#picture it. imagine it in your mind. your winning image.

[amtrashlmao]

finally playing fe: engage months after i bought it and i'm feeling a little silly

[joelmillerisapunk]

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Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

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Wordcount: 7,103 - oops

Summary: When Joel accidentally stumbles upon your only fans he convinces himself he's only subscribing to help you through college. And then you send him his top-tier subscriber personal video and he's fucked because you don't even know it's him your dad's best friend.

Warnings: 18+, reader has an only fans, unprotected p in v, f!andm! oral receiving, age gap (at least 10 years), reader is in her 20's, alcohol consumption, there's a dick pic, reader posts nudes of herself on her OF so if you do not like that please scroll awaaaaaay thanks <3 two consenting adults.

Notes: I listened to Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter a hundred too many times and couldn't sleep on this random idea. I got carried away, this was supposed to be a short one-shot and then I fell in love and married the idea so here we are. Tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider.

Joel’s never been on a site like this.

But his best buddy's enthusiasm was infectious. Convincing him that it's all the hype, ‘You should see the women on there man.’ So, after a long day at work, followed by a shower, he is perched in front of his computer, the screen's glow illuminating his skepticism. 

With a deep breath, he navigates to the website, his fingers poised hesitantly over the keys. He starts scrolling through the front page, taking in the various content that is being shared. It's all very different from anything he's ever seen before, but he can see why his friend is so excited about it. 

As he continues scrolling Joel's eyes widen in surprise. There you are right on the front page, not too far from the top, his friend's daughter, exuding confidence in a bikini and a sexy little pose, the very picture of carefree youth. 

Denial is his first reaction as he quickly minimises the page, not believing he just saw that. It couldn't have been you. No way. But curiosity, that relentless beast, coaxes him back to the screen. The second glance confirms it; it's undeniably you, and the realization sends a jolt through him. He clicks on your profile, the rabbit hole beckoning.

His heart races as he sees more and more photos of you. Wearing lingerie in some of them, and bikinis in others, but never anything less. Then he finds the section with your paid content, looming like a forbidden fruit. The greyed-out thumbnails tease his imagination. He notices that he has to pay to see them and his mind races. What kinda stuff you got hidin’ here pretty girl?

Joel stops for a moment, unsure if he should really pay to see hidden content but before he can talk himself out of it, he enters his payment information, the justification that he is supporting you echoes hollowly in his mind. He clicks "subscribe." As soon as he does, the greyed-out photos become clear, and Joel's eyes widen in shock. He can't believe what he's seeing. You, completely naked, posing in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

He feels a mix of emotions - excitement, guilt, confusion. He knows he shouldn't be looking at these photos, but he can't help himself. He tells himself that it's just for a few minutes, just to see what's there. That he's just being curious, that he's just supporting you. But deep down, he knows that's not the whole truth and he knows that he'll be coming back to these photos again and again.

For now, though, he tells himself that it's okay. He's just satisfying his curiosity, and he's supporting his friend's daughter at the same time. He tells himself that it's a win-win situation, and he settles back in his chair to enjoy the photos.  But as he scrolls through the photos, he can feel himself getting more and more aroused. He starts to rub his cock through his pants, and before long, he's jerking off to the images on the screen. knowing that he's doing something wrong but unable to stop himself.

Just as he's about to come, he gets a message from the website. It's from you, and you're thanking him for subscribing to the highest tier, where he gets a personal video from you. 

Joel's heart races as he reads the message, wondering if you know it's him. But as he reads on, he realizes that you don't. You're just being friendly, asking him what he'd like to see you do or say in a personal video.

Joel pauses, wrestling with the decision. The offer is tantalizing, and he can feel the pull of his curiosity. He rationalizes that it's merely a harmless video, an extra indulgence. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, he convinces himself that there's no harm in satisfying his curiosity just this once. 

Joel takes a deep breath and types out a reply to you, asking if you could wear a school girl uniform in the video. He feels a twinge of guilt for asking, but he can't help being curious what you would look like in one and how he would feel bending you over his knee in one.

—

A few days later, Joel receives a notification that his personal video is ready to be viewed. He takes his time, feeling guilty all over again but evidently he clicks on the link and waits for the video to load.

When the video starts, he's greeted with the sight of you, wearing a plaid skirt and a white blouse, looking as sexy as ever. You start to unbutton your blouse, revealing a lacy bra underneath. Joel feels his face flush with heat as he watches you, his heart pounding in his chest.You continue to tease him, running your fingers through your hair and biting your lower lip. Joel can feel himself getting more and more aroused, his cock straining against his pants.

Finally, you slip out of your skirt and bra, revealing your naked body underneath. Joel watches in amazement as you pose. And if that wasn't enough then you started talking to him, looking directly into the camera and speaking in a sultry voice. "Hi there, cowboy," you say, a playful smile on your lips. "I hope you're enjoying the video so far. I know I'm enjoying making it for you."

You run your hands over your body, caressing your breasts and your hips. "Do you like what you see?" you ask, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I've been thinking about you. Wondering what you're doing right now. Are you touching yourself? Are you thinking about me?"

You lean closer to the camera, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been thinking about you too, baby. Wondering what it would be like to be with you. To feel your hands on my body."

You sit down on a black spinning chair, manoeuvring your legs so youre on full display for the camera, your fingers find your clit. "I'm so wet for you, daddy.” You moan out.

You start to touch yourself in earnest, your fingers moving faster and faster. "M’so close," you say, your breath coming in short gasps. "I want you to come with me. I want you to feel what I'm feeling. I want you to come for me daddy."

You throw your head back and moan, your body shudders with pleasure. "Yes, daddy. Yes! I'm coming so hard for you."

As the video comes to an end, you look back at the camera, your eyes shining with satisfaction. "I hope you enjoyed that, cowboy, can't wait to see what we do next.”

As the video comes to an end, Joel can't believe what he's just witnessed. He feels his orgasm building up inside of him, and before he knows it, he's coming in his pants - just from watching you. 

As he looks back at the screen, he sees that there's a message waiting for him from you. You're thanking him for watching the video and asking if he enjoyed it. Damn you're quick with these messages. He didn't even know you could tell he watched it.

He stares at the screen for a moment unsure what to say 

cowboy_jm: Yeah, I really enjoyed it. Thanks for making it for me darlin. 

He hits send, feeling so awkward and out of his element. He hasn't flirted with another woman in ages and the fact you're at least ten years younger than him doesn't make it any easier. 

A few moments later, he gets a reply from you.

you: I'm glad you enjoyed it, cowboy 😘 I had a lot of fun making it for you. Do you want to see more?

He shouldn't, he should just shut his computer down and cancel the membership later. But he can't, he can't help himself.

cowboy_jm: Yeah, I'd like that.

You send him a picture, and he feels his heart race as he opens it. It's a selfie of you, wearing the plaid skirt and white blouse from the video, with a playful smile on your lips. 

you: Here's a little something extra for you, cowboy. I hope you like it. 😏

You can't do this for every top tier subscriber, could you? Then again the price tag did promise a lot more than the others did. Maybe not a lot of people were desperate enough to need to be talked up by a pretty little thing like you. But damn was he enjoying it. 

cowboy_jm: Wow, you look absolutely stunning in that outfit. I could get used to seeing you like this. 

You: Oh, I bet you could. 😉 You know, I've always wanted to ride a cowboy... or his horse.

Joel feels his face flush with heat as he reads your message. He can't believe you just said that, but he's also incredibly turned on. He's never had a conversation like this before, but he's finding that he really enjoys it.

cowboy_jm: Well, I'm sure we can work something out. I've got a pretty big horse.

you: Oh, I bet you do. I've always been a fan of big horses. Maybe one day I'll get to ride yours.

cowboy_jm: You can ride my horse anytime you want, darlin'. I promise you won't be disappointed.

you: I can't wait. 

As the conversation comes to a close, Joel feels a sense of dread wash over him. He knows he's made a mistake. He tells himself that he'll figure something out later.

—

As you close your laptop, a thrill of excitement runs through you. The conversation has been so thrilling, so charged with flirtation and innuendo. You can tell whoever is behind this cowboy profile is probably a little older and not too experienced on a site like this. 

You decide to do a little more digging before sending him anything else. You navigate to his profile, curious to learn more about this mysterious cowboy who's captured your interest. As you scroll through his vague faceless pictures and read his bio, your heart skips a beat. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks: "cowboy_jm" is none other than Joel Miller, your dad's best friend. The one coming over tomorrow for a BBQ

The shock is palpable. You've known Joel your entire life. He's been a constant presence at family barbecues, holiday gatherings, and birthday parties. The thought of him seeing your content, let alone subscribing to your highest tier, is both mortifying and exhilarating. You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt, but it's quickly overshadowed by a surge of mischievous excitement. The idea of playing a game with Joel, of having this secret, is too tempting to pass up. You decide to have a little fun with the situation. After all, he's the one who's been flirting with you, who's been watching your videos and messaging you. You tell yourself that he's a willing participant in this little charade.

With a playful smile, you decide to up the ante. You want to see just how far Joel is willing to go. You open up your messaging app and start typing.

you: Hey cowboy, I was just trying to get to sleep but need a little help. How about how about you send me a little something? 😉

You hit send and wait for his response. You know you're playing with fire, but you can't help yourself. You want to see if he's really as adventurous as he's been pretending to be. As you wait for his reply, you can't help but feel a sense of power. You're in control of this situation, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it. You know you should probably feel guilty for manipulating Joel like this, but the thrill of the game is too intoxicating.

Finally, your notifications go off, and you see a new message from Joel. You take a deep breath and open it.

cowboy_jm: Oh? And what did you have in mind, darlin'?

you: Well, I was thinking... maybe you could send me a little something to hold me over until I can have that ride. 😉

You hold your breath, waiting for his response. You're not sure if he'll go for it, but you're hoping he will.

cowboy_jm: I don't know, darlin'. I'm not sure if that's such a good idea.

you: Oh, come on, cowboy. I promise I'll make it worth your while. 😏

cowboy_jm: Well, I suppose I could make an exception... just this once.

You feel a surge of excitement as you read his message. You can't believe he's actually going to do it!

cowboy_jm: But you have to promise me something, darlin'. You have to promise that this stays between us. I don't want anyone else seein’

what I'm about to send you.

you: Oh, I promise. I won't tell a soul. 😉

cowboy_jm: Alright, darlin'. Here it is. 😘

As you gaze at the image Joel has sent, your breath hitches in your throat. The sight of his cock is both surprising and incredibly arousing. It's clear that he's not a young man, the maturity of his body is evident in the thick, veined shaft that stands proudly in the photo. The girth of it makes your fingers twitch with the desire to touch it, to feel its weight in your hands.

The skin is a rich, deep pink, stretched taut over the hardness beneath. The head is broad and flushed with a deeper hue, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip, hinting at his arousal and the urgency of his need. You can't help but imagine how it would feel inside you, filling you completely, the friction of his thrusts igniting a fire within your core.

You can't deny the beauty of his cock. It's a testament to his virility, to the raw, primal power that he possesses. The soft, dark and grey hair at the base contrasts with the smoothness of the shaft, adding to the visual feast before your eyes.

You feel a warmth spreading through your body, a heat that pools between your legs as you continue to admire the photo. The thought of having such a magnificent cock at your disposal, of being able to pleasure and be pleasured by it, sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you type out a response 

you: Wow, cowboy. You didn't have to send me something so... impressive. 😏 you've definitely exceeded my expectations. I can't wait to see it in person.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself, the thrill of the forbidden fueling your boldness. You know you're playing a dangerous game, but the allure of the unknown, the promise of untold pleasures, is too potent to resist.

As you wait for his reply, you can't help but touch yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to find the slickness that has gathered there. You imagine it's his hand, his fingers expertly coaxing you towards release, and the thought is enough to make you moan softly into the quiet of your room.

cowboy_jm: I'm looking forward to it too, darlin'. More than you know.

You can sense the anticipation in his messages, and it matches your own. 

you: Well, I better let you go, cowboy. I've got a lot to do before bed. But I'll be thinking about you... and your impressive horse. 😉

cowboy_jm: Haha, I'll be thinking about you too, darlin'. Take care, and I'll see you soon.

As the evening winds down, Joel finds himself unable to shake the conversation from his mind. The image of you in that schoolgirl outfit, the sound of your voice as you called him 'daddy', the thrill of exchanging messages with you—it all feels like a dream, a forbidden fantasy come to life. He tries to focus on other things, but his thoughts keep drifting back to you.

The next day, Joel wakes up with a sense of nervous anticipation. He's supposed to go over to your dad's house and the thought of it sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tries to push the thoughts of your online interactions out of his mind as he gets ready, reminding himself that he's just going over to hang out with his friend. But the image of you in that plaid skirt keeps creeping back into his thoughts, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

—

As he pulls into the driveway, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come. He walks up to the front door, his heart pounding in his chest. Your dad greets him with a firm handshake and a warm smile, completely oblivious to the secret between his best friend and his daughter. When he walks in he notices you're nowhere in sight, and can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed.

Your dad and Joel make small talk for a few minutes before your dad excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving Joel alone in the living room. And as if on queue you walk into the room with a confident stride, wearing the same plaid skirt from the video and a tight-fitting white blouse. You greet him with a playful smile, your eyes twinkling with mischief

"Hey, Joel," you say, your voice dripping with sweetness. "Can I get you something to drink?”

Joel feels his face flush with heat as he tries to maintain his composure. "Hey there, darlin', uh sure," he replies, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're looking... very nice today.”

You giggle and do a little twirl, the skirt flaring out slightly to give him a glimpse of your thighs. "Why, thank you," you say, batting your eyelashes at him. "You're looking pretty good yourself.”

Before he can say anything else you walk over to the fridge and bend over to grab a couple of drinks, your skirt rides up to reveal a glimpse of your bare pussy, so perfect and fuckable.

You hand him a beer and wink at him, your lips curling into a seductive smile. "Enjoy the view?”

Joel takes the beer from you, his hand shaking slightly. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind filled with images of you from the videos and the messages you've exchanged. He knows that he should excuse himself, that he should leave before things go any further, but he can't seem to tear himself away from you.

Just then, your father walks back into the room, oblivious to the tension between you. "Hey, Joel," he says, clapping him on the back. "I'm glad you could make it. Let's head out to the backyard. I've got the grill fired up.”

Joel nods and follows him outside, grateful for the distraction. 

As the afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the backyard, Joel tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. The skirt you're wearing teases him with its familiarity, a tangible reminder of the illicit videos he's watched late at night, alone in the darkness of his room. The way the fabric swishes around your thighs as you move—it's enough to make his head spin and his heart race in his chest.

You seem to revel in his discomfort, your eyes sparkling with mischief every time you catch him staring. You're the perfect picture of innocence and seduction, flipping burgers on the grill, laughing at your dad's corny jokes, all the while subtly taunting Joel with your every move.

With each playful glance, each coy smile, you're pulling him deeper into your web, ensnaring him with the promise of forbidden pleasures. And Joel, for all his attempts at normalcy, can't help but be drawn in.

He reaches for another beer, the cool bottle a welcome relief from the heat that seems to be building inside him. The alcohol loosens his inhibitions, making it easier to laugh at your dad's anecdotes, to join in on the conversation, even as his mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you.

As night approaches and the drinks continue flowing, your dad’s found his limit. He stands up from his lawn chair with a contented sigh. "Well, I think it's time for this old man to hit the hay," he announces, stretching his arms above his head. "You two kids have fun, but not too much fun, alright? Make sure you take the guestroom Joel."

You flash him a cheeky grin, the corners of your eyes crinkling with amusement. "Don't worry, Dad. We'll be good," you assure him, your gaze flicking briefly to Joel, who's suddenly found something incredibly interesting on the bottom of his beer bottle.

As your dad disappears into the house, the air between you and Joel grows charged with anticipation. The playful banter, the secret glances traded throughout the evening have led to this moment, where the unspoken promise of something more hangs heavy in the air.

The stars above twinkle with a knowing light, as if privy to the secret that simmers just beneath the surface. The night, once a backdrop to a casual gathering, now feels like an intimate cocoon, sheltering the two of you from the outside world.

Joel, with his guard lowered by the evening's camaraderie and the remnants of alcohol in his system, finds himself adrift in the sea of your gaze. The laughter and casual conversation that filled the air earlier has given way to silence.

You lean back in your chair, your eyes locked on Joel's and a mischievous smile paints your lips. "You know, Joel," you say, your voice low and teasing, "I've been thinking about our little chat yesterday."

Joel's heart skips a beat. "Oh? And what chat would that be, darlin'?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

You lean forward, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "The one where you told me all about your - impressive horse," you say, your voice dripping with innuendo.

Joel nearly chokes on his beer, caught off guard by your boldness. He coughs and sputters, his face turning a shade of red that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "I... uh... “he stammers, his eyes darting nervously in the direction of the house. Joel feels the color drain from his face, his palms growing sweaty. He had hoped that the anonymity of the internet would keep his secret safe, but now, as he looks into your knowing eyes, he realizes that you've seen right through him this entire time. "I... uh... I'm not sure what you're talkin’ about," he stammers, his gaze darting nervously around the backyard.

You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that sends a shiver down Joel's spine. "Oh, come on, cowboy," you say, using his nickname on the site. "You don't have to be so shy about it."

Joel's eyes widen in shock, and he feels his face flush with heat. "How did you-?" he begins, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"Let's just say I have my ways," you reply, your smile widening. "what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Joel runs a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. He had never imagined that his online interactions with you would spill over into the real world, and he's not sure how to handle the situation. "I just... I didn't think you knew it was me," he admits.

You lean back in your chair, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, I did some digging, and let's just say your profile picture was a bit of a giveaway," you say, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Joel feels his face grow even hotter, if that's possible. He had been so careful, so cautious, and yet, here he is, exposed and vulnerable.

"What's the matter, Joel? Scared?" 

“It's not that, darlin'," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... complicated."

"Life's complicated, cowboy," you say, your voice steady and sure. "But sometimes, you've just got to take the reins and ride it out.”

Before he can respond, you stand up and extend your hand towards him, a silent invitation to follow you into the unknown. Joel hesitates for a moment, his mind racing with the potential consequences of what he's about to do and what you could possibly be offering. But in the end, desire wins out over caution, and with a resigned sigh, he places his hand in yours.

You lead him through the quiet house, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. As you reach the guest room, you pause and turn to face him, your hand resting on the doorknob.

"This is where you'll be sleeping tonight, cowboy," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But remember, I'm just down the hall if you need anything.” 

With that, you give him a playful wink and disappear down the hallway, leaving him standing there, his heart pounding and his mind filled with images of what he thought was going to happen and what might happen if he takes you up on your offer.

—

The next morning, Joel wakes up with a slight headache, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. He sits up in bed, rubbing his temples, and tries to piece together the events of the previous night. His mind is foggy from the alcohol, but the memory of you in that skirt is crystal clear.

He gets up and stumbles out of the guest room, his bare feet padding against the cool hardwood floor. He's still half-asleep, his thoughts are muddled and disoriented, and in his groggy state, he accidentally turns the wrong way down the hallway.

Before he knows what's happening, he finds himself standing in the doorway of your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and through the crack, he can see you lying on the bed, your legs spread wide, your hand buried between your thighs. You're completely lost in the moment, your eyes are closed and your lips are parted in a silent moan. You're wearing a thin pair of panties. 

Joel's heart stops in his chest as he watches you, his breath catches in his throat. He knows he should turn around and leave, but he can't seem to tear himself away. He's transfixed by the sight of you, the way your body moves, the soft, needy sounds you make as you touch yourself.

And then, as if sensing his presence, your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, your gaze filled with surprise and desire. But instead of stopping, instead of pushing him away, you moan his name, your voice husky and full of need.

“Joel," you whisper, your fingers still moving in slow, deliberate circles. "I've been waiting for you."

Joel feels a jolt of electricity shoot through his body, his cock hardening in his boxers. He steps into the room, his movements slow and hesitant, and you beckon him closer with a curl of your finger.

"Come here, cowboy," you purr, pulling your panties to the side to give him a better view.

