#my-citrus-pocket

[roosterbox]

@my-citrus-pocket

Another one! This makes four recommendations for that album! Wow!

Every one makes me more interested to check it out!

[fazcinatingblog]

My actual conversation: so my Nana picked Collingwood when she was a kid, I'm not sure why, I mean Sophia picked Collingwood because she was born in Collingwood and I think grew up that way and then she stayed with Collingwood her whole life even though her brother always switched teams---- wait oh no why am I talking about Sophia's life, this is meant to be about my Nana and

[chelseeebe]

just a taste

18+. mdni. smut. kinda perv!eddie x fem!reader. he is a lil freaky in this i'll admit.

a/n: i just love the idea of the citrus six all living together lol idk i think it’s so nice also i have never watched cheers i just googled 1991 american tv shows and picked one at random LMAO ++ for the movie, i thought it’d be a nice lil easter egg for them to watch something with winona in:,)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

eddie doesn’t know who you are or why you’re coming to visit or why exactly it was him that was being made to vacate his room for the two weeks that you were here. 

“c’mon eddie,” robin pleads, nay, demands, “you sleep on the couch most nights anyway, what’s the difference?” 

“uh, maybe because it’s my room? i don’t want some random girl in there touching my stuff,” almost flabbergasted that she’s even asking. 

“she’s not a random girl,” robin frowns, “she’s my friend and she needs somewhere to stay.” 

“tell her there’s a great hotel in town,” rolling his eyes, trying to leave the conversation before she breaks out the puppy dog eyes. "i'll even give her a ride if you ask nicely," no longer interested in entertaining this conversation.

“i’ll give you fifty bucks,” robin deadpans, using her last resort.

this was bribery of the highest order but eddie's not stupid. fifty bucks is fifty bucks.

“now?” 

she sighs, sliding her wallet from her pocket to reluctantly hand over the bill. she stops just before it touches his palm, “promise you’ll clean your room.” 

eddie goes to grab the paper but robin’s faster, jolting her hand into the air, “and change your sheets.” 

“okay,” he huffs, holding his palm outstretched. 

she graciously places the note down, smiling wickedly as she does so before skipping off back to her own room. 

he can only roll his eyes, turning around to the shit hole that was his room, wondering if fifty dollars was worth having to tackle it. 

-

eddie’s sat on the couch when you arrive, barely looking back as robin begins to fuss, talking loudly about your journey. he doesn’t really care enough to involve himself, besides, elvis presley had just given sam a very important message. 

“eddie,” robin hisses, standing in front of the screen, “don’t be rude, say hello,” her hands firmly on her hips like she was his mother or something. 

he looks up at the looming figure by the couch, hoping his eyes hadn’t given his immediate shock away too much. 

you flash him a sheepish smile back, waggling your fingers in a short wave. 

two weeks on the couch didn’t seem so bad now. 

not if you were sleeping in his bed. 

it’s just a shame that he wouldn’t be in there sharing it. 

“hey,” he stands, hoping to indiscreetly catch his breath, “i’m- uh, i’m eddie,” offering his hand out, though he regrets it as soon as it’s done. 

who shakes hands now? christ. he needed to get a grip, and badly. 

“hey,” you reply, your name dripping from your tongue. though you do shake his hand, not bothering to hide your confusion in the process. 

“eddie very kindly said you could have his room,” a bright, big sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“yeah.. no biggie..” christ, he’s almost panting. “do whatever you want in there.. or you know, just- just make yourself at home.” 

his desperate pleas for the earth to split open and swallow him whole go unanswered. instead, robin shoots him a concerned glare before ushering you away from his weird, longing gaze. 

'pull it together loser' she mouths before disappearing, leaving him to reflect upon how utterly hard he had just fumbled that entire situation. 

-

when everyone’s home from work and you’ve exchanged niceties and greetings with the rest of the house, robin brightly suggests a movie. 

eddie usually hated movie nights in the house. 

jonathan would want to watch some indie cult classic that no one else had ever heard of, steve wanted to watch some dumb comedy that only he’d find funny and then nancy and robin typically opted for the romance genre. 

leaving eddie and argyle with absolutely no choice but to sit in silence as they bickered. 

tonight it’s different, you get to pick. 

and now he’s not saying that whatever you choose will forever change the way he views you but.. well, that’s actually exactly it. 

you land on edward scissorhands. 

not the worst choice you could’ve made, and hey, his mom used to call him edward when he was in real bad trouble. 

in the end, it doesn’t really matter what you had picked because eddie can’t muster up enough energy to actually care about the film. not while your thighs are peeking out from underneath your oversized shirt. he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around his ears. what previous sounds would fall out of your mouth in response.

at some point during the movie, you stand up and walk out of the room to the kitchen but that doesn’t stop him. staring through the open door, marvelling at the way the hem of your shirt lifts, exposing the tiny shorts you had on underneath. 

he’s practically hanging over the back of the couch to get a look, craning his neck at a ninety degree angle just to get a glimpse of your soft, pillowy skin. pinching himself as he tries to resist the urge to just sink his teeth into your inner thigh.

robin jabs her elbow into his ribcage, drawing his eyes back to the room with a grunt and a harsh glare thrown her way. 

“you’ve been staring at her all night,” she whispers angrily into his ear, “stop it, or next time it’s your balls,” a harsh warning he didn’t find entirely necessary. 

you sidle back into the room, drink in hand and eddie can’t help but let his eyes wander over again, short glances that robin hopefully wouldn’t pick up on. 

he can’t help it, some magnetic force swaying his gaze in your direction. he wishes so badly that he could just crawl out of his head and tell you how much he wanted you. 

unfortunately for eddie, he’d instead spend the night dreaming of your ass and all the ways he could have you if he’d only grow a backbone. 

-

living alongside you is an entirely new feat eddie’s not sure he’ll survive. 

it’s torturous. 

testing the limits of how ridiculously horny one man can get without self-imploding. 

so close and yet so far. each night you’d tuck yourself into his bed, doing god knows what in between his sheets all without eddie getting a look in.

of course he’d made up a hundred different scenarios to fall asleep to each night. 

his favourite being the one where he walks into his bedroom to find you mouth open, legs apart, too encapsulated in your pleasure to notice him. only until you do, inviting him closer, between those supple thighs of yours, a forbidden nirvana he’ll never get to know. 

though more often than not he’s cruelly forced back into reality by robin ripping the curtains open at the ass crack of dawn, blaring sunlight on his face as you slip away from the grapples of his dream land. 

now is his opportunity, the house quiet, bar the muffled giggles of you and robin upstairs. he’s safe for now, he thinks, rather foolishly. it’s late, the rest of them asleep or too busy in their own rooms to catch him in the act. 

eddie’s never done anything like this before. it’s disgusting, perverted to the core. 

good grief, this is prosecutable behaviour. 

tiptoeing down the hall to his room, the door open just a crack, enticing him in further. he can still hear you on the floor above, giving him enough confidence to push it open a little more, edging inside with a quick glance back down the hall, just in case. 

gratefully it seemed that you were just as messy as he was, your clothes strewn across the floor. his eyes immediately turning to the peeking of lace from under the pile. glancing one last time at the cracked door, ensuring that absolutely nobody would see him. 

reaching down to gather the fabric in one quick swoop, bunching them in his palm as he lets out a quick sigh of relief. 

oh fuck. they were so soft, fingers spreading to really get a feel. he wasn't even going to take them, he'd just wanted a little look, something to help his overactive imagination get all the important details right.

“what are you doing?” startling him in this precarious position, the lace of your underwear entangled around his fingertips. 

eddie freezes, he can feel the heat rising through his chest, all the way up to the tips of his ears. scarlet red. 

“uh.. i..i-i don’t know..” he hasn’t done anything like this before, he swears. 

your mouth is open in a sort of half-smirk, half-perplexed gawp, closing the door before he could bolt. 

you move around the mess, creeping closer until he can feel you brushing against his side, peering over into his hand. 

“oh wow..” you remark, breath hot and sweet against his cheek, “what were you gonna do with those?” 

eddie feels sick, trying not to projectile vomit across his room. there’s no way you wouldn’t tell robin. fuck. he could hear you now, voice full of disgust, robin laughing at how pathetic he was. 

“n-nothing i swear..” stumbling through his sentence, “i was just..” excuses fail to come to mind, “i was uhm.. looking for something,” the absolute best his flustered mind to muster up. 

“oh really?” reaching around to untangle them from his hand, “you sure about that?” 

there’s no anger to your voice, but he doesn’t dare turn around to look at your face. afraid of what he’ll find. your eyes pitying, sad that he has to root around your dirty laundry to get off. 

“i’m- i’m sure,” though the crack in his voice gives him away. 

you hum, coming around to stand in front of his gormless face, “so you don’t wanna keep these?” holding the evidence up to his face, the hem just barely grazing his cheek. 

eddie’s knees almost buckle, his breath shuddering as any semblance of composure he had left, floats right out the window. 

“here,” reaching forward to tuck the baby blue fabric into the waistband of his sweatpants, your eyes never once leaving his as you do so. “you keep those.. but next time just ask, okay?” 

he nods like an obedient dog, lapping up the scraps you were throwing him. he could stand here all night long, keeping up the weird little power game you’d started. 

“goodnight eddie,” you smile, giving him a gentle nudge, a sign for him to get the fuck out. 

you were the master, he was just the lap dog, eager to please. 

-

at breakfast the next morning, he struggles to even keep his eyes open. having spent an embarrassingly long amount of time on the couch last night shamelessly sniffing the lace you’d gifted him. 

you don’t even acknowledge it, or him for that matter. happily chatting along with nancy about some news article. 

“oh and eddie,” robin begins, flashing him a stern look, “i don’t appreciate finding your fucking panties in between the couch cushions,” 

he chokes on his mouthful, his knife clattering against the table in shock. a multitude of eyes turn to stare at the spectacle he was making. 

“they’re- they’re not mine,” clearing his throat as he clears his name, though he doesn’t dare look in your direction, terrified that he’d absolutely lose his mind if he did. 

“well whoever’s they are, i don’t care, stop leaving them on the couch.. i’m sure our guest doesn’t want to sit amongst dirty underwear,” she bites, calming down now she had gotten her point across. 

if only she knew. 

eddie must’ve fallen asleep with them still attached to his hand, thanking his lucky stars that no one had walked in on him with them pressed to his nose.  

he keeps his head low, focusing on the plate in front of him. nothing had ever been as mortifying as this. not even the time he had slipped off the dinner table in the middle of the cafeteria. 

cutlery scrapes and clinks against the china, uncomfortable silence until argyle clears his throat, “gnarly meal robin, thanks dude,” seemingly settling the tense atmosphere, for now. 

everybody hums in agreement, getting back to their food without another word. but your eyes peek up, meeting his with an indescribable glint. and really, the worst part is that eddie would sit through this horrific situation a hundred more times, just for one more measly sniff at your panties. 

-

eddie can’t take it anymore. 

he’s never been so pent up in his entire life. and he’s tried to hold on until he could move back into his room but he couldn’t last any longer. 

but he’s careful, waiting for everyone to trundle on off to bed, listening carefully for the muted click of the light switch and even then, waiting another hour to be sure. 

the clock glares an alarming 1:04 by the time his belt clinks and his jeans come down, the first of them would be awake in just a few hours, ready to take you on to the airport. 

he wishes it would’ve played out differently, that he wouldn’t be sat here on the last night of your stay alone. but alas, eddie’s never been particularly brave and especially not in regards to hot women. 

your panties wrapped around his right hand as he spits on his left, wrapping around his stiff cock while his fingertips play with the lace in his other hand. 

“ohh fuck,” he hisses, wanting nothing more than to start hollering the house down. 

robin wouldn’t be too pleased if she ever found out what he’d done. and he can’t really afford to get the entire couch dry-cleaned so he really must be careful. 

thinking quick, he shoves his t-shirt into his mouth, muffling the chorus of grunts and groans threatening to spill over into the dark room. the muted light from the tv illuminates his face, breathing loudly through his nose 

he hadn’t heard the door open or the soft sound of your feet padding down the hall, only made aware of your presence when he reopens his eyes, near enough jumping out of his bones. 

how long had you been there watching him shudder and whine?

“fuck,” he exclaims, fist still wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, too aroused to care about it too much. 

“you want some help with that?” 

eddie looks at his dick, then back at you, mouth hung open in a mixture of awe and confusion. 

it’s not very clear but you move closer anyway, sinking to your knees and nestling in between his spread legs. 

