buck’s knocking wearing grey sweats and a tight navy blue T-shirt. His hair was still damp from his own shower and Buck honest to god didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or punch him for daring to still look so fucking hot!

“Come on in.” He stepped aside. Buck walked inside and immediately saw the bottles of unopened beer on the table at the far corner of the room. Tommy noticed him looking at them. He walked over and opened one handing it to Buck and then one for himself.

“Figured it might ease some of the awkwardness.” Buck raised an eyebrow. “Come on—I know you think this is weird. Us. Here.” He stepped back and sat on the sofa underneath the window. “I’m just glad that you’re here, Evan. Honestly I.. I really couldn’t do this without you here.”

Tommy’s eyes were wet with emotion that he was clearly trying to keep at bay. Buck sat on one of the chairs at the table.

“I’m just glad you let me be here for you.” He said honestly. And he meant it. As hard as it was to be in the presence of his ex boyfriend, he really did want to be a comfort to him if he could.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” He asked.

“I was thinking of starting to clear out the house.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to do that straight away. There’s plenty of time for that.”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. The sooner I get it cleared out and ready to be put on the market the sooner we can go home and I don’t have to deal with him ever again.”

Buck heard the words but didn’t believe that it would be as easy as Tommy was making it out to be. Not after what happened today at being confronted of the memory of his mother. But Buck didn’t argue.

“Okay, we can do that.”

They opted to order pizza from a place down the street and both sat on the bed; the pizza box in between them serving as a cardboard emotional barrier. There was a crappy action flick on the tv on the wall opposite that neither of them were really paying attention to.

“Can.. can I ask you something? And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Buck asked tentatively.

“Sure.”

“Would you tell me about your mom? What was she like?”

A warm smile came across Tommy’s face. “Beautiful. Silly. When I was in kindergarten she used to draw these weird little monsters on my lunch bag. She loved flowers. Any, really—as long as they were brightly coloured.” His smile faded. “Dad hated them; wouldn’t allow her to have any in the house. He hated anything colourful. I remember my grandma had this photo album and the photos of my mom before she met him, she was always in bright colours, and then she got with him and you could literally see her clothes getting duller and duller over the years. He always said women who wore bright coloured clothes were attention whores.” He sniffed and coughed away the emotion.

“After my gramma died, we planted flowers at her gravesite. I can’t even tell you what they were but I remember a year or so later the whole grave was an array of colour. During spring when my dad was working or busy doing something we’d sneak down there and tend to our little garden.” A sad smile came back to his face.

“I think she’d have loved you.” He said and Buck had to hold back his own emotion at hearing that.

“Y-yeah?” He said.

“Yeah. She loved learning things and we’d spent hours in the library reading random books on stuff. Although I don’t think I’d have survived the two of you believing in curses.” He laughed a little, fondly, at the end. Buck gave a soft laugh back.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

Tommy turned his head to look at him. “Me too.“

Buck could so easily get lost in those eyes again; desperately wanted to, really. Be he looked away before he lost himself.

“Is there anybody that needs to be informed about your dad?”

“No, not that I’m aware of. No family left and I doubt he had any friends—people didn’t tend to stick around him very long.” Tommy told him.

“You said that you hadn’t seen him in 10 years?”

Tommy nodded. “My aunt Clara, mom’s sister, died and I came back for the funeral.” He picked at the paper on his beer bottle. “I was actually on my probie year at the 118 at the time. So you can imagine what it was like being closeted and under Gerrard.. I wasn’t exactly in the best place mentally. Dad was drinking as usual and by the time we got to the wake he was deliberately trying to goad me. Loudly telling everyone that I couldn’t hack it in the army because I wasn’t a real man. Then he made a comment about being as weak as my mom and I just lost it. I mean I wailed on him. 4 people had to drag me off him. I walked out of the place, got in my car and haven’t been back since.”

“Tommy, I..” Buck pushed the pizza box to the bottom of the bed and moved closer to him, putting a hand in his shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to grow up with someone like that. God, I wish I could go back and take you away from him. Or kick the crap out of him myself.” That last part got a snort out of Tommy.

He reached up and placed his hand on top of Bucks. Both of their hands fell from Tommys shoulder but they kept their fingers together.

“I, uh.. I actually owe you an apology.” Buck said to Tommy’s surprise.

“For what?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last month and at first I was angry at you because you basically said that I didn’t really know you, just the idea of you. An-and I thought that it’s not my fault that you didn’t open up all that much. But then.. then I started to realise that there were things I never opened up to you about either.” He kept his eyes on their hands still connected by their fingertips.

“I never really told you about my parents.” He said.

“You don’t have to, Evan.”

“No, I-I do. I can’t ask you to be honest with me about your past and not show you the same courtesy.”

“Okay.” Tommy said.

“I had a brother.” He confessed. Tommy’s eyes widened.

“Yeah?”

Buck nodded. “Daniel. He was born after Maddie. He, uh got leukaemia. None of the family were a match so.. they made one. Me.” Tommy brows knitted together as he listened to Buck. “But the cells didn’t take and he, uh.. he died a year later.”

“Jesus, Evan. I’m sorry.” His hand, still in Bucks, squeezed a little tighter.

“Thing is, I didn’t know about him until a couple of years ago. Maddie told me that after he died they disappeared into their grief. Got rid of all his things, packed us all up and moved us away; forcing Maddie to keep his existence secret. I only found out because I found a photo of him and she told me about him.” He sipped his beer and took a deep breath.

“The thing is, when she told me it suddenly made my whole life make sense. I-I always felt like they looked through me. Unless they were criticising me and then suddenly they saw me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Nothing either of us did was good enough. I spent my whole childhood doing stupid shit that got me hurt because when I was hurt I got their attention.

Anyway, Maddie dealt with it by taking the first opportunity to leave and ended up married to an abusive asshole. And I ended up flunking out of community college. I didn’t know at the time that Maddies husband was hurting her but I knew she wasn’t happy. I tried to convinced her to leave with me but in the end she couldn’t leave Doug and so she gave me her Jeep and I left.”

It had been years since Buck had found out about Daniel, and he’d dealt with it. But it wasn’t easy talking about sometimes. It always reminded him about the worst parts of his childhood and how lost and alone he felt. But it felt good telling Tommy.

He’d wanted to tell Tommy about Daniel when they were together but things were so happy and exciting with him that he feared any serious talk might ruin that.

And that was the moment he realised that he was equally at fault about their relationship ending. Tommy might have been the one to pull the trigger, but Buck wasn’t blameless.

“Where did you go?” Tommy asked.

Buck breathed a laugh into his beer bottle “Everywhere. Travelled all over the country trying out different things. Worked on a ranch, tried out for the Navy Seals, I-“

“You tried out for the Seals?” Tommy said in disbelief.

“Yep. I actually got accepted. But they wanted mindless and emotionless drones and-“

“And that is definitely not you.” Tommy teased.

“No it isn’t.” Buck agreed. “I ended up in Peru tending a bar. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was always searching for something that was missing. Every time I thought I’d found it, that missing feeling would come back.”

“Did you ever find it?”

Buck looked at Tommy for second before he answered.

“When you kissed me.”

