#slimeball au

[thus-spoke-lo]

Kitchen Nightmares // linecook!Sanji x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Kink: Foodplay

CW: slimeball au/grimetown au; afab!reader [no pronouns used]; sanji-typical sexual harassment [reader receiving]; light foodplay; oral sex [reader receiving]; brief reference to A Hayride for a Hayride; reader's behavior is kinda messy tbh WC: 3.3k // Fictober Masterlist Synopsis: You're sure the safest place to be on Halloween in Grimetown is probably behind the counter at the restaurant where you work, where you can hide from the inevitable tricksters, slimeballs that go bump in the night, and the errant molotov cocktail being launched through the window of the Waffle House across the street. But the real monsters lurk in the kitchen of the Flapjack Shack, and take the form of a perverted, curly-browed linecook holding a bowl of seasonally-spiced frosting.

You aren’t exactly sure how, or why, you allowed yourself to up like this—sitting bare-assed on the just-cleaned kitchen prep table, one hand precariously close to knocking over a bin of cilantro, the other gripping the silky blonde hair of your most infuriating coworker as he laps pumpkin-flavored frosting from between your thighs, a decision that’s sure to leave you momentarily satisfied until the indignity and annoyance and need for an antibiotic set in. And yet, here you are, the skirt of your French maid costume pushed up over your hips, your skin sticky and damp with a mix of dairy and saliva, and the taste of cheap cigarettes still lingering on your tongue.

It wasn’t that long ago that the sun made its final descent behind the clouds, the permanent haze that hung over the Grimetown skies absorbing the last bits of gold and purple light. The moon managed to peek through the thick mass of clouds, illuminating the near-empty streets outside the Flapjack Shack; it would still be a while before the tables would fill and a cacophony of sound would vibrate the windows as a mix of drunken revelers and exhausted trick-or-treaters demanded a steady stream of pumpkin-flavored pancakes and whatever other holiday-themed slop your boss put on the night’s menu (“orange eggs and ‘ham’”? really? and why was ham in quotes?).

You stand behind the counter and wave to the last shift’s line cook as he runs off to his next job just across the street at the Waffle House; you suspect it won’t be long before a car or a booth or a stack of menus are on fire as they usually were (fire was kind of his thing, a fun little personality quirk you supposed), adding to the spooky ambience of the evening. Perhaps he’d set the fires in just the right way to make the building a jack-o-lantern again like last year—if you had to miss out on the festivities of the Halloween festival in favor of working minimum wage slinging “haunted hash browns” (whatever the fuck that meant), you could at least revel in the delight of your competitor being set ablaze.

As you set a fresh batch of napkins at the host stand, a sudden chill runs down your spine, the hairs on your arms and back of your neck standing at attention—something wicked this way comes. Or so you think for a split second before laughing at your own paranoia; surely it’s just your mind playing tricks on you in the empty restaurant, the always-flickering fluorescent lights setting just the right tone for getting a case of the creeps. But you can’t shake the feeling that there is something lurking in the darkness outside the confines of the restaurant, when suddenly, the back entrance slams shut and you hear it, a sing-song voice suddenly lilting from beyond the kitchen doors: “Oh dar-ling, I’m here for my shi-ift! Did you miss me, my sweet?”

And there he is in the flesh, the most frightening ghoul of them all—your coworker, Sanji.

You had asked, begged, pleaded, and cajoled (and even shed a few crocodile tears) to please, oh, please not be scheduled with this pompous little shit again. At least not on Halloween, when the place would be dead for most of the night while everyone was either at the Halloween festival or out carousing and creating havoc across the city. The last thing you wanted was to be stuck in your skimpy costume while the world’s most pompous line cook regaled you with stories of his days training under the great Chef Zeff, explaining why the general public shouldn’t be allowed to request modifications to their meals (“it’s ‘as the chef intended’, my sweet, not the common man”), all while trying to smell your hair and snap your bra strap.

“Good evening, mon petit chou,” Sanji coos as he peers out from the pass-through, a wide grin stretched across his angular face, little hearts practically settling in his pupils.

“Do we have to start this already?” you groan, trying to hide behind the icemaker before he can spot exactly how short your skirt is. But it’s already far too late—Sanji’s superhuman powers of observation have already informed him that your hem is above your knees and your top is more low-cut than you realized. He practically skids out of the kitchen and his mouth drops open at the sight of you, an unlit cigarette falling from his lips onto the tacky tile floor.

“My darling, my angel—you look exquisite.” The words seem to tumble out of his mouth as he looks over every inch of you in the most unabashedly lascivious way, a deep flush forming across his pale skin.

“Thanks, I guess.” You grope for your cardigan under the counter and quickly throw it on. “And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

Sanji scoffs, seemingly hurt by your incredibly valid question, since he’s wearing…a suit. He gives a little turn to show off his maroon-colored ensemble. “Why—the man of your dreams of course.”

“Help me,” you whisper aloud to no one in particular. “Look, shouldn’t you be prepping for service or whatever?”

“Well…I shouldn’t have to.” Sanji narrows his eyes and his hands tighten into balled fists. “But last shift left me a mess as usual, the barbarian. When I trained under Chef Zeff, he instilled in us the values of leaving a clean and tidy kitchen for your peers—not that I consider that mid-shift lout much of a peer—”

“Uh-huh…wow…you’re so right.” You’re not even sure that he’s paying attention to you or your rote affimations anymore, since the only thing you’re certain Sanji adores more than you is talking about himself. “Okay, well…I should let you clean, I guess. Bye then!”

You’re tempted to shove him into the back of house, but you know even the most innocent touch would probably make him cum in his nice suit-pants. Luckily he gets the hint on his own for once, and slinks into the kitchen, leaving you to peacefully watch as packs of teenagers in half-assed costumes roam the city streets. Eventually, just as you almost forgot you were being actively haunted by the living specter of a pervert, you hear Sanji shout for you.

“My darling, can you come to the kitchen for a moment?”

You steel yourself and sigh. He’s got his dick out, doesn’t he? Not that you’d necessarily mind seeing it—annoying or not, you’d entertained the thought of giving into his flirtations ones day, just to find out what he’d do. Would he get a nosebleed so uncontrollable the kitchen would look like the scene of a grisly murder? Would he manage to control himself and let the more suave parts of his personality (that you’d only observed in bits and pieces) take over, and seduce you the way he clearly thinks he’s doing it in his head? Or would he be so pathetic that he’d crumple like a straw wrapper and whimper his way into the walk-in freezer just avoid you? All three seemed like viable options you could work with.

You push through the kitchen doors and to your surprise (and, while you’d never admit it to a soul, your disappointment), Sanji is still fully dressed, his suit jacket hung neatly in the corner, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. With his mouth shut, you’d dare say he looked dashingly handsome.

Sanji holds out a large mixing bowl towards you. “My love, would you do me the honor of tasting this for me?”

“What is it?” You eye it suspiciously—does it have cum in it? It must have cum in it.

“It’s the frosting for the, uh”—he grabs a laminated paper—“the ‘Frightening French Toast.’ I modified the recipe a bit. It’s a little too sweet for my tastes, but perhaps someone already as sweet as you will have an easier time telling if the flavor is right.”

“You know,” you smirk as you saunter towards him, “that was almost a nice and not creepy thing to say.”

“What if I told you how much I wanted to spread it all over your—”

“Never-fucking-mind.”

You dip the back of a spoon into the frosting and taste it, and with just the scrunch of your nose, Sanji snatches the bowl away and walks off to fiddle with it, mumbling something to himself under his breath.

“Sanji, you weren’t even going to let me tell you what I thought?”

“Don’t need to,” he declares as he light a cigarette and takes a drad before rifling through the spice rack. “The very twitch of your perfect nose tells me all I need to know.”

He comes back a moment later and holds the bowl against his chest, and you raise an eyebrow at him questioningly as you extend your spoon towards him. “Are… are you gonna let me taste it, or…?”

Sanji reaches out and bats the spoon out of your hand, and it hits the floor with a sharp clang. “Whoops, guess I’ll have to feed you myself now, won’t I?”

He dips a long, slender finger into the sugary mix and holds it out to you, bites his bottom lip as he waits for you to take a taste. You pause for a moment, at first ready to roll your eyes or huff and march back into the dining room; but something in the air—the weirdness of Halloween, the feeling of the world being just a little off-kilter, a regular day but a little to the left as it settles into a liminal space—makes you reconsider your immediate reaction. With a deep breath, you lean forward and touch the tip of your tongue to his fingertip, then slowly

Sanji’s mouth hangs open for a moment, before he finally mages to blurt out a strangled, “Well—how was it?”

“I think it’s perfect,” you purr, leaning back against the prep table.

“Perfection for perfection—I couldn’t ask for more.” He really could be suave when he wanted to be, and he sets the bowl down beside you, an excuse to practically press his body against yours; you can feel a stirring in his trousers brush against your thigh. “Looks like you have a little in your lip still, though. Here, let me—”

He stubs his cigarette out on a loaf of bread just behind you, then quickly captures your lips in a hungry kiss. You gasp at the suddenness, but soon melt into him; he tastes of a saccharine sweetness, of cheap tobacco and warm cinnamon. It’s exactly how you hoped he’d taste—of desperation and wanting and need—and you can’t help but let slip a little sigh as his tongue probes your eager mouth, entwining with yours as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and let your fingertips dance over the nape of his neck. Sanji places one hand at the small of your back and pulls you into him, the other sliding up your thigh and around to cup the swell of your ass. He moans into your mouth as he grabs at you, only to pull away from your kiss in shock, panting, “No panties? Really, sweetheart?”

How could you possibly respond, other than to just laugh and shrug as your cheeks grow heated—you were hoping to get some sort of holiday treat tonight and wanted to make it as easy as possible, you just weren’t anticipating it to happen with him. Without warning, Sanji hoists you up onto the prep table with a startling ease, the feeling of cold stainless steel against your bare skin sending a shiver down your limbs. He kneels down onto the tile floor and gently, almost reverently, lifts your skirt and his eyes glimmer at the sight of your cunt, glistening with wetness in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Let me taste you, love? Please?” He sounds so very desperate, like he’d beg if you asked him to (and you almost ask him to, just to hear how deliciously pathetic and needy he’d sound, whining and pleading for just the mere taste of your pussy). You nod eagerly, and he takes a fingerful of frosting from the bowl beside you, spreading it over your inner thighs, taking his time licking it off, biting and sucking and kissing his way up from your knees, all the way up until his nose nudges against your slit.

His runs sticky, cinnamon-scented fingers over your cunt, spreading frosting over your mound, groaning against your skin as he lavishes every bit of your with his wide tongue. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, a guttural groan rumbling in his ribcage as he fills his lungs with the scent of your body mixed with seasonal spices.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted, you know,” he murmurs against your cunt as he kisses and sucks at your swollen lips, the hair on his chin smeared with frosting and a bit of your slick. “I’d stay here forever if you’d let me.”

His fingertips part your lips, and he licks a long, low stripe up your slit before eagerly fucking you with his tongue, his lewd moans echoing off the kitchen appliances as he buries his face in your cunt. Sanji devours you like a man starved, his hands gripping at your thighs, kneading at your flesh with slender, sticky fingers. If only you’d known how easy it was to get him to shut up (and how utterly skilled he was with his perverted tongue), you would have gladly spread your legs for him sooner and let him have a taste of what he’d been missing out on for so long.

Your eyes flutter shut and your head tilts back as he slowly moves his way up to your aching, needy clit; he gleefully laps and sucks at it, the tip of his tongue making circles over it you, your every moan and gasp only urging him to give you more and more. Every movement of his expert tongue makes your limbs feel numb and your thighs start to quake, make that tension that coils in your belly grow tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment in a blinding moment of release.

You grip a handful of Sanji’s blonde hair between your fingers and press yourself into his mouth as you’re seized by a rush of sensation so intense, your body tensing to the point where it almost feels like a blissful kind of pain, then lapsing into uncontrollable, shuddering contractions. You cry out, Sanji’s name falling from your lips again and again, as he continues to bury his face in your pulsating cunt, his tongue never once ceasing its movements over your throbbing clit as warm waves of pleasure wash over you. The heaving breaths that leave your lungs and the carnal moans that echo off the walls and Sanji’s muffled words of praise that he murmurs against your skin are so dizzying, so all-encompassing, that neither of you manage to notice the squeak of the kitchen door swinging open.

“Oh, hey—am I interrupting somethin’?”

You and Sanji both whip your heads to the side only to see last shift’s line cook, Dabi, standing in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other ruffling his jet black hair.

“The hell are you doing here, asshole?” Sanji shouts, quickly pulling your skirt down to offer you some degree of modesty under the circumstances, before wiping his hands on his trousers, shifting to try to quell the noticeable erection that strains against the fabric.

“Left my lighter here,” Dabi smirks as you hop down from the counter on wobbly and stumble over to him with all the grace of a newborn foal. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss, biting your bottom lip until you squeal. “You havin’ a nice time with the pervy cook, baby?”

“’Baby’? How dare you call my sweet angel ‘baby’! Like you—like you have any sort of claim to—” Sanji stops as he realizes that Dabi’s hand is on your ass and your head is on his chest, and he falls to his knees, his mouth agape, his eyes watery. “Wait—are you—is he—all this time, the two of you—oh fuck, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, dumbass—if this little spitfire needs to use you for something, who am I to say anything?” Dabi turns to you and grimaces. “Hoped you’d have better taste though.”

“Are you saying you used me—for your pleasure? I mean, not that I mind of course, my lovely—you deserve all the pleasure in the world, but—but what about what we have?” Sanji stammers and stutters from his spot on the floor, his hands gesturing about wildly as he rambles. “I thought we had something special, something resplendent, something no one else could ever touch!”

“I, uh…I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding, Sanji.” You do feel a little guilty for coaxing the pervert onto his knees for you—but in your defense, he offered that fingerful of frosting first, you’d merely accepted his ceaseless advances. And besides, he’d certainly remember this fondly for days, maybe even weeks, to come, and you had a sneaking suspicion he’d be back in form on your next shift, simpering and slavering all over you just like usual. “Um, maybe we should just go…”

“Please, my love, my darling—don’t go!” Sanji crawls across the kitchen floor and grasps at the heel of your shoe, only to be met with Dabi’s boot planted firmly on his forehead.

“Look—my baby’s gonna do what my baby’s gonna do, and I’m not exactly one for setting rules,” Dabi chuckles, glaring down at Sanji with a wild-eyed grin. “But touch what’s mine again and I’ll burn your shitty little kitchen to the ground. Y’understand, curly-brow?”

“But—” Sanji scrambles to his feet and backs up against the dishwasher, looking around the near-empty kitchen in a growing panic. “But the late-night rush!”

“Don’t worry, I texted Ace, he’ll be here in a little bit to pick up my shift.” You trot over to kiss Sanji on the cheek in thanks and smile as you grab your purse. “I’m not a monster.”

You’re pretty sure you hear Sanji uttering your name fervently as you and Dabi exit the Flapjack Shack—whether he’s cursing it out of anger or he’s using the rest of the frosting as lube and reminiscing about your pussy, well…only time will tell, as you suspect he’ll probably tell you about it in excruciating detail on your next shift.

“Think we can still make the festival?” you wonder aloud as you walk past the Waffle House, pulling yourself closer to Dabi as he tosses his lighter towards a nearby parked car and hustles you along before it bursts into flames.

“If we hurry, we can probably still hit the haunted house.” He hums contentedly and kisses you on the temple as a burning Toyota Corolla warms the air around you. “Oh yeah, and I hear they do hayrides, too—we should totally go.”

You stop in your tracks, and once-distant memories flood your mind, of a moss-hared hayride operator and his willingness to accept payment for heroic acts with non-monetary currency. “You know what, babe? Maybe we just drink.”

[cyancherub]

freeloader toji selling so much plasma to the traveling blood bank truck that he lands himself in the hospital with a medical bill that far exceeds what he made from selling his plasma

[bastardblvd]

THE DINO GRABBER IM CRYINGGGGG

ALSO

I made a vibe playlist for slimeball alley because I've latched onto it that severely.

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0b-R5S_CvunbXOO5p64Q99n7LeNRkw1s&feature=share

LINK

SLIMEBALL RADIO???? OHHH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST THING TO WAKE UP TO! i love that it’s even a little curated too like u got all these songs from my childhood on there… THIS IS AMAZING FHDHSH and the theme of the songs too like “imma kill u” and songs by “poison” LMAO

[curatoroffiction]

What You’ve Hidden Part 2

This is a continuation of a story I started writing in response to a post made here. (Which is where you’ll find Part 1 of this story) This is based off of @underqualified-human’s post on their “? Yuu AU” concept, and was really fun to write! I definitely love harassing Crowley. I know I write a lot of anti-Crowley propaganda, but I fuckin’ love his character. He’s such a slimeball and I love it. XD Storytime stops before Idia’s chapter because it hasn’t been released to the English version yet.

----- Story is reader-insert, gender-neutral, and is also a continuation of an existing chunk of story I already wrote. The boys discuss how much they really know the Ramshackle Prefect. That is, until the prefect arrives on the scene and begins to explain themself.

----- The conversation quickly moved from a lighthearted conversation about the Ramshackle prefect to a cautious journey embarking through the group's delicate notions of trust.

"I don't buy it - ___ can't lie. They're too honest." Ruggie shrugs. He's never seen you lie in a way that mattered. You were always so straightforward with him and everyone else in Savannaclaw, even when it probably would've benefitted you to lie. "They're not a goody two-shoes, but they sure aren't about to pull off a scheme."

Jamil on the other hand is now rethinking everything he knows about you. "On the contrary, I've found them to be quite.. Crafty, when they needed to be." He shakes his head thinking back to how you so easily would sneak out of containment prior to his overblot. How you could escape and even collect help. He starts connecting the dots on how you always seem to know just where to look or who to talk to in order to collect help. One could say it's fate, but it was hard for him to believe in fate after meeting you.

"... They *are* capable of lying.. Lying well, at that.." Riddle murmurs, not comfortable with the conversation's route, but incapable of stopping himself from treading into these waters as people talk more about it. "When Ace and Deuce want something kept hidden, they're very good at hiding things from people." His brow furrows as he thinks on the last dorm inspection.

"Well that at least tells us they're loyal to their friends!" Kalim smiles big, refusing to fret. "And that's all I need to know to enjoy their company."

"Are they loyal to their friends? Or are they just loyal to their resources?" Azul once again steers the conversation into the depths.

"Friends! If they were just looking for power, they wouldn't have helped Ace and Deuce when they got in trouble with you, right?" Kalim cocks his head to the side, looking to Azul with genuine confusion. It wasn't hard to imagine what motivated you in his eyes.

"Mmm.. I'm not so sure about that." Jade starts delving into this thought exercise. "Through those two, ___ got a chance to interact with Riddle, which dragged him into their scuffle with Leona - Which was the primary reason it wasn't a disaster. Leona helped with Azul, Azul helped with Jamil, Jamil helped with Vil, and so on..." Many of the dormleaders had never heard of the intertwining threads of their interactions with the prefect, or how perfectly it all seemed to meld together.

This starts to garner some genuine concern, causing even Malleus and Kalim to think on the coincidental nature. It's a little too perfect.

The guys are quiet as they feel themselves consumed with the idea that you might actually be a complete stranger. Someone who has come so close to them all, snaking your way in with ulterior motives. However, they each process the concept very differently.

Riddle just flat out refuses to believe it. He thinks Azul's being paranoid and that you'd have no real reason to lie to him. And even if his overblot put you off from him, you'd have no real reason to lie to Ace and Deuce. No, Azul's the one being paranoid here, and he won't get dragged down with it.

Trey feels like it's a nonsense consideration. Even if you weren't genuine when you first met everyone here, you surely warmed up with time - Isn't that just how being a social person works? No one puts all their cards out on the table without reason. He's got no reason to doubt you.

Leona on the other hand, lets his mind dance on the edge of the idea. He'd seen firsthand how you can change your tune if you need or want to. You're not above forcing people's hands, but.. You also don't really subscribe to the "Work smarter not harder" mantra that it really takes to scheme. You put too much effort into the things you do to be someone who isn't, on some level, genuine. Still, he underestimated you once, and doesn't make mistakes like that twice.

Ruggie on the other OTHER hand figures there's no reason to worry. Hell, he's fake as hell when he wants to be. As far as he's concerned, everyone's got a grift, and it'd be nice to hear you had one too. Even if your friendship was founded on a lie, he doesn't care. You've never treated him like he owed you, and you saved his life from Leona lashing out at him. As far as he's concerned, that makes you someone worthy of respect at the least.

Jade himself doesn't really care either which way. He likes you and is amused by you, but whether you value him as a friend or not matters very little to him. If he wants to deal with you, he will. He doesn't need an invitation or prior rapport. Still, he likes to think he knows you well. Even if he doesn't know your real name, he knows how to poke and prod you to get desired responses, and at the end of the day, isn't that enough?

Kalim's bothered by the prospect. He shakes his head outright refusing to even consider a world where you were disingenuous. Still, his mind thinks on Jamil. Someone he's held dear to his heart since he was a very young child was able to fool him and use him and control him. ... He doesn't like the idea that there could be secrets you keep from him. Still, if you do have secrets, maybe there's a good reason for it. Maybe you're afraid? Or you just need a safe place to open up? Maybe he just needs to be a better friend.

Jamil furrows his brow in thought. He'd overlooked you once, only to be surprised, and much like Leona, he doesn't make that mistake twice. But unlike Leona, he has to care as far as Kalim's wellbeing is concerned. He doesn't think you'd ever do anything to hurt Kalim, considering you once tracked him down to give him treasure that Kalim tried to sneak to you. If you were in it for the money, you'd have never done that. Plus, there were plenty of times that you could have hurt Kalim by now and you didn't. If you were some kind of physical threat, you'd have struck by now. But if it's a power grab, what kind of power triumphs over money?

Vil's not intensely bothered by the idea of you using every tool in your arsenal to collect strength. If you really were so quietly calculated, it'd be something to applaude. A fake smile here, a warm grin there, you're bound to make useful connections. It's no surprise to him that you were able to make useful connections that echoed forward. He finds himself annoyed with Azul's persistence on the matter, figuring that Azul himself has been bothered by this and is now trying to make it everyone else's problem. People often try to project their insecurities onto the people around them.

Rook on the other hand is delighted at the prospect. If you suddenly showed yourself to have a side that even he couldn't see coming, what a rush that would give! Maybe he should poke and prod you more. Maybe he needs to test the waters and see what really makes you tick? People often let the most real facets of themselves surface under pressure..

Idia already had like 20 fears centered around dealing with people going into this conversation - Most of which had to do with them lying to him already. This machiavelean web of social warfare that Azul is painting just gives him a headache. It's like when the business man thinks he's onto something in boardgame club and just won't relent. Idia may not have a high social self esteem, but he knows Azul well enough to not let this get under his skin. At least, that's what he tells himself. It's hard to not be bothered by the idea, but he won't get taken for one of Azul's wild rides.