“okay?” maintaining eye contact despite how difficult it was, eyes bright and eager. 

he nods, unable to comprehend what was happening. knowing he’d wake up from this twisted dream to some soggy boxers and a whole lotta shame. 

your palm wraps around the base of his cock, shooing his hands away to make room, smiling as your lips wrap around the already leaking tip. were you a psychopath? were you placed on this earth to goad and tease him?

this isn’t real. this isn’t real. the voice repeats around his head though it’s quickly silenced by your tongue swirling circles around the tip of his cock, readjusting his t-shirt to bite down harshly on the fabric. 

eddie’s hands lay useless on his thighs, twitching to intertwine with your hair, still doubting the reality of the situation. this could all be a dream and the second he touches your hair, you’d disappear from in front of his eyes.

the t-shirt falls from his lips, “fuuck,” grunting into the tense air, gritting his teeth so as to not expose your precarious position to the rest of the house. 

the wet sounds of your lips wrapped tight around his cock make his toes curl, his hands find your hair, not without prompting from you. tugging gently at the tendrils as his head starts to spin. 

when your eyes look up to meet his, eddie thinks he might just cum right down your throat then and there. he can see that troublesome glint in your eye, a roaring fire that he so desperately wants to keep stoking. 

your fingers slide up his thigh, finding his neglected balls and with a slight smirk, you grab ahold, gently fondling them as his brain melts out of his ears. 

no one had ever, ever made him feel so good. collectively losing brain cells when you hum on his cock, getting just as much out of this as he was. 

“oh yeah, fuck- shit fuck, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming,” eddie’s mouth rushes, louder than he ever should’ve been. bright flashes of light fill his peripheral, using your scalp as leverage to keep himself on the couch. 

his hips stutter, thrusting into your mouth with his fingers tight in your hair, yanking harshly in an effort to get your lips off of him before he came everywhere. 

you don’t budge, nails digging into his thigh as his release seeps down your throat, his eyes squeezing shut as his fist instinctively comes up to muffle his mouth, moaning into his clammy palm instead of alerting the entire house. 

eddie’s other hand lets go of his strong hold on your hair, allowing you to get off of his dick, panting happily as you sit up between his knees and with lips glistening with his release, you kiss him. all soft and gentle while his brain fails to compute. 

it should be gross. but eddie just can’t find it in himself to care, because in reality, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened in his measly little life. 

“please let me taste you,” he begs between kisses, grasping desperately at your waist, the fabric of your shirt slipping between his desperate fingers.

you giggle, pulling back to look at him through the dimmed light, “not now,” you hover just above, constantly teasing and unobtainable

“well when?" jutting his bottom lip out in hopes it'd convince you to change your mind.

"when i'm back," letting him down gently. eddie'd count the seconds till you came back if that was what it took to get even a tiny glimpse of your pussy.

“what time do you leave?” he pants, chasing your lips. eddie was nothing if not a chancer, though if it hadn't happened already, there's a miniscule chance of it happening now.

“seven,” whispering back, a hint of annoyance that this build up had only crescendoed now, just as you were about to leave. he'll blame robin for that, poking her nose in and trying to turn him off. it shouldn't have worked. he should've been braver.

“but it’s your turn,” an awful sadness and regret overcoming him. someone better, someone like steve, would've had you pinned to that couch by now, his head between your thighs and your slick dripping down his chin.  

“next time,” only repeating yourself, smiling coyly before you plant one last kiss to his longing lips before standing fully upright and disappearing back off to his room, leaving him reeling with a story nobody else would ever believe.

[samuelsdean]

You Think I'm Delicious?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“i don’t like your new perfume.”

genre: fluff & crack

word count: 1.9k

author's notes: here's a spencer reid fluff without plot, just crack (i tried so i hope you'll laugh while reading this). anyway, enjoy reading this one!

THE THING ABOUT DR. SPENCER REID IS THAT HE’S A VERY SENSITIVE PERSON. He's very particular about stuff like his dislikes for certain textures and not knowing about something—making him a good researcher by the way, because if he doesn't know something, you'll find him poring through books—and even certain smells aren't an exception. One might think that this is normal with his job because, of course, he does. He has probably smelled dead bodies more than he has smelled fresh flowers. Of course, he hates smells like rotten flesh. Disgusting, honestly. But, what can he do? That is part of his job.

So, when he suddenly tugged you to his side one day to hug you, you were excited for him to take note of your new perfume and love it. No, you were certain he’d love it just as much as you did when you first took a whiff at the store. You just had to buy it because you were sure he’d go crazy over your smell. He’d tuck his face into your neck and shower you with pecks. Because despite what everyone else thinks they know about Spencer having an aversion to touch, he was quite the cuddler when he was in love. And yes, you were the lucky recipient of his comforting hugs 24/7. 

However, all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with Spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“I don’t like your new perfume.”

Your jaw dropped as soon as he said that distressing sentence. Meanwhile, Spencer was quick to move away from you and continue what he was doing previously—playing chess by himself. Sometimes, if only you didn’t love your boyfriend and didn’t have to face charges, you would strangle him for a lot of things. One of which was being nonchalant after just dropping a bomb like that. What does he mean by you smell bad? You bought a citrus-scented perfume that hurt your pockets; you’ll have to give up your afternoon snacks at the cafe near the FBI headquarters. So, like any good partner out there, you just had to instigate a little argument over your new perfume.

“Excuse me?”

Your boyfriend looked up at your incredulous tone, merely raising a brow at you as if to ask, “What’s up?” This almost got your eye twitching, but you refrained. Taking a breath, you plastered a sickly sweet smile on your face and clarified your previous question.

“What do you mean you don’t like my new perfume?”

Spencer started reddening at your accusatory tone and shrugged halfheartedly, which made you raise one perfectly formed brow at your boyfriend. Now, you’re curious why your boyfriend blushed at your question.

He may be quite shy, but Spencer wasn’t the best when it came to social cues. He rarely gets embarrassed about something unless you blatantly point it out. You could probably count on one hand the number of times he flushed pink. A funny memory you have of him reddening like a tomato was when the BAU were out interviewing streetwalkers. Despite his social awkwardness, Spencer was propositioned by all the women he talked to. You could still remember the exact look he had on his face when he had to pull his tie away from the woman, who was busy rolling it on her fingers.

God, he’s so precious, you’d keep him in your pocket if you could. But right now, he isn’t your favorite person, and you’d love nothing more than to figure out why he was blushing. You were sure there was something behind all those burning cheeks.

“Spencer,” you slowly enunciated the syllables of his name, making him look at you once again. He tilted his head in question as you sighed dramatically, “Out with it.”

“What?”

“You’re flushed pink. You’re picking at your nails, and your right knee just started bouncing.” You pointed it out, and Spencer tried to remedy every single thing you mentioned. “Baby, for a profiler, you’re not doing great at hiding stuff. Tell me what’s going on.”

He scowled and crossed his arms like a petulant child, definitely wishing you weren’t a profiler, and a damn good one at that, like him. You merely chuckled at his antics and crossed your arms in retaliation. No, you weren’t backing away from this one. You spent money on perfume, hoping your boyfriend would love it. But no, he hated it, and now, you have to know why.

You could hear the ticking of the wall clock—if you focused hard enough—with the way not a single sound could be heard from the both of you waiting for the other to cave—not even a phone call from Garcia telling you that you have a case and, you have to be in the office in fifteen minutes could disrupt your focus right now. You could say the same about your boyfriend right now, who is intently staring at your phones on the table. He was probably hoping a work call would come through to save his ass from getting interrogated by you. It’s kind of sick that one would want to hear a new body was found, but at least you’d be out there catching another bad guy and locking them up, never to see the light of day until their last breath. He would rather have a face-off with a murderer than his girlfriend, whom he’s pretty sure is close to resorting to violence for borderline calling her stinky—not really, you’re just dramatic like that.

“Well, for starters, I think it’s strong like I’m drowning in it,” Spencer emphasized the word strong, making your brows furrow. He didn’t have that problem with your previous perfume, and it was stronger—he’s hiding something. You stared pointedly at your boyfriend now, who was fidgeting like crazy under your scrutiny.

“Are you sure that’s it? You didn’t have that problem with my previous perfume, which I’m pretty sure is much stronger than this one.” You clarified, tilting your head to the side as you explained further. “Garcia loved the smell of flowers, but she told me she sneezed every time I passed by. She had to ask me to change the scents immediately. And despite the complaints, you loved it so much that you would tuck your face into my neck.”

At this point, Spencer looked like he was about to burst from an aneurysm with how red he had gotten. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry, but you also had to make him suffer. 

“Tell me, Spencer. Or else, I might just have to resort to other tactics.” You almost cackled at the way your boyfriend looked like he’d rather start digging a hole for him to bury himself in. “And you know, I’m a great profiler. I always get what I want.”

However, as soon as you said those words, you noticed Spencer’s eyes drifting towards a half-full bottle sitting on his little desk filled with heaps of paperwork.

Oh. That’s the problem.

“Baby, I think I know what the problem is here.”

Spencer quickly leaped off your couch to avoid getting teased by you—which wasn’t your plan at all, by the way—and was about to run into your bedroom, but you were quick on your feet and were able to catch his arm and pull him towards you. Yep, unfortunately for your boyfriend, you were better when it came to physical activities.

Although you were better at that angle, you still weren’t able to properly estimate the way you pulled him into you because both of you ended up toppling over on your couch. Luckily, it was the couch, because you’re sure Hotch would have your heads served on a platter if both of his agents were injured and there was a sudden case.

You both landed unceremoniously, with Spencer squeaking as he ended up face-first into your chest, and you groaned as you cushioned his fall. Choosing to pause for a moment, you ran your hands through his brown curls as you both tried to catch your breath. Spencer seemed to agree with that idea as he started inhaling your scent, which made you smile a bit.

“You know, it’s not that I hate your perfume because it smells bad.” Spencer started explaining in a hushed tone, “I just liked it better when you smelled like me.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. This was the first time Spencer had ever said something possessive. Despite not being the usual alpha male girls go for, Spencer had enough confidence in himself that you chose him out of all the guys out there you could’ve gone for. At the start of your relationship, you made it clear to him that he was the one you wanted to be with. Not someone as domineering as Hotch or someone as bold as Morgan.

No, you wanted Spencer. 

You wanted to be with Spencer.

So, you were shocked at your boyfriend’s display of possessiveness, but at the same time, you found it cute that he wanted you to smell like him. It wasn’t every day that he wanted to engage in a public display of affection. And just like any other girlfriend out there who enjoyed the attention you got from your boyfriend, you laughed as you tried to pull Spencer’s face towards yours.

“God, you’re so adorable, Dr. Reid,” you exclaimed as you peppered his face with pecks and pinched his cheeks as he tried to dodge, embarrassed after saying he wanted you to use his perfume, “I could eat your face!”

“We don’t want that." Spencer said, "The BAU would lose two of their best agents with me inside your gastrointestinal tract and you in jail for cannibalism.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he blinked at you innocently. Sometimes, you hate his brain. 

“Stop taking things literally!" You exclaimed to your boyfriend, "You know what I’m talking about!”

“I don’t.” Spencer frowned. You could hear the cogs in his brain start working, meaning he was about to spew out some facts. “Actually, our senses of smell and taste are directly related. They both use the same types of receptors, so if you smell something that you think is delicious, this triggers the same area of the brain that activates our salivary glands. Wait, you think I’m delicious?”

You facepalmed yourself. For a guy with an IQ of 187, your boyfriend could be an idiot.

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer protested and explained some more, “Seeing an object, food, or even a person that is pleasing to the eye can cause people to salivate. Pleasant smells such as your favorite food, your partner’s natural scent, or smelling perfume on your partner can stimulate the production of saliva more than looking at that person. This process can initiate feelings of wanting to eat or bite.”

Despite his protests, you simply clucked and pinched his nose. Wanting to retaliate, Spencer continued spilling his tangents.

“Aha! You like me so much, my smell makes you want to bite me!”

“You know what, Spence?” You asked sweetly at your boyfriend, who was now listening intently to you. He’ll never know what hit him. “I love you so much, but I preferred it when you got embarrassed about wanting me to smell like you.”

By your admission, Spencer started blushing profusely again as he tried to bury his face in your neck.

“Shut up!”

“I love you too, Spence.”

[bagerfluff]

i need a fic/drabble on the last public play imagine on casper im on my knees ‼️‼️

An: Your wish is my command. You didn't specify what you wanted so I hope you like this. Don't forget to drink water and have a good day/night/afternoon :)

Cum Filled Casper

Sub/Bottom Casper x Top/Dom Male Reader

Prompt - Butt Plug

Warnings - Rough Sex, anal, cumming inside, butt plug, public sex, praise,

“Where did you take me?”

