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[oreo-creampies]

‘𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧 (𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦-𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 & 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝)’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pervert!reader, bdsm, service sub!reader, dom!toji, dom!sukuna, dom!suguru, dom!satoru, gang-bang, degradation/praise/mocking/taunting, daddy/princess, pain kink, mind break/dumbification, overstimulation, they all got big dick, vibrator, collar and leash, light bondage, blindfold, voyeurism, biting, spanking, some face spalling, drinking satoru's cum outta a pussy sleeve, double penetration, dacryphilia, some cervix fucking, light belly bulge, squirting

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏𝟒 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝟑.𝟗𝐤

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: sukuna/toji/gojo/geto foursome??? w/ heavy degradation andddddddd dumbifiction and they’re like rlly mean to reader lolz. u can do anything else u want i trust u

fey: the way i've been fixated on writing this is ridiculous, gangbang requests are my fav

Waiting with your legs spread, rubbing a vibrator on your clit. Tonight you’re a nameless glory hole for a random guy to fuck and cum in. It's your guilty pleasure to be whored out and degraded.

If only it were by your handsome, muscular roommates. They could pass you around like one of their fat blunts.

Scarlet states on your sex room's ceiling speakers. "A group of four is coming. Ya gonna enjoy them, rowdy hotties. They might last a while." Moving to the edge of the bed, where you bend over, legs spread.

The door slides open and closes behind the silent group. You're anticipating lewd, crude comments, large hands on your hips, and a warm, hard cock in your needy cunt. Slipping the vibrator inside you, moaning.

"Aren't you gonna use me?" Spreading your cunt apart with your fingers. Letting them see the toy pulsing in your cunt. Rubbing your clit, whining. "Please, I'll be a good slut." Stuffing the toy inside, groaning when it touches your sweet spot.

You hear a familiar deep voice, “You'll be a good slut for daddy n' let me get my moneys worth outta your sloppy cunt.” Clenching the toy pulsing in your cunt. Heating up in embarrassment, quickly standing up and turning around.

Whimpering his name, "Tooojiiinn?" The sweet pleasure from the vibrator keeps you from sounding firm. Your thighs trembling, knees weakening, sitting down. They've caught you being a slut.

Toji slips off his shirt quickly. "You'll gonna be fucked too stupid think straight so we'll keep it simple for you. Dirty slut call us daddy." You're done for.

Spreading your legs open, slipping the vibrator out by the long string-like rubber piece. You cunt spams when you rub your clit. Curling your toes into the sofa carpet, Loudly moaning, "Whatever you want Daddy." Toji slips his sweats off.

His cock is thicker than you thought. With puffy veins, you want to trace with your tongue. He's going to break your cunt with a cock like that.

Suguru folds his shirt and pants, setting it on the door side counter. "Whatever we want, good little slut." Sukuna and Satoru throw their clothes together in a small pile. All of them are beautiful, with thick pecs, washboard abs, meaty arms, and muscular thighs

Sukuna snaps "Good slut my ass!" He playful glares, a predatory smirk on his kissable lips. "Fuckin' whore lied to us, said she was hanging out with some friends." You want to sit on his beautiful tattooed face.

Toji adds, "If ya us the truth we could have just tied ya up at home." He picks up a thin collar, with its leash attached.

Swirling the toy on your clit. "Didn't feel like advertising I'm submissive at a BDSM sex club occasionally. What if I got designated to a whore instead of a friend?" Joining in for Sukuna's horror movie nights. Random late-night drives with Satoru and Suguru. Toji's fat blunts and warm cuddles.

These were things you don't want to miss out on if they see you differently.

Satoru spits into his large palm, smearing it over his head. Lightly pumping his hand over his pale pink head. "Aw, don't worry you're always gonna be our lil princess. " He smears the thick pre-cum seeps from his slit with his thumb.

Toji wraps the collar around your neck. Tugging on the leash, forcing you off the edge of the bed and onto your knees. "So you told a little lie to your friends because you thought we'd shun ya for being a slut." He winds the chain around his big rough hand. Yanking you forward, you brace yourself on Toji's thick muscular thighs.

"Yes, I'm allowed to keep things private. 'Side now ya know, ya know my safe word, limits. Are you gonna keep bein' a meanie or are ya use me?" Sticking your tongue out. Toji slaps his heavy cock on your tongue.

He glides his cock into your mouth. "I've always wanted to bully ya more when ya call me a meanie." Gagging you, holding your head in place with a large hand. Pumping his cock in your mouth. You suck in your cheeks, keeping your tongue out, relaxing your neck.

Suguru encourages you, "Hold your hands out for Satoru and I." A large hand guides yours to their warm cock. Swirling your fists, gliding your hand along the length of their cocks.

Satoru croons, "Hmm your hand is so soft 'round my cock." Suguru's droops underneath his weight, too thick for your fingertips to touch. Satoru is a couple inches longer, slimmer but reasonably thick, with more puffy veins.

Your cunt clenches nothing, your slick dripping down your thighs. They are all so big, your cunt is going to be sore for days after this. Are you going to walk after this? They could take you home with them, and you could call it a night.

Anyone after Suguru, Satoru, Toji, and Sukuna would be a disappointment anyway.

Filling your lungs when Toji glides his cock out. He steps aside for Sukuna to stand next to him. "Wondered if your cock was tattooed." Wrapping your lips around Sukuna's light tan thick cockhead. Bobbing your head, groaning, taking him in deep long strokes. Gagging occasionally.

Sukuna wonders, "Is that the only thing you wondered about us?" Loudly slurping, sucking, swirling your tongue around his cock. Gliding him deeper, gagging yourself when your nose touches the short patch of Sukuna's dark hair. Sliding him out with a pop, his cock hangs, too heavy to stand up.

Kissing Sukuna's fat balls, sucking them into your mouth. Toji pulls you back, "Tell us what goes on in that perverted head of yours. Or you're not cumming." It's getting you off to have so many thick cock in your face. The slick sounds of their fist gliding along their cocks goes straight to your cunt.