Tommy’s face softened as he looked at him. Again Buck had to pull his eyes away before he did something stupid.

“I realised then that it was my sexuality. That was the missing piece I was searching for.”

Tommy specifically aside, the moment a man’s lips were on his it was like an epiphany smacking him dead in the face. He’d felt settled and right for the first time in his life. He also felt a little stupid after some retrospection and realised there were moments where it should have been a little more obvious.

Regardless, uncovering that side of himself made him feel more in tune with who he truly was.

But he could never forget that it was Tommy who opened up that side of him. Tommy who made him feel things he’d never felt before—physically and emotionally. And Tommy who despite that, had broken his heart.

He finally let go of Tommy’s hand and got off the bed. “I, uh.. I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna head to bed.”

A disappointed look showed on Tommy’s face for a moment before he fixed himself. “Yeah, I’m pretty damn exhausted too.” He stood up and removed the pizza box, closing it and placing it on the table before following Buck to the door.

“Evan?”

“Hm?” He said turning around.

Tommy stepped into his space and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Bucks arms automatically found their place around his waist and he closed his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for a minute before Tommy pulled away and stepped back. Buck felt a surge of disappointment but said nothing. He opened the door and walked out into the hall.

“Good night.” He said walking the few feet to his door.

“Good night, Evan.”

[boywifesammy]

imagine repressed & closeted transfem dean who never figures it out. imagine the sheer amount of guilt, fear, self-hatred and disgust he’d feel at what he is. big, clunky, dangerous. he takes comfort in his power, but it makes him feel sick. when he looks into the mirror and sees his hard edges, his body feels like it’s trying to rip open from the inside, yet he has no idea why.

dean plays his father’s wife until he dies. he takes care of sam and raises him as if he’s his own son. he’s a housewife in everything but reality. he desperately wants family, desperately wants to nurture, but his body isn’t built for that.

he’s taught by john and the world that he has to be strong. he has to be a man. he can never show emotion, because it’ll only be a weakness, and weakness is deadly. dean can never have a family because his body is wrong and he can never love like a woman because he cannot be weak.

so dean holds tight to those little moments of female connection with sam and his father like a dirty secret. he lays in bed at night and pretends he doesn’t think about being softer and lovelier. he stares at himself in motel mirrors until it makes him sick. he builds muscle and crops his hair short because this thing inside of him terrifies the hell out of him and he has to do anything to keep it at bay.

women comment on his looks a lot. when he’s young, they call him pretty, beautiful, gorgeous. they compliment his soft green eyes and plush lips and spattering of freckles. secretly, dean loves it. it makes that thing inside of him flare up in joy, which is why he knows that this is dangerous, and not something to be indulged. he stays up at night obsessing. shaves every morning and runs his fingers over his soft cheeks, flutters his long eye lashes, tries to find the soft edges of his cheekbones.

this thing is slowly eating away at him. the closer he gets to it the more volatile he feels. he jerks off under the blankets with a hand over his mouth to stifle the gasping, whimpery sounds he makes. the sound of his own voice scares him. his throat chokes up when a guy hits on him and john gives him a glare. one time he puts a finger up his ass and comes so hard that he sees stars, not because of the stimulation, but just from the idea of being wet and slick and pliant between his legs.

dean loves women and it makes him feel sick to the very core. he wishes that he loved women in a normal way. instead, he sees their curvy bodies and an awful, disgusting mixture of greed-lust-jealousy rocks through him. it’s all a strange, roundabout way of wrecking himself, because it’s extremely easy to play the role they want him to play, but god if it doesn’t hurt like hell.

dean loves fucking women. he’s desperate in bed but he’s always sure to be gentle with his thrusts. it makes him feel less disgusting. he likes shoving his face into a chick’s pussy, eating her out until she’s dripping, or nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he fucks her wet cunt. he likes listening to their gasping whines and moans. the feeling of it all makes his teeth clench with guilt; her cunt on his dick, his strong thighs, the way she keeps moaning his name. but it’s so easy to pretend in moments like these.

dean puts his face into her hair, and smells her citrus shampoo as she wails out cries. he doesn’t imagine being her, but he focuses on her noises, on the softness of her body and the wetness of her pussy. he always cums silently, his entire body quivering and shaking, because he’s too scared of the noise that’d come out of his mouth if he opened it.

when rhonda hurley makes him wear her panties, he nearly throws up on her carpet from how hard his heart is beating. they’re silky on his dick. rhonda calls him pretty, beautiful, she strokes at his flaccid penis through the panties and kisses messy lines up his belly. dean is hard and shivering by the end of her teasing, leaking through the panties and flushed from head to toe.

rhonda is both the best fuck that dean ever has and his worst fears coming to life. she calls him good girl as he fucks her. it ends embarrassingly early. when dean cums, it’s with a gasping cry of her name and a girly little keen that haunts his nightmares. he doesn’t remember ever cumming so hard in his life. he shook with aftershocks for minutes after, dazed and disgusted with himself.

rhonda gives dean her number. he never calls her back. after dean leaves that town, he burns the panties and stops shaving his stubble so short. memories of rhonda make him angry. he sinks into hunting and drinks until he’s cross-eyed. dean takes solace in the horror of violence. he bathes himself in that disgust and he feels right at home in the middle of it.

sometimes, dean can’t sleep at night from how sick he feels. he tries to figure out why, but he can’t place the reason. it eats him up inside. makes him feel like a monster. he thinks that he may just be a disgusting freak of a man.

as dean gets older the comments about him getting pretty melt away. he knows he’s objectively extremely attractive, in a male model sort of way, but it doesn’t match up with the images in his head.

the thoughts get more and more humiliating as time goes on. he’s not a twink anymore and he can’t be fantasizing about being fem, but he can’t stop it. he stays up at night itching in his own skin, brutally aware that he’d look hideous and disgusting in anything girly. his body is too big and bulky. he’s a freak for being into that sort of thing.

dean eventually admits to himself that he might be a little gay. he keeps it on the dl, visits gay bars when they hit more liberal cities, and doesn’t ever repeat the same place. he likes being dressed up and bent over. he chalks it all up to a crossdressing fetish, and while that’s humiliating and sickening, it’s easier than having to deal with whatever it is that’s going on with him.

dean aches inside perpetually because he is flawed. he wants to hold his child in his arms and wear dresses and flirt shamelessly with men. he knows he’s a freak for it but he’s accepted that he’s going to perpetually live with this pain.

he gets older and older and the dysphoria gets so fucking bad that he can’t even look in the mirror anymore, but it doesn’t matter at this point. he’s completely disconnected himself from his body. he’s a sick, perverted freak in the body of a man and none of it feels right. he uses his body like a tool, a weapon, and he purposefully keeps it masculine and well-toned to push back any illusions that he’s anything but a man.

and sometimes, he’ll go to gay bars and let himself get railed to incoherence. he’ll drive three towns over while sam’s asleep and put on his makeup in an alleyway nearby. he always looks for men bigger than him. men who’ll call him pretty and beautiful and treat his ass like a cunt.