Casper asked as he looked around. This was a weird part of the mall you took him to. While everywhere else children were running around only adults were here.

It was bright yet dark, like it wanted and didn’t want to be seen. “Welcome to The Pleasure Cave”, you said with a smirk. Casper lets you drag him into the store.

Casper looked around with wide eyes as he took it all in. Casper had no idea what was all around him, it was a little too much. “What catches your eye?

You asked while staring at Casper. You’d never get over how Casper looks when he finds something new. Even if it is a bunch of sex toys. “What’s that?”

Casper asked while pointing to something. “That’s a dildo, it’s a silicone dick that you use to fuck yourself”, you said with a straight face. While Casper was a little red.

What?

Is this what mortals do in their free time? Casper let go of your hand and started walking around. He found more dildos, all different sizes and colors. Some said that they had a vibrator inside too.

Casper walked away when he found one shaped like a tentacle.

Next Casper found things called butt plugs, at least the name was fitting. They were the same as the dildos. Different sizes and colors, some even had tails on the end.

Casper found this weird, mortals are weird. But Casper can’t deny that his pants were getting a bit tighter. Casper only glanced at the cock rings and collars, though you thought Casper would look good in a collar.

You made a mental note to look online for ones you and Casper might like. You were following Casper with a smirk on his face. You had half a mind to buy the things Casper looked at.

You didn’t have that type of money though, so you just settled on a vibrating butt plug and a normal one. You followed Casper throughout the store.

Taking note of things he looked at.

The gags, whips, scented lube. Soon you noticed the bathroom in front of Casper and got an idea. You smirked and grabbed Casper’s hand. “What?” Casper asked as you dragged him into the bathroom and into a stall.

“What are you do-?” Casper tried to ask but was caught off by you. You shoved him into the stall, ass facing you. You pulled down Casper’s pants and unbuckled yours.

“Hey”, Casper said sternly but you ignored him. You reached into your pocket and brought out a citrus scented lube, one that Casper had been looking at.

You squeezed some into your fingers and started to finger Casper’s ass with two fingers. “Ah~”, Casper moaned, but you covered his mouth. “Quiet now, there’s people”, you said with a smirk

Casper turned his head to glare at you but it was short lived as you added another finger. “Mmm~”, Casper moaned as you thrusted your finger faster.

You removed your fingers, lubed up your dick, and thrusted into Casper. “Mmm~”, Casper moaned as he bit your hand. You thrusted into Casper at a fast and rough pace, grunting with each thrust.

“Just a little longer sweetheart”, you grunted. Casper just clenched around you as you thrusted harder and faster. Casper soon came on the stall wall and you came inside of him soon after.

You quickly pulled out and shoved the butt plug into Casper.

“Oh~”, Casper moaned as you did this. Casper whined at the feeling of your cum inside of him and the stretch of the plug. You grabbed a tissue from your pocket and cleaned Casper’s dick.

Making him while again.

You put your dick back in your pants and helped Casper pull his up pants. “Come on, I have to pay for the thing up your ass”, you said.

You smacked Casper’s ass and walked out of the stall. Casper followed you with a weird walk. Every time Casper walked he could feel the plug and the cum. Casper kinda liked it.

Maybe he would yet you do this again.

[misswynters]

Perfume

featuring. au! claggor x reader

requested by anon

Claggor was never shy about his affection towards you, even when surrounded by the crew. You were used to his small gestures of love, a hand resting on the small of your back, a quick kiss pressed to your temple, or his arm draped casually over your shoulders. But today, he seemed bolder than usual, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat creep up your neck as his hand reached for yours, tugging you closer.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice low. The others were lounging around in the hideout, deep in their conversation about their next scheme, but Claggor was entirely focused on you. Before you could process his intentions, he gently guided you to sit on his lap, his strong hands steadying you as he pulled you into place on his thigh.

You gave him a playful glare, glancing nervously at the others. “Claggor, they’re going to see.”

He shrugged, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. “Let ‘em,” he said simply, his fingers resting lightly on your upper thigh. “I’m comfortable. You?”

Despite your hesitation, you settled into him, leaning back slightly against his chest. His free hand found its way to your hip, his thumb rubbing slow circles that sent tingles up your spine. His warmth was comforting, and you could feel the scent of grime and metal on his skin as it mingled faintly with the perfume you’d dabbed on your wrists earlier.

“Smells like you’ve been busy again,” he remarked, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to give him a better view of the small glass vial tucked in the pocket of your apron. “I’ve been experimenting with lavender and citrus this time. Thought I’d make something light and fresh.”

Claggor chuckled, his voice rumbling pleasantly against your back. “Fresh, huh? Always smell good to me, sweet thing.”

His lips brushed the back of your shoulder, soft and lingering, and you felt your breath hitch. It wasn’t unusual for him to be affectionate, but something about his actions today left you flustered. His hand tightened slightly on your hip, pulling you closer against him as he buried his nose into the curve of your neck.

“This smell is driving me crazy, y'know that?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with a teasing edge.

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “Do I? Seems like you’re the one causing all the trouble right now.”

Claggor chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your neck as he spoke. “Not my fault, you smell so damn good. I can’t help it.”

You could feel the heat rising to your face, and you playfully swatted at his hand resting on your thigh. “Claggor, they’re right there.”

“They’re not paying attention,” he said with a shrug, though his grin betrayed just how much he enjoyed riling you up. “And if they are, let ‘em be jealous.”

Despite your protests, you found yourself melting against him, comforted by his steady presence. His hand slid just slightly higher on your thigh, his fingers warm against your skin. It wasn’t scandalous, not really, but there was something about the possessive way he held you that made your heart race.

“You should bottle this,” he said suddenly, breaking the moment with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Bottle what?” you asked, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze.

“The way you smell,” he replied, his grin softening into something sweeter. “I’d carry it around with me everywhere. Not that I’d ever need to. You’re always here.”

The sincerity in his words took you by surprise, and you felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the way his hands rested on you. You turned slightly, brushing your fingers against his cheek. Claggor leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender. It wasn’t demanding though. Just a sweet, lingering kiss that left you breathless.

The others finally seemed to take notice, with one of them clearing their throat loudly. “Oi, lovebirds! Save it for later,” Vi teased, though the amusement in her voice was clear.

You quickly pulled away, embarrassed, but Claggor just laughed, keeping his arm firmly around your waist. “Don’t mind us,” he called back, entirely unbothered by the interruption.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back against him. Despite the teasing and the audience, there was nowhere else you’d rather be. And as Claggor pressed another soft kiss to your shoulder, you knew he felt the same.

taglist. @writingwisterias @diffusebread @ekkosh

[pinksugarscrub]

Honey Kissed

Sanji Vinsmoke x fem! reader

Thank you @maplekzh for allowing me to bring your idea to life! 💕 Soft and fluffy for one of my favorite blondes.

word count: 1,140

~

It’s rare you and Sanji have a moment alone. Between catering to Luffy’s large appetite and mending the various tears in the sails after run-ins with the marines, it’s always stolen kisses below deck. Longing looks from across the room.

That’s why today you jumped at the opportunity to join Sanji on his way to the market after docking the Going Merry. Using the excuse of needing more fabric and your darling’s help to carry it all. Excluding the word ‘darling’ when you explained this to Luffy who looked dejected at the prospect of exploring this new town without you.

You felt guilty as you kissed him on the cheek and promised him a new coat befitting the future pirate king. Sanji was much more effective at calming your captain after pointing out lamb was a staple of the village. Likely to be on tonight’s menu if he could scrape together enough berry.

With an intentional touch to your lower back. Sanji splays his fingers against the soft cotton of your blouse. Thumb gently brushing up and down. It doesn’t take long for the Merry and the rest of your crew to fade out of view.

“Where to first my love?” Sanji hums. Pulling you close as the market grows crowded and the streets narrow.

His soft smile is reserved for you and only you. He doesn’t need to say it for it to be true.

“Well,” You tap on your chin as your eyes glaze over the array of shops. “I could use some more ink. Nami would like a new skirt and…”

You trail off as you spot a small shop. A cart beside the door. It has a certain…charm to it. The display was covered in a rich shade of red and smelling of roses.

“What-?”

Your eyes dart back to Sanji as you hurriedly turn him so his back is to the shop window.

“I have the greatest idea.” You smile as you nervously glance behind him. “Let’s split for the time being so we can head back to the ship early. Spend some time together before everyone heads back for lunch. What do you say?”

A laugh leaves his lips as he scans your face. Obviously you’ve seen something you like. Possibly something you want to surprise him with.

He takes your hand and kisses it. The scent of roses finally reaches his nose. “Are you sure darling? What if you need me?”

Your skin buzzes with electricity when his lips move to your knuckles. “Mm I can manage,” you stutter. A wobbly smile making its way onto your face.

“Alright then,” he whispers. Grinning as he moves your hand back down to your side. “Promise to come find me if you need anything.”

“Promise,” you nod.

Breath catching as he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Thank you darling.”

It takes a few minutes for you to collect yourself after he walks away. Your hand over your heart as it thrums like a drum.

Clearing your throat you take a step forward then another. A bell sounding and the stairs creaking as you open the door to the shop.

Gold lettering is embellished in an array of perfume bottles and glasses of powder. Rouge, baby pink, and more.

The berry in your pocket suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.

“Hello! May I help you traveler?”

You look up from a jar of deep blue powder to find an older woman. Dimples pronounced and bony fingers decorated in dark spots.

“Um, I’m afraid I don’t have enough berry. Your shop is wonderfully exquisite," you answer. Circling in awe over the chandelier above.

The woman laughs, floor boards creaking as she glides over to your taller figure. “Nonsense! Come, come.”

Her hand takes your own as she takes you deeper into her trove of treasures.

-

“Come again my dear!”

The bell rings as the door shuts behind you. Blush on your cheeks along with a tint of color on your lips. Giddy and satisfied you hop down the steps with a citrus perfume for Nami. Along with the blue powder to match her tattoo.

The rose scented perfume you initially wanted was switched out for vanilla after having a conversation about Sanji. The older woman had seen him just before he had kissed your hand.

There were a few other things in the bag you planned on sharing with Nami or in other words, waiting to claim after discussing which she liked best.

Now, it was time to quickly buy supplies. The next town was about two weeks away and you would go crazy without something to do if you didn't buy something now.

Your pocket grows lighter until there are only a few berry left. Paper bags on either arm that make your muscles ache.

When you arrive it’s clear you're the first one back so you get to work on restocking your spools of thread and paper. Setting the bag of your spoils next in Nami’s room just across the hall from your own.

You almost lose track of time until you hear the familiar Thunk! of footsteps on deck. You suddenly feel nervous as you fix your collar and the rouge on your lips.

The Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! only grew louder until your beloved came into view. His face was bright as he caught sight of you before it fell.

Sanji’s jaw dropped in awe as his heart skipped a beat. You had changed into something loose and comfortable. He wished he could wake up to the sight every morning and go to bed to you every night.

He approaches slowly, afraid if he gets too close you’ll disappear. “You’re a vision,” he breathes.

Your lip curls as you extend your hands out to him. He doesn’t waste a second after that as he settles in your arms.

Sanji groans,“and you smell absolutely amazing.” Burying his nose into your neck Sanji questions whether you know what you do to him. His mind, his body, and his soul.

It gives you great pride to see Sanji so relaxed. His affections are just a bonus.

“How was your venture for lamb?” You mumble. Carding your fingers through his hair and kissing his cheek.

The two of you fall into a comfortable atmosphere. Your eyelids feeling heavy as you continue to pepper kisses along his neck. His words falter at times but he continues speaking to try and hide how flustered he is beginning to feel.

He finally gives as his cheeks burn and your lips brush against his own. Stains litter his neck and ears. Anything within your reach really.

Sanji murmurs your name into your kiss. Sighing in relief when his hands move to squeeze your hips, sinking into the warm flesh.

When the rest of the crew find the two of you asleep in each other’s arms no one is surprised. Well, Luffy is confused as Nami drags him out of your room by the scruff of his neck.

[inf3ct3dd]

ellie headcanons pt.5!!!

warnings: nada

content: loser!ellie x reader headcanons

authors note : ellie dug a hole into my skull and moved in

⁃ against bags for no reason. like her pockets are constantly full of things. random receipts, money, headphones, EVERYTHING. she takes her pants of and they jingle cuz they're filled with COINS.