Letting Satoru go, replacing Toji's hand. There is more space between your fingertips than with Suguru's cock. They're impossibly thick, able to split your cunt open and leave you gaping.

"You're cocks makin' my cunt soaking wet." Biting your lip, fighting the uncertainty. Kneeling, surrounded by four beautiful muscular men with big cocks and heavy balls they're intending to empty in your cunt. "But I dunno if I can handle all four of you. All of you are huge, but I wanna try." Turning your head, kiss Satoru's pale pink cock head.

Trailing kisses along the puffy vein, dragging your tongue up to his head. Licking up his salty sweet pre-cum. Sucking on his balls gently, swirling your tongue. Satoru croons, "Stupid little slut is trying to take on more than she can handle. "s hot makes me wanna break her."

Suguru groans, "Aww, we're too big for our little princess." Steadily pumps his cock, swiping your thumb over his head. Suguru has the prettiest cock and balls. Taking a moment to admire his thick thicks, heavy balls, and pre-cum dripping from his fat head.

You croon, "Some of the biggest, pretties cocks I've seen." Letting Suguru go, fondling Sukuna's balls. Switching to Suguru's cock, leaving Toji to stroke his own cock.

You feel the leash move as it switches hands. Sukuna, Suguru, and Satoru shift, closing in when Toji walks off. He suggests, "We should tie her up, blindfold her, and make her guess whose touchin' her." You hear a chair scrap as he moves it closer.

Struggling to take Suguru deeper, he pushes your head down with a large hand. Sukuna suggests, "The leash is long enough that it can bind her hands." Gliding your hand from massaging Sukuna's balls to stroking his thick cock. Swirling your fist, keeping a quick and steady pace.

Gliding Suguru out of your mouth with a pop. "Still new to this but I can handle two." Letting Sukuna go, twisting your hands behind your back for Satoru to bind with the chain. Satoru slaps your ass, slipping his fingers between your legs.

Satoru drags his fingertips along your wet slit, swirling around your needy hole. "You look so beautiful princess with that collar around your neck, tied up." Whining, trying your best not to rock your hips back when he pulls away.

Suguru orders, "Stand up." Quickly rising, "Good girl." Toji has a blindfold, Sukuna has lube and a buttplug. "Are you gonna be a good, little glory hole?" Suguru twists you around, bending you over the edge of the bed.

There's a pleasurable thrill you feel in your cunt from being manhandled. "Please use me. I want my meanie roommates to bully me, and fuck me stupid. Wanna be a dirty cock hungry whore." Suguru yanks on the chain, pulling your head back, blindfolding you.

Suguru lets you go. Another pair of large hands spread your cheeks. Too rough to be Suguru's. Digging in his nails and taking a large bite of your left cheek. "Toji, Nn Daddy!" He groans when you cry. "Know your hands anywhere." He bites your other cheek, gliding his fingers to your slit.

You're trapped between the bed and Toji. "You're always pulling me onto your lap and teasin' me by rubbing my thighs getting so close to my cunt." He curls his fingers into your soaking wet, tight cunt. "I want you to fuck me in front of everyone, make me your whore." Your cunt squelched when he pumps his fingers.

Toji croons, "Right a fuckin' way. Proud of ya." He spread his fingers apart, spitting into your cunt. Stuffing it in with a loud groan, "Fuck you're so damn wet, dripping down your soft thighs." He drags his nails, scratching your cheek down to your thighs. Squeezing, savoring how his fingers sink into your squish.

Squirming, the sweet firey pain of Toji's scratches adds to the sweet pleasure of getting finger fucked. Hearing Suguru, Satoru, and Sukuna groan as they touch themselves to the sight. Waiting for their turn to use your soft body. It turns you on m.

Toji groans, slapping your thigh and watching it jiggle. "Having your tiny, soft body to fold in two n' fuck mindless is makin' my night." Pumping both his fingers faster, stroking your sweet spot.

Toji croons, "The things I've been wanting to do to ya." It's only taking a few strokes from Toji's fingers and the pressure-building snaps. Intense sweet pleasure tingling in your cunt consumes your whole body. Moaning, clenching his thick fingers.

You plead, "Nnn cumming! Nng your fingers feel so good in my cunt. Mmm wanna make your cock feel good, wanna make you cum Daddy." Toji glides his finger out, roughly slapping both cheeks. Smearing your cum with each heavy spank.

Sukuna groans, "Fuck she's so hot cryin' from getting her cheeks beat. Hit her harder, make our dirty little whore sob." You jolt forward, the bed preventing you from getting far. Firey pain erupts from each harsh slap.

Crying, trembling, struggling to keep your feet planted flat. Toji glides his cock "Stupid slut is getting off on her it. She's clenching, begging for a cock." It's hot how vulnerable you are, tied up, blindfolded. Bent in front of a large, muscular man with his cock throbbing.

Your dripping wet cunt is his to use how he wishes. "Please use me, let me be your stupid little cock sleeve." He lines his cock up, lightly gliding just the tip in. Fighting the urge to rock your hips back.

He glides his fat head in. The soft ridge of his cock head tugs your tight cunt before slipping out. Sliding himself in, "Dirty fuckin slut letting anyone use your cunt. Gonna fuck ya so hard that your glory hole breaks. You won't be thinking of anyone else but me after this." He leans over you, rolling his hips forward.

He tugs on your leash. Pulling your head back, making the collar dig into your neck. Straining your pleads, "Fuck me, please! Please! Fuck me!" The bed dips, a rough hand grabs your chin and warm cock nudes your lips. Opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Toji bites your shoulder, whining, your cunt clenching Toji's fat veiny cock. Suguru reminds, "Let the whore try to guess if she's not too stupid to." Which canceled out him.