and if he’s lucky, maybe they’ll let some other words slip. maybe they’ll call him babygirl or darling or play with his pecs like tits as they pound him deep. and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, he’ll get to wear something pink and lacy. sheer panties. a bralet. stockings or a necklace.

he always cums in the first few minutes on those nights. he doesn’t mind being fucked until the other guy finishes, as long as he keeps calling him a good girl for taking it.

dean always throws up in the club bathroom afterwards. he spends hours wiping off all the makeup from his face and sleeps in the impala for the night. he gives himself another wipe the morning after and tells sam that he was out with a one night stand. it technically isn’t a lie.

one time, sam makes a joke about dean being a woman. he pushes. he calls him a pretty lady, and dean is horrified when his eyes wet a bit at it. he can’t take it. he starts the fight, but sam wins it. he pins dean down and starts to yell at him. then he sees that dean is crying. he isn’t making any noise or shaking, but his cheeks are wet.

don’t, is all he says. it hurts like hell to get out. sam seems confused, but he doesn’t question it. he doesn’t make the joke again. dean forgets about the whole thing and pretends he doesn’t feel the weird looks sam sends him sometimes.

dean dies like that, alone and angry, in a body that’s all hard edges and grief and hatred.

he’s the same in heaven. he can’t imagine being any other way. he doesn’t even know what he wants, what would make him happy. most days, he’s happy with driving his impala aimlessly, drinking while watching sunsets and tuning into the world around him. thinking, and thinking, and thinking. about rhonda hurley and her satin panties and his father and the soft, warm thing buried inside of him.

dean doesn’t know why he feels sick inside when he looks at himself, but he’s too broken to ever figure it out. the only thing that he knows is that he doesn’t feel guilt the same in heaven. that means that when he has those strange dreams of warm kisses, strong arms around his tiny waist, and the warm, beating heat of his child’s heart against his own pillowed chest, he can spend some time in bed in the morning trying to recollect the memories without hating himself for it.

[flightlessangelwings]

"wrapping your legs around your lover's body as they lift you"

Dream of the Endless x fem!plus size!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 795

Warnings- some spice but no actual smut, Dream lifts reader, established relationship, mention of slight body insecurity but nothing descript

Notes- The first of my 4k follower drabble requests for the lovely @miraclesabound! Thank you so much this one was a lot of fun to write! I also incorperated the other prompt too just not word for word lol. Enjoy!

Taglists are closed. To stay up to date on when I post, follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

You let out a contented sigh as the warm water hit your body. The day was long and exhausting, and you wanted nothing more than to relax in a hot, steamy shower. The comforting sound of the water washed the day away as you lathered up with your favorite soap and let the smell engulf you. As far as you were concerned, the world outside your bathroom didn’t exist at all, and all the stresses from the outside were kept at bay. 

But, just as you lost yourself in the sanctuary of the shower, a cool breeze hit your skin and your eyes flew open. You let out a gasp as you grabbed your shampoo bottle, ready to throw it at whatever it was. Tense, you yanked the shower curtain aside enough so you could see what shadowy presence made itself known.

You let out a deep exhale when you realized who it was though, “Morpheus,” you breathed, “You scared the shit out of me!”

He stood in his long black coat, his hands behind his back. The stoic look on Morpheus’ face melted away as he looked at the outline of your figure from the curtain and a slight smirk graced his face, “Apologies, love.”

Suddenly, the warmth of your body came from the inside as the way his eyes devoured your curves sent a pulse of adrenaline through your veins, “Apology accepted,” you quipped back.

The sound of the shower continued as you both stared at each other. You were used to the Lord of Dream’s evening visits, but this was the first time he had caught you in the shower. And you couldn’t say that you were upset about it. Summoning your courage, your tone dropped, “You can join me… If you want…”

His eyes darted up and down your body before he let out a short laugh and chucked his jacket off. Your eyes went wide as inch by inch of his perfect, soft skin was revealed to you, and you clenched your thighs together when you saw his all black clothes puddle on the floor.

Dream stayed still for a moment before he smirked back, “I believe you are gawking, my love.”

With a gasp, you met his eyes again where instead of his usual hard expression, he looked soft… and amused. Your embarrassment quickly faded as he made his way toward the shower and pushed the curtain aside, fully exposing you and all your curves to him. Stepping into the show, Dream never took his eyes off of you.

“Now who's gawking,” you jested back.

Mischievousness gleaned behind Morpheus’ eyes as he closed the small space between your bodies and placed a hand on your chin, “I don’t hear you complaining, my beautiful love.”

You sighed as you flashed a smile to hide your nerves, “Who says I am?” No matter how many times Dream touched you, looked at you, made love to you, the nerves were always there. It was like your first time all over again, and you couldn’t have it any other way.

“I didn’t think so,” he smirked as he crashed his lips into yours.

You moaned into his mouth as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and parted your lips for him. Morpheus groaned as he backed you up against the wall and kissed you with a passion he hadn’t felt for anyone for a long time. He knew at times your body was a source of insecurity for you, and he always made it a point to make you feel like the goddess he saw you as.

With little effort at all, Morpheus grabbed your hips and lifted you off the ground, pinning you between the wall and his body as the warm water of the shower hit you both. He swallowed the yelp you let out, not wanting to break the kiss for even a moment.

Momentarily, you were disoriented, but you felt safe and secure in Morpheus’ arms. He always started you when he picked you up so easily, but you had to remind yourself that he was a supernatural being older than almost everything. But more importantly, you trusted him. So, you kept your lips connected with his as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him as close as possible. 

“Morpheus…” you whimpered as you bucked your hips against his body.

“I’ve got you my love,” he murmured in your ear as he peppers kisses along your jaw, “Allow me to take care of my beautiful lady love.”

You chuckled softly as your body tingled under his touch, “How can I say no to that?!”

Morpheus groaned as he tightened his grip on you, and he had no plans of letting go of you anytime soon…

[00ops1e]

Sunshine for Everyone pt.2

Pricefield! Fluff!

Life is Strange - Max Caufield x Chloe Price

After saving Chloe at the expense of Arcadia Bay, our favorite girls are forced to flee their hometown. It soon becomes apparent that while they can run from the storm, running from their desires just isn't plausible.

click here for part one

“I swear I could sleep forever,” Max mutters, cuddling into the blanket further. The motel had proven to be a good idea, using someone else’s hot water and blankets was always nice. The pair were too tired to even notice the television only had four channels, or that the mattress was a little lumpy. Maybe things just weren’t so bad if they had each other.

“We can stay as long as you'd like,” Chloe trails off, “s’cheap enough anyways we deserve a vacation.” she babbles with eyes half closed, no longer sure of her words. The girls lay in bed, inches between. The last room available happened to be a single, and she had managed to haggle the price down, so fucking score again. When the man in the office mentioned the single bed, Chloe felt something flutter deep in her gut. It was a giddy, childlike feeling, but muddled with some sort of anxiety. 

Max shifted in the bed, mind still racing, “Will you hold me?” She heard the words fall from her lips before they even registered in her brain. The question appears to catch both girls off guard. It hung in the air for a moment, Max began to babble, face growing red, “I- 'm sorry I really didn’t mean to… I just, I can't stop it's all too much. I don’t know what's w-wrong with me.”

