#lovey dovey from every angles

[shokocide]

HEY, EMO BOY! - CHOSO KAMO

summary. Choso doesn’t do distractions. But then you walk into his show and ruin his focus with one look. And now, he’s handing you his guitar, his heart, maybe more. And baby, you haven’t even seen what those fingers can really do.

word count. 10.5k (i got a lil carried away)

content. mdni fem! reader, bassist! choso, mutual pining, heavy tension, choso is a tease (and so down bad), really lovey-dovey shi like bro's not even emo, pet names, smut, fingering, oral (fem rec.), p in v, mating press, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare

author's note. saw this fanart and started ovulating on demand.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Shoko says, tugging on your sleeve with the persistence of a woman who knows you have no other plans. "You like music. You like hot guys. This is both."

You squint at her, unconvinced. "You said that last time and we ended up at some dude’s garage while he rapped about capitalism."

She grins. “And it was unforgettable.”

“You spilled beer on my shoes.”

“And I’ve had character development after that.”

You roll your eyes, but she already knows she's won. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she drags you through the dimly lit alley that opens into an even dimmer basement venue—graffiti-tagged walls, sticker-covered speakers, the scent of cigarettes and something vaguely fruity in the air.

The lights are low, the crowd humming with quiet energy, and the stage is set but empty—just a drum kit, a couple mics, and a bass propped against its amp like it’s waiting for someone.

“You’re gonna love them,” Shoko whispers, already pulling out her phone to snap photos. “The music’s sick. And the bassist—”

You blink at her.

“The bassist,” she repeats, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Tall, broody, pretty eyes. Never says a damn word on stage but plays like he’s in pain.”

You scoff. “You’ve got issues.”

“Just wait,” she says. “You’re not ready.”

And you’re not.

Because when the band finally comes on stage and the lights cut through the haze, your eyes lock onto him—tall, dark, dressed in all black with his bass slung low, rings glinting on his fingers, and a half-lidded stare like he’s seeing ghosts.

And when he starts playing? Oh. Yeah. You’re done for.

The lights dim, bathing the room in moody blue and red hues. The crowd hushes—just for a moment—then the first chord explodes through the speakers. It’s loud, raw, electric, vibrating through the floor and straight up your spine.

You don’t flinch.

You should. The guy next to you does. Shoko’s already swaying to the beat like she’s been here a thousand times. But you? You’re frozen—entranced.

Not by the music. Not really.

By him.

The bassist, standing off to the left like he doesn’t crave the spotlight, like he’s content letting the others take the lead. But he’s the one you see. The one who owns the stage.

He’s tall and he’s wearing a loose black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons left undone to tease just enough of his pale, sculpted chest. The stage lights catch on the gleam of sweat on his collarbones, highlighting every sharp angle and subtle flex of muscle as he moves with the rhythm. His fingers dance over the bass strings with practiced ease, and that’s when you notice it—apart from the black nail polish, each one is tattooed with a letter: C-H-O-S-O.

His long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves to the base of his neck, the ends brushing over his collar. The soft purple eyeshadow dusting his eyelids makes his deep-set eyes pop, casting shadows that only add to his sharp features. A bold tattoo cuts across the bridge of his nose, stark against his pale skin.

His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a hard, concentrated line, and his fingers—god, his fingers—they dance over the strings like he was born with a bass in his hands. There’s something hypnotic about the way he plays. Focused. Intense. Like the world doesn’t exist outside of this moment.

You don’t even realize you’re staring until Shoko elbows you lightly. “Told you,” she shouts in your ear, grinning like the smug little shit she is.

You nod, but your eyes don’t move. You can’t look away. It’s like you’ve been put under some kind of spell.

And then—then—mid-song, his head lifts just slightly. His gaze cuts through the haze and crowd and colored lights, and lands right on you. You swear it. A spark of something sharp and electric zips down your spine.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just holds your gaze for a breath longer than necessary before he looks away, like he felt it too.

Like he knew.

Like the music wasn’t the only thing pulling strings tonight.

The band keeps playing, song after song bleeding into one another, but you barely register any of it.

Your eyes keep straying to him. Choso—at least, you think that’s his name, judging by the ink on his fingers. Fitting, really. It lingers in your head like a low bassline: heavy, addictive.

At one point, you swear he looks at you again.

Really looks.

And even if it’s just for a second, it feels like a live wire pressed to your skin.

You down the rest of your drink to keep yourself from combusting.

Shoko leans in and shouts something in your ear over the music—probably the band’s name or some fun fact about the drummer—but your eyes are locked on him. You nod absently, your smile weak, dazed, because how the hell are you supposed to listen to anyone else when he’s up there, commanding your every thought?

By the time the band wraps up their final song, you’re already craning your neck for a better look. You don't even realize you're moving toward the stage until Shoko’s hand snags your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

You blink, startled like you’ve been caught red-handed. "I—I don’t know."

But you do.

You’re hoping to get closer. Maybe he’ll notice you again.

Maybe he already has.

-

You find yourself outside the venue before you even realize what you’re doing—leaning against the brick wall, half hidden in the shadows, heart hammering like you’d just finished a set yourself. The crisp night air cools your skin, but it does nothing to quiet the heat bubbling beneath it.

You tell yourself you just needed some air.

That’s all.

Totally not waiting around like some groupie for a guy you don’t even know.

The door creaks open behind you, and a familiar pair of boots crunches against gravel. Shoko squints at you suspiciously.

“You good?” she asks, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick. “You just disappeared.”

You shrug, too casual. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

She takes a drag, exhales slow. “Right. A breather. After not dancing and not drinking that much.”

You shoot her a side-eye. “Do you always interrogate people for wanting fresh air?”

“Only when they’ve been acting weird since the bassist took the stage.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not slick, y’know.”

You scoff, glancing away before she can catch the way your face warms. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

Shoko chuckles like she definitely knows what she’s talking about, but bless her, she doesn’t press it. Just smirks, gives your arm a little nudge. “He was hot, though.”

You give a noncommittal hum, eyes scanning every shadowed corner, every rusted doorway, hoping—just hoping—you might catch another glimpse of him. Choso. You’re almost certain that’s his name. It suits him. Dark. Sharp.

You won’t tell her, of course, but—yes.

Yes, this was fun.

Yes, she was absolutely right to drag you here.

Yes, the bassist was fine as hell and maybe, just maybe, you’ve developed the tiniest, stupidest little crush on a guy whose voice you haven’t even heard yet.

But god, you want to.

Even just once.

A glimpse. A moment. Anything.

And just when you think it’s time to give up, to stop being delusional and head home—

The door swings open again.

And this time, it’s him.

Panic.

Real, irrational, full-body panic.

Because there he is. Standing a few feet away. In the flesh. The bassist.

Loose black button-up clinging to his frame, sleeves still rolled up from the show, revealing forearms that shouldn’t be legal. The glint of his rings catching the light. A faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone—god, you can see it because the top few buttons are still undone, teasing just enough pale skin to keep you up at night.

And his eyes—

His eyes are rimmed with that soft, dusty lavender, and they’re looking straight at you.

You glance side to side like you might Houdini yourself out of this moment. Maybe if you ran fast enough, you could avoid embarrassing yourself beyond repair. Maybe if you—

Shoko bumps your shoulder, casual and smug. “Now’s your chance.”

“Chance for what?” you hiss, heart thudding in your ears. “To spontaneously combust? To make an idiot out of myself?”

But it’s too late.

Because before you can overthink your next twelve moves or plan a strategic escape—

He’s walking toward you.

Slow, calm, confident.

Like he knows what he’s doing to you.

Before you can say something completely unhinged, like “your bass playing did something weird to my hormones”, you feel Shoko shift beside you.

You whip your head toward her, silently begging for assistance, for backup, for escape. But she just smirks, looking between the two of you like she already knows exactly how this night’s gonna go.

“Well,” she says with a wink, already turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Shoko. No. Shoko, wait—SHOKO.”

But she’s already walking away like she didn’t just abandon you to the mercy of the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

And now—

Now he’s standing right in front of you.

He smells like sweat and incense and something dark—something addictive.

“You waited,” he says, voice lower than expected, rich. His lips curl, just barely. “Were you hoping for an autograph… or something else?”

You blink.

He knows.

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

An autograph? Something else? What the hell does something else even mean—wait, you know what it means, OH GOD—

“I—I wasn’t waiting— I mean, I was, but not like—like in a weird way or anything!” you blurt, the words tumbling out like a panicked avalanche. “Not that liking your music is weird. I mean, it was good! Really good. You were good. Not in that way, I mean—not that you wouldn’t be—oh my God—”

You slap a hand over your face.

Abort mission. Let the ground open up. End scene.

When you peek through your fingers, he’s just watching you, amused, head tilted slightly to the side.

Then—he chuckles. Actually chuckles.

It’s low and quiet and kind of devastating.

“I was right,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed steel. “Cute.”

You make a high-pitched noise that cannot be classified as human.

And Choso—Choso just leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s offering a secret.

“Relax. I don’t bite.” A beat. “Unless you want me to.”

You definitely stop breathing.

Your brain is just a dial-up tone as you stare at him, stunned into silence, because did he actually just say that? He did. He really did. And he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for your answer.

But when you open your mouth, what comes out is: “I—uh—yeah. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”

He grins. Not a smirk. A real, soft little grin, like he likes the mess you’ve become.

“Wanna get some air?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the alleyway beside the venue, quieter now that the band’s done and the crowd’s thinned.

You nod way too fast.

So you end up outside, standing under the faded neon of the venue sign, arms crossed to hide how jittery you are. Choso leans against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette. The glow flares against his sharp cheekbones, his lashes casting shadows on his skin.

“So,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You liked the set?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying not to look at his hands. His tattooed fingers. “You were… really good.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Still not in that way?”

You bury your face in your hands again.

He laughs under his breath, then nudges your shoulder with his. “You got a name, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. 

Oh, how you were so very fucked.

You tell him your name. And when he repeats it softly, your knees almost give out.

Then he offers, “I’m Choso, by the way.”

Like it’s a gift.

And before the night ends, he asks if you’re coming to the next gig.

“Only if you’re playing,” you manage to say.

To which he replies, “I’ll be there if you are.”

-

shoko: hello?? where are you???

shoko: ANSWER ME

shoko: sigh

shoko: i didn’t want it to come to this but you leave me no choice

shoko: i’m checking your location.

shoko: GIRL WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING THERE

shoko: 2 missed calls

shoko: you better give me answers the second you're online...or else.

you: dot dot dot

shoko: WHAT. HAPPENED.

you: emergency phone call

shoko: 🧍‍♀️

shoko: you’re a terrible liar

you: ok but like. 

you: it wasn’t a lie. it was an emergency. a hot boy emergency

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GOD. 

shoko: OH MY GODDDDD.

you: he talked to me

you: HE TALKED TO ME SHOKO

shoko: AND???

you: and i said dumb shit

you: and he still talked to me

you: and i think i blacked out at one point??

you: but like. the good kind

shoko:YOU’RE TELLING ME MYSTERIOUS HOT BASSIST MAN TALKED TO YOU AND YOU LIVED???

you: barely

you: i think i ascended actually

shoko: you’re telling me you were about to dip and then HE approached YOU????

you: he remembered me from the front row 😭

you: called me cute 😭😭

you: asked for my name 😭😭😭

you: CALLED ME SWEETHEART 😭😭😭😭

shoko: …girl.

shoko: i don’t wanna be dramatic

shoko: but i might start planning your wedding

you: pls help i’m still outside the venue trying not to combust

you: he said he’d see me again if i came to the next gig

you: SHOKO WHAT IF I GO TO EVERY GIG UNTIL I DIE

shoko: yeah bestie we’re in our groupie era now

-

You show up a whole forty minutes before the doors even open—Shoko said she’d meet you later, but you’re already leaning against the building like a total loser. Or an over zealous fan. Same thing, really.

You're debating if you should take a walk to kill time when the door swings open, and out steps him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up again, a few buttons undone, and that familiar purple eyeshadow hugging his tired eyes. His lip quirks up the second he sees you.

“Excited to see me?” he asks, cocking his head as he strolls over. His voice is low, teasing—but not unkind.

Your face goes up in flames. “What—n-no. I mean yes. I mean—Shoko said she’d meet me later and I didn’t wanna be late, obviously.”

He hums, clearly amused. “Mhm. Obnoxiously early, huh?”

“Fashionably early,” you grumble, and he laughs, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s heard all day.

Then he nods his head toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

You blink. Wait. Right now??

You glance down at your outfit—cute enough for the gig, maybe not cute enough to meet him again, let alone his entire band. But he’s already walking, and you’re a fool if you don’t follow.

The door creaks open, and you’re hit with the low hum of conversation, faint music playing from someone’s phone, and the scent of sweat and cologne. Your heart’s going a mile a minute.

“Yo,” Choso calls, and two heads turn.

The tall white-haired man draped across the couch offers a lazy grin. “Oh? Who’s this?”

Choso leans against the doorframe and jerks a thumb toward you. “She’s the one I was talking about.”

Your eyes widen. Talking about?? Since when???

“Ooooh,” the other guy drawls from where he’s fiddling with a drumstick, hair tied back and gaze sharp as ever. “So this is her.”

“Shut up,” Choso mutters, but there’s a hint of pink dusting his ears. He looks back at you, eyes soft. “That’s Satoru—he never shuts up. And that’s Suguru. Don’t let him fool you—he’s worse.”

“Lies and slander,” Satoru says with a wink.

You’re frozen. Do you wave? Speak? Die on the spot?

“Hi,” you say, awkwardly.

Suguru offers a small nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Finally???

Satoru leans forward with a devilish grin. “Choso wouldn’t shut up about you, y’know?”

Choso visibly tenses. “Go bother someone else.”

But it’s too late—you’re already flushed to your ears, and Satoru’s howling with laughter.

“You’re cute,” he tells you. “You can stick around.”

You glance at Choso, and he gives you the smallest smile. Like you belong here.

And for the first time—you think maybe you do.

He walks ahead a bit, glancing over his shoulder as he gestures toward the sound booth. “That’s Nao, our sound tech. She’s the only reason we don’t sound like trash onstage.”

Nao waves without looking up from her monitor, and you awkwardly lift a hand back. Choso chuckles under his breath.

He keeps going, showing you the light setup, where they stash backup guitars, even the vending machine he’s pretty sure is haunted. Every person you pass gives you that look—oh, so this is the girl.

Your fingers twist nervously around the strap of your bag. It’s not like they’re being unfriendly. If anything, everyone’s nice. Welcoming, even. But still—you can’t shake the nerves bubbling in your chest.

You feel his gaze before you hear his voice.

“Nervous?” he asks, quiet and low.

You blink up at him. He’s standing close now, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, watching you like he’s not sure if he’s scaring you or if you’re just shy.

You swallow. “A little.”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s chill.”

You nod, but you know the tension is still written all over your face.

And then—he reaches out. Just a light touch to your wrist. “Hey. I asked you here ‘cause I wanted you to come. Not to freak you out.”

His voice is soft now, just for you.

You manage a sheepish smile. “Sorry. It’s just… new.”

He shrugs, lips curling slightly. “Yeah. But I’m not that scary, right?”

You meet his eyes, and the look he gives you—teasing but warm—makes your stomach flip.

“…Not yet,” you murmur.

And he laughs, head tilted back like you just said the funniest thing all night. “You’re cute.”

Great. Now you’re even more nervous.

He walks you over to the stage setup, lights dim and moody, the buzz of crew members in the background. The instruments are neatly arranged—drum kits, amps, tangled cords, and at the center, his guitar resting on its stand.

He picks it up effortlessly, letting the strap fall over his shoulder. His fingers settle over the strings, and he begins to strum, absentmindedly. It’s not even a real song, just soft notes—but it’s hypnotizing.

Especially the way his fingers move. Long, slender, practiced.

You're staring. Absolutely entranced.

“Wanna try playing?” he asks suddenly.

You snap out of it so fast it’s embarrassing. “H-huh?”

He chuckles, soft and low. “Bit distracted there, sweetheart. You okay?”

“I’m good. Mhm.” You nod a little too quickly, plastering on a tight smile as your face warms. You hope he doesn’t notice, but that knowing glint in his eyes tells you otherwise.

He steps toward you with the guitar, offering it out with a slight tilt of his head. “Here.”

Your hands hover uncertainly. “O-oh… I don’t know how to play.”

He just smiles. “It’s alright, I’ll help you.”

He walks behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him at your back. You swear your heart skips a beat when his arms slip around you, guiding yours. He’s gentle as he places your left hand along the neck of the guitar, adjusting your fingers over the frets, his hand covering yours.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, voice right by your ear.

Your breath hitches.

“Shit—sorry, too close?” he asks quickly, voice laced with concern.

“N-no! It’s fine! Totally fine.” You somehow manage to stand upright.

He smiles again, that soft kind of amused. “Alright, just press here... yeah, that’s it.” He places your fingers on the strings. “Now, strum with this hand—lightly. Let the strings breathe.”

You try, hesitantly dragging your fingers down the strings. A clumsy note sounds out.

Choso hums. “Not bad. Now, try a G chord—here, like this.” His fingers mold yours again, warm and careful.

You nod, barely able to think with him this close, and repeat the motion. It sounds... slightly better.

“See?” he says, praising you with a smile in his voice. “Fast learner.”

You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart fluttering. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”

His lips quirk, and he looks at you like you’ve just made his night.

“Well,” he says, “I am good with my hands.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He grins when he hears that soft, breathy little sound escape your lips.

“O-oh,” you stammer, eyes wide as you blink up at him.

His smile deepens, all teasing and low charm. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he says, though he definitely did. 

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but your brain’s gone completely blank. The only thing in your head is him. His voice, his scent, the low buzz of his guitar still humming in your hands.

“I—uh, yeah. No. You’re doing great. I mean—I’m doing great. I mean—thank you.”

He laughs. Not mockingly—it's soft, sweet, like he finds you genuinely adorable.

“You’re cute when you get flustered,” he says, voice quiet.

You look down at the guitar in your hands, pretending very hard to be focused on the strings.

“Maybe we’ll get you to play a whole song next time.”

You blink. “Next time?”

He shrugs casually, stepping back just enough to make you miss his warmth. “If you’re coming to the next gig, I figured I’d see you again.”

And then, with the most casual confidence, he adds, “You wanna?”

You blink up at him, heart still pounding from the way he practically wrapped himself around you moments ago. But then—somehow—you find your footing, just enough to muster a sliver of confidence.

You clear your throat, giving him a lopsided little smile. “Let’s see how this one goes first.”

His brows shoot up, clearly amused. “Is that a challenge?”

You shrug, trying not to melt under his gaze. “Depends. You think you can handle it?”

Choso laughs—a low, warm sound that vibrates in your chest more than your ears. He leans in again, just a little, his face dangerously close to yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice like silk, “I know I can.”

-

The crowd is thicker than last time. Hazy neon lights wash the walls in streaks of violet and red, and the room thrums with anticipation. You can feel the energy buzzing through your fingertips, your legs bouncing where you sit off to the side of the stage.

Choso catches your eye just before stepping on. He’s dressed in that same loose black button-up—top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tattoos stark against his pale skin. His eyes are lined in that soft purple hue again, hair falling wild to his neck, and yet he somehow looks composed. Grounded. Like he was born to be here.

He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look—half smirk, half something softer—and it sends butterflies flurrying in your chest.

And then: the lights dim. The crowd erupts. The band takes the stage.

Suguru on drums, flashing a grin at the front row before twirling his sticks and slamming into the first beat like a force of nature. Satoru struts forward, mic in hand, already oozing charisma, and Choso—Choso slides into position with his bass like it’s a part of him. One hand gripping the neck, the other plucking strings with a lazy, practiced ease.

The sound hits you like a wave. Loud. Gritty. Addictive.

But even as the music drowns everything out, your eyes stay locked on him.

Choso doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t need to. He’s in his own world—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, swaying with the rhythm like the bass is leading him. And yet, somehow, he still finds a way to glance at you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a smirk.

And that’s when you realize it.

He’s playing for them—but looking at you.

And that smolder in his gaze? That spark that coils low in your belly?

It’s all for you.

-

The crowd’s roars have faded, the lights are dimming, and you’re still standing there, heart racing. Choso’s walking off stage, sweat-slick and glowing, bass still strapped to his back, and the second his eyes find you he smiles. Soft. Lopsided. Like it’s just for you.

He weaves through the staff with ease, and before you can fully brace yourself, he’s in front of you, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually stick around,” he teases, voice low, raspy from the set.

You roll your eyes, a little bashful. “Had to see if your fingers really lived up to the hype.”

His brows shoot up, surprised—and then he laughs. It’s deep and warm and it makes your stomach do flips. “Oh? And?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’m not sure yet. Might need a private performance to decide.”

