#he gets the award in case you were wondering

[blossoms-phan]

current moodboard

[1425fivefive]

what if i briefly lost my mind due to this photo and wrote a 1.5k landoscar strip poker drabble. what if (landoscar, 1.5k words, nsfw)

Sometimes, Oscar wonders if Lando does things purely to torture him.

They’re on the private jet McLaren’s chartered for them back from the FIA Awards. Zak and Andrea are somewhere up in the front of the plane, probably sleeping off their hangovers. Andrea looked like he might puke at any second when they got into the car that morning to head to the airport. Oscar and Lando are at the back, sitting across from Sam Bird, one of McLaren’s drivers in Formula E.

Oscar likes Sam well enough, but he can’t help but wish Sam was literally anywhere else. Oscar feels like he’s going insane with Lando sitting right beside him, buried in an oversized hoodie, his curls still sleep-mussed. Lando keeps shooting Oscar these cheeky little grins, like he knows exactly how crazy Oscar’s felt all weekend.

Their rooms at the hotel were right next to Zak and Andrea and they couldn’t do anything without risking being overheard.

But it didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a mirror selfie after his shower, Lando’s towel slung ruinously low around his hips, water dripping down his torso. It didn’t stop Lando from following Oscar into a single-use toilet at the awards ceremony and palming Oscar’s dick through his tuxedo, kissing him hard and wet and filthy, before leaving Oscar panting against the sink, desperately trying to calm down. It didn’t stop Lando from sending Oscar a text in the middle of the ceremony that just read, can’t wait for u to fuck me tmrw 😇. Oscar had to work very, very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face.

At this point, Oscar sort of feels like he might die. He knows you can’t literally die from blue balls, but he also can’t help but feel like Lando’s trying his hardest to test that theory.

Two hours into the flight, Lando announces, “I’m bored.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment, not when he’s half-hard and trying desperately not to go get himself off in the plane toilet while his bosses are on the flight. 

“Play your Switch or something,” Oscar says shortly. “Don’t you have, like, a million films on your iPad?”

“Yeah, but I’ve already watched all of them,” Lando says, pouting. “I want to do something fun.”

Oscar’s about to snap that he reckons Lando’s had more than enough fun these past few days.

But Sams interjects before Oscar can, saying, “I have a poker set?”

“Brilliant,” Lando says, face lighting up. “I love poker.”

“Why do you have a poker set?” Oscar asks. It seems like a bit of a random thing to just have on you in case the opportunity arises.

But Sam just laughs. “Love of the game, mate. Love of the game.”

Lando tips his head toward Oscar, grinning. “Only real poker heads would understand.”

“Oh my god,” Oscar says, shaking his head. “You only got into poker, like, a month ago—”

“Two months!” Lando says, holding up two fingers.

Oscar has to look away. The sight of Lando’s massive fingers has Oscar feeling things he really, really shouldn’t only two hours into a nine-hour flight.

“Oh, well then,” Oscar says, voice only slightly choked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar sees Lando grin, like Lando knows exactly what Oscar’s thinking.

“You know how to play, right?” Sam asks Oscar.

Oscar shrugs. “Well enough.”

In truth, Oscar’s pretty shit at poker. But not as shit, apparently, as Lando.

Within three rounds, Lando’s down to a measly pile of chips. He keeps playing horrible hands, betting huge on hands that even Oscar knows almost never win. Hands like queen-high or a flush draw when Lando only has one card from that suit in his hand and there’s only one matching card on the board after the flop. Like, Oscar’s not good at poker, but he knows enough to know that Lando’s playing so poorly it almost seems like Lando’s trying to lose on purpose. 

That theory’s confirmed when Lando finally runs out of chips and says, “Shit.” He looks over at Oscar, his expression all wide-eyed innocence. “Reckon I’ll just have to start betting clothes, then.”

Oscar almost chokes. He briefly fantasizes about jumping out of the plane. It’d stop Lando from fucking torturing him at least. 

Instead, Oscar says, “I’m not playing strip poker.”

Oscar expects Sam to back him up, to realize what an absurd idea it is to play strip poker on a plane with their coworkers.

But Sam starts banging his fists on the table chanting, “Strip poker, strip poker, strip poker.”

Lando cackles and immediately joins in, and soon enough the two of them are making such a racket that Oscar’s worried they’ll wake up Zak and Andrea. Oscar has no interest in being on the receiving end of one of Zak’s tirades after being woken up in the middle of a nap.

“Fucking fine,” Oscar grits out. “Fine, we’ll play stupid strip poker.”

The thing is, though, Lando’s the only one out of chips. Which means Lando’s the only one actually having to bet any of his clothing.

Oscar prays Lando will start small. Maybe bet a bracelet or a shoe or something.

Instead, Lando says, “Hoodie.”

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lando, predictably, loses, playing fucking eight-two offsuit when Oscar has a set.

“Rats,” Lando says gleefully, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a seat across the aisle. He knocks his shoulder against Oscar’s. “Shit luck, eh?”

“Yeah,” Oscar grits out, studiously ignoring looking over at Lando. He sort of hopes that if Lando doesn’t get the attention he clearly desperately craves, he’ll stop.

But on the next hand, Lando says, “Shirt.”

“Fucking hell,” Oscar groans, under his breath.

Lando giggles. “What was that, Osc?”

“Nothing,” Oscar says, staring dejectedly at his hand. He wishes it were something awful, something he could just lose with to keep Lando from ripping off his shirt, but it’s a fucking pair of kings. Oscar feels like the universe is conspiring against him.

The only blessing is that Sam seems oblivious to whatever sexual psychodrama is playing out on the other side of the table, whistling happily as he looks at his cards.

Lando loses again, peeling off his shirt and settling back in his seat.

Oscar really, really doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help but glance over at Lando, his dark nipples tight in the cool air of the plane, lean muscles on full display. Lando’s eyes spark, lower lip pulled between his teeth, grinning like the cat who got the cream. While Sam’s still looking down at his cards, Lando brings a hand up to his chest, running it over his skin before dragging it up to his neck, fingers wrapping suggestively over the thick muscle. Almost like he’s imagining Oscar’s hand there.

“Oh my god,” Oscar groans.

Sam glances up. “All good?”

“Yep,” Oscar says, voice tight, forcing himself to stare at his cards. “Everything’s really, really good.”

Next to him, Lando lets out a delighted little giggle.

As they go around placing their opening bets, Oscar pleads silently with Lando to fold. Just once.

But Lando doesn’t fold. Instead, he announces, “Sweatpants.”

Oscar stumbles to his feet, praying his hoodie’s hiding his boner. He chokes out, “I have to—” and pushes his way past Lando, beelining for the toilet.

He’s furious as he pulls his sweatpants down. Angry as he wraps a hand around his cock. Pissed off as he starts to stroke himself. 

Fucking Lando. Always fucking teasing. Knowing exactly how to get Oscar riled up, how to make him feel like he wants to say fuck it and drag Lando into the plane toilet in front of their coworker and bosses. Even though Oscar feels like he’s losing his mind, he can’t deny that it’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. That he knows he’ll put up with it every fucking time if it gets him off this hard.

But he sort of wants to torture Lando back.

Oscar pulls out his phone, opens his camera, and hits record. He tries to put on a show, thumbing over the head, zooming in on the wet tip, twisting his wrist the way Lando always likes when Oscar does it to him. But Oscar's so on edge that he’s coming before he’s even really gotten started, spilling over his fingers to the image of Lando on top of him, Oscar’s fingers on his nipples, Oscar’s hand around his throat as Lando fucks himself on Oscar’s cock. Reminding Lando who’s in control.

But as much as Oscar likes to pretend, he knows it’s not him.

Still, Oscar feels a surge of power as he opens his texts with Lando, sends him the video of him getting off, and writes, Don’t touch yourself until we’re home.

When Oscar comes out of the toilet, he’s pleased to see Lando squirming in his seat, glancing up at Oscar with flushed cheeks, eyes desperate. Sam’s not paying any attention, headphones on, watching something on his phone.

“Having fun?” Oscar asks, blissfully relaxed after his orgasm.

Lando squirms a bit, tugging his hoodie over his crotch. But he grins up at Oscar, the gap between his front teeth on full display, and says, “Loads.”

[auroralwriting]

helping hands

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

after a rough case, spencer offers to help your muscles relax

word count: 1.0k

warnings: no y/n, pre-established relationship, pure fluff, absolute comfort fic, one small sexual innuendo, it's a short one, but sweet!

from, anon: hello! i'm a little nervous to request something this is actually my first time doing it! but i have an oddly specific request that i felt you would be able to bring to life beautifully. i was wondering if u would maybe be write something for Spencer giving the reader a massage on their back to try and help? just lots of fluffy love and extra extra bonus points if you add lots of kisses

Physically demanding cases were the worst. Sure, dealing with psychopaths was tough, but chasing them down or fighting them was probably worse.

This specific case, the unsub was actually an award-winning tri-athlete. He put up a good chase, and then an even better fight. Usually, Derek took the brunt of these, but with him checking out the secondary location, it was you and Kate, who was pregnant.

Of course you weren't going to let a pregnant woman do all that work, so you kept her back and took as much of the brunt as she'd let you take. Thankfully, you both got out nearly unharmed, just with a few minor cuts, scratches, and bruises.

The one issue that you didn't account for was hurting your back, again. The last time you'd gotten hurt was during a case in Atlanta where you fell down a flight of stairs after being pushed by the unsub. You'd sustained some pretty nasty back injuries. Even after they had healed, some of your muscles overcompensated for the others, causing you to have back pain flare ups.

Normally, you could keep them at bay with simple stretches and some medication. This time, you realized that you'd done a number on your back during the fight.

Spencer took quick note of your posture during the flight home. You struggled to find a comfortable position, constantly trying to stretch your back or shoulder blades, seeking any form of relief from the pain. He knew how much you hated being put under a microscope, especially in front of the team, so he kept quiet until you arrived back to your shared apartment.

Walking in, you sighed as you kicked off your shoes, not caring how or where they landed on the floor as you bolted to the couch, flopping down on it. You were honestly too tired and in pain to care. Spencer chuckled in the background, and you could hear him set your shoes down on the shoe rack you had.

Your eyes, which had been previously shut, opened to see Spencer kneeling in front of you. "Hi, pretty girl." Spencer smiled at you, brushing some of your hair out of your face with a loving look gracing his features.

"Hi," you softly replied.

"You feeling alright?" Spencer now caressed your cheek with his thumb softly. "I noticed you stretching a lot on the jet."

With a small shake of your head, your lips fell into a soft pout. "I hurt my back, I think."

Spencer gently grabbed your arms and help you sit up. He carefully slid your coat down your arms with furrowed brows. "Did you get hit?"

"No," you answered, "I think I twisted my back wrong when I tried to jump in front of Kate. I think I felt it hurt then, but I had a lot of adrenaline."

"You were in flight-or-fight mode," Spencer nodded. "Now that you're safe and sound, you're gonna feel it more." His large hands slowly rubbed at your tense shoulders. He felt your body relax beneath his touch. "You want me to massage you a little, love?"

A sigh of contentment escaped your lips as his hands worked magic on your shoulders, "Please, Spence."

Spencer moved your body so you were laid down. He set a pillow beneath your head as you got yourself situated and comfortable.

Spencer had prepared for this moment for what felt like his whole life. You weren't dating when your first injury occurred, but after going out for a few dates, Spencer bought seven books, all on muscles in the back, massage techniques, and different pain relieving strategies all for this exact moment. You were careful with your injury, and Spencer trusted you, but he also understood that accidents and situations like these happen, especially in your shared line of work.

The sounds of your soft hums and sighs were a sign that Spencer was doing all the right things. You knew Spencer had magic fingers, but this was the best work they'd ever done. He worked out the kinks and aches in your back.

"Did you know that roses have been cultivated since ancient times, with evidence of their cultivation dating back to the Babylonians and the Egyptians around five-thousand years ago?" Spencer rambled, his voice quiet as he worked.

You loved Spencer's rambles, "Mm-mm." you hummed, "Why?"

"They were used for their fragrance and beauty. It lead to their association with the Egyption goddess, Hathor, and then to the Greek goddess Aphrodite, and so on." Spencer explained further.

Without warning, you turned over to look up a him. Spencer smiled down at you as you softly grabbed his neck, pulling him closer to press a kiss onto his lips.

"I love your brain," You commented with a smile, watching his face light up at the compliment.

"I'm not done yet, silly girl. Roll back over for me." Spencer chuckled.

Giggling, you rolled back onto your stomach as Spencer began to work into your back. You felt his hot breath over the back of your neck as he began to trail kisses downwards, down your spine. You shivered at the touch, smiling to yourself when he moved back up to press a gentle kiss onto your head.

"I don't think masseuses normally get this touchy," you joked.

Spencer shook his head, "They don't, but my client's just too pretty."

"Are you done yet?" You turned your head to look at him.

"Do you feel any better?" Spencer asked.

You sat up, moving your arms and gently twisting your back. "Mhm, thank you, baby."

"Then yes," Spencer smiled, "I'm all done. What's the rush?"

"I wanted to watch Doctor Who before we get too sleepy." You replied, then giving a soft roll to your eyes, "Or before we get called in again."

Spencer sighed, "Don't even say it. I don't think I can handle another case for at least two weeks." He took your hand as you leaned into him. He grabbed the remote and clicked the tv on. "But I'm never one to say no to Doctor Who and my girl."

"Thank you for helping," You lovingly said, snuggling into your boyfriend's chest.

"Anytime, lovely."

[solitary-traveler]

Tags: cursing, established relationship, shitty writin

Scaramouche x gn reader

"Here, have one!"

With a teasing grin and a jaunty bounce, your fingers practically poke and prod at Scaramouche’s face, a cream puff perched in your palm. "It tastes so good!"

The man’s face merely recoils at the horrifying sight in front of him. What an absolute disaster. The saccharine filled treat was an abomination, and the longer he stared, the stronger the urge to vomit. He swats your hand away in disgust. "No. Get that sugary garbage out of my face."

"It’s not garbage” you protest, batting your eyelashes as if that would help your case. "You just have terrible taste."

Scara rolls his eyes, crossing his arms with his usual scowl. “Please, I’d rather not die of diabetes”

With a sigh, you conceded. For now. Much to your dismay, your boyfriend was stubborn. Fortunately, you were relentless. With an impish sneer, you unleash your award winning puppy eyes, your lashes flutter for good measure. "Just one bite?"

Scara nearly disintegrated. How he scorned you, the idiot who’s somehow well educated when it came to his weakness. "Just one bite? You’d better not expect me to eat the whole thing” he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He snatched the treat with a frown, he narrowed his indigo eyes at the devil’s work that was now perched on his hands,  "Now stop pouting. It's annoying."

He gingerly inspected the cream puff, like a soldier facing battle. The sheer sweetness radiating from it was already making his stomach turn. Oh the stupid things he does for this stupid feeling called love. Still, with a defeated sigh his teeth make contact with the bread. His eyes widen momentarily, his senses sent to overdrive by the honeyed confection. He sputters and gags, spitting out the small piece he reluctantly bit into, before glaring at you as if you’d just posioned him.

"Too. Fucking. Sweet" he growls, wiping his pink lips. You laugh, watching him recoil as though he’d been physically attacked. You then yoink the rejected pastry from his hand, not hesitating to scarf it down your throat. "Mmm, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The crust is perfect—crispy and buttery. And the cream? Oh, the cream is smooth, rich, and just the right amount of sweet…"

As you ramble on about the wonders of the cream puff, Scara watches you with a raised eyebrow. His mouth was still reeling from the burst of flavor. His frown deepens, and finally, he cuts you off.

"How can you eat that without gagging?" His voice is a mix of irritation and fascination. "I don’t get it. You actually like that stuff?"

You shrug, still munching on the treat. "Everyone has their own tastes. Is there any sweet you do like? Or are all desserts banned for my grumpy boyfriend?"

He pauses, pretending to think it over, though something mischievous flickers behind his indigo eyes. "Well," he starts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "there is one."

You perk up, genuinely curious. "Oh? What is it?"

Scaramouche leans in a little, eyes glinting with that familiar deviousness you know all too well. His gaze travels over you slowly, taking in your innocent expression. And then, with a low, husky voice, he delivers his answer:

"Creampie."

Notes: This was just for me to get back into writing lmfaoo. Sorry for the shitty punchline 😔

[luveline]

i have a request idea! maybe aaron x reader where the reader is bullied/ being maltreated by her roommates like that one remus headcanon you filled? i love protective hotch but i get it if you don’t think this goes with him! your fics give me sm comfort thank you for writing them <3

thank you my love. fem, 1.5k

cw bullying/ unfriendly roommates

You can't believe it's Aaron's car. No way is his timing this bad. There's just no way he's home from a case, that he's chosen to visit without calling first, today. Right now. 

He's out of the car before you've so much as wiped your cheeks dry. You've never seen him park that fast. 

"What are you doing out here?" he asks, looking you up and down. "Let me help you up, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart so soon after seeing you —you must look terrible. You take his hand and stand up off of the floor, unperturbed as he brushes down your butt and thighs. 

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" he asks, soft, "It's wet, honey, you're crying– What's wrong?" 

You remember suddenly that you have someone on your side. Shaking, you tuck your arms under his and cross them behind his back, the fabric of his suit jacket familiar under your trembling fingers. You feel like a kid again at the mercy of other people's cruelty, but this hasn't been something you could run away from. The meanness takes root at home. But now Aaron's here and he's holding you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head delicately, his voice a murmur as he reassures you, "It's alright." He presses his cheek to the plane just adjacent to your eye. "Honey, please don't cry." 

"They smashed my vase," you say into his chest. 

"Who?" 

"My roommates, Aaron, they don't– don't like me." The vase was a gift. Special to you, irreplaceable, you've brought it safely from one place to another without ever having broken it. It was in the kitchen, housing your most recent bouquet of flowers from Aaron. "Macy said it fell over, but they were laughing, and they said the same thing about my bag, my– my sketchbook. They keep ruining my things, they throw away my food, and they laugh at me all the time, even when I'm not doing anything. I know they are."  

The laughing is honestly the worst part. Like your reaction isn't even worth considering, it doesn't bother them that you're upset, they just giggle and tell you to feel better. Sometimes they apologise like it wasn't them. Sorry about that, maybe don't leave it somewhere it could get ruined? with a smile that hardly counts as sympathetic. 

"How long has this been happening?" he asks. 

