#damn this really just keeps going doesn’t it

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[sapphiresaphics]

I don’t know how people keep coming up with the worst takes on things, but here we are.

You wanna be logical about this? Okay fine.

Jinx locked her in the cell. She can’t get out. Even if she thinks she’s going to commit suicide, there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s locked in the cell. We don’t know how long it is before Caitlyn shows up. Could’ve been hours. There’s a war about to happen. No amount of hunting for Jinx is going to stop that. She doesn’t know where Jinx’s hideout is anyway. The chances of her FINDING her sister is slim to none now. Also, this is a prison. There are guards everywhere. Even if Jinx tries to leave, she’s likely going to get caught again and just thrown back into another cell. And even if she escapes, the possibilities are extremely low Vi will ever be able to find her and… need I remind you… a war is on the way. She’s got maybe a few hours at best before it gets here and kills everyone. She’s betrayed Caitlyn’s trust and lost her sister and she’s stuck in the cell. There’s nothing left for her.

So when Caitlyn comes in and tells her she expected to find her there and informs her that no, actually, she let her sister go and didn’t try to kill her or lock her back up and is letting go of the anger Jinx has had on her mind and that it’s okay that she tried to free her sister, Vi snaps. Because in that moment the ONLY person she has left is Caitlyn. And Caitlyn, the woman who’s been trying to kill her sister and broke up with her because Vi wouldn’t kill her sister, just informed her that she’s letting her sister go free. Which at the end of the day is all Vi really wanted.

And frankly I don’t think Vi really understands how devastated Jinx is. She comes in begging her sister to join up and fight and using her explosive potential to help out in the upcoming battle. She’s thinking of how this fight is going to get hundreds of people killed and she’s trying to build her sister up. From her point of view Jinx just needs a hug and to be told she’s special, because no matter how hard vi tries she’s always going to see Jinx as Powder. And while she has good intentions, this is NOT what Jinx needs to hear right now. Jinx is grieving and Vi is begging her to blow more shit up.

I am SO FUCKING DONE with people like you going “oh logically why wouldn’t she be trying to stop her sister from committing suicide? Why would she just fuck in a cell?! It’s such awkward timing! What bad writing!” Because you guys never stop and think about the character’s motivations.

YOU know jinx is suicidal. YOU know she is not doing well. But Vi doesn’t. Vi is blinded by Powder. She still doesn’t see Jinx or understand what Jinx has gone through. The idea that her sister is suicidal doesn’t even cross her mind. That fight in the tomb? Just her being crazy again. Jinx being theatrical again. Nothing new.

Fucking hell… that’s WHY Jinx locks her in the cell. Because even after everything they’ve gone through, she still sees her as powder. The “you’re never going to give up on me are you?” line is Jinx realizing that Vi will never truly see her as Jinx. That’s WHY she locks Vi in the cell. Because Jinx needs to leave this endless cycle and let Vi be able to move on. That’s why she tells her she doesn’t need to worry about her anymore or feel guilty and that she deserves to be happy with Caitlyn.

So yeah, they fuck in the cell because in that moment, Vi has lost everything. She doesn’t know if Jinx is alive or dead, she doesn’t know if she can find her before the war hits and potentially kills everyone and herself, and she’s gone behind Caitlyn’s back to release Jinx. She’s at her lowest point, with no time to do anything productive, and the girl of her dreams just informed her that it’s okay she betrayed her because she’s so god damn predictable and that’s something she loves about Vi, and that she’s letting her hatred of Jinx go. This is Caitlyn confirming to Vi that is was okay for her to love her sister that much. The one thing Vi has been repeatedly told by everyone around her she can’t do.

So this is VI’s emotions EXPLODING at the thought she still has one thing good left in her life. And she is going to take it NOW because this tension has been building and building for such a long time it NEEDS RELEASE. In that moment there’s no logic. No thought to the real world or what could be. It is pure emotional INSTINCT. Caitlyn has offered herself up on a silver platter and she is going to EAT.

The amount of effort you guys put into trying to misunderstand the characters, the scenes, and the intention behind the dialogue is ASTOUNDING. You should be awarded a medal for being so mind numbingly REDUCTIVE in your “criticisms.”

saw these comments on an edit on tt and they really made me stop and rethink for a second, especially the second comment ...

[izvmimi]

cw: facesitting. fem!anatomy.

“You’re being shy… just sit already!”

There’s an impatient edge to the tone of Luffy’s voice, and he’s squeezing at your ass cheeks hungrily, firm quick pats coaxing you to take your place on his proffered throne. You hesitate, hovering still precariously over his eager visage, both knees at either side of his head as he lays on the bed waiting for you to engulf him between your thighs. You grimace at him uneasily.  

“What if you suff-”

“I’m not gonna suffocate,” he hisses. Another tight squeeze, but he doesn’t pull you onto him - even if he’s zealous, your comfort still matters the most to him.

It’s the only way he can enjoy himself with you.

Your heart is pounding as if you haven’t already gotten through the embarrassing part yet - your shorts and panties have long since been discarded by the wayside, somewhere discarded on the bedroom floor and the fact of the matter is that you are wet and ready, the glistening lower lips waiting to be coated by something else just as similar. But you hesitate, coming up with any reason not to let him ravish you for real.

“Is the door locked?” you whisper, suddenly turning your head to the cabin door, and Luffy immediately lets his arm stretch and the click has you biting your lower lip, a certain finality to the sound. 

“No one is going to walk in on us, not that I give a shit.”

Your face warms, knowing he absolutely means that. You’re still hovering, something deep in your belly yearning for him but still nervous, and he lets his hands rub gently down the curve of your lower back before resting at the back of your thighs.

Rather than kiss in the center, he presses a kiss to your left inner thigh, a motion that makes you shudder from your core down to the fingertips.

“If you don’t want to do this, I won’t force you,” he murmurs. He means it, even if he’s nibbling at your thigh, he knows you’ll stop.

“I just don’t want to crush-”

Luffy gives you a look, and it’s grounding enough that you stop and almost laugh at your own silliness.

“Take my fingers then,” you say to him, and he obliges, reaching up to grab them. Your fingertips interlace and you slowly lower the back of his hands down. He watches you carefully, letting you take the lead as you ease yourself down onto his face. Meeting you in transit just so, he immediately kisses your clit, then stops as you freeze.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says.

And he means it. The back of his head lowers down to press against the mattress, and your thighs squeeze around him as he kisses clit, lips, the opening to your vagina, all of your pussy and everything in between; sucks, swallows, spits on it… he eats hungrily, messily, purposefully, until you’re a quivering mess in his arms, fingers detached so that he can really squeeze you against him.

He savors the taste of you, greed slowing his pace because no one can really take you away from him (except you of course, but that’s another matter entirely), but that same greed keeps him slurping you up for as long as you need.

You sigh and shake over him; you call his name - dinner with a bit of a show - until you’re rocking against his nose and mouth, covering him with slobber and slick and spillage, your prior reticence be damned.

After all, Luffy takes all the shy away from you.

[miioouu]

Ghost's New Neighbour pt2

I wasn’t planning on making a second part of this, but since you all like it and asked for it, here we go, i guess. Tw: Smut, Oral (male receiving), no gender used for reader (but a little feminine?), mean Ghost (sorry, i tried many times to write a sweet simon fic but i just can’t!!) Wc: 842 

“Come over later, 8:30 pm sharp, I don't appreciate tardiness” His words ring in your ears, distracting you from your tasks. How are you supposed to focus on putting your plates away when you can still feel the ghost of his lips against your skin? 

You know it’s a bad idea; first of all, he’s your neighbour, it’ll be awkward later on, you’ll definitely regret it, and what if the word comes out; do you really want to be known as the building’s resident slut? Second of all, he’s a stranger, you don’t know anything about him. Even the doorbell doesn’t have his name on it, paper white without even an initial or anything to give you a clue about this mysterious man. You’ll regret it, you definitely will. 

So why are you smoothing down your clothes? Rechecking your lipstick for the nth time? Why are your fingers hovering above this damn ringer, throwing all morals away?

It’s 8:30 sharp when the ding echoes in his rather empty apartment; he chuckles, part of him certain that you’d come over, the other held hope that you’d be a little wiser than this, a little more modest than this; but you weren’t, of course not, else you wouldn’t have let you touch him like he did in the elevator, wouldn’t have shivered when his words tickled your ear, wouldn’t have gotten wet at the feather-like brushing of his cock against your ass. No dignity, he thinks as he lazily makes his way over to open the door for you, internally laughing at the sight of you making yourself all pretty for him, what a nice shade of lipstick. 

He liked it so much, that pinkish tone that made you look a little more glowy, a little more flushed, not that you needed that enhanced. He liked it so much on your lips, and even more when it left a mark around his shaft. Honestly you don’t remember how you got here; one moment you were shuffling in his doorway, struggling to greet him without stuttering, the next you were in the middle of his living room, on your knees, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth languidly. His hands find your hair, guiding you back and forth around his length, setting a slow pace at first, wanting to relish in the feeling of your warm mouth, the tightness of your throat constricting as you gag whenever he pushes a little too deep. 

But Simon was never a patient man, sure he learned how to dismiss his frustration on the field, learned how to manipulate himself into being more forbearing, but he will not use those tricks now, not when he has bright, glossy eyes looking at him, begging him to use their mouth. Who was he to deny them anyway? He thought about warning you, but where’s the fun in that, right? In a swift motion, he pulls you closer until your nose nuzzles against his pelvic, his pubes tickling you but you don’t have time to adjust because he’s already pistoning his cock in and out your warm cave. He lets out a groan, his head falls back as he feels your nails dig in his thighs, holding onto him like a lifeline, creating bloody crescents on his skin, just some other scars to add to his collection. 

The once always empty, always eerily silent apartment, now feels suffocating, loud with groans and hisses from the tall man, mixed with your gagging echoing through the room. “Slut” that whispered word is what broke the chaotic symphony. Your pride is telling you to pull away, glare at him and defend your honor, but you can’t do that; not with his hands clutching at your hair and keeping you in place as he fucks your mouth, not when your thighs are pressing together, imagining, knowing, just how soaked the pretty panties you were wearing became.  

You can feel him getting closer to the edge with the way his thrusts became messier and more erratic, with the way his grip on your hair keeps tightening and getting loose over and over again, with the way his eyes are fluttering, cheeks are getting redder and his chest is heaving, letting out mumbled curses under his breath. “Fuck…come on make me cum, pretty girl” The demand alone made your thighs clench, a whimper escaped you, vibrating around him and sending goosebumps all over his body “Fuckin’ slut” he groans, accent heavy, as he finally stills, reaching deep as he releases ropes of hot, sticky liquid, painting your throat white. 

You’d think this was only the beginning, the way his hand loosens around your hair, massaging your scalp where he was pulling too hard, making you melt and whimper, heart skipping a beat at his gentleness, only to be broken the moment he pushes you back, adjusting his sweatpants properly before turning away. “Tomorrow at the same time, don’t be late. Now leave my house, it’s not the place for a desperate whore like you.”

Tag List: @blkmtllvr @curtaindiver4000 @moozinomoto

[gayvampyr]

i really don’t think it’s asking too much of my roommate to supply some toilet paper every now and then after using half a roll in less than 24 hours when my other roommate and I are the ones who have been buying it the whole time we’ve lived together

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. during a slow week at the imp office,blitzø convinces you that there are better ways to spend your time waiting for a new client to call on. and honestly, it doesn't really take all that much to convince you, especially when he figures out a kink you've been keeping close to the chest. requested by the wonderful @blitzsicedcoffee. 2.75k

featuring: collar kink, light pup play, dom!blitzø, oral sex (blitzø receiving), blitzø using his tail as a leash, light degradation, penetrative sex. blitzø uses terms like 'pet' and 'pup', reader has non-specific genitalia, and a prehensile tail (so could be read as an imp or an incubus/succubus).

Flipping idly through an outdated Weapons of Wrath catalogue, you’re curled up on the sofa in the I.M.P. office, leaning against the arm of it comfortably. It’s been a slow enough couple of weeks that Blitzø had decided to start having you all work in shifts, and with him holed up in his office, you had the main room to yourself, waiting pointlessly for a new client to call in.

And holy fuck, you were bored.

Even thinking that thought seems to be enough to summon your boss from his office, and you jerk upright as the door slams against the opposite wall when he kicks it open.

“Satan’s fucking taint, how does no one in this shit-slinging ring want to have somebody murdered?” he complains, tossing an empty coffee cup towards the trashcan and missing completely. It bounces off the wall behind it and the lid pops off, spilling the remains of a couple of ice cubes onto the carpet. “This is still Hell, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked,” you reply dryly, returning your attention back to your magazine, thumbing a page over idly.

He arches an eyebrow at you, irritated by your lack of similar dramatics. “Since when do I pay you to just fuckin’ sit there?”

You turn another page with practised nonchalance. You know it’s only going to piss him off further, but, well… you’re petty. “Depends. Did you have something else that needs doing?”

Blitzø groans, throwing his head back dramatically. He sighs, straightening his posture and setting his eyes on you again. He considers you for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before he says, “So… you wanna fuck?”

If you’d been drinking something, you would have choked on it.

“What?”

He grins, shrugging. “There’s no point in soundin’ so damn scandalised. It ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”

You feel your face flush. “A couple of drunk hookups does not mean I’m going to fuck you in the office, Blitz.”

“Why not?” he asks, closing more of the distance between you. You clutch the catalogue tighter against your lap as though it’s some kind of ward against bad decisions. And this would definitely be one. Right? “Ya think M&M don’t get their fuck on on the conference table every chance they get?”

“Christ, Blitz, that is so not the po—”

“This is jus’ fuckin’ adorable, by the way,” Blitzø tells you lasciviously, hooking a claw up under the choker around your neck. You’d worn it on a whim, and you curse yourself for the way your breath catches despite yourself. Your cheeks warm even more as you feel the band tighten slightly around your throat. There’s a second where you hope he doesn’t notice, but Blitzø’s eyes widen then narrow, a downright villainous smirk blooming on his lips. “Ohhh… I get it. Lil’ pup likes to play.”

You swallow, finding your voice. “Blitz…”

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he continues as though you hadn’t spoken, although his smile twitches wider at the hitch in your voice. “You like bein’ collared, don’t ya?”

You hesitate a moment even as excitement floods through you. Heat pools low in your belly at the suggestion in his voice, as the way his claws graze the column on your throat as he hooks two more in the front of the choker. You swallow again, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue as it tightens the choker around your throat. He tugs on it, urging you to stand in front of him, and you do it without thinking, the catalogue slipping from your lap to the floor. Blitzø is standing only inches from you, his tail switching back and forth behind him slowly.

His breath fans across your face, warm and tickling. “Don’t you?”

You nod.

Blitzø grins. “Good pet.”

Fuck.

You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you when he pulls you closer again, his nose skimming against yours. He’s watching your every reaction with hooded eyes, and you feel his other hand ghost down over your waist. It makes you shiver, and his smirk widens when you lean forward slightly to kiss him. Blitzø pulls back the moment your lips should meet, and he bites his lip with a cocky grin.

“On your knees for me, pup.”

Blitzø is half-hard as he palms himself through his jeans, and a soft growl rumbles through him as you tongue slides across your bottom lip. He runs a hand through your hair almost sweetly before he suddenly grabs a fistful of it, jerking your head back to meet his eye.

“What’re you waitin’ for, exactly?”

The pain only adds to the heat blooming low in your belly, and you reach up with eager fingers to unbuckle his belt. You lean forward to nuzzle against the bulge in his jeans, planting open-mouthed kisses over it until the fabric is damp with your saliva and his cock is straining against the zipper.

“Oh, puppy wants to play,” Blitzø croons, releasing a breathless laugh as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. You press a kiss to the underside of the head before parting your lips, curling your tongue around it as you take him into your mouth. His head falls back as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfs him. “Fuck…”

Blitzø keeps one hand in your hair as you suck him, the other lifting his shirt so he can watch the way you gag around him when he hits the back of your throat. You whine around him when you feel the spade of his tail slip under your choker, winding around it to pull it tight against your throat. He smirks when your eyes roll back.

“You’re a good little bitch, aren’t you?” he coos, voice husky sweet as you clutch at his thighs, hollowing out your cheeks as you pull back. He moans as you roll your tongue around the head of his cock and suck, his hand tightening possessively in your hair as you take him all the way in again. Blitzø holds your head in place, thrusting his hips forward to feel the way your throat flutters around his cock. “Fuck, you’ve got a nice mouth…”

You moan around him and the vibrations of your throat makes his eyes roll back. He presses his hips forward until you choke in earnest, releasing your hair as you pull back with a cough. Drool hangs from your chin as you catch your breath, and Blitzø reaches down to smear it across your lip with his thumb. You suck it into your mouth, biting down on it lightly, and he hisses through a sharp-toothed grin.

“Shiiiit…” he wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it against your spit-slick bottom lip. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, pet?”

Your voice comes rough, your swollen lips brushing against the tip of his cock as you murmur, “Yes, Blitz.”

The imp’s smirk widens, his eyes dark and hungry with lust. You part your lips obediently, and he thrusts it back into your eager mouth with a grunt. His tail tugs on the choker again, and you’d be embarrassed at the way your tail wags behind you, but all you can focus on is the way Blitzø’s eyelids flutter as he presses his cock deep into your throat. You gag around him again before he pulls back, instead fucking himself languidly into your mouth. You curl your tongue to cradle the length of him with each slide of it past your lips, the taste of his precum downright addictive. “Then I’m gonna need to hear it, slut.”

You suck firmly at his cock until his breath hitches and he pulls back, gripping the base of his cock. He snickers deliriously, the choker around your throat so tight your eyes roll back as you blink. “Fuck me, Blitz.”

“Not good enough,” he grins wickedly, stroking himself slowly. He leans down, his other hand closing around your jaw as he brings his face down to yours. He forces your chin up, his lips a breath from yours as he growls, “I wanna hear you beg, baby.”

Dear Satan, you wanted to kiss him.

“Please,” you whimper, shifting on your knees in a vain attempt to meet his lips with yours. Blitzø pulls back just enough to leave you wanting, infuriating amusement playing at the edge of his smirk. “Please, fuck me, Blitz.”

“Hmm?” he raises a brow tauntingly, his tail tugging at the choker warningly.

“Sir,” you correct yourself, an edge of desperation colouring your broken voice. “Please, fuck me, sir.”

Blitzø grins. “That’s my good pup.”

He straightens up, stepping to the side and waving a hand towards Loona’s desk.

“Bend over it for me, pup.”

You make move to stand, and his tail tugs you back down again.

“Did I say you could walk?”

Fuck, he looks so pleased with himself. Still, you can’t help the little whine that escapes you at his tone, and you crawl across the scratchy carpet until you reach the desk. He nods and you stand slowly on shaky legs. Blitz unwinds his tail from your choker as he does, trailing the spade of it down your spine and smirking when you shudder.

“Strip.”

You feel a surge of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach even as you tug your shirt obediently over your head. Yeah, you’d fucked before, but those had been drunk and hurried and in the dark. This was stark and carefully paced, and somehow so much more exciting, and your fingers shake as you push your jeans down your thighs. You stiffen as you feel Blitzø press himself up against your back, his fingers expertly unclipping your bra as his lips find the nape of your neck.

A soft moan escapes you as he trails his lips to the side of your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh as his hands take hold of your hips, pressing his naked erection up against your ass. He shifts his hips to slide it between your thighs, and you whine, head falling forward.

“Bend over, baby,” he mutters, breath hot against your ear, and he squeezes a handful of your ass as you do as you’re told, pressing yourself further back against his cock as you brace your hands on the desk in front of you. Blitzø groans as you do, claws tearing your underwear away greedily. “That’s it…”

You hear him spit, excitement burning through you as you feel him stroke his cock against your ass, mixing his saliva with yours. Your eyes widen and you moan, a long, drawn out, throaty sound as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Christ on a stick… always so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, withdrawing only to thrust into you again. With each slow push of his hips, he slides another inch into your warmth, stretching and filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You bite your lip in a vain attempt to stifle your moans, claws digging into the edge of the desk hard enough to gouge marks into the wood. “Fuck, I’ve missed this…”

You don’t even want to think about why those words thrill you so much. You push your hips back to meet him with each thrust, and Blitzø snarls, hands clutching at the flesh of your hips hard enough to hurt. He lets you fuck yourself back on his cock, reaching up to hook his claws in the back of the choker and pull it taut against your windpipe. It makes you whine, your head forced back with the way he pulls at it.

“Bli—” you choke on his name, and Blitzø snickers headily at the eager way you ride his cock. “Fuck…”

“Such a good fuckin’ pup,” he growls, gripping at a handful of your ass. His tail winds around yours, the spade of it teasing against your thigh. He begins to fuck you again, punctuating each word with an unforgiving thrust. “So. Fuckin’. Good…”

You jump as the phone suddenly rings beside you, and Blitz curses as you flex around him.

“Go ahead, pet…” he grinds out, fucking into you hard. “Answer it.”

“Blitz—”

He tugs on the choker when you try to protest, and you moan. “Did I fuckin’ stutter, pup? Answer it.”

You whimper, reaching for the phone with an unsteady hand. You knock the receiver off its cradle, the phone clattering obnoxiously against the desk before you pick it up and shove it against your ear.

“I.M…P. Imm—ediate Murder Profession… Professionals.” you say, trying desperately to control your breathing even as Blitzø takes the opportunity to smack you hard on the ass. “How can I—hnnn – help you?”

Blitzø laughs at your tone, his voice tight with his own need, and you bump your forehead repeatedly against the desk as the guy on the other end of the line rumbles into your ear.

“I’m sorry, can I--  uhn… can I call you back?” you stumble over the words, teeth gritted together in an effort to keep your voice steady. You’re so fucking close, your whole body hot and tingling with sensation. “Blitz is… he’s a little busy at the—fuck. Look, I’ll call you back, alright?”

You slam the phone down and it bounces off the cradle, the receiving falling off the desk to dangle over the side. You moan in earnest and Blitzø groans, his hips meeting yours in a desperate, disjointed rhythm as the two of you approach the peak.

“Fuck, Blitz…” you curse as his tail tightens around yours, his claws pulling so tight on your choker you’re sure it might snap. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it, your jaw hanging slack. Every time his hips meet yours, you let out a high-pitched ‘uhn!’, and Blitzø snaps his hips forward so hard the desk begins to slide against the carpet. “Fuck…!”

“You wanna cum, puppy?” he snarls breathlessly. “You gotta ask nice.”

“Please, sir…” you whimper, so close that your thighs tense painfully, toes curling against the carpet. “Please. Please, make me cum. I need to cum, sir, please…”

“That’s a good, fuckin’ pet.” Blitzø growls and he thrusts hard, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. The feeling of his large, strong hand closing around your throat is enough to make you keen, and you all but collapse onto the desk as you finally cum, your body shaking with the feeling of it. “Satan’s fuckin’— FUCK!”

Blitzø cums deep inside you, clutching blindly at your hips as he shudders through it. You whimper with every touch he gives you as the two of you cum down, your eyes closing as you feel Blitzø bend down to press a kiss to your spine.

“Christ on a stick,” he moans quietly into your skin, smoothing his hands up along your waist and back down again. “Fuuuuck…”

You laugh quietly, breathless, pressing your forehead against the cool wood of the desk. “Pretty sure we fucked it up with that client.”

“Fuck it,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade. “They really want someone dead; they’ll call back after they’ve finished yankin’ it to that hot little whimper-y thing you do.”

“Shut up,” you retort even as you feel your cheeks warm.

When he pulls out you shudder at the feeling of it, patting you on the ass as you push yourself up. When you turn around he smirks at you, self-satisfied, and he hooks a claw in the choker and tugs you in to – finally – kiss you. He does it languidly, smiling as his tongue slides into your mouth. Leaning back against the edge of the desk for support, you wrap an arm around his neck, the other bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Blitzø braces himself on a hand beside your hip, pulling away only when your lungs begin to burn for a proper breath.

“Y’know, I’m preeeetty sure I’ve got an actual collar and leash set in the sex trunk in there,” he says suggestively, nodding towards his office.

You have to hope he doesn’t notice the way that suggestion, even after what you just did, makes you flush. “It’s still so messed up that you keep that shit here.”

Blitzø cocks a brow at you challengingly. “Does that mean you’re not interested in round two?”

“… I hate it when you’re cocky like this.”

“You fuckin’ love it, horndog.”

[zarsghost]

For Worse

dark!Ghost x fem!reader pt. 2 of “For Better”

Warnings: manipulation, brief mentioned of blood/gore, toxic behavior, threats

The overhead lights buzzed as the electricity continued to flow through them as Simon sat in his chair. He doesn’t know how long ago Price left his tiny on base office but it didn’t matter. In his hands were the rings that should still be on your finger. It shouldn’t have moved from when he slid them on all those years ago but yet here they are. Here they both are, without you. Now, was Simon a good husband? Not at the moment, no.

But he was an even worse individual. The things he had endured and the things he’s done upon others would not qualify him as a ‘good man’. Doesn’t matter if it was on behalf of his country or the safety of the world. It was two sides of the same coin in a constant rotation but Simon knew that that’s not what weighed his conscience. It was the fact that he had none.

The one thing he had to keep him sane was trying to leave. The one thing that tethered him to this world and he’d be damned if he was going to let that slip away from him. A familiar shift faded over Simon as his eyes became dark and his breaths became shallow. Simon was gone and in his place, his shadow filled the void. His Ghost. He placed the rings in his breast pocket, velco securing it tightly to his chest at all times, as he sprung up from his desk chair and made a beeline towards the rec room where he knew his sergeants would be with tight and tense shoulders and his head straight forward. Target acquired.

Almost slamming the doors open, Ghost filled the nearly empty room with his presence alone as he made his way to a lone table where Kyle and Johnny were currently playing cards. There was the sound of scraping chairs against the shitty linoleum as the few other people in the room quickly left when they noticed who had just walked in looking like he was on a mission. And he was, but he wasn’t about to do this without his team.