"Satoru's hands are too damn soft." Toji picks up his pace, fucking his fat cock into you harder. "Nootthim!" Your words slur together with a moan. You're unable to keep your thoughts together.

He roughly slaps your face. "Say it you cock drunk slut." Your cheek stings, cunt clenching Toji's veiny cocky. "You're only purpose in life is to take fat cocks. That's all our greedy beautiful whore is meant for." Sukuna roughly fucks your mouth.

Choking you with his cock, gliding his cock out and slapping you across the other cheek. Toji hits your ass, digging in his nails and jiggling your soft fat. Sukuna pulls his cock out with a soft pop.

Collecting your breath, begging "Sukuna please! Daddy please. I'm only good for taking fat cocks and dumping cum in. I'm a dirty perverted slut who can't get enough of having her cunt played with!" Your cunt quivers around Toji's cock, squeezing him tighter than before. Your thick slick gushing down your thighs as you cum.

Trembling, unable to think straight. Giving in to nothing but the pleasurable feeling of getting fucked stupid by Toji's fat cock. Every puffy vein getting thicker, the twitching of his cock. He's so close to spilling in your soaking wet, tight cunt.

Sticking your tongue out, with a swift thrust, Sukuna buries himself in your hot, wet mouth. His large balls smack your chin.

Satoru moans, "Fuck couldn't help from cumming with our pretty dumb little slut begging like that." Sukuna rips your blindfold off. Groaning when he sees your tearful eyes. Tugging on the neck, choking you with the collar, fucking your mouth faster.

Suguru suggests, "I bet our cum dump is thirsty. Make her beg for it." You want to drink Satoru's cum. Not care if it tastes good or not. If it made their cocks hard you'll be their pretty cum thirsty slut.

Sukuna groans, "Fuckin' crybaby slut knows how to take it." Toji's thick hot cum spills trickling from his head. Then shooting out in thick, short bursts. Fucking it deep, smearing it with sloppy ragging thrusts.

He groans, "Pretty little cock sleeve can take all my cum in her tight sloppy cunt." Slowly gliding his cock out, stuffing the cum that trails after his cock. Keeping some of it from spilling out easily.

Toji slaps your ass one more time. "Pretty little slut! Hmm her fat cunt looks good dripping cum." Sukuna glides his cock out. Undoing your bound wrists, yanking your leash, dragging you onto the bed.

Flipping you over, and getting on top of you. Sukuna pins you in a mating press, dipping his head and biting your breasts. Flicking your nipple with his tongue. With your hands free you dig your nails into his back. Scratching alongside his tattoos.

Sukuna groans, rocking his hips, gliding his fat cock on your sloppy cunt. Sinking his teeth in deeper. You slide your hands into his pink hair, pulling to hear him moan.

Suguru and Satoru climb on the bed, hovering on either side of your head. In Satoru's hands in the pussy sleeve full of cum. "Please lemme drink your cum, I'm a thirsty whore." Licking your hand, cupping Suguru's balls, massaging them gently.

Sukuna lets your breast go, pinching your other nipple. Pulling on it, making you arch your back and cry. You can feel it in your clit. Sukuna lines up his veiny tattooed cock with your cum filled cunt.

His abs flex when he slams his cock in. Sukuna's using his strength and weight to restrain you in a tight mating press. Pinning both legs by your side, keeping you from running away or even wiggling. Making you take the full harsh force of Sukuna's thrust.

Opening your mouth, Satoru touches the rim of the pussy sleeve to your bottom lip. His liquid cum trickling onto your tongue. It's sweet, with a slight thickness. "Good fuckin' slut drink my fuckin cum make my cock hard again." Wrapping your fingers around Suguru's head, swiping your thumb over it.

Swallowing the mouthful of Satoru's cum. Sukuna's fucking your cunt too roughly. Your stomach bulges with his cock head hitting your cervix. "I can see how deep I'm going in my thirsty cock whore sloppy cunt." Toji left you feeling sore. Bringing an overwhelming sensitivity.

Your sloppy cunt can't take anymore. "Too much! Can't your cock 's too big, going too deep innnn mmy" Sukuna picks up his speed. Unable to focus on stroking Suguru's cock crying, "Cunt so sore from Toji's fat cock. Too much!" Pushing Sukuna's abs, failing to get away.

Sukuna grabs the vibrator you left on the bed. Clicking it on, holding it to your puffy clit. Snapping at you, "No safe word means I don't fuckin' care. Shut the fuck up and choke on his cock." Crying, warm tears trickling down your face.

Suguru lightly slaps your lips with his heavy head, smearing his pre-cum. "Took two cocks to break her, pathetic." Suguru straddles your neck, Sukuna holds the toys still on your clit. Adding too much pressure, the uncomfortable pain conflicts with the sweet pleasure of his cock stroking your sweet spot.

You're unable to decide if it hurts or feels good when his cock hits your cervix. Giving into every sweet pleasurably painful sensation, not bothering to think. Wanting them to use your body for their pleasure.

You're their cock hungry, dumb little slut. You don't need to think, you just need to take their cocks. Satoru croons, "It's too much, too deep!" Suguru gags you with his cock, his balls hitting your chin.

Clenching Sukuna's cock, you're so close to an intense peak. "Fuck!" You can feel Sukuna's thick cum spurting from his fat head. He glides his large hands down your thighs, squeezing your hips.

Wrapping your legs around his slim waist, pulling him closer. Getting off on Sukuna fucking his cum in your sloppy cunt with Toji's. "Nnn how can her sweet cunt get tighter?" He swirls the vibrator on your clit.

Suguru slips his cock out, letting you breathe. Sukuna twists your nipple, crying from the sharp pain. Suguru shoves his cock into your mouth. Covering half your face with his balls. Groaning, he's gotten hard again quickly.

Grabbing Suguru's cock, swirling your fist, pumping your fist along his thick veiny cock. “Hmm as good as your hand feels I need to be inside ya princess.” Letting Sukuna go, he glides his softening cock out. Handing the vibrator to Suguru.