⁃ knows how to do a back bridge and just HAS to let everyone know. you're watching tv and she's just on the floor like "look"

⁃ i feel like shes the type of person to just start fully eating an orange in the middle of class. like ur listening to the teacher talk and you're just hit by the most aggressive wave of CITRUS from behind you

⁃ constantly fighting the air... like she's just in the kitchen punching and kicking at NOTHING just because. she's always coming up to you and like take punching you and doing her own sound effects like “PWAH PWAH WAM WAPOW"

⁃ jar hoarder 😞😞 every time you buy anything that comes in a jar she's keeping it. literally won't let you throw them away!!! you guys don't even have cups anymore, its just jars and mugs.

⁃ speaking of mugs, ellie has just as many stupid mugs as she does stupid tshirts. absolutely has a lot of garfield mugs be she LOVES GARFEILD

- would buy a dry-erase board for your fridge and leave u little notes and drawings

⁃ "Every single time I see you, I become horny like a triceratops" with a little drawing of a triceratops"

⁃ breaks into incoherent ramblings when shes sleepy... like insane hypotheticals

"what if our bed just completely exploded right now"

⁃ whenever ur on facetime and it gets quiet she just breaks out into song. not even like good, trying singing but BAD SINGING.

⁃ she does that whenever it's quiet !!!

⁃ is listening to music CONSTANTLY. her headphones are actually attached to her ears like all DAY she's listening to something.

⁃ HATES THE BIG LIGHT (iykyk) she lives for low/ natural lighting definitely has so many lamps and led lights

⁃ can never sit normal.... like she is not beating the gay ppl sitting weird allegations she sits so ODD

⁃ will spend literal hours in the pool. doing flips, pretending to be a mermaid, 'making up' her own tricks, she lives for it & !!!

⁃ refuses to dress right for the weather. it'll be like 90° outside and shes in a whole hoodie and jeans.

⁃ has the WEIRDEST subway order. probably puts banana peppers on her shit 😭😭 she swears its the best thing ever

⁃ love's campy comedy movies, esp lesbian ones and horror movies (but im a cheerleader, bottoms, scary movie, etc) also def loves coming of age movies

⁃ has a letterbox account and makes extremely thought provoking reviews

literally her

⁃ always taking candids of you, and they're literally her favorite pictures

⁃ every time she sees two things next to eachother she's like "oh my god it's literally us!!"

⁃ one time she crashed her car and it literally fully flipped over and she just crawled out of the trunk and called you like "you would NOT believe what just happened to me."

- absolutely a waffles girl she needs the texture she likes the CRUNCH

⁃ but like she also loves bacon pancakes. like she's obsessed w adventure time and she makes bacon pancakes ALL THE TIME and she sings the song while she makes them

- eats trail mix like all day....she buys the giant jars and you make fun of her cuz she "likes eating nuts"

⁃ the most secret swifty ever. like she refuses to let it be known but she fully sobbed when she listened to folklore for the first time

⁃ obsessed w those baby sensory videos. like she will literally be entertained for hours

⁃ LOVES the lego movies, esp lego batman

⁃ the MOST honest shit talker ever like you'll be like "yeah she's just a really bad person" and she'd be like "she's also like disgustingly hideous...

⁃ her search history isn’t even weird or gross its just…random. like she’s definitely googled “how do cotton candy machines work” before

⁃ family guy enjoyer.....

⁃ her cf story is like insanely long n its filled w random memes she reposts and insane ramblings

taglist!!!! if ur name is crossed i can't tag u :((

@syrenada @dinaissoprettyoml, @kingofmylastkiss @as2rid @greencacty @melissabarrerass @bratydoll @lov3lylotus @forelliesposts @echostinn @f3r4Ifr0gg3r @r3wbeef @leatheredhearts @mousymaven @mina-281@princessguardian444 @calystas-morning-tea @horror-whoree @slutshies @bearieio @mag-mfm @bubs-world @paran0id0blivi0n @sawaagyapong @bbygrIshelbs @gayh0rr0r @p|9ys @ellieslilsIvvt @dollietes @elliesmellsbadd @ibloom4u @ddreabea @beestar120 @brunettedolls-blog @girlwonderchloe @elliesgflol @maris-koffin @emonopolyman @iloveeyousblog @fr3sh-tragedies @ilovaffles @certifedcrybunny @elleatethat @baldph0bic @clouded-whispers @4rt3m1ss @saggykneecaps @swtsuna @ellesslutt @minixmel @yuyans-stuff @owmoiralover @thecowardwrites @lunascerebro @elliestrwbrry @iwantsoda @teeveegirl @dinasmoon @urnewghostfriend @k3ym4ra @bratzboydoll @ungodlyvenus @lav3nd3rhaze @scokslvoer @iloveunrealpeople @realwinehouse @nehemiahlicious @onedeaddreamer @teawithnosugar @r4t1ku5 @villainousbear @mentallymarriedtonatasharomanoff @gay4tiddies @uraesthete @lil-elliesgf @neighborhood-houseplant @sagessensationalstuff

[iomoru]

Malewife Childe Who...

A/n: I SERIOUSLY need more malewife Childe hcs (╥ω╥`)

Genre: Modern! Au, Fluff, Malewife! Childe, Housewife! Childe, Gn! Reader, Second Person, Proofread

• Malewife! Childe who wakes up earlier than you every morning to prepare a delicious breakfast and pack you a bento with little notes, like “Don’t work too hard!” or “Miss you already!”

• Malewife! Childe who always walks you to the door with your coffee in hand, giving you a quick kiss and wishing you good luck for the day, then waving dramatically as you head off to work.

• Malewife! Childe who keeps the house spotless, even developing a habit of reorganizing the fridge and pantry shelves whenever he gets the chance, all so things are perfectly in reach when you need them.

• Malewife! Childe who tries new recipes all the time, hoping to impress you when you get home. Some dishes might not always turn out as planned, but he’s got a smile ready, saying, “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

• Malewife! Childe who stays active by going to the gym while you’re at work so he can keep up with his fitness and still have all his time free for you when you get home.

• Malewife! Childe who occasionally surprises you at your workplace with a quick lunch date, showing up with a huge grin and saying he couldn’t wait until the evening to see you.

• Malewife! Childe who every time you come home, he’s got the lights dimmed, a cozy atmosphere set, and welcomes you with a big hug, asking about your day with genuine interest.

• Malewife! Childe who has mastered the art of laundry, even adding a softener that leaves your clothes smelling like fresh citrus. He’s figured out exactly which outfits you’ll want each week and makes sure they’re ready to go.

• Malewife! Childe who insists on a weekly movie night with takeout, blankets, and popcorn. Sometimes, he’ll even make themed snacks if he knows what movie you’re watching ahead of time.

• Malewife! Childe who leave little encouraging messages in your things, like your briefcase or your jacket's pocket, to cheer you up if you're having a tough day!

• Malewife! Childe who loves picking out outfits for you to wear, helping you with color combinations or finding fun accessories. It’s like he lives to hype you up!

• Malewife! Childe who no matter how late you get home, he’s always waiting, sometimes half-asleep on the couch with a blanket. But he perks up the moment he hears the door, ready to greet you with that adorable grin that's always plastered on his face!

• Malewife! Childe who has a habit of complimenting you throughout the day, whether he texts you about how lucky he is to have you or tells you after dinner that no one compares to you!

A/n: MALEWIFE CHILDE PLEASE SAVE ME (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡

© ²��²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[xuchiya]

"taste it from my lips" || kang yeosang || ice on my teeth (+18 mafia) ||

| genre: mafia! yeosang x partner! reader | mentions: cursing. creampie. wine drinking. angry yeosang[not to reader]. 5 years age gap. reader is 5 years older to Yeosang. unprotected (tap it up!)

You were not the type of person to drink cocktails, beer, or wine. It simply wasn’t in your system or personality to indulge in such beverages, even during occasions like weddings or birthdays. You preferred keeping yourself clean from those habits, maintaining a healthy life of drinking citrus juice or water instead.

But the moment you met Yeosang, a man of poise and challenge yet such a soft person towards you the moment he laid his eyes on your exquisite form, your steadfast aversion to drinking faced its first real challenge. It started innocently enough during a lively occasion. Amidst the chatter of friends by the bar of the hotel of a birthday of a friend you were attending, Yeosang handed you a cup filled with beer, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. You politely declined, offering him a gentle smile.

“I don’t drink,” you said simply.

His surprise was evident, his brows lifting for a moment before his lips curled into a soft, understanding smile. He took the cup back without hesitation, handing it off to Wooyoung, who eagerly accepted. Yeosang’s reaction made you feel safe, like your choices were valid and respected.

Despite you being older than him, yet he made you feel that everything you feel is alright and valid.

"Very well, my dear." His voice was slur yet cool as he took a seat next to you.

The second time, however, was a little different. It was just you and Yeosang, sharing a quiet evening on the night of your anniversary. The warm glow of candles lit the room, casting a soft, intimate light over the table. Yeosang walked in carrying a bottle of fine red wine, its deep ruby color glinting invitingly.

"Dear, I bought wine!" He paused in his tracks as soon as he realized—perhaps he had forgotten—that you didn’t drink. His eyebrows furrowed and the way his eyes close tight shut is enough to know he had totally forgotten as he set the bottle down on the table, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, Yeo~ You can have it while we watch,” you said warmly, your words brushing away his discomfort.

Yeosang’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing as he gave you a grateful smile. “Are you sure? I can put it away if you’re not comfortable.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. Besides, I think I’m curious.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes widened slightly, curiosity of his own surfacing as he watched you glance at the bottle. You rarely, if ever, showed interest in alcohol, and yet here you were, eyeing the wine with an almost childlike wonder.

As the evening unfolded, the two of you settled on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. Yeosang poured himself a glass of wine, sipping it occasionally as he relaxed beside you. You, on the other hand, found your eyes drifting toward the glass every so often.

It was until your movie night was cut off by a call from his slacks that he changes into his usual sweatpants. With a heavy sigh and sympathy look you gave him as he walks towards his clothes, ruffling through the pockets and answered with a stone-cold tone.

"Better be valid or I'll have you drink your own blood." Despite it being a whisper, it sent chills down your spine upon remembering who you are dating.

Yeosang, is what they all call the 'Bishop chess piece', his long-range attacks. His skills in technology made him go beyond the firewall and can check and capture major delicate so easily.

Of course, with the help of his longtime partner in crime, Wooyoung.

As he speaks on the phone, your eyes drift from the wine glass he is holding on the other hand. He swirls it easily as he took a sip and speaks once again.

It intrigues you on how he is easily balancing his life as being the hacker-tech of ateez and being a lovely soft boyfriend towards you. You sigh softly as curiosity was a powerful thing, and tonight, it seemed to have you firmly in its grasp.

You have heard various rumors whenever you mention Yeosang's name and many of them are from women that he "used" to be with when in reality, they were just woman in their delusion era.

How his cock had hit each spots that sent every woman squirting, his rough hands smacking leaving prints to your skin. And that peak your curiosity as Yeosang has always been the gentle type towards you.

When Yeosang had ended the call and sat down beside you, not before taking a huge sip on his wine and set his glass down on the table. Suprising Yeosang, you leaned forward, your brow furrowing slightly as you picked it up. The scent of the wine wafted toward you, rich and complex. You hesitated for a moment before sniffing it, trying to decipher its layers.

Yeosang noticed your curiosity and chuckled softly. “You can always try it, sweetheart,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Only if you want to, though.”

You glanced at him, your expression thoughtful. “What does it taste like?”

Yeosang’s lips pursed slightly, a familiar look of concentration taking over his face. It was the same look he had when he was trying to solve a puzzle or decide on a dessert. “This one’s a few hundred years old,” he said at last. “They say the older the wine, the sweeter it is.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “Like how we have a five-year gap?”

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and he immediately began waving his hands in protest. “I-I meant the wine!” he stammered, his voice tinged with panic. “Not us—well, I mean, not that it’s a bad thing, but—”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, your teasing remark having achieved its intended effect. His flustered state was endearing, and you leaned back against the couch, your laughter gradually fading into a soft chuckle.

“I’m just messing with you, Yeo~ Calm down,” you said, patting his knee affectionately.

Yeosang pouted, crossing his arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the warmth in his voice betrayed his amusement.

"Well... it's sweet with a hint of bitterness, but since it’s aged, the sweetness outweighs the bitter notes," he explained thoughtfully. "You’ll notice the sweetness more in the aftertaste. It’s not too bitter, and it doesn’t linger for long."

You nodded, intrigued, and swirled the drink gently before handing the glass back to him. "So it is sweet?" He nodded. Yeosang took it from your hands and drank the remaining wine whilst your next move was he was not expecting. 