Both men were well into their game when the overheard light was suddenly obstructed by a thick silhouette of a man. Johnny looked up just in time recognizing said silhouette, “Lt! Whit are ye doin blockin the licht? I-” his voice immediately dying in his throat when he realized the look on his lieutenants’ face. Kyle noticed immediately the change in the Scots demeanor and looked up as well. “What happened?”, he asked as he immediately clocked the aura radiating off of his superior.

“Need you to be in the briefing room in 10. No questions till then.”

Both men nodded in agreement before Ghost walked away.

Ghost stood in front of the long wooden table as Gaz and Soap filed in. Price was already seated with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the rest of his team with a slightly annoyed but determined look on his face. They all shared a collective nod in greeting before setting their eyes on the man in front.

“We’ve got a job to do and a tight window. No distractions. This is your priority now. Understood?” He waited but was met with silence.

“Good.”

—-----

Simon was ecstatic. You had said no to continuing the proceedings. You were still his. You would still be his. And you wouldn’t be doing this again.

After carrying you out of the courtroom, he set you down and connected his forehead with yours. “I have to take care of something really quickly while I’m here but I’ll be out shortly. Why don’t you wait in the car and then we’ll go down to that asian place around the corner that I know you like as a celebration hm? My treat.”

You smile up at him and peck the corner of his mouth before walking out to his car. You had taken an Uber since Simon mainly uses the car to get to and from base when he’s home, which he now was and planned to be for a while.

Simon watched you leave before his mask slipped back in place. Turning back into the courtroom, he walked around the bench to the door where it led to the judge’s chambers.

The judge looked nervous as he sat in his leather chair behind his desk. A faint glow in the dark corner of the room grew brighter before dimming again. A puff of smoke came out of the shadows before being followed by his Captain.

“Good to see that you kept your end of the bargain. Was worried there for a second there but you managed. Hate to see what would’ve happened if it hadn’t.” The familiar gruff voice sounded from behind his chair. The lawyer that you had used was currently unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up his forearms at a small table next to the door.

“That would’ve been really disappointing too. After I had worked so hard to… convince you as well.” His smooth voice rang out.

The judge looked between them and stuttered,” But I did what you asked! Why-why does it feel like I missed something?” The judges’ nervous eyes landed on the bailiff that was shifting his weight from side to side as he watched what was currently unfolding. “Bailiff! Please! Do something!”

The bailiff cracked his neck to the side before removing his hat. His bright blue eyes never leaving the panicked shit brown ones of the sweating man in front of him.

“Ah kin dae something a'richt. Bit ah dinnae think ye'll be tae chuffed by th' outcome.” His hand ran through the currently flattened fauxhawk. “ 'n' how come ah hae tae be th' bailiff?! Gaz a’ready wears a cap!”

Price chuckled a bit, “Well she knows my face and I don’t think ya see too many lawyers ‘round here with a haircut like that, do ya?”

Johnny grumbled a bit before refocusing on the man of the hour. “Och sorry, did ye think ah wis gonnae actually help?” He laughed and the rest of his teammates joined.

Ghost walked forward as Gaz made sure the door was locked behind him. “I don’t think anyone will be coming back any time soon but to answer your question, there is something that you missed.” There was suddenly a heavy pressure on the judge’s shoulders as Price held him in place in his chair. Gaz and Soap came up on either side of Ghost as he leaned over the desk.

“SAS doesn’t leave any loose ends behind.”

Simon walked out with his team behind him while he wiped his hands. Setting up everything in such an exact way just to watch it all fall into place was truly beautiful. Getting into your laptop wasn’t hard to make sure that you had picked Gaz as your lawyer. All he had to do was sneak in when he knew you’d be out was simple enough. Making sure that Soap had the correct badges to pass inspection with his stolen uniform. Price just had to make sure that the judge they’d found fell in line. Considering that this hearing was never actually recorded and that he wasn’t even a practicing judge anymore helped their case as well. The remains of the judge stayed mostly in the room behind them. Some technically were on his hands but a quick run to the washroom would fix that. But they’d be long gone before anyone found him. Ghost almost wishes he could do it all over again but he had a pretty bird waiting for him outside. With a nod behind him, he made his way outside.

—---------

Months had gone by after your almost divorce and you believe that it actually knocked some sense into your husband. He was now always home when he wasn’t deployed. Even when he was, he made sure to call you to hear your voice and check in on you. When he was home, his hands were almost always on you. And maybe that’s why looking at the small plastic stick in your hands wasn’t as big of a shock. But what would your husband think?

Don’t worry, he has already told his mates and has his pick of names ready when you exit the bathroom. Those sugar pills you’ve been taking were already in the bin.

[absurdthirst]

The Thanksgiving Departure {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.7k

Warnings: Vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, family issues, heartbreak, alcohol, Dieter being a dick, revelations of infidelity, dishonesty, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of breeding kinks, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex

Comments: Married to Dieter Bravo, Thanksgiving turns into the worst day of the year when he abandons you to go to Hollywood for his big break. Never divorcing you and deciding to stroll back into your life on Thanksgiving again years later

Happy Thanksgiving!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dieter sighs as he stares at his script. Another community theater project that he took when he got rejected from his latest audition for Law & Order. He rubs his forehead as the words blur together and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this. He wants to be successful. He wants to be famous...and rich. He can't do that in the middle of fucking nowhere. His hometown is picture perfect. Pumpkin patches in the fall, Christmas parade during December, flower show during spring. Town festivals and even a fucking gazebo in the town square. It's like a movie set but it's not the movie set he wants to be on. His entire life he's dreamed of Hollywood. His dad, before he died when Dieter was ten, showed him the greats. John Wayne. Cary Grant, Marlon Brando. He wants to be like them. A leading man. But he can't do that without going to L.A. "Hey baby." You coo as you walk into the kitchen, frowning when you see his script, "you want me to run lines?" You offer, leaning over to grab the papers, and he growls, shoving the papers across the table. 

"No. No. I don't want to run fucking lines." His tone makes your eyebrows raise and you back away until he reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I'm sorry. Shit. I- I didn't get the part. The Law & Order part." He admits, feeling sorry for himself.

“Oh baby.” You soften slightly, knowing how much Dieter hates rejection. He wants so badly to be famous and you support him, but it’s honestly not realistic for where you live. Still, you encourage him to pursue his dreams. “They are missing out.” You step closer and wrap your arms around him to give him a hug from behind. “You are the best actor and would have made the show the highest rated episode of the season.”

Dieter huffs, shaking his head, "I love you, but don't flatter me now. I just - I want to give you the damn world and I can't do that stuck here. I know your mom is sick but baby, I want to go to L.A. I can do this. I know I can. I know I can make it." He whines, shaking his head and he turns his head to press his head against yours.

You sigh softly, knowing this is a conversation that has been going on for months. “I can’t- baby- mom needs us here right now.” You’ve been taking care of your mom for months, you and Dieter moving in and providing in-home care so she didn’t have to go into a care home. “When she’s better, we can look at moving out there.” You promise again. One thing that you love about Dieter is his persistence, but he’s also impatient. He doesn’t really want to wait, every day could possibly be his big break in his mind. “Besides, you don’t want to plan a move around the holidays.” You remind him. “Thanksgiving is in two days.”

Dieter doesn't respond, knowing that his dream is slipping away. Your mom doesn't seem to be getting better and you are young but everyone is asking when you're going to have kids. You just got married six months ago. He's not ready to have kids and all it takes is one slip up on your birth control and he's stuck in this two bit town. He pats your hand, "yeah. Yeah, of course. Let's focus on the holidays." He says but his tone doesn't match the smile he offers you.

You know he’s disappointed that you aren’t immediately jumping to pack your bags, but he will have to understand. “I’m baking your favorite pie.” You hum teasingly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Right after mom’s appointment tomorrow and your mother has already said that she’s bringing the turkey.”

Dieter eyes the script and he wonders about the tape he sent off last week for the role in a new TV show about a detective. He took a chance and auditioned for the lead. It’s a pilot, but could be picked up and he doubts he will get the part. He taps his fingers against the table and turns his head to press his lips to yours. He loves you, he really does, but he feels trapped. “Come here.” He demands, wrapping his arm around you and dragging you into his lap. “Fucking love your pie.” He smiles and presses his lips to yours.

Melting into Dieter easily, you kiss him back, straddling him. Your mother is upstairs resting after a particularly rough day and she will be asleep for a few hours. “I love you.” You coo, grinding down on him with a smirk when he groans. “You want to have sex?” Dieter finds it sexy when you just bluntly ask, so you have taken to doing just that.

Dieter groans, sliding his hand down to squeeze your ass, “yes. Fuck yes.” He smacks your ass and kisses your jaw. “Here or you wanna go to our room?” He asks against our skin, wanting you to decide but he’s already hardening beneath you.

“Here.” Spontaneity has been a little lacking lately with your mother requiring a lot of your time and you know that Dieter will enjoy it. “You can think about it when we are eating dinner here with the family.” You tease.

“You’re too fucking good to me. Think about your pussy while eating your pie.” He teases as he slides his hand under your shirt, “get your damn jeans off.” He demands as he pulls your shirt over your head.

You bite your lip as you stand up, pushing away from him so you can get undressed. “Strip down baby.” You beg, wanting to see him. Dieter has an amazing body, lean and naturally athletic, every time you see him you get wet.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor, and he stands up to strip his jeans. He never wears underwear so he kicks them aside and sits back down to watch you strip while he wraps his fingers around his cock, pumping himself. “You’re so sexy.” He murmurs, dark eyes watching you with lust. You’re still in your honeymoon stage after six months of marriage and Dieter is always ready to fuck his wife.

“Me?” You snort and shoot him a playful wink. “I’m the one with a hot, actor husband.” You remind him, reaching up and cupping your tits. “You want to fuck me? Or you want me to ride that pretty cock of yours?”

He scoffs at your comment about him being an actor. He wishes. He’s a community theater actor at best. He reaches for you to drag you into his lap, “come here and ride my cock, my beautiful wife.” He demands, groaning when you straddle him and he bends down to take your nipple into his mouth after he cups your tit.

Passion is something Dieter has in spades. He never fails to make you fall deeper in love with him. It’s not like you haven’t been together since you were almost too young for love, but it just keeps growing. “Dee.” You moan, fingers sinking into his short hair. “You should grow your hair out so I can pull it.”

"Can't." He murmurs against your sternum, his face buried between your tits. "I need it short for the show." He presses a kiss to your skin before he lathes his attention on your other breast. His free hand squeezes your ass, "fuck, you're so gorgeous. Wanna eat you out later." He declares after he bites down on your nipple.

You hum, knowing that he can’t grow it out right now, but you would love it. “God, Dee.” You whimper happily, letting him do what he wants while you grind down on his hard cock and roll your hips. You are wet and getting wetter, but he will still stretch you out.

He doesn't want to hurt you if you aren't wet enough so he slides his hand down to cup your cunt, his fingers easily finding your clit to rub slow circles on it.

You moan his name again, loving how he is patient with you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a big cock and he knows it. He’s proud of that fact, even if neither one of you has slept with too many people. “God baby, you touch me so perfectly.” You praise breathlessly. “My husband.”

He kisses up your chest until he's pressing his lips to yours while he continues to rub your bundle of nerves. "My sexy, beautiful, smart as fuck wife." He murmurs against your chin and he is throbbing with need for you. "You ready for me?" He asks, his tone a little whiny as he aches for you.

“Yessss.” You hiss, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock. “I want to ride you, baby.” You pant, lifting your hips as he pulls his hand away and you position him at your entrance.

Dieter hisses as you start to sink down onto him. You’re so fucking perfect and he has always thought it. Ever since you were kids. You’ve always been the most beautiful woman in the room. His hands are everywhere, sliding along your body until he squeezes your ass, letting you adjust while you take him inside your tight cunt.

Dieter always feels amazing, you moan his name as you squeeze him with your muscles. “Fuck I love you.” You pant, kissing along his neck when he turns his head. “You’re my forever baby.”

He groans, helping you rock on top of him, “fucking love you too. So much.” He murmurs, squeezing your ass and his hands slide up your back to pull you even closer as you move on top of him. You’re on your tiptoes as you lift up and slowly sink back down onto his cock. No one has ever made him feel like this, like he is home, but it’s still in the back of his mind to want more from his career.

You don’t know what is rolling through Dieter’s mind as you ride him. All you know is that he feels incredible and you love the way he moans. The way he kisses you. He’s always been a passionate person but he truly makes you feel cherished when he’s touching you, praising you. “I love you. I love how you feel inside me.” You moan, grinding down on him.

Your moan makes him twitch inside you and he watches you as you ride him, taking what you want from him. “Love you too, baby. Tell me - tell me how much you love me.” He whines slightly, needing reassurance from you. He can be insecure and considering his lack of money due to his chosen profession, he feels like he can’t provide for you like he should.

You can tell that he is needy right now and you press your lips to his briefly before you caress his cheek. "To the moon and back." You promise him. "The only one I will ever be married to."

Your words have his heart racing and his stomach clenching when you look into his eyes and you stare at him like he’s the only person in the world, in your world. He loves it and he surges forward to reclaim your lips, needing to be as close as possible to you at this moment.

You love when Dieter is like this, needy and greedy for you. Holding you tight and kissing you like you are the only woman in the world. Even if he dreams big, what you have is real, it’s not an act. You kiss him back just as eagerly, pouring your feelings for him into that simple act while you bounce on his cock.

You take him so well and he groans into your mouth, his tongue sloppily sliding against yours. His hands are everywhere, greedy for you, and he knows you’ll be by his side no matter what. He loves that about you. He tries to get as much of you as possible and it’s so not enough.

Both of you dissolve into moans and grunts of pleasure, the pace picking up to where your tits are bouncing and you feel like Dieter is in your guts. Breathlessly panting praise for him and how his cock feels into his mouth as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming.

He needs to feel you fall apart for him so he slides his hand between you, finding your clit to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves and he groans when you fall apart for him within a few swipes of his fingers. You clamp down on his cock and soak him, collapsing against his chest and he moves fast to wrap his arms around your body, rocking you on top of him as he seeks his own orgasm.

Dieter is frantic and greedy, bordering on desperate as he starts to shuffle his hips up. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” You cry out, gasping as he pushes it towards overstimulation. “Cum for me, baby.”

He falls apart as the command leaves your lips. His cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants as he stiffens beneath you, his face buried in your neck as he cums for you, only for you.

You whine softly, loving how you’ve stopped using condoms since you’ve gotten married. One day you will go off your birth control and start a family, but you’ve decided to wait until your mother doesn't need as much care and Dieter is better established. “I love you.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair gently.

He pants, kissing your chin as he looks up at you, “love you too.” He murmurs, caressing your back as you embrace while the pleasure echoes through your bodies. He sighs and presses a soft kiss to your lips just as your mom calls your name from upstairs.

You sigh softly. “At least we finished this time.” You chuckle, kissing his lips again before you pull off his cock with a groan. “Coming!” You call up the stairs as you move to the sink to clean up quickly so you can redress.

Dieter sighs, shifting to grab his pants from the floor. He knows you are an incredible person to take care of your mom and moving in with her has helped you both to save up money, hopefully for a move to L.A, but his mother in law has been a cock block since he moved in. He watches you rush around and get dressed before you run upstairs and he redresses, looking down at the script on the table. The phone rings on the wall and he calls out “I’ll get it.” He answers and frowns when they say his name. It’s his agent. The one he’s scrapped money together to get some auditions booked. “You got it! You got the part!” He announces and Dieter’s eyes widen, “th-the lead?” He asks, wanting to confirm. “The lead!” His agent grins and Dieter’s heart thumps in his chest. He got the lead. He got it. He finally did it. He grabs a notepad to take down the details. “So you need to move to L.A. Read through for the pilot is the first week of December.” His agent says and after writing down the details, Dieter says goodbye. His grin makes his cheeks hurt and he shakes his head in disbelief. 

When you come downstairs, his hands are shaking. “She wants some tea.” You announce as you walk to the stove and Dieter spins you around, pressing his lips to yours. “I did it!” He announces and you frown, “did what?” He chuckles, cupping your cheeks, “I got the part.”

“The part?” You’re confused for a moment before your eyes widen. “The part! That’s great baby!” You kiss him again. 

“Yeah we have to be in L.A by December first.” He tells you excitedly, making your face fall into a frown. “In L.A?” You ask, hoping that he is joking. “Yeah, we can go out this weekend and see about getting a place.” He immediately starts rambling and you get more and more worried as he starts to plan out leaving and catching his big break before he finally takes a breath. “Baby….” You bite your lip. “I can’t move to LA. What about mom? What about our life here? My job?” You don’t want to say it out loud, but Dieter has never been the financially stable one of the two of you. You wanted him to chase his dreams and you had always thought once he got it out of his system, he would settle down.

His excitement falters and he stares at you, his brow furrowing. "I, uh, I thought this was always the plan. You know, us, moving to L.A. You working on your art. Me on acting. Our fucking dreams baby. Have you forgotten we have dreams?" He growls, stepping back from you, "or are we gonna fucking die in this goddamn town like our fathers?"

You rear back from the venom in his voice. “Of course I haven’t forgotten we have dreams.” You tell him, hating how he is looking at you. “But sometimes you have to put your dreams on hold. Mom is sick. What am I supposed to do? Leave her alone? Who would take care of her?” You demand. “How will you pay rent if the part falls through? Or the show isn’t picked up? We have stability here. I’m not saying we don’t dream, but I have responsibilities right now.”

Dieter frowns, taking in your words, and his heart breaks. He can’t follow his dream and be with you so he’s going to have to give up his dream. This is his chance, he feels it in his stomach, but he knows you won’t leave your mother. “I can’t stay here forever.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“I promise it won’t be forever.” You murmur softly, relieved that he is seeing reason. You step closer and he’s not pulling away again. Reaching out and caressing his cheek gently. “Within the next couple of years, we will be chasing our dreams for real.”

Dieter nods despite the part being in the back of his mind but it’s Thanksgiving. Maybe you’ll see reason in a couple of days. He doesn’t phone his agent back to turn down the role, wanting to see how things go. You work on getting the tea ready for your mom and Dieter stands up, “I’ve got a rehearsal for the show later so I’m gonna go shower.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, heading upstairs to the bathroom with Hollywood in the back of his mind.

After taking your mother her tea, you start prepping Thanksgiving. It’s a huge relief to have your family bringing dishes so it’s not all on you. You know you will have a lot to do and taking care of things now will help. Humming to yourself as you make the pie Dieter loves, you smile to yourself. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday.

**** 

Dieter taps his fingers on the table, listening to your uncle ramble on about the election and he clenches his jaw, trying to not snap at him. "Did you vote for that piece of shit or not, Bravo?" Your uncle Frank asks and Dieter sighs, not wanting to get into an argument. "I don't really get into politics." He answers diplomatically and Frank scoffs, "if you guys value your future, you would pay more goddamn attention." Dieter picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip, glancing across the room to where you are rushing around to grab what everyone needs before you all sit down for dinner. "You need any help, babe?" He calls out and you shake your head, "no. No. I'm nearly done. Everyone sit down!" You demand and you carry the mac and cheese to the table while everyone admires the feast in front of them. Your mom wants to say grace so Dieter reluctantly takes your hand, keeping one eye open as he holds his mom's hand on the other side of him. Your mom clears her throat before she speaks, "thank you Lord for the food we are about to eat. Thank you for family, friends, and loved ones. Thank you for every day we wake up and see the sunshine. May we have many days to come." She finishes with a cough and Dieter sees a tear roll down your cheek and he lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it while everyone says "Amen." You clear your throat and smile, telling everyone to dig in. 

The table is soon full of food and drinks and your aunt Susan decides to sour Dieter's mood. "So when are you planning on having kids? You two have been married for six months. I was five months pregnant by that stage." She giggles and turns towards you.

You feel Dieter tense beside you and your hand quickly slides under the table to squeeze his knee in reassurance. “We’ve decided to wait.” You remind everyone, the exact same thing you said when you were getting married. “Why? You’re married now, it’s time for you to start a family.” Frankie insists and you shake your head. “We have things we want to do before we have kids. If we even have them at all.” You add.

Frankie scoffs, "don't tell me that you are putting a family on hold so Dieter can become a fucking actor?" Dieter stiffens even more, knowing your uncle wasn't impressed by his career plans and thought he should get a real job to support you and any kids that come along. "I, uh, I got a part, actually. In a pilot, in L.A. It's about a detective." Dieter tries to defend himself and his mom chimes in with "really, baby? That's amazing. Oh I'm so proud of you." She coos, knowing how much her son wants to be an actor. Ever since he was a little boy it's been his dream but your family is relentless. 

"Proud of him? What's he gonna do? Drag her to L.A and leave his mother-in-law when she's sick? She's got fucking cancer and her son in law is gonna fuck off so he can follow some dream and come crawling back here when he fails and get a damn divorce because he didn't put his goddamn family over his selfish ass. He will never be famous." Frankie shakes his head and Dieter drops his fork, shrugging off his mom when she rubs his shoulder and pushing your hand away.

“Uncle Frank, that’s enough.” You hiss, although you aren’t shouting because you want to keep the peace as much as possible. “No, it’s not nearly enough.” He snorts and you shake your head. “Your vision of our life doesn’t matter. If Dieter wants to try to make it big in Hollywood, you should be proud of that.”

"Don't." Dieter murmurs, clenching his jaw, and he shoves his napkin on the table, "I'm sorry. I - I gotta go to the bathroom." He declares and you frown, "babe" but he strides off without glancing back at you. He storms into your bathroom, leaning over the vanity to look at himself in the mirror. 

"I have a fucking role. I know I can do it. I know I can be an actor. Just need a fucking chance." He hisses through his teeth. "All I need is a chance. I'll fucking prove that asshole wrong." He growls to himself and glances at his toothbrush sitting next to yours. He will never make it in Hollywood if he stays here. He will never prove them wrong. You'll get pregnant and he will give up on his dream. He'll lose his hair, go grey, get wrinkles, and a beer gut like every other fucker in this town. He will be a loser just like them. "I'm not a fucking loser." He mutters and grabs his toothbrush.

“Why do you have to be an asshole?” You hiss to your uncle as everyone else shifts uncomfortably. “The boy has to face reality.” Frank insists, frowning heavily. “He’s not going to be an actor. He needs to get a better job to support you instead of you paying all the damn bills and running yourself ragged while he pretends to work at that stupid little community theatre.”

Dieter rushes around your bedroom, packing essentials, and he grabs a piece of paper from your nightstand, scribbling out a message to you. You'll come to find him any second so his handwriting is awful. He slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and looks at the bed you share. Hopefully you understand why he's doing this. He loves you but he needs to do this for himself. He has to prove everyone wrong. He hesitates for a second when he sees your wedding photo as he turns towards the door and he sighs, shaking his head before he makes his way downstairs quietly. "You need to dump his ass. That Grayson boy wanted to marry you and he works at his daddy's dealership. He's got a career and he's gonna be a big deal in this town. Should've married him." Frank scoffs and Dieter swallows harshly, making his way down the hall to the front door. He opens it softly and steps outside, the cold air making him shiver and he gets in his car, not hesitating as he backs out the driveway and begins his journey. "L.A here I come." He mutters, knowing he will return to his hometown a fucking Oscar winner.

You finally have to leave the table. Not even your mother chiding your uncle has helped and you are sick of his damned opinions. “Dee?” You knock on the door to your shared bedroom, wanting to give him a chance to compose himself if he’s upset. He’s a lot more sensitive than most would believe. “Baby….” You open the door and frown when you don’t see him sitting on the bed and looking miserable. “Hun?” The bathroom light is off and you sigh. Thinking that maybe he had gone outside until you spot the paper on the bed. Stomach sinking in dread, you stare at it for a moment before you reach for the slip of paper. Hand trembling, you unfold it and see that Dieter has scrawled “I can’t wait for my dreams. I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, realizing that he’s left and you don’t even know when he’ll be home.

**** 

"Fuckkkkk yessss." Dieter groans as he watches the woman take his cock into his mouth while her boyfriend slides into her from behind. It's a naughty sight he's familiar with and he fucking loves it. "Look so fucking gorgeous." He coos and the man smirks, "says the Oscar winning actor and People's Sexiest Man of the Year 2023." Dieter smirks, chest puffing slightly as the woman giggles as she squeezes his cock. "should get best cock of the year too." She coos and Dieter caresses her cheek, "fuck. You two are gonna make me cum with words." He smirks, "you free next weekend?" He asks, wanting to spend more time with his co-stars. 

"We are going to New York. It's - fuck - Thanksgiving." The man reminds Dieter who frowns as his cock is pushed further down the woman's throat. Thanksgiving. Something he hasn't celebrated in the years since he left you during the middle of dinner. His assistant has probably booked for him to go to Hawaii again. "Guess I'll see you when you get back." He says and smirks when he shifts onto his knees to kiss his co-star. 

**** 

"What do you mean the fucking flight is canceled?" Dieter growls at the check in assistant at the first class desk. He would travel private but holidays are fucking expensive. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bravo, but the flights have been canceled to Hawaii. The fires..." She trails off and Dieter scoffs, "what a joke. So what the fuck am I gonna do?" He asks her, eyebrows raised above his aviators. "We can get you a flight somewhere else. Or a refund. If you want to go somewhere, this flight is leaving at the same time as your previous flight." She turns the screen and his jaw drops when he sees the flight is to his hometown. "No. No. Not there. Anywhere but there." He demands and she nods, "I can issue a refund but-" Dieter cuts her off, "actually. Get me a ticket. First class." He demands, remembering that he hasn't seen his mom in years and his co-stars talked about how nice it is to go home for the holidays. He will go home and show everyone in that fucking town that he's back. The Oscar Winning Actor who won Sexiest Man of the Year 2023 is fucking back. "There you go, Mr. Bravo. Enjoy your trip." She hands him the ticket and he smirks, "oh I will."