And damn, now he’s the one blushing.

He blinks. Once. Twice. And then that lazy grin deepens into something more—something that makes your throat dry.

“A private performance, huh?” he echoes, slinging the bass off his shoulder, setting it down like he’s done this a thousand times before—cool, collected, practiced. “You planning to book me?”

You cross your arms, trying to look unbothered despite the heat crawling up your neck. “Maybe. Depends on your rates.”

He steps closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down to look at you properly. His voice drops lower. “I charge in coffee. Late-night conversations. And the occasional secret.”

“Oh?” you arch a brow. “That’s expensive.”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re worth it.”

Pause.

Your heart skips. Literally skips.

And suddenly it’s too quiet. The post-show noise is just background hum now—muffled cheers, clinks of beer bottles, bandmates laughing somewhere behind you. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person who matters in this moment. Like he wants to learn you.

So you try to deflect, half-teasing, “You say that to all the girls who hang around after shows?”

He hums, like he’s pretending to think. “No,” he says finally. “You’re the only one who stayed quiet the whole time. Just… watched.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Was it creepy?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. It was nice. Felt like you were listening to more than just the music.”

You weren’t. You were listening to him.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you glance away, pretending not to be swooning.

And then—

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging your chin with two fingers to bring your gaze back to his. “Wanna get outta here?”

Your breath hitches. “Huh?”

He smiles, easy and relaxed, eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing it. “There’s this spot a few blocks from here—low lights, decent drinks, great fries. Thought maybe I could buy you one. A drink, not a fry,” he adds with a little chuckle.

Your heart is thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. “Are you… asking me out?”

He shrugs, casual but undeniably charming. “If I said yes, would you say no?”

You try to play it cool, crossing your arms even though your insides are a whole storm. “You planning to pull that whole mysterious musician act the whole time?”

He leans in just a bit, close enough for your noses to nearly brush. “Only if it gets me a second date.”

And just like that, you’re done for.

“...I guess I could go for a drink.”

His grin widens. “Good. I’ll grab my jacket.”

-

The bar he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldn’t find unless someone told you about it. There’s warm yellow lighting, a soft hum of old-school music playing on the speakers, and barely anyone around. It’s intimate in a way that makes your skin feel warm before you’ve even taken a sip of your drink.

He lets you slide into the booth first, then settles in across from you. His hands rest on the table, rings catching the light, and you find your gaze drawn to them—again. Damn those fingers.

“I’m not used to people sticking around after shows,” he says, eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m not used to chasing after bassists,” you shoot back, lips twitching.

He smirks. “So I’m special, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile you’re fighting wins. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Your drinks come. He lets you steal a sip of his. You let him steal two of yours.

“What got you into music?” you ask after a while, resting your chin on your hand.

He leans back, gaze flickering up like he’s searching the ceiling for the answer. “My dad, actually. He taught me how to play. He was obsessed with rhythm—said it was the heart of everything.”

You nod slowly. “He still around?”

Choso shakes his head. “Nah. Been a while. But I think he’d get a kick out of seeing me like this.”

There’s a quiet between you, not awkward, just full. You sip your drink.

“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do when you’re not falling for mysterious musicians at dive bars?”

You raise a brow. “Who said I was falling?”

His lips curve. “Touché.”

You end up telling him more than you thought you would. About your work, your favorite food, even boring little details. But he listens like every word matters. Laughs when you least expect it. His foot nudges yours under the table halfway through the night, and it stays there.

Eventually, the lights get lower, and the bar empties out.

“Guess we closed the place down,” you say, glancing around.

Choso’s watching you with a soft look. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Your heart flutters. “Same place?”

He smiles, gaze never leaving yours. “Sure.”

The night doesn’t end there.

He insists on walking you home—no arguments, no jokes, just slips his hand into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you let him, fingers intertwining with his, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s a quiet walk, but not the awkward kind. It’s that gentle, late-night calm. Like the whole world slowed down just for the two of you.

And for once, he’s not the brooding bassist with sharp eyeliner and calloused fingers. He’s just Choso. A guy who likes the way your hand fits in his. A guy who lets out a soft chuckle when you shiver and instinctively step closer.

You reach your place too soon.

You stop at the doorstep, neither of you making a move. No one says anything. You should probably say something. Goodnight. Thanks. This was fun. But the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

He steps closer instead.

There’s a breath between you. Just one.

And then his lips are on yours—soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking if this is okay. And you answer him by fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him in. His hand comes up to your cheek, holding you steady as he kisses you again. Still gentle. Still quiet. But it makes your head spin all the same.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, forehead pressed lightly to yours.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your heart might’ve actually stopped.

You slam the door shut behind you, back pressed against it, heart pounding so hard you swear it echoes in your ribcage. You stare at your phone, wide-eyed, thumbs flying:

you: SHOKO

you: SHOKO I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY 

shoko: it’s literally 1am

shoko: you better be on fire 

you: I KISSED HIM

shoko: what

shoko: WHO

shoko: WAIT

shoko: WAIT.

you: YES. HIM.

shoko: THE HOT GUITAR PLAYER???

you: CHOSO. YES. YES. YES

shoko: oh my god you’re so gone

you: HE WALKED ME HOME. HELD MY HAND. KISSED ME. I AM GONE GONE.

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAA

you: HE SAID ‘GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART’

shoko: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

you: I KNOW

You toss your phone onto the bed, face planting right after it, squealing into your pillow like a teenager all over again.

Because you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And you’re never sleeping tonight.

-

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is quiet—too quiet. You’ve already scrolled through your entire feed twice, tried reading, even got up to make tea you didn’t drink.

Then your phone lights up.

Incoming call: Choso.

Your heart stutters.

You take a breath and answer. “…Hey.”

His voice is warm on the other end. “Hey. Did I wake you?”

You shake your head even though he can’t see. “No. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he says. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your breath catches. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, like it might calm your racing heart.

There’s a small silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s soft. Comfortable. Like neither of you really wants to hang up.

He speaks again, voice a little lower. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You try to play it off. “I put in effort. Didn’t want to show up looking like I did last time.”

“I liked that too,” he says. “But tonight you walked in and I forgot what the hell I was doing.”

You laugh, hiding your face in your pillow.

“I wish I could see you again right now,” he says.

“Me too.”

“Would it be too much if I said I kinda wanna fall asleep listening to you?”

Your stomach flips.

You whisper, “Then stay on the line.”

And you do—both of you quiet, just breathing, letting the silence say everything.

-

You're standing outside the bar, shifting on your feet, trying to act like you haven’t been checking your reflection in every window on the walk here.

This time, your outfit isn’t casual by accident. You planned it. Styled your hair just right. Even put on that gloss you save for special occasions.

You step inside and immediately spot him, leaning back against a booth like he owns the place, one arm slung lazily over the seat. His eyes lift—

—and damn.

They rake down your figure slowly, like he���s drinking you in. And when they return to your face, there’s the smallest upward curve to his lips.

“Someone dressed to impress,” he says, standing as you approach.

“Maybe,” you reply, coy. “You are the star of the show, after all.”

He laughs low in his throat, hand brushing the small of your back as he leans in close. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Tonight, it’s all about you.”

You sit together in the same booth. This time, there’s no ice to break. The tension simmers warm between you—his knee bumps yours under the table and doesn’t move away. His eyes flicker to your lips more than once.

“So,” you say, swirling your drink. “What happens after drinks, guitar boy?”

He smirks, elbow resting on the table as he leans closer. “Depends. You thinking of letting me kiss you again?”

You raise your brows. “You planning on asking?”

He tilts his head. “I could. But you didn’t seem to need much prompting last time.”

That earns him a playful nudge. And a flustered laugh.

He grins. "Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

The jukebox crackles as the next track begins—slow, dreamy, sweet.

Like falling asleep in warm hands. Like the part in a romance film where everything softens.

Before you can even comment on the vibe shift, Choso is rising from the booth, hand extended toward you, palm up.

Your brows lift. “You serious?”

He just smiles. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

You hesitate—because, what? In a bar? With him?? But his fingers flex, waiting, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.

You slip your hand into his.

He pulls you gently to the dance floor. There’s no one else there—just you, him, and the slow rhythm bleeding from the speakers. His hands settle on your waist. Yours hover awkwardly before curling behind his neck.

You sway.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” you mumble, heart skipping when he twirls you suddenly.

He smirks. “I’m not.”

You laugh—loud and sweet and so damn happy. And when he catches you again, you don’t pull away. Instead, you melt into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat under the fabric of his shirt.

His hand traces slow circles on your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, nuzzling in closer. “Yeah… It’s perfect.”

He rests his chin lightly atop your head. And neither of you says another word.

Not when the song ends.

Not when the next one starts.

Because for that moment—it’s just the two of you, swaying under dim lights, held together by the sound of a love song.

-

You step outside into the night, your breath curling in pale puffs. The air is colder than before, wrapping around your bare arms like a whispered warning. You shiver.

Without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His hand rests at your waist, warm and firm, grounding you.

For a while, you just stand there—side by side, quiet. The city buzzes in the distance, cars passing, streetlights humming.

You glance up at him, and he’s already looking at you. Hard.

Like he’s trying to memorize the slope of your jaw. The way the wind lifts your hair. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe.

“What?” you ask, a soft laugh in your voice, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just wets his lips. His fingers flex against your hip.

“I just…” he starts, voice rough with restraint. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You blink, heart thudding once. Twice.

The pause stretches.

“Yeah?” you murmur, leaning in a fraction. Teasing.

He nods once. Barely.

You smile—heart pounding in your throat. “So why don’t you?”

And that’s all it takes.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain. And when his lips finally meet yours—it’s soft. Slow. Full of the tension he’s been carrying all night, unspooling between you in breathless silence.

His nose bumps yours. Your hands fist the front of his shirt again. Just like last time.

Only this time, you don’t stop at one kiss.

And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice low:

“You’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?”

You laugh, barely a whisper against his lips, breath mingling with his. “Then I guess I better make it worth your while.”

That gets a reaction.

His gaze darkens just slightly, lips twitching into the faintest smirk as his hands slide down from your cheeks, one settling at the nape of your neck while the other pulls you flush against him. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

Because you’re already kissing him again.

This time it’s different.

Less hesitant.

More hungry.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands that fall just past his neck, tugging gently until he groans into your mouth. He kisses you deeper, like he’s starved, like he hasn’t been thinking about this since the first night he met you in the crowd, eyes wide and awe-struck.

His hand grips your waist, fingers digging in—not too hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, tongue flicking against it before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“You’re trouble.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips kiss-swollen and heart racing. “You’re one to talk.”

And he laughs—low and breathy, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth like he can’t help himself.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me walk you home before I get any worse ideas.”

The walk back is quiet—but not the awkward kind. It’s heavy with something, charged with unspoken words and lingering touches. His fingers brush yours with every step, and each time it happens, your breath catches.

You swear he’s doing it on purpose.

But you don’t stop him.

The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, turning his features golden for a moment, then shadowed the next. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less like the untouchable bassist who had you practically drooling the first night, and more like someone you could fall for if you’re not careful.

You sneak a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

You look away fast, heart leaping, and he chuckles under his breath.

"Cold?" he asks, tugging you gently closer.

You nod, even though that’s not why you’re shaking.

His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your head fits against him perfectly, and his hand rubs slow circles against your arm, warm and grounding.

“Still nervous?” he murmurs.

You laugh quietly. “Little bit.”

“Me too.”

You tilt your head to look at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “You make me nervous.”

You’re about to say something—anything—but then you’ve reached your place.

And suddenly, you don’t want to go inside.

He stops in front of your door, letting you go with a reluctant sigh. His hand lingers on your arm for a second longer before falling away.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and asks, “You gonna call me?”

You nod. “If you answer.”

He grins. “Always.”

You hesitate—just for a second—and then press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, but the way his breath hitches tells you it did the trick.

“Goodnight, Choso.”

And before he can pull you in again, before you can throw all common sense out the window and kiss him properly, you slip inside.

Heart pounding. Lips tingling.

-

You wake up with your heart still pounding.

And not because of a nightmare.

Nope. This was worse.

Because it was real.

You kissed Choso.

Again.

And not in a dreamlike, floaty, “this could be a maybe” kind of way. You kissed him after swaying in his arms like some romcom protagonist. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, and you felt your knees give just a little, and you definitely whimpered against his mouth like a fool.

You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in your pillow.

You’re so doomed.

Your phone vibrates.

You blink and grab it, squinting at the screen.

choso: didn’t want to wake you but i just wanted to say

choso: thank you for last night

You freeze.

Sit up slowly.

Your heartbeat? Violent.

You tap out a reply, delete it, rewrite it, delete again. Finally, you just go with:

you: it was nothing :)

Immediately after sending it:

you: i’m being weird aren’t i ignore me please

And then:

you: but also don’t ignore me because i liked it and i like you and i’m going to stop talking now before i make it worse

Your phone is dangerously quiet for thirty seconds.

Then it buzzes again.

choso: you’re not being weird.

choso: you’re being adorable

choso: i like you too

choso: also… can i see you again tonight?

You shriek into your pillow.

And then type:

you: you better

-

You weren’t expecting it when he texted you earlier that day.

come to the studio. i want you to hear something.

Now here you are, walking through a narrow hallway that smells like cigarettes and worn leather, Choso’s voice telling the receptionist to let you in. He meets you at the door, hoodie on, hair loosely tied back, a pair of headphones slung around his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes raking over you with a small smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, brushing past him as he closes the door behind you. The studio is dimly lit, a warm orange hue cast by the LED strips lining the edges of the ceiling. There’s a worn-out couch in the corner, an empty coffee cup on the desk, and wires everywhere.

He leads you to a chair beside him. “Wrote something last night. Thought you might want to hear it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Inspired by anything?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look.

He clicks a few keys on his laptop, and music starts playing—slow, rich bass, soft drums, a melody that feels like it’s watching you breathe. Then lyrics—his voice, lower and raspier than usual.

And the words? They burn.

It’s about being unable to get someone off your mind. About how they haunt your quiet moments. About wanting something that feels dangerous and delicate at the same time.

When it ends, there’s a beat of silence.

“…You wrote that?” you ask.

Choso nods, slow. “All of it.”

“It’s…” Your voice catches. “It’s beautiful.”

He leans back, watching you carefully. “It’s about you. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

The room feels smaller. Hotter. You swallow.

You murmur, “I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”

“You don’t,” he says, stepping closer. “You have more.”

He’s standing between your knees now. One hand on the armrest beside you. The other gently tilts your chin up.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You nod before your brain even catches up.

And then he does—slower this time. Like he’s savoring it. His lips slot against yours and the world blurs. His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

The music plays on in the background. But neither of you hears it.

His lips are warm against yours, stealing every thought from your head. One kiss turns into two, then three—deeper, slower, more intense. His hands settle on your waist, firm, grounding. You melt into him without thinking.

But then—between kisses, you manage a breathless whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.

“Choso, not here—there’s people around.”

His eyes open slowly, pupils blown wide. He glances around, then back at you, and that look in his eyes? It's trouble.

Without saying a word, he grabs your hand. “Come on.”

You barely catch your breath before he’s pulling you along, weaving past people, straight toward the exit. His grip doesn’t loosen, even when he’s fumbling for his keys. He unlocks his car in a rush and opens the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat himself.

The whole ride is charged—silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional stolen glance. He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the ones that had just been ghosting over your skin minutes ago.

When he pulls into the parking lot of his building, he doesn’t waste time. Hands still locked with yours, he leads you upstairs, heart pounding just as fast as yours.

The second the door shuts behind you, he turns around—and everything finally snaps.

Choso doesn’t pounce. He doesn’t rush.

He leans against the door, just watching you. Taking you in like it’s the first time. His eyes roam your face, your lips—your heaving chest. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, husky.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes.

He pushes off the door slowly, strides over like a man with nowhere else to be. His hands find your waist, gentle at first, then firm. His head dips down, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—but he doesn’t kiss you yet.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.

His nose grazes your neck, and you shudder. Every place his breath touches feels like it’s burning.

“You always look pretty,” he adds, kissing just below your ear now. “But tonight?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, lips brushing lower.

“You’re killing me.”

Your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers twitching as you lift it up slowly—exposing the pale skin of his stomach inch by inch. He lets you, arms raised, letting the fabric slide off and onto the floor. The tattoos swirl over his chest, catching the soft glow of the apartment lights, and your fingers can’t help but trace them.

“Still nervous?” he asks, voice rougher now.

You shake your head. “No. Just… can’t believe this is real.”

Choso tilts your chin up, makes you look at him. His gaze is so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.

“It is,” he says. “And we’ve got all night.”

He kisses you again, this time softer, slower. No rush. Just lips moving against yours with quiet reverence, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.

His hands stay on your waist, warm and steady, but you feel the way his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on your skin—like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he’s savoring the moment as much as you are.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He hums into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

The path to the bedroom is a blur.

You’re not sure how you get there—if he carries you, or if you walk, tangled up in each other, lips never parting for more than a breath.

The room is dim, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the blinds. It paints both of you in silver and shadow. Choso backs you toward the bed, and when your knees hit the edge, he pauses. Looks down at you like you’re something sacred.

You swallow, heart thundering. “Are you gonna keep staring or—”

“Shh.” He dips his head, kisses your neck, just under your jaw. “Let me take my time with you.”

You shiver. God, his voice—low, velvet, dangerous.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He pushes you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on it. He’s crawling up your body, hands trailing along your sides, slipping beneath your shirt—fingertips so gentle it sends goosebumps across your skin. You raise your arms, let him take it off. He discards it carefully, almost reverently, and then he’s touching you again.

It’s not frantic. It’s worship.

The way he kisses down your chest, murmuring things you can’t even process. The way he handles you like he’s scared you’ll break. His mouth is everywhere—leaving warmth and wetness and little marks that’ll be there tomorrow. Proof that this happened. That he happened.

When his hands slip lower, and he finally asks, “Can I?”—you nod, breathless, and he grins, slow and sinful.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not stopping tonight.”

His touch starts soft. Teasing.

His fingers graze along your thigh, slipping under your skirt. Just the pad of one finger tracing your inner thigh, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. He watches your reactions closely—every breath, every twitch, every clench of your thighs like it’s his favorite show.

“Already shaking,” he murmurs with a smirk, fingers drifting up higher, stopping just at the edge of your underwear. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

When he finally slips his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers are warm, his touch confident. He finds you wet—soaked—and he groans low in his throat.

“Fuck... all this for me?”

His middle finger drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, gathering everything, spreading it around before circling your clit—just barely touching it. It’s maddening.

“You’re already this worked up,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your jaw. “What happens when I really start?”

He’s rushing to take your underwear off, almost ripping them in the process. Then—finally—he eases a finger inside.

It’s slow at first. Just one finger, shallow thrusts, curling up and stroking that spot inside you until your hips start chasing him, greedy for more. He watches your face the whole time, eats up every whimper.

“Choso… more,” you whisper, barely able to speak.

His eyes flick up, dark and hungry. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “You can take another?”

You nod, breathless.

He slides a second finger in—thicker, deeper. His palm presses against your clit as his fingers work inside you, curling just right, just enough pressure to make your back arch. His other hand grabs your thigh, keeps you open and steady as he builds a rhythm.

It’s obscene—the wet, messy sounds of his fingers fucking into you—but it only makes him grin.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” he says lowly. 

You’re gasping now, clutching the sheets, legs shaking. He really is good with his hands.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your neck, tongue darting out to taste you. “Let go for me.”

And with one more curl, one more stroke—you do.

You come around his fingers, back arching, a moan ripped from your chest as he keeps moving through it, working you until you’re twitching, thighs trembling against him.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he brings them to his lips.

“Tastes even better than I imagined,” he says, voice low and ruined.

He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

The second those words leave his mouth, his gaze drops—hungry, wicked—and before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s already moving.

He’s moving down your body, settling between your legs, hands parting your thighs, spreading you wide open for him. You barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on you.

And fuck.

He licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—moaning against you like he’s tasting something divine. His tongue is hot, wet, firm—flicking against your clit before flattening and dragging against it again. He’s not shy. He devours.

You twitch under him, gasping, and his grip on your thighs tightens.

“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against you, breath fanning over your soaked heat. “Let me eat, baby.”

And oh, does he eat.

He buries his face between your legs like he’s starved—lips and tongue and heat and mess, sucking your clit into his mouth, groaning when your fingers grab his hair and pull. His nose nudges your clit, the piercings in his ears cold against your thigh.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue fucks into you, messy and wet, before he pulls back to mouth at your clit again.

You’re a wreck—panting, eyes rolling back, legs trembling on either side of his head. He loves it. You can tell by the way he hums into you, nose buried in your folds, like every whimper out of you is a personal victory.