Without hesitation, she pulls the smaller girl into her arms, as if rehearsed, as if Chloe had been waiting a lifetime. Instantly the tension evicts Max’s body. The sweet musk of her shampoo, perfume, whatever it was completely enveloped Chloe. Holding her tight just felt natural, like all was well with the world. Comforting others has never come easy for Chloe, always awkward, never knowing what to say or do. Not with Max though, she made everything easy. Existing with her felt like hearing an old song and singing along perfectly, yet recalling none of the lyrics. She traces small circles into Max’s back, the smaller girl somewhat buried in her chest.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Chloe starts, angry at the world for putting her max through all of this, “y-you didn't ask for any of this. You shouldn't have seen even half the shit you did. Max, I swear to you if there was a way I could take it all away, I’d do it.” Max looks up at her, tears in those beautiful blue eyes threatening to spill. A pang of fear hits Chloe right in the gut. Did she say something wrong? Did Chloe cause those tears? 

She begins to ramble, “Shit, I’m not saying I'm not glad I found you again, or that you shouldn’t have saved me or-or anything like that,” a sense of urgency laced her tone, god she was supposed to be helping not making it worse. “I just- I wish I could fix it, seriously Max. I am so so fucking happy you’re with me again. I don’t know, I guess, i-i just feel like it's all my fault” Her voice thickened towards the end, holding back a sob. ‘This is not about you Chloe,’ she thinks, reprimanding herself for being so selfish. But the guilt had been festering, gnawing at her organs like some feral dog with a bone. She was the reason the whole world had turned upside down.

“C-Chloe,” Max mumbled, sitting up to look at her properly. With shaky hands, she took the girl's face in her hands. Forcing Chloe to meet her eyes, hands lingering on her cheeks a bit too long before pushing the messy blue hair behind her ears. Her hands rest languidly on Chloe’s shoulders, reassuring her somehow. Max sat and contemplated her next words before answering, “None of this was you, okay? This is some freak-supernatural stuff okay? I do not blame you. Do you hear me? Please don't ever think that. I’d go through it all again if it meant I had you. Chloe, you're my best friend.”

It was like Max was able to reach inside and undo the knots in Chloe’s stomach. No one had ever done so with such ease, such grace. Not even Rachel, though that hurt to admit. Max just knew her, regardless of the years apart. Deep down, way below the rough punk girl exterior, Chloe was still the same little girl Max had grown up with. A soft smile inched its way to the surface, god how could she not smile looking at her? The way her hair fell, perfectly framed those soft doe eyes. Those fucking freckles and long lashes. The way Max would look up at her, eyelids heavy, how could anyone keep a straight face? Chloe hadn’t realized she was staring until she felt a soft squeeze on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Chloe mustered up, embarrassment pricking at her cheeks. She shifted in place, yearning for closeness once more. These feelings, they can't be normal. Max’s words reverberate in her skull, ‘my best friend’  they stung a little. Those ten letters formed a lump in her throat, a pit in her chest. The words had some sort of mal effect on her, and she just couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Chloe once again chalked it up to just feeling weird about Arcadia.

The blank look in Chloe’s eyes prompts Max to speak. Whatever had her in such a trance could not possibly be kind. Max used a shaky hand to brush the girl’s cheek, “Do you think we could get some sleep now?” she proposed, pulling Chloe from the complexities that danced in her mind. 

She nods silently and lays her head on the pillow, wriggling slightly to settle in. Max drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling that mess of blue hair onto her chest. Upon feeling the weight on her chest, Max lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. This was a comfort unknown to her, never before had she felt this light. An absentminded hand travels to Chloe’s hair, despite all the bleach and dye damn it was soft. With her fingers tangled in the blue locks, everything felt right in the world.

“Everything that happened was so terrible,” Max breathes, wanting to offer one final comfort before slumber claimed them both, “It was so terrible, we’re not okay. But we’re gonna be. We can work through it Price, we’re a team and-and we can heal together. I’ll help you, we don't have to face things alone.” max consoled, her voice wavering ever so slightly. 

“It's you and me against the world Caufield, now and forever,” Chloe assured, tightening her grip on the smaller girl, as if afraid she’d get snatched away, “seriously max, what would I do without you?” she let out a small chuckle before closing her eyes and passing out, still entangled with her best friend.

I have yet to begin writing the rest of this (call of duty brainrot is taking over my life) but i promise my google doc has many many ideas. stay tuned ig? lots of love, liz

[toomuchracket]

thinking about when matty had the mohawk & curly hair combo and him taking girlie through the curly boy hair process while she watches him. and then maybe one night after they shower she just takes over for him & lets him get taken care of 😭😭

flatmate universe! you keep getting onto him about his curls and properly taking care of them (when you found out he was a curly wurly you literally ranted at him for 3 hours straight about how people would go to EXTREMES to have that curl pattern lol), and he decides to get really into it when he gets that haircut; when you're on beauty bay or cult beauty ordering stuff for yourself, he gives you a list of haircare shit and really sweetly asks if you would please get that for him, and you're lowkey so impressed that he actually took the time to research it lol. when it arrives, you sit on the bathroom counter while he showers and washes his hair (he gets bored if you're not there lol he likes yapping to you), and watch in fascination (and a teensy bit of lust - he's dripping wet and only wearing a towel, and you're only human) as he applies his leave-in conditioner and curl creme and does the little scrunchy thing. you're like "how'd you know how to do that?", and matty's really shyly like "youtube", and you think it's the most adorable thing on the planet lol. and you offer him the diffuser attachment for your hairdryer, but he's like "nah i'll air-dry", so he puts the little silk cap thing on to plop his curls and then just leaves them be; his hair looks genuinely amazing when it's dry, like to the point where you actually don't want to get off matty's lap and stop touching it, which he doesn't mind at all lmao. like you said, a few weeks later, when he feels really quite tired and not great, you take over for him - you coax him into the shower with you, and just let him cling to you while you do his scalp scrub and shampoo and conditioner for him, and then get him to sit at your dressing table while you do everything else and give him a little head massage (and lots of little kisses). like, you sit and twist all of matty's curls around your finger to shape them while he cuddles into you with the tv on, and just do every step he usually does with his haircare. as you can imagine, matty's SO cute about it; he's murmuring "you're take such good care of me. thank you. i love you", and you're like "i love you, and i love taking care of you. makes me happy to make you happy", and he's just so overwhelmed by love that all he can do is kiss you. it's so sweet! and thank god you learned how to do the curly routine for him, by the way - both of your baby girls inherit daddy's hair, so it's good mummy knows how to take care of it too. cute <3

[msreyny]

tips for healthy and long hair

hello darling ! today i will share some of my tips that help me grow my hair long and keep them healthy 💕

♡﹒✿﹒﹕✧﹒💗

tips 1: always rinse your hair with cold water, it will help with hair loss and make your hair shiny

tips 2: use hair oil before washing your hair, it with help a lot with hair growth, i recommend the ROSEMARY MINT SCALP & HAIR STRENGTHENING OIL that you can find on beauty bay

tips 3 : never put shampoo other than on your scalp, it will make the rest of the hair very dry .

tips 4: avoid heat, if you still wanna use heat remember to always put a heat protector, personally i use the Ghd Thermo protector spray and it works perfectly !:)

tips 5: take dietary complement, it's not necessary but it is a great way to make your hair healthier.

tips 6 : massage your scalp, i recently started to do this not believing it could work but it does! you can find a scalp massager kinda everywhere.

