#ignore that feeling of breathing down your neck

[leighsartworks216]

His Beautiful Nose

Sylus x gn!Reader

This is all I think about when I see him sometimes, genuinely. I just see his nose and I go a little insane

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, kissing, biting, teasing, silly

Word Count: 1,001 (all my fics lately have had such satisfying word counts ough so good)

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AO3

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"Sweetie, what are you doing?"

You shush him, focused on whatever the hell you were up to right now. Sylus quirks a brow at you.

"I think I have a right to know, since you're holding my face hostage," he teases, speaking in a languid murmur, raspy.

You'd found him asleep in one of his many lounge chairs; legs out, arms crossed, head back. It was impossible to ignore the desire to sneak around behind the chair and hold his face. Of course, doing so woke him up, which led you here.

"I'm just appreciating how pretty you are," you tell him. And it's not technically a lie. You are appreciating his beauty. Just, a specific part of his beauty.

"And you can't sit in my lap and do that?" He reaches back behind the chair. His large hand finds your back easily and begins tracing light shapes into your sides, your spine - wherever he could reach.

You giggle and squirm away from his ticklish touch. "No, now stay still and hush."

He huffs with exasperation, but he does as you ask. His hand settles on your lower back, loosely holding you close. He appreciates you in turn with his crimson eyes, half-lidded with sleep.

You run your thumbs along his cheeks. His skin is smooth, pliant beneath your fingers. He seems so untouchable - and he is. To everyone that isn't you. The fact you're this close means more than you'll ever be able to fully grasp.

You lean down and press a delicate kiss between his eyebrows. His fingers twitch against your back. You trace under his eyes, coaxing him into closing them and putting his full trust in your hands. You kiss the spot again.

The next spot your lips find is perhaps half an inch down, at the point where his nose begins protruding from his face. It's an odd place for a kiss, he thinks. You must be up to something, yet he allows it anyway.

Kisses are slowly peppered down his nose. Each one takes its time, each following the strong line of his nose, over the bump and the wide bridge, down to the tip. Each one pours into the lazy smile tugging at his lips. You really woke him up just to "appreciate" his nose?

The kisses retreat towards his brow, but never reach it. One kiss, then two placed at the most prominent part of his nose's definition, and then-

He cracks an eye open. "Did you just bite my nose?"

You hum with a slight nod, kissing over the spot again. "I've been wanting to bite it for weeks now. This seemed like the perfect opportunity." Despite the nonchalant way you say it, he can practically feel the heat radiating off your face and onto his.

He chuckles softly and draws you closer by your back. "Do it again."

Truly, you didn't expect for that to be his response. You anticipated this being the one and only time you'd ever be allowed to do this. But he's encouraging it, with clear amusement.

Your teeth settle on either side of the bridge of his nose and not very far down, not even as far back as your canines, and gently bite down. It's not a lot of pressure, either. Realistically, it's more of a light nip, but he hums his approval. When you pull away, your lips catch on his skin, just as his do when he bites your hand. It's perfect.

His eyes watch now with unreserved affection. His hand trails up your back, reaches to cradle the back of your neck and the base of your skull. "Come here," he murmurs lowly. You're guided forward, drawn down as he tilts his head further back to meet his lips.

Your mouths move together in languid, drowsy kisses. The faint wet sound of your lips parting and shared, soft breaths fill the room. His nose presses against your chin, and yours in his, but neither of you move from the awkward angle except to deepen the kiss.

You feel the smirk on his lips before you see it. He pulls away and your body is suddenly weightless, floating through the air, carried by playful tendrils of energy.

"Sylus! What're you doing?!" You're flipped over him, slow enough you don't get lightheaded, to the front of the chair and directly into his lap. His arms wrap powerfully around your waist to draw you against his chest. Light kisses trail along your neck.

"You woke me from my nap. It only seems fair to keep you here," he says against your skin.

There's no point trying to push his arms away or wriggling free. He's much too strong for that. So, you give in. You sigh with a playful roll of your eyes and lean back into him, trying to find some comfortable position. Once you're settled, one of his arms slips from around you, and gently fingers turn you by your chin to face him.

"I also need to return the favor, don't I?"

He takes his sweet time doing so. A trail of kisses, all light pecks, winds from your jaw to your chin to your cheek. They finally come to your forehead, where he places one between your brows. Down to where your nose begins. Down over the bridge, to the tip, and back up.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts his head and carefully lines his teeth up in just the same way you did. He bites down, gentle in a way that seems unfathomable to anyone else who knew him. After a second, he pulls away, lips catching on your skin.

He leans back into the chair and guides your head to his shoulder before wrapping his arm around you once more. He sighs, long and low, with content. "Wake me up in four hours," he murmurs.

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

"You should have thought about that before you snuck in, sweetie."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: fluff, silliness, highly suggestive, reader implied to be femme, overuse of terms of endearment (sweetie, sweetheart), mdni to be safe — notes: @leighsartworks216 this is your doing. *affectionately shakes fist*

“Sylus,” you begin one day on a whim, mindlessly scrolling through your socials.

“Yes, sweetie?” he purrs, enthralled by the deckled pages of a book, languidly massaging your foot in his lap.

“Are you ticklish?”

He chuckles something murky behind you. “Not that I am aware of.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You don’t have to look back to sense the deadpanned look on his face. “I’ve lived in this skin for a long time, sweetheart. I think I would know if I were ticklish.”

You briskly sit up, maneuvering until you’re facing him. You lean closer with curious eyes, perched on the couch of his study like a feline.

“I don’t believe you.”

Sylus scoffs. Quietly sets his book down on the coffee table, a challenge tugging one corner of his mouth upwards. He holds his hands up, uncrossing his legs, something of mischief shining in his eyes as he sits back in an easy slouch.

“You’re welcome to see for yourself, sweetie.”

You don’t like how that sounds. How he drawled out the term of endearment. Still, you’re incredibly persistent. You’ve been exclusive for some months now, yet he’s still an enigma.

Your lips twisting with determination, you begin your examination. First, you start with the obvious places that would typically make people squeal—near his collarbones, in his armpits, down his sides, drag your nails inwards across his stomach. You peer up at his face. If he feels anything, he doesn’t reveal it, still wearing that insufferably smug look as he observes you.

You don’t find any sensitive zones on his torso. Just defined planes of muscle that make your pulse quicken and cause you to swallow past the dry film of your throat.

You proceed with your impromptu frisking, raking your nails down the sides of his devastating quads. Glance up. Nothing. Hmm.

You swivel your hands inwards, tracing over the inward trajectory of his thighs. He parts them for you, and it becomes evident he’s enjoying this. Enjoying tormenting you with the catastrophic shape of his body. Like he knows you know he feels good.

You cast him a pensive look. He feigns innocence with a shrug, signaling you to continue your investigation with the flit of his eyes.

So you do, creeping your fingers down the inner parts of his knees. Outwards. Pluck yourself from the sticky leather of the settee and sit between his legs on the floor, tracing over his calves and ankle bones.

You glance up. He still radiates complacency, yet his eyes hold something heavier than their usual, teasing weight. It’s something unmistakable, but you ignore it, instead testing the socked soles of his feet for any signs of vulnerability. Any minute twitches, any jolts or hitched breaths. No dice.

You relent with a sigh, crawling onto his lap. His heavy hands clasp around where thigh meets hip, keeping you steady, your thighs framing his.

“Guess you’re not ticklish,” you say with a solemn smile, twining your arms about his neck.

Why you thought the big, bad wolf of Onychinus would have any sensitive zones in the first place is beyond you. Maybe it was just an excuse to feel him up.

“I told you,” he husks affectionately. Voice crackles in that way that makes your belly swoop, and he closes a tender hand around your nape to draw you in for a kiss.

Your mouths part with a sticky click. And you’re dizzy and laughing something light as your foreheads press together, pheromones and fondness filling what little space lies between your bodies.

“Kudos for trying, sweetheart.”

You don’t enjoy being proven wrong, but you suppose it’s fine if you lose to him. Leaning back, you study his pretty features, the delicate sweep of his lashes as his eyes slip shut.

You thread your fingers through his hair, grazing one particularly vulnerable spot at the top of his cranium, and you don’t miss how he tenses beneath you. How he winces, releasing a sound so far-off and delicate, you’re not sure if you heard it in the first place.

Curious, you try for the spot again, evoking the same reaction, and Sylus’ hold around your waist tightens the slightest bit.

With a troublesome smile, you test the opposite side, garnering a similar response and—

Oh.

Oh, this.

Like the devilish little fiend you are, you scratch these newly revealed spots simultaneously, reveling in his response. How his carefully constructed composure begins to crumble beneath you.

He twitches and fidgets under your care, lips parting, a low, guttural sound dredged from his throat. He unconsciously bunts his head against your hands, leaning into your touch. You watch as a pretty, peachy flush creeps into his cheeks, staining the tips of his ears, and his brows scrunch in something of anguish.

Had you not known any better, you’d think you were scratching behind the ears of a feline. Had Sylus been a cat in a past life? You giggle mischievously at the notion before something very hot and prominent prods at the inner cut of your thigh.

Before you can investigate, Sylus ensnares your wrists in his hand, and he’s panting, glaring at you with those pretty, scarlet eyes to match the beautiful flush taking possession of his face.

His voice is hoarse. Smoky. Dangerous. You feel the buzz of it pooling warm in the lower reaches of your belly, leaking down between your thighs.

“You keep doing that, and I might have to retaliate, sweetheart.”

You swallow, your throat thickening, your mouth slightly open. Your pulse thrums a war cadence in your ears, and your breaths are short as desire spumes through you.

“You won’t do it,” you challenge, your tone husky. Shaky.

“Is that a challenge?” Sylus returns, his grip on your wrists slackening until he releases them.

He tugs you impossibly closer on his lap via the globes of your ass, and his weighted girth slides deliciously over the center of your thighs, eliciting a bitten-off sound from your mouth. You rest your hands on the defined planes of his chest to maintain a modicum of space, though it’s fruitless.

He draws your head down until your breaths intermingle, long, spindly fingers sneaking beneath your chin to moor you to the spot. He grazes your mouth with his, and a pleasant thrill ripples through you, your fingers pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“Why don’t I show you what happens to naughty girls who test my patience?”

[nodoubtily]

reader trying to take control but niki puts her in her place? 🫠🫠

TW:// angry sex so MDNI, bratty reader, annoying as fuck reader, possessiveness if you squint, choking, bulge kink, vulgar words and language, usage of pet names (good girl, bitch, slut etc..), thigh fucking. NOT proofread. Lmk if I missed anything!!

ALSO I FORGOT I HAD THIS ANON ASK IN MY DRAFTS TEEHEE here u go pookie 🫶

Fucking brat.

You’d like to say you don’t know how you got in this situation. But see, that’d be a lie.

The day started like any other. But that quickly changed, as seemingly everything got on your fucking nerves. And Niki did not know why. You weren’t on your period- you had met him know that (by snapping at him that you weren’t). You had a good night of rest, and Niki knew he hadn’t done anything because he’s carrying on with the routine he’s imprinted in his mind, and you’ve never been angry at him for that before.

So he was really confused, to say the least. And as the day progressed, you only became more bratty. More independent. Which, in hindsight, should’ve shown how the night would go. But all Niki wanted was to make you feel better. So he dealt with the snarky responses, the groans of frustration and the constant eye rolls. He powered through, as today was probably just a bad day. His turning point would boil over soon enough though…

“I don’t fucking know?” You retort, venom dripping through your teeth. Niki sighs, pushing through.

“Baby..” he tries a new approach, slowly walking to your stiff body. His hands find your waist, and he pulls you slowly to him, pressing you against his body. His breathing calm, hands cold and eyes wider. You, still breathing fire, try to push him away, but you both know you don’t really want him to.

“Want me to make you feel better?” His voice is soft when he speaks, edging his face closer to yours. You scoff.

“I don’t care.” You shrug. He nods, gently wrapping his hand in yours, interlocking fingers as he leads you to your shared bedroom. He takes you to the bed, laying you down on your back, hovering over you. His lips find yours, in a slow kiss that turns more desperate.

He begins a trail of kisses down your jawline, to your neck, nibbling at the pulse, before making his way below. His hands bunch at the hem of your (his) shirt, lifting it as his kisses progress to your abdomen. You sit up slightly so you can pull the shirt off completely, leaving you bare, the cold air awakening your nipples. He stops at where your pajama shorts start, seeking silent permission with his eyes.

You tsk. “I haven’t stopped you yet?” He takes that as a yes, ripping your shorts down your legs. He’s internally shocked, seeing the sight of your bare pussy. You weren’t wearing panties. “Well?” Your hands clasp onto his hair, pulling his head down. Niki feels his blood spike, anger rising silently, almost as if it wasn’t there.

His tongue laps at your folds, awakening your pussy. Then, with no warning, his lips grasp your clit, sucking harshly. Your legs twitch, your thighs closing around his head mercilessly. A loud, short moan erupts from your throat.

“Give me more…” even now you’re still demanding. Niki allows you to take control, planning on tiring you out until you’re not longer a rude girlfriend, but you only seem to be getting worse now you’re getting your way again. Shit, Heeseung Hyung is right. Niki does spoil you.

Niki’s fingers trail along your entrance, and your hips buck into his face more. “Don’t fucking tease me..” with that, he elicits a moan out of you again when he shoves his middle and index finger inside at once. “Fuck!” You exclaim. Pulling his head back, you glare at him. “Prep me next time, fuck.”

He continues to ignore that, admitting to himself that was a moment of pettiness. He did not like that fact you pulled his away, just to shove back where it was. The breaking point was when you tried degrading him. “My little fucking slut. Eating me out ‘cause I’m angry. Maybe you should’ve have been a fucking lest today.”

And just like that, Niki rips his head away from your cunt, opening your legs wider. You groan, that turns into a pained whimper as Niki lands a slap to your cunt. “Shut the fuck up.” You’re gagged.