Ortho's only bothered by this line of conversation because it implies that you could lie in a way that tricks his censors - And that just isn't like you at all! But any attempt to protect your good name is just met with Azul shrugging and saying 'Anything is possible, I suppose.'

Malleus is the only one who is really torn asunder by this conversation. At first, he was offended that anyone could think that way about you, being your fiercest protector in the matter, but then it hit him that you've always been a bit weird. You've never been scared of him - Was that an act? How could he ever really know? He knew he wasn't just a means to an end, but he had no clue if you befriended him genuinely or not. Did you really not know who he was when you met? Or was that a ploy? Whatever the case could be, he's gutted at the idea that you could be anything less than a friend.

Lilia isn't bothered by the idea. He pretends to be someone he isn't all the time. It's good fun! Even people who've spent their lives hiding their true selves in favor of a false self give away truths. He is, however, bothered by the dark look on Malleus' face coupled by the thunder of the rolling clouds outside. "I mean, everyone has something to hide, don't they, Azul?" His tone is more pointed, as though he'd uncover Azul's secrets for all to see if he answers incorrectly.

A shiver runs down Azul's spine at Lilia's sharper gaze, surprising him with the reaction. ".... Yes, but when someone knows all of our secrets, shouldn't we get to know at least SOME of their's?" He looks to the others to back him up, but isn't getting much help.

He can't be the only one bothered by this, right?

---

The group is deep in thought when you arrive. You step into the room and all eyes are on you. Grim gulps from your shoulder, looking at all the staring eyes. Even he can't ignore the palpable energy of the room. ".. Did we miss somethin'?" He asks tentatively.

Azul takes the lead, snaking his way beside you with a big smile. "Of course not! We were just discussing how we don't seem to know anything about you, ___. Tell us about yourself?"

You take a glance around the room, which seems to confirm Azul's claim that the room is waiting for you to talk about yourself. "...." You blink. ".. What do you wanna know?"

"Well, your name, where's it come from? What's it mean? Tell us about it."

Your eyes narrow as you look at the businessman, who laughs off your suspicions. With Azul, there's always an angle. They must've had a bet about your name. Your eyes relax as you look around the room of your friends. Riddle looks annoyed with the octopus man. Trey gives a quiet shrug like 'I dunno why this guy is being weird'. Leona looks more annoyed with Azul than he does with you, but Ruggie seems interested in hearing you explain your answer. Azul is frevently awaiting an answer, Jade making his biggest creepiest smile to the side as his eyes won't budge from you. Kalim looks somewhere between distressed and excited. Jamil looks like he's trying his hardest to look indifferent, but you know by the way he glances at you that he's invested in your answer.

Vil actually moves to shoo Azul away from your shoulder as he takes over the conversation. "Azul's been 'kind' enough to express that we don't know much about you or where you came from. You came here so abruptly, and you had so little to your name in ways of protection. It's still an amazing mystery to us as to how you adapted so well." Quite the improv actor, Vil smoothly transitions you into the conversation with the grace of a socialite. While he's not bothered by the idea of you being cunning and cutthroat, he IS bothered by the idea that Azul might slip up and make it appear as though the entire group is worried. Besides, any chance to get to know you better is a gift.

Rook smiles delightedly as Vil takes over. If there's anything you're hiding, they'll surely be able to sense it. "Ah yes, Trickster, you fascinate with how otherworldly you are! Please tell us more about yourself. How DID you acclimate so well?"

Idia feels sick to his stomach. More social nonsense is piling up. And on the one day Ortho convinced him to come in-person to one of these meetings. He can't just check out and play a game as things are heating up, so he's stuck just looking visually awkward and avoiding your gaze. Ortho looks determined, but happy to see you. He waved when you first came in, which signaled everyone that you were there in the first place. Now that things are getting weird, he's just excited to have a chance to monitor your vitals while you're under questioning, so he can prove to the others that you're not lying.

If you're lying, he'll know.

Malleus looks like he's stuck in his own head and upset over something. Deep in thought - When he finally looks to you, his eyes melt a little and the storm temporarily relaxes. Lilia's more concerned with how strong Malleus' reaction to this than whatever you could possibly hide from them. He does find it amusing that he could scare Azul with just a judgemental glance though, and files that away as something fun to do if the young octopus man's antics cause Malleus or you grief. He's got thousands of years of judgemental dad looks stashed away for such an occasion.

"Well, uh.." You're not sure what question to answer, so you just answer Vil's because he's less creepy about it. "I just did what I could to survive. I'm as surprised as anyone that I've been able to last this long." And it's true - Everything you've done has been on the fly. Ever since arriving in Wonderland, you've found yourself in increasingly strange circumstances. You shrug, sorry that you don't have a better answer.

"But surely, you must have had something - Skills you've relied on, plans you've laid out. Things that helped you survive through the messes you've encountered?" This time, it's Rook speaking up, trying to coax more out of you.

"Not really, no. I showed up and had a flaming monster thrown at me, I held him up by the scruff of his neck and Crowley dubbed me as his handler. I was given a job as a janitor, and I'd have done it just fine, but Grim wasn't having it and threw a fit. We got in trouble for it and got a bigger workload with Ace. Then he dragged Deuce into the mess and we all got expelled.." You recount your first week here at Night Raven College.

No one ever really heard the story of what happened when you got here before.

You were a janitor? Crowley didn't let you be a student? But you came through the mirror! You couldn't even go home! The frustration of the fear that you're anything but genuine slowly bubbles away as they begin to find themselves annoyed with Crowley and his handling of the situation.

"If I got expelled, Crowley was gonna throw me out, and I had nothing, so I had to do what he told me to in order to stick around. We went to the mines, fought an overblot monster that seemed ancient, and got a magestone to replace the one we broke. From there, I was pretty ride or die for Ace and Deuce." You shrug.

Azul isn't having it though. "That explains why you got involved when they had trouble with Riddle, by why did you get involved when Savanaclaw was scheming?" He won't forget that you've somehow endeared everyone here to you.

"Crowley showed up at my door and told me to figure out why students were getting hurt. When I told him 'Nah', he blackmailed me with my food budget."

The room's stunned to silence.

".... Crowley.. *blackmailed* you?" Riddle's the first to speak up, and he's appalled and pissed. That whole ordeal was incredibly dangerous! He knew Crowley was slimy from time to time, but you didn't even have magic! That goes against several regulations!

"With your food budget no less.." Trey looks disturbed. Ruggie's big grin from earlier is gone.

You shrugged once again, desensitized to the idea. "I didn't want to get involved, but then I had to."

None of them can sense a lie off of you, but they're all listening attentively. They need to know more. How do the threads of fate connect you to them?

"What about after that? You didn't really need to help Ace and Deuce when Azul's plans came to fruition." Jade now speaks up, curious. "Surely, if you were scraping to survive at that point, it would have been easier to just ignore and let them fall to their own stupidity. It would even be a great lesson for them, yes?"

"I wasn't gonna get involved that time either - You're right, they deserved a lesson. Even Grim got in trouble there, but I was so tired at that point."

"So what happened??" Kalim asks eagerly, moving closer to listen, like his ears can't hear you if he can't see you well enough.

"Crowley again. Said faculty couldn't get involved because Azul wasn't technically breaking any rules, and he needed the problem fixed. Once again, I told him no and he threatened my housing security."

Malleus' eyes narrow. The storm outside is slowly building again, but this time for a very different reason. Azul feels sheepish. At every turn, you were being threatened and forced into involving yourself in the lives of the other students. So then why were you still so friendly? Ortho's eyes have gotten frustrated at the idea of what you're telling them. He's visibly upset. Rook is stone silent as you have every ounce of his attention.

"And with Jamil..?" Ruggie jabs a thumb in the direction of the long-haired boy from the sands.

"Crowley told me I had to keep the school's heating running while everyone was away, and I barely was able to remind him to get me food for the winter break. Even then, he held it as a reward I had to earn. He gave me a cellphone in case there was an emergency, but the damn thing was on the worst possible plan, and he never picked up when I called him. Kalim invited us to the dorm for a feast, and Grim and I were so hungry that I decided to let him treat us. When we got there, we got roped into everything.."

"But you escaped. You could have just stayed away at that point." Jamil finally speaks up, remembering the events. He's embarrassed by his actions, but he needs to know why you came back.

You throw a thumb towards Azul. "Yeah, but I only escaped because I accidentally flew the magic carpet into Octavinelle, and Azul made me take him back because he had his own agenda. I didn't wanna be indebted to him for the damage the carpet did, and I didn't trust him enough to return the carpet safely, so I begrudgingly obliged and got roped into bullshit again."

Azul looks embarrassed as once again the attention's all on him. This conversation is more exposing him for his shady bullshit than you for yours.

Luckily, he's saved by Vil speaking up once again; "With my.. incident - You were pushed into it by Crowley again, yes?"

"Yeah. Your troupe needed a place to stay, and my dorm was the only one equipped for it. I wanted to stay as far out of your way as possible, but it was kind of impossible when I was named as the manager and you knew where I slept. You whipped everyone into shape, and even pushed me to do my best, lest I find my snacks.. uh.."

"Tampered with as punishment." Jamil nods, remembering the spell Vil had been using. You were in a tough situation, and once again you made the call that allowed you your best chance of survival.

---

Before you can explain anything further, a familiar voice can be heard.

---

"Hello my gracious students! Thank you all for coming to this meeting!" Crowley has finally arrived. Half an hour late. He opens his eyes from his delight to find several people staring at him with malice. He blinks and gulps down his nerves. "... I seem to have missed something." ----- If you like stories like this, check out the rest of my collection in my Masterlist on my profile, or check out my stuff on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuratorOfFiction

[bucknastysbabe]

Cruel Summer - Jace Velaryon x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Virgin!Jace, Nerdy!Fratty!Jace, 80’s AU, frottage, male m4stürb4t10n, pining, Jace’s huge mf schlong, babysitter reader, Dornish!Reader, fluffy, awk first times, Jace working that thang, horny ass mofo, multiple o’s, pnv!sex, so much lube, wet n messy yeah

Taglist: @godrakin @lovelykhaleesiii @fairysluna @ilikeitbetterangsty @xfancyuu @borikenlove @aemondsversion

Jacaerys Velaryon was fucked. Sincerely fucked. He was home from his freshman year of college and there she was. Playing with little Aeg and Vis in the pool. Olive skin gleaming with droplets, a one piece fiery red and high cut. Revealing those thighs for days.

She could put Jamie Lee Curtis in Perfect to shame. Fucking Dornish babysitter that was unimaginably hot. She was back from her study abroad in Essos apparently. Luke laughed from behind, “Don’t bust the window out with that wood, Jacey.”

“Shut the fuck up Luke,” Jace barked and turned away to stomp to his room. His younger brother’s laugh echoed from downstairs. The brunette flopped down on his bed, staring up at all the old posters in his room. God, he was still such a nerd.

Joined a frat and everything, met his best friend Cregan. Cregan could pull any girl he wanted, like many others in the fraternity. Jace got a tentative handy and many attempts for pussy actually. Apparently he had a horse cock. That’s how that crazy Greyjoy bastard put it anyways.

But he still didn’t lose his v-card. Not because of an embarrassingly small prick of course, no, he ran the normal chicks off and the real sleazy ones made him wilt faster than a dying plant. A nerdy Virgin who still stuttered around chicks unless he had a couple drinks in his system.

And for the the love of the seven he was still hard as nails from baby’s perky tits. Baby. That’s what the Velaryon clan called her since little Viserys pointed at the girl and called her, “Baby! Mah babysidder!” So it stuck. Drove him fucking nuts.

The other side of the family came over for dinner and Aegon was all over Baby. But she smirked and ate it up. Why would she even want that idiotic slimeball? He’d gained, like, so much weight at college.

Aegon didn’t give a fuck though. He had that confidence border lining delusion. Jace stuttered and grinned like a fool in front of their long-time neighbor. He palmed at his cock, shifting to slide down his track pants and get his cock out, imagining himself chatting her up.

She’d giggle and press her pretty tits closer to him, purring in that Dornish lilt, “Mhm baby, want that big cock of yours so bad, kiss those pretty lips while you split me open, mmm.” Jace was stroking himself rough and quick, other hand tugging heavy balls. Biting his plump lower lip the brunette moaned, “Yeah, yeah, gonna fuck you so ha-ah-ard! Suck on those tits of yours-oh fuck!”

Jacaerys gasped as his thick cock spurted on his hand and chest, whining through his nose as he tugged his balls one good last time. He flopped back, heavy cock slapping luridly against his exposed thigh. It wasn’t long until he dozed off into sleep. Just to wake up with more cum on his belly, dreams of her dark lips enveloping the blunt tip of his cock.

Jace grumbled, “Seven forgive me, I’m like a fucking middle schooler.” He stripped his ruined clothes off and hopped into a long, hot shame shower, scrubbing the residual embarrassment off. His mom would be home soon and Uncle Daemon was probably cooking dinner now.

No one dwelled on Uncle Daemon. Targaryens are weird. Baela and Rhaena were awesome though. Half of his clothes were unpacked so Jace put on a polo button-up, jeans, and loafers. How fratty of him. He may have spent too long trying to manage his hair mullet in the mirror.

He trudged downstairs, Joff arguing with Luke over the Nintendo. Jace hollered, “It’s a stupid game you idiots!” Baela and Rhaena were curled on the couch while they ogled over a magazine with Motley Crüe or something on the cover.

Daemon was cooking, chatting with her. She turned and flashed a shining smile, Viserys in her lap. Baby cooed, “Jacey, you look all grown up! College looks good on you, when did you get home?”

Jace’s cheeks reddened and he mumbled, “Uh, a couple hours ago but I was wiped, my bad. How was Essos?”

Daemon snorted at his lame response, working on stir fry. She launched into a spiel about the culture in Braavos, chatting in that warm way of hers. He needed a drink of water. Badly. The moment was interrupted when his mom came into the kitchen, unloading her briefcase and opening her arms for little Aegon and Viserys.

She grinned at him, “Jacaerys, my sweet boy, you look so handsome. We’re all back together!” Daemon lamented, “What a joy!” She shushed the blonde and cooed at the boys, grinning. Jace looked up to make eye contact with Baby, her dark eyes hooded and intense. She sipped her orange juice, pink tongue coming out to lick away a stray drop.

Jace darted to the cabinets to get a glass for water. Ice fucking cold. He mingled a bit, answering questions about grades, the frat, making new friends. Daemon was intrigued about Cregan, his best friend. “A Northman! I guess you need a frigid bastard.” Jace rolled his eyes and sat down at the table.

Across from Baby. Who was wearing a pretty green blouse tucked into sinfully tight shorts. The blouse in question was showing off her tits, making his cheeks redden again. Everyone milled in, filling the huge table while Daemon passed out the plates of food.

He remained quiet as Rhaena talked about her tennis matches. He almost threw his fork when a bare foot nudged his own. Baby was smiling around her drink, eyes on Daemon’s girl. The eldest son chewed on some chicken slowly so he wouldn’t start choking. Because Baby’s foot was traveling up his thigh, stroking along, then toeing at his thighs. Jace whimpered, covering it poorly up with a cough.

Rhaenyra’s thin brows furrowed as she asked, “You okay sweetheart?” He nodded, making an excuse about ‘the wrong windpipe’. Baby smirked and scooched her chair forward, ball of her foot rubbing Jace’s erection.

He stood up abruptly, croaking, “Ah- I- I don’t feel well. I think it was the fast food earlier. I’m going to retire early.” His mom told him to stay in touch if anything got worse, the rest, including her, gave well wishes.

Half waddling up the stairs Jace slumped on the ground, propped up on his bed. He stared at the Star Wars poster, wondering why he couldn’t have super self-control powers like Luke Skywalker or something. But she was obviously flirting with him, sultry eyes and teasing toes evidence of that.

Jace’s heart beat rapidly, unsure of what to do. Baby was actually a very sweet girl, never a bad word spoken about her in highschool. She’d see his cock and run away screeching. He held his head in his hands, groaning in displeasure.

“Man up and fuck the girl!,” Dalton’s voice echoed.

“Obviously she’s into ya’ just give it a try,” was Cregan’s deeper tone.

Jace would just do what he did best— brood until further notice. His cock had already died down some from his anxiety. And brood he did, turning up the radio to Bananarama’s cruel summer. How fucking apt.

He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

The door cracked slightly, a thin light of illumination coming through. Jace groaned, “M’fine mom.” Her sultry accent came back, “No silly, it’s me.” He bolted upright and opened his mouth to get a manicured finger pressed to them. Baby whispered, “Hush, they think I’m gone for the night. You ran off on me?”

Jace stuttered, “I-I was going to cum at the table.”

She cocked her head and climbed onto the bed next to him, hand rubbing his chest tenderly. Baby murmured, “You never played a little footsie? Look at you, I know you were beating the girls off with a stick.” Jace miserably laughed, “Yeah, that didn’t go as planned.”

“What do you mean?”

Jace flushed and whined, “Oh god, I’ve messed around and stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re a virgin.”

The Velaryon turned away from Baby and murmured, “Yes, big whoop, Jace is still a stuttering virgin bitch.” She laughed and climbed onto his lap, grinning. He moaned, “It’s horrid, not funny Baby.” The girl played with his hair, scratching as she sought his dark eyes.

“I don’t think it’s funny because you’re a virgin. I think it’s funny because you’re so handsome. What is it? Anxiety, I get that. I was nervous too at first,” she pressed closer to whisper, “But I’ve had an awakening in college.” Jace couldn’t help but moan softly at her warm breath and soft tits.

He stammered, “Y-yeah?”

She purred, “Mhm. Found out I like em’ big. Bigger the better. Gods it feels amazing.” She shifted on his lap, his cock already back in full form. She gasped, “Oh- seems like you’re just my type too. Not every girl can take something like you’re packing. Not a girl that cares about you Jacaerys Velaryon.”

His eyes boggled. She? The most gorgeous girl who has tormented his wet dreams since puberty, cared about him. He grew serious, eyes narrowing, “Are you joking?”

“Why would I lie? I’ve been trying to get your damn attention for ages Jacey,” she turned to look down, Jacaerys pushing back her thick locks as she admitted, “I kinda, hah, would accidentally say your name in the height of passions.”

“So, do you want me? I shared my embarrassing moment and feelings.” She stared in earnest, breathtakingly gorgeous.

He nodded vicariously, “I’ve always wanted you Baby, fuck, like so bad.” He carelessly moved forward, cradling her head as he kissed the darker girl. She titled her head so they didn’t collide noses, rutting further on his cock, rough denim against his briefs. She moaned into the kiss, keeping one hand in his hair, the other trailing down to the slit in his underwear.

Jacaerys lapped at her warm tongue, lips sensually moving against her own. He softly whined through his nose when she pulled him out, getting a feel for the heft and length. She hummed, “Big boyyy, gods, stupid girls don’t know what they’re missing.”

The brunette blurted dumbly, “I don’t want those stupid girls. Like. At all.”

“Good. I get jealous. Dornish blood runs hot.”

“So does Targaryen.”

They returned to desperately sharing kisses, the girl unbuttoning her shorts desperately, Jace yanking them off and tossing the denim. She remained in a scrap of clothing desperately humping her wet pussy against him. Jace groaned, “Baby, baby, god, need you?”

She tied her thick hair back in a flurry of movement, unbuttoning and slinging off the blouse, heavy tits on display. Jacaerys instinctively covered them with his calloused hands, squeezing at flesh and thumbing at pebbled nipples, relishing in her soft whining,

She rasped, “Lube?”

“Lube?”

“Do you have lube Jacey? You have a monster cock, remember?” She began to snicker as Jace rifled around his bed and side drawer, eventually finding the tube of KY. Jacaerys stuttered, “Oh-ah, how do you want me?” While she yanked down his underwear Baby responded, “Missionary, can fit you better that way, just need a pillow under my back. You can, fuck, move my legs up for more.”

Jace flipped them around, panting with excitement. He grabbed a condom too, about to tear it open but she stopped and hummed, “M’on the pill, you’re good sweetie.” He was going to combust. But he liberally squirted lube on his fingers first, he’d done that before. “Good boy,” she rasped as Jace slid the substance around.

He dove two thick fingers into her slick cunt, stretching and rubbing at that spot making Baby call his name and squirm. He added more KY just for the hell of it, enjoying the slick and lurid noises. Then a third finger fit and he was vigorously fingering the Dornish, leaning over to suck and bite at those huge tits. She whined and clawed at his biceps, but Jace was lost in the pleasure.

He couldn’t stop, this was like crack, every sweet noise and her sloppy cunt driving him further into the need to send her into an orgasm. She did after he managed to stuff his pinky in, abusing her g-spot. Baby slapped a hand over her mouth and gushed on him, howling behind her hand, squirming and shaking.

Jace’s eyes rolled back at the wonderful sight; tear streaked face, swollen lips, heaving breasts. Baby rasped, “You fucking monster, hah, c’mere and kiss me. I know you’re excited but I want that cock more than a couple o’ pumps.”

In a sensual, lazy embrace, they twisted in the oldest dance, laughing, whining, moaning. Baby nipped his plush lips, murmuring, “Such pretty fucking lips, want them on my pussy next time.”

He kissed her harder, tucking that idea away for later.

Their make-out had turned into sloppy humping again, the eldest Velaryon gasping, “Oh, m’ready, lemme have you please!” Baby goaded him on, “Yeah, yeah, lube it up ‘kay?” Jace did so with expediency, liberally coating the heavy member.

When his blunt cockhead began to breach her entrance his mouth fell open, eyes rolling around. Baby purred, “Mmm, yeah Jacey, gonna feel s’good, slow slow, ease into it.” The brunette did his best to take it slow but the tight, wet grip around his cock had him sucking in breath and whining on every other breath.

He was about halfway now, sweating from holding back, maneuvering those perfect legs of hers to over his elbows. She arched her back and moaned, “Yes, yes, stuffing me all up baby boy.” Jace could only garble nonsense as he bottomed out, cock sleeved in her cunt. He was in heaved, Baby’s pussy so hot and ridged, pulsing around him.

“Cuh-can I?,” he wheezed.

“Mhmmmm,” she sighed with dreamy eyes.

Jacaerys tentatively pulled back and slapped back in with a wet noise. He cried out helplessly, tucking his mouth onto a perky nipple. Then instinct took over. Fuck. Breed. Fill. Jace could get very one-track minded and focused it all on fucking his Baby silly, trying to keep that need of blowing in the future.

The bed shook, she cried out, Jace keened her name, pounding her roughly. So much for keeping it quiet. “Oh gods, you feel s’good, fuck, it’s s’good,” he repeated.

“I- mm! Know!,” she whimpered.

He moved her legs over his shoulders, living in the moment, all the noises and heavenly feelings. She had bit down on a pillow to keep from screaming, shaking from head to toe. Baby was milking him like a vice now, pussy just dripping and messy. Messier when he came in her poor slit.