Your thighs start to close around his head—he lets them. Arms locking around your legs, holding you there like he wants to be suffocated. And with one more flick of his tongue—one more swirl, one more perfect pressure—

You cry out, hips jerking, thighs clenching, and he doesn’t stop. He works you through it, licking, kissing, groaning against your cunt like he’s drunk off you.

When your body finally slumps back against the mattress, dazed and spent, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.

His mouth glistens. His eyes are wrecked.

And he licks his lips.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Choso’s mouth is still hot against yours, the kiss messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. 

He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down along with his boxers, his girthy length slapping against his abdomen. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp at the sight of it. But you don't have time to marvel at it. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them up—higher, higher—until you're folded in half in a mean mating press.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough, chest heaving. “Wanna see your face while I fuck you.”

Your breath catches.

His hands hook behind your knees, holding them open as he shifts forward. The position has you completely laid out for him, helpless beneath the weight of his body. You feel his cock, thick and hard, dragging over your slick entrance—and then he pushes in, slow and deep.

You whimper—a sound torn from your throat, soft and wrecked, your back arching as he presses deeper.

Choso groans, low and guttural, head falling forward to rest against yours. His breath fans hot across your cheek, and you swear you can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds himself still—just for a second.

“F-fuck…” he breathes, voice rough with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight like this…”

His hips roll forward again, slower this time, the movement deliberate—like he wants you to feel every inch. “Feels like you’re made for me,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp.

Your fingers scramble across the expanse of his back, nails dragging, searching for something to ground you. His shoulders, his arms, anything—because the way he’s filling you, stretching you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Then he starts to move. Deep. Steady. And the new angle is devastating.

He hits every spot just right, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and purposeful, grinding into the deepest parts of you with every thrust. Your legs tremble in his hold, pinned back and open for him, the pressure building with each stroke. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping free—high-pitched and desperate.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

But it’s not pain. No—never that.

It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. It’s him.

“You’re taking it so well,” he grits out, eyes burning into yours as his pace deepens. “Fuck—just like that, baby. Taking all of me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted as your moans spill freely. He leans down—closer, closer—until your thighs are nearly flush to your chest and his weight settles on top of you, heavy and grounding.

And he fucks you.

Not rough, but intentional—each stroke slow and deep, hips rolling so he never leaves you empty. He watches your face, watches every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes. Like he’s trying to memorize it. All of it.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling when his thrusts grind just right. His name escapes you in a whimper—over and over, his name like a mantra.

“Choso—” you gasp. “Oh my God—Choso, I-I…”

“I know,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

You’re soaked—messy, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room, underscored by the soft creak of the mattress and your broken cries.

He shifts, angling just so, and you shatter.

Your body seizes, nails digging into his back as your orgasm rips through you, sudden and all-consuming. A sob leaves your throat, your back arching as your walls flutter and clamp down around him.

With a low groan, he shifts—gently, carefully—his hands sliding beneath your thighs to lower them. You gasp softly when he wraps your legs around his waist, keeping you close, keeping you full, as his hips press flush to yours.

He groans—a raw, broken sound—his hips stuttering. “Shit—fuck, I’m close—where do you want it, sweetheart?”

You barely think. You just nod, desperate. “Inside—please—inside.”

That’s all he needs.

He presses in deep, body trembling, a shudder running through him as he spills into you, cock twitching with every pulse of his release. You feel the heat of it—so much, thick and warm as it fills you up. And still, he doesn’t stop.

He keeps moving—soft, shallow thrusts that drag it out, that make your body twitch and whimper, overstimulated and glowing.

His name slips from your lips again, quieter this time, your fingers trailing down his back, soothing over sweat-slick skin.

And then—finally—he stills.

Buried to the hilt. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, voice low and reverent.

His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin like he’s grounding himself.

"Don’t want to let go just yet," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and aftermath. He leans down, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Feels too good like this.”

You hum, dazed and pliant, arms winding around his neck as your forehead rests against his. His weight, his warmth—it’s comforting. Heavy in the best way.

Every small shift makes you gasp—too sensitive, too raw—but you don’t ask him to move.

You don’t want him to either.

And neither does he.

So he stays there—buried deep, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies tangled as if they were always meant to be like this.

After, when the haze finally starts to fade, Choso is the first to move—but only just.

He brushes your hair from your face with slow fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and full of concern. Gentle. So gentle. “Was that… too much?”

You shake your head, barely able to speak as you whisper, “No. It was perfect.”

He exhales, and the breath sounds like relief. Like he needed to hear that.

Without a word, he slips out of bed, grabbing a warm cloth and returning to you. He moves with such care—his hands slow, wiping between your thighs with reverence, like you’re something precious. You flinch a little at the sensitivity, and he mumbles a soft “Sorry” as he presses a kiss to your knee, his gaze flickering up to check on you again.

Once you’re clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back under the covers. You instinctively curl into him, and he opens his arms wide, pulling you in, tucking your head beneath his chin.

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your spine. Your legs are tangled with his, your body warm and sore and safe. He smells like sweat and sex and his cologne, and you want to fall asleep in this exact moment, forever.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs against your hair.

You blink up at him. “That’s my line.”

He smiles, barely-there but so real. “Guess we’ll take turns.”

You laugh—quiet, muffled against his chest—and he hums along with it, fingers still moving along your back.

A silence settles between you, but it isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. The kind that only comes after letting someone see you bare in every way.

He breaks it eventually, voice thick with sleep. “You staying over?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

And neither would he.

So he kisses the top of your head one more time, murmurs something soft and unintelligible against your skin, and lets himself fall asleep with you in his arms.

Exactly where you both want to be.

author's note. this is just pure choso brainrot because i could not get that fanart out of my head so ofc i had to write something about it. (choso girlies, i'm borrowing your man for a while, thank you)

please do not steal, modify or translate my work.

[planet-hwa]

NSFW ALPHABET — 홍중

A   aftercare hongjoong is big into aftercare. he likes to be close to you after the two of you are intimate, especially since things can get quite degrading during your sessions, but he will be there to remind just how much he truly loves you. he might quickly get up to grab the two of you drinks and some snacks, maybe turning on a movie or just listening to music quietly and talking.

B   body part on your body he loves your hips, especially when there is a nice hip dip involved. it makes it so much easier for him to grip onto you, and he loves squeezing the soft flesh in his hands as he slams into you. on his body he loves his chest and is quite confident in the size of his pecs, it turns him on wildly every time you gawk at his it once he removes his shirt. he's also quite confident in the size below his waistband...

C   cum he was never to fussy on where he liked to finish, until you let him finish all over your face. the sight of his white ropes painting your face drove him insane, and the image burned into his brain — as well as his wallet, which is where he keeps a polaroid of your cum coated face.

D   dominant vs. submissive  there is not a submissive bone in his body, he loooves being in charge. depending on the mood, he can be a soft dom or a hard dom, but majority of the time it's the latter, he just loves having you completely submit to him.

E   experience hongjoong definitely has experiences in all different angles of sex, he has definitely been with a few people prior to you but not an extremely high number — roughly 4 or 5. depending on the experience of his partner, he is willing to take intimacy in a relationship slow and learn what his partner likes first before showing off his true kinks and desires.

F   friends with benefits if hongjoong was in a friends with benefits situation, he would treat it similar to an official relationship. he wouldn't just use you for sex, sometimes he would just want to hang out (even if it does always lead to sex eventually), and when it does lead to sex, he would make sure the both of you enjoy.

G   gentle vs. rough hongjoong can be both a gentle and a rough physical partner, depending on his mood. if either of you are tired but still have need for each other, or he's in a very lovey-dovey mood, he's as gentle as ever. but his usual attitude in bed is rough, especially if he's had a lot of strong emotions throughout the day.

H   have you ever tried this one? since his favourite body part of yours is your hips, hongjoong favourite position is doggy style, where he has the best access to grip your hips. he loves that he can bend you over anywhere and fuck deep into you; on the bed, over the kitchen counter, his desk, the washing machine — his grip on your hips will leave bruises.

I   intimacy since he's a such a jealous person, he prefers to be in a relationship than sleeping around. if he were to have casual hook ups, he would want to be the only person and wouldn't like for his hook up partner to sleep with others; only him.

J   jerking off he doesn't do it often, since he doesn't feel the same pleasure with his own hand as he does with yours. the only time he would do it is when he's overseas and away from you, but he'll use any picture of you that he has to get him off, he might even call you and jerk off to the sound of your voice.

K   kinks [ 1 ] cockwarming: hongjoong loves the feeling of being deep inside you, whether it's while he's working and you're sat on his lap, or the two of you are cuddling before bed, or you're watching a movie with friends and the blanket covering your laps are to disguise your dirty secret — he needs to be inside you at all times.

[ 2 ] orgasm control and edging: he loves watching you squirm underneath him at the overstimulation you're receiving, adores hearing your whines and pleas. whether he does this with his own abilities or with added toys, he will deny and ruin multiple orgasms before finally letting you go.

[ 3 ] somnophilia: hongjoong always works so late in the studio, the two of you rarely get the chance to be physical. he loves the idea of waking you up by eating you out, or slipping his dick in and gently pumping in your gummy walls, the soft moans you make in your sleep are music to his ears — the two of you would have a consensual conversation before with lots of confirmation.

L   location he doesn't like to be interrupted, so the best place for him is in the bedroom when the two of you are alone. however, he's in the studio so often that when you come to visit, you almost always end up getting eaten out in his chair, or fucked deep into the leather couch in the room — thank god the place is sound proof.

M   motivations the thing that turns hongjoong on the most is when you look at him with big puppy eyes, he can't resist them. any intense eye contact can make him crumble in seconds.

N   nudes he's not the type to send nudes unless requested, and he's also not the type to request nudes, but will worship and appreciate the gifts you send him while he's away — immediately in the 'spank bank'.

O   oral giving: hongjoong prefers to give, all because he likes the control of the orgasms he gives you. his favourite thing to do is set you up in his work chair, legs spread over the arms and your drenched pussy on display for him. eating you out like you're his final meal, watching as you squirm and your muscles tightened before releasing another orgasm. he can spends hours just torturing you between your legs.

receiving: he will never deny the offer to suck him off, quick to slip his dick out of his pants. he loves the feeling of your wet mouth surrounding him, tongue swirling around his swollen tip. but he's still dominant — grabbing a full fist of your hair to be able to control your pace, enjoying watching the tears run down your cheeks as his cock hits the back of your throat before releasing his load down it.

P   pillowtalk hongjoong is more into making noises of pleasure rather than dirty talk, but if he were to say things, it'd be about how good you make him feel: "god, just like that baby" — "you feel so good around my cock, so wet for me" — "you taste so sweet, i'm addicted". in terms of what he'd want to hear from you, the sound of your moans growing higher and louder would be enough to know how good he makes you feel, but he wouldn't mind being told a few times too.

Q   quickie vs. all night long he won't deny a quickie, but he prefers long sexual sessions. that way he can pull you apart piece by piece, putting you in all different positions and pulling multiple orgasms out of the both of you. the only time he would want a quickie is for a release before he heads out on stage, almost like a good luck kiss but with your other set of lips.

R   raw juseyo he'd definitely use protection, especially in the earlier stages of your relationship. he didn't care about having raw sex until it happened one night surprisingly, and he became addicted to the feeling. he loved that he could feel every texture inside of you more than with a condom on, and he loved watching your reactions as the veins on his cock would run over the ridges in your gummy walls.

S   stamina hongjoong is good at holding up his stamina, and can go for multiple rounds, probably 4-5 with each lasting extending amounts of time. that doesn't even include the rounds he spends on just foreplay, which added another 3 or 4 rounds to the full experience. it's because he keeps a good pace that makes him last so long, starting of slow and raising the tempo every so often.

T   three's a crowd hongjoong isn't interested in threesomes or orgys, he likes to have you all to himself. though he doesn't mind the idea of being watched, he will never let someone else touch you the way he does.

U   unholy thoughts whenever he sees someone flirting with you or staring at you, whether it be a stranger or the lingering eyes of one of the members, all he can think about is tearing your clothes off and fucking you in front of them. forcing the person to watch as hongjoong proves to them that he's the only one who will ever make you feel good.

V   volume he won't get too loud with the noises he makes, but the noises are beautiful. he'll moan and groan into your pussy as he eats you out, occasionally letting out his iconic little laugh when he watches your body shiver with overstimulation. when you're sucking him off or when he's inside of you, his moans with go more high pitched when he gets closer to falling off the edge, letting out a deep whimper once he cums.

W   wildcard if he gets home early and you happen to be pleasing yourself, he'll peak through the door and jack off at the sight of you, listening to the way you moan his name. he knows your body so well, he'll interrupt you just before your about to finish and scold you for getting off without him, even if he was enjoying the view...

X   x-ray nobody is telling me hongjoong doesn't give big dick energy, maybe it's just the dilf energy in him. he's not massive but he's larger than average, with a slight curve and a nice rosy tip, and a prominent thick vein on the underside of his cock.

Y   yearning he has quite a high sex drive, probably just higher than average. he controls himself well but if he could, he would fuck you every minute of every day.

Z   zzzleep unless it's a late night and he's just come back from the studio, the two of you have a quick lazy session, he's quite energetic after sex. he'll encourage you to stay up and watch a movie, but also adores when you fall asleep against his bare chest half an hour into the movie.

. . . ⇢ the template for you to use

written by planet-hwa™

[kingofthe-egirls]

I know request are closed but would u consider making a prequel of "does it hurt?" Luffy x reader of losing her virginity? U can reject this if u want I'll understand if u don't want to

thank you SO much for your patience! i have been working on this for a while, i hope it lives up to expectations!

FIRST TIME: LUFFY x Y/N

(this is a prequel to does it hurt?)

(cw: first time, fingering, eating out, piv sex, lovey dovey luffy, possessive luffy, multiple rounds)

words: 2.3k

***

You’re sitting on Luffy’s lap in his bedroom, his arms rubber-wrapped around you several times. Luffy holds you to him as he kisses you, his lips soft and chapped.

“Never gonna let you go,” he mumbles against your lips, “You’re mine forever.”

You moan into the kiss, all “I know, Luffy, all yours, just yours…” You wriggle your arms free so you can play with his hair. It’s soft and fluffy, your fingers tangling in the dark locks. Luffy hums beneath you, tightening his arms back up.

“You like having me all to yourself?” You grin, enjoying his possessiveness. Luffy growls, his rubber hands finding their way to your ass. He squeezes it, before landing a quick slap. He giggles as you gasp, nuzzling into your cheek.

“Course I do,” he bites your cheek, still groping your ass, “You’re the prettiest thing in all four seas,” he smooches the place he bit. Your cheek tingles from his attention. “What about me? Ya like having me like this?” Earnestness colors his voice, a faint trace of self consciousness that you hate to see in his storm gray eyes.

“Love it,” you breathe, cupping his face in your hands as you kiss him. You kiss him deeply, slipping your tongue inside his mouth. He sucks on the tip, and you both let out heady moans. You grind a bit on his lap, and he lets out the sweetest sound, all raspy and broken. Your Luffy. Moaning for you in his bed. You could die happy right now.

“Want more, baby?” He whispers the question against the side of your neck. He kisses there, softly mouthing along your pulse point. His hand goes to your jaw, his thumb pressing on the underside. He gently angles your head to give himself more room as he kisses and licks at you.

“Mhmm,” you moan, eyes fluttered shut as he lavishes your neck with affection.

Luffy unspools his arms from around you, snapping them back to their natural length. He grins, hands going to the hem of your shirt. He hesitates for one, two—then he pulls it off over your head. You’re left in a lacy bralette, and Luffy’s eyes go wide at the sight of you. You’re both new to this, this being alighted with sparks all over your skin, and you haven’t gone much farther than this.

Luffy’s hands trail up your waist, squeezing you. He leans down to press kisses along the swell of your breasts. He’s kissed you over your clothes, but never under. Nerves are on fire inside you.

“Luffy…I want more,” you say softly, your hands in his hair. He looks up at you with stars in his eyes.

“Yeah?” He asks, all excited, “What else do you want?” He’s so happy, so eager to please you. To explore and celebrate every last inch of you.

“I want you to touch me, here,” you take his hands to place them on your chest. He squeezes you, his lips parted.

“Can I—,” he swallows, “Can I take this off?” His voice tremors, just a bit. He’s usually so chaotic and carefree, but in moments like these he’s soft, gentle, unsure. He touches you like you’re a stray kitten.

You smile, and lift your bralette off over your head.

Luffy breaks out into a grin, whispering, “whoa…,” to himself as he reaches out to touch you. His hands are warm and rubbery. He kneads your flesh, his touch soft but firm. He squeezes you, snickering to himself as he enjoys feeling you up.

You tug at his vest, and he grins as he slides it off his shoulders. You trail your hands over his muscles: his arms, his abs, his pecs. You squeeze at his biceps and he flexes for you.

“Like it?” He asks with a smirk.

You give his rock hard bicep an appreciative smack. “Love it,” you laugh.

Luffy laughs with you, before switching your positions in an instant. He has you on your back now, hovering over you in bed. He spreads your legs with his thigh, before melting down on top of you. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue diving into your mouth. You moan around it, and Luffy grinds his hips into yours. You both thrust into each other, chasing that friction.

Luffy trails his hand down your center, groping you over your shorts. He fiddles with the button, whispering a quick, “Can I take these off?”

You’ve never gone this far with him before, and butterflies explode in your stomach. “Yes, I’m ready…,” you murmur.

“Okay, baby, we’re gonna go slow,” he mumbles into your neck, undoing the button of your shorts. He slides his hand inside, clumsily finding your clit through your underwear. He presses down hard and you gasp.

“Right there?” He asks.

You nod, “A little to the left.”

He adjusts, and you moan at his touch. Luffy sits up to tug your shorts and underwear off your legs. You’re left bare for him now, for the first time. Your blood is pumping hot inside you, filling your body with tingles. “Your turn,” you tug on the waistband of his jean shorts.

Luffy gets up from the bed to unbutton them and slide them down his legs. He’s hard already, his cock bouncing up to smack against his abdomen. Your mouth falls open. He’s huge.

“Luffy…,” you warn, your face burning, “Is that gonna fit?”

Luffy looks down at his cock, then back up at you. He’s got this shit eating grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit.”

Luffy climbs back on the bed, kneeling between your legs.

He takes your thighs in his hands and spreads them open. You try to close them, to hide from his hungry gaze, but he tuts and lightly smacks the inside of your thigh. “Lemme see.”

Luffy spreads your legs, eyes going wide at the sight of your pussy, wet and trembling just for him.

“Whoa,” he intones, jaw slack. You feel embarrassment rush through you, but Luffy wants to look. There’s no way you can deny him. “You’re so pretty down here. All wet n puffy.”

He takes his thumbs and strokes them over your major lips, spreading you open.

“Luffy!” You complain, but he doesn’t heed you. He just keeps stroking your pussy lips up and down, before experimentally swiping a finger through your folds. He lifts it up to his mouth to taste, eyes fluttering shut. “You taste good,” he mumbles, before an idea lights behind his eyes. He grins, and lays down on his stomach, his face between your thighs. “Want more.”

He laps at you, big ice cream licks over your pussy. He pokes his tongue inside and you gasp, which makes him groan in pleasure. You can see him humping the mattress as he eats you out.

Luffy sucks on you, finding your clit with his eager mouth. “Luffy!” You gasp, your hands flying to his hair. You pull on it, grinding against his tongue. Your body is moving on its own, chasing the pleasure Luffy is giving you. You didn’t know it would feel this good.

Luffy finds a rhythm, licking and kissing and sucking at you, until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him. He pops off you with a gasp, his lips and chin covered in you.

“Fuck,” you moan, twitching a little from the pleasure.

Luffy doesn’t give you time to rest, he’s sitting up to kneel between your legs, his hand on his cock as he guides it toward your entrance. “Ready f’me, baby?”

You’re breathing heavy, flushed from the pleasure and feeling a little buzzed. You’ve never had sex before, but it’s with Luffy. You want it to be Luffy. You nod.

“Wait, grab some lube first,” you squirm a little in place, not wanting it to hurt. Luffy reaches over to the bedside table drawer and pulls out a little blue bottle. He uncaps it to pour some in his palm, before sliding it over his cock. He fists himself for a moment, the shine of the lube glinting off his cock as his head falls back.

“Do you want me?” He whispers, peering down at you with one eye open. You can see the vulnerability there, and you want to wash it away forever. You sit up to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him in closer to you. You lie back down with him over you, kissing all over the side of his face.

“Of course I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Luffy melts against you, leaning down to kiss you proper. His arms are caging you in, his body pressed flush against you. You feel his hardness poking into your thigh.

“D’ya mean that?”

He mumbles the words as he kisses your neck. You moan, wrapping your arms around him tighter. You want to keep him safe.