**** 

“Mom, I really don’t feel like celebrating this year.” It’s the same comment you make every year, but you are always overruled. “Don’t be ridiculous.” True to what you had told Dieter, your mother had beaten cancer and was now happily in remission. You still live with her, not because you are taking care of her, but because you didn’t want to live alone after Dieter had left you. “Don’t worry, I’ve already invited Sean.” She assures you. “And Debra won’t mind him being there.” You roll your eyes, wishing that Dieter’s mother wasn’t also your mom’s best friend and automatically invited to every family event. Even if you were technically still family since Dieter would never sign the damn divorce papers.

Dieter takes his glasses off his face when he rings the doorbell of his childhood home and his mom answers within a few moments. "Dieter?" She gasps, shocked to see her son, "hi mom." He smiles and she squeals, surging forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're home. I can't believe it." She cries and Dieter embraces her. Despite his playboy reputation in L.A, he's always been a momma's boy. "I missed you. Let me look at you." She cups his cheeks and frowns, "you don't eat enough and you pierced your ear. And got more tattoos." She tuts, "but other than that, you are my boy." She kisses his cheek and lets go of him when he flushes, "mom." She steps back and ushers him inside, "come in, come in. I'm just cooking." Dieter follows her inside the familiar home and it hasn't changed. 

"I'm just cooking for the dinner tomorrow." She explains and Dieter raises his eyebrows, "dinner?" She nods and says your mom's name, "it's Thanksgiving." She says with a giggle, "silly goose." Dieter frowns, "I, uh, I should probably stay here. I'll be fine." He promises and his mom nods, "yeah. She will be there." His mom never mentions your name on the phone when she discusses her best friend and her life. He heard about your mom beating cancer and he took a hit of coke to celebrate. "She's engaged. So it's probably best that you don't go." She says, still protective over you despite Dieter being her son. She was shocked when you came back in to announce that Dieter had left and she wanted to slap him silly for leaving the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he was preoccupied with his dreams. "Engaged?" Dieter chokes, knowing he has no right to be shocked but his stomach twists. "She's happy." His mom says and Dieter scoffs, "happy. Still in this damn town. She can't be happy. Who's she engaged to?" He asks and Debra sighs, "Sean Grayson. He's good for her. Baby, I know...I know you left and wow, you've made me so proud seeing you as an Oscar winner and all but...it's time to let her go." She reaches for his hand and Dieter pulls his hand away before she can touch him. 

"I want to meet him. I'm going to dinner." He declares, spinning on his heel to call around, see if he can at least get some weed from someone around town. "Oh boy." Debra mutters, knowing this year will be drama filled but maybe it will be good for everyone to get closure.

Waking up on Thanksgiving is always so damn surreal for you. You dread the day, wouldn’t do anything but hide in your bed if you had your way, but you can’t do that. Your mom only let you have the first year after Dieter left to sulk. After that, she had decided Thanksgiving would go on, and so would you. So you just wake up and stare at the ceiling, knowing that this would be the last year you would sleep in this bed. The same one you shared with Dieter although you had replaced the mattress five years ago. “Fuck.” You groan, looking over at the nightstand where another copy of the divorce papers are waiting to be mailed after the holiday.

Dieter wakes up with a groan as his mom bangs on the door to his childhood bedroom. "Dieter! We are leaving in twenty minutes!" Debra shouts through the door and Dieter winces as he rubs his cheek. "Ugh, shit." He rasps as he glances at the clock. It's nearly eleven. He managed to find some weed last night. Ironically the dealer was the same kid who would sell weed in high school and he was shocked when Dieter met him. "No way man, I fucking loved you in Hunger Strike. Here, some E on me." He shoved the baggies at Dieter who offered him a polite smile and paid him before smoking in his room like he used to do when he was sixteen. He rolls out of bed and showers, groaning at his reflection. He's older, wrinkled, graying hair. Everything Frank said he would be but he's famous. He's successful. That's all that matters and today, he gets to show that to everyone who doubted him. He dresses in nicer jeans and a button down, wanting to appear successful since they cost more than someone's rent for the month. "You ready, mom?" He asks and Debra nods, "are you ready?" She emphasizes and Dieter smirks, "let's go."

Even though you would rather be anywhere else, you come downstairs dressed nicely and make sure that you put on makeup this morning. Sean likes when you dress up for him and since this is the first Thanksgiving spent with him here, you make the effort. Hours later, it is almost time for everyone to arrive and you are putting your pie in the oven.

The drive to your mom's house is quiet and Dieter looks out at the town he left in the dust. It hasn't changed and he is nervous. He knows you must hate him. You've sent him divorce papers several times throughout the years but he has never signed them. He doesn't really know why. Sometimes he's gotten high or drunk and signed them but never mailed them. Sometimes he's ripped them up and had his assistant overnight them back to you. He should give you a divorce but he can't do it. Even if he doesn't know why. Pulling up on the familiar driveway, he adjusts his sweater and follows his mom to the front door, bracing himself as she rings the doorbell.

“I’ll get it!” You just texted Sean, so you are pretty sure that it’s Debra. If you can get the talk about Dieter out of the way before he gets here, you would feel a lot better. The last thing you want to do this year is be reminded all day that your husband left you. “Hi, Deb-“ your smile freezes as you open the door to your mother in law and find not only her, but your absentee husband standing on the doorstep with a disgustingly charming smile on his handsome face. “What the fuck?”

Dieter slides his eyes down your body, taking in the sight of you after so many years apart and God, you’re just as fucking beautiful. But you are glaring at him like he just shot your dog and he guesses he deserves that. “Hi honey. I’m home.” He jokes, unable to do anything else right now.

“Are you delivering the divorce papers in person?” You demand and he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “What divorce papers?” He feigns ignorance and Debra chuckles awkwardly. “Now, now, it’s Thanksgiving!” She reminds both of you before she calls out to your mom. “Where do you want the casserole?” She slides by you into the house and leaves you staring at Dieter.

“I wanted to come home and see everyone. Is there something wrong with that?” Dieter continues to smile, loving how affected you seem to be by his appearance. “I missed my mom’s casserole.” He pouts, “and you.”

You rock your jaw, seeing how Dieter’s smile has shifted to a smirk. “Missed me?” You snort and you know that you have to let him in or risk causing a scene. “I doubt that. Where’s that fitness model you were dating? And the hotel concierge?” You watch him shift and his arms drop to his sides, telling you when he’s feeling guilty. “Guess they couldn’t make it?” You don’t invite him in, but you turn and just walk away with the door still open.

Dieter clenches his jaw, knowing his flings have been well broadcasted and his relationship with Anika fell apart because she wanted to get married and he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell her he was already married. He huffs and strides into your house, one he knows well but there are differences in decor since he was last here. Shutting the door behind him, he follows you down the hall into the living room where your family is gathered. “Uncle Frank.” Dieter grins, walking over to the old man to slap him on the back, “so good to see you.”

Your uncle Frank’s eyes widen in shock when he turns to see the man he had once called a loser standing next to him. Dieter is successful, famous and rich. He chokes out a “Dieter,” without swallowing his tongue. “You’re here for Thanksgiving?”

Dieter wishes there was a camera to take a photo of the man who ridiculed him so many years ago for chasing his dream. Dieter nods, “yes. Figured I’d come home and see everyone. How you doing?” He asks and Frank chokes out “I’m the same.” Dieter tuts and shakes his head, “that’s a shame. You’ve done nothing with your life.” He mocks and your aunt Susan comes over to him, “you were amazing in Hunger Strike. You really deserved the Oscar.” She says and Dieter grins, standing straighter, “yeah. Thanks. I, uh, I worked my ass off on that role.”

You walk into the kitchen, seething in anger that Dieter just waltzes back into your life and now it could ruin everything. “Why the fuck is he here?”

Your mom sighs, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know Deb was bringing him. Hell, I didn’t even know he was back home. What - what are you gonna do? Sean is arriving any minute.” As soon as she says that, the doorbell rings.

“Oh shit.” Your eyes close in frustration and you rush out of the room to open the door before anyone else. Luckily Dieter is letting your aunt fawn and coo over him, as if she’s not completely aware that he had broken your heart.

Dieter watches you rush past the living room down the hall and he offers your aunt a smile as she gushes over his movies. This is what he wanted. To return to adoration. To come back be someone. Not a loser. His grin is cocky as he accepts her praise until you walk into the living with Sean Grayson behind you. He hated that kid in high school. He was a jock who’d make fun of Dieter for being the weird theater kid.

“Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we stay.” You murmur to Sean. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffs. “I’ve been looking forward to Thanksgiving with your family.”

Your family, especially Uncle Frank, all coo over Sean as he strides into the living room and your uncle reaches out to shake his hand. “So glad you could come.” He grins and Dieter rolls his eyes, he’s never been greeted like that by your asshole uncle. Sean makes the rounds to say hello until he’s facing Dieter. “Oh. Wow. Bravo. You’re back in town.” Sean says and Dieter nods, holding out his hand, digging his rings into his flesh a little harder than normal. “Yep. Back in town. Figured I’d have a small town Thanksgiving for once instead of trying to cool down in Hawaii.”

You bite your lip and watch your fiancé interact with your technical husband. He smiles that smarmy smile you’ve noticed he’s developed over the years when you’ve accidentally seen interviews and articles with him in them. The one that you can tell is fake. “I need a drink? Does anyone need a drink?” You ask. “Sean, why don’t you come help me, sweetheart?”

​​Dieter watches you walk off with Sean and Uncle Frank nudges the actor. “New man on the scene. You know, his daddy gave him the dealership. Boy is making good money and he bought her a hell of a ring. Much nicer than that tin you gave her.” Frank snorts and Dieter clenches his jaw and gives him a tight smile. “I wasn’t rich then. I could buy her a million dollar ring and still not touch the sides.”

“But why would you?” He asks. “You’re banging everything you can get your hands on. We aren’t so small town that we don’t know what you’re doing in Hollywood.” In the kitchen, you are rushing to get the wine glasses while Sean gets the wine. “I can’t believe Bravo came.” Sean snorts. “Got to be a shock to see your ex-husband here.”

Dieter snorts, wishing he had a cigarette or something to distract himself from the hell he volunteered for. He imagined you would be grateful for his return and he’s found you engaged to a fucking asshole who used to bully him. “True. You know, I was in a throuple.” Dieter smirks, “wore me out and I ended it because I needed to give my body a break, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Frank curls his lip and turns away from Dieter, moving over towards his wife and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. “Yeah- uh, it’s kind of a shock.” You tell Sean, quickly opening the bottle he opened and pouring out drinks. “Just- um, please don’t talk about the wedding or anything?” You beg him. “I don’t want Dieter to try to bring up the past today. I don’t know if I can handle it.” Sean knows all about Dieter leaving you on the holiday and has been supportive of you so far. You can only hope that Dieter doesn’t run his fucking mouth. You’ve never actually told Sean you are still married to the actor, assuming he would get bored of whatever little game he had been playing and sign the damned papers. The judge wouldn’t grant you a divorce without Dieter present because of his fame and the wealth he has, despite you promising the old coot you just wanted the divorce. He had also been the one to marry you and Dieter forever ago and had a history of no divorces amongst the couples who had been married by him. It makes you want to tear your hair out.

Sean nods, coming over to you so he can rub your upper arms. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s gonna be okay. We won’t let him ruin this holiday again.” Sean murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Just ignore him and if you want, I’ll kick his ass.” Sean smirks, “been wanting to do it since high school anyway.”

You frown slightly, hearing an anticipation in Sean’s voice that you didn’t like. You know they didn’t get along in high school, but that was so long ago. “No, nothing like that.”

Sean nods, "fine. Let's get a drink and ignore his ass." Sean reaches for a bottle of beer and opens it, talking a gulp. Meanwhile, Dieter is thanking your mom when she hands him a glass of white wine. He wishes it was stronger but he doesn't want to get sloppy. Today, he's here to show everyone that they were wrong.

You try not to even look at Dieter when you come back into the room, reassured by the kiss shared in the kitchen and the weight of Sean’s hand on your waist. “Dinner should be ready in fifteen.” You tell everyone, smiling but avoiding looking over towards Dieter and Debra.

Dieter's gaze drops to the hand on your waist and he shifts from one foot to the other. He knows he has no claim over you but he feels jealous. He talks to his mom who smiles at him, happy he's home, and finally, everyone is sitting down for dinner. 

"So, Bravo, why'd you come back? To this town?" Sean asks after you walk into the kitchen to grab the salt and pepper. "To see my mom. To see everyone since I've been gone for so long." Dieter answers and Sean snorts, "yeah. Years. Looks like you've been busy too. Work wise and with partners." Dieter snorts, "true. I have been very busy." He smirks, "that's why I came home. I needed rest."

You look down at your plate after sitting down, pretending not to care about the conversation but it stings. A knife to your chest just like that time….you reach for your glass and take another gulp of your wine. Dieter had moved on, obviously, and so have you. It does no good to delve into the past. “Well, our small town is the perfect place for rest.” You manage brightly, picking up your fork again.

Dieter hums, “that it is. That it is.” Sean narrows his eyes slightly when he sees the way Dieter looks at you. “So what are your plans? Just hanging around? Or you gonna go out? We don’t need the town to be disrupted.” He bites at Dieter who chuckles and nods, “I’m used to signing autographs and taking photos. I just don’t want fans to be stalking me. I’ve had some issues back home with fans following me home. I did take one to bed once but she ended up being crazy.”

You shudder, forking up a bite of your food and holding it at your mouth. “I’m sure that after tonight Dieter will go back to LA where he belongs.” You look towards your fiancé. “Our small town is boring and there’s nothing here for him.” You’ll give him the papers again when Sean leaves.

Dieter shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. This town has its charms.” His dark eyes focus on you, “but enough about me. What about you two? Tell me how you met.” He orders, setting his fork down to take a sip of wine.

You are about to change the subject, but Sean actually reaches over and squeezes your knee. “Well, her car was on its last leg, a rolling road hazard really, so she came in to find another vehicle.” Sean explains. “Since dad turned over the dealership to me, I find that I actually like to be on the sales floor. I sold her on the idea of that pretty little car in the driveway and a date.” He chuckles at his own joke and you smile at him when he looks over, although your appetite is gone and your stomach is in knots.

Dieter chuckles, a fake smile on his face as he looks at you. You look a little sick, definitely look like you want to floor to swallow you up. “And do you make her cum?” Dieter asks bluntly, “because she used to love it when I ate her out.”

“Dieter!” His name is not only hissed by you, but by his mother, and your own. Your aunt gasping and your uncle grumbling about degenerate behavior while you wish you could just disappear. Sean stiffens but he looks over at you and smirks. “Well, I’m the one taking care of her now.” He turns back towards Dieter. “And I’m not talking about my fiancée like that.”

Dieter falters for a second upon hearing you’re engaged to that asshole but he recovers and smirks back, “so you eat her ass? She used to love that. Would make her drip onto the bed sheets.” He continues to push the boundaries and his mother slaps his arm, “I cannot believe you. Be quiet.” She pleads but Dieter stares at Sean, silently challenging the man you’re engaged to.

Your face feels like it’s on fire, thoroughly embarrassed by Dieter’s childish behavior and the very personal questions. Sean snorts and shakes his head. “You’re something else, Bravo.” He tells him. “It’s a good damn thing she didn’t stay in LA with you. You would have mortified her in interviews.”

Dieter leans back in his chair, his brow furrowing, "what are you talking about? She didn't come to L.A." He scoffs, "she never wanted to come to L.A. She wanted to stay in this shithole town and have babies and die having never achieved anything."

Sean frowns and looks at you. “I thought you said you met up with him in LA to give him the divorce papers?” He asks and you huff out a nervous smile. “I mean- I did, but I-“ Dieter chuckles. “Nope. Never happened.” He announces. “Dieter-“ you try to stop him, but he just smirks at Sean. “We’re still married.”

Dieter watches Sean's face drop and he chuckles, "she didn't tell you? She's still Mrs. Bravo." He reveals and his mom nudges him but this moment is so satisfying. To see that smug look fall from that asshole’s face. "We don't have a pre-nup so it's not financially viable for me to divorce."

“You told me you were divorced.” Sean’s eyes narrow towards you and you know that he’s pissed. “Baby, I’ve been trying to-“ “You know how I feel about shit like that!” He hisses, his chair scraping the floor as he pushes back from his plate quickly. “You’ve been lying to me. I can’t-“ he shakes his head and stalks around the table to edge towards the door. Leaping up, you rush after him, hoping you can explain.

Dieter smirks and his mom slaps his arm again, “why would you do that?” She asks and Uncle Frank scoffs, “because he’s an asshole.” Dieter hums, feeling satisfied to make Sean angry. “Well, let’s not let the food go to waste.” He declares and digs back into his food.

Outside you are chasing after Sean. “Wait! I can explain.” You tell him, making him stop and spin around. “You can explain how you’ve been lying to me?” He demands, his face showing how hurt and upset he is. You sigh. “I’ve been trying to divorce Dieter since I went to LA. But he refuses to do anything with the papers I’ve sent his lawyer, his agent, him directly.” You wave your arm around in frustration. “And the judge will not do anything until he does sign them!”

“So you accepted my proposal knowing you are already married? What were you gonna do? Be a bigamist?” He hisses and you shake your head, tears in your eyes. “I can’t- I can’t marry someone who lies to me and I need time. I- I’ll call you later.” He shrugs off your touch when you reach for him and he stomps over to his car, getting in and speeding off down the road.

You watch the car for a moment, angry and hurt, even though you know that he is right. You lied to him, afraid of losing the first stable relationship since Dieter had left you. Walking back inside, you find Dieter calmly eating Thanksgiving dinner like he hadn’t just turned your life upside down again. “Thanks for that, you fucking selfish prick!” You yell. “Why did you even come back here now? To ruin Thanksgiving for me all over? Mission accomplished!” You turn back around and rush out of the house again, tears streaming down your face.

Dieter scoffs and stands up, following you outside because he needs to say what he’s been thinking since he arrived. You spin around when you see him, telling him to leave you alone. “Like you really wanted to marry that prick. He just wants you to be a homemaker. Pop out his babies. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about your dreams. I did, remember? But you didn’t follow your dreams. You stayed here to fucking rot in this fucking town.” Dieter growls, “you’re the one who gave up on us. Not me. I left to do what we always said we’d do. I had the balls to follow my dreams.”

“Fuck you.” You hiss, glaring at him and wanting so back to slap him. “Apparently following your dreams was also fucking other people!” You watch as his eyes widen and you laugh at the irony. “I went to LA, Dieter! A week after you mailed me your apartment key, I flew out to surprise you. Mom had just been told the cancer treatment had been successful and I wanted to tell you in person.”

Tears are streaming down your face as you tell him. “I crept into the apartment only to find your dick down some bitch’s throat while her boyfriend was fucking her. Allllllll while you moaned about how you were going to fuck them both. So I left.”

He flinches, remembering that night, and he wondered why his door was unlocked at the time but figured his guests hadn’t locked it. “I- I- what was I supposed to do? You didn’t want me. You made it clear that I didn’t matter when I got the part and you refused to follow me. Your mom could’ve come with us. I don’t - I refuse to apologize for living my damn life.” He growls back before he swallows and slumps, “I’m sorry. I- fuck - okay? I’m so goddamn sorry. I missed you. Whenever I got drunk, I’d pick up the phone and call you and you’d answer and - and I’d lose my shit and hang up. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left but I achieved my dream. I couldn’t stay here and be called a loser by your family anymore. I had to prove myself and my chance came. I had to take it. No matter the cost.”

“No matter the cost.” You nod, feeling deflated. “That cost was our marriage. But I guess it was worth it, right?” You ask. “You get to fuck whoever you want, everyone wants to fuck an Oscar winner.” You turn around and rush off, wanting to be alone.

He lets you walk away this time, knowing how you feel and he can tell you hate him. He’s ruined everything for you because he was selfish and wanted to achieve his dreams. Your mom was sick, he should’ve stayed, but it’s too late to turn back the clock. He watches you walk off and feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s your mom. “I- I’m sorry. I ruined her life.” He murmurs and turns to look at his mother in law. 

“You know, I was so angry when you left. On Thanksgiving of all days. She fell apart. Wouldn’t speak to me. Just helped me get better and I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her, but I feel guilty. She never got to achieve her dreams. I held her back. And to know that I could’ve stopped you from your success is equally as bad. I hate you for leaving her but I love you for accomplishing your dream. When I was sick, I had so many regrets. I had to face death and I realized I didn’t do anything that I set out to do. After you left, I decided to do all the things that I wanted to do when I was better. I did all that and it’s because of you. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be regretting all the things I didn’t do. You are a great actor, Dieter, but right now, you need to be yourself and be honest. Do you want to be married to my daughter when you are in L.A and she has found someone who can give her what she needs? She wants children. She wants to be happy. She can’t do that if she’s constantly clinging to the past. Do the right thing.” She urges and Dieter sighs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll go talk to her.” He promises, knowing where you are. Where you used to go. It doesn’t take long to walk to the park, finding you on the swing set you’d hang out at as kids.

You sniff as you kick at the rubber that they replaced the old sand with. It’s not nearly as satisfying as you had thought when you got to tell Dieter off and him being here has stirred up emotions you had thought you had buried deep enough. Sean is a good guy, but he isn’t Dieter. He doesn’t dream with you, and he can be annoyingly practical all the time. You hate how your heart had kicked in your chest when you opened the door to see your husband standing there. As if you sense his presence, you look up to see him walking towards you. Making you sigh softly and kick off to start swinging.

Dieter approaches you cautiously, not wanting to be screamed at again, and he sits down on the swing next to you. “Your mom talked to me. She’s still the same. Like my second mom.” He chuckles and glances at you until he turns his gaze to the falling leaves. “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I have been selfish and I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed. Talked to you. Made a plan together.” He inhales deeply, “I’ll sign the papers. No arguments. I’ll let you go so you can be happy with Sean.”

You sigh, continuing to swing as you absorb what he is saying. “It doesn’t matter now.” You finally admit. “Sean’s first wife had an affair so he hates liars and cheaters.” You snort to yourself. “And technically, I’m both.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve really fucked up your life. I’ll sign the papers and get you one of those uh, what is it the models want, a Birkin bag.” He teases and you roll your eyes. “I won’t fuck your life any more. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises softly.

“Why wouldn’t you sign them before now?” You ask. “Seriously? I asked for nothing. Not one dime. No spousal support, no alimony, nothing. But you wouldn’t sign them while you were galavanting around the world and having public relationships with models.”

He looks down at his hands, the tattoo he got when he was eighteen of the circle you’d draw on his hand during class. He rubs the circle and sighs, “because I never stopped loving you. I know you won’t believe me and I’m not asking for anything but I thought if I signed the papers…it’s over. We are over. I didn’t want to face that when no one in Hollywood ever loved me. Not for me. Not like you did. I love you and I was selfish to keep you trapped in our marriage while I did whatever I wanted, whoever I wanted. I’ll sign the papers and I’ll talk to Sean. Tell him it was my fault. I threatened you to not sign the papers because I- I don’t know, because I didn’t want to give you any money. I’ll take the blame and you can be single and marry him, if that’s what you want.”

“You know you broke my heart, when you left?” You ask softly. “That's why I wouldn’t talk to you in the beginning. I was upset. If you had just talked to me about a plan that didn’t just include dropping everything, I would have gone along.” You continue to swing as you talk. “I wanted to be with you in LA. Wanted to help you make your dream come true, but you didn’t need me. You had everyone else.”

Dieter shakes his head, flexing his fingers, “everyone else?” He scoffs, “no one really wanted me. They wanted fame, money, connections. They didn’t give a fuck about me. The real me. I had to get lost in the haze of drugs and booze to feel something. No one has ever made me feel like you do.” He admits, “no one ever came close to you.”

“Poor Dieter.” You don’t murmur it sarcastically like you probably should have, despite everything you have to admit to yourself that you still love him. “You have everything you wanted and are more alone than ever.”

He knows he should put his walls back up and say his life is amazing but he is exhausted from pretending. “No one loves me. Not really. They only love what I can give them.” He sighs and rubs his hands.

“Your mom loves you.” You point out, even though you know that’s not what he means. Dieter huffs and you smile at his pout. “I still love you.” You admit. “It’s why I’m so fucking angry at you.”

Dieter clicks his tongue, “you still love me? Why? I’ve treated you like shit. Worse than shit. You should hate me. Fuck, I hate me.” He confesses, staring at the tarmac beneath his feet. “You deserve everything.”

“You can’t help who you love, Dieter.” You remind him, scoffing at both of you. “You broke my heart and refused to let me move on, but I watched the Oscars the night you won.” You confess. “Got drunk when I saw you making out with that model at the Vanity Fair after party.”

“I had - my PR needed me to date and make a name for myself until it became about me helping those girls make a name for themselves. I didn’t connect with anyone. Never had a relationship. Just one night stands. It was never serious. It was never you.” He closes his eyes and sighs.

“There’s no way I could compete with those women.” You scoff. “And men. They are gorgeous.”

Dieter chuckles humorlessly, "pretty but so fucking dumb. Trust me, baby. None of them had a lot of brain cells. They are beautiful but none of them wanted to talk about life. They just wanted to be seen with me and go on their way when they got what they wanted."

Some might call you stupid, but you feel bad for him. Dieter has always had this need to feel love, to be connected to someone. “I’m sorry that fame hasn’t been all you thought it would be.” You murmur. “I know that after I came back from LA, I- I just lost my passion. I couldn’t work on my art anymore. Everything was just dismal.”

“The grass ain’t always greener, huh?” He snorts and kicks his feet as he swings. “I’m sorry. I sent you that key when I was high and I always miss you when I’m high. I wanted to see you and figured that was one way to get you to L.A. I didn’t know…fuck, I wish I’d known.” He admits, “I, uh, I haven’t been with anyone for six months. Kinda lost the appeal. Casual sex. I miss how we used to be. Our sex.” He confesses, glancing at you.

