#feel free to click through and leave a lil note

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Color my tree :)

saw Bean's tree and felt the intense need to also have a tree c:

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[xmads-omensx]

Part 6

Word count: 1,955

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: fake dating, swearing, mentions of harrassment

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @amelia-acero @thisbicc @dominuslunae @enemiestolovershoe @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @cheyyyyr @littlebear423 @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @kait16xo @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch

Closing my front door behind me, I pressed my back up against it before releasing a long, harsh breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding.

I sank down so that I was sitting on the floor and lay my forehead on my knees, groaning at my own idiocy.

I should never have told Jesse and Jolly that. Noah must’ve heard, or if he hadn’t, his two roommates would most certainly tell him.

Fuck.

The realisation of my secret being revealed hit me slowly. I just hadn’t accepted the fact that I was in love with Noah, until the words were flying out of my mouth.

As soon as I said it, I turned and ran out of their front door and straight to my car.

Part of me was insanely embarrassed about my confession, but I also felt insanely relieved at the weight being lifted off of my shoulders.

It felt… freeing.

Granted, Noah didn’t know and I intended on keeping it that way, but it still felt good to tell somebody.

If I was being completely honest with myself, I think I have loved Noah for a while now.

It only clicked into place in my mind when I kissed him in the car park. My heart had erupted with butterflies as my brain turned to complete mush.

And he kissed be back.

Now, sat on the floor of the entryway into my house, I felt like an idiot. Who was I kidding? Noah would never love me back. I was his best friend, and you just didn’t go there with best friends. It would never end well at all.

My mind flitted back to my favourite moments between the two of us. Late night drives with no destination in mind, singing along to our joint playlist. Noah was obviously the better singer, so he wasn’t allowed to sing properly. He would laugh at my failed attempts at reaching the high notes, which would make me laugh in turn.

Our movie nights where we would always end up forgetting about the movie and talking instead. Always waking up the next day tangled up in each other’s limbs, so impossibly close that it took forever to disentangle ourselves.

Ranting about our worst date experiences, dissecting gossip and drama from my workplace, making him laugh with my stupid jokes and dump remarks.

It all came back to me.

My love for Noah had been there for the entire time I had known him, just in the background, powering my heart and my mind as I went through life.

It felt like when you leave a TV show on while you get on with chores. It was always there providing comfort, even when you weren’t paying attention to it.

Noah was like that for me.

I had been sat on the floor for about ten minutes when my phone rang. It was Jesse.

“Hey, Noah’s worried about you.” He said as soon as I accepted the call.

“Why?” I asked with a sigh, running my hand down my face.

“Why do you think? You were supposed to stay the night, and you practically ran home.” He exclaimed.

“I need space, Jesse.” I replied quietly.

“No you don’t. You need Noah. He needs you.” Jesse went on, sounding frustrated. “When will you both just accept that you love eachother?”

“He doesn’t feel the same, Jesse.” I said.

“Don’t give me that stupid bullshit, Y/N, that man is so hopelessly whipped for you it’s embarrassing.” Jesse laughed.

I was silent for a moment.

There was no way that was true.

Sure, Noah was always close, but I never considered that he might feel the same, simply because it seemed so outlandish to me.

He was Noah, and I was… me.

He was this insanely talented musician who toured the world with his super successful band, whilst I worked a 9-5 desk job.

It was laughable, the thought that he might go on tour and miss me. Like he would want me there.

“Y/N, please, just come over and talk to him.” Jesse went on in a gentler tone.

“I’ll come over tomorrow. I need to think.” I replied, making Jesse sigh.

“Okay, but you better show up.” He said.

“Yes. I promise I will.” I responded.

“Okay, goodbye Y/N.” Jesse finished.

“Bye.” I hung up the phone, returning me to that looming silence that had previously encased me.

There was no way in hell that I would tell Noah how I felt.

That night, I struggled to get to sleep, especially with the terrifying thoughts of Noah having potentially hearing my confession and realising that he didn’t want to be within ten feet of me. If he knew, it would change everything.

I arrived at work the next day with heavy eyelids and a red bull in my hand, another in my back just in case I needed it.

Gabi and Ashley were already sat at their desks, and both waved at me with wide smiles on their faces. Smiles that rapidly vanished when the elevator doors behind me opened to reveal Stephen.

My body shuddered at the sound of his awful voice greeting everybody in the office with a booming, “Good morning.”

I felt his hand on my hip as he passed me, making my skin crawl as Gabi and Ashley visibly cringed at his action.

My hand moved on autopilot to my back pocket to reach for my phone to text Noah what happened, but I stopped myself.

I wasn’t ready to talk to him just yet, still terrified that he knew my secret.

So instead I sat down at my desk with a heavy sigh.

“God damn, Noah’s ex must’ve been unbearable if you come into work like that.” Gabi laughed, making Ashley turn around in her chair, desperate for me to fill them in on what happened.

“It was weird. She was completely fine all night right up until we called her an Uber to take her home.” I began. “She kept to herself the whole time, only staring at me, but then called me a slut when she was leaving. I mean, she came up to Noah’s room before the party really even started and tried to start an argument, but Matt, Noah’s tour manager, shut it down as soon as she started.”

I shrugged before finishing telling them all of the details of what Grace had said.

They were completely shocked.

The two of them caught me up on their evenings which were luckily less eventful than mine, before we got back to work.

“Are you going to the dinner tonight?” Gabi asked me on our lunch break.

“Oh my god, yes please come, Y/N.” Ashley replied rapidly.

“I don’t know. Are you both going?” I asked, still unsure if I wanted to spend the evening out at a restaurant with all of my coworkers, and Stephen.

“Yep! So are Zacky and Emma, so you should bring Noah along as well.” Gabi gushed, smiling widely at the prospect of meeting my boyfriend.

I, on the other hand, found this concept terrifying. Not just because I was actively avoiding Noah, but because I would have to lie to my friends even more than I already had. This dinner would be intimate, and my colleagues would most definitely want to talk to Noah about our relationship.

“I’ll think about it.” I replied with a forced smile.

“Oh, come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!” Ashley begged, grasping my shoulders and pulling me closer to her, making both Gabi and I laugh.

“Fine. But I can’t promise that Noah will come with me.” I sighed, defeated by my friends excitement.

“Yay.” Gabi giggled, clapping her hands with excitement.

I laughed at their joy and turned back around in my seat to face my monitor, before flipping my phone over so that I could text Noah about the dinner.

For some reason, my thumbs wouldn’t move to send the text. It was like they had a mind of their own and were defying me.

By some form of luck, those grey text bubbles appeared at the bottom of my screen. He was typing.

Why?

Why was he typing?

He knew.

Oh no he knew.

My brain went into complete panic mode as I sat there, just staring at my screen.

Are you free later?

Fuck. Shit.

I was just going to ask you the same thing lol

Fancy coming to my work dinner tonight? 

Gabi and Ashley want to meet you

The anticipation of waiting for his message was killing me.

Yeah, sure. What’s the deal?

For some reason, his availability did nothing to ease my anxiety that I was feeling in that moment.

It’s at Vincent’s. That new Italian restaurant downtown. 6pm start

Okay. He was invited. There. I did it.

Sounds good. I’ll pick you up from work and we can go to your place, get freshened up then head out to the dinner?

Oh shit he accepted it.

For some reason, this didn’t make me feel any better.

Yeah sounds good

I was probably reading into things too much, right?

Definitely.

It wasn’t like I yelled “I love him”, I more so loudly spoke it.

Hopefully.

Part of me was excited by the prospect of seeing Noah again, however, even though I did only just see him last night.

“He’s coming.” I said to Gabi and Ashley once I had processed his response.

“Yay!” Ashley squealed.

“Finally! I know he was at the work party last time, but I never got to speak to him.” Gabi said with a soft smile. “And I’m sure he would get along great with Zacky.”

“You didn’t get to speak to who?” That annoying voice interrupted our perfectly pleasant conversation.

Ashley rolled her eyes and turned back around to face her desk.

“Noah.” I curtly replied with a sigh, also turning back towards my desk.

But something stopped me. Stephen had placed his hands on the back of my office chair and spun me round to face him again. He kept his hands on the back of my chair so each of his arms were beside my head as he began to speak.

“What about Nathan?” Stephen asked, his garlicky breath and the stench of his rotting teeth fanned my face.

“Noah.” I corrected, trying to pull away from him. “He’s coming to the dinner this evening.”

“Oh really?” He went on. “Well, you tell Nicholas that I cant wait to meet him.”

“Noah.” I corrected once again through gritted teeth, “and you have already met him, Mr. Williams, at the last work party.”

Stephen’s eyes widened slightly and his expression turned angrier as if he was remembering something that he very much had negative emotions towards.

“Oh yes, I think I remember Nolan.” He lifted his hands up. “Well, in that case, I can’t wait to see him again. Hopefully you look even better than you did at the party.”

After that, Stephen stormed back to his office, not saying a word to any of his other employees.

“Hopefully you look even better.” Ashley mocked, making Gabi and I laugh, covering our mouths with our hands as we tried not to be noticed.

“Oooo Y/N, you look ravishing today.” Gabi added, replicating Ashley’s impression perfectly.

“Guys, oh my god.” I laughed.

“I cannot wait to see Noah meet Stephen officially.” Ashley added.

“Same here, that will be an entertaining conversation.” Gabi added.

“Oh god, it will definitely be something.” I mumbled.

Dread began to seep into my mind as I realised that we would all have to sit in a restaurant with the two of them for a very long time.

This was going to be interesting.

[1800classiccherries]

Keep you close! ♡‧₊˚

⚘ e42!Miles x black!fem!reader

⚘ fluff! use of n word, thats about it

⚘ Summary: Miles and reader go for a walk

⚘ Pretty short so I didnt bother with a wc.

⚘ This has been sitting in my notes for days and was going nowhere so I decided to stop struggling and post it. I didn't edit it besides a lil read over so if theres typos or sumn doesnt make sense, my b

“Hey, ma, you busy?” You hear from the other side of the phone, after picking up.

“No, and that’s the problem.” you sigh looking to the ceiling, “I think I’ll go on a walk or sumn…”

“At this time of night?”

“Uh, yes?”

You could hear the sound of his jacket shuffling around, “I’ll be at your place in 10 don’t leave without me, aight?”

“Wait-“ and he hung up.

10 minutes go by and just like he said he’s at your door. You shuffle out of your room and open the door wide enough for him to step in.

“I can handle going on a walk by myself, y’know,” you throw out while tying on your shoes.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “Yeah, I’m sure you could knock a nigga out but it don’t hurt that I go with you.” 

Once your done tying your shoelaces, Miles takes your hand in his before sliding both hands into his jacket pocket. You had no end destination in mind, you were willing to go anywhere as long as it wasn’t inside.

After mindlessly walking around in comfortable silence with the occasional fleeting conversation. You could hear a familiar voice down the street but was failing to place where you recognize it. Miles took notice of your concentrated face, as you try to jog your memory.

“What’chu thinking ‘bout?” He asks bumping shoulders with you to grab your attention.

“I think I might know someone down there,” you point with your free hand to the small crowd of people down the street, “Maybe we had a class together…? I guess we’ll see as we walk.”

As you draw nearer you subtly picked up your pace, not really wanting to walk through a crowd of what seemed like people leaving a party. All of them dressed nice, whereas you were dressed the opposite. I just won’t look, You tell yourself being sure to look anywhere but the crowd.

Nearly making it past the group you hear that familiar voice again, “Y/n? Is that you?”

Then it clicked, the girl speaking was in your class last year, Shelby. Y’all got along well and sat together the whole year, she was nice and easy to talk too. So while you weren’t in the mood to socialize you didn’t mind stopping to talk to her a bit. But as the two of you caught up you could see Miles getting flirted with out of the corner of your eye. Shelby followed your line of sight to the boy you kept glancing at.

“Let’s catch up more another another day. Those girls over there can be messy so you might wanna take him and keep going.” she warns.

The girls kept trying to flirt and make advances only to be shut down by Miles with a quick word or step back. You were feeling kinda of bad for him since you knew the only thing keeping him from taking your hand and going back home was that you were catching up with a friend.

“It was good talking to you, Shel.”

 you smile before walking over to Miles taking his hand and giving a sarcastic smile to the girls.

Once the two of you rounded the corner Miles speaks up, “Was fightin for my life back there, bout time you came n rescued me.”

“Aww, I’m sorry,” you giggle, “I’ll be sure to keep you closer when I talk to people.”

Feel free to leave requests or just talk :)

Thanks for reading!

[catscidr]

We need more of natural remedy!! 😭 expect with comfort and the reader starts to get better maybe?💕

im so glad you enjoyed it nonnie ueue i was talking about it to my friend and told him i felt like it was the opposite of my magnum opus bc i disliked how i wrote it so much LMAOO im happy it was an enjoyable read!! ur making me all mushy and uegfnshjns (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: fluff, comfort, established relationship, proofread only a lil includes: gn!reader, childe wc: 1,1k -ˋˏ continuation to this mini fic! (but this can be read without reading part 1 prior)

Waking up is always a gamble when you’ve been sick for a while. Will today finally be the day that you can get out of bed, or will you be forced to rot in bed again, enduring whatever bullshit a higher power decided to throw in your face by making your body fight some miniscule bacteria in your system? Falling ill is something everyone can relate to, and you (unfortunately) weren’t an exception. 

However, when opening your eyes, you find yourself able to think clearly (or as clearly as you can when waking up on a regular day). You rub your eyes clean of the crust, a sign that you’ve slept decently well, and look at your surroundings. Your legs were tangled in your bed sheets, your hair all messy, you even had some dried saliva on the corner of your mouth from when you had switched from breathing through your nose to becoming a mouth-breather during the night... but nothing too out of the ordinary. 

Relieved that today seemed to be starting off relatively well, you untangle yourself from the duvet (you make a mental note to wash them later, they still vaguely smelled of perspiration from when you had sweat through them the day before) and hop out of bed. Too excited to finally have working muscles, you get up too fast and feel your knees buckle beneath your weight as you fall against the side of the bed with a quiet oof. 

The noise startled a certain someone awake, quiet groaning making itself heard on the other side of the bed. Still half asleep, you don’t register that the noise wasn’t from your imagination, but was from your lover, Tartaglia. When it finally does click, you tiptoe your way around the bed and lean down to brush ginger locks away from his face and watch how his brows furrow as a result. 

“Nnnh... too bright,” he grumbles quietly, burrowing his face in the blanket covering his body. You chuckle softly, kneeling on the floor and resting your chin on the bed to lessen the strain on your (still tired) legs from crouching. 

“‘M sorry I woke you,” you say quietly, pulling the sheet away from his face, just enough to free his mouth from having his voice get muffled from the fabric. The redhead murmurs a quiet it’s fine and stretches his legs, dubious noise leaving his lips. 

As he sat up straight and rubbed his eyes, Tartaglia sniffled and cracked one eye open to assess your state. Physically you looked fine, maybe a bit disheveled from having woken up barely five minutes ago, but overall, nothing that screamed “Hey I’m sick as balls and I can’t function”. A satisfied hum leaves him as he leans over you to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, your stomach fluttering at the sweet gesture. 

“Nice to see you up and awake,” he says, voice rumbling from his vocal cords not having been used for a couple of hours. You nod in response, standing up from your kneeling position and dust your knees off, stretching your arms over your head. 

“Mhm. I’m glad I finally have the energy to stand, at the very least.” Slipping your feet into your warm house slippers, you wait for him to get up as well, observing the way his shirt rode up to reveal strong, freckled skin beneath it. You felt the urge to pepper him in kisses as thanks for him taking care of you for the past couple of days but push it down as soon as you hear (and feel) your stomach rumbling. A sheepish smile creeps its way onto your face as Tartaglia slowly turns his head to look at you, one brow raised, and both eyes narrowed in your direction. 

“You’re hungry,” he mumbles, almost accusatory. “Told you that you should’ve eaten something yesterday,” he adds in a way that almost makes him sound like he’s... sulking? 

“I know, I’m sorry,” you huff, a bashful flush appearing on your cheeks. “I was just so tired,” you add with your cheeks puffed out, standing your ground. No way was he going to make you feel guilty for wanting to sleep of all things. 

Unable to keep up his irritated façade, Tartaglia smiles at you. He stands up, putting on his slippers as well and ruffles your hair affectionately. A noise of surprise leaves you as you turn to face him, watching his figure retreat out of the bedroom door and into the hallway leading towards the kitchen. 

“Hey, what was that for!” you huff, catching up to him easily, his lazy strides not making it all that hard to stay away from you. Tartaglia simple chuckles, the sound easing your nerves at least slightly. 

“Mm, payback.” He responds with a lazy smile, opening the fridge and taking some fruits out. Some raspberries, blueberries and other various small fruits to snack on until he decides to make a better breakfast. He places them on the table- in which you eagerly sit at, tossing the berries in your mouth with a delighted hum. 

“Thanks for helping me bathe last night,” you say softly, watching the redhead take some ingredients out of the fridge and the pantry, placing them on the counter. He takes a large pout from one of the cupboards before glancing back at you and flashing you a coy smile. 

“Mm, ‘course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help my beloved in their time of need?” he says dramatically, turning his attention away from you and back to the pot in his hands. He fills it up with water, the sound echoing in the bowl, effectively muffling the sound of Tartaglia sniffling for a second time this morning. 

You shrug, picking out a few raspberries out from their container and tossing them in your mouth. Silently, you bask in the joy of being able to properly breathe through your nose, lounging in your chair. You did feel better, however you still felt slightly weak from not doing anything for days on end. Just as you were about to speak up and mention how funny it was that Tartaglia hadn’t gotten sick even though he’d been sticking to your side like glue, he sneezes. 

You jump in surprise, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the sneeze. He wipes his nose, back still facing you- almost hoping you didn’t hear it. But how could you possibly not have heard it when it was loud enough to wake up whatever wildlife was hanging around your humble cabin? 

Shoulders slumping, you heave out an exasperated groan, holding back a laugh from the pure absurdity of your situation. You get up and grab a box of tissues for him, handing it to him as you pat his back reassuringly. Of course he would get sick now of all times. You still can’t help but to tease him, though. 

“...Did you have to sneeze in the pot?”

[cyberpxnk]

Babe, I just.

I want to request more mommy!seonghwa from you, it was so good!!

thank you mommy | park seonghwa (2/2)

part one

♡ pairing: mommy!seonghwa x f!sub reader ♡ chapters: 2 out of 2 ♡ word count: 1k ♡ rating: mature/18+ (minors dni) ♡ plot: pwp, smut

♡ synopsis: you want to be good for mommy seonghwa, you really do. you're just not sure how many orgasms he plans on giving you.

♡ warnings/tags: mommy!seonghwa, dom!seonghwa, sub!reader, pet names, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, fingering (f! receiving), cunnilingus (f! receiving)

♡ author's note: hi again, i hope u like it ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ decided to make it a lil continuation!

Seonghwa's fingers are hooked within you, prodding against your soft walls as he grazes his digits languidly against your g spot. 

From beside you, he leans close to your side with his lips to your cheek as he murmurs to you. Whispers of praise and sweet nothings  fill your ear, your body trembling with arousal.

"Such a pretty girl. So perfect..."  

The words have your hips lifting from the bed, back arching as you twist from his touches. However, he keeps one firm hand on your waist and he holds you down against the mattress, enjoying how you struggle beneath him. You grab at the bedsheets, trying to find anything to ground you.

A sob rips from your throat, the resistance has you trying to wriggle away from his ministrations. In contrast to the slow and patient drag of his fingers, your own movements are hurried and desperate. 

Beneath him, you look so divine. Your eyes can barely stay open from the pleasure clouding your senses. The sounds that leave you are sinful, mouth permanently parted from the noises you cannot stop. 

He loves to see you so vulnerable and delicate for him. He loves knowing that only he can make you feel this type of euphoria. There was nothing as beautiful as the sight of you falling apart for him. 

"Can my darling come for me one more time?" You shake your head at his words, though your body betrays you as you try to grind against his hand.

"M-Mommy! Can't take it.. please! C-Can't." You're babbling as his fingers fuck into your sopping core. There is a trail of your fluids drooling from your hole, messy against your cunt and thighs.

It's only been twenty minutes and Seonghwa has already driven you to your second orgasm, nearly forcing you into your third. Your thighs are quivering and the overstimulation has you squirming against his hold.

"You can do it, princess... Don't you want to be a good girl and cum for your mommy again?"

"C-Can't... feels so good," you moan and try to buck against his palm as he scissors his fingers within your dripping hole, "w-want to be mommy's good girl..." 

You don't even know what you're saying at this point, sentences unable to properly form in between your whines of incoherency. All you know is that you need to make your mommy proud by cumming again.

Unable to resist your begging, Seonghwa is between your legs in an instant. He dips down low into the apex of your thighs, his hot breath ghosting against your clenched walls.

Though his fingers haven't stopped pumping within you, he lifts his free hand from your waist and instead grips your thigh, holding you closer to his face.

You don't think you can handle another second of his touches, the pleasure that runs through you is burning hot. Even as he holds you tightly, your thighs shake around his head. 

It's when he lowers himself into your pussy that your jerk into him, the abrupt movement forcing his hand out of you momentarily. A slick gush of your juices follow in suit.

Seonghwa clicks his tongue and tuts at you.

"Naughty doll, behave for mommy." 

"M-Mommy, it's too much." His presses a kiss above your wetness, nuzzling into your skin before planting his lips further down.

"Color?" He hums, pressing his nose against your clit as his begins to drag his tongue along your folds. You sob, not wanting to answer as the intensity is making you delirious.

"Color, princess." His tone is more firm, his actions coming to a halt as he looks up to you, his expression holding a hint of concern.

You're squirming against his hold, trying to force yourself closer to his mouth as your eyes stay screwed shut. You barely force the words out of yourself, knuckles turning white from how hard you're gripping the bedsheets.

"G-Green!" His lips latch onto your clit immediately and his fingers are delving into your heat once more, immediately curling against the tenderness of your g spot.

The suddenness of his actions have you shrieking his name and you're quick to lose yourself, the coil within you snapping as you're squirting messily against his fingers and onto his face. 

"I'm cumming, mommy!" Your thighs squeeze around his head, body trembling as your third orgasm begins to overtake you. 

His mouth doesn't leave you even as you're thrashing against the bed, both his hands now gripping at your legs and keeping them apart as he sucks hungrily on your clit.

"M-mommy, please... No more!" Your moan is a mix between a sob and gurgle as the fluids continue to leak from your convulsing cunt. Even when his lips slip off your clit from your writhing, he doesn't stop — mouth immediately on the sensitive bundle once more.

As you're climaxing, his actions haven't ceased and he seems determined to draw out your orgasm as long as he can. It's painfully good and you don't think you can take another second of it, but your mind is so hazy with pleasure that your vision goes spotty, unable to focus on anything else but the feeling of his mouth and fingers. 

You're crying loudly at this point, tears pouring down your cheeks as you continue to come, the peak of your release ridden out impossibly long while his tongue is swiping relentlessly at your swollen nub. 

Only until he's satisfied does he part from you, greedily licking off your juices from his lips. He rubs his hand down your pussy, smearing your fluids against his fingers before he's tasting them, lazily sucking on his digits as he stares at you with a pleased expression. 

"You did such a good job, my pretty, pretty girl. You always look so divine when you're cumming for mommy." 

You keen at his praise, though you're still dizzy as you're trying to come down from your high. He has since dropped your legs and you can barely move, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Even now, your body is still trembling from the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm as you're trying to recover. When he experimentally drags the pad of his thumb along your folds, you jolt and moan in complaint.