[impdidnothingwrong]

Tattletale knew this and she knew she couldn't stop it: people with martyr complexes aren't ok. A martyr complex is passive suicidal ideation. It is just mental gymnastics trying to hide from everyone including themselves that they want to die, so they look for a death that could mean something, something that would be justifiable to an outside observer. They dive headlong into danger because they cannot fear death, because their life has no meaning to them more than what they are doing now

And as someone who has been institutionalized for suicidal ideation lemme tell you it's super hard to get over that hurdle, because it didn't start with that one bad day, it started early, earlier than you'd think for Taylor or for me. It probably started for Taylor before her mom died, because, when you think about it, what kid growing up has only one friend at all? Not one that is having an ok time in school. And sure, this is a big city and there are probably multiple middle schools that feed into Winslow, but surely there were people at Winslow that she went to middle school with, or elementary school. I wasn't close to most of the people I went to elementary or middle school with, but some I was cordial with, and even one who remained my friend even into college. Before Emma must have been a dam to keep the negativity at bay, but she couldn't have been perfect, or she wouldn't have been alone.

I don't know where I'm going with this but I think the point is that triggers don't happen to people who aren't willing to die. I've seen posts about how shards don't work on people who are suicidal but I don't think that's true. They stop the suicidal ideation with that push of desire for glory (conflict). The same thing is used to keep suicidal people from committing as long as they can: don't commit suicide -- your conditioner and shampoo aren't finished (and then they are used unevenly so you have to get a new bottle of one before you run out of the other), don't commit suicide -- who else will water your plants or take care of your dog or feed the stray cat on campus, and more like this. The shards just say: don't die now, die later, in a blaze of glory, when it will be beautiful. Now, the shards are a parasite. They don't actually want you to die, but if they can convince you to keep on going with a promise of grandeur, they will.

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || A.U ||Frankie Morales

Chapter 12: Closing Night

F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: p in v sex (not wrapped up), clit play, cock warming, riding, love with sex, subspace, shower play?

Authors Note: so i’m 🍃🍃🍃, but this chapter was so much fun to write and i love writing for you all, light of my day❤️❤️ tell me what you thought about the chapter! guys i fucking love tumblr and i love you. writing always makes me happy.

Chapter Playlist

No-One in the world- Locust

Doses and Mimosa- Cherub

Cheari- Magdelena Bay

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

The last thing you remember was Frankie putting you in bed, with nothing but a smile and a mindshattering orgasm lingering through your body.

He said I love you.

Warm dim side lights were on when you woke up, laying on top of Frankies chest as he traces shapes on your back, playing with your hair. Nothing but freedom consumed you whole. You looked up to him, a sunken smile filling his entire face.

“How long have you been awake?” You shift, nuzzling into him further.

“10 minutes, you’ve been out for some time, pretty girl.” He rasps, “You were awake when I put you in bed but I couldn’t get any words out of you, I was scared you weren’t okay?”

“I promise you,” You smirk, “I was okay. It was like I was in another world. I can't explain it.” You close your eyes, “ I looked it up the other night because fuck… every time you make me cum I genuinely can’t think for seconds and it said it’s like a ‘subspace’.”

“A sub-wha?”

“Sub-space, it’s like I feel so comfortable with you and taken care of with you, Google says it’s the ultimate goal for a submissive.”

“Hmmm for a submissive, you like that?”

“Well I like it enough to go into a full body shock.” He rumbles under you, his skin against yours was beautiful. The lights reflecting off his glow made you want to fuck him all over again.

You look over at his side clock, 3 am.

“Fuck I need to pee, can’t get a UTI.” You move the blanket off of you, goosebumps rapturing your arms from leaving his warmth.

He quickly jumps from the bed, you had a minor limp. Reminiscing from the feeling of his cock stuffing you full.

He holds you up as you walk to his open bathroom.

“You okay darlin, feelin alright?” He laughs.

“Oh yeah yeah, just hobbling along from being fucked to death, I’m all good. How about you?” You mumble.

“Spent the night with the girl of my dreams, I’m doing pretty fucking fine.”

You shake your head as you pee, he gives you your peace.

“C’mere.” He motions his fingers to you when you finish, “Do you wanna take a shower? I know you don’t have anything here, but if you wanna clean the sex off.” He mutters. “I can give you some clothes until we have to leave again.”

You survey his bathroom, shelves of cologne and body products for men, marbled tile and a really fucking big shower, a shower big enough for 10 people. His bathroom smelled like santorini water, heavenly. But his unique smell controlled your brain, you only wanted to be close to him.

“Shower with me? It’s early and I need to stay awake.” You smirk.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He fires up the water inside his shower, pulling you in when the water was hot enough, you both stand under the water spout. Slightly moaning as the water soothes out the kinks of your sore muscles.

“What’d you do when I fell asleep, big man?”

He grabs this glass of shampoo, spilling some out and scruffing your head with it.

“I was just laying there, with you in my arms. Thinking about how this will probably be the happiest moment of my life.”

Everything shifted, demeanor, his body language, he was being so gentle.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while baby but the first time we met was actually back at UNCSA, you probably don’t remember but-”

You grab his hands, trying to rack through your brain on when you could’ve seen him last you but you draw at a blank.

“What?When?”

“Ah it was back when we were coming to like “scout” you to accept you in the program, we saw the closing night of Cabaret and we went to your spring recital and I just knew.”

“You were there? Frankie, why didn’t you tell me?”

You interrupt, holding his face, scanning his beauty. His nose, his facial hair, his deep set eyes, his hair. You loved everything about him. His body. He was made to love, his whole life he was made to experience a love so life altering.

You yourself have never felt a love this consuming, was it love? Or was it lust?

Whatever it was, you knew you could never experience it with another human again. You didn’t feel like a girl with Frankie, you felt alive. You felt looked after, and cared. Nothing else mattered when you were with him.

You kiss him harder than you thought an asteroid could hit the earth, a simulation scrolling through your head.

This love crushing your bones couldn’t take the intimacy curating between you both, “Why didn't you tell me you goose?” You almost cry, brushing through his hair with your fingers, “I could’ve known you earlier, we couldn’ve-”

“I don’t know, I mean I’m your teacher and then all the Macbeth stuff and it was just so much, I didn’t want to scare you off and I didn’t know how to act around you, and now things are just different.” Yes they are Frankie, they always will be, “I just wanted to welcome you here but fucking immediatly I couldn’t hold back.” He stands against his shower wall.

“But babygirl, “He grabs your attention, “Your Sally performance, your passion in Maybe This Time, darlin you're pizazz on that stage, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Old man, looking at me in lingerie,” You purr, “Is that why you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me?”

“No, not because of that.” He pulls you closer, “Because you’re confident on stage, the audience can feel your passion and I didn’t see you on the stage, I only saw Sally. You're such a good actress baby and you don’t even know it.”