Niki gets off the bed, stripping himself of his clothes, before returning to his previous position.

“What the hell are you-“

“What did I say?” His voice cuts through yours, and you, as if a stubborn child, plop on your back, arms folded, huffing in annoyance. “Keep quiet if you want me to even think about letting you cum.”

“I’m going to cum.” You snap back.

“Not with this fucking attitude you’re not.” His voice replicates yours, and you take offence to it, as if that’s not how you’ve been speaking all day to him. When you don’t have a response, he hums. “Already doing better.” His hand wraps around his cock, stroking it a few times to get it really hard, before lining his tip to your entrance. You breath hitches, waiting for the stretch, but huff again when you don’t get it.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Beg.”

“I’m sorry? What?” Your voice is laced with shock. “Beg?” You mock.

“Beg me to even slide the tip in.” Niki teases his tip along your slit, applying pressure every now and then. At the lack of response, he rests his cock on your public bone as his hands grab the outside of your thighs, slamming them together around his shaft. He starts rocking his hips, his body meeting your thighs as he fucks himself with your thighs, barely scraping your clit as his balls slam against your entrance, which is already leaking with arousal.

Niki’s head falls back, the sensitivity getting to him as he becomes more vocal, little groans leaving from his chest.

“Put it in..” you whine, attempting to pull your thighs away, but he’s too strong.

“Beg me to.” He repeats, unbothered. “Or I’ll just cum like this and leave you to your own fingers. You can finger yourself as long as you can, not even reaching to your orgasm because you’re so pathetic to point you need me for everything.”

“Fuck! Whatever. Please.” Niki doesn’t relent, your clit throbbing with need as he continues to use your thighs for his own satisfaction.

“You don’t want to fucking cum?” He chuckles mockingly. “Fine by me.” He speeds up even more, which gets you more desperate.

“No please! I want to cum. I need to cum! I want you inside! Please fuck me. Need it so bad— please!” You relented, your need to feel him overpowering everything else. He stops straight away, wrenching your legs apart again.

“Was that so fucking hard?” He spits as he slams his cock in one go. He bottoms out quickly, giving you the courtesy to adjust. He doesn’t give you long though, adamant on fucking the brat out of you.

His hips pull back to the point he almost slips out, before he slams back in, jolting your body, bouncing your tits. He continues that a few more times until he works you both up a bit more.

“So fucking rude. All day, so rude to me as if I wasn’t doing everything to help you.” His frustration fuels his stamina even more, thrusts hard and merciless, knocking the wind out of you. “Did this shit wrong, did that wrong. Was never enough for your bitchiness.” Loud, shaky gasps and whines left your mouth, feeding on every word he throws at you, causing your cunt to throb even more.

“You dirty girl. Clenching on my cock like a hungry whore. Be glad you’re even getting it. Should just cum in you and fuck off.” His mouth only releases dirty words, the smell of sex quickly flooding the atmosphere.

“G-gonna,” you find difficulty remembering how to speak, mind only on Niki and his big dick.

He laughs again, sneering at you, ostracising you. “Already fucked stupid and I’ve barely even started.”

“Gonna c-cum.” Your voice is whiny, pleading. Your eyes widen in desperation, scared he’ll deny you of the pleasure. “Please, god. Baby, please let me fucking cum. Want to make a mess on you, fucking please.” Your voice is heaving, heavy sighs and desperation flooding your speech.

“Make a mess on me, hm? Wanna coat my cock with your slick? Decorate our sheets with your liquids?” He asks, hands creeping along your body. One finds itself wrapped around your neck, applying pressure every few seconds before realising. The other palms your lower abdomen, causing you to cry out in pleasure as he feels his bulge, pressing it even tighter in your hole. “My pretty cocksleeve. My stupid whore. You’re all fucking mine.” You nod, albeit with difficulty due to Niki’s hand, but you nod needily.

“You’re cocksleeve. Your whore. Want all of it— please!” Your hands grasp his biceps for support, feeling unsteady as his hips bash into yours without much thought.

Niki suddenly pulls out, and before you get the chance to ask why, he flips you into your stomach, manhandling you so the side your face is pressed against the pillow, your ass lifted as high as your arch in your back will allow. Niki lands a few slaps to each of your ass cheeks, before sliding in once more. This new angle reaches deeper, and you both collectively moan loudly. Both his hands rest on your hips, fucking into you from behind as your moans are muffled by your hair and pillow.

“Want to cum?” He asks.

You nod quickly. “Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes—“ your eyes roll back, pussy exploding all over Niki’s cock as you tremble through your orgasm, riding it out as he fucks you through it, prolonging it. “Fuck yes—! Thank you so much, thank you so fucking much, baby.” You thank him, before the overstimulation overwhelms you, and you whine again.

“I’m gonna cum.” Niki announces, hands everywhere, before one again wraps around your throat, pulling your body up from the bed, flushed against your back whilst the other works his fingers over your puffy clit. “You’re gonna cum with me.”

You shake your head. “T-too sensitive.” You beg.

“You’re going to cut with me or I pull out.” You nod, arching your back so he hits you G-spot once more. His tip abuses that soft pad, working your way to your other orgasm as he speeds up, including his fingers. He keeps this up, until he presses his hips flush against your ass, shooting his hot whiteness deep inside of you, more seeping out as your orgasm prolongs once more. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight, baby.” He sighs, panting as he continues riding your highs together.

“Mm-fuckkkk.” You’re absolutely fried. Your body plops onto the bed once more when Niki lets go of you, legs shaking and quivering as you forget to do anything else but lay.

“Feeling better?” You nod at his question. “You’re not going to be a bitch anymore?” He asks you again. You shake your head. “Good girl.” Niki doesn’t expect anything more from you, and you’ll most likely apologise for it tomorrow when you’re in the right mindest, most likely resulting in your kneeling between his legs.

I literally forgot this existed…I’m so sorry what the fuck.

perm taglist — @jyikeu @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

[boyfhee]

MASERATIㅤ───────ㅤ재이

✶ 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍ㅤ｡⠀bf ! jay, est. rel, slightly suggestive

you're focusing on the road & jay is focusing on you. ( 868 )

╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯��..ㅤ new work after so long omg this is a bit rusty >< hope u enjoy it nonetheless

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀⭑ rbs&feedback ♡

jay can't help but fixate his eyes on you as you drive the car— his car, slick black maserati— well, now yours too. he knows by the subtle smile on your lips that you're aware of his little staring game and, he's knows that you love the fact that he's obsessed.

“again, i could've driven us back,” he insists, leaning back against the seat with his eyes travelling to the ring on your finger. a shy smile makes its way to his lips.

you huff softly, giving him a brief glance before focusing back on the road. “you can trust me with this beauty.”

“i do trust you,” a swift reply, as if the words were waiting on the tip of his tongue to be said. the car is the last thing he has to worry about anyway. “it's just that you look prettier as the passenger princess.”

he notices the way your lips curl into a smile, the way you mumble something in response that he fails to catch because he's too busy admiring you.

unknowingly, he's staring at you again—how the setting sun is casting its rays onto you, the way your hair is tousling in the cool breeze, your neck adorned with a dainty gold necklace that's being reflected off the golden hues off the evening.

“you're staring again,” you chuckle, feeling his gaze on you.

and he simply shrugs, still looking at you shamelessly. “can't help when i've got the prettiest angel right beside me,”

you look peaceful.

your hands guiding the steering and changing gears with practiced ease, the way a quiet laugh rolls off your glossy lips at his words— he's dying for a glance, but you're looking at the road, and then it's as if the heavens heard his prayers when you turn your head towards him, giving him a smile that makes him go haywire. you're doused in warmth and he swears, he's falling for you all over again.

“you're beautiful,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for his words to reach your ears. “and i want to kiss you senseless but you're driving,”

your heart almost skips a beat at his words, cheeks heating up at just the thought of his implications. it almost takes you back to the quick & messy makeout session you had in the parking lot earlier this noon, the way the cramped space of the car made you more hot and bothered, and how his hands traced your curves—

“imagining it already, doll?” he smirks, words laced with a seductively teasing tone. his hands slowly trail up one of your thighs, feeling you shiver under his touch. “i think you should focus on the road,”

you try, you do, but it's just so damn hard when he gives your thigh a light squeeze. you know he's messing with you and it's working. you're a mess, letting out a soft gasp, torn between driving home and pulling over somewhere discreet.

he chuckles at your reactions, enjoying your flushed face and nervous eyes. you shoot him a quick glare but he doesn't let up, trailing his hand to the slit of your dress before you end up slapping his hand away.

“jay—” you speak in annoyance once you stop at the red light. “you're going to get us crashed!”

“that's why i told you to focus on the road, angel,” he shrugs innocently, the action betraying the mischievous glint in his eyes. “or am i distracting you?”

your eyes settle on the traffic light, ignoring his words, waiting for the signal to turn green.

“oh come on angel, are you sulking now?” he huffs at the pout on your lips, one that makes him want to kiss you even more.

and you mumble under your breath. “no,”

he shakes his head, gently grabbing your chin to make you face him before bringing his lips down to yours in a searing kiss. it turns out yet again that you can't stay mad at him, not when he's kissing you like you're the oxygen he needs to breathe.

and just when the lights go green again, he pulls back, much to your disappointment, whispering against your now swollen lips. “promise i'll make it up to you when we're home,”

[seungcheorry]

if you look closely, jihoon's hair is still damp. he no longer smells like sweat, his post shower lotion soothing your senses as you hold him in the middle of a random hotel room.

jihoon doesn't hold you back with the strength he usually does, but it's okay - two whole days performing can drain anyone's energy, to be honest. so you don't say a thing; instead, you let jihoon rest his head against your shoulder, sighing when he feels your fingers snaking up the bare skin of his back, resting on the nape of his neck and caressing the hair there.

there's not a single noise in the room, you can clearly hear jihoon breathing, body pressed against yours in the most intimate way he could possibly allow - because seeing him like that, raw like that, is way more intimate than sex itself.

"you wanna go to bed?", you ask in a whisper.

jihoon doesn't answer, but he takes his phone from his pocket though, slightly moving his face so he's now resting his cheek on your shoulder. he taps a few times, and suddenly a slow beat melody starts to play from his phone.

maybe he didn't hear you. maybe he decided to ignore you.

but as the song enters it's chorus, jihoon slides his fingers down your arm, grabbing your hand. he presses a kiss to your collarbone, pulling you to the bed. he climbs it first, still holding his phone, but quickly working on getting under the white covers, head resting against the pillows.

jihoon rests his phone beside his shoulder and looks at you as if you know what to do; and you do, actually. so you get in the bed as well, pulling the covers protectively up to your shoulders. you both turn to your side, facing each other.

under the covers, jihoon grabs your hand, holding it as he closes his eyes and drifts to dreamland, where he's probably gonna meet you too.

[ivryne]

MOMMENTS OF BLISS ⟢ caleb x fmr

warnings caleb, mdni, caleb n mc doing the boombayah lol

summary Caleb was determined to make you remember him before leaving for his mission tomorrow.

my first ever smut n fic abt l&ds PLS TELL ME UR OPINION ABT IT GUYS IM NEW TO THIS (im a raf main but srsly caleb is something else n i need him like NOW)

Radiant stars clung unto the night like specs of dust, covering the vast skies with seas of glitter. Today was Caleb's last night before returning to Skyhaven. Soon he would be conducting a long term mission that will delay any upcoming visits. So of course, he had to make you remember him in his future absence.

Creaking sound from the bed was echoing through concrete walls of your chambers. The Colonel pulses within you, moving with a rough and steady motion in the place where you were connected.

The flame igniting in the pit of your stomach was inextinguishable. Each stroke igniting the blaze of your carnal desires from within. Arms wrapped itself along Caleb's neck as scratches scarred the muscles in his back.

The Colonel hissed and his pace quickened in response, earning a sharp gasp from his beloved. "Like that, sweetheart?" His breath hot and heavy, sending a shiver down your arched back. Wet kisses trailed from your earlobe to the curve of your chest, before you feel a slight pressure on the supple skin.

The purple tinge was far from discreet. Caleb smirked at the little mark he created before aligning his vision upon your flushed visage. His sharpness was kissing your entrance like there was no tomorrow, dragging deeper and faster. It was overwhelming but you couldn't help but want more.

"Caleb..." The way you yearned his name unleashed something in him. His fingers grasp your chin, locking his gaze with yours as his tongue hovered over yours, dissipating any remaining space between the two bodies.

"So-" Kiss. "So-" Kiss. "Sweet." Kisses upon kisses, your lips swollen from his display of love that graced your flaming figure. "Can't let-" His grunt rang over your ear canals as you clenched underneath. You could tell that triggered a reaction out of him because the grasp he had on your waist tightened, leaving crescent moons on the epidermis of your skin.

He seeps into you deeper, but his pace was slowly dissipating. You knew he was close, and so were you. "Can't let anyone else have you." He moaned your name. "My-fuck-my princess." You pulled him even closer, your legs wrapped his waist, urging him more. "Ca-Caleb, mh-close."

"Right after you-fuck-you know what you're doing to me, baby ah-" His sentence was cut short as you sealed his words with your lips. Flesh on flesh, completely vulnerable before each other. Intimacy overflowed amidst the peak of twilight. Two lovers wrapped themselves with each other as they climbed down their highs in a sync melody.

The orange hue of the heavens was a reminder for them that their bliss were coming to an end. But for now, just for a few more hours, you ignore the demanding orders of day. Focusing on your Caleb in your arms, his head nuzzled on yours, leaving a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling you closer as he dozed on his last peaceful rest with his home.

©️ ivryne 2025, don't repost, copy, or translate

[innorality]

could you do satoru coming home with a huge scar on his stomach after not contacting his gf for weeks and then reassuring her with intimacy please?