Months. "Since we met, at least." 

Aaron makes a noise you don't understand. You wait for him to say more, but he only rubs your back diligently for a time before ushering you into the car. A bag of takeout has gone cold in the passenger seat, the backseat busy with his go bag and a new bouquet. He's very, very good to you. 

In the car, he reaches across the console to fret over you, stroking your damp cheeks and rubbing your shoulders. You feel as though all your energy has been stolen. All you can do is lean into his hand as he wipes away your quiet tears. 

—

Hotch watches you cry in his passenger seat and feels pretty angry. It's not often like him to turn to anger when the people he cares about are upset. He's more of a problem solver. But when it's as bad as it is now, he doesn't bother restraining himself. 

He knew there was something about your roommates that you weren't telling him. Obviously, as the partner in the relationship who doesn't have roommates, Hotch hosts the majority of your 'sleepovers'. It's easier and awards more privacy most of the time, and honestly, he's not at the age where he's very interested in bumping into people on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He'd prefer to be home, and much prefer to have you there. 

He was wondering about asking you to move in, but there never seemed to be a good time, and right now your answer would likely be influenced by the insecurity of your home rather than true desire to live with him. He knows one day, he'll ask, and one day you'll say yes, (or he hopes), and so he keeps it in mind but otherwise proposes a temporary arrangement. 

"Let's go get some of your things and you can stay with me for a few days," he says. 

"Are you sure?" you ask. "What about Jack?" 

"He'll be happy for the company. Trust me." 

Hotch isn't shallow, but he likes being that little bit taller than you, and he's no brute, either, but he knows he's intimidating at times. He'd never use his position to scare private citizens in civilian disputes, but seeing the amusement in the eyes of your  roommates turn to nervous recognition when he follows in behind you makes his day. 

She's not alone, he thinks, putting his hand to your back. 

He might put their behaviour down to jealousy. Not so much that they wish they were with Hotch, there's hardly been any desire for him coming from either woman, but your happiness. You're a nice girl, a good girl, good in the sense that you don't need to knock others down to be happy. He treats you accordingly. 

He pointedly doesn't greet them as you show him the corridor down to your room. Your door is ajar, which he doesn't like, but you don't say anything about your things. 

"What do you need?" he asks.

"How long will I stay?" 

"However long you need to. If you want time to feel better while we manage this, or you need to move. I'm with you." He again thinks of the lack of a lock. "I'd say bring your valuables, honey. So nothing miraculously breaks." 

He ends up packing for you. He knows you well, and he's more than aware of what you'll need to survive for a week. What clothes, which pyjamas you favour, even your skincare. He has a career in identifying small details, but it's a better duty knowing you so well. He does that for fun. 

You stop by the door and turn into his side, hesitant to leave. He hates seeing you wilted, usually so bright. "They're talking about me." 

Your roommates are indeed whispering in the kitchen and Hotch would bet money that you're correct, but he doesn't want to encourage that line of thought. It could easily become a seed of doubt that leaves you anxious and paranoid. 

"I'd hope they were discussing their own bullying," he says. 

You rest your forehead on his arm. "What did I ever do to them?" 

"You're happy. You're grateful and loving, and some people can't stand it. They can't rope you into their misery," he guesses. "Have you considered the possibility that you're a bad roommate?" 

You laugh into his jacket reluctantly. "You know I'm not."

"Maybe you behave with me," he says, rubbing the top of your shoulder. Your laughter draws a silence in the kitchen. Hotch can't help himself. "Don't forget to turn your security camera on before we leave," he says, holding a finger over his lips. 

You smile. "Oh, I almost forgot about that." 

Your roommates aren't so full of cheer as you go. At least without a lock on the door, Hotch can be confident that his… bending of the truth will buy your possessions a few more days of safety. You don't have to tell your roommates that you're leaving, evidenced by your bags, but Hotch is feeling awful, and he says, "Do you have your bathing suit? Your passport's in the bag." 

"What is wrong with you?" you whisper through laughter as the door closes behind you both. "I had no idea you were this quick to tell lies." 

Hotch pulls your bag further up his arm to take your hand. "I wasn't lying about anything, your passport is in the bag, and I asked a question. If that question implies that you're about to have a fun weekend, that's coincidental." 

He doesn't want your roommates thinking they have any power over you. Not an inch of it. And he doesn't want you thinking that they do either, knee deep in plans for the forthcoming days. He's going to spoil you to death if he can, starting with a new vase for your waiting flowers, and a good squeeze on the way down to the car to prompt you into relaxing. 

"Sorry about all the fuss," you say. 

He kisses you twice. "Don't think of it that way." Rather boss-toned, he softens, "I'll deal with anything for you. I'm sorry they've been cruel." 

You exhale. He can tell from the tug of your eyebrows that it's partly for his benefit, and the more lax set of your shoulders that it's partly genuine as you brush it off. "Doesn't matter. Just an excuse to spend more time with you, yeah?" 

"Yes," he says immediately. "You're right, honey. Exactly right." Starting with one of his clumsy neck massages and a much more practised kiss, he thinks. 

[ivoryrebellionmess]

Spooky Remorses III

Part I Part 2

Summary: You dated Jax for a year and a half, it was great. You fought sure, but that's a given if you´re both stubborn (and he's constantly in danger). Gemma didn't like the relationship, and she made sure that it ended. Now, months after the breakup, your friend takes you to a Halloween party that just happens to be SAMCRO´s.

warnings: 18+, mdni

A/N: hiii so sorry for taking this long. hope you like it <3

tw: foul language, kinda hooking up with your ex, jealous jax, smoking,a little bit of spice, alcohol, gemma being mean af

Word count: 5451

Jax cursed the moment it happened, light and noise snapping him into reality. Anger and frustration bubbling up inside him again as he took a step back, missing your touch immediately. It was too late to hide what had been happening. Just in case you thought otherwise, Tigs face as he studied the both of you made it clear. His demeanor went from shock to amusement in a matter of seconds. He knew he had interrupted something.

A sly grin spread around his mouth as he teased. ¨Well, well…what do we have here?¨. He was slurring, which meant he was drunk, which meant the little common sense he usually had would be nowhere to be found. This was not a good moment for him to be running his mouth. 

But you could not worry about that right now, your mind working on finding an excuse, gulping as you realized none would be believable. Even if he was tense, Jax managed to get his voice to sound casual, ¨It ain't what you think, man¨. You studied him, he really did seem calm. You could only pray you looked half as composed as he did.

It probably didn't matter, since Tig´s motivation seemed to be pushing Jax´s buttons. He eyed you, taking in your divelished state, and nodded towards Jax, ¨Looked like were about to rip each other's clothes off in public, brother¨. 

The bluntness (and accuracy) ripped a surprised chuckle from your throat. Jax shot you a warning glare, he didn't need you egging Tig. His brother took a step closer, ¨Come ooon, what were you really up to?¨. He was teasing, the answer was obvious. About as obvious as the blonde man´s anger. 

Only then you noticed the cigarette, carefully placed on the picnic table. Needing something to do, you took a drag.

Jax´s voice turned your attention back to them. ¨I said it wasn't what you think. We were just talking¨ . You could tell he was trying to control his irritation, and you wondered how much more he could take before doing something stupid. Something else , the voice in your head reminded you, everything that had unfolded against that picnic table had been stupid. 

Once again, the door opening shed light and noise on the parking of the clubhouse; a very different scene unfolding this time. Chibs came out laughing and screaming, ¨Is the screaming match over or do I still get to watch some?¨. He had clearly been ready to get a jab at your fighting with Jax. This only made Tig smirk, shooting back, ¨Oh, I bet they were about to scream¨. 

Even if you had stayed away for months, their mannerisms didn't surprise you, and they sure as hell didn't scare you. So you just replied, taking another drag, ¨We were just having a smoke¨. The small time out you had awarded yourself had actually calmed you down, your voice coming out almost normal. As if your biggest desire wasn´t hearing Jax moan your name. 

The tension between you did not go unnoticed by the scott, it seemed to amuse him. ¨Just a smoke, aye? Looks like a lot more than that¨.

To that, you only shrugged, not daring to let your eyes wander to Jax. ¨So maybe it was a smoke and a talk, so what¨. Jax was silent, trying to keep his expression neutral. It was hard to do when all he could think about were your thighs around his head. The little capacity for logical thinking he had knew his brothers would not buy your lies. No one would. Even if they didn't, he needed them away, he needed you alone again. Maybe you'd still be caught up in the heat of the moment and he could get you into bed. Or anywhere really, as long as no one could interrupt. The longer they stayed there, the longer your brain had to racionalize how bad of an idea having sex with him was.  So he breathed deeply before speaking, ¨Yeah, a talk and a smoke¨. 

Chibs clearly read the situation and nodded, never losing the grin on his face. As he started walking back to the party, Tig decided he hadnt had enough fun yet, poking again. ¨Whatever you say brother¨. He patted Jax on the back after mocking him. That successfully riled Jax up, his warning was low. ¨Watch it¨.

You could see the anger in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched, his knuckles white. You looked over at Chibs for help, there was no need for the situation to escalate. But nice as he was, he was still a Son, and he would not get between his brothers. You were starting to get anxious, the shift in the atmosphere was noticeable. Not playful anymore, no one was grinning, no one was laughing. 

¨What's the matter Jax, cant handle some friendly banter?¨. It made you cringe, you took a step towards them before you could think about it. 

Jax´s gaze went to you for a second, his muscles tensing. He knew why you'd done it, if Tig kept it up it could very easily lead to a fight. As much as he didnt want that to happen, his brother was pushing his buttons, all of them. ¨You know I can handle it¨, his teeth clenching, ¨We´re not here to have a pissing contest¨. He was trying to stop the fight from happening, he really was, you could tell. 

So you looked at Tig, who seemed to be having the time of his life. He raised an eyebrow at you, wondering if that was an easier route to bothering Jax. As soon as his blue eyes landed on you, you regretted ever moving. Jax´s patience was probably running short after your little ¨talk¨. It always was, to be fair. But someone coming for the people he cared about, that was his weak spot, even on his best day. ¨Just having some fun, brother¨. 

You looked at the blonde, his smoldering gaze already on you. He could see the worry in your eyes, and it somehow helped him keep it together.

It was only the calm before the storm.

He took a deep breath, and with his exhale came a low growl, ¨You´re playing with fire¨.

You couldn't help but bite your lip, his growl going right to where you needed him most. Even if it was subtle, Jax noticed, even now he had an effect on you. His eyes darkened, his anger growing. Angry that you also had an effect on him, angry that his brother had interrupted, angry that he let you go. 

The short interaction had not gone unnoticed by Tig, who had decided this would be his winning statement apparently. ¨I´d like to play with that fire, if you're not gonna finish what you started¨. He hadnt meant it, hadn't even looked at you. That didn't matter. Not to you. Not to Jax. 

Before you could speak up for yourself, Jax stepped forward, ready to start an actual fight. You caught his arm, trying to stop him. He turned to look at you, ¨He needs a lesson¨, he grumbled. Worry was dripping from all of you: your eyes, the hand on his arm, the fingers gripping his skin. There was a plea in your eyes.  A plea to prove to you that he was different from what he used to be. A plea to give you a reason to stay. You came even closer, your chest touching his back, and whispered into his shoulder. ¨Baby, it's not worth it¨.

He could feel your body pressing up against him, your breath on his neck, the way ¨baby¨ had fallen from your lips,...He wanted to prove to you that he could be different. So he let out a deep breath, slowly. Frustration and desire burning within him. You were right. It wasn't worth it. 

You felt like you could finally breathe, you let your head rest against Jax´s back, your hand absimentally running up and down his forearm. 

It didn't last, Tig couldn't help himself, letting out a last jab as he turned around. ¨Guess you two lovebirds going to make up now, you're welcome¨. You dropped your arms yo your sides, muttering under your breath, ¨For fucks sake Tig¨. And you truly couldn't blame him when Jax finally grabbed him by the collar and punched him. 

His anger took the best of him, slamming his brother against the wall. Tig had pushed and pushed, and was now getting the fruits of his hard labour. Watching the fight unfold, you mentally prepared yourself to clean up Jax after. This was what you´d been dreading since Tig came out. It was scary how quick you seemed to be able to fall back into the violent routine. Instead of freaking out, you were making a list of the injuries Jax would have, and how to patch him up. You were freaking out too, of course, in the background.

You could take the sight of a few punches and minor injuries. But then the fight started to escalate, you looked at Chibs. He seemed worried, he hadn't moved and he wouldn't. This was a matter between Jax and Tig. But at least he seemed worried, right?

They were both covered in sweat, their faces bloody and their breathing ragged. Still it didn't look like they were willing to give in. Well, they would stop, one way or another. Against your better judgment, you stepped closer. Close enough that they could accidentally hit you. 

¨Aye, stop that!¨, you just pretended not to hear Chib´s warning. You heard him get closer as well. And you were not the only one. 

The bloody men looked up at you when they heard Chibs yell, surprised at your closeness. They had been so focused on each other they hadn't noticed your approach. Tig´s eyes showed disbelief and something close to pride, Jax´s darkened. He was bothered, what a surprise. 

Your eyes were sternly going from one set of blue eyes to the other, ¨You two done now?¨. Tig chuckled at your bravery, treating them like misbehaving children. Jax´s eyes softened, as he wiped blood from his lip. ¨Yeah, we´re done¨. 

They got up and hugged it out. Unbelievable. 

¨Great¨, you held your hand to Jax, ¨C´mon, let's get you cleaned up¨. You knew the gesture meant something to the guys who were a part of the club. It meant something to you too, it just happened to be something different. You did not give a flying fuck if they took this a sign of a great old lady or whatever. You hoped neither did Jax. He looked at your hand, at you, at his brothers. He knew the other bikers were sizing up the situation, he didn't care right now. All that he cared about was the way you were looking at him, the way you cared for him. So he took your hand, allowing you to lead him. 

As you walked you looked at Tig, ¨You good?¨. He nodded, smiling. ¨Nothing I can't handle, doll¨

You didn't smile back, instead giving him a piece of your mind. ¨Don't ever speak about me that way again¨. It wasn't a warning. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement.

You then turned to keep walking, going straight to Jax´s room, knowing the route by heart. His hand was still on yours, neither of you cared about the outrageous amount of looks you were getting as you entered the clubhouse. He only cared about the way your fingers were intertwined. You only cared about repeating yourself: this was the last time you did this. You didn't believe it. His hand in yours didn't let you believe it. It was such a small gesture. And yet it felt like so much more. 

As you entered the room, he shut the door, enjoying the darkness and silence. His eyes were roaming your body in front of him. Your soft voice stopped a string of ungentlemanly thoughts. ¨Wheres the first aid kit?¨

He started to walk to the bathroom when you scoffed ¨Sit, where is it?¨

He wanted to get it himself, to not let you win, but his body thought something else. Jax made his way to the bed as he answered with a sigh, ¨You know¨. You did, you knew a lot, maybe too much. So, with that, you made your way to the bathroom and opened the cabinet where you knew you´d find what you were looking for. 

Taking a deep breath, you made your way to stand between his legs, leaving the first aid kit on the bed. You brushed the hair out of his face to examine the damage. He let you, simply looking up at you. 

Jax could feel the heat from your body, the tingle of your fingers against his forehead, a familiar feeling started to settle in his stomach. 

¨You won't need stitches so that's good¨, you seemed unaffected by the closeness. But the way your fingers were tracing his face certainly affected Jax. He had seen this before, you switching into nurse mode as a way to cope with the anger his injuries caused you. 

¨How´s the rest of your body feeling? Any cut I need to clean up urgently?¨. Even if he understood what was happening, he couldn't help but feel disappointed that you weren't closer, caressing him…treating him as a lover instead of a patient. But you were not his lover, not any more. He wasn't fooling himself either, this was how you´d acted most of the times you had had to patch him up. 

No matter how you looked, your head was swirling with a million thoughts and feelings: this is  a mistake, you shouldn't be here, leave now, you promised to yourself you wouldn't do this again, look at him, he is so pretty, he needs you now, no he doesn't, he's an adult, he did this to himself, it's not your responsibility to fix him. 

It was his smooth voice that stopped your brain, ¨Uh, rest of me is fine. Nothing serious, just some scrapes and cuts¨. He was trying to calm you, seeing right through your facade. It did not work, riling you up even more. 

Your voice came out sharper than you mean to, ¨I'll say if it's serious or not¨. Not giving him time to reply, you grabbed a gauze and disinfectant. ¨This is gonna sting¨

Jax swallowed nervously,  whether that was because of the pain to come or your cold attitude you didn't know. When he looked up at you his heart skipped a beat. ¨Go ahead. I can take it¨. Something about his bravado bothered you, it seemed like he was proud he could take a few punches. ¨Yeah well, you don't have to¨ you started cleaning a cut in forehead ¨That was stupid¨

He didn't answer right away, or at all for that matter. He did, however, wince when the disinfectant touched the wound. Not a sound came from his mouth. That did not mean he was still, at all. It wasn't only the pain, it was your closeness. Jax wanted nothing more than grabbing your hips and pulling you into him. Even if you were being cold, you used to straddle him when you were dating, letting his hands roam your body. Not this time. This time felt aseptic on your end. It was a defense mechanism, you couldn't let yourself fall into this routine again. You still remembered the anxiety, the sleepless nights knowing he was in danger, the fights, the jealousy. And worst of all, his mother, a constant presence in his life, undermining your every move. Maybe you could´ve taken it if it had just been the memories from months ago. Maybe. But now? After what had just happened? All of those got mixed up with his rough breaths, his lips on yours, the taste of his kisses. And you couldn't help but yearn for it to happen again. That bothered you the most, the good parts of relationships usually weighed more on you than the bad ones. 

And the good parts with Jax were great, he was caring, attentive, you could have named a million qualities. But nothing mattered more than the way the world didn't seem to matter as long as you were together, the way your stress dissipated as soon as you saw him, as soon as your hands were on his body. With Jax living such a dangerous life, that had been especially addictive. The absolute relief after he came back from a run. 

The bad had been there too,of course, now more present than it had ever been after the breakup. You´d been in this position way too many times, patching him up after a fight that could've been easily avoided. Yes, you agreed that Tig had it coming, but only because you knew Jax, he had little to no control. The only way he knew to defend himself was violence. At first, you thought you could fix him, teach him another way,...

But there was no other way if you were a Son. 