Seonghwa chuckles softly and strokes along your hair before he kisses your forehead once, coming down to wrap his arms around you.

Even in your exhaustion, you naturally curl into his touch and sigh as your tired body immediately relaxes into him. 

"What do you say, my darling?" 

"T-Thank you, mommy."

[garoujo]

WHAT’RE YOU DOING STEP BRO? — TOKYO REVENGERS

feat : sano manjiro, ryuguji ken, hanma shuji, haitani rindou + ran, sanzu haruchiyo.

♱ warnings — stepcest, pseudocest, f!reader, a little manipulation, creampies, exhibitonism, fingering, haitani threesome, possessiveness, teasing, they all refer to you as their little sister / call themselves your big brother but there’s no blood relation, hanma is a lil mean, very minor use of nii-chan, dry humping.

♱ note — jjk version. i forgot how much i love this, truly. :(

・✶ ｡ﾟSANO MANJIRO / MIKEY

you were all he had, his pretty little sister who he treated so softly, sometimes you forgot that you weren’t blood related. but it was you who knew mikey best, who knew his tells and what made him twitch and sigh, you only wanted to be as good to him as he was to you — so when you offer to make him feel better, let him bury his face between your thighs, it would be mean of you to deny him.

“m-mikey, but—what if someone’s sees.” you whisper softly, a whimpery, small sound that has mikey humming as he circles your puffy clit with two fingers while he presses kisses along your cheeks. “‘ts fine, then they’d know who you belong to.” it’s filthy, the effect that the low drawl of his tone has on your body, melting into your step brothers chest like it was the most natural thing in the world and maybe it would’ve been if it didn’t make it easier for him to sink two of his fingers into your pussy.

mikey’s eyes are heavy lidded when he looks at you, face carefully blank but he can’t deny the warmth that pools in his stomach, his desire for his pretty little sister so evident in the way his hard cock is straining, leaking and throbbing from where it’s pressed against his abdomen as you hump and fuck yourself against his palm, smearing your slick along the shaft with every intoxicating roll of your hips. “f-feels too good.” you sound through a pout and your thighs threaten to close at the first too deep touch of his fingers against your swollen spots, making mikey click his tongue before he’s hooking your thigh around his waist to keep your spread open.

“thought you liked when i touched you. ‘m the only one who can do it right. you’re not supposed to lie to your brother, remember?” his voice is deeper now, his words accompanied by his fingers curling deep inside your gummy walls — twisting his wrist as he lets you fuck yourself on them, grazing the heel of his hand against your clit with every wet squelch of your pussy “n-no, wouldn’t lie to you. i like it, p-promise.” you gasp, moaning so pretty when you feel mikey’s free hand rest against your cheek before he’s tilting your head back, exposing your neck for him to suck marks into your skin, how else would people know you’re his little sister? he needs to mark you, show the world you’re his as he rolls his tongue over the skin after, just as your pussy squeezes around his fingers. “then tell your big brother how much you love him when you cum.”

・✶ ｡ﾟRYUGUJI KEN / DRAKEN

draken really tried so hard to resist you, his pretty little step sister who was always so sweet to him despite how intimidating he looked at first. but you were so soft, such a stark contrast to his sharp edges and rough exterior but fuck—when he first got a taste of just how fucking sweet your cunt felt wrapped around his thick cock, he knew he was fucked.

“fuck, princess. di’nt wanna do this, why’d you have to be so fuckin’ cute.” draken knows it’s wrong, his mind screaming at him to just get up and leave before he’s too far gone and the words seem like they grow louder with every inch of his cock he sinks into your throbbing cunt. it’s disgusting, he’d tell himself when he caught himself staring at the swell of your ass or the bounce of your tits when you came to the shop, but even then he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, it’s not like you were his real sister and as soon as he even tries to fight the hazy frame of mind, your pussy squeezes around him and he knows hes fucked. fuck—he swore he’d protect you against people like him, but now you’re grabbing and whimpering for him and he feels like the one who’s in danger.

your lashes brush your cheeks when you give him a look that makes his cock twitch, a dreamy sort of blink that lingers when your lips part to moan and fuck—he already wants to hear it again. “goddamn, princess. pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, relax.” draken grunts before he’s pulling his hips back, thighs twitching from where he’s got you pressed against the back wall in the garage and this would fucking ruin him if he got caught. but you’re his little sister and you’re so fucking sweet and pretty and you’re all he has, all he needs when he fucks into you — your big strong brother who’s losing himself in the eager spread of your pussy when it’s wrapped around his thick cock.

you feel draken hum when he kisses you, rutting his hips into you deeper, harder as he tries to silence the sounds he’s fucking out of you as you fall into a blissful headspace that has him pushing his name between your lips. “y’re so fuckin’ pretty, fuck—you wanted this, didn’t you? only had to ask, baby. can’t tell nobody how good—shiit, your big brother is to you, alright?” his voice feels like it drips through you as his heavy balls meet your skin with every sharp, wet smack of his hips, driving into your pussy with the strength in his well built body until you’re a mess of spit and sweat against him. “never gonna be able to s-stop now, princess. feels too fuckin’ good.”

・✶ ｡ﾟHANMA SHUJI

you had such high hopes when you’d first been introduced to shuji, seeing his expensive suit and daunting presence had you curious about the man. but he was so fucking mean, such a tease and he loved the reactions he was able to pull out of you, letting his hands pull and grope at your body whenever you’re both left alone and you hate the way you love it.

“oh? you’re so fucking filthy, doll.” god—you both fucking were, hanma thinks to himself as he bounces you, his pretty little step sister on his cock even though his mind is screaming about how wrong it is, he’d be branded a sick fuck if anyone found out but that realisation just makes it even more thrilling and you were fucking intoxicating. the way you’re blinking down at him with that glassy, doe-eyed look he loves so much, you were basically begging for him to fuck you dumb and he knows you’re just so eager to please him, to act out the part of the perfect little sister just so he’ll be kind to you.

“we must both be fuckin’ sick in the head. just wanna bounce on your big brothers cock all night, yeah? gonna fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else, baby.” your step brother asks with another lewd, wet connection of your hips and it’s so fucking sexy the way you moan for him, pinning your chest against his as he pinches at your ass and grinds his cock into your walls. hanma loves toying with you, especially when you’re so responsive when he’s catching your sensitive nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pulling, hearing you yelp and moan and cry about how nii-chan is so mean, and the nickname he’d fucked into your pretty little head still makes him throb before he’s sending you a smirk that looks just as unhinged as it does handsome.

“you let anyone else touch this pussy, ‘ll knock their teeth out — but you like that, don’t you? like when your big brother protects you.” hanma goads and the amber in his eyes looks dangerous when they’re narrowed up at you, but that look makes something warm burst along your thighs when he grazes his cock along your sweet spots, his pace and pressure unrelenting, and the way he’s fucking you makes your mind feel like it’s numb. “y-yes, love it shuji. don’t want anyone but you, ah!” god he feels so fucking greedy when he deliberately slows his pace, making you whine in that little pathetic, whispery tone that has him groaning — moving his fingers to pinch and swirl around your clit just so he can hear you say his name again. “‘m the one you need protecting from, doll. fuck—don’t hold back on me, or else.”

・✶ ｡ﾟHAITANI RINDOU / HAITANI RAN

you loved your step brothers truly, they both spoiled you and doted over you. so you didn’t question when they invited you over to your childhood home for a weekend, promising your parents that they’ll take good care of you while they enjoy dinner together, until they’ve got you pressed between them in the same bed you grew up in — but now they’ve got you all to themselves.

“you’re sensitive.” ran drawls from where he’s kneeling between your spread thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing the way he’s looking down at your glistening folds with a tilt of his head, keeping you spread lewdly as his thumb rolls your clit in sticky circles. “aren’t you? so pathetic.” he goads again before his lilac eyes are meeting yours with a heat that feels like it burns you, and you’d turn to hide your face if rindou didn’t have you held tight against his chest, his fingers clasped around your jaw to make you watch, listening to the sounds your step brother’s pulling from you. “already so wet for your brothers, princess. such a dirty girl.” you hear the younger of the two rasp at your side as he draws back onto his knees, pulling down his sweats with ease to reveal the thick shaft of his cock.

your thighs twitch when your attention is drawn back to your brother between your legs, feeling him spit on your clit before he’s suckling on the sensitive bud lightly and pulling away to line up his cock with a dangerous grin. “you’re a twisted little thing, aren’t you, sweet girl?” ran asks before he’s pushing the blunt tip into the tight pull of your walls and sinking into you, and the stretch of his cock makes you whine before you feel rindou’s fingers graze your cheek to turn you towards him, grunting when you let your tongue lick along the slit of his cock. “you gonna take care of your big brothers, doll? we’re always so good to you. you owe us, right?” he asks again before he’s pushing his cock past your lips, groaning when he feels you choke, the tight tunnel of your throat squeezing around him as it’s paired with a slow roll of ran’s hips.

“fuck—just like that, princess.” rindou grunts before he’s beginning a pace that makes you feel dizzy, the heavy weight of his cock pushing up against your airways with every thrust and you feel mindless when ran pinches at your clit at the same time, following it with teasing but deep thrusts that have your thighs squeezing around his hips while you choke on his brothers cock. your eyes roll back at the overwhelming bliss you feel spin in your mind before rindou pulls back to let you breathe, cupping his balls as he gives his cock a few rough strokes and taps it against your tongue when it rolls past your lips. “our little sister is a real fuckin’ treat.”

・✶ ｡ﾟSANZU HARUCHIYO

he was so fucking sick of people calling him a sister-fucker, teasing him about how much he spoiled and melted for you just with a bat of your eyelashes. sanzu would admit that he loves you, more than a regular step brother should, more than anyone else ever could — you may not be his blood, but you’re his and how can they even call him a sister fucker when he’s not fucked you … yet.

“they didn’t say anything to you, did they, angel?” sanzu asks you, his breath rolling over your cheek from where he’s so delicately placed you in his lap and pulled your face close to his. he should’ve known better than to leave you alone with the haitani’s, nobody should even look at you. nobody but him, you were his. he knew you loved him too— he could tell with how sweet you were to him despite his more impulsive tendencies, so he decides that he’s going to finally have you when you gasp at the sudden brush of his lips along your skin. your eyes are wide at the sudden feeling of your step brothers mouth against your own, his ringed fingers pressing against the back of your neck to keep you in place as he pulls you into his softly — greedily taking anything you offer him.

“haru—what..” you mumble against his lips, fingers twitching in the expensive fabric of his dress shirt before they relax again and sanzu feels his cock twitch when you give in to him, parting your lips for the sudden push of his tongue as it slides messy along your own and he groans, he was the best at taking care of you after all and you don’t want to disappoint. it’s lewd the way he sucks at your tongue, letting his fingers trail along your skin to cup your jaw and pull your hips against his. “your big brother ‘s gonna take care of you, angel. you wanna make me feel good, don’t you? when ‘m always so good to you.” after all your brother was so sweet to you, feeling him only pull away to place a few open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

“hope they didn’t toy with you, princess. i’ll kill them, you’re mine, little sister’s so sweet for only me.” sanzu grunts and you can feel the weight of his cock twitch against your thigh, throbbing behind his slacks when you slur out his name and grab at his hair, making him coo before he’s rocking his cock gently against your clothed heat. “y-yes, only for you, haru.” you gasp and he feels like he might pass out at how well you listen to him, so fucking pliant and he feels suddenly too warm under his clothes when you push down onto his cock again. you feel so good and he feels like animal when he ruts into you, breathing hard as he bites and kisses along your skin. “fuck, atta girl, angel. only your big brother can make you feel good.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[prolix-yuy]

The Plan (and All its Iterations)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Editor "Murch"

Summary: Capturing the attention of infamous actor, drug addict, man slut, hot mess Dieter Bravo was not on your bingo card. But when he invites you to a house party you have to come to grips with the fact that he’s offering you much more than a few free drinks. 

Word Count: 12.2k (I KNOW it was meant to be a oneshot and it became a whole meal)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, soft drug use (weed), implied hard drug use, alcohol, oral sex (f-receiving, implied m-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), rimming, safe PiV sec (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), Bi Dieter, use of sex toys (pretty tame tbh), dirty talk like whoa, unexpected feelings, lil bit of angst.

Notes: This was meant to be a sloppy little Dieter smutfest and whoops, I spilled some feelings on it. But it’s mostly filth. Take this as all of the slutty Dieter I didn’t get to show in Below the Line, but desperately wanted to share. Not Bubble compliant but does anyone really care? Settle in for the show, my lovelies, Dieter does like to perform. 

Cross-posted on AO3

Best Laid Plans Masterlist

It doesn’t matter where you stand, sit, or turn at this party, you can feel Dieter watching you. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get conned into one of these, but he finally hit you where it hurt; your treacherous heart.

“C’mon Murch, just come for a little while. You know you’ll have fun. I’ve got all the best snacks, treats, a pool…” Dieter’s smile is just short of lecherous, hands splayed across your workstation as you click through another set of takes. You quirk a smile at his moniker for you - Walter Murch, king of editing, and the least attractive nickname you’ve ever received - and keep working. He’s distracting as always, but today it’s just that little bit more annoying.

“I’ve got a deadline, Di, leave me alone.”

The casual “acquaintanceship” you’d struck up with Dieter Bravo had started over a bagel. You’d snuck into craft services on your trip to pick up hard drives, and he’d caught you dipping a blueberry bagel into peanut butter. After being mortified that anyone, not to mention a leading actor, had caught you indulging in a snack between long stretches at your editing bay, he struck up some conversation. Mostly about how you always choose the take where he’s flaring his nostrils too much.

“That’s not me, I think it looks dumb. Elias thinks it makes you look wilder, more unhinged.” His charming laugh had been the precursor to all of your ensuing meetings.

Being around Dieter was surprisingly easy, falling into a rhythm quickly. Not that you see him often, just when you’re sent on set for pickups or drop offs. Low on the totem pole means doing the runner jobs and sifting through takes most nights. Mind-numbing work when the best years of your life are being chewed up by the Hollywood machine in favor of making enough money to afford your four-way split apartment.

But when you do see Dieter, he’s always polite, chatty if he’s not practicing for a scene. He asks you about your day, your weekend, if you listened to the new podcast he recommended. Sometimes he flirts, which you try not to take personally even if it makes you smile after he leaves. Among all of your scattered interactions, he always ends the conversation asking you the same thing.

“Want to come to my place after, Murch?” He follows it up with an excuse, a new one most times. He’s having all the production designers over to redecorate. He’s got an early release of the film where Jessica Biel bends over bare-assed. His dealer likes a pretty face. You’ve heard too many iterations to understand there’s more behind the request. Up until a week ago you’d refused, and for a man like Dieter Bravo a simple no actually was enough. He was respectful, never wheedled or whined, but you could see the glimmer of “next time” in his eyes before he hid them behind his sunglasses.

Today, however, you were at a new low when he asked you to come to his house party. Your ex-boyfriend, who followed you to LA just to break up with you when he discovered you were more like a seven in a city full of elevens, just proposed to his new girl. It's premature, a recipe for disaster, but it doesn’t ease the sting of seeing him on Instagram looking like it’s the happiest day of his life.

You should have blocked him months ago.

So now Dieter is hovering over you, large hands glinting with rings splayed over your work surface, notes crinkling softly beneath them. He’s pushed his sweater sleeves up his elbows, exposing thickly corded forearms with dark slashes of black. You didn’t even think he worked out, but the muscles rippling below the skin tell you a vainer story.

When you dare to look up at him, you know you’re a goner. He’s all fluff and seduction, hair an endearing curly mess and sunglasses slipping down his gorgeously prominent nose. He raises an eyebrow, sensing the change in your mood. He even backs off a fraction, letting you breathe instead of crowding. Popping out a hip and tilting his head at you, his anticipation wafts on the air like the tartness of a green apple. You sigh, reclining back in your office chair. Would it be so bad to let go for a night? Enjoy some free drinks and conversation and possibly a handsome eye turned your way? Dieter leans against the table edge.

“You look like you could use a break. Have looked like that for weeks. And I have it on good authority that your boss will be so hungover tomorrow that he’ll call out. Mostly because I’ll make sure of it.” He flashes a toothier grin, lopsided as hell. “C’mon, one party. If you hate it, I’ll never ask again. But I promise I’ll take care of you, Murch. You’ll have a good time.” You almost detect a promise in his voice but dash it away. Fingers digging into your temples, you blow out a particularly exhaustive breath, letting the tension crawling through your spine release.

“Fine, Di, one party. But I have work in the morning, Elias or no, so I can’t stay out forever,” you concede. Dieter is already six steps ahead of you, gathering up your purse and jacket and coming close to unplugging your machine. Thankfully he lets you save and shut down before he ushers you out the door.

“Murch, prepare to have your standards for parties set way too high.”

He’s kind of right. Dieter does throw an excellent party. The house he’s renting during the shoot is huge, a modern monstrosity you gawked at as your Uber dropped you off. Dieter offered to drive but you wanted to stop by your apartment and change. Wearing a flirtier top and a cute skirt that makes you feel like you can belong, you entered Dieter’s temporary home.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, and you can’t make a half turn without finding someone serving you something. Cocktail waitresses with hot and cold canapes, bartenders shaking drinks that must cost more than your fare here. There are various bowls of pills around, joints scattered on a glass table along with pre-cut lines of coke. The martini the bartender fixes you with forty-dollar olives is excellent, taking the edge off your day and giving you a distraction as you clock Dieter around the house.

He manages to be in every conversation yet none of them at the same time, always taking leave of one small cluster to move to another. You stumble upon your boss, who does indeed look several drinks further along than you do. When Dieter throws an arm around his shoulder, refilling Elias’ glass with straight whiskey, the look he shoots you is nothing short of an “I told you so.” Seems like you’ll have a quiet day tomorrow.

As the evening curls later, the outdoor pool lit up and the enormous glass patio doors ushering in the breeze, you start catching Dieter looking at you. Not the way he was earlier in the night, keeping an eye out as you passed from room to room. No, this is much heavier, a literal weight pressing between your shoulders, making you look to see where he is. You’re admiring a painting and he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, hips jutting out and arms folded as he pulls on the joint between his lips. Or sitting on one of the shockingly white couches, a blonde extra dripping in sequins trying to hold his attention but he’s got you in the corner of his eye.

You’re lost as to why.

Dieter is well known around Hollywood as being a bit of a playboy. You’d avoided most of the publicity around it, not wanting your mind to conjure up those tabloids when you had to look him in the eye. Or watch his face for hours in your darkened editing bay. It was unavoidable on a few occasions though.

The parties, including the one you’re currently at, are his most infamous. When the story broke about the blowjob contest he held, challenging every girl at the party to blow a guy better than he can, you almost choked on your coffee. The cover story was accompanied by a “before” photo of him looking up through his eyelashes at a chiseled torso with those sinfully thick fingers dug into the jean waistband. The more salacious photo, a mere Google search away, shows Dieter with the man’s cock down his throat, tongue peeking from behind his wet lips and a satisfied gleam in his eyes. You had to practice not bringing that image to mind several times, which became all the harder when you were picking the best take of him sucking strawberry juice off his fingers.

You refused to think of him when you masturbated later that night. That was a slippery parasocial slope to slide down.

Then there was the rumor that he could make a woman cum with his tongue better than with a vibrator. Though he was supposedly just as good at doing that too. No photos, but many corroborating accounts did add credulity. You’d snorted derisively; he might be a good lover, but no one’s that good. At least no one you’d had.

This is all to say that you are lost as to why Dieter seems to have his eye on you. You’d assumed he’d be a ghost, fucking his way through whatever he fancied and chasing it with whichever vice pleased him. But instead he’s manspreading on the couch, a redhead this time trying to palm his dick over his pajama pants as he sips on whiskey. Even then, with this girl licking his earlobe and straddling his thigh, his sharp gaze is locked on you.

Arousal clutches in your cunt, and you weakly bat it away. No way. Just fixating because you’d said no to him so many times. You’re nothing more than a conquest he’s gloating over.

Or a conquest in process.

You feel your mouth twist as your drink sours on your tongue. Why did you entertain that thought? Dieter can literally lift his hips and be fucking someone gorgeous instantly, yet you somehow believe he’s interested in you? Never mind that his jokes make you ugly laugh, or that he’s offered you rides and sandwiches and an ear to complain into. You catch him again in the corner of your eye, his sly look softening to something like concern.

You're reading too much into it. Putting your drink down a little harder than you mean, you start heading to the bathroom by the entrance. You don’t want to be here, to be reminded that you’re playing dress-up with people who would never learn your name. That you were not the standard of beauty that would catch someone’s eye in this room of supernaturally pretty people. Why did you let Dieter talk you into this? He was the only one watching you tonight.

From behind you, Dieter’s voice echoes through the house. “Pool’s open, bitches!” he shouts, and the mass movement outside and to the water eases your anxiety. At least no one will notice you leave.

The restroom by the entrance is locked, so you venture for another one up the stairs. After a moment of echoey wandering, the party noise now concentrated outside, you find another. It’s huge, larger than your bedroom and decked out with a double vanity, shower, enclosed toilet, and a freestanding tub underneath a window. It’s the bathroom of your dreams, so you’ll be sure to enjoy it while you can.

Washing your hands with the most pleasant-smelling soap you’ve used outside a hotel, you hear a knock at the door.

“One second,” you call, hand on the knob and ready to exit. You turn it, step forward, and are immediately ushered back by large hot hands and a heavy wet mouth close to your ear.

“Fuck, Murch, did you think you’d be able to sneak away that easily?” Dieter rasps in your ear, slamming the door behind him and locking it. One arm winds around your waist and guides you backwards until he’s pressing you up against the vanity.

“Dieter, what the fuck…” you try to protest, but he’s overwhelming your space. His breath, laced with whiskey and some fruity weed strain, warms the underside of your chin as he mouths at your neck, using his strong nose to tilt your head back. His hand is braced against your lower back, the other planted on the vanity top that’s cutting into the meat of your ass, and your heart is racing at this sudden onslaught.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he growls, the slick slide of his teeth now against your jugular. He soothes the cool press with a wide lap of his tongue, leaving your skin wet for his waiting lips. You try to come up with a retort, a reaction, anything, but his thigh pushes yours apart and presses against your core with a subtle grind. “Don’t pretend you came to this party and didn’t think you’d end up here. With me.”

“Di…” you try again, but his hands clasp the backs of your thighs as he sets you on the vanity. You’re barely perched there, pressed open by those same hot hands as his thumbs circle your most sensitive flesh. The roll of his shoulders is all you can see with his face still pressed into your throat, back bowed as he fists your skirt up around your waist. You did change, did put on something pretty that he could easily slip those thick fingers under. Did you subtly wish for this?

Speaking of, his thumb trails over your dampening underwear, tracing the outline of your folds over the thin fabric. A needy, keening noise slips through your lips, surprising you as much as Dieter.

“Fuck, Murch, keep making those noises and I’ll make you scream next,” he mumbles into the top of your breast, loose lips dragging against your skin as he pulls the neckline of your top down. That damn nickname gives you just enough clarity to retort.

“Holy shit, Di, you cannot call me that with your hand up my skirt,” you chuckle out breathlessly. Finally Dieter lifts his mouth from you, leaning back enough to take in the loopy smile on your face and letting his own breathy giggle join yours.

“Sorry, Murch, I’ll find a better one for you. Something about…” Dieter’s eyes trail down your body to where his hand is still stroking you with teasing lightness. “Sweetness. Honey. Sugar. Sweetheart.” He hums at the last one. “Yeah, I like that. Can I make you cum for me, sweetheart?” he practically purrs as he slides both hands up tease at the waistband of your panties. The spread of them on your feverish skin threatens to drive you back to the brink of sanity, but you have to answer him. Dieter always asks, will respect your wishes if you say no.