HEAVEN CAN WAIT — G. SATORU

cw : sad in the beginning, afab reader, unprotected, p in v, honestly very cute sex nothing too kinky

a/n : tysm nonnie you gave me the opportunity to use this song as a title finally 🥹 also this idea is so cute like yes pls soft vanilla "I missed you sex" with satoru #needthat !!! also #satoruisalive I believe in it 💔 oh and I'm so sorry this feels very rushed and is not proofread :(

wc : 1335 words 😼

empty. cold. that’s how his side of the bed felt at the moment. it had been weeks since you last saw him, and days since his last message. your eyes stayed glued to your screen, rereading his final words over and over again.

"i luv youuu"

cold tears slipped down your cheeks. you weren’t even sure if they were from grief or from your irritated eyes after staring at the screen for so long without blinking. deep down, you knew the truth—you weren’t dumb. this was bound to happen one day. but you weren’t ready to accept it yet. you wanted to stay in denial just a little longer.

satoru was supposed to be the strongest. so why hadn’t he come home?

with a shaky breath, you shut your phone off and set it aside. hugging his pillow tightly, you buried your face into it—only to realize it didn’t even smell like him anymore.

silent sobs wracked your body as exhaustion finally overtook you.

but in the dead of night, a noise startled you awake.

footsteps.

first near the front door. then in the living room. the kitchen.

and now… heading toward your bedroom.

afraid, you hid under your blanket like a child. you didn’t know if it was reflex or true fear—because honestly, after losing the man you loved, life had lost all meaning.

the door slid open, and you held your breath.

then, a voice.

"baby?"

satoru.

your heart stopped, then raced. it was him. the way he said your name, the way his voice carried through the room—you had missed it more than words could express. before you could think, you jumped out of bed and ran straight into his arms, clutching him as if he might disappear again.

he hugged you back just as tightly.

"where… where the hell were you?! you don’t know how worried i was, how much i cried! i thought you were—"

his lips met yours, silencing your frantic words with a soft peck.

"now, now," he murmured against you, his tone laced with that familiar teasing warmth. "i’m here, and that’s all that matters, pretty."

you pouted, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his chest, holding him closer. but then your fingers brushed against something different—a rougher patch of skin around his stomach.

a scar.

your breath hitched. "how did you..."

he turned away slightly, avoiding your gaze. guilty. he didn’t want to talk about it.

so you didn’t push.

instead, he gently eased you back onto the bed, his lips finding yours again, slow and deliberate.

"i was this close to dying," he murmured between kisses, trailing from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck. "but i remembered you were waiting at home for me..." his words sent a shiver down your spine as his kisses grew deeper, needier.

"and i decided that heaven could wait."

you let out a breathless giggle, threading your fingers through his white locs."you think you’re going to heaven?" you teased, tugging playfully at his hair. "what a joke."

swiftly, he unbuttoned the blouse you had on and grabbed a handful of your breast, massaging it gently while sucking and nibbling on your neck to create a colorful bruise. sweet moans of his name slid out of between your lips against your will and he simply smirked at them.

"I know you cried, and I know you were cold," his eyes bored into yours, "but now that I'm here, I promise I won't ever leave again." and this time, you're the one that closed the space between your lips. you knew that his promise wasn't true at all, but you decided to ignore that fact and let yourself believe it for the span of a single night. in the heat of the moment, your hand slid down his chest and onto his pelvis, before sneaking its way into his pants, stroking his erection sensually.

satoru moaned into your mouth before taking this bold action of yours as a sign to give you pleasure aswell, his hand rubbing your pussy through your thin panties. "Oh shit- yeah, just like that, 'toru.." your head fell to the side as his hand slid into your panties, rubbing up and down your slit to collect some of your wetness before rubbing tight and quick circles onto your clit, making you needily clench around nothing.

meanwhile, your hand was still skillfully rubbing his cock, thumb rubbing on his tip making him jolt up from the sudden intense pleasure. satoru bit his lip before penetrating you with two of his digits, making you gasp in utter shock and awe. your breath followed the rhythm of his fingers that he pumped in and out of you, as you sped up the speed of your own hand.

as expected, you felt orgasm build up pretty quickly, and as you were of the edge of climaxing, you stopped him. "stop, stop! 'toru, stop it," and he quickly halted his movements, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort or pain. "I'm sorry baby, did I hurt you? I'm so fucking sorry, fuck-" you interrupted him, "no honey, I just..." you bit the inside of your cheek, "after all this time, I wanna cum on your dick, not your fingers..." and you felt his cock twitch at your words. he stared at you in shock before his expression turned into a lustful smile.

and before you even realized it, he had taken your hand out of his pants, before taking said pants off along with your panties in a span of a second. impressive.

"you know baby," he rubbed up and down your slit with the tip of his cock, "even though I won't go to heaven, I'll make sure you do," he aligned his tip with your entrance. "what do you mean?" he pressed a quick kiss against your lips. "I'll take you there myself." and with that, he bottomed out inside you in one swift motion.

your jaw dropped and you instinctively closed your eyes to embrace the familiar sensation of him inside you, but he tapped your cheek with his finger to get your attention. "eyes on me love." and so you obliged, opening your eyes to be met with an expression that seemed to be the results of a love and lust mix.

the sound of his hops meeting yours over and over again made you delirious along with the sensation of his cock claiming your insides and the intense eye contact you held with satoru. at some point, satoru can't hold in anymore—he whines and moans into your ear, whispering confessions such as "fuck– I love you too much, baby-" and "I missed this so bad... holy shit, yeah- I need this- oh fuck, yeah.." which did nothing but turn you on even more.

your hand went straight to your clit to rub it when you felt your orgasm building up again. satoru chased your high as much as you did, using his six eyes to hit all those gummy spots that made you see stars. "fuck- m'cumming, m'cumming!" you couldn't hold back your voice as your orgasm crashed over you without a warning. you struggled to keep your eyes on him as you twitched and shook with the intensity of the orgasm, as it had been weeks since you deemed yourself worthy enough to feel pleasure.

satoru's orgasm followed suit, shooting long ropes of cum into your womb, as your tight grip pulled strings of moans of your name out of his mouth.

as you both calmed down, satoru pulled his cock out and flopped on his back next to you.

a comfortable silence fell upon the both of you before you broke it, "you know," he hummed in acknowledgement, "you were right." his head whips to the side to look at you, who was already turned towards him. "what about?", you smiled, looking at the ceiling, "you did take me to heaven, after all."

you crawled on top of him to kiss his scar, making him feel a bit tingly. he patted your head, "and I'd do it all over again just for you, love."

[inkedtension]

He looks exhausted when he walks in—a hectic week altogether—tie loose, hair a mess, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. You only get a proper kiss before he mumbles something about freshening up, leaving you standing there, needy and restless, watching him disappear into the bathroom.

When he comes back, he’s shirtless, hair damp, towel lazily slung around his neck. He settles on the bed against the headboard, long legs stretched out, a book in his hand. The glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over his chest, the definition of his collarbones, the slope of his abs. And yet, he doesn’t seem to notice the way your gaze lingers.

You’re curled up at the edge of the bed, watching him, sulking a little. He must feel it, must sense the heat of your stare, because he barely glances up from his book before tilting his head toward you.

“Come here, baby.” His voice is low, lazy, but there’s something in it that makes your stomach tighten. “Sit on me.”

You first didn't understand if he meant his face or his lap, when he takes off his shorts is when you understand.

Your breath catches. “Aren’t you tired?”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “And? C'm on, you know both you and I want it.”

That was enough to make warmth pool at the base of your spine. He sets the book aside for a second, beckoning you with his fingers.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice like honey, thick and coaxing. “Missed you.”

It’s enough to make you move before you can think better of it, before you can let the last bit of hesitation keep you away. As soon as you settle onto his lap, his hands find your waist, taking down your panties as you lift your hips up.

He lifts you slightly, making you sit on his cock, it doesn't completely fit, of course, thumbs stroking your skin through the fabric of your shirt as his tip teases that spot.

He picks up the book again, but his eyes flicker down to yours,

“You gonna behave while I read?”

You shift slightly, just enough to make his grip tighten.

His chuckle is low, teasing. “Didn’t think so.”

He picks up the book again, pretending to be absorbed in it, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens when you shift just a little.

“You comfortable, darlin'?” he murmurs absently, eyes flicking over the pages, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You hum, pressing your palms to his bare chest, tracing slow circles over his skin. “Mhm,” you breathe, leaning in, brushing your lips over his jaw. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move—just keeps reading like you’re not practically melting against him.

So, you move. Just a little. A slow, innocent shift, dragging your body against his like you’re just trying to get comfortable. His fingers twitch against your waist.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

You try again, shifting higher, rolling your hips ever so slightly before sinking back down, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck.

His jaw tenses, his breath catches—just for a second—but he keeps his face hidden behind the book, stubbornly ignoring you.

“Baby,” you whine softly, dragging your lips along the column of his throat, your fingers slipping into his hair. He’s so warm, so solid beneath you, and the way he’s acting like he doesn’t care makes heat spark in your stomach.

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back just enough to let you nuzzle into him, but his voice stays even. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You shift again, slower this time, your body pressing flush against his. His hands slide down, palms warm against your thighs now, holding you in place—but not stopping you.

“You’re ignoring me,” you pout, rolling your hips ever so slightly.

He lets out a low hum, flipping a page with maddening calm. “Am I?”

“Mmhm,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear now. “Feels mean.”

His grip tightens, his fingers flexing, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t stop you. He just lets you move, lets you tease yourself against him while he hides behind the book like you’re not driving him insane.

Finally, after another slow shift of your hips, he exhales sharply, his fingers pressing into your skin. “You having fun, sweet thing?”

You grin, pressing your forehead against his. “Maybe.”

You keep moving against him, slow and teasing, pressing yourself closer, but he doesn’t give in. Doesn’t acknowledge the way your body rolls against his, how your hands roam over his chest, fingertips tracing over his collarbones, his shoulders, the muscles in his arms.

He just keeps his book in front of his face, pretending to be unaffected, though his grip on your waist tightens each time you shift.

Still, you don’t stop.

You press your lips to the curve of his jaw, down his throat, your breath warm against his skin. Nothing. Another slow roll of your hips. Nothing. His chest rises a little quicker, but he keeps reading, keeps ignoring the way you’re growing needier by the second.

So you pull back.

Lift off of him completely, his hands falling from your waist as you shift onto your knees in front of him. He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his gaze burning into you. Like he isn’t gripping the book just a little too tight.

And then—slowly, deliberately—you pull your shirt over your head. Let it fall somewhere on the bed before you turn around, completely bare.

This time, when you sink on him again, when your skin presses against his, warm and soft, he sucks in a quiet breath. It’s subtle, barely audible, but you hear it—the smallest groan, low in his throat, like he’s finally letting himself react, just for a second.

You smirk, leaning back against his chest, your bare back skin meeting his warmth. His hand finds your waist again, palm splayed across your stomach now, going lower, caressing your public hair, fingers pressing in ever so slightly, then, creeping up to your breasts.

But still—one hand stays on the book, his eyes flickering over the pages like he isn’t affected, like he doesn’t feel the heat of your body against his.

Then—slowly, lazily—his free hand moves up, reaching for the band holding your hair in place. A gentle tug, and your ponytail loosens, hair spilling over your shoulders, cascading down your back.

He exhales, fingers threading through the strands, brushing them over one shoulder before his palm rests lightly against your collarbone. His lips ghost the side of your head, warm and teasing.

You lift again, rolling your hips, teasing yourself against him, but he’s too big—he doesn’t completely fit, and the realization sends a frustrated whimper past your lips. You try again, sinking down only to an extent, but it’s not enough. The slow drag, the aching stretch—it’s driving you crazy.

And then—you feel it. The sharp inhale he takes, the way his fingers dig into your hips, his patience snapping in an instant.

His book is tossed aside without a second thought.

Before you can process it, he grips your waist and pushes you down onto him fully, a deep, strained groan rumbling from his chest as you gasp with a moan, hands flying to his thighs for support. The pressure, the overwhelming fullness—it has your whole body trembling.

Then, he moves.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your back, his warmth caging you in as he shifts, guiding you down onto your elbows and knees. You barely register the change in position before he presses against you from behind, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.

A strangled moan escapes you, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he moves again, unhurried but devastating, each motion precise, like he’s savoring the way you fall apart beneath him.

His breath is heavy, hot against the back of your neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” His voice is rough, strained, and when you whimper in response, he lets out a low groan, his hips pressing even deeper.

He leans forward, to hear you and to feel your skin better—his arm slides around your throat from behind, not tight, just enough to keep you close, to keep you exactly where he wants you.

His grip is firm but careful, fingers resting lightly against your pulse, feeling the way it races beneath his touch. He groans again, voice husky in your ear as he keeps moving, slow and deep, his other hand holding your waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “Take it. J—just like that.”

Your eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure, and that’s when you see it—the mirror straight ahead, mounted on the wall opposite the bed.

The sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

The reflection captures everything—his body towering over yours, his one hand gripping your waist and the other on your heck, the way he moves against you, desperate, like he can’t get enough. His expression is dark with hunger, his lips parted, chest heaving with each deep thrust, biting and kissing your neck.

You can’t look away.

A choked moan escapes your lips, louder than before, your gaze locked on the image before you. The way you tremble beneath him, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly—it sends another wave of heat through you.

Behind you, he notices.

His pace falters for a second, his head tilting slightly before he follows your gaze—and when he sees it, when he sees himself buried deep inside you, his body covering yours, your dazed eyes, drool from your lips, how you tighten around him, how your moans got louder, his grip on your waist tightens.

A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.

"You like that view, sweetheart?" His voice is husky, rough with desire.

You can barely manage a response, your moan answering for you, and that’s all it takes.

"Y—yeah? you like that baby?"