How you managed to make your voice sound emotionless despite your internal turmoil, you didn't know. ¨Was it worth it?¨. It was an unfair question, you knew, but you didn't care. After realizing the harshness of your question, your hand instinctively went to his cheek, then following a route of its own to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck. 

Jax tried to speak, but the words kept getting stuck on his throat. Or in his head. What was he supposed to answer? He knew what you wanted to hear, but he wasn't sure he could give that to you, not without lying. So he was honest, ¨I don´t know¨.

Using the leverage of your hand tangled on his neck, you tilted his head to look at a cut on his chin. ¨Typical¨, you scoffed at his answer. Clearly you weren't happy with it. 

This time, when the gauze grazed his skin, the blonde hissed. Focusing on the feeling of your hand touching him made the pain slightly less…well, painful. He could see the frustration in your eyes, and it made him feel guilty. Guilt was not what his tone showed when he retorted, ¨It´s not that simple¨

When your eyes locked on his, your cold mask was gone, something much deeper replacing it. ¨Yes it fucking is¨, your voice trembled as you wiped the blood under his nose and checked that it wasnt broken. Even through the pounding in his ears, he could tell the tremble of your voice had nothing to do with weakness or sadness. Maybe in a second level. But the surface was plain anger. Maybe mixed with something else? That much he could not decipher, the pain in his head more present with every passing second. 

Your brows furrowed as your eyes zoned in the cut you were dreading the most, the one on his lower lip. You tilted his head and held him steady as you cleaned him up. His breath hitched. He looked up at you. You were beautiful, concentration evident on your face. He had no doubts now, he knew he still loved you. He knew he would never stop. You could have, should have left. But you were there, taking care of him. Did you still have feelings for him? Had he completely messed up, or could you work things out?

The second the gauze made contact with his skin, those thoughts stopped. All of his energy focused on not flinching, not making a sound. You caught onto that, you always did. And you rolled your eyes, you could not believe he was still playing tough. 

Jax eventually winced, his eyes finally leaving yours. It did soften you, it shouldn't but it did. So you blew a little on his lips, hoping it would alleviate his pain. Your voice was barely above a whisper when you said ¨Sorry¨. 

Jax closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feeling of your breath on him. He missed you, having you close, your touch,... When he opened his eyes, he saw the conflict in your eyes clear as day. There was anger, frustration, and something else.

You took a step back. You saw his hand run down his leg, on its way to get a hold of you, to stop you. A sigh left your lips as you sat next to him and extended your palm, ¨Gimme your hand¨.

His knuckles were bloody and already starting to bruise. For some reason, you wanted to cut him some slack, so you teased him. 

¨We also had not done this in a long time¨. Placing his hand on your thigh might not have been the greatest idea. Without even thinking about it his fingers wrapped around your knee. The squeezee brought back so many memories, memories a part of you wanted to repeat. 

He answered lowly, ¨No, we haven't¨ . You could hear the smile on his voice though. 

Maybe it was the familiarity of the scene, but your mouth moved before you could think. ¨Sure didn't miss this¨.

It took Jax a few seconds to process your words, eyes burning into your thigh. He noticed your flush, the way you seemed to be having a hard time keeping it together. He chuckled softly at your jab, moving his hand up. ¨You never complained about it before¨.

A smile crept into your lips, no matter how much you tried to stop it. ¨I was too busy complaining about the fighting to also complain about patching you up¨.

You were both smiling now, his hand higher and higher, closing in the hem of your dress. The tension, a mix of anger and desire, made the air thick. Most importantly, it made it hard to focus on anything else. The sting of the disinfectant was still there, nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He knew his teasing tone would get to you, ¨And here I thought you enjoyed nursing me back to health¨. 

It bothered you, because it was partly true, you did enjoy it. ¨I wish I didn't need to¨. A pang of hurt crossed your eyes at the sight of the cuts in his face. That was also true, you wished he didn't get himself in situations like that. 

The ache in your eyes made Jax want to pull you into his arms and take care of you. Instead of doing that, he squeezed your thigh harder. ¨I know¨, he fought the urge to lean into you, ¨I´m sorry¨. 

You took a deep breath, Jax though you seemed to be trying to be composing yourself. ¨So, who's been cleaning you up these last few months?¨. You´d finished cleaning his knuckles but made no move to let go of his hand.

¨No one¨. Jax looked over at you. ¨I´ve been doing it myself¨.

You shook your head, stifling a laugh. A bitter one. ¨So fucking stubborn¨.

As you examined his hand, the other flew to your thigh. His fingers gently caressed your skin, eyes looked on yours. The next time he spoke, his voice was laced with playful defensiveness, ¨I prefer the term independent¨.

You enjoyed the banter, the playful jabs. You were still trying not to smile when you looked at his blue eyes, ¨Bite me-¨.

His hand started tracing patterns on your upper thigh, the hem of your dress didn't seem to be a barrier anymore. The other one caressed the back of your neck, making sure your stare didn't leave his. But they did, you were looking at his lips, they were now wearing a smirk. 

¨Is that a dare or a request, darlin´?¨

Shaking your head as you untangled yourself from him, you laughed. ¨Okay¨, you got up and stood in front of him, ¨Take off your shirt¨.

Jax let his eyes explore your figure, letting out a low whistle. He got up and obeyed. You told yourself you were studying his bruises. It was a lie, your eyes had immediately gone to his v line, then slowly made their way up, studying every inch of his exposed skin. 

You still managed to scoff when you saw his grin. ¨Drop the cockyness, I have to check the cuts¨. Your eyes betrayed you once again. His neck. His arms. His hands. His hips. Thankfully his voice stopped your train of thought, which would lead nowhere good. He shouldn't have sex in his condition, you had to get your shit together. ¨Sorry, sweetheart. Can't help it with you looking at me like that¨. You smiled, shaking your head. 

For the second time that night, a door opening interrupted an intimate moment between you. Gemma stood on the doorway, hands on her hips. Everything about her screamed I´m not happy about this. 

¨Hey baby, need help cleaning up? I heard what happened¨. The vibe was as tense as it could, she did not acknowledge you, and you did not acknowledge her. She had been the reason you two had broken up, so you clearly were not happy about her presence. 

Jax seemed to deflate at his mothers presence. He swallowed, realizing how the scene looked. The intimacy of the scene was palpable…until four seconds before. After a few seconds of Jax not answering, you took initiative on the conversation. ¨Everything's under control here¨. 

At the sound of your voice he seemed to wake up, ¨Yeah, she was helping me¨.  Gemma's eyes slowly made their way to you, icy and sharp. ¨Was she now?¨. You squared up, ready for a fight. 

Jax took a step towards you, knowing how ugly things could get between you and his mother. It did nothing but rile you up, ¨I guess I was faster¨, the than you was left unsaid. But understood by all. 

Gemma narrowed her eyes, taking a step into the room. ¨And what's that supposed to mean¨

If anyone who knew you had to say what your biggest flaw was, the answer would be unanimous. You were mouthy. So, as expected, you snapped, your voice higher. ¨Just saying, I was here cleaning him up first¨.

The other woman puffed, ¨Been taking care of him longer than you have, sweetheart¨. She looked about ready to throw a punch. You were scared she might. So was Jax apparently, since he stepped in front of his mother. 

¨Stop, both of you. This is not the time or place¨. You looked at him, wondering if this was him stepping up for you. For the first time. So you stepped back and tried not to make it  worse. You could see his shoulders relax slightly, then turning to Gemma. His voice was dripping with authority, ¨Mom, I appreciate your concern, but she's right. She was here first and she´s the one taking care of me¨.

The authoritative voice was hot, but the fact that he was defending you? You could've died on the spot. So many thoughts started filling your head, ways to thank him. Jax saw the look in your eyes, slightly darkened and full of hunger. 

He looked back at his mother, ¨Maybe you should go, let us finish here¨. Your gaze went to Gemma, genuinely curious as to how she'd react. Her jaw was clenching, she knew she'd lost this fight. That did not mean she had to concede graciously. She turned, leaving the room and slamming the door. 

Jax sat back on his bed, running his hands through his hair. ¨I swear, she´s gonna give me a heart attack one day¨.

Your voice was calm as you sat next to him, rubbing his back, ¨I hope not¨. A low moan left his lips when your hand landed on his back. 

¨Ain't no one I'd rather have give me a heart attack than you, baby¨. His laugh was a low rumble. A rumble left unheard by you, his sentence awakening something in your stomach. He could see the effect of his words on you, a lazy grin appearing on his lips. Jax leaned into your touch, ¨What´s going on in that pretty little head of yours?¨, his voice was soft. 

¨Nothing¨, your hand came across something wet. Blood. ¨You have a cut there?¨. You were already reaching for the gauzes. 

¨Must´ve gotten it in the fight, I´m all banged up¨. He smiled at you, eyes sparkling. ¨But I´ve had worse, darlin´¨.

The gauze already going over the wound, you didnt loose a beat. ¨Yeah, well, you´re about to¨. You loved the comfortable place you were at right now. Jax did too, a laugh making his chest rumble. 

¨You´re full of sass tonight, aint´ya?¨

That took you by surprise, you´d always been sassy. Especially around Jax. ¨Wasn´t I always?¨. The hand on his back went up to his neck, and there you felt his shoulders go up and down as he laughed. 

¨Nah, not like this. You´ve always had a tongue but tonight, sweetheart? You´re just going out of your way to give me a hard time¨. You scoffed at that, shaking your head. ¨Maybe you deserve it¨.

Jax´s eyes sparkled with mischief, ¨Oh yeah? And what do you think I deserve?¨. His voice got lower, and you felt it on every part of your body. Some more than others. You got up and threw the gauze in the trash, then kneeling in front of him. ¨You´re going out of your way to piss me off lately¨.

He loved this vision of you, fiery, feisty and ready to snap at him. He lowered his face closer to yours, and purred ¨And how am I doing that exactly, baby?¨.

¨You´re trying to get me all riled up¨, as you looked at his naked torso you saw bruises forming, ¨Fuck Jax-¨.

He chuckled, trying to dismiss your worry. ¨Come on, darlin´. Not the first time I´ve been all banged up…also not gonna be the last¨. He pulled you up, hoisting you onto his lap, his body warm against yours. 

You caressed his face, ¨That's the problem, I can't handle you getting hurt over and over again¨. His expression softened, his heart aching. Jax knew you were worried about him, he knew you cared. You knew that too, that was the problem.

¨I know¨, his voice was soft, ¨But this is my life¨. He was tired, you could tell. And if you were being honest, you did not want to have this conversation. So you didn't. You got up and looked at him, he was a mess.

¨You should take a shower, you look like shit¨. His laugh warmed your heart, his eyes were sparkling.

¨Ain't you a sweetheart, telling me I look like crap¨. But as he looked down, he realized he did. ¨Guess you´re right, not the prettiest sight huh?¨

¨Not right now¨, you were still laughing when you signaled the bathroom door, ¨Go on, I'll bring you something for the pain¨. 

Jax shook his head, but got up and started walking to the bathroom. He appreciated your honesty, any other woman taking care of him would´ve lied. Not you, you straight up told him he looked like shit. He loved that. ¨I´ll go shower, but you better bring some good painkillers¨. His tone was lighthearted.

¨Oh yeah, you´re gonna need them¨, you couldn't help but tease him as you made your way to the door. 

Jax rolled his eyes, pretending to be bothered. ¨You´re enjoying this way too much¨. With that, he stepped closer. You smiled, not stepping back. He kept going until he was towering over you. He was wearing a smug smirk, that could be very good or very bad news. ¨You just love seeing me like this, don't ya? All banged up, needing your help, ...¨

Bad news it was then. Your demeanor changed radically, playfulness long gone. ¨No, I don´t¨.

His smile faded, knowing he had ruined the moment. ¨Sorry, darlin´. I was trying to lighten the mood¨. One of his hand traveled up your arm, caressing you. 

¨I know, I´m just messing with you¨. You laughed lightly.

He mirrored your smile, ¨I swear, you´re gonna be the death of me¨.

As he started to walk to the bathroom, he looked at you over his shoulder, ¨Gonna stick around while I shower? Make sure I don't faint?¨. The domesticity of it all was drowning, nor necessarily in a bad way, but it was a lot. You winked at him, ¨Sure¨

¨No peeping¨, he gave you a stern look before closing the door. 

[number1jeonginstan]

Hiyaaa! Hope you’re doing well:) i was wondering if you could be open to writing a virgin!chan oneshot where youre his best friend who he’s crushing on and he wants to lose his virginity to you? Reader could be a dom so he’s turned on by that lol but he’s also a sensitive subby boy. - anon 🦋

A/N: This is actually the first time I’ve written a sub!reader, so I hope it’s good. Thank you so much for sending in a request and I really hope you liked it, I really enjoyed writing it because it was kinda cute in the beginning, also something about the game night Chan agenda is really my favorite for some reason! Also, welcome to the anon list 🦋

WC: 2.1k (oops!)

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: idol!Chan x idol!(afab)Reader

Warnings: loss of virginity (chan), but not, protected sex (for the first time ever!?!?), blow jobs, aftercare is a must!, subby!Chan

You walked into the dorms for your and Chan’s weekly game night. It was a tradition the two of you made when you two became friends after you first debuted. Your friendship was quite spontaneous, you were walking around the music core backrooms, trying to find your manager and you ran into Chan. You both bonded over your love for anime since he saw that you had a Rukia phone case at the time. 

He eventually helped you find your manager, offered you his phone number, and told you to text him if you ever had any questions. You happily took it, not thinking much of it. The first time you texted him was three days after they won an award for their new song.

Chan was taken aback when he first got your text. He thought you were so sweet, offering to take you out to get ice cream to celebrate their win, and you happily obliged. From then on, the two of you have been stuck together like glue, or as much as you can be with your jobs. 

One thing you guys made a tradition of was doing a game night. Sometimes it would be with the other members, sometimes it would be just the two of you, it all depended. “Hey, you are finally here!” he beamed, running over and giving you a tight hug. 

“I’m only a minute late, you miss me that much?” you giggled. You both went to his room, the other members were back home for vacation, and since Chan’s family was back in Australia, and yours was back in America, you guys couldn’t visit them.

“So, what are we playing tonight?” you asked, sitting on the floor of his room. You always loved Chan’s room, the aesthetics were so nice, not to mention his bed was comfortable. Sometimes you would sleep over, or just take a nap while he worked. You never understood why he worked himself to the bone, but you knew he wanted to express his emotions through his music, and you were never one to stop him.

“I was thinking, Felix got me this game thinking it would be fun,” he said, pulling out a box of Jenga from his stack of board games. 

“Wow, Jenga, so original” you rolled your eyes. “It’s not your typical Jenga, it has truth or dare questions”

“Wait, that will be fun, I wanna know all of your secrets Channie,” you said pinching his cheeks. Sure he was older than you, but you loved treating him like he was a baby, it was fun seeing him all flustered.

“Do you want to set it up while I bring us some snacks?” He asked, putting the box on the floor and standing up. “Yeah sure, do you guys still have my favorite chips?” you asked, he simply nodded, heading out of the room as you took the pieces out of the box, stacking them up.

He came back in, holding two bottles of water as well as a bowl of chips. He popped one in his mouth, sitting on the floor facing you. “Okay, you start” you grinned, taking the chip that was in his mouth and eating it. 

“Yeah yeah, just don’t cry when you lose” he grinned. You just glared at him, there was no way in hell you would lose. 

“What is the most embarrassing moment you’ve had in front of others?” you read out loud, it was your turn and you had yet to lose. “Ummm, I think it’s the time I was changing into an outfit for one of our performances, we don’t know what happened, but I guess my boobs were too big or something because the shirt ripped as soon as I put it on, and it wasn’t like I gained weight or anything because it was loose at the stomach.” 

You started laughing at yourself, reminiscing the way your stylist and you were both in shock. What you didn’t see was the blush on Chan’s cheeks and how his ears got a bit red, thinking of how you looked without your shirt on. 

Before he could imagine it more, he coughed, taking out another block. “Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex?” you said, looking over the stack to read out the block. 

Chan’s voice became an octave higher “How can they ask such a question?” he asked, a bit bewildered. “Come on Channie, you have to answer it!” 

“I can’t” 

“Why not?” you whined, wanting to know

“I’ve never done it” 

“What!” you screamed out loud. Chan just covered his face embarrassed, he didn’t need you to think he was a virgin. “I mean there is nothing wrong with it, but that’s so crazy to me. Like you are obviously a really attractive dude, with a great personality, and you have a great body and smile” you kept rambling on, causing him to blush even more.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked, a bit perplexed. “Yeah, of course, I mean have you looked at yourself in a mirror? Like you are one of the most attractive dudes I’ve ever met.”

“Can I ask why though?” 

“I just came here at a young age, as you know, and I just didn’t find anyone to have sex with” he shrugged, calming down from his previous state of embarrassment. He took a swig of his water as you asked him a question.

“Oh, do you want to have sex with me?” you asked nonchalantly. Chan choked on the water unsure of where your ask was going. “WHAT!” he shouted, not trying to hold back his surprise. “I mean, only if you feel comfortable, I just don’t think you want to die a virgin” you shrugged, taking a sip of your own water. 

“Okay, yeah” he whispered. It was at that moment, the atmosphere changed. The air around you had become more sultry as you climbed into his lap, knocking down the Jenga tower in the process. “Oops, guess you were right, I did lose” 

Before he could even reply, you captured his lips in a kiss. He groaned in your mouth as you began to slowly grind your hips into his. “Why don’t I take you to the bed?” you asked, pulling by his collar. 

He just moaned as his back hit the bed, you began to straddle him, your knees around his hips as you rubbed your clothed pussy on top of his covered cock. “Be a good boy and take off your shirt” you said, kissing his lips again. 

He groaned again as he removed his shirt showing off his abs. “Fuck” you groaned, running your finger on them. “I should have asked to do this sooner” 

He just whimpered underneath you, feeling overstimulated. It had been weeks since he touched himself. He had never felt this way, he couldn’t fathom what was happening. The feeling of your pussy rubbing on his cock was getting to be too much. “Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum in my pants” he moaned out loud. 

“Aww baby” you brought your hand to his face, “maybe I want you to.” You grinned, getting off of him and taking off your shirt and the shorts you were wearing. His cheeks blushed red as he saw you in your underwear and bra. The accentuated every single curve and mark on your body and he loved it. 