Joel's mind is a whirlwind of emotions as he steps toward the bed, his body acting on instinct despite the lingering doubts in his mind. He's acutely aware of the line he's about to cross, yet, the sight of you, so wanton and unashamed, is an irresistible siren call that he cannot ignore.

He reaches the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on the intimate display before him. The scent of your arousal fills the air, a heady perfume that makes his head spin. He watches as you continue to pleasure yourself, your fingers dancing over your clit with practiced ease, your hips bucking in response to your own touch.

"Touch me, Joel," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I need to feel you inside me.”

Joel swallows hard, his hands shaking as he reaches out to touch you. His fingers graze your inner thigh, the skin soft and warm beneath his touch. With a gentleness that belies the hunger in his eyes, Joel slides your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to his gaze. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him—your pussy glistening with arousal.

Joel positions himself between your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours as he lowers his head to taste you. The first touch of his tongue to your heated core elicits a sharp gasp from you, your body arching off the bed in response to the sudden sensation.

"Oh, God, Joel," you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to explore you with his mouth. His tongue traces the contours of your pussy, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He takes his time, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your body responding to his touch. His hands slide under your hips, pulling you closer, his tongue delving deeper into your depths. You can feel the tension building inside you, a coil of desire winding tighter with each passing moment.

"You taste so fuckin good, darlin'," Joel growls, his voice muffled by your flesh. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your moans growing louder and more insistent as he continues his ministrations.

You're lost in a sea of sensation, your world narrowed down to the relentless rhythm of his tongue and the feel of his hands on your body. "I'm close, Joel," you gasp, your body tensing as the first waves of your orgasm begin to crest. "So close..."

With a final flick of his tongue, Joel sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body convulses as the orgasm rips through you, your muscles clenching around his tongue as you cry out his name. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, a white-hot surge of ecstasy that leaves you breathless and shaking.

As the aftershocks subside, Joel crawls up the bed to lie beside you, his body humming with need. You turn to face him, your eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, a sated smile playing on your lips. "That was... perfect," you murmur, your hand reaching down to stroke his rock-hard erection through his boxers. "But now it's your turn, cowboy."

Before Joel can respond, you're pushing him onto his back and deftly pulling down his boxers to free his straining cock. You lean down to take him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, your hand pumping the shaft in time with your movements. Joel groans, his hands fist the sheets as you work your magic on him. He can feel the pressure building in his balls, the telltale tingling that signals the approach of his orgasm. "Fuck, darlin'," he grunts, his body tensing. 

“You're gonna make me come.”

You pull back, releasing him from your mouth with a wet pop. "Not yet," you say, a wicked gleam in your eye. "Wanna take that ride.” You straddle him, your hand guiding his cock to your entrance. You sink down onto him with a moan and your body stretches to accommodate his girth. Joel grips your hips, his eyes locked with yours as you begin to ride him, your movements are slow and deliberate.

The sensation of being inside you is almost too much for Joel. He can feel every inch of your tight, wet pussy as you move on top of him, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. "You feel so fucking good, darlin', so fuckin good,” he groans as his hands move to cup your breasts.

You lean forward letting your lips brush against his ear. "I want you to fuck me, Joel," you whisper, your voice thick with desire. "Fuck me like you've been dreaming of."

With a low growl, Joel flips you onto your back, his body covering yours as he drives into you with deep, powerful strokes. You wrap your legs around his waist, your fingers dig into his back as he pounds into you, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the room.

"Yes, Joel, yes!" you cry out as your body arches off the bed. "Harder, fuck me harder!"

Joel obliges, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor, each thrust pushes you closer and closer to the edge. And then, with a final, brutal thrust, you're both coming, your bodies shudder in unison as you ride out the waves of your orgasms. 

As the last spasms of pleasure wrack your bodies, Joel collapses on top of you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You lie there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, your bodies still intimately connected. Then, with a playful grin, you nudge him with your hip. "So, cowboy, how was that ride for you?"

Joel lifts his head and his eyes meet yours. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Darlin'," he drawls, "that was the best ride of my life."

You laugh, the sound light and carefree. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. We should probably get cleaned up before my dad wakes up."

Reluctantly, Joel pulls out of you and rolls onto his back. You sit up, stretching your arms above your head, and then climb out of bed. You pad over to your dresser and pull out a pair of clean panties and an outfit, then turn to face Joel.

"Coming?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Joel grins and gets out of bed, his eyes roaming over your body. "Yes, ma'am," he says, saluting you with a mock-serious expression.

You both head to the bathroom, where you shower. As Joel steps under the spray of hot water, you take a moment to drink in the sight of him. The water cascades down his broad shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscular back and flowing over the firm swell of his ass. You allow your gaze to travel back up to his face, watching as the water beads on his skin, runs down the sharp angles of his jaw, and drips from the tips of his lashes.

Joel turns, his movements languid and unhurried. The water washes over his chest, highlighting the definition of his muscles and the ridges of his abdomen. A smattering of greying hair adorns his chest, trailing down his stomach to form a line that disappears beneath the water. His cock, still semi-hard from your earlier escapades, rests against his thigh.

For a moment, you're lost in the sheer masculine beauty of him. He's not a young man, but there's a timeless quality to his physique, a sense of strength and resilience that transcends age. You can't help the surge of attraction to him like a primal pull.

Joel catches you staring and a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. "See somethin you like, darlin'?" he drawls, his voice thick with amusement.

You feel a flush of heat creep into your cheeks, but you refuse to look away. "Maybe I do," you retort, your gaze locked with his. "Do you have a problem with that, cowboy?"

Joel chuckles. "No problem at all, feel free to look your fill."

You step forward and reach out to trace the line of hair that bisects his chest. His skin is warm and slick beneath your fingers, the muscle beneath firm and unyielding. 

Joel's smile fades, replaced by a look of intense concentration as he watches you explore his body. Encouraged by his reaction, you drop to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding over the wet skin of his hips. Joel's breath hitches as you lean forward and press a kiss to his stomach, just above the line of hair that leads to his rapidly hardening cock.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of innocence and lust. "I want to taste you, Joel," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. "I want to feel you in my mouth."

Joel groans, his hands tangling in your wet hair as he guides you closer. His cock is fully erect now, the head flushed with arousal and beaded with moisture. You part your lips and take him into your mouth, the taste of him mingling with the clean, fresh scent of the soap.

Joel's hips jerk in response to the sensation, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck, such a good girl for this ol’cowboy.”

You hum in acknowledgment, the vibration sending a shudder through his body. You can feel his control slipping, his movements becoming more erratic as you work him. With each stroke of your tongue, each suckling kiss, you're pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna come, darlin'," Joel warns, his voice strained. "If you don't want to swallow, you better pull back now."

You respond by taking him deeper, your hands gripping his ass as you suck him with renewed vigor. Joel's control snaps, his body tensing as he erupts in your mouth. You swallow reflexively, the salty-sweet taste of his release filling your senses.

As the last spasms of his orgasm subside, Joel pulls you to your feet and captures your lips in a searing kiss. 

As the water from the shower begins to cool, Joel reaches out and turns off the faucet, the sudden silence punctuated only by the sound of your shared breathing. He steps out of the shower first, taking a moment to grab a fluffy towel from the rack and wrapping it around his waist. Then, with a gentlemanly gesture he offers you his hand to help you step out onto the mat.

You accept his help with a grateful smile, your fingers curling around his as he assists you. He takes another towel and begins to gently dry your body, his movements tender and unhurried. The care he takes with you, the way he looks at you with a mixture of awe and desire, makes you feel cherished and beautiful.

Once you're both dry, you lead him back to your bedroom, the cool sheets a welcome relief against your warm skin. You crawl onto the bed, your body still humming with the aftereffects of your shared pleasure, and Joel follows suit, lying down beside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. There's a sense of contentment that fills the room.

Joel reaches out and takes your hand in his, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. "That was... something else, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You turn to face him, your eyes locking onto his. "It was," you agree, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I'm glad you took a chance on me, cowboy."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "I think it's safe to say that I'm the one who got lucky."

You giggle, the sound light and carefree. It feels good to let go of the tension, to bask in the afterglow without overthinking the situation.

As the morning wears on, you both dress, the reality of the day ahead slowly beginning to intrude on your private world. You know that eventually, you'll have to face your dad, to pretend that nothing has changed, but for now, you're content to linger in bed with Joel, the world outside temporarily forgotten.

When you finally emerge from your room, you find your dad in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. He looks up as you enter, a smile spreading across his face when he sees the two of you together.

"Well, good morning, sleepyheads," he greets. "I hope you two weren't up too late."

You feel a flush of heat creep into your cheeks, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. "Not too late, Dad," you reply, your voice steady.

Joel, for his part, seems completely at ease, his years of friendship with your dad serving him well in this moment. He claps your father on the back and grins. "You know how it is. Once you get to talking, the time just flies by."

Your dad nods, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. He stands up from the table and stretches, his joints popping in the quiet of the kitchen. "Well, I'm glad you two had a good time. How about some breakfast?

Throughout the meal, you're acutely aware of his presence, the knowledge of what lies beneath his clothes, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of him on your lips. It's a heady secret, one that you carry with you as you navigate the normalcy of the morning.

Eventually, the meal comes to an end, and Joel stands up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I should probably be heading home," he says, his gaze meeting yours. "I've got a few things I need to take care of today."

Your dad nods, pushing back his chair and standing up as well. "I understand. Thanks for coming over. We'll have to do it again soon."

You walk Joel to the door, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the first time you've been alone all morning since the shower. He turns to face you, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I had a great time, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "Thank you for... well, for everything."

You smile up at him, your eyes shining with emotion. "I had a great time too, Joel. Take care, okay?"

He nods, his hand dropping back to his side. "You too, pretty girl."

With a final, lingering look, Joel turns and walks away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the morning. You close the door behind him and lean back against it, your mind racing with the events of the past 24 hours.

As you make your way back to the kitchen, your dad looks up from the dishes he's washing and gives you a smile. "He's a good man, that Joel," he says, his voice filled with a warmth and affection that only comes from years of friendship. "I'm glad you two get along so well."

You nod, a sense of peace settling over you. "Yeah, Dad. He’s really good.”

And as you help your dad finish the dishes, the memory of Joel's touch, the sound of his voice, the taste of his kiss, all of it lingers in the back of your mind, a sweet reminder you can only hope happens again and again. 

Special taglist for @milla-frenchy 😘

[baekhyunsbestie]

──★ home ˙☁️ ̟ !!

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. 4.4k+ words. pussy-whipped!baekhyun x f!reader, established relationship, jealousy (baek's a bit toxic lol), dirty talk, pet names, p in v, masturbation, voyeurism if ya squint, baek's a REAL EATER iykwim

you check your phone and pout when you see your boyfriend still hasn’t replied to your message about his dinner plans for the evening.

after two grueling weeks, it’s finally baekhyun’s day off. the last few hours of radio silence from him are probably because he’s lost in his game. you understand—he deserves this downtime. after an exhausting summer of touring and prepping for a comeback, he’s earned the right to unwind however he pleases. even though you’d prefer he take a break from the screen, everyone recharges differently, and gaming is his escape.

despite your understanding, you can’t resist teasing him a little. you’re bored and craving some attention.

unlocking your phone, you send him a playful text. “wow, it’s actually insane how your fingers were working just fine last night when they were inside me, and now they can’t text me back?”

baekhyun’s love for his video games are well-known, but his affection for you runs even deeper. he thrives on your playful teasing and the way you make him work for your attention. it’s a challenge he finds irresistible.

seconds after sending the message, he’s already read it. and it’s no surprise when his call comes through.

the moment you answer, baekhyun’s voice bursts through the speaker, filled with urgency. “aaahhh, i’m so sorry, baby! i totally lost track of time and didn’t realize you asked about dinner. please, give me another hour! the guys and i are on a winning streak right now, and i can’t just leave them hanging—chanyeol will literally kill me.”

you can picture his adorable pout and those pleading brown eyes. the image of him, guilt-ridden yet endearing, makes you soften.

after arriving back in town late last night, despite being exhausted, he went straight to you. the fatigue from the long flight was no match for the pull he felt toward you. the need to see you, to be with you, was stronger than any weariness. it was well past midnight when he quietly slipped into your room, his footsteps light as he approached your bed. you were fast asleep, oblivious to his presence.

he knelt by the edge of the bed, his gaze taking in the serene sight of you. with a gentle touch, he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face, wanting nothing to obstruct his view. the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains bathed your features in an ethereal glow. even in sleep, you were breathtaking.

his eyes traced every detail—the beauty marks on your skin, the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyelashes rested against your skin, and the slight pout of your lips that made his heart ache. your relaxed eyebrows seemed too perfect, too serene. he marveled at you, struggling to believe that someone as beautiful as you could be his.

moments like these made him fall deeper in love, leaving him in awe of the depth of his feelings. it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from showering your face with tender kisses.

he imagined how your lips would feel against his, the moment becoming even more passionate as his longing grew. his mind wandered to how your hands would pull him closer, and the heat between you would intensify with each touch.

just then, you shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips, bringing him back to reality. he wanted to freshen up from his flight before joining you in bed, where he could show you just how much he missed you and how important you are to him. he was eager to remind you of the boundless passion he had for you.

as these thoughts replay in your mind, guilt starts to gnaw at you. maybe you should let him enjoy his game a little longer. “actually,” you say, your words tumbling out, “kyungsoo messaged me a bit ago about grabbing some food and drinks. i haven’t caught up with him in a while, so maybe i could do that? i can come over to your place in a couple of hours when you’re free?”

you’re about to suggest an alternative when the sound of the game being paused reaches your ears, followed by some shuffling. before you can finish your thought, baekhyun cuts you off, his voice determined and a bit breathless. “nah, fuck that—i’m coming over right now to remind that pretty little head of yours just how good my fingers and my mouth really are.”

he knows kyungsoo’s no threat—they’ve met, and they actually get along quite well. but the idea of you spending time with another man still sparks a flash of jealousy deep within him. it’s an irrational feeling, one he can’t quite shake, even though he trusts you completely.

you’re slightly annoyed by how his jealousy makes you feel. you’ve never been the jealous type; in fact, you’ve always found the emotion quite exhausting and unnecessary in relationships. but hearing baekhyun like this, with that possessive edge to his voice—it does something to you. it makes you feel empowered, desired, and, if you’re honest, a little bit turned on. there’s something primal about the way he can’t stand the thought of losing you that stirs something deep inside, something you hadn’t realized was there.

you never expected to react this way, but the idea of baekhyun being just a little bit jealous, wanting you all to himself, awakens a thrill you can’t ignore. it’s a side of him that rarely comes out, and it only makes you want him more.

"i’ll be at yours in 10," he continues, his tone dripping with seductive authority. "i’ll take you out to your favorite spot after i make you cum a few times. does that sound good?'

oh, he’s fucking insane. ‘a few times’? you’re still sore from all the ways he took you last night. all day you've been feeling like you’re still dripping with the remnants of what seems like gallons of cum he left inside you. there’s no way he has anything left in him.

“what kind of boyfriend do you think i am?” he replies, a smile evident in his voice. “i’ve been away from my gorgeous girl for far too long. the least i can do is make sure you’re completely satisfied before we head out for dinner.”

before you can call his bluff, you scoff loudly. "yeah, yeah. put your money where your mouth is, baek."

his low chuckle sends a flush of heat to your cheeks and neck. you gulp when he says, "umm, actually, i’d rather have my mouth on something else... and now that i’m thinking about it, i am feeling kind of hungry. but probably not in the same way you are."

you’re left speechless, stunned by how quickly the playful banter turned into something so intensely sexual.

you hear a car door slam and the sound of an engine revving in the background. "wait, are you already on the way?" you glance at your phone, realizing you’ve only been on the call for two minutes.

"didn’t you just tell me to put my money where my mouth is? i’ll be seeing you soon, princess."

as much as baekhyun wanted to keep playing his game, he craved you a hundred times more. he could never get enough of you. after being in a relationship with him for a couple of years, you might have thought the sex would lose its excitement, and become less invigorating, even boring. that’s how it was in every previous relationship you’d been in.

but comparing your current love life to past experiences was a mistake. how could anyone ever measure up to him? no one has ever made love to you with the same passion or intensity as baekhyun. he stirs emotions in you that you’ve never felt before. the electric connection and the gravitational pull between you are unlike anything you’ve ever experienced until now.

baekhyun is known for his responsible nature. he’s always maintained a clean image, carefully balancing his public persona with his personal life. he has a strong sense of control, particularly when it comes to his indulgences. whether it's alcohol, late-night parties, or anything that could potentially tarnish his reputation, baekhyun manages his habits with precision. his friends and fans admire him for his discipline and his ability to remain grounded despite his celebrity status.

but with you, the usual rules don't seem to apply. you’re like a potent, irresistible drug, an intoxicating force that disrupts his usual self-control. unlike his measured approach to life, which he meticulously curates to maintain his ‘good boy’ image, your presence unleashes a side of him that craves indulgence beyond his typical boundaries.

when he’s with you, the usual moderation goes out the window. the way he desires you, the way he needs you, is all-consuming. you’ve become his ultimate temptation, a source of overwhelming pleasure that he can't resist. it’s as if you’ve unlocked a part of him that he usually keeps tightly secured—his craving for you surpasses any control he normally exerts over himself. he can't help but think that this may be unhealthy but at the same time, he can give two fucks about health when you and your body are on the table.

this desire for you is so intense that it feels like a high he can’t replicate with anything else. your touch, your voice, your scent—they’re all addictive to him. where he can easily set limits in other areas of his life, with you, he finds himself willing to push past those limits, to experience the pleasure and intensity of your connection more deeply.

just hearing your voice on the phone alone had made his dick twitch with anticipation, a physical response to the sultry promise in your tone. already, his mind was consumed by visions of the ways he’ll claim you tonight, the thought of his face buried between your thighs dancing vividly behind his closed eyelids. he could almost hear the honeyed moans that would spill from your lips, each one calling his name in desperate pleasure—music that makes him want to crank up the volume and lose himself in the symphony of your need.

the idea of you writhing beneath him, his mouth working relentlessly to make you cum repeatedly, ignites a deep hunger in him. he’s intoxicated by the thought of your taste, the way your pleasure would flood his senses, making him feel as though he’s already savoring the sweetness of it. the image of you bent over the sheets, your ass bouncing rhythmically against his pelvis as he takes you from behind, sends a jolt of raw desire through him. he’s pushed to the edge, the anticipation fueling his drive, making him eager to press the gas harder and faster, to make every moment of your pleasure as intense as the last.

he wonders if you’re already wet for him, if you’re lying there in anticipation, sprawled out on your bed. he imagines you touching yourself, your fingers gliding over your sensitive skin with the kind of urgency that drives him wild. the thought of you, alone and aroused, sends a jolt of excitement through him, igniting his imagination. he pictures the sheets beneath you, soaked and tangled, their disheveled state reminiscent of those intimate facetime calls after his shows, when you were so eager for his touch.

his heartbeat pounds against his ribcage, a steady thrum of anticipation that makes it hard to focus on anything else. his breathing grows heavy, each breath coming faster as he thinks about how you’ll be waiting for him. the image of you, lost in pleasure, is intoxicating, and he can’t help but grind his teeth, trying to suppress the growing need. his hand moves restlessly over the bulge in his sweatpants, seeking some form of relief that remains just out of reach.

glancing at the gps, he sees that there are only three minutes left before he arrives. the thought drives him to the brink of madness, knowing that just a few more moments and he’ll be able to indulge in the vivid fantasies that have been consuming him.

three more minutes.

two.

one.

within thirty seconds of parking, he’s at your front door, quickly entering the code and slipping inside. he kicks off his shoes with haste, his eyes darting around the living room and kitchen in search of you. his gaze zeroes in on your bedroom door, slightly ajar.

that’s when he hears you.

in three swift strides, he’s at your bedroom door, and in two more, he stands at the edge of your bed.

just moments ago, he was imagining this very scene on his drive over, marveling at the power of his thoughts. a smile curves on his lips as he wonders if he’s somehow manifested this moment.

his eyes lock onto your hands: your right hand nestled between your legs, your left gently caressing one of your breasts. he could lose himself in this intimate display for hours.

to baekhyun, the sight before him is pure art. you are the masterpiece, and he’s eager to explore every detail. his mouth parts slightly as he observes your fingers moving inside you, the raw, vivid imagery stirring something deep within him.

he knows that the pace you’ve set isn’t enough. you need his touch, his mouth. yet, judging by the flush spreading across his neck and ears, his ragged breathing, and the throbbing need straining against his sweatpants, it’s clear he’s the one who’s desperately craving release.

baekhyun steps closer to the edge of your bed, closing the distance between you. kneeling between your trembling legs, he dips his head, just inches away from your dripping core.

the sight of you is driving him to the brink.