His pace shifts—harder, faster, so hard you start moving upwards away from him so he pulls you back on him, as if the sight of you together, of you unraveling beneath him, has pushed him over the edge. His breathing turns ragged, each thrust sending shivers down your spine, and you know he’s close.

So are you.

Your hands clench the sheets, your body arching, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until—

His name spills from your lips, broken and breathless, as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his grasp.

Only then does he let go.

With one final thrust, his body tenses, his own release following yours, a deep groan escaping as he collapses onto you, his weight warm and heavy, pressing you into the bed.

For a moment, neither of you move.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his breath warm against your shoulder, his arms still wrapped around you like he’s unwilling to let go just yet.

Then—softly, teasingly—he presses a lazy kiss to the side of your neck, his voice a deep murmur against your skin.

"Now that," he breathes, a satisfied smirk in his tone, "was a sight worth watching."

A lazy hum vibrates against your skin as he stays draped over you, his weight heavy but comforting, grounding you after the storm you both just weathered. His lips graze your shoulder, soft and lingering, before he finally shifts, rolling off you just enough to let you breathe.

But he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing is deep, still uneven, but his lips find your skin again, trailing slow, featherlight kisses along your shoulder, up to your jaw.

"You okay, sweetheart?" His voice is warm, thick with exhaustion, but there’s a hint of something else too—concern, devotion, the quiet way he always makes sure you’re alright.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he chuckles softly, his fingers brushing lazy circles against your bare skin.

"Did so well for me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

You sigh, sinking into his warmth, letting yourself melt as he shifts to sit up, reaching over to grab the blanket from the edge of the bed. With careful hands, he pulls it over both of you, tucking you close against him, his body still warm from exertion.

The weight of exhaustion tugs at your limbs, pulling you toward sleep, but just as you begin to drift, you feel it—

A slow, lazy touch trailing along your skin.

At first, it’s featherlight, almost absentminded, like he’s moving on instinct even in his half-asleep state. His fingertips trace delicate patterns along your stomach before slipping lower, pressing against you with a knowing intent.

Your breath hitches.

"Mm," he hums sleepily against your neck, his voice thick with exhaustion but still laced with that ever-present hunger. "Not done with you yet, sweetheart."

The words send a shiver through you, heat pooling where his fingers tease, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the way you react even with his eyes closed. His grip tightens around your waist, keeping you close as his lips press against the curve of your shoulder, a lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

"You can take one more for me, can’t you? I can’t believe I lived without this for a week.”

Usually, he takes his time, his mouth and hands working in tandem, drawing you apart piece by piece, only then do you come on his cock, but tonight, there was a crack in the routine.

He’s tired—so tired—and yet, not enough to resist.

Not enough to deny himself this.

His fingers dip lower, pressing against you, and when he feels the heat, the wetness waiting for him, he lets out a low, satisfied hum.

“I almost forgot,” he murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of your jaw, “how gorgeous you are like this. All flustered, sensitive and red and—”

He presses in, two fingers sliding deep, and the breath you take is sharp, stolen from your lungs.

“—so fucking wet for me.”

His fingers move with a practiced rhythm, slow but deliberate, coaxing you closer. His lips press against your shoulder, murmuring against your flushed skin, a litany of sweet nothings that only make the pleasure coil tighter inside you.

"That’s it, sweet, sweet cunt," he breathes, voice thick with exhaustion but dripping with satisfaction. "Let go for me… just like that."

Your head falls back against his shoulder, body melting into his as he works you through it, his touch unrelenting until he feels you come undone, trembling in his arms. He doesn’t stop until the last wave passes, until he’s sure he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from you.

Only then does he ease his fingers out, dragging them up over your thigh, slow and reverent, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. His other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, anchoring you against his chest, clean his fingers by tasting you.

"Missed you so much," he mutters into your hair, voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t think I can go a week without you again."

His lips press against your temple, soft and lingering, before he shifts, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over both of you. His warmth surrounds you, his touch still gentle as he strokes lazy circles into your hip, lulling you into a haze of post-bliss exhaustion.

"You good, sweetheart?" he asks, voice softer now, more tender. You nod sleepily, and he chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I’ve got you."

And with his arms wrapped around you, his breath steady and warm against your skin, you believe him.

[fxymi]

face down, i’m arrestin’ this bitch

cw: mdni(18+), mild degradation(?) michael’s just mean, infidelity, implied toxic relationship, doggystyle, multiple orgasms, ex bf! michael kaiser

ex bf!michael kaiser who is completely okay with leaving you full of tears and no explanation because “you’re not his problem anymore”

ex bf!michael kaiser who is more focused than ever on football and becoming better, without his whiny little girlfriend weighing him down

ex bf!michael kaiser who’s scrolling through instagram and decides to check up on your months after your break up, only to find that you’re with someone else now

ex bf!michael kaiser who thinks your new boyfriend is a complete loser and should die. hes not even jealous, he just feels disrespected that you’d move on in general, especially with that

ex bf!michael kaiser who shows up at your doorstep with no remorse and flowers. he’s giving you that same charming smile that somehow never falters. he ignores your protests and confusion and simply says, “i don’t think it’s fair that you’re replacing me with that shit excuse of a man. let me remind you what he’s trying to compete with.”

ex bf!michael kaiser who has your back arched, hands gripping the edge of your mattress and knees pressing deep into your sheets while he’s pounding your pretty pussy.

ex bf!michael kaiser who is so mean to you, spanking your ass and grabbing the flush of your hips. his breath his hot on the sensitive skin of your neck as he leans down. “look at you, fuckin’ slut, aren’t you schatz? letting me fuck you like this even after everything, even though you have a ‘boyfriend’ now.” his voice, in true michael kaiser fashion, has no remorse or sympathy. you manage out a weak whine.

“can’t respond while im stretching you out, can you?” he snickers.

ex bf!michael kaiser who’s cock just feels so good buried in your ass that you quite literally forget that he’s a horribly evil man and that you have a boyfriend now. you’re practically clawing at the sheets and your back is sore from how hard it’s been arching.

ex bf!michael kaiser who fucks the cum back into you. he doesn’t bother wiping your tears before he flips you over so he can get a better look at your flushed cheeks, trembling like and watery eyes. this is exactly how things should be. you crying stupid because of how good he’s making you feel. you’re not even thinking about your new man. ugh, even calling him that makes michael’s ego hurt and his stomach lurch. well he has to feel better and you have to pay the price for ever thinking you could replace him.

ex bf!michael kaiser who makes you cum multiple times that night. you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cried or how many positions he’s slapped and folded you into. your brain is wrought and severed with heat and each one of your limbs feels like straight putty.

ex bf!michael kaiser who makes sure to send your new boyfriend a picture of you asleep in your disheveled state.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Made Your Mark On Me

...a golden tattoo Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Your feelings for Dieter grow even stronger as you spend Christmas in London with him. Warnings: pov switching, christmas vibes, warren's a pos, pining, fluff, comfort, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f&m receiving), semi-public sex (in a dressing room), panty ripping, dieter's RICH, marijuana, alcohol, coke flashbacks, my google maps history knows a lot about the hyde park area of london Words: 7,800

A/N: Well folks, in true Gemini fashion, I've changed my mind. I know most of you voted for one mega chapter, but I think this arc is going to flow so much better as two. The next chapter is done, so expect that next week. My thanks to @devineconjuring for her eyes and dot eating and @schnarfer for her eyes and support. 💞

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist ✨✨✨

December 23

Early morning light seeps through the curtains. Dieter’s arm lays heavily draped over your waist, his breath steady against your neck. Just as you nestle closer into the warmth of his body, the silence is shattered by the beeping of his alarm. He stirs behind you, his arm tightening briefly before he reaches over to silence the intrusive sound. The mattress shifts as he sits up, and you instantly feel cold.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice deep with sleep. "I have to get ready for set."

When you roll over to face him, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

"You should go back to sleep," he whispers against your skin. "It's still early.”

You nod, already feeling the pull of slumber.

He kisses you once more before sliding out of bed. You watch through half-closed eyes as he stretches, his long, lean back rippling.

"I wish I could stay,” he whispers, bending over and cupping your face in his hands. "One more for the road,” he murmurs before giving you one last kiss.

He disappears into the bathroom. The shower turns on, and the steady sound of water flowing against the tiles helps you drift back to sleep.

—-

He wipes the condensation from the mirror, and the same brown eyes he’s known all these years stare back at him. They look different–not clouded under a druggy haze, not behind a red gloss after drinking too many glasses of expensive alcohol, not empty and hollow waiting for someone to focus on. They look bright, happy, and full of love. 

He dresses in the bedroom, careful not to wake you as he watches you nestled among the blankets, peacefully sleeping. He so badly wants to crawl back into bed and hold you close. But duty calls, and he knows the sooner he leaves, the sooner he can return.

One final day before the holiday break. He’s so glad you’re here–he couldn’t fathom not being with you for Christmas. Soon, he’ll have the whole week to spend entirely with you. He used to see these breaks as a reason to fly somewhere beautiful and far away with a suitcase full of drugs and drinks, maybe taking a pretty girl or boy–or both–with him. A reason to leave the stress of Hollywood behind, ignoring Christmas, where everyone is happy and full of love, and New Year’s, where everyone asks him how he’ll improve, as if they were calling him a fuck up. 

My, how times change. Now, domestic bliss swells in his heart when he pulls out two mugs, pouring himself a cup of coffee, leaving the sugar out for you. It’s a small gesture to make your morning better, and he’ll never tire of making you happy. 

In the living room, your robe lays in a heap on the rug, right where it fell from your shoulders last night. He picks it up, depositing it onto the chair by the bed before moving silently to your side. He’s careful not to disturb you as he leans over and leaves a kiss against your soft lips, slightly parted in slumber.

“I’ll be back soon, baby. I love you.”

—-

The sun shining in through the large windows warms you awake. Your mind clears, three softly whispered words echo through your head. The room feels empty without him, but you know there are only a few hours until you have a whole week with him. 

The smell of coffee and the leftover remnants of Dieter’s cologne tempt you out of bed. You choose his robe over your own, inhaling the scent of him before heading to the kitchen.

Signs of the night before are strewn amongst you as you enjoy your coffee on the couch–the same couch where your story with Dieter fundamentally changed. Two glasses of gin and tonic that have long gone flat sit on the table, a half-smoked joint lays in the crystal ashtray, and your phone sits on the chair, ignored since Dieter put the movie on. 

The corner near the window catches your eye and an idea lights in your mind and heart. Today, you’re going to get a Christmas tree for Dieter. After a quick shower and change of clothes, you bundle up under the warmth of his favorite brown coat and take the elevator down.

“Good morning, my lady,” Lamar greets you as you step out of the elevator. “Anything I can help you with on this lovely, cold December day?”

“Actually, yes,” you smile. “Dieter’s room is lacking a Christmas tree. Where can I get one? Preferably with lots of branches for ornaments?” “Ah,” Lamar’s eyes light up. “Leave that to me. I’ll get you two the finest tree in all of Britain. You just take care of the ornaments. I’ll get you a car.”

—-

“You’re needed on set in ten,” Court says with a sharp knock on his door.

“Alright,” he responds, sighing at his phone and staring at your last text.

I have a surprise for you when you get home.❣️

He can’t think about it too much. There’s a vital scene that he needs to get done before the break. Today has been filled with nothing but impatience and annoyance. He just wants to get back home to you.

Dieter takes a deep breath, pushing thoughts of you to the back of his mind. He needs to focus. What he has to do is crucial to the production, and he can't afford any distractions. Sometimes, he hates being an actor. 

The director calls action, and Dieter easily slips into character. But even as he delivers his lines, a part of him remains anchored to you back in that hotel room. To the feel of your lips, to the warmth of your body next to his, to the years of wanting you—and finally having you.

Hours pass in a blur of takes and retakes. Finally, the director calls it a wrap. Dieter hurries back to his trailer, shedding his costume and makeup as quickly as possible. And now, he has nine days with you.

—-

The door opens with a click and beep, and you quickly finish adjusting a branch before running to the entryway. 

Dieter lights up when he sees you, a wide, crinkling-eye-smile across his face.

“Hi, Sweets,” he says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you. "I’m so happy to see you.” He inhales your scent, his lips meeting the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

“Hi. I have a surprise for you,” you sweetly tease. “Close your eyes.”

He pulls back, his eyes squeezed shut, the dimple on his cheek sitting deep with his smile. 

You grab his hand and lead him into the living room, the thrum of anticipation and excitement growing louder inside you with each step. 

“Okay,” you whisper, positioning him just right. “Open your eyes.” His eyes flutter open, and his jaw drops when he takes everything in.

A large Christmas tree adorned with tiny white lights is set up in the corner of the living room. Under it, bags from Liberty London and Selfridges sit filled with ornaments. 

“I figured we needed a proper Christmas tree.“

“I-I… Sweets, this is… amazing.”

“Yeah?”

He turns to you, tiny tears prickling at the sides of his eyes. “Yeah. This is surreal.”

Your heart pounds at that word. Surreal. The implication of his words last night before you drifted to sleep. Love. Love surreal. 

“I know,” you respond. “But it makes sense, right?”

“Fully.”

He wraps his arm around you, and your head rests against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He sighs contentedly, the sound of it vibrating against your cheek.

“Shall we get changed into our finest robes and decorate it?” you suggest.

“I’d love nothing more.”

—-

Christmas carols softly play in the background as you unearth ornament after ornament from your shopping bags. He hasn’t decorated a tree in years, usually leaving it to his assistant to sort it out just because he feels obligated to have one. He often wondered what spending the holidays with you would be like. You always made things look so picturesque, always went above and beyond. He wanted that, and when he couldn’t have it, well, the holidays really never mattered.

The soft glow of the Christmas lights dance across your face as you carefully unwrap each ornament with wonder in your eyes. You’re so beautiful.