“Be a good boy and lift your hips for me” he simply nodded, allowing you to take off his shorts and boxers. His cock slapped his stomach, the red tip already covered in his pre-cum. He moaned feeling the cool air hitting it. “Wow, you are so big, can’t wait to suck on it” 

Chan’s eyes opened in suprise as you took his cock in your hands, slowly sucking at the lip, given it kitten licks “Fuck feels so good” he whined beneath you. You ignored him, going back to sucking cock. 

You needed to stimulate yourself as well, so as you kept sucking his cock, you took one of your hands, removing your underwear, and began figering yourself. You continued to suck, adding a finger in at a time, knowing you wouldn’t be able to take his thick cock without stretching yourself out. 

He looked down at you, moaning at the sight of you fingering yourself as you continued to take him down your throat. The moans eliciting from his mouth made you wetter, moaning on his cock as your fingers were thrusting faster inside of yourself. 

You began to take him deeper, your nose beginning to hit his pubic bone as you bobbed your head up and down. You could feel him twitch in your mouth, and his moans were getting louder. “Fuck feels so good, omg, I think I’m going to cum” 

Just before he was going to cum, you took your mouth off his cock with a pop. He whined at the loss of your mouth on his cock. “Please, I was going to cum, why would you do that” 

Tears began to form as he felt bottled up, barely being able to take it anymore. “Oh baby boy, don’t cry” you said, wiping the tears off his face. “Just wanna make you cum in my pussy, is that okay?” 

He nodded, feeling eager to feel your wet cunt on him. “Baby, do you have a condom” you asked, kissing his lips once again. He nodded, pointing to his dresser, “The second drawer, Han bought me a box as a joke, never thought they would come in use” 

“Well tell Han thank you, now go rest your back on the headboard, I want to ride you” He simply nodded, sitting up and pushing his back onto the board, allowing you full access to him. 

“You are so beautiful, I’m so excited to have your cock inside of me” you giggled, rolling the condom onto his dick. He moaned at the sight of your small hands wrapping around his throbbing cock. “Fuck” he groaned out loud, causing you to giggle again. 

You rested your knees on both sides of his thighs, running his cock in between your slit, allowing your wetness to cover it. Before he could even think, you slammed the entirety of his cock inside of you, moaning at how well he fills you up.

“Oh my god” you moaned out loud, his cock already hitting that one spot inside of you “it’s like your cock was made for my pussy, I don’t think I’m ever going to let you go”

You kissed his lips again, moaning as you began to move up and down on his dick. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good, it’s clenching me, I don’t think I can last long” he moaned again, feeling your walls clenching him. It was all becoming too much.

You knew he was close, but you were too, the thought of corrupting Chan was took much for you. You began to move faster on his dick. “Fuck, I’m going to cum, please let me cum” he moaned.

“Don’t you want to be a good baby and let me cum, or are you selfish?” you asked, not stopping your pace. “Rub my clit baby” you said, gliding his fingers down to it, and showing him what pace you wanted it at. You moaned feeling his thick fingers rubbing it as you continued to move on his long cock. 

“No, want to be a good boy, want to be such a good boy for you” he moaned again. That was all you needed to cum, your walls spasaming around his dick, your pace didn’t falter, wanting to ride out your high and cause him to cum too “Please let me cum, please I’ve been such a good boy” 

“You have haven’t you? Cum baby, cum in my pussy” that was all he needed, you rode out the both of your highs.

As you came down, you rested your head into his chest, feeling over-exerted. “I hope that was a good first time, sorry if I was too rough” you said, kissing his lips again. 

“If you want me to go, I totally can” before you even said anything else, he kissed you this time. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, you are mine now. We are going to go take a bath and eat whatever you want” You looked at him puzzled, "Was my crush on you not obvious???" You just giggled, "I don't think it was, maybe I need another kiss to reassure me"

He placed another kiss on your lips, this time it was soft and sensual and not lustful like before. He picked you off the bed, took you to the bathroom, and filled up the bathtub with hot water and bubbles. 

After it was filled, you both sat in, your back pressed against his chest as he massaged your shoulders. He kissed your shoulder, whispering in your ear “Thank you for the best first time ever, but for this second time, do you think you can be my good girl?”  

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Workplace Romance AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ Y/N is a top gossip columnist at the magazine Quill, but her coworkers are convinced she’s hiding some juicy secret to always land on the front page. Little do they know, she’s secretly dating Eren Jaeger, the magazine’s annoyingly hot CEO. While Y/N works overtime to keep it under wraps, Eren thinks “discretion” means making everything a flirty game. With her coworkers watching her every move and Eren gleefully toeing the line, Y/N is starting to wonder—how long until the real gossip columnist gets out-scooped?

ceo!eren jaeger x employee!reader

You were typing away at your computer in your light pink office chair—one of those ultra-satisfying chairs that squeaked just enough to remind you it was doing its job, and made you feel like you were floating on a cloud of marshmallows.

A fluffy white pillow was wedged behind your back, offering that sweet, almost therapeutic support that made you feel like you were part-time journalist, part-time office chair connoisseur. Honestly, you’d never felt more at home in an office setting. Sure, your job was basically to stalk celebrities for a living, but at least you were doing it from the coziest nook in the entire building.

The gossip columnist team’s office? A Pinterest board of pastel-colored dreams—more comfy living room than corporate cubicle. No one else got to write gossip surrounded by throw pillows and candles.

You finished typing up your latest scoop—something about Aidan West, a popular actor known for his smoldering looks and slightly questionable life choices—who had been caught making out with his co-star in his car. While married.

Oh, and the car was parked on a busy street, practically begging for a photographer to snap the money shot. You decorated the column with pictures of the makeout sesh that were definitely taken by someone who had a clear view of everything.

You even included a particularly unflattering one of Aidan looking like he was mid-kiss and mid-crisis, and slapped a question at the end, as always, to leave the readers wondering: Is this a case of true love, or just another day of bad decisions in Hollywood?

You leaned back in your chair, swiping your fingers over the keys like an artist putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece. You took a moment to admire your work. Classic Y/N. Another gossip column ready to rock the world of the rich and famous.

Then, with a satisfying click, you sent it off to be published.

You could practically hear the storm brewing on the other end of the phone. Aidan’s publicist was likely already dialing the number of your office, getting ready to unleash a 20-minute rant about how this was an invasion of privacy, how his “personal life�� was off-limits, blah blah blah. You knew the drill.

The angry, breathless phone call would come. The team would shout at you about boundaries—while ignoring the fact that Aidan was making out in broad daylight in a car that was parked on a main street like it was an undercover mission to make headlines.

Honestly, if you were trying that hard to keep a secret, maybe you should try, you know, hiding? In an alley? Under a blanket? Maybe next time, try not to let your tongue get tangled in your co-star’s while parked next to a paparazzi hotspot, Aidan.

"Done with your piece, Y/N?" Edith asked, leaning over her desk with a smile that could’ve melted an iceberg. You could tell she was genuinely fond of you.

And, honestly, who could blame her? You were the epitome of a stereotypical gossip columnist—pretty, thin, charming, with a smile that could light up a room (or a red carpet), and of course, your stories were always right there on the front page. If anyone deserved a "Most Likely to Ruin a Celebrity's Day" award, it was you, and Edith knew it.

"Yup, done," you replied, pushing your chair back a little and stretching, the smug satisfaction of a job well done settling in.

"Great, ah. I love you." Edith practically gushed, her voice syrupy sweet as she reached over to ruffle your hair. You couldn't help but laugh a little as her fingers tousled your perfectly styled locks. But you also secretly enjoyed the affection.

Edith was the head of the gossip team, a woman who could make or break a career with a single look. And she loved you. "Thanks, Edith," you said, running your hand through your hair after she pulled away. "Glad to have made your day."

"Oh, you did more than that," Edith said with a grin, eyes glinting as she glanced over at your computer screen. "You guys should learn from her," she continued, her voice raising just a touch to get the attention of the other three desks in the room.

The room was arranged in a square—two desks on one side, two on the other, facing each other like some kind of office showdown. Edith’s desk was at the head of the square.

You could feel your colleagues' eyes on you as Edith made her proclamation, and you almost wanted to laugh at the look of mixed jealousy and loathe on their faces. They'd always been jealous of your exclusives, and to be honest, you didn’t blame them. You were kind of a walking goldmine of celebrity scandals.

"She's the only one on my team that gets so many exclusives," Edith continued, practically glowing with pride. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you.

You could feel the weight of their envy. You could almost hear the mental sighs as they all shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trying not to look too sour. Of course, they didn’t know how much you enjoyed this kind of attention.

It was like a nice little bonus to your daily hustle. You put in the work—digging up dirt, charming sources, and cracking open secrets that others couldn’t touch—and now it was paying off.

"I’m just doing my job," you said, giving her a playful grin. "But thank you, Edith. It means a lot."

The other three glanced at each other, one of them named Ellie rolling their eyes dramatically. Edith caught it, though, and shot her a look that had her scrambling to pretend she was busy.

"You all could learn a thing or two." Edith added with a sigh, looking back at you with that fond gaze. Before getting up from her chair, Edith balanced a heavy stack of papers in her arms like a professional juggler. With one hand, she grasped the pile, and with the other, she pulled open the glass door to the office, the soft click of it echoing through the room.

"Where are you going?" Ellie called out, twirling her chair around to watch Edith head for the door. You could hear the annoyance in her voice, like she was still salty from Edith’s earlier praise of you.

"There's a board meeting with all the team leaders and the CEO. I'll be back in half an hour for lunch break," Edith said, her tone cheery. Ellie just nodded, though it was clear from the look on her face she was already over it.

As soon as Edith left the room, Ellie groaned audibly, rolling her chair back like it had a mind of its own and sliding it toward the desks on the other side of the room. Her desk was next to yours, and you both knew it was like the universe had conspired to make her loathe every second of it.

Honestly, it wasn't even a stretch to say that Ellie hated you. The three of them, Emma, Elena, and Ellie, had always been like this tight-knit little squad. You were the odd one out—invited to a few things just because they had to include you. But the underlying tension? You could cut it with a knife.

"Fuck, whenever she brings up the CEO's name… god," Ellie groaned from the other side, almost sounding like she was about to have a moment of religious revelation. "He's so hot, I can't even."

You could practically hear the eye roll from across the room, but you chose to ignore it, swiping at your phone mindlessly to pretend you're busy. You didn't need to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were paying attention.

"I know, right? God, one time I saw him walking down the halls... he's so gorgeous. Those emerald eyes," Emma chimed in, her voice all breathy and dreamy, probably twirling her blonde hair around her finger like she thought that made her more charming.

"I talked to him once! Even his voice is so soothing, and ughhhh!" Elena squealed from the far corner. You could imagine her fanning herself like she’d just encountered a literal Greek god in the flesh.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a bit smug as the conversation played out on the other side of the room. There was something oddly satisfying about hearing those women—who barely tolerated you—fawn over Eren. They were practically worshipping the ground he walked on, all while you sat there, silently relishing the fact that he belonged to you.

It was like some sort of secret victory, a quiet reminder of your position in this weird little office dynamic. You didn’t have to announce it to the world, but knowing that you were the one who had his attention—it made you feel like you had something they would never have. That kind of power? It was intoxicating.

You leaned back in your chair, a smug little grin pulling at your lips. How lucky you were. Not just because of the high-profile job you had, not just because of your talents and connections, but because Eren Jaeger—the CEO, the legend, the man with the emerald eyes—was obsessed with you.

He would go to the ends of the earth for you. Hell, he’d burn the entire world down just to catch a single glimpse of your face.

You almost laughed at the thought. The guy was so over-the-top obsessed when it came to you. It was a bit ridiculous, honestly. He would drop everything at the slightest hint that you needed him.

He was yours, body and soul, and you couldn’t help but feel proud about it. While they were dreaming about him, you were living the dream.

And that? That was a kind of power no one else could touch.

"Y/N," Edith called as she walked into the room, her grey hair pulled back in a neat bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Without even glancing at you, she pushed them up impatiently, the way she always did when she was busy flipping through some important document, her fingers sticky from licking them to turn the pages. "Eren's calling for you—something about the recent article you published."

"Oh, alright." You flashed a quick, mischievous smile at Ellie, who was practically scowling at the sight of you. The sour look on her face made you bite back a laugh—it was so satisfying to watch her stew in jealousy.

With a slight roll of your eyes, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, walking with a confident swing in your step. Before exiting the room, you quickly applied a coat of lip gloss to make sure you looked perfect—you never knew when you'd need to throw a dazzling smile his way.

You could practically feel the eyes of your coworkers burning a hole in your back as you made your way to the elevator, stepping into the opulent space as the doors closed behind you. You pressed the button for the 15th floor, allowing the soft hum of the elevator to mask your thoughts as you prepared yourself for whatever Eren might have in store.

When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out into the familiar sleekness of his floor—everything about this place screamed power, prestige, and Eren Jaeger. You approached his office with purpose, walking past the impressive glass walls and knocking lightly on the door before entering.

Eren was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to you, looking out over the city with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit. His hair was tied back into the usual bun, the sharp lines of his face softened by the glow of the afternoon sun.

You cleared your throat lightly, standing at the door, your lips pulling into a playful, innocent smile. "Hi, sir. You called for me?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, I did," Eren said with a smirk, playing along with the unspoken game you had both become experts in. His voice, low and smooth, gave you chills. "I needed your help with something, actually. Would you come here for a second?"

You grinned, not missing a beat. You walked over to his massive desk, gliding past it, the soft click of your heels the only sound in the room. You rounded it carefully, pausing just in front of him, where a series of sketches were laid out. They were potential logos for the new column that was set to launch in Quill.

You bent forward slightly, inspecting the designs, your fingers hovering over a few, teasing them with the thought of selecting the best one. Eren’s towering figure loomed behind you, the warmth of his presence unmistakable.

Then, his hand landed on the desk with a heavy thud—an action that immediately drew your attention. But the real shock came when his other hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer. He leaned down, his lips barely brushing the edge of your ear as his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Which one do you think looks the best?" Eren asked, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The touch was gentle, but you could feel the heat radiating from him, pressing you against the hard edge of the desk.

You felt your breath hitch slightly as his proximity intensified. You smirked to yourself, trying to keep the situation light. "You needed my help with this?" You whispered back, keeping the playful tone in your voice, even as his fingers tightened around your waist.

"You couldn’t have figured this out yourself?" You chuckled softly, your hand lifting on its own accord to wrap around the side of his neck, fingers grazing his hair, pulling lightly at the ends. The movement pressed you closer, your back now flush against his chest, solid and unyielding.

Eren’s laugh rumbled in his chest, warm and dark, the kind of laugh that always seemed to promise something more. “Actually…” His voice was thick with amusement, as he leaned even closer, his breath skimming your ear, sending another shudder through you. “I needed help with something else…”

He swiftly turned you around, your breath hitching in anticipation as he lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating between you. His hands gripped your thighs, prying your legs open and positioning himself between them with an urgency that made your heart race.

His lips crashed against yours, a frenzied hunger igniting the moment. Soft sighs escaped you, merging with his groans.

It had been an agonizing week apart—a business trip that felt like an eternity. Each day without him had worn on you, but now, with his body so close, the need you’d tried to suppress surged to the surface. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper against you, coaxing him to close the distance that had felt insurmountable just moments ago.

His grip on your waist tightened, possessive yet electrifying, while the other hand tenderly caressed your cheek, grounding you amidst the rising tension.

“God, I missed you so much,” he breathed into the kiss, his voice thick with desire. The warmth of his breath fanned over your lips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I missed you too,” you gasped, the words barely escaping as he began to trail kisses down your neck, each touch igniting a fire beneath your skin. His hand, once resting on your cheek, now slid down your body, fingertips grazing over your curves before venturing beneath your mini skirt, teasingly caressing your inner thigh.

“Did you really have to go away for a whole week?” you whined, your voice a playful mix of frustration and longing as you pulled his head up gently, your foreheads meeting in a tender connection.

“Trust me, I was dying without you,” he admitted, his voice warm, laced with sincerity. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the closeness and the feel of your presence. “Everywhere I looked, I saw you. Your laugh, your smile—they haunted me every moment.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, a rush of affection mingling with the lingering tension in the air. “You have no idea how much I counted the days,” you replied softly, your gaze locked onto his. The truth of your feelings hung heavily between you, the longing palpable as you both shared the weight of the past week apart.

He smiled, his expression was a mix of relief and adoration, and you simply couldn’t help but lean in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I’m so happy I’m with you now,” he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your skin.

With that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepened with every second. You could feel his passion envelop you, as if he were trying to pour a week’s worth of missing you into this single moment. His hands moved to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and pulling.

One of your hand went to the desk to support you and hold you up while the other went to grab at his forearm which was wrapped around your waist.

“Ah, Eren, I needed to ask you one thing—” Edith’s voice drifted into the room as she walked in, eyes still fixed on a stack of documents, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding before her.

Your heart dropped, the pulse in your ears drowning out everything else. Oh no. No, no, no, you thought, the thrill of your stolen moment vanishing in an instant. You felt the color drain from your face as you registered the look on Edith’s face.

“Oh my—” Edith froze, her mouth slightly open as she finally looked up from her papers and saw the two of you—very much entangled, with you perched on Eren’s desk, your face inches from his, his hand resting a little too intimately on your waist.

Her face went through a series of emotions—shock, realization, maybe even a little amusement—before she stammered, turning beet red. “I’m… so sorry… I’ll, um, leave,” she managed, holding up her papers in some vague, futile attempt to block her view as she quickly backed out.

The door closed with an audible click, leaving you both in stunned silence. You exchanged a wide-eyed look with Eren, who broke into a guilty, lopsided grin.

“Well…” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck. “So much for keeping secrets.”

Fuck.

[breezy141]

hiiiii idk if ur still doing caseoh hcs/short scenarios but i would LOVE one where like he takes you to your first irl event and its like the first time everyone sees yall as a couple and you’re nervous but hes so sweet and happy to be with you 🫣🫣🫣 no worries if not + im obsessed with the other ones youve written !!!!!

i love the thought of this! i apologise for the slow posts. uni is EATING ME UP. but you ask and you shall receive! 💌

masterlist.