“I mean it.”

Luffy hums, before reaching between you to line his cock up at your entrance. You both hiss as he pushes in, the sting intense and all consuming. You’ve had your own fingers before, some toys, but nothing compares to this. This stretched out, burning sensation that quickly melts into pure pleasure.

“Oh, Luffy~” you keen as he pushes deeper. Luffy is breathing heavy, bracing himself on his arms as he takes it slow.

“How’s that, baby girl?” His voice is raspy, barely restraining the need to take you fast and hard.

“It’s—ah—good,” you squeak, eyes squeezed shut as he fully seats himself inside you. You breathe in and out, your body slowly relaxing around him. “Faster now?”

Luffy groans, slowly pulling out of you to gently push back in. He massages your walls like that, the slow in and out burning hot inside you. “So tight f’me,” he grunts, starting to pick up the pace. He fucks you in measured strokes, neither too slow nor too fast, with just the right amount of pressure.

You wrap your limbs around him, keening in pleasure.

“Yeah, baby girl? Ya like what I’m doing to you?” He mumbles against your neck. He smooches there, once. His breath fans hot over your skin.

“Luffy…,” you whine, raking your hands through his hair. He lets out a breathy laugh against the side of your neck.

“That’s good, baby, say my name like that again,” he commands. His pelvis thrusts against yours particularly hard, driving himself deeper inside you.

“Luuffyyyyy,” you moan out, arching against him. Luffy speeds up, giggling a little at your reactions. He’s all flushed and panting, kissing your neck as he fucks you.

His hips snap into you, fucking you in earnest now. His cock drags deliciously against your plush walls, deeper and deeper until you’re writhing in his arms. Luffy presses himself against you, kissing you in missionary.

“Luffy—fuck, this feels so good,” you groan, eyes falling shut.

“Stop that,” Luffy commands, grabbing your jaw, “Eyes on me.”

Your eyes fly open, shocked at his tone. “Luffy?” you ask, cheeks squished in from where he’s holding you. Luffy’s face is dark, his expression predatory.

“You’re mine, princess,” he says, his nose brushing yours as he fucks you. He kisses your lips. You moan into it, your hands tightening in his hair.

His hips slam into yours, rocking your body higher on the bed. Luffy chases after you, thrusting as he grunts, “All. Fucking. Mine.”

You coo his name, all “Luuuffyyyy~” As you scrabble at his back. His rhythm is steady and powerful, and you start to feel something flutter in your core. “Luffy—ah, I’m close!” you say as spasms overtake you, your pleasure coming loose inside you as you orgasm around his cock.

“That’s it, baby, come for me,” Luffy growls in your ear as he fucks you through it. “Be a good girl and come on captain’s cock.”

You moan loudly at his words, his use of the title. He’s your captain, your best friend, and he’s here to keep you safe.

“M’close, sweetheart,” he pants, his face flushed, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you whimper. Luffy cackles in delight, at how fun this is, before he’s swiftly coming undone inside your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” You cry out as you feel him fill you all up inside.

You tremble around him, sighing out in relief as Luffy deflates above you.

“Shit,” he lets out a throaty laugh. “Was that good, princess?”

“Mmhmmm,” you moan, squirming out from under him. Luffy tuts, and ropes an arm around you to keep you close.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He teases you, his voice low and scratchy.

“It’s hot,” you complain.

Luffy starts kissing your neck, unbothered. “It is hot, isn’t?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Luuffy~” You coo his name, and he finally relents. He turns over off the side of you, letting you breathe.

“That was fun,” he says, grinning. His face is flushed, his boyish features dusted a rosy pink as his eyes crinkle shut. “Can we do it again soon?”

“How soon?”

Luffy pounces on you again, “Right now!”

You gasp as he bounces against the bed, “M-maybe not right now!”

But Luffy is already kissing your neck, his hand trailing down your stomach to your clit. He swipes his fingerpads against it, making you cry out from the overstimulation.

Luffy tips you on your side so now you’re face down in the mattress. He kneels behind you, already swiping the head of his cock against your folds.

“Please, can I?”

You let out a moan in response, and Luffy snickers as he pushes in.

He fucks you again, your head spinning from pleasure. That’s how rounds two and three go, and by the end of it the room is steamy, you’re both panting, and you’re in dire need of opening a window.

Luffy pads up behind you as you stand at the porthole, breathing in the fresh, ocean air. He circles his arms around your waist, pressing into you from behind.

“I love you, y/n.”

You smile, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “I love you too.”

Luffy gives your hips a squeeze. “Let’s go get snacks.”

You giggle, “Yes, captain!”

Luffy hums as he smooches your temple. “I like the sound of that.”

[nodoubtily]

Can u write riki x reader and its their first time together and he’s very sweet and gentle <33 I love your works

YASSSSS

TW: smut, missionary, lovey dovey type shii, lowkey short as hell

Perm taglist: @jyikeu @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

“Let me know if this becomes too much.” Niki says softly, his tip teasing your entrance, which only begs for it. You nod meekly, hands shaking slightly. He notices, and he slides inside, slowly easing in. The stretch burns, but you take it as he slowly sinks his cock in, hands holding yours.

You suck air through your teeth, eyebrows furrowing. Niki’s hands let go of yours, and they wipe hair off of your face, and he drops a tender kiss on your forehead.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” He whispers, as he bottoms out. He doesn’t move, allowing you to adjust.

“I’m so glad you’re doing this.” You eventually say, after finding the strength to say something. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to.”

Your words bring a smile to Niki’s face. “I love you.” He whispers quietly. You nod, as the signal to go, and he begins to gently thrust, starting a very slow pace to warm you up.

The sting fades, being replaced by pleasure that only builds up more.

“Feels so good.” Your voice is shaky, as you try to relax.

“You’re doing so good.” Niki’s thrusts speed up, which breaks a moan from you.

“Faster…” a whine escapes your throat.

Niki finds a faster pace, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. The room that feels hot. Moans of desperation and immense pleasure leave your lips, and your cunt clenches tightly around Niki’s long, thick shaft.

Your eyes trail along Niki, starting at his beautiful face. Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead, and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, groans leaving out of his throat from his chest.

Your eyes travel to his body, his naked chest bare. His abs clench every time he bottoms out, wet with sweat.

Your eyes then watch where your bodies meet. You watch as his dick glides in and out of your pussy with precise ease, disappearing for a few seconds before showing itself.

“I love you baby.” He announces, leaning lower. Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him where he’s positioned. He rests on his knees, face to face with you.

“I love—you too.” You have difficulty forming a sentence, his dick reaching places you didn’t know existed. Places so deep in your pussy, that it feels as if he’s in your stomach.

“Thank you for trusting me.” His lips kiss around your face, peppering wherever he sees fit.

“Thank you for loving me.” Your hands brush hair out of his face, and you admire his pretty eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Niki.”

He then kisses your lips. “You’re more beautiful though.” He bottoms out, grinding instead. You feel his pubic bone apply pressure to your clit, forming a tight knot in your abdomen.

“I think I’m gonna cum soon.” You announce, and he nods. Your lower half meets with his, moving the way he does, forming a new rhythm that has you clenching hard, your walls clamping around Niki’s dick. A low groan is torn out from his throat.

“Fuck, me too.” You feel him throbbing through the condom, and you can only imagine how good it’d feel without one on. That thought alone brings you even closer to your orgasm, and your arms wrap around Niki’s neck, leaning him down once again, and his hips find a new angle. A new angle that has him reaching the spongy spot in no time, and you reach a hand down to rub your clit rashly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You whine out, your voice drowning in desperation.

“You’re so good to me. Let go, baby.” And as on command, the knot in your stomach snaps.

Waves and waves of ecstasy wash over you, explosions from your bundle of nerves clenching your cunt around Niki, causing him to groan out in pleasure as his seed seeps into the condom, muffled moans echoing.

Moments of comfortable silence overpass, as you both recollect your thoughts. Niki slowly pulls out, binning the used condom before he slides his boxers on.

“Let get you cleaned up, yeah?” His arms loop around your knees and back, and he lifts you up effortlessly, carrying you to the bathroom.

PERM TAGLIST: @jyikeu @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

[jazziejax]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Dev-Em x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which the sudden crash into the backyard of a southern belle’s Louisiana bayous home leads to the unexpected meeting of an outer space alien and regular baker

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Fluff, chile, idk superpowers maybe?

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I think this might be my favorite story so far. I love superhero’s and lovey-dovey fluff and this is all that plus a fine ass man so…UNEDITED!!! Sorry for any spelling errors. I’m also working on my other works so you’ll be getting an update soon! Also, tagging never works for me so if the tag list is janky, I’m so sorry. Let me know if you want to be apart of it and what you guys think, LOVE YOU!!!<3

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 7,109+

Tonight was quiet, oddly enough. The air was still, with no sound of the soft chirping of crickets or a lighting bug in sight, save for the occasional breeze of the warm southern wind. The usually humid air now had a cool breeze to it, less sticky and sweeping the curly flyaways at the back of her neck, causing her to occasionally reach back to swat at the feeling of false flies. Her curly fro was in a bun at the top of her head, a silk scarf wrapped around the base and a pencil stuck in her hair rather than behind her ear since she was wearing her glasses. She was reading some physiological thriller about a woman and her husband’s mistress. She was almost done and was anticipating the crossword puzzles it had in the back.

She sat on her porch in a creaky rocking chair, a book resting on her lap and a glass of iced tea sweating on the small table beside her and her small orange, Mufasa, resting on the floor. She then sighed, tilting her head back to lean against the back of her chair. “I pray a marriage like this never finds me.” She said to herself after the woman caught her husband and the mistress again, the pair telling her their creed story to ruin her life and walk away scotch-free and with all the money. Her gaze was locked on the stars, able to see the twinkling rocks due to the small amount of artificial light available in the Bayou neighborhood.

This was how every night was for her. She ended the day on her porch, her fluffy robe covering whatever she decried to wear that night as she softly rocked back and forth in her old chair, reading whatever book she picked up next from the porch swing, that seat was filled with all the books she bought when she first moved into the large home. Then she’d end it all by giving the stars one last glance. Looking between the constellation patterns she could recognize and the occasional star-link that slowly moved across the sky. And the North Star shined big and bright in front of her, angled perfectly with the spot of her chair.

But the twinkling was different tonight. The stars seemed to shine brighter than usual. Everything about tonight was different.

That’s when she saw it. A streak of light tore across the sky, burning bright like a falling star. She stood up with a gasp, looking at the moving ball. “Oh my goodness, a shooting star.” She said softly. She started at it as it moved across the sky before quickly clasping her fists together. “Ohh! I gotta make a wish.” She held them up to her chest, tightly shutting her eyes. She then took in a beep breath.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely. She thought to herself, her thoughts dwindling within her mind once she realized how sad and pathetic she sounded. She let out a small sigh, opening her eyes and placing her hands on her hips. “Now this is just sad, Magnolia Etienne.” She shook her head at herself. She then crossed her arms, giving the sky one last look. It was empty now, with no moving stars in sight. Pushing her lips, she turned around and picked her book up from the soft pad placed on the seat of her rocking chair.

She tucked her book under her arms and squatted to scratch behind her cat’s ears. “Come on Mufasa, time for bed.” She said. The lazy cat perked up at the sound of her voice and her fingers in his fur. He meowed as he leaned into the touch, rising from his lounging position, the bell on his collar emitting a soft ding. She grabbed her glass of tea and began to make her way into her home, opening the screen door.

She held the door open, watching Mufasa waddle his way past her. She had a small smile on her face before closing both of her doors behind her and locking them. She watched as Mufasa trudged his way up the stairs to her right while she went to the left, right into the archway that led to the large kitchen. She poured the rest of her tea down the drain and placed the dark green glass in the sink. She then scurried out of the kitchen back through the same archway and began to make her way up the same stairs as Mufasa.

She was only halfway up before she heard what sounded like a large freight train coming near. She couldn’t pause to contemplate what the sound could be before a loud explosion sounded from outside. The entire house shook at the crash, the pictures on the wall jittering at the vibrations while Magnolia tried to keep her balance as she leaned against the wall next to her for stability. She heard Mufasa’s loud screech from her bedroom before she saw the orange ball bumbling down the steps towards her.

Magnolia’s heart pounded within her chest as she suck to the floor, scooping her cat into her arms as she waited for things to die down. Her home still vibrated after the lasting effects of the crash, which she could tell was close due to the sound and her still shaking home. And after that, for only a moment, everything was still. The only sound was her shallow breathing and Mufasa’s soft bell as he moved within her arms. She then slowly pushed herself up, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Lord have mercy,” Magnolia breathed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled up the stairs, her cat still in her arms as she made her way down the hall and to her bedroom. She gave no regard to the clothes on the floor as hopped over them, quickly grabbing the shotgun from beside her bed. She didn’t wait another second before rushing down the stairs. She went to her left, leaving her into the living room, making her way over to the bay window tucked to the side, and looking out the large glass panels.

A glow white emitted from her backyard through the smoke of the explosion. She furrowed her brows as she blinked, wondering what could’ve possibly crashed landed on her property of all things.

She pushed herself from her knees on the cushion window seat to pull out the ball draw under it, pulling out a large flashlight. With Mufasa still in her arms, along with her gun and now her tool, she made her way to the back door of her home. She took slow steps from the living room to the dining room, the white glow dimming down before her eyes through the curtains of the home. Once she made it past the seating area and into the kitchen, she hit the screen door leading to the back porch. She paused, gulping as she looked through the mosquito net that stopped at her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. This is probably really stupid.” She said to the cat in her arms. “So I’m bringing you out here in case I die.” She looked down at him, only to meet his disinterested expression, a consistent look of his. “I want you to run to Leroy’s house and tell him I’m gone. He’ll take care of you.” She gave him a sad smile. Mufasa just blinked.

“You don’t give a damn.” She sighed before leaning down a little to drop him from her hands. She stood straight with a small huff, calming her nerves and collecting herself before stepping out of the door. She wiped her palms on the side of her soft purple robe, switching the cold metal of the rifle between her hands. She then began to stretch her arms and shoulders, pulling one arm over her chest to the opposite side. Once done, she placed the gun in her hands, positioning it just right in case she needed to aim. She also held the flashlight.

Magnolia squinted as she pushed open the door, the smoke from the explosion seeping into the bottom of the door. Mufasa rushed out into the smog that had eased its way up the steps of her porch.

Her breath hitched as she pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the back porch, her sock-cladded feet pressing against the cool and damp wooden boards. She squinted out into the yard, trying to see past the smoke that was beginning to roll into the bayou waters not far from the grass.

She took a few more steps out, stepping down the first few creaky steps of the porch. She could hear the soft bell of Mufasa’s collar coming from the center of the explosion. Her heart was pounding within her chest as she stepped closer and closer, her flashlight finally giving her some justice of sight into the space of the crash. “Please let it be…oh, hell, I don’t know, nothing crashing into your backyard is good.” She said softly to herself. “Unless it’s money in a safe. That’ll be good if I could get the safe open.” She tried to calm herself down, her mind racing on something that could potentially kill her or have her making some sort of official report.

Her breath hitched at the sight before her, the fog dimming to reveal what lay in the middle of her garden. Right where her prized tomatoes used to grow, was a smoldering crater, smoke curling into the humid night air. She edged closer, the shotgun held tight to her chest and then froze when she saw it—someone, or something, lying in the wreckage.

“Well my, oh, my.” She whispered. There was a man in the crater. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in soot. His clothes—or what was left of them—looked strange, like some sort of uniform or armor that had been ripped apart in the impact, the black suit shimmering in the moonlight. Blood streaked his face, and his breathing was shallow, which she could only tell that he was doing by the way the smoke cleared from his face. She stood there, shocked at what she was seeing. She glanced around the crater, looking for anything else that could indicate what happened or caused the crash, but there was nothing. No debris, shrapnel, scraps, nothing. Just him and the hole.

Mufasa sat himself next to his head after giving the man a quick sniff. He then reached out a placed a paw on the unconscious man’s head, turning his head to give the woman his same disinterested face. Magnolia hesitated, but only for a moment. She then dropped her arms, letting out a deep sigh. “Reckon I can’t just leave you out here,” she muttered to herself, setting the shotgun aside.

She placed her hands on her hips, observing the scene before her. She then let out another sigh before moving her way into the crater with the man and giving her cat a look. “You gon’ just sit there and stare or are you gonna help a sista out?” She asked, bending to the man. Mufasa just yawned, giving her the same look, causing her to let out a small scoff. “No help, as usual. You know, I don’t even know why I let you live with me, rent-free.” She snarked at him as she moved to grab the man’s upper body to drag him away. “You’re gonna have to start carrying your own weight.” She groaned as she took steps. Mufasa just sat next to him, watching as she struggled. “Of course not now.”

It took all of her strength to drag him into the house. She groaned all the way into the home with the weight of the man in her arms. Mufasa did nothing but follow her, at the heels of the unconscious man, stopping now and then when Magnolia dropped him to catch her breath. “Just give me a sec. This guy’s a bolder and you’re no help.” She’d puff out. Then she’d only receive the small ding of his bell as some sort of response. “I have gots to stop talking to my cat.” She sighed.

By the time she got him onto the couch, she was sweating and cursing under her breath. His weight was unreal, like trying to move a fallen redwood tree. Once he was settled, she went to the kitchen and gathered a large bowl with some warm water and a fresh sponge. She sat the materials on the small coffee table next to him, then focused on his clothing. “Dammit, you need clothes.” She sighed. She rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, grabbing her biggest items of clothing, which she usually slept in. Her joggers weren’t that baggy, at least not enough to fit him, so she went for the large basketball shorts she always wore for whatever reason.

After collecting those, she went back down to begin cleaning what she could.

Surprisingly to her, he had no wounds on his skin, even though dried blood littered his face and neck. She was a little glad that was all it was since that meant she didn’t have to run back upstairs and gather supplies to clean his wounds. But that also made her even more confused. She still wasn’t fully clear on what exactly had happened for him to end up in her backyard. But she cleaned the air and debris from his skin as best she could.

“Where in the world did you come from?” She murmured, her eyes lingering on his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He was a beautiful man. His skin was smooth, the light brown color warm against the warm lighting of her home. His face was clean-shaven, not a hair in sight besides the ones in his head, which were cute and curly. She couldn’t help but notice his large features. They were attractive. His lips were strong and structured. His nose was perfect, symmetrical, and sculpted to his face. What she admired most was his ears. His large ears were…cute.

That’s all she could say about him.

He didn’t respond to her soft voice, just lying there unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily. She worked quietly, her cleaning moving from his face to his chest after she struggled to remove the tattered uniform. The cleaning seemed to ease the racing heart and her wandering mind. Her nerves settled as she busied herself. Once he was cleaned up and changed, after trying her best to not admire his exquisite physique like some perv, she covered him with a quilt, sat in the armchair opposite him, and waited, her shotgun resting across her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. Now we wait.” She said, leaning back in the shake, her gaze locked on the arms. She didn’t get to change his pants, not wanting to do anything past taking his combat boots off and making it extra creepy on her end, so she just settled for the shirt.

It didn’t take long before she was feeling the effects of sleep hitting her like a bolder. Her head was leaned back against the back of the chair while Mufasa was curled against her feet. And just as she was zoning off, suddenly remembered.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely.

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

It was the smell of bacon that woke him. Not that he knew what that was. But it was a strange smell nonetheless. His eyes snapped open as he woke with a start, and for a moment, he panicked. His body jolted as though he’d been dropped from a great height. For a moment, disorientation flooded him. His heart dropped and his mind became alert. The room around him was unfamiliar—soft light filtering through the lace curtains and stained glass windows, casting patterns across the dark hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish. The walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling strangers, and the faint hum of a ceiling fan on the ceiling. He pushed the thick and cold quilt off his chest and sat up too quickly, causing his head to swim.

That’s when he heard it—the soft clatter of ceramic plates and titanium pans clinging together. His senses seemed to sharpen as he zoned in on the sound, hearing the quiet hum of a tune being sung under someone’s breath. “I’ve been loving you, too long.” He heard the voice of a woman sing as the smell of meat filled his nose, along with a hint of something sweet. He could hear everything else as well, from the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint creak of the house as it settled, and even the low rumble of a truck passing somewhere far in the distance. He rose to his feet cautiously, glancing down at himself. His torn armor was gone, replaced with a clean t-shirt that fit his frame a little tight.

He could feel the memories rushing back to him, but it all wasn’t clear. He could only remember being in the escape vessel before something happened and then it all cut the heat he felt from the speed of the ship and then the crash. He remembered home but he didn’t have a clue as to how anything led to now.