That thought felt like a gut punch and she bit harder, squirting on his cock. He must’ve spoken that thought out loud, desperately panting her name as he emptied his heavy balls into her cunt, stuffing it with load after load, Jace shaking and whimpering at the intensity.

They stayed locked together, both too oversensitive to move. Jace had dropped her pretty thighs, rubbing them as he laid on her chest. Her shaky hand played with his hair. Baby hoarsely muttered, “You’re mine forever. I mean it.”

“Guh- uh- yes Baby.”

They needed a shower. Then maybe Jace could try that whole pussy eating thing. Clean her up good and well, make her cry from the third orgasm. Fuck. He sure had some stories to tell Cregan when he got back.

[zeninsama-moved]

pay up!

gojo satoru x female reader

satoru's poor time management has you working overtime, and this cheap bastard has something other than cash to pay you with (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

note from author mercury: this is my entry for our slimeball collab over on @bastardblvd , figured the host of the slimiest event on this corner of the internet should probably contribute a lil somethin. let's pretend like i'm not shitting bricks bc this is my first time writing for gojo <3 ending is a little abrupt but i needed to get this out asap or i'd be scrutinizing it for the next five months

content warnings: female reader, unprotected sex, oral and fingering (reader receiving), overuse of the word 'cute', praise and obnoxious petnames (reader receiving), needing to keep quiet, fucking on the couch while the kids are asleep down the hall so if that's a concern for you please don't touch, panty fetish if you squint, cumshot?, implied you've fucked before, unfair compensation for your labor lmao, multiple references to the slimeball au so that may be super jarring if you aren't familiar.

↳ word count: 3.9k

It's almost eleven, which means Satoru is... very late.

Shit happens, you get it. Maybe work ran later than expected, or the train hit a freeloader on the way back to Grimetown, but still. You can’t help but feel bothered by the lack of text message from your pseudo-employer.

You would never complain about Megumi and Tsumiki. They're absolute angels, and caring for them has never felt like work. Besides, your only other options were a waitressing job at Franky’s or the graveyard shift at the gas station, which you heard is filled with... interesting characters at that time of night. Caring for the coolest elementary schoolers alive seemed like a no-brainer. The arrangement worked out in your favor as well. Satoru ended up moving you into his apartment complex due to his demanding schedule, wanting you to always be close – like two apartments down the hall close.

Contrary to the name, the Luxury Condos on Bastard Boulevard weren’t much of an upgrade from your last apartment. The landlord must be loaded because it’s a miracle this place passed inspection, but you’ll gladly accept updated appliances and neighbors without a small army of pet rats. Even the offensively high rent doesn’t bother you because your pseudo-employer paid it all in cash. 

(You tried asking Satoru exactly where he got all this money from, to which he said, “It ain’t easy being the sexiest designer sunglasses model on this side of town. You gotta work hard to play hard!”)

Anyways, whatever is holding him, you hope it’s a good excuse.

In the meantime, you’ve taken up camp on his sofa, wrapped in a throw blanket that smells vaguely of Satoru's disgustingly expensive cologne. You were too lazy to change the channel from whatever cartoon Megumi was watching before bedtime, laughing through your nose every now and then. It’s not that bad, but still… You’d really, really like to go back to your apartment and hit the hay.

Maybe a little snooze won’t hurt, but of course, right as you close your eyes...

The smart lock clicks behind you. It’s a quarter past eleven when Satoru enters the apartment, looking gorgeous and unbothered, sunglasses low on his nose and DAISO cat-print tote bag slung over his arm.

"Daddy's home!" 

"Shh!" you're glaring from the couch, lips drawn in a frown. "Megumi and Tsumiki are sleeping! Where the hell were you? You couldn't give me a heads up?" 

"Sorry, babycakes. They loved what I was giving 'em, so the shoot ran overtime." Satoru grins at you, pulling the sunglasses off his face and ditching them in the catch-all along with his keys. His shoes are toed off and left by the front door. "Why, you miss me that bad?" 

You're tempted to throw one of the many decorative pillows right at his big, dumb head. Instead you sink back into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your frame, grouchy. "Whatever," you sigh. "You're four hours late, so you better pay up." 

Satoru sucks in air through his teeth. "Yeah, about that..."

You don't like where this conversation is heading. 

"Some big guy outside the train station jacked my wallet on the way home. You'll never believe it, he had this fuckin'... worm? On his shoulder? Shit, it was crazy. So I don't have the cash to pay you, but–" 

You glance over your shoulder at the man now rummaging through his bag behind you, eyes and tone full of warning. "Satoru..."

An opened package is waved in your face by a beaming idiot.

"– Ichigo daifuku! Your favorite!"

He's so full of shit. There’s one piece of mochi left, does he really think his already-eaten train snack will fix this? Probably, and as much as you'd hate to admit it, you do like strawberry daifuku mochi. Dammit.  

Despite your annoyance, you don't get up from your spot on the couch. You're tempted to storm out, blow past Satoru and grab your things, maybe give him a good shove while you do it. However, you're tired, and no grand display of your frustrations would change the fact that you'd be returning tomorrow to pick up his kids from school. Also, your apartment is literally two doors down, so you wouldn't truly be escaping Satoru – you'll still feel his annoying energy seeping through the absurdly large gap under your door while you sit there, in the apartment that he bought you, stewing in your annoyance and eating your feelings in a single daifuku mochi. 

God, you might hate this man. You don't even wanna look at him, but despite feeling this way, you let Satoru move closer, ditching the bag of sweets in favor of pinching your puffed-out cheek in his fingers.

“Aw, come on,” he pouts, redirecting your face towards his in an attempt to get you to look at him, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You force yourself to look anywhere else but the man above you and stubbornly pretend you can’t feel the cool puffs of his mint-gum breath, or notice his devious grin from the corner of your eye. “Don’t be mad at me, babycakes. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” 

“You can go to the ATM and get me some cash."

“Yeah, besides that.”

On the subject of things you hate about Satoru, you hate how quickly he switches up on you. One minute, he's the most annoying man you've ever had the misfortune of knowing. The next, he's smooth and serious. The kind of man that confidently leans in and ghosts his lips over your neck, intentionally fanning his breath over your skin because you made the mistake of telling him you're ticklish there.

"There must be some way for me to make this up to you," Satoru murmurs into your neck, the low vibrations of his voice making you shiver. It's then that you finally cave, eyes slowly meeting his, brilliant blues hidden behind heavy lids.

Unfortunately, he's very handsome.

"Okay," you huff. "Fine."

He kisses your cheek, then your nose, and then he kisses you.

You hate to admit it, but Satoru knows how to kiss. His lips are warm and soft, meshing with yours with confidence, tongue easing into your mouth in a practiced motion.

He momentarily breaks the kiss to join you on the couch, kneeling on the cushion beside you and leaning back in, cradling your cheek in his hand, murmuring against your lips before kissing them again.

"Let me show you just how much I appreciate you."

Satoru reaches down and rests his hand between your thighs, cupping your pussy through the rough fabric of your shorts. You bite your lip at the sensation, stifling a needy whimper, but he knows. Your grouchy demeanor melted so easily for him.

How cute, his little tsundere.

He squeezes you softly, then rubs four fingers up and down, keeping his pace slow.

"You know I can't do it without you, right?"

Your hips lift off the couch, chasing his hand as it continues its unbothered pace. Satoru rewards you by focusing the stimulation on your clit, switching to tighter, firmer circles over the sensitive bud.

"You're just saying that," you mutter.

"Nuh uh," Satoru teases. "I've never seen anyone be so good with my kids. They love you, you know. Maybe more than they love me."

That's not too difficult, you want to quip, but opt to bite your tongue instead. Satoru's touch feels way too good, you don't want him to stop or risk having your orgasm put off just over a snark. Instead, you curl your fingers into the nape of his neck, fidgeting with the shorter tufts of hair there. 

Satoru kisses you again. His hand stops playing with your clit just to skim higher, unfasten the button and zipper on your shorts so he can touch you where you both want it most.

"And you know," he murmurs between kisses, fingers sneaking under the loosened waist of your shorts, then your panties, until you feel his fingers make contact with your bare clit. He watches your reactions closely, smiling when you gasp and buck up into his touch. "I like you too. How can I not? You're too damn cute."

His slender middle finger skims your folds, feeling the wetness there, letting it gather and get him all slick, making it easier when it finally pushes inside you. Just one finger already feels like so much, almost too much. He feels your walls bear down, his cock twitching lazily in his pants. How long has it been since he’s had you last? 

You let him have you once before, back when he spent the whole day helping you move into your new apartment, carrying all those heavy boxes for you like the gentleman he is – and you, being the sweet peach you are, insisted on making him dinner as a thank you.

You reminded Satoru of a cute little housewife, puttering around the kitchen in your apron, though nothing was cuter than the sight of you sinking onto his dick that night, your hands and pussy clinging to him like you couldn’t get enough.

Every time he jerks off, he thinks of that adorable, pinched look on your face when the fat head of his dick first speared you open. 

It's kind of embarrassing, the hold you have on him. 

When you're taking his finger with ease, Satoru presses a second into your cunt, further stretching it out. "Come on, baby, open up for me," he coaxes, voice low and sultry. "Fuck, you don't know how bad I missed this pussy. Gonna let me fuck it again? Hm?"

"Uh huh," you're nodding, dazed, and the sight of you makes Satoru grin. The heel of his palm presses into your clit, providing the right amount of pressure when combined with his fingers.

"Yeah? Gonna let me have this cute pussy to myself?" 

Cruelly, the motion stops.

The lack of stimulation makes you pout.

Satoru's fingers glide out of you with an embarrassingly loud squelch, intentionally brushing along your clit as they withdraw from your shorts and panties. His hand emerges, fingers glistening with clear threads of arousal webbed between them, and before you can think, he slips them past your lips and presses firmly on your tongue, prompting you to suck.

"Tastes good?" Satoru coos, delighted at your eagerness. "Let me taste now, okay, cutie?" 

Shyly, you nod. His fingers withdraw from your mouth, leaving a dribble of spit on your bottom lip. 

Satoru repositions himself to kneel on the floor in front of you, tugging you by the hips so your bottom half comes right to the edge of the couch, dangerously close to his face. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cunt, the sensation muted by your shorts, but it still makes you gasp. His fingers hook into your shorts and you lift your hips to help him pull them off, but he makes no effort to remove your panties with them. Instead, he fixates on the little wet patch right in the center, caressing it with his finger. Admiring it.

Fuck, you’re so cute. He can’t wait to get his mouth on you. 

"Need to keep quiet, okay?" Satoru instructs, peering up at you through his lashes, watching you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. The last thing you need is to disturb the two rugrats asleep down the hall, even if you could pry yourself off Satoru and pull your shorts back on in record time. You don't want this moment to stop, not when the promise of his mouth on your cunt is so deliciously close.

You look so sweet like this, he thinks. Chest heaving, eyes wide and eager, one hand fisting the hem of your shirt, holding it over your stomach for a better view. Satoru smiles up at you, maintaining eye contact as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“What a beautiful girl.”

Satoru buries his face in the soft warmth between your legs. His nose presses into your clit, taking in your scent as his tongue ventures lower, finally getting a taste of your pussy and he shamelessly moans. It’s faint through the fabric. He knows he could taste you better without them, but something about eating pussy through a cute pair of panties never fails to get him so fucking hard. He likes watching them get wetter and wetter, until they're completely soaked from arousal and saliva and clinging to the shape of the pretty pussy underneath.

Your other hand flies down immediately, resting on the back of Satoru’s head to urge him closer, and of course he’ll indulge you. He’ll eat you just the same, dragging his tongue in broad strokes up to your clit, then sucking it into his mouth.

The muted sensation makes you whine. It’s not enough, yet so good. Enough to make your little pussy flutter under your panties. You push his head harder against your cunt, desperate to keep the kissing suction over your clit. You’re certain you could cum like this, between the pressure of Satoru’s tongue and the vibrations when he moans against you. 

A string of saliva connects Satoru’s swollen lips to your panties when he pulls back for air, but this time he pulls the soaked fabric aside, finally getting an eyeful of your pussy.

“Well hi, gorgeous,” he lovingly coos, pressing a light kiss over your clit. “Did you miss me?” 

Is he… really talking to your pussy? 

Scratch that, you hate him again. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, breathless. 

“What do you mean? We’re having a moment,” Satoru replies, voice still sweet and airy, the same way one would talk to a cute little pet. 

If you didn’t need him so badly, you’d kick him right in his dumb face.

Fortunately, Satoru cuts his little bit short and dives back in, tongue sweeping through your folds, finally getting his first real taste of your pussy. You taste even better than he could imagine. 

You release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, body melting into the couch. Your fingers tangle in soft white hair, urging his head deeper, wanting to feel more of his mouth and Satoru obliges. His tongue dips into your cunt, fucking you with it, then drags up to your clit to lick in slow circles.  

He really, really wants to be inside you right now. His dick is throbbing so hard, he’s amazed he hasn’t passed out yet, but Satoru’s always been a man with a sweet tooth. He doesn’t mind setting his needs aside a while longer if it means eating out some pretty pussy. 

Maybe not too much longer though.

His fingers join between your legs, still slick from your saliva and arousal, and slip easily into your cunt. Making you cum is easy for him, his fingers thrust deep with each lazy roll of his wrist, stimulating that spot inside you with ease. Though, he can tell you're craving more of a stretch, so Satoru, being the chivalrous, generous, oh-so-kind man that he is, gives you a third finger.

Your jaw drops at the intrusion, pussy now spread wide to accommodate the stretch of three fingers as they curl and stroke your sensitive walls, drawing out more wetness and arousal until it drips down his wrist in clear drops.

Satoru knows you're close when you let out a particularly desperate moan, your hips stuttering and walls fluttering so perfectly on his fingers, clit pulsing against his tongue.

"Satoru, I'm–" you warn, trying to keep your voice low.

"I know, baby," he coos in encouragement. "Feels so good, doesn't it? Go ahead, pretty baby. Cum on my tongue if you need to."

You don't need any further coaxing. When you cum, you cum hard, hand smacking over your mouth to muffle your cries as Satoru keeps fucking you through your orgasm, fingers thrusting and tongue lapping up every drop of arousal your sensitive pussy drools out, just for him.

He rests his head on your inner thigh, watching fondly as you come down from your high. His fingers still thrust into you but his pace has slowed significantly, working you through it until your walls stop contracting. Your arousal coats his entire hand when it withdraws from your cunt, even pooling on the couch beneath you. It'll be a bitch to clean, but Satoru can't bring himself to care about that now. His dick might explode if it's not buried in your cunt in the next thirty seconds.

Even as you lay there, chest heaving, you still crave more. Your hands are greedy, grabbing at Satoru while he makes his way up and eases you back against the couch.

“Easy there, tiger,” he chuckles, hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and peeling them down your legs. "Let's take these off you first."

Your panties are discarded somewhere – probably his pocket, that pervert – before Satoru goes in for another kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One hand rests beside your head, supporting his weight. The other reaches down and palms his dick through his pants. "You need my dick that badly? Hm? Turn around." 

You oblige, rolling over to lay on your stomach and pretending the sound of his belt unfastening doesn't make you warm with anticipation. Satoru shifts to straddle your thighs, placing one of the cushions to rest under your hips, keeping you nice and comfortable while also elevating your ass to be closer to his dick. A win-win.

"Shit," he sighs, pulling his dick from his briefs and jerking it slowly, slicking himself up with your wetness. Precum beads at the tip and he rubs it against your folds, mixing your messes. "It's been a while, huh?" 

"Satoru," you whine, pushing back against him, wiggling your hips slightly in a silent request for him to quit teasing you and get on with it.

Maybe that makes you greedy. After all, he was just nice enough to let you cum on his fingers and tongue, but you don't care. It doesn't hurt to be selfish every once in a while, especially with Satoru of all people.

When Satoru finally presses the thick head of his dick into you, it feels like you’re being split in two. He's immediately met with resistance, your cunt bearing down, struggling to accommodate it even with all the prep he gave you. So he starts slow and shallow, dragging his heavy dick in and out, bullying your cunt into relaxing and letting more of him fit. He pulls out and taps the head against your entrance again. "Come on, sweetie, open up for me~" 

He eases into your cunt again, but this time Satoru leans in, his opposite hand settling on the other side of your head, smothering you with his weight in the best way possible. His body blankets yours, pinning your back under his chest and ass against his hips. His dick pushes into you with more persistence, inch after inch sinking deeper until he's buried to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. You're probably drooling all over his couch, but it's hard to feel shame when he's filling you out so nicely. He's so deep, it's like he's forcing the air out of your lungs and replacing it with his dick.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, kissing it sweetly, then he starts to move. Slow, deep thrusts, only withdrawing an inch before he's chasing that warmth again. He fucks you as hard as he can without being too noisy, limiting the smack of his hips against your ass, even though he really wants to see it bounce from the force of his thrusts. If he could, he’d be making you scream right now, watch some pretty tears stream down your face because of what his dick does to you. Yeah, that would be cute.

Satoru ruts ruthlessly into the tight heat of your cunt, chasing the orgasm he’s needed so fucking desperately. Balls slap against your clit, heavy with all his pent-up release. He takes advantage of your open mouth and forces two fingers inside, pressing down firmly on your tongue and delighting in the way you slobber around them, in the way your cheeks subconsciously hollow and suck them deeper, still tasting your pussy on them.

Sucking on his fingers keeps you quiet, gives you something else to focus on if not the relentless pounding against your cervix, or how close you’re getting to snapping and cumming all over his dick.

“Shit, you’re so perfect,” Satoru huffs against your neck. "I can feel you squeezing me, baby, I know this little pussy wants to cum."

It’s hard to moan his name when his stupidly long fingers are prodding the back of your throat. You’re babbling, crying out for Thatowu to keep fucking you, it feels so good, and he’s grinning like an idiot above you. Yeah, baby? It feels good?

Satoru’s fingers withdraw from your mouth only to snake underneath your body and stake claim on your clit, massaging in slow circles, coaxing you closer to your orgasm. You can’t take it anymore. Your body goes limp, cheek smashed into the cushion, gaping mouth smearing drool all over the fabric while your cunt creams around his dick.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” Satoru moans, feeling your cunt squeeze around his dick like it's trying to swallow him whole. “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum. Is that what you want, baby? You want me to fill this pussy up?”

You’re too fucked out to answer, but that’s okay, because Satoru wasn’t really asking. More like letting you know he’s seconds away from driving his dick as deep as possible and unloading right against your cervix. God, he’d really like that, but he can't risk having any more rugrats right now. Not when his career as the only sexiest designer sunglasses model in Grimetown is taking off.

Instead, he pulls out of your cunt and manhandles you onto your back, quickly stroking his dick, filling the living room with the lewd sounds of your wetness squelching around him. You're laying there, dazed, legs spread wide and pussy exposed, all swollen and leaky and clenching around the air. The sight of your debauched face sends Satoru over the edge. He releases with a groan, cum splattering on your lower stomach, inner thighs, all over your pussy, before pressing the head right against your clit and letting the rest of his load drip.

You both need a minute after that. Maybe several minutes. 

Blood still rushes in your ears when you come to. You push yourself up on shaking arms, Winnie the Pooh-ing it with your tee shirt and lack of panties. You're a mess, all sweaty with his cum painting your lower half, even parts of the couch underneath you. Maybe he'll offer up his shirt as a cumrag so you don't have to do the walk of shame to the bathroom.

You watch Satoru, who is already back to his normal, irritating self, snatch his bag off the side table, already craving a little something sweet. He chomps into the last strawberry daifuku mochi in the packet and you frown.

“Hey, I thought that was for me."

“We can still share,” Satoru teases, waving the mochi-half in your face with a grin.

Huffing, your eyes drop back down to the open bag on his lap and… wait a minute. Has that been here this whole time?

“Satoru, is that your wallet?” 

He looks down, a little rice flour on his chin.

“Oh, shit! Where did that come from?” 

[emjiroki]

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist ♡

Yuuji Itadori ♡

Birthday Post: Yuuji x Reader x Megumi

Firsts Collab: Yuuji Itadori x Reader 18+

Money Maker: Underground Fighter Au 18+

Soft Boy headcanons

Sex me up collab: pro boxer Yuuji x reader

Yuuji/Sukuna cockwarming

Yuuji/Sukuna cockwarming pt 2

Gojo Satoru ♡

Angel Blue: Gojo Satoru x Reader 18+

Triple Strike XXX: slimeball collab Bowling Alley owner Gojo

Megumi Fushiguro ♡

Pushing the Limits: Megumi x Reader 18+

Toji Fushiguro ♡

In the morning, I'll be gone: Toji x Reader 18+ drabble

Smutty snack: 18+ Toji x Reader

Yuuta Okkotsu ♡

Humid: pool boy Yuuta x Lonely housewife reader

Obsession: pool boy Yuuta x Lonely housewife reader pt 2 TW DARK CONTENT

Alpha Yuuta rut drabble

Thirst Drabble

Geto Suguru ♡

Sacred: vampire cult leader Geto x Reader

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐙𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is my submission for @bastardblvd's Wet Hot Slimeball Summer Collab. My prompt was ☀️lifeguard☀️. Special thanks to the love of my life, @strawberrystepmom, for beta reading this. [ SYNOPSIS ] LOCAL LIFEGUARD LETS CUTE GIRL DROWN SO HE CAN PLAY THE HERO AND GET PUSSY [ WORD COUNT ] 1.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, mostly written from Zeke's POV, no plot; no problem (jk there are problems), manipulation, dubcon, predator/prey vibes, lowkey somnophilia (y/n is barely conscious), oral sex (f receiving), public-ish sex, jerking off.

Zeke didn’t consider himself a bad guy. He was well-mannered, his politeness instilled in him by his late mother, and pretty nice if he put his mind to it. He was a hard worker and the first to jump into the water to save someone. His experience was unmatched, having been stationed at the same beach since he was a teenager, and his knowledge was unparalleled. His boss had even dubbed him the boy wonder…

No, Zeke wasn’t a bad guy…

He just did bad things…

Like letting pretty girls get themselves into trouble so he could rescue them from the big, bad ocean.

But who could blame him? Temptation was lurking around every corner. It was like a siren’s song, leading him astray and drowning him in inebriating waters. He simply couldn’t control himself sometimes. It’s not his fault he was bogged down by his carnal desires.

And it’s certainly not his fault that you came to the beach on a quiet Monday morning. He spotted you from the lifeguard tower, his eyes glued to you. You looked like an angel making your way across the sand, your white billowy cover up trailing behind you, caught in the gentle sea breeze. His cheeks grew warm as you unbuttoned it, revealing a matching white bikini underneath. It looked heavenly against your sun kissed skin.

Zeke knew he should tell you about the three rip currents plaguing the beach, but where was the fun in that? He opened the door to the tower and stepped down, watching you as you waded in the turbulent water. You looked so unaware of the danger surrounding you. All it would take would be one big wave to knock you down and then you’d be swept out to sea.