STREAMY AWARDS - caseoh

for the first time ever, you were about to go into public with your boyfriend, case. some may say it’s classed as a ‘hard launch’. no one really knows about your relationship, which the both of you agreed on, it was reassuring to know that the relationship was private and that you didn’t have to deal with people creating rumours and getting to simply avoid hate.

but, you realised the more you’d be spending time with each other people would soon catch on, so its best to just come out with it now.

as you stood in front of the mirror, admiring the dress you had chosen for tonight. it was a beautiful black fitted dress, with an open back and a slit down the side, you looked absolutely gorgeous. you had paired it with some black chunky heels, case had bought you for your anniversary one of the years.

to complete the look, you slipped on some jewellery, rings, bracelets and necklaces. you had hoped you weren’t TOO overdressed, but at the end of the day..this was the streamy awards.

“hey hone- woah..” you heard next to you, turning your head to the bedroom door, you saw case. he was wearing some smart trousers and a simple black button up. it was unusual to see him wearing something to smart, but god he pulled it off.

his curls were probably cared for and styled, thanks to you, and his beard had been cleaned up a little and blessed with oils and cream.

“you look beautiful!” he exclaimed as he walked over to you, placing his hand on the small of your back and looking down at you. keeping his eyes at a respectful level.

“you don’t think i’m too overdressed?” you asked, a little uncertainly laced your voice.

case frowned at you “overdressed? absolutely not. you look perfect, like you always do” and with that he pressed a small kiss to your temple.

“now let’s go before i change my mind and take a nap” he spoke as he booked us and uber to the venue. he was adamant on taking his truck, but you knew the both of you would have a drink or two and drink driving is, in fact, illegal.

on the way there case noticed the way your knee bounced, and the way you chewed your lip. he placed his hand on your knee and squeezed it gently.

“hey, don’t be stressing yourself out lovie. it’s no biggie, if people have stuff to say then, let them say what they want. their feelings and opinions won’t change the way i feel about you baby” you softly smiled at him, you knew case loved you dearly and he was right, no matter what anyone said, this man loved you unconditionally.

“thank you, im just nervous that people won’t like me too much…” you admitted, he nodded a long as you spoke.

“i know i know, but let them think what they want. it won’t change anythin’ , you are a beautiful woman with an even more wonderful personality. plus, you are stressin’ over something which won’t even happen. they are gonna love you”

before responding you had arrived at the venue, he stepped out the car and came to your door, he opened it and took you by the hand. you flashed him a generous smile and wrapped your hand around his bicep.

“just show em that pretty smile baby” he spoke as you both walked into the main lobby.

the rest of the evening was extremely nerve wracking for you, but case was right. everyone who spoke to you LOVED you, you were a delight to be around, not only that but people saw how much you genuinely cared for case.

case adored the way you effortlessly made conversation with people no matter how nervous you were, he loved the way you looked in the light, he loved the way you smiled, he loved how you’d glance at him every so often to make sure he was okay. he just, loved you.

and, god, he was glad he was here with you. the impression you left on everyone was nothing but good.

once again, case was right.

[pascalispretty]

arrangement

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/Tags: 1950s AU/Golden Age of Hollywood AU, arranged marriage, implied bisexuality, brief references to period typical homophobia

Summary: Tabloid gossip threatens to derail your promising film career. Luckily the studio has a solution; they've arranged for you to marry their Academy Award-winning screenwriter, Javi.

A/N: written for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event for @wardenparker! Arranged marriage and period drama from your prompt list really inspired me, as did rereading the Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! (ao3)

“You’re not serious.” Your glass is raised halfway to your mouth; it’s only when the beads of condensation start to soak through your gloves that you remember it at all. You set it down on the desk and concentrate on peeling the soaked silk off your hands. It’s late and it’s New Year’s Eve – nobody is going to be looking at your hands anyway.

“I know it’s not ideal, kiddo-” Jack starts. As producers go, he’s pretty good. Or rather, he knows how to make a picture and he’s never bargained blowjobs for better parts, which makes him a damned saint by Hollywood standards.

“Not ideal?” You snap, abruptly cutting him off. “You know the rumours are horseshit. As soon as they see me as Cathy-”

“You’ll never play Cathy if you don’t wise up and listen to what I’m telling you. The studio isn’t pleased, kiddo.” Jack stubs the end of his cigarette out aggressively in the ashtray, grinding it against the glass with rather more force than is necessary.

You wait as he flicks his cigarette case open and lights another. The tension in the room is almost as thick as the smoke hanging hazy in the air. Jack sighs deeply, and pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Look. I love you. The studio loves you. The studio spent a lot of money turning you into a bona fide movie star. And you playing Cathy, well. That’s Oscar potential right there, baby. But-”

You open your mouth to argue, and he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“But the studio will drop you faster than you can blink if people think you’re a lesbian.”

You’re glad you put the champagne down; you might have dropped it otherwise to hear that word fall from his mouth. The knot of anxiety in your stomach that’s been there since the photos were splashed on the cover of Hush Hush feels like it grows three sizes.

It had been innocent enough. Her hand on your back, where your dress dipped low and left your shoulderblades exposed. It’d hadn’t stopped the tabloids from running with it, running any photo of the two of you they could find and writing articles full of thinly-veiled innuendo.

“I’m not. The rumours are-”

“Not going away. I’m sorry, kiddo, really. I know you’re not so hot on getting married again after Marcus died.” It’s an understatement. You never used your married name at work, but you found yourself signing a cheque only yesterday with ‘Mrs M. Pike’. You force yourself to smile.

“So does the studio have a candidate in mind? Some prized stud?”

“Yes, actually. You know Javi? He adapted the script for Agamemnon, and he won the Oscar last year for that comedy with the Coppola kid?” You do know Javi. You’d met him when Agamemnon was in production, your first serious role. He’s handsome, you can’t deny that. You’d seen his soft brown curls and big dark eyes at the table read and wondered which part he was playing, before he’d been introduced as the writer.

And kind, too. When Marcus had died ten days into filming for Agamemnon, he’d sent flowers with everyone else. He’d also written you a letter, short but kind, offering to bog the director down with rewrites if you wanted more than a weekend off to grieve. You hadn’t taken him up on it, but the gesture had stayed with you.

“And he agreed to this? Or are you springing an arranged marriage on him tonight too?”

“He agreed. He’s ah- he’s in a similar predicament to you, kiddo. Tabloid trouble, rumour mill keeps on churning. It’s not the worst thing in the world, is it? This way, you can help each other out for a year or so, stop the rumours, and quietly split once they’ve moved onto their next target.”

You hate that Jack sounds pretty convincing right now. When he’d sat you down and told you the studio wanted you to get married again, you’d imagined some portly producer older than your father, or another actor who was only interested in women because he hadn’t figured out how to fuck his own reflection.

“I wanna talk to him about all of this. And if we’re on the same page…” you let yourself trail off as Jack’s grin gets wider.

“You’re a star, baby. A bona fide star. Just you wait, you’re gonna have your pick of projects.” He picks up the phone on the desk and waves you away. “Go, go have fun at the party. Javi’s down there somewhere if you wanna talk to him.”

You give him a wave back, and let yourself out of the office before you can change your mind. Half of Hollywood seems to be ringing in the new year at Jack’s sprawling house in the hills. You descend the stairs into the press of bodies, a fresh glass of champagne appearing in your hand as if by magic.

The party has spilled out onto the deck, guests hanging in clusters around the pool. A few brave souls have even shed their party clothes and dived in, splashing about in their underwear. You ignore their urging for more people to join them, focusing on picking Javi out of the crowd.

It takes you two laps of the party before you find him.

He’s standing over by the bar, deep in conversation with a man you recognise as one of the composers at the studio. You take a long moment just to observe him. Your future husband.

There could be worse husbands, you suppose.

He really is quite handsome. He’s wearing a dark green suit tonight that screams understated wealth, and his curls have been tamed and combed back for the night. Whatever he’s talking about, he’s passionate about it, gesturing with his hands and smiling broadly whenever he isn’t speaking.

You wish you’d thought to glance in a mirror before coming to find him. You’re wearing Dior, a dress that had made you feel like a goddess when you’d put it on earlier. Now, after hours of drinking, and your time spent fretting in Jack’s office, you’re no longer certain you look quite so regal.

Before you can dash off to find a mirror somewhere, Javi spots you.

He flashes you one of those lovely smiles, seeming entirely genuinely pleased to see you. When he waves you over, you go. The composer rolls his eyes fondly and melts back into the crowd, leaving the two of you alone.

“Hello.” It feels like an inadequate way to greet your future husband, but you can’t think of anything else. Javi’s the one who’s good with words; you’re just good at repeating them.

He beams at you, completely unbothered by your unoriginal introduction.

“Hello yourself! It’s been a hot minute.” He leans in to kiss your cheeks in greeting. Even though his skin barely brushes yours, it still makes your face feel warm as you imagine other kinds of kisses from him. He smells wonderful too, an expensive cologne that’s present without being overwhelming.

“I hear you’re up for Wuthering Heights. It’s a great part,” Javi says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The way Jack tells it, you’ll be a shoo-in for the Oscar again.”

“Ah, well, I think you’re the expert on those now. You’re the one who actually won the damned thing.” Most men in Hollywood would take the opportunity to springboard into a monologue about their work; Javi waves you off bashfully.

“I got lucky. Nicky was a great guy to build the story around.” It seems to come from a place of real humility. You’ve seen him at table reads, filling in for uncast parts; you don’t think much of his acting ability. He might just be the genuine article. It’s impossible enough to find in this business, but you find that you want badly to believe it’s true; that he really is as humble and genuine as he seems.

“I’m glad I found you. I was looking for you,” you tell him, stepping in closer. Your heads are bowed conspiratorially together; if nothing else, it’ll give the other partygoers something to talk about, you suppose.

“Oh,” he says, his eyes softening. “Jack spoke to you?”

You dive in headfirst, not knowing how else to proceed.

“He did. I said- I told him I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Well I’d hope that the fact you haven’t thrown your drink in my face means you don’t hate the idea entirely.” There’s that smile again. It really is a shame he’s more comfortable behind the camera.

“I don’t. Jack mentioned you were in a similar…situation. And that we might come to an arrangement.” With no specifics from Jack, you don’t want to push. He could be in the closet; he could also have just been caught with a joint at the exact wrong moment by the exact wrong person.

“I’m not as flawless as the studio would like me to be, no. But it doesn’t- we don’t have to go so far as marriage, if you don’t want to. It was just an idea.”

“Come and dance with me.” When he looks at you blankly, you laugh. “Come dance. Unless you can’t. I’m not sure I wanna be talking marriage with a man who can’t dance.” You keep your tone light, teasing. With an affectionate roll of his eyes, he sets your drinks down on the side before taking your hand, guiding you towards the dancing couples.

It’s the first time you’ve held his hand, and you’re struck by just how large it is compared to your own. He’s soft and warm here too, though you can’t help but notice a nick on one of his fingers.

“That’s pretty nasty for a papercut,” you say, tapping the skin just below the cut.

“Ah, I was wrestling with my typewriter earlier. One of the keys jammed.” The two of you find yourselves on the outskirts of the dancefloor, far enough away from the press of other couples to carry on speaking. Javi brings his free hand to rest on your waist, and yours finds his shoulder as you begin to sway in time to the beat.

“I know you might not be so wild about marriage after Marcus,” he says softly. The tender look he’s giving you makes you want to weep; in a strange way, it reminds you of Marcus.

“It’s been nearly two years. I’m not…completely opposed.” After all, it’s not like Marcus would want you miserable and moping for the rest of your life, you are certain about that. And you like Javi, in spite of yourself. He’s handsome and kind and warm. Any girl would be lucky to marry him.  

“We wouldn’t be the first couple in this business to get married because the studio said so.” Javi looks around the room, glancing at the other couples moving around the dancefloor. “There’s probably more than one…arrangement just in this room.”

“It’d help to really sell it, if we got married. You can move in with me, if you like,” you say impulsively. “But I’d prefer if you were in the guest bedroom at first.”

“That’s absolutely fine.” The song changes, but the two of you keep swaying aimlessly. There’s a long pause as Javi looks searchingly at you.

“Can I be honest?” Javi says, adjusting his grip on your hand. “I was – I’m glad it was you, that Jack suggested.”

“Oh?” You can’t help leaning in. His other hand slides a little higher up your back, between your shoulder blades.

“I think you’re the cat’s pyjamas,” he says, smiling softly. “You always noticed me, on set. Asked me questions. The lead of the whole damned picture, just lost your husband, and you think to ask me how my day is going. And that’s not even getting into how talented you are, how beautiful-”

You feel lightheaded, like you’ve drunk a bottle of champagne all in one go again.

“Oh Javi, baby. Do you like me?” You tease, a smile spreading across your face. He seems flustered again, and you take your hand off his shoulder to cup his face.

“I quite like you too. You’re handsome and kind and you know how to put a sentence together. Women have married men for a lot less.”

Before you can overthink it, you kiss him.

A lot has been written about your kisses. The kiss you shared with Don Adler in Agamemnon won some sort of award, and you have an article framed on your vanity about your lipstick choice at the Oscars.

This is different though.

After the smallest moment of uncertainty, Javi kisses you back. Any hesitance you might have melts away as you lean into the embrace. You kiss him more firmly, more boldly. His hand on your back presses harder, holding you closer against his body. A feeling of warmth blooms through you, like settling into a perfectly warm bath after a long day.

More than anything, it just feels right.

You’re not sure how long you kiss before you break away. Javi cradles your jaw in his hands, the pad of his thumb resting lightly against your lower lip.

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

“You didn’t write that one,” you say with a smile. He laughs, a sound so lovely and warm that you immediately want to make him laugh again.

“Give me time. I’ll write your next leading man a hell of a monologue about the shape of your lips alone.”

“You promise?” You catch at the lapel of his blazer, running your fingertips against the fine fabric. Based on everything you know about him, Javi seems like a man who keeps his word.

“I do.”  

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots

@its-nebuleuse @totallynotastanacc

[exorciqsm-0]

❤︎‬ Pretty…❤︎‬

Eren Yeager x coquette!black fem reader pt 2

Pt 1 Pt 3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

Maybe today was his lucky day. He saw you giggle, he saw you blush, he saw you get embarrassed by HIS actions. Is this an invitation? Should he go talk to you? Do you like him? If that’s the case why don’t you show it? Cause it’s obvious that he likes you. Wait. Is it obvious that he likes you?! Thoughts like these raced threw Eren’s mind. Cheeks red as he still stares at you. But he made up his mind. Today. Today was going to be the day he asks you out.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

Upon the bell ringing signalling that it was time to go home, Eren approached your desk. Sweat dripped down his neck as he came closer and closer towards you. Face getting Reder and reder. “Hey (y/n).” He says with that award winning smile of his. “Oh uh h-hey Eren.” You respond with a soft smile looking down and fiddling with your nails. Hearing you say his name was music to Eren’s ears. Everything was so perfect about you. Especially your cute ass voice. In an attempt to figure out what it was he wanted, you break the silence.

“Did you need something?” You say still fiddling with your nails. “Umm..” he moves closer to you, taking your hands in his. Shocked, You look up at him. “I was just wondering if you were doing anything this weekend?” Butterflies began fluttering their wings ever so quickly in your stomach. Shaking your head you ask why. “Can I be honest with you?” He asks staring directly in your eyes. You nod. “(Y/n) you drive me so fucking crazy. I really really like you and I would do absolutely anything for you to let me take you on a date this weekend.” He sounded almost desperate.

You didn’t know what to say. “Y-you like me..?” You couldn’t believe it. He nodded. this time he was the one embarrassingly looking down at his shoes. Silence was all that could be heard between the two of you. But after about a minute of silence, you came to your senses and finally gave him an answer…

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>ᵥ_ᵥ< : thanks for all the support from part one I was lowkey gonna cry <3 (also sorry about the cliff hanger lol🫶🏾)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[kittyball23]

Number Six (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: After learning of Branch’s four brothers, a Troll hatches a plan against BroZone’s youngest member. What he DIDN'T anticipate was for it to be thwarted so quickly

A/N: I have nothing more to say other than this is meant to be ridiculous

__________________________________________

Creek couldn’t deny a good performance when he saw one.

If the vocals were down, the dancing was on point, and the charisma was there, then there was no way that he couldn’t award the song with a hearty round of applause.

Even if he wasn’t too fond of the performers themselves.

More specifically, the blue-haired Troll who’d carried much of the song through.

It was no secret to anyone in Pop Village (and even the neighboring tribes) of the ugly history between him and Branch. Creek was not the kind to showcase his resentments - as his mantra of inner-peace and full-centeredness were still at the core of his personal beliefs - but it did not mean that there was still that green-eyed monster lingering within, its gaze fixated primarily on the pink Pop Queen of whom he was not on fair terms with either. The one who’d perused her romantic ventures with Branch instead of him.

So while Creek’s applause for the show was actually rather genuine, the smile he’d plastered on his face was anything but. A good song was not going to be enough to change the way he felt about Branch. With narrowed eyes, he took a better look at the other performers on the stage with him – four other Trolls who, in a surprising turn of events, were actually the Troll’s brothers. The conscious in his brain was fuming – as if one Branch wasn’t enough… now, there were four others! Each one the same tealish-blue shade, with faces that made expressions that looked awfully similar to that of the youngest in their bunch. But, Creek suddenly thought with a sort of sneer, maybe this situation wasn’t at a complete loss. If they were indeed his brothers, then surely they wouldn’t know about the more recent happenings of Pop Village, given that they’d long left the town years before. Perhaps, he thought, he could leave a good enough impression on the four to potentially even befriend them, though not for the purpose of actually wanting to gain an acquaintance out of them. Using their friendship to get on Branch’s nerves, on the other hand, had a much more satisfying sound to it.

So satisfying, he thought, that he wasted no time initiating the plan.

“Bravo, bravo, well done, mates! I do say, a wonderful performance indeed,” Creek complimented once he was able to get through the mass of crowd that was surrounding the band. “A real showstopper indeed, spectacular job, Branch!”

Branch rolled his eyes and sighed. “Creek,” he said formally, crossing his arms.

John Dory cocked his head. “This guy another one of your friends?” he asked.

Bruce, Clay and Floyd exchanged a look, like, Don’t tell me you were in yet ANOTHER other boyband, too, little bro!

“I suppose you could say that,” Creek replied, a smug little smile adorning his face.

Poppy crossed her arms and scoffed. “No you can’t.”

Creek glared at her, but then chuckled. “Oh, always with the jokes, aren’t ya, princess?”

Viva sidled up next to Poppy, crossing her arms. “Hey, mister, my little sister is the queen. So show her some respect!”