“Oh! I got these too,” you excitedly say, pulling a box of colored Christmas lights out of the bag. “I figured you love a colorful tree.”

You’re perfect.

—-

The tree is just what you hoped it would be, shimmering in the corner with a mix of twinkling white and rainbow lights. You’re proud of the ornaments you found that now cover it. A film camera for Dieter, a record player for you, a fuzzy raccoon for Dieter, a furry corgi for you, a basket of chips for Dieter, a cup of tea for you, and every single star-shaped ornament you could find.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?” you ask, sitting on the couch with the lights off, only sitting in the warmth of Dieter and the tree’s glow. He sparks the joint, the lighter and the tree reflected in his big, brown eyes. 

“Mm, we did,” he responds, blowing out a plume of smoke before laying down and placing his head in your lap. 

“This is nice,” you say as you reach down and grab the joint from his lips to take a hit. 

You play with Dieter's hair, occasionally trailing your fingertips along his jawline or tracing the shell of his ear. He leans over and stubs out the joint, grabbing your hand and planting a kiss against it. “I’m really happy you’re here. Surreal, right?”

“So surreal,” you whisper.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 24

Silver bells…

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you and Dieter sway to the crooning voices of Christmas carols. Dieter's arms are secure around your waist. You’re both clad in matching flannel pajamas. All you can feel in this moment is the warmth of his body and the joy inside you.

He pulls away with a wide smile lighting up his face. “I have something for you. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.” He takes your hand and leads you to sit down in front of the Christmas tree, where he pulls out a small, clumsily wrapped box from behind it. "I wrapped it myself.”

You tear off the Rudolph-themed paper and open the velvet box, revealing a golden chain bracelet adorned with delicate charms–a camera, a shooting star, a biscuit for your tea, a bee for your garden, a mixtape, and a pig with wings (“because when pigs fly, right?).

“I tried to find a charm for everything that made me think of you,” Dieter softly says. 

Running your finger over each one, you feel like finally, after all these years, someone truly sees you.

"It's perfect," you say, awe in your voice. “Thank you.”

You reach out your wrist to him, and he gently fastens the bracelet's clasp. You’re enamored by how the golden charms glisten in the light when you shake your wrist back and forth.

“Surreal,” Dieter says as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your inner wrist, just below the bracelet.

Slowly, he trails kisses up your arm. You shiver, your free hand coming up to tangle in his hair when he nuzzles into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder before he licks his way up to your lips.

His hand cups your face, his thick thumb softly caressing your cheek as his lips meet yours. He deepens the kiss before guiding you to lie back on the floor. You feel his warmth as he covers you. An unfamiliar emotion you haven’t felt in years swells in your heart. He pulls away, his eyes roaming over your face with a small smile, the Christmas tree lights twinkling in his eyes.

You unbutton your top before shrugging it off. He takes in the sight of you before he lowers his head and presses soft kisses along your collarbone. He makes a path down to the swell of your breasts, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

A gasp escapes your lips when his mouth closes over your nipple, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

Your back arches into his touch, Dieter’s lips curling into a smile against your skin as he trails kisses down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your legs. He wraps his fingers around the waistband of your plaid pajama pants before tugging gently. “It’s a shame. I loved matching with you, but these have to go, baby.” The flannel slides down your legs smoothly, his lips following the path, leaving a trail of warm kisses along your thighs.

He pauses at your knee, nuzzling the soft skin before continuing downward. When he reaches your ankle, a final kiss is pressed to the delicate bone before removing your pants.

He makes his way back up, his hands caressing your calves, knees, and thighs before he parts your legs and settles between them. His breath is warm against your inner thigh as he places sweet kisses there.

Brown eyes meet yours, the Christmas lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors inside his eyes as his tongue darts out and tastes you. His eyes flutter shut, a long, low groan vibrating against you as his tongue traces every fold and curve of you with reverent devotion. His fingers join in, parting you as he laps at your clit. 

Carding your fingers through his hair to urge him closer, your moans overpower the Christmas carols playing through the speakers.

Two thick fingers are slid inside you, slowly fucking you as your hips buck against his face. He hums against you, the sweet vibrations lighting you from within.

You’re panting for him, rolling your hips and clutching at your chest as his mouth and fingers work you. Just as you’re about to cum, he pulls back, making you whine at the loss. But before you can protest, Dieter’s already moving up your body.

The taste of you is left upon your lips when he kisses you, his tongue covered in your slick, licking against yours. You can feel the heaviness of him between your thighs, gently pressing against you. 

He breaks the kiss, pulling away to look into your eyes as he slowly pushes inside, both of you gasping and smiling. 

"You feel incredible," he sighs, peppering kisses along your jaw. "So perfect."

He languidly moves inside you, savoring the feel. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling as he rocks into you.

He’s so beautiful, lit by the Christmas lights–the glow makes him look almost ethereal. His broad shoulders cast shifting shadows as he moves above you. Your hands move down to the plush of his stomach, your nails raking across his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him into you deeper. He buries his face into your neck, groaning as he fucks into you faster.

“Dee,” you breathe before he lifts his head to kiss you again, swallowing your moans and gasping into your mouth. 

His movements falter as he gets closer. Your back arches as your whole body tightens and then trembles. You cry out his name as your orgasm flows through your body, setting you alight as your walls clench Dieter’s cock. The sensation pushes him over the edge as he groans your name, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. It’s so warm, the heat of it filling you.

You cling to him as he collapses on top of you, both your bodies quivering with aftershocks. Dieter softly kisses along your neck and jaw as you both catch your breath.

He lifts his head, glancing over at the clock above the doorway that now reads 12:01 AM.

“Merry Christmas, Sweets.”

“Merry Christmas, Dee.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 25

Steady breaths against your neck slowly wake you. Dieter's arms are wrapped around you, your bare skin pressed against his. You turn, careful not to wake him, drinking in the sight of him. His face is relaxed in sleep, long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His chaotic hair is even more mussed, a stray lock falling across his forehead. You reach out to gingerly brush it away before touching the glinting gold earring in his ear. A surge of affection lights your body. This moment–waking up with Dieter on Christmas morning in London–feels almost magical and unbelievable. You lean in, pressing your lips softly to his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his mouth.

He stirs, his brown eyes fluttering open. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he focuses on you. "Merry Christmas, baby," he says, voice deep with sleep. His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him.

You kiss him again, deeper this time. He responds eagerly, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as you begin to move your body against his.

He rolls you onto your back before entering you slowly, groaning at how wet and ready you already are for him.

“God damn,” he sighs as he slowly fucks you. “Merry Christmas to me. You’re the best gift ever.”

You have the most relaxed Christmas morning you’ve ever had. Dieter has spoiled you–piles of wrapping and tissue paper are strewn across the suite, and a pile of gifts lies next to you. Designer and vintage clothes, cute trinkets, sparkling jewelry, a hand-bound journal with your initial embossed on the cover, a crystal rolling tray, a new frame for “a photo of us.” Everything is perfect and so well thought out by Dieter.

The small stack of gifts from you is grouped next to him. He holds up the ALF plush you knitted for him, knowing it’s one of his favorite shows ever.

“I can’t believe you made me this. It's… amazing, baby. Definitely my favorite gift ever.”

“You said that to me last night when you stuck your dick in me. So it’s ALF and then me?”

His jaw drops before lifting to smile. “God, you’re funny.”

He looks around the room, taking in everything before he reaches for his iPad.

“So, I have something else for you, but it’s, uh,” he lifts his hand, nervously rubbing his neck. “It’s not here, and it’s not done yet."

You arch an eyebrow, looking at him with a hint of puzzlement.

He beckons you over with his finger. “Come here.”

You crawl through the sea of crinkly paper into his lap, the back of your head resting against his chest.

A video plays of an artist painting delicate stars around a woman who looks similar to you, emerging from shadows into a luminous golden space.

“This is Layla Profar. She’s an up-and-coming artist who uses pure gold in her paintings. I told her your story, and this is what she’s painting. For you. She’s been working around the clock to finish it.”

Tears well in your eyes at the thoughtfulness. Nobody’s ever done or given anything like this to you.

"This is how I see you,” he says, his voice low against your ear. “Stepping out from what held you back, coming into your own. Away from Warren. You're free now, Golden Girl.” You stare at the painting, seeing a mirror of your own journey, tears falling down your cheeks.

A sniffle and a small sob alert him to your tears. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

“That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl. Full of life and warmth and delight.” He nuzzles into your neck, leaving a soft kiss against your skin before he breathes you in.

You want to say the three words that spill out of your heart and up to your mouth, but you stay silent, quietly crying as he cradles you, gently rocking you back and forth.

“You like it, right?” he asks after a bit.

You choke out a laugh, turning to face him, tears still streaming down your face. His eyes search yours, a flicker of uncertainty in them.

“I love it,” you whisper. “Dee, this is the most thoughtful, beautiful gift anyone has ever given me.” Relief washes over his handsome face, a smile blooming across it. “Yeah?”

You reach up, cradling his head between your hands, the stubble of his jaw prickling against your palms. You seal your mouth over his in a tender kiss, trying to pour every ounce of emotion swelling in your chest into him. He crushes you against his broad chest, tightening his arms around you.

He pulls back, the small tears in his eyes mirror your own.

“Our first Christmas together, Golden Girl.”

—-

A small, sated smile still lights your face as you peacefully slumber next to him. He pulls you closer, marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

He thinks back on the past few days–decorating the Christmas tree together, exchanging gifts, making love under the twinkling lights, sharing meals and joints with easy laughter. It's the happiest he's ever been.

For the first time, the holidays truly feel special and magical, filled with joy and… love. Because he loves you, wholly and completely. He’s known it for so long. For years. But sharing this Christmas with you has only solidified what his heart already knew–you are his Golden Girl, his person, the one he wants to spend every Christmas, birthday, and lazy Sunday morning with for the rest of his days.

For so long, he thought he could never have this, never dared to imagine he deserved you. His life has been a whirlwind of chaos—film sets, red carpets, shallow flings, a failed marriage, pills of different sizes and strengths, empty bottles of alcohol. But then there was you–his beautiful, talented, funny friend who always saw past the celebrity. Who saw him.

He leaves a kiss against your forehead before he also falls asleep with a smile.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 26

Dieter shuffles behind you as you rub face cream on your cheeks, a towel wrapped around your body fresh from the shower you two shared.

“Are you sure we’ll be okay?” you ask

“I’m sure. They don’t care about all this,” he says, gesturing wildly, “and all the celebrity bullshit like they do at home.”

He thinks you like staying in, away from the prying eyes of the public. Still unable to realize how free you are from Warren’s influence and watchful eyes.

He remembers the first time he met you. He, Warren, and some friends were out celebrating his multi-episode arc on some procedural police drama. He spotted you across the hazy bar, surrounded by your girlfriends, your smile wide and your dress gold, sparkling under the dim lights.

He made his way over to you, the gravity of your pull too much for him to ignore. He asked you to dance, and you giggled, taking his hand. He pulled you close, and from that moment on, you’ve been the only girl he’s ever wanted. He told you he was an actor. You confided in him then that was always your dream. He felt brave, his self-esteem boosted by the new role. He couldn’t resist you, his lips seeking yours, cutting off your cheerful giggle, tasting the sweet alcohol left in your mouth.

And then… he went to snort some lines in the bathroom, only to return to find Warren spinning you across the dance floor, the same smile you gave him, the same kiss you shared now given to his friend.

He was too high to care that night. Funny how the lines of coke in that disgusting bathroom would come to haunt him for years.

Now, as he helps you shuffle into your jacket, turning you around to button it up before sweetly kissing you, those ghosts are replaced by a hopeful future with you.

“Come on, baby,” he says, grabbing your hand. “I want to take you shopping.”

—-

The wind is crisp against your cheeks as you and Dieter walk hand in hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin as you make your way towards Harrod’s.

“I’m so excited,” you beam as the grand building comes into view. You lead him to a window, pausing in front of it and taking in the festive display. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m glad I get to see this with you.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too.”

To call Harrod's busy on Boxing Day is an understatement. You’ve never seen such a whirlwind of activity before. Your and Dieter’s eyes light up as you both take everything in.

His hand never leaves yours as you weave through the crowds, getting lost in the maze of sections, taking in the displays and glittering lights.

"Look at these," you say, holding up a pair of plush, fuzzy slippers adorned with a smiling corgi face. "Aren't they adorable?"

“Get ‘em,” he smiles, his eyebrows rising above his sunglasses. “And get me a pair, too.”

—-

A kind shopping attendant named Phineas effortlessly holds on to the many bags and boxes piling up high.

“Oh, that’s so pretty,” you exclaim, pointing to an emerald green silk scarf adorned with delicate golden stars. Dieter plucks it from the display.

“I don’t really need it. I just thought it was pretty.”

“Yeah, but I want to see you in only this later tonight,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “It’ll look good against your skin.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you lead him into another section.

He loves spoiling you. He loves the way you get shy and flustered as he keeps adding more and more items to Phineas’s arms.

“I won't have enough room,” you sigh as he tucks a Judith Lieber Ticket to Space clutch under his arm. “Poor Phineas is suffering.”

“Bullshit,” he says with a doting smile. “I’ll mail it to you.” 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his “wallet”—a paper clip-secured stack of pounds and credit cards. He hands Phineas a platinum card and a stack of £50 notes. “Do me a favor, Phin. Get this all packaged up and delivered to the Mandarin for me. Keep the cash. Merry Boxing Day.”

“Yes, sir, thank you!” Phineas exclaims before he departs.

Dieter watches him leave, a roguish grin on his face. “Let’s go see what lingerie this place has to offer, huh?”

—-

Harrod's has a LOT of lingerie choices to offer… and a private dressing room. Dieter sits on a luxe blush pink velvet couch, waiting for you to appear from behind the curtain.