Suguru pulls away. “Toru let me get her on my chest, we can share her messy cunt.” Satoru whines, giving a couple more quick pumps. Fondling your sore breasts, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs.

He croons, “Dunno if our princess can handle that. She was strugglin’ to take Sukuna.” Choking you with his cock, grabbing muscular his thighs, digging your nails in. “Won’t it be too much for our glory hole? We’ll have to carry her to the care after this.” Gliding himself out, dragging his balls across your face.

Sticking your tongue out, happily groaning. “Course a whore like you would get off to that.” Suguru slaps your cunt. Whining from the sweet pain, clenching nothing. Wanting another thick cock stretching your aching cunt despite you previous claims.

Satoru pulls away, Suguru grabs your leash yanking you up. Your collar pressing into your sore neck. Scrambling onto your knees, he pulls your back to his. You whine, “Imma dirty slut who loves her daddies cocks and balls.” He roughly slaps your clit then holds the toy to it.

Whining from the stinging pain and overwhelming pleasure. Jerking your hips back, involuntarily running away from the intensity. “Aww is it too much for your sore cunt? Poor little whore.” His mocking shouldn’t sound so sweet.

Satoru gets off the bed, the toys capturing his interest. Shifting through the dildos, you don’t know which one he picks. Suguru lines his cock up, slamming himself deep with one harsh thrust. Closing your eyes, bracing yourself for whatever pace he sets.

Suguru gets you on your back, laying on his chest. Your legs hooked over his forearms and his hands clasped behind his back. Pushing your head down, you can see Toji jerking off with a pussy sleeve.

Gliding it along his cock, staring your sloppy cunt split open by Suguru’s fat cock. “Don’t worry princess I’m going again after they’re done with ya.” You can’t respond when Suguru rocks his hips. Gliding his mind numbingly fat cock in your sloppy cunt. Sukuna’s and Toji’s cum trickling onto his balls with your slick.

Satoru climbs onto the bed with a thin, pulsing dildo. Spitting on its head, gliding his hand along it. “You can take it, let us fuck your beautiful cunt till our cocks won’t get hard again.” He glides the toy in alongside Suguru’s fat cock.

“Fuck! Fuck! Nnng it’s makin’ her cunt into a vibrating pussy sleeve!” Slowly fucking your aching, sensitive cunt. You can’t manage a single thought, don’t care to even try.

You can’t process what their saying. It’s as if something in you snaps. It doesn’t matter when you feel this good. “Nnn! Ahhh nnn!” Mindlessly moaning, Suguru’s fat cock is pressing the pulsing dildo to your sweet spot.

Curling your toes, trembling, pleading, “Please! Please!” Splaying your fingers on Satoru’s thick pecs when he leaned over you. Lining cock up, Suguru pauses for Satoru to glide his cock in.

You’re quivering from the intense burning pleasurable pain of your cunt stretching to take another cock. With a thin pulsing toy stuffed, “What is our slut begging for? Your stuffed full of all you need, cock and cum.” Whining, clawing Satoru’s chest when their heads hit your bruised cervix.

Tightly grabbing Suguru’s thick bicep, moaning when he flexes. Their cocks aren’t the only big their about them. Thick pecs, washboard arms and meaty arms, your trapped between. Taking their throbbing cocks. Your cunt seeming to vibrate around them with the toy stuffed in you.

Suguru groans, “She’s too cock drunk to do more than beg. Fuck that’s gonna make me bust. We fucked our dirty little slut dumb.” Timing their merciless thrusts, rubbing each other’s cock inside your pulsing, clenching cunt.

One head hitting your cervix after the other. Your getting off on the pleasurable painful feeling more with each stroke. “She’s so beautiful crying with not a thought behind her pretty eyes.” He grabs your leash, tugging on it despite Suguru holding your head. Forcing you to watch them double stuff your dripping cunt.

Suguru’s deep groans and Satoru’s breathy moans sound so sweet. He croons, “Does having your messy cum filled cunt ruined feel good?” Satoru presses the other vibrator to your clit, and your hips are bucking. Twisting away from their harsh, quick thrusts.

Thick warm cum squirts into Satoru’s abs and trickles onto Suguru’s balls. Loudly moaning, unable to form words. Your cunt spasming, toes curling, eyes rolling back. Satoru swirls the toy on your clit, fucking you harder.

Messing up his well-timed pace with Suguru, who ruts into you faster. “She’s shaking, sweet little whore. Let’s see how many times she can cum before her cunt breaks.” The force of their thrusts makes your stomach momentarily bulge. Showing how deep they are reaching.

Satoru glides his hand along your body, pushing on your stomach. Whining the pressure making you feel their thick, throbbing veiny cocks hitting your cervix better.

oreo’s m.list

[livvymd]

͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ⟣ ֹ ┄┄w2s headcanons - some nsfw┄┄ ۫ ⟢ ˑ

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏✧ ✦ ✞ ✧ ✦

he absolutely cannot fall asleep without touching you.

iIt doesn’t matter how hot it is, or how tangled the duvet is. he has to be touching you. face buried in your neck, his entire arm flopped over your chest, one leg thrown over yours like he’s anchoring you to the bed. even in his sleep, he subconsciously adjusts to pull you closer. and when you try to wriggle free in the morning, he just groans and mumbles, “stay.” dragging you back like a human teddy bear.

love language:

harry’s love language is experience-based gift giving. he might be busy with work or filming, but when he wants to show love, it’s always intentional. random flower delivery on a hard day. your favourite chocolate waiting on the kitchen counter. but mostly? surprise weekends away. “pack a bag. don’t ask. just trust me.” he just wants to watch you smile in the sunlight somewhere quiet. time with you is his favourite reward.