“Sister,” Creek repeated, pondering, eying the golden-curled Troll. “Right. So tell me, what does that make you then, hmm?”

Viva suddenly realized she didn’t have an answer for that. On a technicality, she was the one originally intended to be Queen. But, in that case, did that make her a princess now? Or something else?

Creek took advantage of her confused silence and carried on. “As I was saying,” he said, addressing BroZone, “I’ll have you know that I was like a brother to Branch, looking out for him during those years in which he found himself gray and alone…”

“Hmph,” Branch snorted. “Right, looked after me so well that you didn’t think twice about letting me and the rest of Pop Village get eaten by Bergens!”

Clay’s eyes widened. “Whoa, whoa, hold up, what was that now?”

“Branch, you and everybody else would’ve died with a clear conscience, yeah? I was the one who made that possible. I made sure that you had no regrets going into that pot. And that is indeed ‘looking out’ don’t you think?”

“Uh… doesn’t sound much like it to me,” Bruce countered, narrowing his eyes at Creek.

“Ah, big boy, come on. I know you got more brain than brawn on you,” he said, gesturing at Bruce’s belly judgmentally. Then he moved to Floyd, still with that smug smile on his face. “Surely you understand. I must say, your fashion taste is on point. I always thought vests were overrated!”

“Umm…” Floyd said, unsure of whether to say thanks or not, and feeling rather uncomfortable.

“Ay, man, we all gotta flex the drip somehow,” Clay grumbled defensively.

Creek raised a brow at him and huffed. “Right, says the Troll in a onesie.”

Clay’s jaw dropped. How dare he call his very professional sweater-romper a onesie!

“There really are no hard feelings, my friends,” the mauve Troll stated confidently.

Friends? Bruce mouthed to Clay, who rolled his eyes. It had been only a minute or two of meeting this guy, and already they could tell there was something off between him and Branch. And defense-mode was just about to kick in.

“Why, folks could even consider me the 6th BroZone brother!” Creek pulled out an orange vest from curled greenish-blue hair and slipped it on, striking a pose. “Whaddya say, mates? Have room for one more member?”

“Ugh, are you kidding me?!” Poppy cried, unable to stop herself from blurting out. She’d had enough of this nonsense. Creek was being ridiculous!

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” he hissed at her, offering a smile at Branch and the brothers. “Come on, yeah? We’ll make a band-acious team!”

“Bro-dacious,” John Dory mumbled under his breath. He, Bruce, Clay, and Floyd exchanged a look. Then, a sly smile grew on each of the four Trolls’ faces as they turned back to him.

“All right,” Bruce said. “You can join us.”

“WHAT?!” Poppy and Viva shouted at the same time. The sisters gawked at each other, unable to believe that Branch’s brothers were really buying into this!

“But first,” Clay added, “we need to do a little, um, how you say…”

“Initiation,” Floyd finished.

Creek put up a hand. “Of course, I’d be happy to - whoaoah, hey!” The mauve Troll cut himself off midsentence when he suddenly felt himself being lifted up off the ground, four sets of arms grabbing him firmly as he protested to be let go. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. As he’d wished, they let him go alright - right into the lazy river!

“ACK!” he exclaimed as the cold water splashed around him and he flailed his arms.

Branch, his brothers, Poppy, and Viva all laughed hysterically from the result.

“Haha! That’s what you get for being a poser!” Clay shouted.

“Yeah! What he said!” Viva agreed.

“And a big phony!” Poppy chimed in.

“You stay away from our little bro, ya hear?” John Dory shouted to him.

“And us!” Bruce and Floyd said at the same time.

Branch was the only one who did not reply. He stood there, thrilled that the tables had been turned, and giving Creek a taste of his own medicine with the smug smile that had sprawled across his face.

“Um, Branch, who was that guy anyway?” Floyd queried.

“Right?” Viva scoffed. “What a hairball!” Suddenly she covered her mouth, blushing over the language she’d used.

Branch and Poppy exchanged a look, answering simultaneously with sighs.

“Oh, it’s a long story…”

[deakyjoe]

Love To Hate

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader (fem, afab, she/her)

Category: enemies to lovers, smut, coworkers to lovers

Summary: You hate Dieter Bravo more than anything. So why are you asking him to sleep with you?

Warnings: 18+, smut (!!), protected p in v sex, f receiving oral, brief vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, thigh riding/grinding, groping, kissing, body worship (he loves tits and ass), dirty talk, praise, size kink (??), Dieter has a horse cock, crying, Dieter’s a teasing dick, enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, insecurities, sex/masturbation problems (for reader), mentions of unsatisfactory sex, mentions of drug use, reader is shorter than Dieter, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 8.8k (woah!)

A/N: I have a series in mind for this so the story between these two could continue. But for now it works as a standalone. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

There was no one in the world you disliked more than Dieter Bravo. It was a shame that he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

The two of you had had the unfortunate experience of always ending up in the same place. It had started during a chemistry read for a movie a few years back. Neither of you had ended up getting the job but it was undeniable that there was chemistry between you. Just not the kind of chemistry needed to play lovers on screen. Let's just say that you'd gotten off on the wrong foot and had never really recovered from it.

Next you'd both attended a charity event together, the both of you somehow being the star beneficiaries of the evening. The night included a lot of strained smiles, forced conversation and fake laughter.

Then there'd been the year long shoot you'd both winded up on for some up and coming director who'd begged for the both of you to appear in his movie, the promises of awards from every inch of the world for the both of you afterwards. And when award season came around, it turned out he was right. Awards did come flooding in. But for Dieter. Not you. It didn't help that you had to see the smug actor give the same speech at every ceremony as he graciously accepted the accolades.

And with that came the press junkets and the rounds of interviews, panels, and question and answer sessions. You pretty much saw Dieter Bravo every single day for almost two years. And the distaste for him never really went away. Sadly, this meant that he came to know the ins and outs of your life. Dieter could recite your schedule, list every single detail of your close friends and family's lives and could read your emotions like an open book. He knew you well. Too well. And he used this to his advantage.

And here you were again. On another movie with him. Somehow. You didn't know how it'd come to be as you'd made your agent swear never to put you in a project with him again. But shit happens.

After weeks of endless negotiations about budget, you'd finally arrived on set for rehearsals and table reads and the director had already warned that you were behind schedule. Shooting hadn't even started yet and you were already regretting it.

It didn't help when you'd been told that the hotel room that had been provided for you by the production company was right next to Dieter's. When you'd gotten there, you'd just stared at your shared wall for ten minutes and wondered how sound proof it was. You knew his reputation, had witnessed it even, and didn't fancy the sleepless nights if he was bringing someone new back to his room every night for the foreseeable future.

When you arrived for day one of table reads, you rushed around introducing yourself to everyone. You weren't the most sociable person ever, funny considering your career choice, and avoided one particular person whose gaze followed you around the room the whole time.

It was impossible not to feel his eyes on you. When Dieter's dark brown eyes latched onto a target, he wouldn't let go until he had his claws sunk in. In your case, it was different. He didn't view you as someone to sleep with but someone to torment with his presence instead.

You managed to successfully ignore him until your over enthusiastic director, Rodney, felt the need to introduce the two of you despite him knowing that the two of you already knew each other.

You looked up at Dieter, preparing yourself for the worst. His eyes looked clearer than usual, not as glazed over. You figured he'd been to rehab recently and was temporarily sober. That happened often. But never lasted long.

"Hi." You nodded up at him, brushing off the director's superficial nonsense that he'd spouted in attempt to make the two of you sudden best friends.

Dieter didn't return the greeting. "How're your parents?"

Small talk was meaningless between the two of you. Dieter knew everything about you. Everything. He'd met your parents on more than one occasion at different after parties, wrap parties, even on set once or twice. You hated to say that your mother loved him and your father liked him more than anyone else you'd ever introduced him to in this industry.

"Fine. Grandparents now." You replied, watching Rodney ease himself out of the conversation and wander off.

"Sister and her husband finally managed to conceive, huh?" He asked and you nodded in response despite the weird way he'd worded it. "You're an aunt. Cute."

"Yeah. How're you?" You sighed and looked over his shoulder, wondering how long it would take before the snappy responses started between the two of you.

He smirked. "Good."

"Good." You cleared your throat. "I hear that we're neighbours."

"Hm, lucky me."

Your eyes snapped back to his, not quite getting the tone in his voice. "Try to keep the noise down."

The smirk on his face was punchable. "I'll try my best."

You scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

Suddenly, you were swept away by other cast and crew members who were just dying to meet you. That was strange. You were used to people wanting to meet Dieter. But, as you found out from someone on the makeup team, you were the hot commodity on this set. A sense of pride filled your bones at the sound of that.

The days flew by. Table reads were completed, along with a few spontaneous rehearsals. You avoided Dieter at all costs, trying not to interact with him if you weren't reciting words from a script. And it was going pretty well. Except for the nights.

The walls were apparently extremely thin in the hotel you were staying in, just as you’d feared. You knew this how exactly? By the very clear sex sounds that would practically shake the wall you shared with Dieter. Moans, groans, a squeaking bed, a rattling headboard, the occasional scream even. It was torture. And you could do nothing apart from bury your head under a pillow. Unless you developed the confidence to go knocking on his door to tell him to cut it out. Which you didn't.

It didn't escape your notice that he was clearly accompanied by a new person every night, the tones of their noises changing each time. It also didn't escape you that Dieter was clearly very good in bed. If the sounds of his partners were any indication at least. They all seemed very enthusiastic to be in his company.

You grew used to it after a few days. Mainly because you had to. There was no point losing sleep over something you already knew about Dieter. He liked sex. A lot. And he had a reputation for a reason. It just pissed you off that you had to hear it. And that it seemed to come so easily to him...

It was devastating news to you when the director told you that the first day of shooting was going to be one of the sex scenes of the movie. You'd initially attempted to persuade him to move it later into the production but he had insisted that there was no need for that. The years of you and Dieter knowing, and hating, each other had been enough to build the chemistry needed for the movie. All the sexual tension was apparently already there. You’d disagreed with that last point.

When the day finally came, you were tense. More tense than usual anyway. The only thing reassuring you was the meeting you'd had with the intimacy coordinator who had told you that every detail you'd told her, everything that you didn't want to happen, would be implimented to make you as comfortable as possible.

You'd been placed in a bed, naked from the waist up and you had been there alone for longer than you should've been. After so many years you shouldn't be surprised that Dieter was late. It was sort of his specialty. The fact that this was the first day of shooting was mildly annoying however.

When he finally appeared in nothing but his underwear and a robe, the latter of which he shed as soon as he saw you waiting for him in the bed, he sent half hearted apologies to everyone in the room. When he got to you the apology was a lot more sarcastic. "And I am eternally sorry for keeping you waiting, sweetheart."

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillow, teeth clenching at the sound of the pet name he’d gifted you all those years ago when you’d first met.

Dieter grinned at the reaction and crawled on top of you after both the director and the intimacy coordinator had instructed him of the positioning they wanted. His legs were between yours, an elbow on either side of your head to keep him slightly elevated so he wasn't leaning all of his body weight on you.

You avoided his eyes, having him hovering over you like this with your tits out was embarrassing. Especially when his own bare chest was so close to rubbing against yours.

Dieter lowered his head so his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "Don't look so tense. It's okay. You're gorgeous and I won't look if you don't want me to."

That surprised you. What surprised you even more is that he looked genuine when he pulled back to meet your eyes again.

You shook your head. "It's fine."

The director suddenly cursed loudly. "Dieter, relax! We're having some issues with the mics so just do whatever for a minute."

"Sure thing, boss!" Dieter called back, sitting up and pulling the blankets up to cover you in the process. "So you don't get cold."

You sat up and clutched the blanket over your chest. "Thanks."

It was freaking you out with how nice he was being. Dieter Bravo was anything but a gentleman. Yet here he was... being almost chivalrous.

And then he winked at you. "Nice rack by the way."

Yeah, okay, you expected him to ruin it.

"Charming, Bravo. Really." You snapped.

"Just stating facts." He shrugged.

You frowned at him and looked away.

"Hey." His voice was soft.

You looked back at him.

"Sorry, it was a joke." His brown eyes were wide and apologetic.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, aggravation rippling through you. "It's fine."

He shook his head, curls bouncing against his forehead. "No, it's not. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Your frown deepened. "Isn't it your life's mission to irritate me?"

He grinned. "Irritate you? Yes. Make you uncomfortable at work? No."

Before you had the chance to reply, the microphones were fixed and the two of you were instructed to get back into places. You both settled back into position, a sigh escaping you. It was difficult to believe that this was the first thing you were filming. Not even the conversation leading up to this particular section of the scene. You questioned the director's choices.

"Right, so we know what we're doing, yeah?" Rodney called to you both.

You nodded but Dieter raised his hand like he had a question.

"I can't remember. Are we touching tits or not?"

The intimacy coordinator looked towards you for a moment for confirmation before nodding. "Yes. Touching breasts is fine, Dieter."

He hummed in acknowledgment before looking back at you as he flexed his fingers and rolled his wrists. "Gotta get the circulation going so my hands aren't too cold. Don't want your nipples freezing off."

You stared back up at him in slight shock. "That would be unfortunate, yes."

He smiled and pressed the backs of his fingers to your cheek. "That temperature okay?"

"Not nipple freezing cold."

Just maybe nipple hardening cold.

You pushed the thought from your head and gave him a nod to assure him that it was fine. "Let's just get this started."

He laughed at your clear disdain of the situation and looked towards the small group of crew members to give them the go ahead.

It went pretty smoothly. All the technology continued to work for the rest of the scene luckily and neither you nor Dieter messed up too much to call for reshoots. You simply just gave each other a lot of open mouthed, but tongueless, kisses with no emotion behind them whatsoever and made noises of satsifaction in all the right places as he groped at you gently but confidently. It was a surprisingly simple day of shooting. The director had decided that this would be all you did for the first day, wanting a few good angles that would take up a lot of time, and didn't want to push you into doing more than necessary.

When lunch rolled around, you grabbed a salad from the catering tent outside and took a seat on a table by yourself. You wanted a few moments of peace to relax before you got back into the swing of shooting. The peace was short lived as your least favourite person took a seat directly opposite you, a sandwich on his plate.

You stared at him with scorn. "I wasn't aware we did lunch together."

Dieter looked back at you amused. "Well, considering that I've felt you up now, I thought it was only fitting to grace you with my presence over a lovely meal." His eyes lowered to your salad. "Why the fuck did you get that?"

You poked at the sad plate in front of you with your fork. "It was the only thing that looked remotely fresh."

He looked at his own food. "I do have to say that my sandwich looks a few days old."

"Days?" You gasped. "Try decades!"

Dieter scoffed. "Well, some of us can't afford to eat a salad. Some of us are trying to maintain our physiques."

He was referencing the so-called dad bod he'd developed over the last few years. People loved it. His cheeks were fuller than they used to be, somehow making his dimples more pronounced when he smiled, and his stomach was now softer. It was hot. That was for sure. You held your own quiet appreciation for the way he looked. But that wasn't something you would ever voice to him. Not in a million years.

"Maybe some carbs would make you loosen up." He added on, frowning down at his sandwich now that you'd both acknowledged how it most definitely hadn't been made that day. "Get that stick out your ass."

Something in you snapped at that. You did not have a stick up your ass. You did not need to loosen up. So you did the thing you'd told yourself you wouldn't. You decided to confront him.

You played it cool at first. "How long have we known each other?"

He looked back up at you, eyes squinted in confusion. "A long time. Too long even. Why?"

"Would it be acceptable for me to ask you for a small favour?" You stirred your salad with the fork, not easily done, in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

That caught his attention, giving you his full focus as his head tilted to the side slightly. "That depends on what this small favour is."

"When you have... fun time with your... friends could you play some music? Or better yet, go back to their place? Walls are thin." You hated the words that came out of your mouth. Why didn't you just say sex? Too late now.

His eyebrows quirked at your strange terminology. "When I what?"

"You know." You waved your hand, determined to stick with it now.

"Have sex? Fuck? Bang? Screw?" He asked and you nodded. "Come on, we're both adults. You can say sex to my face. Especially since you've heard it apparently."

Your brows pushed together unhappily. "Fine. When you have sex."

"Only if you promise to play music when you fail to get yourself off when you masturbate." He finally took a bite of his sandwich and immediately grimaced.

Your heart dropped down to your stomach. "What?"

He smirked, knowing he had you. "Walls are thin. You're loud. And frustrated."

"You hear me?" You knew the walls were thin. You didn't know that they were that thin. You always tried to stay as quiet as possible.

Dieter prodded at his sandwich with his finger a final time before pushing it away. "It'd be pretty hard not to. Maybe I should introduce you to one of my friends. To help you, I mean."

"Wouldn't work." You mumbled, not really for him to hear.

His interest was piqued further. "Oh, so a full orgasm mental block then?"

You clenched your teeth together. "I hate you."

"Unfortunate considering I'm the only person capable of reading you like an open book." He grinned at you, fully sarcastic. "Hmm, maybe that's what you need actually."

"What?"

"Someone capable of reading you like a book. To see what's really working, or not working, for you." He looked you up and down quickly.

You scoffed. "You better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

His voice dipped down in both volume and tone. "You know I'd be better than anyone else you've ever had. You've heard my work. I'm exceptional and come highly recommended."

You looked away from him. "That's not funny, Dieter."

"You're sexually frustrated?"

You huffed. "Yes. Very."

"And I'm good at sex and know you better than anyone. Is it not a reasonable conclusion?" He threw his hands in the air as if to emphasise how obvious the solution should be.

"You're ridiculous." You hissed, pushing up from the table and storming away. You hated him. Despised him.

"The orgasms would make you feel better." He called after you.

You didn't fail to notice the use of the plural - orgasms.

Luckily for you the rest of the day consisted of close ups of just you sprawled on the bed. No Dieter needed. But you didn't fail to notice how he hovered around the set anyway and observed. His brown eyes burned into your skin for the remainder of filming.

When you were done, you retreated to your dressing room and got dressed as quickly as you could. A car was called at your request and you were back in your hotel room ordering room service before anyone even had the opportunity to invite you out for drinks to celebrate the first day of filming.

You needed to be alone. For many reasons, including the fact that you just liked your solitude. But the biggest one, the reason that had been plaguing your mind since it had been suggested to you, was the idea of sleeping with Dieter. Not being able to believe yourself at how utterly ridiculous it was, but you were seriously considering it.