"may i?" he murmurs before trailing soft, wet kisses along the inside of your right thigh, gradually moving toward your core. "i’m sorry for keeping you waiting, princess," he adds, his gaze filled with intense desire.

his eyes flutter shut as he plants another kiss right above your pubic bone. "i’ll spend these next few days showing you just how sorry I am."

the sight of him like this is driving you wild. looking down at him with your lips slightly parted, you nod, unable to hold out any longer.

you see the wicked smirk on his face as he positions his mouth above your throbbing clit, lightly brushing it with his bottom lip. the contact makes your body jolt and a soft whine escape your lips. his smile is devilish, and you know you’re in for a wild ride. "baby, i need you to use your words," he commands, his voice low and demanding.

"baekhyun, please, i can’t wait any longer. please, please, please. i need you," you cry out, your voice filled with desperation.

his cock twitches at your plea, clearly aroused by your desperation. "your wish is my command, princess," he responds, his own need evident in his tone.

baekhyun’s smile deepens, a blend of satisfaction and eager anticipation glinting in his eyes. he knows, with absolute certainty, that you’re wholly surrendered to him—mind, body, and soul. he draws nearer to your throbbing clit, his breath warm and electrifying against your sensitive skin. his tongue teases with a slow, deliberate stroke along your folds, each lick sending a shiver through you and making you gasp, arching your back in a reflexive, desperate response.

his tongue works slowly and deliberately, savoring every taste and texture. each stroke sends jolts of pleasure through your body, causing you to squirm and grip the sheets. he alternates between light, teasing touches and firmer, more insistent strokes, keeping you on the edge of anticipation.

his hands glide up your thighs, fingers gently pressing into your skin as if to anchor you in place. the sensation of his touch, combined with the delicious rhythm of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure crashing over you. you moan and writhe, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

baekhyun’s pace quickens as he senses your mounting need. he latches onto your clit with his lips, sucking and flicking with just the right amount of pressure. his tongue dances in intricate patterns, making your body tense and shiver with every flick. the way his fingers are curled so deliciously inside you, driving you absolutely insane.

when you’re on the brink of breaking, he pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. he catches his breath, his face flushed with desire, and whispers, "i want to hear you come for me, princess."

the combination of his words and his relentless touch sends you over the edge. you cry out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure ripple through you. your moans are a mix of relief and ecstasy, filling the room with the sound of your release.

baekhyun doesn’t stop; he continues to work you through your climax, his touch becoming more fervent as he revels in the way you respond to him. as your breathing starts to slow and your body relaxes, he finally lifts his head, his lips glistening with the evidence of his efforts.

he looks up at you with a satisfied smile, his eyes still burning with the heat of his desire. "did you enjoy that, princess?" he asks, his voice husky and full of passion.

you nod, your voice barely a whisper as you catch your breath. "yes, so so much."

he rises to his full height, his gaze never leaving yours as he undresses quickly, his need evident in the way he moves. he positions himself above you, his body pressing against yours as he prepares to take you again. with every inch of his touch, he shows you just how much he missed you and how deeply he wants you.

"we’re not done yet," he warns, a mixture of anticipation and dominance in his voice. the promise makes you both nervous for the soreness that might come but excited and hungry for him all the same.

as he enters you, you both find a rhythm that’s both urgent and deeply intimate. the room is alive with the sounds of your pleasure, each moan and gasp underscoring the intense connection you share.

baekhyun’s grip on your hips tightens as his breath becomes ragged with desire. "god, baby, you feel so fucking wet and tight around me," he rasps, his voice rough and strained. his thrusts start to grow erratic and uneven, betraying his approaching climax. despite his own mounting pleasure, he’s determined not to come before you; he’s willing to do anything to keep you on the edge.

"how do you fit me so perfectly?" he murmurs, his voice breathless as he continues to drive into you. "it’s like this pussy was made just for my dick." each word is punctuated by a deep, forceful thrust, his breath coming in heavy, labored bursts as he loses himself in the rhythm of your bodies entwined.

"right there, baek, please, i’m almost there. don’t stop, keep going," you plead, your voice trembling with need. to him, your words are like a symphony, each plea a melody that drives him further. he hits all the right spots, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, making you feel like you’re about to lose your mind.

“this pussy is mine, do you hear me?” baekhyun growls, his voice thick with desire as he bites down softly on that sensitive spot on your neck, his movements unrelenting and intense.

you nod frantically, your body teetering on the edge of climax. “yes, baek, i’m all yours.”

“say it again,” he demands, his voice low and primal.

“i’m yours. all yours. i’ll always be yours,” you whisper, breathless and needy, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and adoration for his possessive nature.

baekhyun groans deeply at your words, his mouth moving to capture the moans spilling from your lips. “that’s my princess,” his tone a commanding whisper. “now be a good girl and look me in the eyes when you cum for me.”

his raw, lewd words blend with the sound of your bodies colliding and the way the tip of his cock rubs against that sweet spot just right. the combination is overwhelming, and as you lock eyes with him, savoring the way his possessiveness makes you feel so entirely claimed, everything fades into a blinding white as you reach your climax.

he’s fucking you through your high, his voice a steady stream of praise and encouragement, telling you how perfectly you’re taking him. as he watches you unravel, he can’t ignore the thought of how unhealthy his obsession with you has become. each time he sees you like this, he feels himself sinking deeper into the addiction. but at this moment, he’s completely indifferent to the consequences. all that matters is the overwhelming, consuming need to possess you, to hear you scream his name as if it's the only salvation you crave.

he’s on the verge of losing control, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate as he nears his climax. when he finally hits his peak, he spills into you with such intensity, his cum painting your inner walls in thick, hot streams. the mingling of his release with your own sends shockwaves of raw, unadulterated pleasure through both of you. the visual of him filling you, his essence merging with your own, only amplifies the overwhelming ecstasy, each shuddering pulse of his release driving you both further into a haze so fucking intoxicating.

breathless and spent, baekhyun collapses beside you onto the disheveled bed, the sheets a tangled mess around you both. your bodies glisten with sweat, slick and intertwined, hair plastered to your necks and foreheads. he turns to you, his expression a mix of adoration and raw desire. as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, you gasp, feeling the heat of his breath mingling with yours, your bodies still trembling from the aftershocks of your intense connection. the kiss is deep and so filled with love and passion, pulling you into a whirlwind of sensation that makes you lose your breath all over again.

"i love you so much, baby," he murmurs against your lips, his voice laden with emotion. he brushes the tip of his nose with yours before speaking again. "i can't even comprehend how much i love you. i never thought loving someone with so much intensity was even possible."

you sigh into his kiss, your voice soft but heartfelt. "i love you, too, baek," you both pull apart, looking at each other with hearts in your eyes.

he gazes at you with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the primal intensity of your earlier moments. his loving look makes you feel both cherished and slightly self-conscious, your cheeks flushing with a mix of shyness and warmth. "what is it?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

"move in with me," he says, his voice gentle and vulnerable. i want us to share a home and build a life together. no more ‘my place or your place’ bullshit—i want to come home every day and find you there, waiting for me."

his words resonate deeply within you, swelling your heart with love and a rush of excitement. after a moment’s contemplation, overwhelmed by emotion, you nod, your voice steady and filled with promise. “okay, let’s do it. let’s live together.”

baekhyun’s grin stretches from ear to ear as he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive warmth. he presses soft, grateful kisses to the top of your head. "thank you. thank you. thank you," he repeats between each tender kiss, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

you giggle at his affection, savoring the tender moment. "but i get to choose the furniture," you tell him with a playful yet serious glint in your eye. as you look up, you interrupt his affectionate assault with a teasing smile causing him to pout. "and i want a room for all my books—a cozy reading area, like a sanctuary."

baekhyun’s eyes soften with adoration as he gazes at you, his love evident in every line of his face. "you can have everything you want, babe," he murmurs tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot between your eyes. "just as long as i get to drown in between your thighs every night."

his lewd comment sends a flush of heat through your core, intensifying the sensation as you suddenly feel his hardness pressing against you.

you flash him a mischievous smirk, unable to hide the effect his words are having on you. "already?" you tease, feeling the firm press of him against your core intensify, digging deeper with each breathless movement.

"i can’t help it," he breathes into your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he nibbles gently just above your collarbone. his hands reposition themselves, guiding his body over yours, readying himself for another round. "it’s like my dick is constantly hard for you."

just like baekhyun, your desire for him is insatiable—you’re always wanting him, always ready. that’s why you barely flinch at the sensitivity gnawing at your senses when the tip of his throbbing dick presses against your heated core. the anticipation only heightens your need, making every nerve in your body come alive.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close until your faces are mere inches apart. with a playful glint in your eyes, you tease, "our neighbors are going to hate us, aren’t they?"

baekhyun’s grin is wicked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "yes, they will," he agrees, his voice low and full of promise. before you can respond, he captures your lips in a fiery kiss, his urgency and desire palpable. the kiss is fierce and consuming, stealing your breath away as he deepens it, each movement charged with the intensity of his need.

"this is home,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice warm and soothing. his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him as your bodies meld together in a passionate embrace. “you are my home.”

every kiss, every touch, shows how electric and real your connection is. it’s like the world outside doesn’t even matter—it's just you two, totally lost in this moment.

"you are my home," you repeat back to him.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 a/n: two songs inspired me to write this!!! linked in the title hehe omg baekhyun is so 🫦 in this lol can #confirm firsthand that this is how he lays down the pipe ok (not rly but i don't think its so far fetched)

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 . 

[venus-haze]

Your Name in Lights - Chapter 1 (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for your big break, co-starring in one of Soldier Boy's movies and the undeniable chemistry the two of you have on- and off-set. [AO3 Link | Masterlist]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. I left the time period intentionally ambiguous, but it has some '50s/'60s classic Hollywood vibes. The actress you're replacing and the director are made up for this fic.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny. Implied age gap. Power imbalance. Soldier Boy is his own warning.

Sweat gathered at your brow under the bright studio lights, and you hoped it wouldn't show in the costume test photos being taken. You turned to the side at the photographer's direction, wondering what the hell you were even testing for in the first place. Your manager had called you at nearly five in the morning, telling you to come to the studio right away, because if you didn't, some other starlet would get the part. Practically everyone in the room looked stressed, from the costume designer with her furrowed brow to her assistant, hovering near the clothing rack.

"I'm sorry," you began, taking the dress that was handed to you once your navy blue sweater-skirt combo was adequately documented. Sleek, black, with a slit up the side. Obviously for a nightclub scene. You hadn't done many of those. "What movie is this for, again?"

"The latest Soldier Boy picture," your manager Frank said, following you behind the privacy screen toward the back of the room to help you into the dress. You'd long since foregone any sense of modesty around him, the only person looking out for you in Tinseltown.

"In what role?" You wiggled into the dress and peeked around the screen. "This is gonna have to be taken in around the bust."

"Are you kidding? You're the leading lady," he said, zipping up the dress for you.

Your eyes widened. "What happened to Olivia Yearly? I heard months ago that she was cast in Soldier Boy's latest picture."

"Stormed off set and quit. She's a real diva."

"But she's Olivia Yearly, and I'm—"

"You're gonna be a hundred Olivia Yearlys if you play your cards right with this one."

"I haven't even auditioned or done a screen test. How did they find me?"

"Audiences liked you in your last few pictures. It was the people over at Vought who wanted to take a chance on you," Frank said, letting you steady yourself on his shoulder as you slipped on the heels that accompanied the dress. Of course Vought had the muscle to get just about any studio to lend out their stars to them, who could pass up being in a movie with a superhero? "Besides, this way Soldier Boy won't have to share top billing, and obviously you won't be getting an Olivia Yearly salary, so it's a win-win for them."

"Frank—"

"Don't worry, kid, you're not getting stiffed."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"They only filmed two scenes, small ones, from what I've heard, so it's not a big reshoot. You'll get the script this afternoon, the writers are changing a few things, a little less femme fatale, you know? I told them that's not your image."

You sighed. That wasn't your worry either, but Frank already had his mind made up. You'd only recently gotten fourth or fifth billing in your movies. Soldier Boy had been America's favorite leading man and a guaranteed box office draw for as long as he'd been on screen. It'd be a big break for you, the kind you always dreamed of. "Okay, let's give it a shot."

"Attagirl."

The script you received wasn't the most imaginative or groundbreaking, but it was good, a solid film noir that softened its femme fatale lead, the sultry Laura becoming the ingenue Laurie to accommodate introducing you to a wider audience next to Soldier Boy of all people. A sweet girl who'd become his partner and confidant as the plot progressed, eventually his lover by the end of the film. After all, Soldier Boy always got the girl.

From the moment he stepped into your powder pink dressing room, any notions you may have had about your co-star's clean-cut persona went out the window. The smell of marijuana took you aback. You recognized it, knew to stay the hell away from it unless you wanted a scandal that ended your career before it even began.

Still, you tried to be gracious and courteous, thanked him for taking a chance on you, let yourself giggle at the compliment he threw your way about how the makeup artist wasn't going to have a thing to do as long as you were in the picture. Except he steered the conversation clear off course. You supposed he expected you to be more naive than you let on, but you'd been around the industry to know better, tried to stay as professional as possible even though he kept pushing it.

"You know, if you ever wanna run lines, just you and me, I got a suite up at the Chateau Marmont," he said. "All the privacy you could want, get to know each other better."

"That won't be necessary," you said as politely as you could. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's either that, or you're frigid as hell. I can relieve whatever your issue is, sweetheart. You just say the word."

Your face heated up, and you turned away from him. "I'd like you to go now, please."

"Suit yourself," he said. "See you on set."

As soon as you heard the door shut, you reached for the glass of ice water on your vanity with a shaky hand and brought it to your forehead, staring at your bewildered expression in the brightly lit mirror in front of you.

No wonder Olivia Yearly quit, though you didn't dare imagine what he could've possibly said to her. But you had to try, if not for your own career, then for Frank's sake. He believed in you, even when you were just starting out in an industry that you'd seen cannibalize so many others. He must have pulled some impossible strings just to get you this role. You weren't going to let an unpleasant co-star ruin the opportunity of a lifetime.

Except he almost did, as you faltered ad fumbled your way through your scenes with him that first day. Frustration radiated off of the crew, and every time award-winning director Julian Garrett yelled 'cut', he sounded tired, as if he wondered if the movie were ever going to be made. They were all doing you a favor, especially the people at Vought, giving you a chance, and you had yet to prove you earned it. You knew if you didn't get it together, you wouldn't have another chance to.

Standing next to Soldier Boy by the facade of a made-up bar, you pushed your hair out of your face as a giant fan just out of frame kicked on to fabricate a windy night. The chill, the uncertainty, the tension, all set up perfectly for the scene.

"Haven't you ever had that feeling? Where you know something's not right, but you can't explain why?"

He nodded. "Sure I have, it's what's gotten me this far."

"Then you have to trust me, Soldier Boy," you implored. "Something about Everhart's plan doesn't seem right—seem on the level—"

"Cut!" Julian yelled.

Soldier Boy turned to the representative from Vought, hovering on set, probably a lawyer to cover any liabilities after the Olivia Yearly situation. "This is what you get for hiring some fresh piece of ass who doesn't know what she's doing."

Your hands balled into fists at your side. He said what everyone was surely thinking after having to start the scene over for the dozenth time, but it still hurt to hear. "I'll have you know my ass and I know exactly what we're doing!" you snapped. "Let's start from the top, Mr. Garrett. I'll get it this time."

The director sighed. "Alright, one more time."

When you turned back to face Soldier Boy, you caught a glimpse of his smile before it fell from his face in preparation for the scene.

The tension between you and everyone else on set fizzled out as you spoke, finally finding the sweet spot where you could match Soldier Boy's energy, your determination to succeed and prove him wrong far exceeding how intimidating you found your co-star until then.

"I really hope it won't take so long to get a performance like that out of you tomorrow," Julian said, looking relaxed for the first time all day.

"It won't. I promise."

"Better not," Soldier Boy muttered.

You kept your word, ran through your lines every night until you could hardly keep your eyes open, showed up on set early, even when Soldier Boy was an hour or two late, started getting on people's good sides, or maybe they were finally recognizing your potential now that you were only having to do two or three takes of each scene.

Despite your rocky start and the trepidation you felt about him, there was no denying Soldier Boy's charisma, how easy it was for you to play off of it. Then, between takes, he was more amicable, though you doubted his intentions were as mundane as wanting to get along with his coworker. But you found yourself flirting back when he did, telling yourself it was to keep up the chemistry between your characters rolling, even when the cameras weren't. Frank even told you over dinner one evening that industry chatter had already begun talking you up as the find of the year, whispers of your chemistry with Soldier Boy already drowning out the drama with his previous co-star.

During the second week of filming, the lawyer from Vought had pulled you aside to let you know someone from one of the big Hollywood gossip columns was going to be on set that week. You figured someone from Hedda Hopper's outfit, as she sung Soldier Boy's praises in her articles, though you read both her and Louella Parsons' columns religiously, especially after you were cast in the current picture, and public interest in you piqued. He didn't tell you about it to keep you informed, but rather to warn you to keep your mouth shut if you wanted your career to stay on the upward trajectory it was going.

You tried not to look at the unfamiliar woman too much, cigarette dangling from her lips, notepad and pen in hand, writing a sentence or two every so often. Her face was unreadable, but you tried not to let it get to you, not when the next scene was so important.

Outside of the same bar facade where you finally found your place in the film, you stood as Laurie in the black and white houndstooth coat you'd come to love, preparing to distract the two-faced Everhart so Soldier Boy could gather intel, the first big step in foiling his enemy's plan. Laurie was being thrown to the wolves.

"Soldier Boy," you simpered, "I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Laurie—"

Your eyes glistened with tears, voice breaking ever so softly as you placed a manicured hand on his chest. "No, I don't want to do this without you."

He took you in his arms and kissed you, deeply enough that you had to steady yourself on his biceps, that certainly wasn't in the script, but no one seemed to mind. "Be brave for me, honey," he husked against your lips.

"I'll try."

Again, his lips on yours, and you nearly lost yourself in his embrace until a loud "Cut!" tore through the scene.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from Soldier Boy. Your heart was racing. You could hardly gather the courage to look at him. It almost felt…real.

"Goddamn, I think that was it," Julian said.

"Should we do another take?" the assistant director asked.

"I don't know if we'll get anything better than that. Yeah, let's go through it one more time."

Out of the corner of your eye, the columnist scribbled frantically in her notepad.

The rest of the day, it seemed like you and Soldier Boy were on fire, requiring fewer takes as scenes grew tenser, more intimate—close-ups on yearning faces, the subtle brushing of hands, worried glances across the room. More than once, you felt your heart actually skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

The movie magic dissolved by night, and a well-deserved day-off of filming awaited you in the morning—as did headlines that screamed of the latest Hollywood romance, spurred on by a photo the columnist had taken the day before, Soldier Boy and Starlet Sizzle on Set!

Starlet. You frowned. They couldn't have even bothered to use your name?

Small potatoes, Frank assured you over the phone when you called him about the papers, soon enough, your name would be in lights.

Vought was certainly pleased with the way you stole the focus from Soldier Boy's beef with his former co-star, all eyes on the two of you with just murmurs of undeniable chemistry.

"So, how does dinner sound? Anywhere you want," Frank said.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure, you're the talk of the town. Long as Soldier Boy's with you."

"Tell him it's his choice," you said. You'd make the most of the good press as you could, play his game within reason if it meant finally getting somewhere in your career.