PDA:

he’s fine with affection, but always thoughtful. hand-holding? always. arm around your shoulders? definitely. kissing in public? only if it feels safe. he’s protective like that. he knows what people online can be like, and he doesn’t want you dragged into that. vut in private? he never stops touching you. always pulling you close, kissing your temple, murmuring little things like; “come ‘ere. missed you.”

he’s physically attached to you 90% of the time. fully believes your boobs or lap are his designated resting spots.

like if you're both on the sofa? he’s immediately lying down with his head in your lap, fingers curled around your leg, cheek smushed into your thigh. or he’ll shuffle over during movie night, look at you with that slightly pouty expression, and just wordlessly collapse onto your chest like it’s a weighted pillow. and the moment you start playing with his hair? gis whole body goes slack. “you’re gonna make me fall asleep mid-movie, I’m warning you.” (he does. every time.)

he tries to get you in every video like it’s a game.

he’ll be mid-challenge and suddenly swing the camera around just to show you in the corner. “that’s my girlfriend , she’s judging me. she thinks I’m shit at this.” and even if you're off-camera, you’ll always hear a little: “can you pass me that? say hi to the vlog.” he just loves that people know he has you. not to show off, but like, “look what I’ve got. look who loves me.”

he’s got zero filter when it comes to talking about you on camera.

he’ll get asked something dumb like “are you seeing anyone?” in a sidemen video and immediately beam: “yeah. she’s unreal. my actual dream girl. sorry, lads.” doesn’t even blink. doesn’t tone it down. he means every word.

he thinks you’re the funniest person alive and will repeat your jokes to the boys like they’re his own.

you’ll say something casually hilarious in private, and then two days later, you’ll hear him using it in a group video. “where’d you hear that?” “..dunno.” (it was you. he just wants to sound cool.)

nsfw warning!!!

kinks.

harry’s definitely into both praise and degradation, but only when he’s giving it. one minute he’s calling you his “good girl,” stroking your cheek while he fucks you slow, the next he’s got your thighs shaking as he mutters things like “so needy, aren’t you? can’t go five minutes without my cock.” but if you ever tried to degrade him? nope. not happening. he gets sulky real quick. “shut up. you love me.” lso: total exhibitionist. wants you in his lap at parties, whispering filth in your ear while you try to focus. will pull you into a half-lit stairwell at a club just to get his hands on you. the idea of nearly getting caught makes him harder.“keep your voice down, babe. unless you want everyone knowing how good I fuck you.”

harry loves a good mirror. loves watching the way your body reacts to him. arching, shaking, writhing. loves whispering filthy things while you both watch. “look at you. look how good I make you feel.” pulls your chin so you have to see yourself falling apart. and when he’s still dressed? oh, he lives for you palming him through his joggers. hrins like a lunatic when you say he’s big. “yeah? you want it that bad, baby? ho on then. take it.”

aftercare.

despite his chaotic, insatiable energy in bed, harry is soft as hell after. he might rail you into next week, but the second it’s over? he’s carrying you to the bathroom, running a warm bath, pressing kisses to your shoulder like he’s grounding himself too. wraps you in one of his massive hoodies and flops on the sofa with you curled on his chest. might go, “want tea? or like, chocolate? I’ve got those fancy biscuits you like.” puts a movie on even though he knows you’ll both fall asleep five minutes in. he just wants to keep you close while you come back down. he adores taking care of you. it makes him feel needed in the way he craves.

secret kinks:

i feel like he would be so into mutual mastuebation.

watching you touch yourself? my god. he’ll sit back, fisting his cock while staring at you with blown pupils and a filthy little grin. loves hearing you whimper his name. loves seeing how wet you get for just him. aand when you’re apart? he’s got Polaroids of you hidden in his suitcase. one in a bikini, one in lace, one with nothing but your smile. “you’ve got no idea how often i look at these. fuckin’ obsessed.”

He gets turned on so easily. It’s actually kind of hilarious.

like, you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath and bend over to grab something? he’s immediately hard. you kiss his neck for more than three seconds? boner. you call him baby in that soft voice? game over. sometimes you’ll just brush past him in the kitchen and he’ll go: “don’t do that. i’ve got shit to do today. now I’m thinking about you riding me on the counter.”

He gets addicted to whatever makes you moan the loudest.

once he hears that sound, the one that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his arms, he will chase it forever. tries to find the exact angle, exact rhythm, exact words that pull that noise out of you. and once he does? “there. that’s it. fuck, do that again. do it for me.” losing his mind over you, every time.

[lifeisyoung4everyone]

PAPA SYLUS WITH HIS DAUGHTER

SYLUS WAKES UP TO YOU NOT IN BED WITH HIM. With a slight hunched tension on his back and spine, Sylus does a gruff and puff as he adjusts his silk black robe, to take off and come get you back to bed.

He turns to sit up properly on the bed, hands pressed firm on the mattress either side of his body to backstretch and to let his feet meet the floor. Yet funnily enough he places his feet down to be met with the most frigid cold floor (which grants him a distasteful expression); and he can’t feel for his slippers.

He treads to the kitchen with shivering numbness on the soles of his feet, but that irksome bother is quickly forgotten once he actually gets a glimpse of the scene in the kitchen from the doorframe.

Sylus’s face turns from disgruntled to wholesomely entertained to the sight of his little one sat perched sideways on the island stool facing her biggest teddy bear, whom was sporting her papa’s artisan-crafted suede slippers.

His smiley amusement only grows on his face as he meets your equally cheekily amused one, rumbly delighted chuckles fluttering out of him that you meet with your own giggles.

He approaches the pair of you and bows down to be close to eye-level with his little angel’s face.

“Can I have them back, sweetie?”

“Or is teddy’s feet too cold?” you brazenly chime in.

He can only meet your audacious smile with fake, light-hearted frustration (which to you is always a really bad act, since he can’t help snickering and the corners of his mouth turn upward), along with mock groans and crossed arms, all designed to make you laugh.

She’ll be the judge on who’s getting the slippers.