You simper, that’s all you ever wanted, “I’m glad you can see that.”

“Well, you’ll see it after this weekend I promise, people are raving about you gorgeous. After those interviews you’ll see.

He washes your body, running soap on your heated skin. He smudges over your nipples, wincing at his touch. He dropped lower, rubbing his hand all over your body, soothing the redness of your ass.

You moan, never forgetting his soft sensual touch on your body.

Most of the days you try to work hard, you try to

give acting your all. The amount of empathy that runs through your body, the amount of crying and thinking you’ve had to do. Countless nights of annotating, listening to Broadway music, seeing off Broadway shows at DPAC, water pouring.

“Thank you Frankie.” You fiddle with his hair, you never felt more comfortable with your body in front of another guy, “I try to think those things, but I appreciate it you know, I try to be what people want me to be.” You grimace at the thought of having to do another show tonight, on the day you just want to stay in with Frankie and never leave.

“I know it’s hard dollface, but I want you to know, you probably don’t remember but I went up to you after the show and you hugged me, and I knew that minute. I just knew deep down I would find you again.” He washes his hair, “ I introduced myself as someone else because we couldn’t say we were from New York but you didn't even know me and you still talked to me, you still gave me your time and I could see how tired you are. But that’s how special you are, that’s why everyone loves you, that’s what you do to me-”

You shut him up before the words can be said, you relax under the water together pushing your body against his, “You’re fucking with my heart, no matter what Frankie, baby I will always find you. This was meant to happen, and everythings been so perfect, I haven’t felt this,” You rub your heart, “In a long time. And that's because of you. I have the power to go up on that stage because of you. You were my lucky charm on the closing night of Cabaret and I didn’t know it then, but here it is now.”

He hedonically sits on the seat in his shower, sitting you on his leg. The water was pouring the other direction and he meticulously kissed down your back.

You shudder when he would lift up, to place his lips back down again. He was making love to your body, he was being gentle and calculated.

Your souls were attaching themselves together and you don’t think you could ever let go.

“Last night was perfect, everything we did, everything you did made me believe in God.”

“Trust me I saw God last night mi amor, my perfect Goddess.” He nips at your shoulders and ears, “So strong, so soft, golden.”

As you press into his stomach you really feel him, fuck.

“Shit, you didn’t come.” You squeak. You could feel a rock against your back, reacting to your body so easily.

“It’s okay, I didn’t need to. All I needed was to make you feel good.” He shivers, “And if we went any longer… I would’ve came inside-”

“I can go on birth control you know, get an IUD, drink turmeric water, something. Bless we live in the state of New York.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with honey.”

“It's 3am, we’ve got some hours to kill.” You grin.

The burnt fire in your stomach ruptures again, and this time you’re in control.

“What do you want from me right now Mr. Morales?” You shimmy your ass against the base of his cock, his length nooking into your inner thigh, “C’mon playboy, I want more, more for tonight. I can take it.”

He groans, you push him against the shower wall, you look down and see precum leaking out of him like a college boy. You fish around to fit his cock inside your entrance, exasperated from the feeling of him stretching you wide. You hear him whimper slightly in your ear, the warmth of the steam filing your lungs.

The unsaid craft of love mixing with you guys fucking each other made you want more for the world. If you could feel this for the rest of your life, if you could make all 8 billion people on earth understand how this love was the realist thing you have felt, humane but not blind. You needed more of him.

You knew he needed him to cum, he needed to chase his release.

His hands reached for your hips, the water easing the action of you bouncing on his cock. He couldn’t contain his guttural sounds. You couldn’t handle his cock slipping in and out of your pussy, it felt too good. The way he curved inside you to kiss your spongey spot made you twitch.

“I ain’t gonna last darlin, m’sorry.” The slapping of your skin overpowers the air, the motion in your body to think.

“Come inside, I want it Frankie. Fill me up, fill my fucking pussy up.” You groan, “I’m just a fucking hole for you, fuckin cum hole for your dick.”

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna baby, don’t stop- don’t fucking stop.”

At the last minute, you reach down to touch his balls, to give him one last kick before he untangles inside you, you want him to see the stars.

He gasps, and his body spasms, he falls back and you go with him. He unloads into you, never feeling warmer in your life. You shimmy your hips with his dick still inside you, he heaves as his cum kisses your cervix.

You feel him slipping out of you, you can see the water washing it away, but he felt so good inside you.

“Jesus baby, so fucking tight you have me cumming light a god damn teenager.” He amused.

You slank against him, breathing for your life. He kisses your ear, pulling your hair from your face, clasping your lips together. His hands were holding your boobs, roaming your torso. He stays inside you and he goes soft.

“I could feel you swelling inside me, I could feel the second you popped, it was like your orgasm interconnected with me. Fucking made for eachother.” You whisper.

He gains back strength enough to move, he grabs the cord of the showerhead, dropping it to his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve never done this?” He questions.

“Do what with a shower head?”

“You’ll see.” He purrs, kissing your neck.

He turns the head of the shower spout to the smallest, but most powerful setting, and he immediately points it at your clit.

“FUCK,” You jerk, “My fucking- god Frankie- it’s so powerful- fuck. I can’t-”

“You think I’m gonna cum and you’re not pretty girl?” He intertwined his legs around you, pinning you to his body. The sensation on your clit made your cunt walls jolt, that affected his dick to harden again inside.

He started to push into you, clamping around him too fast, your orgasm was coming quick and there was nothing to do to stop it.

“Cmon dirty girl, I know it feels so good. I know you’re leakin and it ain’t just water. I need you to cum on my cock again, I know you can do it.” He brings the spout closer to your pussy, a centimeter from your pulsating nub. He fucks his spent cum back into you.

He moves his hips faster than a sonic boom, disrupting the symbiotic relationship you had seconds ago and you feel like you’re about to explode, incomprehensible how the pressure on your clit with his heavy dick inside you is about to make you fall off the face of the earth.

“Ahh- ngh- Frankie- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-” You scream.

He interlocks on you harder, keeping you in place and with his free hand he holds your stomach down. Locking you down. He growls in your ear, fucking you in place. You can’t do anything put let your pussy take it and unleash your voice.

“I can feel the outline of my cock in you, so deep in your stomach, see that?”

You dangle your head, seeing a bulge past your mound inside you, his cock owning you. And not a second later his pumps slow subconsciously and he sets down the shower head. You can feel him spurt into you again. Longing out both of your orgasms.

“Fuck Frankie, fuck I can feel it, I can feel both of us.” You mumble, kissing him, salivating for his mouth. The water was facing the other way of the shower, so you watch both of your liquids mix to the shower floor.

You’re so full of his cum, you can’t even panic, you would have if it was anyone else, but Frankie’s cum was a gift made from the universe. All you wanted was more. Figuring out how to prevent anything from biologically happening inside your body was another day's problem.

“Gotta clean you off baby, can’t have me leakin out of you all day.” He shifts, scrambling to get the shower head off the floor, changing the setting so it wouldn’t attack you again.

“No I could be, but I don’t think it would be too sanitary for my costume.”