You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the matching bra and panty set you found. The dark blue fabric is almost sheer, and golden stars embroidered across the delicate lace shimmer as you check yourself out in the mirror. The bra cups lift and shape your breasts, the matching thong sits low on your hips. You’re going to drive Dieter crazy.

With a surge of confidence from how you look, you open the curtain and step out. Dieter throws his sunglasses off, his eyes widening and lips parting as he takes in the sight of you.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes.

You saunter over, standing in front of him. He throws his head back as he struggles to maintain his composure, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. When he looks at you again, his eyes turn dark.

“Turn around.”

You comply, slowly spinning to give him a view of your ass. He leans forward, placing a kiss against the supple shape of it. You chuckle, shaking your head at how needy he is for you.

“Fuck, you look so fucking good. Wish I could scoop you up in my arms and carry you out of here.”

He makes you feel confident, sexy, and… brave.

“Dee, we can be quick.”

A huge smile breaks across his face as he reaches forward, pulling you on top of him. He fumbles with the drawstrings of his pants, quickly pulling them down. He tangles the flimsy lace of the expensive thong in his hand before he rips it off.

“Oh my god! We haven’t bought that yet.”

“Don’t care, I’ll buy you ten more,” he growls.

He grips your hips, lifting you slightly before guiding you onto his hard length. You both groan as he fills you completely. His hands move to cup your ass, encouraging you to ride him.

“Fast, baby. Fuck me fast,” he groans before leaning forward and kissing you. His hands roam your body before he palms your breasts through the lace of the bra, his thumbs brushing over the hard peaks of your nipples.

There’s a thrill of potentially getting caught that makes you ride him harder, roll your hips with more force, and bite your lip to stifle your moans and sighs.

You’ve never done something like this before–so risque, so close to getting caught. The suspense pushes you over the edge. Your body trembles as you orgasm on his cock, squeezing and clenching, urging him to cum. Dieter follows right after, burying his face in your neck to muffle his groan as he spills inside you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing heavily. After a moment, Dieter chuckles softly. "Well, I think I liked that set.”

You giggle. “Me too. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Whatever designer that is, buy everything they have.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 27

You’ve been in London for five days, and tonight is the first night you’re actually leaving the hotel room for dinner. Yesterday, Dieter told you to surprise him and pick a dress, telling you he wanted to take you out on a proper date.

You’ve been holed up in the guest bedroom, digging through various Harrod’s bags and boxes, pulling out makeup, hair products, and jewelry to complete your outfit.

A light knock on the door catches your attention as you pull on your brand-new boots.

“The car’s here,” Dieter says at the door. “Reservation’s in twenty, Sweets.”

“Coming!” you shout.

—-

Dieter buttons up his plaid wool jacket, his fingers freezing on the last button when he looks up and sees you. The gold mini dress you’re wearing clings to your body, reminding him so much of the dress you wore the first night you met. The hem falls mid-thigh, your legs clad in black tights that end in knee-high boots. But what really catches his eye is the green scarf covered in golden stars that you’ve tied around your neck. He knew it’d look gorgeous against your skin. He wants to say fuck it and cancel the reservation right then and there.

“Wow, you look stunning, baby.”

“Thanks,” you shyly respond, smoothing down the front of your dress. “Is it too much?” You ask, glancing down at the top swell of your breasts framed by the v-neck neckline.

“Fuck no,” he chuckles. “It’s perfect. Though, maybe we should stay in.”

“No, Dee. I’m starving, and you promised me a proper date.”

He pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re right, let’s go.”

—-

The plates have long been cleared, and your glass is filled with more melted ice than gin and tonic. You haven’t been on an actual date in years.

Warren used to wine and dine you, take you to the fanciest restaurants, and surprise you with flowers. Then, your nights spent together dwindled, and the bouquets disappeared. It was then up to you to grow your own flowers.

The streets outside the restaurant are busy. Londoners walk, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats, clouds of condensation puffing out from between their lips. You wonder if they’re all as happy as you are right now. Your hand in Dieter’s as he regales you with a story about a mismatched dance belt fiasco from his theatre days.

The candlelight flickers in his bright brown eyes and the dimple carved in his cheek is deeper as he smiles. He’s so gorgeous, it’s hard to believe it took you this long to give yourself this moment. Your lips tingle when you think about leaning over and kissing him, but you don’t. You’ll thank him for this night once you get back home.

“Dee,” you interrupt as he continues his story. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you get the check?” You ask before glancing around and leaning in closer to him. “I’d like to go back home and suck your cock.” 

The table clangs and clatters as Dieter stands quickly, throwing a large wad of money on the surface before grabbing your hand. 

—

As soon as the elevator doors close, you’re on him, your lips capturing his.

“Whoa, baby,” he chuckles as you suck on his lower lip.

“Want… to… thank… you…” you say, punctuating each word with a kiss.

“Fuck.”

He lifts you into his hold, your legs wrapping around his waist.

The elevator dings open, and he stumbles out. Your kisses turn to licks along his jaw and down his neck. You’re already moaning for him, and he fumbles with the key card until, finally, the door beeps and swings open.

You’re already sliding down his body when the door shuts, hands trailing over his stomach as you sink to your knees, your fingers working at his belt buckle.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, head falling back against the wall as you free his hardening cock from his pants.

He lets out an audible gasp when you look up at him through your lashes, a coy smile playing on your lips before you take him into your mouth.

He’s not a strong man. He’s thought of this so many times throughout the years. Your mouth all over him, not his spit-covered palm. The sound of your moans vibrating against his cock as you take him in deeper, not his soft whimpers as he jerks himself off. Your pretty face covered in his cum, not his hand and stomach.

Now, his thumbs feel the softness of your cheeks, hollowing and sucking him harder. He hears the soft keens mixed with the wet slurp as your tongue swirls around his head. His knees get weak right as your hand cups his balls, gently squeezing and massaging them.

He can already feel the rush of bliss overtaking his body. He knows he’s leaking against your tongue, and when you pull his cock out of your mouth, slapping it against your lips, he cums all over you.

Your jackets haven’t even been removed–the only sign of anything uncouth happening is his softening dick and your pretty face covered in his cum.

He can’t believe his luck, looking down at you smiling wide as you collect a dollop of him on your thumb and suck it off with a sweet “mmm.”

God, he loves you.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 28

“Man, I miss Lucky Charms,” Dieter sighs as he stirs a spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

“You should have told me. I could have packed you some.”

“Damn, good point. Well, I’ll be home in a few weeks at least.”

Home. Your vacation will soon be over. Your flight is booked for the 2nd. You know you need to get back home. Once Dieter goes back to filming, you’ll never see him, and you can’t stay cooped up in this hotel suite waiting—and distracting him. But damn, you don’t want to leave.

You wonder what the future holds for the two of you once he returns to Los Angeles. Has something fundamentally shifted between the two of you? You can’t imagine being in the same city as him but not together.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Dieter's hand on yours. "Hey, where'd you go just now?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Just thinking about going home," you say with a small shrug.

His face falls slightly. “It’ll only be a few weeks.”

“I know, I just… I’m going to really miss you. Like a lo—”

Your phone dings, interrupting your confession. You look down.

notwarrengharding posted a tweet

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you remind yourself for the hundredth time to turn off notifications for him as you go to Twitter.

It’s a photo. Of you—and Dieter—at the restaurant he took you to last night. Your head is thrown back in laughter, your smile wide. He’s grinning at you, his hand on yours, with his dark brown eyes glowing in the low light. You look like a couple in love.

You’re enamored by the photo until you notice Warren’s retweeted a celebrity gossip account with the eye-rolling emoji and the quote: “Trust is earned, respect is given, and loyalty is demonstrated.”

Your stomach drops. How dare he. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. Handing Dieter the phone.

His face sets in anger after his eyes widen when he sees the photo.

“Fuck, indeed.”

Panic sets in. That’s a paparazzi photo.

You knew this would happen eventually, but you weren't prepared for it to be so soon. And you certainly weren't prepared for Warren to chime in. Dread settles in your stomach.

“That’s… everywhere now. All over. W-Warren knows and-”

"And what?" Dieter interrupts gently. "So he knows we're together. Is that such a bad thing? He’s just being a petty asshole. Sweets, all that matters is what we have together here, nobody else. I’ve waited so long for this. For us. Fuck everyone else.”

“I just… I remember what happened with Anika, and I don’t want that to happen to me.” A tear falls down your cheek.

He gets up, kneeling down in front of you and gathering your hands in his. “Baby, look at me. Everything that happened between Ani and I was only because, for so long, I tried to recreate what I felt for you, what I thought you and Warren had, and I failed miserably at it. You’re my golden girl, only you.”

“I just… I don’t want this to cause problems for you. With your career or the press or-”

He cuts you off with a soft kiss. “Fuck everyone else, okay, baby?”

—-

You’re quiet today, keeping your face stuck behind a book you bought at Harrod's while Dieter studies his lines for the upcoming shoot days.

He tries to focus on his script, but his eyes keep drifting to you, curled up on the couch. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you read, but he can see the tension in your shoulders. He knows you're still upset about the photo and Warren's post.

He sets the script aside and moves to sit next to you on the couch. Gently, he tugs the book from your hands. You look up at him, your eyes clouded with worry.

"Talk to me, Sweets," he says softly. "What's really bothering you?"

You sigh, leaning into him as he wraps an arm around you. "I'm scared, Dee. Everything felt so perfect before and… I don't know. I don't want to lose this."

Dieter pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're not going to lose me. Or this. I know my track record isn't great, but you're different. You've always been different."

He tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. "I meant what I said earlier. Fuck everyone else. All that matters is you and me.”

He regrets so many parts of his past but never meeting you. Now that he has you, he’ll never let you go. The future used to always freak him out, but now, with you, it’s something he can’t wait for.

—-

There’s a cloud over the hotel suite, full of uncertainty and fear.

You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words blur together as your mind races. The photo of you and Dieter keeps flashing in your thoughts, along with Warren's tweet.

You can almost hear his voice, dripping with fake concern as he shares the image with mutual friends, painting himself as the wronged party.

"Did you see this? I can't believe she'd do this to me…"

Bullshit. Warren left you. You shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on, for finding happiness with someone else… even if it is with Dieter. And yet…

You can’t fathom thinking about the tabloids and gossip sites, the way they’ve molded Dieter into whatever narrative they decide will sell. Tragic drug-addicted actor has-been, drunken playboy who has a new person to fuck every other week, happily married man who found love with a hotel receptionist, heart-breaking divorcee who will never find love, charming darling who booked a comeback project… you’ve seen them all.

But you know Dieter. He’s the most caring, sweetest, and thoughtful man you’ve ever met. You’re damn lucky to have had him as a friend, even luckier to have him in whatever way this is now.

Dieter sets his script aside, wrapping an arm around you. You feel the anxieties already disappearing, his touch reminding you of why this is all worth it.

His brown eyes, filled with concern, meet yours. “Fuck everyone else,” he whispers against your lips before pressing his gently against yours. 

—-

It’s one of those nights, the one where he’d typically toss and turn before getting up and downing a couple of sleeping pills with a whiskey chaser, but tonight, he simply lies awake. Your body nestled close, your smooth skin against his. There’s something about sharing a bed with you that still feels so foreign to him. Years of yearning to feel your touch, and now he has it. It still doesn’t feel real.

He remembers a couple of months after he had met you, you called him in a panic, saying your car had broken down on the freeway near the apartment he and Warren shared in Burbank. He grabbed his keys and bolted out the door. He couldn’t bear the thought of you alone and scared on the side of the road.

When he pulled up, he saw you, small and vulnerable, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your face flashing from worry to relief as you recognized him approaching.

He jumped out of his car, rushing to your side. The sight of you, tears streaking your cheeks and mascara smudged under your eyes, made his chest ache. The flat tire was obvious.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here now,” he soothed, pulling you into his arms without thinking. You melted against him, your body shaking slightly as tears started to fall.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of tears. “Thank you. I-I didn’t know who else to call. Warren and I… we’re not really talking right now, and I don’t have a spare and can’t afford a tow.” Your lower lip quivered as fresh tears spilled over.

"You can always call me, no matter what. I'll always come for you."

He was broke as hell, waiting for a residual check to come through, but he didn’t hesitate to call for a tow truck and pay for it. He drove you home and dropped you off. You leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you, Dee. You’re my hero.”

As he watched you walk into your apartment building, he knew he was in deep. He would do anything for you. Like waiting years and years to finally have you in his arms.

Now that he has you, he’ll be damned if he lets anybody or anything come in between you. Whether it’s shitty ex-husbands, tabloids, or his own demons, he’s not going to let anything ruin this.

He thinks about the future, years down the line. Lazy mornings in bed, walking hand-in-hand through flea markets, laughing over shared meals. He pictures you by his side at red-carpet events, the cameras flashing around the two of you, a wide smile across his face as he shows off his golden girl. 

He sneaks out of bed, careful not to wake you, and throws his robe on before grabbing his phone. The air is cool as he opens the door, quickly walking out onto the same balcony he used to spend his late nights and early mornings on talking to you. He does the familiar math in his head. It’s 2 AM in London and only 6 PM in Los Angeles.

It only takes two rings for Alex to pick up.

“Bravo. It’s late there. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. Listen, those photos of me and Sweets at the restaurant…”

“We’re aware.”

“Take care of them. I don't want her dragged into this. Make sure the tabloids know she's off-limits."

Alex sighs on the other end. "You know how this works. Once it's out there—"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "Use whatever connections you have. Call in favors. I'll do extra press, more interviews…” Dieter looks over when he hears the door open. You’re wrapped in a sheet, your tired eyes blinking back at him. “Whatever it takes. Just keep her name out of it."

There’s a pause before Alex responds. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Alex,” he sighs and hangs up as you lay your body over his. You’re still warm from the bed, covering and comforting him like a blanket.

“Was that call about me?” you ask, your voice still soft and sleepy.