He then realized his body felt different when he stood. Stronger. Lighter. He looked down as he clenched a fist and felt the sense of power or energy, humming just beneath the surface, waiting. His gaze darted around the room, catching sight of a mirror on the wall near the fireplace. He moved over to it, looking at his clean and clear face. He looked as if nothing happened. He then turned back around, observing the place he was now in.

The house was large but cozy, every surface filled with framed photographs, antique knickknacks, and small vases of wildflowers. A knit blanket had been folded neatly and draped over the back of the green couch he rose from, his quilt discarded on the floor. He then saw some sort of gun leaning against a chair angled towards the couch—close but not threateningly so. He turned his head and then began his move toward where he heard the voice from, causing the wooden floor to groan softly beneath his weight. He flinched at the sound, but even as he moved, his senses adjusted. He could hear her still. Her voice. She was humming. The faint sound of a song he didn’t recognize on her lips.

Dev’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head as though he could see through the walls. His senses then kicked in without permission. The faintest shift in his vision brought the world into sharp relief. He blinked, startled as the wall in front of him seemed to blur and fade, revealing a woman standing by the stove, her honey-roasted skin shining in the sun that seeped through the kitchen, and the reddish tint to her hair swept into a mess of curls at the top of her head, wrapped in a emerald green scarf as she stirred something in a skillet. He could see through the wall, clear as day.

He stumbled back, a rush of panic tightening his chest. What was happening to him?

The creak of the floorboards gave him away as he stepped toward the kitchen. “Good mornin’.” The soft voice called to him before he even reached the doorway. He hesitated, his muscles tensing as he stepped further into the room. And there she was—the woman he’d seen through the wall. She was a young woman with very curly hair and a lot of it. She was standing at the stove, her back to him as she poured batter mix into the small waffle machine next to the stove. She glanced over her shoulder, giving a view of her face. Her expression was kind but wary.

“Figured you’d wake up hungry.” She said, gesturing toward the small table near the window to their left, where a plate full of food was already waiting.

His gaze shifted to the plate, looking at the many varieties of food on it. They then darted around the kitchen, taking in every detail—the mismatched stool chairs at the island-style bar and the ones at the table, the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table, the open window letting in a soft breeze. He could hear the sound of water faintly moving from the open pane, ducks quacking and mosquitoes buzzing. He gulped, brows furrowed as he tried to take in everything that surrounded him, wondering if he could piece together where he could be from the environment and her weird clothing. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Where am I?”

She stopped what she was doing to slowly tune her head towards him, face contorted in confusion “Louisiana.” She said, blinking at him as if his question had an obvious answer. But then she realized that none of last night seemed to make sense and she wasn’t quite sure if she was still dreaming or not.

“You’re in New Orleans, Louisiana.” She added, turning back to what she was doing. There was a long silence between them, causing her to turn her head back around and see that the man was now just looking at her, his expression guarded but confused. She pursed her lips, giving him an awkward smile. She then quickly turned the heat down on the gas stove, just letting the bacon fry as she turned back to face him.

“You, uh,…kinda crash-landed in my backyard last night.” She began, her face still fringed in its uncomfortable expression. “Crazy, I know! I, uh, I thought you were dead for sure, but you were breathin’, so I just brought you on in.” She shrugged as she explained. The man just stood there, his face still stoic but confused. He frowned, thinking of it all since his memory was still fuzzy. The last thing he could still recall was the explosion... and then falling. He closed his eyes, fragments of his home flashing in his mind. Memories flooded his mind, his friends, and family. But none of it was clear. How he got here wasn’t clear.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” She questioned, breaking the silence. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at her, watching the wince she had on her face as she seemed to register just about all it meant with him being there. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

She nodded slowly, opening the waffle maker and then setting the hot cake on a plate on the island behind her. “Well, I figured as much, seein’ as you were wearin’ somethin’ that looked like it came out of one of those space movies and whatnot.” She grinned uncomfortably as she nodded her head. “And the fact that you…crashed into my backyard.” She added, letting out a slight wince. “But...you don’t seem like you’re here to hurt me, so...” She trailed off. She wasn’t normally such a nervous wreck when it came to speaking to people, and oddly enough especially strangers.

And she wasn’t even nervous that there was some stranger in her house. Well, not fully since she was the one that brought him into her home. She was just extremely confused over the whole occurrence of everything. The wish, the shooting star, him…crashing into her backyard and it all being real? She felt like she was losing her mind and the only thing keeping her sane was speaking. And the boatload of cooking she did.

“I’m not,” he said quickly, his tone firm with his eyes locked on her form. She gulped, her hands anxiously fiddling with each other on the counter as she faced him. “Good to know.” She said with a small smile, before grabbing the waffle plate and moving it to the small table next to the window. She placed it on the table with the rest of the food and then began untying her apron. She looked over at him, offering a soft smile as she brought the cloth over her head. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the wooden chair next to her.

Dev just stood there, his gaze unwavering from her face as she stared at him, her eyes jumping between his features. “Please.” She added softly before taking a seat in the bay window booth that circled the small table. Dev steadily moved to the table, pulling out one of the wooden chairs on the opposite end of the table, since the window provided a seat for the other side. He sat across from her, his eyes on the food before him while she watched his every move.

Once he was seated, she began again. “Name’s Magnolia, by the way. Most folks just call me..well, Magnolia. Never really had a nickname.” She grinned at him. Deb just nodded his head, looking at her. There was a pause between them, the pair staring at each other. Sitting there, she just realized the color of his eyes. The striking bright eyes stared into her soul. She couldn’t tell what coke they were, shades of all colors within them as they shined in the light coming through the window behind her.

He admired the way the sun seemed to shine around her like some sort of glow emitting from her skin. The glow made her hair seem as if it was on fire as it lightened it.

“Dev-Em.” He replied, though his voice was stiff, awkward. Magnolia’s brows spiked, his voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “That is my name.” He clarified.

“Well, Dev-Em.” She said, leaning back in her chair. “I might regret saying all of this but, you know, I think I kinda brought this onto myself.” She said, letting out a nervous laugh. “You’re welcome to stay here till you get back on your feet. As long as you don’t wreck my kitchen, we’ll get along just fine.” She grinned.

Dev hesitated, unsure of how to respond. His instincts told him not to trust so easily, but there was something about her—her calm demeanor but anxious jittering under his gaze, the way she didn’t press him for details of everything—that made him nod. “Thank you.” He said quietly.

Magnolia smiled, though there was a touch of nervousness in her eyes. “You’re welcome. Now eat before it gets cold.” She said, beating to the food. She quickly then began to dig into hers, pouring a little bit of syrup onto her waffle.

As he picked up his fork, the smell of the food under his nose made his stomach growl. “Thank you.” He said. Everything from bacon to eggs laid around, the option of grits and oatmeal offered with an assortment of toppings for their specific taste, for the oats and their small waffles. For the first time in days—maybe longer—he felt a small flicker of safety. Magnolia watched him from across the table, her gaze softening as she saw the guarded tension in his shoulders begin to ease. She stuffed her face with the food, watching as he did the same across from her. She wasn’t too sure of where he came from, her best and most logical bet was that he fell from a plane, even if that didn’t make any sense as to why he had no scars. Or broken bones. Or why he was alive.

All that to say, she wasn’t sure if he had the same food as she did, but he didn’t seem to care with the way he tore into it.

“Well,” She said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. “You sure are polite for an alien.” She let it slip before she could even think of it, dropping her fork onto her place as she placed her head in her hands.

Dev looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Alien?”

Magnolia let out a small huff before she shrugged, an unsure grin tugging at her lips. “I mean, you did fall from the sky.” She began, her face slowly morphing into one of uncertainty. “At least, I think so. I’m not too sure anymore, last night was sort of a blur and I’m just very confused.” She sighed, going back to her food with a dejected look on her face. “If I could ask Mufasa I would.” She mumbled before taking a chunk out of her bacon.

Deb only became more confused, still eating as he looked at her.

“Mufasa?” He repeated, his accent and not hearing her making him pronounce the name wrong. But it didn’t seem to matter anyway before the bundle of orange bound into the kitchen, his bell letting out a soft ding as he brushed his fur against Dev’s bare feet on his way to the bench with Magnolia. Dev’s eyes slightly widened at the sight of the animal that situated itself next to the woman, just staring at him with a bored look. A little too expressive for an animal, might he add. Magnolia just glanced over at the cat.

“That’s Mufasa.” She said in a monotone before looking back at the cat. “And what did I tell you about being in my kitchen? This is not some white folks home, get.” She said sternly, pointing out of the door he came. The orange cat let out a single meow before jumping from the booth and trudging his way out. Dev’s eyes just went back to her once the animal was gone, confused and a little concerned at everything he’s witnessed so far.

Seeing his confused look, Magnolia squinted her eyes at him. “Me talking to my pet is the least of your concerns right now.” She said, menacingly gesturing her fork at him before digging back into her food. Dev let out the faintest chortle at her words before digging back into the delicious meal.

After finishing most of the meal in silence, Dev suddenly spoke. “Do you know what happened to me?” He asked, his voice low and full of strained pain.

Magnolia paused, just about to place a strawberry into her mouth. She then blinked, it clicking within her mind that he might not remember much. She then let out a small sigh before sitting the fruit down. “Well sugar, to put it simply, I’m not all too sure.” She said, shrugging. Dev blinked at the nickname but didn’t look up from his plate as she continued, feeling her gaze on him. “One moment I’m on my porch, reading a book and enjoying the stars. Next, there’s a crash in my backyard and I go back there to see you on my precious tomatoes.” She explained. “Though they weren’t that precious, some animals’ been nipping at ‘em and I actually don’t like tomatoes.” She grinned.

Dev’s face stayed stoic, his gaze moving from his food for only a moment. He glanced at her before looking away from her soft gaze. He shook his head, his frown deepening as he thought of it all. “I just……everything is different. I feel different. Things are louder and brighter for some reason.” He began to explain. He didn’t know why he was confessing all of this to her, or even speaking on his feelings in the first place. But it just felt like the right thing to do. It was the only thing he had left to him.

Magnolia’s face sided even more, leaning her head down to gaze at his face more, seeing the internal conflict he was having. “Do you, remember what happened?” She questioned hesitatingly.

Dev gulped before shaking his head, finally raising his eyes to look back at her. “All I remember is…leaving. Leaving my home. Anything after that is fractured.” He stated, staring at her. Magnolia gave him a soft smile, looking him in the eye. Her heart hurt for him. He seemed so alone, and even though he was trying his best to hide it and stay strong, she could tell he was on the brink of breaking. This seemed to be the point to drive him over the edge.

“Well, I don’t really know what you’ve got goin’ on with all that, you know, this is a strange situation. But you were a mess when I found you.” She stated. “All bloodied, bruised, looking like you’d just been through hell. I cleaned you up as best as I could and let you rest. That’s all I could do.” She said.

Dev seemed to relax slightly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade. He glanced down at his hands again, the memory of him looking through the wall and the power he felt at the end of his fingertips.

“Listen,” Magnolia said softly as she reached over to place her hand on his still one. Her voice alone caught his attention, but her gentle tone and her soft touch ignited something within him deep down that he couldn’t understand nor dwell on at the moment. “You’re safe here, okay? Whatever’s happenin’, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you as best as I can.”She smiled at him. “I mean, I couldn’t imagine going through what you’re going through alone. I’d want the help.”

Her words surprised him. He’d expected suspicion, fear, even hostility. But there was none of that in her voice. Just... kindness. He nodded slowly, still wary but grateful nonetheless, subconsciously flexing his hand under her thumb that rubbed against the back of his hand. Magnolia smiled, a little nervous but genuine, and scooted her way off the bench.

“Good, because now we’ve got to get you settled.” She smiled before rising from her seat. Dev furrowed his brows, his eyes trailing her as she walked away with her plate. “You better hurry up and finish. First thing first, we gotta get you checked out to make sure everything is okay.” She said, not running to face him as she began cleaning her mess. Dev’s heart spiked at her words, concern texting his way into his chest as he thought of having to leave. And then interact with the people outside. And their environment.

As if she could sense his worry, she started again. “And done sweat it too much, I’m real close with a doctor down here named Leroy. He’s at work right now but we’re gonna go give him a little visit and then after that, we’ll get you all set.” She said. She then sat down the rag she had and turned to face him. Even though his face didn’t show it, she could see the questions flying within his mind. She held her hands out in caution, stepping back over to the table. “It’s okay. I trust Leroy with my entire life. He’s been there for me since I was a baby. Technically a step-grandpa but we were never raised in the same home and it’s just really complicated so I just call him Uncle Leroy.” She rambled.

Dev just started up at her, and she tried her best not to get lost in his large sea-green eyes. He then nodded before going back to consume the rest of the food on his plate. Magnolia stood there for a moment, watching him eat and caught up in her own thoughts. Thoughts about what she was going to do now that he was here, how long he’d be staying with her, how the hell any of this was even possible—she still wasn’t quite sure if she was losing her mind or not.

She then gulped and turned away, moving back to clean the kitchen. They coexisted in silence. Dev scarfed down the rest of the food that was available on the table while Magnolia cleaned the mess she made in the storm of her cooking. She’d then wait until a dish on the table was left barren by Dev, moving to collect it wot give it a nice clean.

It wasn’t long before Dev rose from his seat, gathering off of the empty dishes from the table that were left after Magnolia gathered the others from her hovering. She stepped to take the plates from his grasp with her usually content and joyous expression, only for Dev to hold out his hand.

“I can do it.” He explained, staring down at her. Magnolia looked back up at him, not standing closer to his frame and just now noticing how tall and muscular he really was. She blinked her big eyes up at him. “Okay.” She nodded before moving out of the way. Dev stepped around her, moving to the sink that faced more large windows that this home seemed to be full of.

He cleaned quietly, using the warm dishwater and a coarse sponge to scrub away at crumbs of food left. He could feel her eyes on him still, watching as he worked around the kitchen with no issue. He finished in no time, drying his hands in the cloth next to the stove and then turning to face her. Magnolia was quick to flash him a large smile. “Great! Now we can get going.” She said before moving to her front door, which wasn’t too far from the kitchen, and gathering all she needed. Her sweater, even though she didn’t need one, hung in the coat rack. Her shoes were on the floor next to the door and her keys hung in a hook above all. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Dev’s steps behind her.

“Your shoes are there.” She said, pointing to the boots he came in near hers, exceptionally larger.

Dev placed the boots on his feet at the same time as hers, her getting dressed much more hastily than him. She quickly grabbed her bag and a large jacket from another hook. She held the clothing item out to him. “Here, you can wear this if you want. It’s not exactly good out but you might want to cover up, you know? Not that you need to cover up, it’s totally cool if you don’t. But you can just take it just in case.” She rushed out, still holding the jacket. Dev paused, his brows twitching in confusion for only a moment before he took the item from her hands.

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He said. He didn’t really know what to say to her rambling but he seemed to just say anything if it got her to calm her verse just a tad. Magnolia gave him a smile before rushing out of the door with everything on her. Dev was close on her heel, only glancing back at the sound of a bell to see Mufasa sitting at the bottom of the steps, watching them leave. He didn’t know why, but he flashed the animal a small smile before closing the door, moving out of the way for Magnolia to lock it.

“Fasa will be fine, he’s smart and crazy. I’ve seen him scare a gator from my backyard once.” She said, catching the small look the man gave the mysterious cat before jumping off her steps and moving over to her blue Ford pickup truck. Not that he had a clue what the hell that even was. Dev stood on the porch, observing what he could. Her porch was sort of cluttered but pretty. Potted plants with pretty flowers hung from the banister of the house, some littering the wooden flora of the porch. To his right was a porch swing filled with books, old books tattered and well-loved. To his right was a rocking chair, tucked into the corner where the taking net the all of the house, guarding whoever sat in it from falling. It looked cozy, with a blanket and two pillows on it, and more flowers surrounded the light wooden chair with intricate engravings on it.

There was space for another chair next to it, closer to the steps of the porch, but it was empty save the small footstool decided to look like a little chair. He could assume it was only for Mufasa.

He couldn’t even observe the rest of the hard and surrounding homes before the sound of the door slamming on the truck startled him, although he didn’t show it. Magnolia had her arms stuck out of her window, her head angled to look at his form on the porch. “You can ogle later, pretty boy! Hop in!” She cheesed, before ducking back into the car and cranking it.

Dev frowned, slowly making his way to the loud machine she inserted herself into, stopping at the door she was directly next to. His face showed a look of almost concern as he gazed into the odd box and glanced around it. Magnolia looked at him in confusion as he stuck his head through the window. She leaned hers back, his face almost colliding with hers.

She let out a small laugh before she placed her hand on the side of his face, pushing his head back out of the window. “What are you doing?”

“What is this?” Dev asked, looking at the colored machine. Magnolia furrowed her brows, a small smile still on her face in amusement as she looked at him, watching as he ran his fingers across the side of the car. It slowly fell once she realized he was speaking of the car. He didn’t know what the car was. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh.

She snapped them back open. “Uh, never mind that right now, I’ll explain it on the way over. I want you to go around and get in on that side.” She said. Dev didn’t say anything before moving around the front of the car, Magnolia’s eyes not leaving him once as he made his way to the passenger side. He pulled the door open with no problem before only a tad caustically moving to take a seat. Once the door closed behind him, Magnolia locked the door and pulled out of the driveway.

“Put your seat belt on, please.” She said, glancing k we at him once the vehicle started dinging.

“Seatbelt?” Dev frowned over at her, his big eyes filled with confusion and a little wary at how fast she was riveting for just having pulled out of the driveway. Magnolia pursed her lips at him.

“This is going to be a long day, Sugar.”

@kneelarmhstrung

@winorlosetogether

@joshuafatubaee

@becauseimswagman1

@nubiagurllll

@gwenda-fav

[paucubarsisimp]

heyyyyy❤️.

I love your imagines . Can I request a Lamine imagine where you guys are dating and you go to Coachella together and have a good time with the other Barca Boys and y’all are just lovey dovey 🤍.

Thank You

coachella

pairing: lamine yamal x reader

summary: in which you go to coachella with lamine and his friends

warnings: pda - a LOT of pda

you never thought you’d find yourself at coachella with five of barça’s brightest stars—and definitely not with one of them as your boyfriend. but here you were: sun on your skin, glitter in your hair, and lamine’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

the moment you stepped onto the festival grounds, it felt like something out of a movie. giant art sculptures towered over you, music pulsed from every direction, and the air smelled like sunscreen, dust, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place. you could barely take two steps without someone snapping a picture of the boys—though they tried to stay lowkey in hats and sunglasses, it was very hard to hide five gorgeous footballers.

lamine leaned in close. “wanna disappear from everyone for a bit?”

you smiled up at him, heart fluttering at how soft his voice got just for you. “only if you hold my hand the whole time.”

he grinned, that boyish sparkle in his eyes, and laced his fingers with yours.

you snuck off behind one of the main tents for a little quiet, only to be interrupted by pau calling out, “lamine! stop sneaking off for kisses, we see you!”

you giggled and tried to hide your face in lamine’s shoulder, but he didn’t care. he pulled you right in for a kiss anyway—slow and sweet, like the world around you had faded to silence. he rested his forehead against yours after. “they’re just jealous.”

“obviously,” you whispered, making him laugh.

back with the group, fermín had laid out a blanket near the ferris wheel and was attempting to build the world’s most chaotic picnic with random snacks from the vip lounge. “this is dinner,” he declared proudly, holding up a box of churros and an avocado.

pablo rolled his eyes. “that’s a crime against food.”

“i don’t see you doing anything,” fermín shot back.

meanwhile, héctor was on a mission to document every moment—camera in hand, climbing onto things he probably shouldn’t be climbing on for the perfect angles. he caught a candid of you and lamine dancing, and when he showed it to you later, you barely recognized yourself. you looked…happy. glowing. like the main character in a sun-drenched romance movie.

and lamine—he looked at you like he already knew that.

throughout the day, the two of you were basically attached at the hip. he kept stealing kisses when no one was looking—though honestly, sometimes when everyone was looking, too. at one point, he just straight-up pulled you into his lap during a set while pau complained, “can we go five minutes without pda?”

“no,” lamine said simply, and kissed your temple.

you ended up buying matching heart-shaped sunglasses, dancing together barefoot in the sand near one of the smaller stages, and slow-dancing to an acoustic set while the sun dipped low. the boys teased you both mercilessly, but not even pablo’s dramatic gagging noises could ruin the way lamine looked at you under the orange-pink sky.

later that night, when everything had cooled down and the desert air turned chilly, you all curled up on the big blanket again. fermín passed around hoodies (pablo grumbled about lending his to pau, but still did it), and lamine tucked you into his side, your legs tangled with his under the blanket.

“i know this sounds cheesy,” he said softly into your hair, “but this is kind of perfect.”

you tilted your head to look at him. “only kind of?”