You knew he was good in bed. The sex noises you'd heard through the wall didn't lie. But he was the one person in the world that you disliked more than anyone else you had ever met. So why was the idea of it playing around in your head so much?

When you heard Dieter's own hotel room door close, you were surprised that he seemed to be alone. Abnormal. For him at least. But you ignored it.

And you ignored the ache between your legs that was bothering you as you showered and changed into your pyjamas. You ignored the way your heart hammered in your chest as you crawled under the bedsheets. You ignored the fact that you were still wide awake after two hours of attemtping to fall asleep.

Well... you ignored it for another thirty minutes before you sighed to yourself and got out of bed, grabbed your room key and tiptoed to your co-star's room. You knocked once quietly and received no answer. So you knocked again, louder and more impatient this time. After a few seconds his door swung open with the quietest of creaks but loud enough to still make you wince. You weren't doing anything wrong technically but the idea of anyone finding out about this made your stomach churn.

Dieter stood there, rumpled from bed, and looked down at you confused. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he mumbled a gravelly question. "Why're you here?"

You hesitated which caught his attention, suddenly sobering up from fatigue and looking more concerned.

"You okay?”

Your jaw ticked with nerves. Fuck it, what did you have to lose? "Your offer."

"My offer?" He looked more confused than before, obviously not recalling your previous conversation.

You sighed, frustratedly. "Yes. About sleeping with you."

He blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I was only teasing. I'm sorry if I offended you-"

You interrupted him before he could go any further and ruin what confidence you'd managed to build up. "No, I'm here to take you up on it."

Dieter said nothing which was not a good sign. He loved to talk, especially to annoy you. Silence meant something bad.

"You were right. I'm sexually frustrated and can't get off. By myself or with anyone." You whispered harshly. "I think you're attractive and you're my best hope at finding out whether I'm just broken or something else is going on."

He looked down at you with softened eyes. Pity. You didn't want his pity. "I don't-"

You cut him off again. "Please."

He paused and then nodded, opening the door wider. "Okay."

You pushed past him. "No one ever finds out about this and we never talk about it again. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." He closed and locked the door behind the two of you. "For the record, I was going to say that I don't think you're broken."

"We'll determine that after you, hopefully, manage to make me come." You planted your hands on your hips.

His eyes raked over you. "You're too stressed. You're not used to casual, are you?"

"No, I can do casual with people I don't know and who definitely don't know me. And you know me too well, Dieter. So, yeah, I'm stressed. Because this-" You gestured between the two of you. "-isn't casual."

"Relax. I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what makes you tick." He smirked, sauntering closer. "I already know what you don't like."

You flinched at that statement. "How?"

"Had a very long conversation with the intimacy coordinator about what was off-limits. Apparently you had a list." A real smile broke across his face as he reached up to pull your hands from your hips, plucking your room key from your fingers and tossing it onto the vanity, before tracing his own fingers across your arms.

Heat prickled the surface of your skin. "Oh."

"Don't look so embarrassed." His hands got to your shoulders and rested there, forcing them down to relax. "Although, you could've told me yourself."

"And have you tease me? No thanks." You scoffed, looking away from him.

He hummed lowly in the back of his throat. "I like to tease you, yes. But I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Not like that anyway and especially not at work. I told you this."

Your gaze darted back to him, to see if he was being genuine. He was.

Your eyebrows pulled up in uncertainty. "You confuse me."

"I know." His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. "You confuse me too."

"How?"

His hands slid up to your neck, warm palms engulfing you. "Coming to me begging to have sex despite claiming to loathe me."

You briefly snapped out of the atmosphere he'd created with his touch and pulled back from him. "I'm not begging."

"I was joking, sweetheart. I'm sorry. You don't have to beg me for this anyway." He tugged you closer to him again.

"What do you mean?" You moved more into his hold.

He chuckled, one hand lowering to circle around your waist and dipping his head to trace the lines of your neck with the tip of his nose. "Nothing. I'm just talking to calm you and make you more pliant."

Your eyelids fluttered shut. "Touch my tits with your icicle hands again and I'm sure we'll get there eventually."

He laughed louder at that, one hand cupping your cheek as he pulled back to look at you. "Are they really that cold?"

"They were earlier. Now they're warmer." You pressed your cheek into his palm, eyes closing at the feeling.

"Leaning on them for too long fucks up my blood flow." He explained, swiping his thumb across your skin. "You're so pretty."

Your eyes shot open to meet his at that. You'd never seen him look so sincere. You'd also never felt the desire to kiss him before. Until now. "Please kiss me." You curled your fists into the front of his shirt and pulled him down to meet your eyeline.

His forehead pushed against yours. "You sure you want this?"

"Positive."

He took that and pressed his lips against yours, soft and tender, barely there. And pulled back again to gauge your reaction.

"More." You whispered, hands sliding up to thread into the hair on the back of his head.

He hummed lowly, a flicker of a smile on his face before he kissed you again. This time it was firmer and held more purpose. You'd never noticed before but Dieter smelt nice. It was comforting as he drew you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. The kisses grew more heated, moving from a few pecks to being open mouthed and longer. He was a good kisser, you begrudgingly noted. Good for now but the part of you that hated him disliked that he was also gifted at this. When his tongue slid into your mouth and pressed up against yours, you tensed up. It wasn't unpleasant. Just a bit of a shock to the system.

Dieter pulled back to look down at you. "Relax. I'll look after you, I promise. Believe me?"

"Yes." You whispered and pulled him back towards you. No one had ever kissed you like this. Dieter understood you. He felt the way your muscles would shift when he did something you didn't like and would immediately pull back, quickly assess the situation and find something else you preferred. His hands lingered in places that made you feel good, kissed you enough so you felt wanted but not too much to overwhelm you. You'd never felt so safe with someone before.

And you never could have imagined the feeling that was swirling around inside you at the notion that he was touching you, kissing you. This was Dieter Bravo. The man you'd hated for years. And yet here he was, making you feel things you'd never felt before this moment. Sure, you'd acknowledged the fact that he was an attractive man when you'd first met him. But the idea of being attracted to him had never crossed your mind until recently. Very recently. It just didn't seem possible.

His hands slid down to your ass, palming the flesh there as he groaned into your mouth at the feeling. It was nice to know that he was enjoying this as well. He crowded you against him, seeming to take an impossible step closer to you.

He broke away from you momentarily. "Trust me?"

"Yes." You nodded slowly, dazed by the fact that it was true. You did trust him. With this at least anyway.

He smiled against your lips at that. "Do you want control or do you want me to take care of you?"

You pondered it for a moment. You didn't even know where you'd start with this. With him. It was an overwhelming thought. Which is why your answer was so natural.

"Take care of me please."

His responding smile was easy, soothing, as he directed you backwards towards the bed until your legs hit the frame.

"We're going to take this slow, okay? So try to have some patience." He cupped your face in his large hands, looking at you seriously.

You huffed. "I can be patient. As long as it's worth my time."

He laughed and kissed you quickly. "I'll make this worth your time."

You giggled against his mouth. "You're very confident in your abilities."

"As are you considering you're here asking me to make you come." He moved to place an open mouthed kiss on your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin. "Get on the bed."

It took a lot of self restraint for Dieter to stop himself from just picking you up and throwing you on the bed. But he promised himself he'd be gentle with you, giving you some power over the situation. After all, you'd asked him to take care of you. So that's exactly what he was going to do.

He didn't need to ask you twice by the seems of it anyway since you dropped onto the bed at his request, bouncing a couple of times before pulling your legs up and sliding yourself backwards towards the pillows. Dieter smothered a gleeful grin at how suddenly eager you seemed to be. Your enthusiam should only help your orgasm problem, as long as he got you to ease up a lot more. You were such a tense person. He tasked himself with rectifying that.

Climbing onto the bed and sitting up on his knees, Dieter looked at you breathing heavily, chest heaving as you waited for him to get closer. He couldn't quite tell if you were anxious or just turned on. He fell forward onto his hands and crawled to you, pushing you onto your back as he moved over you.

Gaze moving towards the way your breasts were straining against your sleep shirt with every inhale, he let a question roll around in his head for a couple of seconds before just deciding to ask it. "On a scale of one to ten, how horny would you say you are right now?"

Your mouth dropped open, that was the last thing you expected him to say with the way his pupils had blown wide as he stared at your chest. "A six. Maybe a seven."

He only grunted in response.

"It might be higher. I can't tell. I'm pretty nervous."

Ah, so anxiety was playing a factor in your breathing rate. Good to know, Dieter thought.

"Let's fix that." He rasped before kissing you again, not hesitating this time to let his tongue roam your mouth. He found he liked the way your legs seemed to automatically wrap around him and pull him closer over you so you were chest to chest.

Your arms wound around his neck, one hand carding through his hair. The two of you barely broke away for breath, the only sound in the room being those of your lips colliding and separating. You were surprised to find how long he kissed you without doing anything else. Most guys would be insisting on getting into your pants right about now. But Dieter hadn't done anything more than grope at your ass, and that had been when you were still standing up.

You liked kissing. Liked it a lot. Especially when the person you were kissing was good at it and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. So this was nice. Just kissing. You hadn't kissed someone for this long since you were a teenager and still a virgin when making out seemed like the most exciting thing in the world.

You let your hands roam Dieter a little more, allowing them to drift down his back and smooth back up across his shoulders. He was so broad, you realised. How had you never realised how big he was before? He was taller than you, sure. But you had never noticed the sheer size of him before. He was broad shouldered and had large hands. It sent a pulse to your core.

He made you squeal in surprise when he managed to wrap his arms around and underneath you and flipped the two of you so you were on your sides, legs tangled together and not an inch of space between you. Despite the lack of room, you still found yourself pushing into him even more. He encouraged this by gliding a hand to the small of your back and pressing you against him. He groaned into your mouth when your pelvis moved against his, rubbing against his hard on.

Instead of pursuing that like you assumed he would, he grabbed your thigh and hooked your leg over his waist so your clothed pussy pushed against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel the heat of you through two layers of clothing, both your sleep shorts and his own pants. Then his hand slipped over to your ass where he squeezed, causing a gasp to rattle out of you into his mouth, and rocked your hips against his thigh. You felt your clit grinding against him and whined at the feeling it made ripple through you.

"Mm, good girl." He whispered against your lips and rocked you against him again.

It felt good. Better than you expected it to. So you picked up the pace yourself, letting his hand guide you as you ground yourself against his thigh desperately. The sensation was slowly building, very slowly, but it was definitely there. You didn't have the brain capacity to think about the potential orgasm sneaking up on you though as Dieter kept kissing you, despite it becoming messier as you couldn't hold back the noises he was drawing out of you. It became a simple clash of lips and tongues, teeth clacking together every few seconds, as you sought out the feeling you craved.

But it became obvious after a little while longer that it was hopeless.

You pulled back from him frustrated and let out a sound of disappointment as you pressed your forehead into his chest. "It's no use- I can't-"

"Hey, hey, hey." He cut you off, placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him. "Don't give up now. It was close, I know it. We'll just rework and go with a different angle, okay?"

A part of you wanted to run away and forget this whole thing, hoping he wouldn't hold this against you in the future. You couldn't imagine the teasing material Dieter would come up with if he knew the fact that you couldn't come and had run away after failing to get off with him.

But the way he was looking at you, so warm and kind, had you rethinking that. This was so unlike him. So you just nodded at him.

He returned the nod, a smile on his face. "Okay. So, that felt good, didn't it?" He didn't need you to agree. The sounds you were making told him enough. "So we'll slow down and keep going from there."

You didn't exactly know what he meant by that but decided to just carry on following his lead anyway. Delighted when he kissed you again, you whimpered against his mouth as his hand returned to your ass and rocked your hips over his thigh again. But this time more gently. He kept doing that for a while, never letting the speed of it increase. And the sensation from before built steadily. You stayed calm and didn't let it overtake you, allowing Dieter to have control over the situation.

He let the sounds coming from your throat tell him when to move on to the next step. Slowly he rolled the two of you over so you were on your back again, breaking away from your mouth to start kissing down the length of your body.

You raised your head to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going down on you." He said casually, finger tracing along the buttons of your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded, watching as he unfastened each button unhurriedly and sat up to help him slide it from your shoulders. "You don't have to do that. I know a lot of guys don't like that."

His head snapped up to meet your eyes, looking as if you'd just shot him. "Who the fuck have you been sleeping with?" He asked with disgust, hands landing on your chest and immediately kneading the flesh of your tits.

Your mouth dropped open at the feeling, head dropping back onto the pillows. "Guys not worth my time apparently."

"You're right about that." Dieter mumbled, flicking his tongue over one of your nipples. "I happen to love eating pussy."

"Noted." You sighed, toes curling as he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

After spending a considerable amount of time worshipping your chest, including lots of babbling about how fucking soft you were, Dieter finally decided to carry on with his journey downwards. He tugged at the string of your sleep shorts, ribbon unravelling and leaving the waistband loose.

He glanced up at you with the silent question of asking permission to take the shorts off which you nodded at. He smirked and slid them down your legs with the aid of you arching yourself up to help him, pleased when he saw you weren’t wearing panties. The smirk grew into a smile that could only compared to that of the Cheshire Cat when he saw how wet you were.

"All this from just rubbing yourself against my thigh. Lucky me."

"Don't make fun of me." You grumbled, glaring at him.

He tutted, pushing your thighs apart to get a better look. "I'm not, sweetheart, I promise. I can't wait to taste you."

You had no time to reply as he rubbed a thumb across you, spreading your arousal across your slit and up to your clit where he circled a couple of times. Flattening himself onto his stomach so his face was level with your pussy, Dieter placed a tentative lick on your clit. When a broken cry escaped you, he took it as a sign to keep going. Licking a long stripe up, gathering your wetness on his tongue, Dieter let out a moan of his own. You tasted better than he anticipated. It was going to take a lot for him to not bury his face against you and suffocate himself.

Instead he chose to lick against your clit a couple more times, liking the way your back arched up off the bed at the feeling. Slowly, he sucked the bundle of nerves into his mouth and revelled at the strangled whimper that left you, a hand flying into his hair to pull him closer. Dieter groaned as you tugged on the brown strands. Focusing on your clit for a while, he chose to test something else. He slid a finger into you, feeling your thighs tense on either side of his head. And not in a good way. So he removed the finger and chose to continue just suckling on your clit instead.

You weren't quite there yet and that was okay. He was fine with using just his mouth and tongue for the moment. You started writhing under him anyway, which was a good sign in his mind, so he flattened a hand over your stomach to keep you still.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasped, pulling on his hair even harder. You were close, moving to the brink with every move Dieter made, and you both knew it.

Dieter just wondered what would get you there. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the hand that wasn't in his hair was grasping at the sheets beneath you. So he reached out to take it in his. And so with one of his hands on your stomach to keep you still and one of yours looped through his hair, the free hands that each of you had finding each other and linking, fingers lacing together, that was all it took to have you crashing over the edge.

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head as you practically screamed his name, hand pushing his face into you as your hips moved against him of their own accord. The orgasm pulsed through you, seeming almost never ending, as Dieter crawled back up the length of your body and placed kisses all over your face.

When you finally returned back down to Earth, you opened your eyes and blinked up at him. You couldn’t believe he’d managed it. "You are fucking good at this."

He shook his head and chuckled. "That was the easy part. What's next is the real test."

"Easy- next- what?" You were beyond confused. He'd made you come. His task was complete. What was he talking about?

"The majority of women get off easier with oral. Penetrative sex isn't as likely to make a woman come." He explained, sitting up and reaching off the side of the bed to open a drawer in his nightstand and retrieve a condom. "These are cherry flavoured, is that okay? Or do you have an allergy to flavoured lube? Shit, or a latex allergy?"

You swallowed thickly. "You're going to fuck me? Like actually fuck me?"

"Look at you managing to say fuck. Big turn around from fun time or whatever shit you said to me this afternoon." He shook his head as he chuckled. "But yes, sweetheart. I am going to fuck you. Unless you don't want me to. And in that case I'll have to politely ask you to excuse me so I can go jerk off in the bathroom. But I think it'll be nice. Another orgasm never hurts."

The two of you held eye contact for a moment as he waited for you to respond. The idea of another orgasm had you wanting more.

"No allergies to flavoured lube or latex here." You said, reaching out to grab at his t-shirt to pull him over you again.

"I'm so glad to hear that because this is all I've got." He breathed against your mouth before kissing you.

Your hands slid to the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up slowly and over his head when he broke away from you momentarily to take it off. Your hands immediately landed on his chest, nails raking down his torso onto his stomach and then your fingers hooked into his waistband. Dieter gave you the go ahead to tug the pants down with a low hum and kicked them off his feet without pulling away from your mouth for a second.

You didn't need to look to know that Dieter was big considering all of him was suddenly pressed up against you. You found it fascinating to know that the rumours of him being hung like a horse were, in fact, very true.

You broke away from the kiss when you felt the full length of him hot and heavy against your stomach. "Fuck me, you're huge."

Dieter looked down between your bodies. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. "Thanks."

You met his eyes again. "I somehow hate you even more now."

He just burst out into laughter. Now that was new.

"It's not fair that you're good at eating pussy and also have a horse cock. A guy should only have one of those assets. Having both is like having too much power." You groaned, reaching down to take him in your hand.

His laughter abruptly cut off at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around him, head dropping down to meet your shoulder. "Fuck, think it's time to be inside you now."

"That'd be good." You mumbled, watching him as he pushed up onto his knees and ripped the condom open, rolled it down onto his himself with ease and pumped his dick a couple times. The last part was unnecessary considering he was rock hard and not softening anytime soon without coming.

Dieter grabbed the tops of your thighs and used them as leverage to pull you towards him so the two of you aligned. Taking his length in his fist, he slapped the tip against your clit a few times before sliding it up and down your slit, combining the cherry lube with the wetness left behind by your previous orgasm. Notching himself at your entrance, he made eye contact with you for one last bit of confirmation. When he found it, he pushed into you.

He slid in easier than expected, the two of you sighing deeply at the feeling as he leaned over you again. He pulled out slowly after a moment, the clench of your walls making him shudder, and then thrust back in again.

"Does that feel good?" He asked you, needing to check in.

Your legs wrapped around him, forcing him in even deeper somehow. "Fuck yes."

"I'm glad. Because this is heavenly for me." He told you, taking your pleasured expression as an invitation to set up a steady pace. Nothing too fast otherwise he'd be finishing this earlier than he wanted to, but enough to make the both of you feel good.