“Mm, it was.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Dee, Not for me. I’ll get over it, I’ve had to get over worse.”

“Sweets, look at me. I’ll do anything to keep you happy and protect you. I—” he struggles to say the truth, but he doesn’t want to complicate today for you even more. “Anything. You know that, right?”

You cuddle in closer to him. “I know,” you whisper. “I’d do anything for you too.”

“Anything?” he asks. “Do you think we could go inside? I can’t feel my toes.”

—

 “Fuck everyone else.” Dieter’s words echo in your mind.

A simple phrase, really, yet so powerful coming from him. The way he sprang into action, calling his agent in the middle of the night to shield you. You can’t remember the last time Warren made such a sacrifice for you–if he ever did. 

You nestle deeper into Dieter’s warm, strong arms wrapped around you, protected by his actions and steady breathing as he sleeps. 

You try to recall a single instance where Warren put your needs before his own. The memories are hazy, obscured by years of neglect and indifference. Your husband always focused on his own image and career. You were an accessory to be shown off when it suited him and ignored when it didn’t.

But here, in Dieter’s arms, you feel cherished. Valued. Protected. And… in love.

✨✨✨ A/N: Next chapter next week. Thank you for reading! Please feel free to yell at me. 💞

Alternative chapter header. ALF FOREVER

✨✨✨ Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @ohheypedrito Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted @copperhalfcent, @jessthebaker, @moel-jiller, @sunnytuliptime, @jokesonthem @lotusbxtch, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @flawssy-227, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @littlemisspascal @cas-readsandwrites, @wave0fg00dvibes, @rulexofxnines, @tuquoquebrute, @littlevenicebitch69

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤ ݁ ꉂ punishing bratty sub!matt ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀tread carefully, my dears, for the words that follow are not for the faint of heart: what lies ahead is smut, a dance of desire that might just set your pulse racing. proceed if you dare.

warnings: smut. explicit nsfw. dom/sub dynamics. sexual frustration. begging. orgasm denial. teasing. power play.

give your own punishment to bratty sub!matt with this c.ai bot here!

═══════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

you were nestled in matt's room, the atmosphere charged with a tension only solitude could bring, since nick and chris had left for a party with madison, leaving you and matt to your own devices for the night.

the day had been a test of patience with matt's bratty behavior, his sarcasm and insolence leading you to the silent treatment, your attention now on the book in your lap, wrapped in one of his t-shirts that declared i love matt sturniolo. — yeah, he gave that one to you on purpose. but matt was relentless in his need for your attention, rubbing desesperately against your thigh, his whimpers like music in the quiet room. "please, y/n, i need your touch so fucking bad," he whined, his voice desperate, his body pressing closer, seeking any form of contact.

you tried to ignore him, focusing on your book, but his desperation was palpable, his cock leaking, making the fabric of his pants stick to your skin, his movements needy, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm sorry, i'm so fucking sorry for being such a prick, please forgive me," he pleaded, his voice breaking with sincerity, his eyes wide, begging for forgiveness. finally, your resolve wavered.

you turned to him, your gaze stern but your body betraying your arousal. "you think you can just misbehave and then get what you want?" you asked, your voice low, laced with a promise. "come on, i'm your fucktoy, please, use me, abuse me, punish me." he moaned, his hands moving to touch himself, but you grabbed his wrists, pinning them down with authority.

"you want my attention? then you're going to earn it," you declared, your tone commanding while your gaze slid down, watching his cock throb, pre-cum leaking from the tip, his pants now visibly wet.

with slow deliberation, you moved your hand to his crotch, palming him through the fabric, making him buck and gasp. "fuck, y/n, let me feel your hand on my cock, please," he begged, his voice thick with lust, his pretty blue eyes filling with tears of frustration. you pulled his pants down, his cock springing free, swollen and dripping with need, twitching when you took him in your hand, his skin hot and slick, and began stroking him slowly, torturously. his moans were loud, desperate, his hips thrusting into your hand. "oh fuck, don't stop, i fucking need this," he pleaded, his body trembling. but you wanted to hear more, to see him more undone. you leaned down, your breath hot on his cock before taking him into your mouth; his taste was intoxicating, his moans a symphony to your ears.

you swirled your tongue around his head, sucking him deep, his hands in your hair, pulling but not guiding, completely at your mercy. "i need your tight fucking pussy on my cock, it's all i can think about, please," he gasped out, his voice a mix of agony and ecstasy, his pleas turning into a litany of need. you paused, letting him feel the absence of your mouth, watching him squirm, his cock twitching. "you think you deserve to come after acting like such a little shit?" you taunted, your voice a mix of dominance and desire. "i'm nothing without you, i fucking need you, your pussy, your control. i'd be lost without you," he cried out, his hands clutching at your hips, trying to urge you on, but you kept still, denying him. "i'll do anything, anything to feel you again, please, keep friggin' touching me, i'll do whatever you want," he promised, his voice desperate, cock pulsing in your hand and begging for release. you decided to prolong his torment, increasing your pace with your hand, watching him squirm, his pleas turning into incoherent babbling. "i'm your good boy, i'm such a good boy for you," he whimpered, salty tears of pleasure sliding down his cheeks. you slowed down again, teasing him, enjoying the power you had over him. "you can't live without my touch, can you?" you taunted, knowing the effect your words had on him.

"i can't fucking live without feeling you, please, i'm begging you, don't leave me like this, use me, make me your fucktoy, i'm here for you to use and abuse," he begged, his voice a desperate whine, his body shaking with need. finally, feeling both his need and your own desire peak, you decided to end his torment. you straddled him, slowly lowering yourself onto his aching cock, feeling him stretch you, fill you.

his eyes rolled back, a sob escaping as you started to move, riding him with deliberate slowness. "you're mine to use," you whispered, and with those words, you controlled his pleasure, his cries filling the room as he felt the climax approaching. "you're such a good boy, matt, come for me," you whispered, and with those words, he shattered beneath you, his orgasm hitting him like a wave, his body convulsing with the intensity of his release, cumming hard inside you. as he came down from his high, you lay beside him, his breath ragged, his eyes full of gratitude and love. "i love you so much, y/n."

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[thethreefaes]

“Leave it, chief.” Kiara growled out. “There was no dust. Just iron weapons. The wound will heal on its own.” Her jaw was clenched. Not in pain but anger. The fae moved about the hut. Water placed over coals that she breathed life back into for a fire.

Lyra finally moved off Toothless and sat on Kiara’s bed. She… didn’t feel well. Her magic was telling her to sleep. To go dormant but she refused. Her neck was slowly healing. Instead of a burn, now bruising circled around it. Black, purple and ugly.

Kiara returned to the two. The blood on her side was drying. The clothes were ruined and she could feel the wound closing. She first eyed Hiccup’s side.

“That arrow went deep. Let me feel to be sure nothing is damaged.” Kiara bent down.

“Kia. I can-“ Lyra tried to shift closer. She was the healer. But Kiara cut her off harshly.

“Be silent.” Lyra flinched back. Eyes darting around the hut before she simply stared at her lap. Kiara didn’t even look at her. Ignoring her sister as she checked over the chief. Cold fingers pressing around the wound.

“Deep, but missed all vital organs. You’re lucky. Give the potion an hour and you’ll simply have a scar.” She then turned to Lyra. Gripping her chin tightly and making her look up. She moved Lyra’s head, eyeing the bruising.

“Don’t move.” Kiara began applying a salve to Lyra’s neck. The younger flinching but holding still.

“So… Chief Hiccup. You own my sister’s name as well? How long?” She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

“How long have you possessed it? And why-“ her gaze snapped back to Lyra. “Would you be so stupid as to give a human your name?” Lyra tried to swallow around both the fear and pain she felt. She… she’d never seen Kia like this before. It some how scared her more than when she first attacked Hiccup.

“You were in trouble. We had to-“

“That wasn’t the question, Lilias. Why would you give him your name!” Kiara’s eyes flashed for a second.

“Because I trust my brother! More than you!” Lyra’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth and coughed.

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

[rosiecosy]

i won’t lose you୨ৎ

(joshua x reader)

it’s supposed to be a normal day.

just a quick coffee run. just a few minutes outside before joshua gets back from practice. just some fresh air to clear your head.

but the moment you step outside, something feels wrong.

at first, it’s just a prickle at the back of your neck, the kind of feeling you get when someone is watching you. you tell yourself you’re imagining things.

then—

"y/n."

your name. spoken too softly, too familiarly, by someone you don’t know.

you freeze.

"you always get caramel lattes, right?"

your heart pounds in your chest.

you don’t turn around. don’t respond. you just start walking, faster than before.

"why are you ignoring me?"

panic starts to creep in.

"i know you’re dating joshua."

you nearly trip.

"i see the way he looks at you. the way you wait for him after practice. you think no one notices, but i do."

your breath hitches.

you need to get away.

you break into a run, pushing past strangers, heart racing as you make your way back to the dorm.

the door barely clicks shut before your knees buckle.

"y/n?"

you hear him before you see him—joshua’s voice, filled with concern, coming from the kitchen.

his footsteps are quick, and then he’s there, eyes wide as he takes in your trembling form.

"what happened?"

you try to answer, but your voice catches in your throat. you can feel yourself spiraling, the panic pressing in too fast, too much—

and then, suddenly, he’s pulling you into his arms.

his warmth is immediate, grounding. one hand cups the back of your head, holding you close against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchoring you. his other arm wraps securely around your waist, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

"you’re safe," he murmurs. "i’ve got you."

you grip the fabric of his hoodie, burying your face in his shoulder as your breathing slows. his hold doesn’t loosen—not even for a second.

"someone—" you finally manage, voice barely above a whisper. "they knew my name. my routine. they were waiting for me."

you feel the shift in joshua’s body. the way his muscles tense, the way his breath stills for a heartbeat too long.

when he pulls back just enough to see your face, his expression is unreadable—but his grip on you tightens.

"i should’ve been there."

"it’s not your fault," you whisper.

his jaw clenches, eyes dark with something quiet and dangerous. "no. but it’s my problem now."

he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple—soft, but lingering.

"i won’t lose you."

you swallow the lump in your throat, fingers curling into his hoodie as you whisper back—

"you won’t."

but deep down, you both know—

this isn’t over.

[lov3darlings]

saw that you wanted requests…. wb a little more fluffy take on figure skater reader x lando? maybe reader teaches him how to skate 😼 idk if this completely fits w the dynamic that you write them w tho, so if you don’t like this idea, feel free to ignore !

hav a great day :)

darlings thoughts

cw: fluff, fluff and lil sexual tension ig. obvi that 6 year age gap. also dw it does fit with the dynamic. they're the type of couple that ppl look and say 'omg he's really spoiled her.'

"i won't laugh," you promised kissing his cheek. you were trying to convince lando to go skating with you and somehow you ended up on his lap trying to bribe him with kisses.

while lando loved all of you, specially the figure skater you and your endless competitive drive. he was worried that he'd embarrass himself infront of you.

but he cannot possibly say no to you, even if he tried. besides, he's shown you all parts of him, even the parts of him that came with racing. it was only fair that he went skating with you.

"fine," he gives in. his face breaking into a smile when he sees your face light up. "but you can't laugh," he warns threading his fingers through your hairs. "i won't."

and that's how he ended up at think you train at an ungodly hour.

your laugh boomed through the empty rink, drowning out the symphony of your master and magarita program. "you said you wouldn't laugh," lando says. you skate effortlessly towards him.

"my bad," she extends out her palms for him to hold. "don't worry i got thi—" he almost slipped making you laugh harder. "come on," you grab his hands.

"you're so tensed, loosen up love," you say. "yeah, but what if i fall?" he glares at the frozen body of water beneath his skates. "you won't. i got you," you try to reassure him. "yeah like how you said you won't laugh," he scoffs at you. "well, not like that."

lando finally loosens up, standing more straight and holding onto you firmer. "see it's so much easier," you say as you skate backwards. but the older man is too busy admiring you.

he looks at you with awe as you crane your neck backwards to make sure you both won't run into the boards. the way the untucked hairs fall over your face. he moves his hand to tuck it behind your ears.

"wow," he mumbles under his breathe. "huh?" you look him. his loving gaze making you flustered. "focus on skating lando," you say. "how can i when i have this absolutely stunning angel teaching me," he cups your face.

everything blurs around you two. the symphony already died down for him even though the notes of the piano became intense. for him, it was just you and him. even forgetting he was on ice with sharp skates stapped to his feet.

"i love you," he leans down to kiss your forehead. "i love you too," you whisper adding a subtle dramatic flare to it that he missed. taking his hands in yours but slowly, retrieving your hands as you skate away.

lando stands in the middle of the rink, alone with no aid. he watched you skate away cheekily as the realization dawned upon him. he stood there with no aid. "sweetheart," he whined. "yeah?" you teased.

lando pouted, but his instincts was to follow you. taking wobbly strides to chase after you. you giggled at him but those giggles were cut short when you saw him fall.

"oh my god are you okay?" you kneel next to him. lando wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto him. "haha gotcha," he chuckled. "fuck off that's not fair," you rolled your eyes at him, laying down next to him on the ice.

"it's called throwing a dummy to overtake," he smirks. "but don't you think my acting was emmy worth? you were totally scared," he added. "i wasn’t," you argue.

"sure darling, whatever helps you sleep at night," he brings you closer to him. "now come on teach me how do i do that signature spin of your," he says. "yeah no, you'll risk an injury. you're not flexible enough. plus jon is gonna eat my head off if you get injured."

"makes sesne. but you, my love are very very flexible," his hands play with the hem of your sports bra. his attention finally lands on the master and magarita loop that was playing.

"you know i really love this program and the dress. we should get you more replicas of it. it's so pretty to tear it off of you," he whispers. "shut up," you hit his chest, blushing.