“We had great sex.” You admit, never telling Sean that he didn’t quite measure up to your ex. That would have been wrong. “Maybe too good of sex.” You sigh again. “A month after you left, I found out I was pregnant. Or I thought I was.”

Dieter’s eyes widen, “you thought you were-? Did you-? I mean, I completely understand if you decided to, you know.” He finishes softly, his stomach twisting.

“No.” You quickly shake your head. “I, uh, lost the pregnancy a couple of weeks later.” You had confirmed with your doctor that it was likely you were in the early stages but it obviously wasn’t meant to be. He told you that stress could have caused it, or there was something wrong with the baby to not be viable. Either way, it had felt like the universe was telling you to let Dieter go. And then a month later you found him fucking another couple.

He hates that he wasn’t there, that he possibly caused it if you were upset by him leaving. “I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, “I know - there’s nothing I can say that will make that better or make it right.” He reaches for your hand to squeeze it, “I ruined your life. Your happiness.”

It’s the first time Dieter has touched you since he left so many Thanksgivings ago, but your heart still pounds and your skin tingles. “I wish we could have done things differently.” You squeeze his hand back gently.

Dieter nods, “me too. I wish I hadn’t fucked up. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” He confesses and kisses the back of your hand, “even better than an Oscar, but…that time of our lives is over now. I know you can’t forgive me. I’ll sign the papers.” He promises, letting go of your hand.

You frown to yourself as you wrap your hand around the chain for the swing and push off again. “Do you remember that weekend we each told our parents we were going to stay at a friend’s house and we went to that little cabin your grandfather owned?”

Dieter frowns, the memory is one that got buried beneath the haze of drugs and booze but he remembers. “Yeah. Our first time.” He smiles, fondly reminded of the night you first slept together. “It was so fucking cold and I couldn’t get the fire started. Turns out having sex is a great way to keep warm.” He chuckles, starting to swing alongside you.

“That was the day I decided I was going to marry you.” You hum at the memory, smiling softly at the way a very young Dieter had panicked that he had ruined the moment for you. You had both been kids at the time, growing up together. “That’s a fun fact that the world doesn’t know about Dieter Bravo.” You tease. “You married the girl that took your virginity.”

Dieter chuckles, “Entertainment Tonight would have a field day.” He winks at you when you giggle, “it took me way too damn long to propose to you but I was scared you were gonna say no. Who wanted to marry a wannabe actor making his money in a community theater with no house? I was a shitshow.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself.

“You were my shitshow.” You laugh, leaning back in the swing and kicking your feet higher. “It was us against the world back then, and I didn’t believe you would make it honestly, but I wanted you to try.”

“Hey. My improv was fucking great.” He defends himself playfully, “but I had to try. Even if I went to L.A and failed, I had to try. I couldn’t live life thinking what if. Imagine if I hadn’t gone? I’d be sat at the kitchen table with our kids wondering what could’ve been. I just wish you’d been by my side when I left.” He says as he swings.

“Hard to be by your side when you left without a word. Just a note on the bed.” There’s no heat in your tone, just irony. “It just- wasn’t meant to be.”

“And Sean is meant to be?” Dieter snorts. “Do you really want to marry that asshole?”

“He’s…..” you blow out a sigh, “safe.” You admit to him and to yourself. “I like him, he’s a good man……” you know you aren’t answering the real question and it’s ironic that Dieter is the only one to ask you that since you and Sean got engaged. “No.” You confess after a moment. “I don’t to want to marry him.”

Dieter nods, quiet for a moment as he absorbs your words, “I can’t sit here and lecture you. I have no authority in your life but you need to do what you want. Fuck everyone else. You sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you. Even me. I was selfish and you are still sitting here talking to me. Do what you want. Be selfish for once.” He demands, wanting you to be happy.

You want to be selfish and you drag your feet along the ground to stop yourself and hop off the swing. Turning towards Dieter, you grab the chain and pull him to a stop. His eyes widen and for a second, you both think that you’re going to slap him. He would deserve it. Instead, you lunge forward and press your lips to his.

Dieter is shocked when your lips smash against his and he reacts within seconds, wrapping his arms around you to drag you into his lap. As soon as your lips touch his, his muscle memory kicks in and he deepens the kiss. Reminded of so many kisses shared all those years ago.

You are shocked by how quickly Dieter clings to you. You’re angry at him, how could you not be? But you’ve missed him so much that it doesn’t matter right now. Your fingers sink into his longer hair and you moan, enjoying how it feels. You always wanted him to grow his hair out.

Your fingers pull on his hair and he groans into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass. He devours you, knowing this is wrong, and you’re going to push him away any second, but right now he’s greedy and he wants you.

You let yourself be taken away by the moment. Leaning into him, breathing him in. His base scent is still the same, woodsy and you swear he is still wearing the same cologne you had picked out for him years ago.

He knows you’ll pull away any second and he readies himself for that rejection as he leans back, pecking your lips until he kisses your cheeks and finally, your forehead. “I never stopped loving you.” He promises breathlessly, his hands sliding up your back. “I just wanted to make you proud but I fucked it all up.”

“You did fuck it up all up.” You won’t spare his feelings, but you reach out and caress his cheek. “But I am proud of you, Dieter. Every movie broke my heart and made me proud. Every role, even when you were on Broadway.” You sigh. “I went to your performance, the second week in.”

“You did?” He asks, eyes widening as he looks at you and his heart is pounding in his chest. He hasn’t felt like this in so many years. He hasn’t felt anything real for so long.

“I had to see it. You talked about Broadway the entire time you were at our local theatre. I honestly didn’t expect you to take the role, but when it was announced, I bought tickets.” You tell him. You cried through the entire thing, but people just thought you were moved by the performances.

He smiles softly, loving that you came to see him even if you hated him. You are kind enough to support him even when he ruined your life. “So what now? You gonna tell Sean you don’t want to marry him? I go home and we act like this never happened?” He asks quietly, worried that you’ll nod and send him away.

“I don’t know.” You bite your lip. “I don’t know what you want. You have a life in LA, a …..persona.” You add. “If you want that life, still….” You shrug. “I don’t think I can be a part of it.”

“Come with me to L.A. There’s nothing keeping you here. I want you to see my life and I want you to do something for yourself. Make your dreams come true. Paint. Do whatever you want. I’ll support you. I don’t give a fuck about my persona. I want to be with you and if you want to go home, if you get sick of me, I’ll book you a private jet straight back here.” He promises, “just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

You lick your lips, staring at him and watching him start to shift nervously. “You want me to move to LA? Live with you?” He nods enthusiastically. “I do, baby, I want you to come be with me.” You lick your lips. “What do I have to lose?”

He nods, not allowing himself to get too excited. "And if you hate it, hate me, wanna come home...I'll sign the papers." He promises, nudging his nose against yours.

You snort. “I doubt that.” You tease, closing the gap to press your lips to his again. “I’ve never hated you, even when I hated you.” You had been so upset at him, but it’s only because you loved him so much. You still love him.

**** 

“Baby! Did you get the juice boxes?” You call out and Dieter strides into the dining room with the boxes for the kids. “Here you go.” He leans over to kiss the head of his three year old son before handing another box to your five year old daughter who opens it herself while saying “thanks daddy.” It’s so weird to hear that even now and Dieter can’t believe he’s a father. He smiles at his daughter and leans in to softly kiss you. “You need anything?” He murmurs against your lips, pulling back to look at you. “No. No. Sit down and eat.” You order and he sits down. “It looks amazing.” Debra compliments your mom who beams, so happy to be spending the holidays with her grandchildren. “Thank you.” She smiles at Dieter who is happy to be sitting here. So different from that Thanksgiving so many years ago. You had moved to L.A with him after your mom encouraged you and after that, you had decided to try and repair your relationship. It was easy to fall in love again and now, you have two kids.

You have everything you wanted back then, finding some small success as an artist, but you really prefer spending time with your kids, and your husband when he is away on location. You bring the family now and the press is marveling over the change in Dieter Bravo’s behavior. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone.” You raise your glass of wine but you don’t take a sip, smiling at Dieter mischievously. “Next year we will need to set another place at the table.” You announce. “Baby Bravo number three will be coming to a nursery near you in April.”

Your mom’s eyes widen as much as Debra’s and she grins, “that’s - that’s incredible, baby!” She cries and tears fill her eyes. “Oh my loves. Another baby.” Debra coos and reaches out to caress Dieter’s cheek before she smiles at you. “I’m so happy you both came back together.” Your mom sighs, loving how you and Dieter have worked everything out.

It hasn’t been easy, there have been times when you’ve been angry at Dieter, but he’s sober, you attend couples counseling and he has become your rock. “Thanksgiving miracles, huh?”

Dieter nods, “our miracles.” He murmurs, reaching for your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. You all dig in to the food and soon the kids are in bed after everyone is full, the house is clean, and your moms are watching tv. “You ready for bed, babe?” You ask and Dieter glances at the clock. “It’s only eight.” He frowns until you raise your eyebrows and his eyes widen, “oh yeah. I’m tired. We are going upstairs. Wifey needs all the rest she can get.” Dieter teases and your moms say goodnight while Dieter takes your hand and guides you upstairs.

You snort playfully and reach around him to slap his ass. “You almost didn’t get the drift.” You tease him. “And I thought you always knew when someone wanted sex.” Dieter huffs at you. “I didn’t think you would want it tonight.” He whines, defending himself.

You chuckle, “you know how horny I get when I’m pregnant.” You remind him and Dieter snorts, “but you’ve had turkey and pie.” He defends himself again as you make your way to the room you used to live in when you first got married. He opens the door and closes it behind you, groaning as he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

The years apart and the life that Dieter had lived in LA had just given him new skills to use on you. While it wasn’t perfect, you have to take the good with the bad. The good is that you have Dieter completely. Your arms wind around him and pull him close as you moan softly.

His hands are gentle but firm as he slides his hands down to squeeze your ass, pulling you against him as he hardens in his sweats. “Fuck. I love you.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he guides you backwards to the bed.

“I love you too.” You promise, trusting that he will make you feel amazing. “How do you feel about another baby?” You ask as you fall back into the bed.

“Happy as fuck.” He admits, “we have money. We have a big enough house. We can have as many babies as you want.” He teases as you lower to the bed and he shifts to kneel between your legs, “and you’re so fucking beautiful full of our babies.”

You have discovered that Dieter has kinks surrounding having kids now. Breeding, pregnancy, lactation kinks all have made for some amazing nights. You love the confidence that it gives you when he works with some of the most beautiful people in the world. He’s now the one that is showing pictures of his kids to his co-stars and inviting them to meet you, rather than asking if they want to do a line of coke with him. “You just love proving you aren’t sterile.” You tease, reminding him of The Inquisitor article that claimed all your children were born via sperm donor.

He snorts, “all conceived on my cock, baby.” He declares smugly and he reaches for the hem of your shirt, dragging it over your head. “You are gorgeous, baby.” He murmurs as he bends down to kiss your stomach, not quite a bump yet.

You hum, running your fingers through his hair again like he loves. He’s always sweet and considerate while you are pregnant and this will be your last baby, so it’s a special time for both of you. “All yours.” You promise.

He’s gonna get the snip before you have the baby, just so this is your last baby, and it’s bittersweet but he is going to enjoy every moment. He hooks his fingers in your leggings, dragging them down your legs and he groans when the scent of your arousal hits his nose. You’re so sensitive when you’re pregnant and he loves it. “All mine. And I’m yours. All of me.” He promises as he tosses your leggings aside and surges down to press his nose against your clit through your panties.

“Deeee.” You moan softly, loving the devoted look on his face as he looks up towards you. “I know I have you baby.” You promise, smiling down at him. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He murmurs and hooks his finger in your panties, leaning in to slide his tongue through your folds. He loves the tang of your arousal when you’re pregnant. You taste sweeter somehow and he groans, reaching for your thigh to push it further away so he can slide his tongue into your cunt.

Whimpering with Dieter’s tongue inside you is as natural as breathing. Closing your eyes and letting him eat you out because he wants to. He loves doing down on you and hearing his name break from your lips. “Fuck baby, I love you.” You pant. “Deee.”

He loves hearing you moan his name. He laps at you, wanting to show you how much he loves you through his tongue. One hand caresses your stomach and the other pushes your thigh back to spread you more so he can bury his face In your pussy.

He loves hearing you moan his name. He laps at you, wanting to show you how much he loves you through his tongue. One hand caresses your stomach and the other pushes your thigh back to spread you more so he can bury his face In your pussy.

You don’t have to worry about waking the kids up, they are used to sleeping through anything although it’s usually just dinner parties and the two of you having sex. “Fuck, Dieter.” You moan. “Want to cum all over that stupidly handsome face of yours.”

He chuckles into your folds, knowing he's getting wrinkly and despite his co-stars in Hollywood investing in plastic surgery, he is surprisingly not interested in preventing aging. He is happy to be old beside you. His tongue laps at your clit, wanting you to fall apart for him.

Your hormones make you sensitive and in no time you are crying out in pleasure. Gasping out his name as your thighs cinch down around his head and your body shakes in pleasure.

He groans when you squeeze his head between your thighs, his hand reaching for yours as he works you through it. His cock is aching and he grinds against the mattress while he works you through your orgasm.

Dieter doesn’t stop until you are gasping and pushing his head away from you, clit aching from his attention and he pulls away with a playful smack to his lips. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and pulling him up. “I need my husband.”

He groans, shifting to hover above you, and he lets you pull his shirt over his head. He pushes his sweatpants down and his hard cock bounces as he kicks them aside while you throw his shirt on the floor. “Like this?” He asks, caressing your side and when you nod, he shifts to kneel between your legs, “I love you.” He murmurs as he grips his cock and positions himself at your cunt to push inside you.

The stretch of him is something that you will always love. Moaning as he fills you with a smooth, steady thrust that doesn’t stop until he is buried to the hilt and both of you are breathless. “Fuck.” You whimper, caressing his back as you squeeze him tight. “Feels so good baby.”

Dieter groans as he twitches inside you. You’re so damn hot and wet around his cock. “Fuck, I love you.” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Marry me again.” He murmurs, keeping still inside you.

You’re surprised when he says that. You’ve talked about it before, several times. He had always said that you should renew your vows, but you’ve never really planned anything else. “You want that?”

He nods as he stays still above you. “I want to renew our vows. Either before or after you have the baby. Whenever you want. I want a proper wedding. We got married at the courthouse when we were so young and I want to give you the wedding you deserve. A dress and a cake and - and a party like no one has seen.”

You giggle quietly. “It will have to be after the baby is born then.” You huff, knowing that while he has the money to pull off a wedding in weeks, you would rather enjoy the entire event rather than feeling rushed. “We’ll sell the pictures to People.” You tease, reaching up and caressing his face. “I love you.”

He snorts, nudging his nose with yours, “this will be for us. Our friends and family.” He promises and starts to move inside you. “I love you. So damn much.” He murmurs, sliding his hand up to squeeze your breast, shifting his weight to one arm.

He keeps his pace slow and loving, wanting you to enjoy it and sometimes the harsher thrusts aren’t what you want. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you move with him. Enjoying the way he fills you and never leaves you empty for too long. Slow lovemaking. “I love you too.”

He loves how you wrap yourself around him and he keeps his weight off your stomach while he rocks into you. It’s slow and sweet and he kisses along your jaw while he murmurs how beautiful you are. He knows how to make you moan and he grinds into your cunt, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes you moan his name. “That’s it, baby.” He coos, his back starting to ache but he keeps moving.

You breathlessly moan for him, finding it so sexy how he keeps the pressure up just like you need it. You know that his back is hurting and yet he keeps rocking into you at the same angle. “So good baby.”

He keeps the pace and angle as he pushes into you, wanting to feel you fall apart beneath him. He groans your name, “baby. Baby. Cum for me.” He demands, pressing his lips to your jaw, his breath puffing against your skin.

You let go of him and reach between you, pinching your nipple and making yourself fall over the edge. Crying out softly, your cunt starts to spasm around his cock and soak it with your juices.

He groans against your jaw as you cum around him, clamping down on his cock and he hisses. “Fuck baby. Feel so goddamn good. I - shit - I love you.” He murmurs, rocking you through it.

You whimper, eyes closed and your fingers dig into his shoulder. “Cum for me.” You beg softly. “I want you to fill me up.”

He grunts in response, thrusting into you at a sloppier pace than before as he feels that tingling in the base of his spine. His lips press against yours as he buries himself deep after several thrusts, muffling his groan while he paints your walls with his cum.

Even when he’s exhausted and happily riding out his high, Dieter collapses to his side so he doesn’t press too much of his weight on you. More considerate than anyone would have ever believed the selfish bad boy of Hollywood could be. “I love you.” You whisper in his ear with a smile on your face. “Happy Thanksgiving, love.” Thanksgiving had been a heavy burden for you, a reminder of your husband leaving you for years until he had come back to you on that same holiday. Now, you both give thanks for being together and more in love than ever. You accomplished both of your dreams and now all of them you still work towards are ones you want to accomplish together.

[gtgbabie0]

-Vi x Reader

Synopsis: {Date night gone slightly wrong but in the right type of way}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

!!-18//MDNI-!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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Vi was hotheaded, it was as simple as that, no matter how many times she laughs off the comment whenever you call her out for her behaviour, It was undeniable. The way she took the bait every damn time, which landed her with bruised knuckles and tiny cuts on her face, was almost impressive— she didn’t take shit from no one and you swear it would come back and bite her on the ass one of these days.

“Just sit still.” You tell her, pushing on her shoulders to keep her down on the kitchen chair with a small huff to which she groans in response.

It was meant to be a nice night, the pair of you going down to a bar in Zaun for a couple of drinks— and it was all dandy, to begin with… until some drunk idiot started running his mouth, sending Vi off on one.

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.” She shrugs, looking up at you with those powder blue eyes of hers that make your heart skip a few beats and butterflies flutter in your stomach. But you wouldn’t give in to her… not yet at least.

“That doesn’t make me feel better Vi.” You reply sternly, standing in between her legs as you tend to the nicks that were peppered over her face— the bridge of her nose and her bottom lip.

The sound of your tone makes her slouch back into the chair, a small pout pursuing at her lips as she rests her hands over the curves of your hips— sliding them across your ass that was accentuated by that tight dress, she just wants to rip it right off.

“Come on baby, please… I’m alright.” She tries once more with such a soft almost pleading tone as she grazes her fingertips along the backs of your thighs— trying to not so obviously pull you down on her lap, she just wanted to feel you against her, to kiss those pretty frowny lips of yours.

“Stop trying to distract me so I can clean you up properly.” You tell her with, your brows cinched together in a mixture of concentration and faux anger, trying to be as stern as possible despite how much you just want to cave in and let her run her hands all over your body.

Vi groans once more, for what has to be the one hundredth time tonight, letting you move her head to the side with your fingers curled around her jaw— wincing slightly when you press the antiseptic wipe to a small cut above her eyebrow.

“And you’re not ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.” You add under your breath, noticing the small cut on her lip not to mention her split knuckles that you still had yet to tend to.

She looks up at you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan of your reprimands. “I just wanna kiss you,” she whispers roughly, letting her hands run along your curves slowly.

Vi knew she couldn’t convince you to drop it but maybe she had a better shot at persuading you…

“No, it’s your punishment for not behaving tonight like I asked you to.” So that would be a no.

It was all so unfair in her eyes, the guy was being a complete dick anyway. She drew the line at insults being thrown at you and that asshole completely catapulted over the line so in her mind it was only fair for her to catapult her fist into his ugly mug… she’d do it again without hesitation.

Vi’s blue eyes flicker up to your face as you press the antiseptic wipe to the cut on her lip but her mind isn’t focused on what you're doing— not when you’re leaning so close to her with your cleavage on show, that dainty necklace of yours dangling in front of her face and your sweet perfume that wisps around her, tantalising her.

It was so unfair.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” She points out, glancing at your chest as your fingertips press into her cheeks. “Shovin’ your perfect tits in my face.”

A small smirk ghosts against your lips at her mumbled words as you lean over her to rummage through the first aid kit, looking for nothing imparticular, just wanting to really give her a face full of your boobs— her fingertips dig into the fat on your hips in response, a slight warning.

“Yeah?— well you should’ve kept your fists to yourself.” You scold her, leaning a little closer just to tease her.

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been a prick to us, baby.” She rebuts, grunting at your movements. “Was askin’ for a punch.”

“Do you know how much trouble—” you go to start again, keeping that stern tone that you so stubbornly refuse to drop and she’s just about had enough, her patience wearing impossibly thin.

Without a second thought, she’s standing up from the chair, immediately reaching out for you by your hips and pulling you back towards her— she relishes in the gasp you let out as she pushes you up against the kitchen table, looking at her with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s get you outta this pretty dress, yeah?” She breathes, pushing a curl of your hair behind your ear before holding your face to keep you from turning your head— her thumb brushing along your bottom lip.

You fold almost immediately, it’s a little pathetic in all honesty, how quickly you nod your head with a glint of desperation in your eyes, mumbling a small, “Okay.”

Finally, after far too long spent humouring you she steals that sweet kiss she's been longing for. Her lips slotting in between your own like they were made for her, slow and greedily, with her tongue running along your bottom lip and into your mouth.

Your fingers grasp her shoulders, slipping into her hair in an attempt to ground yourself as she trails hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck— paying extra love to the special spots that have you arching into her toned body.

It all feels so dizzying as if the world was spinning on its axis— that familiar heat of excitement pooling in your lower abdomen, sending a tingle down your spine which is only accentuated by the feeling of her fingertips grazing along your spine as she tugs on the zip of your dress.

“There she is…” Vi mutters into the crook of your neck, pulling back only slightly to watch in awe as the silk of your dress ripples down your curves, to pool at your waist leaving your bra-clad chest on display.

The sight sends a tingle through her body, her fingers instantly brushing over the delicate lace. Vi can’t help herself, leaning forward to nip and kiss along your collarbones and across your chest. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Her words muffled slightly by your cleavage.

It felt so indescribably good, the roughness of her palm caressing along your inner thigh so agonisingly slow that it makes you whine— the sound sends Vi’s heart into a frenzy and even though she wants to make you wait for it as payback she just can’t.

Her hand dips beneath your dress as you instinctively spread your legs from where you’re perched on the edge of the kitchen table, leaning back on one hand as the other cups the back of her head— you tighten your grasp on her hair as her fingertips brush along the damp fabric of your panties and you can feel her smug smirk against your shoulder.

“Did it turn you on baby?— seeing me beat that guy up?” She whispers huskily, kissing up along your throat to brush her lips against the curve of your jaw.

“Yeah, yes, Vi… turned me on,” You breathe the confession, tilting your head backwards as an invitation for her to leave more kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Mm, can tell— you’re fuckin’ drenched.” The words are whispered against your ear, a sense of pride bursting through her chest and bleeding through her tone as she continues to rub you over your underwear.

Vi pushes the wet fabric to the side, her fingers brushing through the coarse hairs of your mound and across your wet slit, coating her fingertips with your essence before pushing them against your clit— rubbing slow circles against you.

She whispers praises into your skin as she continues to leave marks all over your chest— her free hand unclasping your bra with ease as she continues to toy with your sensitive bud. “So fuckin’ wet, huh?” she mutters, drinking in the sight of your breasts.

You let out a breathless moan, whining some words that she can’t make much sense of— but she’s sure you’re just mindlessly agreeing with her, nodding your head as she kisses along your chest.

Vi dips her ring and middle fingers into your wet heat, pushing them deep up to the knuckle as your slick walls clench around her digits— curling them with slow deliberate strokes to draw out more of those sweet moans from your pretty lips, your hips bucking up into her hand.

You let out a pleasured cry as your clit catches on the heel of her palm, grinding a little more desperately against her to feel it again. “Oh baby, such a fuckin’ greedy girl f’me.” She chuckles, flicking her tongue across your nipple as she continues to slowly pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, the squelching of your wetness drives her insane.

“Gotta taste you— need your pussy all over my face babe.” With that, she’s tugging your panties off and dropping to her knees, causing the dining chair to fall over but she can’t bring herself to care, not even in the slightest, especially when you’re spread out on the kitchen table looking so delicious.

Vi grabs a handful of the fat on your thighs, holding them apart before practically nuzzling her face against your sex— her tongue licking a wet stripe along your folds, sucking and kissing at your clit, causing your hips to stutter against her mouth in reckless abandon.

“Feels s’good— oh Vi!” you whimper, one hand curling at the edge of the table and the other still buried in her hair.

She moans into the sensitive flesh about how “fucking amazing” you taste, her hands sliding from your thighs to press down on your hips in an attempt to keep you still— which in all honesty turns out to be a little pointless because you’re so possessed by the pleasure she’s giving you she’s pretty certain you don’t actually have control of your body.

Especially when her nose prods against your clit as she teases your needy hole with her tongue, lapping up your taste— drinking from you like you're some sort of fountain of healing. She could drown in you and die a happy woman.

“That’s it, baby, grind on my face.” Vi concedes, letting out a low chuckle into your wetness whilst she runs her tongue all over your cunt— dipping it inside your entrance as she brings her thumb to circle your clit. “Cum f’me baby, fuckin' drench my face with it..” she groans, feeling you get closer and closer until you’re tugging on her hair to bring her impossibly closer, grinding your pussy all over her mouth to chase after that high.

Vi drinks up your orgasm, every last drop until your hips stop rocking and your back lays flat against the oak table with a whimper— eyes fluttering close with a trembling breath. She presses a kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, her lips and chin glistening with your release as she stares down at you with a lazy smirk.