“okay, really perfect.” he smiled, and in that moment, the lights of the ferris wheel reflecting in his eyes, he looked like everything good in the world.

you rested your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat mingling with the distant thrum of music and the quiet laughter of your friends. his hand found yours again under the blanket, fingers intertwined.

“i love you, you know?” he said, voice almost a whisper.

you smiled against him, heart full. “i know. i love you more.”

“impossible,” he whispered back.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[lyvhie]

HEY LYVIIIEEEEE…. ATE THAT VALENTINE FIC AWPPPPP like whoever requested that needs their ass ate cause…. Anyways! Thinking now about mark being all like lovey dovey with you in public and like “aw yes babe like I love u!” And corny but when he’s with u alone he has no mercy and like treats u like a ragdoll and shit… LOVE U!

-🦋

intensely loved | mkl

boyfriend!mark x fem!reader (18+ mdni) summary: he can't control himself when it comes to you. a/n: HII, 🦋ANOOOON!!! HOW U DOING?!! thank you for requesting again, i hope you like it! LOVE YOU TOO MUAH <3333 cw: smut, unprotected sex, a bit of praise, petnames.

mark lee has forever been the epitome of boyfriend material, a fact that was solidified even further when you became his official girlfriend.

whether it was his charm, his kindness, or his thoughtfulness, mark had it all. he was the kind of guy every girl dreamed of, and the perfect partner for you. whether it was the way he made you laugh, or the way he always knew just what to say, he was the ideal boyfriend, and your love for him only deepened with every passing day.

witnessing his affectionate and clingy behavior when you were near was incredibly captivating. he would constantly hold onto your waist, keeping you close at all times, and would whisper sweet nothings in your ear that always made you laugh and feel loved.

he was fiercely attentive to your needs, always checking in and making sure you were content and comfortable. as a result of his unwavering devotion and tender care, being in his presence felt like being ensconced in a warm and loving embrace. with his attention fixed solely on you, it was clear that you were the center of his universe.

to many outsiders, your boyfriend appears as the perfect image of a devoted and adoring partner. they perceive him as sweet, loving, and exceptionally caring, as if he idolizes you to the point of metaphorically worshipping the ground you walk on.

despite his loving and affectionate nature when in public, things took a contrasting turn behind closed doors. in private moments, you occasionally found yourself yearning for the softer, gentler side of your boyfriend that you were used to when surrounded by others.

“m-mark, please-” your voice, husky from the intensity of the moment, pleaded out for him, desperate to reach his ears. yet he remained oblivious to your attempts to communicate, focused solely on the intense rhythm of his hips against yours. with each collision, you couldn't help but roll your eyes in response to the overpowering sensation, the roughness of his movements leaving you breathless.

“you f-feel so good, baby,” he whispered breathlessly into your ear, his voice rough and filled with need. with each movement, he lost himself in the exquisite sensation of being inside you, his breath catching in his chest.

he would never tire of this sweet feeling of being consumed by you, of how your warmth envelops him so completely. the sound of his name on your lips, especially when your voice grew hoarse from his fervor, sent shivers down his spine and intensified his desire for you even more.

grasping you with a tight hold, his grip was possessively firm, leaving no doubt that there would be bruises. he held your lower back tautly, seeking a deeper angle as he slammed into you with unwavering force.

he threw his head back, fully immersing himself in the intoxicating sensations of taking you without restraint. he lost count of how many times he already came and filled your pussy with his hot seed.

you shared his frenzied need, and like him, you’d lost count of the number of times you’d reached your climax, but your body was exhausted.

every time you gasped and whimpered, trying to convey that you needed a break, he refused to stop. "just once more, babe," he kept whispering over and over again, his passion unyielding as he pushed you beyond your limits, determined to give and take everything the night had to offer.

your cries filled the room as his hand gently, yet firmly glided down to the tender bundle of nerves, massaging it with a rough circular motion. his gaze focused on your face, drinking in the mixture of pain and delight that contorted your features. he continued the relentless assault on your most sensitive spot, his touch precise and adamant as he watched your expressions twist between torture and ecstasy.

his ruthless rhythm never ceased as he whispered huskily, "one more, baby." he buried himself deeply within you, hitting every spot that sent waves of bliss coursing through your writhing body, his moans mingled with yours in a chorus of passion. he leaned in, capturing your lips in a frenzied kiss, eagerly drinking in your soft gasps and protests.

his words whispered against your lips in a seductive murmur "one more, and i promise you can rest.” as he uttered those words, you felt a wave of sweet relief wash over you, a soothing reprieve from the intense sensation of pleasure.

he sensed the way your body responded, squeezing him tightly, as if clinging to the hope of respite. in response, he whispered softly, "that's it, darling, let it go for me." his voice held a tantalizing mixture of dominance and coaxing, teasing the edge of surrender as he skillfully guided you deeper into the abyss of pleasure.

the sheer intensity of the experience sent you spiraling over the edge, your body unraveling completely under him. your mouth opened in a gasp, but the energy to utter a sound eluded you, leaving you in a state of blissful silence. your body convulsed fiercely, your vision clouded by a haze of ecstasy. as you looked at mark, his small smirk told you he was fully aware of the delicious mess you had created.

he continued to push you to the brink, now seeking his own release. he buried his face against the tender skin of your neck, his hips urgently grinding against yours, his own control unraveling.

“g-gonna fill you up, babe,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his breathing labored and quick. his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your neck, marking you with a possessive urgency. his body quivered involuntarily, trembling as he found his elusive peak deep within you, his muscles taut and tense, a low groan slipping through his lips.

with a few final, deliberate strokes, he ensured that every last drop of his cum found its home within you. slowly, he withdraws, his body trembling with the residual tremors of delight. he lowers himself gently over you, the weight of his body pressing against your tired form.

he can sense the exhaustion that courses through your body, the subtle quiver of your muscles. he knows that you're utterly spent.

"you did so good, sweetheart," he whispers into your hair, his voice tender. he presses gentle kisses to your forehead and your cheek, savoring the feeling of having you close before getting out of bed.

your soft, weak voice called out to him, “where are you going?” you were expecting some well-deserved cuddles after being so… "intensely loved".

he only chuckled softly and leaned in to place a tender peck on your lips. “get you some water before we continue.”

[serotonins-stuff]

Thinking about hawks who says the hottest and goofiest things with no problem, but gets get shy and turns red whenever he has to talk serious lovey dovey stuff with you.

"So you're fine with making out and dirty talk, but get shy when we hold hands and talk about love?" You raise a brow teasingly, before munching on a strawberry.

He whips head quickly in the opposite direction of your gaze in attempt to hide his wide smile, which is quite the futile attempt when he's quite literally laying on your lap.

How's he supposed to tell you that you're basically the girl of his dreams?

To top it off, this angle just makes you seem even more perfect than you already are. This specific sunflower field has a soft glow that he just can't explain. The way the golden rays of sunlight dance so delicately on your face, and the way your hair dances so rhymitically with the gentle breeze. The beautiful sunflowers before you reflect into your eyes, and the only word that can explain how he feels, is home.

He feels home.

He feels like he can just get lost and even found in your beauty.

He's snaps out of it when he hears you giggle.

"Well-" he pauses, realizing he didn't even have an excuse as to why it's making him nervous. "We're on a date"

Your chest rumbles once more with laughter "You're nervous because we are on a date?"

The floral breeze brushes past you, and the soothing swish of the flowers echoes through the vast field.

He finds sunflowers interesting, especially the fact that they can go through so many processes of death and rebirth. Even after enduring trecharous weather and challenges, even something as delicate as sunflowers grow again.

Keigo thinks they resonate withing him. He thought he was too lost in life to find love, yet here he is laying on your lap while you feed him sweet strawberries. Something beautiful is blooming within him. Something he never thought would have such a grip on him. It's taking control of his heart, body and soul and there's nothing he can do about it. After all, what is there to do when you're falling in love?

"I'm not nervous because we are on a date" he declared, in a low and steady tone. "I'm nervous because I'm falling in love with you"

He feels every single one of your movements stop as you try to process what he just said. He keeps his breathing steady and controlled, despite his heart running a marathon. Allowing the warmth and fear to flow through his nerves.

"You can't tell me you don't feel it too" he huffed, finding some comfort in the way your gaze connected with his.

"I don't know what to say to that Keigo" you hum, before inching your face closer to his "Except for the fact that I'm falling for you too"

In shock his eyes widen, feathers ruffle and the most genuine and beaming smile graces his lips. From the way he starts to bite his bottom lip you could tell he's about to say something cheesy.

"I guess this is the part where we ki-"

You quickly peck him on the lips and he yelps before sitting up with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

"I wasn't ready!" he defends with a laugh, his fingers grazing softly over his lips. The same lips that you had just touched with your own.

You break into laughter from his adorable reaction, causing him to start chuckling before pulling you closer to him, plopping you half on his lap.

"You ready now?" You tease, enveloping your arms around his neck.

He doesn't answer your question verbally, instead he places his lips on yours with devotion, and he smiles into it when he felt you struggle to hold back your grin. Your lips are so ever soft and sweet, just like you. Just like your voice and eyes, just like the way you wrapped you arms around him and the way you smile.

"I swear" he pulled back, locking eyes with you before placing another firm kiss to your lips "I could get lost in those lips"

"Well" you chime lowly before placing a firm kiss of your own to his parted lips. You pulled back just enough to still feel his breath meet with yours "I'm not gonna stop you"

---------

A/n

👀

[sirxlla]

Midnight Snack

----------------------------------------------------

Warnings: NSFW, Oral ( fem receiving )

Prompt: Lip wakes up "hungry"

Notes: fem reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

Lip's tongue often got you both into trouble, his tongue definitely worked well with that nickname of his. A good example was the other night when he smarted of to your neighbour and pissed him off.

Now, you hoped you could keep it from getting the both of you into trouble again, His hands splayed across your stomach moving to massage your lower abdomen as his tongue so agonizingly slowly lapped at you. Your bottom lip between your teeth just trying to not to be loud. "God damn it. Why did the apartment's walls have to be so thin?" It was essenstial that you werent loud. It was the middle of the night, all you needed was to wake your neighbour and for another complaint to be put in because you woke them up at three in the morning. Of course it had to be so early cause your boyfriend woke you up cause he was "hungry."

It took everything in you even begin to say no but as you went to say it all that came out was a whiny plea for him. Work had been shit all week and this is just what you needed and Lip knew it with that sexy smile in the dimly lit room.

So now all it was the sound of his upper lips against your lower ones, followed by your quiet whimpers which earned a small slap to the side of your thigh to remind you to be quiet. Lip's hands slowly moved lower on your body to massage at your thighs in the dark.

He knew you so well, knowing to bring you hand to his hair for something to grab onto before he started to rub your clit with just the right amount of pressure, just enough to make your hips to push yourself further into his mouth causing him to hum into you.

The vibrations of him added to the sweet feelings of his tongue as his forearm pins your hips back down so he can get just the right angles to push you over the edge. Lip sucks and laps at you like you're his last meal and he's savoring every last second. Lips tongue wasn't just renound for shit talking.

He adds a finger and curled and curled it at just the right angle to get you to finally climax onto his tongue, it earns a hum from him as he sucks up the sweet taste of you. Lip leaves tiny kisses on your thighs as his blue eyes gaze up at you in the tiny amount of light the mooblight provided.

"Good girl." He adds a few kisses to your stomach before removing himself from between your thighs and adding himself to his previously empty side of the bed.

"You're always fuckin delicious." He nudges and kisses your shoulder before you move to cuddle him.

"Thank you." Panting a tiny bit onto his skin as your fingers traced that shitty little triangle on his chest, his fingers coming up to gently trace your wrist as his body calms itself after satisfying it's craving for you.

"It's nothing, Kid." Kid was Lip's way of being affectionate, not that your ages were much different but he could never find himself attaching himself to the idea of general lovey dovey petnames.

One of his hands massaged your scalp and the other your wrist as you both slowly slipped off to sleep. Your naked body pressed to his mostly clothed one, both of you content you didn't wake your neighbor and get yet another noise complaint. It meant you could cause noise later. 😉

Masterlist

[jojissalsa]

The Perfect View

leon always notices the little things about you, especially when you hint at wanting something. and if you want a better view, he’ll give it to you.

Warnings: established relationship, dom!Leon x sub!reader, fem reader/gendered language (girl, pretty girl, you get the gist), choking, breeding kink if you squint, praise, filming during sex, a little bit of condescension, basically Leon being a sweetheart and a smug little shit. So just normal Leon.

WC: 2.6k (proofread as well)

hey y’all!!! this is my first leon fanfic/smut i’ve written/posted soooo i’m a lil nervous but hope you guys will like it!! critique, reposts and requests are always welcome <3 (also minors do not interact, go touch grass.)

Leon always loved the little heart to hearts you two would have, or the late night confessions, even if they got a lil horny. It was like talking to your girl-friends, TMI didn’t exist between you guys. The reason was simple, really. He just loved talking to you, loved hearing every thought that swam in that gorgeous head of yours. Tonight was no different, sitting in bed finishing the brownies you baked because he finally came home after a long mission. And because you’re bored without him. “Hold on, elaborate-” His muffled voice came through as he finally swallowed the bite he took, giving you that look. Like he knew you were about to divulge some info he would never let you get away with. Always loved to tease you about everything, remembering little things you tell him because you just have no shame and can never keep a thing from him, just so he can see the blush on your face as you giggle and get all shy. He can’t help it, it’s too cute. “What do you mean I get the best view? Am I not pretty enough for you?” He watched as you rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone, setting down your brownie folded into a napkin in your lap. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, I’d have to be blind to not think you’re gorgeous~” You say it in that lovey dovey voice that makes him wave his hand in an ‘Aww, you~’ kind of way, making you laugh every time, cause he picked it up from you. Typical Leon. “I’m just saying you have the best angles, there’s a difference. Like, when I’m bent over, I have to crane my neck just to look at you, and plus, I can’t even look at the action. I get lucky if we’re in front of a mirror, but usually I just get the view of the floor or the bed.” You chuckle at his intrigued expression, always so eager to learn how you think.”I dunno, I just think it’s hot, watching you move inside me..” You look down at the brownie in your lap with a sheepish smile, a pink hue on your cheeks accompanying it as you look back up to Leon’s raised eyebrows. “What? Too much?” Raising your own eyebrows, hoping you didn’t say something too down bad. “No, no, I get it. I mean, obviously I’m biased, but I do have the perfect view.” He teased, throwing his hands up nonchalantly which makes you playfully swat his arm before going back to whatever you were talking about before.

As per usual, Leon had a hard time forgetting what you said. Well, it’s not like the information was anything new or groundbreaking. He already knew what you liked, you would always look down while he towered over you, watching with bated breath as he stroked his cock, his other hand spreading you open before sliding him over your slit, gathering slick on his cock before slowly stretching you out. So needy, he’d think to himself as you finally inhale and moan as he bottoms out, tilting your head back in bliss. Again, this was nothing new. So when he had you writhing beneath him, lips parted with each sigh and hum, plump and glossy with saliva, he pulled the final piece of clothing off you and smirked at how you spread your legs instinctively. Such a well behaved girl, he praises you in his head, especially when you listen to him as he asks you to flip over, kicking his jeans off as you arch your back and push your ass up and towards him. Now that makes Leon say it out loud, tugging his boxers down and letting them fall down his ankles and onto the floor before getting on his knees behind you. He always takes a second to admire you, how pretty you look as you gasp when he presses his hard cock against your slick cunt, whimpering as you grind against him. But this time he takes another second to look at the nightstand, praying to god he remembered to keep his phone there. He can never think straight when he’s like this, and you’re always to blame, not that he’s complaining. The moan you let out as he slowly pushed himself inside you nearly made his mind go blank, though, that didn’t stop the soft whimper he lets out from the feeling of your wet walls, keeping his cock so damn warm- Focus, Leon. During the small window of letting you adjust to his size he grabs his phone, your closed eyes and blissed out expression telling him he doesn't have to worry about you noticing him slightly leaning to pick it up or why both of his hands aren't on you. Leon, who’s always the perfectionist, making sure the angle is perfect while fucking into you unbearably slow before going at that unrelenting pace you both love, feeling his strong hand move from your hip to your hair as you start to scream into the pillows. "Aww, don't hide, baby, you sound so pretty like that.. Mhm, there you go, let it all out..” And you do, and he swears it’s the most beautiful thing his ears could be blessed with. "Shit, so fucking tight, always make it so damn hard not to cum." It's his favorite thing to do, tilting your head to the side so he can hear how good he makes you feel. "Loosen up a little, that's it, I'm right here.." He just loves to make you go into that syrupy, fuzzy space in your brain where you have no shame or worries, just him, and him alone. Cause that's really all he wants, for that pretty little head of yours to be empty and happy with thoughts of him.

That's when he finally starts recording, letting out a low chuckle as the sinful sound of your whines and gasps mix with his heavy grunts, skin slapping against skin filling their shared bedroom, making the room feel hot and smell of pure sex, continuing to overpower your senses. Everything about Leon overpowers you, he just makes you weak, and it feels so safe. Like a lovesick puppy, always nuzzling against him to smell his musk when he comes home from a long day at work, or wearing his shirts to get a whiff of that cologne that definitely costs more than 2 years worth of your salary. It smells even better when he’s so fucking deep inside you, the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing with the hot air as your ears take in the sound of his downright dirty moans, and the little whimpers he lets out that get louder when he slows down, the tip of his cock kissing your womb so perfectly.

And while you’re under him, babbling about how deep he’s fucking you, completely cockdrunk in a matter of mere minutes, he can't stop thinking about your reaction to his cute little gesture. How tight you'll clench around him when he finally shows you the incredible view you wanted to see. You weren't wrong when you said he gets the best view- sorry, angle, as you so delicately put it. The way your hips instinctively move to meet his, how the fat of your ass jiggles every time it meets his pelvis. Always such a good girl for taking him so deep, and the best part, of course. Your cute cunt milking him dry, he can see how perfectly your pussy molds around his cock, even if he's the biggest you've ever had (and will have) it's still the best sight in the world. It looks even better when you cum around him, your body shaking as you scream his name loud enough for the whole block to hear, pussy gushing on his cock and practically swallowing him whole with how tight you're milking him, like he might leave if you don't hold him tight in your pussy.

So when he feels you getting close, instead of the usual hand between your legs to rub circles on your clit, pushing you over the edge, he just stops recording and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it from your roots to make into a makeshift ponytail in his fist as he raises your head and moves his phone in front of your face, the sight of his cock slamming into you over and over again playing like it was on loop. Holy shit, was all you think, and say for that matter as you watched the scene play out in front of you, your wide eyes staring straight at where you two connected, watching as you coated his cock with every stroke of your walls. It didn’t take long for you to feel that familiar burn in your stomach, and it showed in how pathetic you looked, and sounded.

Honestly, the thought of him listening to that little thing could've made you cum on its own. The conscious side of your brain saying “Aww, he cares that much to do this for me? I'm the luckiest girl in the world” but what’s really gonna make you cum is the way he's showing you. "Look at that, doll, watch that sweet pussy suck me in, so fucking greedy you just needed to see it while you feel it, hmm?" His growling and whispering in that smug fucking tone that drives you crazy and makes you so wet it’s almost uncomfortable, just envisioning his stupid, signature, cocky grin widening as you clench tighter around him makes your head spin. His hips are still slamming into your cunt, but instead of that sound of skin slapping skin it's somehow even more erotic. That wet, squelching sound just reminding you of how good everything feels, even as your eyes fixate on Leon's phone you can start to feel him hit that sweet spot deep in your velvety walls and it makes you so goddamn weak that all you can muster to do or say is groan and cry out as your eyes roll back momentarily, before you looked at his phone again. “Hear that? Oh, yeah you do. Got that needy cunt so goddamn wet. I did a good job, huh, babe? Yeah I did..” The way he coos at you makes you whimper his name as you get closer with each thrust, coupled with the fact that he went out of his way to time his thrusts with the video sent you right over the edge, not daring to squeeze your eyes shut the way you usually do before cumming hard, screaming and growling until your throat goes hoarse and dry, not even having the energy to thrash and squirm. Just sit there and take it.