“Fuck, yes Di.”

The wicked grin that graces Dieter’s face is the moment of stillness before he begins frantically pawing at you again. He makes quick work of your skirt and underwear, urging you to lean back and lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs. His fingers catch deftly on your shoes and discard them as well. The marble under your ass, slightly warmed, makes a shiver of excitement skitter up to your hairline.

“Fuck,” Dieter sighs, staring at your spread sex with parted lips and a glisten of his tongue swiping out. He’s mesmerized for a moment, hands gripping the vanity top as he drinks you in long enough to make you squirm.

“Is everything…okay?” you ask, and the quiet question sounds so weak coming from your tight throat. It brings Dieter back to himself, his eyes snapping up to your concerned ones. The daze is replaced with hunger, and he fists your top in his hands.

“Of fucking course it is,” Dieter snaps out, tugging fabric over your head and deftly unclasping your bra with one hand. In seconds you’re bare before him, perched on the edge of his vanity while his eyes smolder into you. “If anyone’s ever told you your pussy was anything less than perfect, I’ll blacklist him for as long as I have any clout.” The threat rips a nervous giggle from your throat and a shake from your head, but Dieter plants both hands on the counter and comes nose to nose with you. The sudden closeness has you licking your lips, half holding your breath.

“You are the most beautiful person in this whole damn house, present company included,” Dieter teases, a little smile at the edge of his lips but sincerity laced throughout. “And the fact that you’re letting a fuckup like me touch you tells me you don’t believe it. But it’s true, and I’m going to prove it to you about…three to four times, as long as my jaw holds out.” Your brow furrows at the cryptic end to his sentence until Dieter reaches under the vanity and pulls out a stool. Settling it between your open legs, he flops down and absentmindedly pulls his worn t-shirt over his head. When his eyes flick up to you from their vantage point level with your cunt, he gives a little shrug.

“I like feeling your bare legs on my back as I eat you out,” he states, and you’re stunned just long enough for him to scoot close to the vanity and press his face to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Oh fuck,” you squeak, making Dieter’s smile stretch his lips against your skin.

“Sweetheart, I’ve barely gotten started and you’re already this keyed up? Sure you didn’t take anything?” His smirk travels up to mischievous eyes as he locks them with yours, darting from your parted lips to your trembling hands holding you up. “Don’t worry, I’ve had enough for the both of us, and you’re getting the benefit of all of it.” He turns his head to blow a light breath of air against your folds, the wetness of your arousal causing your back to arch at the sensation.

“Do you want to cum in my mouth, sweetheart?” he asks innocently, shifting one leg to drape over his smooth shoulder and pressing your other knee open. Your words catch in your throat for a moment before nodding vigorously.

“I haven’t gotten by in Hollywood this long on implied consent,” he tuts, finally urging a “yes,” from your parched lips. He grins salaciously before opening his jaw wide and feasting on your waiting cunt.

“Fuck!” you grit out as Dieter’s hot mouth engulfs you, tongue sliding messily through your folds as he hums in contentment. He sucks at your intimate flesh, lips popping off obscenely as he fills his mouth with your arousal.

“God, sweetheart, you taste fucking amazing. Like honey-dipped mango,” he groans, dragging his tongue down, down, down to tease at your entrance. Dieter always got mouthier, more poetic when he smoked, and if that little aside was anything to go by he was only going to get louder with time. Compared to…pretty much any other man who’d ever pleasured you, it was pure erotica dripping from his lips.

“So fucking wet and delicious, been hiding this from me for too long. I could eat this pussy for every meal and ask for seconds, God yes,” Dieter moans between slick dips and thrusts into your quivering cunt. The hand wrapped around your thigh slides closer as Dieter lifts his head just long enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, wetting them liberally before circling your clit.

“Oh my God, Di, that’s…shit, that’s gonna make me cum,” you gasp out, and his chuckle as he drives his long talented tongue inside you only spurs you on. His jaw works as he thrusts deeper and deeper, curling it sinfully to brush against that earth-shattering soft spot inside. Your eyes roll back into your head - if he gives you a g-spot orgasm with only his tongue, all the rumors might be true - just in time for your arms to give out, making you slip backward on the vanity. The back of your head thumps against the mirror, making Dieter look up with concern.

“Sorry, m’okay, just…hah, just got a little weak in the…arms,” you finished lamely, but the scrunched up smile and snort you get from Dieter is well worth it.

“Glad to know I’m affecting you as much as you’re affecting me,” he rasps, licking softly at the crease of your knee as you feel him shift and rock under you. His cock must be aching something fierce. When is he going to fuck you?

“I’ve got my fill of teasing your pussy, now let’s get your cum down my throat,” he says, and yet again that filthy mouth of his goes back to work on your throbbing cunt. He drags his tongue over your clit again and again, fast hard strokes with a swirl that make your thighs shake around his shoulders. Your heavy breathing has devolved into throaty whines that make Dieter moan into your cunt just as loudly.

“Sweetheart, you want something to cum around? Want my fingers in this tight pussy?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck Di, I’m so close, give them to me,” you beg, and the dark growl you hear from between your legs is the precursor to two thick fingers pressing into your slick cunt. He’s achingly slow but steady, pulling the most wretched moan from deep in your chest as he seats himself inside you.

“Yes, you gorgeous thing, look at how good you look all stretched out on my fingers. Cum for me, sweetheart, I gave you my fingers, now give me your cum. Now.” With that rumbled order Dieter closes his mouth around your clit and works his tongue over it fast and fluttering, pressing deep inside you to curl against your g-spot as you crest into bombastic pleasure.

Your orgasm rocks your hips against Dieter, and he presses one thick tattooed forearm against your stomach to keep his mouth plastered against you. Chest heaving, tears beading in the corners of your eyes, you moan raggedly as waves of ecstasy drench your mind. He stays with you through it all, lifting his mouth from your sensitive clit when you start to whine.

“Such a good one right there, so perfect for me. Gonna lick everything up once you’re done, sweetheart, then make you a mess all over again.” His dark murmurings barely register as the white noise recedes and you sit up weakly.

Dieter’s mouth is slick with you, hair sticking up in all directions as he stares at his fingers with rapt attention, engulfed by your cunt. The cool press of his pinky ring against your inner thigh soothes your overheated skin. When he realizes you’re watching him, he turns his gaze back up to you.

“What happens if I want to make you cum again?” There’s no tease this time, only something like the first taste of addiction licking across his features. You huff out a breath, pushing yourself back up on your hands.

“I’d say that would be a lot of effort, but thanks for the offer,” you smirk, but Dieter is still buried knuckle-deep in you. He quirks an eyebrow, then still holding your gaze he curls his fingers deeper inside you, pulling out a choked gasp.

“Doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like you want to cum on my fingers again, sweetheart.” Dieter stands to tower over you, the wide span of his chest level with your dropped jaw. He uses his other hand to tilt your chin up to regard his smug smile.

“Have you ever had someone make you cum twice?” he asks, the cockiness and surety behind his voice making your heart thrum. You’d barely cum once with other men, half the time needing to do it for yourself. A tiny shake of your head makes that salacious smile crawl across Dieter’s lips.

“Aren’t you the most delicious little thing? I get to pop a cherry of yours, and I fucking love cherries,” he purrs down at you. You tilt your head back and toss him your own challenging smile, trying to regain some of the upper hand in this exchange but your breath is shallow and his thumb ghosting over your clit is making your words fuzzy around the edges.

“Might not be that easy,” you try to retort, but as you speak Dieter leans back and lets a string of spit drip onto your clit, lubricating his thumb’s new path. “Fuck,” is all you can say as he licks his lips and winks at you.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t hear that over how wet your pussy sounds.” God, you could hate him in this moment for being so cocky but he’s slowly pumping his fingers in you and teasing your clit with perfect pressure. Instead you push yourself up to press your face against his chest, the heat and light sheen of sweat sticking you together. He’s soft-skinned and smells like sunscreen and some expensive cologne that’s barely clinging to him.

“Oh, is pretty girl getting a little overwhelmed with all this attention?” Dieter coos, curling his fingers around the back of your head. You retaliate with a nip to his nipple, making him gasp and tighten his fingers in your hair. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love a girl who bites.” The rush of arousal to your core makes his fingers even slicker sliding in and out of you. You wrap your arms around Dieter’s soft waist, and his fingers slow as he buries his nose against the crown of your head. It’s surprisingly sweet, even though he’s still trying to pull another orgasm out of you.

“Like feeling you against my skin, gorgeous. So soft and sweet,” he murmurs in your hair. Your orgasm is ebbing gently, arousal still simmering in the cradle of your hips but you don’t think you’ll be able to cum again. You blow out a puff of air against Dieter’s chest and lean back, letting your fingers dance on the smooth freckled expanse of his back.

“I think that’s all I got in me for tonight. Not for lack of trying,” you laugh, hand coming down to gently circle Dieter’s wrist. He hums, tilting his head up and squinting like he’s thinking hard, then captures your gaze again.

“A woman knows her own body, but may I offer an alternative?” he says, slipping his fingers out of your cunt and straight into the warmth of his mouth. He sucks indulgently, the pink slip of his tongue darting out from his lips as he licks his palm too. It sparks more arousal in your belly but you try to push it down now that he’s parted from you. With his other hand outstretched he helps you off the vanity and back to your feet. Bare before him, his messily patterned pajama pants barely hiding a strained erection, you wonder how the hell you got here.

Oh, right. You said yes.

“What if…” Dieter starts, letting his hands drop to your waist. The press of his fingers makes you turn to face the mirror, and your disheveled state is a shock to your system. So is Dieter, now standing behind you, looking at you just as hungrily as when he first barged in. You wait with barely concealed excitement for him to take the pleasure he wants, strip off his pants and seek out the clutch of your cunt. Instead he splays a hand over your stomach, another coming up to cup your chin as your eyes meet in the mirror.

“What if I bent you over this vanity so you could watch me eat you ass and finger fuck you to a second orgasm?” he whispers in your ear, and yeah, that wakes your cunt right back up. It’s almost painful how quickly your arousal mounts, heat spreading over your skin as Dieter chuckles at your open mouth and surprised eyes. “What, never had a man do that either?” Your silence widens his smile. “Two cherries then. My favorite.”

“You don’t…” you begin to say, but you have no idea what the other half of that sentence was supposed to be. Whatever it was, it was conjured up to be interrupted by Dieter’s bared teeth and heavy push against the cool marble, pressing you down until you’re on your elbows and bent under him. He continues to hold your gaze as his fingers interlace with yours, pressing his heavy erection into your ass as he grazes his teeth against your jaw.

“I fucking do, sweetheart. I want it, I fucking need it,” he growls dropping his mouth to litter little bites across the back of your shoulder. The sting of his teeth, quick and intoxicating, makes your hips push back against him. He groans in response.

“You can do whatever you want to me after I have my way with you, sweetheart. Spank me, strap me, edge me, I’ll take everything you give me if you let me taste all of you.” The shudder that wrecks your body precedes the verbal “yes”.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he breathes into your skin before lifting off you, heat now absent from your back. You almost ask for him to stay, but he’s back to sitting behind you and all you can do is gasp as his large hands grip your ass cheeks and spread them to his gaze.

“Fuck, how are you so fucking pretty everywhere?” he asks, a tender fingertip smoothing over the tight ring of muscle he’s ogling. You jump, the sensation foreign, but he hushes you with soft strokes over your ass and down your thighs.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he croons, and the familiar stroke of his fingers finding your clit again is paired with the unfamiliar swirl of a tongue against your back entrance. The choked noise you let out is undignified and louder than you intend, but so warranted as Dieter begins laving soft strokes while rolling your clit between his fingers.

You try to settle into the sensations but can’t get out of your own head. Not when Dieter’s whole face is pressed into you, hot puffs of air fanning across your lower back as he prods and slurps and mumbles into your ass. Hazarding a look into the mirror you catch his halo of messy curls falling across his closed eyes, his curved nose pressed hard against your flesh. One massive hand is grasping at your cheek, kneading his thumb into the pillowy curve, as the other keeps sliding through your drenched sex, dragging languid strokes over your clit.

As if he knows you’re looking (or is hoping for it), he opens his eyes and catches yours in the mirror. The blissed-out gaze is replaced by a smug smile as he lifts up enough for you to watch the tip of his tongue slide up your cleft and disappear back into his mouth. You empty out a sigh when his mouth leaves you, anxiety finally reducing to a simmer.

“Relax, sweetheart, you’re so tense,” he coos, dropping open-mouthed kisses across your lower back and stroking up your thighs. “Self-conscious?” he asks, oscillating between teasing and gentle reassurance.

“Yeah,” you admit with a breathy laugh, burying your face in your arms.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you, standing again. He urges you to lift up and press back against him, his roaming hands searing paths across your stomach, over your breasts, circling your neck. “I just want you to feel good, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.” You lock eyes with him in the mirror, which makes him smile slow and sweet. He looks more like a boy with a crush than a man with your arousal on his lips.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he murmurs into your jaw, pressing a line of kisses along it. You open your mouth but the words don’t come out. Embarrassment sticks them behind your tongue.

I want you to kiss me.

Dieter hums right next to your ear, the vibration pebbling your skin.

“It’s okay, you can ask for anything. I’ll give it to you. Won’t even tease you about it.” His hands are tracing hypnotic paths, his words making you clench around nothing. He notices.

“Ohhhhh I see what we have here. You like it when I talk to you like this?” he gravels against you, two fingers lewdly darting to your cunt to slide across your clit. “I can do that, sweetheart. My biggest asset is my mouth, after all. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nod and bite back a whimper as he palms one breast in his hand, holding you against him. The other expertly ramps up your arousal, his eyes in t e mirror burning into yours as he ladles filth into your ear.

“Do you know how fucking hot you look all draped over me like this? I’d wear you like this to the Met Gala, show everyone how lucky I am to have your scent on me. And this pussy is made for my fingers. Look at how wet you’re getting for them. I’m gonna have to lick you clean again, can’t let any of that go to waste. Fuck, sweetheart, give me one more, please. It’ll feel so good to cum again, you know it. I know it. And the second one is always better. I want to hear you say my name when you cum. I want the honor of being the first one to make you do it. Tell me what will make you cum, beautiful. Is this enough? What do you need? I’ll do anything, I’ve got toys, I’ve got porn, I’ve got all the time in the world. Let me make you see stars, sweetheart. Let me feel you clench around me again.”

It’s working, you’re ascending and shaking and Dieter’s smile is widening as he works you faster, gently bending you at the waist until your hands rest on the vanity.

“I’m here with you, relax sweetheart, you’re so close,” he purrs, sliding down to kneel behind you again, leaving a searing trail of kisses down your spine. He has your orgasm between his fingers, and waits just long enough to press his tongue hard against your fluttering ring of muscle before he pushes you over the edge.

The pressure on your clit, the insistent press of his tongue in your ass, the hot brand of his hand gripping the back of your thigh plummets you into a wracking orgasm, harder and longer than your first. Your arms shake, Dieter’s hands coming up to steady your hips as you lose your balance. He holds you firm, heavy pants skating up your back as he rides out your aftershocks in the cleft of your ass. Once your breathing levels out, coming down to your elbows and dropping your head between your shoulders, he lifts his mouth from you. Leaving a chaste kiss on one ass cheek he sits back on the stool, stroking his hands along the outside of your thighs.

“Hey, c’mere,” he urges, pulling you backwards to flop down on his lap, wrapping his arms around your middle. You rest your hands over his, sliding your fingertips through the dips of his knuckles and tracing the length of his fingers. Pressing his mouth on the back of your shoulder, he drags his nose against you slowly. The scene in the mirror is softer than you expected; Dieter’s brow is smooth, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes that betray a hidden smile. The fluff of his hair tickles your cheek, your fingers catching on his rings or tracing his bracelets. He takes in a deep breath behind you, his chest arching your back, before letting it free.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he says, tapping your thigh to get you to stand. Your expression falters for a moment. Not that you want to argue with him about giving you two fantastic orgasms, but he’s still in those pajama bottoms with a rock hard cock against your ass. You stand, eyes flitting over him but trying to keep the dreamy smile on your face. He gives your ass a light little slap with a lopsided smile before moving to the shower and turning it on. One hand under the stream to temp it, he motions you over.

“I’ll be back in a few, take as long as you want,” he says, and you nod and smile. He’s got an equally fond one on, thumbing your chin before shutting the glass door behind you.

Steam fogs up the shower surround as you step under the spray, glorious heat and pressure soothing any aches out of your bones. You watch Dieter scurry around the bathroom, picking up clothing and replacing the vanity stool. He leaves, shutting the door behind him, and giving you plenty of time with your thoughts.

You don’t know what to do now. As much fun as you’d had with Dieter’s devotions, you assumed he’d want some reciprocation. You’d have happily taken him into your mouth, your cunt, your hand even, but all he did was grind his thick length against you a few times. Did he not find you attractive enough to fuck? Or maybe he was waiting for something from you, something you hadn’t given him. What had you done to make him think you didn’t want him now? Your rushing mind began tainting the pleasurable evening, making you scrutinize for mistakes you’d made, or missteps you’d taken. Maybe you just weren’t up to par with what he wanted. Maybe you were too cold, too boring, too little too late to keep his attention.

The smallest, ugliest voice inside your head whispered that he didn’t even kiss you. That revelation hurt the most, made you stop sudsing your skin and breathe through the gut-wrench. He’d put his mouth on most of your body except against your lips. If he didn’t even want to kiss you, of course he didn’t want to fuck you. You don’t know what he gets out of rocking your world - maybe just an ego boost, debauching the girl he could never convince to come out - but it’s making you tight-chested and warbly as you spiral.

You shut off the shower and reach for the plushest towel you’ve ever felt, drying yourself off quickly. You’ll get dressed and slip out while Dieter rejoins the party. Don’t think about him bragging to the other socialites and Hollywood elites about what he was just doing. Be faceless and invisible and get out. You steel yourself to this choice before realizing that your clothing is nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

Just then Dieter creaks the door open a crack, sliding in when he sees you wrapped in a towel. He’s got a handful of fabric in his hands, a cocky smile on his face as he looks you up and down. It reminds you of that hungry look he had when he first burst in, before the sourness of your inner monologue turned your stomach.

“Sorry, took me a few minutes to find Maria, I meant to get in with you,” he says, placing the fabric in your hands. The quick admission sparks hope in your chest. “She’s laundering your clothes, they’ll be ready in the morning. In the meantime, you can wear this.” It’s a well-worn tan T-shirt, large and loose enough that it looks like it might be closer to a night dress. It doesn’t even look like it once fit Dieter. The thought closes your throat up.

He has a designated shirt for casual fucks.

You smile and thank him, swallowing down the words you want to ask. He’s strangely perceptive though, more so than you thought.

“Hey, you okay? I thought you might be uncomfortable bare-assing it around the place, if you don’t like it I can find something else.” You shake your head, images of offered clothing from other flings swimming past your eyes.

“It’s fine, it’ll work just fine,” you wave him off, trying to force a smile on your face but it’s more effort than you expected. Dieter regards you with caution, his hands splayed on the vanity he just ate you out on as he leans back against it. He lets the silence linger, but his concerned eyes speak volumes.

“I didn’t think…” you finally huff out, surprised that you were actually going to voice this. Dieter smirks, his patience rewarded.

“Didn’t think I’d have a bed for you after? There’s a guest room, I would never throw a girl out after all that,” he smirks. His banter isn’t helping, and the fact that you’re being relegated to a guest room sinks a pit in your stomach. So that’s it. A nicety after everything.

“Thanks, Di,” you say quietly, dropping the towel to slip the shirt over your head. It covers enough that you can get to the privacy of the room. “Actually…” you start, the words tumbling from your mouth. “Sorry, I just didn’t think that you’d…want me to stay.”

Silence hangs between you and Dieter, you worrying at your lower lip, him shaking his head with a smug little smile.

“Why’s that?” he says, and at the same time you speak your truths.

“- Because I didn’t fuck you?”

“- Because you didn’t kiss me.”

You wait for a retort, or for Dieter to chuckle like you’re some naive little extra who sucked his dick thinking she’d get her big break. Instead you’re met with silence and dare to peek up at him.

Dieter’s smarmy smile and raised brow slowly soften, the purposefully casual lean replaced by a more aimless stance, hands rubbing along his outer thighs and feet shifting. His eyes dart around the bathroom as though looking for some sort of trick, a hidden camera, a paparazzi. The silence wrenches your gut even sharper.

“Sorry, that was…that was silly, I shouldn’t have said…shit, I think I’m just…gonna go…” you stammer, moving to walk past Dieter and out to your designated quick fuck bed, but his hands shoot out and wrap around your upper arms.

“Wait, wait, Murch,” he says, that ridiculous nickname back on his lips before he shakes his head and says your actual name. You still and wait, arms crossed over your chest as Dieter’s fingers rub unconsciously against the borrowed shirt.

“Wow, I just…wasn’t expecting that. Um. Yeah. Fuck. I didn’t think…you wanted that. To kiss me.” His voice drops lower, raspier as he drags his hands down to your elbows. His eyes are fixed on your lips now, swallowing hard as his teeth peek out to pinch at the plushness of his own.

“Don’t the people you sleep with want to kiss you?” Your gentle ask is met with a grimace and a halfhearted shrug, his gaze sliding over to your shoulder. It makes you want to hold him, so you do, cupping his scruffy face with your hands.

Because you now see Dieter Bravo, for all his playboy bravado, does not believe he’s worthy of affection.

He takes pride in how good he satisfies his partners, but doesn’t expect them to reciprocate. He’s a page in a tabloid, a rumor circling the internet, a persona based on how many partners he’s blown through and how many times he can debauch them. But they get their fuck and their story and leave, and they don’t even kiss him. How could they not want to the moment they see him?

“I wanted to kiss you,” you say, softly, thumb stroking a little bald patch in his beard. He huffs, discomfort radiating, but you keep your grounding hands on him. “When you held me in front of the mirror, and asked me what I wanted, I wanted to kiss you.”

Dieter’s face is warring with emotions as his hands fall to your waist, bunching the fabric there lightly.

“I’m not used to people wanting that,” he says, and one hand comes up to cup your neck, his broad palm wrapping you with heat.

“Can I kiss you, Dieter?” you coo as you move into his space, slipping your fingers into his wild locks and brushing his nose with yours in the barest of touches. He licks his lips and with a brief nod, he agrees.

Your lips touching gently, softly, raises the baby hairs on the back of your neck. God, fuck every person who made him feel like he wasn’t worthy of the simplest form of affection, his mouth is sublime. The short bristles of his mustache tickle your upper lip as you indulge, his plump lower one fitting perfectly against you. He barely moves, letting you guide him down and determine the pressure and length of time he gets to spend sealed to you. The tentative press of his mouth against yours lets you know he’s present, and when you part he keeps your foreheads pressed together with his hand on your neck.

His first breath is shaky, warm peppermint caressing your chest. His eyes are closed, a tiny furrow in his brow as he takes another slow breath. You slide your fingers through his thick curls, and the sigh that empties out of him quirks a corner of your mouth.

“Good?” you tease softly, and Dieter pulls back enough to look you in the eye. His pupils are blown wider than you’ve seen all night.

“Perfect,” he breathes, then, “sweetheart,” and his mouth is on yours again.

Where your first kiss was soft and hesitant, now Dieter’s mouth is slotting against yours, pulling you flush against him to wrap in his arms. He cradles the back of your head as he drinks you in, frantic movements and keens seeded into your mouth. You wind your arms around his neck, pulled up on your toes as he devours you. Your lips part on a tiny gasp and he dips his tongue inside, a barely-there swipe against yours asking permission. With a suck of that full lower lip into your mouth you give him everything, and he accepts.