“Fuckin nasty girl.” He beams, he rubs the inside of your thigh, not daring to get closer to your entrance, cleaning you out and using the heat to uncrease any knots in your body.

You still couldn’t believe it all this time, he saw you first. He saw you as Sally, he saw you in one of the worst stages of your life, and he still saw you for who you were. Deep down, you knew there was never going to be anyone like him again for the rest of your life.

“I think it was the universe makin us together Frankie.” You mumble in a sex haze.

Cherish him now, before anything threatening happens.

He turns off the shower, slipping out to grab towels for you both. He spikes through his hair, lifting his towel. You eye him up and down, your lower half not able to handle seeing him like this. You’ve had the best orgasms of your life in the past 6 hours and you're still wet for more?

“Don’t worry baby, we’ll have time for more tonight.” He smirks. You go to lay in his bed, grabbing the closest shirt of his you see.

“Actually remember that afterparty for the show? I was gonna go to that, see if you wanted to go?” He joins you in bed.

“I wouldn’t mind going, I think all my guys were gonna go to that but…” He lingers his fingers around your boobs, “We couldn’t really be near each other or touch each other.”

“But that would be fun, edge each other all night, just to be back in bed, fucking each other like crazy. Isn’t that right Francisco?” You hum, running your fingers on his belly.

He huffs, your fingers searching dangerous territory.

“You don’t know what you’re fucking starting.” He tuts.

“Of course I do.”

You lay with him longer, watching the time pass. He scrolls through his TV, he still has cable. You go in and out of sleep, watching the sun rise through his balcony.

You saunter downstairs to get your bag eventually, grabbing your bag to clean yourself for the day. Thank the fucking lord you packed like a hound for show days. Lotion, 2 days of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, hair oil, perfume.

He watches you slip into his bathroom, winking at him as you close the door.

20 minutes to go fucking delusional. You check your phone.

New Message:

11:34 Laylah: May have accidentally gone to Bryce’s place

11:40 Laylah: OOOOOHHH SHIT YOU”RE GETTING DICKED DOWN TELL

6:55 Laylah: Just woke up, let me know if you’re alive

Jesus christ, what a story to tell.

You: I’m alive and breathing

7:38 Laylah: WHATTTT HAPPENED

You: Well we did things, and more things. And then the universe collapsed.

7:40 Laylah: OH FUCK ME TOO. Talk when we get to the theater?

You: Oh hell fucking yeah.

As you put your phone down, Frankie knocks on the door, he comes in, “Hey before we go to the theater, lets stop at a bodega. Get some coffee and stock up on some pills?”

Pills?

Oh fuck.

“Shit, I completely forgot,” You giggle, “That sounds perfect.”

He picks you up and twirls you in the air, “Be ready in 30, pretty girl.”

------

Before you left, he gave you a tour of his house in the daylight, took you in the backyard, showed you his garage with 2 other cars. His whole upstairs. His house was beyond elegant, something you’d only see in movies and this was all for him. You feel his personality in every room, you could see his life in everything he has. He had lives before you, but who were you before him?

Instead of taking his million dollar car, he took his low audi. Not as recognizable but still him.

He went to the nearest corner store, leaving you in the car, giving you his hoodie. Whatever was to happen between you two, you could live your life like this until you die.

“Ok 2 coffees with stevia and oatmilk, and a shitload of Plan-B!” He cheers. He came back with a bag full of Plan-B. “What?”

You shake your head, jesus christ. Your uterus couldn’t take him.

He pulls around back behind the theater discreetly, dropping you off so no one would see you walking in together. He kissed you goodbye, tonight's the last show.

Before you realize it, Laylah is booming at your hair, perfecting your makeup for your cast interview with The New Yorker. When you saw each other you both squealed but were surrounded by other makeup interns. The long awaited conversation would be saved for a private session.

At 2:30, Ms. Roylance pulled the cast into a room with a line of interviewers from The New Yorker. She had already pre-prepped you all with answers, figuring this would probably be the longest part of the day. Frankie, both of Mr.Millers, Mr. Garcia, Ms. Cheot, Mr Davis, and Ms. Roylance sat in the back of the room observing how you all would respond.

The interview was being filmed, so you sat up straight and answered when you were talked to. The questions were more directly to Mattias, you didn’t mind. All you had to do was look at Frankie and look pretty. You weren’t sure how stuff like this would ever work out, you knew some interviewers could have their sleeves so tight that they could ask any asshole questions.

So finally to both our leads, how did you balance school work and working on a college Macbeth production for Broadway?

“You go first.” Mattias directs you.

“Well, I just had recently moved to this school and as a senior my classes are industry classes. So as long as I show up, give 100%, and learn my lines on the side. Work my job, get 7 hours of sleep, wake up and run. Try to subside that this is a Broadway production and you’re balanced.” You grin.

“For me, I do my classes, shots of vodka every Friday, and learn my lines. Not as well as this one.” Mattias giggles.

Mattias definitely made you feel more comfortable in this interview, he tried to give more questions to you, but you didn’t take it personally.

You wanted this interview to end nonetheless, smiling at empty jokes- you really didn’t think your first interview would go like this.

After an hour and a half, you and Mattias had to be prepped to go into another room for Vogue. The other actors were being touched up by Laylah. Ms. Roylance said this would be more intimate, prepare your answers to be more emotional and if you don’t want to answer you laugh it off.

5 o’clock sharp and just one reporter walks in greeting all the directors and sitting down in front of you and Mattias.

“Hi! My names Jules and I’ll be interviewing you guys today.¨ She shakes your hands, smiling and jaunty within her step, ¨Umm I just want to start off, if you don’t want to answer anything that I ask, give me a thumbs down and we can just pass it. No harm, no foul.” She smiles.

You’re not being recorded, but audiotaped. You liked this better, you could slouch in your seat and not check every 5 minutes if your hair looked correct. You all had afternoon coffee on your side, and Frankie was in the room, you were safe.

I wanted to start off first, how do you both relate to your characters?

¨I feel like Macbeth is a warrior hero, he is just trying to make everyone happy. He’s jumpy but wants to make his wife happy. He aspires to be king and I feel like my entire life I’ve been trying to gain control of my own life and I feel like that’s what Macbeth is trying to do in his story.” He sips his coffee.

“I feel like Lady Macbeth has been strong her entire life, she would do anything to make her husband happy, and I mean in the end she takes her own life because of the things she has done so personally I relate to her because my whole life I do things for people and sometimes I may go against myself to make someone else happy and then I feel dead inside. I feel this stomach churning sickness that I will never get to go back to my regular person.

Wow, your responses. I feel grateful to be here with you both and your responses are so heartfelt already. Where do you both see life after college?

“Honestly I thought I wanted to go to Law school after this, but possibly some more auditions for Broadway. I did apply to get into the graduate program at Julliard so I am looking forward to that this year. Possibly get an internship somewhere.” Mattias responds.

You haven’t this far about what you’d do after college, your number one fear of having to move back with your mom or go homeless.

“Honestly after this year? I mean I have a service job uh… audition for some TV roles. I’m not sure, I love reading scripts and annotating them. Just working in the industry, I love acting so whatever comes my way I’ll take it.”