“Fuck Vi—” you breathe, letting your legs drop over the edge of the table as she rubs your hips soothingly.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” She teases, watching as you push yourself to sit up— your arms looping around her shoulder as she steals a kiss from your lips, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“Mhm, if you carry me.” You whisper the words into the kiss and without missing a beat she’s hauling you up, your legs wrapped around her waist as she carries you up the stairs, far from done with you yet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

[arrowfleur]

✩‧₊˚ Redacted HC’s ✩‧

I’ve been pretty shit at writing and posting this past year, which is crappy because I enjoy it so I wanted to do something that was less pressure than writing fics but could still make people happy. I’ve put every main redacted couple - plus a few extras - on a spin wheel and will be writing a long list of HC’s each day depending on who I get :)

Anyways, Part 1: Lasko and Dear

Dear loves thrifting but they didn’t want to take Lasko with them at first in case he found something they wanted, before they did. Now they borrow each others clothes so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

When they eventually took him he spent the entire time trying to find things they liked.

Dear has two toned hair

Lasko has never stopped thinking that dear is the coolest person to ever walk the earth, ever.

Sometimes dear wears colour contacts for fun

Both of them have a pocket watch on a chain

For their first anniversary Dear bought Lasko a locket, with a picture of the entire Damn Squad in it.

He added a photo of them to the other side

Dear has pet rats, they take such good care of them and their cage is huge

Lasko was slightly weary at first but he warmed up to them pretty well

Dear is very good at fixing things.

One of the first times they went to his apartment, his Ac broke. Dear just calmly listened to his apologetic rant about it before asking where the toolbox was.

Dear has tattoos behind their ears

Lasko is very good at saving but he’s not tight and always tries to pay for the whole table.

Very rarely has he succeeded

Dear has a collection of paper boy hats.

Lasko wears earmuffs when it’s cold because he always gets earaches

Dear has curled their hair with coke cans before

They love old black and white movies

Lasko likes really crappy b-movies

Can’t be let down if you know it’s going to be bad before it starts

Dear can keep up very well with Damien’s academic discussions and sometimes debates him just for the sake of it. Damien enjoys the challenge.

Dear is not the biggest Christmas enjoyer but this year they’re looking forward to it.

Lasko has booked a couple of Christmas markets for them

Dear HATES the idea of a cruise. Not because of the ocean but because they can’t get off the boat once it sets off.

Lasko always takes those little pots of jam and the little shampoo/conditioner bottles whenever he goes to a hotel

Neither of them can ice skate well whatsoever

Lasko has and will continue to use those little penguins meant for children. Dear finds it fucking hilarious all while they’re clinging to the side of the rink themselves

They share grandpa jumpers

When they first started dating, dear would pretend to forget their lanyard so that lasko would have to go down and let them in.

They both wear lots of rings and love playing with each others hands

Lasko used to wear those fake glasses from Claire’s

Dear is so casually flirty with Lasko that he thought it was just their personality at first

That’s why they eventually just had to go into his office and straight up ask him out

Dear kisses Lasko’s nose often, especially when they’re saying goodbye to each other or he’s severely overthinking

Dear really enjoys those mugs that change colour when you put hot water in them

Lasko has an entire cupboard dedicated to board games

Dear was delighted

Dear reads random niche comics and webtoons

And they have a lot of figurines

Lasko is an unsweetened oat milk enjoyer!!

Dear inhales food like it’s nobody’s business

It doesn’t last five minutes on their plate

They also never get indigestion

Their go-to cocktail is an old fashioned

Lasko hates it

Dear will simply repeat what Lasko says in a teasing tone to fluster him

Or they’ll just randomly start acting like the weirdest story is sexy.

‘And then he, he told me they’d have to charge me more for these stupid tires that I didn’t even ask for!’

‘ and what did you say? 😏

‘Well I- I told him,

‘ did you stick up for yourself? 😏😏

‘ well I told him I wasn’t going to pay for it’

*dear looking him up and down’

‘Good job, I don’t like it when other play dirty with you’

And they’re making out, Lasko doesn’t know how they do it they just have a way. It literally doesn’t even make sense.

Lasko’s hair grows incredibly quick. He shaves ALOT.

His skins is also so beautiful, it’s so soft and clear and glowy.

Dear has acne scars and they do little skincare nights together but Lasko thinks they’re HOT AS FUCK

Okay that’s all, also my proof that I got these guys first

[balrogballs]

Just thanking you for drawing Elrond as Lúthien-lookalike and not receding hairline Elrond because I’m so tired of people drawing him like the movies

congratulations on sending me this annoying ass message and thus becoming the reason why I will only ever draw Elrond with a receding hairline and steep widow’s peak from this day forwards 👍🏽

i genuinely do not understand why people have spent almost 25 years being so fucking deranged over this specific thing like what is going on in your life that some random actor’s hair loss trajectory is something you devote any brain space to! there was literally a fucking viral reddit post about elrond hairline discourse this year! why do people care so much! the films are nearly 25 years old!

also i’m sorry but literally every character in the films wore a wig, they would have sorted out his hairline in 2 seconds if they had wanted to (and they clearly lowered it for the Hobbit films when he’s meant to be younger + HW has worn hairpieces in most of his roles so is clearly fine with augmentation) so it was evidently a deliberate choice to keep it like that — and imo it’s a really good one! It’s interesting! He’s still hot! The catholic schoolgirl braids are fun! It’s eldritch! Elrond is old as fuck! He’s a card carrying old coot! Cirdan canonically has a Gandalf beard! Elrond is meant to be half human so ageing isn’t unrealistic anyway! If you had that kind of life you’d lose your damn hair too!

(tldr the guy is fit regardless of hair, i hate that i spent 10 minutes typing this response out re: the most pointless topic known to mankind and fyi the hairline doesn’t even negate the luthien thing, luthien was a woman so obviously she wasn’t going to suffer from male pattern baldness??? 😭)

[peoniesnro]

In Another Universe

#11. Jeon Jungkook

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe / kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/SMUT- Making out/ Dirty talks/ Some public stuff (well you know)/ Unportected sex/ Mirror sex/ Cumming inside/ Hotel room sex/ Rough sex/ Spanking/ Word 'slut' and 'whore'/ Multiple orgasms (f.recieving)/Foot kink!!!!!! (I don't know if I've missed any)/ Angst / INFIDELITY

Word count- 18k

a/n- Should I try to wrap it up with 16 chapters or should I make it 20? (Thank you for reading like always. Lv u all❤️)

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

“You hired her?”

Jimin nearly spills the milk he has been pouring into the bowl of cereal at the loud and sudden voice of Liya. It is with a bit of struggle that he manages to hold it steady. A sigh leaves his lips. He closes his eyes trying to compose himself before he turns around to face his girlfriend. Slowly. As if she doesn’t startle him at all. Jimin’s eyes land on Liya. Taking her presence in. She looks more than angry. Expression incredulous.

“What?” He asks softly. Voice calm and collected. It’s not that he doesn’t know. He knows very well who she is referring to. What she’s referring to. Honestly, he’s a bit surprised that it took this long for this question to come front. He expected Liya to storm toward him and ask this question the very next day you started working for his company. It seems like Emi was slow at reporting that. Yet he doesn’t want to look like he expected this. So, he keeps staring at her with emotionless eyes.

“You know what I mean Jimin.” Liya takes a step forward. “Are you serious? What were you thinking─”

“I didn’t hire her. Hoseok did.” Jimin interrupts her blustering. He’s tired of this. Simply doesn’t think Liya should be interfering with his business. She normally doesn’t do that. They don’t poke their noses in each other’s work. Yet, there are times like this. Like when Jimin flat-out refused to offer the CMO post to Liya’s cousin. Like when Jimin refused to become a subsidiary of the Kim group. There were such instances where Liya thought she has the right to tell him what to do or not. Always ended up in a huge fight, however. Jimin knows this is going to be another one. He’s certain when Liya sneers.

“Yeah? Like that? He can do whatever he wants?”

“Yes.”

Another loud scoff.

“What’s that make your company? Anyone can do anything? Is your company a circus?”

“Yes. And that shouldn’t be any of your concerns Liya. Stay out of it. And Hoseok isn’t just anybody. He’s the CMO and a damn co-owner.”

“As if he has done anything to earn it.”

Jimin feels something explode within him. His entire vision turning red instantly. Liya always does this. There was a time where Jimin bore with it. Just listened to her without arguing back. And he feels fucking guilty for doing that. Not anymore, though. No. One day and one moment he decided to fight back. Jimin closes the distance between them in one long step. Fire burning in his eyes.

“Take that fucking back.” Gritts through his clenched teeth. Stares her down.  Liya takes a step back. Her expression still furious. Eyes never leaving Jimin’s. He just knows she isn’t going to do that. She never does.

“I’m feeling so sorry for you Jimin. You really are gonna lose all the shits you’ve worked hard for. All because you trust your stupid friends too much─”

“Kim fucking Liya!” Jimin surprises himself at how loud he shouts. Liya winces visibly, involuntarily taking another step back. A gasp leaving her mouth. “Just listen to me this time because I’m already fucking tired of telling you this. I would be no one without them. You have a problem with them? Then you should stay out of my business. You have your own to worry about. Let me decide whether I want to lose what I’ve worked for or build something more. Just stay the fuck away Liya.” Jimin almost turns around with that to his cereal which is probably soggy now, when Liya chuckles. Shakes her head slightly.

“Well, you want me to stay away from the business. I will.” She takes the two steps she took back, forward again. Tilting her head upward to take a good look at Jimin. “Let’s see where you go. Let’s see how long it’ll take you to ask help from me again. And you should listen to me too Jimin. You’re my fucking boyfriend. Soon to be fiancé. And if you think we’re still in college and have the freedom to do whatever we want, you’re wrong. The whole country─” She grits her teeth. “The entire damn business world knows we are dating. One single mistake would cause the downfall for both of us. In that case, I don’t think having my twin sister- that nobody ever knew about- close is a wise idea. People have eyes Jimin. And so do they talk. Maybe you don’t care about losing all your hard work for good-for-nothing friends, but I do. I will not just watch Hoseok, and that woman ruin my life. If I was you, I would make sure she is out of my sight before, she’s not going to be able to work because of that pain.”

With that Liya turns around in her heels. Storms away. Leaving a raging Jimin behind. Jimin doesn’t even realize he’s grinding his teeth together to dust. Doesn’t even realize that his jaw aches. That his fists are curled so tight that he might be hurting himself.

Was that a threat?

Did she fucking threaten him?

It is completely unintentional how he slams his bunched-up fist into the kitchen counter. Doesn’t feel the pain for fractured second. Then there it comes. Almost unbearable. Makes him screw his eyes shut and groans. Still, though, it feels good. There’s rage inside him that can cause him to murder someone. Well, it’s not like he can hit a woman. This way’s better. Jimin grips the counter with his both hands. Tightly. Trying to calm down. Trying to think rationally and see clearer through the red that has covered his sight.

It's fine.  It’s just fine.

It’s not like Liya can actually do anything about this situation. She’s talking since she’s mad. Jimin knows that it’s not jealousy. No. Liya is simply worried about that damn reputation. It’s not like there’s anything really happening for people to talk. He hasn’t even got a chance to be with you properly to be honest. Not after that day after you walked to him. It was the first and last till now. Hoseok is a little shit who has made sure you barely get any alone time these days. Jimin wasn’t very shocked when you told him that Hoseok knows. He kind of knew something was up with his friend. Neither of you knew what’s his friend’s intentions were clearly. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Hoseok never brought the topic up with Jimin. And so Jimin did what he’s best at. You both did. Pretending. Pretending like there’s nothing wrong. Pretending like Hoseok doesn’t know of your secret. It was easier that way. And life was going so damn well.

Even though he didn’t really get a chance to be with you, in any sexual way, life had been so damn good for him. He loves all the small but precious moments with you. Knows it’s not normal to crave your presence when it isn’t sexual at all. Yet he can’t help it. All the times you would bring his coffee. Tells him how Hoseok is a little piece of shit to make you sit for three hours with Jin. Tells him about your day. He finds it invaluable. All the time you would walk past each other down a hallway. Every time you would catch his eyes when you do. The small smile tugs on your lips when you see him. Jimin finds them coveted. Every sneaky and risky kiss you shared. Your smell and soft voice. He finds them treasured. See, life is good. So good for him after a long time. For years it has been just pressure of earning money and balancing a relationship. Now he feels carefree. And he does not wish to trade that feeling.

No. He wants to delve into this feeling. Wants to feel this flutter in his stomach as long as he can. You’re too precious to let go. Not again. It was pure torture. He’s really at peace with the fact that he’s an asshole. That he’s a selfish prick. That he’s cheating. It’s fine. It’s really fine as long as he has you. He isn’t going to let anyone, not even Liya, steal that from him. True, that he might be a coward for not being able to put an end to this strained relationship, but he’s not going to sit and watch you go. He would like to see Liya try.

Oh, hell yeah, he would.

…………………………………………..

Jungkook straightens up from the wall he’s been leaning on. Rolls his stiff neck after staring in the same direction for exactly twenty minutes. Yes, he has been counting. He feels uneasy. You’re late today; you usually arrive hours earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you coming home alone. But you insisted. You can be really stubborn when you want to. Nothing he ever said to persuade you or to convince you that it’s not trouble for him to pick you up, has worked. You had apparently decided you want to be that bad independent bitch the moment you received your paycheck.

This is the third day you are coming home alone. And so, this is the third day Jungkook is leaning against the wall next to his apartment door. Hoping to hear the creak of the third step of the staircase soon. It’s not that he really wanted to be this worried and act like a stressed dad. It’s simply that he can’t help it. He can’t help but be worried. Jungkook naturally is a person that thinks too much about other people that it often tends to backfire. People would always use his kindness. He still does it, however. Care. The thing is though, it’s not just that caring he feels toward you. At first, it was just that. Then after you started to share his apartment, it has turned into something more.

Oh, how he is so accustomed to your presence. How he likes it. To have you lounging on his couch in the evening, scrolling through your phone and snorting. Showing him the memes that’s not hilarious at all, yet he laughs anyway. To use the shower after you, only to scream at how hot the water is. You don’t listen when he complains. You say it’s the perfect temperature. To have you saunter around his kitchen. Teaching him how to properly crack an egg. You would always end up with a piece of shell on your omelet. To have movie nights just to talk through it and to have no idea what the movie was about. To have your scent. Your clothes. Your belongings scattered around. How he doesn’t want to lose it.

He won’t say he likes you. And he won’t say he doesn’t like you either. You certainly caught his eye the first day he saw you. But then he thought you were off limit. Thought you were Park Jimin’s woman. Then here you are. After everything, you are with him. Jeon Jungkook. And he’s slowly starting to become attached. That much is certain. Jungkook can’t even imagine how it would be to have you moved away from his place. He would miss your dearly. Maybe if he budge you enough, you’ll change your mind. You’ll decide you can share his space, as long as you want.

The long-awaited creaking sound is what causes Jungkook to snap out of his reverie. Perking up right at the moment to find you turning the corner of the staircase. Panting slightly. Your eyes instantly land on him. A bright smile breaking across your face upon seeing him. Well, Jungkook can’t control the way his own lips stretched wide. Can’t control how he spreads his arms. Can’t definitely control the way his heart skips a beat when you throw yourself into his arms. Maybe he’s so wrong. He should say he likes you.

“You’re late Noona.”

“A woman had me dog sitting.” You whine adorably. Oh, so fucking adorably. Jungkook snorts all the while squeezing you in his arms.

“Yeah, how’s that happen?”

“Just happened. You know how my life is. I couldn’t say no.”

Of course he knows. “You need to learn how to say no. You can start practicing by saying No to your annoying boss.”

It’s your time to snort. You’ll always insist that Hoseok isn’t annoying your ass all the time. But that’s what the bugger is doing. He overworks you. Yet, you’re more than happy to work for him. See now, Jungkook was wondering what the reason might be. You were so stressed when you first started working for Hoseok. Jungkook really had thought you would quit. You didn’t. You stuck to it. He thought you were sticking to the money at first. But after these few weeks. As you’re visibly elated, Jungkook thinks that’s not the case at all. No. There’s something else. And he’s afraid to know what it is. Because he is getting attached.

He is attached.

He ignores whatever you’re saying to his advice. Simply starts to walk backward with you still in his arms. Swaying you left and right. Ignores your whines as well. Maybe… Just maybe all he has to do is hurry up. Hurry up before someone who doesn’t deserve you start to play you. And Jungkook has a strong feeling that someone would be the CEO of your company. You’ve shared a history together after all. A history where Jungkook didn’t exist. He feels a twinge of jealousy, but above everything he feels worried. If the reason behind your adorable smile these days, is the person Jungkook thinks who he is. Then he should hurry up. Because Park Jimin will ruin you. Oh, he will. For a fact, Jungkook knows that guy wasn’t jealous of Jungkook over Liya. Park Jimin was jealous of him over you.

The end of Jimin’s game would leave you hurt and alone. And Jungkook is too attached to you to let that happen.

Maybe he should hurry up.

……………………..

You reluctantly let Jimin pull away from your lips. He’s panting hard. Gaze dark and fixed on your lips. You’re once again seated at his office desk. Enjoying a rare moment of solitude. Hoseok being in a meeting and Emi is out for some tasks which Jimin has deliberately assigned to her. You have no idea where Jin or Taehyung is. You don’t care either. All that matters is Park Jimin. The way he hungrily sucks on your lips again. His hands roaming over your sides. The way he pulls away a bit to trail his lips over your jaw and neck.

“Jimin…” You purr gently. He just hums in answer without detaching his lips from your neck. “We really can’t.” You pull him even closer despite your words. You’re having a moment after a long time, yes. Yet, that doesn’t make it less risky. It’s still early morning. You can’t have all your makeup ruined. People will definitely know you’ve gotten fucked. Can’t disheveled Jimin’s hair. This moment is precious, yes. Yet, you can’t afford to fuck in this moment.

“Why not?” Jimin whines in your ear.

“Emi would be here any minute.”

“So what? She’s not gonna come inside.”

“We’re definitely not fucking while your secretary is waiting outside.”

You gently show him away. He doesn’t even budge. Just presses himself more into you. Grabs from your thighs to pull you closer. “C’mon Lil, I’m fucking… ugh…” His words die down as he’s back to suck on the delicate skin of your neck. Rational thoughts are slipping through your brain. Heart erratically beating and you’re already starting to sweat. It’s too hot in Jimin’s air-conditioned office room. But you want to press yourself more into him. You know what he tried to say. You’re feeling the same. Desperate. Touch starved. Jimin’s touch. You can’t though. Not now.

“You should take me somewhere else, seriously.” You angle your head so he can suck on your neck some more. Wraps your legs around his waist to lock him in place. Jimin squeezes the flesh in your hips in response. Mutters against your skin.

“It’s not my fault your boss is an asshole and makes you work, day and night straight.” Jimin grinds his hips on to you. Creating a heavenly friction between your thighs. Gets you gasping.  You try to suppress the sounds.

“Ha, like his friend! Oh, fuck Jimin…” You buck your hips into his. Can feel the evident bulge rubbing against your clothed core. “But seriously, not now. What if Jin or Tae barged in. Those morons don’t know anything about knocking.” You try again.

“You feel good though.” Jimin grinds even harder. “I can make you cum in just three minutes hm?” Stops the ministrations on your skin just to peck your lips. Keeps his face there while he stare into your eyes. With his dark and hooded ones. Oh, how tempting. How good it’ll be to have him pound into you on this same desk as the last time. Then how much chaos would it cause if anyone is to walk in.

“No. Not now” You manage to push him away this time. Stll, so gentle. Jimin takes a step away from you. Making you instantly miss his warmth. It’s a struggle not to hold him with your legs. He pouts. Cute. Takes another step away. You’re pouting too.

“You’re mean.” Plops back into his chair. You’re both still panting and breathless. You give him a soft smile, ready to get down from the table when Jimin stops you. Just drags his chair closer to you. “Don’t leave yet.” Presses a gentle kiss to your knee. Another moan sips past your trembling lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice turns stern now. He doesn’t care. Gifts you with another kiss. Then another. And just as you’re thinking he’s about to guide his mouth upward he draws back.

“I’m not trying anything funny baby. Just can’t help myself.” Looks at you with his eyes glinting. Startles you a bit when he suddenly grabs from your ankle. You gasp. Trail of protests spill from your mouth when he lifts your foot to rest on his thigh. Not caring about the fact that you’re still wearing your heels.

“J-Jimin, you gonna get dirt on your clothes.” You try to free your foot when he gently starts to massage your ankle. His thumb circling gently.

“Don’t care. Have I told you that you have pretty legs.” He slides his hand toward your calf. Keep massaging. His touch is gentle. Yet it feels like burning your skin. Presses another kiss. This time inclined a bit inward your knee. You look down at him while your head is spinning. Arousals shooting downward through your body. Pooling inside your underwear. Yet you can’t find it in yourself to stop him again. You’re on the verge of giving up. How much of an effect he has on you. How your heart is fluttering and swelling at the sight of him. Isn’t he worshiping you? Why would he do that? Why does he look like he’s so smitten? Why do you like this feeling?

“Oh, you have a foot kink?” You mumble softly. Wanting to distract yourself from the tingling sensation on your heart. Jimin snorts. It’s not that you tried to get him to stop but that’s what happens. He stops his actions altogether. Holds his hand out for you. You accept it. Cluelessly allowing him to drag you forward. Not down to the floor, however. But to his lap. Straddling. Stare into his brown orbs which are now glinting with amusement when he pecks your lips.

“What if I do.” Jimin teases. Eyes sparkling. Is muttering against your lips causing to intensify that tingling sensation. Your heart is about to leap away. Explode. You balance yourself by circling your arms over his neck. Are refusing to feel this way alone. Want Jimin to join you. So, you brush your lips against his.

“Then I’d want to give you a foot job.” Whisper. Jimin’s hands around you tightens immediately. That glint in his eyes replaced by a dark haze as you watch. He shivers visibly.

“Fuck Lil.” Groans as squashing you against his chest. “Are you sure you can’t keep my cock warm for five fucking minutes.” Mumbles. You give him a look. Make him whine. “Okay, then three minutes.” You don’t change the look in your face. “Two.” You raise your brow. “One. Fuck baby. I need something.” He kisses you hard.

“Gosh you really do have a foot kink, don’t you?” You kiss him back the moment he pulls away. Jimin lets out an adorable noise.

“I think I have lot of kinks when it comes to you.” Says as you hide your face in his neck. Makes you giggle.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… you’re so good.” Rubs your back. “Feels so good. Let’s just stay like this.” Holds you tight. Gets you shrieking when he spins his chair. Making you both do a playful swirl.

“Jimin.” You draw back just to hit his arm. How you’ve become comfortable around each other. Comfortable enough that you can mess around like this. His eyes are back to sparkling. Oh, how you love them. Those eyes and the glint. Makes you feel alive. Makes you forget how sordid your relationship is. When you’re with him, it’s just you two in the world. In these kinds of moments, he isn’t a man who has a girlfriend. He is just Park Jimin. And as weird as it sounds, he is your Park Jimin.

“Don’t nag.” Jimin interrupts you even before you start speaking. You close your mouth. Click your tongue.

“I wasn’t going to nag.” Yes, you were. Jimin laughs. Showers you with tiny kisses yet again. Opens his mouth to say something only to close back instantly and jump slightly when the intercom rings. You withdraw from him at light speed. Hell, you haven’t heard Emi returning. Not that it’s possible to hear much through the thick walls and heavy door. Yet, you always manage to know she is there beforehand. It seems you were extra busy today. Too engrossed in each other. You are about to get off from his lap when Jimin responds to his secretary.

“Yes.” He asks in that stern tone.

“Ms. Kim─” That’s all she gets to say before you hear a second voice echoes through the receiver.

“Oh, you don’t have to inform him, if he isn’t with someone.”

And that’s the only warning you get. That’s the only second you get to react before the door handle is twisting. It’s almost comical how fast you act. Nearly break your neck at the speed you get off from Jimin. Stumble a little. Catching yourself right at the time and grabbing the cup of coffee on the table when the door pushes open. Jimin drags the chair close to the table as you catch sight of the person entering the room. Freezing in the doorway.

You can feel your heart pound in your throat. You force yourself to look away from the woman who just entered the office. To act normal. To show her a polite smile and bow. In the way an employee would do to her employer’s girlfriend. Yet all you can do is push the coffee cup toward Jimin with a shaky hand. Jimin mumbles you a strained ‘thank you’. Compared to you Jimin looks fairly fine. Composed. Not at all like a man who nearly got caught by his girlfriend. Still, he looks uncomfortable. And a little flushed. All you can hope is that Liya wouldn’t pick up the obvious tension. Your efforts to turn around and leave, however, instantly becomes null when Liya speaks and closes the door behind. Rudely in the face of poor Emi. 

“What are you doing here?” Liya doesn’t beat around the bush it seems. You feel your blood drains out of your body. A cold sweat starts to break down your spine. Mouth suddenly dry that you don’t think you’ll be able to talk even if you have an answer.

“She’s bringing me my coffee, Liya, you can’t see that?” Jimin’s calm voice saves you from your misery. You turn your head slightly to find him looking directly at Liya. How is he doing that? You feel like fainting. Doesn’t he feel fucked up like you? Is this normal for him? Then your gaze shifts from his face to his hands. The way he is clenching them. Then his legs. Is bouncing his left leg like crazy. Oh, he’s feeling all the messy sensations like you do. It’s just that he’s better at hiding. Liya scoffs. Takes your attention back to her.

“Why would she do that now? Thought she is Hoseok’s assistant.” Raises her brow.

“She is.” Jimin answers as if there’s nothing wrong at all.

“Then why on earth is she bringing you, coffee? You have Emi for that.” You can’t help but recoil a bit when she walks forward. How intimidating she is. Her gaze flickers from Jimin to you. “I thought we had a deal sister. Thought you are working on finding a way to stop this. Not following my boyfriend like a needy little thing. You can’t live without him?”

“Liya!” Jimin’s voice booms across the room. Even you wince slightly.

“What?” She snaps. Head whipping toward Jimin. Oh, this is awkward. Uncomfortable. You need to leave. Jimin doesn’t answer her. Instead turns to you.