Dieter’s possessive hands hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He barely gives you time to breathe before licking into you with fervor, sliding your tongues together and exploring every corner of your hot mouth. When he parts from you he presses smaller, chaste kisses along your jaw, on the apples of your cheeks, a sweet one on the tip of your nose. He’s mapping your face with his lips but never strays far from your own.

Finally, after however many minutes of devotion he offers at your altar, Dieter pulls back and presses your foreheads together again, this time with both hands cradling your face.

“Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot,” is the first thing he says, a wave of giggles washing over you. He joins you with some hiccupy laughs, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Okay, okay, let me try to…fucking explain myself because you gotta be confused,” he says, circling you in his arms and leaning back to look you in the face. His lips are pink and swollen, and you can’t help but steal another quick kiss at how delectable they look. His eyes drift closed before he shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

“Focus, Bravo,” he scolds, and the sterner face he puts on makes you giggle yet again.

“Okay so, I fucked up a little tonight. I meant to pace myself with my usual recreationals, but I was…nervous, or excited, or something, that you were coming. And I wasn’t paying enough attention to my dosing and I pushed myself over the line…more than I intended.” Your brow furrowed at his words, making him grimace with a sheepish smile. “I uh, can’t get hard for too long if I have too much blow, and that is…what I did tonight. And believe me, I am fucking disappointed in myself for not being more careful about that.” The threads start coming together now as you listen, arms loose around Dieter’s broad shoulders. “Because I had a plan, but I knocked my main guy out of the ring before the match even started!” At this you start full-body laughing, Dieter’s sparkling smile joining you as you snort against his chest. He laughs too, pressing a kiss against the top of your head. Once you get your fit under control he continues.

“So I had a plan B, but then it looked like you were going to leave, and sweetheart, I absolutely could not let you walk out that door. Not after you finally came here, looking so goddamn pretty. So this was, um, plan…C. Maybe D.”

“D for Dieter Bravo making me cum in a bathroom?” you quip back, eliciting another smile. You liked making him do that.

“Yeah, something like that. But not what you deserve.” He smooths a hand up your back, his eyes softening. “Let me make it up to you?” There is dark chocolatey promise in that phrase that sends a tingle up your spine. You tap a finger against your chin in contemplation.

“That depends. What was plan A?” you ask with curiosity. Dieter sighs and turns his head up to the ceiling.

“That when everyone went out to the pool I was going to ask if you wanted a tour of the house. There’s supposedly a Mondrian in the basement but I took a look and I think it’s a fake.” He tips his head back down and there’s mischief in his eyes now. “Then I was going to take you upstairs to the balcony and make you cum on my fingers as we watched the pool party. And do it again with my tongue as I draped you over my bed. And finally, on my cock and whatever ways you wanted as long as I could keep you there.” Heat creeps up your neck as the more coy and filthy Dieter comes to the surface, but with a tinge of vulnerability still left in his eyes.

“Plan B?” you choke out, his eyes narrowing and smile becoming more predatory as he noses along your jaw.

“Well once I realized I’d fucked it all up and my dick would be down for the count, I thought maybe I’d just tongue you in front of that fake Mondrian until you begged me to stop. Then I was going to offer you the guest bed so when I woke up in the morning I could fuck you properly. Because you deserve the best I have to offer.” Your breaths are coming in smaller pants as Dieter’s hands wander to your ass and squeeze, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. You fist the back of his shirt and his thick curls again, and a delightful little moan pops out of his treacherous mouth.

“But then I couldn’t find you after I got all the assholes outside, so I panicked. Caught you coming out of the bathroom and you looked like you were gonna leave, and I lost my cool. I just wanted you here, to stay, wanted your body and your sweet pussy and those hot fucking moans in my ear and it didn’t matter where I got to have you as long as you let me.” He pulls away from your ear and searches your face for a moment, taking in your lidded eyes and parted lips. “And now…we’re here, and…fuck, I want to kiss you again,” he whispers.

You meet in the middle, all tongue and teeth and lips as the kiss becomes frantic, Dieter stumbling back against the vanity as you tug at the neck of his shirt. His hand slides down your spine, grip at your shoulders, your hips, the supple flesh of your ass before he breaks from your mouth, lips spit-slicked and reddened.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, cupping your face and laying a chaste kiss on your lips. “I don’t fucking care if I can cum or keep it up or not, I need to fuck you. Do you want…do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, his chest rising and falling in measured intervals as he tries to steady himself. You chuckle and turn into his hand, eyes sparkling when they meet his lusty brown ones.

“Yes, Dieter, been wondering when you’d ask,” you reply, and the words are barely out before he’s sliding back against your mouth, like drinking from your lips is his only concern. He parts from you with a relieved sigh, his touches gentling on you.

“It’s been a weird night,” he says with an exaggerated eyebrow raise that makes you laugh. His hands slide down to take your wrists as he leads you backwards out of the bathroom. The fresh scent of the house without the lingering smell of sex perks your senses, and you realize you don’t hear partygoers anymore.

“Where’s…” you start to ask as Dieter continues leading you down a hall.

“Kicked them out when you were in the shower. Didn’t want them bothering us,” he explains quickly, pulling you into him again and spinning you around so now he’s leading you backwards. He finally stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hall.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Once I get you in my bed, you’re never gonna want to leave.” It’s a brag, but the slight downturn in his eyebrows makes you think Dieter might be enjoying your company as much as you were enjoying his.

“Take me to bed, Bravo,” you purr, and he backs you into his room and locks the door.

The room is reminiscent of a fancy hotel, a sitting room adjacent to a bedroom with modern but lifeless furniture. However, it’s the most Dieter room in the whole house. Stacks of spiral-bound art pads litter the desk by the window, charcoals messily spread across the glass top. A pile of dirty clothes occupies half the couch, and pill bottles and small boxes litter the coffee table. All of the art has been taken off the walls and replaced with taped-up squares of portraits and landscapes. More than a few are lewd in nature, but that artistic kind you can kind of get away with. Through the double doors, a king sized bed takes up most of the bedroom, lit by gleaming moonlight streaming in through a sliding glass door.

Dieter takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with an intimacy you return, and leads you to the crisply-made bed. Without a shred of modesty, Dieter peels the shirt off you and sits you down naked in front of him. The sheets feel heavenly against your skin, cool and soft. You can’t help flopping back and enjoying their texture.

“I think we’ll call this plan F, sweetheart,” he husks, and with a slide of his thumbs under his waistband he shucks off his sweatpants and lazily palms his half-hard cock.

Your thighs squeeze, begging for friction where you yearn for him the most, as he strokes his hand up from the base to the tip. His head tips back, eyes hooded as he watches your reaction. In the half darkness he’s pure sex, the softer curves of his stomach and thighs clenching as he drags his gaze over your body.

“F for finally fucking you,” he says, fingertips teasing the head as he thickens to rock hardness. His cock is perfection, pleasantly girthy and sinfully curved, darkening as he grips the base and hisses out a quiet breath.

“Better come here, then, we don’t have all night,” you tease back, scooting up to lounge on the mountain of pillows and widening your legs. His eyes flash darker, leaning over to plant his hands on the bed by your feet. You try to put on a coy act but your heart is pounding, driving every desire to pay hard to get from your mind as Dieter drinks you in. You think he growls for a moment seeing your glistening cunt spread for him as you preen under his gaze.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, sweetheart,” he groans, and in a moment his hands wrap around your ankles and drag you back down the bed, a surprised squeak dissolving into an even more shocked, “Dieter, fuck!” as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his tongue right on your clit. Your throaty moans fill the bedroom as Dieter messily eats your pussy, splayed and arching in his bed. One hand leaves your waist and he’s pushing two sinfully thick fingers into your dripping entrance, finding the exact pressure and flick that pulls your orgasm to the forefront blindingly fast.

“That’s it, sweetheart, cum on my face so I can slide in this tight pussy,” he hums into your cunt and with a crook of his fingers and a sensual stroke of his tongue you’re cumming hard and loudly against Dieter’s mischievous smile. He gathers your slick in his mouth and drips it back onto your cunt, the slide of his fingers embarrassingly loud as he removes them.

“That is gonna stroke my ego for weeks, sweetheart. You cumming on my face that fast? After just giving you two? Fuck, I’m so hard right now, I might actually be able to cum myself.” You gasp out a laugh as you come back to reality, Dieter’s broad bare chest framed by your weak legs as he takes himself in hand, smearing your wetness along his length. “Let me put a condom on and then I’ll be back to wreck this pretty pussy.”

Dieter rounds the bed and opens his nightstand drawer, fishing out a condom and rolling it on with practiced efficiency. Looking back at you, he leans over and takes your nipple in his mouth, rolling the bud to aching hardness. His fingers drift to the neglected one and draw soft circles.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he croons against the softness of your breast, clamoring onto the bed and scooting you back up so he can slot himself between your thighs. His eyes roam your naked body before settling back on your face. “What do you want, sweetheart? I’ll give you anything you want. I’ve got vibes, dildos, plugs, restraints, toys for you, toys for me. Anything you could ever want to make you cum on my cock.” Your hands come up to stroke across his smooth chest, tweaking his nipple to elicit your own delicious gasp.

“Is this the only time?” you ask, and suddenly the air turns heavy. You bite your lip, not intending to ruin the mood. “Just…was wondering if there’s time for those things…later.” You hold your breath but Dieter comes down on his elbows by your head and captures your mouth in a heady kiss.

“I hope to dear God this isn’t the only time,” he whispers, “because I want to have you in so many more ways than this, sweetheart.” The admission makes you pull him to back your mouth, crashing your lips together as he drops his hips and begins sliding his cock through your folds.

“Shit. Shit shit shit shit,” Dieter curses as the wet slip of his cock against you sparks the beginnings of another orgasm.

“If you do have a vibe, that’s the quickest way to make me cum on you,” you offer, and his expression vacillates between a pained ecstasy and smug competency.

“Who said anything about this being quick?” he retorts, laying a searing kiss on your mouth and a toothy one on your shoulder before sliding up the bed to dig in his bedside drawer again. You lay a breathy kiss on his stomach, earning a twitch and a huff from Dieter. He returns with a small bullet vibe between his fingers, pressing it into your hand. “You let me know when you want me to use this.” You nod as he slides back and repositions his knees, posting up on his arms as he watches the head of his cock notch at your entrance. You roll your hips at the insistent press and with a choked gasp slide onto him in a smooth motion.

“Fuck, you…oh shit, you feel so good, sweetheart, oh God, Jesus Christ,” Dieter moans out as you hook your heels behind his thighs and pull yourself down on him, his diatribe getting louder and more needy as you savor the thick ridge of his head pushing through your slick channel. You palm your breasts and Dieter practically shouts as you seat him flush inside you.

“Holy shit, that was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, you’re perfect, can I move? Please can I move, holy mother of God I need to fuck you.” His hands are gripping the sheets next to you so tight you almost hear threads rip. Taking advantage of the heady power you have over him right now, you roll your hips and drag him out of you before taking him back up to the hilt. His stuttering moan is a symphony of pleasure.

“Fucking little tease, do you like fucking yourself on me like this? Using me for my hard cock? Shit, I’m barely inside and I know this is going to be the best fucking pussy I’ve ever had,” Dieter moans, the bulge of muscles in his neck and biceps betraying how worked up he truly is.

“If you wanted me to use you,” you counter, sliding along his length with lazy ease, “then you should have had me get on top. Let me bounce on this thick cock until you begged me to make you cum.” You pause just long enough for the glint of Dieter’s eyes in the dim light to find you. A devious smile of your own curls across your lips. “Then I’d still make you wait.”

Hot possessive hands circle your waist as Dieter rolls you both, his head thumping back on the bed as you come to a straddle.

“Then do it, sweetheart. Bounce on me like the fucktoy I am,” he pants, and where he was dripping with authority and smug assuredness before, his voice is wracked with neediness now. It swells pride in your chest - the unflappable Dieter Bravo falling apart under you - as you begin to roll your hips along his cock. His hands remain on your waist, but he’s holding on for dear life more than guiding you.

The night fills with the wet sound of your cunt filling with Dieter’s hard cock, harmonizing with his groans and growls and your keening breaths. You palm your breasts and flick your thumb over your nipples, basking in the undivided attention of Dieter watching you like a succubus.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t think you could be more gorgeous but you, fuck, you keep proving me wrong. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you on my cock. I want to paint you just like this, so fucking powerful and feminine and…shit, you’re a fucking goddess, let me worship you, let me give you everything you want, fuck, fuck sweetheart, I want…I want you every way I can have you, give you every part of me. I want you to ruin me, sweetheart, ruin me, ruin me, ruin me,” he starts chanting, spurring you on to fuck him faster, harder, slamming your hips against his as he thrusts up to meet you. His eyes roll back in his head as bliss paints his face.

“That’s it, sweetheart, change me, change me, change me, sweetheart, I’m yours,” Dieter moans, and a gleam of wetness around his cheeks makes you lean over him. You were right, a slivered trail of tears is leaking out of the corner of his eye, breathing ragged. You stop suddenly, wiping the tear away as you feel Dieter’s breathing calm again. You hold him inside you, soothing him as he puts a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, sorry…” he whispers as you lay soft kisses across the back of his palm, on his cheeks, and once he removes his hand on his lips.

“I don’t want to change you, Dieter, you’re enough,” is all you say, eyes meeting as you watch the minute muscles of his face fight through self loathing, hope, relief, and finally determination before he flips you both again. He dives his dexterous fingers into your palm to take the bullet vibe back, sliding it between his lips briefly to wet it before clicking it on. The subtle buzz tingles in your teeth before he slides it over your clit, pressing his hips flush. The vibrations search for your orgasm as Dieter begins thrusting with short, rolling strokes, keeping the vibe pressed snugly against you. Your hands clench his shoulders as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips mashed messily against your neck as he angles his thrusts up to hit against your g-spot again. “Sweet girl, thank you. This is…so good, so perfect. Thank you.” When your mouth drops into an O he knows he’s found it, adding more force as he slides his mouth down to your nipple. His fingers wrap around the little vibe and swirl it over your clit in a pattern that makes you tighten around him.

“Shit, Di, I’m so close, please,” you beg, Dieter releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“You never have to ask with me,” he says, and whether it’s a tease or a promise doesn’t matter when he punches up and swirls just right and you’re cumming hard and blindingly around him. Your hips snap and rock, making him hold you tight and flush to him as he shouts his own pleasure. He can barely move inside you, gripped so tight he’s baring his teeth as the aftershocks finally let you relax back down on the bed. You gaze up at him, wild-eyed, thrumming with tension and question.

“Cum for me, Dieter,” you order, and with that permission he snaps his hips quickly into yours, throwing his head back and bellowing when his orgasm rips through his body. You feel him pulse inside of you, emptying out into the condom as Dieter’s thighs shake at the force of his peak.

“Fuck,” he gasps weakly, combing his curls back from his face. You smile lazily, stroking your fingertips along his forearms as his fingers relax on your hips.

“Guess this is a night of cherries for both of us,” you say, a teasing smile at the corner of your mouth. Dieter huffs out a laugh, pulling out and disposing of the condom before flopping down beside you.

There’s a long moment of silence, only your rushing blood and heartbeat in your ears, before Dieter pulls himself up on one elbow with a groan. His fingers skim your wrist, taking your hand and placing your palm against his face. You gladly stroke along that scruffy cheek, your thumb tracing that extremely kissable lower lip. The look he gives you is the most puppy-dog expression you’ve seen on a person before.

“Would you stay the night?” he asks, and the light touch of uncertainty makes your heart flutter.

“In the guest bed?” you reply innocently, and Dieter shakes his head with an incredulous look.

“Fuck no. With me.” His eyes widen. “If you want to. You don’t have to, the guest room is all set up, and I snore and take up the whole bed…” You silence him with a finger on his lips.

“With you,” you agree, and Dieter smiles and nips at your finger in agreement.

Dieter actually doesn’t snore, you’re not sure who told him that. He’s a heavy breather but the noise machine covers most of that. He does take up a lot of the king-sized bed, but it’s mostly because he wants to touch you no matter where you lie. When you roll onto your stomach one heavy hand slides under your borrowed shirt and rests on your lower back. On your side he tries to curl up under you to be the little spoon, which makes a sleepy smile inch across your face. In the middle of the night he gets up to pee and when he returns, you now lying on your back, he crawls up your body and settles between your thighs, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. It’s a little ticklish and heavy, but the sigh he breathes into your skin quickly lulls you back to sleep.

Golden morning light bathes you in warmth as you slowly come to consciousness. Your brain groggily registers that you’re not in your bed at home, the sheets too soft and the mattress too plush. You blearily look around for some context before you realize you’re alone. Alone in Dieter Bravo’s bed, where you spent the night after he pleasured you like a man possessed and kissed you like you were his only air. But he’s nowhere in sight now.

You sit up, back cracking but otherwise decently rested. You’re peering around for a clock, or where your purse might be, when the bedroom door creaks open. A familiar halo of curls peeks in, and the grin that graces his face makes you smile sheepishly back.

“Woke up alone,” you tut at him with fake annoyance, but are secretly relieved he’s there. It made last night feel less like a personal porno and more like something secret and sweet.

Then he comes into the room followed by a pleasantly smiling man pushing a cart. You squeak and yank the covers up to your neck, but the man doesn’t remark as he pushes the cart with covered dishes to the balcony. Dieter throws a secret smile at you as he saunters to the foot of the bed. He’s wearing a white cotton bathrobe, not the ratty ones he normally glides around in. This one looks like it would be more suited in a hotel, and when you catch the Ritz logo on the lapel you realize why. It makes his skin look all the more olive-toned and glowing. His tongue peeks between his teeth as he smiles at you, and your cunt is suddenly very much awake and very much slick at his attention.

“Thought you’d like some breakfast after all the excitement of last night,” he says, nodding at the man who leaves just as quickly as he came in. You catch a glimpse of the outside balcony with two chairs facing each other, a spread of food that’s easily too much for the both of you. But Dieter is what pulls your focus right now.

“I am starving. Where’s my phone?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows as you hear the door close behind your guardian breakfast angel.

“Never keep a phone where you sleep!” Dieter lightly scolds as he crawls up the bed towards you, his robe drooping open to reveal nothing underneath. You giggle as he drops kisses along the tops of your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach, the underside of your breasts. “The Bluetooth messes with your sleep cycle, and the signal your cell phone sends out increases your tech addiction.” You roll your eyes at his lecture and card your fingers through his hair as his mouth finally makes it to yours for a slow morning kiss.

“Hi,” he says, your noses bumping together as his smile dimples his cheek.

“Hi,” you reply, his body settling into yours as he regards you fondly.

“So the kitchen made enough food to feed an army, probably because they thought I had an orgy in here last night. The noise and all.” A laugh sputters out of you that you catch in your hand. Dieter ducks his head to drag his aquiline nose and full lips against your collarbone, tickling you as he speaks.

“So I thought we’d have breakfast, take a shower, together of course, then maybe we drive out to Santa Monica? I’ve been craving a corn dog real bad. And a walk on the pier. And then maybe lunch on the strip, a stroll on the beach, and dinner and drinks on Third Avenue.” Dieter’s voice is getting quieter as he speaks, finally looking up to take in your wondering face.

“Dieter, are you asking me out on a date?” you ask, and you can’t help how confused you sound. This was…not at all what you thought would follow last night. But Dieter is looking at you with mixed shyness and hope, and it’s filling your heart to bursting.

“Would you…like to go on a date with me?” he asks, and your smile is too bright to hide.

“Yeah, I would,” you answer, prompting Dieter to kiss you like you gave him his Oscar personally. Once you parted, a few errant giggles of relief washing over you, you speak.

“What comes after dinner and drinks?”

Dieter’s eyes darken briefly, sliding you down so he can hover over you, caging you in with his thick biceps.

“Something similar to what I’m gonna do to you now. Or completely different. Ladies’ choice,” he purrs against your lips.

“Then I think I’m gonna have to call out of work.”

“Already done, sweetheart.”

END

[iheartyouyou]

STAY STILL | Eddie Munson

Summary: cockwarming with Eddie during a D&D campaign

Word Count: 628

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI

Authors Note: My first time writing smut in… a WHILE. So- I might be a lil’ rusty or it just might be absolutely horrible. Anyway enjoy. Also, I don’t know a lot about D&D, so some stuff might be wrong, feel free to correct me about it though! <3

A small whimper made it’s way out of your throat. Everybody looked at you, questioning you with their eyes.

“You okay, Y/N?” Dustin asked, concern laced in his voice.

You nodded. Subtly moving forward to get some type of friction. His cock was balls deep into you. Usually, you loved feeling how full you felt— but when you weren’t able to move, it was torture.

Eddie sat you on his lap, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your neck while unzipped his pants, moving your panties to the side to easily slip his dick in, your skirt covering the scene. You began to move, thinking you would have enough time before the members arrived, but he held you in place, not letting you move a single inch.

You whimpered, begging him to let you move— that you guys had a good 10 minutes before everybody arrived but he denied, telling you they would arrive any minute and that you would sit there on his lap, and be a good girl until the campaign was over.

I guess your movements weren't subtle enough. Eddie’s hands latched onto your hips, his fingers digging into your exposed skin from your tight shirt that rid up.

“She’s fine. Right, Y/N?” He said.

“Y-yeah.” You choked, hands gripping the arm rests of his throne.

Dustin nodded.

Eddie focused his attention back on the campaign, guiding the members through the session.

You would shift once in a while, each time earning a soft groan from Eddie and a soft pinch on your thigh. He would then go back the the game, acting as if his dick wasn’t twitching every time you clenched around him.

Soon, the session came to an end. It was getting late and they planned for the next session to be next Friday. Everybody cleaned up their areas, offering Eddie help with the rest but he dismissed them, telling them that he would clean the rest up himself.

Dustin stayed behind, talking with Eddie about plans the following day while you sat silently on his lap praying that Dustin would shut up and leave. You loved Dustin. Absolutely adored him, he was your favorite in the club besides the Dungeon Master that was buried deep into you at that moment, but you were begging for a release.

Dustin soon left, telling Eddie that Steve wasn’t patient and would leave Dustin if he wasn’t out there in 10 minutes max after the time he pulled into the parking lot.

Just as Dustin closed the door, leaving the two of you and a mess on the table, Eddie pulled out of you.

“Edd—“

He flipped you over, pushing the rest of the game remaining’s off the table and laying you on it.

He immediately ripped your panties off, pushing your skirt up. A whine erupted from his throat at the sight of your wet pussy on display from him.

He pushed his finger up your folds just enough to feel how wet you were. “So wet… and all for me?”

You nodded eagerly, leaning back on your elbows to watch him. “Please, Eddie.” You begged.

“Please what?” He asked innocently, bringing the finger that was just in you up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around ig.

“Anything Eddie— just do something, please.” You moaned, watching as he opens his mouth, releasing his finger.

“Since you were such a good girl for me.” He starts, grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards the edge of the table. “I guess I’ll fuck you, right on this table… or do you wanna wait till’ we get home?” He teased, his eyes locked on your pussy.

“W-what? No, right here. Right here, take me right here.” You pleaded, clutching onto his shirt.

He clicked his tongue. “So needy.”

[kybabi]

telling their s/o they’re being too clingy

w/ atsumu, sakusa, and oikawa

part 1!

series masterlist here!