SYLUS WHO FINDS HIS LITTLE PRINCESS ASLEEP ON THE COUCH, limbs branched out comically whilst her stuffed animals stay splayed on the floor, presumably struck down by her little arms and legs (which move like cats on hot bricks when she’s asleep- a kicker for sure).

Papa Sylus begins on bending down and picking up her soft toys and placing them on the sofa with her. As he does, a few get lay down with cotton-filled flabby arms covering their beady eyes and having starfish legs, all in purpose to mimic the sleeping position of your daughter. The others get lined up around her like waiting for her to wake up and watch TV or play with them again (don’t worry- they’re placed a radius far enough so she won’t kick them down again, hopefully.)

Once done with his antics, Sylus turns from his view the of the couch and catches glimpse of you behind the glass sliding-door of the balcony.

Carefully and slowly sliding the door open and closed as to not make too much noise for your sleeping angel, he joins your leaning figure of elbows on the railing, watching the view outside the apartment.

He grabs your waist letting his arm and hand rest across the entirety of it, and kisses the top of your head.

“She’s fast asleep.”

[hornedmonsters]

"A'thaen" Yautja Oc x Reader - Mate - nsfw - Part 2

Warnings: nsfw, size difference, exophilia, teratophilia, monster x human, alien sex, breeding, angst, sex in the snow

Synopsis: Your life with A'thaen he started, but you've already loved every second of it. But something seemed to be bothering the Yautja.

Word Count: 3,2k

Jezus… this GIF… damn…

I managed to translate this story after all. Thanks Handy!

Two months have passed since A'thaen made you his life partner and mated with you. You haven't regretted a second of your life that he just stormed into your life and fucked you. Literally. You no longer felt so lonely in your little house and the nights weren't so cold either.

Because he fucked you almost every night, either deep inside your bed mattress, on the sofa or anywhere else. He found a place everywhere where he could breed you. And he often destroyed your bed in the process, because it was simply not designed for the brute strength of a gigantic alien with a high breeding instinct.

Of course you had never worried about getting pregnant, because what are the chances of getting pregnant by an alien, a different species that has a different DNA and life line than you?So you let him do it because you enjoyed the way he treated you like you were his queen. He adored you more than anything.You moaned as he pushed his thick cock deeper into you and pressed your face into the mattress. Your skin was covered in a film of sweat and his shadow towered over you. He had totally changed since your first mating. He was reserved at first, but now you were his.

"A'thaen..." you gasped, your legs trembling. You had no strength left and were exhausted. The Yautja growled in apology and shortly after, he came inside you, deep rumbling.

He watched you attentively as you let your body sink into the bathtub and let out a pleasant sigh. You were tired and he felt it, a touch of his conscience made him restless. He sometimes forgot that you were a human and not a Yautja female. You were more sensitive and he had to try to respect that and be more careful with you, he didn't want to break you and hurt you.Gently he laid you in bed and pulled you against his chest. You were exhausted and your eyelids were heavy.

"Don't forget... that my sister is coming tomorrow," you said in a whisper and the Yautja listened up, his eyes looking down at you. You saw the question mark on his face.

"She won't be staying, she's just bringing her child over in the meantime because she has something important to do and she wants me to look after her daughter.

"A'thaen tensed as the thought of hiding came to mind, as no one was to know he was here. The child might betray him and that would only cause trouble, even if it was questionable to believe a child.

"She's half a year old, A'thaen. You don't have to hide," you breathed, straightening up. Gently, you pressed your forehead against his cheek and breathed in his scent. He calmed you down.He clicked, apparently not much in the mood to talk right now. His claws were still firmly on your curves and you felt him pull you closer.A'thaen had often had the thought of what if you were pregnant by him. Yautja children were different from human babies and the birth could mean your death if you were pregnant. That would be the next thing

Since you've been together, you've mated a lot... a whole lot. But you didn't get pregnant. But the Yautja had hope, a lot of hope. His gaze rested on your sleeping form and he felt warmth in his heart.This feeling became even stronger when you held your sister's child in your arms and it triggered all kinds of feelings in him. Excitement, sadness, hope and warmth. It was a chaos of emotions.

The little girl squawked and squeaked. You smiled and looked at Yautja, who was standing a few meters away from you, watching the scenario.

"Here, take her," you suggested and his mandibles twitched. His look was skeptical, but in reality he was afraid of hurting the baby. It was so tiny. But before he could react, you pressed the little creature into his arms and he was mesmerized as the girl's saucer eyes gazed at him watchfully.

The longer you looked at what was happening, the more it hurt you. You couldn't give him what he wanted so much and that was bitter in your stomach.A'thaen sensed the change and his eyes looked at you with concern and questioning.

Sometimes you forget that he was a deadly hunter and a good hunter. He had killed many people, he had told you shortly after your mating. But it didn't affect you, you still wanted him. It was just a part of him.

But you put on a smile, took the child and put her to bed. The little girl was tired and it was really late. Somewhat reluctantly, the Yautja gave up the baby, there was still something strange in his gaze.

During the night, you lay with your back turned to him and stared into space. At some point, you noticed how he slowly and quietly got up and left the room. After that, he never showed his face again.

On the second day, your sister picked up her daughter again, but there was no sign of A'thaen and you started to worry. Then you remembered that he still had his spaceship. You remembered where it was, but it had disappeared. The place was empty and his spaceship wasn't exactly small.You panicked. Had he just left you? Had you done something wrong to him? You became restless and at night you couldn't sleep a wink.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you looked out of the window. It was storming heavily, but you didn't see an oversized spaceship or an oversized alien man. You walked through the rain. You needed a walk to clear your head. You were a mixture of emotions and you found it hard to breathe. Had you really managed to scare off an alien?

Trembling, you leaned against a gigantic tree and exhaled deeply. Slowly you slid down and tears ran down your cheeks as you felt the exhaustion of the last few days. When you went back home, you went to bed. You couldn't sleep until you were simply too exhausted and your body gave way. You quickly drifted off into the darkness of sleep.