“You can leave.” Says gently yet professionally. You’re glad. See now, you know you’re not in a position to feel angry. You’re very wrong here. Yet, it’s not a pleasant feeling to have someone talk down on you. Belittle you and clearly insinuate that you’re a slut. Maybe you are. But you don’t like to be reminded. You want to escape. Hence, your eager nod and bow. Take another step forward to leave when Liya stops you again.

“No wait.” She steps in front of you. “Listen, I don’t care if you’re sucking Hoseok’s cock for this job─”

“That’s enough Liya!”  You can hear Jimin’s chair scrape the floor as he gets to his feet. Liya doesn’t listen to him, however.

“─ just stay out from our life, will you? Do you have any idea how this might look in people’s eyes. Do you know what Emi might think to see you spend your time─”

“For fucks sake Liya, that’s fucking enough.” Jimin walks past you so fast that you don’t even realize he has walked to Liya until he’s harshly yanking from her forearm. Turns to you. “Leave.” That’s a demand. His voice is stern. Not that you need to tell twice. You take your opportunity. Storm away gratefully. Not bothering to listen to what Jimin says to Liya next. Not even waiting to acknowledge the look Emi gives you.

………………………………………….

It takes you a fair amount of time to compose yourself after the incident. Hell, you were so damn scared. It was a close call. For a fact you know Liya has no clue that Jimin and you are really going on at it. She was a bitch to you ever since the day you met. She simply wants you out of her hair. Maybe she’s suspicious. Maybe she’s afraid of the possibilities. But that’s all. She’s just being rude without knowing the truth. And what would have happened if you’d been a split second too late to get off Jimin’s lap? Even the thought alone makes you tremble.

You don’t know what Liya will do. You have no idea how she’ll manage to take your identity away from you. And that’s not your main concern anyway. Your main concern is what problems it’ll cause to Jimin. Your concern is about the next steps Jimin will take. He clearly told you he can’t just break up with Liya. That means only one thing, you’ll be the one he would give up. And that makes your knees buckle. Makes it hard to breathe. Fuck, how you’ve gotten yourself deeply tangled in the web Jimin has woven. You know you can’t let him go. No, you can’t let this go. You need him. Even the thought of it makes you feel void. Makes your heart ache. So, you’re relieved that you managed to avoid it. Avoid getting caught. That you can keep going. Yes, you feel guilty. Of course you do. You simply know that you’re the villain in this story. The bad bitch who came to ruin a perfect relationship. Well, you’re fine being that bitch.

All you need is Jimin.

You gulp down the guilt you feel. Anxiously placing down the bundle of files Jin made you take to Hoseok. Nearly drops them when you feel your phone vibrates in your pant pocket.

“What the fuck is this?” Hoseok questions as he grabs a one to inspect. You ignore his question since you’re hastily pulling your phone out. Unlocking it in record time. Inhaling a sharp breath and holding it when you see it’s indeed Jimin who has texted you.

Meet me in the screening room. Is what the text reads. Relief flooded you. This means everything is apparently, fine. You’re safe.

“Do you have a screening room here?”

“What on the fucking hell does Jin want me to do with these?”

You and Hoseok ask each other at the same time. It’s his question that gets ignored, however.

“Yes, why?” He answers your question. Brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Can you show me it?” You yet again ignores his question in favor of getting what you need.

“I can but you have to tell me why?”

“I got an- uh- invitation to visit there…” You hide your annoyance. There’s no time to start silly fights with your boss. Hoseok’s curious face immediately morphs into a playful one. A smirk appears on his pink lips.

“You did?” Chuckles. “That’s nice but I think I saw Liya here few minutes ago.” Leans forward in his desk. Looks damn cocky. You don’t wish to answer that, so he keep going on. “You might need to watch your back Li.” Bites on his bottom lip. You roll your eyes. It’s a one thing to commit a sin. But it’s completely different thing to talk about it as it’s nothing. That’s worse.

“You’re such an asshole, Hoseok.” You say grimacing.

“So, who’s worse? You or me?” He asks nonchalantly. You have no answer for that. Hoseok waits patiently for a minute before realizing you’re not going to answer it. “C’mon let’s go, I need to find Jin as well.” Gets to his feet. You say nothing as you slowly start to follow him. He only takes one step, however, before he stops again and face you. “But seriously Li, watch your back. I don’t want Jimin to die. I want him to live long enough to realize all he has to do is put an end to it.”

“End to what?”

“To anything that makes him unhappy.”

……………………………………

“Why would you need a fucking movie theater in your company?” You ask while staring into the large LED display. Standing next to a comfortable- looking leather chair and under the dim yellowish lighting of the screening room of RUN.

“For a lot of things, actually.” Jimin answers as he wraps his arms around you. From behind. Pulling your back into his chest. You snuggle against him immediately. Let your head fall into his chest. Grinning widely when he starts to sway you from side to side.

“Like what? Couples having movie nights on Valentine Day?” You snorts.

“Valen- what?” Jimin huskily questions in your ear as you gasp loudly. Pulling away from his embrace hurriedly. Turning around to look at him with disbelief.

“Are you saying that there’s no valentine day here?” Another gasp. Jimin looks endearingly confused.

“Are we supposed to have one?” He looks around the screening room. As if you’re talking about something he should have in here. You chuckle.

“Valentine means the day of lovers. We celebrate it on fourteenth Feb.” You explain softly. It’s Jimin’s time to gasp now.

“Why would you need a day for that?” Scrunches up his nose. “You have such a day in your world?” Tilts his head toward you. You hum in response before pecking his lips.

“You’re missing out. But that doesn't matter. Tell me why we’re here.”

Jimin’s incredulous expression turns into a cunning smile. “You told me I should take you somewhere.” Places his hands on your waist. Rests his forehead against yours.

“Yeah, somewhere private so we can─”

“This place is private. No one’s ever gonna come─”

“Park Jimin.” You almost push him away when he pulls you flat against him. Apparently, don’t give a fuck about the risks. Not even after what happened earlier. “We can’t you stupid. Did Liya even leave? We almost got caught─”

Jimin shuts you up with a lewd kiss. “She did.” Answers when he finally pulls away. You sigh heavily.

“So, everything went well?”

“It did. Nothing you should worry about Spring Roll. Trust me hm?”

That’s what you do always. Trust him. You won’t lie, you’re sometime curious to know what’s happening in his life. Then you think it’s not your place. You shouldn’t get more closer to him than you’re now. So, you just nod. It looks like you would have to give up. And that’s exactly what you’re about to do when the sudden sound of door opening reaches you. Followed by voices. Jimin’s reaction is entirely unconscious. Like a reflex. One moment you were standing near the isle seats. Then in the next you are pressed into his chest, fully concealed by a curtain. Both froze in the action.  

“I’m pretty sure he went to the café.”  You undoubtedly recognize Hoseok’s voice. Have listened to it too many times to be uncertain. You tilt your head upward to take good look at Jimin’s face. He has his arms firmly draped around you. Isn’t looking at you. His eyes are closed. You can feel his heartbeat.

Fuck! That was another close call.

No. It wasn’t a close call. It’s not over yet. Hoseok is with someone for sure.

“No man, I’m telling you he headed this way.” That voice is Taehyung’s. It’s fine if it’s those two. You can come up with a good excuse. Not that you need excuses when it comes to Hoseok anyway. But then there comes a third voice.

“Oh my god! This is ridiculous. What am I gonna say to my father? That my boyfriend, the CEO of this company has vanished into thin air all of a sudden?”

And your blood freezes for second time. Jimin’s eyes shoot open at the voice too. Hasn’t he told you she left. Jimin shakes his head gently, as if he read your mind. You give him a look of disbelief. How absurd that you’re hiding behind a curtain like this. Your attention is drawn back to the conversation when you hear Hoseok scoffs.

“Listen Ms. Kim, I don’t think Jimin is obliged to meet your dad. He’s the fucking CEO of this company and he can go anywhere he wants.”

You have no idea how Liya might look like now. You hear her scoff as well though.

“Oh yeah, he is, Mr. Jung. In case if you guys have forgotten, let me─”

“Okay guys, Jimin isn’t here so why don’t we go and look for him elsewhere?” Taehyung is the one who interrupts Liya’s words.

“No... No, let her finish Tae. Surely, we’ve forgotten.” Malice in Hoseok’s voice is quite evident. You’ve always wondered what his problem with Liya is.  Why so hostile toward her. Yet this is not the time to find out. Not when you feel like melting into a puddle at your feet. Heart beating mad. The dread of getting caught makes your eyes water and your head throb. This is not the right time to find out what causes other people’s problems. You know Jimin feels the same if the way he’s squeezing you is anything to go by.

You need to get out of here. Or Hoseok needs to take Liya out from here. The way he has started to argue with Taehyung and the way he is provoking Liya, however, makes you realize the latter won’t be happening soon. Hoseok is an idiot in addition to being a little shit. Maybe he thinks you’ve left already. Whatever the reason might be, them staying longer here bring you and Jimin to get caught in your lie sooner. Red handed. No. That can’t be happening. You don’t want to lose Jimin just as you found him. No. You need to escape.

You frantically start to look around. In a desperate search for a way you can get out of this absurd situation. Your mind running mile a minute. Taking in everything around you when your eyes land on the door couple of steps ahead of you and to your left. Fire Exit. You feel a rush of relief and new wave of apprehension shoots through your body. If you can get to the fire exit, you’re free of this situation. But the problem is that there’s no way you can reach there without uncovering yourself from this curtain. You take a moment. Trying to calm your racing heart down so you can hear the conversation happening inside the room.

“Oh, c’mon Hobba, stop it will you?” Taehyung is still whining.

“You’re an ungrateful shit Jung. You’ve no idea what my father did to make this place a reality.” Liya is still arguing. You can feel Jimin tensing. You don’t know what they are talking about but clearly Liya is insulting Hoseok. You don’t wait to listen to what Hoseok says in reply to that. Whatever he is saying, that conversation or fight isn’t going to end soon. So, you simply bring Jimin’s attention to you by tugging from his coat. Wait till he looks at you before gesturing to the door with your head. Jimin looks to the direction where you’re showing. Picking up what you’re insinuating quickly. Eyes going wide before he’s shaking his head. You don’t pay any mind to that. Take the risk of poking your head out. Jimin is too late when he hiss quietly. You are already looking at the three people near the door.

They’re at the far end of the room, with Liya’s back to you. Taehyung is to her side while Hoseok will be the only one to notice you if you reveal yourself. And you trust him to keep it shut in case he sees you. That’s what you think. Or guess. Or pray. Maybe this is a stupid idea. Maybe you should’ve stayed until they finish fighting. Hoping they will leave after that and hoping you or Jimin won’t end up sneezing. Maybe that’s the best option but you’re already stepping out. Jimin trying weakly to keep you in place but failing miserably. Having nothing else to do but follow you. It’s just probably maximum three steps. And it doesn't even take a split second to cross it.

One.

Two.

Three.

And right as you push open the door. Silently as you can and your eyes never leaving the three figures at the other end, Hoseok’s eyes land directly on you. You can’t figure how his expression changes, but you know there’s no issue. That he’ll manage to hide his surprise. The problem is the way Taehyung’s head turns toward you. Just a millisecond after Hoseok. You may not be able to see his reaction in the dim lighting, but you do clearly hear the gasp that leaves his mouth.

“Taehyung!” Hoseok screams Taehyung’s name right when you disappear through the fire exit. Dragging Jimin along with you.

……………………………….

There was no reason for you to run after closing the fire exit door behind you. Yet that’s what you did. Ran. Ran like you were caught in a zombie attack. Ran like you were escaping an approaching hurricane. Ran like your life depends on it. You kept running, relentless and breathless. Down through hundreds of steps. And Jimin just followed you. Never letting go of your hand or pulling you into a stop. Not even when you exited the RUN building.

And not even now when you keep running without a care.

You don’t even know why you’re still at it. You feel like someone’s on your tail though. There’s an urge to run away far as possible. Far and far away. That’s the only thing that rings in your head when you see the bus that stops at the bus stop before you.

“Lil, wait…. Baby─” That’s the only thing Jimin is able to say when you board the bus. He doesn’t stop you though. Just swiftly follows you inside before the door shuts. It’s only when you reach the rear seats that you stop. It’s only when you plop down on an empty seat that you take a good look at Jimin. His face flushed and panting. No difference for you. You both are heaving for your life. Jimin plops next to you. Clutches his tummy. Looks at you weakly. And that’s only when you realize that you have ran into a fucking bus.

“Fuck!” You exclaim loudly as you take a look around. The bus is already on the move. There’s no reason for you to do this. You fucking overreacted. Why did you even board a bus? You turn back to Jimin. His eyes are already on you. You hope to find him still heaving for breath. To find him giving you a look of disbelief at what you did. What you find, however, is his lips slowly stretching into a grin, which breaks out into a loud laughter in a blink of an eye. It takes you in great surprise. You watch him with wide eyes as he doubles over with laughter. Eyes tiny slits.

“Holy fuck! Did you- did you just… God I can’t.” He struggles to say it aloud. You feel like you need to be mad that he’s making fun of you. Yet all you do is slowly start to grin.

“Oh, shut up!” You mutter in feigned irritation.

“Why the hell did you run like that?” Jimin finally manages to ask the question he wants. “Why did I fucking run like that?” Asks from himself. You find yourself starting to chuckle now.

“I don’t know all right? I kinda felt like I’m running away from my PT teacher. He was damn good runner.” You try to keep fake your irritation but are failing miserably. Jimin’s laughter freshens at that. Is back to hollering. Almost slides down on the seat when you finally give up and join him. Throwing your head back. Laughing aloud till the tears gather at the corner of your eyes. You and Jimin both ignore the annoyed looks other passengers throw your way. You just laugh. Laugh like you’ve never laughed. Like you’ll never get to laugh again.

By the time you stop cackling, you’re once again heaving for breath. You follow Jimin’s actions and get rid of your thin cardigan. It’s still the beginning of spring but all the running and laughing has got you both sweating like pigs. You slide open the small sliding panel on the window before scooting to the corner. Jimin graciously follows you. Finally calming down. You take a deep breath before speaking again.

“Are we gonna get off from the next stop?”

Jimin lazily turns his head toward you. “Do you want to?” There’s that glint in his eyes. Face still flushed. You gape at him for a moment.

“What do you mean? Don’t you have work to do? Aren’t you supposed to meet uh- Liya’s father?”

Jimin clicks his tongue. Turns fully toward you. “All the more reasons to run away baby. I hate that man.” Chuckles. “So? Want to keep going?”

“Where are we headed anyways?” You answer him with another question.

“Who cares?” Jimin just shrugs. Doesn’t even try to find out. “Lil?” Mumbles softly. And you find yourself grinning yet again.

“This is really stupid but yeah whatever.” You shrug too. Let yourself relax and lean against the backrest comfortably. Jimin does the same. A contented smile on his lips. You allow a moment of peaceful silence before voicing out your thoughts. “Taehyung knows now. So, it’s two of your friends. Hoseok and Tae. Do you think he will─”

“No, he won’t. He’s doing far worst shits that I am Lil.” Jimin doesn’t look at you as he answers.

“But he’s not going to stay like Hoseok now, will he? He will confront you.” You add.

“And I’ll talk to him.” This time he looks at you. “Don’t worry, he’s my best friend.”

“Yeah? And we all are bunch of bad people. The worst.” You lower your gaze to your lap. Feeling ashamed.

“Lil.” Jimin calls you softly as he takes your hand in his. You shift your gaze to him from your lap. “Don’t.” He brings your hand to his lips. “Don’t do that hm? Let’s just… do what we’re best at.”

“What? Pretending that this is normal?” You chuckle softly.

“Yes.” Jimin smiles at you. “It’s not that we get lots of moments like this. So, just let’s enjoy. Enjoy us.” Keeps your hand pressed against his mouth. You take a moment. Heave a sigh. Then nod.

“Let’s enjoy us.” Repeat. Jimin’s smile widens at that. Nods happily. Relax again. Start to change the subject of your conversation ever so swiftly. And so does it flow smoothly. You talk about everything that comes to your mind. Jimin is particularly interested in Valentines Day. Is so curious like a cat. You find it adorable. You fill him with everything you can. Have no idea how long you’ve travelled. But you’re starting to feel a little groggy. Having yawned till your sight become blurry already. Yet it’s Jimin who dozed off first. Head drooping low suddenly. Makes your drowsiness disappear entirely as you turn to look at him in alert. Just to find him struggling to keep his eyes open and head straight.

Adorable. Oh, so fucking adorable. You can feel that tingling effect again. Your heart swooning and swelling inside your chest. Swelling because it’s slowly getting filled with an emotion you quite can’t decipher. You don’t know how to explain this. All you know is that you’re not supposed to feel this way. You already knew you’re the secret. The other woman. You’re supposed to be the one who Jimin comes to have his desires satiated. Which means this should be entirely about physical needs. This need to be about fucking each other’s mind every minute you got. Jimin should not be asking you to enjoy him and you. Shouldn’t hold your hand still. You should not be in this position feeling oh so fucked up to see him nodding off.

But you can’t help yourself. You’re already here anyway. So, you gently tug from his hand which he’s still tangled with yours. “Jimin.” Calls him softly. Despite how gently and slow you do it, Jimin jerks awake. Hums in question. You feel bad. “Uh.. you can, you know?” You mutter as you tap your shoulder with your free hand. Feel a bit shy. Jimin chuckles softly.

“Yeah?” Purrs. It’s your time to hum in answer. “Kay.” He purrs again. Shifts slightly, scooting just enough to account for his height. And is placing his head snuggle against your shoulder. His blond hair tickles your cheek and ear. Oh, how relaxed you feel. How cozy and serene to have Jimin with you this way. You shouldn’t but you do. You shouldn’t but you sigh heavily before placing your cheek on top of his head. Wait patiently till your own eyes start to close slowly again. Not caring when you’re going to get off this bus. What will be your destination.

It certainly is good to be reckless and spontaneous sometimes. Even though you’re slowly creating more and more reasons to love this life. See now, you won’t say that you’ve never had a good life in your world. You did. But even as a college student, this is the most reckless you’ve ever been. You have a friend who cares dearly about you. And a family. But it surely is fun to bake kook’s bliss in the late nights. It’s fun to be mad at Hoseok. Fun to be scandalized at Taehyungs nasty comments. Even Jin’s nagging can be a cause to laugh sometimes. You never thought you’d be this happy to work an extra hour at a restaurant after a long day. But you do. In the same way you like to listen J and Jungkook argue over their assignments. Above everything, it’s so good to be next to Park Jimin. Even just for sleeping on a bus.

You like so many things here. You’re living a life. And so, you will live it to the fullest. Like now. You let out another breath in content before snuggling your cheek in Jimin’s hair. Letting the world turn into peaceful darkness.

……………………………

Neither of you woke up until the bus had reached its final destination and the driver poked Jimin’s head. Asking not so politely to leave. You had disembarked while bowing to the driver in apology like two zombies. Groggy and disoriented. And it took both of you couple minutes to comprehend what was happening. When you did, however, one long look around you gave you or rather Jimin the perfect idea where you were.

Namiseom Island.

You’re in Namiseom Island. Some things stays the same as your world. Apart from the fact that instead of Chuncheon, the bus has taken you directly to Namiseom Island. The soft scent of the cherry blossoms is what filled your senses the moment you exited the bus stop. You knew it was beautiful. No difference here. The soft shades of delicate pink and white left you breathless. The fresh air filled your lungs. It was almost dreamy. Like you’ve travelled to a yet another dimension. See even the reckless decisions sometimes can bring the most wondrous results.

You’re more than happy that you’ve ended up here. It feels otherworldly to walk under the gingko and cherry trees with a bewitching man next to you. Carpet of a soft pink crunching under your shoes and newly falling petals decorating your hair. Jimin looks even more enchanting like that. He is captivating. Entrancing. You simply forget to breathe when you see how the wind ruffles his hair. You find it hard to look away when he smiles gently. You find you really can’t fight the urge to kiss him when he turns his head toward you until he ruins the moment.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” Jimin gasps. Eyes glinting in amusement. “Wait, oh no… are you obsessed with me? Have I done it again?” Shakes his head in disbelief. Is cocky. Smug.

Yes, you are.

No need to let him know that, though. You scrunch up your face as you look away. “You’ll wish. But no, I’d never be obsessed with a man who is not Henry Cavill.”

“Henry who? And what?” Jimin scoffs. “Your eyes talk princess. You’re obsessed with me.”

“How delusional you are.” You scoff too. “But I would admit that I just wanted to kiss you. That doesn’t mean I’m obsessed, however. Just a kiss because─” Jimin interrupts you by yanking you to a stop by grabbing your arm. Turns you to him.

“Do it then.” Mumbles. You got him. You’re certain that your eyes are glinting in mischief. You simply shrug and shake your head.

“The moment passed.” Try to walk away when Jimin tightens his grip.

“No... No, what? C’mon, you wanted to kiss me.”

“Not anymore. Now I’m hungry. Is that an Ice cream cart?” You point to your right where you undoubtedly noted an Ice cream cart.

“What? I don’t know. Just kiss me baby.”

You almost give up at his husky voice that suddenly turns down an octave low. Making goosebumps appear on your skin. Still, you manage to keep it cool, though. Find yourself walking toward the Ice cream cart. With a great struggle since you have to drag a whining Jimin with you. Smiling to yourself at how adorable he’s being. It’s only when you’re in front of the said cart and you’re bowing to the old lady there that Jimin stops being a child. Suddenly mans up. Bows to the nice lady as well. She does the same while smiling at you from one ear to the other.

“Well, hello there, darlings! Isn’t it a lovely sight to see young people taking the time to be out in nature. Ah, yeah, it is.” She looks at you fondly. You bow to her again. “Now, what’s it you’re craving for today?” Gestures to the compartment where there is only five flavors available. You turn to Jimin in question.

“Hm? What do you like?” He asks you softly, inspecting the available flavors thoroughly. And here you’re feeling that same flutter. This is oddly intimate in non-sexual way. It’s sweet. So sweet. Like a normal couple. Like how a boyfriend would buy ice cream for his girl.

No. No, you shouldn’t think that way.

“Lil?” Jimin asks again. You snap out of your haze. Instantly start to drag your gaze through the flavors.

“Um… mint chocolate maybe. How about you?” You hum in thought. There’s not many options available anyway.

“Mmm..” Jimin tilts his head to the sight. Takes a second. “Cherry blossom. You sure you need mint choc?” Questions to which you nod in confirmation. “Okay then. One mint choc and one Cherry blossom please.” Jimin turns to the old lady again. Bows to her again. Mumbles a ‘thank you’.

“Right away.” The vendor woman says chirpily. Her smile never ceasing as she starts to grab two small cups. You and Jimin wait patiently as she scoops your ice cream into the cup first. She offers it to you with a small wooden spoon before going for Jimin’s order. Jimin takes them from her. Only to hand you them while he fishes for his wallet.

“How much do we owe you halmeoni?” He asks sweetly. Already starting to fish inside his wallet. You feel skeptical about the fact that he is having small bills in there. It’s not like you can pay with his damn golden card. But then, making you both surprised, the old lady waves her hand in the air.

“Ah, don’t you fret now. This one’s on me—a little treat for a young pair off on their grand escape.” She smiles in a way that it is sweet but also hides a hint of playfulness. Your eyes go wide instantly.

“Oh, no we- uh...” Jimin’s the one who speaks first. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you know what he’s about to say. You feel your heart clench. Even though you know there’s no reason for that. And so do you hate that. Hate how it stings.

“Not a couple.” So, you finish Jimin’s words. It’s not that you feel mad at him. He’s telling the truth. Yet, you feel a bit disappointed. You avoid looking at Jimin and keep your eyes on the old lady. Her face falls.

“Ah.” Clicks her tongue. “What a shame?” Shakes her head. “Yes, it is.” You feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. Know Jimin feels the same when he clears his throat.

“If you can tell me the total Halmeoni…” Jimin tries but his words trail off when she waves her hand again.

“It’s still on me darlings.” Shows you that kind smile once again. “Why, aren’t you two a couple, however? You look grand together. Lovely, you are.” Questions in genuine interest. Oh, you’re uncomfortable. What can you say to her. Because this man has a girlfriend.

“I- we... it’s kind of complicated.” You’re the who manage to answer this time. Lady just nods. Almost like in understanding. Then as you think it’s over and you can vanish from here, she opens her mouth again.

“Complicated matters can always be simplified, my dears.” She gives a knowing smile. “If you’ll humor an old lady, let me tell you—life’s far too short to waste just because you’re tangled up in complicated feelings. Don’t squander this precious time. Blink, and it’s gone.” She straightens up with a great effort. Her movements deliberate. “It’ll all slip away before you realize you’ve been missing it.” Clicks her tongue. “So don’t waste your time. Treasure every single moment you’ve got with each other.” Heaves a sigh. Wistful. Then follows a sweet smile. “Off you go now. Don’t let this turn into regret.” Waves her hand in motion for you to go away.

You would call it rude in a different context but now you quite feel dumbstruck. Her words somehow manage to cut you through to your heart. You feel them in a strange way. You guess it’s same for Jimin as he is stupidly nodding to the old lady. It’s like she has cast a spell on you. Both of you manage to slightly bow to her for one last time before slowly turning around your heels. Walking toward a bench under a cherry blossom tree. Sitting down and starting to taste your ice cream.  A deafening silence fills the air between you two until you break it. Not being able to bear it anymore. Feel somber all of a sudden.

“Why would she think we are on the run anyway?” Pout.

A soft chuckle escapes Jimin.

“Because we look like we ran a marathon.” He gestures between you two. And sure, you do look like that. Still with flushed faces. Your cardigan tied around your waist. Jimin’s coat in his hand. Tie loosened and top buttons on his shirt undone. You do look like you’ve ran a marathon. You take a minute to drink in your appearances. Then you snort loudly. Breaking into a laugh to which Jimin joins shortly. You nod in agreement to his words. Savoring another spoon of your ice cream. Jimin does the same. Rolls the creamy stuff in his tongue before turning to you again. “Want to treasure every moment with me?” Raises his brow. You just blink at his face. Here comes those tingles again. Here you start to feel like exploding with your emotions. You avert your eyes away. Forcing yourself to act normal. Make a joke out of it.