Seizing the moment, you cupped the back of Yeosang's neck, pulling him closer until your lips collided with his. His eyes widened in surprise as you parted his lips slightly, and the wine he hadn’t yet swallowed trickled onto your lips, some of it dripping down both your chins in a messy, intoxicating mix of sweetness and heat.

As the wine touched your tongue, you were taken aback by its flavor—just as Yeosang had described, sweet with only the faintest trace of bitterness. You pulled back with a soft hum, licking your lips as you murmured, “It does taste sweet.”

Yeosang blinked rapidly, still stunned, his mind trying to process what had just happened. A flush crept up his neck, spreading across his face as he watched you chuckle and look away. His body, now uncomfortably warm, felt an unfamiliar tension building within him—an urge for more of the intimacy you’d just shared.

Wordlessly, he reached out, his thumb brushing along your chin to wipe away the stray drops of wine before his hand lingered near your lips. His gaze darkened slightly as he watched you, utterly captivated, as your tongue darted out to swipe against his thumb.

A low, almost involuntary hum escaped him before he finally pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of shyness and a smoldering desire he couldn’t quite suppress.

"In my room and strip. Don't make me wait."

“O-Oh fuck … Yeosang .. baby slow down.” Your eyes had rolled back from pure ecstasy as he locked his fingers around your jawline as he slammed his hips back to yours aggressively, hitting from the back, on that same spot time and time. The sound of skin to skin echoes the chamber of your room, the change of temperature from your ragged breath and warm bodies had moist most of the windows inside— such spacious apartment yet every room and floor has marked by you and Yeosang fucking everywhere and every chances he gets.

Yeosang let out a dark chuckle as he leaned in close to your ear, “Don’t think about a single drop.” It wasn’t long Yeosang let a gasp-cry left his lips as he is nearing his climax; pulling out as quickly as before he slams back in after switching positions with you as Yeosang places both of your legs on one side of his shoulders.

Gripping your thighs tightly in his warm palm as his head throws back as his hips stills, the tip of his cock hitting the spongy spot as he spurts his cum all over your walls. Biting your lips as you grip your tits in your hand and the other on his thigh as you also come down from your high.

When Yeosang pulls out, he grabs each of your legs and lets them wrap around his waist before plunging back in. The overstimulation made you cry, tightly gripping on his muscle thighs, “Oh fuck!” He chuckles, leaning forward as he places his lips on your lips for a brief second before pulling away, “That’s my good mommy. Can Yeosangie have another round?”

[chlorinecake]

A non con fanfiction? On sunghoon or jake

Btw love you're fanfics! Lots of lovee!🤍

cross my heart and hope to die

syn. Basically while your university hosts a school event, Jake convinces you to help him break into an abandoned frat house before fucking the living daylights out of you

pair. star student!fratboy!jake x gullible!fem!reader

warnings. swearing, guided f. masturbation, cum eating (?), tit play, hickey, petnames (angel, doll face), cnc themes, mild degrading and exhibition kink, light choking/slapping/hair pulling, unprotected sex (stay safe guys), creampie, not proofread

word count. 2.1k

Today marked the day of your university’s annual student and staff celebration, and as promised in the lengthy event criterion, would offer free refreshments, entertainment, awards, and most importantly, a place for everyone on campus to fit in.

Or at least… mostly everyone.

You and your university’s proudly dubbed star student and “spoiled brat,” Sim Jake, occupied yourselves with other plans for the evening.

To most people, Jake in a nutshell was someone who’s brain matched their pockets.

Not that you were particularly interested in Jake’s money or brilliance… you just simply found him attractive. Very attractive.

His strikingly sharp smile, almond brown eyes, perfect cupid's bow, olive skin, strong hands... you could go on for days about how beautiful he was to you.

Gosh, looking at him alone was like a wet dream.

So much so that you'd do basically anything just to be in his presence, despite your own impending bashfulness getting in the way.

And he noticed it. All of your fangirl tendencies...

Despite that, your relationship with Jake wasn't necessarily ideal: you basically just did whatever he asked of you, leading to the partial friendship you two now share.

Though, the only boundary Jake’s favors hadn’t passed yet was anything sexual, all the while one way or another, he planned to change that.

Now, you wish you could say this particular night was all his idea, but you knew deep down in your heart that you had every intent within your own gullible will to join him in his folly.

To give in.

“Hey, you almost done in there, doll face?,” Jake whispered from behind the halfway opened door to the dean’s office, extending his head to take a look down the hallways as if preparing to cross the street.

You two couldn’t risk getting caught.

Not in here, and not over this.

“Yeah, I.... I’m locking the drawer back now, just gimme a few more seconds,” you replied while focused on the task at hand, locking the dean’s desk drawer back and doing a quick check to make sure everything was in the same place you’d found it initially before leaving.

Everything except the key to your university’s former frat house, which had since five or so years ago become a vacant property of forgotten memories and potential.

Of course Jake thought to seek your help with getting the key, hoping that someday, he and his friends would be able to reoccupy the place.

“Alright, we’re good to go,” you said, meeting him at the door as you both ran down the left hall, a flight of stairs, along a few sidewalks, and onto the football field.

“The house should be a few more minutes from here,” Jake added, taking your hand in his to guide you, his touch practically sending electric waves to your heart.

It was starting to get dark quickly, and you weren't sure if the event was coming to an end or not, given how quiet everything suddenly became... but still, you were more focused on exploring anyways.

For better or worse, you were just too curious, too desperate for Jake’s attention.

Click.

You finally unlocked the door upon trying the three other keys you stole from the office, taking in the view of the place that looked as if it’d been kept clean over all these years, with an audacity to smell of pleasant florals, citrus, and pine.

“Hey, where’d you get that?,” you asked Jake, noticing the can of soda he sipped from, and the way his lips glimmered under the faint lighting.

“From the party… I must've been thirsty earlier and forgot I brought this with me,” he said, puppy eyes looking around before meeting you, “want some?”

“Uh, sure, thanks,” you said shyly, taking the soda can to sip, even though the fizz was a bit faded for some reason.

“Oh! Sorry, ____!,” he suddenly yelped, having nudged your hand to take the drink away and accidentally spilling some of the sparkling liquid all over the top you wore.

“Ahh,” you sighed quietly, feeling the cold and sugary drink stick to your skin, “it’s fine, Jake... there’s gotta be towels in here somewhere anyway.”

“Hey, maybe check upstairs, if there's a main bedroom, there should be some cloths in there,” Jake offered, going to discard the can as you did just as he said.

You found a room eventually, where hand towels with dainty cross embroidery at each corner laid on the bed. They stood out like a sore thumb considering the erotic playboy magazine covers hung up on either end of the headboard in gold picture frames.

Jake came back quickly, watching as you plopped yourself on the bed, your chest jiggling a bit with you’re movements as you wiped up your shirt.

He laid down beside you with a groan, yawning out of boredom more than tiredness, “Wonder what kind of shit went down in this room,” he though to himself before glancing back at you. “That’s not gonna work, you know? You’re gonna need to change your entire shirt at this point.”

“But… I don’t wanna risk getting caught by taking anything else, seeing how I’ve already messed up this nice towel,” you rationalized with him.

“Take off your shirt, angel,” Jake said in a husky voice, sitting up now on the bed to look at you better, his gaze practically undressing you itself, “you just look so uncomfortable with it on…”

Your nipples were hard thanks to the cold drink, so they poked through your outfit, just enough for him to get a good sneak peek.

There was something about the tone of his voice that made you feel different this time, though. Nervous.

“I’m fine… really,” you replied before continuing, “So what do you think about the frat house," you asked, still patting the wet spot of your shirt with the towel, ignoring his previous comment.

"Hmm… It's pretty nice... spacious... the condition isn’t too bad, so that means less work for me and the boys,” he answered, shamelessly staring at you, “plus, it already has everything we need in it.”

The place really was like a hidden resort house.

“Yeah… now that you mention it, I wouldn’t doubt they still have some soap in here, too. I really need to wash this stain out, anyway—”

Jake’s hands found your shoulder first, pushing you back first against the bed before straddling you, hooking the lower seam of your top with his fingers and pulling it up over your head.

“W-what’re you doing, Jake?” You stuttered, nervous as you laid half naked beneath him.

“What you obviously couldn’t do yourself,” he slithered, lips already meeting your sweet breasts, thanks to his little soda accident earlier.

You regretfully moaned, already feeling your core warm up at his actions. The effect he had on you was honestly a bit embarrassing.

“M-maybe we should go back downstairs-”

“But you don’t want to…” he whispered against your skin as he left a trail of kisses all over your chest.

“J-Jake, this isn’t why I came here with you-”

“You know how much I like it when you do as I say, angel... now I just need you to keep being a good girl for me, okay?”

“Jake, stop-” you whined, feeling as his hands toyed with your panties.

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t been dying for me to touch you like this,” he grinned, looking up at you with the sluttiest eyes as his hand sat just above the wet spot of your core.

He snickered to himself, “You want this, don't you?”

His hand harshly smacked the tender skin of your inner thigh, a loud sound filling the room as your body flinched.

“Yes,” you yelped in discomfort, biting your lip to hold back any tears.

“So why are you telling me to stop?”

“I was… I don’t…,” your mind was getting fuzzy, chest starting to heave as you struggled to think with his finger circling your clothed clit.

What had gotten into him?

“You were cold because I spilled my drink on you, and now I’m helping you warm up again,” he smiled, mouth connecting with your neck as he continued to suck relentlessly, skillfully teasing your heat as he marked you, “Right, ____?”

“Jake,” you whined, arching your back once you felt his fingers apply pressure.

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling down your bottoms the rest of the way and spreading your legs.

Leaning back, he finally spoke, “Touch yourself for me… and use two fingers so I can see how your pathetic little pussy struggles to take it.”

And of course, you did just that, already slick enough to put on a nice show for him.

He slapped your face when you closed your eyes, telling you to look at him the entire time.

You continued to pleasure yourself before him, a bit of moisture seeping from your aching hole when he slapped your tit this time, “Oh, you like the pain, don’t you slut? Can’t come without it, can you?”

“Nngh, no,” you answered for reasons you don’t understand, fucking yourself faster as you circled your hips, just as he snatched your wrist, licking the juices from your fingers.

“Up,” was all he said before taking you to the window, bending you over the sill.

“It’s getting stuffy in here, I say we let some air out, yeah?”

All you did was nod dumbly as his words, his belt buckle hitting the ground with a clink as his dick found your entrance, shoving past your slimy tightness with his lips kissing down your back.

His grunts sounded animalistic as he picked up the pace, his accent thick and strong with each curse that slipped from his mouth.

Jake’s hands found your neck, gripping tightly as his thrusts sped up, fucking you back and forth with you your head resting at the window.

“Look up slut, so everyone can see your cute little face tear up while I fuck you from behind… fuck you like my good little cock whore. Taking all of me so well— mmm.”

He pulled your hair by the roots, causing a loud moan to slip past your mouth as he stretched you out. “You’re such a slut for pain,” he grunted, “am I wrong, angel?”

You whimpered at his words, barely even present with how dizzy you felt, “you’re always righ— mghh, yes, right there...”

He pulled you from the window sill, shoving your face against the ground as he continued to thrust from behind, your tits shaking with his aggressive thrusts.

Picking you back up by the elbows, he pistoled into you, fluids trickling down your thighs and glistening against his pelvis as your poor thighs shook from all the pleasure, your weak moans dancing off the walls.

He thrusted in and out of you, fucking you into overstim as he chased him own high, taking pleasure in the way you squirmed whenever you felt his tongue against your skin.

His hands slid up your ribs before cupping your tits again, gripping at them relentlessly as his moans grew louder, breathier.

Needier.

Your hips bounced against his as you helped by fucking yourself on his cock, throwing your head back against his chest as you both came at the same time.

“Aww, fuck,” he groaned loudly, loosening his grip as you felt him paint your walls with his warm release.

Despite how out of breath both of you were, Jake picked you up and brought you to the bed, taking the same towels from earlier to clean you up before joining the empty spot beside you.

The three keys you borrowed from the dean's office were as good as misplaced by now, you and Jake both too tired to give a shut about looking for 'em now.

“You can’t tell anyone about this…," he started with a rasp voice, "nothing about tonight… not your friends, and especially not mine,” he said, pulling you close to him as you laid in only his jacket and your panties, Jake himself wearing just a t-shirt and jeans.

You looked into his face, that was unbelievably more striking with a post-sex glow.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” you answered softly, as both of you stared at the ceiling, hearing nothing more than your hearts beating and a few faint sounds from outside.