(a/n: i have a couple asks to post but i just wanted to post this one prompt today!!

anyways i feel like if i were in a relationship (PLS i’ve never been in one before *cries in commitment issues*) i’d definitely be too clingy so i wanted to write for this one. anyways it’s a lil angsty but there’s happy endings for each of the characters😌

um. also. these are literally SO CHEESY like you won’t even understand until you read it so feel free to click off if it’s too much😀)

atsumu

atsumu had woken up on the wrong side of the bed for some reason

he barely said anything to you in the morning and was ignoring your texts all day

when he finally got home, he was the same

you figured that maybe he needed some cuddles or positive affirmations

so you climbed into bed next to him and put your head on his chest

“‘tsumu, are you okay?”

he just rolled over on his side, pushing you off him

“baby—”

“why can’t you tell when i want to be alone? god, you’re always so clingy.”

after that, he said nothing to you, leaving the two of you in silence

you realized you were always this way, and you felt insecure, as touch was one of your love languages and you hadn’t realized how annoying that must have been

the two of you slept with your backs against each other that night

it’s the next day, and atsumu seems to have forgotten the things he said to you while he was in a bad mood last night.

when he wakes up, the bed is cold. it’s a saturday, and he’s looking forward to just staying in for the day and spending some time with you. he gets up to find you in the kitchen, making some sort of food. he walks up behind you, about to put his arms around you and wrap you in a hug, but you dodge him, moving to the side swiftly. he figures it’s nothing (this dumb bitch i swear)

“hey babe, we should go to the store today and pick up something for dinner,” he notes, checking the refrigerator.

“‘kay,” you reply, plating both of your breakfasts.

when you get to the grocery store, he expects you to tug on his sweatshirt like always, steering him into the aisles you want to go into, but instead you walk in front of him. the behavior is strange, but he shrugs it off.

after dinner, you suggest a movie, and you let him pick for the two of you.

you settle in, situating yourself on the left side of the couch and pulling the blanket over yourself. atsumu sits in the middle, expecting you to join him with your head on his shoulder like usual.

he waits.

and waits.

but you stay on your side of the couch, resting against a pillow instead of your boyfriend. now atsumu is picking up on your behavior, but he’s not sure why you’re acting this way. he decides he’ll ask you after the movie.

when you’re in bed later, he joins you, sighing contentedly. you look over at him and smile sleepily. now he figures you’ll give in and crawl over into his lap, since you’re stupidly affectionate when you’re sleepy. but you roll over on your side, scrolling lazily through your phone. now he knows something is up.

he’s about to ask you why you’re being this way, but then he suddenly remembers the things he said to you last night before you went to sleep. he feels terrible.

he pokes at your side miserably. you turn to see him staring at you with wide, guilty eyes, and you sit up.

“what is it, baby?” you whisper, gentle. he pushes his face into your chest, and sighs.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles quietly. “i didn’t mean what i said last night. please be affectionate with me again, okay?”

the thought that he wants you close to him makes your heart swell, and you can’t imagine a time where you weren’t in love with this man.

you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair soothingly.

“‘s okay. i love you.”

“i love you.”

sakusa

you’ve always been the more affectionate one in your relationship

kiyoomi is not one for physical contact, nor people in general, but for you he might make an exception

but the differences between your personalities often lead to disagreements and furthermore, arguments

a couple days ago, you had fought because he hadn’t texted you to tell you where he’d been for hours and you were worried sick

he wasn’t in the mood to talk and you were making it worse

“kiyoomi, you can’t just—”

“y/n, i’m tired of you being this way all the time. you’re so fucking clingy. it’s like every time i try to do literally anything, you HAVE to be overbearing. it’s exhausting.”

you were hurt that he’d called you that, as you cared deeply for him but he’d only interpreted that as annoying :(

you continued to fight until neither of you had the energy and called it quits, half-assed apologies forced out of each other

now the two of you are okay, but what he said stuck with you, and you’ve decided that maybe he’s right

today was not sakusa’s day at all. people were getting on his nerves left and right, and he was just tired out of his mind. he was just looking forward to coming home to you and snuggling in bed after such a long day.

he gets home and walks into the kitchen to see you making dinner and sighs tiredly. you can tell something is up with him.

“you doing okay, omi?” you ask gently. he shakes his head no, and you realize he must’ve had a bad day.

“‘m sorry, baby. can i do anything to make you feel better?” you ask, tossing something into the pot your stirring.

he sighs again, knowing he’s absolutely terrible at asking for things like this.

“could we— could you just—” he stutters, muttering. you stare at him patiently; expectantly. he stares back at you.

usually here, you’d end his suffering and ask him if he wanted to cuddle, but apparently you’re not picking up on his cues or something, because you stay silent, waiting for him to say something.

at some point, sakusa just gives up, mumbling under his breath and sulking over to the couch. on most days, you would walk over to him and ask him to talk to you, but for some reason it seems like you’re really not paying any attention to him. he knows he’s being dramatic, but he feels neglected and just a bit touch-starved. he would never say it, though.

after dinner, when both of you have showered and you’re waiting in bed for him, he looks over at you. you just look so warm and soft and he wants more than anything to cuddle with you. trying to be subtle, he asks, “is something up with you?”

you shake your head. “no, i’m doing okay. how are you feeling?” he shrugs, not wanting to talk. but you interpret this as him wanting distance from you, so you decide not to prod any further.

now he’s getting impatient, fingers itching to just grab you and hold you close, but you’re not giving him anything.

then he remembers how he hurt you last time, calling you clingy and saying the way you cared for him was annoying. his shoulders droop, and now he realizes he can’t blame you for giving him space. but space isn’t what he wants right now.

so he wraps his arms around your waist and rolls you over, ending up with you lying flush on top of him, and you look up at his face in surprise.

“please don’t be away from me right now,” he mumbles quietly. “i want you here, okay?”

your eyes fill up with tears at his honesty, kiyoomi in such a vulnerable state you’ve never seen before. you bury your face in his chest and sniffle.

“okay.”

oikawa

oikawa has always had a problem with his personal boundaries

he’s never known when to stop; when enough is enough

so when you found out that he was still overworking himself a few days ago, your own frustration bubbled over

“tooru, this HAS to stop!”

both of you knew it was true

but in oikawa’s head..

“god, of course you wouldn’t get it. you’ve never wanted something so badly in your entire life that you’d do anything—”

“I WANT YOU, TOORU. how many times do i have to tell you this to make you understand?”

he’d scoffed at you, sneering

“you know what? fuck you. i don’t need you. all you do is hover over me. GOD, you’re so fucking clingy! no matter how hard i try to get rid of you, you just won’t leave!”

you were crying at that point, and while normally you would’ve stayed and tried to calm him down, this time was different

you were too hurt to stay, so you grabbed some of your things and left, slamming the door

he had regretted the words the second they left his mouth, but it was too late anyway

he’d called you 14 times and left too many messages to count, and when you came home he got up and ran to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, scared to let go

and while you knew he didn’t mean the things he said to you, you also knew he wasn’t all that wrong either

so from that day on, you decided you would be better

today was terrible.

honestly, everything was going wrong. you were getting into arguments with people at work, the traffic was terrible, and it seemed like the entire world was against you.

and while all you want is to come home to your boyfriend and cuddle with him, the very last thing you need right now is another argument about how clingy you’re being.

oikawa is already home when you open the door, and he stands up to greet you. he notices something is off about you today, and you look even more tired than usual.

he walks over to you and tilts your chin up with his hand. you look like you’re about to cry.

“oh, baby. what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and sweet. but you’re just so overwhelmed, so you start to sob. his eyes widen in alarm and then droop with sympathy, and he tries to wrap his arms around you.

no matter how much you want to succumb to his embrace, you know you’ll only regret it in the long run, so you push him away and walk towards your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

outside the door, oikawa stands there dumbfounded. it’s so unlike you to refuse his comfort, especially through touch. he knocks on the door softly before opening it.

you’re laying in bed, pillow clutched to your chest, sobbing on your side. the sight breaks his heart, and he wants to make you feel better, but he doesn’t know how.

he sits on the bed beside you and puts his hand in your hair, but you shrink away from him. his heart sinks.

“baby, please let me be here for you,” he says soothingly. you shake your head. “why?” he asks, soft and sad.

“y-you’ll think i’m be-being clingy again,” you sniffle, clutching the pillow tighter.

tooru thinks back to the argument the two of you had, the way he called you annoying and clingy and desperate when really he can’t think of anything he’s ever needed more in his life than you.

he gets into bed beside you and puts his arms around you, holding you tight against him. you fight him for a second, but then relax, giving in and turning towards him. you cry harder, sobbing into his chest and gripping his shirt.

“hey, hey. you’re alright, baby, i’ve got you,” he whispers. “i love you so much, okay? i love how affectionate you are with me and i love everything about you.”

you’ve calmed down a little bit, hiccuping and sniffling against his chest.

“i’m sorry for making you feel like i wasn’t a safe space for you to come home to. i didn’t mean a single thing i said to you that day. and then you left and it scared me and i was exhausted and insecure and i just—” he cuts himself off. “i need you, y/n. that will never change. okay?”

you look up at him, smiling softly. you really, really love him, don’t you?

“okay,” you whisper, falling asleep in his arms.

[brick-a-doodle-do]

#2 for notes & #62 for docs. :)

#2 for docs is LONG......so i'm making this a lil' fic :DD

(edit) okay i just read this and genuinely it's a pretty okay oneshot?? wtf??? here you go!! that moment where you read super old writing and realize it's pretty much completely similar to your writing now </3

(also scroll down for #62, it’s there i promise)

meeting boo

wc: 1889

tw: injury (non-fatal), swearing, mention of fatal vore (doesn't happen), aaand i think that's it

────────────────────────────────────────────

Tubbo yelped, narrowly missing the edge of the cabinet and falling, his arms instinctively moving to grab something, but they never did. The rope his leg was secured to went taut with a harsh snap, a spasm of pain shooting through his leg while he hung there, his cloak beginning to block his sight. The lightheadedness of being upside down kick in, along with the half-lidded eyes and numbness of his leg. He could feel conscious slipping from him inch by inch, and before he knew it he was just a beat away from passing out.

Until he wasn't.

He hadn’t properly registered what was happening, except for when something warm enveloping him from under. Shit. Tubbo tried to scramble back, only to be stopped by the rope. “Stop, stop, stop!” Tubbo yelped, pushing the fingers away from him. “I’m not going to hurt you, just stay still,��� Ranboo instructed, his words soft. “Ranboo, please, stop,” Tears pricked at his eyes while he helplessly laid within the human’s grip, squirming occasionally against the fresh wave of pain moving throughout his numb leg.

His vision was cloudy, his throat hurt, and his eyes were threatening to close. He couldn’t, though. Not when he’s vulnerable in a human’s grip. “Please, calm down.”

“Stop..” Tubbo whined, nearly yelling again as his leg was free, pins and needles moving throughout his leg while it returned to its normal- no, abnormal position. It was broken. “Fuck…” Tubbo whined, placing a hand on his broken leg. “Put- put me down.” Tubbo tried, and surprisingly, the cold counter was soon his holder.

Ranboo crouched down, his hands curled against of the counter while his covered face stared at him blankly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tubbo whined again. “I- I could help you?” Ranboo offered. Tubbo rapidly shook his head. “I can do it fine, just leave.” Tubbo choked on his words, tears now streaming down his partly-scarred cheeks. “Sure, right, okay.” Ranboo stood and backed away slowly before fully leaving the room with a click of the door.

Tubbo sat on the counter quietly, a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his hiccuping sobs. He pressed his lips in to a thin line then placed his hands behind him. It was slow, but he could manage pushing himself backward towards his makeshift medical supplies in the wall.

–

It was a lousy cast, and was really just medical tape wrapped tightly around his leg, but it would be fine. Right? He’d just stay here for a while. Maybe he should go stay with Tommy? No. He should treat this on his own, he doesn’t need someone to help him. He’s been solo for a year now, he doesn’t need to break that.

—

It wasn’t helping. It was a bit, but not much. He couldn’t walk, and more importantly, he couldn’t get food, which was taking its affect on him now.

“Hey, um, this is really stupid, I- I don’t even know where you’re at, or if you’re still here… but, I just wanted to ask how your… leg is doing, is it- you know, healing?” Ranboo’s voice beamed from outside the wall suddenly. . . he was showing genuine concern for the borrower.

“I’m fine.” Tubbo announced.

“Can- can you walk yet?”

“No.”

Ranboo didn’t respond for a bit. Tubbo sat in anticipation for the next words, but they were late to come. He started to believe the human had left after disappointment washed over him over the fact his little snack couldn’t walk yet.

“There’s medicine out here if you want it.” Was all he said.

Tubbo had never had human medicine before. A lot of borrowers will mix random herbs and call it medicine. But they weren’t pills like humans have, they had a lousy soup-like thing. He didn’t even know if he could eat a human-sized pill. He could try, but what if it was a trap? He couldn’t escape from it due to his leg.. gods he’s overthinking. “It’s not a trap if you’re thinking that.”

“To be fair, you saying that makes it more suspicious, bossman.”

Tubbo heard Ranboo sigh in amusement. “It’s here if you’d like it.” He said again. Tubbo made a small noise in acknowledgement. He doubted the human heard it but he really didn’t care right now. Sleep was pulling at his eyes and before he knew his heart beat had dropped and conscious slipped out of him.

–

Leg pain had woken him up. Tubbo groggily propped himself up against the dusty wall and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. Ranboo’s past words repeated in his head. There was medicine set out for him, right. No. It was a trap. . . or poison. Not medicine. A human would never do that for his kind.

He knew this, and still, in the back of his mind, he pondered on what was actually out there. Maybe there was nothing and Ranboo was just toying with him, trying to get him out onto the counter and vulnerable so he could overpower him. Would he be eaten? Kept as a pet in a jar or a cage? Flattened? Cooked? Endless endings.

And that was why he continued to lay in bed. And lay, and lay, and lay for weeks. He slept through most of it, and if he hadn’t been sleeping he was either having a short conversation with Ranboo or salvaging the last of his food. He’d run out three days ago and it was starting to affect him badly.

Nearly six weeks had passed, Tubbo had been without food for almost a week now. He hadn’t gotten up in a bit, the last time he did he could manage a short walk with a bad limp. Perhaps he should try it again.

He could move his leg better than he could a week ago, and it definitely felt better to walk on now. He had a limp, but he could manage with going out to get food.

He limped through the room to the rope he’d set in the back of the cabinet. Shit. He couldn’t climb this, it'd fuck his leg up again, right? He supposed he could go on the counter… but he’d need a rope for that as well. He could go a bit longer without food, maybe.. or maybe Ranboo could help? No. Just climb the rope and get food.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, truth be told. His pace was a bit slow while he tried to keep his leg steady and not move it quickly or drastically, but within moments he’d found himself in the dark cabinet. He felt around for any type of box or bag, a wave of relief washing over him as he brushed over a familiar box. Hopefully.

He maneuvered though it, breaking the cracker into four to store easier. He stuffed the last quarter into the now-full bag. The cabinet door opened, catching Tubbo off guard. “Fuck,” Tubbo frowned, gazing at the masked human ahead of him. He looked relieved.

“Sorry,” The two muttered in unison.

Tubbo looked down in embarrassment, then back up with a genuine, small smile, while Ranboo huffed in amusement again. He did that a lot. "It’s good to see you’re… doing better,” Tubbo nodded, the grin gone. “Right, well, I’m doing a stream in the kitchen, you may want to… lay low?” Ranboo suggested.

“Okay,” Tubbo nodded again, taking a hesitant step back.

**

Ranboo closed the cabinet door after their encounter to allow the tiny his privacy. He hadn’t completely grasped the whole borrower concept yet, probably from Tubbo’s neglect for telling him information and Google’s unhelpful results.

Not that he could blame the borrower; someone as small on him clearly wouldn’t feel safe sharing information on his species. If he was really that desperate for information, he could ask Wilbur, given that he had a much closer bond with Tommy than Ranboo had with Tubbo.

He had time before his stream, he could probably squeeze in a visit to Wilbur’s? No, that would be stupid to go there just to get advice on how to win Tubbo over. They’re making progress; it won’t take too long. Hopefully.

—

The stream went fine, Tubbo assumingely stayed.. wherever he was. The walls, maybe? That seemed like the most logical option. He remembered Wilbur briefly muttering about it to Tommy on a call. Whatever.

He idly typed ‘good stream’ in Ranmail then began cleaning his… terribly messed up kitchen. He frowned at the sight of raw egg from the subgoal, and countless wrappers and unclosed bags. Flour was everywhere, and a partially eaten cake was in the middle of it.

“Hey, bossman,” Tubbo’s voice was quiet, but he managed to hear it. Ranboo turned, his eyes landing on the small form on the counter. He crouched, curling his hands around the counter. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I- I um… gods this is stupid, but I- I just wanted to.. thank you for talking with me for- for the past few weeks and- um- untying me.”

Ranboo smiled even though it wasn’t visible. “Did Tommy put you up to this?”

“What? How do you even- no, he didn’t…”

“Alright, well, you’re welcome. You seemed like you could use the company.”

Tubbo fiddled with his thumbs while thinking of a response. “Yeah, Tommy’s been so worked up with his human lately. A- And I’m also sorry that I was so… quippy? with you. My- my kind really aren’t supposed to talk, or even be spotted by a human, so-“ Ranboo shook his head. “I get it.” He said softly. “So- uh.. yeah, thank you.” Tubbo smiled genuinely. Tubbo took a step back, and Ranboo nodded shortly. A beat of silence passed before the borrower spoke up again. “So…uh, what’d you do to your kitchen?”

Ranboo looked back at the kitchen island then back at the tiny. “I don’t even know.” Tubbo huffed in subtle amusement, but it was there. The borrower opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off.

“Tubbo!” Tommy’s muffled voice called from (assumingely) the walls, catching both Tubbo and Ranboo’s attention. “Now he comes. Hold on,” Tubbo muttered, holding a finger up as a sign to wait, then disappearing beyond the walls. The two’s probably quieted conversation couldn’t be heard from out here, so Ranboo returned to cleaning while he waited.

**

“Tommy?” Tubbo called out as he maneuvered though the dark hallway until he spotted Tommy “Hey, big man!” Tommy grinned, but it fell a moment later. “Why’re you limping?”

“Oh, I- I uh… broke my leg,”

Tommy gaped at that. “You fucking what? Shit, Tubbo I’m sorry I didn’t visit you- I, uh, was giving you space because of what happened the last time I came,” Tommy fretted. “It’s fine, you worry too much." Tubbo paused for a moment. "What’re you here for, bossman?”

Tommy stayed quiet for a moment or two. “I wanted to visit you.” Tommy shrugged.

“I’ve got a human to attend to, so, ma-“

“You’ve what? You’ve made peace with Ranboo?” Tommy said, a shit-eating grin plastered upon his face. Something about his eyes said he was about to bolt through the tunnels and straight out onto the counter to talk to Ranboo. He did.

────────────────────────────────────────────

sdfjgdfds sorry if you had to scroll through that 😅

anyway

#62 in docs is titled 'any thrill will do: notes' and is worldbuilding/plot outline rambles for my quackity au :D

[nagipops]

KONOHA ELEVEN IN A ZOOM CLASS!

FEATURING: naruto, sakura, shikamaru, ino, choji, hinata, kiba, shino, neji, rock lee, and tenten

WARNINGS: mentions of food

NARUTO

definitely has forgotten that he was unmuted multiple times

or his camera was accidentally turned on

you could just see him sprawled on his bed with a bowl of instant ramen on his lap and a blanket wrapped around himself

EARRAPE SLURPS!! rip headphone users.

sometimes he notices that his camera’s turned on and you can see him freak out and scramble to turn it off

but he accidentally unmutes himself too and so you just hear panicked yelling

his device topples to the floor with a loud crash and he screams so loud istg

the next thing you see is naruto’s face hovering over the camera in fear just before his camera turns off and he’s muted again

the teacher is so confused?? naruto should i call an ambulance

but when he’s not eating in class, he’s sleeping in class

too busy sleeping to leave the zoom at the end of class so he’s always the last one left in the meeting besides the teacher

always asks sakura what happened during the zoom and she is FED UP

SAKURA

enters the waiting room 15 minutes before class is actually supposed to begin

spends the next 15 minutes rearranging her work area, making sure she’s prepared for the day

sits properly at her desk with her hair smoothed down and her face positioned perfectly in frame

if no one else has their camera on, she’s the only one with it on

seriously, she ALWAYS HAS IT ON

and she never leaves the screen somehow

diligently takes notes, uses the “raise hand” feature every two minutes to ask a question

sometimes it can get a bit annoying, even for the teacher

but she almost always gets perfect marks

acts like in angel in class, but after class... no promises, naruto!

SHIKAMARU

this man can barely stay awake during missions, so during a zoom? HECK NAH

shikamaru is literally me,, half asleep during lessons but somehow gets amazing grades

everyone’s either pissed at or envious of him (especially naruto)

obviously does not have his camera on

and rarely ever unmutes

uses the chat feature to answer the teacher’s questions but this man is basically asleep so its so incoherent

“shikamaru, what is a hyperbole?”

in chat: “a hyeprbole is a exsaggerayed phras,e”

teacher definitely thinks he’s cheating on tests

INO

either a) daydreaming about boys or b) checking herself out in the zoom camera OR c) secretly fuming at sakura’s know-it-all behavior

the two girls definitely compete to see who can raise their virtual hand first

"ahem, ahem- sensei? could i answer this question?"

her voice gets all sickly sweet and sakura HATES IT

the two of them totally got caught insulting each other in the private chat

100% the type of student to rewrite her notes after classes with various markers and colored pens and pretty fonts and patterns and whatnot

loves doodling flowers in her notebook during boring lessons!

CHOJI

another strong contender for the Loudest Student award!

not on purpose though, he just forgets that space bar = unmute, and plays some jumping game in another tab (like the no internet dino game!)

also,, rip headphone users

c r o n c h munch munch munch

are you kidding this man's chews are loud enough in person, but with a HEADSET?! hoo boy.

has conked out several times during class

just imagine the name Choji Akimichi with a profile picture of a bag of chips light up with the green box around it with a thunk

the teacher and class is so confused

but then you hear mumbles of "barbeque... chips... barbeque..."

and you realize that the man fell asleep onto his keyboard

he sleeps through the rest of class

HINATA

shy bb has never ONCE turned on her camera

the only time she's ever unmuted was to say "here" during attendance on the first day of school

if the teacher ever takes attendance again, she just uses the raise hand feature

what if naruto-kun thinks my voice is ugly? what if i accidentally turn on my camera? what if the teacher thinks i'm not paying attention? what if-

poor baby is too busy worrying about showing herself on zoom to actually pay attention

actually gets good grades though and her classmates wonder if she’s even there

her zoom pfp is definitely just a purple google “H”

KIBA

has the CUTEST zoom pfp hands down

it’s a selfie of him grinning cheerily with baby akamaru

100% has his camera on the whole time to show off his pup

he loves seeing everyone’s faces on screen melt and aww at the lil big doggo

sometimes akamaru just walks in front of the camera and blocks kiba from view and you just see a massive wall of white fur on screen LMAO

even though kiba’s muted, you can see him and akamaru bickering about who knows what

or even play fighting,, these two get into full on BRAWLS during class

just imagine akamaru shoves kiba into his desk and his camera crashes to the ground overturned so you see the ceiling and the occasional dog tail wagging in the corner

seriously, can the teacher ever catch a break with this class?

the answer is no.