“Be careful,” he shouted through his megaphone. He needed to at least seem diligent.

You turned, your back facing the ocean, a rookie mistake.

“I will,” you hollered back.

He could barely hear you over the waves licking the shore. Thankfully he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the sneaker wave heading towards you. By the time you noticed it was too late, and the wave knocked you off your feet. You fell forward on your hands and knees, and tried to anchor yourself, but the water kept rushing in, gradually submerging you. As it began to recede the waves pulled you away from the shore and into the untamed ocean.

Zeke smirked. You didn’t seem too phased as you casually treaded water. He assumed you would have panicked and flailed around, wasting your precious energy. He couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. Your inconceivable skills decimated his plan. He exhaled deeply and debated pursuing you in a more socially acceptable manner. At this point it was the only way.

Contemplating such a thing made his mouth fill with saliva. He couldn’t bear the thought of attempting small talk or suggesting you two grab a drink. It was wholly against his nature.

And lucky for him he wouldn’t have to.

Another sneaker wave consumed you, leaving no trace of your existence. Grabbing his rescue board he made his way down the beach and into the water. When he pulled your limp body onto the board, you were sedated and calm. He always loved an easy rescue.

“So stupid,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, his eyes trained on your exposed breast. The chilled ocean water left your nipple erect. It practically demanded his attention.

“You’re fine,” he cooed. “The water’s deceptive today. Don’t beat yourself up.”

His tone was saccharine, terminal in its sweetness. He was amazed he was able to mask his hunger. Seeing you so defenseless made his cock throb. You weakly smiled and muttered a muted “thank you” before drifting away as Zeke took you back to shore.

“Let me take a look at you in the tower. I want to make sure you’re okay,” he said, lifting you up.

He didn’t give you a chance to protest, not that you would’ve been able to. You were hardly in a position to exercise your agency. All you could do was gaze up at him sleepily, worn out from your battle against the waves.

The inside of the lifeguard tower was cramped. Sand littered the floor. The hot air was thick with the smell of sunscreen and salt water. He sat you down in the lone chair and stared down at your exhausted body. He lifted your chin. Your dazed look made his heart race. He got down on his knees and extended one of your bent legs. His weathered hands were rough against the tender flesh of your thighs.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked even though he honestly didn’t care.

You shook your head.

“I’m going to check you for injuries anyway. Better to be safe than sorry,” he recited.

He caressed your limbs, taking in every inch of you. His hands wandered your body, his eyes consuming it. It was hard to believe such a stupendously lifeless angel was gracing his presence.

“How do you feel?”

“Like… I need to… sit down for… a while,” you mumbled.

Your eyelids were so heavy; you could barely keep them open. But overall you seemed in good enough shape. Zeke couldn’t have had better luck.

“I think I can manage that,” he said warmly as his cock continued to throb. “I need to keep an eye on you for a bit anyway.”

“No. Go and…. do—do your job. I’ll be okay here by”—you yawned—”myself.”

Zeke placed his hands on your hips, his grip tight and commanding.

“I’d be a pretty shitty lifeguard if I left you in here on your own,” he said. 

His grey eyes were dark with ache. You let out a weak laugh and wiped away the sand that had dusted your cheek. You mumbled an apology. He shushed you and hooked his fingers under your bikini bottoms. You exhaled sharply and he paused.

“What?” he asked playfully. “C’mon.”

Your face was adorned with a pathetic, little frown. It hardly deterred him, but he decided to play nice. He cupped your face with a calloused hand. His cock was chafing against his board shorts.

“Don’t you want to properly thank me for my efforts?” he asked, running his finger along your bottom lip.

You hesitated.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he purred, sounding more inelegant than he would’ve preferred. He slipped two of his fingers into your mouth. “If anything I’m doing you a favor on top of saving your life.”

Your mouth was soft and warm. He wanted to fuck it.

“You deserve some comfort after everything you’ve been through,” he said, pressing down on your tongue.  His tone was slightly more urgent, more insistent. “Don’t deprive yourself.”

You did nothing in protest, entrusting him with your life once more. Seeing you surrender yourself did wonders for his ego and made his balls feel tight. Your steadfast silence was heavenly. He always preferred the quiet type.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, staring at your lips. He thought about kissing you, but that was too intimate. You were prey, nothing built to last. His eyes trailed down your body, lingering on your breasts. He untied your bikini top and watched as it fell unceremoniously to the floor.

He took your erect nipple between his lips and sucked. He wondered if you could feel his beard against your skin, and if you noticed how he kept his well-oiled and trim. You hummed as he swirled his tongue around your nipple. 

You sighed heavily and made a feeble attempt at curling your toes. It was so cute. He couldn’t help but whimper a little.

Your skin was salty, still dappled with water. The ocean’s cruel touch left your skin clammy. But it did little to deter him. He didn’t care if you were warm, he just cared if you had a heartbeat or not.

He pulled away from your breast and peeled off the rest of your bikini. He positioned himself between your thighs and buried his face in your cunt, his nose brushing up against your clit. Your scent was ambrosial and dizzying. He spread apart your folds with his tongue, savoring the taste of your arousal.

Zeke looked up at you, meeting your sleepy gaze. He swept his tongue along your cunt before slipping the tip inside. A small whimper fell from your lips. He did it again, relishing the sound of your voice.

“Yes…” you mumbled as he lapped at your folds.

He felt like his cock was going to burst. He pulled his cock out of his board shorts and palmed its aching tip. It was dewy with precum. He gripped the length of it and stroked. Euphoria enveloped him.

He sucked on your clit as your soft moans filled the lifeguard tower. He felt insatiable and couldn’t stand the thought of this moment ending. In a perfect world you would be his little pet, one he could consume at any time. The sweet taste of your arousal would always be within reach.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his gruff voice muffled by your cunt.

More precum dribbled from his tip and he began to rut against his fist. He showed neither himself nor you any mercy. He was relentless as he feasted on your cunt. You writhed in your seat, your body falling victim to the debauchery Zeke unleashed.

He made eye contact with you, his lustful gaze unwavering.

“Are you going to be a good girl and come all over my tongue?” he asked as he furiously jerked himself off.

“Uh-huh,” you said, placing your hand on the back of his head.

Your touch sent him over the edge. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it together, but he refused to come before you. He grabbed onto your hips and rolled his tongue against your clit, trying to ignore his swollen cock. He continued to hold your gaze.

“Oh my god,” you murmured, pushing his head deeper into your cunt.

Zeke struggled to ignore how sweet you sounded as your orgasm washed over you. The relief he felt once you finally stopped was immense. He stood up and tried in vain to wipe away some of your arousal that had soaked his beard.

His cock was heavy in his hand as he pulled on its length. He was so close, he could taste it. He felt like he was going to burst at any second. He watched as you shut your eyes and seemed to doze off. He couldn’t help but be a little heartbroken. You were supposed to be marveling at him and his beautiful cock. He snapped his fingers by your ear while he fucked his fist. 

“Look at me,” he growled.

Your eyes fluttered open and stared at him. His entire body was flooded with warmth as long, thick ropes of cum splattered against you. He couldn’t control his hearty moans as he watched it drip down your skin. You looked so confused, so lost, and it was exactly what he wanted.

[itbeguilttriptime]

Episode ideas for my "Lydia and Beetlejuice are rival newspaper reporters" TV show concept:

-A hybrid lab creature escapes from a top research facility and the race is on to recapture it. Lydia and Beetlejuice both attach themselves to separate search parties in pursuit of the creature. Though they're both chasing the same story, they end up having to protect each other when the creature is found and goes feral on its pursuers. Upon further investigation, Lydia and Beetlejuice discover that the creature was horrifically mistreated while in captivity and together expose the facility's abuse. The creature is found suitable foster parents that treat it right.

-A famous horror film director is holding an exclusive one-night-only screening of a never-before-released film he's made. Beetlejuice and Lydia both sneak into the event in disguises. They instantly recognize each other but, out of professional respect, don't blow one another's covers. They watch the film, but something is very off about it, and the way the audience is so totally absorbed in it, like they're being hypnotized. As it turns out, they are being hypnotized, and the film's spell possesses everyone but Beetlejuice. The evil director has used the power of movie magic to turn the audience into his personal slaves, and Beetlejuice must find a way to break the spell (and save Lydia) before it's too late.

-Delores's cult is rapidly growing in influence and power and both Beetlejuice and Lydia are assigned to investigate and report on what's going on. However, there's a problem. The cult only accepts married couples, so Beetlejuice and Lydia are forced to make a truce so they can go undercover. They pretend to be a happily married couple indoctrinated into the cult. The ruse is surprisingly easy to pull off, except for when Beetlejuice invents outlandish stories when the other cult members ask them invasive questions about their intimate life, much to Lydia's embarrassment.

-In this AU, Rory is a smarmy politician running for senator, whose publicity campaign revolves around raising awareness for mental health issues and improving treatment/conditions for diagnosed people. When Lydia interviews him, he tells her the sob story of his dead fiancée and a part of her (the experienced journalist part) can tell that he's lying through his teeth for voter sympathy. But she can't prove it. In private, Rory believes that all mentally unwell people should be "locked up forever like they used to be" and has grand plans to that effect. Lydia and Beetlejuice work together to expose this slimeball before he gets elected.

-Lydia's co-workers Barbara and Adam Maitland go on vacation, and Lydia is assigned to take over Barbara's "Ask Mrs. Maitland" column for a few weeks. It starts with Lydia receiving an completely unhinged ask letter that she correctly guesses is a prank from Beetlejuice. Answering the real ask letters goes well for her at first, until Lydia gets a letter from a teenage girl who's getting bullied at school. Lydia advises the girl to "assert herself" more, not knowing that this girl has Carrie-esque powers. Lydia's encouraging response inspires the girl to go on an epic rampage of revenge against her classmates. Lydia has to stop her before she completely obliterates her entire town.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 10

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥

The other girl in this one is from Black Light

Part of The Club AU

You stopped being surprised by men a long time ago. So it hardly fazes you when Bucky sends a picture of a tackily short red dress with the caption, 'make sure you show some ass for my guy'. You roll your eyes but find something suitably similar. A darker shade but just as short; just as demeaning.

You do your make-up and grab a light jacket and your purse. You have the address and upon Googling, you find it's for a rather upscale restaurant on the far side of the city. The area code well outside your bank account's depth. You can spare some of your cut for an uber.

Your vigilant as you sit silently in the back seat. As you approach the restaurant, you look up and down the street, and across it. You're not stupid. It feels like a set-up, more than just a date, but you see no other way to get this jerk off your back.

You step out and strut across the pavement. You pull out your phone and re-read the message; 'reservation under Rogers'. Great. You're really not feeling this.

You enter and greet the hostess curtly, giving her the name for the table, and waiting with your hands folding around your purse. She offers to take your coat and hand it over, happy to shed the extra layer. She leads you along the bar and towards the back of the place. You take in each face, perusing all the seats, searching for that slimeball. Bucky is nowhere to be seen. That's hardly a comfort.

As you approach a booth, a figure slides across the seat and your eyes fall to the slender man from the cafe. Steve. He runs his hand over his neatly combed blond hair as his cheeks glow red. You try to smile. You feel suddenly bad for him. You wonder if he even knows about the blackmail.

"You look gorgeous," he greets breathless, "er, I'm sorry, hi. I... let's sit."

You nod as he waves you towards the table. You glide over the seat as the hostess promises a server will be with you shortly to get you drinks. Steve sits and mousishly inches closer and closer as you grab the wine menu.

"Nice place," you remark as you look up at the light hanging above you.

"Yeah, I... I thought so," the nerves tremble in his voice chords, "you do look really nice."

"Thank you, Steve," you face him, "I love your tie."

He reaches to touch the bowtie at his neck, smiling broader, "really? Bucky-- I, my friend, made fun of it."

"Don't listen to your friend. Better yet, find better friends," you scoff.

"Yeah, uh, it's just... he's... I, let's not talk about him."

"Let's not," you agree and reach to still his hand as he fidgets, "Steve, chill. This is weird but not awful. Let's order some wine and try to enjoy ourselves."

"Okay," his voice peaks and he clears his throat, bringing it back down to baritone, "yeah, that sounds great."

He stares at you and a genuine smile breaks through. He seems genuinely awe-struck by you. It's flattering. Men leer and lurk and loom, but something about him is disarming in a very sweet way.

"Well, looks like we're onto the small talk," you chuckle, "so, I work at the transit commission. I sell bus tickets. It's not exciting. At all. And doesn't pay well. So, what do you do?"

He stares at you, marveling, eyes sparkling, like you just said something absolutely amazing. He stutters and combs his fingers through his hair again, a shank sticking up as he brings his hands down to grip his jacket lapels. He chews his lips and blows out a breath.

"I'm an artist," he admits as he lowers his chin, "it's not very exciting either. I do online commissions. Nothing revolutionary. Mostly portraits of dogs."

"That's adorable," you say as you reach over to smooth his hair out. He flinches and peeks up at you. He bring your hand down to your chin and tilt his head up, "I wish I was creative. At all. I'd love to see some of your art. I mean, if you'd like to share."

"Oh, um, as long as it doesn't bother you for my phone to be out at the table," he teethes his lip sheepishly. You shake your head and shrug. He reaches under his brown jacket and takes out his phone, "this one... well... I did a portrait of this cat. For a friend. Cat's a real jack-- meanie," he corrects himself, "but pretty."

He shows you a crosshatching of a white cat, dignified and defiant. You smile. Yes, you see the attitude. He's captured it so well.

"Wow, that's amazing," you lean in, "I have a friend, she's the same way. She just sees the world so different and I could never..."

"Everyone makes their own type of art. Maybe yours is people. You make them feel... safe," he suggests.

You laugh but quickly stop yourself, "yeah, maybe."

Before the silence can grow awkward, a server approaches. Steve seems shy even with her. He searches the wine menu rather cluelessly and you make a suggestion which he accepts. The server promises to return with the bottle and lean back into the seat. He's looking at you again.

"Can I show you something else?" He asks. You nod. He flips through his phone and turns it towards you, "I drew this that day at the cafe. After you left. So I'd remember your face." It's a drawing of you, you look radiant and not your usual skeptical self. "I didn't think I'd see you again.”

“Funny how things turn out,” you say, “so, I wanna know more about your art. Do you have like a super awesome project you want to do one day? Like the Sistine Chapel or Mona Lisa?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t compare myself but… yeah, I have a few ideas,” he seems to come alive as he takes your bait. It eases the mood and chips away at your own wariness. If you have to be here, you may as well try to enjoy it.

[thus-spoke-lo]

A Hayride for a Hayride // slimeball Taxi Driver!Zoro x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Written for @bastardblvd's House of Slimy Horrors Collab

Synopsis: Your date to the Grimetown Halloween festival cancelled on you last-minute, leaving you with nothing to do. Luckily, a certain moss-haired taxi driver lifeguard hayride operator offers you a free ride to get your mind off things, and you're soon in for the ride of your life. CW: slimeball au; afab!reader; no pronouns used for reader; mild action violence; vaginal fingering; unprotected vaginal intercourse; mild degradation WC: 5.4k // Fictober Masterlist

The sun descends in the evening sky over Grimetown, glowing through the permanent haze that hangs over the city and painting the landscape in tangerines and golds. You make your way around the festival grounds, sipping at something that tastes close enough to apple cider—you know better than to ask too many questions about the contents of beverages around here. The autumn leaves crunch under your boots as you traipse around, stopping to watch a fistfight that appears to be the result of a rigged pumpkin pie-eating contest—you’re rooting for the guy in the McDonald’s uniform.

The smell of all things greasy and sweet lures you towards the food stalls, and you almost consider trying the rat on a stick (rat isn’t in quotation marks but it’s gotta be a joke…they wouldn’t, would they?) when a noodly blonde man with a curly eyebrow poking out from his mop of blonde hair leans over the counter of the Flapjack Shack’s stall and begins to explain the complicated history of the humble omelet to you in between thinly-veiled innuendos. You nod and smile and wait for another customer to walk by in order to make your escape, plunking down at the edge of a fountain in the middle of the square, thick, white, foamy substance sloppily bubbling away inside. You would think they would have dyed the goopy substance green or something given the occasion, and you run a finger through the viscous liquid, wondering why the texture feels awfully familiar.

A sudden buzzing in your pocket pulls you away from thinking too hard about what you just dipped your hand into, but a quick glance at the message preview sends your fluttering heart right into a meat grinder.

[Soggy Man]: I’m still stuck at work, I’m so sorry. I don’t think I’ll make it tonight.

[You]: Yuuta noooo ☹ how come you’re stuck? Aren’t you closed?

[Soggy Man]: last minute customer came by for an inspection

“An inspection?” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as though he’d feel your questioning glance through the screen.

[You]: I thought you only did those in the morning

[Soggy Man]: well you know how it is, sometimes I have to make exceptions

You wonder if this is the type of exception that all DMV employees were inclined to give, or if it’s more like the exception he made to waive your registration renewal fee when you offered to blow him behind the counter after hours. Either way, this isn’t exactly the best way to start off your attempt at a real first date, not after weeks of back and forth, navigating your ever-changing shifts at the coffee shop, and his abrupt late-night work hours.

[You]: No worries! I understand!

[Soggy Man]:  I’m sorry cutie, hope you have fun without me

[You]: it’s ok! I know how to entertain myself.

[You]: we’ll try again some other time!

“Well, shit.” You shove your phone back into your pocket with a sigh that turns into a groan that turns into a momentary existential crisis—this was the seventh first date you’d tried to set up recently, and the sixth first date where you got ghosted before ever getting to try to disappoint them in person. Not waiting to see if Yuuta has anything else to add, you wander off, glancing around the packed festival in search of something—anything—to occupy your unexpected free time.

As you pass the shoddily assembled Ferris wheel, watching it shimmy with every rotation, threatening to come unbolted and roll away at any moment, a light fog starts to accumulate at your feet. It stinks, and not like how you remember fog machines to smell from your glory days as a stagehand at the Grimetown Community Theater; no, this is thick, and pungent, and a little nauseating. You walk deeper into the foul-smelling haze, and glance down to see the cause—a stubbed-out cigar rolls towards your feet, a few stray embers spraying out across the dirt.

“You alright, honey?” a low voice rumbles from just beyond the dissipating vapors. “You look like something’s wrong.”

You cough and sputter, waving your hand in front of you to clear the remaining cloud of smoke and see a man with green hair and a tanned complexion standing with his back against a wooden wagon, his extraordinarily muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, a thin white t-shirt straining to contain his brawny form. Three gold earring jingle softly as he cocks his head to examine you with his one good eye, and you wonder if the scar over his other eye is real or fabricated for the occasion.

“I’m fine, thanks,” you fib, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you stroll towards him. The last thing you want right now is some burly stranger trying to play therapist when what would actually solve your problems is guzzling pumpkin-spice flavored alcohol and stuffing your face with candy apples, then passing out in that weird gloopy fountain ‘til sunrise.

“Come on now.” He raises an eyebrow and gives you a pitying grin. “You sure you’re okay?”

You kick at the ground with the toe of your boot and huff a sigh. “Fine. I, uh—I got stood up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Dude texted me after I already got here saying he couldn’t come, and I don’t want to waste my ticket, so now I’m just kinda in limbo and not really sure what to do.”

“Pretty thing like you gettin’ stood up on a nice night like this?” He gestured towards the darkened sky, the moon covered in a dense mess of clouds, silver beams poking through and illuminating the space between you. “It’s a damned shame.”

“Tell me about it,” you chuckle in agreement.

“You know,” he says, running his tongue over his lower lip, “I’m technically supposed to wait until there’s a big group before I head out, but—I could give you a ride. A private one.”

“A private ride, huh?” You inhale sharply through your teeth and your eyes flit over his muscled form. A private ride with some grimy eye candy doesn’t sound like a bad way to recover from a hefty blow to your ego. “How much is it?”

“It’s free. Comes with your ticket.”

“You know what? Sure, why the hell not?”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” he grins, giving an exaggerated wink. “Don’t you worry—I’ll make you forget all about that loser.”

You head towards the back of the wagon, expecting there to be a step to hoist yourself inside, when a strong hand grabs your wrist and tugs you back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks as you stumble backward into him, your back pressing against his firm chest, sending a little spark down your spine.

“I—I was getting in the cart.”

“Oh, now that’s just for regular, everyday hayrides.” He grasps your hand and leads you towards the front of the cart, gesturing towards the bench that sits just behind the horses; he places his warm hands on your shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Private tours get the best seat in the house.”

You climb aboard and he follows, letting out a quiet, satisfied-sounding groan as he settles in beside you, scooting closer until his warm body presses right against yours. The bench is more than long enough to afford you both some personal space, but it seems the private tour also comes with the bonus of physical affection and suggestive flirtation—not that you’re complaining. The hayride operator reaches over and pats your thigh. “Alright. Where to?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” You shrug and gesture vaguely in front of you. “Where do you normally take this thing?”

“Oh yeah.” He furrows his brow. “Sorry, I’m just used to my day job.”

“What do you do for your day job?”

“Lifeguard.”

“Wait, wh—” Your inquiry is cut short as the horses take off, jostling you and pitching you forward, then back. As you try to right yourself, something shiny catches your eye; you glance over and see three sheathed swords nestled in the hay just behind you.

“Say, hayride guy,” you ask, reaching over to poke at them, “what are these for?”

He grunts and brushes your hand away without looking over. “Protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ah, he must be doing a bit—they’re props. You smirk, settling back onto your seat, leaning your head against his sturdy shoulder as you listen to the steady clip-clop of the horses and the rhythmic squeak of the wagon’s wheels, the only sounds in the depths of the darkened forest. The festival is low-budget, to say the least, but they cared enough about attention to detail to have the hayride operator carrying swords; you start to wonder if this is supposed to be a haunted hayride, and perhaps your beefy driver will be showing off his faux-sword skills before the end, fighting off a zombie horde or two.

You sigh as you press your cheek against his bicep and try to ignore the troublesome feeling inside you—that maybe Yuuta was trying to get a hold of you, that you should have just waited longer to see if his late-night inspection was over quickly enough he could join you. The phone in your pocket has been silent for some time now, and you carefully pull it out, just to check; no signal at all, and no texts, only a notification about your rent being overdue again.

“Hey. Don’t let him get you down, sweet cheeks.” He covers the screen of your phone and pushes it down into your lap, leaving his hand there for a moment, precariously close to the apex of your thighs. His touch is warm, radiating a kind of animalistic heat—one that feels a little too raw, and little too dangerous. He smirks, making some clicking noise at the horses as you wind your way through the deepening woods. “You know, I think you could do better than him, anyway.”