"Alright, well, he'll probably pick you up around eight."

"Here?" You glanced around your modest apartment. Decently furnished for when you had a few friends over for drinks, though the striped wallpaper was peeling, and you were more than used to the smell of mothballs that permeated the air. "No, Frank, that won't do. Have him pick me up at your office downtown."

"You got it," your manager said before hanging up the phone.

By the time Soldier Boy picked you up, you'd already helped yourself to some of the bourbon you knew Frank kept in his office to settle your nerves. The drive wasn't too bad, he wasn't as handsy as you were anticipating, a bit disappointing, if you were being honest with yourself.

Somehow, word of your and Soldier Boy's date was leaked ahead of time, a crowd of fans and reporters waiting outside of the nightclub for your arrival. Its simple, sleek white facade would've been classy if not for the giant neon palm tree sign next to the actual palm trees.

You offered your best smile for the cameras, played up your relationship with Soldier Boy, giving him a kiss on the cheek and practically clinging to his side.

"It's been such a dream working with him," you told one reporter. "I couldn't ask for a better leading man."

As for whether or not the rumors of romance were true, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell," Soldier Boy said, his arm around your waist as he finally ushered you inside. The gaudy, tropical-inspired decor throughout the club was almost tacky, but you supposed it had a certain charm to it.

Sitting down in the booth reserved for the two of you, you felt like you just finished running a marathon as you settled into the plush red upholstery.

Soldier Boy looked at you, amused, "Just wait 'til the movie actually comes out, sweetheart."

A waiter arrived, asking if you'd like to start with drinks or hear the specials first.

"What're you drinking?" Soldier Boy asked.

"Bourbon, neat," you said.

"Make that two." He turned to you, his green eyes giving you a once-over, as if regarding you differently than he had before. "I wouldn't peg you as a bourbon girl."

"It's what was in my manager's office earlier," you said, quickly adding, "I don't make it a habit."

He nodded. "Good girl."

You didn't know whether or not to be grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks, giving you an excuse to look away from him for a moment, flustered by the simple praise.

Soldier Boy waved him off after the glasses were set down, claiming you needed more time to look at the menu.

"Look, I know we didn't start on the best foot," he began, almost reluctantly, "but you're not half bad. And you kiss like you mean it. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to kiss a broad for a scene and might as well have been kissing cardboard."

"So I'm not frigid?"

He chuckled. "Hell no."

The two of you so engrossed in conversation, you'd forgotten to even look at the menu when the waiter returned, and Soldier Boy ended up ordering for you—as soon as the two of you were alone again, he muttered something about the drinks being the only thing worth going to the place for. The dry baked potato and rubbery steak presented to you on an otherwise gorgeous plate proved him right, and you tried your best to pick at your food without too much of a puss on your face.

Drinks kept flowing, and you switched from bourbon to your usual order, though Soldier Boy was outpacing you by a mile.

"How are you not plastered?" you asked.

"Takes about three times as much alcohol to get me drunk than a normal person."

"What's it like, being a superhero? I mean, I've met plenty of other actors, but no one like you," you said.

"It's a lot of responsibility," he began, his canned answer disappointing you a bit, "from the day I was born I had these powers, I don't know why it was me over anyone else, but I have to use them to help people, to do good."

"But what does it feel like? Some kind of adrenaline rush coursing through your veins? Is it something that just happens?"

"You asking if being a supe gets me hard?"

Your face heated up, "No, not like that, I mean—"

"I don't get whisky dick, I can promise you that, sweetheart."

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

He shook his head. "That's the limit of my powers. I can do everything but fly and be subtle."

Despite yourself, you laughed. Maybe it was the drinks, or finally having a chance to talk to Soldier Boy outside of a professional setting let you scratch just beneath the surface of the world's first superhero. Since his debut, when the country was in desperate need of a superhero like him, there had been other supes, each with unique powers, but none inspired the awe that he did.

Over the course of the conversation, he moved in closer to you, your space becoming his until you finished your drink, and he managed to talk you into just one more, his hand squeezing your thigh.

"The table service takes too long, I don't mind going up to the bar," you said.

He shrugged, and you took that as permission to go ahead as you slid out of the booth. Not quite steady on your feet, you made it to the bar in one piece, feeling light as you told the bartender your orders.

The bar's polished surface allowed you to see your reflection—and Olivia Yearly's, right next to you. Striking black hair with hardly a strand out of place, green eyes practically made for technicolor, and her signature pouty red lips, you tried not to swoon at the sight of her. She didn't pay any attention to you, of course she wouldn't, she had no real reason to, until you forced yourself to speak up and say something to one of your idols.

"Miss Yearly? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm such a big fan," you said.

"Thank you. It's always nice to—" She raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. "Hold on, you're that new girl, the one in the Soldier Boy picture, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"He hasn't scared you off yet? You can't be that desperate for a job."

"Soldier Boy's been a wonderful co-star," you said.

She scoffed, her upper lip curling in a sneer. "How much is Vought paying you to say that? He's the most shameless, unprofessional man I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a sound stage with, and I've been on a lot."

"I know, I've seen almost all of your movies," you confessed quietly.

"Then take my advice, stay the hell away from him, and that company, too."

"What did he even do—"

"Olivia," Soldier Boy said coldly, appearing at your side unexpectedly. "Surprised the place made an exception to its 'no hag' policy for you."

You nearly gasped. Olivia Yearly was a star. A goddess. An institution. Definitely not a—

"Hag? Who the hell do you think you're talking to you fucking—"

"Just shove it, Liv."

"You're digging your damn grave if you stick around the sorry likes of him," she shot at you before storming off.

He scowled, moving so he blocked her retreating figure from your line of sight. "Whatever that bitch told you about me—she's gonna be old news as soon as they see you on that screen. That’s why she's trying to scare you."

"Do you really think so?" you asked, trying to ignore the doubt that crept up on you.

"She sure as hell couldn't kiss like you can."

As if to prove it, he leaned in, his plush lips pressed against yours, the same sparks you felt on set flying between you. His hands on your hips, soft and strong as he pulled you closer, something like that couldn't be faked, not so naturally as the two of you seemed to do. Almost couldn't help but lose yourself in his embrace—until a camera flashed in your peripheral vision, tearing you from the intimacy of the kiss and reminding you that you were only there with him for publicity. You wondered if it could ever be anything more.

Taglist: @waynes-multiverse @youdontknowe @sl33pylilbunny @ladykitana90 @urmomissuperhotsworld @riah1606

[sugar-omi]

Thought about accidentally sending a nude to Cove (or anyone of your choice) 👀

Like MC was trying to send him a picture of something else but accidentally tapped on a nude they took the night before and WHOOPS! Now Cove is going back and forth with himself between typing up a reply and deleting what he wrote and just screaming into his pillow because he just saw his best friend/crush naked and it’s still on his phone screen and he has to see them tomorrow because they always do but he doesn’t know if it’ll be better to see each other tomorrow or wait a bit until things are “less awkward” and he is BURSTING at the seams

Bonus if he feels guilty because he saves the photo anyways for………….. research purposes 👀

MY EYES ARE WIDE OPEN. I DIDNT EXPECT IT TO GO THAT WAY....

that's such a good thought, though... especially if while he's fumbling, you're freaking out, but also way too curious to know what he'll say so you don't delete it...

and in a moment of bravery, text him before he can say anything to your apology or about the image.. "although.. you can keep it if you like"

his eyes FALL out his head. what do you mean he can keep the image?!?;!^!

he probably doesn't even respond. and if he does, it's just a "it's okay" because he's too shaken to say anything else. doesn't know what to say. "you look pretty", "you're so sexy", "thanks for the nude"????

which.. is probably worse than any of those options if you're already nervous n floundering over te accident.

if you want a bit more satisfaction, are genuinely worried you made him uncomfortable, or just reassurance for what you already know... go ahead and ask if he's uncomfortable, or mad at you, or whatever.

it takes a minute but eventually you get a "...no, im not upset.. or uncomfortable..."

please move on after that because if you linger on the topic anymore, he'll be on life support 🙏

and he does hold onto that image... can't bring himself to download it, that's too much for his poor heart. and even though it'd only be proper to delete the message.. he doesn’t. he tries, his finger hovering over the button.

even though you said he could... keep it. he shouldn't, right? no matter how long he sits in turmoil, his respect for you and his teenage hormones raging against each other...

eventually one wins, because he's been so restless all day. his stomach twisting with something foreign. his eyes wandered to your body when he saw you at the beach that day, and he remembered the picture, trying to ignore how his sex throbbed and the subsequent tightening of his shorts...

really, he has more control than this usually. his voice of reason, more like selfconsciousness, too strong.

but his fingers flicker across his phone, and they find the way back to that image, that damn image that's been haunting him. his brain begging him to remember every curve and dip, freckle, and scar on your body.

he knows what your body looks like, you grew up together. he knows where most of your beauty marks are, your freckles, your scars, knows if your skin is seamless, and he's sleepily traced any acne scars on your biceps.

he knows the shape of you, the leanness and the cords of muscle in your arms and thighs. recognizes you just by looking at your back.

so it's not hard for him to imagine your nude body after that, especially since he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen fast enough when you sent it.

and even now, he's finding any of those hidden treasures right now as his eyes rake over your body, his hand wrapping around his cock as he shamefully imagines you with him. touching him. touching you.

imagines his lips on your hip bones, kissing your body like it's a prayer.

your voice is always so clear in his ears, he can't help but imagine the way you'd call his name... thinks back to all the times you've laughed happily or groaned tiredly, or moaned in pain...

his mind twists the knowledge of you, your lovely voice, and your heavenly touch. imagines you calling his name, gasping at his touch...

finally spills his cum all over his hand, his head collapsing on his pillow, covers his face, sparks of pleasure still running through him...

realizes post nut clarity is fucking real, and he doesn't know how he's gonna be able to look at you tomorrow...

[imbecominggayer]

How To Put Your Imagination On The Page

Thank you to @melda0m3 for asking for this on my post :3 you are an absolute dear(gender-neutral)

The topic I will be covering is "how in the world do you translate the perfect picture you have in your mind of a place or the epic one of a fight scene with words??" -melda0m3

Of course, because of the nature of this question and the nature of writing in general, this is more of a generalization since there are an infinite amount of scenes that could possibly exist!

FIRST QUESTION: Why Is This Actually So Hard?

The reason why translating your imaginary scene to the paper is hard is due to the fact that your brain naturally fills in the "gaps" of your scenery.

It's the reason why you implicitly understand everything that is happening in a dream and what settings look like despite not being able to recollect the actual physical details.

So when you take this abstract vision of scenery and try to apply it to the page, now you have to consciously examine your scenery from an observor's gaze. Since you are critically studying the imaginary scene, now your brain is forced to put actual detail into the image.

Combined with the a struggle for an apt metaphor and you will inevitably struggle to contextualize visual fog into actual physical detail.

So let's get working on fixing this issue.

Detail Is Influenced By Emotion

Let's be honest with ourselves, no one walks into a room and starts obsessively counting the number of windows, all the occupants of the room, and mentions literally every single detail in their "private" monologue.

No one, during a fight, keeps perfect track of all the punches that are happening.

Which means you shouldn't either.

Look at your imaginary place, epic fight scene, and any other fantastical viewing and say to yourself "this is a foundation. inspiration. it's not the final image or even a good image"

Utilize cinematography and learn how to encorperate that into diction and sentence structuring.

In general with some exceptions, shorter and choppier sentences invite feelings of anxiety, desperation, and a higher emotional state while longer and passive sentences invite feelings of calmness, curiousity, and a more static sense of "contentment".

Use more visual language that excites a reaction out of you. Fighting/disgusting scenes are the perfect time to use all of your "disgusting" words such as flesh, moist, sloughs, engourge, and other words

I literally looked up "disgusting words list" in order to get that list.

Detail And Emotion Influenced By Perspective

Of course, what decides what detail makes the "final cut", if you will, is your camera. Your perspective character.

For example, if your character is the type to be paranoid then the "camera" will be constantly fixing itself at everything. Violently snapping their eyes to everything as hysterical thoughts ooze out of the minute cracks between every single moment. Very intense, I would say.

This would contrast against a character who is completely zeroed in on something, someone?, with such an unrelenting gaze that their camera is permanently marked on their target.

The paranoid character would bring in a hod-podge of various incomplete details while the stubborn character couldn't even tell you if it was day or night.

Of course, the emotions that a character has associated with this scene will also bring to mind different details.

For example, in a fight, the perspective character might be someone who is swarming with desperation. In this case their thoughts are going to be centered less on the specific timing of things or what exactly is happening but instead on their emotions and possible consequences.

However, the perspective character might be someone who isn't scared at all of losing or winning. They're fighting with a more observant gaze. The kind expected of someone in a chess match. In this case their thoughts are probably directed on the timing their opponents with consistently precise questioning and observations. What is their opponent thinking? They're slowing down which means they're losing stamina. They're staring at my leg. A bold mistake.

Again, the desperate character isn't focusing at all on their opponent and couldn't tell you at all about what is objectively happening. Their mind is racing across thoughts of doubt, pride, existential fear. They're wondering what's going to happen if they lose. If they win? What about their loved ones?

The observant character is entirely focused on the setting and opponent from an "objective" perspective and so their personal feelings paint the world in a rather sterile perspective.

Motivation: What Is This Scene Trying To Do?

The scenes I have illustrated of a paranoid character sporadically crawling their eyes across the place, a stubborn character hunting for something, a desperate character fighting the battle of their life, and a professional observor passively observing the fighting they're currently engaging in all serve various different necessities.

Paranoid character's perspective allows the audience to understand what the paranoid character is feeling, emotionally invests the audience, provides possible backstory for the setting if it's emotionally relevant to the character, and raises the tension for a surely delightful climax and subsequent release of that tension.

Stubborn character's perspective allows the audience to understand what the stubborn character is feeling and forces the audience to either cheer for the bloodshed or look upon with despair at the fallen character. It also kickstarts conflict.

Desperate character's scene is more affilated with conflict itself and the result of tension. It invites the audience to participate in this unrelenting fear as the desperate character's own internal narration about the stakes serve the character's motivation and the reader's emotional involvement. It's heavily effective!

Observant character's scene could serve to establish a status quo for this character of a stoic professional which could be broken later on. This is also a well-written example of "show, don't tell" as the audience can easily guess that the observant character is a professional fighter.

I'm sorry @melda0m3 if I have failed to properly cover this topic. It's incredibly hard to help someone on a case-by-case basis so all I can do is provide some general guidelines and hope this assists you in your writing journey :)

Feel free to ask for any more specific advice posts if this attempt didn't scare you off!

[scenezfreak]

HIIII First of all hru,are you ok and are you taking care of yourself? If you are IM VERY PROUD!!!! AND now for the thing I had in my mind imagine Jeff x from reader who is literally dressing like the Adam Sandler style a lot and straight up on weed and one day she stumbles in Jeff's room by accident and sees photos of her taped to the wall and then Jeff comes inside the room.The rest I'm letting it up to you.AND REMEMBER you are important,kind, beautiful and smart take care and have a very good day/night!💞

Yes I’m okay! I know you were here around the time I was in the hospital but so far so good! No other complications. Thank you for your kind words, love 🫶🏻 And same to you!

- I honestly don’t know what came over me when I wrote this but DAYUUMMMM

Jeff the Killer x Tomboy!Reader

Warnings: Smut, reader is high, stalker Jeff, throat fuck, throat pie, cum eating, feel like I’m missing smth but oh well

NOT PROOD READ, MINORS DNI

You just finished a smoke sesh, a little bit high but not fully gone. You honestly didn’t know why your body was taking you to Jeff’s room..maybe you just wanted to annoy him. Either way, you didn’t dwell on it too long, you walked- well…more like stumbled into his room. Your body stood still in shock. Along one side of his room were just full of pictures..pictures of you.

You walked further in, almost tripping in the process. You looked at all of them, you may be high but you could comprehend that these were all taken without your knowing. Although the thought of it didn’t really bother you..your fingers traced over one image. Wait- was that one of you sleeping? How did he even get in? The door was locked. You didn’t think over it further as you heard footsteps behind you. You whipped your head around.

Jeff was standing there seemingly just as shocked as you were. He didn’t utter a word, he just closed his door and locked it and made his way over to you. You tripped back and your back hit the wall. He was so close to you now. Jeff shuttered a bit..you looked so beautiful against his little shrine he made of you. His hands rested on the wall on either side of your head, trapping you.

Jeff leaned in and whispered. “You sure you’re in the right place, doll?” His low voice sent heat to your core and you shivered. You wanted to see how far you could go, so you spoke up. “I look like I’m in the right place.” You said, referencing to the pictures. You smirked, the high giving you confidence to bring your hands to his shoulders slowly massaging them and then dragging your hands down his body.

Jeff’s obsidian eyes bore into yours. He wanted to ruin you so bad. “Naughty girl.” Was all he said as one of his hands wrapped around your throat. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, do you?” Before you could even respond he pressed his lips against yours. You decide, fuck it, why not go with it?

Your tongues swirl against each other but he ultimately wins and his tongue explores your mouth, you don’t know how long he’s been wanting to do this to you. His hands grab your hips and his fingers dig into them while your hands come up to the back of his head, your fingers tangled in his raven charred hair as you pulled him close. He moaned at the burn of you gripping his hair.

You gasped when he bit your lip, a little blood mixing into the kiss. He pulled back and you released your grip off of him. You felt yourself being pushed to your knees, his hands grabbed the back of your head, pushing his clothed erection against your head. “You gonna get me off, doll? Payback for sneaking around peoples personal stuff.” He laughed, at this point you didn’t care how pathetic you looked..you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

You nodded and turned your head to kiss and lick at the tent on his jeans, he shuddered. “Don’t fucking tease me.” He spat. Your hands came up to undo his jeans, quickly pulling them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang out and you moaned just at the sight of it, pre cum was already leaking out of it all just from kissing you..it made you even more needier for him. Your hand wrapped around his cock and you pushed his hoodie up a bit to expose his dark happy trail.

You kissed your way down his happy trail before pulling back to kiss the tip of his cock. His hold on your head tightened as a reminder to not tease him. You looked up at him, he looked like he was about to snap any minute and just fuck the life out of you. You took the tip into your mouth and slowly pushed all of it in causing him to groan and tilt his head back. You gagged around his length as the tip prodded at the back of your throat. He pushed back before thrusting in again.

He looked back down as he sped up. Your glossy eyes turned him on even more. He wasn’t ashamed of letting out moans. “Takin’ me so well doll..” His voice making you moan around his cock. The vibrations causing his dick to twitch. You brought a hand down to rub at your own clit. Jeff watched as tears rolled down your face from both pleasure and his cock and he fucking loved it. He loved everything about you. Your hair, your eyes, your face, your ass, tits, thighs, the way you talk, the way you walk, your personality, how peaceful you look while sleeping.

Overwhelmed with emotions he groaned out and sped up, his balls slapped against your chin, only adding to his pleasure. He hunched over and pressed you all the way down to the base, his cum leaking out of his cock in warm ropes. He shuddered and laughed, absolutely loving the sensation of your throat contracting around his cock. He only pulled back when your body jolted as you came on your fingers. You catches your breath as you looked up at him.

He dragged you to stand up off the floor. “I didn’t tell you to touch yourself, did I?” He asked. “Well no..but-“ you were taken aback when he grabbed the hand you fingered yourself with and licked the cum off of them. He pushed you against the wall one more time as his hand grabbed your face, causing your cheeks to push out and your lips plump up. “I’m far from being done with you.” And before you know it, he was dragging you to his bed.

[starshotspiderz]

Dating David Mason would include:

● Cuddles every time he gets home, on the couch, on the bed, one time you guys cuddled on the freaking floor. .

● Knowing everything about each other. Even the specific stuff. (Like how he only wants two onions minimum in his burger. .)

● Woods absolutely loving you. He doesn't normally like anyone, and David knows that. He was really nervous when he took you to the vault to meet him. All it took was for you to recognise him on his framed pictures. He was happy he was still recognisable.

"I told you I still looked good, Dave!" He would tease David.