SHINO

his zoom pfp is just a tick.

a singular tick

totally answers questions in chat with proper capitalization and punctuation

shikamaru’s improper answers tick him off

“A hyperbole is an expression that is greatly exaggerated. They are used in order to create emphasis.”

has never unmuted in his life either

he’s so unfazed by everything that goes down in class that it’s funny

if anything the slightest bit RELATED to bugs comes up during class, in 0.00238 seconds this man has an entire essay about them posted in chat, almost like he had it copied and READY to paste

everyone's definitely shocked that there’s actually a human listening behind a tick profile picture

NEJI

a very diligent note taker

seriously, this man writes like a printer; perfectly even handwriting that looks like a font, a million words per minute

everyone asks him for his notes after the zoom because they’re so neat (especially naruto, to neji’s dismay)

he gets excellent grades since he’s so organized and focused

just wishes the zoom would be over so he can work alone in peace

really hates unmuting so he often gives one-word answers in the chat

“Yes” “47” “Present” “Goodbye”

has used a zoom reaction ONCE in his life and he has never wanted to crawl into a hole and perish more

it was a complete accident,, mans was just trying to open the chat to type in his answer, but in a cruel twist of fate he clicked on the 😂 reaction

and he just sat there for ten excruciating seconds in complete and utter shock and shame for ten excruciating seconds as he prayed for it to disappear

tenten would never let him live that down

ROCK LEE

Zoom Reaction Enthusiast

😂😮👍🎉❤️ 24/7

naruto accidentally unmutes himself? 😮

choji falls asleep on his keyboard? 😂

neji answers something correctly? 👍

tenten received the highest score in class? 🎉

akamaru appears on screen? ❤️

unmutes whenever he needs to, but he thinks the little emoticons are so silly and cute

otherwise, he is EXTRA FOCUSED and EXTREMELY DETERMINED to learn all of the things

he’s the first to unmute whenever the teacher asks if the class can see the screen share, hear them correctly, etc.

never takes his eyes off the screen!! he could be missing out on important information

I FEEL LIKE,, i feel like he would totally keep his camera off when he’s muted but whenever he unmutes he would also turn his camera on

so when he says a quick “yes!” his camera turns on but before his camera can adjust properly to the light he mutes and turns his camera back off so his face is just super dark for a split second LMAOOO

tell me im wrong

TENTEN

exasperated by this entire class

thinks her and neji are the only sane ones in the class and it’s true

wants to tell sakura and ino to stop competing and just focus on learning, since they’re the only other girls in the class besides hinata

plus she’s just fed up with all the lazy boys

takes great pride in passing every assignment, test, or exam with flying colors

teachers pet, but the quieter type who stays after every zoom and sends lots of emails regarding assignments and grades and whatnot (unlike sakura and ino who rub it in the teacher’s face)

doesn’t like helping other people besides neji, girl’s got a soft spot for him since they have a mutual respect for each other

but if you’re a handsome prince, maybe she’ll help you out!

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[venusiangguk]

may we see the fight tae oc scene pls pls please!!! u can delete later🤔🤔🤔🤔😳😳😳😳 i’m really curious. i mean ofc u don’t have to. still 😧🙃

idealizations concerning real life relations: deleted scene

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / icrlr!couple

>>genre: fwb, angst, rated PG

>>word count: 2.5k

>>warnings: alcohol, implied smut

>>notes: this is a deleted scene from icrlr, that i omitted simply because of the length of the final fic!! feel free to skip or ignore, it doesn't change anything, but since u guys are curious about it, i'll post it as a lil ty for helping me hit that milestone <3 it takes place after the tattoo party scene, and before the lecture scene.

this does NOT provide an alternative ending.

>>summary: taehyung tries to make you see things for what they really are, but it's hard to see through the rose colored glasses.

Winter break has been long awaited and it is finally, finally here. The snow has coated the ground thick, making the town look like a winter wonderland. The air is sharp and cold but not to a miserable extent. Just chilly enough to bundle up, to hold a hand a little tighter and soak up their warmth.

Your favorite season is fall, but the later months are a close second. You love seeing the way everyone’s faces get red when snow flurries come down to kiss their nose and cheeks. Love the way pom poms bounce atop little hats as children play and have snowball fights. Winter is surprisingly one of the warmest, sweetest times of the year. Like the hot coco Jeongguk has been swapping your regular macchiato with lately.

There’s a greatly anticipated party tonight- a mashup of Taehyung’s birthday and New Year’s Eve. Anticipated for the simple fact that said birthday boy has steadily been ignoring you for weeks, and tonight was a night where he couldn’t evade your attempts of reconciliation. He hasn’t returned a single call or even sent a text back. You can’t even be mad at him really, you know it’s justified. You know you fucked up. The coffee date you had with Yoongi last week let you know what you did.

Over an iced coffee, you learned that you had unintentionally skipped out on your best friend's Winter Showcase. The important one that he mentioned multiple times. The one you promised to attend no matter what.

It wasn’t on purpose; you wanted to go, to support him. But you just got caught up. In life, in school, in Jeongguk. It happens.

When Yoongi asked you why you had missed it, when he told you how hurt Taehyung was by your absence, your heart dropped, sank deep within your chest as your mouth fell open before closing, a small pursed frown on your lips. You didn’t have a good excuse. You went to get tattoos with Jeongguk and then to a party where you fucked him, and then home after that? You were too tired to make it? You just simply forgot? Those excuses weren’t good enough for you and you knew they wouldn’t be good enough for Taehyung.

Whereas Yoongi was okay with distance, long periods in between hanging out and talking, Taehyung wasn’t. He was the kind of friend that needed support, reassurance that you cared. He liked quality time and hangs outs that were planned ahead so he could look forward to them. He was looking forward to you being at his showcase.

The party is packed, even more so than usual. Students, drop-outs, alumni, and randoms alike, all congregate to bring in the new year, to celebrate the end of finals, and a certain art majors birthday. Bodies are on bodies, music is loud and deafening. Cups, bottles, and small baggies litter the floor and the smell of weed is nauseating.

Jeongguk’s hand in yours is sweet, though. Enough to ebb the distaste in your mouth as you watch the stereotypical disaster that is a college party.

“I’m going to go find the drinks, okay?” you lie, squeezing Jeongguk’s hand lightly.

He squeezes back, kisses the side of your head as he says, “Bring me one back too?”

You nod, and slip out of his view. Scanning the crowd until you see a familiar face.

Jimin is laughing, red cup in his hand, eyes curled and happy. He’s sitting on the arm of a couch, legs swinging as he laughs with a group of people. He takes a drink from his cup and let’s his eyes roam the room like he’s looking for someone.

The way his face changes when he sees you approaching is like a punch in the gut. It goes from happy, and carefree to stony- only a small, irritated, close-lipped smile on his face. Eyes harsh and cold, no longer holding the mirth they were just seconds ago. He says nothing when you step in front of him, he just looks you over like he’s bored and waiting for you to get on with it so he can be done with it.

You shift on your feet under his scrutiny. “Where’s Tae?” you ask.

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head. “Now you want to know where he is? Haven’t been concerned with his whereabouts for months. Definitely weren’t worried about it last week.”

You wince but carry on swiftly. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I’m here to apologize.” You look at him expectantly, but he holds his ground. When he doesn’t falter, you resort to begging, “Please, Jimin. He’s my best friend… I miss him.”

You must look pitiful, because Jimin’s indifferent facade fades, and he clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself for giving into you. “He’s getting us drinks in the kitchen.”

A smile takes over your face as you rush out a ‘thank you’, quickly turning on your heel to head in the opposite direction, before Jimin calls after you.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“If he’s your best friend, maybe treat him like it, yeah?”

You continue to the kitchen without replying, and you can’t help the little simmer of annoyance that bubbles in your chest. Taehyung has been your best friend for years. And even though Jimin had a point, who was he to tell you anything about yours and Taehyung’s friendship?

Before the thought can fester, however, you see the boy you came looking for, two bottles of vodka in his hand like he’s trying to decide which to use. You see the little party hat atop his shaggy hair before anything else and your heart aches a little. You really did miss him. He lets out a small annoyed sound, and knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out which has the highest alcohol percentage. You come up next to him, and say his name gently. He jumps, but when he realizes it’s you, the ghost of a smile curls on his lips like he’s happy to see you.

Until it’s replaced with resentment just as quickly. His sharp eyes squint at you before turning back to the bottles in his hands, scowl still in place.

“So you decided you could pencil me in between getting your heart toyed with and your back blown out?” He gives you a side glance and sees how your jaw drops in surprise. He carries on, unbothered. “Or did this just work out because it coincides with New Year’s and because he was invited? Only because he’s Jimin’s friend might I add.”

“Tae-” you try, doing your best to keep the hurt whine out of your tone.

“Save it, __. I don’t want to hear the excuses you have. Just-” he looks at you again, and you think that maybe he softens when he sees your crestfallen features. He sighs like he’s tired. “Just leave me alone. Just for a bit, okay? I’ll get over it eventually,” he finishes, finally deciding on the vodka he wants.

You know his request isn't unreasonable. But it’s already been so long that the distance in your friendship has been eating away at it, that you’re scared ‘eventually’ might take too long and by the time he comes around, there won’t be much of a friendship left. That the damage done, will be irreparable.

“Tae… It’s already been months, can’t we-”

Like night and day, the softness that you were able to pull out of him is immediately replaced with that resentment and anger you were met with when you first stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he seethes, strong brows furrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

His words are sharp and the sting from them makes you take a step back. That is, until you feel anger of your own creep up your throat like venom. “You’re one to talk, Taehyung. You could have reached out to me, too. You’re no better than me when you’re in a relationship.”

He groans, gives an exasperated laugh before shrugging. “You know what? Maybe I am just as bad as you, but at least I’m actually in a relationship,” he spits, “You’re just fucking someone that doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

You know he’s hurt because of the distance. That he doesn’t intend to be so mean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t stop the angry tears from pooling in your eyes.

And although you’re angry, almost shaking with rage at the feeling of being cornered and blamed, your heart aches at hearing his words.

Jimin, who started seeing Taehyung after you started seeing Jeongguk, had already made your friend official. Had given him the title, the commitment, the relationship that you had been patiently and understandingly waiting for with Jeongguk. The bitterness that bleeds into your heart makes you feel gross and ugly.

You know what they say; that labels are superficial and don’t mean that much. But when you don’t have them? It makes you wonder. If a label really isn’t that important, like everyone says, why is Jeongguk so reluctant to give one to you?

“Jimin’s your boyfriend?” you whisper.

Taehyung gives you a short nod. “Month and half ago. You would’ve known if you got your head out of Jeongguk’s ass.”

Almost like he was summoned, the topic of debate waltz into the room, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He nuzzles into your neck.

It’s instinctual now, the way your body responds to him. The way you melt into his chest like second-nature, how your hands settle over his like they are keeping them in place. How immediately in his presence you feel calmer; the panicky, hurt feeling you were experiencing moments ago vanishing as if it were just a fleeting thought and not something that’s always in the back of your head.

Not in a possessive, ‘I need him to be mine’ kind of way, though.

More like, ‘Why won’t he be mine?’

“Hi,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Hi, baby,” you respond softly, out of habit. The room shirks around you whenever he’s near. Makes you feel like you’re in your own bubble with him.

Jeongguk’s about to reply, ask where the drinks are, but then he hears an annoyed scoff sound in front of you both. Jeongguk bristles as he looks up and sees Taehyung taking a big swig from his cup.

“Uh- am I interrupting? Should I go?” he asks hesitantly, looking between you and your friend.

“No-” you say at the same time that Taehyung says, “Yes.”

You cringe, and turn in Jeongguk’s arms, hands resting on his chest. “Just give me a couple more minutes okay? I’ll bring the drinks.”

Jeongguk searches your eyes, before looking at Taehyung one last time before giving you a stern nod and a quick kiss.

You turn back to Taehyung, ready to apologize for Jeongguk’s interruption, when he talks over you.

“You’re pathetic,” he starts, and you roll your eyes with an irritated sigh before he continues, “but I know you love him. And that you can’t help it,” he shrugs. “But as your friend, I have to tell you that it’s not going to end well. You probably don’t even need me to tell you that. You probably already know and are choosing to ignore it for the sake of the delusions you’ve made up in your ‘pretty little head’.”

You pout at him quoting you, and your brows furrow. “He cares about me. And he’s Jimin’s best friend. He’s a good person, you don’t even know him,” you argue defensively. Though you know your arguments make little sense and are flimsy at best.

Taehyung frowns. Pauses like he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he was a bad person, and maybe he does care about you in his own messed up way. But he doesn’t care about you in the way that you want him to.” His lips are still down turned when he speaks again.

“And the difference between him with you and him with Jimin is astronomical; it shouldn’t even be a comparison, but I will humor you,” he rubs a hand up and down his face like he’s tired. “The dynamic is completely different, for obvious reasons. For one, Jimin is a safe relationship. You are not. Jimin isn’t in love with him, Jimin isn’t sucking his dick, and Jimin doesn’t want things from Jeongguk that Jeongguk cannot give, or does not want to give,” he says with a raised brow as he takes a sip of his drink.

It seems that the anger has died down some between you both, a semi-civil conversation finally being had. You wrinkle your brows in confusion at him. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes. “Cmon __. Why do you think he hasn’t made you his girlfriend? Why do you think he literally has not been in a serious relationship since high school? Why do you think he never agrees to anything more than 2 months out?” He waits for you to answer but you just purse your lips stubbornly. “He’s scared. Dare I say terrified of commitment, and that’s exactly what you want from him right?”

You stay headstrong and quiet for a moment longer, ignoring his question in favor of asking one of your own when you finally do speak up. “If I’m so scary, why hasn’t he left?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fuck if I know? Maybe he does care about you like you say he does. I don’t think so, but hey,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, like he is throwing in the figurative towel. “Maybe you’re right and maybe I‘m wrong. Or maybe there’s some fucked up codependency fermenting between you both when you copulate. I genuinely have no clue, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Don’t text me until you come to your senses. And don’t get mad when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

And with that, he turns and leaves you to make your own drinks. You hope the smile you give Jeongguk when you find him is believable.

That night when you go back to his place, you voice your concerns to him in between sweet, heated kisses that taste like hot cider. You tell him hesitantly how Taehyung voiced his concerns about Jeongguk not caring about you and Jeongguk got a little irritated, a little miffed as he unlatched his lips from your neck. He asked what Taehyung knew, how he even came to that conclusion when he’s not around you both.