I bet you do, you grin to yourself as your limbs flood with heat and your stomach twists in knots, chewing on your lower lip at the way his muscles flex with every flick of the reigns. You feel a fire lighting at the base of your spine the longer you stare at him, the longer your body seems to melt into his as you snuggle closer along the trail—perhaps you’ll have to pay him a visit after the festival closes and see if he offers any after-hour tours. He certainly seems amenable to the idea, and it had been a while since the last time you’d been bent over a piece of farm equipment and railed in a spooky, secluded wood after all. You start to wonder if he’s all bluster, or if he’s adept at putting his big hands and his smart mouth to good use.

The fog of lust in your head starts to clear a little and you glance around, not recognizing the trees and landscape in front of you, the horses trotting over a layer of decaying leaves instead of the paved path that had been stretching out ahead of you. No, the woods directly behind the festival grounds aren’t this dense, the branches don’t hang this low, the air is never this still.  You sit up, a sense of dread creeping up into your throat, and tap the driver on his forearm with a shaking hand.

“Hey, uh, hayride guy?”

“It’s Zoro,” he grouses.

“Right. Zoro.” You swallow hard, an icy shiver running down your spine as a cold wind whips through the trees. “So…where are we, anyway?”

“Tch, we’re on the trail,” Zoro scoffs as he glances around. He suddenly sits up straight, his mouth opening and closing, only faint sounds of confusion coming out. “Or, uh…we were.”

“What do you mean ‘we were’? Don’t the horses know where to go?”

“They don’t have built-in GPS, they just go straight until I tell ‘em to not go straight.”

“So where the hell are we, then?” The skin on your arms prickles underneath your thick sweater and acid roils in your belly, that sense of dread that sits in your throat threatening to push its way out.

“Well, we’re in the woods.”

“I know that!”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, okay?” It feels like he’s reassuring himself just as much as he’s trying to calm your frayed nerves, as if the machinations in his mind are just starting to turn, to decide where you go from here. Zoro stretches and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him; he smells like stale cigars and sweat and too much cheap body spray and it’s the most intoxicating thing you’ve inhaled all night. “Look, I can get us out of this. They don’t call me the world’s strongest hayride operator for nothin’.”

You slowly look up at him. “Is that—is that a thing? Do people actually call you that?”

“Ha! Exactly.”

A scream abruptly fills the air, cutting through the eerie quiet, followed by another, then another—the strangled cries for help of someone, or something, in distress. Zoro pulls you in closer, his fingers digging into your shoulder as you bury your face against his chest. It’s just part of the show, you tell yourself, choking on a shuddering breath. It’s just part of the show, and some dude in a shitty costume is gonna run out of the woods any minute and try to scare me. After a few agonizing moments, the bloodcurdling shrieks finally die down, the pained noises reducing to pathetic whimpers and then…silence.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re scared.”

Before you can say something equally flirtatious back, the horses come to a sudden halt; they whinny and stomp in place, clearly disturbed by something that only they can sense.

“Zoro…what’s going on?” It’s just part of the show, it’s just part of the show…

“I dunno,” he says, making soft noises at the horses to soothe them, his hand moving down and settling on your thigh protectively. “Something’s got them all riled up.”

The quality of the performance is good, you force yourself to think as he squints into the near-darkness, but his delivery could be more authentic. You join him in his scan of your surroundings, searching the foggy woods for whatever had frightened the horses, their heads bobbing and nostrils flaring at something in the distance. Leaves crunch and branches crack as something approaches, its pace slow and hesitant, a low growling emanating from the darkness—the sound effects are impressive, and you try to find the hidden speakers within the foggy haze.

“Zoro,” you mumble quietly, as you wrap your arm around his waist and cling to him, “I think there’s something up there.”

“Where?” He leans forward, peering into the shadowy distance.

“Right—right there.” You gasp as you see the source of the noise ambling out of the woods. “Oh my god, it’s a dog—it looks like it’s hurt!”

Without another thought, you hop down from the cart and carefully approach the dog, who slinks closer to you, eyeing you cautiously with each step. The moonlight peers through the clouds and illuminates the creature, its dark grey fur stained with blood, bits of viscera clinging to the matted hair around its face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zoro shouts from the cart. “Get back here and stay on the wagon.”

“What? It’s fine, it’s all part of the show isn’t it?” Surely this was just someone’s pet, doused in red corn syrup and set loose as part of the haunted hayride.

“What show? This is just a hayride.”

“Sure, I got you.” You wink and snap finger-guns at him confidently, and turn your attention back to the injured pup. “Here doggie! C’mere sweetie, let me—oh my god.”

Your mouth drops open and a gasp pushes its way out of your lungs—the dog, you realize, is no dog at all.

The creature that stalks out of the woods appears to be a wolf, its eyes burning bright like smelted gold, teeth bared and lips curled back into a snarl, its fangs dripping with strings of blood-reddened saliva. You freeze in place, arms outstretched, hoping your vaguely threatening posture is enough to keep the wolf at bay as your heart hammers in your ribcage and your breathing comes in fits and starts. It senses something in you—fear, hesitation, weakness—and approaches slowly, one carefully placed paw at a time, sniffing the air and growling more desperately with every whiff of you that it catches.

“Get back.”

A strong hand on your shoulder jerks you back and shoves you towards the wagon. Zoro now stands in front of you—his shirt is gone, revealing a smooth expanse of streamlined muscle and sinew rippling under bronzed skin, a black bandana is tied around his head, and he wields his three swords, one in each hand, and the third held between his teeth. He widens his stance and maintains his position as the wolf approaches more boldly now, barking and growling, steam from its warm breath rising into the air. The creature leaps at him and he quickly crosses the two swords in front of him to block its attack, the metal shaking as he grunts and shoves the wolf back.

“Three-Sword-Style,” Zoro shouts, the words muffled by the sword still clenched between his teeth, “Grime Tornado!”

A strong gust of air suddenly swirls in front of him and disburses with great force, pushing the wolf backward as it struggles to stay standing until it’s shoved to the edge of the woods. The air settles, and the wolf pauses for a moment, teeth still glimmering in the moonlight, eyes glowing like embers, before it runs off into the trees again, its howls lingering in the still air. Zoro lowers his arms, letting the tips of his blades point towards the ground as he walks towards you, his broad chest heaving with every panting breath.

“I told you to stay in the damned wagon,” he mumbles through the sword still tucked between his clenched teeth. He walks over to the cart and carefully sheaths the three swords again, giving them a reassuring pat before turning to glare at you. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It—it was all part of the show, right?” Your hands tremble, the wolf’s glowing eyes still appearing behind your eyelids with every blink; the way they pierced you was unnerving, almost as if there was something human about them.

And the blood. The blood looked so—so real.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grunts as he walks over to you, scooping you up with startling ease and carrying you back to the wagon. He plops you down in the back like a sack of rice, your backside landing in a soft pile of hay, and he glowers at you. “Don’t get back out again. Not for anything. Understand?”

You nod, and the desire to jump into his burly arms again courses through you. As frightened as you are, the sight of him, shirtless and flexing, moving with a grace and speed you hadn’t expected from him, has a stranglehold on you—if he’d asked to bend you over right then and there, you would have gladly thanked him for his hard work and offered him payment in the form of whatever part of your body he most preferred.

“Thanks for saving me, Zoro.”

He grunts in response and jostles the reigns, the horses taking their cue and trotting off into the depths of the woods again. You pull your knees up to your chest and lean against a hay bale, your eyes focused on Zoro the whole time; he glances back now and again, quick looks of concern at first, then of something else, something that feels far less virtuous.

The horses seem to find their way back onto the path with some degree of ease, and before long, you can see the festival off in the distance, smell the greasy mystery meats-on-sticks, hear the noise that passes for music as some local band plays royalty-free Halloween music.

The wagon comes to an abrupt halt, the festival almost within reach—you can almost touch the goopy fountain again. Zoro heaves his arm over the divider that separates the two of you, leaning his bare torso towards you. “Listen. We need to talk.”

“Look, Zoro, let me be the first to say—I think the ride was spectacular,” you start to ramble, your hands gesturing wildly as you speak. “And I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about the—well, whatever the fuck happened back there. Or the, uh—the flirting. Not that I minded! I mean, I don’t know if it’s the most professional way of giving private rides, but it was, you know…appreciated. If you need me to fill out a survey about your services, I can certainly—”

“You talk too damned much, calm down.” He places a thick finger over your lips to shush you, leaning in until his face is just inches from yours. “Now listen to me very carefully, honey—you owe me.”

Your breath quickens, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and an aching heat that you had been trying to ignore begins to grow in your core. “For—for what? You said the hayride was free.”

“It is.” He licks his lips and raises a wide hand to your face, cupping your chin. “But the saving your life part is extra.”

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t have any money to give you,” you stammer, your voice a husky whisper. Your gaze flits over his face, noticing a certain predatory glint in his eye, a hunger lingering on the upturned corners of his lips. “I left my wallet at home.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, “I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want then?”

“Same thing you do.”

You bite your lip shyly, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes in your best approximation of an innocent glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tch. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me since you found me. The way you wrapped your arms around me when you were scared—and even when you weren’t.” He climbs over the wooden divide and into the wagon with you, kneeling in front of you and placing his hands on your thighs. “You’re really gonna try to play the coy thing? Because it’s not workin’ for you.”

“No?” He’s big—so big—and his body almost engulfs you as he leans in and grips the edge of the cart behind you, his massive arms caging you in on either side, his broad chest almost pressed to yours.

“Nah. See, I what I think is,” he murmurs into your ear, warm breath spreading across your chilled skin, “that you want the big, strong guy who saved your life to make you forget all about that little shit that stood you up.”

Without another thought—your mind drained of all rational notions, left only with fleeting images of how he’d look on top of you, behind you, underneath you—you lean up and kiss him impulsively, your lips crashing against his hard and fast, trying to satisfy a need that had been growing all night. He inhales sharply at the sudden kiss, then places one hand at the back of your head to hold you in place as he claims your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue before plunging it into your mouth and entwining it with yours. His free hand roams up the hem of your sweater, groping at your breasts, tugging at the fabric of your bra until his thumb finds your hardened nipple. He makes firm circles over it and your back arches as warm, gentle waves of pleasure move through you, and he groans at the way you writhe under his touch.

“Bet you wanna get fucked, don’t you?” he growls against your lips, his grip on the nape of your neck tightening. He lets out a low chuckle as you nod and whimper, your hands moving down his bare torso towards the waistband of his pants, palm brushing against the sizeable bulge that strains against the fabric. “Mm, somebody’s needy. Lay down for me, then—let’s settle up what you owe.”

You obediently recline in the hay and kick your boots off, stripping yourself of your jeans with a frantic urgency; Zoro moves down between your legs, nudging them apart to kneel between them. He drags two fingers up your clothed slit, his fingertips catching on dampened cotton, and a satisfied hum vibrates in his chest as he finally takes in the extent of your arousal.

“This for me?” he purrs, pressing down against your clit, rubbing you through your panties until your legs tremble and your hands grasp at flimsy pieces of straw.

“D-don’t flatter yourself.”

“You sure? I don’t see anyone else around here to make your pussy this wet.” He grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down over your hips, stripping you of them and tossing them behind him. He quickly undoes his trousers and slides them down his lean hips, his cock springing forth from the confines of his pants. Your jaw goes slack at the sight of it—thick and veiny, sitting heavy in his palm as he slowly strokes himself for you, the head growing redder and more swollen with every vulgar caress. 

“Think you can handle it?” He lets a wad of saliva drip from his lips and onto his cock, spreading it over his impressive length until it glistens in the moonlight.

“Think so,” you whimper back, spreading your thighs a little wider to accommodate him as he moves on top of you, aligning his hips with yours. Zoro wastes no time in collecting his payment for his earlier heroics and slowly pushes into you, stretching you with every agonizing inch that slides inside; little sparks of pleasure ignite in your limbs, and that deep ache in your core grows with every bit of his fat cock that he bullies inside you.

“There you go,” he growls as he finally fills you completely and his pelvis presses against yours. “Took it all like a good little whore.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and nip and kiss at his jaw. “Not a whore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” he coos condescendingly, his hips rocking just enough to give you a few tentative, shallow thrusts. “Would you prefer ‘slut’ instead?”

“I’d prefer you sh—” Your words are quickly cut off by the gasp that shoves its way out of your lungs as he pulls out and plunges inside again, knocking against something inside you that makes your eyes go bleary and your fingers tingle.

Zoro’s thrusts are quick and feral, the kind that make you pulse and press your thighs into his hips, the kind that make your hands grasp for anything within reach—his bulging biceps, his mossy hair, a handful of hay underneath you—anything to ground yourself as he fills you again and again until all he is all there is. He drives into you over and over, and you lift your hips upward to meet his, deepening every plunge until you’re bucking and arching and colliding in a seamless rhythm.

“Touch yourself for me,” Zoro grunts as he slows his movements to angle his hips, and his cockhead drags against that sweet spot inside of you. “I bet you look so fucking good when you cum, pretty little slut.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you reach down and move your fingers over your clit, already swollen and pulsing with need. A moan of pleasure claws its way out of you and you writhe and thrash under him while he watches closely, his gaze focused on your face, his jaw hanging open the more your expression twists and contorts in pleasure. That tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter with every plunge of his length inside you and every swift movement of your fingers over your sensitive bud, until your body is trembling and your muscles are seizing and you mumble something unintelligible about being close, so close, so very, very close.

“That’s it,” Zoro rasps, his cock throbbing inside you as you start to tighten around him, “now cum on this big cock for me.”

A profound heat spreads throughout your lower half as you tense and release in waves of shaking spasms; you wail his name, not caring who or what that may lurk in the forest hears you, as your cunt pulls him further in. Zoro moans quietly and fucks into you with messy, erratic thrusts, hitting you so deep that it almost hurts, bordering on that delicious line between pain and pleasure. His breaths are shallow and fast, his teeth clenched, his body beginning to shake as your fluttering cunt urges him towards his climax.

“Fuck, sweetheart—you feel so damned good, gonna make me cum for you.” A long, low groan carries in the air as he quickly pulls out of you and jerks himself off, his hips tensing and shuddering as his aching cock throbs, coating your stomach with his thick, white spend. He bucks into his fist, milking every last bit of cum from his pulsating length, and collapses next to you, heaving a satisfied moan in between deep, panting breaths.

As you begin to reassemble yourself and pull hay out of random crevices, you feel a vibration against your foot—your phone is buzzing in the pocket of your discarded jeans.

[Soggy Man]: Hey I made it! did you still want to meet up?

“Aw, shit.” You glance over at Zoro, busy catching his breath, his chest rising and falling as his hands settle on his stomach. His toned body glistens with sweat in the moonlight, his half-hard cock laying against his thick thigh, leaking onto his bronzed skin; if it weren’t for the fact he was technically on the clock and you were technically now on a date, you would gladly spend the rest of your night right here, just outside the noise and the lights and the people, indulging in a little more holiday hedonism.

[You]: in a little while. I’m on a hayride right now

[Soggy Man]: that sounds fun! we should go together when you get back

“Hey, uh…can I ask you something?” You sit up and fumble for your jeans again, pulling your wallet out of a back pocket. “How much would you want to, um—to keep quiet about what just happened?”

“Hm.” He puts his hands behind his head and stares up at the night sky, considering his options for a moment. “Give me a taste of that slutty little pussy of yours and we’ve got a deal.”

“I suppose I can’t say no to that,” you whisper under your breath, your cunt fluttering at the thought of him between your legs again.

“Hey…what’s this?” Zoro rolls over and snatches the wallet out of your hand, using it to point at you accusatorily. “I thought you said you left this at home.”

“What? Wow, that’s so weird, why would I say that…”

“Careful now. Lies are gonna cost you extra.”

He moves down between your shaking legs, shoving them apart and grunting something lewd about how good you look the way your slick spreads out across your thighs. He lays down on his stomach, hooking his thick arms under your legs, and lets out a satisfied groan as he nips at the inside of your thigh, lowering his head down to give your slit an exploratory lick.

“Extra?” A low moan tumbles out of you as his wide tongue licks a thick stripe up your cunt, then plunges it inside you, shallowly fucking you with it. “Then how about, after you’re done down there, I ride you—then you give me a ride back?

“A ride for a ride, huh?” Zoro murmurs against your skin, stopping his movements for a moment to glance up at you. He smiles, high on the fucked-out expression etched into your features, before flicking his tongue over your aching clit, groaning as you softly rock your hips into his face. “Man, I fuckin’ love this job.”

[cyancherub]

Simeballs in the wild wild west who do you think ends up running drunk and naked with just a cowboy hat covering their junk? I feel like it's inevitable

this is sero being chased out of a lady's apartment by her disgruntled husband who is waving around a shotgun ... sero ducking and weaving the shotgun blasts and covering his head while sprinting away. the cowboy hat is staying on his pp by sheer force of will

[bastardblvd]

realized we will be coming up on one year of the slimeball blog 😲

[daryascurse]

𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘔𝘦, 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

“Open up.”

Your lips part. Nick slides the popsicle into your mouth. Your tongue curls, cradling the sudden cold sensation. Nick’s breath is close enough to feel in warm ghosting over your nose, and the moment is frozen for a moment. He drinks you in the same – eyes wavering with each twitch of your lips around the popsicle, the flare of your nostrils as your breath grows thin.

Nick’s grin splits again, too wide for his face. His fingers tense, and he pushes it to the back of your mouth.

Your breath is choked out of you in a moan, your throat cold and closed. The sweet, sticky juice is already beginning to gloss over your lips, threatening to run down your chin.

“You wanna suck? Choke on it?”

ice cream truck driver!Wolfwood for @bastardblvd slimeball town hall event! 🥰 ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ ✧ pov : second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns ("sweetheart" used as an endearment) ✧ tags: modern au, smut, smoking, choking, love bites, oraI (fem. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, creampie ✧ word count: ~4.7k ✧ ao3 link ✧ recommended mood playlist: raspberry cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

It had been your first thought – with a wrinkle of your nose shifting the veil of your sunglasses over your eyes; that there’s no way this is sanitary. Maybe the families at the park know it too, with all the laughter and shrieks contained to the playground. You’re the only one on this part of the field. It’s probably because an ice cream truck shouldn’t smell like smoke.

And any smoke coming from a vehicle is bad, but it’s cigarette smoke.

The man inside the ice cream truck rests his elbows on the counter, chewing the end of a cigarette that burns down slowly, bringing the acrid smell of tobacco through the air with it. You slide your sunglasses down as you step into the shade of the truck’s overhang, and squint up at him. “Should you be doing that around food?”

“Quiet,” he says, barely flitting his glazed-over gaze down over you. “You’ll scare away all my customers.”

The smoke drifting away turns blue in the streams of sunlight. The roll of the ground is hard under your feet, the white walls of the ice cream truck blinding and peppered with faded photographs advertising the wares within.

“Anyway,” he says with a slight cough rolling into the first syllable, “most of it’s prepackaged.”

“Most?”

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, smacks the back of his hand still holding the stub against a paper sign taped to the sliding window. Fresh fruit smoothies! “Strawberries and stuff in the fridge.”

“Then smoking’s definitely not okay. Haven’t you heard of cross-contamination? Don’t they train you on things like that?”

You don’t know why you’re suddenly pretending to be an expert on food safety, but he seems to enjoy it. At the very least, he’s intrigued.

“’S why I’m smoking over here away from the fridge,” he says, just as fast. He flicks the smoldering cigarette butt down by your feet and grins at you. “Who are you to tell me how to do my job, anyway?”

His smile is white, sharp. His dark bangs are forced flat against his forehead under a jaunty white cap that, just like the rest of the uniform, must be one-size-fits-all. The crisp white short-sleeved button-up shirt pinches at his shoulders, falls too boxy below his moving arms as far as you can see. It has a nametag pinned lopsidedly on it, with a square too narrow and handwriting too thick to fit what he had clearly set out to Sharpie in – NICH must suffice. And all in all, it brings a smile to your own face.

The visual scan, the appreciation of his appearance, has somewhat distracted you from the fact that he’s whipped out another cigarette. The hiss of a lighter is sharp. His lips close around it.

“A concerned consumer,” you say. He eyes you, sharp brows furrowed ever so slightly in careful, focused study.

“Well, concerned consumer, what are you consuming? You want a popsicle? Ice cream bar? Sandwich?”

“What do you recommend?”

He exhales white smoke. “For you?”

There’s a soft musicality in the way he asks the question, the two words singing, dancing into each other. For…you? He looks you up and down. You roll your shoulders, straightening your back without thinking. He slides his jaw as he breaks into another smile. The cigarette rolls between his teeth.

“Fuck the smoothies. I’m running a new special,” He says. He suddenly pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, new as it is, and stubs it into the side of the van before tossing it out to land at your feet. “Come round back, if you want something really good.”

He slides the window shut before you can say anything else. A moment later, grunting metal heaves around the corner of the ice cream truck, and the back door unlatches.

“Are you hiding all the good treats back here?” you say, twisting your lips and tracing your finger over the pasted images of ice cream cones on the door as you step up into the truck. There’s a dalmatian print of what you now realize must be other cigarette stubs and burns along the outer handle.

“I have a secret menu for special customers.”

You surreptitiously shut the door, making a decision without consciously thinking of it. When you turn back, he’s looking at your hand on the latch with an amused expression playing across his face.

It’s a small space, made smaller by his frame echoed in every silver, mirrored surface. Even with strewn paper cups and open canisters of whipped cream, it appears cleaner than you would have imagined. He rests broad hands on counters lining either side of the gutted truck, hunched in the narrow aisle between the chrome freezers. He drums his fingers, the sound dull thuds. He’s broad, taller even than the height difference from the window to the grass seemed.

He’s so hot.

He points to his nametag. “Call me Nicholas. Or Nick,” he says.

“What’s on this special, secret menu, Nick?” you ask.

Nick reaches up with a hand, scratches his forehead where the brim of his hat meets skin and bristling, trapped hair. “You like popsicles?”

You raise your eyebrows. “That’s what you called me in for?”

“Well, it’s your choice,” Nick says, and he turns. He heaves open a door, a blast of icy air puffing into the interior. He rummages for a moment, and you watch the flex of muscle moving in his arm, the crosses of veins prominent. “Orange?”

“Sure.”

You take a step closer. It doesn’t take much than a few more to meet him in the small aisle of the van, the tin, patterned floor shaking slightly. The smell of cigarettes is discernable only from the faint motions of his fingers, tense, white half-moons rising under his nails as he concentrates on rooting through the bin.

He closes the door and looks down at you, as you lean back, nestled nearly on the countertop. You watch, first his fingers as he wrests with the squeaky white wrapping, then up to his face – the automatic expression of slight concentration, the relaxing of his features as he succeeds and pops the icy treat free, sliding the wrapper off. He tosses it to the counter behind him; it catches on the air, floats to the ground instead, ignored.

You jerk your chin up. Nick turns the wooden stick in his fingers. You begin to extend your hand for it, but he speaks first, in a voice that comes softer than the banter. Softer, deeper. Dangerous.

“Open up.”

Enticing.