● Arguments. Sometimes heated, sometimes not. But never to a point where David hurts you. If he ever hurt you, he can have that pistol kiss his forehead.

However, he always apologises when he's in the wrong. If you're in the wrong, you apologise to him with a few hugs and kisses while he's busy working on his laptop. He does the same, sometimes with a gift or two. .

● Dates in an old diner. That includes sharing a milkshake, him feeding you some of his food, and you doing it back. Just cheesy romantic stuff.

● You are both obsessed with cats. . The problem is that he doesn't know how to handle cats. He can handle dogs since he's used to all the military dogs around. But he still loves cats a lot. He may not know how to quite treat them properly like you do, but cats always seem to go to him first. He would just laugh and pet their fuzzy heads as you snapped a few photos of him.

(Also set one of them as your wallpaper. .)

● If you're tired, he does everything that should be done. He makes dinner, cleans, and then lays down with you.

● He's a huge fan of WWE. He watches all of the matches. Every Friday night, you two are snuggled up watching smackdown. You're only half paying attention to the match, while his eyes are wide open. If his favourite wrestler wins, he screams in excitement and accidently woke you up.

"So sorry, baby. . I got too excited, Roman Reigns won!"

● If you guys aren't married yet, he always looks away when you change. Or he just walks out. When he walks back in and sees your outfit, oh, he'll be complementing you till Christmas.

"Damn, you look so pretty in that! Are you sure you wanna wear that to a picnic, love?? What if it gets all muddy?? Who am I kiddin', you'll look good even with mud. You're freakin' angelic!"

● If he gets a nightmare, he sits up and lets out a gasp. It wakes you up and he tries to pester you to sleep again. But you won't leave him like that. .

Sometimes, he sobs quietly. Completely loose in your arms or sat on the counter, his hand on his forehead. While a glass of half-drank water sits beside him. His nightmares revolve around his father's death, and images of his body flash his mind. Or Woods' broken, bleeding kneecaps.

You comfort him with your humming, your embraces, and your gentle kisses. He falls asleep after a little bit.

● He gets really embarrassed when Woods shows his old drawings and pictures to you. His nose and cheeks get all red, and he's just standing there, pouting like a little kid while you chuckle at what little Dave had imagined when he was younger.

"Uncle Woods, that shit is old. . She doesn't need to see that."

He's just gonna try and sneak around to take the pile of childish drawings away, but no matter how old Woods is, he's always gonna catch him.

"Hey! Don't ya touch that! What else am I gonna look at before I go ta' sleep!? Hah. . ! I need a damn smoke. . Nurse Batshit! Where's my smokes!?"

☆

That's it for now 😭 I love Black Ops so much, I'll probably make more of these before I can get to Modern Warfare. The OG series specifically. When I'm done with those, I'll look towards the MODERN modern warfare. . Hope you liked David, I love him sm 💗

[snooksicle]

Ask Game: Get to Know Your Kpop/Fame Dr!

Reblog for asks! Or you can reblog to answer some of the questions yourself! Some are own-group focused.

I tried to make some of it usable for both kpop and fame shifters but I did make this with my kpop dr in mind, so some things here might not work for purely fame shifters 🙇

I hope this doesn't flop.

🫵: YOU : What kind of image do you have as an idol/famous person? Does it match what you are like outside of your work hours? Do you have a title among the industry?

💫: Debut : What is your debut like and how is it received? Did it get widely praised and numerous wins (For Kpop)? Or did the popularity only come later and people remember your debut as "one of the greatest and most overlooked debuts of all time" ? Did you debut in a big or small company?

🎲: Game Changer : What is something you're bringing that you feel like are gonna shake things up in the industry? Could be a project you have, something you're working in, or just you being yourself!

🤩: Fan : Do you have any celebrities/idols you can't wait to meet, befriend, or perhaps date in this dr? Do you have scripted/imagined scenarios of how you're meeting them?

📃: Routine : What part of your daily schedule do you enjoy in your dr the most compared to your schedule in cr? How do they compare?

👤: Trainee : What was/is your trainee life like? Was it a dark and tough time for you or did you breeze through your training like it's as easy as breathing? Were/Are you the trainee that always ends up at the top rank or do you keep a quiet presence until your debut?

🧑‍🤝‍🧑: Members : What are your members/closest peers (for non pop group shifters) like? What does the group dynamic look like and what is your "role" among them? Are you the chaotic little gremlin or the calm and serene one?

😎: Quirk : What is a little "quirk" of yours that became widely known among your fans or even non-fans? Maybe it's an inside joke, an ongoing bit, or a hyperfixation that you talk about publically lol. Some fun little thing that's became part of your public image branding!

🔍: Association : Is there a character, food, brand, designer, literally anything the public associates you with? Maybe you bear an uncanny resemblance personality or looks wise to a video game, movie, or cartoon character or you can't stop talking about something so much that you're just associated with it now.

💖: Romances (?) : Any scripted or anticipating romantic escapades? Perhaps you got caught dating with another celebrity... Or you got into a dating scandal without even dating the other person??

💥: Scandal : What is something about you/your group that can warrant a scandal or controversey? Or did you intentionally script/experience one?

🤳: Socials : What is your social media profile (instagram) like? Is it full of aesthetics - cute, romantic, elegant, sexc, yada yada - or you have random photos of your little plushies being strung on the ceiling fan? Did you think of a handle for it?

🏠: Living : What's the living arrangement for you? Do you share a living space with your members in an apartment or house? Or do you live alone? Have you pictured or scripted what your living space looks like?

💵: Foundations : What is your background prior to fame? Do you have connections to people inside the industry that made it easier for you to achieve your (deserved) fame? Or were you randomly scouted or came from an entirely different background?

💩: Beef : Do you have beef with other famous people? Or do you have someone, famous or not, who you absolutely DESPISE with all your being and would pay to see suffer and are scripting in their downfall as we speak?

🦎: Experience : Do you have any experience around the entertainment industry prior to being an idol/famous person? Or were you trained in any performing arts before you became a trainee? Or perhaps you just learned everything as a trainee and became the best at it lol

🐻‍❄️: Fans : Like idol, like fan... What is your fanbase like? What kind of reputation do they have? Are they absolute sweethearts or chaotic and insane? Do your fans match the personalities of their idols? How do your interactions go?

🐦‍🔥: Unique : I assume you shifted to this group with the intention of it being super successful or at least having a loyal fanbase. What draws people towards your group? What about it sets you guys apart from the others and truly makes you one of a kind?

🦊: Mischief : The industry's insane and borderline impossible rules and standards for idols/famous people is not a secret. That being said, do you have anything about yourself or your group that would violently clash with these standards? (think: idol/public-image, beauty standards, dating etc)

🦭: Secret : In an industry where people's images are so sanitised, any normal person would have a lot of things their fans don't know about. What's your little secret that maybe not even people among your group/peers know about? Could this completely change the public's perception of you if it was out?

...

[swee7dream]

the types of littles cg!dreamies would take care of caregiver!nct dream x gn!reader

a/n this is agere content ! all inappropriate interactions will be blocked. please don't interact if you sexualize age regression. thank you ! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a regressor on the older side! probably someone that can communicate their needs and wants with ease.

i feel like mark would be the type of cg that loves teaching you about his passions. he would sit you on his lap and have his hands over yours as he helps you play hot cross buns on the keyboard.

out of all the dreamies, i feel that mark's tiny would be the most fascinated with music and all its elements. you and mark would most likely spend a lot of your tiny time together in a band where the drums are cups and your sticks are pencils.

he's definitely patient and does his best to fulfill his baby's requests no matter how deep in their imagination they come from.

you want a unicorn drink? he'll do his best to make a unicorn with whipped cream and chocolate chips on top of your hot cocoa! you want to go to mars? a trip to the space museum!

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

a middle (12-15) regressor is definitely someone renjun could go tit for tat with.

you do have lots of little arguments that leave you with your arms crossed but you're always grateful for renjun at the end of the day.

he definitely holds you accountable for habits you know are good for you but you just don't want to for one reason or another.

but it's not as if renjun is a dictator!

renjun is a big fan of dressing up. he's like a little kid on a field trip except instead of asking 'are we there yet?' he asks 'am i pretty? you're making me pretty, right?'

for some reason, i feel like renjun would like to take pictures of you (or pretend to if you don't like being pictured when little). he just thinks you're the cutest thing in the whole wide world! if his tiny felt embarrassed by his fawning he'd only kiss the embarrassment away before continuing to do it some more.

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

regardless of age, lee jeno is less of a caregiver and more of a stuffed animal come to life. or maybe a gentle guard dog.

he's usually snoozing on the couch while his tiny plays in the same room. you may think he's asleep but when you try to leave just for a second you hear him go 'where are you going, gumdrop?'

he's a little overbearing at times, which could be a problem especially for regressors on the older side, but he means well!

despite what others might think when first looking at him, jeno is not an iron-fist type of cg. unlike renjun, jeno's tiny can get away with poking his buttons most of the time. keyword: most.

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

cg!donghyuck screams teenage babysitter. he likes kids, but he's kind of too embarrassed to admit it so he tries keeping a distance.

the best pairing for donghyuck would be a bratty little, someone that makes him care. someone that's so unapologetically themselves that he also begins to not care about the anxieties plaguing his mind.

he's still a little annoying as a cg; knocking a piece of track a little to the left so your train rolls off its route, beginning to build his own ice cream store with the block you were about to use, holding up your animal crackers in exchange for some cute and embarrassing poses.

donghyuck and his tiny are fighting the war of getting on each others nerves and neither side is ever gonna win but they fight on anyways.

"i love you, Angel." "...love you too, Channie."

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

not to put all age regressors in a box, but i feel that jaemin would do well with the image you get in your head when you think of agere. pastel colors, pacis, the whole shebang.

like renjun, he likes playing dress up but specifically enjoys dressing you up. always the prettiest dresses or suits, never letting you even close a button by yourself.

more than dress up though, he definitely likes playing royalty. he likes being either a brave knight that protects you from an evil dragon or your trusty and loyal butler.

jaem as a caregiver would be the most fun thing ever (in my opinion). still, that doesn't mean he's a total jeno i mean pushover. who wrote that? wow that's crazy...

anyway, cg!jaemin is a scary guy. it's at those times when you know you messed up, maybe you broke a vase or something, and you know he should be mad but he's not. he's disappointed. that's a thousand times worse somehow and so you promise him in tears that you'll never do it again.

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

this guy. this guy is the scariest.

if you have any little buddies and chenle is your cg? you will probably hang out everywhere but his place.

it's a total illusion though, he's not scary at all. he's a big, loud, goofy guy. he's just a little blunt and the fact he wears sunglasses indoors that it scares all the more shy littles away. i feel like this is a bit of a struggle because i imagine that, like chenle, his tiny would be a very friendly social butterfly and their 'baby radar' is nearly 99% infallible.

chenle's tiny is like a well-behaved version of hae's. they're both little gremlins at times but chenle's would definitely keep it under wraps about it.

chenle's tiny has a phd in malicious compliance to chenle's manner rules. lots of "stern" stares full of longing and 'i need this' along with "juice box, please. juice box, please. juice box, please. juice box, p-"

however, they also double majored in kisses and crayon portraits so chenle doesn't even have a chance to get mad.

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

jisung's tiny is so teeny tiny and shy, even around him.

jisung is a one in a million man because he's the only one that can instinctively, telepathically, via sign language knows exactly what his baby needs without them having said a word.

it's usually quiet when you're little. maybe you're drawing, maybe you're sleeping, maybe you're just staring off into space. for jisung's little, their regression is just a time when everything can freeze for a second and all that matters is that their favorite plushie is clean and ready to cuddle with.

if jisung had one word to describe the role he has with his little, he would have to say a wall. something firm, something strong, something that ensures that nothing outside is let in and nothing inside seeps out.

a/n hello ! i'm working on some other projects but in the meantime, have this ! i have been posting some of my work also on ao3 so in case you're not on tumblr often, you can also find my one-shots there ! i think i'm gonna keep the bulletpoints here for now tho. i'm hoping you're all having a great start to your springgg (or autumnif ur in the southern hemisphere). oh, i also have question for you! putting aside ur actual dream bias, who do you think would be the best cg for you? me personally, i feel like either jisung or jaemin hehe

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 2)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

4.3k words

Warnings: Language, fingering, unprotected sex, the start of catching feelings

A/N: Reader is called "The Empress" by fans. Thanks to @agentstarkid for coming up with the nickname 🩷🩷

Series Masterlist

It didn’t take a genius to know whose eyes were drilling a hole into your backside. When you glanced over your shoulder, you locked eyes with Roy Kent. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly as his eyes raked down your figure. His gaze froze at your middle, where you had tied your racing suit; his eyes were on that little sliver of tummy that you may have purposefully left exposed just for him. You shot him a small wink before turning to chat with one of your engineers.

Roy focused all of his strength on not biting his lip as he stared at you. The two of you had been playing this little game all weekend: gazes across rooms, eyes lingering on each other’s bodies, mentally undressing each other, both wondering if the other was thinking about Roy’s post-race promise.

“Oi, why don’t we get a picture?” Keeley’s voice interrupted a particularly filthy image Roy had swimming in his head that involved you on your knees. “Our Greyhounds with one of the cars. Be real cute, yeah?”

Needing his willpower to prevent himself from getting an obvious hardon, Roy allowed himself to be dragged to one of the cars and- fuck, Keeley was dragging him to your car. The car that he most definitely did not imagine you writhing on top of while he-

“Alright boys, smile pretty!”

Right. Roy, smiling. Keeley was just grateful that he stood next to Jamie while she started snapping away. He swore he saw something light up in her face, but she just continued to take pictures. Freaking Keeley.

“Roy Kent, are you a fan?”

The breath on the back of his neck had a visible shiver coursing through his body. Even just the sound of your voice was enough to make his mind go to the filthiest places. When he turned around, you were smirking up at him, eyebrows raised and hands on your hips, looking like his own personal centerfold in your half-down racing suit.

Before his brain could get the blood back from his crotch, Keeley pulled you into a hug, squealing about how hot you looked in your race suit, something Roy quite agreed with- especially since he knew what was underneath all those layers.

After you’d greeted the others, you turned your attention back to Roy. “Excited to watch the race?”

He swore he saw your eyes flicker to his crotch when you said excited.

Roy shifted his weight, hoping to avoid looking like a horny teenager in front of everyone. “’Course I am. Really looking forward to seeing you win.” Recognizing the lustful look in your eyes, he felt emboldened to quietly add, “And looking forward to celebrating with you after.”

Finally, he’d cracked that cool exterior you wore. Your slight flush only added to his desire “Oh, is that offer still good?” You glanced at the Richmond crew, who were back to taking pictures by your car. “Guess I better get out there and win then.” You gave his bicep a little squeeze. “Wish me luck.”

His voice was low. “You don’t fucking need luck. You’re the fucking Empress.”

You’d been called that little nickname for what felt like forever now. Heard it shouted by fans, had reporters cheekily call you that, even had a couple guys try using it in the bedroom. And you loved the way it sounded in Italian- L'imperatrice- once you joined Ferrari.

But hearing Roy Kent call you that had your pussy practically purring.

You needed to remove yourself from him before you removed his clothes. So, you allowed yourself one last eyeful of the football legend before turning away. “I’ll see you after the race, Roy Kent.”

~

Goddess. That was the only word Roy could think as he watched you up on the podium, drenched in champagne and positively glowing. When the bottles of champagne were popped and poured over you, Roy found himself grateful for the roar of the crowd because he couldn’t hold back his groan, thinking about other things he wanted to see you covered in.

Unfortunately for Roy, the cheers could hide his moans but not his face.

“Roy Kent, are you horny?” Keeley hissed in his ear.

Roy tore his eyes away from you to look at Keeley, completely flabbergasted. “What the fuck, Keeley?”

Her smile was pure, adorable evil. “You’re horny,” she repeated. Her mischievous eyes flashed to the podium. “You fucking like her.”

“Fuck off, Keeley,” he grumbled, trying to look casual when he turned his gaze back to you. But fuck, it was hard when he saw you up there, drenched, in that sexy racing suit, being worshipped like the deity he was completely convinced you were.

Something else was hard when your gazes locked and you offered him that smirk, the one that told him, I’m taking your pants off, Roy Kent.

If only he knew how badly you were fighting the urge to rub your thighs together at the mere sight of him.

Keeley’s elbow dug into his ribs. “Holy shit, are you going to try to shag her?”

He was going to murder the blonde beside him. “Fuck are you on about?” he grumbled, pretending Keeley wasn’t completely on target. “What is actually wrong with you?”

She shrugged, as if she wasn’t torturing her friend. “Roy. I know your horny face. I have been the reason for your horny face.” She pointed at him. “That is your horny face. And, if memory serves me, you are very fucking turned on right now. Not that I could blame you. She’s gorgeous.” Her smile widened. “I ever tell you about the photoshoot we did together? Where I was hanging all over her? Even kissed her in one.”

The tips of Roy’s ears turned bright red. Yeah, that was a mental image he’d have melted into his brain for a long time, especially now that he knew what both of you looked like naked.

“Oi, Keeley!” Jamie wrapped his arms around both of his friends’ shoulders; for once, Roy was grateful for Tartt’s interruption, even if it meant being embraced by the man. “We goin’ to one of the afterparties or something?”

Even though she answered Jamie, her wicked grin was directed at Roy. “Oh, we’re going to Ferrari’s party.”

~

For once in his life, Roy didn’t complain about having to go to a club. Keeley thought she was clever, realizing that Roy was seriously attracted to the gorgeous young champion, and even more clever for dragging Roy to the celebration in your honor. She was such a good friend, trying to help Roy shag his little crush.

What Keeley didn’t realize was that Roy’d already had his tongue inside of you.

“You should go say hi,” Keeley purred, nudging Roy for the millionth time that day. “Bring her a drink or some shit. Flirt with her a little.” She reminded him of a parrot, repeating herself over and over since they’d arrived at the club.

Roy rolled his eyes and leaned his elbows on the high-top table they stood at. “Keeley,” he growled. “You say one more fucking word, and I will never speak to that woman again.” It was an absolute fucking lie, but Roy was desperate for her to stop.

She pouted. “Come on, Roy,” she whined. “Just want to see you all happy and getting some.”

“I get plenty,” he snapped, feeling himself blush.

“When?” she responded, just as curt. “I’ve hardly seen you since any women since we broke up.”

Roy scoffed, pretending Keeley wasn’t once again correct. “Well, not that it’s your fucking business, but I just hooked up with someone recently. And it was fucking great. And she definitely fucking came.” God, he sounded like such a wanker.

Before Keeley could badger him about who this mystery woman was, Jamie pulled her to the dance floor, leaving Roy to finally fucking breathe. He turned his attention to the glass in front of him, frowning at it. Should he go say hi? You were spending your whole night being mobbed by people; did he really want to add to that? And besides, did you really take his little promise seriously?

“There a porno playing at the bottom of that glass or something?”

There you were, wearing a dress that was more skin than material, giving him that fucking smirk. You leaned on the table and gazed up at him, the look in your eyes tempting Roy to pull you close and plant a sloppy kiss to whatever skin his lips found first.

Instead, he lifted his glass. “There she is,” he hummed. “The fucking champion. The Empress.” He wasn’t sure because of the dark lighting, but he swore he saw you blush. “Looked great up there, with your big fucking trophy.”

Your bravado returned with a vengeance. “Speaking of which…” You took a tiny step towards him, letting your fingers brush against the inside of his wrist. “I’ve heard you’ve got a big fucking trophy for me.”

In spite of his spinning head, Roy coolly raised his thick eyebrows at you. “Only if you want it,” he murmured.

Your eyes never left his as you reached into your clutch, pulled out a hotel room key, and slipped it into his hand. “Wait five minutes, then leave. I’ll be five minutes behind you, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he huffed, eyes sparkling as he pocketed the hotel room key. “Bring that bossiness with you, hmm?”

He pushed himself off the table and strode away, letting his fingertips brush against yours. You looked down and let yourself smile, a real, girlish smile; you weren’t sure the last time you wore one of those. But fuck, Roy Kent sure made you feel some kind of giddiness.