He assured you with gentle touches and tender words that of course he cares about you. He reminded you that he always makes time for you, he always answers your calls and your texts, he takes you out every now and then, too. He asks you what you think and when you contemplate your answer, going over what he said, you can’t really argue with him. Even if an uneasy, dismal feeling settles in the pit of your tummy.

~~~

hellooo!! again, this is just a scene and part of the plot that i chose not to use because i felt like the fic was already so long. i wish that i had ended up including it tho, so i hope you enjoyed even though its nothing special <3 feel free to do the things if you liked it: like, comment, reblog, send an ask~~ love u, ty again for helping me reach that milestone <3

[junghelioseok]

aubade.

↳ it was supposed to be one night—no more, no less.

◇ seokjin x reader ◇ smut | one night stand!au ◇ 9.9k [1/1]

⇢ aubade (n; oh-bahd): a poem or song, usually sung at dawn.

⇢ full summary: it was supposed to be one night—no more, no less. but when your city is hit with what newscasters are calling a once-in-a-lifetime storm and the blizzard of the century, you realize that mother nature isn’t going to let you leave that easily. and neither is kim seokjin.

notes: a jinfic? couldn’t be me! 🤣 this fic is weird and wacky and idk how i feel about it yet but it’s been in the works for far too long and it’s already jin day in some places so... here it is! hope you enjoy!!!

warnings: smutty smut. minimally edited. (soft)dom!jin, bit of spanking oops, bit of choking ooPS, just a lil touch of implied exhibitionism, jin cums on u (oops again), oral (m receiving), a good bit of emotional constipation on reader’s part, some truly terrible puns and even worse poems, lots of wacky cracky humor courtesy of mr. kim himself 🤷🏻‍♀️

Winter has arrived.

There’s no longer any doubt about it—no more oddly warm days during the week, and no more stubborn leaves clinging to skeletal black tree branches. The brisk air stings your cheeks and dries out your eyes, and every breath you take feels like you’ve just swallowed ice—the cold burning down your throat before you release it again in a puff of white that quickly disappears into the velvety night sky.

But no matter how cold the weather, it’s nothing compared to the heat emanating off of the man standing before you. Strong arms cage you against the wall as his plush lips work along your neck, his kisses gentle but insistent. You can’t even find it in yourself to care that there’s poorly laid brick digging into the small of your back, or that you’re pinned against an apartment building on a very well-traveled street. The only thing that matters right now is—

“Jin!” you gasp when there’s a sudden nip at your earlobe.

Said man chuckles, soothing over the skin with his tongue. “We should go inside,” he breathes, and you shiver at the wash of hot air before nodding your agreement. His hand twines with yours, and you eagerly let him lead you through the front door of the building, following him through the lobby and into the elevator on the opposite end.

It’s easy to fall into your routine from there—easy to brush against him suggestively and trace the growing bulge in his pants. Jin’s head falls back with a groan and you take full advantage, pressing a deliberate line of kisses down the exposed column of his throat. The elevator dings before you even reach his collar, and Jin impatiently ushers you out and down the hall to his apartment, fumbling to fit his key in the door as you fumble with the buckle on his belt.

With a click, the door swings open. Jin is quick to grab your hips and wrest you inside, pressing you up against the entryway wall and kicking the door shut behind him. His hands find the curve of your rear, squeezing at the soft flesh before sliding down to the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your coat falls, forgotten, to the ground as you wrap your legs around his waist, your skirt hiking up around your hips. All the while, he mouths fervently at your clavicle, his teeth catching on the junction of your shoulder and blossoming tender purple bruises there.

“Jin—fuck,” you keen, and Jin chuckles lowly before moving down to the generous neckline of your dress, tugging it down so he can access the swell of your cleavage. Your back arches off the wall when he envelops a pebbled nipple in his mouth, and he hums appreciatively at your sharp intake of breath. Plush lips stretch into a pleased smirk against your skin, and you whimper when he reaches up to roll your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, sending a shudder through your entire body. “I wonder if that means you’re sensitive in other places, too.”

The last word is punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips, his rapidly hardening cock grinding against your clothed core. You gasp his name again, your fingers scrabbling for purchase along the broad expanse of his back, and he groans deeply when your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Guess that’s a yes,” he breathes, chuckling, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Jin is quick to discard your dress after that—hiking up the already-short hem so you can shimmy out and tossing it away carelessly as soon as you’re freed from the fabric. Your panties are the only thing left shielding you from Jin’s wandering eyes, and you exhale shakily when he slips a finger into the elastic waistband and snaps it teasingly against your skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, running a fingertip along the silky little bow that decorates the front of the lacy material. “So pretty, wrapped up all nice for me.”

You laugh breathlessly when he descends upon your neck again, sucking a fresh bruise into your collarbone. His hips rock into yours mindlessly, the bulge of his cock grazing your clit until it becomes impossible to ignore the growing dampness there. “Jin—” you begin, injecting as much purr as you can into your voice, “—where’s your bedroom?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. You squeak as he hefts you up, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, and make good use of the time it takes him to carry you down the hall by fumbling open the buttons of his shirt. By the time he kicks open the door of his bedroom and lays you atop the plush mattress, his chest is bare and heaving, the flaps of his shirt swinging loose at his sides. “Jin,” you say again, pushing the remainder of the material urgently off his shoulders. “Want you. Hurry.”

Jin huffs out something that’s halfway between a chuckle and a groan. “Someone’s eager,” he breathes as he discards his shirt and starts on his pants. They fall to the ground, his belt buckle clinking dully against the hardwood floor, and you immediately wind your arms around his neck as he joins you on the bed, caging you against the mattress with his body. His lips slant roughly across yours, exploring thoroughly before he trails downward to swirl his tongue around a pebbled nipple. One hand finds its neglected twin while his free hand slides down to the junction of your thighs, and you exhale sharply when he cups your lace-covered mound, his warm palm molding the damp material to your folds.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he rasps. “This all for me?”

You roll your hips, grinding lazily against his open palm. “Are you expecting an answer that isn’t yes?”

Jin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Mouthy little thing,” he says, amused. “Why don’t we see if I can make you change your tune, hmm?”

In one smooth motion, he’s hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and off your legs. His grin is crooked as he descends upon you again, and you sigh as he kisses his way up your body before finding your lips, his breath intermingling with yours. You reach up, sliding your hands along the breadth of his shoulders before trailing down his back, admiring each dip and ridge of the taut, muscular expanse. Between your legs, you can feel the blunt head of Jin’s cock, hard and hot and slick. You reach down to give it a light squeeze, relishing the sharp intake of breath from your companion, and slowly begin stroking up and down his shaft as you sit up.

“Where are your condoms, Jin?” you ask sweetly, brushing your thumb across the tip of his cock.

Jin’s head falls back. “Nightstand. Top drawer,” he answers, and you smile.

“Perfect.”

It’s easy—mindless, even—to tear open the foil wrapper and roll the condom down Jin’s cock. Easy, kissing his neck before getting on your hands and knees and asking him to fuck me like this. All of the pleasure and none of the intimacy. None of the saccharine kisses that Jin seems to be so fond of bestowing, and no time for you to think about how nice his pillowy lips felt against your own. Just the slick glide of his cock and the lewd squelch that accompanies each thrust, his hips slamming against the curve of your rear as you beg him to go harder in a voice that quivers and breaks when he obliges your request.

Slippery fingers find your clit, pinching the nub before rubbing harsh circles around it. Jin picks up his pace, and you keen out a garbled curse as your back arches under the onslaught of pleasure, the coil in your tummy tightening with each thrust. Jin leans forward until his chest is flush against your back, his tight grip on your hips a stark contrast to the soft words of praise he murmurs—words that sink into your skin like ink and leave you aching and pliant.

Your breath is coming in ragged pants by this point, and Jin is faring no better. The room is beginning to feel stifling, and yet you want him closer, deeper, harder. You grind against him, presenting yourself like an offering, and know he’s accepted when the flat of his palm comes down on your ass with a resounding smack. Your body jolts, a whine escaping your lips, but when you feel his rhythm slow and stutter, you reassure him by sinking backwards onto his cock.

“You don’t have to treat me like a doll,” you tell him, pushing back until he’s seated fully inside you once more. “I can handle it rough.”

Jin chuckles hoarsely, soothing over your impacted skin. “You want me to be mean to you, baby?”

You answer him with a deliberate swivel of your hips, relishing the way his cock presses against your walls in all the right places. Jin’s chest rumbles with laughter again, and the sound sends a shiver from your crown all the way down to the end of your spine. Then he’s tugging you up, one palm splaying against your stomach while the other finds its way to the base of your throat. You gasp when he squeezes, just enough to momentarily cut off your air.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he breathes against the shell of your ear. And then he rocks forward, filling you up to the brim and setting a brutal pace that has the headboard clattering against the wall and creaks the mattress springs.

You are no longer capable of coherent speech—only a mess of whimpers and shaky gasps that sound suspiciously like Jin’s name. Every push of his hips winds you up tighter and tighter, and when his fingers drop from your throat to rub at your clit, you finally fall over the edge, arching against him as you ride out your orgasm. Jin lets you grind mindlessly against his palm, thumbing across your clit lazily in slow circles, and you clench around him as the pleasure blazes through your veins.

“That’s it,” Jin encourages, his voice deep and cavernous in a way that has electricity dancing across your skin. “That’s it, baby. Fuck. Can I cum on you?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought. “Yes,” you murmur, letting his cock slip out. Jin turns you around almost tenderly, pressing you back against the mattress, and you shiver when he discards his condom and takes up residence between your legs again. He takes his leaking cock in his hand, and with practiced strokes and the occasional flick of his thumb across the tip, he finally reaches his high. Warm stickiness splatters against your stomach and paints the swell of your breasts, and when a stray drop lands on your bottom lip, you are quick to lap it up.

“Fuck,” Jin rasps, admiring his handiwork before his dark gaze zeroes in on your mouth. “You’re a work of art.”

You flash him a grin, ignoring the uncomfortable way his cum is beginning to dry on your skin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you a laugh. Jin leans down to kiss you—a short, sweet peck that has your heart skipping a beat, and leaves you breathless even as he sits back up and rakes a hand through his mussed hair. “Look,” he says, nodding at the window. “It’s snowing.”

You follow the trajectory of his gaze. Through the gap in the curtains, you can just barely make out the fat snowflakes flurrying down—white against the pale gray sky. Eager for a better look, you roll over, fishing Jin’s discarded shirt from the pile of clothing on the ground and slipping into it as you rise to your feet. You forgo the buttons, and Jin chuckles softly when you pull it closed around your body and pad over to the window. “I love snow,” you murmur, running a fingertip down the cold glass.

“Me too.” Jin rises to his feet and joins you, tugging the curtains aside so you can get a better look at the flurrying skies. “My buddies and I have a snowball tournament every winter, and my team’s never lost.”

“Oh yeah? Your teammates must be really good then.”

“They are,” he agrees easily, before the underlying insult behind your remark sinks in. “Hey!”

His indignant shout has you giggling and laying an apologetic hand on his arm. “Just kidding,” you reassure, letting your fingers drift up to the solid muscle of his bicep. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

Jin catches you by the wrist, stopping your hand from straying further with a playful little smirk. “You’re not wrong,” he murmurs, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress. “But right now, I’d much rather handle you.”

///

It’s hard—near impossible, really—to leave the warmth of Jin’s bed. But dawn will be here before you know it, and you have no intentions of sleeping here. You’ve never spent the night at a guy’s place, and you aren’t about to start now. Not even for Jin, who’s currently singing a show tune in the shower, his voice pleasantly melodious even when masked by the sound of running water.

Commitment isn’t really your thing. Relationships aren’t really your thing. They weren’t during your school years, and they certainly aren’t now. You’ve spent your entire life flitting from meaningless hook-up to meaningless hook-up, never learning anything beyond their first name and never revealing anything about yourself. But here with Jin, you can already feel yourself beginning to slip, so the sooner you leave, the better.

Quietly, you slip out from beneath the comforter, tiptoeing to where your clothes have been hastily discarded. In the darkness of the bedroom, you fumble with your dress until you finally manage to put all the right limbs through the right holes, wincing when you accidentally stub your toe on the edge of the dresser midway through the process. You’re just about to grab your purse and check that your phone and wallet are still safely inside when the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of warm steam.

“{Name}?” Jin asks, and you curse inwardly at how good he looks with his damp hair pushed back from his forehead, a gray towel sitting low around his hips. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing!” you say quickly, trying and failing to hide your purse behind your back. The bathroom light casts a rectangle of warm golden light onto the floor of the bedroom, illuminating you and your surroundings, and you blanch when Jin narrows his eyes at you.

“Are you leaving?”

You blink, debating whether or not it would be worth it to lie, and decide against it. “Yes,” you tell him, locating your phone before shouldering your purse. “I can’t stay.”

“I sincerely hope you’re kidding,” Jin says flatly. “It’s almost two in the morning. And have you looked outside lately? I’m not letting you go home in this weather.”

You frown. “I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “And yet here I am, telling you.”

You sigh, exasperated. “Jin—” you begin, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Do you want to freeze to death? Because if you leave right now, they won’t find your body until spring. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You roll your eyes and make to walk away, but Jin steps forward until you can feel the warmth radiating off his chest and see every stray water droplet dripping off his hair.

“Stay,” he murmurs, and you belatedly realize that he’s wrapped his fingers around the strap of your purse. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

For one brief, insane moment, you debate the viability of making a break for it. Maybe if you twist in his grasp while tripping him up with a well-timed kick in the shins—but you quickly scrap the idea. After the events of tonight, you know for a fact that Jin’s musculature isn’t just for show. You’d be lucky to make it to the bedroom door before he inevitably caught up and hauled you back to his bed—and you hurriedly cut off that train of thought before it can progress any further than that.

“Fine,” you huff at last. “Dictator.”

“I’m a real penis potato,” he says affably, and you stare at him blankly for a second before the joke dawns and you’re forced to suppress the disbelieving giggle that threatens to escape.

“Do you have a spare towel I can use?” you ask instead.

“Hall closet,” Jin replies, already heading toward the door. “I’m done in the bathroom, so go on in. I’ll bring everything to you.”

Hesitantly, you do as he says, stepping inside the bathroom and easing the door shut. It’s surprisingly tidy inside—the toilet lid is even down, much to your shock—and you scrutinize your ruffled reflection in the mirror for a few seconds before sliding open the glass-paneled shower and turning on the water.

You’re slipping out of your dress for the second time tonight when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Room service,” Jin’s voice calls from the other side. “Mind if I pop in for a sec?”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly shy. “Don’t peek.”

“I was balls deep inside you thirty minutes ago,” Jin says bluntly. Nonetheless, he cracks the door open and passes you the promised towel. He’s included a smaller washcloth in addition to a large bath towel, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see a neatly folded t-shirt and oversized flannel pants included at the bottom of the pile.

“Oh.” You swallow. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies. The door clicks shut behind him, and you lay the clothes and towels down on the counter before stepping into the shower and letting the warm water drown out your anxieties. Jin is on the other side of the door—presumably changing and getting ready for bed—but you push that thought away as soon as it’s materialized.

It’s just one night, you tell yourself sternly, splashing some water on your face. One night won’t kill you. And you can sneak out in the morning before he even wakes up. This doesn’t mean anything. This is fine.

With a sigh, you turn off the water. Grabbing the bath towel off the counter reveals the folded pajamas underneath, and you swallow down the odd warmth in your chest as you dry off. And after several steadying breaths and a prolonged staring contest with the clothing, you finally pick up the shirt and tug it over your head, following it up with the flannel pants and pulling the drawstrings tight. Jin’s clothes smell like flowers—no doubt thanks to his laundry detergent—and something dangerously fond bubbles up in your chest at the realization.

When you exit the bathroom, Jin is lounging in bed, leaning up against the headboard with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He glances up from his phone at the sound of the door, and you smile wanly as you approach. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He gives you a quick once-over, his lips quirking when he sees the way you’ve cuffed his too-long pants at the ankles. “Sorry about the clothes. I don’t really own anything in your size.”

“It’d be weird if you did,” you tell him with a shrug.

He hums. “Very true.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that you occupy by picking at a loose thread on your oversized shirt while avoiding eye contact. Jin clears his throat after a few moments, and you glance up when he rises to his feet and grabs the pillow he’d been laying on.

“Do you want the bed?” he asks. “I can sleep on the couch, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Your jaw drops. “What? No way. I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

Jin puts the pillow back down. “Well, I didn’t want to assume that you were going to sleep with me. You were trying to sneak out on me twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks warm at the accusation. “So I like sleeping in my own bed. Sue me.”

“Neither of those are really options right now, so come on.” Jin nods at the opposite side of the bed—the side he doesn’t sleep on, if the location of his phone charger is any indication. “Hop in.”

“You really are a penis potato,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. Nonetheless, you do as he says, lifting up the edge of the comforter and crawling underneath. Satisfied, Jin climbs in on the other side, turning to flip off the bedside lamp. “Ready for me to turn this off?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, staring up at the ceiling and determinedly ignoring the warmth he’s radiating beneath the covers. The room falls into darkness, and you return his murmur of goodnight with one of your own. He falls asleep long before you do, his breaths evening out, but your heart continues to race long into the night, hammering away in your chest.

You’ll get up early tomorrow, you decide. You’ll leave before Jin even notices you’re gone, because you have rules and you aren’t about to break them. Not for Jin, who sings show tunes in the shower and uses floral laundry detergent. Not for Jin, who somehow manages to look positively angelic in the darkness of the bedroom, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams.

With that decided, you roll over and get as comfortable as you can, trying to ignore the sleeping man beside you. And after what feels like an eternity, you finally fall asleep, drifting off into a dreamless, restless slumber.

///

You aren’t sure what exactly wakes you up, but you’re suddenly being dragged into wakefulness, blinking blearily at the white stucco ceiling. Clumsily, you seek out your phone on the nightstand, your fingers fumbling across the smooth screen.

7:23am.

Fuck. Much later than you’d intended, and based on the smells wafting from the direction of the kitchen, your host has already been awake for quite some time.

“Morning,” Jin greets when you stumble out of the bedroom, fully dressed in your attire from last night. “Hope you’re hungry, because I made way too many waffles.”

You glance at the impressive stack on the counter, which is piled nearly as high as he is tall. “I think you meant to say that you made an insane amount of waffles,” you correct dryly. “How long have you been awake?”

“Too long, apparently,” he replies, turning off the stove and grabbing two plates. “How many do you want?”

“Oh.” You glance toward the entryway—ignoring the flare in your belly when you remember how he’d pressed you against the wall there last night—and wonder if you can make a break for it. Jin is clearly distracted with rifling through the silverware drawer, and you’re pretty sure you can manage a short sprint to the elevator if it means avoiding an awkward breakfast, and—

“Hey, are you cold? I turned the heat up yesterday, but the blizzard’s gotten worse since then. My toes were practically frozen this morning.”

Jin’s words startle you out of your thoughts, and your heart sinks when you turn toward the window and see nothing but white. You can just barely make out the charcoal gray rails of the fire escape hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow, and wonder, vaguely, how difficult it would be to climb down.

“I—I guess it’s a little chilly in here,” you mumble, rubbing your arms. Your dress is thankfully long-sleeved, the knit material snug enough to keep your upper half warm, but you’d foregone any sort of tights or pantyhose yesterday in a rather spectacular lack of foresight, and your companion seems to agree.

“There’s no way you’re not freezing in that,” Jin says, nodding at your getup. “Club appropriate, yes. Blizzard appropriate? Not so much. You sure you don’t want to put those pajamas I gave you back on?”

You think of the oversized t-shirt and flannel pants you’d left folded on the foot of his bed, still smelling so sweetly of his floral detergent even after a night of wear. “I think I’m just going to put my coat on,” you tell him, edging toward the entryway.

Jin hums in acknowledgement and busies himself with piling waffles onto a plate, and you dart down the hall and toward the front door. Your coat lies crumpled on the carpeted floor, and you shake it off before slipping into it, casting one last backward glance over your shoulder. Gingerly, you put a hand on the doorknob, wincing at the audible click as it twists in your grasp.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Fuck.

Guiltily, you turn, taking in the disbelief etched across Jin’s face. Now that he’s out of the kitchen, you can see the apron wrapped around his waist—pastel pink and printed with frolicking alpacas wearing red kerchiefs. He’s holding a plate of waffles in each hand, and your stomach rumbles at the sight of them dripping with syrup and loaded with strawberries and whipped cream that’s already beginning to melt down the sides.

“Look,” Jin sighs. “I’m not trying to keep you hostage. But no one’s shoveled around the front door of the building yet, and the landlord’s emailed everyone a warning to stay inside. You couldn’t leave even if you tried, so you may as well have some breakfast.”

You decide not to mention that you’d briefly dabbled with the idea of vacating his apartment via the fire escape, and instead take one of the plates off his hands. “Do you cook every one-night stand breakfast?” you ask.

Jin begins walking back toward the kitchen. “Only the ones I like, even if they do keep trying to run out into the snowstorm of the century. Have you even looked at the news lately?”

Reluctantly, you shake your head and pull out your dying phone, scrolling through today’s headlines. Even a quick glance is enough to confirm Jin’s statement, and you sigh as you take a seat at the dining table. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Jin says, sitting down in the chair opposite you and pushing a fork your way.

Silence falls for a few minutes as you dig into your food, broken only by the clatter of silverware. You stare intently down at the syrup-filled squares that make up your waffles, and it isn’t until Jin sucks in a deep breath that you look up again.

“Fuck, marry, kill,” he says, setting down his fork with a clink. “Kim Jong Un, Abraham Lincoln, and Vladimir Putin. Go.”

You gape at him, watching as he walks into the kitchen and returns with the coffee pot and two mugs. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me.” Jin fills up the mugs, setting one down in front of you before taking an enormous swig from his own. “Fuck, marry, or kill. Do you need me to repeat the people?”

“I am not playing fuck, marry, kill.”

Jin crosses his arms over his chest. “Should we sit in silence, then? You’re stuck here whether you like it or not, so we may as well talk.”

A laugh escapes you at that, one that’s equal parts derision and disbelief. “So you decided that we should play fuck, marry, kill? Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not an option,” Jin says breezily, waving a hand. “Try again.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “Fine. Marry Babe-raham Lincoln, obviously—he’s the only one who’s not a supervillain. Plus, there was the whole ending slavery thing.”

“Don’t forget the cool hat,” Jin interjects. “More points in his favor.”

You nod. “True.” Putting a thoughtful finger to your chin, you debate your two remaining choices and fight the urge to cringe. “Between Kim Jong Un and Putin though… that’s tough. Kill Kim and fuck Putin, I guess.”

“I’m pretty sure political assassinations are frowned upon,” Jin muses. “Not that I gave you any other options. Good choice, by the way. Vlad seems like he could show you a pretty decent time, and all the ladies want him, apparently. You’ve heard his song, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Pulling out his phone, he taps a few keys before propping it up against his mug so you can see the screen. The song that filters through the tinny speakers is undoubtedly catchy—a techno-pop beat that you can’t help but bob your head to despite the bizarre lyrics.

“I’m… pretty sure this is propaganda,” you say after a few moments of listening. “Why do you even know about this?”

Jin shrugs and sits back down. “The internet is a weird place. What can I say?”

The song continues—filling the room with an entrancing techno beat and a feminine voice crooning about how much she wants a man like Putin. You quietly take a sip of your coffee, watching as Jin saws off another chunk of syrup-drenched waffle and shoves it into his mouth.

“Your turn,” he says once the song’s ended. “Three people.”

It only takes you a few seconds to come up with your choices, a slow smirk spreading across your face as you voice them aloud to your companion. “Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and the Queen of England.”

Just as you’d expected, Jin’s eyes grow wide, bulging out comically as he huffs in indignation. “Seriously? This is cruel. At least I gave you bad options!”

“No complaining,” you tell him smugly. “Choose.”

“Fine,” he sniffs. “Fuck… Marilyn, I think.” Frowning, he scratches the back of his neck, ruffling his already tousled bedhead further. “Fuck, this is brutal. Are you really going to make me kill the Queen?”

You slap the table, and Jin nearly falls out of his seat in surprise. “You just said that political assassinations are frowned upon, you hypocrite!”

“You can’t possibly expect me to kill Audrey Hepburn,” Jin retorts. “She’s talented, gorgeous, and a humanitarian. Besides, consider this: if the Queen is gone, that means I become the new king. You should be bowing to me, peasant.”

“Wouldn’t marrying the Queen also make you a king?” you point out.

“Sure. But then I’d have to share the throne, and I don’t play nice with other monarchs.”

You snort out a surprised laugh and nearly expel coffee from your nose. “Oh my god, Jin.”

His lips twitch up at the corners. “My turn,” he declares. “Fuck, marry, kill… Timothée Chalamet, Chris Evans, and my eighty-year-old neighbor, Edgar.”

You blink, disbelief etching across your face. “Who the fuck is Edgar?”

“I just told you! He’s my neighbor!”

“Well, he’s gone,” you say flatly. “Done-zo. Six feet under. The bucket? He’s kicked it.”

“Seriously?” Jin picks up his coffee mug, his shoulders quaking with barely suppressed laughter as he shields his grin behind cream-colored ceramic. “I can’t believe you killed Edgar. He had a family.”

“Everyone has a family!” you retort, before the ludicrousness of your entire conversation becomes too much and you dissolve into giggles. Jin’s own laughter joins yours, squeaky and contagious, and you can’t help but laugh even harder. “Evans,” you finally manage to answer between breaths. “Marry Chris Evans.”

Jin nods sagely. “America’s ass. Good choice.”

“Glad you approve,” you reply with a grin.

This time, the silence that descends over the two of you is almost comfortable. Jin gets up to brew a fresh pot of coffee once you’ve both finished eating, and you gratefully accept the hot mug he hands over, the warmth seeping into your palms and warming you from the inside out. “Thanks,” you murmur, rather taken aback by his continuing hospitality. “Can I help you with anything? Clean up, maybe?”

Jin gestures at a stainless steel door beneath the counter. “No need—I’ve got a dishwasher. Besides, I kind of like doing dishes. The repetition is comforting.”

“To each his own, I guess.” You hug your mug a little closer, relishing the heat. “Personally, I think I’ll stick with the dishwasher. I can’t imagine baking without one.”

Jin tilts his head curiously. “You bake?”

You shrug. “A little bit, yeah.”

“That must be nice.” Jin opens up the dishwasher and disappears beneath the counter, and you can tell from the clattering that he’s popping your plates and utensils inside. “I wish I could bake, but waffles and pancakes are the closest I’ll ever get.”

You laugh. “Well, the waffles were delicious, if that’s any consolation.”

He straightens back up to his full height and offers you a small smile. “Thanks.”

Now that the meal is finished, you aren’t sure what to do. Jin rebuffs another offer of help, humming as he washes the waffle iron plates, so you take your coffee over to the wide windows lining the living area. The snowfall hasn’t slowed one bit—a continuous flurry of fat white flakes buffeted in every direction by the wind—and you shiver when the glass creaks under the onslaught of a particularly hard gust. Backing away, you instead meander over to the wooden bookshelf beside the television, browsing past a few familiar classic titles before alighting on something odd.

“Quickbooks?” you ask, reading the spine of what appears to be a thick manual. “Like, the accounting software?”

Jin turns off the faucet and dries his hands. “One and the same.”

“Right. And is this a boring hobby, or—?”

“Option B—it’s a boring career choice,” he replies, joining you at the bookshelf. “But the pay is good, and the hours are regular, so I can’t complain. Leaves me plenty of time for my actual hobbies.”

Turning back to the books on the shelf, you glance over the next few titles. “Let me guess. You like poetry?”

He grins. “I’m a regular sonnet-lier.” At your confused expression, he quickly clarifies. “Like sommelier? Get it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Is that not punny to you?” Jin’s grin widens. “That’s fine; I’m much better at acrostic poems, anyway. Pick a color.”

The sudden request takes you aback. “Uh, blue?”

He shakes his head. “Pick another color.”

“White?”

“White? Seriously? Pick a different color.”

“Green.”

“Nope.”

You sigh and shake your head. Clearly, he already has a specific color in mind. “Fine. How about red?”

The smile that blooms across his face is nothing short of radiant. “Red? Can you spell that out for me?”

Lips twitching, you decide to indulge him. “R—”

He interrupts before you can say the next letter. “Revolution!”

“E.”

“Evolution!”

You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “D?”

“Drop in the ocean!” he finishes, following it with an exaggerated bow. “Well?”

“I think you should stick to accounting.”