But you were impatient. "Dieter, faster."

"Sweetheart, if I go any faster then I'm going to blow my load prematurely and I really don't want that. And I’m sure you don’t either."

"I thought you were a veteran at this. Should be able to last longer than two minutes." You quipped back.

He huffed out a laugh. "I was close to jizzing in my pants when we were making out so trust me when I say this is overwhelmingly good for me right now. Besides, gotta make you orgasm again first."

With that statement, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight circles onto your clit, completely out of pace with the way he was moving in and out of you. The discrepancy between the two sensations had your brain going haywire and you clutched at his face to get him to kiss you again. He groaned into your mouth when you clenched around him again, finally moving a little faster.

As much as Dieter wanted to go slow with you, he could feel how much you craved more. So he picked up the pace and went a little harder, pausing momentarily when the headboard hit the wall and you let out a delighted noise at the sound.

"Oh, you like that?" He asked, mouth dropping open when you nodded rapidly. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Dieter. Oh, my god, yes." You gasped, nails clawing at his shoulders with the need to hold onto something.

"Dirty fucking girl, liking the headboard slamming against the wall." He realised something. "You could hear it when I was in here with other people, couldn't you?"

You could do nothing but confess. "Yes, oh my- fuck!" You were cut off by your own expletive as he rammed back into you, hitting a spot that no one else had even come close to reaching before.

"Wanted to get it as good, huh?" He asked, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as the pace of his thumb increased on your clit. "Promised I'd make it good for you, didn't I?"

You nodded, words escaping you as tears streamed from your eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart. I can feel it. You're going to come for me again, aren't you?" He watched as you attempted to answer him, only managing a few babbled words of agreement. "What do you need? What's going to make you come all over my cock?"

You still couldn't form a coherent sentence as his harsh thrusts had you moving up and down the bed, your tits bouncing in rhythm. So you placed a hand on either of his cheeks and pulled him into a messy kiss, your tongue curling against his. That was what it took to make you orgasm again, a wail leaving your throat and tumbling into Dieter's mouth as your thighs trembled and your walls fluttered around him. The feeling of that sent him over the edge too, a couple more pumps before he was spilling himself into the condom.

Neither of you broke away from the kiss for a moment as you calmed down, sweat pooling between you as he slowly pulled out and the kisses turned sweeter and more innocent. Dieter eventually climbed off of the bed and threw the condom in the trash before crawling back to you.

"What are you doing?" You asked as he settled over you again.

"More making out for a minute." He replied simply, placing his lips over yours.

It lasted longer than a minute, that was for sure. But neither of you were complaining. By the time he decided to pull away again, your legs had stopped shaking with the aftershocks of the orgasm and your breathing had slowed to a normal rate.

Dieter looked down at you pleased with what he'd managed to achieve as a question crossed his mind. "I'm curious... when was the last time you orgasmed?"

You shrugged as the two of you sat up in the bed. "I can't remember."

"Okay, when was the last time you made yourself come? Give me an estimate." He waved his hand around in the air.

You thought about it. "A few months maybe."

He frowned, that was too long in his opinion. "And when was the last time a guy made you come?"

You hesitated before shaking your head.

The frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

You took a deep breath before answering. "Never."

His eyes darkened, lids becoming hooded. "Never?"

"No."

"I'm the first?" He didn't seem to believe you.

But you were insistent. "Yeah."

"Okay, lie back down." He said, poking at your chest to get you to rest against the pillows.

You let out a confused laugh. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm getting another fucking orgasm out of you."

You shook your head, attempting to stay sitting up. "You don't need to. You've done enough."

"Two. You've been given two orgasms by men. Both of which are from me. I need at least a third before I let you leave this room." He stretched his arms out and started moving down the bed. "Besides, you taste good and I already want to go down on you again."

"Dieter, you don't have to do that for me- oh."

He looked smug as he brushed your clit with his thumb, effectively cutting you off.

"Okay, maybe one more won't hurt." You relented, collapsing onto the pillows.

"Excellent." He chirped in response, literally diving in head first into your cunt again with a long lick up your slit. He groaned lowly, looking up at you as he pulled away. "We're gonna have to do this again sometime."

You froze. "What? Why?"

"Because I said I wanted to taste you again but all I'm getting right now is the cherry lube from the condom." He sounded disappointed.

"Sounds delicious, actually." You hummed, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you could see him better.

"Not as delicious as you, fuck." Despite the obvious discontentment, Dieter still went back to licking at you like there was no tomorrow. And it didn't take long for another orgasm to hit you, his skilled tongue combined with the leftover influence of the previous two.

When he made his way up the bed and landed next to you with his eyes closed, you took it as your cue to leave. So you slid out of the bed and started searching for your pyjamas.

"Where are you going?"

You stilled and stiffly turned to look at Dieter. Wasn't it obvious? "Back to my room."

His brow wrinkled "You don't have to go."

You straightened up, suddenly very aware of your nakedness. "I'm not spending the night."

He rolled his eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that, I figured as much. I do, however, strongly believe in this little thing called aftercare.”

"Oh." You hadn't considered that.

"Interested?"

Yes. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes again, smile still firmly planted on his face, and opened his arms for you. "Get back over here."

You did as he said, easily finding yourself in his embrace as he stroked patterns up and down your back. Some time later he went to get a washcloth from the bathroom to clean away the mess that the cherry lube had made between your thighs, before slipping back into bed next to you.

Despite both of you insisting that you'd go back to your room any minute, you didn't move out of his arms. And eventually the two of you fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: I chose to write this rather than one of my final essays of the uni year… you’re welcome.

[yallthemwitches]

“It’s horrid for you, you know.” “No worries–I do loads of things that are bad for me,” he smirks. “Oh? Like what?” He falters, the rushing stream of banter getting interrupted by a fork in the river. Maybe she is imagining it, but she sees the words start to form on his lips. Fancying you. 

Happy New Year! Enjoy a final fic for 2024 and see you on the other side with lots more fluff with these cuties.

Read Below or on AO3!

“Hey, Evans.”

“Hey…quidditch knobhead?” 

He cracks a smile that sends her heart soaring out the window along with the cigarette smoke. 

Like always, he appears as though a vision. Standing in front of her in his quidditch uniform, a crudely made sash slings loose across his torso with the words Quidditch Hero emblazoned in gold, the addendum of knobhead hastily added in Black’s unmistakable elegant scrawl. 

“Thought you would like my new title,” he grins a little wider, his lips looking too soft and dangerous to linger on. 

“Love it—hope it makes it into the awards case.” She offers a smile and hopes he hasn’t picked up legitimacy since they’ve last spoken, otherwise he’d see how the sight of him windswept and sweaty turns all her cognitive function into melting goo.

It’s why she had sequestered herself to the far outreaches of the common room. Under the guise of being nonchalant she can keep her heart at bay and not let the dam holding back all her infuriating feelings come pouring out with one sip of spiked punch. But that isn’t to say she hasn’t been watching him—she doesn’t have the option. For better or worse it had been like that in these past few weeks: the world swirling like brush strokes in an impressionist painting while James stands out, hard lined and striking in the forefront. 

Just another thing not to linger on.

“Was wondering if I could share a smoke,” he says with a lopsided grin. It’s one of the ones that could mean anything and her eyebrows rise beyond her fringe.  

“You don’t smoke.”

“I could smoke—you could teach me. Sirius says I need to find something better to do with my mouth than talk all the time.”

She laughs and her head falls back against the stone—and she’s thankful because otherwise he would see the blush that has sprouted on her cheeks from his rather forward innuendo.

He grins wider, a glowing, ethereal expression she has noticed he always does when he gets her to laugh like that. If I could bottle up a sound, it would be your laugh he had said a few days ago in some murky passageway. I’d listen to it until I went deaf.  

“It’s horrid for you, you know.”

“No worries–I do loads of things that are bad for me,” he smirks.

“Oh? Like what?”

He falters, the rushing stream of banter getting interrupted by a fork in the river. Maybe she is imagining it, but she sees the words start to form on his lips. Fancying you. 

Maybe it was a trick of the light. 

He doesn’t answer, letting the conversation waft away. She had known for years that James was never someone who could hide his emotions well. Even now she watches a spectrum from playful to anxious to yearning cross past his face like watching water ripple in sunlight. A sudden urge to lean forward and kiss them all away one by one enters, but she lets it pass. Just another feeling to push out the window and die in the cold air.

“So,” he prods, shifting his weight, “Did you see the game?”

“Game? What game?” she says in mock surprise. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Oh, y’know, just some blokes on sticks, faffing around—one of which being myself.”

“Oh, right,” she counters, giving herself a little tap to the head, “yeah that little thing–though I didn’t realize you were playing, seeing as you were very discreet.”

He laughs and his sash flutters at his waist. Removing his glasses, he wipes them against the hem of his jersey and the small sight of skin on his abdomen makes her feel ravenous—derailing her thoughts into many recurring memories of times when her hands have skimmed the exact spot, her lips giving soft pecks on their way down… 

“Yeah, that’s what they say about me. Very humble.” He turns bashful, arching his eyebrow and nearly bursting her heart into a thousand pieces. 

“Apparently 100 points worth,” she snorts.

“So you were there.”

Another break in the banter, another silence. Up until this point, she had been doing a good job at keeping the rest of the room at bay, the noise and shifting bodies just fragments of light refracting in her peripheral vision, but their silence opens a hatch and suddenly it all pours in: the rest of the quidditch team drunkenly chanting ROAST THE RAVENCLAWS, the static of some Orlocs tune wafting from the radio, the swaying and heavy petting of couples on a makeshift dance floor now giving her sensory overload.

And yet, here he is, in the forefront of it all, looking so bloody pleased. 

“Yeah, of course,” she murmurs. It’s not a lie, at least partly.

“But I didn’t see you at the end —on the pitch when we won.” His voice goes soft and she has the sudden urge to reach for him. Stop, you are in public.

“Yeah-–I wasn’t feeling…well.” 

She turns away, hoping that looking out the small window will give some respite from the change in conversation, but instead finds James’ image reflecting back at her in the darkness of the Scottish countryside.

“Are you ok?” 

The sound of his worry just wedges the lump in her throat further. Things were so much easier when it was just them tangled together in some dark space where the world couldn’t come dripping in, but there had been a leak in their safe haven for some time now, slowly letting in feelings that were much more complicated than just the joy of his warm skin against hers. As much as she tried to push them away, they continued to creep back, crowding her like a billowing fog.

In the reflected glass, she watches his mouth reopen, then clap shut like a hinged box. His brow furrowed and frustrated by her lack of response. 

“It’s fine. I’m alright…shouldn’t you be–I dunno– taking broom shots with your mates,” she says quietly, turning back from the mirror to face him. 

James doesn’t even glance behind him at the party, his jaw clicking as though on the precipice of something important. Instead, he downs the rest of amber liquid in his glass in one go— the curve of his neck dangerous enough for her to want to flee. 

Placing the cup down on the sill, he uses the proximity to come in closer, angling his body so they are blocked from the fray. He slides his hand down her arm, soft and questioning before reaching her palm and pressing his fingers into the center. 

“I’m not in the mood for broom shots,” he murmurs, “I’m in the mood to hear what’s bothering you.”

He stops pressing, fingers slotting themselves between hers until her own curl willingly. It’s the first time they have done this: shown any sort of affection towards each other in a public setting. A nervous twinge forces her to look over his shoulder to see if any of the party goers have taken notice of their proximity—of how somehow the class prefect has gained a monopoly on the man of the hour.

James watches her for a moment, eyes darting around her face as though looking for answers in a textbook. She can feel the dam inside her coming loose—the sensation of thousand bats fluttering and gnawing at her insides. It's something they don’t do: talk about it. The future, the war, their secret relationship—these were all just abstract ideas when held at a distance, but to talk about them– invest emotion in them–that gave them power.

“Lily—we need to talk.” 

His face furrows, his lips parted. Inside her stomach, the sensation of a thousand bats flutter and gnaw to be let out.

“It’s becoming hard,” he says slowly, clamping his eyes closed. A pool of blush billows just under his glasses.

“It's becoming hard to not have you around.”

She blinks, trying to keep her emotions steady on the surface, meanwhile the bats in her stomach continue to bite though, piercing skin. 

“What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“You know that's not what I mean,” he sighs, dropping her hand. “When I finished the game—y’know landed and everyone was there on the pitch–the only person I wanted to see was you.” 

His eyes were open again, round and full of something resembling pain. 

“I know it’s silly and I have no right to even dream of it, but I can’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to hold you right then—I didn’t even care about the bloody win, I just kept thinking about the second I could find you and—“ 

He looks almost feral now, the words continuing to tumble out.

“--And you should know, even though I’m horrid with words–yet seem to spew them constantly– that you mean a lot to me. Maybe too much…a scary amount, and I need you to say something to me, Evans because I know this might be easy for you and all but I’m dying he–”

It was as though her body moved on its own accord—some dark annals of confidence bursting forth out of her to lean in and press her lips against his. Underneath her, his body freezes, the noise of the party that had slinked in the outskirts of their senses now rushing in again and making them very aware of how brash, how public, they are being. 

It lasts only seconds and she pulls away, leaning far back into the turret of the window like being repelled by an opposing force. 

“God, I’m sorry,” she gasps, wiping her mouth as though to remove the lingering feel of his lips, “I just—you were sort of spiraling, so–” 

She stops speaking, not knowing where her line of thought was going or if it even had a directive.

James blinks, mouth still slightly ajar in the way he had so neatly slotted his lips with hers. 

“Lily—can you just...”

But she leans back further, the dam that has held her together for this long, kept all those easy nights pressed together a casual thing, starting to evaporate into dust and scatter. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

He freezes, his eyes going wide and glassy. It feels euphoric, finally putting form to the words that had been eating her alive for weeks now. But it doesn’t make it any more terrifying—and she certainly wishes she had thought it through enough to pick a better setting. 

She can see everything he wants just in his eyes. He wants to say I love you too—merlin fuck I always have. He wants to lift her up and spin her, just like he had imagined doing at his quidditch win. He wants to push in, force her legs to part just enough to let him slot against her like all the times they have done before in the solace of her patrols— she can see it because, unlike her, James has never had an issue showing his feelings. She has held him back. She always took the lead. 

“Lily, merlin–I—”

But she presses a hand against his mouth, trying not to savor how soft and warm his lips feel against her fingers. 

“Please—can you just give it a moment?”

She knows she is asking the world—silence has never been his strong suit. 

“How long?”

“Excuse me,” she stammers. Something lights behind his eyes she hasn’t ever seen before and it burns hot. Hotter than any time they have tangled together.

“How long do I have to give it before I can respond?”

Her eyes widen, and something resembling laughter passes her lips. 

“I don’t know? Three seconds? Wh–”

“Three.” 

He presses in, his arms now snaking around her waist, his sash fluttering against her and rising goosebumps on her arms. Around them, the world begins to swirl—everything becoming unrefined and fuzzy. The only grounding she can find is him—but it has always been him, the one sharp, tangible thing keeping her tethered within chaos. 

“James–”

“Two.” 

He exhales against her neck, tracing his nose up her pressure point to her jaw. She tilts her head back, laying against the cold stone, hands pulling him closer until her back needs to arch to hold the weight of him against her. His lips reach hers and her mouth is already parted, waiting to slot against his. But he takes his time, brushing every last bit of blush off her cheeks with fluttering touches, hands grasping as though, if he let go, she’d fall away into the night. 

Later, he will say it back—say all the things he has wanted to and more since the moment he met her in Kings Cross all those years ago. Later, they can explain to their onlooking friends too. Tell them how all the patrols, all the late night studying has been culminating in this moment: them against all odds in the common room windowsill. Later, they will have all the time in the world, but it is of the essence now. He only has a second left. 

“One.”

[ilylovelyz]

megumi fatherly headcannons

i absolutely love megumi, he's perhaps my most favorite anime character out of any anime <3 and whats better than imagining a fictional character as a father?

is absolutely protective of you during your pregnancy

he doesnt even mean to

it's just an instinct that he has that he doesnt even know he's acting on

looking at you throughout your pregnancy is a stress reliever for him

just looking at you so lovingly with soft eyes

he cannot help but be afraid and guilty for your health

absolutely is nervous if you come down with a cold

towards the end of your pregnancy, he would just lay down with you, cuddle with you on the couch or bed while watching tv and ordering takeout for you

he would just have his head in ur neck and hair, sniffing your sweet scent, fingers twirling and playing with your hair or rubbing your bump with fleeting touches

absolutely loved it when you began to wear his clothes because yours didnt fit you anymore

he would offer u his boxers? would feel prideful when you would wear them 😭

at night, while you slept next to him, he was constantly on edge

he felt the need to watch you as you sleep, just in case

when his paranoia was at it's peak, he would even summon his dogs just as an extra precaution or so he could sleep

when you gave birth, he was there every step of the process

no matter how much it hurt, even if you broke his hand or something, he was holding your hand throughout the entire thing

pressing sweet kisses onto your sweaty forehead, telling you that you were doing so wonderful and that he loves you so much

when the baby is born, he softly kissed you, a relieving sigh leaving his lips

ofc his baby is a girl

i see him being a girl dad

he's a bit disappointed when your daughter looks like him, he doesnt want his daughter to inhabit any of his details because he doesn't want his daughter to end up like a "bastard" like him

your daughter is absolutely beautiful tho, has beautiful hazel eyes that megumi often praises

doesn't let you take on night shifts, says that he's always gonna be up at night anyways so he can just take care of the baby and let you sleep

it's what you deserve after all, you carried his child for 9 months and went thru horrible labor

absolutely was carried to hold her but after a while, all he wanted to do was hold her and cuddle with her

she was always ALWAYS snuggled up because megumi was worried she would get cold 😭

absolutely takes pictures of you and your baby

will find himself smiling at those photos

he has a polaroid of you and the baby in his wallet

your daughter is absolutely a daddy's girl and will always laugh with him

shes more on the giggly side, much to his relief

i feel like he would have two daughters

he would act all annoyed with his daughter's sassy attitudes but in reality he wouldnt want it any different

i feel like after a while he would develop a little sassy attitude like them 😭🌚

he doesnt spoil them too much but when it's needed, he will give them sweet and lavish gifts to award their hardworks

absolutely does not want them to be associated with the jujutsu world

but he knows he cant stop them either

the daughters will be like 6 years apart btw

very protective of his daughters

but not overbearing

when his daughters are older, his pride and joy for them is very visible

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