“Hey there, gorgeous!” Keeley Jones bounded over to you. “Congratulations!”

You let her pull you into a tight hug, although your mind was already in your hotel room embracing someone else from Richmond. “Thanks, Keeley.”

Keeley’s smile was… suspicious. “Saw Roy chatting with you just now.”

Fuck. “Oh, yeah. Nice guy, was offering me his congratulations.” And his cock.

“Well, between you and me…” She leaned in close, reminding you of the girls you went to school with, the ones who giggled and whispered. “I think Roy’s got a thing for you.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you didn’t know how to react. What are you supposed to say when someone says the guy you’re about to fuck wants to fuck you? “Interesting.”

Keeley all but scoffed. “Interesting?” she repeated. “Come on, you’ve got to admit he’s fit as hell.”

You shrugged. “I guess? I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen the guy naked.” Hey, it’s the truth.

“Well, I have. And believe me, he’s gorgeous.” Keeley nudged you, offering a cartoonish wink. “Should give him a shot.”

As you tried to figure out the least obvious way to get out of this conversation so you could get into Roy Kent’s pants, Jamie Tartt- who was apparently very busy being an angel tonight- rushed over to tell Keeley that Rebecca had just agreed to do body shots off of him and that he needed Keeley to come record it.

Thankful to finally have Keeley gone, you quickly turned on your heel, giving only smiles and waves to the people who wanted to offer you congratulations as you made your way out of the club. But, just like on the track, there was no stopping you; not when you had a big fucking trophy waiting for you.

The entire cab ride to the hotel, you were fighting the urge to touch yourself in the dark backseat, just imagining Roy waiting for you in your suite. Would he be in the sitting room? The bedroom? The shower? Would he be wearing his suit still? Or completely naked and ready for you? Each scenario was hotter than the last, and you felt a little guilty, thinking that you were probably leaving a puddle on the seat of the taxi.

Miraculously, you walked steadily in your high heels through the hotel lobby, to the lift, and finally down the hall to your suite. You paused in front of the door, your confidence failing for the first time all weekend as you stared at the door handle. What if Roy wasn’t in there? What if, on what should be one of the best nights of your life- six fucking titles- you’d just utterly humiliated yourself? Maybe what he’d wanted was a one-time thing and nothing more.

Or, maybe he was just as hot for you as you were for him.

Knowing there was only one way to find out, you fished out the duplicate key to your room from your clutch and pressed it to the sensor. The little beep let you know to go ahead and turn the handle; with a shaky breath, you did.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Roy Kent sat on the couch, the top buttons of his shirt undone, legs crossed, drink in hand, looking like sex personified. He stood up and grabbed the untouched drink that sat on the little coffee table and crossed the room to hand it to you as the door closed behind you.

“Empress.”

You took the drink, unable to suppress the smile that tugged on your lips. “Roy Kent. In my hotel room. Drinking scotch.” You took a sip. “Why does this feel familiar?”

He took your free hand in his and led you back to the couch. Feeling utterly bold, you swung your legs over his lap, pleased with the surprised look in his eye, and even more pleased when he let his hand rest on your shin. He stared, not at your highly exposed body, but at your face, his fiery gaze holding yours carefully.

“You were fucking brilliant today,” he murmured, letting his thumb stroke your shin, natural and casual, as if he did this every night. “Knew from the moment you started your car that you were going to win.” He tilted his head back, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “Really glad you did.”

You eyed him over the rim of your glass as you took a long sip. “You make a bet with someone that I was going to win?” you teased, kicking off your shoes.

“Something like that.” He finished his scotch and placed his glass back on the table, keeping a firm grip on your legs. “Now, what’s this about you wanting a big fucking trophy?”

“Well, you did promise me something about your pants if I won today.” You sat up, bringing your face to his, nudging his nose with yours. “And I did win.”

“Guess you get a big fucking trophy then.”

His mouth captured yours, somehow even more desperate than last time, scotch and desire on his tongue. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed the glass you held and placed it next to his, freeing your hands to grab onto his shoulders as you lifted yourself onto his lap, that familiar bulge pressing against you.

“Been waiting all weekend for this,” he mumbled against your mouth, tangling one hand in your hair, and letting the other grip your hip. “All fucking weekend, watching you strut around in that little racing suit.” His mouth trailed down your jaw towards your neck. “Gorgeous fucking thing.”

You rolled your hips into his, not bothering to hide your moan. “And what if I hadn’t won?” you teased, squeezing his shoulders. “What would’ve happened to my big fucking trophy?”

“Then you’d get a big fucking consolation prize.” The hand on your hip found your ass, giving it a squeeze. “Because I was not leaving this weekend without fucking you.”

His brazen, dirty words had you gasping even louder than his clothed hardness. “Fucking hell,” was all you could huff out, giving another thrust down onto him. “Get me into the fucking bedroom already.”

“Whatever you say, Empress.”

You didn’t need to tell Roy twice. Just like Thursday, he held you against him, bringing his mouth back to yours as he traced the now-familiar path to the bedroom, fighting the urge to rip the dress off your body; it could hardly be called a dress anyway, it barely covered a damn thing. And what it did cover, he was desperate to see.

The two of you collapsed onto the bed, Roy on top of you, careful not to press his weight on you. As soon as your back hit the mattress, your hands were on the remaining buttons of his shirt, carelessly opening them, not feeling an ounce of guilt when one ripped off the material and bounced onto the floor. As soon as the last button was undone, you thrust the shirt over his shoulders and tossed it aside.

Finally- fucking finally- you had a piece of Roy Kent’s clothing gone. You broke the kiss to take a good look at his chest, as if you hadn’t just been looking at shirtless photos of him the night before while doing your usual pre-race “ritual”. A sigh flew out of your mouth as your hands trailed down his chest, gripping that thick, dark hair that you wanted to bury your face in.

When you gave a particularly demanding tug at his hair, Roy let out a hiss and gave a jerk, the material against your bare thighs reminding you that he still had his pants on.

“Can I have my prize?” you purred, fiddling with the zipper of his pants; you realized with a smug satisfaction that he’d taken off his belt before you’d even arrived at the suite.

He buried his face in your neck, hands roaming your body. “You can have whatever the fuck you want,” he growled. “Fucking champion. Fucking Empress.”

Determined to take him up on that, your nimble fingers made quick work of his pants, helping him tug them down. Once they were off, he turned over, tugging you to sit on top of him. Your hands and eyes took their time roaming his body; it was everything you knew it would be: strong, muscular, hot to the touch. And now it was the one thing you wanted it to be: yours.

“This would be one hell of a consolation prize,” you whispered, bringing one hand to cup his cheek. “Glad I won. Feel like I deserve it.” You said it in a joking voice, but some small part of you meant it.

He laid his hand on top of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Believe me,” he breathed. “You deserve anything you want.”

The two of you paused, both taken aback by the tenderness of the moment, this interruption to the hot desperation. Roy let out an awkward huff and brought your hand to his mouth, giving your palm a rough kiss.

“You’re the Empress, after all. Fucking royalty and shit.” He was trying to play it off, to act like he’d been flirting and nothing more.

And you decided to join him in playing along. “Then why the fuck am I still wearing my dress?”

His wicked smile returned as his hands shot to your zipper, pulling it down harshly; you were pretty sure he might’ve ripped the dress as he tugged it over your head, but you didn’t care. He wasted no time getting your bra off, smiling at the sight of your bare breasts.

“Oh, I remember you two,” he chuckled, reaching up to grope them. His hands kneaded and tugged and squeezed until he was satisfied with your perky nipples and the groans flying out of your mouth. Determined to hear your pretty noises some more, he bucked up, the sensation more intense now that only two very thin pieces of material lay between you.

He flipped you over, resuming his position hovering over you. His mouth met yours sloppily as he began grinding his clothed length against you, torturing you, knowing you were desperate to get the last bit of his clothing off.

“Fucking tease,” you huffed, fiddling with the waistband of his boxers.

He chuckled and gave a painfully slow grind. “Oi, play nice,” he warned playfully, nipping at your swollen bottom lip. “Patience is a fucking virtue.”

With that, he tugged at your panties, sliding them down your thighs at that tantalizing pace of his. He watched your face shamelessly as your features twisted when you felt his hands brush past your heat.

“Roy,” you whined, bucking up. “Please.”

He throbbed at the sight of you: hair completely mussed, lips red and swollen, eyes glassy, stunning body frantically writhing beneath him, trying to get just a hint of friction. Despite how desperate you appeared, Roy knew the truth: you were in charge.

“Oh, gorgeous,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Just let me enjoy this. Let me enjoy you. Please.”

Unable to say no to the begging eyes he was giving you, you nodded and rocked your hips into his, your own eyes pleading with him to fucking touch you.

He obeyed and brought a strong hand down to your pussy, groaning when he felt how soaked you already were. “This for me?” When you nodded, he moaned again. “Fucking love it.” Though tempted to repeat Thursday night and devour your sweetness, Roy instead watched you carefully as he inserted two fingers into you, his cock twitching when he heard the lewd noises coming out of your mouth as you clenched around his fingers.

He set a slow pace, pumping in and out, practically drooling with the knowledge that soon, his cock would be replacing his lucky fingers. His mouth found yours again, greedily swallowing your moans, tasting your neediness on his tongue.

“Roy,” you hissed as he hit a particularly deep spot. “Give me my fucking trophy. Please.”

He chuckled, caught off-guard by the joking tone in your strangled voice. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Your whole body melted when Roy pulled down his boxers and you felt his hot tip, already leaking, press against you. Your hips bucked up to meet him, gasping when you felt him so fucking close to your entrance.

With your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, you missed the smile Roy had for you, watching you squirm before he’d even entered you. Fuck, if he thought you were a goddess up on the podium, you were otherworldly beneath him right now.

The kind of beauty a careless man could fall in love with.

He concealed a moan in your neck as he slowly buried himself in you, the gentle pace allowing his mind to come to terms with the fact that he was fucking the woman he’d spent far too many hours fantasizing about.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he felt you clench around him. “Fucking perfect.” He pressed his mouth to yours, stuffing your throat with his moans and hisses and fucks. Once he felt you relax and adjust to his size- filling you up even better than you’d ever imagined and- holy shit what is this heavenly curve you feel?- he began thrusting into you, setting a steady pace that had your toes curling.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, wondering how much closer two people could get, and gripped his chest, tugging at that dark hair, while his hands held your hips tight enough that you knew you’d have bruises in the morning.

If you’d thought the sounds from before were lewd, they were nothing to now. Roy was grunting and moaning like a madman, and you were pretty sure the people in the room next to yours could hear your cries of pleasure, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that Roy was in your bed, considering the way you moaned his name. And the wet sounds of skin on skin rounded out the dirty symphony that filled the room that would undoubtedly have that sweet smell of sex in the morning.

As you felt your climax build around his cock, you found yourself hoping, in some little part of your mind, that this wouldn’t be the last time you fucked Roy Kent.

You couldn’t dwell on the fleeting thought for long once he gave a particularly rough thrust, sending you over the edge. You spasmed in his grasp, babbling his name and fuck over and over. He chuckled through his own moans, pressing a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“Good girl,” he grunted, rocking you through your orgasm. “Fucking come for me. You fucking deserve it.”

For the second time, Roy Kent had you seeing stars as your walls gripped him so hard you were almost scared that you’d push him out. But he kept his pace, splitting you open and approaching his own climax.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. “Taking me so fucking well. Gonna fucking come for you.”

The blissed-out look on your face, with your glassy eyes and parted lips, sent him over the edge. He shuddered as he spilled into you, his forehead falling against yours. You groaned, your heart and pussy both fluttering at the feeling of being filled by Roy Kent.

Carefully, he pulled out of you, chuckling at the noise you made, a mix between a hiss and a whine, letting him know that you already missed the feeling of him. He rolled over onto his back, turning his head to gaze at you. You met his eyes with a heavenly smile.

“Well,” you chirped breathlessly, “if that’s the champion treatment, guess I’ll have to keep winning.”

He laughed and reached over to brush some hair out of your face. “I have no doubt that you will.”

You relished the fact that he left his palm on your cheek. “Spend the night.” It wasn’t a request or a question.

“Fucking tempting,” he hummed, letting out a disappointed sigh that had you frowning. “But I’m sharing a room with fucking Jamie. Prick’ll notice if I don’t come back.”

“Will Jamie Tartt wake you up with a blowjob?”

A smile- a wide, joyful smile- spread across that handsome face. “Well in that fucking case-” He pulled you to him and kissed your lips, letting his embrace assure you that, at least for tonight, Roy Kent wasn’t going anywhere.

[fqrcefields]

checkmate!

chapter two <3

summary _ , april finally puts jennifer's phone number to use.

⋆ tags : smut! ⭑ࣶࣸ 

read on ao3.

 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀────୨ৎ────

April hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her all week.

She hasn’t even finished a full chapter of her book, the business card still tucked between pages as a makeshift bookmark causing a flood of images to dominate April’s mind, distracting her entirely from the work of fiction. Along with said distraction, she is graced by the most embarrassing of blushes on a face that never does so, drawing too much attention to herself, forcing her to retreat to the bathroom to regain composure. No, she does not read the book. Yet it is seemingly surgically attached to her now, not allowing the enclosed phone number to travel any more than an inch from her fingertips at a time.

Her coworkers’ hate-fueled focus on Jennifer certainly is not helping. Everywhere April turns, there’s a video playing of Jen on another early-morning talk show, a picture of her face in the paper, with that big, toothy grin that makes April’s heart swell. To say it’s been difficult for April to fit in with this group of people so vehemently anti-Jennifer Barkley is an understatement. Though she’s never been one to share her emotions very publicly, even the smallest mention of Jen has April smiling like an idiot. Luckily, everyone around her is so consumed by their own want to win that they ignore the way April fades into the background.

It takes a full week of hopeful pining for April to muster up the confidence to finally text her.

It’s far too early in the morning, but the entire team had been called to watch Jen and Bobby discuss their campaign on Pawnee Today, and it’s not like April would ever give up the chance to see the woman on whom she harbors such a debilitating crush. She sits in the back of the conference room, nursing the biggest cup of coffee imaginable, hugging her book tight to her chest, which beats twenty times faster than usual. It must be the caffeine that’s given April such the adrenaline rush and enabled her fingers to send off the text message. Caffeine, and a need to see Jen— to smell that divine perfume that probably costs more than April’s entire wardrobe combined— that outweighs all of April’s typical anxiety.

what hotel are you staying at?

She sends first. Then, after a few minutes:

in case i want to murder you in your sleep or something.

Jennifer receives the texts right as she steps out of the soundstage, on the way to her car. It takes her a moment to register who it’s from, the area code far from the 202 she’s grown so used to. When it clicks in her mind, however, an immediate smile rises to her lips. Such a smile, in fact, that her idiot client asks after it, to which Jen simply responds with a bewildered eyebrow raise and a wave of the hand. She has to conceal her wild, cackling laughter until she finds the safety of her car.  

Jen responds once she’s home, not giving in to her own excitement, wanting to force her mouse’s anticipation. She would never want to come off as desperate, even though her fingers (along with every single other ounce of her being) are furious to send a text back. She does, once it’s been a little less than an hour, giving her soon-to-be murderer the name of the hotel. No, not hotel, motel. Because why should Jen have the luxury of a warm shower and more than one pillow? Hopefully her little raven will show up at her door soon enough and save her from shag carpet and thin robes. Though, if April is soon to be the one wearing the robe, Jennifer won’t mind its thinness.

Show up she does, but only once the sun has gone down. It’s after Jen has read through all of her daily newspapers and refreshed Politico nearly a thousand times, leaving her to deal with her own boredom the way anyone outside of D.C. would. She can’t deal with Perd Hapley’s voice anymore and would quite literally rather die than listen to Pawnee public radio. So, when April appears at her door, Jen can’t conceal her relieved smile— as much as she plays it off as being coy.

“I figured you’d be bored of diner food.” April shrugs slightly, trying to hide her own smile behind sarcastic manor and feigned disinterest. She doesn’t want Jennifer to know that she’d driven all the way to Eagleton to pick up the only food within a hundred miles that could scratch the surface of Jennifer’s refined palate, but there’s something within April that’s so eager to please, so restless to hear Jen tell her she’s done something right. Though, there’s also something within her that yearns for the degradation, that so wants to be yelled at in the way that Jen yells at people she finds stupid.

“Good girl,” Jennifer purrs, subtly undoing the top buttons of her blouse as she ushers April into the room. She admires the younger woman’s outfit, for what it’s worth. Though her affinity towards skinny jeans and zipper hoodies is far from Jen’s own style, she finds the tight-fitting clothes entirely intoxicating. Jen takes her sweet time admiring the brunette, her own lower lip captured between teeth so desperate to feel skin that they’re nearly drawing blood. She leans against the end of the bed, simply to observe, to enjoy every tiny, slow movement of her opponent. Though, she can’t be all too calculating, when an absolutely divine smell tickles her nose.

“My God,” she hums, her stomach growling its approval. “I didn’t know this town was capable of good food.” Jen laughs, stepping forward to join April at the small motel desk. “Color me impressed.” She places a hand on the younger woman’s lower back, middle fingers sneakily looping through the belt loop of the black jeans, grip firm on the denim beneath. This elicits the smallest gasp from April, which she attempts to cover up with words that never fully form. She’s lost all of her typical off-putting charisma now, merely left an unthinking form of flesh that begs to be molded by Jennifer.

“It isn’t,” April finally musters, and leaves it at that. If she’s going to be so incredibly vulnerable around this woman, she’ll try her best to protect the very last bit of mystery she can conjure. Jennifer appreciates this, finds it impossibly charming, a challenge that she’s insatiably hungry for after so many hours spent on the least challenging campaign of her life.

Once they’ve plated themselves what is, to Jen at least, a meal equivalent to Jesus’ last supper, Jennifer takes a seat at the desk’s rolling chair, looks up to April with her proudest smirk.

“Only one chair.” She pouts, legs spreading a little as she gets as comfortable as possible in the degrading pleather. Jennifer stares at April with all of her might, daring the girl to stare back, to enter this arena of eye contact, but April is unable. Despite her usual menacing Kubrick stare, the moment she comes into proximity with Jennifer Barkley, April completely falls apart at the seams. It’s not something she’s ever experienced, but April is so impossibly intimidated by Jennifer, so incredibly turned on by the woman’s tempting smirk, that she barely even feels like herself anymore. It's as if her brain has been invaded, taken over, melded into something of Jennifer’s control.

April’s eyes migrate down, forcing themselves out of the magnetic pull of Jennifer’s own, looking toward the floor as is her preferred avoidant posture. Though, as she looks down to the floor, she is interrupted by a hand that moves ever so slightly against grey material. A movement so brief yet so very taunting, as if beckoning April to it. Her eyes flick back up to Jennifer’s once more, note the way her pupils have expanded, the way she pensively chews on her lip, the tautness of her lifted brows. Everything about Jennifer oozes confidence, but more so now than her usual talk show pretension. Now, she’s undone. Hair messy, shirt so unbuttoned that April can see the lace border of her bra. She’s illuminated by a single yellow lamp, not the hundreds of fluorescents that April is used to seeing her under. Jennifer is domestic now, human, no longer the Washington robot from the news. She is warm flesh and blood, and it’s entirely impossible for April to keep her hands away from that very warmth.

April has never known herself to be the initiator, so she finds it hard to comprehend what it is that takes over her as she straddles herself over Jennifer’s thighs and plunges her lips onto the brunette’s. It must simply be the pent-up need, the seven days she’s spent doing truly nothing other than thinking about Jennifer, fantasizing about her, praying that she might walk in through the office doors again. It is that desperation that finds April tugging on the woman’s string of pearls, kissing her so very deeply that they nearly spill out of the small chair.