Still, the fact remained that you’d do anything for Jake… even sexual favors now.

“Thank you,” he whispered back, but you were already fast asleep, the final thought on his own mind being that the abandoned frat house would be a place just for the two of you now.

❊ Thank you all so much for reading this quick fic !! I honestly think it's kinda garbage, but I hope someone out there finds it enjoyable at least (probably gonna make a revised version of this for another member tho, we'll see...) !! Also, make sure to check out my masterlist for more reads like this ~

❊ [Perm] Taglist: @squoxle @ashgonedash @nikisdubblchococake @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

[jolalibrary]

in the locker room

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: when you join him for benny's fight, frankie appears stressed. you have an idea to de-stress him.

warnings: TF canon compliant. explicit smut/oral m! receiving. my spellings (written on phone) wordcount: 1.6k

an: dedicated to @rhoorl who I wound up yesterday with this. babe, ily and our thot chats.

Waiting feels like a whispered question in a room of time.

Phone in your palm, glancing as you watch the text change from received to read—smiling, locking it as your grin is caught in the reflection of the screen, illuminated, proof that once again he does this to you. Has this effect on you—makes you a little reckless.

Your nose catches another whiff of the slightly off citrus disinfectant. The ones doing its best to smother over the stench of old sweat and socks. It lingers, attempts to embed itself in your clothes, lets you walk away with the reminder you were here.

A part of you hopes to walk away with something a little more than a reminder. A memory, maybe. Tapping the back of your phone against your palm, nervousness begins to ebb over the adrenaline from sending the message.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting—

BANG. 

Leaning against the locker, metal sinking into your bones past clothing and skin, you pocket your phone. Listening to it, the door shutting behind him, his gait in those boots—heels clicking as he rounds the lockers and spots you.

Frankie drinks you in. Does so like a man starved, parched—as though he wasn’t seated beside you moments ago before you excused yourself. Before you made a beeline for a different door that wasn’t the ladies' bathroom.

He's looked at you like he's wanted to devour you since the night you met, and all the nights that have been since. Even if he has, plenty and plenty of times. The look doesn't waver, it doesn't lessen.

Now, it's just embroiled in love, affection, care.

“You alright?”

Nodding, he comes closer—more lines deepening around his brows, eyes; shoulders almost hanging like earrings they’re so high up.

“Querida, what are…”

As soon as you can, you pull him close by his jacket. Brown, worn—cuffs rolled up and suede greet the pads of your fingers as he moves close to you with ease.

Still, Frankie frowns.

Still, he’s weighed down by something, irked by it. Brain totting things off that he won’t share or spill—just offers hollow smiles and barely-there glances.

“You look stressed, baby.”

His jaw ticks, just when your palm cups his cheek—thumb brushing over the patch. The little heart you trace when you can, that your thumb finds when you’re kissing him, when he’s so canting his hips and making you sing.

But, you suspect he’s still not caught on. Not grasped why you’ve sent him a mayday message to meet you in an old, smelling locker room. 

“Baby,” you whisper, more sweetly—a slice of sultry to it. Like a cocktail you hope he’ll drown himself in.

Chewing his tongue as he averts his eyes, storing secrets and hiding terrible truths from you. Things you’ll pull from him in time, retrieve. Probably wish you hadn’t, too.

But it’s not why he’s here—not why you want him here.

You don’t want to talk, to find out.

“Wanna make you not stressed.” 

Swallowing, you see it shift and feel him freeze. His eyes slide back over you, almost snapping to you as his hands rest on your hips.

“Here?”

Smirking, you tilt your head. Offering nothing, saying nothing.

It’s then you feel Frankie’s hands. Those large, capable and fucking perfect hands sliding around your waist, pushing you flush with the locker and his frame. Little to no space between you. Soft stomach against yours, your thumbs fingering at the suede of his jacket as you stare into his eyes. 

“Want you in my mouth, Morales.” 

“Jesus, fuck.” 

Hands sliding down over the curve of his stomach, eyes not wavering, never leaving, your palm runs over the growing bulge in his jeans as you tell him. As you describe to him how bad you want him, how it’s all you thought about—that having him in your mouth would make your night, your day.

“—so, can I, Morales? Can I suck you off in here?”

“Yeah, baby. Fuck. ‘Course you can.”

The thank you comes out on its own, escapes in a whisper as his head tilts around yours to glance at the door—the sound of cheers echoing down the corridor, leading here, cutting through silence and held breaths. 

It’s with ease his belt undoes, clanging and clattering; his jeans open next, zip grating against teeth as you slide it down, pulling the fabric down next—just enough to free his straining cock.

“We gotta be quiet, baby.” 

And he snorts, offering a roll of his eyes. Hand taking yours as he helps you descend to your knees—the floor hard, cold as it crawls in past your jeans. But, head level with him, your mouth waters at the sight of him. All of a sudden desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to feel him kiss the back of your throat and coat the back of your teeth in his pleasure.

It’s teasing the way you wrap your fingers around him, lightly pumping, making him groan somewhere deep inside of his chest—a grumble in Spanish, one that makes the corners of your mouth lift as you clear your throat.

“You’ve got such a nice cock, Morales,” you whisper, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the tip—salty tang lingers on your lips when you kneel back. Watching as his hips buck, cock twitching in your hand. 

“You want to come in my mouth?”

It’s a murmur, an array of letters merged together to say please as you slide the tip of his cock inside your mouth, your smirking lips closing around it. Hearing it, the hiss from his teeth; but, you pull from him. 

Hearing it—the tortured sound that feels like a reward. But the prize is the way he looks a mess already. His lips were already parted, nostrils already slightly flared. That line between his brows gone, something you’re more pleased about than the sounds.

It’s why you lick a stripe up the base, smile at the pained fuck he lets escape. Taking him back into your mouth, fully, no games. Feeling his hand on the back of your head, before his grip tightens as you take more of him, feel him deeper—tears pricking at your eyes as spit begins to soak your chin at your enthusiasm.

Flicking your gaze up, you find his hidden under the shadow of his hat, the angle different—but you know his forehead is smooth. The furrows of whatever had caused them to melt away on your tongue as you taste what you crave. All salty tang and stress, it seeps into your throat as your head bobs and cheeks hollow.

Because it’s a reward to do this for him. To do this to him.

To have him like this, relaxed and yet tense. 

“Fuck, y’so good for me.”

The crowd masks over the sinful sounds of your mouth working him. You only lift off to catch your breath, letting the tip trace your swollen lips as you stare up at him, finding him transfixed, unable to see anything but you.

Fingers swipe over your chin, cleaning the spit from it, showing it you glistening on his fingers. “Don’t make a mess.”

The command—you’re sure has ruined your underwear. The same fabric that would provide so much relief if you could angle yourself to gain some friction.

Moaning, you clutch the base of him, mouth close to taking him as you breathe, “I love your cock, Frankie.”

Angling his head in a ‘yeah?’, his words are stolen as you slide him down your throat. Knees shuffling closer, you nudge them against the tips of his cowboy boots, hands around the back of his jeans for leverage. You feel it, the familiar fabric you’ve got in your palm—the one you’ve had chafing on your thighs when you’ve been bare and wanting; the one which you’ve picked up and washed with your clothes.

And it’s that familiarity that makes you moan, makes you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, as you hear him curse in a deeper, more gravel-filled voice.

You love him, love this—love this thing between the two of you that you’ve never had with anyone else. It's like an inferno, consuming, not yielding even as time ticks on between you. There's only trust, understanding—a hard honesty, but the two of you work to keep there every single time.

Then, there's the fact that you know from the sounds he’s making he’s getting close. It makes your skin warm, pussy flutter; it makes you tempted to slot his boot between your thighs and ride him. Especially as you notice the sweat shining on his forehead, it twinkling under the shitty fluorescent lights when he rests his head against the metal behind him.

Fuck, it spurs you on. 

That and the taste of him reaching his pinnacle—how it’s stronger, tangier; his moans louder and less reserved. 

“Fuckfuckyesqueridafuck—“

The expletives flow freely, not held back or restrained. They practically echo, becoming a song that only your ears get to hear as his hand tightens and you watch his other fist clenched at his side.

Then you feel him at the back of your throat—him filling your mouth. Breaths ragged, pulled from him as you slowly continued to bob, not wanting to waste a drop, to not have everything you could.

You don’t consider moving until he loosens his hold on the back of your head, until his eyes unclench, and you’re washed in soft brown. 

He slips himself free from your lips as you swallow, his palm cupping your chin and jaw as he tilts you to look at him. 

“You alright?”

Nodding, you trace your thumb over your lip. “You feel better?”

He hums, for a moment looking all at peace as his hand aids you to your feet. You believe him, believe it—the hum. Looking away, for less than a second, allowing him to stuff his softened cock into the confines of his clothes as he redresses.

Then you see it.

The shadow in his eyes, the thing that had been there when you’d made it just for the last round of Benny’s fight. When you’d kissed his cheek and he’d gripped your hand and said he’d missed you—even if he'd seen you this morning.

Breath shaky, you fold your arms loosely. “You need to talk to me when we get home, don’t you?”

Not saying anything, not needing to, he pulls you close, unravels your arms and kisses your forehead. 

“I love you, querida.”

“Lo sé, Morales.”

Because you do.

[crystallinesilk]

✧ “My Precious Lightweight…”✧ 

Synopsis: After a trip to the laundromat, Choso and his girlfriend [you!] settle on the couch. You previously discovered your misplaced THC vape pen before the wash, and playful teasing turns into an intimate, loving, and intensely passionate encounter as you trade vape hits and become consumed by each other.

Pairings: Choso x f!reader

Content: Explicit content { { MDNI } }, switchy/ lightweight/ possessive Choso, established relationship, post-laundry relaxation, new living arrangements, fluff, teasing, some biting, kissing/ making out, shotgunning THC vape pen, heavy petting, pet names (baby, baby doll, pretty princess, etc.).

Word Count: 2.3k+

Author’s note: This is my first one shot. I’ve been pretty obsessed with Jujutsu Kaisen lately so I hope you guys will enjoy what I think Choso would be like in this specific situation! I love him ,_,

You and Choso bustle around the apartment, sorting out the last bits of laundry before heading to the laundromat. As you shake out one of your hoodies, a small object tumbles out and lands on the floor. You pick it up, realizing it was your long-lost THC vape pen.

"Look what I found!" you exclaimed, holding it up with a triumphant grin, “And it’s still got a lot in it!”

Choso glances over curiously. "What? Where did you find that?”

"Found it in my hoodie! Just in time before it went through the wash," you say. "Want to get a little zooted when we get back?"

“Zooted?” he laughs and then nods while giving you a tentative smile, eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Sure, why not."

✧✧✧

After finishing the laundry, returning home, Choso adamant on not letting you carry the heavy basket, you two come up to the door. “You don’t always gotta be such a sweetheart, you know that, right?”

Choso smirks contentedly and leans in to give your nose a sweet lingering kiss, “I’d do anything for you, my pretty princess.” He kisses your cheek. A sweet loving kiss that seems to everlast.

✧✧✧

As you both walk in, he sets the basket next to the couch arm and plops down. His left arm splayed to make room for you. You set your keys down on the coffee table, toss your sweatpants off and plop down right beside him, cuddling into his large masculine frame. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your cheek. His nose– tickling your ear. He kisses your temple firmly and leans his forehead against yours. You both let out a relieved sigh as you press your face into the nook of his neck.

Choso runs his fingers through your hair, “So about that vape pen?” he asks.

You straighten your posture a bit as you fish the pen back out of your short pockets. You held it up again, your excitement palpable. "Ready?"

He nods, watching you intently, curiously, innocently. You took the first hit, savoring the uplifting effects of the hybrid strain. The plumes escape your nostril and his eyes glimmer watching your eyes dilate and your shoulders lax.

Leaning forward, you align your face and cradle your boyfriends’ face in your hands as you kiss him, lingering on his bottom lip. You trace his lip with your tongue, eager for him to taste the herbal citrus of your recent vape hit. He eases his lips into yours and slips his tongue against yours. Velvety smooth and hints of orange citrus saliva intertwine with the sweetness of him..

You pull away, leaving that sloppy saliva strand that you lick back up to give him a more clsoe mouthed, tame kiss. Choso shifts constantly under your kiss and holds back a moan as you ask in a whisper, “Can I shotgun it into your mouth from mine?”

He looks at you hesitantly before a wide smile forms on his sweet pale face, “Of course, my pretty girl.”