“Such a cheeky thing to say.” Manage through a mouthful of ice cream. Jimin laughs.

“C’mon milady, let’s not turn this into regret huh?” His hands find purchase in your sides. A squeal leaves you when he starts to tickle you.

“Park.”

“Say yes.” He puts down his ice cream on the bench so he can use his both arms to attack you. Making you curl up. Trying to find your words in between the loud laughter that escapes you. Kicking your legs in the air. Trying to escape him vain till tears blur your sight.

“O-okay, okay fuck yes.” You pant.

“Thank you, milady. The pleasure and privilege of your company is entirely mine.” Jimin’s hands leave you immediately. You roll your eyes back to your head when he plants a soft kiss to your temple. “Let’s go.”

………………………….

Not wasting your time and treasuring your moments together apparently meant cycling around the island. In your heels. And Jimin’s expensive suit pants. You’re pretty sure he ruined them. And then visiting local galleries. Listening to Jimin’s wildly inaccurate but creative interpretations of the artworks. It was an endless laugh, however. Then your mission- treasuring moments- trailed into another stroll through the scenic lanes.

And by the time your conversation has turned into Jimin flat out criticizing Romeo for being an idiot, you find it's impossible to stay on your feet anymore. Your legs are killing you. Heels aren’t meant to be worn for day trips. You cut off Jimin mid-sentence by immediately darting toward a bench when you spot one. Feeling relief washes over you just at the sight of it.

“Why the fuck would he kill─, wait where─” He doesn’t get to finish his question since you’re already sitting on the bench and looking at him with a relieved expression. A small scowl that appeared on his face out of worry replaced with a soft smile briskly. He starts to walk toward the bench as you cross one leg over the other to massage it.

“Fucking hell, my ankles are in fire.” You whine in complain. Raise your head a bit to find him standing before you. You pout at him. Waiting till he sits down next to you. But he doesn’t. Instead of sitting down on the bench, he crouches down before your feet. One knee on the floor. You softly gasp. Surprised. His name leaving your mouth.

“Is it bad?” Jimin ignores your surprise. Simply takes your leg in his hand. Gently remove your heel. Does the same to the other. Goes back to rub your ankle just like he did this morning. And just like how it was for you, you feel that mixture of emotions. Feel warm inside. Feel cherished. As if you’re the most important person in this world. To make it worse, a single touch of Jimin would always make your breath hitch. You close your eyes for a second. Savoring the sensation. Open them again.

“Mhm, it is bad. But you don’t have to do that Park.” You try to take your foot back. Of course, Jimin doesn’t let you.

“Why not? I like this.” Jimin looks at you through his fluttering lashes. Smirks. And that tiny smirk reminds you of the conversation that got interrupted this morning. And so does cause for a shiver to run down your spine.

“Jesus, you little freak.” You bite down on your bottom lip to contain the grin that’s spreading across your face. To hide the tremble in your voice.

“What?” Jimin feign innocence. Squeezes your ankle one last time before he puts your leg carefully down. Then takes the other one in his hand. “You promised me a foot job baby.” Teases. This time you fail to hide the tremble. The playful nature entirely disappearing. Your eyes lock into his. He’s not playing. Oh, he is not. There’s no sign of amused glint in those brown orbs. A glint of a dark haze is there if anything.

“Fuck are you serious about that?” You ask in your shaky voice.

“Maybe.” Jimin holds your foot tight. “Is it bad if I’m serious?” Questions.

“No, course not. I’m just asking.”

“So, is that a, yes? You gonna let me cum hard on your pretty feet?” Rasps while his hand starts to rub your heels instead of ankles. Your hands instinctively finds purchase in his shirt sleeve. Bunching up the fabric in your fists and holding tight. You feel that shivers turn into waves of arousals. Your cunt quavering and hole clenching. Gets your knees buckle just with his words. And how do you want to give in right there. Can’t though. You’re in public. True, you’ve done things in the open, but you don’t dare to try it again. Only you, however. You’re the only who don’t dare. Jimin does.  Slowly raises your foot a bit. Never gives you so much as a clue before he is pressing that foot into his crotch. Letting you feel that he’s already getting hard. His pants starting to tighten. You mewl softly.

“Jimin….”

“See, already hard baby. Just thinking about it. Fuck, want you to do that to me so bad.” Uses your foot to create the friction he needs for that little relief.

“Holy fuck Jimin. God.”

“Fuck Lil.” He presses your foot harder against him. Partially you’re tempted to say yes to do whatever he wants right out in the open. Yet even before you can finish thinking that thought Jimin gets to his feet abruptly. Only a surprised gasp leaves you before his hand is on your throat. Pressing as his lips attacked yours in a hungry kiss. It’s like damn switch flipped off. One moment he was kneeling in front of you. With begging eyes but now he’s choking you while kissing you like an unleashed animal. Out in the public. Oh, the duality of this man. Not that you’re complaining. No. Even the logical thoughts are starting leave you. You kiss him back severely. Allow his tongue to push past your lips roughly. Explore every nook and corner inside your mouth. You do the same. It’s a mess of saliva wetting your lips when he pulls back slightly just to sit back next you. And you’re at it again. Without a care in the world.

“Fuck princess…” Jimin whispers against your lips. In the moment where you pull away from him because you can’t go anymore without any oxygen. “Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing to me?” Pecks your lips. “Fuck, do you have any idea how fast you get me hard.” Another peck. “I’m always fucking horny around you.” Pecks. “Hell baby, I can’t get enough.” Kisses you hard.

You want to say that it’s same for you as well. Want to tell him that you’re always dripping around him. But he doesn’t let you. Occupy your mouth and swallow all your muffled noises. You want to show him though. So, you use your hands. It’s feral when you reach for his already hardened cock. Straight away start to rub and squeeze over his pants. It’s ethereal how Jimin moans into your kiss. His breath coming short and ragged when he withdraws. His plump lips parting and eyes closing shut. Drowning in the feeling of your hand on his cock. Only for a minute, however. Is back at kissing you in a second but this time his own hand cupping your heat. His palm pressing flat against your throbbing cunt. You spread your legs for him. The place you’re in slipped your mind a long ago.

You have no idea how long you’ve been at it. Giving each other teasing touches. But in the end, you’re both desperate like two animals in heat. Yet like always you’re the one to beg first.

“Ji-Jimin... oh shit, shit I… let’s get out of here?” You stammer as Jimin keeps rubbing your cunt over your clothes. You’re pretty sure you’ll start to leak through your work pants.

“Ye-yeah? You want that?” It’s annoying how Jimin still finds it in him to tease you when he looks like he’s about cum in his pants. Is hiding his face on your neck. Even with the unbearable pleasure between your thighs, you manage to keep pleasuring him as well. He is rock hard under those fabrics. And you want to end the torture.

“Fuck baby yes. Please. Let’s go… fuck me properly.” You plead groggily. “Play with me hm? Fuck I want you to play Jimin please.” You shut your eyes. Feeling like you’re about to cum at the thought of it. Keeping him warm inside you. Begging for him to give it you. It’s torture yes, but what a sweet torture it is. You want it so bad, yet you know that Jimin isn’t going to relent that fast. Not that easy. It would take much more begging. Hence, your surprise when his hand disappear from your heat instantly. You’re looking at him with confused eyes when he stands up. He bends down to cup your cheeks. Squeezes. His eyes are dark as midnight and burn with primal intensity. Looks crazy. There’s a tiny smirk playing at the corner or his mouth, nonetheless.

“Fuck you’ve learnt how to play Lil. You’re fucking cunning.” Gives your face a shake. “You want me to play? Are you sure?” You nod eagerly. Too eagerly perhaps. His smirk widens. “Yeah? Is that it?” Comes even closer to you. “You gonna regret that baby. Gonna play until you cry. C’mon move.” Takes his hand away.

You gulp harshly.

…………………………………

You’re a crying mess. Your cheeks are soaked in tears, your body glistening with sweat, and your thighs slick with arousal. Just a mess. But a hot and needy mess. Desperate. Crying entirely due to the pleasure and for your release. You have expected this completely. When Jimin warned you’d regret asking him to play, apparently, he had meant it from his bones. You’re regretting it greatly. And oh, so loving it at the same time. The moment you found yourself inside this hotel room, he had made it his life’s mission to make you suffer. It started from stop kissing you just after he got you stark naked in front of him. And a simple command.

‘On your knees, ass up baby.’

You complied. Like a good needy, horny slut would. Confused and without a clue what’s his intentions were. That’s when he had made you shuffle in your position until he got you facing the direction he wants. Funny how in your lust-addled haze, you hadn’t noticed the floor to ceiling mirror, perfectly placed in a spot where you can watch yourself get fucked from behind. You have your own suspicions that this is the real purpose of that mirror after all. No have you noticed the sparks in Jimin’s eyes when he had noticed it undoubtedly before you.

See now, this is a clear sign that universe is conspiring against you, with Jimin. How the mirror looks like a perfectly planned step of Jimin’s ‘making you regret it’ scheme. It had given Jimin’s creative mind a good opportunity to put those ideas into display. You are being the test subject. A grateful one. Grateful but losing your control. You can’t do it anymore. A girl can only handle certain amounts of edging after all. The thing is you don’t know how many times he had edged you until now.

Ever since his command, you’ve been in this position. Your hands are already giving up. So are your legs. Shaky. Jimin is pounding on to you from behind. He looks godly. Flushed and clenching his jaw so tight, it looks like he might break it. His rock-hard dick throbbing and twitching inside you. Yet, he keeps thrusting into you with same vigor. Dick head hitting your sweet spot repeatedly and bringing you close to your great relief. Only for him to rob it away.

“Ji-min… please... no more... I-I can’t...” You plead in for what time you don’t know. Sobbing. You watch how his eyes are glued to where you and he connect, through the mirror. Transfixed. Panting as his hips relentlessly snaps against your ass. He averts his gaze from your cunt to the mirror at your begging. Looking at your face instead. His gone-mad eyes locking with yours.

“You can’t?” Taunts. You whine pathetically. “What can’t you do?” Asks again. Picks up his speed that causes you to only moan in answer. And that earns a harsh spank on your ass cheek. Nearly making you plunge forward. He has landed few spanks here and there, but this is the hardest one. You mewl in pain but clench around him madly in new desire at the same time. Jimin holds you tight in your place by your hips. “Don’t fucking run slut. I asked you a damn question. What do you can’t?” Repeats.

“W-want t-to cum Jimin… fuck, I can’t anymore. I need to c-cum. Please baby, let me...” You find your strained voice. Jimin only groans in response to that. Concentrating on fucking you properly. “Jimin…” So, you try again.

“Then do as I say Lil.” Commands. Bends down forward. Slow down his thrusts. Leaning toward your ear so that his chest is pressed against your back. Watches you in the mirror. You shiver when he growls in your ear. “Be a good slut. You can cum if you keep your eyes open. Watch baby, want you to watch how beautiful you are when you getting fucked like a slut. Want you to see how beautiful you look when you fucking cum on my cock. You’re such beautiful whore for me.” With that he straightens up again. Picks up his pace again. So perfect. So good. You’re slobbering. Strangled noises leaving your throat as you bunch up the bedsheet on your fists. He has opted on an animalistic pace again. You moan loudly at the sensation. Arching your back even more and closing your eyes shut. And like that it all stops. In a millisecond. All gone. Jimin stills inside you. His movements entirely halted. The heavenly pleasure between your thighs dissipate into thin air. Your eyes shoot open.

“No… no Jimin please… fuck no…” You cry out in despair. Fresh tears are starting to roll down your cheeks. This is how it has been all these times. This is his game. The way he plays. His instructions are easy. Keep your eyes open. Keep watching. Keep watching while you fall over the edge. As if it is easy like that. You don’t know why or how, but you always end up shutting your eyes up. It’s unconscious. The immense pleasure cause you to close your eyes. And Jimin very cruelly has denied your release every time you did so.

“Keep.” Jimin gives you a harsh thrust. His fingers digging into your hips. Holding you steady. “Your.” Another thrust. “Eyes.” He delivers another spank with his thrust. “Open slut. Keep them open.” And he starts to fuck into you again. Harsh and hard that your hands fail you. You fall flat on your face. Raising your head feebly to stare at your pathetic figure getting pound by a breathtaking man. You can’t anymore. You can’t take this. You need to control your body. Need to have your senses back so you can comply to Jimin’s commands. So, you can reach your peak. You try your best. Do your best. Only to fail again. Right at the moment it becomes unbearable, and that knot almost explode, you close your eyes again. The pleasure disappears again. You choke on your own sobs. How many times? God how long he has done this? You’ve lost count already.

“Fucking hell, Jimin…. God… no… baby please let me…” You cry harder. New slicky juices seep out of your cunt each time you violently clench around him. Drenching your thighs and Jimin’s pelvic even more. Jimin moans loudly at the sensation as well. Or maybe it’s your cry. Whatever the reason, Jimin is the most controlled and rude prick ever. How does he even do this? You can see him shaking too. Can feel his cock throb too. Still, he’s been mean to you. And you know that he knows how you like it. In addition to your clenches, you’re weakly moving your hips back. Subtly fucking yourself on his cock. He stops that with a spank. Watches you through the mirror when you nod. Letting him know he can continue. So, he does. This time he snakes his hand around your throat. And straightens you up. Into his chest.

“Why can’t you listen baby?” Coos. Starts his thrusting again. Slow first. “You’re that horny? Your brain can’t process things? Is it empty? Did I fuck your thoughts away? Are you thinking with your cunt now? Hm my pretty slut?” Turns your head toward the mirror with a harsh grip on your jaw. “Watch Lil. Look how good you take me. Look how fucking gorgeous you are. Keep watching, okay. I promise you, you won’t cum today if you don’t.” Falls back to that harsh pace. You force yourself to comply this time. You will yourself to keep your eyes open. Humiliation turning your face into a deep scarlet. Jimin watches you intently too. “Yeah, like that. And take this cock like the slut you are princess. Shit, like that.” Grunts. You nod. Feeling how each drag of his cock against your walls make your legs buckle. Seeing how he is disappearing inside your needy hole through the mirror. What a sight you are together with Park Jimin. Keeping his face pressed against yours. One hand still having a tight grip on your jaw and making you watch yourself. Then the other falling between your thighs.

Jimin doesn’t play fair. You know that. It’s very unfair that he starts playing with your sensitive nub. His purpose is to make you disobey again. That evil smirk is the proof of it. Yet you manage to keep your eyes open this time. Gets Jimin chuckling in between his harsh thrusts and flicks in your clit.

“See, not bad whore. You can listen after all. Such a good dirty slut. Go on, baby you can. Keep your eyes open.” Fucks you harder. “Like that. Yeah. Mphm, squeeze me tight.” His hand picks up the speed. And it happens so fast. You don’t even feel the tell-tales before that knot snaps. No do you know whether you managed to keep your eyes open or not. You’re not sure if you have seen you falling apart or not. It’s a mushy haze. The pleasure coursing through your body. All you know is the way you shake and fall back on to Jimin’s body entirely.

When you come back to your clear senses again, Jimin is pulling out of you. Making you lay down on your back. Hovers over you with his eyes filled with unexplainable emotions. You would just call it worry.

“You, okay?” He purrs.

“Please more.” You spread your legs wide.

“Fucking hell Lil.” He curses aloud.

…………………………………………….

Jimin is losing his mind. It’s short circuiting. He feels like he can’t breathe. Has he ever seen a sight more beautiful than this in his life? Anything more breathtaking than you beneath him. Squirming and writhing. He had made you cum twice more in this position after you came hard while watching yourself from the mirror. Yet still, no matter how spent and weak you appear, you meet his thrust halfway. Buck your hips upward. You’re amazing, aren’t you? Amazing in how willing and pliant you are for him. How you’re allowing him to push your boundaries. Like this. Why would you do that? Why would you trust him this much?

See now, he’s partially worried that he’s hurting you. Forcing you take it when you can’t handle it anymore. But you’re mumbling incoherent ‘mores’ and ‘pleases’ over and over again. How far you are willing to go with him. And he doesn’t mean just in sex vise. You trust him every way. When he thinks about it, you have been ever since the day he broke a man’s nose for you during that storm. And that makes his heart swell. Swoon. Fills him with emotions that leaves him confused and helpless. He doesn’t know how to get them off. Feels like he might explode if he doesn’t. So, he fucks you harder and harder. Peering into your teary eyes. They glint. How beautiful.

“Jiminie… baby… oh, you feel so good.” Your voice is like his favorite music. “Jimin.” Especially when you use that voice to moan his name. You look ethereal beneath him. Fuck he needs more. He needs more from you. But how? You’re giving everything to him. Sprawled out here for him. Keeping his cock inside your tight hot cunt like this. Clenching. Jimin feels like he’s in heaven. Yet he wants more. He thrust harder into your warmth. Basking in the sensation of your velvet walls around his throbbing dick. Hides his face in your neck to smell you in. Adds some more purple marks to your skin, his canvas. Your chest and neck is marked deeply with his love bites. You’re so willing to let him do that. If anything, he knows that makes you even more turned on. See, Jimin find it’s impossible to restrain himself when you’re like this. You’re giving him everything. He’s going to explode. He needs to have more.

“Yeah princess? How good? Tell me how good I feel inside your cute hole.” Jimin mumbles against your lips. Keeping his dick dragging along your walls. Pining your hands above your head so you won’t try touching your clit. It’s his work. To make you cum. So, he makes sure to grind his pelvic to your throbbing clit with each of his thrust. You fail to perform words once again. Just moan. Moan loud. Fuck, he can’t. It’s a damn battle not to go even harder. He can’t. You’re already spent. It’ll break you. It’ll hurt you. He doesn’t want that. What gets him going is to see your pleasure. Weird. Oddly strange. Never in his life has he felt this fucked up to see someone else getting pleasured like this. But when it comes to you, it’s the source of his pleasure. To see you get lost. In the pleasure he creates and in him. To think he’s the reason behind your fucked up expression. Your eyes rolling back and the reason you’ve turned into a brainless mush. Fuck, he’s going to die.

“You’re doing so damn fine baby. Jesus Lil…. Taking me so well… Keep going hm? I’m so close...” And so, he is. So close. It’s that he’s simply greedy to let go. Doesn’t want this to end. Doesn’t want to lose the warmth of your cunt. Warmth of your body against him. Want to prolong this long as he can. Now though, it’s becoming impossible. Jimin knows he can’t hold back much longer. Your hole clenching around him, desperate to milk him. Your sweet moans. The way your back keep arching and pressing your perfect tits against his chest. All are bringing him to his edge. But still, he needs something more. The purple and reddish marks on your chest and neck isn’t enough. He wants more. More to make you his. It’s a pure primal desire that burns inside him. He feels lightheaded. He’s so close and he can’t pull out. Doesn't want to. Wants to fill you up. Needs to shoot his cum deep inside your cunt. Even the thought makes him moan your name. Makes his cock twitch.

He isn’t going to last long, and he needs to cum inside you. He works in an automated mode when he takes one of his hands to grab your face. Just to bring your attention to him. You look up at him in your tear-filled dark gaze. Jimin doesn’t think you can hear him properly. Still, he needs to ask. “Lil.” He calls to you softly. You just hum. “Baby.” He tries again.

“Jiminie.” You respond weakly.

“Hell, princess… don’t look so fucking…... fuck…” He tries to compose himself. He has to ask. “Lil so close… Baby…” Moans. You nod in acknowledgement. As if you know what he want. But you don’t. You have no idea. Well, to hell with it.  “Need to cum inside you.” Blurts out. And like that you’re suddenly wide eyed. It’s like he has slapped you into your senses. Are looking at him with your perfect glittery eyes. Stunned. See, if he’s not inside you already, he would certainly think that he has crossed a line. That you don’t like the idea at all. Good thing since he’s inside you. Because he can feel how tight you get around him. Clenching like a bitch in heat.

Fuck, you need that too.

Jimin nearly comes at the realization. But he needs to hear you. “Lil, fuck… can I?” Feels desperate. “Please fuck… need to fill you up. Full. Can I fuck you full of my cum baby. Please.” Knows there’s no reason to beg but can’t help it either. “Let me hear you say yes. Will keep you full all the time.” And that’s all it take.

“Yes, please yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jimin… yes please inside. Please... inside me. Cum baby please.” You scream through your lungs as your back leaves the mattress. Another powerful orgasm washing through you. Jimin doesn’t know whether it’s your beg or the way you squeezes him but in a second he’s following you into that ecstasy. He feels like a feral animal when he press his hips harder against you. Making sure you receive every drop of his cum inside you. How primal. How you’re awakening a monster inside him. And then how good and satisfactory it feels. He thrusts sloppily into you few more times before giving up completely. He’s exhausted too. Falling down into your spent body while minding not to crush you. Hiding his face in your neck. Waiting until his racing heart calms down.

“You’re so good to me princess. You did so good. Fuck that was amazing.” Praises you just for the sake of it. You just hum. He waits, waits and waits. Till he can’t wait anymore. It doesn’t matter how greedy he feels he need to slip out of you. And even though he feels like falling asleep right away, he needs to clean you up. His princess deserves all the pampering in the world after all. After sex or not. You deserve it.

He has no idea when he finally manage to get up from the bed. Quickly letting an alerted and whining you know that he’s just going to grab a towel. By the time he’s back, you look like you’ve already fallen into that deep slumber. Your breathing even. Makes him wonder why you haven’t disappeared yet. It’s good though. He’s glad. Jimin watches you for a minute.

Oh, here comes that squeeze in his heart. Bittersweet. You look peaceful. Angelic. He doesn’t want to wake you up at all. It would be a crime to make you wake up and get dressed. You can spend your night here. Jimin wants to spend this night with you. A luxury he can’t afford to have every day. This moment is precious and he’s going to treasure it. Not because some old woman told him to do so. But because it really is invaluable.

So, he tries his best not to wake you as he parts your leg. Fails. You open your eyes wearily.

“It’s okay baby.” He soothes you. Hoping you would go back to sleep. You close your eyes, though he doesn’t know whether you have fallen asleep. Turns out you haven’t when he discarded the towel and hover over you after he finishes cleaning you up. Your eyes open once again when he peer at your face.

“Hey.” You mumble groggily.

“Hey.” He answers you. Can’t hide the adoration in his voice. You giggle prettily. Oh, he’s so fucked up. He kisses you deep just because he can’t resist. Maybe he doesn’t have the privilege of waking up and going to sleep with you. But he always can kiss you deep. Like this. You sigh in content after he pulls away. Give him those eyes. Beautiful. Enchanting. That starry night. Jimin is so down for them.

“Are we staying here?” You ask sleepily.

“If you want to, we can, yes.”

And you’re nodding eagerly. Jimin is once again about to explode from these overwhelming emotions. He doesn’t know what to do with them. Pulling you into his chest and keep you tight against him appears to be a good idea. So, he does just that. Still naked. Your warmth keeping him warm before he pull the blankets over your bodies. Cuddles you tighter.

“Then sleep baby.” Kisses your forehead. He shouldn’t. It feels oddly intimate in non-sexual way. He does it anyway. Does it again. And again, till you fall asleep for real.

He really wants to see how it happens. How you shift. But he’s too tired. Maybe he’ll try to see it the next time. Or the next. For now, he’ll just hold you close and sleep tight.

………………………..

“How are we supposed to use this?” Key asks, inspecting a package of menstrual cups.

“Really?” You reply, bewildered.

“Yah! I’m serious. Teach me.”

“It’s not rocket science Key. Stick it up your hole.”

“Ew, don’t say it like that.”

“Then how do you want me to say it.” You roll your eyes as you toss few packets of pads and tampons into your cart. Trying to recall all the other stuffs you need to buy. Perking up suddenly when you remember the ketchup. “Wait, ketchup! Wait here.” You already start to leave your complaining best friend behind. Going back to the section of ‘sauces and seasonings’ which you already passed. You blame yourself for not preparing a list before coming grocery shopping as you stand before the aisle. Eyes scanning the varied of brands and products before they stop on your favorite one. You pick two large size bottles with hope of not coming here anytime soon for ketchup again. You nearly turn around to leave and join back with Key when a sudden voice startles you. It comes from behind.

“What a greedy little thing.” It says. Before you can turn around and find out who’s the owner of that voice, however, one of the ketchup bottles is snatched up from your hands.

“Yah!” You snap immediately. Turning around to find who’s the lunatic that think they can act like this way with strangers. And a mop of silver hair is what you notice first. Then a sharp jawline. Lastly fair skin and two black eyes hidden beneath that silver locks. The lunatic is a man. Or a boy you would say since he looks like he’s fifteen. Taller than you are though. He clicks his tongue.

“Why would you be so greedy and take two of them when you only need one. Over consumption is going to kill us one day.” Says as he puts the bottle of ketchup back in its place. Your brows merge instantly.

“YAH!” You exclaim loudly this time. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Grimace as you proceed to take your ketchup bottle back. Just before your fingers even brush on the bottle he stops you cold. By suddenly grabbing your wrist. Your eyes go wide in surprise. For minute. Then you avert them to the stranger next to you. Shoot him a murderous glare. Clench your jaw tightly as you try to free your hand from his tight grip. What the fuck does he think he’s doing? Does he think it’s cool. That he looks like a fucking heart throb.

“Why would you need two when one is perfectly enough. Why being such a greedy thing.” He clicks his tongue yet again. Hell, he looks like he’s fifteen, but he sure do speak like he’s ninety. You feel your patience running thin.

“How’s that any of your fucking business kid. Let my hand go before I damn fucking scream.” You grit your teeth. For your relief he does let go of your hand. You immediately grab your ketchup bottle. Almost turn around to leave this mad kid when he speaks again.