Your lips part. Nick slides the popsicle into your mouth. Your tongue curls, cradling the sudden cold sensation. Nick’s breath is close enough to feel in warm ghosting over your nose, and the moment is frozen for a moment. His fingers curl on the wooden stick. Your eyelids feel heavy as you stare at him. The cracks of smile lines webbing silver under his eyes; the stubborn push of stubble under his chin. He drinks you in the same – eyes wavering with each twitch of your lips around the popsicle, the flare of your nostrils as your breath grows thin.

Nick’s grin splits again, too wide for his face. His fingers tense, and he pushes it to the back of your mouth.

Your breath is choked out of you in a moan, your throat cold and closed. The sweet, sticky juice is already beginning to gloss over your lips, threatening to run down your chin.

“You wanna suck? Choke on it?”

You let out a muffled whimper again.

“Which would you prefer?” Nick asks, and his voice groans. “What’s your choice? You wanna take this little popsicle outside and enjoy the day? Or for me to open you up nice and slow right here on the counter?” He pushes the popsicle on your tongue, rolls it. It gags you and you make that strangled sound again.

Nick pulls it out, leaving your teeth to chatter.

You pause a moment, sucking in air, feeling the sugary tack on your lips. Nick swirls the popsicle, licks away a melting droplet.

So, you think, our first kiss is an indirect one.  

“Say it,” he says with a dare. He takes another step. It brings his knee between yours now, and your throat tightens as you tilt your head up to him. The pulse quickens in your neck.

“Nice and slow?” you say, and your voice cracks into ice. “What if I want it a little rougher?”

“Oh?” Nick asks, and you don’t know where the popsicle goes, you don’t care if he’s thrown it to the ground again, because your eyes are closed and his lips are on yours, dissolving the melting syrup. His hands are on your hips, and your hips are twisting in turn; in the sudden fog of lust, you’re not sure if you’ve boosted yourself on the counter or if he’s lifted you. But he’s on a closer level to you now, your fingernails skating over the stubble of his jaw on your way to throw your hands over his shoulders.

The tart bursts of orange lingering at the inside of your cheeks clashes with the musk of his taste, the earthy tobacco smacking with each kiss. Your knees part wider for his body stepping closer as his tongue slips into your mouth. With your eyes closed, it feels like falling, the oxygen taken straight from your lips to his, your head spinning with the remnant of the smoke, the soft work of his tongue against yours.

“Oh.”

Your thigh muscles tighten and shake. Even in the chill of the truck, something warm begins to settle down through you, and your grasp across Nick is shifting, faster. A hand at his arm before you realized it, the other still pressing through his thick hair to cradle the back of his neck. You’ve knocked that silly cap off, and he grabs at your waist in fervent agreement. As much as Nick holds your tense body into his, you pull him into you, even as the kisses begin to leave your mouth stale and dry with the remnants of smoke.

“I can still taste it,” Nick whispers, his tongue almost licking your still-parted lips with the words laced with nicotine, with orange sugar. He kisses the corner of your mouth and straightens up, pulls away, leaves you breathless as you open your eyes to drink him in again. His hands anchor on the counter, and you swear you can begin to feel it shift backwards with his strength. “But I want to taste something else.”

Nick’s hands move again. The pressure of your clothes, suddenly so palpable, unbearable over eager skin, releases as he unfastens your pants. Your hips roll almost desperately as he slips you nearly bare from the waist down, and the thought comes again as you tremble on the counter with only the thin fabric of your panties keeping you from the cold steel. “This is so unsanitary.”

It’s hard to sound assertive with strong, nimble fingers undressing you, and your sentence breaks into a gasp. Nick raises those thick brows at you as he sinks, barely able to kneel in the narrow aisle as he eases off your shoes, rolls off your pants. “What, are you gonna report me?”

You grin. It’s ruined by the drop of your mouth, the slack of your jaw as your voice keens into another “oh!” as Nick kisses your soft inner thighs, bracing his hands so lightly against your legs as he coaxes slight adjustments of your leg. Saliva cools across your skin, the warmth of his lower lip dragging as his mouth opens wider.

“Ah!”

The bite doesn’t hurt, really, but his teeth run along you lower, closer to the trembling heat below your panties. Nick gives another biting, sucking kiss. His other hand moves up your thigh with a softer touch than his lips.

He reaches the band of your panties and brushes against the fabric. You can feel the turn of his wrist as it allows him a better grab at the cloth, a better touch of your skin below, and you let out a sound closer to a hiss as he spreads his fingers to cup and shape your cunt perfectly through the panties.

“Nick – ”

His name is heavy on your tongue, your skin somehow feeling cool right between his touch, right where the side of his fingers pinch together.

“I like hearing you say my name,” Nick says softly. His breath is hot, closer and closer on your thigh. He rocks his fingers and pushes into you. The nerves sing under your tense muscles. And finally, with another exhale, his mouth sets.

It’s another kiss at first, open-mouthed and heavy over your underpants, but when he moves his tongue over the fabric it’s with a harder urgency. He flattens his tongue, saliva seeping through the cloth to meeting slick and push it back to you. The barrier is so rough, leaving you even more sensitive below it. You moan again when Nick’s tongue retreats, moving higher, harder, up. He flicks right between the groove that’s now so perfectly shaped beneath the damp panties, teasing your clit.

You reach forward, skating your hands through his hair, thick and shining like nylon. His busy hand pinches against you in response. It’s all heavy at your hips, the sensation teasing you just as much as the ministrations of his mouth.

Nick turns closer to the counter, shifting between your spread legs as he pushes his face into you.

“Take them off,” you hear yourself whine. It’s tauntingly warm, each twist of your body and sway of his lips rubbing the fabric on and off your body, settling with teasing whispers in just barely new locations. He shakes his head in a way that may or may not be a response, but brushes his lips over your cunt.

“Said I didn’t want slow,” you say.

“Be a little patient. I can see you so perfectly,” Nick rasps, and his fingers frame you again, pushing the wet fabric back against your body. “What a pretty, plump pussy.”

You push your hips into the counter and curl your fingers against his scalp, at the back of his head. “Nick,” you say again.

A heavy breath, and his fingers slide harder. He peels the elastic away from your skin, away from your already strained and aching thighs. It lifts from you as he forces your panties to the side. It’s so cold in the air for a moment, and then hot when Nick’s tongue forces past to your bare skin.

“Fuck!”

He laps messily over you, letting the jerk of your hands in response guide his head, the direction of his tongue as it twists and flattens. He eats you out sloppily. You jerk, the back of your knees bending hard into the underside of the counter. You’re grinding into Nick’s face without thinking of it, and the moan that escapes him in return is something uninhibited. It’s raw, gasping for breath, full of a desire that should have fallen from your own lips.

Your hips rock up, and his lips break away. Nick’s fingers flatten under the curve of your thigh and reach, a slight cushion drumming the back of your panties as his thumb strokes back up against the gusset. He presses into the wet fabric and teases it over your skin again. He bends and pushes his fingertip carelessly, almost randomly, along the covering of your slit, index finger drumming down around the back of your thigh.

“Oh, please,” you whimper. Your back arches as you try to write into his touch.

Nick’s finger rolls again, flattens, presses harder. You’re throbbing where his fingers touch you, even if it’s just over the coarse fabric that feels rougher and rougher the wetter it gets. The wetter you make it.

“You’re so messy,” Nick says, almost like a quiet observation. The pressure between your legs slips away as he moves. Your legs ache, knees curving instinctively together again as he rises with an involuntary grunt. He looks down on you with gleaming eyes beneath wild brows, and his half-parted lips are wet.

“Even through your panties,” he continues, and he extends his glistening fingers forward. “See?”

Not necessary for him to ask this time. Your mouth is open, you loll your tongue forward. The pressure of his fingers pushes it against her teeth, and you force your tongue up between the V-shape they make to swirl and turn, licking himself clean of you as your eyes roll up to him. Your cheeks hollow with it, the taste not as sweet as the popsicle, but you let your tongue work harder. The way his eyes gleam down at you only spurs you on. You turn your resting foot against his leg to urge him back, closer.

Nick’s thumb turns under your chin in response, and he leans down. Drool slips from the corner of your mouth when he replaces his hand with his lips on yours. You taste yourself even more than the traces on his fingers, entwined with the eternal earthy remnants of smoke. You reach to clumsily press your palms against his stomach. You can feel, almost to your surprise, strong bands of muscle beneath the cheap thin button-up, and you fumble at the buttons to bid the shirt open.

“Not fair if you still have all this on,” you say, breaking the kiss with words and peppers of little, closed-mouth kisses on his cheek, his jaw, blind as your fingers hunt up to his throat. When the shirt hangs open, you trace them down again, tilting your head back with a grin of your own as you feel the warm curve of his pectoral muscles, the softness below his breastbone where air pockets. And when you free the hem from his waistband and feel for the fastening of the dark slacks, Nick moves down to at long last wrap those strong fingers around the band of your panties and pull them from you. You sigh audibly as the damp fabric peels away, letting go of his own clothes for a moment. His bend of limbs knots into your reaching arms as your hips rock away and back to the counter as he undresses you, panties falling to the floor. He keeps a hand on your thigh, pushing your legs open again.

You groan at the muscle stretch, and it catches in your throat. “Nick,” you say again, softly, letting it linger.

His muscles tense beneath the billow of the open shirt as he forces his pants lower with his free hand, finishing your half-started efforts. The zipper clatters at the underside of the counter as he cants in.

The anticipation is trembling practically out of your body. Your shudders and whimpers are almost lost in the hum of the appliances.

“You want rough?” he says, rasping his words.

“Mmhm…god.”

“No,” Nick says, a slight, sudden dryness as his hand flexes, pushes on your leg. Something smoother, thicker, than his fingers, pushes against your inner thigh. His cock curves as he leans closer. “No God here.”

At that, his hips turn. And you writhe as his cock slides into you, so easily spreading and entering your cunt perfectly oiled with saliva and your arousal. You arch, moan a “fuck!” as he leans forward with a strained, satisfied, Cheshire-cat smile, and goes deeper.

He’s big, so big you can feel your body almost go numb, inner muscles beating at the intrusion – and then softening to make space for him. He sucks in a breath, as if he’s feeling the same shaking tightness.

You groan and curve your hips, the best attempt to roll up and meet him just as he pulls out, and then so deep back in that your mouth falls open with the next moaning breath. You reach forward, tugging plaintively at his shirt, grasping at the fabric to pull him close.

“Oh, oh, please – ”

No banter, no witty talk, nothing but pleading for him with your open body. He pushes, and your hand finds his side, wrapping halfway to his back. Your fingers bend, and he groans as your nails drag down the side of his ribs.

The pressure, the heat that his tongue was building in you rises again, and you jerk your hips pathetically forward. It doesn’t do much to interrupt the build of his pace, but it presses your skin close to his, the warm layer of sweat beginning to rise between your limbs. And the energy that rolls in your veins, shit, it has to go somewhere. You strain to pull him close to you, to bring his mouth down to yours again, but his body is stone, and his determined grip is hard.

You whine, letting your hands dance up again just to drag backdown with raking nails.

“Fuck,” Nick groans, and the guttural, raw tone, sends more through you.

His hand is off your thigh, the press so hard you almost expect a large, palm-shaped bruise to rise in its place. And the push is at your clit, his thumb rubbing busy circles that almost make you sob when you look down, hazy vision fixing on the thick expanse of his fingers working you over as his cock forces you open and swollen.

“Ah!”

Your hand still knotted in his shirt rises to your lips, your tongue lapping over your fingers, the curve of your thumb, and you reach an awkward hand down over spread thighs to surround him. You rub, at the inch of cock that can’t quite fit inside you at this angle, circle down to stroke with soft fingertips at his balls.

“Oh, oh,” Nick says in desperation. “Fuck.”

The words are broken, and you barely can lift your eyes up and away in time for his mouth to meet yours again. His lips are soft, fat, hungry, and you whine into his throat as he fucks you harder, harder.

It’s a brief kiss, because he breaks his head away to rest on your shoulder. His body cages over you, and you move your hands again, both scooped under the open shirt to grab at his back with frantic fingers. His hair has fallen forward, rubbing sweaty, rough, in strands at your neck.

“Oh, Nick – right there,” you say, feeling your voice shake higher and higher. Your instinct is to lean back, fuck your hips higher, but instead you pull him closer and try to curve into him. “Please – don’t stop – ”

“No?”

“No, no, touch me, fuck me, please  - ”

He tosses his head back and his throat muscles are tight, jaw pulsing, as he straightens up over you again. “What makes you think I’ll stop, sweetheart?”

He pulls his tormenting hand away and spits on it. You almost scream when it comes back, sliding faster over your suddenly even more sensitive clit, sore and puffy as he makes you bloom like a rose with split folds.

“You have to cum first.”

And you rock on the counter, the freezers groaning with the bumping shift of the van’s movements. Something clatters down as appliances, spoons, napkins, fall. It doesn’t matter if the ice cream melts around you. What matters is the way your muscles jump, the way friction is burning below your skin, moving faster and faster.

“Oh, oh!”

You close your eyes and cling to him. The force of his grunts with each pump vibrates through his chest. Your thighs are arched high, feet desperately pushing at the back of his legs, not quite high enough to cross and not quite enough strength in you to hook around him tighter. But your hands are hard on his back, his shoulder blades flat between the spread of your fingers.

Nick’s hunched over you. He lifts his hand, pulling it away and leaving you beating, shivering, practically gushing with the pumps of his cock. He cups the side of your face as your eyes roll open, gaze to the ceiling as you writhe.

“Does the roof make you cum?” he asks in jagged breath.

“N-no,” you say automatically.

“Is it god? Who’s fucking you?”

“God, no. You – you.”

He jerks your chin to him. His eyes are fixed, brows sharp, lips pulled back and teeth wet in a half-grin. “Then don’t look up; look at me, look at me, when I make you cum.”

It’s the words that are your undoing, the way they spit harsh from his mouth. The harshness is without cruelty, but with a vigor that’s echoed in the kiss when you lean forward to meet him in wanton agreement.

“Nick,” you breathe into his mouth, and bite his lower lip as you withdraw. “Make me cum – please, make me cum.”

“Wanna cum with you, sweetheart,” Nick says in that grating groan as he moves his hand back to rub in furious circles.

You tense your thighs and feel for it, squirming against the countertop as that friction beats harder. It’s something burning beneath your core, even as he splits you, again, and again, in frantic heat. When his hand stills, you can tell – you can tell in his body, in the focus right at his hips as they begin to buck into you harder, in the sucking of his breath, that he’s as close as you are.

“Nick – I’m gonna – ”

“Oh,” he groans, his words crashing into yours, and you pulse as he lets go. You bury your face in his shoulder and stuff your mouth full of shirt to muffle the scream. With each throb of his cock as he cums in you, it urges the shivers of your miniscule muscles wild. You cum without announcement, almost to your own surprise, and Nick’s hands anchor at the small of your back. He practically sings his moans in your ear as you cum on his cock, his rhythm slowing as yours tenses and stutters.

Somehow, the counter stops rocking.

The silence is cut by two lungs raggedly gasping, the hum of the freezers, the groans of the truck. Far off in the distance, the people in the park keep playing and laughing.

“Fuck,” you say, low, and you find your voice shaking.

“’S right,” Nick says.

He pulls out of you, and you whimper in your throat at the slide, at the warmth, at the ache across your legs.

Bam, bam, bam.

You physically startle, heart leaping into your throat, hands automatically flying to your lap as Nick’s seed beats out of you. Someone’s at the front part of the ice cream truck, knocking on the window. A shadowed hand appears at the glass as they try to look inside past the paper taped on the window.

“Hey,” calls a young man’s voice. “Anyone in here? You guys open?”

“Just a second,” Nick shouts back. He grins down at you as he hoists his pants back up. “Just a customer. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” you hiss quietly.

“Can’t see you from here.”

“Nick, you’re not actually going to serve –”

“Kitchen’s down,” he suddenly yells, interrupting you. “Only got the pre-packaged stuff.”

“That’s alright,” they shout in return.

Nick wipes his forehead, pushing back sweat-slicked hair. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

You suck your teeth and raise your eyebrows, trying to suppress a smile.

“Hold tight,” he says, buttoning his shirt. “Let me find my hat, sell an ice cream sandwich, and I’ll be right back.”

You can’t hide it when he kisses your cheek, hands busy as he rises to his collar. “Not gonna jump out the window and escape?”

“You think I’d fit through that?” Nick raises those thick brows. “I’m not trying to get anywhere. Not without your name and number first.” He reaches down, fumbles on the floor of the van and comes up with his cap.

You edge slowly off the counter, pins and needles aching in your thighs. He’s already crammed his hat on his head and’s turned, moving towards the window.

“Hey, hey,” you say, whispering as quietly as you can. “Do you – Nick, do you see my panties?”

At first, you think you haven’t gotten his attention. But when he hauls the window open, giving that cheeky grin to the spiky blonde-haired man you can barely see standing below with a “what can I get for you?” – you can see the wet, crumpled fabric winking at you from his back pocket.

fin

[btsgotjams27]

this is us ~ jjk | 18

you're dreading the meeting in LA, but it's a big city. you're not gonna bump into jungkook, are you?

✨ title: this is us | (sequel to all grown up) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ | minors dni ✨ genre/au: drama, romance, angst, fluff, smut | est!relationship, age gap, best friend's brother ✨ playlist | ✨ if you haven't read the prequel to this, please do so here! :) ✨ a/n: naurrrr--this means the series will be ending soon, but yesss---jk and oc will finally come face to face after a year apart! how will it go down? what's gonna happen? 👀 ✨ a/n 2: thank you to those who have sent in words for the little game. those words will be in bold throughout the rest of the chapters. we still have a podcast episode to celebrate the end of this story and you'll be able to send in questions and comments (a form link will be up when i post the last chapter :')) i'll also have a survey for y'all too :) as always, please leave a like, reblog, send an ask. i'd love to hear your thoughts.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ✨ drabble ~ dream bigger, darling

chapter eighteen ~ you're seeing things, aren't you? | wc: 10.9k warnings: there will be a lot of talking, mild language, oc’s friends being loveable dummies, light insecurity, heart flutters, language, drinking, sleazy slimeballs, some touching, a slap to the face, unresolved feelings, insecure jk & oc, bamie is hereeee, love confessions, our babies are growing up and taking things slow, they both get on their knees (you'll understand why when u read), delicate first kiss that turns into a heated one, they're both h*rny but remember they're taking thing slow, smol erection bc hello they're together again, jk is tame and controls himself?? (WHUTTTT) but oc needs a lil bit more from him, bittersweet goodbyes (for now)

The impending meeting was coming up at the end of the week. Your agent, Jae, wouldn't take no for an answer and immediately responded to the Netflix executive, saying you’d take the meeting. If the meeting was anywhere else in the world, you wouldn’t hesitate, but the fact that you had to fly out to LA for this made you feel reluctant.

And when everyone heard you’d be in LA, the only topic of conversation was if you were planning to see he-who-must-not-be-named.

"Will you tell Jungkook you're in town?" Hyunie asked as she cut through her French toast covered in Nutella and strawberries. Taehyung leaned over to take a bite from her fork, but she refused to let him have any.

Yoongi sat, wavering his fingers together. “Oh—the plot thickens. Dun, dun, dun.”

He’d become too comfortable knowing your business and complained that he knew too much for his own good. He was cool with you, but his lifestyle was too chill to mesh with everyone else’s dramatics, including yours. Though he works in the movie business, that didn’t mean he wanted his life to be like a goddamn drama.

“Wouldn’t that be weird? To meet up with an ex?” you asked with reluctance as you searched your friend’s faces for any words of advice.

It’d be nice to catch up, you thought, but what if old feelings resurface? Then what? You’d be screwed and have to start from square one again. You had gotten too far to return to the sad, pathetic person you once were.

Hyunie interjects, “Of course not! You’re friends too.”

You deadpanned. “I haven’t spoken to him in over a year–and I’d hardly call us friends.”

Honestly, could you even go back to being just friends? How were you supposed to be friends with your ex-slash-best-friends-little-brother? How can anyone return to being just friends after being with someone like Jeon Jungkook? You could hardly keep your friends now and then to add an ex as a friend? It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

With a mouth full of strawberries, Tae threw in his two cents. “Just go see him. What’s the worst that can happen? You gonna sleep with him?” He smirked and grabbed another bright red strawberry. This conversation amused him for days, making smart comments and occasionally alluding to what the two of you used to have.

“Really, Tae?” You rolled your eyes, sipping your coffee. You’d like to think you had some kind of self-control.

“What? I’m just being realistic here. The two of you probably have all that pent-up sexual frustration, and who knows—you might not be able to contain yourselves if you’re in the same room.” Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows and then bit down his bottom lip, thrusting and slapping the air while in his seat. Hyunie elbowed him in his rib, causing him to groan at the pain. She whispered something indistinct to him, and the two bickered quietly.

You turned to Yoongi. He was always wise and had the right answers. “What should I do?”

You interrupted him just as he was about to sip his coffee. His lips thinned, and he stared blankly at you. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re the most unbiased person here, and you don’t know Jungkook like we do.”

Yoongi shrugged. “I don’t know. Do whatever you want. If you want to see him, go see him. If you don’t, then don’t. It’s as simple as that.”

Everyone turned their attention to you, wondering how you’d respond. It wasn't as simple as Yoongi had said. The weight of your previous relationship with Jungkook wasn’t one where you could simply put it behind you and pretend like you could be friends again. There was too much history, too much hurt—just too much of everything. You tried to convince yourself for months that there were no more feelings.

And you had made so much progress, minus being upset when you heard he was in town—but regardless, you had moved on, and seeing Jungkook again could set you back a few steps.

Yoongi set down his knife and fork and turned to you. “You’re a big girl, and you’ve worked through a lot of things, and if you don’t think you can handle seeing him again, then don’t put yourself in that situation. I'm sure he’d understand.”

“Or—or—you could just fuc—”

Hyunie covered Taehyung’s mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence. “Don’t listen to my crazy husband. Do what you think is best for you, okay?”

After brunch with the crazy lovebirds, you sat in Yoongi’s car, staring aimlessly out the window, and said nothing the entire car ride.

As he pulled up to your apartment complex, you needed to ask him again. “Tell me the truth. What would you do in my position?”

He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He knew you needed reassurance, but honestly, there was no right answer for this situation.

“Well, considering that I’ve gotten to know you over this past year, I'd say that it’s gonna eat at you day and night if you don’t reach out to him. You’ll wonder, ‘what could’ve been’ or ‘what if I did X, Y, and Z?’ You’re good at compartmentalizing, but I have a feeling ten years down the line, you’re gonna be upset at yourself. So, I don’t know, as I said earlier if you want to see him, go see him. If you don’t, then don’t. Whatever you choose will be the right decision.”

But what was the right decision? You thought of all the possible scenarios that could play out. What if you call to meet up, and he doesn’t want to? Or what if you meet up and it’s awkward? Or what if you meet up and old feelings resurface?