Oh, and Leon noticed how much you loved his little gift, he took in everything about your reaction. The way your eyes went wide, your pupils blown out with lust, and the delicious feeling of you tightening on his dick. He twitched as he watched you groan and practically sob about how good it feels, yet no thank you? He wouldn't have that. "Did you just cum? Feels that good, huh? Can't even babble fucking nonsense in my ear, you like it that much? Thank me." He throws his phone somewhere on the bed, leaning down to whisper closer to your ear, his grip leaving your hair to wrap his bicep around your neck. He’s really pulling out all the stops tonight, hmm? "Thank me, 's all I wanna hear from that dirty mouth. You spout all that nasty shit, the least you could do is thank me." And you do, chanting it like a mantra, like he's God himself saving you. "Thank you, fuck, thank you Leon, thank you, oh god-" your voice is just as broken as your sobs and nearly pathetic whimpering and you're rewarded greatly, his arm tightening around your neck, cutting off your air for a few seconds. "Good girl, so sweet, aren't you? Always so grateful, that's why I treat you like the princess you are. So damn pretty, show me how pretty you are, baby.” He makes sure he can see your face as you cum again, a deep groan from his chest rumbling against your back. “There you go, there's that pretty face I love." A pretty face indeed, that cock-drunk expression as you smile and bite your lip until it bleeds, groaning before the knot in your stomach comes undone again, the gasp and moan coming from your lips pornographic. "Le-Leon I'm cumming, fuck, fuck, cumming-" cutting yourself off as you sob and squirm under him, brows frowned as you pout and whimper while he fucks you through your orgasm.

The sounds that leave you makes it impossible for him not to cum, cooing and shushing you as his arm leaves your neck so you can lay that pretty empty head on the soft pillows, stroking your waist in the most tender way, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "I know baby, shhh, it's okay, you can take it, I'm close.. fuck-" you feel his cock kick inside you, the warm feeling of his cum coating your walls. "Fuck, you take it so good, your pussy was made to take my cum.." His filthy words and heavy panting keeps your brain in that hazy state as he slowly pulls out of you, sliding both hands down your waist and to your ass, thumbs sinking into the meat of your pussy as he spreads you open. You try to catch your breath as his cum makes its way out of you, but the air in your throat is swiftly taken from you as you feel his thick fingers push his cum back inside you. “God, I’ll never get tired of seeing that. Seeing my cum leak out of this pretty pussy. My pretty pussy.” His possessive words never fail to make you blush and smile like a madman, because it makes you too happy. You could die happy knowing you’re his.

You finally come down to reality, finding comfort in his arms as they wrap around your waist and gently lay you on your side, keeping you close to his chest. You get that warm, lovely feeling as you hear his string of praises. "Such a good girl, took me so well.. love my sweet girl so much, you deserve the world, don't you, princess?" His soft kisses on your shoulder make your heart flutter, taking a quick look at his smile over your shoulder. The warm feeling in your heart at his loving embrace doesn't last long when you hear him chuckle softly. "Y'know, you're terrible at asking for things.." you shoot him an annoyed glance, rolling your eyes. "Maybe I wasn't asking for anything." You huffed, tilting your head away from his smug look and crossing your arms. You’re also terrible at lying. "Sure, like you don't do that thing where you're just mentioning something in passing, totally not hinting at wanting it." That one gets you, because no one has really noticed that but him. Maybe you were always being subtle, or maybe people didn't care enough. It could be that Leon just sees every little thing you say or do, because he's just so observant. You like to think it's because he's just sooooo infatuated with you. "Fine. I'll give you that one, if you help me to the bathroom." You could barely hide the smirk creeping on your face, clearly happy at the prospect of him caring that much. "Deal." He says sweetly, kissing your cheek before getting up and walking over to your side of the bed to help you into the shower. Count that deep seeded want crossed off the mental bucket list.

[ghcstpyre]

*•.¸♡ nsfw alphabet with ted logan x f!reader. MINORS BEGONE!

cw: cis female reader, obviously nsfw themes, drug use (weed)

A - AFTERCARE. (what they're like after sex)

so. many. cuddles. cuddling is always one of the first things ted wants to do after sex, regardless of how sticky and/or sweaty you both are. and it's only once you decide you feel a bit too gross that he finally peels himself away from you to fetch a towel to wipe you down, telling you how amazing and beautiful you are, how much he loves you.

B - BODY PART. (their favourite body part on you and on themself)

ted is a boob guy. doesn't matter the size, shape, or colour. every chance he gets, he's touching and groping them and he especially loves teasing your nipples during foreplay or when he's trying to rile you up.

as for himself, ted loves his hair! he takes really good care of it and it's unbelievably soft. 

C - CUM. (anything to do with cum)

listen. ted is a sprightly young man. he's horny and so into you, when he cums, he cums a lot. he can go multiple times too - most of the time he's still hard post-orgasm and can't help but push it back inside for an immediate round 2.

creampies make him a bit nervous so he usually only does them when he's either a) stoned, b) drunk, or c) so consumed with lust he can't bring himself to pull out. ted's favourite place to cum is on your chest or in your mouth.

D - DIRTY SECRET. (a dirty secret of theirs)

ted is a panty sniffer. if you're in a relationship, he will 100% steal your panties and press them against his face while he gets off. alternatively, he'll wrap them around his cock and cum in them.

if you're just friends or only hooking up, he'll be incredibly tempted to steal a pair. but he's a respectful guy and knows that would be crossing a boundary, so instead he just fantasises.

E - EXPERIENCE. (how experienced are they?)

teddy boy isn't experienced. at all. the closest he's gotten to some action begins and ends at making out and some light over-the-clothes groping with a girl at a school dance when he was 16.

having said that though, he is a really good kisser. like, leaving you weak at the knees kind of kisser. and he's a fast learner, so if you wanted to teach ted a thing or two in the bedroom, it wouldn't take him long to get the hang of it!

F - FAVOURITE POSITION.

ted thinks you look amazing from every angle, but his favourite is cowgirl. he loves loves loves it when you ride him - on the bed, on the sofa, front and back of the wyld stallyns van, anywhere it's viable. he loves being able to see your pretty face while he's inside you, grip your hips, and watch your tits bounce as you fuck yourself on him.

G - GOOFY. (are they more serious during the moment or are they humorous?)

he can be serious if the moment calls for it! but ted much prefers being able to laugh and be a little silly. he doesn't get down on himself or frustrated when something doesn't quite work and will instead crack a joke, laugh with his partner and carry on. he wouldn't be able to be with someone who wants it serious all the time - that's way too much pressure.

H - HAIR. (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes etc?)

unlike bill, ted is a hairy guy. he prefers to keep his face and upper body shaved, but leaves his armpits, snail trail and pubes (which he keeps trimmed). he doesn't bother with his arms and legs. his body hair and beard grow back really fast so he tries to keep on top of shaving at least once a week or every other week, but that 5 o’clock shadow comes in real quick.

I - INTIMACY. (how are they during the romantic aspects of the moment?)

ted is a complete hopeless romantic. he loves love, and he loves making love. going slow, savouring the moment, gentle touches and caresses, hand holding and kissing and “I love you babe”s all the way through. ted has so so so much love and affection to give, so you better be ready for the most lovey-dovey lovemaking you'll ever get.

J - JACK OFF. (do they masturbate?)

oh yes. he's a young, horny guy so he definitely does his fair bit of jerking off. probably slightly more than average, but it becomes a lot harder to get away with after moving in with bill.

at his dad's house he had his own room and the privacy to do it whenever the need took hold. after moving in with bill he has to wait until he's home alone, or does it in the shower. he once tried to do it while bill was fast asleep, but it felt too weird and invasive and he felt gross as hell doing it with his best friend only a few metres away.

K - KINK. (one of more of their kinks)

ted isn't really a kinky guy. but he is geeky and isn't immune to the lure of a bodacious babe in cosplay. semi-public sex in his van too - one of ted's favourite things is driving to a scenic remote spot, smoking up in the back of his van and getting it on. he likes the risk of it, but would absolutely dissolve on the spot from embarrassment if the two of you ever did get caught.

L - LOCATION. (favourite places to get it on)

i’ve already touched on this, but ted loves going at it in the wyld stallyns van. his top three in order are the van, the bed and then the sofa. one of the things he fantasises about is doing a crazy successful gig and pulling you into the van for a quickie between sets. he doesn't know why, but fucking in the van sort of makes him feel a bit like a rock star.

M - MOTIVATION. (what turns them on, what gets them going)

if you're ever not wearing a bra beneath your top, ted is going to have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. he also very much enjoys the miniskirt with knee-high socks combo. but most of all, he loves a girl in a leather jacket; it doesn't matter what else you could be wearing, because all ted will be thinking about is how badass and hot his babe looks in a leather jacket.

N - NO. (something they wouldn't do, their turn offs)

ted is down to try pretty much anything (within reason) at least once. aside from the obvious few, one thing he definitely isn't into is threesomes/sharing you with someone else. while he hides it very well, ted can be insecure thanks to the years of his dad chipping away at his self confidence. the idea of you wanting to be intimate with someone else while you're with him just doesn't sit right - why would you need anyone else when he has so much love to give you? ted wants to be the only one to make you feel good and special!

O - ORAL. (preference in giving or receiving, skill etc)

he's addicted to eating you out. ted could get off on the taste of you alone (and has done. many times). he absolutely loves the feeling of you squirming and rocking on his tongue, and despite the lack of experience, he's actually really good at it. more often than not, he makes a point to make you cum on his tongue before you get down to anything else.

not to say that he doesn't enjoy receiving head. the sight of you down on your knees with your mouth working over the length of him is permanently burned into his brain, and cumming in your mouth is one of his favourite things. thank god for the existence of 69ing!

P - PACE. (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

both! ted is never quite rough with you - the last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt you. he'll go fast and will manhandle you a bit more than usual if he's pent up or if you're both feeling up for a quick fuck. but if you're making love, he'll obviously go slower and take his time.

Q - QUICKIE. (their opinions on quickies, how often etc)

ted loves a quickie. usually at the most inconvenient of times, too. like right before a family event, before (or during) a house party, or before bill comes back to the apartment after going out to grab a few things from the shop. again, the risk of being caught is thrilling for him, but he also loves seeing how quick and how many times he can make you cum in that short span of time.

R - RISK. (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc)

as mentioned somewhere above, ted will try pretty much anything at least once. if you suggest something new, chances are he's down to give it a go.

S - STAMINA. (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

this boy has staminaaaaaa. he can't do a set of push-ups for shit, but he'll fuck and fuck and fuck as long as you're up for it. he'll cum, and most of the time he'll still be hard and immediately ready for another round. if he isn't still hard, he'll finger you or eat you out until you cum again, by which point he's hard again and ready to go.

he never lasts long each round though. everything about you just feels too good!

T - TOYS. (do they own any toys? do they use them on their partner or on themselves?)

ted doesn't own any toys himself, but if you wanted to start introducing them in the bedroom he'd be down for it. things like vibrators and/or dildos to use on you, or even a fleshlight or cockring for himself if you suggested it. the latter would take a bit of convincing though.

U - UNFAIR. (how much they like to tease)

he's never mean and always follows through on his teasing, but he loves to do it. he loves riling you up with little things: a hand on your waist that slowly slides up your ribs to brush his fingers against the underside of your breast while you walk through the mall, pulling you close while you sit, stoned on a couch at a house party, to whisper dirty things in your ear. 

V - VOLUME. (how loud they are and the noises they make)

ted struggles to be quiet. when he gets the opportunity to be loud, he isn't shy about it. ted wants you to know how you make him feel, whether it's words of praise or moaning. he isn't a grunter, but he'll groan.

W - WILD CARD. (a random headcanon)

sometimes ted will set aside an entire weekend for the both of you to bake weed brownies, get high and stick a bunch of nerdy movies on. but you're both only half watching, because you spend the whole time fucking and lovemaking with breaks in between for snacks and naps and cuddling.

X - XRAY. (what's going on under those clothes?)

for a guy who can barely do 5 push-ups, ted is surprisingly toned. it's all for show though and he mostly works on his arms and chest. he's got a cute squishy tummy!

now for the part of this you're obviously waiting for. yes, his dick is big. about 7-8 inches, slightly bigger than average girth. curves upwards and he's a shower not a grower.

Y - YEARNING. (how high is their sex drive?)

ted has a high sex drive. the pining, the yearning, the thirsting is all real. it's your fault for being so cute and looking so good all the time, even when you've just woken up with messy hair and drool at the corner of your mouth.

Z - ZZZ. (how quickly do they fall asleep after the deed?)

it really depends on how sleepy he is beforehand, where you are, how high he is, how snuggly the post-sex cuddles are and how many times he came/how many rounds it's been. if there's any combination of those things, chances are ted is dozing off pretty quick. whether it's a quick power nap or a full on sleep depends on what time of day it is too!

[emmerwrites]

☀︎Sun Kisses☀︎

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Genre: Fluff, Light angst Summary: To escape the heat of your apartment you head to the local pool and fall asleep in the sun. With an uncomfortable sunburn, Spencer is there to help and scold you about wearing sunscreen Warnings: Talks of sunburns, skin peeling, sun poisoning, and (brief) mentions of skin cancer. No use of y/n. Established relationship. WC: 1.3k

As the season changed and spring melded into summer, the highs went from the 60’s to the 90’s in a week, and with it the UV went from 3s to 10s across the board. After several days of sitting at home in your tiny stuffy apartment, you decided to go hang out at the local pool until Spencer got off of work. 

This led to you being on a sticky plastic lounge chair, surrounded by screaming children, and splashing water, while you (tried) to relax and read the newest book Spencer had given you. It was his worn and loved copy of Don Quixote, a book he had only given to you after your excitement of finding it on his bookshelf. When he saw the glitter in your eye and how the corner of your mouth was quirked into a smile he couldn’t say no when you asked to borrow it- not that he could ever say no to you. 

Turning the worn page, you shift, attempting to get comfortable, but instead just feeling your skin stick to the plastic. After a minute of peeling yourself off of the chair and getting comfortable again, you are finally able to get lost in the story again. Time drones on, and the warm sun and the comforting book somehow manage to lull you to sleep. 

A loud giggle and screaming wake you up from your impromptu nap, relaxing you realize it was just a couple of kids messing around with one another, spraying each other with water guns. You blearily reach for your phone and squint, the sun making you tilt your phone at an odd angle to see the screen. With the right angle you’re able to see you have 6 missed texts and 2 missed calls from Spencer. All just letting you know he’s back home and ready for you, along with the obligatory lovey-dovey I miss you messages. 

Leaning over to gather your things is when you notice something’s wrong. Not only is there that familiar peel trying to get off the plastic chair, but there’s a tightness in your skin you haven’t felt in ages, glancing down at your body, you take note at how red you are. The skin is angry and pink, tentatively you press your hand down onto the skin on your light. Pulling back there’s a handprint, and then it quickly fades back into the angry pink. You hadn’t expected to be here this long, much less fall asleep, so sunscreen was a forgotten item in your bag today. 

Sending a quick text back to Spencer, you made sure you had everything before leaving. The tote bag you brought was digging and rubbing into your sunburn, even over the t-shirt you had thrown on before leaving. Making your way in the direction of Spencer’s apartment, every step made your body feel like concrete, and you wanted nothing more than to just lay down and go back to sleep.  

Another 15 minutes passed before you found yourself in front of Spencer’s apartment building. Another 5 minutes as you climbed the stairs, struggling to make it up without falling as your head spun, and the need to sleep kept nagging at you. With a heavy hand you knock, and before you can knock a second time the door swings open and you’re met with the beautiful face of your pretty boy. 

“Hi Spence” You smile at him, unable to stop the small giggle that escapes from the back of your throat. 

“Baby…you’re burnt” His brow furrows as he pulls your tote bag off your shoulder, hanging it on the coat rack behind you. 

Turning to you, he places a cool gentle hand to your face. Between the familiarity of the act and the giddiness pooling in your chest, you can’t help but give him a dopey smile and let your eyes slide shut. Leaning into the feeling, another hand comes to rest on your side, finding the soft crook of your waist. His thumb slides back and forth over your t-shirt, before the hand on your face comes behind your head and he pulls you in closer.  

“Did you wear sunscreen?” He murmurs into the crook of your neck. 

“No, I forgot” You mumble. Spencer squeezed you slightly, and although it hurt slightly, you can’t help but love the proximity. 

“On average, your risk of melanoma doubles if you’ve had more than five sunburns. And women 49 and under are more likely to develop melanoma than any other type of cancer, with the exception of breast and thyroid cancer” He whispers, you look up, still feeling giddy and floaty as your fingers grasp onto his shirt. 

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” His brow furrows and lip quirks down slightly. 

“You could have sun poisoning” He mutters. 

Looking down at you, Spencer brushes a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Your face is pink, giving it a natural blush, and your eyes are sparkling as they look up at him with adoration. He frowns again. 

“Will you at least let me put aloe on you?” Playing coy, you bite your lips as you think for a minute, before smiling and nodding. You drag him toward his bedroom, and as he steps into the bathroom to find the aloe, you strip out of your bathing suit, and the coverup you had been wearing and grab a tank top and boy shorts from Spencer’s dresser. Flopping on your stomach onto the bed, you hear the padding of his feet signaling his return.  

“Baby…this is really going to hurt in a couple of days” He chided gently. Squeezing some of the gel into his hands, he slowly traces his fingers over your shoulder, working the cold gel into your skin. His lips skim your shoulder, as he pressed a chaste kiss to the spot before working more aloe into your angry skin. You turn your head to the side to look up at him, and he smiles down, and swipes a glob of aloe onto your nose. 

“Hey!” you protest giggling, wiping the glob off your face. 

“Rub that in” Spencer laughs, continuing to gently lather you in the aftersun. After a few quiet moments you speak again. 

“You know, as a kid, whenever my mom would get really sunburnt, I would sit behind her and peel her back. It’s kinda gross, but I found it…meditative? I guess? I don’t know, just a fond memory, I guess” A timid smile overcomes your face, as you look up at your germaphobic boyfriend. 

“Is this your way of asking me to peel your back when you start to flake?” He jokes. 

“Maybe” You smirk.  

“I think about it,” Spencer laughs, as he continues to rub your skin. It’s still red, just shiny and slightly less angry, but little white bubbles are already starting to form, especially on the tops of your shoulders. “You’re already starting to bubble”.

You grimace and sit up on your side to look at him, “That explains why it hurts to move”. Spencer gives you a “no shit” look before he leans back on the bed and opens his arms.

“Come here” You don’t need to be told twice as you crawl into his lap and get comfortable. Laying your head on Spencer’s chest, he gently cards his fingers through your hair. The heavy feeling you felt on your way over to Spencer’s apartment returns as it becomes harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Noticing the drooping in your eyes, Spencer’s grip around you gets slightly tighter. 

“Shhh…go to sleep pretty girl, I’ll be here in the morning” Curling up further on his chest, you mutter.

“Good night Spence” his lips brush your forehead slightly. 

“Good night baby”

[stufftippywrote]

Netflix & Chill chapter 4

(There's no smut in this chapter, just lovey dovey lovies.) Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[you didn’t think I was going to time skip after that chapter, did you?]

“Wei Ying, what’s wrong?”

Lan Zhan’s hand, gentle, on the back of his head. It just makes Wei Ying want to bury his head further in Lan Zhan’s chest and burst into tears. “Nothing,” he mumbles, and sniffs back another flood. God, he’s so confused. When did this happen? When did he start to fall for Lan Zhan? Why didn’t he feel any of this before?

Did you? a voice inside him says. Did you really not feel anything before?

He has three and a half years of memories to interrogate about this. Their first meeting, Lan Zhan telling him not to drink so much. Wei Ying deciding he was fun to tease. Their argument calming into a sort of banter. Even then, Wei Ying was terrible to him. He didn’t try to see Lan Zhan’s side of things, he just kept poking, like Lan Zhan was a child’s toy with big colorful buttons to push.

Was I fascinated by him, even then?

Fast forward. They’re friends by now. Lan Zhan has bought him dinner. Wei Ying is talking animatedly about something that happened in his sociology class. He keeps laughing at his own jokes. Lan Zhan gives him an appreciative chuckle now and then but otherwise stays silent, just gazing at him with those eyes that glint golden in the light. From the way Wei Ying is talking on and on, Lan Zhan might as well not be there at all.

I’ve really been a terrible friend. 

“What’s wrong.” Lan Zhan asks again—no, it isn’t an ask. It’s a demand. Wei Ying has to say something. He opens his mouth with no idea what’s about to come out.

“What are we even doing?” is what he hears, in his own voice, sounding a bit too plaintive. “What is this?”

Lan Zhan answers as Lan Zhan always does: straightforwardly. “You called it Netflix and chill.”

Wei Ying has to laugh a little, a bitter sound. “I did, didn’t I?” he says. “What an idiot I am. Lan Zhan, you know what that means, right?”

“I looked it up.”

“So you get that it means that we’re just fooling around. We’re not. You know. Boyfriends or anything.”

He nods. “I am aware.”

“And that’s okay with you?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t pause. It’s not a pause. But it’s the barest whisper of a shadow of a pause. “I am okay with whatever Wei Ying wants,” he says.

Can he infer some hope in that not-quite-a-pause? A part of Wei Ying’s brain wants to go there. But whenever he thinks he’s ready to say something, his mind rebels. You’re not good for him and you know that. He deserves so much better.