A few more weeks passed until one day you suddenly heard a loud noise outside. You jumped up from the sofa and looked towards the door. Your heart pounded with false hope and at the same time you were afraid that it was something completely different. You swallowed and got up.It was cold outside, winter was approaching and your hut was losing its warmth too. You carefully pushed the doorbell down and opened the door a crack. You immediately felt the cold and shivered. Wistfully, you grabbed your jacket and a flashlight.

Maybe it was a family of raccoons. They were probably looking for food before the harsh winter came. You crept out of the door and followed the sounds. The sky was cloudy and somehow you had a queasy feeling walking through the darkness to the back of the house. What if it was a bear? But what if it was A'thaen? What if he was injured.

Suddenly you saw something in the darkness. It was a shadow in the shadow of darkness. Gigantic. Your eyes widened and the next moment a bright light came on. You quickly closed your eyes and tried to get used to the bright light.

You put your hand in front of your eyes and slowly opened your eyelids. Slowly, the first snowflakes fell from the sky and you realized that it was a spaceship. A'thaen's.

Your mouth went dry and tears gathered in your eyes as you took heavy steps away, but couldn't see anyone.

"A'thaen...," your voice was a whisper and you suddenly felt someone gently take your hand and pull it down. A soft growl was heard, then the Yautja appeared in front of you and you were completely overwhelmed with the feelings you had. With your mouth open and your body trembling, you looked at him. More and more snowflakes fell gently on your skin and got caught in your hair.

You just stared at each other. Your hand still in his and it was as if time stood still for a moment. Your heart was beating so hard against your chest that it hurt. You felt sick and had an inner conflict. A'thaen sensed this and hesitated before making a wrong move. He knew he was long gone and he also knew that he had just left you standing there.

It wasn't his intention, it just came over him. He almost flinched when he suddenly felt your arms around his hips.

He then gently put his strong arms around your small, trembling figure. But the next moment you hit him on the chest. Over and over again. You sobbed as you did so. The Yautja simply stood still and took it. Maybe it didn't hurt him physically, but he could feel so clearly how he had hurt you.

"You left me alone..." you shivered and a clicking sound came from his mouth.

"I'm sorry", he whispers into Yautja and gently pushed you away from him so you could look into his eyes. His gaze was sincere and open. You licked your dry lips and gently he brushed your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Oh if you only knew why he left. He hoped so much that you would like his gift.

"Was... On my... Planet," he started to explain and your brows drew together in confusion. What was he doing there? He reached for the bag he had strapped to his thigh and pulled out a glass jar filled with green liquid. Your eyes widened. Was that his blood? Your head was in chaos.

"I went to see one of our healers. I wanted to know more about pregnancy and the mating between humans and Yautja. You know I love you so much, more than anything else in this universe. I would kill anything and everything for you, just to protect you. But when I saw you with that child..., I told you I would love you too, even if we couldn't have children and I still do. But I saw the look in your eyes and I know you want children. I wanted to know if there wasn't a way and there is," his voice was excited and you didn't know him like that. He held the green liquid in front of your face. "This is our possibility. This is my blood and it would be possible for you to inject yourself with it. Your body would remain human, but there would be a few Yautja extras. Also that you react to my seed and become fertile for it." Then he hesitated when he saw your wide eyes and spoke in your language again: "Only... if you... want to." His heart pounded hard against his chest. He was nervous about your answer.

But no matter what you decided, he would continue to love you unconditionally and stay by your side. You were one. And no one would ever be able to change that.

You gently took the glass from his hands and looked at it. Is that why he had left? To surprise you that he had found a way to make your family bigger. All the pain that had accumulated over the weeks disappeared and was replaced by love and amazement.

"Let's try it," you breathed and A'thaen's eyes looked at you wide. It wasn't long before he had carried you, on his hands, back to your hut. You were excited when he gave you the first injection of his blood test and you were curious to see how long it would take for your body to respond.

Finally, your hut filled with warmth again. A'thaen enveloped you with his presence and adored you. You had missed it so much. This Yautja man was balm for your soul. He cuddled with you a lot, stroked you or even squeezed himself into the much too small bathtub with you. So that you could sleep on his chest while he caressed you. You were injected with his blood about twice a week, because you had to get used to it slowly.

It wasn't long before everything outside was white. Winter had officially begun and you were desperate to get out. Of course, your partner had to come with you. A'thaen looked at the snow a little skeptically, but when he saw your shining eyes, he almost gave in with a sigh. He watched you playing in the snow. You were building a snowman and he watched you curiously. He found it fascinating what you could do with this white, cold stuff.

Suddenly it landed right in his face and he clicked indignantly when he heard you laughing. You threw a snowball at him.

Quickly you ran away from him, but it wasn't long before the Yautja reached you and grabbed you. He pushed you against the nearest wide tree and his eyes literally glowed at you.

"Cheeky..., Hooman," his words made you tremble and you could feel something else in his voice. He'd barely touched you since he'd been back and you hadn't had sex. He only wanted to win your trust again after he had unfortunately broken it. But now you were both overcome with desire and passion.

You could hardly react when he tore your clothes off and the icy cold touched your skin. You gasped and sucked in the air sharply. Your nipples hardened and the only thing you were still wearing were your shoes. Thankfully.

A'thaen watched your body react to the cold and stroked your chest tenderly, causing you to inhale deeply. You didn't have time to think as he laid you down in the cold snow and an "Oh God!" escaped your lips. It was freezing cold and you could feel the snow stinging your skin and numbing it.

But at the same time, you could feel yourself getting wet again. A'thaen's tail throbbed under his protection as he saw you lying there helplessly on the ground. Your body and the snow made a magical contrast and it drove him wild to see you like this. The desire to breed you overcame him again and the idea that you were swollen with his child made him growl.

You whispered his name softly and the next moment he was stroking your clitoris, making you moan. He could smell you so intensely.