You were thankful for Yoongi and glad he could always be honest with you. With his advice in consideration, along with everyone else’s minus Kim Taehyung’s, you pondered your next move as you tossed and turned in bed.

Should you try and meet up with Jungkook? But you were doing so well. You had deleted his number, photos, and texts, and if you wanted his new number, you’d have to ask Yuna, and you wouldn’t hear the end of it from her if you did.

Maybe it’d be easier to just not try to see him. You were sure he was doing well, living in LA, doing whatever he was doing, seeing whomever he wanted. You just didn’t want to return to feeling insecure and vulnerable, and you had worked so hard to be where you are today. Maybe it’d be better if you didn’t tell him you were in town.

A non-stop flight from Seoul to LA was close to eleven hours, but you wished it was longer. The lower the flight time, the higher your anxiety rises. Los Angeles was a big city, and there was no way you’d bump into Jungkook, right? That’s a ridiculous thought to have. You’d have a higher chance of bumping into a celebrity than your ex. You were just psyching yourself out at this point, and there was no need to because you decided not to tell him you’d be in town.

After eleven hours on a flight and only six hours of sleep, you hoped you’d bump into no one. Your swollen ankles and puffy eyes were horrendous for anyone to see. But here you were—in Los Angeles, where many dreams came to fruition or never saw the light of day, and you were hoping for the latter, whatever that dream may be. You were curious about what Netflix had to offer and if it would require you to move here. Though, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, thinking about the what-ifs because nothing was set in stone.

Being a huge corporation, Netflix paid for everything—the flight, hotel, and transportation. Not too shabby, especially since they were trying to woo you into whatever job this was. They booked a corner suite at the Conrad Los Angeles, overlooking the city's skyline. The hustle and bustle of city life were similar but different from Seoul and could possibly be a place where you’d have to get used to.

The luxe Mercedes Benz E-Class you were sitting in pulled up behind the slew of cars from other hotel guests. This felt too fancy from anything you were used to, but you weren’t complaining.

You bid your driver farewell and thanked them as he pulled your luggage from the trunk and set it beside you. Just as you grabbed the handle, a driver behind you honked, gesturing for you to move out of the way. You jumped back, your heart racing as the loud horn continued in short outbursts until you stepped onto the hotel’s sidewalk.

God, this city sucks already, you thought, and you hadn’t even been here for that long, either. Brushing off the awful interaction, you breathed a big breath, ready to take on whatever this trip had in store for you.

“Miss? I’ll need a form of ID and a credit card to put on file.”

You handed what the front desk receptionist needed from you. Now, you understood all the buzz and why this was the hot spot. The hotel was gorgeous and a great place to hang out, even if you weren’t a guest.

As the receptionist input your information, your eyes scanned the lobby, taking everything in. A rowdy group of men exited one of the hotel restaurants, entering the lobby. You noticed a man in a monochromatic cream-colored outfit. You appreciate a man who was put together.

After catching a glimpse of him, you could’ve sworn your eyes were deceiving you. No, it wasn’t him. You were seeing things, weren’t you?

This city was far too big for you to end up at the same hotel as your ex-boyfriend, right? Destiny was definitely being a prude and playing tricks on you.

“Here’s your ID and card back. You’re located on the 16th floor, room 1613.”

“Thank you.”

When you grabbed your ID, card, and luggage, you turned around to ensure you were imagining things. The group of men had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. But you shouldn’t be looking for Jungkook anyway. You decided not to tell him you were in town. Wouldn’t you look pathetic going back on your word?

But instead of going directly to your room, you might have ‘taken the long route,’ cruising through the hotel—just to see what they had to offer. Though, who were you kidding? That person definitely looked like Jungkook! Except he had longer hair, and you hadn’t seen any recent photos of Jungkook, so you had no idea if he had shaved his head or had long, glorious hair like Rapunzel.

You would’ve lurked longer, but now you felt super creepy and stalker-ish, and your large rollaway luggage wasn’t helping either. Maybe it was time to give up; you had been looking longer than you should’ve.

If there was one thing that could possibly make up for the shitty interaction from the furious man honking away like there was no tomorrow—it was the view. The city skyline and clear blue skies with only a few scattered marshmallow-type clouds floating around.

The room was too big for just one person, and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself to kill time before your big meeting. So, you quickly freshen up to roam around the five-star hotel. You had nothing better to do, save for the fact that you needed to find that guy again, just to make sure it wasn’t Jungkook.

And as you expected, this hotel was packed with people. The restaurant's decor and view were stunning, to say the least. You didn’t want to keep going back and forth between the various choices of restaurants, so you stuck with the first place you saw, Agua Viva.

A small commotion turned your head; your eyes focused on it for a split second before returning your attention to the host. You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry. Yes, a seat at the bar is great. Thank you.”

You scanned the drink menu, pondering the various choices before you. Alcohol or no alcohol—such a hard decision. Well, considering you were going to an important meeting, it was probably best not to be tipsy, or it could calm your nerves.

“Hello, miss. What’ll you have?”

It was a toss-up between the Tornup Tiki Punch or Flamingo Shuttle. What silly names they were.

“I’ll have a Flamingo Shuttle, please.”

Non-alcoholic it is.

“One Flamingo Shuttle coming right up.”

You tapped on the square napkin before you, swiveling your chair back and forth, taking in the surroundings of light laughter and chatter, before returning your attention to the bartender making your drink.

In a city of 3.8 million people, it was stupid to think you had seen Jungkook. Maybe you just wanted it to be him and desperately tried to speak it into existence. You probably had a better chance of bumping into a Kardashian than Jeon Jungkook.

“Is this seat taken?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before turning around to confirm your suspicions about the familiar voice.

It’s like time stood still; everything and everyone quieted down, and it was only you and him. He was like a stranger from a different lifetime staring back at you, but everything you felt while with him came rushing back like a flood.

“Jungkook.” His name rolled off your lips in a familiar way you couldn’t explain. It had such a hold on you, pulling you right back like a lovesick puppy.

“Noona,” he said with his big brown, doe eyes crinkling in the corner, along with a bunny smile.

The one word made you clench around nothing, but it’s just a word–what’s wrong with you? Honestly, woman.

“Is this seat taken?” He repeated, making you come back to reality.

“No, it’s yours if you’d like.”

You watched his every move. His hand held your stool, and his thumb lightly brushed against your back as he sat down. Immediately, you straighten your posture in case of any other accidental touches.

Jungkook crossed his arms on the counter, turning to you. The both of you smiled awkwardly, waiting for someone to say something.

“I thought I saw you,” the both of you said in unison and chuckled after.

“It’s me,” you scrunch your nose, flashing a smile.

Jungkook shook his head, copying your smile. “I thought I was going crazy for a split second. Wha–” he paused to let his mind catch up with his words. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a meeting.”

He nodded. “Oh. It must be an important meeting if you flew all the way out here.”

You hummed. “Yeah, it’s pretty important.”

Should you spare more details? Or just leave it at the bare minimum? You didn’t want him to conjure up any ideas as you had been for the last few weeks.

“Your Flamingo Shuttle, miss. Would you like to bill it to your room?”

“Yes, please.” If Netflix was paying, you were drinking.

You lightly groaned after taking a sip, not realizing you’d been thirsty after flying all day, or was it Jungkook’s presence making you feel suddenly parched?

“Anything for you, sir?” The bartender asked Jungkook, to which he shook his head no.

“It’s good to see you,” Jungkook said as the bartender left to attend to another guest.

Your crossed leg unintentionally touched his pant leg when you turned toward him. You took your time letting your eyes gaze over this new Jeon Jungkook. His permed hair had grown longer, and a fringe was swept softly across his left eye. The piercing that adorned his eyebrow had disappeared, and the only thing decorating that pretty face was a lip piercing.

“It’s really good to see you too. You look great, by the way. I love the long hair. It really suits you.” You couldn’t help but wonder how his hair would feel entangled between your fingers.

He proceeded to touch the ends. “Thanks. You–you always look great,” he chuckled lightly.

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment as you suppressed a smile. “Thanks. I–um, do you have time to catch up? If you’re not busy, that is, but if you are, then please feel free to go. I don’t–I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

“I have some time,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes and his tiny dimple on display.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as you made it in your head. You were overanalyzing nothing. Jungkook seemed happy to see you, even though you thought he’d be running in the other direction, considering he had left on a whim.

“Um, do you work around here?”

“Yeah, I was just getting some early drinks with my colleagues.”

Your mind immediately went to Alex, which you fucking hated, but you couldn’t help it. Obviously, she wasn’t with the group of him and rowdy men, but you assumed they still worked together, and who knew in what kind of capacity–or maybe she had him eating in the palm of her hands again.

You stopped the ongoing conversation in your head. It wasn’t good for anyone if this continued.

“This is a great place. I can see why you’d come here.” He hummed in agreement. “How–how are you? How’s everything?”

Jungkook cleared his throat, interlocking his hands together, light tapping his thumb on the other. “It’s good. I’m—good. Work has been going well. I, uh—I’ve taken up running along with boxing, but Bam–he’s a handful.”

“Bam?”

“Yeah! My dog.”

“You have a dog?”

“He’s still a pup, but he’s getting so big already.” Jungkook pulled his phone from his back pocket, scrolling to find a photo of Bam. “See.” He set his phone on the counter, pushing it to you.

“Oh, my god. He’s precious! He has big doe eyes like his dad,” your mouth curved into a smile. “He’s perfect for you.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, pressing the off button on his phone. “How are you? What’s new?”

His question was so broad you weren’t sure where to start. He obviously knew about your meeting but didn’t know what it was for. But how much information would you feel comfortable divulging?

“I’m good.” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I just got back from a solo trip, and then this whole LA thing happened, and now I’m here.”

“Ah–right. Yuna told me about your trip. How was it? Did you enjoy yourself?”

You nodded. “It was great. I practically laid out on the beach most of the time, got some sun in,” you smiled and shrugged. “And what about you? I heard you were back in Seoul for a little bit.”

He hummed. “Yeah, for my mom’s birthday dinner, and I finally got to meet Indie.”

“Ugh, I love that little booger,” you chimed in.

“She’s amazing, and she’s growing up so fast.”

“Right? She grew up in a blink of an eye.”

Then you realized Jungkook had missed most, if not the entirety, of Indie's first year. Time had passed, and you had also grown and blossomed without your awareness in the midst of it all.

Jungkook beamed a soft smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” you asked again, searching for the bartender.

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Positive?” You gave him a look.

He nodded. “Still trying to take care of me?”

“Well–I am older than you.”

Jungkook chuckled and turned away for a moment. “I, uh, already had some earlier, remember? So, I shouldn’t have anymore.”

“What? You can’t hold your liquor anymore, old man?” you teased.

He scoffed at your lame joke. “Are you taunting me?”

It almost felt like old times when you were just friends, ragging on each other.

You sipped your drink before answering, “Yes.”

He flashed a close-lipped smile. “Can I take a rain check?”

You hummed lightly. “You got it.”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck and swiveled in his chair, lightly brushing his knee against yours. “Do you have my new number?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. No, because you recently deleted all his contact, texts, and photos. You shook your head.

He held out his hand, wavering his fingers for your phone. You gave it over without hesitation and watched as he saved his number. “Call me if you need anything or want to get that drink before you leave.”

He handed it back, his fingers softly touching yours. “I should go. I left Bam too long by himself.”

Your heart almost leaped out of your chest and onto the counter, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of butterflies and the bead of sweat on the nape of your neck finally caressing your skin when he touched you. “Yeah, sure, of course.” You nervously scratched your temple. “I, uh, I should get going too. I have my meeting soon.”

Jungkook smiled and stood, and you followed suit. He stepped back, straightening his cream-colored jacket and smoothing down his pants. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it or if it was just an expression. Either way, you didn’t want to put more meaning into it than needed. You smiled and hummed.

He stepped away, waving his hand before walking off into the sea of people who just entered the restaurant.

You half expected him to look back, but he didn’t. He was calm, cool, and collected as he confidently walked away, making you think he was over you.

Jungkook sat in his Uber, pinching himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming–that he really saw you and had a conversation, and it wasn’t as awkward as he thought it would be. Unless it was awkward, and he invented a fictitious scenario in his head, misunderstood your body language, and misinterpreted your words.

“Sir?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Yes, you can drop me off right here.” Jungkook’s mind raced back and forth, replaying the conversation.

He closed the car’s door, shuffling to the apartment complex’s gate. He punched in the code, rushing to his place to let Bam out.

The 50-pound puppy popped his head up, panting and wagging his tail as he saw his owner. Bam sprung to his feet and dashed over to Jungkook, smelling and licking his palm more than normal.

“I know, Bamie. I know.”

Jungkook smelled different. He must’ve had the faintest smell of you on him.

“Come on, boy. You’ve been waiting for me for too long.”

Bam whined when Jungkook’s mind was on something else and did not notice him. He was scratching Bam’s belly, staring off into space with nothing but you on his mind. It’s like you had completely taken over him like you were his paradise, and even if he tried to resist, it was probably useless now. He could never escape you.

Should he go back to the hotel? Would that seem too needy? He thought he was trying to get over you, but here you were, right in front of him, practically within reach—no ocean between the two of you. If now wasn’t the time, then when?

Was he prepared to fight for you? To be with you again? Was he ready for you to reject him if he wanted more, but you didn’t?

He sighed, fighting with himself for his next move. Whatever his decision, he wanted to ensure it was the right one. The real question was—did he want to be with you again after all this time?

The answer was yes—it has always been yes. You’re it. You’ve ruined him—it will always be you.

He was so close to getting in his car and driving back. Every cell in his body was urging him to go and confess his undying love—that is, until he remembered he ran away, that he hurt you.

What if you had moved on but didn't want him to know? He had no right to delve into your business anymore. What if you had moved on with that Yoongi guy? He'd heard that guy's name too many times from Yuna and Taehyung for him not to suspect anything was up with the two of you. You looked so happy with Yoongi that one time he saw you. Maybe he was the cause of your euphoria, the person you spent all your time with, the person you dreamed with, shared your hopes with—maybe you had fully closed the chapter that Jungkook was a part of, and Yoongi was the ‘take two’ of your story.

But could Jungkook just be a foolish dreamer? Thinking he still had a chance with you?

He'd given you his phone number, and the ball was now in your court. If you wanted to, then you’d contact him. Otherwise, perhaps it's best that he's not constantly chasing you. If you still wanted him, then you needed to let him know, and if you didn’t, then maybe he could finally try to let you go.

You checked yourself one last time, smoothing out your tailored skirt and matching blazer. You wished you had chosen another pair of heels, but your nude slingbacks were the only things you packed, so it’d have to suffice. With a swipe of your raspberry lip tint, you were now ready to charm whoever this executive was.

The hostess led you through the restaurant to a private dining lounge. A few guests were scattered far and wide while light jazz music and laughter filled your ears. Were all Netflix meetings always this fancy? You had looked up the menu beforehand, and the prices were somewhat reasonable for dinner, but you’d be fine with instant ramen from the convenience store. You could probably order the whole menu if you wanted since you weren't paying.

“Mr. Wells will be here shortly,” the hostess smiled, leaving you at the table as you mindlessly fiddled with your thumbs.

You wondered how your name even landed on the desk or email of someone across the ocean. Or could Jae just be a great writing agent, and he just had his connections? Maybe you’d find out during this dinner.

A waitress stopped by the table, bringing glasses of water and a bottle of Champagne.

“Oh–I didn’t order this.”

“Mr. Wells did. He wanted to apologize in advance for his lateness. He’s held up in traffic at the moment.” The waitress poured the champagne into two tall flutes.

Fifteen minutes went by as you sat waiting for this Netflix exec. He was already leaving a bad taste in your mouth because of his lateness, but it’s not like you had any other plans.

You scanned the room, watching others converse and eat before pulling out your phone. You went to your contacts and scrolled down to Jungkook’s name. It was like deja vu all over again–staring aimlessly at his name, whether or not to delete it or keep it. Only this time, he would hopefully pick up the call.

You were tempted to text him to see what he was up to. Considering it was a Friday night, he was probably out with friends, maybe Jimin or a girlfriend. You’d heard from Taehyung that they hung out fairly often. At least he had a friendly face in this city.

A low, husky voice said your name, making you look up from your phone. The man standing before you was not someone you pictured. If you had all the confidence in the world, you’d whistle and holler at this Park Seo Joon look alike.

“I’m Zachary Wells, but just call me Zach.” He grinned as he quickly scanned your face and held out his hand. You stood to shake it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and your work,” Zach said, gesturing for the both of you to sit.

“You have?”

“Whenever Kenji is in town, you’re all he ever talks about.”

Ah, Kenji. You should’ve known. Well, you supposed one of your exes was good for something.

Zach grabbed the attention of the waitress. “Should we order dinner? I’m starving.”

The two of you had a lot in common. Zach was fairly easy to talk to and was a chatterbox. But just like Kenji, Zach was avoiding why he had wanted to meet you in the first place.

The conversation had finally winded down after an hour, and the champagne and water washed down the last of your dinner. And now, only one thing remains.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I wanted to meet with you.” You hummed. "Well, as you know, we've been expanding Netflix into South Korea, and we're picking up a lot of Korean dramas as demand grows here in the States. As I was talking with Kenji, we thought you’d be perfect for the role of director for creative marketing. I understand you've been a writer for a long time, but I believe you have the potential to help us thrive even more with your market knowledge and insight.”

“Would that mean I wouldn’t have to move out here? That I could stay in Seoul?” It was the first thought on your mind.

“We’d onboard you here in LA for a few months and then get you settled back in Seoul.”

Zach’s offer was too good to be true and to pass up. You didn’t have anything else going for you right now. No show and only a half-finished script.

“So? What do you think?” Zach leaned back in his seat, draping his arm behind you, scanning you from head to toe. He finished the last of his champagne, gesturing for the waitress to bring another one.

It’s not like you could give him an answer right here, right now–coming to live in LA, leaving your life and friends behind. It was a big ask and not a decision you’d take lightly.

Your silence encouraged him to move closer, and his knee knocked into yours. “What do I have to do to convince you?” he said, his finger lightly brushing against your knee.

Immediately, you pulled back, pushing his hand away. “Is this how you get everyone to come to work for you?” You scowled, disgusted by his action.

“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, babe. Don’t waste it.” Zach raised his brows, waiting for you to change your mind. He tried to touch you again, but a loud smack echoed throughout the room, making others around you stop and look at the commotion.

“You’re feisty. I like that.” Zach licked his lips, massaging his cheek.

“You’re a disgusting pig.”

He scoffed. “Oh, am I? I’m here trying to give you a job, and here you are, being a fucking bitch. I hear you have nothing else lined up for you, right? And I can easily tell everyone in this industry to never give you another job again.” He threatened and then proceeded to move in again.

“If you touch me again. I’ll fucking scream,” you seethed, your face warm to the touch, smoke fuming from your ears.

Zach rolled his eyes and threw his hands in defeat. “Fine–have it your way. Good luck getting a job in this industry ever again,” he spat out before leaving.

Everyone in the restaurant was looking at you. You cowered, unsure of where to go or what to do. You weren’t expecting this turn of events. It was just too good to be true.

This whole trip felt like a bust. You came here expecting to return to Seoul with a job but instead had a creepy interaction with a high-level executive, and they paid for everything, including your flight and hotel. You shivered at the thought of him knowing exactly where you were staying. You were alone in a big city, and the only person you knew was your ex-boyfriend.

You illuminated your phone to check the time, debating whether to call Jungkook. Would it be weird? Would you look desperate if you called? It’s not like you had any dignity left anyway.

Unlocking your phone, you clicked on Jungkook’s contact; your thumb hovered over the call button. Fuck it, you thought and pressed call.

It rang a few times before Jungkook’s familiar voice was on the other end—it felt like old times.

Hello?

“Hey, it’s me.”

Hey. I was hoping you’d call. Are you done with your meeting already?

“Yeah, um, would you mind picking me up at the restaurant?”

Yeah! Of course. Text me the address. I’m coming right now.

Jungkook zipped through the city, and thankfully, there wasn’t any heavy traffic to slow him down. He got to the restaurant in less than 20 minutes. He pulled up and saw you waiting on the sidewalk with your arms crossed, trying to keep yourself warm. Parking the car, he ran over to you.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asked with concerned eyes, scanning you from head to toe, ensuring you weren’t hurt.

“Yeah, can we go?” Your body language was telling Jungkook otherwise.

He opened the door for you, and you quickly got in, fastening your seat belt and breathing a sigh of relief once you lay against the headrest. Jungkook looked over, biting his cheek as he could tell you weren’t okay—your eyes were glassy, and he could see how your mascara smudged. He began to input the address for the hotel, but you stopped him.

“Can—can we go back to your place?” Jungkook perked up. “I don’t want to be alone, if that’s okay.”

He certainly wasn’t going to deny you. “Yeah, of course. That’s fine with me.”

“Are you sure?”

It probably wasn’t fair of you to do this to him.

“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”

“Jungkook, you can totally say no—”

He gently placed his hand on top of yours. “Hey—it’s okay. We’ll go to my place.”

You waited a good distance behind Jungkook as he unlocked the door. He took a step but then stepped back and turned to you.

“Bam gets excited when new people come over. So, I apologize if he’s a bit wild.”

You smiled, assuring him you’d be okay. You were nervous but psyched to meet him, actually—you hoped he would like you. Considering Jungkook was his owner, Bam would probably be the sweetest pup.

As soon as Jungkook opened the door, the brown-coated Doberman greeted him. He knelt down, rubbing his floppy ears. “I told you I wouldn’t be gone long, right, Bamie?”

Jungkook looked at you, beaming a wide smile before returning to his puppy. Bam’s tongue hung out as he panted, looking in your direction–he really did have big, doe eyes like Jungkook. Maybe they were drawn to each other through lingering starry eyes.

He let go of him, and immediately Bam came to sniff your hand, giving a few licks before looking up at you. “I think he likes you.”

“Whew—I passed Bam’s vibe check,” you joked as you crouched down to cup his face, in which Bam licked your chin. “Oh–” You scrunch your eyes closed and giggle at the pup. He really was so sweet.

“Bam—house,” Jungkook commanded. Bam whined quietly before following his owner’s order. He pouted the entire stroll to his crate. As he lay down, he took his turtle chew toy into his mouth, making it squeak.

You slipped off your shoes and set down your bag, looking around Jungkook’s apartment. As you expected, it was squeaky clean, with a few photo frames of his mom, Yuna, and Indie. Then you noticed the ‘Rising Star’ award he had displayed on a shelf next to a few other awards he must’ve gotten at his new job. The stark white walls and flooring contrasted against the black and brown hue furniture. You chuckled to yourself when you saw the workout equipment in the corner—of course; it’s right in his living room.

“If you’re tired, you can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh–” It wasn’t your intention to sleep here. You didn’t want to be alone after that icky interaction with Zach. “I’m okay. Do you just want to hang out and talk for a little bit?”