Wei Ying doesn’t have low self-esteem, as a rule. But right now he just wants to shrink down into the couch cushions and stay lodged there forever, like months-old gum. 

There’s warmth on his cheek. Lan Zhan’s hand is there. He’s turning Wei Ying’s face upward, not letting him hide in the comfort of his chest. Wei Ying is trapped, staring at him, those golden eyes burning into his own. His heart is pounding, and he’s acutely aware of every plane and angle on Lan Zhan’s face. Something about it loosens his tongue.

“Suppose I wanted--” he starts.

At the same time, Lan Zhan says, “Is this what--”

Silence. Any other time, Wei Ying would laugh, declare a jinx, tell Lan Zhan he owes him a dollar. Now, he can’t. The spark of courage that had momentarily opened his lips has died out.

Thank God, Lan Zhan is willing to go on. “Is this what you want?” he asks. “Do you want something else?”

His thumb rubs a slow caress into Wei Ying’s cheek. IT’s just enough encouragement, just enough to lift a glittering piece of hope into his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, “I don’t know. I was just thinking. What-- what if we tried being a thing?”

He expects Lan Zhan to repeat a thing? with a blank expression. But Lan Zhan stays silent, thumb going still on Wei Ying’s cheek. His whole body has actually gone still; Wei Ying’s not sure if he’s breathing.

Agh, the tension! Wei Ying regrets saying a thing. “Ah, but I’d be no good at that sort of thing,” he declares, painting a grin onto his face. “Forget it, forget I said anyth—”

The scent of Lan Zhan surrounds him. Lan Zhan is holding him, both arms thrown around him trembling. Lan Zhan buries his head in Wei Ying’s shoulder. “I would like it,” he says, sound vibrating into Wei Ying’s bare skin, “very much, if we could be a thing.”

They have touched so, so much since this whole thing began, but nothing has been more intimate than this embrace. Happiness is bursting like a sunrise through Wei Ying, an effervescent emotion that’s extending to the tips of his toes and up through to the top of his head. How could he have doubted he wanted this? He wants it so much. He wants to be with Lan Zhan. He always has. The knowledge blooms through him like heat, spilling everywhere.

But… but! “Why?”

He’s pushed into Lan Zhan’s chest so firmly the word almost doesn’t make it out. But he doesn’t understand. He has to know. “Why?”

Lan Zhan’s embrace loosens, and he pulls back enough that they can look at each other. “Why do you ask why?” Lan Zhan says, and he really looks as though he has no idea. 

“Because … because .. because look at me, Lan Zhan.”

“I am looking.”

Okay, yes, he is, but it’s a rhetorical look-at-me. “Stop that. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”  He’s having fun interrupting, isn’t he? Damn it. If only that weren’t so cute of him.

Still. Enough of that. “Well if you’d let me say something—” and for once, Lan Zhan does. “Look, what I mean is, look at me! I’m not even a good friend to you. Why would you want me to be a boyfriend?”

This time, Lan Zhan really doesn’t seem to understand. “Wei Ying is the best friend,” he says, unironically, without a single shred of doubt in his voice. 

It makes Wei Ying feel like an absolute heel.

“How?” he bursts out. “I don’t even remember your birthday. I do nothing but talk about myself. I don’t ever ask you any questions about your life. How could you possibly want to be with me? I’m the literal worst.” He buries his head in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, which is also the worst possible thing to do, because it’s just using Lan Zhan again after he’s just confessed that he uses Lan Zhan.

Above him, Lan Zhan’s voice is soft. “Do you remember when I was sick, sophomore year?”

Wei Ying pulls away, blindsided. “What?”

Is Lan Zhan smiling, just a little? “Do you remember?” he repeats.

Wei Ying wracks his brain for the memory. Yeah, that’s right. Lan Zhan got sick, so Wei Ying headed off campus to his apartment and climbed up the fire escape to sneak into his room. And then he—

He flushes. “Yeah, I remember. I made you eat that super spicy soup, and you nearly choked on it. I made everything worse.”

“You came over to take care of me,” says Lan Zhan.

“Yeah, and I sucked at it!”

“You came over,” Lan Zhan says again slower, “to take care of me.”

Okay. So yeah, he did, he can’t deny that. But it takes more than one bowl of soup and too much sriracha to be a good friend. “All right,” he mumbles, pouting a little. “That was one time.” 

Lan Zhan doesn’t miss a beat. “Does Wei Ying remember when I missed the last train?”

That was this year. Last month. The subway doesn’t run all night, and Lan Zhan was in the computer lab perfecting his project. 

He goes on. “You told me to come over, and you slept on the floor.”

Lan Zhan’s getting at something, Wei Ying knows, but he’s wrong. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have a place to stay. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You slept on the floor.”

“I’m good at sleeping in weird places. You’re not. Of course I would let you have the bed. Lan Zhan, would you cut it out? Okay, so I was passably nice to you a couple of times. It doesn’t change the fact that most of the time, I’m kind of a crappy friend.”

Lan Zhan puts a hand on the crown of his head as though admonishing him. “You are not.”

“So, what, you’re okay with me going on about myself all day? And talking so much you can’t get a word in edgewise? And bragging about—”

Pat, pat, goes the hand on his head. “Yes.”

“Why?” Wei Ying catches his gaze. 

The tenderness in Lan Zhan’s eyes bring him to a complete standstill.  He sucks in a breath and holds it. 

Lan Zhan’s hand drifts down from the top of his head to his hairline, his ear, his cheek. “Because I love you,” he says.

Because I love you. 

No drama, no pain, no longing. Just a simple fact. Spoken as evenly as if it were the sky is blue.

Lan Zhan loves him. Simple as that.

The happiness, that euphoria that Wei Ying had tried his best to subdue earlier, comes roaring back like thunder in his ears. He can’t hold it back now, and the emotion puts a grin onto his face that he can’t suppress. His eyes are watering. The tears he can hold back; the smile he absolutely can’t. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, presses his face into his neck. “Lan Zhan,” he says, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, are you for real? Do you mean it?”

Lan Zhan’s lips brush his skin. “Yes.”

“You love me? Like, like you’re in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“You were in love with me this whole time? Like, while we were Netflix and chilling?”

Lan Zhan’s hand rests on his upper back stroking back and forth there in a wonderful wave of warmth. “Yes.”

“And…” oh, there comes the despair again, but Wei Ying can’t sustain it this time, can’t possibly make himself miserable when he’s so damn happy. “And I said we weren’t boyfriends, and you were okay with that too, because you loved me?”

“Yes.” Lan Zhan kisses his cheek, his chin. Wei Ying leans back and Lan Zhan captures his mouth in one brief, hot kiss that means everything. “Will Wei Ying please be my boyfriend?”

Wei Ying might very well explode with happiness. 

“Yes,” he says, and kisses Lan Zhan’s mouth again. “Yes, yes, yes,” a kiss with each yes, Lan Zhan’s lips pursing against his, the heat starting to rise between them again. “Lan Zhan, I love you too—I didn’t know it—but I do—and I do.” Lan Zhan ravishes him in a kiss so deep and searing that Wei Ying thinks he’ll break apart. Lan Zhan’s tongue in his mouth is so sweet and strange, that big muscle licking into him in a way that sends excitement spiraling into his core. He’s hard again, he wants Lan Zhan to lay him down and do whatever to him, but his heart is also singing with a kind of magic that makes everything seem fuzzy and sweet. If this is love, he might die of it.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, over and over, half of his words blunted with kisses. He tries to wriggle away, but Lan Zhan’s holding him tightly. At last he has to take both palms and push against Lan Zhan’s chest to break them apart. “Lan Zhan, will you give me ten minutes?”

Those gorgeous, talented lips of his are slow in relaxing. “Ten minutes for what?” he asks, the words coming out between labored breaths.

“I am going to get dressed,” Wei Ying says, “and I am going to go out, and I am going to get the stuff we need, and then I am going to come back here and get undressed again and you are going to fu—” He stops himself. “You are going to make love to me. Okay with you?”

Lan Zhan pauses. Then he smiles in a way that can only be called beatific.

It’s a stunningly beautiful smile. Wei Ying wants to snap a photo and frame it and put it on his bedside table to look at every day.

“Yes,” he says, one more time.

[eepwriting]

III NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: All of ittttt

!! mdni !!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

✶ A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex.)

➮ He enjoys cleaning you up with his mouth…

➮ Will ensure you’re satisfied before he passes out.

✶ B = Body Part (Favorite on them, favorite on you.)

➮ His likes his hands. They help him do what he loves to do.

➮ He’s a tit guy don’t even try to change my mind. Whether you’re well endowed or not, he’s spending a lot of time worshipping your chest.

✶ C = Cum (Anything do to with cum.)

➮ He loves to finish in your mouth, bonus points if you open your mouth to show him before you spit/swallow.

✶ D = Dirty Secret (Self Explanatory?)

➮ He’s a finger sucker. That’s it.

✶ E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

➮ He’s got a good amount of experience. Excited to try things with you that you’ve never done if you’re less experienced.

✶ F = Favorite Position

➮ Doggy/Standing. Especially loves standing at the end of the bed, you laying down, your hips angled up to him.

✶ G = Goofy (Are they serious or fun and playful?)

➮ He’s very playful. Will tickle you, crack jokes and make funny faces sometimes.

✶ H = Hair (How well groomed are they?)

➮ Sometimes he lets it go all natural, sometimes he trims/shaves. Just depends on his mood.

✶ I = Intimacy (How intimate are they in the moment?)

➮ Depends on his mood. If he’s feeling especially lovey dovey towards you, he’ll praise you endlessly, his kisses are long and passionate.

➮ Now…most of the time, he’s fast, somewhat rough and intense.

✶ J = Jerking Off

➮ He’s a fan. Whether you’re with him or not.

➮ Likes to jerk off over you as you sleep…I’m sorry.

✶ K = Kinks

➮ Hair pulling and choking. Both on him.

✶ L = Location (Their favorite place to do the do.)

➮ He’s really just a bedroom guy. Sometimes prefers you backwards on the couch, him standing behind you.

✶ M = Motivation (What turns them on?)

➮ As stated before, he likes his hair pulled. If the two of you are making out and you tug on his hair a little, it’s go time.

✶ N = No (Something they would never do.)

➮ No scat. No piss.

✶ O = Oral (Preference on giving and receiving.)

➮ He’ll definitely go down on you if you ask but won’t try to do it all the time.

➮ He does love blowjobs though, especially when they’re messy.

✶ P = Pace (Are they rough and fast or careful and gentle?)

➮ He’s fast, almost impatient.

➮ Unless it’s early in the morning, having just woke up, he’ll take it slow and easy.

✶ Q = Quickie

➮ BIG fan of quickies. If he’s got a few minutes, he’s pulling you away from whatever you’re doing.

✶ R = Risk (Do they experiment?)

➮ He really enjoys trying new things with you and himself. A very “I’ll try anything once.” kinda guy.

✶ S = Stamina (How long do they last?)

➮ He’s got a lot. Will get you off multiple times before he finishes even once.

✶ T = Toys (Do they use them? On you or themselves?)

➮ He has a small bag of various toys he keeps in his closet. Will pull them out every once in a while.

✶ U = Unfair (How much do they tease you?)

➮ He’s a big tease. Will work you up with his mouth and hands. Kisses on your neck and chest, his hands groping and squeezing on your body. Only to walk away and pretend nothing ever happened.

✶ V = Volume (How loud are they?)

➮ He’s very vocal, whether it’s moans and groans, grunts or general conversation he has you with you, he doesn’t try to keep quiet.

✶ W = Wild Card (Random head cannon.)

➮ As mentioned before, he loves jerking off over you as you sleep…so he also enjoys fucking you while you sleep as well. (Obviously the two of you talked about this beforehand.)

✶ X = X-Ray (What will we find under their clothes?)

➮ A tattoo on his hip and a couple on his legs.

✶ Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

➮ It’s high. Again, if he’s a got a couple minutes he’s using them to his advantage.

✶ Z = Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep after?)

➮ When he’s done cleaning you up, the second his head hits the pillow, he’s out. Loud snorer too.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

I have a lot of thoughts about this man y’all.

Feel free to request anything you’d like to see <3

K. Bye bye.

[fortheloveofarchons]

The Harbinger and His Arranged Bride

(Part 5)

A chapter where misunderstandings are cleared, and that the act of calling your name made your heart stirs.

Full chapter on the ao3 link down below!

.

.

.

You’d been ill for many, many nights– seven nights in total, ever since you fell into the cold, icy river. So ill, with scorching fever and bone-numbing chills that you’d yet to leave your bed. You can’t even get out of the door that leads to the hallways. 

Curled up with duvets, you can’t help but imagine your parents gallivanting around Port Ormos or just anywhere in Sumeru City at this time, snacking around plates of Potato Boats ( maybe baba will get fat from eating those carbs , you hoped), eating plates of Tandoori Roast Chicken ( maybe mama will get fat too ), basking in the sun like a lovey-dovey couple ( maybe they will get sunburned and they will have to buy heaps of aloe vera from their stash of mora that The Captain gave ), watching the sunset while kayaking ( maybe they will fall from their kayak ), while here you are cooped in a cold estate, sniffling and coughing like a snotty princess. 

You couldn’t even hold a decent conversation with him, and things have been awkward between you two. 

After all, how does one proceed a conversation when you, the bride, ran away from the night of their wedding, got yourself drowned from a frozen river, and is now sick from the cold? 

“Captain– I–” You babbled to Capitano in a sweaty fit this morning. “About that– night–” 

“That can wait,” He said for the third time, wrapping you in a fresh blanket. “You need to rest and recuperate.” 

You’d have ignored his words and continued your babbling, if only he hadn’t been taking such good care of you. He barely left your side ever since that day: Sponging your forehead with a cold cloth, feeding you dishes that ranges from bone-marrow soup to porridges with sliced gingers and onions, bringing you baggy nightdresses that you can change and hibernate in peace, and enduring your loud sniffling and coughs that happens every five minutes. 

Until the day arrived, when you were fully recovered. 

“Captain…” You try to start the conversation, sitting next to him on the dark blue chaise. 

“Just–” He interrupts, his upper body shifting to face you. “Just Capitano would do.”

“Capitano,” You start again, fingers fiddling with the soft fabric of your nightgown. “I want to apologize… For what I did that night.” 

Courage surges in your veins as you continue. “I shouldn’t have done that… Shouldn’t have left you on the night of our… consummation. I– I’m willing to accept any punishment from you, Capitano!” 

“.....” 

Despite his mask, the subtle shift of his thigh made you assume that you’ve said something wrong, and you immediately avert his gaze to the ground, your head bowing to a thirty-degree angle. 

But what he said next made your heart stop beating for a hot second. 

“Actually, I wasn’t planning to consummate with you.” 

… What?

He stands up and heads to the bed– a bed where the two of you were supposed to share. Getting onto the bed, Capitano reaches up and pulls down what looks to be a veil of the finest white gossamer in between the bed. “The truth is… I was planning to tell you about this during that night, that we would be sleeping ‘separately’. I would not look at your slumber form, and you will not look into mine.”

He steps back on the ground, walking back towards you.  

“My condition…” He lifts a hand to his chest, his gloved gauntlet clinks against the golden chains of his armour. “It’s… complicated, but it is best for you to not see me without my mask on. That includes my body too, for that matter.” 

A soft clink echoes as his fingers curl inward, pressing firmly over his heart. 

“So, the veil was my way of telling you that evening. I would never venture to cross a line without your permission. Also, while you were recuperating from a fever, I slept on the chaise. Figured it was for the best with your health in mind.”

Heat blooms in your face, a realisation dawning on your mind: For the entire time, you could’ve just waited for him to arrive and let him explain. You could’ve just waited for him. You could’ve just– Well, calm down and stop overthinking stuff for once?! 

“Oh archons…” You hug yourself tightly on the chaise, embarrassment clinging to you like a fever. “What have I done? I’ve done it… I’ve made a fool of myself…” 

You dare not lift your gaze, for you feared meeting his eyes– Rather, his whole helmet. You had acted too foolishly that night, spoken too hastily with your apology, your emotions slipping free like a poorly tied kalawa on your left wrist.

While your mind was the kind that stopped all other traffic in the brain, Capitano’s boots made no sound against the royal red rug as he steps closer. 

His fingers flexed at his side before lifting– just barely– towards your open shoulder from your slipping nightgown. 

And yet, just as the warmth of The Captain’s touch threatened to bridge the distance, his hand only hovered there, mere inches from your skin, the heat almost tangible despite that his hands are gloved. 

He retracted, his fingers curling back into a loose fist, retreating to his side before stepping away.

Instead, he lets out an exhale that’s deeper than a bass singer. 

“You need not dwell on it.” He murmurs at last, his voice a low, steady thing– measured, restrained, though surprisingly not unkind. “This does not make me think less of you, and I understand your fear towards… this arrangement.” 

You flinch, just slightly, your fingers tightening in the fabric of your nightgown.

A beat passes before you exhale, deep and slow, and you finally look up at the man with a knightly helmet. 

“Still, I should apologise.” His last sentence strikes something else in your heart. “I chose this arranged marriage as well, I shouldn’t have backed down at the last minute.” 

Before you could say anything more, your throat accidentally lets out a cough, causing you to cover your mouth. 

“You should rest now.” Capitano reaches a hand towards you in a very demure manner. “I’ll have the maid fetch you a bowl of porridge.” 

You blush once more as you take his gloved hand, and he walks you back to your bed. Despite your fever, your nose picks up on his fresh cologne that smells like vetiver and kisses of sandalwood...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60714016/chapters/162250639

[followmybadreligion]

Hear me out..obessesive art threatening our boyfriend behind our back and then making him look like the bad guy while art looks so terrified??

continuation to my last answer because this is definitely something that artie would do. especially if we’re following the he-was-already-your-friend angle.

you see, i envision him having a prior past or history with you. whether that was friends with benefits, a one-off hookup, or even just a random little kiss on a drunken night— art keeps that close to his heart FOREVER. even though it didn’t work out then— baby still feels that it will.

so, naturally, he’s a bit possessive.

when you brought this new guy around, like i said before, it was like a punch, kick, stomp, choke-slam to his gut.

but, after his heart heals a bit from you shooting him down, all of his aggression is straight towards your boyfriend.

it starts as a sort of silent man-off competition that you’re a bit too unconcerned to pick up on. art might start bringing up your old memories to make your man uncomfortable. offering to pay for your group meals to undermine boy toy’s wallet. buying you cute little gifts that your new man could never afford. and each time you turn your back, excited that your bestie is being so sweet to you, he’s looking dead at your boyfriend with a smirk so smug and fucking egotistical it makes your man SICK.

it takes you a bit off guard when your boyfriend sits you down to talk about things too. in your opinion, art had been nothing but a good friend to you. i mean, buying you gifts, paying for things for you, bringing you cute places on your hangouts— a very good friend. but your man is not havin it.

to you, it sounds like a little bit of insecurity on both sides, so you do your best to qualm their worries. you don’t mind showing your man a little extra attention or giving him some extra reassurance about art. and you don’t mind reaffirming your friendship with artie either. they’re both important men to you, so you need them to get along as your friend and boyfriend. if only you knew the real situation.

things continue like that for the next few months, and the more that art gets away with, the more bold he becomes. it’s no longer an unspoken, brow-beating dick competition between the two. now, art is full on challenging your man.

when the two of you fight, art is always there to hold you while you cry about it, give you good (for him) advice, and to even help you tell the guy off sometimes.

your boyfriend KNOWS this, too. he knows that every time the two of you are bad, art sees that as a chance to wedge himself between the two of you. in fact, over 75% of your fights are about art. how art belittles him on how little he’s doing for you. how he always seems to be glaring at him whenever the two of you are lovey-dovey. how he seems to tell you the most awful things about him that are not true.

he knows how bad art wants you. he KNOWS. just because your naive, doesn’t mean he is, and he’s more than determined to make you see that.

so, he starts to have a bit more fun with things.

when the two of you are out with your friends, he makes it a point to shove his tongue down your throat once or twice before the night is over, eliciting all types of whimpers and moans from you that he knows art dreams of. he keeps his hands on you at all times, and on the very common occasions that he catches art staring, he makes it a point to feel you up a good few times. he even makes it a point to post more of your dates and cute moments online, whereas before he was more private. anything to tick that bastard art off.

it works too. the glares art sends him, the one-off comments, the scoffs under his breath. art shows his true face more and more.

but, you still don’t seem to accept to accept things the way your boyfriend sees it. yeah, art was a bit possessive, but it’s because you two have been friends for so long. he’s not trying to break the two of you up.

in fact, it looks as if your boyfriend is more of the aggressor sometimes, beating up on poor love-sick art. or at least that’s what art has your other friends thinking.

my god, what are you going to do with them?