Do you plan on staying here? Since you moved from North Carolina?

“Yeah I do.” You look at Frankie across the room- he’s essentially a reason why you would stay in this city. “North Carolina was never home, so I feel like if I go back, there would be no place for me to go home to.”

That’s funny, I’m from there so I understand what you mean, it’s pretty boring.

You laugh with Jules, empathy being an understood language.

What are your prize possessions?

“Can she finish the rest of the interview, I’m sorry I’ve talked all day and she has better responses than me. And pedialyte!” Mattias pokes you.

“Ok, my most prized possession is my copy of A Little Life by Hanya Yanigihara. I think that is the best book I have ever read, now I’m not saying go read it because there's so much trauma and it’s extremely sad, but it’s truly one of the most captivating and well written books I’ve read in my lifetime. I’ve annotated it to the brim and it’s worth everything to me.”

I’ve read it! After I finished I was sobbing like a baby, and I had to go to Lispenard street and just sit there in silence, it took months for me to not think about Jude!

“Trust me, me too, that book will go to the grave with me.” You wink. “I’ll have to go visit Lispenard street sometime soon!”

Ms. Roylance gives the que that it’s time to wrap up, show would be starting in 2 hours and you had to do senior greenroom.

Okay, my last question for the night, what are your thoughts on the industry, Hollywood, Broadway, all of it?

You couldn’t obviously say how you really felt, but you could weave around it.

“Hmm that's a big question,” You nod your head, “I don’t think it’s a cruel industry, I mean it can be, don't get me wrong. But when I was younger I was drawn to a place of freedom of expression, I was drawn to a place that would allow me to feel without any punishment. I wasn’t allowed to feel anything when I was younger. I felt silenced my whole childhood, and this world pushes me. I’m motivated to act.”

You simmer for a second, “But the kicker is, the space that makes me feel safe, has 180’d sometimes into the box that makes me feel like a child again. It’s trying to find that fine line between expressing yourself or getting nowhere. I want my work to make people feel, I want them to notice how I felt when I was younger. I’m healing, I feel like anyone who acts is still healing, no matter what it can be. It’s like this box that you wanted to get around going into the industry puts you in it again, because no matter how raw you get, how you assume a character in front of that camera or audience, you will still be judged by how you move.” You take a breath.

“I don’t know, humanity will always be humanity, um I feel like being a true actor in this industry will eventually let me feel free so I’m lucky in a sense. I’m an emotional person so I’m excited to see where my life takes me. I think regardless of what your life is like, the artist and creative soul will always find a way to create. The world will find a way to bring resistance, but it’s what your mindset is like that will eventually push through and prove other people wrong. Because the industry won’t be pretty to your unapologetic self. It’s all the human experience.

Jules pauses the recording on her phone, “Who are you and where have you been?” She beams. She starts clapping her hands, everyone in the tiny room abruptly applauding for you. You shy away, looking at Frankie through your hair and Mattias shakes your shoulders.

You didn’t mean for this to happen, but this is how you really felt about the industry.

“Tucked away in North Carolina for 22 years. Before then? Maybe a cat walking the cornfields in Kansas.” You giggle.

“It was the utmost pleasure to meet you all today, break a leg with your last show.” Jules gathers her things and leaves the room, leaving you alone with Mattias and your directors.

They called in the rest of the cast, Frankie went searching around for the rest of the tech crew, preparing for the tradition before the last show.

As everyone entered, you saw Laylah make her way to you, you felt tears beam in your eyes. Never failing to get emotional for anything like this. You hadn’t really let anyone see you cry before, Frankie hasn’t seen you cry yet, except for Laylah.

“So as you all know, this is what we call the Senior greenroom. Where all the graduating seniors this year give advice to anyone under, what they have learned and we know it’s early in the year for some of you but say anything on your mind before the last show.” Ms. Roylance explains.

“Mattias you start.”

You lean against a wall for this, looking at your feet, trying to not to show any emotion. If you gave in you know you’d cry all your makeup off. You listen to Mattias speak about his years here, about the things he would have done differently;y and you watch the tears drip down his face. A few more seniors talk, some you haven’t gotten a chance to really work with, but hopefully in the coming months you will.

The spotlight lands on Laylah, you look up and see the gloss all over their eyes, they walk over and put your hands in theirs.

“Advice I would give to people younger… hmm…” They run their thumb through yours, “When you need help, accept it. Open your heart more and don’t regret it.” They look up to you, “And sometimes your family doesn’t have to be blood. I have spent years trying to make up for past time in my life but the people that I know have made lifelong friendships will always be there for me.” They pause, “This space already has given me the opportunity to only be myself and create art, that's all I ask for. And you have made my girl, my best friend, the happiest person on earth.” They finish.

They finish and they hug you, tighter than you could think. You appreciate Laylah more than you could imagine, when you were a little girl you never thought you would be loved by another human being this much, but Laylah proved you wrong. They taught you your self-worth, they taught you how to function in society. You couldn’t explain your level of friendship, it just was.

They let go, after tears slip down your face, you clear your eyes and prepare what you are gonna say. Only a couple months ago were you two introducing ourselves to a crowd of people and here you are.

“Where do I even begin?” You blow the snot in your nose. “Honestly when I came here I was scared, but I didn’t let myself be held back by that underlying fear. And this one right here always pushed me, no matter what.” You squeeze Laylah, “Always trust your teachers, because they know what’s best for you. Always go the extra mile even when you’re not even asked because that will get you much further.” You ponder,

“But this space, the performing arts has always let me feel. I have always been myself and I have always expressed my emotions in a beautiful way in the performing arts and I would never take it back for a second.” You choke on your words, “I feel so lucky to get to be here in the city, and I am so happy to have worked with a group like this that has accepted me and made me feel safe fuck.” You giggle, covering your mouth for cursing, it lightens the room, “But all I’ll say is let the world consume, fill your life with passion and projects, care about things, be a nerd, be a baseline for someone, be love and safety.”

By the time the whole room is in tears and you start hugging, hugging because the sadness for the purity of everyone's happiness is a raw human emotion.

Ms. Roylance is clearing her eyes, and you can see Frankie rubbing circles in his heart, signing to you.

“I wanted to say how I am so lucky to have worked with some of the best I’ve seen in years, and I will get to say we made history with our Broadway shows, and the talent that I have gotten to teach and direct has shocked me. Go make me proud out there! Places in 10! Everyone break a leg!” Ms Roylance calls out.

The crew scurries to get to the booth and you go behind the stage watching the chaos unravel itself.

You hear a door open and a tug at your shoulder, you immediately knew it was Frankie. You were panicked but the confirmation of it being Frankie made you feel instant relief.

“What are you doing Mr. Morales? Are we here for old times sake?” You grin.

“I mean I wish, but I want this to be our ritual before you perform. Just us together, somewhere hopefully alone.” And he hugs you, tightly.

Instantly you feel a world of emotions collapsing on you, almost the joy you felt as a kid during christmas. Magic.

“Your heart, pretty girl, so so beautiful.” He rubs your temples, “You’ve got a way with words, my perfect star.” You kiss him, feeling the world crash in, “Now give them all that you got.”

———

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