[satsugacafe]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 3)

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Yhwach, Jugram Haschwalth, Askin Nakk Le Vaar, Ishida Ryuken, Ishida Uryu

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

➳❥ Yhwach

He favours your neck as his canvas of (possessive) affection. He has a particular way of tilting your chin upwards with two fingers, a gesture that was both commanding and tender, before pressing his lips to the sensitive junction where your neck and shoulder met. His kisses there are deliberate and lingering, leaving a warmth that tingles long after. He does appreciate the vulnerability of the spot, the way your pulse would jump or race under his lips. It’s his habit to kiss you there during moments of quiet intimacy—his tall frame folding over yours as he whispered plans or words of affection while his lips sealed all the promises.

➳❥ Jugram Haschwalth

I want to say he favours the back of your hand as the act is simple and doesn’t require the grandeur of physical affection. Ties into the ‘gentleman’ persona of how he treats you with care. A gentle brush of his lips against the back of your hand when he’s leaving or returning. Sometimes during a conversation or when you’re holding him, he’ll press a tender kiss to the spot which grounds him to reality and letting him know you’re real and here.

But also, he prefers the corners of your mouth. An area that brought about a touch of playfulness, the opposite of him, catching you by surprise. Just as you turn to speak or smile, he’d lean in, brushing his lips against the curve where your smile met your cheeks. It was a rare display of affection from someone so composed and stern, but the soft quirk of his lips that followed would betray his amusement at your flustered reaction. His kisses there are quite spontaneous, usually after a clever remark or a shared moment of humour, a subtle way of showing his affection without overwhelming either of you.

➳❥ Askin Nakk Le Vaar

Askin’s favourite spot to kiss would be your hands, particularly the insides of your wrists, right where your pulse sat. He’d capture your hand in his during gentle moments, his thumb tracing random patterns over your pulse, enjoying the way it shifted under his touch before leaning down to press a soft kiss there. It amused him to watch how a simple act would make your breath hitch or how flustered you became. “I’m just being thorough,” he would tease nonchalantly whenever you commented on it. Other times, he runs his fingers over the area before bringing it to his lips, not exactly to kiss, but to feel your pulse. Just knowing that you’re real and your pulse beats for him.

➳❥ Bazz-B

He has a weakness for your collarbone, and he made it no secret. He would nudge your shirt aside with a cheeky grin, his fiery eyes daring you to protest as he pressed his lips there. His kisses were firm and unapologetic, often accompanied by playful growls or comments about how you smelled “too good to ignore.” It became a game between you, and you would often tease him about his dramatic flair, but the sincerity behind his affection was undeniable. You can tell that wearing clothes to cover up the area becomes a necessity due to how frequently his mouth attaches itself to your collarbone. His canvas of affection, littered with love bites ranging from red to light purple to darker shades. Each one, he’ll press a kiss to, while whispering how much he adores you.

➳❥ Ishida Ryuken

Your temple. As a man of few words, his affection often appeared in quiet moments, grounding reassurances and gestures. During the late nights when he’d find you bent over a book or paperwork, perhaps fallen asleep, he’d lean down to kiss your temple softly while his fingers stroked your cheeks. The simplicity of the act spoke volumes—it was his way of reminding you that he cared without disrupting your focus or ostentatious acts. You would notice how the weight of the day seemed lighter after one of his kisses.

He’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders or waist, pulling you into his embrace while you breathe in his cologne. When he feels you inhaling his scent, he’ll lean in to press his lips to your skin, breathing in your scent as well and feeling all his blues fading. If it isn’t done when he’s stressed, it when you’ve fallen asleep beside him.

➳❥ Ishida Uryu

Your forehead. His kisses would be as precise as him, his glasses occasionally brushing your skin as he leaned in, while the scent of his gentle cologne waffles through your nose. He often kisses you there when helping you with something, finishing a project together, or after a mission, as if it were his silent way of saying, “You did well. I’m glad you’re safe.” The warmth of his kiss lingering, mixing with his cologne and gentle touch as he cradled the back of your head or around your waist, brought you lots of comfort.

Sometimes, it’s also out of his fear of when he nearly loses you. An act that keeps him tethered to this world after seeing you in the worst conditions of life and death. He’ll hold you closely, no words needing to be whispered as his lips to your forehead say enough. “I also lost you, but I’m glad that you’re still here. Please don’t go.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @edensrose

©satsugacafé: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[mister0ctopus]

We Are All Sinners

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents, angst, toxic relationships, unresolved feelings, infidelity, unprotected sex (please be better than them), yearning, regret, and overall sad vibes huhu

Au/Genre: Smut, Exes

Word Count: 1.9K

a/n: hey lovely people! ur 🐙 is back from the depths of the trenches (work and life), and I'm here to quickly say hi!

Masterlist / AskMe!

You love the way Jungkook’s hair feels in your fist—thick, soft, silky between your fingers. You look down at him, watching as his eyes glimmer under the moonlight, locked onto yours, drunk on lust.

His tongue fucks your core—slow and deliberate, then fast and merciless.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you open so tightly, so obsessively, they’ll be bruised tomorrow—just like the ones he left on your inner thighs before he devoured you. Marks that didn’t come from his hands but from his mouth. His lips. His teeth.

You don’t care. You don’t fucking care.

You want this. You need this.

The discomfort of your back pressed against the trunk of his car, parked on some darkened road, is a fleeting thought. Your head spins as you gasp his name over and over, a string of curses and cries spilling from your lips. His tongue is good. Too good. A reminder of why you keep coming back to Jungkook. Your ex. The one you left three years ago.

And yet…

And yet…

You keep coming back to him every time you return to this godforsaken town. Your hometown.

“You have the sweetest pussy, did you know that?” he murmurs, licking his lips as he finishes you off. He’s chuckling. You’re trembling. Your legs are still shaking when he stands, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. He makes you taste yourself—musky, honey-sweet sin.

And just when you think he’s done with you, he spins you around and grinds his hardness against your ass. You whine, desperate, needy. Jungkook groans when you arch into him, rolling your hips just enough to tell him, Yes, Jungkook. Fuck me.

As if he heard your thoughts, he asks, “Yeah?” His voice is rough, strained. “This what you want?”

You nod, biting down on your lip. “Please, Jungkook. Please.”

You can never get enough of this feeling. You can never get enough of him.

"Lift your ass for me, love." 

He still calls you that. Every time. Like nothing’s changed. Like you’re still his.

You obey without thinking, breath catching as his hands slide over your hips—hot, firm, claiming. His palms are rough, fingertips digging in, kneading your flesh. Then lower, down to your ass, where he grabs a handful, squeezes, spreads. Like he owns it. 

The sharp clink of his belt cuts through the silence, followed by a slow, deliberate rasp of his zipper. Anticipation coils tight in your stomach, your pulse drumming in your ears.

And then—his hand, warm and impatient, pushes beneath your pink mini-dress. His fingers slip past your ruined panties, finding you slick, swollen, trembling with need. A low groan rumbles from his chest as two fingers push in, stretching you wide, as if his tongue hadn’t already ruined you. Slow pumps, before he pulls away, replacing them with something thicker, bigger, angrier.

The blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, teasing, taunting—but he doesn’t push in. Not yet. He drags the tip along your slick folds, slow, torturous, pulling a needy whimper from your lips. His mouth finds your neck, tongue tracing over heated skin before his teeth sink in, sharp and unforgiving. Marking you. Making you his… Again.

He grips your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. And when he’s sure, when he knows you’re watching—he sinks in.

You moan—oh, you moan—only to have it swallowed by his mouth. He kisses you deep, and your heart sinks. It’s hard to ignore feelings when he kisses you like this.

You take him all in, to the hilt. And together, you move in perfect rhythm, communicating in ways words could never capture. You never speak when you meet like this. There’s no need.

You both know what you want, and words are not part of it.

Whatever it is he wanted to hear is being pulled from your throat—a staccato of sounds, broken syllables that, if he kisses deep enough, turn into poetry in his ears.

He feels like home.

And you’re not saying that because he’s fucking you stupid right now.

He feels like home because, in his hands, under his body, with his cock inside you, you feel worshipped. Needed. Wanted. Loved.

“Tightest fucking cunt,” he growls, voice rough, raw, as his fingers tighten around the back of your neck. He forces you down against the trunk of his car, the cold metal biting into your skin.

And then, he starts pounding you hard, deep, and punishing, like he’s trying to claim something. Exactly how you need it. The sharp slap of skin against skin echoes in the quiet night, mixing with the ragged sounds spilling from both your lips. 

You take it. Take him. You take everything he gives until you hear him praise you.

“You take me so well, love.”

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

He makes you feel at home.

Something no one else has ever made you feel.

Something you know you’ll never feel again.

Because once you marry your fiancé, this—whatever this is—will be gone.

You don’t believe in heaven but right now, you do.

There is a piece of heaven on earth where you’re a deity, a goddess. Worshipped, praised, revered. His pained whimpers in your ear as you clench around his cock sound like the trumpets as he takes you higher, higher—until you ascend, until take your place on the golden throne of pleasure. Until divinity consumes you, body trembling, gasping for air, a mortal no more.

Yes, there is heaven on earth. And it exists when Jungkook fucks you.

But this heaven is fleeting.

Because eventually, it ends.

His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, a final push before he shudders, groans, and spills into you—painting your walls white with his hot cum.

And just like that, it’s over.

The sticky feeling of sweat clings to your skin as you fix yourself. His cum drips between your thighs, warm and sticky, but you ignore it.

Jungkook exhales a deep sigh as he fastens his belt, the metallic click cutting through the heavy air.

You look up at the sky. Not one star in sight. As if they’ve hidden themselves, unwilling to bear witness. And the moon, silent and all-knowing, just watches.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says as you both move toward the car door.

You don’t answer until you’re inside.

“I can’t,” you murmur. “He’s waiting for me at my mom’s house. It’s his first time coming with me here, so he must be looking for me by now.”

Jungkook says nothing. Just stares out the window, his jaw clenched, his grip tight around the steering wheel. Silence fills the void like a deafening ring in your ears.

“How’s Rosie?” you ask, forcing yourself to sound casual. His girlfriend’s name feels foreign on your tongue.

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. It never reaches his eyes.

It sounds bitter, like your inquiry was an insult.

He runs a hand through his hair—a habit of his, when he’s annoyed. Or nervous. Or both. His longest hair yet, longer than the last time you saw him, a year ago.

A lot has happened since then.

You have a fiancé now. He has a new girlfriend.

Something that was always bound to happen.

You think back to three years ago, when you made the decision to leave him. When you had no choice.

You couldn’t stay in this sad, forsaken town. Life here was miserable, and you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you let it swallow you whole.

You hated your life here with your mother. And though she loved you, though she tried her best, she was never the same after the divorce. Her struggles with mental illness consumed her, consumed you. Your childhood was not lived—it was survived.

So despite the countless reasons he gave you to stay, despite the way he begged, pleaded, promised—you didn’t.

You broke up with him after college graduation, before you left for the city to chase the life you deserved. The future you swore you’d carve out for yourself.

That night, you woke to a knocking on your bedroom window on the second floor of your mother’s house. 

Jungkook stood there, glowing as he bathed in moonlight, grinning wide. His eyes were wide and glossy.

“I’ll come with you, ” he whispered.

Your heart ached. Oh how it ached.

Because you knew. You knew he was doing this for you.

A desperate move.

Because Jungkook would never leave this town. Not when everything he loved and cherished was here. His family, his friends. His band.

You couldn’t take that away from him.

Just because you were miserable here didn’t mean he had to be miserable somewhere else just to be with you.

And that’s when you realized you loved him more than anything.

More than your wants.

More than your needs.

So you kissed him deep, and you kissed him hard.

And you made love to him like it was the last time.

You still remember how his solid body felt. How he made you feel at home when he was inside you, filling you, pumping his seed deep. 

He felt like home. A feeling you never got to feel in your entire life. A feeling no one else has ever given you.

Just him.

A feeling you’ve never felt since.

And afterward, when he lay on top of you, sweaty and spent, you told him:

“You’re holding me back. If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”

It rained that night.

And you swore the sky cried with you.

Maybe it was the universe’s way of mourning the tragedy of it all.

Right place, wrong person.

This town was the right place for him.

And you were the wrong person.

He held you tight against his chest, his whole body trembling, shaking with silent, broken sobs. You felt his tears seep into your skin, felt his grief in the way his arms refused to let go. And by morning, he was gone.

The drive is long, but not long enough. Too soon, he pulls up to the corner of the street—the last turn before your mother’s house. The house you now visit only twice a year, just to check in. The same corner where he’s always dropped you off after your secret meetings, every time you came back to this town for her.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door. But before you can leave, he grabs your wrist.

“YN.”

You pause. Stare at him.

There’s a question in his eyes.

And then, he chuckles. That same bitter sound.

“Are you really gonna marry him?”

You hold his gaze.

“Yes,” you say. It’s barely a whisper.

His throat bobs. “You don’t have to, YN. You don’t.” His voice is low, rough. But there’s a tremble in it.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a good…” you trail off, exhaling. “It’s done, Jungkook.”

His hands tighten around the wheel. “He’s not gonna make you happy.” His voice is sharper now, desperate. “Jesus, YN, for Christ’s sake, you don’t love him!”

You close your eyes. Swallow hard.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done,” you say again. 

And then, before he can say anything more, you slip out of his familiar car. You wobble slightly, his cum dripping between your legs, as you walk toward your mom’s house, where your fiancé is waiting, 

You need a shower. First thing. You’ll deal with his marks after.

You don’t know if this is the last time you’ll ever see him. 

Maybe this is where the thread finally breaks, where the universe sighs and lets you two go.

But something in your bones whispers that it is.

a/n: ok, i've decided i'm making this a series! that was actually the original plan, but, i have commitment issues 😬. But I guess this is happening nowww since the ending was a little sad, oh jk my love :( Let me know what you think??? please! Aaaahhhh, thank you all! ❤️

-🐙