April lights up with the vibration of Jennifer’s chuckle— which either comes from amusement or pure pleasure over April’s forwardness— but she is far too intoxicated by Jennifer’s perfume to even pay the short laughter any mind. Her already swimming mind is only further done in by the patchouli and bergamot that still lingers on Jennifer’s collar even the end of the day, so strong that she feels drugged, her mind’s only real thought being the one that keeps her kissing Jennifer. She kisses the older woman with such fervor that it takes all of the breath from her lungs, her eyes gone fuzzy when she eventually pulls back for air. When April realizes her own action, sees Jennifer leaned back, signature smirk of Chanel Rouge now smudged, she can’t help but apologize. She’s never wanted anything so much so that she’s taken action to get it, so she finds herself simply shocked, amazed, power hungry, yet entirely apologetic, nervous from her own wanting.

Jennifer’s own chest has begun to buzz. She had entirely expected that their chess game would take hours— that’s how long Jennifer would employ her teasing. She was ready to watch April’s walls crumble over the span of a night, not mere minutes. Yet here Jen sits, her own breath stolen from her, her grip so tight around April’s ass that her knuckles threaten to turn white. Everything within her wants to joke, to tease, to make that little pout on April’s lips remain for as long as possible, but there’s a teeny, tiny little piece of Jen that just fucking wants to kiss this girl already.

“Bed,” she says sharply, her chest still heaving a bit to fully catch up. Jennifer grins as April does just as she’s said, and though she is not too far behind, Jennifer takes a moment just so that April knows exactly who is in control of the board. Once she hears that awful squeak of the mattress, knows that April has found herself laying in the highest thread count available in Pawnee, Jennifer stands. Though it pains her to turn her back to their spread of food, her stomach growing furious at her for the betrayal, Jennifer dares not sully this moment with such a feeble need as hunger.

The vision of April laying on the bed, pupils blown out and bangs already sticking to her forehead from the lack of central air in this room, is enough to bring Jennifer to her knees. Well, not exactly to her knees. But it’s enough for her to speed up her steps, to land on the bed above April, to press a taunting kiss to her lips before pulling back, not allowing the younger woman any more than that. At least, at first. Jennifer hovers over April, hands dipping under the thin fabric of thrifted long-sleeve, holding her so tenderly. She feels so differently for April than she does the others she’s been with. In D.C., it is merely sex. Something that she is very good at, yes, but for the most part, something to be tossed aside once it is done. This is not at all to imply that Jennifer does not enjoy random hook-ups in club bathrooms, but it is to say that she has not felt a real affection for someone in the way that she feels for April. There is an innocence behind those huge, dark eyes that Jennifer just wants to nurture, something in the teasing attitude that Jennifer never wants to be far from.

April attempts to lift herself, to kiss Jennifer, to finally release the tension that has been building between them for far too long, but she is met by a hand on her cheek, pinning head to pillow. Jennifer is not yet ready— she wants to appreciate this for the time it will take, does not want it to become yet another body in her count. The older woman cannot help the stare with which she holds April, cannot stop her thumb from sliding across her cheek until it eventually lands in April’s mouth, who eagerly accepts it atop her tongue. The large eyes staring back, the quiet noises of April’s mouth around Jennifer’s finger— it all proves too much for Jennifer, she cannot waste any more time staring.

The brunette dips her head, and though she misses the warmth of April’s mouth when she removes her thumb, the softness of her lips replacing themselves upon Jennifer’s is apology enough. Jennifer kisses her all too greedily, not giving the younger a second before her tongue darts into the woman’s mouth, her hands lifting to cradle the sides of April’s head so that she does not shift out of the way. Jennifer’s hips begin their instinctual rocking against the scratchy material of April’s jeans, but the pencil skirt hugging her own thighs is far too restrictive for such a move. As she lifts herself to hike said skirt up to her hips, April takes the opportunity to undo the rest of the buttons of her shirt, finally releasing flesh, finally pressing her fingers to the skin beneath the silk. The touch elicits such a reaction from Jennifer that neither expected: a sharp gasp, a plunge back into kissing so feverish that a voyeur would believe these two were reconnecting after years of one being missing. This past week very well could have been a year or more, for the desperation that it has built within both April and Jennifer.

Jennifer’s hands leave April’s face, the nails that were once perfectly manicured, now horribly chipped, running over goosebumps until they land at April’s belt. She undoes the raven-haired girl’s jeans as if her most basic human function— despite having not even spoken to anyone wearing jeans in ten odd years. April’s breathing becomes halted as Jennifer’s hand slips beneath the fabric, toying gently at the fabric of her underwear, lace. As much as she’d like to tease April for it, for purchasing a new set of lingerie just for their little rendezvous, the only thing that escapes Jen’s lips is a groaning ‘fuck’ when she finally notices just how wet the underwear is.

April’s vocabulary has similarly been reduced to only curses, with the occasional ‘Jen— God—’ moaned loudly enough she’s sure to be heard down the hallway. The latter is what sends Jennifer reeling, drunk on the way that her own name sounds coming from April’s lips. She has grown so used to ‘campaign manager Jennifer Barkley’, that to hear such a casual nickname, something so humanizing and domestic, is so incredibly arousing to her.

April’s back begins to arch from the slightest brush of movement against her underwear, her body under touched for far too long. As Jennifer finally pulls April’s jeans around her knees, she presses kisses to her belly, then her thighs— the kisses become significantly rougher here, teeth gently grazing over the plump flesh that they find. April’s hands fling to Jennifer’s hair, the perfectly set coif of curls now falling loose at her shoulders, April’s overwhelmed tugging not doing much for the style’s stability.

It's the harshest of all of April’s tugs that finally has Jennifer pushing the underwear to the side, slipping two fingers into the woman’s cunt. The action forces the loudest of April’s moans, a volume so rarely met by April’s vocal cords, yet in Jen’s presence, becoming all too common. The sweet moans are downright obscene, so very dirty that Jennifer can barely keep her head on her own shoulders. Her kisses to April’s stomach have become sloppy; she’s practically drooling all over the younger woman. Jennifer’s hips have continued their feverish rocking by now, and though April can barely conceive a thought beyond Jennifer’s name, she is just lucid enough to kick up her leg, pressing her thigh firmly into the politician’s clothed cunt. The contact sends white-hot pleasure coursing through Jennifer, but it is more April’s own pleasure which Jennifer seeks. Her free hand holds firm around the girl’s thin hips, holding her off of the bed so that her pumping may hit the perfect spot, may elicit more of those salacious moans from lips that begged to be kissed.

Jennifer greedily returns to said lips, her own grown swollen and over-hydrated from fervent caressing that they sting when April takes them between her teeth. The pain is more than welcome, as is the way that April’s hands force up Jennifer’s shirt, her nails clawing down skin. They are both sure to be covered in purple bruises come morning. Jennifer revels in the very thought that April will have to see Jennifer’s staked claim each time she gets dressed, that she will blush at the very sight of herself in the mirror, will get hot and bothered all over again before the workday has even started.

April has gone nearly breathless, her body tense in Jennifer’s grasp. She would not be surprised if her jocular threat of death were to become real. The way that Jen’s thumb lightly strikes her clit and then recedes, teasing, proving that Jennifer is still the one in control, sends a shiver through April. This sends her body only closer into Jennifer’s arms, who greedily accepts this nearness, for someone who has quite literally pushed away every single person that has attempted so much as a hug. She can feel herself being so corrupted by April, her very nature being distorted, becoming humanized, becoming tender. It sickens Jennifer, but she cannot possibly focus on her own morality when there is such a beautiful woman riding her fingers.

April’s muscles have gone tense, are threatening to cramp from how tightly she holds Jen between her thighs. Jennifer finally relents, allows April the pleasure she’s begun begging for, presses her thumb firmly to April’s clit. What soft groans were once pleading are now simply pathetic from pleasure, all caution for privacy thrown to the wind. Jennifer’s kisses have moved to April’s jaw, sure to leave her territorial markings there, and as her position allows, she whispers soft, teasing degradations about just how naughty the rest of the motel’s occupants must find her. Everyone will know how good I make you feel, she reminds the raven countless times, her laughter dark against April’s ear, her tongue sliding along sharp jaw.

April’s fingers nearly rip Jennifer’s shirt when the pleasure in her stomach finally builds up so much that she cannot take it anymore. She grips onto the silk as if for dear life, squeezes her thighs around Jennifer’s own so tightly that neither woman can move very much.

“Good girl.” Jennifer repeats, her head still nuzzled into the mess of hair in the crook of April’s neck, her hand’s movements unrelenting so that April becomes ever so slightly overstimulated. Jen doesn’t want to overdo it, she’s sure this is the first time April’s been fucked in years. At least this well.

 “I can’t see why you would possibly want to stay here tonight… But I’d like you to.” Jennifer grins as the two slowly return to normal breathing. She gently pushes the hair from April’s face, pulling her hand to her mouth, staring deep into April’s blown out pupils as she indulgently accepts the dripping fingers onto her own tongue.

“I’ll stay…” The younger stutters. April’s voice has gone weak, and has dropped back to its typical nonchalant cadence. Though there is no nonchalance in the way her voice shakes, in the lack of air in her lungs, in the way her hips still rock slightly against Jennifer.

Jennifer takes a moment to admire what she’s made of April. She laughs softly to herself, remembering just how stoic and timid April had once looked behind her office desk. The laughter causes concern to wash over the younger woman’s features, but as Jennifer buttons her shirt back up, she leans forward to press a gentle kiss to April’s lips, dissipating the fear entirely. She can feel something in the pit of her stomach telling her not to get attached, that she’ll only be here for a while and there’s just no way that a young girl like this would want to move her entire life to another state. She wouldn’t to get April caught up in the world of Washington. And yet, here she is, feeling incredibly dedicated to April, so very enthralled by that slanted smile and slightly baffled knitted brows.

As difficult as it is for her to get up—physically, because April is still wrapped around her body like a python— Jennifer slides out of the bed, into her slippers, walks toward the bathroom.

“C’mon baby,” she hums, barely tossing a glance over her shoulder. “We’re not done.”

[rina-cyarika-writing]

I Don't Want To Miss A Thing

Chapter Eleven of Blast From The Past

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Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: Din spends some time with Dinah, and she gets to know him a little more.

Warnings: ANGST angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Song: I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing by Aerosmith

Author's Note: Wow, it’s been a longggggggg time since I’ve posted an update. Life has gotten pretty crazy for me lately, and I’m sure you’ve been waiting for an update to this story for a while! Don’t worry, I haven’t abandoned this fic!

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Din’s POV

After his conversation with you, Din was lost and unsure what to do.

He had told you the truth of why he had left.

He had apologized.

And he had shown you his face, yet it was not enough.

Din knew that it would take time for you to come to terms with everything. After all, you had every right to be upset with him. But how long that would last was a different matter entirely.

Start small, he thought to himself. Din resolved to start with little things, gifts to show you that he was serious about staying and winning your affection back.

Maybe find a way to spend some time with her and Dinah.

He scrounged through his brain to remember the little things you liked, and he smiled at one of the first memories he had regarding your interests.

―FLASHBACK―

Din had been off tracking his latest quarry but had no luck that day, and he begrudgingly made the trek back to the Crest. As he lowered the ramp, he spotted you polishing his pulse rifle, and he felt a warmth bubble in his chest. He liked the way you looked at handling his weapon, and he inwardly chuckled at himself at his statement, and he willed his mind to crawl out of the gutter.

“No luck?” you spoke, and he felt your eyes trail after him as he began to climb the ladder to the cockpit.

“No,” he replied, slightly grumpy at the lack of progress with the bounty.

“I’m sure you’ll find them soon,” you reassured him, following him up the ladder. He took a seat in the passenger’s chair, thankful that you knew how to pilot the Crest, as he wanted a few moments to decompress as much as possible, although your presence sometimes made that difficult. He knew he had budding feelings for you but knew he would never act on them, though that did not prevent his mind from wandering. As you took a seat in the pilot’s chair, you looked at him questioningly, and he motioned for you to go to a different location on the planet. You nodded and quickly began to guide the Crest to another part of the sphere, and as the ship flew over a waterfall, Din heard you let out a sigh.

“What is it?” he inquired, curious at your reaction to the sight of the waterfall.

“Nothing,” came your reply, and he saw through your attempt at sounding nonchalant. He hummed in response, waiting for you to continue just like he knew you would.

“I just,” you spoke, pausing to release a sigh, “I used to draw as a child back on Corellia.” Your words caught Din off guard, and he looked at you through his visor, wanting to hear more.

“Whenever I had a chance, I could scribble down the image of a waterfall, sometimes imagining that I was sitting at the edge of a lake and just watching the water ripple over each other.” Din saw the faraway look in your eyes and closed his eyes, picturing the waterfall you had just flown over, a soft smile gracing his lips as he listened to your voice.

She wants to draw waterfalls and probably sunsets.

Interesting.

The sweet melody of your words gently pulled him to sleep, and he was shortly pulled into a light slumber before he could hear the rest of what you were saying.

―END FLASHBACK―

Din’s lip quirked as the memory, recalling how your eyes sparkled every time you would speak of waterfalls or sunsets, shamelessly telling him of your dream to sit on the shore of a lake and capture the beauty of the world around you. The thought of giving you what you had dreamed of came to him, and he instantly knew what his first gift to you would be.

A sketchbook.

Tracking down a vendor that sold sketchbooks was not a simple task, but Din managed to find one. He had taken his time studying the unique designs on each cover until one caught his eye. A leather-bound sketchpad sat on the corner of a table, an elaborate pattern of a forest and flowers on the front cover and a waterfall flowing into a lake on the back.

It’s perfect.

He hastily bought the sketchbook and several other items and made his way back to his ship. Once aboard the vessel, he took a seat in the cargo hold and began to write a list of other gifts to give you before composing a note to include with the sketchpad. Din sat and thought long and hard about what to say, wanting to make it as heartfelt as possible. After a few moments, he finally put pen to paper and began to scribble down his love letter.

That should be enough, he thought, looking down at his handiwork. Din started to assemble the present, gently slipping his note inside the book and placing both into a box with a small sigh.

Now the question is, when do I give it to her?

―THREE DAYS LATER―

Three days came and went when Din finally decided to drop off the first of several gifts to you. Just as the hues of the sun began to peek over the horizon, he found himself awkwardly standing at your doorstep, clad in his armor, box in hand. He could hear you getting Dinah ready for the day, your voice sleepily ringing throughout your home, and a small smile crept onto his face.

It’s now or never.

Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and made to knock on your door but stopped.

Kriff, should I hand it to her or just leave it here?

No, she would probably throw it at me if I gave it to her.

Din let out a sigh, set the package down, and straightened himself back up. He stared at your door for another moment, contemplating if he was making a huge mistake, but then made up his mind and softly knocked. Not wanting to risk the chance of you opening the door to find him still positioned there, he quickly walked away and posted himself far enough away to see you but hidden from your sight. He watched the entrance slide open and his breath caught in his throat as you appeared and spotted his gift on the ground. Din’s heart loudly beat in his chest at the way your hair swept across your face with the light breeze, and your eyes darted around the street, trying to find the source of the mysterious package outside your home. He patiently waited for you to pick up the box and retreat inside before making his exit, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t throw it into the trash.

That would make tomorrow’s peace offering completely useless.

As Din walked through the town, a vendor stand caught his attention, and he changed course for it. He studied the assortment of objects and, after some deliberation, decided on one in particular. Din bought the new surprise and continued on his way through the village, stopping by now and then to buy supplies and a few more gifts he knew you would appreciate. At least he hoped you would appreciate them.

This next week is going to be a busy one.

He dropped off a brand-new set of colored pencils and charcoal the next day and a bouquet the day after that. However, this time he included a gift for Dinah, a plushie of a porg, with a floral arrangement. His heart warmed as he imagined her reaction to seeing the new toy, and he wanted nothing more than to be there to witness it.

Maybe someday.

The day after the flowers and plushie, he left a bag of apples and oranges, chuckling to himself, knowing there was no way in you would toss your favorite fruits away. The day after that, a package of your favorite sweets. Din always included a note with each gift, and he made sure to mention a memory or the reasoning behind the gift.

Several days after leaving you the candy, he was making his way through the market when he felt a tug on his glove. He gazed down and saw his daughter standing next to him, shyly clutching the tip of his gloved finger.

“Hello, little one,” he greeted, and Dinah grinned.

“Hi, Din!”

“What are you doing out and about?” he asked, crouching down to her level.

“I was looking for you,” she exclaimed but suddenly turned shy. “I wanted to say thank you for the plushie.”

“You’re welcome,” he kindly spoke, his tone laced with a smile.

“Why are you wearing your armor?” she inquired, tilting her head in curiosity.

Blunt and to the point.

As always.

“I have a few jobs to do, and it’s safer if I wear it,” he answered.

“A job? Like catching bad guys?”

“Not quite,” he said with a chuckle. “Just keeping an eye on some people.”

It’s not exactly a lie.

In reality, Din had felt uneasy the last few days, as if someone were watching him, so he had decided to don his armor again, ensuring his helmet sat securely on his head every time he left his ship.

“Oh, okay,” Dinah acknowledged, eyes cast downward. “I was wondering….”

“Yes?”

“Um – would I – um – do you – um – could I spend the day with you?” The little girl shuffled her feet nervously, unsure how the man would respond to such a request. Din was surprised at her question and did not know how to answer it.

Does she know who I am to her?

“Is your mother alright with that?” he finally asked, not wanting to give you yet another reason to hate him.

“Mhm!” Dinah stated, arms now behind her back as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Of course, it was a blatant lie, but Din did not want to cause any more strife between the two of you.

I’ll bring her by in a bit.

“Well then,” he began, “I don’t see why not. What would you like to do?” Din watched in amusement as his daughter twisted her mouth here and there.

“Um – I – I want to know about your adventures!” she finally proclaimed. Din raised his eyebrows beneath the helmet, not expecting that.

“Uh – sure,” he responded as he stood up. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. What do you think?” She nodded and laced her tiny fingers with his, and Din’s throat grew tight.

Was this what things could be like one day?

The two of them navigated through the streets toward his ship, and once they arrived, Dinah’s eyes grew wide with awe.

“Is this yours?!” she excitedly asked, releasing his hand, and running up the now open ramp. He trailed behind her with a chuckle and nodded.

“It sure is.”

“Wow. We have one too, but it doesn’t look like this!” Din leaned against the wall, eyes following her little figure as she walked around and examined every detail of the small cargo hold. It was a sight to behold, one that he committed to memory in case he did not get another opportunity to spend time with his child.

My daughter.

Dinah continued to scurry around the ship, taking everything in as Din took a seat on a box.

“It’s so pretty,” she said, taking a seat beside him. Then, after a moment, she pointed to something in the corner. “What’s that?”

“What?” he asked, looking to where she pointed. “That’s the refresher.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed that it wasn’t anything interesting. As she looked at Din, she noticed the assortment of weapons he carried and stretched out a hand to poke his blaster. Din flinched at the action, unsure how he felt about his daughter touching something so dangerous.

“I don’t think you should be touching that,” he spoke. “It’s dangerous.” Dinah giggled and withdrew her hand.

“Mommy has a big one like this,” she retorted, rolling her eyes, “And I’ve seen her use it.” Din sighed at her statement.

For a six-year-old, she sure is sassy.

“Well, you should still be careful, little one,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Okay,” she answered, looking around the ship some more. It was silent for a moment before she spoke again. “So, you do you catch bad guys and send them to jail?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you catch bad guys, right?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do with them?”

“I – uh – I take them to – well, I guess you could say that I take them to a jail of sorts.”

“That’s so cool!” Din awkwardly scratched the back of his neck at her enthusiasm.

“I suppose.”

“What’s that?” Dinah asked, pointing to something else on his waist. He looked down and saw her pointing at the Darksaber.

Of all things to ask about it.

He let out a long breath, composing his thoughts before answering the little girl’s question.

“It’s – um – it’s called a Darksaber,” he responded.

“Like a lightsaber?”

“Of sorts.”

“Why does it look like that? Aren’t lightsabers supposed to be pretty colors?”

“It’s not a regular one.”

“How come?”

“I’m – I’m not quite sure,” Din said.

“How did you get it?” Din’s eyes widened at her question. He was already uncomfortable talking about his weapons, and the painful memories of the Child came to mind with her inquiry.

“Uh – well,” he began, “I had to rescue someone very important to me.”