Jin pretends to wince, clutching at his chest. “Ouch.”

The laughter bubbling up in your stomach finally makes itself known, escaping past your lips in an amused huff. Turning away from the bookshelf, you take a seat on the edge of the couch that occupies the majority of the living area—a cushioned gray behemoth decorated with well-worn and mismatched throw pillows. Now that you are looking, you can see that Jin clearly favors comfort over sophistication in his decorating—though you also have no doubt that the couch you’re seated on comes with a hefty price tag. There are several plants scattered around as well—including a neatly potted orchid on the end table closest to you. Gingerly, you reach out to touch the pink petals, admiring each delicate silken bloom.

“You left your coffee.” Jin sits down beside you with your mug in hand, and you belatedly realize you’d left it on the bookshelf. “It’s probably cold by now, but there’s more in the kitchen if you want it.”

Once again, you’re floored by his hospitality. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you gesture back at the orchid, blurting, “I like your flower!”

At the same time, Jin jabs a thumb back in the direction of the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner?”

You gawk at him. “Dinner?”

Jin blinks. “Thanks?” He glances at the pink orchid on the end table before shaking his head and chuckling. “And yeah, dinner. The snow isn’t going to let up until two or three in the morning, so I’m assuming you’re staying the night again.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a kidnapping attempt,” you tell him.

His answering grin shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat in your chest. “Maybe it is.”

For the second time today, you wonder if it’s too late to make a run for the fire escape. Slipping on the slick metal and falling to your potential death—certain injury, at least—would no doubt be better than staying here. Here, where Jin has already made you feel so much more welcome than you deserve. Here, where every single one of his terrible poems and cheesy puns constricts your chest with dangerous warmth.

“So… what were you saying about my flower?” Jin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his tone light and teasing. “Were you complimenting my green thumb?”

You glance back at the orchid on the end table, gratefully seizing upon the change in subject. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. I mean, I’m the kind of person who can barely keep a cactus alive, so this is beyond impressive.”

Jin shrugs and leans back, making himself comfortable on the couch. “It all comes down to water and soil, at the end of the day. Knowing what kind to use—whether or not they need moss or bark chips—that kind of thing. You pick it up after long enough.”

“Not me.” You chuckle ruefully. “I didn’t even know there were different types of potting mix until an entire pallet of the stuff got misdelivered to me instead of the shop across the street. And here I was, thinking it was flour. I actually opened a bag before I realized what was going on.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his tousled hair. “Were you expecting a massive flour delivery?”

You wince at your slip-up, but it’s too late to take it back. “Right. Well. Remember when I said I baked a bit? I actually meant to say that I bake a lot. In a bakery.”

Your companion perks up. “Really? Which one?”

“Stalker much?” You frown.

Jin laughs. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But I’ll have you know that you’re on the hook for dessert now. Think you can rustle something up for us?”

You nod toward the kitchen. “You have flour, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then, yes. I absolutely can.”

///

Snow continues to fall through the afternoon and into evening. Slowly, the sky begins to darken—fading from pale gray into a deep charcoal that cuts a striking contrast with the icy blanket of white covering the city.

“It’s still coming down out there,” you murmur, breaking the silence that has fallen over you in the past couple of hours. Together, you and Jin have watched three episodes of House Hunters and two episodes of the international version, before settling into your own individual activities. You’ve borrowed Jin’s phone charger, and Jin has pulled out his laptop and set up shop at the dining table. And while the past few hours haven’t been uncomfortable, they haven’t exactly been comfortable either. It almost feels like you’ve been left alone with the friend of a friend, without the buffer that your mutual friend would normally provide, and at a complete loss as to how to maintain a conversation without veering into personal territory.

Jin hums and shuts his laptop. “Does it look like packing snow?”

You stand up from where you’ve burrowed into the couch and head for the window, groaning as your joints creak in protest. You’d changed back into your borrowed pajamas earlier in the day, and a good thing too since the temperature seems to drop a digit with each passing hour. “Looks like the fluffy stuff,” you tell Jin, peering outside.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out for sure,” he replies, shuffling over to join you. With a click, he unlocks the window and shoves it open, wincing at the blast of chilly air and the flurry of flakes that rush in to greet him.

You take a step back, watching in amusement as Jin grabs a handful of snow from the fire escape landing and successfully balls it up. He makes two more snowballs in addition—both smaller than the first—and you giggle when you realize what he’s doing. “Have any carrots?” you ask.

“Actually, yes. Check the fridge drawer,” he replies, flashing you a grin.

You oblige him, meandering into the kitchen where the stainless steel refrigerator sits. Locating the bag of carrots proves easy, and you find the smallest one you can before returning to the open window. “How’s this?”

Jin takes it, sizing it up in his palm. “Perfect.”

With the carrot and a few pebbles pulled from one of the succulent planters on the sill, the little snowman is completed. You help Jin prop it up on the fire escape, packing snow around the sides so the wind won’t blow it over, and admiring your handiwork once it’s upright. The pebble smile is a little crooked and its nose skews heavily to the right, but you still can’t help but grin.

“I haven’t built a snowman in ages,” you admit, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to warm them.

Jin laughs and shuts the window, his nose reddened from the cold. “If that’s the case, I wish we could’ve done a better job. I don’t even have a spare hat to put on him, since I just took a bunch of stuff to the donation bin. Next time, maybe.”

The thought of building another snowman with Jin—a real one, out in a field somewhere instead of on his fire escape in the middle of a blizzard—makes your heart and lungs feel too big for your chest. Quickly, you clear your throat to dispel the feeling and glance back toward the kitchen. “I think I saw some ribbon over there,” you murmur. “We can at least give him a bow tie.”

“A bow tie it is, then,” Jin replies, and you dart off to fetch the spool of red ribbon you’d spotted on the counter next to the fridge.

Now that the snowman is actually complete, you and Jin close the window and return the ribbon to the kitchen. Jin begins pulling produce out of the refrigerator, and you watch him for a few seconds before turning toward a narrow door you presume is the pantry. “Flour’s on the top shelf,” Jin calls, and you nod, grabbing the half-full canister.

It only takes you a few minutes to take stock of what else Jin has in his pantry. You spot the pastel pink apron from earlier hanging from a hook on the inside of the door, and giggle to yourself at the absurdity of the prancing alpaca print. Taking it off its hook reveals another apron behind it—this one plain white and emblazoned with the words Chef Kim.

“Kim—is that your last name?” you wonder aloud.

“Full name’s Kim Seokjin, yeah.” Jin appears behind you, plucking the pink apron out of your hand and pulling it over his head. “What about you?”

You offer up your full name with a sheepish smile. “I guess it’s only fair. We never did get past first names last night.”

“Nope,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Can’t say I’m complaining, though. I liked what happened instead.”

Your cheeks warm, but Jin doesn’t say anything further. Instead, he reaches past you to grab the other apron, carefully looping it over your head. “Don’t want you getting flour all over yourself,” he remarks playfully, urging you to turn so he can tie the strings behind your back. “What are you thinking of making?”

You shrug. “Do you have any preferences?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’ll eat anything once, to be honest. What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Well, the chocolate chip cookies are always popular. Lots of kids come in to grab some after the elementary school lets out. But I’ve always liked making croissants the most.”

“Nothing better than a fresh croissant,” Jin agrees. “And pain au chocolat? Best of both worlds. Though I guess elementary schoolers probably wouldn’t have the right palate for that.”

You smile and glance back at the pantry once more. “Probably not. It looks like you don’t have any chocolate anyway, so pain au chocolat is out of the question.” Then your eyes alight on a colorful canister on the bottom shelf. “Are those rainbow sprinkles?”

Jin follows the trajectory of your gaze. “Oh, yeah. I attempted a funfetti cake for a friend’s birthday the other week. Box mix, nothing fancy. Probably nothing compared to what you could do.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a good box mix,” you reply, grabbing the sprinkles and placing them on the counter next to the flour. “Most can be improved drastically by substituting milk for the water and adding an extra egg.”

“Milk and an extra egg—got it,” Jin repeats. Turning to the cabinets, he pulls out a pot and sets it on the stovetop. “So what about dinner? Soup sound good to you?”

“Soup sounds perfect,” you tell him. “How do you feel about sugar cookies? I can whip up some frosting and we can decorate them with sprinkles.”

Jin beams. “That sounds perfect.”

///

There’s something painfully domestic about cooking dinner with someone else—a certain ebb and flow in the way you move about the kitchen. The aroma rising up from the simmering pot on the stove is already beginning to make your mouth water, and Jin inhales deeply as he passes by the oven on his way to the liquor cabinet on the other side.

“Those smell amazing,” he says, leaning down to peer at the sheet of cookies.

You nod at the soup. “That smells amazing.”

“We’re in for an amazing meal, then,” he replies, straightening up to his full height and opening the liquor cabinet. “So what do you want to drink with it? Wine okay?”

“Sure. Red, if you have it.”

Jin grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf. “Cabernet sauvignon, right? I remember.”

Cabernet sauvignon is what you’d been drinking at the bar when you first met. The fact that he remembers releases a flock of butterflies in your stomach, flurrying about like the snow outside in the wind. Accepting the glass he hands over, you offer him a grateful smile before taking a sip to quash the new residents of your belly. “You sure you’re not a stalker?” you tease once you’ve swallowed.

“Hey, this is what people do when they first meet,” Jin defends. “They get to know each other, try and see if they fit. Ever heard of such a thing?”

You take another sip of wine before bending down to check on the cookies again. “Maybe once or twice.”

Inhaling deeply, you savor the warm scent of vanilla wafting from the oven. The smell alone is enough to tell you that they’re close to being done, and when you take in the golden hue, you know it for a fact. “Not to toot my own horn,” you remark, donning an oven mitt and pulling out the tray, “but this might be the best work I’ve ever done.”

Jin peers over your shoulder, sniffing appreciatively. “I believe it,” he says. “Anything I can do to help?”

You shake your head and select a spatula from the array of implements in the decorative ceramic pitcher next to the stove. “I’m just going to lay these out on a plate to cool. Then I’ll start on the frosting.” Curiously, you glance into the simmering pot on the stove. “What about you? Do you need any help?”

“Nope.” Jin gives the pot a stir. “This is just about done, anyway, so do you want to eat now?”

You shrug. “Sure. It’ll take at least half an hour for the cookies to cool completely. I don’t want to cover your kitchen in melted frosting and rainbow sprinkles.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal,” Jin agrees with a laugh. “Go on then, take a seat. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

///

Evening fades into the velvety dark of nighttime. Dinner is done, the cookies are decorated and eaten, and you once again find yourself in Jin’s bed. He’s given you a fresh shirt to sleep in—this one bright blue with the outline of a cartoon whale—and you relax against the pillows as Jin climbs under the covers beside you and makes himself comfortable.

“Ready for me to turn off the lights?” he asks.

You nod. “Go ahead.”

In an instant, the bedroom is plunged into darkness. It takes a few long seconds for your eyes to adjust, but you don’t need your sight to enact your plan. Gently, you reach out, your searching fingers settling on Jin’s broad chest. You hear him whisper your name—his voice questioning—but you silence him with a soft murmur and a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Carefully, you shift the blankets aside, straddling his toned thighs.

From there, it’s easy to descend down the taut expanse of his abdomen. Greedily, you push his shirt up to explore each ridge and dip of muscle, trailing from his dusky nipples down to the sharp angles of his pelvic bone. You don’t miss the slow rise of his cock against your leg, and finally dip down to give it some attention when Jin groans, mouthing at the head through the soft material of his pajama pants.

“{Name},” Jin rasps. “Not—not that I’m not enjoying this, because I really, really am. But why are you doing this?”

You glance up, taking in his shadowed face. “I never did thank you for your hospitality,” you breathe. “So, why don’t you relax and let me give you a proper thank you?”

Jin groans again, his hands finding your shoulders, and you take that as acquiescence. Ever so slowly, you free his cock from the confines of his pants, suckling at the flared head and smirking when he hisses through his teeth. Determined to elicit a more vocal reaction, you sink farther down, tracing your tongue along the vein on the underside and relishing the way his thighs clench.

It isn’t long before Jin is cumming down your throat, his chest heaving with labored breaths as he watches you lick your lips in satisfaction. “Your turn,” he rasps. “On your back for me, baby.”

You shake your head, pushing him away when his hand grazes your knee. “This was me saying thank you, remember? You don’t owe me a thing.”

Jin’s palm finds your cheek, cupping it gently as he presses a kiss to your mouth. “I want to, though.”

The sincerity lacing his voice makes your heart lurch dangerously against your ribcage. “In the morning, then,” you tell him. “In the morning.”

///

It’s exactly 6:47 when you clamber out of Jin’s bed, stripping out of his oversized pajamas and back into your own clothing. You cringe as you pull your dress over your hips, trying your best to forget that it’s two days old at this point.

Outside, the blizzard has finally died down. A glance out the window confirms that the snowplows have started making their rounds, and you send a mental thank you to your city’s public works department for their quick action.

Jin is still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with his breath beneath the thin white cotton of his t-shirt. His dark lashes flutter against the soft swell of his cheeks, his hair like spilled ink against the cream of his pillow, and it takes every ounce of discipline you possess to turn away. Quietly, you slip out of the bedroom, easing the door shut behind you. On your way to the front door, you catch a glimpse of the snowman you’d built yesterday through the window, covered in a thick layer of snow that obscures every detail of its face except the orange carrot nose.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is short, and you’re grateful to see that the snow around the door has been shoveled away. Past that, the city is nothing short of a winter wonderland, a blanket of white stretching as far as the eye can see. The sidewalks remain untouched at this early hour, so you opt to walk in the street, grateful for the durable leather and the sensible wedge heel on your boots.

The subways are up and running—you’d ensured as much when you woke up, checking the schedule on your fully charged phone. The nearest station is a mere three blocks away, and the next train in twelve minutes. You’ll make it with time to spare.

Three blocks and you can forget about all of this.

Twelve minutes, and you can leave all memory of Kim Seokjin behind.

///

As much as you love snow, you hate the aftermath. It’s snowed almost every day in the two weeks since the blizzard, and you hate how it’s all accumulated at the side of the road, exacerbated by constant plowing and blackened by grime. You hate how it seems to have brought out the worst drivers in the city in droves, stalling in the crosswalks and honking like distressed seals. You hate the excessive salt sprinkled on the sidewalks.

But most of all, you hate this—the wet, gray-black slush that customers mindlessly trail into the bakery, slicking the polished hardwood floor and soaking the cheery mat at the door that bids them to come again soon!

“More like come again never,” you grouse under your breath as the bell jingles, signaling a customer’s departure. Peering over the counter, you eye the slushy buildup that’s been left in their wake and sigh. “Jungkookie? Could you mop up in the front again, please?”

A mop of tousled black hair pops out from the back of the shop, framing wide doe eyes and a crumb-dusted mouth. “Be right there!” he calls, and you thank him before turning back to the front door with a slight pang of guilt in your chest. This is the third time he’s had to mop up since opening an hour ago, but you like to think you pay him well enough—both in wages and free donuts whenever he gets peckish. Besides, Jungkook loves this place as much as you do. His baking talent doesn’t go far beyond eating said baking, but he has an astute eye for detail and a skill with frosting that rivals your own. He’s a whiz with the cash register, too, and you have no doubt that the increased sales whenever he’s up front has everything to do with the influx of college girls that flock to the bakery when they see him there.

The morning rush seems to have settled. A few customers remain, seated at the little round tables that litter the front of the bakery, sipping on coffee and munching on their breakfast. Through the tall glass windows, you spot a few fat white flakes of snow spiraling down from the overcast sky, and glance down at your phone to check the weather when the bell over the door tinkles gently.

“Hi, welcome to Tu—” The words freeze in your throat. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” Kim Seokjin grins and loosens the knot of his scarf, his head and shoulders dusted with white. “So, this is where you work? At Turbinado?”

“I own Turbinado,” you retort, the response automatic. “And you, apparently, are a stalker.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked here.” Jin raises his hands up innocently, his fingers sheathed in red-and-white striped wool. “Well, okay, I thought you might work here. See, I still owe you something, but you left before I could pay you back and I don’t think that’s very fair.”

Your cheeks heat up at the memory of your last night at Jin’s apartment, and the events that transpired. Still, you manage to maintain a flippant facade, huffing out a sigh. “So you resorted to stalking me? How did you even figure out I worked here, anyway?”

“Well, I knew it was a bakery,” Jin replies. “You mentioned that you get a lot of elementary schoolers coming in, and that you once received a mixed up potting soil delivery. And this—” he gestures around, “—is the only bakery in the city that’s within walking distance of both a flower shop and an elementary school. It was pretty easy to find.”

“So now you’re a detective too?” You snort. “That’s more interesting than accounting, at least.”

Jin’s grin widens. “Hey, look at that. You remembered something about me.”

You roll your eyes and glance back down at your phone where the weather app is forecasting more snow in the afternoon. “Trust me, I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Jin chuckles. He steps forward until he’s directly across from you, and with only the narrow counter separating the two of you, you’re reminded just how handsome he truly is. Slowly, the hibernating butterflies in your belly begin to stir.

“Are you even going to ask for my order?” Jin asks when you hesitate a moment too long.

You sigh. “Fine. What do you want?”

“One pain au chocolat,” he replies, gesturing at the display case. “And a date, if you’re willing.”

Your jaw drops, and when you find your voice again, it’s little more than a stammer. “A date? Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Jin fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “That’s what people do, you know, when they like each other.”

“But I don’t do that. Date, I mean.”

Jin grins. “But you do like me."

“You—I mean, what makes you think—” You trail off, your protests dying on your tongue. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

Another grin—this one tinged with mischief. “Unbelievable? I can make a poem with that.” And before you can sigh or roll your eyes again, he continues. “Unlikely meeting you here? Believe it, baby. Able…” He pauses. “Am I able to kiss you now?”

Irrepressible laughter bubbles up in your chest and escapes out into the open air, mingling with the scent of warm cinnamon and vanilla that suffuses the shop. “That was terrible.”

“But you didn’t say no,” Jin replies, cocking his head to the side. Slowly, he leans over the counter, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek and giving you plenty of time to pull away.

But you don’t want to pull away. Jin’s lips are cold, but warm up quickly as they mold against yours, just as plush and pillowy soft as you remember them.

“So, is that a yes to the date?” he murmurs, pulling away just enough to whisper the question against your lips. And you can only nod, your fingers closing around the knitted scarf around his neck to pull him into another kiss.

///

Bonus - 

You’re pulling a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, your lips still swollen from the memory of Jin’s kisses, when the man himself pipes up from the seat he’s taken at the round table nearest the counter. “Hey, {Name}?”

“Hmm?”

“My pain au chocolat is free now, right?”

“… get out of my shop.”

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟsometimes nagi needs a power up between games to make sure he can win for you.

♱ warnings — f!reader, cunninglingus, barely proofread, all characters written 22+ / note. hewo ! it’s still christmas 4 me [barely] so consider this a lil gift since he’s my fave starboy <3 but honestly my words rly were not flowing gd 4 this :<

your bedroom is quiet apart from the low gunshots you can hear coming from nagi’s phone as he lies between your thighs, mumbling under his breath everytime his character takes a few too many shots. but you feel him settle again with a sigh everytime your hands smooth through the mop of messy, snowy hair that brushes along your thighs everytime he moves.

you’re draped in one of his ridiculously oversized shirts, long enough for you to get away with just wearing your panties underneath — but he always preferred it that way, said it was warmer when he could rest his head against your bare skin.

“are you winning, sei?” you giggle as you use your free hand to scroll through your feed on your phone, clicking through a few stories as you continue to smooth your fingers through nagi’s hair.

“eh, not really. ‘ts such a pain, dunno why they made this part co-op — so bothersome.” the strikers words trail off into a grumble at the end as his jaw clenches with the enemies next shot, leaving him with a sliver of hp that has him clicking his tongue. “no fair, come on.”

it only takes a few more seconds before nagi groans with the next opposing teams gunshot, his shoulders dropping as his phone falls from his hold and he’s rolling onto his stomach to look up at you. but it’s cute, the drowsy pout he sends you as his cheek rests against your pelvis, leaning into your touch as you brush the bangs away from his face.

“you lose?” you tease and it makes your boyfriend huff before he’s nuzzling into you, hooking his arms underneath your hips to pull you closer like you really were his favourite pillow.

“eh, it was dumb anyway. needed a break.” nagi’s words are muffled against your skin, but you find yourself laughing at the way you can still hear his pout when he speaks before he’s groaning again, a little huffy that you find his despair so funny.

“hey, it’s not funny.” he begins with a drawl, a whisper of a whine present in his tone as he feels your fingers scratch at his scalp. you’re much to preoccupied with your phone to really notice his movement, to feel the way he presses lower between your legs until his mouth rests close enough to your clothed pussy for him to feel the familiar heat as his cheek rests against your thigh.

“just need a power up, pretty thing.” nagi drawls lowly with the first real press of his lips against your panties, and that really gets your attention as you breathe out a dreamy little seishiro before your thighs twitch tighter around his head.

it’s lazy, but deliberate the way he kisses along your folds and even through the layer separating you both he knew exactly how to have you melting as his eyes flutter closed, fingers squeezing tighter into your skin as he buries himself in you.

the fabric of your panties presses deeper into you as nagi grinds his tongue against your folds, nibbling at your clit until you’re damp and sticky. he gives himself a few seconds before his fingers hook underneath the hem to pull it to the side, so he can finally have his first real taste of you as he curls his tongue against your cunt with a low groan.

“yum, angel. think this ‘s just what i needed, gotta watch me win after this.” he drawls as he urges your thighs to squeeze around his cheeks, forcing him deeper into your pussy until every press of his mouth has a lewd squelch echoing through the room, and he’s greedily slurping up the slick that follows with a drawn out whine.

“fuck, sei—“ you gasp with the next languid, mindless roll of nagi’s tongue along your clit before his lips close around it, making your back arch against the sheets as he suckles lightly and your fingers twitch and pull at the snowy roots of his hair.

“tastes soooo good, wanna hear more of those pretty sounds— please.” he’s already fucked out, his sleepy gaze blown and starry-eyed when he blinks up at you from between your thighs, groaning as he watches the way your lips part to breathe out his name once more.

your hips rock against nagi’s warm mouth as your thighs squeeze even tighter around his cheeks, legs trembling as the grip he has on your hips turns bruising, and he knows you’re close when your breath begins to come in short pants of his name and sweet little more’s.”

“shit, g’nna make me hard, pretty thing. quit being so cute, ‘ts such a bother.” his words are muffled by your pussy like he’s not already fucking throbbing against the mattress. but he repeats his earlier motions and your hips almost vibrate beneath him when he slurps at you shamelessly, tasting everything you give to him before he’s swallowing loudly and rolling his tongue messily over your clit.

your hips tremble with the next overwhelming suck and swirl of nagi’s tongue along your folds, as do your lungs when he laps up the slick your walls seem to push out with every needy squeeze around nothing as his lidded eyes cut up into you.

“i’m gonna—ah! gonna cum, sei.” you gasp as your toes curl, thighs flexing around your boyfriends cheeks before he groans, eager for the taste of you on his tongue.

“then come on, pretty thing—gimme it already.”

it only take a few more messy swirls of nagi’s tongue through your folds before your head knocks back into the pillows and your whole body twitches, tight heat in your abdomen snapping as you cum and you hear your boyfriend whimper as you rock your hips back and forth into him into his eager mouth.

the needy suckles and smacks only grow louder, shameless and wet when he takes a mouthful of you — suckling lazily at your clit until you’re quaking beneath him and you feel him sigh, content as it fans along the swollen petals of your pussy and he rests his cheek against your thigh as his fingers trace shapes into your hips.

your limbs feel like jelly as your hands fall by your sides and you bask in the warmth that blankets you after, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy before you’re roused by another low grumble from nagi between your thighs. you watch him turn around to lie on his back again as he loads up his game, clumsily trying to rest your hand on his hair again like a wordless little play with it while completely ignoring the way his cock is tenting in his pants.

“hey, why’d you stop. helps me concentrate ‘nd i wanna win for you— please.” 

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[yourlocalmaraudersbabe]

can you do hcs for young sirius black x reader where she goes to his dorm room because she knows he's the only there at that time? sirius sees her sobbing because of her terrible family and she cries so hard it gets to point where she feels sick to the stomach

“Can we at least garden together?”

Moodboard

Summary: You receive a letter from home and Sirius is there for you

Warnings: Angst, family/parent issues, nausea/vomiting

A/N: Thanks for sending this in!! I thought this was more worthy of a lil fic so that’s what I did :)) I hope you enjoy it!! <3

Word Count: 814

Masterlist + Characters and ships I write for

Requests are always open <3

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“What’d they say this time?”

Marlene leaned her chin on your shoulder, trying to look at the letter in your hands.

With the Great Hall’s morning delivery of mail, your parents wrote you yet another letter, and it of course wasn’t anything good.

It was the usual words of how you were disappointing them, how you could do better to upkeep the family’s legacy, and without fail each time, saying how bad your boyfriend, Sirius, was for you.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” you mumbled, shrugging her off.

You’d be leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year, so you tried to not let the letters get to you, but this was a breaking point.

You rose from the bench, stepping over it, and snagged the last bit of toast from your plate. Whether it was for a sense of comfort or for pure spite, you made your way to Sirius’s dorm, hoping you’d find him there.

The walk had left you alone long enough for you to feel comfortable in letting a few tears fall down your face. You were blinking away what you could, but these past couple months of brushing everything off was coming back to you. It was all a rush of emotions that was a relief to get out.

You approached his door, wiping at your eyes and down your cheeks before walking through it. Sirius lay quietly snoring in his bed, scrunched up, hugging a pillow.

The click of the door had caused his eyes to flutter, eventually opening to see the sight of your tears running down your face. You slipped under the covers with him as he held you close, the letter in your hands long forgotten on the floor.

You buried your face between his arm and chest, letting outquiet sobs. He leaned his head up, searching for what you dropped on the floor, recognizing the letter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, smoothing it back as he spoke. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and wrapped your arms around him, clutching onto the fabric on his back while he squeezed you tight, mumbling small notes of comfort.

After a moment, he pulled away from you slightly, holding your face in your hands, thumbing away the hot tears as they fell. “Hey hey hey, you’re okay now. Whatever they said isn’t true.”

His words only made you feel worse. Sirius was really trying but only you read what was on the page, he didn’t see the terrible things written about him. Just the thought of it made you nauseous. “Y/n, darling, you don’t look too good right now. How about some water, yeah?”

You nodded, walking with him to the bathroom where an empty glass sat on the counter. He silently filled it up with a swift movement of his wand, but it wasn’t helpful seeing as the nausea caught up to you. He grabbed your hair, holding it away from your face gently, rubbing the small of your back.

You leaned away, hitting your back against the tub, tears continuing to stain your cheeks. He pulled you into his arms, away from the cold ceramic. “ You’re okay. It’ll all be over soon. We’re going to get our own little place where we don’t ever have to get owls from them, okay? Where we don’t have to get any owls from anyone,” he laughed softly.

You choked out a small laugh. “This is pathetic. I’m pathetic—”

“This isn’t pathetic, you’re not pathetic. You’re pretty amazing, actually.”

You adjusted yourself in his arms. “Sirius, I literally just cried so hard that I got sick,” you laughed.

“I still stand by my point of you being amazing. End of story.”

You stood up, taking a small sip of the water on the counter while Sirius scooted next to you, still sitting at your feet. You slid down the small counter front, leaning your head on his shoulder. He grabbed your hand, carefully folding each finger through the other as he leaned his head on yours. “Seriously—” the both of you laughed. “It’s not going to be like this forever,” He paused, kissing your hair. “And you always have me- always.”

“Thank you,” you said, barely audible.

Sirius squeezed your hand. “I love you. And I hope you know how much you mean to me. You are so worthy of everything and anything.”

“Well now you’re going to make me cry happy tears,” you smiled, wiping at your eyes with your free hand. “And I love you too.”

Minutes went by until you spoke again- bathrooms could be surprisingly calming, especially pondering the topic of your future home. “Hey, when we have our own place, I’m going to have a big garden for fruits, vegetables, and herbs— It’s not up for debate, so don’t think about arguing it.”

“Can we at least garden together?”

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