Jungkook took a big gulp and cleared his throat. He figured this was the moment of truth. He didn’t know what to expect anymore–it could be good or bad.

“Yeah,” he smiled, making his way to the couch, gesturing for you to do the same. “Make yourself at home.”

That was easier said than done. You felt intrusive and feared that you crossed a boundary you shouldn’t have.

He watched you sit on the opposite end. And never in a million years did he think you’d be here, sitting with him. Is it possible that you have found some way to forgive him?

Your eyes found his, and the two of you nervously chuckled.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Tea?”

You shook your head. You didn’t mind just sitting here and being in his presence. It felt so comforting after such a long day of traveling and a shitty meeting.

“How was your meeting? Did it go well?”

You sighed, positioning your body toward him as you leaned against the couch. You purse your lips before answering him. “The guy was a bit of a douche. The job sounded like a great opportunity, but I refuse to work with someone who thinks I’ll sleep with them for a job.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, and he shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry, what?”

You could see Jungkook clenching his fist, but honestly, he had nothing to worry about. You hoped the slap Zach got was more than enough to scare him off.

You held your hands up to calm him down. “I can take care of myself, Jungkook,” you assured him. “He got a nice slap from me,” you beamed.

He breathed a sigh, relaxing his body into the couch cushion. “I’m sorry the meeting wasn’t everything you had hoped for.”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. I’m sure something better will come along.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“So, what were you doing on a Friday night? I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” You scanned the room, and there was nothing indicating he had company over.

Jungkook pouted, shaking his head. “Just hanging out with Bam.”

“No girlfriend or anything?”

Jungkook suppressed a smile, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe this was your subtle way of asking if he was seeing anyone. “No. No girlfriend. LA girls aren’t really my type.” Because you were, he thought. As hard as he tried to let you go, he just couldn’t.

You hummed and then wanted to kick yourself because that question came out of nowhere, but it was the question lingering on your mind ever since he had left. Someone who looked like him would’ve surely had women lined out the door, ready and willing to date him and bear his children.

“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, avoiding your gaze.

“No. No boyfriend.”

“So, you’re not seeing that Yoongi guy?”

You licked your lips, the corners of your mouth curving into a smile. “I’m guessing you heard that name from Yuna or Taehyung?” He nodded. “He’s just a friend and a pain in my ass.”

“Ah–got it.”

“And what about Alex? Is she still around?” You couldn’t not ask. It was like a giant elephant hanging out in the room with you.

Jungkook figured her name would come up sooner or later. “Alex’s not working for the company anymore. She moved out of the country.”

“Good,” you huffed; if she wasn't near Jungkook, that made you happy.

“You really hate her, huh?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

Jungkook softly chuckled, letting a beat pass. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Everything that happened with us.”

“I’m sorry too.” Your lips thinned, your fingers unconsciously picking at your hand.

“Why are you sorry?”

You appreciated that he didn't point out your flaws, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. Neither one of you was perfect. “Jungkook, you’re not the only one to blame. I should have communicated my feelings better when we were together.”

He nodded in agreement. “Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

Initially, it was hard to even think about forgiving Jungkook, but as time passed, the pain and hurt subsided. “Mm. I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

“Yes,” he chimed in. You chuckled at how fast he answered. “What?” He raised his eyebrow.

You shook your head. “Nothing–”

“Just say it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because—I just—shouldn’t.” You wanted to say you found him cute and endearing and that he forgave others too quickly.

“Fine,” he pouted, shifting his leg onto the couch.

Your mouth opens involuntarily, exhaling a yawn from exhaustion. The time difference really fucked you up. Quickly, you covered it with both hands and excused yourself.

“Am I boring you?” Jungkook teased.

“Yes, actually. I hadn’t realized you’d become so dull,” you quipped, covering another yawn. “See—so boring that you’re making me sleepy.” You leaned on your arm against the back cushion.

“Or maybe you’re just becoming an old lady.”

You scoffed. “I’m an old lady? You’re the one who’s staying in on a Friday night! Old man.”

“Yeah, I had to stay in, just in case an old lady needed me.” Jungkook giggled and looked away before returning to meet your eyes. “I’ve missed this.”

“What?”

“Us.”

It was this specific moment when you moved into flight mode. You gave a half-smile and shifted your position so your feet touched the ground. You checked your phone for the time. “I should get an Uber and go back to my hotel.”

“I can take you.”

“Jungkook, you’ve done so much for me already. I don’t want you to have to drive back and forth.”

“I don’t mind—honestly.”

You stood up. “I know you don’t—but I do. It’s okay—really.” You unlocked your phone and pulled up the app, determined to call for a car. All of this was becoming too much for you, for your heart. His presence, the giggles, the familiarity of what the two of you used to be.

Jungkook stood and walked over to you, gently pushing away your phone. “What’s going on? Tell me the truth.” He could always tell when your mind was working overload—racing with thought after thought.

Should you tell him why you needed to leave after the two of you had a nice, civil conversation without screaming or yelling? Your therapist did tell you that no one would know how you feel unless you told them—and you just told Jungkook that you should communicate better.

Ugh, goddamnit. 

Speak now or forever, hold your peace.

You didn’t want to revert back to your old ways—being anxious, self-conscious, unsure of what you wanted. You sighed. “The truth?” Jungkook nodded. “The truth is—I probably shouldn’t have called you.”

“Why?” he asked as his starry eyes gazed deeply into your soul.

“Because—I was—I am scared.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrow, unsure of why you’d be scared. “Scared of what?”

“I was scared that if I called you and we talked—old feelings would resurface, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.”

“You still have feelings for me?”

“I think so? I’m—I’m not sure,” you stammered. “That’s why I didn’t call you in the first place when I knew I was coming to LA, and then when I happened to bump into you—well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that yes, I still have feelings for you.”

His eyes fell to the floor, and he sucked in his lips, trying not to smile, before looking back at you. “Am I the mistake?”

You shook your head. “You were never a mistake.”

“Then what mistakes are you referring to?”

You hung your head and sat back down, and Jungkook followed suit. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, and he looked at you, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know. Me—falling too fast, building fantasies inside my head, knowing it’ll never be real, not saying how I feel, pushing away people who love me. Should I keep going?”

“So, you didn’t want to call me and come here because you were scared all that’s gonna happen if you talked to me? Is that right?”

It sounded ridiculous, but he hit the nail on the head.

You hummed.

There was the slimmest chance of you bumping into Jungkook while in the same city, but you hadn’t fully prepared yourself if you did bump into him. You weren’t ready for the unresolved feelings and the smallest flutters of butterflies, your body to warm up to the simplest of accidental touches and soft giggles.

You could’ve just sucked it up, called an Uber, returned to your hotel, and tried to brush off the slimy interaction with the Netflix exec, but instead, you called the one person you knew would bring you comfort—Jungkook.

Should you just be completely honest and bare your soul? You were halfway there. Maybe it was time to grow up and just say what the fuck you wanted.

Jungkook was silent and waited to see if you had anything else.

You cleared your throat, thinking it was now or never.

“Our breakup,” you paused to recollect yourself and to stop your lips from quivering so much. You started again, “Our breakup—it really fucked me up. You left without saying goodbye, and after that, I kind of spiraled—drinking every day, showing up late to set, and ditching our friends. Hell—I almost let some random guy fuck me in a bathroom.”

You sighed. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, but I needed to go through all those things to be where I am today. I’ve done a lot of work on myself and had a lot of healing through therapy, a solo trip, and some new friends–okay, just one new friend, but that's beside the point–I just don’t want to go back to the same person I was before.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but you stopped him.

“I’m not saying that being here with you again will make me become the person I was before—I just want to make better decisions being the new person I am now.”

Finally, hearing how you felt after all this time relieved him. He had waited so long for you to finally share yourself with him.

Jungkook’s mouth moved from side to side, nibbling on his bottom lip before he spoke, “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. The weekend in Jeju really fucked me up. So much was happening with Taehyung and Hyunie’s wedding, and then we were on the brink of breaking up while pretending to be happy. My heart and my mind were all over the place. Then I saw you with Yoongi, and that really sent me over the edge because that’s when I knew I had lost you and could never get you back—no matter how hard I tried, I don’t think anything would’ve worked. So—I left.”

Your jaw tightened, trying to hold back tears as Jungkook recounted his side of the story. You didn’t know he saw you with Yoongi; it must’ve been shortly after you returned from Jeju. And as much as you were hurting, so was he.

Well, since both of you were in apology mode.

“I’m sorry too,” you said. “Growing up, it was only me. I had to do everything myself because my parents weren’t really there for me, and so I always felt like I didn’t want to bother others with my burdens. I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m slowly learning that I don’t have to do everything alone—that it’s okay to ask for help. So, I’m sorry I never communicated well and kept things from you.”

He licked his lips, thinking about how new this was all for him—you baring your feelings. “No, that makes sense. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I mean—I’m not perfect either. We both made mistakes, but you’re wrong about one thing.”

You raised your eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You had me and Yuna, and you know my mom loves you like you’re her own. She might love you more than she loves me,” he said. “And you know you can always tell me what’s going on. I’ll always be here for you—no matter what happens between us.”

You grinned because he was right. You had overlooked the huge part that their family played in your life. You couldn’t discount that.

“If there’s one thing I truly regret from all of this—it’s cutting ramen out of my diet since I’ve moved here,” he joked to lighten the mood.

You dramatically gasped, covering your mouth. “You cut ramen from your diet? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

The two of you giggled.

“I guess we’ve both done some growing up, huh?” Jungkook knocked his knee into yours.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“So, what now?”

You shrugged, unsure of Jungkook’s feelings, but you wanted to express yours. “I don’t want to wake up one day and regret not trying again. I want you. I want all of you, but I'm scared—scared that I'll get hurt and go back to my old ways. I’ve had a lot of healing, and I'm in a good place, but seeing you again, being near you, makes me want to forget everything that has happened and jump in your arms and tear off your clothes.”

Jungkook covered his mouth as he silently chuckled at your confession.

“Are you basking in my misery?” you sneered.

His lips turned into a pout as he shook his head. “No, I just—this is what I wanted all along while we were dating.”

“What? Me acting like a fool?”

“No—you telling me how you feel, tell me how much you want me, to claim me as yours.”

You opened your mouth and made a face. “You want me to grovel? Get on my knees?”

Jungkook bit his tongue when you got down on your knees in front of him. He had to tell himself and his dick to calm the fuck down because it was not the time and place to be thinking of such naughty things.

You gazed up at him; seeing him squirm was fun. “You like me on my knees?” you asked, sitting back on your legs.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his sweats as he shifted back on the couch. He thought back to the very first time you sucked him off after having dinner with Yuna and your mom. “I’m sorry. I think you were confessing your love for me. Go on. I’m all ears.”

You smacked his thigh. “I’m—you’re ruining this moment!”

“I’m ruining it? You’re the one who got down on your knees! You know how much I love that,” he mumbled the last of his words.

You turned and cupped your ear toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

“Just—go on. You were saying?” He cocked his head to the side, waiting for you.

You huffed, tilting your head back before landing on his sparkly doe eyes and cute little dimple peeking through. “I am stupidly in love with you, Jeon Jungkook, and I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you again.”

Jungkook felt a sense of relief when he heard those words, but there was still a small sliver of fear. “What if we’re just fooling ourselves into thinking this will work?”

“Then I guess we can be fools together.”

After baring your soul to Jungkook, you wanted nothing more than to jump into his lap and ride him like an endless merry-go-round, but you’ve changed and didn’t want to regret anything going forward with him. The two of you needed to take things slow and steady because you wanted to win the race.

The two of you stayed up late—talking, drinking beer, and catching each other up on life until the sun came up. It was like no time had passed, and you picked up right where you left off.

Bam had taken a liking to you, staying by your side, following you whenever you got up and moved around. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight. He definitely took after Jungkook.

The size of your bladder warranted another trip to the bathroom, and when you returned to where Jungkook and Bam were, you noticed Jungkook in a compromising position.

“Why are you on one knee? Are you taking a page out of my book?” you teased, not wanting to jump to any conclusions because you both agreed on taking it slow.

Without an answer, he took out something he was hiding behind his back. He held a blue velvet box in the palm of his hand.

Your eyes widened, and your heart raced rapidly because you knew exactly where that box was from. You and Yuna had looked at engagement rings for hours on end when the two of you thought Namjoon was getting ready to propose. You had mentioned it too many times to Jungkook while the two of you were dating. There’s no way he’d be proposing, right?

This whole thing with Jungkook was new—well, not really new, but you’d have to turn him down if he were to ask your hand in marriage. You were definitely not ready because the two of you had just agreed to try this relationship again.

“What the fuck is that? It better be a ring pop,” you implored. He slowly shook his head, beaming a smile from ear to ear. You repeated ‘no’ under your breath, shaking your head.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“Oh—I know what it is!”

Jungkook leaned over on his knee toward you. “Okay, so tell me.”

“It’s—it’s the ring that I couldn’t stop talking about. Why do you have it?”

He giggled at how cute and flustered you had become. “For once, you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” you huffed.

He stood, making his way to you, lifting your chin with his index finger. He stared deeply into your eyes. “You are completely and utterly wrong.”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “Prove it.”

Jungkook sighed at how stubborn you were. He opened the blue velvet box, and it was not the ring you had envisioned. “It’s a promise ring.” Because it was the ring that complimented the engagement set.

You visibly gulped, and there was a sense of relief. “A promise ring?”

He nodded. “You are everything I could ever want and more. It’s always been you, and there’s gonna be no one else for me. You are worth walking through hell and back, and considering we’ve done that already—I’d do it again if I had to, but please, please—I don’t want to do it again,” he pleaded, making you smile. “If you’ll let me, I want to love you and show you I’m worthy of your love every day for the rest of my life.”

You found yourself grinning from ear to ear, loving his little declaration of love. You moved closer to him, looking at the ring and then at him. “I want to make this right—us. I was wrong for not fighting for you—for us, and I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

He pulled the ring from the box, grabbed your left hand, and placed the piece of jewelry on your finger. “We’re in this together—you and me.”

You glanced at the ring, smiling at how pretty it looked on your finger. “You and me.”

A lot has happened in the last 24 hours—you flew to LA, had your meeting, and rekindled your relationship with Jungkook. The last thing wasn’t anything you expected, but it became the silver lining to this short trip you were dreading in the first place.

The pair of you couldn’t stop smiling and giggling in the elevator up to your hotel room–mind you, you’d kept your distance from him the entire night, but it was becoming pure and complete utter torture.

Your time in LA was already coming to an end, and everything in you wanted to just leave your life behind and stay, but you had to resist; you had to fight it—at least for now.

“So,” you trailed off, unsure what to say to him.

“So,” he repeated, leaning next to your door.

You both smiled and laughed at the tension filling the hallway.

“Do you,” you paused to think through your words, “want to come in until I have to leave?” This was a good boundary, you thought–just until you had to leave for the airport.

Jungkook licked his lips, flipping his lip ring back and forth with his tongue. His eyes explored your face before landing on your lips. “I’d love to, but we know if I do, then you won't get anything packed, and you’ll for sure miss your flight.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, and playfully smacked his chest. “I have no idea what you’re alluding to, mister.”

But you fucking knew and wanted it too.

He eliminated the distance between you, slowly caging you against the door. You closed your eyes when he gently caressed your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You had forgotten how much you had missed his touch—your body was glowing inside, illuminated from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You wanted nothing but to savor this moment—a moment you thought ceased to exist, a moment you thought only existed in your reveries.

The tiny hairs on your skin, tingling, standing on their end in anticipation of an expected kiss. All this tension was killing you softly.

His other hand snaked around the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer. Your eyes fluttered open, watching his lips part, his breaths slowing down, and you were trying to remember if they were still soft and had the faintest taste of strawberry. And you wanted to gently tug on that silver piece of jewelry and hear him whine because of it. 

Your stomach somersaults like there’s a gymnast going for the gold for the floor exercise when his body brushes against yours. The twitch in his black sweats is what really makes you melt and clench around nothing. It's been far too long since you've been touched, and he was the only one that could bring you pleasure.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes are desperately darting back and forth between yours, waiting for your okay.

“Please,” you pleaded, almost inaudible if he wasn't so close.

He doesn’t go right in like you expected. He took his time, both hands cupping your face and your hands gripping his tiny waist like nothing had ever stopped between the two of you. The tip of his nose nudged yours, his lips lightly feathering across the top of your lips—not going in just yet. His warm hot breath fans the ever-growing desire within you. It was thrilling for him to rediscover everything he loved about you.

You closed your eyes in excitement, scrunching the bottom of his shirt in your hands. You slightly tugged on it, wanting him to hurry and just fucking kiss you already. You had never known him to be so careful, so gentle.

He giggled at your frustration. “I thought we were taking things slow.”

You deadpanned. “It’s too slow,” you whined, trying to reach for his lips, but he pulled back. “I thought you wanted to kiss me?”

Jungkook flashed a soft smile, his dimple on display. “I do.”

“Then shut up and do it already,” you pouted. You couldn't handle the teasing between you anymore. You wanted to make up for everything lost within the last year. If you had all the time in the world, you’d want him to do anything and everything to you, but that day would have to wait.

He tilted his head and leaned in; his nose nuzzled into the side of your face, and the deep yearning you’d hidden inside was released as his lips finally found yours. Lips on lips delicately caressing and wandering like the two of you were in a drought, in desperate search of food and water.

You gently nipped on his bottom lip, lightly pulling on his ring before kissing the side of his mouth. He grinned, thinking he’d get you back for that, not today but soon. Your hands traced the curves of his body, causing him to press himself further into you. The evident erection in his sweats tells you how much he was enjoying this too.

The kiss became heated and fervent, like an all-consuming fire taking everything in its path. Your hands are placed on his toned chest, holding on for dear life as he presses you against the door, breathing life back into you like your life depends on it.

You pulled back, gasping for air, but he leaned in, wanting just a bit more. You’re intoxicating, and he’s greedy. He’s a man starved from your touch and kisses. There’s no way he’ll ever let you go again. He’d fight for you until his very last breath.

Your arms drape around his neck, your fingers twirling and tugging at the ends of his long hair. You deepen the kiss, your warm tongue nipping at his mouth, begging for more access to him. Kissing isn't enough anymore. You needed him—all of him. To rediscover his deepest desires, wants, and needs was the only job you wanted right now.

Jungkook withdrew from your kiss. “You have to pack.”

You took a moment to catch your breath. “Or you can come inside and help me pack.” You moved in again for another kiss, but he resisted.

“I would love that, but…” he trailed off, letting the desire within subside.

Your lips thinned. “But then we wouldn’t be taking it slow, would we?” He nods. “I should pack.”

He leaned in to quickly give you a peck on the lips. “Mm, you should.”

Your shoulders slump, and you tilt your head against the door. “But I don’t want to.”

“But you have to.” You groaned and stomped your feet like baby Indie. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

bonus (jk pov - hotel)

“Sorry, I got here early, but some lady was taking forever to get her luggage,” the driver said as Jungkook’s colleague opened the door.

"You coming?" His colleague asked from inside the car.

"...uh, you go on without me. I left my phone inside. I'll catch an Uber."

His colleague shrugged and shut the door behind him before the car took off. Jungkook stood before the hotel's entrance, unsure whether to enter or just leave.

He thought he saw you while waiting outside the restaurant, but he figured it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Even if it was really you, he wasn't sure he was ready to face you, let alone know what to say. He abruptly left without explaining his actions. He didn't think when he did it, which was a stupid, rash decision he later regretted. He couldn't bear the heartache of being so close to you.

The plan was to get as far away as possible so he could forget, but the problem was that he couldn't. You were the love of his life (yes, even at the tender age of 25). He had no desire for anyone else. Even when gorgeous women were flinging themselves at him in this new city. He wasn't concerned with them because they weren't you.

Everything made him think of you. From peonies to hot tubs and even bowling. He'd go back and say goodbye if he could. He despised the way things ended.

Before he knew it, his foot had stepped past the sliding glass door, heading in, unsure of where even to begin. He began his search as he walked through the lobby, peering at the reception desk. 

He noticed a woman standing at the counter. Maybe your hair had grown out. Approaching the woman, he tapped them on the shoulder. "Noona..."

When the woman turned around, Jungkook quickly apologized before returning and going on the hunt for you. You may have already gone to your room, but he wasn't about to give up so easily. He'd be sorry if he missed you by a millisecond. Could his eyes be deceiving him? Maybe he didn't see you just standing there. Maybe he missed you so much that he imagined everything.

He told himself he'd look for ten minutes before giving up and going home. He walked around the lobby, past the reception desk, down the hallway, and even took the elevator up a few floors before returning down.

He was sure the workers thought he was creeping around and wouldn't be surprised if they had called security. He only had a few minutes before calling it quits and heading home. He walked past the restaurant he was just at, then took a few steps back.

What if you had gone to get a drink?

It didn't take long for him to notice you sitting alone at the bar, waving the bartender down to order. His eyes were not deceiving him; he was not insane.

It was you. 

You were absolutely stunning, he thought. Even after a year apart, you’d become more beautiful than ever. He needed a moment to take you all in because he didn’t think he’d ever see you again—here in LA.

Every heartbeat was like a metronome, keeping in sync with every step he took toward you. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes as he stood behind you, his mind racing with the right words—what would he say after a year?

“Is this seat taken?”

Fuck—if he could, he’d punch himself. He could’ve come up with something better.

✨ next ~ drabble ~ dream bigger, darling

[willowser]

For roommate touya and his job: I saw someone else say he probably bounces jobs a lot, but I think he probably is between line cook, bartender and tattoo artist because he could just keep bouncing restaurants/bars/studios so much without issue.( If you want to throw in the slimeball hc you had for him it'd work well because the line cook hitting on whoever just started/bartender picking up a customer or regular/tattoo client thinking they'd get a discount if they sleep with the artist or if they show a lot more skin) But I also think he likes to work and make something with his hands, see like immediate praise(?) For it, and to people watch.

He's seeing couples and friends interact in "normal" settings at each of these places, maybe even seeing successful dates/pick up lines/etc and mentally files them away in "would roommate like this? If i acted like ___, would it work?"

Maybe unconsciously looking for examples of someone like us with someone like him to try and picture us like that. Trying to find any proof that maybe it could work because it's working for someone else and he can see it for himself

I rambled but those my thoughts

yeah i love that idea that he does multiple things !! 🥺 and that's such a good point; i think he likes working with his hands too !! to see the immediate payoff and feel like he's doing something ?? 🥺 canon touya is so...out on the streets and physical you know !!! and i think that translates to modern au touya !!!

also 🥺 him trying to find examples of someone like us and someone like him 🥺 to know that it works MY HEART PLEASEEEEE that's so akdnfisjakak INSANR WAAAAHHHHH i definitely think he uses his various jobs to people watch 🥺🥺🥺 PLEASE can you imagine him hearing a corny pick up line and filing it away for later LMAOOO kajfjdkakajdj that's so funny akfnka

tysm for sharing friend !!! sorry it took me a minute to get to this !!