“Really?! Like an adventure?!” Dinah exclaimed, eyes teeming with excitement.

“I’m not sure I’d call it that, but sure,” he replied.

“Will you tell me about it?” the little girl pressed, “Momma always tells me stories before bed, and rescues are always so cool!” Din let out a heavy sigh, a quiet hiss breaking the silence as he removed his helmet and nodded at her plea. Within the confines of the ship, Din felt comfortable enough in its absence, especially when in the company of his daughter, who had already seen his face.

“Well, it started when…,” Din began.

―FLASHBACK―

Din stepped off the ship, blaster raised in preparation for an attack as he scanned the hanger for any threats. He stealthily snuck through the quiet halls of the base when he heard voices and hid in the shadows as two stormtroopers ran by.

“We’re heading to the bridge now.” Once they had passed, Din continued to make his way up the corridor until he reached the entrance to the chamber with the Darktroopers but found that the door was already open.

Dank farrik.

He quickly inserted the cylinder that began to override the door and make it shut, but one Darktrooper managed to catch it and throw him back, his body hitting the wall with a thud. Din fired at the machine as it marched toward him, but it was no use. The droid caught his arm, knocking the blaster out of his hand, and lifted him to his feet as it pulled its arm back and punched his helmet. Din shut his eyes in panic, bracing himself for the possible end at the hands of a droid, but as metal met Beskar, he opened his eyes and saw that his helmet had done its job, stopping the impact and protecting his face.

Unfortunately, the armor did nothing to prevent the machine’s relentless assault from pushing his head into the wall, and he yelped in pain as the pipe behind him burst, sending steam out, blocking part of the droid’s view. Din saw his opening and turned on his flamethrower, but it proved ineffective as the droid turned its head and flung him across the hallway. Din looked up, and his eyes widened, seeing the glass windows of the door that stopped the rest of the Darktroopers beginning to crack under the pounding of their fists. Din attempted to reach the lever that would blow the robots into space but was too slow. The droid grabbed his leg and slid him away from the panel across the floor. He tried to get up but was swiftly kicked in the stomach, sending him flying back, and felt the familiar pings of blaster shots landing on his armor.

The whispering birds!

With a flip of his wrist, Din launched little projectiles at the approaching machine before spinning around, gracefully grabbing his Beskar spear and piercing the Darktrooper through its neck. Sparks flew from the robot as it began to shut down, and with a final twist of the spear, Din pulled its head off, its body falling onto the floor with a metallic thud. He hastily walked up to the panel, glancing at the window as the cracks grew, and finally pulled the lever, sending the red-eyed figures into space. He breathed a sigh of relief as he continued down the hallways searching for the Child.

To his luck, it did not take long as he spotted two stormtroopers standing guard in front of a door.

Bingo.

He silently snuck up to the two, hitting one on the arm with his spear before impaling the other through the stomach in one fluid motion. Wasting no time, he placed the first stormtrooper in a hold, wedging the rod against the man’s neck and began to choke him, the soldier’s feet no longer on the ground as he struggled before a loud snap ended his thrashing. Din dropped the body and placed the pointed weapon on his back before opening the door and drawing his blaster. The sight that greeted him made the man abruptly stop, his blood running cold as he saw Moff Gideon threateningly holding a dark, whirring blade over Grogu’s head.

Is that the Darksaber Bo-Katan spoke of?

The Child looked up at Din with a sad coo and slightly lifted his bound hands. Din stepped forward but stopped as Moff Gideon spoke.

“Drop the blaster. Slowly.”

Din narrowed his eyes at the men through his visor as he slowly set it down.

“Now kick it over to me.” Din followed as instructed, the gun sliding across the floor away from him as Moff Gideon watched. “Very nice.”

“Give me the kid,” Din said.

“The kid is just fine where he is,” the Moff responded and waved the blade around Grogu’s head, the foundling turning his head away at the action. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan.”

Din looked on in silence, surprised that the man knew who Bo-Katan was.

“Yes. I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything. Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo.”

Dank farrik, he’s good.

“Where is this going?” Din asked, beginning to grow agitated at the man.

“This is where it’s going. I’m guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me, or more accurately, this,” Gideon answered, holding up the sword. “But I’m not there. And I imagine that they’ve killed everyone on the bridge, being the murderous savages that they are. And now, they’re beginning to panic.”

Din’s gaze drifted to the Child as he cooed and looked down.

“You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne.”

“You keep it. I just want the kid,” Din replied, growing more annoyed with each passing moment.

“Very well,” the Moff said as he pressed a button on the hilt and the blade retracted, “I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood. This Child is extremely gifted and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.”

Din glanced down at the Child, knowing his words were true. Grogu was indeed gifted.

“I see your bond with him,” Moff Gideon spoke, his tone slightly changing, as if the man cared, “Take him, but you will leave my ship immediately, and we will go our separate ways.”

Din approached Grogu and began to pick him up, but the sudden sound of the Darksaber powering up and a blow landing on his jetpack threw him slightly off balance as he turned to shield the Child. The Moff came at him, swipe after swipe, the pings of the sword meeting steel filling the air, as Din held his arms up to block the impact of his assailant’s blade. Din backed away with each hit, drawing Gideon into the hallway and away from Grogu, and spun around the man to escape his reach. Din took a moment and then remembered that he had the spear, drawing it from his back, and prepared himself.

The two men lunged at each other, blade and metal meeting with a clang. Moff Gideon continuously swung the sword at Din, but he blocked each attack and managed to land a kick before throwing an attack of his own. They exchanged several more blows before Din launched his cable at the Moff, wrapping him in the wire that was easily cut through by the Darksaber.

Each strike Gideon tried to land was easily blocked, but Din saw a small opening and used his forearm to stop the next attack before thrusting the spear toward Gideon’s chest. The man caught it, but Din pushed him back, kicking him in the leg and knocking him against the wall. Din went for the kill, charging at the man, but he stopped again. However, this time Gideon made the mistake of pushing the tip away from him and toward the wall, placing it in the perfect position for Din to disarm him. The Darksaber flew across the air and landed with a thud, the blade disappearing with a whiz. With the man now disarmed, Din landed a hit to his face and knocked him down, and as he tried to get up, Din pointed the end of his spear at the man’s neck.

“You’re sparing my life?” Gideon asked with a smirk, “Well, this should be interesting.”

“Get up,” Din commanded, pulling the man to his feet and placing cuffs around his wrists. Knowing the man was too tired to try and escape, Din walked into the room and fetched Grogu, gingerly removing the cuffs and tossing them aside before picking him up and cradling him. Upon exiting the room, Din’s eye fell on the discarded weapon on the other end of the hall, and he strode over to pick it up carefully. Pressing the button to reveal the dark blade as it whooshed to life, he curiously waved the blade around, listening to the gentle hum as it cut through the air. A grunt from the Moff cut off his thoughts, and Din, not wanting to waste any time, nudged the man’s side with his foot.

“Let’s go,” Din commanded. Moff Gideon put up no resistance, and the two began to make their way toward the bridge.

After walking down several corridors, they finally arrived at the blast doors that led to the bridge, and with a final shove to Gideon’s back, the door opened, and the man stumbled through. As they walked in, Bo-Katan greeted them, but she did not look pleased.

“What happened?” the woman asked.

“He brought him in alive, that’s what happened,” Cara answered, greeting the Child tenderly, “And now the New Republic’s gonna have to double the payment.”

“That’s not what she’s talking about,” Moff Gideon cut in, drawing everyone’s attention, “Why don’t you kill him now and take it?”

Not liking what he was implying, Cara pushed the man to the ground, and he grinned as he looked up at Din.

“It’s yours now.”

“What is?” Din questioned.

“The Darksaber. It belongs to you,” came his reply. Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed at the man’s words, and Din turned the weapon off and approached.

“Now,” he said, holding it out for her to take, “it belongs to her.”

“She can’t take it,” the Moff continued with glee at the predicament the woman was facing, “It must be won in battle. In order for her to wield the Darksaber again, she would need to defeat you in combat.”

“I yield,” Din stated, still holding the weapon out to her, “It’s yours.”

“Oh, no,” Gideon chuckled as he stood up to face Din, “It doesn’t work that way. The Darksaber doesn’t have power. The story does. Without that blade, she’s a pretender to the throne.”

“He’s right,” Bo-Katan finally said, conflict shining in her eyes at the desire to take the Darksaber and reclaim her throne and the defeat knowing that she had not earned it.

“Come on, just take it,” Din pushed. The woman looked down at the blade and back at him, but the shrill tone of the alarms cut them off.

―END FLASHBACK―

“So, you got the Darksaber and rescued Grogu, but then the Jedi took him away?” Dinah asked, legs swinging from the excitement of the story.

“Yeah,” Din answered, “He needed to be with his own people.”

“That’s too bad,” she spoke, “But at least you rescued him!”

“Yeah.”

“Would you rescue me if I was kidnapped?” Her words caught him by surprise.

“Of course, little one,” Din replied, “Your mother and I would come to save you no matter where you were.”

“I’m glad,” his daughter replied with a smile, “Mommy can get scary when she’s mad.”

“Yes, she can be,” Din agreed with a chuckle before realizing how much time had passed, “Well, I think it’s about time we get you home, don’t you think?” Dinah hopped off the crate and nodded.

“Thank you for today,” she said with a smile, and Din sent her one in return.

As they walked back to your home, Din could not remove the smile that graced his face. The afternoon he had spent with his daughter was one that he would cherish, as painful as it was to bring up memories of his foundling. Din had yet to tell her that he was her father and was unsure how to bring that up but knew he would do anything to protect her, just like he had done with Grogu.

 Unknown POV

For weeks they had tried to track down the illusive man, having managed to catch his scent when he arrived on Nevarro, but they had lost him again when they landed on Sacorria. They had scoured the planet for the Mandalorian, but his ship was too common looking to find, and so he disappeared from their radar. However, as luck would have it, after a month of searching for him, they spotted his armor in a busy bazaar. To their surprise, they saw him approach a little girl and they were even more stunned to see him remove his helmet.

Unfortunately, they only saw the back of his head from their vantage point, but it was enough to pique their interest and decide to watch the two more closely. They tailed the man for several days, seeing him go to the same house and leave gifts on the doorstep, further increasing their curiosity, but they knew that they could not directly confront him there, so they decided to focus on the little girl. Clearly, she was important to him if he was willing to remove his helmet around her, and as they observed the armored man interact with the little girl, a plan began to formulate in their mind, a sinister smile spreading across their face as pieces began to fall into place.

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[uptoolateart]

Hey, hey, hey - time for a Gabriel analysis!

So. After we learned that Gabriel Agreste wasn't his original name, my mind jumped to Andre Bourgeois, who also once had a different name. In keeping with the themes of the show, we are seeing that secret identities don't always come with masks and comic book names.

We had a hint of Gabriel's secret past in Psycomedian, when Harry visited and alluded to his Gabi days. How, oh how could the Gabriel Agreste we all know have ever been friends with someone like Harry Clown? This is only possible if he was once a different sort of person.

We had further clues in Gabriel's vision of the past, in the time burrow in Evolution - and in Emilie's video messages left for Nathalie, and the photographs of Gabriel, Emilie and Nathalie on some expedition, seen in Passion - and in Amelie's accusation that Gabriel has changed, in Emotion.

Adrien is also aware his father has changed with time, demonstrated when he tells Gabriel that Emilie once said they came from different backgrounds.

The photos shown in Revelation finally gave concrete evidence that Gabriel used to have an adventurous spirit and he used to smile. He was fun...but something changed...and I don't think it was just Emilie's death that caused the personality shift. Based on casual comments Adrien has made throughout the series, his father has been strange for years.

Gabriel tells Adrien that he and Kagami are 'of the same design' - and we know he means this literally. But taking it as a metaphor...for two seasons I've wondered what Emilie's parents were like. We can infer that she comes from a wealthy, 'important' family. Maybe Gabriel struggled to fit in and win the approval of his in-laws. Maybe he never felt good enough. When he tells Adrien things like, 'You're clinging to Marinette because her mediocrity lets you shine more,' perhaps someone once talked like that about him. With that kind of background, it would be unsurprising that he decided to try to forge a new identity.

And let's remember that Gabriel is a designer. His whole empire is founded on inventing personae. Even beyond the sentimonster aspect, he tells Marinette that he designed the image the world holds of his son. Everything is his invention. That speech in Pretension proved just how deep his God complex runs - he fully believes he has made the world in his image. Even the episode title - Pretension - smacks of the image he is presenting to the world in lieu of truth.

At this point, what we're seeing is a 'new money' stereotype - a self-made man who now spurns those who remind him of where he came from. It's one of the most shameful things about him. No matter how much fame and money you get...you can't forget your roots, people. Maybe that's easy for me to say because I'm not rich or famous. But I just can't imagine turning my back on my own origin story. It's what makes you who you are. Gabriel clearly didn't want to be that person anymore...and that's sad.

What's also fascinating is that, if we zoom in on those pictures Nathalie took in Revelation, we see that once upon a time, Gabriel - Gabi Grassette - was a punk. Let's take a moment to appreciate the spiked hair, makeup, leather jacket, ripped jeans, and dog collar - not to mention that smirk. And far from being ashamed of his work with Harry Clown as a human frites (who, by the way, reminds me so much of Mr Banana), he was smiling about it. Man, he loved it. Contrast that with Gabriel in Party Crasher - 'JOY.... What's going on in my HOUSE!?'

If it were at all possible for the old Gabi to meet Cat Noir, I can imagine him loving Cat's costume. On that note, I can't help but compare that dog collar with Cat's bell. I've said before that I see the bell as a symbol of Cat being domesticated and under control. Gabi probably saw his dog collar more as a rebellion, but maybe it too is a symbol of how he once felt controlled by someone.

The thing is...the punk movement was all about anti-establishment anti-authoritarianism. Today, Gabriel is the establishment he once rebelled against. It makes me think of John Lydon of the Sex Pistols turning Conservative and advertising butter. Musicians like Donovan - not a punk, but in a similar category, as a 1960s hippie - are rare for maintaining that same spirit all through their lives.

Gabriel is a 'sell-out'. He gave up that spirit and became someone unrecognisable. Those photos demonstrate that Emilie isn't the only body buried in a 'basement' in the Agreste mansion. There is a different person buried under the cold veneer that is Gabriel - a person Nathalie probably misses. I expect that's why she's stuck with him all this time, despite her better instincts. Something tells me Gabi would've made a better father.

The irony is that Adrien's moments of rebellion are probably one of the few things he has in common with his father, if we look far enough back in Gabriel's past. That, and their temper - and randomly breaking into eccentric dance and song. Gabi might have appreciated Adrien more for standing true to his principles. Maybe Adrien sometimes reminds Gabriel of himself and he can't stand it - can't stand thinking of what he's lost along the way.

I believe Gabriel exists in a perpetual state of regret. Part of him probably misses Gabi, too. After all, Gabi got Emilie. What has Gabriel got? Wealth, sure, but Emilie's dead, Adrien all but hates him, Nathalie's wasting away, and Gabriel himself has only weeks to live.

If you think about it, Gabriel's whole quest has been about getting a do-over. He wants a second chance with Emilie - a second chance for Nathalie - a second chance at his own life. He then tells Adrien that his greatest wish is to try to reconnect with him...because he knows he doesn't have much time left with his son. Even then, though, his selfishness prevails. (Psst, Gabi...you can't make up for years of terrible parenting with banana pancakes.)

Thinking of the snake miraculous, the second chance lets you know what's going to happen, enabling you to make better decisions the next time around. In other words: it's about learning from your mistakes. Gabriel never learns, and it is his refusal to accept destiny and his own human fallibility that is causing his disintegration.

The more Gabriel necrotises, the more we can see this as his 'sins' catching up with him. He doesn't seem to grasp that all the blackness devouring him is, in a way, the blackness of his own heart. Even if he erases the whole world, he can't erase his deeds. If he managed to get his Wish and bring Emilie back, she would be horrified. She'd wonder where her Gabi went.

Gabriel is proof that 'evolution' isn't always positive. He reinvented himself once, and now, because it didn't go the way he wanted, he's trying to reinvent things again. Tomoe also hints at a belief that the solution to her problems is to make the world anew - to get a second chance. Felix tries this, too, when he creates the red moon to wipe out all people except his select group.

But Felix does learn - Ladybug helps him see that even if you erase all the people causing you so much grief...you still have to deal with that pain. What Gabriel fails to see is that - like Cat Blanc on the roof, all alone without his lady - destroying your witnesses won't remove the witness in your own heart.

Even if Gabriel wiped everyone else's memory of his crimes, he would still know what he'd done. And when you cross those kinds of lines, you can never go back to who you once were.

Please no post-Revelation spoilers in the comments :)

[andguesswhat]

I normally don’t do this but here is the thing: Yes, of course it's his decision and yes, of course he's not forced to sign contracts, yadayadayada, but I still feel sorry for him, because to me it looks like he thinks he has to do that and unfortunately doesn't see any other option. And I think the main reason is that he lives in this bubble and is friends with a gay Hollywood star, whose advice he listens to, like you know how you shouldn't play superheroes and stuff.

Yes, I’m talking about fucking Leo!  He may be a nice guy, but come on, he has the creepiest image you can have, he doesn't seem to care, and he doesn’t stop doing that shit. He could risk it, he’s famous enough, and still, he somehow doesn’t.

So what if everyone in your bubble tells you to do it and that it's okay, that it's no big deal, that you let them talk, etc? Kind of works for Leo, doesn’t it? (well….)

You can be intelligent as fuck and not see it. Or maybe even see it and still act differently because all the people around you are driving you to.

And not every action can be rationally justified. Especially not with such an emotional peach.

Because there is definitely an emotional decision behind it, whatever it is.

It's the hope of being as famous and successful and becoming an acting legend.

It’s the fear of not playing along with the studios and screwing things up.

And maybe it's even shame because you're not who the studio bosses would like you to be.

The shame of having dated a married family man who has had to endure kink shaming, whose kink you most likely share, who has fallen from grace.

It can be so many things and everything, in the end it's all human emotions that make you do something like that. 

You can be damn intelligent and still do wrong things.

You may know the damage you are doing, even to yourself, and still think you have no choice.

You do things that you know are not good for your health.

He is intelligent, but that doesn't mean he is in all situations in his life. It doesn't mean he knows what's good for him personally. He can’t even know what's good for his career. There are too many uncertainties and necessary coincidences at play for that. Only time will tell. It’s a game you can either win or lose.

The crux is that he started way too early with this shit, so soon, if he's not careful, he'll be known as a celebrity that can act. Because unfortunately I see that the same way as others: Paul Mescal and co. will be taken as good actors. He will be the actor who dated Kylie.

And it will dull him. Maybe he'll get his act together, but if he continues he'll keep losing his pureness. Because who knows: is he as tough as Leo or is he just hoping to be?

So there of course is always another choice but if you don't see it, what can you do? If you see it but nobody encourages you to take it, what can you do?

And even if ... As much as I would love to see him as a lower profile actor in small movies and on stage ... when I think about when I saw him happiest in the last year, the pictures from the shoot in New York come to my mind. Yes, from my point of view, a wrong choice, a stupid commercial shoot, driving him away to become an acclaimed actor, but look at him, he was so happy and proud to work with Scorsese.

And when I think back to the other happy moments that happened a year ago. He was so happy and proud to promote Bones & All, a movie he co-produced, and at the same time he was able to express himself with his stunning outfits and show the world who he really is, without having to define his sexuality.

Why would he want to give that up? Can’t you imagine how hard this is to give up? When nobody can tell you what happens when you leave the path?

So, in the end, he has all my sympathy even when I don’t think his decisions are good or wise, I’m still rooting for him that he achieves everything he wants to achieve and i'm hoping that at the end of the day he rests beside someone he loves deeply and very stubbornly.

[sukunasun]

could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much. 

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too. 

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you. 

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with. 

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle. 

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole." 

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting. 

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth. 

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this. 

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done. 

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there. 

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring,  "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices. 

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between. 

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway. 

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl?  you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli. 

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for. 

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils. 

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get. 

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off. 

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there. 

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."  

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong. 

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then. 

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.