“Well, you being greedy over a bottle of ketchup? Not my business. But you being greedy over someone else’s life and messing up with the order of things? That’s my business through and through.” His tone stern and serious.  And you freeze. Freeze halfway turning around your heel. Turn back slowly to him. This time eyes wide in realization.

“Wh-what?” You let out without even your knowledge. He smirks.

“Oh, you pick up things rather fast. I wonder why, such a smart girl would risk her life this way.” Clicks his tongue again. “But then you’re a human. Humans are greedy. And your greed, little thing, is about to consume you whole.” Looks you dead in the eye. Your mouth is suddenly dry. This time you’re not surprised to see a man walking up to you and starts talking about your travels between two universes. No, you have expected this wholly. Even though you didn’t expect a silver haired young man.

“I- I…”

“Save it greedy little thing, I’m not here to hear you come up with excuses. Because there are none. You chose to be ruined. All because you were craving for a life you can’t have, you don’t have.” He takes a step forward. You’re not surprised to see him, yes. Still, you find it hard to comprehend the situation though. This is the answers you’ve been waiting for. You’re supposed to ask for a way to stop this. Fuck, it makes your heart clench. You’re not least bit happy to see this person. Answers mean the way to stop this. Stopping this mean ending your journey. Oh, but you have only started it. And that means you’ll never get to see Jimin again. Never get to see Jungkook again. Or anyone else. Suddenly, you feel like running away. Away from this strange man who’s about to ruin it all.

He gives you a knowing smile. “See, I am right. But here’s the thing little greedy human, that life you crave, isn’t yours to live. And the more you try to make it yours, the more you messed up with your own life. So, listen to me closely.” He leans forward. You stay rooted. Not even being able to recoil back when he starts to whisper against your ear. “End of the summer next year. That’s the only ever chance you’ll get. After that you’re stuck in this loop forever. Until it destruct you into ashes and you’re wiped from both worlds. So, think wise this time. Don’t ruin it. Stop being greedy for someone else’s life. And remember no more than seventy-two hours in one world. Break it, and you’re done.” With that he pulls away. Starts to walk away. You expect him to disappear, but he doesn’t. Is departing like a normal human being. You look at his retrieving back. Still, rooted into the spot. Feeling your heart shatter. His words ringing in your mind.

“Hey! What took you so- What’s happening?” You hear Key’s voice coming next to you. Yet it feels like coming from far away. There’s a question you need to ask. You need to ask it from him. You break into an abrupt run, startling Key.

“Hey, wait. Please wait.” He does. “Are you sure there isn’t any way?” Your voice shaky. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What did I tell you about being greedy now, little thing. No. There aren’t. It’s you stay and die or do the right thing and live.”

“But then why put me there in the first place? Why did I start to go there?”

“Because someone was greedy back then too.”

…………………………….

You dash up the staircase toward Jungkook’s apartment hurriedly. Mindlessly. There’s only one thing ringing in your mind. You need to meet Jimin immediately and tell him what happened. You had a very restless sleep last night, filled with nightmares. You’re scared. You’re terrified. And one must think the reason is turning into dust. But no, what terrifies you most is the thought of it all ending. You’re scared because you don’t know a way to stop it. At least not without self-destruction. You’re terrified because you don’t know how you’ll manage to fall into a normal life. Without any of these people in your life. Especially Park Jimin.

You know you’re shameless. Even after that fifteen-year-old grandpa explicitly warned you about the consequences of being greedy, here you are still being that. Greedy. You can’t lose this. You can’t lose Jimin. How it would be to wake up every day knowing you’ll never see him again. Not even by accident. He’ll be worlds apart. How it’ll be never to see Jungkook. Never to bake Kook’s bliss again. To not have an annoying boss like Hoseok. You’ll never be able to laugh hard at seeing full grown adults act like toddlers.

No. No. No. You can’t let this happen.

You need to tell Jimin what’s happening. He might come up with a way.

In your haste and in your oblivious state, you almost miss the familiar figure that always wait for you every other morning. Only almost though. It’s hard to miss a tattooed muscle bunny. Especially, when he practically jump at you. Not even letting you take the last step as he is grabbing from your shoulders tightly. A surprised yelp escapes your mouth.

“Kookie!”

“Are you okay?” You both shout at the same time. Your brows furrowing at his words. For a moment it doesn’t make any sense to you that he’s suddenly asking such a question. And there’s an urgency to his voice too. As if something bad happened. To make it worse he looks so worried. His doe eyes flickering between yours frantically. His grip on you tightening. “Noona, tell me you’re, okay?” He presses. You take a good look at his panicked expression before slowly nodding.

“Of course, why are you─”

“You didn’t come home. You never do that, and I tried calling you and texted you and I was so fucking worried. And... and…��� His words falter, trailing into stammers. Closes his eyes tightly and opens them back to peer at you. Stressed. You can visibly see how concerned and distraught he is. And it hits you. Slowly. Of course, you didn’t come home the other day. So did you forget to check your phone too. It’s not even in your possession. You hope Jimin will remember to grab it with him. You open your mouth to tell Jungkook that. To apologize. You genuinely feel bad. Guilty for making him worried. But then you close it again. Not exactly knowing what to say. Not that you can say you were with Jimin. What’s the possible explanation. “Where were you?” Jungkook manages to ask again at the lack of your response. You remain silent, though. Raking your brain for a good excuse.

“I…um... uh…”

“Don’t lie please.” Jungkook interrupts your pointless excuse. You gape at him Confused. “You were with Jimin, weren’t you?” It sounds more like a statement than a question. He’s letting you know that he knows. Your hearts sinks to the pit of your stomach. You inhale shaky breath. Wonder how he knows though. He gives you the answer without even you asking. “Hoseok. I called Hoseok when you didn’t answer my calls and….”

“Oh.”  You feel your body heat up with shame. Even though this is the second time. You feel even more ashamed to face him than the first. You just proved you’re a lying bitch.

“Why?”

You feel dumbstruck at his question. What’s the meaning of that question anyway. That’s not what he’s supposed to do. He may have understood your situation the first time. But now, you expect him to see you as the bitch who you are. Disgust him. Not to ask questions such as this.

“What? What do─”

“Why are you doing it Noona? Like are you really in love?” You watch as Jungkook’s entire expression morphed into something hurt. Like you’ve caused him a great heart break.

No. Of course, not. Right?

You feel irritated suddenly. You have no time to have this conversation now.

“No… no, Kookie. I’m not.” Yet you try your best to stay calm. Jungkook has every right to question you. You’re the bad person here.

“Then why? It’s just sex? He makes you cum that hard, that you don’t mind that he’s in a relationship for five years. So, you don’t mind that he’s cheating on his girlfriend? How good is the sex?” Jungkook shakes you by your shoulders. Suddenly, he looks mad. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him mad. That irritation flares inside you. You fail to stay calm.  

“Why would you care Jungkook?” You snap. Frustration and the urgency to get out of here getting the best of you. Partially because you need to see Jimin and partially because you feel like you can’t see Jungkook in the eye.

“Because I do. You know I fucking do. You gonna fucking hurt yourself in the end. Jimin is a god damn selfish prick to keep dragging you into this mess. He is fucking playing with your life─”

“Jungkook.” You sigh heavily. Annoyed.

“No, Noona. That’s the truth. I don’t fucking want you to hurt. And what’s your plan? What are you gonna do? Keep going? Until how long, how long are you gonna do this?”

“Well, not for so long apparently.” You resign. Give up completely. Can feel your eyes burn with freshly gathering up tears. “I only have a fucking year.” You’re ashamed yes. Guilty, yes. But the hurt comes to the surface yet again surpassing all the other emotions. Jungkook’s grip on your shoulders softens. So does his expression. Anger morphs into confusion and worry.

“What do you mean ‘a year’? Did you?”

“Yes”

And like that your conversation takes a drastic change. From Jungkook confronting you of your poor life decisions to you telling him what happened yesterday at a darn supermarket. By the time you end your story, you and Jungkook are sitting on the top step. Staring into nothing.

“Fuck.” That’s the only thing Jungkook mumbles in the end.

“Yeah, right? I don’t know what I should do Kookie.” You prop your chin on your hands.

“Well, uh- fuck, me neither. But Noona?” The question in his voice makes you turn toward him with a raised brow. “Why did the kid call you greedy? How’s any of that were your doing?” Fires out his curiosity.

Oh fuck!

See, you had done the same with Key yesterday. Had to give her a possible and logical explanation as to what happened. But you managed to do it by hiding the parts that needed to be hidden. Fuck yourself for forgetting to do the same with Jungkook. You blink at his innocent face for a moment. Then lower your gaze to your lap. What can you say anyway. You refuse to lie anymore.

“It’s not that it didn’t work, was it? You wished to be here.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Because you wanted to be with him?” Throws his head up.

“He asked me to stay. All right? I had every intention to─”

“But you didn’t, did you? You stayed because he asked? To be what, his mistress? My god Noona, why would you have to lower yourself that much?” Jungkook’s voice is filled with pure disbelief. Accusation. You feel that irritation raises its head once again. And it’s not even about Jungkook rudely pointing out your weaknesses. No. It’s the shame. Because every word he says is true.

“Do you think I don’t know Kookie. I know what type of stupid, selfish person I am. I couldn’t fucking help it though.” Jungkook tries to cut you off, but you don’t let him this time. “I tried my best but here I am. And I understand that you might want me to disappear from your sight this moment…” Tears start to prick at your eyes again. This time fueled by self-pity. “Like… I know, I’m an insufferable mess. A fucking disaster. And I promise you I would get myself out from your life soon as I can. I’ll figure a way─”

“Please don’t.” This time Jungkook succeeds in cutting you off. Sigh hard.

“Huh?”

“Please don’t say that and don’t move out.” Turns toward you completely. Takes your hands in his. Smiles sadly. So sadly, that your heart breaks. “I never told you, you’re any of that. I mean ugh- fuck I don’t know… It’s wrong but you said you only have a year, right? So, don’t try to live that year shutting everyone else from your life because some jerk knows how to make you cum hard.” You wince at his words slightly. He sighs heavily again. Looks you in the eye. You can see how his are glinting. Are those tears? “And I’m sorry that… uh- I didn’t want to confront you or anything. I was just worried Noona. I was so fucking scared you just left like that. Don’t do it again. And don’t move out. You can stay here. Please don’t. C’mon you listened to that asshole when he asked you to sacrifice your life, am I not even worthy enough to just consider living with me?” Pouts. Jungkook always knows how to get what he wants. In a different context, you would have rolled your eyes. But now, you feel oddly touched.

“So what? You want to drag yourself into my disastrous life as well? You want to live with a homewrecker? You still gonna take my side when I am the wrong person here? You want to become a part of the family too?” You laugh bitterly.

“What family?”

“Hoseok knows. And I think Taehyung knows too.”

“And you left me out of it?”

“Well, I didn’t tell them. We got caught. And if I can Jungkook, I’d keep you away from this mess. Away from me.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Well, guess what? It’s not up to you to decide that. Just because I call you Noona, baby, it doesn’t mean you get to call all the shots.” Squeezes your hands. “I can make decisions for myself perfectly well. And I don’t care Noona. Homewrecker or whatever. Call me biased, I don’t care. I’m only worried about you. I’m gonna take your side even if you killed a man.” Changes his position instantly and he’s crouching down in front of you in a second. Your hands are still in his. Looks at you with puppy eyes. Innocent. You feel your heart shatter.

“Why Jungkook? Don’t be such a saint.” You try your best to well up your tears. “God, you’re too good. I feel like I’m taking fucking advantage.”

“And I’m so happy if you’re doing it. So what? Do we have a deal here? Don’t move out, hm? I really don’t want to lose my alien because she’s too horny.”

You scrunch up your face in disgust. Why would he have to say it like that? How amazing Jungkook is to make a joke out of this sordid situation, just after he was flat out confronting you a minute ago. You genuinely thought he was mad at you. That he’s ashamed of being a friend of yours. You thought that’s the reason for bringing it out. But it was care? Jungkook is such a pure soul. You stare at him. Failing to keep your tears in your eyes.

You don’t deserve him, now do you? You’ve lied to him so many times. Have used his good will so many times. You’re a bad person. But he wants to be a part of that, why?

Because he is a good person.

“Kookie.” You mutter weakly.

“Yes?”

“So, you’re fine with what I’m doing?”

“No, I’m not.” Shakes his head. Right when your brows start to merge in confusion he speaks. “I’m not fine with what you’re doing but I’m fine with you. No matter what you do, I am fine with you. Maybe… just maybe we’ll be able to stop it. Before you get hurt.”

You don’t think it will be the case at all. You can’t see a way out from Jimin. No. But still you just nod. Just for the sake of him. “What if I am to ruin your life too?” Questions.

“How?” You have no answer for that. So, he continues. “I don’t see a way you can do that. But if that’s the case, I’m okay with it. I like it when my life is happening. It was so dull before I met my alien.”

“Oh, my god, will you please…”

He just smiles. That tension and the soured emotions you felt a moment ago dissipating into thin air. Of course, they are. Jungkook always knows how to make your day better. You don’t know why he does that but when you think about it, he has always been there for you when something goes wrong. From the very beginning. He’s already a part of the mess you created, whether you like it or not. He was your escape when you had no place to go. He was the man who knew everything from the beginning. He was the sweet soul who never once judged you for your wrongdoing.

He was,

The man who shared a cigarette under a starry sky with you.

The man who understood why you did what you did.

The man who always made sure you smile.

The man who danced with you in his kitchen.

The man who’ll always have your back when things would crumble down into ashes.

That’s who he is. The only other person who you are deeply tangled with. The Bambi eyed muscle bunny who has a mattress in his living room.

And you adore him. Course you do. He’s very special to you. You only manage a light nod when he beams up. Hurriedly pull you to your feet. Crushes you in a bear hug. Funny. He is. But that’s how he is. Because he is,

Jeon Jungkook.

..............................................................................................................................

a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

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[steddieasitgoes]

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he’s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small. 

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started. 

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * * 

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

[passionwillow]

Donovan Rocker - NSFW Alphabet

As promised, here’s a NSFW alphabet for our guy. ❤️ Smut warning! 18+. Race inclusive and plus sized reader inclusive.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He likes to cuddle up with you after and take a moment to relax and catch his breath. Holding you close, his nose tucked in your hair as you guys come down from your highs. Then he’ll get up and help you clean up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his arms. He knows he’s well built and strong, and he loves how you’re always admiring him.

THIGHS THIGHS THIGHS. You can’t change my mind. This man loves your thighs, how plush and soft they are, and he always has to have a hand on them when you guys are sitting together or in the car.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He really loves watching you swallow his cum. There’s something about it that just drives him a little crazy and feral. Cumming inside you is another favorite, though he really isn’t too picky. He just likes it to be somewhere on you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He really wants to bring his handcuffs home one day and use them. Just to have you restrained so he can tease the hell out of you because GOD he can drive you insane.

But also.. use the handcuffs on him. He would find it so damn exhilarating to be restrained while you do whatever you want with him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

His job doesn’t allow for a lot of free time, but he’s a handsome cop. And tall. Of course he’s had his fair share of experience. He’s also good at watching body language and can tell if you’re enjoying yourself or nervous, and adjusts accordingly. Plus, he IS pretty cocky which definitely helps.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This man loves to see everything you’re feeling in the moment. Missionary is his go to, or taking you from behind in front of a mirror. He can’t stop watching your face as he thrusts into you, a smirk on his lips as he holds you close.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I feel like he can do both. Sometimes he is more serious/passionate about it, and other times he’s grinning and laughing as he makes out with you, his hands working to get your clothes off. It’s a nice balance with him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He definitely keeps things trimmed and neat. I feel like he’d prefer his partner to do the same? Not necessarily bald, but a little maintenance.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh he will have you blushing and kicking your feet, the way he looks at you. His eyes almost never leave your face, he just loves to drink you in and admire you as he works his way into you. There’s been multiple occasions when he’s had candles lit and rose petals laid out because he just adores you so much.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He can get pretty worked up throughout the day, so jerking off is probably fairly common. And it wouldn’t be out of realm of possibility for him to make sure you’re aware he needs you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He isn’t shy about being rougher sometimes, or biting down on you in the heat of the moment. But I don’t think he’d really want to get much rougher. He’s the definition of “I hate everyone but you” in some ways, and he couldn’t image hurting you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere in the place you guys share is fair game. Kitchen, couch, up against a wall, the shower, the bedroom. When the mood strikes him and you’re on board, it’s over.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you where his clothes really gets to him. His hoodies, his shirts, something about his clothes on your bare skin. It’s only a matter of time before he picks you up and takes you to the nearest sturdy surface.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything terribly extreme or something that would harm you. He’d be willing to try new things, but he has a limit he refuses to cross when it comes to you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh he LOVES going down on you. Being between your legs and gazing up at you as he does the most sinful things to your core just drives his ego.

For the love of god sit on his face. He will beg you to do, too, if you’re shy about it. Being trapped and buried between your legs is his preferred way to die.

He loves your mouth on him, as well. Sitting on the couch or laying in bed, he doesn’t last long seeing you on your knees for him. He tries not to get too rough, but he loves to grab your hair and pull it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He usually likes to be slow and steady, take his time to pleasure you and push all the right buttons to make you a mess. But if it’s been a rough day on him, he can leave some bruises on your hips that are identical to his fingers.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He likes to try and avoid quickies. He prefers to take the time and give you all the attention you deserve, but if he really needed a release he’ll drag you to an empty room and bend you over anything that’s available.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’d experiment here and there, but he’s unsure about anything that would bring you discomfort. I think if you explained it to him, and talked through it he’d try new things. Handcuffs, biting and marking, spanking, he’s game for all of that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I mean- look at him. You’ll be trying to keep up with him. He has a high sex drive and the stamina to match. Easily 3 rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t have any, and if you did he might use a vibrator here and there. He isn’t keen on you using anything on him, but if you talked him into it he’d probably enjoy it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s definitely a dick when it comes to teasing you. He has the patience to play the long game and could tease you all day just to have you begging for him.

But if you tease him? He can’t last a second. Watching you wear little night gowns and prance around, he’s a mess and will take you right there on the floor.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He tries to hold back so he can pay more attention to your sounds (they drive him crazy), but he lets out the hottest grunts and groans as he fucks you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Part of him really wants to try fucking you somewhere at work. He knows he’d get in so much trouble if he got caught but he thinks about it sometimes.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has big dick energy for a reason. Thick and a nice 6 inches.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man is never NOT horny. He could go anytime of day. Wake him up for it and he’s ready to go.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As soon as he knows you’re clean and comfortable, he’d be out like a light. It’s kind of impressive how fast he falls asleep.

[felagund-the-valiant]

Hobbies they like to share with you (Maedhros, Caranthir, Fingon, Turgon)

A/N: haven’t been on tumblr in a hot minute, damn. I come semi-back presenting you some hcs!

Maedhros: strategy games

Maedhros is an excellent strategist, and he greatly enjoys games that challenge this skill. Board games or card games, either is fine with him.

Unconquered chess grandmaster of Arda.

He’s a gracious winner and would never dream of making you feel bad for losing. Instead, he’ll try to encourage you, so you keep up your motivation.

He has patience for days (perks of being the oldest of a dozen grandchildren) and nothing can make him lose focus. Good luck trying to distract him.

Has zero tolerance for cheating and is quite perceptive, so he’ll call you out at the slightest suspicion.

Since he’s good at reading others’ expressions and body language, he’ll quickly notice if you’re becoming stressed or impatient and will offer to take a break, if necessary.

His unending patience makes him a great teacher and he’s more than happy to share his strategic knowledge with you. Maybe afterwards you’ll have a chance of actually winning. If he lets you.

Caranthir: cross stitching

Caranthir seems to have inherited his grandmother’s talent when it comes to all things sewing.

It’s a good meditative method to clear his head and it’s his go-to activity after a lot of stress.

Often incorporates elements of Míriel’s designs into his work, as a way of honouring her memory.

Since cross stitching is quite easy to learn, he won’t hesitate to invite you to join him. He’ll draw you in with motives like your favourite flowers or animals and once you’ve gotten the hang of it, the two of you have a lot of fun coming up with designs together.

He enjoys the companionable silence cross stitching together can bring. Sometimes the two of you sit together for hours not speaking a single word and it’s never awkward.

Fingon: cooking

Fingon is a damn good cook and proud of it.

He was prone to starting food fights during cooking when he was young, but his parents scolded that habit out of him very quickly, teaching him instead to not be wasteful.

As a result, he can somehow still make five-star meals out of leftovers.

Even if you’re not a good cook yourself, he’s somehow able to enlist your help in a way that makes you feel productive and helpful. Leave the fine measurements to him, you just worry about the basics like chopping ingredients.

Loves trying out different cuisines. One of his early methods of befriending the Sindar was exchanging recipes. Sometimes it’s that simple.

Very enthusiastic about taste testing. If you have kids, he’ll definitely make them participate to hone their palate early on. You best believe his children are going to be the best cooks in the west.

Turgon: miniature city building

If there’s one thing that fascinates Turgon, it’s tasks that require a lot of meticulous planning and fine details.

He’s fascinated by architecture and incorporates many different styles into his projects.

Is Gondolin really based on Tirion or is it one of the cities he designed back in Valinor? Only he knows the answer.

Once the cities are done, you better don’t touch them! Little Aredhel once thought they were toys and played out a “historically accurate reenactment” of an early Elven settlement getting raided by orcs … she hasn’t been allowed in Turgon’s workshop ever since.

Like Caranthir, he’s a big fan of companionable silence, though in his case it might not necessarily be intentional. He’ll invite you over to work on a project together, thinking it’s a great way to talk to you more and get to know you better, only to end up so deep in the zone you’ll have to do most of the talking.

His workshop is his little hideaway from the outside world and letting you in shows how much he trusts you. Doesn’t matter if you’re not gifted at fine motor tasks and can’t really help him, your presence is more than enough for him.

[a-whispering-echo]

Dust wasn’t expecting this.

Sure, he’d had a lot of strange shit happen to him in his life. But getting hit by a car? That wasn’t on his bingo card. It wasn’t even on the fucking board.

Lying on the cold asphalt, the world feels like a thousand broken pieces scattered across a canvas, all melting and bleeding into one another. The sky is upside down, a swirl of violet, green, and black, and his mind - his oh-so-broken mind - is trying to make sense of it. But it doesn’t make sense. The shapes behind his eyes are bouncing around like fireworks in a bottle, red and blue, dancing like little ghosts he started to see after the first hundred resets.

He giggles.

It’s not a laugh, not really. It’s a fractured sound, escaping from a place inside him that doesn’t care about the pain in his ribs, or the sharpness in his neck. It feels funny - the way his thoughts don’t quite line up, the way the world is bending at strange angles. Like a Salvador Dalí painting, all melting clocks and twisted perspectives.

People are screaming. They’re calling his name, but it feels distant. Far away, like a forgotten echo in an empty room. Dust.

Is that his name? Yeah, it is. Right?

He should answer, he should be more responsible, he should tell them he’s fine - tell them he’s just… giggling at the shapes. That everything is going to be fine, it always is, because it always is, right? But his tongue is like dead weight in his mouth, and his neck? Oh, his neck. It hurts. He tries to turn his head, but it’s as if someone put a metal vice around it. It’s odd, he thinks, and then he giggles again, louder this time, at how strange it all is.

Somewhere above him, Cross’s voice breaks through the noise. “Dust! Dust, can you hear me?”

It’s that high-pitched, worried tone. The kind Cross only used when he was too scared for his friends teammates - when the anxiety got the better of him. Normally, that tone of voice would have Killer or himself giggling at the poor monster like hyaenas, just to take comfort in the fac that someone cared enough about them to make that tone of voice at them. But Dust can’t feel the usual comfort of that voice right now. Instead, it sends a little pang of guilt through his chest.

I should answer him, Dust thinks.

Another voice, low and controlled, a bit calmer but no less urgent, joins in. “Dust, don’t move. Stay still. We’ve got you.”

The sound of shoes scraping across pavement. Hands, tentative but firm, wrapping around his shoulders. Horror. Dust can tell even without seeing his face - Horror’s got that quiet strength, the kind that’s always been there, holding them all together. Dust can feel his presence, even with his mind slipping and sliding away from him.

“Dustbin, hey, stay with me,” Killer’s voice cuts through next, that familiar playful edge still hanging in his tone, but it’s tinged with concern. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, yeah? You gotta be alright. Don’t make me come down there and drag you back to reality.”

It’s so loud now, the cacophony of voices, and Dust can’t focus, can’t make sense of what’s happening, except that everyone sounds so damn worried, like he’s some fragile thing that might break at any moment.

Oh, right. He’s broken, isn’t he? Broken inside and out. The pieces of his mind are always scattered, like the pieces of this world that are spinning in front of him. There’s something comforting about it, though.

The pain. The shapes. The people calling his name.

He wants to laugh again, but the sounds inside his head are louder now. The world spins faster, and he has to blink hard to keep from losing it entirely.

Then, Cross’s voice, more desperate this time, seeping through the cracks of his scrambled brain: “Dust, please. Please, open your eyes. We need you.”

Something about that - something in the way Cross says please - makes his soul flutter, makes the world slow down for a second. It makes Dust want to answer. He really does. He wants to tell them he’s fine, he wants to tell them he’s used to this, that it’s just another one of those fucked up days.

But instead, Dust just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to keep the world from floating away completely.

It’s too loud. Too much. Too -

His neck hurts.

No, no, no. He’s fine. His body isn’t moving, but his mind is, slipping away into the dreamspace. His body’s gone numb, and he can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. He tries to hold on to that part of himself that’s still Dust - the part that’s real - but it feels so far away now.

But they’re here.

They’re all here. Even though they’re shouting at him, even though they’re pulling at him, even though they’re worried that he’s slipping, they’re here.

So maybe he can let go. Just for a second. Let the shapes take him wherever they want. Let the voices be muffled.

He’ll be fine. He always is.

Dust lets out another breathless chuckle, his chest fluttering as the world blurs.

It’s not the end. Not yet. Not today.

At least, he hopes not.