He pulls you closer by your waist as you take a heavy pull off the vape. You align his face with yours, kissing him once. He opens his mouth eagerly for you as you exhale the vapor back into his mouth, the intimate shotgunning making him slightly dizzy. His eyes become glossy, a dreamy expression takes over his features, “Oh, ahah–aa Y/n, this is what it feels… like.. huh?” he stammers out.

You dote on him as you plant kisses on his face again. He’s sweetly delirious just from a single hit. You tease him, your lips lingering on his as you playfully nip at his lower lip. "My precious lightweight, already so affected..."

Choso's breath hitches, his body responding to your touch as you palm his already growing hardness. His heart flutters wildly. “Cho… already worked up, huh?”. He tries to murmur back something, but the feeling of his cock twitching underneath your hand leaves him effortlessly docile, hot under his clothes, and too flustered to string together words. He nods, swallowing hard.

You sits more firmly on his sharp hips, dragging back as you begin to kiss and nip down his jawline, finally finding a spot to leave your love bites. Between moments of him squirming and your acute hickies, you ask, “Think you can handle more?”

He shivers, his hands roaming your sides, switching between gentle caresses and needy gropes. "I can handle more than you think," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire and intoxication. His hands starting to wander from his iron grip on your waist.

You coo softly, “I know you can handle more, my sweet Cho", giving his hardness a firm grind between the heat resonating between your legs… He let out a low whine, his need for you intensifying.

 His hardness pressed against you through his pants, and you began to grind against him, moving back and forth with deliberate, slow movements. His breath hitched, and his hands found your waist, gripping you as if to anchor himself.

Leaning down, you took another hit from the vape and held it as you looked into his delicate doe eyes. His eyes lock swift yours and he leans in for another shotgunned hit.

Choso complied, his eyes half-lidded and filled with desire. The intimacy of the act makes you both shiver. He deepens the kiss, the shared vapor making your heads spin. He ruts sloppily up against your clothed cunt with a suppressed moan into your mouth.

"You're doing so well, baby," you murmur against his lips, feeling his hips buck more beneath you. "You’re my sweet lightweight, huh?"

Choso groans at your words and his breathing deepens as he stammers out, “Yo–your sweet light weight”. He grips on your waist, suddenly tightening his fingers as they digging into your skin with a possessive need. You huff pushing your ass onto his lap even harder as you lick and kiss up the side of his face, “All fucking mine…”

You pull back, following his hazy glazed eyes of need. His hands snaking from your hips, over your cute tits, to your neck, "And you're mine," he growled softly, his voice a mix of sweetness and feral intensity. "And I.. mm.. w–want all of you, baby"

You felt a thrill at his words, your own desire further heightening– unable to contain yourself. The daze makes your eyes half mooned. They close as you lean against his toned chest, "All yours, Cho," you whisper back, leaving fervent love bites on his chest. He grabs your jawline for a savory kiss reminding you both of how stoned the two of you are– the taste of citrus lingering . Still, his response was immediate, his mouth moving against yours with a sloppy hunger that made your toes curl and his grip slip against the fabric of your shirt.

You continue to grind against him, feeling the friction build between you. His breath hot and heavy as he moved down. In turn, he bites and sucks the divots of your collarbone and shoulders. His need for you evident in every hazy twitch of his cock, and every dizzy whimper that escapes your mouth, you could feel him grow below, “You do things… to.. me.. baby girl..”

You smile slyly as you reach between you, tugging down his pants and boxers just enough to free his hardness. The sight of him, swollen and ready, slapping against his meticulously chiseled abs make your eyes completely mesmerized– your need to touch, lick up and kiss and and and…

With a deep breath, a tight readiness below your stomach, you lean in closer, almost face-to-face with his sleeper of a hardness. Your fingers and palm centimeters away, the heat emanates wildly off him, matching your own fire.

As you reach out to grab his burning hot cock, he smirks deviously and grabs your wrist, “Tsk, tsk, I think we both need a little more…” his voice trails off as you watch him pull the vape pen out again, “don’t you think?”. He smirks as you watch him take a heavier hit than you did before. “Cho– don’t– be careful with that!”

He nods his head– a signal to veer closer. He grabs your chin, his finger trailing the underside of your jaw. You ease against his lips and breath in the sweet citrus. He follows by giving you a sloppy fucking kiss, his tongue eager to fight against yours. The smoke plumes between the subtle empty spaces between your interlocking lips and tongue. Both of you melted in the deliberate kiss– making your hearts zuzz, your minds’ empty, your bodies lost, and your eyes further reddened.

You sat back on to his firm hips, trapping his freed hardness between your wet thighs and soaked panties. Neither of you broke away until you felt the pulsating of his eager member against you. You breathed unsteadily with the feeling. He gasped, barely audible, but his stoned doe eyes looking down in disbelief and then back up to you tells you everything. So eager, so excited, so ready to burst already.

“Y/N, p– please?” Choso sputters out. You reach for both his hands at your waist. Bringing his left to your sacral, making him hook his fingers at the waistband of your panties, and his right hand, a shaking mess, back to enrich his fingertips and palm with your soft tits. He traces over your nipple softly, overwhelmed with the plethora of sensations.

“Slide ‘em to the side f’me, won’t you, Cho?” you says with a breathy, twice as eager moan. His half lidded eyes, opened wide, “You uh–ya sure, baby?”. You nod, your hands wandering down his iliac crest to meet his left hand stammering as he pulls your drenched panties to the side. 

Positioning yourself, you slowly guided him into you, the sensation making you both gasp. His eye lids barely closed, the white of his eyes noticeably reddened… You moved with deliberate slowness, wanting to savor every inch as he stifled his moans. His hands gripped your hips, helping to guide you as you take his entirety, barely with ease. Your wetness making it easier, but his size makes you stretch. He lets out an uneven breath as you start to set a steady rhythm.

Choso's breaths were ragged and completely broken, each movement driving him closer to the edge. "You’r— you’re fucking mine," he repeated, his voice trembling with need. "I– I can– never get– enough– of you, my slutty pretty–"

You grinned, leaning down to kiss him deeply. "I– I can’t either, Cho.." you say, your voice filled with affection and sultry desire. You increased the pace slightly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

As you rode him, you could feel his body tensing beneath you, his breathy moans filling the room. You slow down each time he seems a little too close to release, edging him and drawing out the pleasure. "You're so fucking responsive," you murmur, your lips grazing his ear. "I love how you react to my touch."

Choso lifts his shakily head from ecstasy, his mouth slightly agape from watching as his cock disappears and reappears covered by your needy pussy with your slick honey. He smiles so fucking wide, quickly changing into dark desire as his hands roam your body, his thumb tracking over your clit, his other hands groping at your plump ass, his touch desperate and reverent. "Please," he begged, his voice barely audible. "I need you."

"I– I need you too, my love," you reply, your movements becoming more urgent. You could feel the pressure building within you, the need for release becoming almost unbearable.

You continue to edge him, the sensation of being so close yet not quite there driving him wild. His moans become more frantic, saying your name, your full name between his sloppy pumps up, his grip on you tightening more and more and more and more and…. "Please," he groans again, his voice evidently breaking. "Baby– girl– I– I can't hold on much longer."

“Hold on, baby… just.. alittle..” , you moan back reaching for the vape pen once more, taking a quick hit as he watches in further disbelief. His mouth still agape, you lean in and blow it into his mouth.

He breathes in and then out, “F-f–fuck”, our own release just within reach. You move with him, your bodies perfectly in sync as you finally allow yourselves to tip over the edge. The release— he caves first, pulling you close to him, his hands grabbing all over you searching for nowhere in particular just as long as you're close… The release so intense, waves of pleasure crashing over both of you as you held each other tightly. The sun fluttering on your skin from the window, a realization of his cum deep in you, connected in the most intimate way possible. You grind against him, dead set on making his face completely red, “S–so.. S–so sensitive, baby girl…”

As the aftershocks subsided, you collapsed onto Choso's chest, both of you breathing heavily, hearts still a racing, pounding mess. He kisses you softly, his lips tasting you. "You did so fucking well, my girl" he murmured, feeling the love and connection between you.

You smile with ease, biting his lower lip. His eyes still glazed with the remnants of the high, still lost in your tender space. "Still needy, my sweet girl?," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude, adoration, and intrigue.

“Should I manipulate the blood back into my cock?” he smirks breathlessly.

You slap his chest lightly with a smiley giggle knowing he isn’t joking… because you can feel him twitching even more still buried in you...

© crystallinesilk2024~ reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! Do not plagiarize my works and not translate/modify/copy. We can chat about it though!

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

[chaiwithmybeloved]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x reader.

Description: Hitting (on) a stranger with a shopping cart was not on your grocery list.

Word count: 1k

The lights in this grocery store are too warm for your liking.

Too warm, too dim. You suppose it goes well with the aesthetic of the brand but it's almost fucking impossible to check the fine print on the imported pistachio spread that you've been holding for the last 15 minutes.

You cannot risk buying something so expensive without knowing when it expires. You grimace at the amount of produce in your cart that's going to cost a chunk of your paycheck and put the jar back on the shelf saying a silent goodbye.

Steering the trolley to the front of the store, the angel on your shoulder scolds you for thinking it was good idea to visit a gourmet grocery store.

In your defense, this place wasn't your first choice either. The regular grocery store was 5 miles closer to your place and handed out amazing discounts too, but—

"You're not going to believe who I saw at S-Mart."

"Was it..." Adjusting the phone between your shoulder and ear, your frowned as the layer of purple nail polish smeared on the skin of your toe. "...your biochem crush?"

Your friend sighs, "I wish. It was your ex-situationship, though. Anyways, I hope you've blocked him..."

Her voice fades and the carpet is stained purple.

No. You couldn't risk running into him, even if that's all you've wanted. So, you drive— 20 minutes out of your way— to be as far as possible from the bittersweet memories of the ice cream isle.

You almost hit someone with your cart. Panic sets inside you. What if it's some rich snob who would set their lawyers on you like a pack of dogs? It wasn't your fault the wheels were wobbly!

"I'm so sorry," you bend quickly, to pick up the fruit that had slipped from their hand. As you stand straight, a pair of formal shoes, khaki pants, a half tucked blue shirt and a loose tie meets your eyes.

"It's alright," the smooth voice has you looking up faster than your brain can process. "No harm done." Thin lips, gentle crook of his nose where a pair of spectacles rest, hiding his beautiful brown, maybe a little tired, eyes.

The devil on your shoulder calls you an embarrassment. You hold out your hand and he takes the apple, adding it to his cart. "Thank you."

A number of wooden carts are arranged before you, each containing different colours and varieties of apples; Fuji, Gala, Honey crisp, Kashmir—

Reaching out for the Granny Smith, you're impressed with how big they are. Instinctively, you smell them: sweet yet tart.

You add one to your shopping cart, eager to go home and taste it. The last batch your vendor had brought were pathetic—

"Excuse me, would you mind picking them out for me. I can't tell the good one's apart." The man asks, showing you his selection. Small and weirdly round with red streaks.

"Calville Blanc?"

He nods, "I've read that they have a high amount of Vitamin C."

You try not to fall on your knees. Beautiful and intelligent? Maybe gourmet grocery stores weren't so bad after all.

"They do," you select a few from the paper bag and replace them with better quality ones. "But if you're looking for Vitamin C, citrus fruits are the best."

He doesn't reply. Not for a whole minute. "My son—"

Oh. OH.

The angel slaps her forehead. You wanted to suck off a married man!

He doesn't have a ring. The devil makes a fair point.

"—doesn't like oranges. Or anything orange flavored. I've been trying to get his Vitamin C levels up."

"Does he like lemonade?" You try to maintain a normal conversation. He looks pretty young to have a child.

"Yeah," The stranger nods. "Will that help?"

You nod and hands rest on the handle of your shopping cart, feeling dirty for lusting after a married man. "It would be more pocket friendly than spending...5,499 ¥— shit, that's pricey."

Great, now he thinks you're broke. Clumsy and broke.

The man laughs and you get a warm feeling in your stomach. "That was my first thought too."

Two of you make it to the check out counter, standing behind an older, definitely richer, woman. Her cart is full, to the brim and the cashier looks like they're in pain.

"How old is he?" You ask. The blond falls for the marketing gimmicks, taking a cartoon keychain off the rack.

"Turns six, soon."

"If he's fond of apples, you could buy regular ones and squeeze some lemon juice on them."

The man nods, "Thank you. He's a picky eater but—"

"Every child is."

"Exactly."

You move ahead in the line and the cashier is relieved to see your minimalist cart.

"You should try Golden Plate on 5th street." A shameless self promotion. "They have customisable kids menu."

"That would make things a lot easier. Apparently, he hates everything nutritious," He sighs. A notification on his phone goes off and you get to see a glimpse of a pink haired child, smiling brightly with a floating tube around under his little chubby arms.

"You seem to know a lot about kids," The man clears his throat, unsure how to phrase his words.

"I know a lot about food," you correct him, looking back. "Sometimes I make meals for my colleague's daughter, so I know how to hide the greens."

The word tumbles right out of his mouth. "How—"

The cashier clicks some buttons. "Your total is..."

It physically hurts you to pull out your wallet and hand over the card. A quick swipe and you're being handed your paper bags.

The cool AC air greets you at the exit doors. Should you wait for him? The stranger has an unfairly gorgeous side profile as he unloads the cart items. You almost smile at the heart eyes the cashier gives him.

He doesn't look your way and you walk towards the parking lot.

The sunset looks prettier, the air seems lighter and like some cheesy sitcom lead, you hope that you get to see him again.

(Spoiler: you do.)

[hannahssimblr]

I wake in the morning and roll over, pawing the bed for Astrid. My hand touches the flat sheet instead, and squinting against the slash of sun coming between the curtains, I see her empty side; the bed made up, pillow fluffed as though nobody has even slept. 

But she did, I heard her come to bed late last night, at least an hour behind me, following a prolonged phone call to her sister, while presumably finishing the bottle of wine we brought home after dinner. 

I get up and go through to the hallway, the brick floor perfectly cool beneath my feet. The house is quiet. 

On the balcony, she has left her empty glass upon the table, an imprint of lipstick on the rim, one last drop at the bottom. 

She is in the pool. 

“Good morning,” I call to her. Swimming, apparently, is another thing she does with extreme elegance. She looks up. 

“Morning,” she says. 

“How’s the water?”

“It’s lovely.”

“I can join you.”

“I’ve been here for a while. I think I’ll get out soon.”

“Oh, okay. I suppose I can start making breakfast, then.”

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

We got fresh produce at a market yesterday. Organic eggs, Parma ham, freshly baked bread. I set about cooking, leaving the window open so I can hear the birds. 

“I’ll be in the shower!” Astrid calls from the foyer, and goes up the stairs and into the bathroom, where she pulls the heavy wooden door behind her. 

I sort of had this romantic idea that we’d take all our showers together on this holiday. It’s rare that we get long swathes of time in one another’s company, what with the busyness of college, the distance between our apartments and all the things we do with our free time. Like the gym, which I have committed to four times a week alongside Jonas, who has insisted that we should be equally fit if we are going to spend the summer travelling together. And Astrid, with her extensive, varied network of extremely interesting friends, is almost impossible to pin down for even a weekend. This holiday is an opportunity to be alone, truly alone together, and enjoy all the benefits that come with it. I’ve been looking forward to this for months. 

But obviously, her taking a shower alone is fine. She's perfectly entitled to do so.

The eggs benedict is cooked by the time she has finished, and I set the table under a parasol on the terrace and the sun shines as clouds dissolve above our heads. 

“This is so tasty,” she says, mopping hollandaise sauce from her place with a piece of bread. “Where did you learn to make this?”

“Google,” I say. “I just looked it up on my phone.”

“I must say, I hoped you’d have a more exciting answer.”

“Next time I’ll make a story up.”

I lean back in my seat, and with a satisfied sigh, I breathe in the scent of citrus trees. It’s quiet, still, save for the buzz of cicadas and waves lapping against the sea cliffs. 

Astrid shuts her eyes and takes it in too. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and I follow a droplet down the languid curve of her neck until it disappears beneath her robe.

“That boat tour I booked is in an hour. Do you think you’ll be ready?”

“Oh,” she stretches her arms overhead. “Yes, I think so. What do you think we should wear?”

“I don’t know. Something easy to take off, I suppose. We’ll probably go swimming.”

“Alright,” she gets out of her chair and drifts towards the villa. “I’ll make myself presentable.” 

There are few people I have met who have talked about sailing with such gusto as my father. He doesn’t talk with gusto about much, nor talk at all, really, these days, save for a few grunts down the phone at me when I phone home to speak to Ivy, but I remember how much he loved to sail when I was little. 

College weekends, when he would visit me at Aunt Maureen’s, he might stand out on the portal and look over the scorched desert, he always did that, just looked, with his hands in his trouser pockets, and he’d start talking about sailboats. 

“The way the sails would just snap in the wind,” he’d say, to nobody in particular, maybe to me, with my legos inside the open patio door. He’d always clench his fist with the word “snap” like he was snatching a jib sheet rope from thin air. He’d talk about his brothers, and the summers they could spend skirting the coast of California, about how one day, when I was big enough, college was done, and he had time again, he’d take me to Dana Point harbour and we’d take to the water on my grandfather’s boat. 

Perhaps he’d anticipated we would have a decent relationship by the time I was big enough to handle a halyard line, but it didn’t turn out that way, and he never took me sailing. In fact, when we moved to Dublin, a mere kilometre from a yacht club, he never joined it. He never sailed after leaving America. 

“And what’s that?” I ask our skipper, an Italian man in his mid twenties, with English good enough for partial communication. He handles the sail and I observe, fascinated, beside him, peppering him with questions he seems comfortable to answer, despite not knowing the word half the time. Not that it’d matter, really, because I won’t recall any of it once we hit land. 

“The outhall,” he says. “It is to adjust the boom position.”

“Right, right.”

There’s a tour guide on the boat, too, valiantly explaining the geography and history of the region, the other tourists oohing and ahhing as he gestures grandly to the tower of a cathedral, extending proud above terracotta roofs and perfectly framed by a mountainous backdrop. I look at the view for an appropriate amount of time. My interest in the view is only faint compared to my captivation with the mysterious sailboat controls. 

“If you want, you can crank the winch,” the skipper says, and it is only because he is gesturing to the spool that holds the rope that I know what that means. I nod, though intimidated, and wish for one panicked moment that my relationship with my father had been better, or that I hadn’t been too disappointing to take on a sailboat… or something. 

Across the deck, Astrid, who grew tired of my fixation with the mechanics of the boat a while ago, chats with another couple. Her charm is obvious from afar, as both sit, hands entangled and nodding at her as though her every word is captivating. They have that glow, I think, that in-love, infatuated-with-one-another kind of glow I’ve read about in books, like, everything about one another is wonderful and keeping their hands to themselves is a total impossibility. They keep smiling into one another’s faces, their gazes lingering, and I catch myself wondering if I’ve ever looked like that to an outsider in any of my relationships. 

Astrid waves me over, and I thank the skipper and join her across the boat.

“This is Suzana and Silvio,” she says. “They are from Portugal.”

I shake their hands. “My grandmother is actually from Portugal.”

“Oh, what part?”

“I dunno, actually. I never asked.”

Silvio says something to me in Portuguese, and as a wonderful bonus, he is wearing those trendy, mirrored sunglasses, because I get to see my panicked expression reflected right back at me before I tell him I have not understood a word. 

As we sit and converse with them, I feel compelled to mirror some of their affection with Astrid. I tuck a wisp of hair escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. I rest my hand on her waist, and when Suzana gushes about how cute we are, I pull her into me and kiss her forehead. We aren’t really that cute, but I can see why our new friends would think so. Our age difference is obvious. They’re in their late twenties, at least. Silvio has a career in some vague, marketing related field that I forget the specifics of as soon as he tells me. I don’t even know what marketing is, and cannot think of questions to ask, which makes me feel inept, like I shouldn’t actually be talking to him. Like they’ll both be weirded out by how young I am, and pivot to stock questions about college and what I like to do for fun. 

But they don’t, and as the afternoon stretches on, and the yacht glides into deeper waters and Amalfi becomes a slash of terracotta on the horizon, we dive into a detailed conversation about things intelligent people would consider compelling. Silvio tells me about this psychologist whose work he’s been following, and for inexplicable reasons, I say “yes” when he asks if I’ve heard of him. Following this is a long conversation that takes all of my concentration, as he discusses the author’s critique of communist Czechoslovakia and supporters of the left, while I agree with him, just because I think it is the easiest thing to do.

Perhaps I should care about things like this, I think, as he launches into a passionate argument in favour of conservatism. I have never thought about psychology or politics or right-wing, left-wing this and that. Am I supposed to? We didn’t learn it at school. Briefly, I tune into the girls’ conversation to discover they are discussing French law. I didn’t know there was anything particularly notable about French law, but I should probably Google it. I refocus on Silvio, and frown, so it looks like I am thinking very hard.

“Yes,” I say. “I totally agree,” though I hardly understood a word he said.

After we are served white wine from a local vineyard, we watch a pod of dolphins trail us, leaping and pirouetting out of the sea in the foamy wake of the boat. I wonder if dolphins are supposed to be as exciting as they are to me. I am fixated on their graceful bodies, gleaming as they play in the water, and wonder if they are exciting to Astrid, if she has seen them before, though the moment I intend to ask her, her back is turned. She’s still speaking to Suzana. 

When we have sailed far off into the sea, we all leap off it and swim. The water is so clear that we can see far beneath to shoals of anchovies darting by, and moon jellyfish that drift hypnotically by. It occurs to me I haven’t been in the sea since last summer. In lakes, yes, as Jonas has a habit of forcing me to swim whenever he encounters some miscellaneous body of water on our hikes, but a balmy sea has nothing in common with those, complete with stony banks that slice your feet when you dare attempt an emergence. When I float backwards and dip my ears beneath the surface, sound muffles to obscurity. I close my eyes too, and I am enveloped by it, overcome with the surreal feeling of safety, like I have come home, though I’m not even sure where I have been. 

Late afternoon, as the boat heads for the shore, I lay on the deck and watch Amalfi encroach, bathed in tranquillity, as golden light pours over the mountains. Astrid climbs down to join me as Suzana and Silvio sit tangled together nearby, their exact words obscured to abstract coos behind the sounds of slashing seawater on the hull. 

“They’re nice people,” she says, and I nod. They are perfectly fine. “Suzana is a smart woman,” she adds. “We had a fantastic conversation.”

“Mm, I bet. You two were talking for a while.”

“She has a master’s degree in gastronomy. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“What’s that?”

“Food science, food anthropology, business management. She wants to open her own restaurant in Lisbon. You should ask her about it. I’m sure you’d be very interested in that kind of thing.”

“Why? Because I like to cook?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m not a gastronomist. I’m just a guy who makes eggs for breakfast.”

“Well,” she says, “I still think that’s interesting. Silvio was explaining something else to me. I don’t know what it was, really, some kind of digital currency. You should ask him about it, too. It sounds like something worth knowing about.”

“Well, maybe, but we’re about fifteen minutes from the shore, so I really don’t know how much time I’m going to have.”

She waves me off. “Oh, well, I invited them to join us for dinner, so you’ll have plenty time.”

I sit up, body rigid. “Astrid, I made a reservation for two.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure we can squeeze them in.”

“We’re going to have to explain it to the staff. Well, you are, actually, because they won’t speak English.”

“I will, and they’ll be perfectly fine with it. It’s not like Germany here, you know, things are more relaxed,” she puts emphasis on the last word, as though suggesting I should follow suit. I try to, but there is a funny feeling in me, a discomfort I am having trouble naming. Instead, I scoff. 

“The whole point of this holiday is that we spend time together. Just you and me,” I point out, darting my finger from my chest to hers, as though my meaning isn’t obvious. “Inviting other people along to our plans goes against that whole idea.”

“Please, Jude, we’re together all the time.”

“That’s not true. These last few weeks, especially, I’ve barely seen you for more than a few hours at a time. You know, I was looking forward to being—”

“It’s one dinner,” she protests. “Just one. I’d really like to talk to them more, that’s all. We’ve been having a nice day together, and it felt wrong just to end it out there on the dock.”

“Yeah, but–”

She holds her hand up. She is not finished. “They’re staying here for several days, like us, and we’re bound to run into them again. Why not be friendly? You don’t have to be opposed to mingling with people, you know. It’s not attractive.”

“I’m not opposed.”

“Well, you have fooled me, then.”

I sigh. “Astrid…”

“Come on,” she says, more gently this time, and it’s her most evil tactic of all, because she knows I can’t resist her when she’s soft with me. “The best-case scenario is that we have fun tonight. We have a fascinating conversation and get some restaurant recommendations from Suzana. The worst is that they are dreadful, and we have an interesting story to tell afterwards. You love to have an interesting story.”

“I suppose.”

“Tell me ‘yes’.”

I look at her with the most disapproving expression I can muster, and the corners of her mouth curl up, smug. She knows I don’t even have to say it. She has won the game again. 

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