"Let's see if the injections have any effect," he growled into Yautja and his claws carefully went between your labia to see how wet you were. You were more than ready to take him deep and he clicked open delightedly. He didn't take his time and immediately thrust into you gently. As excited as he was, he still had to make sure you were well prepared despite his size.

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back on your neck as you felt the heavenly stretching you had missed for so long. A moan escaped your mouth and you tried to move your pelvis. You wanted more, he didn't have to prepare you. You wanted him so badly.

"A'thaen, damn it! Move..., please!" you begged him as you continued to move your hips. The Yautja looked at you with amusement and the next moment he was thrusting hard into you. You both moaned and you almost saw stars. It was so much at once. You clung to him, to the warmth he radiated and your gasps fogged his senses as he continued to thrust. He held you tightly in his arms, but still managed to stroke your clit, making you whimper.

It wasn't long before your body tensed and you felt your orgasm building. A'thaen's movements on your clit quickened and your fingers clawed fiercely into his skin, making him hiss. You tightened around him, milking him well as you both came. He pumped a huge load of his warm cum into your womb and you greedily took in every drop. You knew that he would start fucking you again every day. But rightly so, you had some catching up to do and you had a certain goal you wanted to achieve.

The warm water splashed down your body as you leaned against the wall of the shower, moaning and looking down at the Yautja beneath you with your eyelids lowered. Your legs rested on his shoulder with ease and his forked tongue licked your entrance. You held onto his dreadlock-like pigtails and gasped as he licked over your sensitive bud.

Your legs were trembling, the last orgasm was still in your bones and you could feel his cum flowing out of your sweet pussy. A'thaen insisted on licking you clean, of course also because he knew that he could give you pleasure again.His name came out of your mouth like a prayer and the Yautja growled in pleasure when he realized how good you felt in his clutches.

Suddenly you arched your back and pressed your pelvis harder against his face. He understood immediately and continued to lick greedily until you came moaning over his tongue.

He licked your labia and clitoris once more as he helped you up afterwards. You hung exhausted from his neck and your legs were weak. He gently carried you out of the shower and placed a towel over your naked body. You stroked his chest gratefully and leaned your head against him. Your eyes closed in exhaustion and slowly you actually fell asleep.

The Yautja looked at you curiously. As so often, he admired your beauty and gently stroked a wet hair out of your face before taking you to your bed. His eyes fell shut after a short time.When he woke up and turned to you, you weren't there. He immediately sat up and panic spread through him, but when the smell of bacon hit his nose, he calmed down. You've made breakfast.

"Good morning, A'thaen," you smiled gently when you saw him and immediately placed a large plate full of bacon, eggs and pancakes in front of him. Thanking him, he chirped at you and you joined him with your own plate. You ate in silence for a short while, but it was a pleasant silence.

Until you suddenly felt unwell. You felt nauseous and ran to the toilet as fast as you could and threw up. Trembling, you held on to the toilet when you suddenly felt a gentle touch on your shoulder.A'thaen looked at you worriedly. Were you ill? Had he been too rough with you and overworked your body? His mind was working and you smiled gently at him.

"I think I'm pregnant."

tag:

@sweatymusictree

[verstappen-cult]

GWEN’S RADIO MESSAGE. I saw the notification and ran to Instagram only to find these photos. And when I tell you that I couldn’t stop looking at them for at least five minutes. . . so, you know I had to write a silly little drabble.

You come home after your early pilates class to find Charles snuggling with a puppy on the carpet in the living room, cushions perfectly scattered around to simulate a comfortable bed. When Charles sees you standing there with a puzzled look on your face, he just pouts, hugging the little dog tightly against his chest, and looks at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“What is that?” You ask, eyebrows raised. You know what is is, you simply don’t know what is a dog doing in your apartment when you don’t have any pets.

Charles cheeks are colored a light pink when he says, “Remember that time you said how much you wanted a puppy?”

“That was ages ago!”

“But look at him!” Charles grabs the puppy with both hands and shows him to you just like that scene in The Lion King with Simba being presented to all the animals in the kingdom. “Look at those eyes! We can’t send him back to the shelter.”

The dog isn’t even looking at you, too busy licking your boyfriend’s hand.

But Charles is right.

You can’t send him back to the shelter when you can give him a better life. And is not like you are actually mad that he decided to adopt a dog without your consent, it’s more about the surprise to see him lying on the carpet in his $2,000 white designer sweater with a dog, when in the past he’s gotten angry when you haven’t hung it up how it is supposed to hung.

You drop your bag and take off your shoes to join him on the floor. The little guy jumps from his hand and walks over to you, sniffing your hands and giving you side eyes until he feels safe enough to climb in your lap and let you hold him.

“Aren’t you cute,” You say, giving his little head a kiss. “I guess we need to give him a name, no?”

“About that,” Charles plays with a dog toy to avoid looking at you. “I already named him.”

You huff, “Of course you did.” You can’t be mad, not when Charles looks so shy and happy with the cute puppy walking around and exploring his new home. “What is his name?”

“Leo Leclerc.” He says it so proud, the corners of his mouth curling up that you can’t help but smile too.

“It suits him.” You agree, leaning closer to Charles. He immediately opens his arms for you and you rest your head on his chest, looking at Leo trying to climb on the sofa. “You’re a dog dad now, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t asked you before adopting him,” He turns his head to get a better look at you. “and I’m sorry I used you wanting a puppy as an excuse when in reality I feel in love with him the second I saw him through the window.” Leo walks back to you and finds comfort between Charles legs. “I don’t want him to be just mine. I want him to be ours.”

You sit up, eyes looking between Charles and, what is now, your puppy. Your boyfriend looks expectantly, waiting for an answer that comes in the form of a squeak and a kiss.

“I can’t believe you went to get groceries and ended up adopting a dog.”

“About that,” Charles scratches the back of his neck nervously and you know what he’s about to say. “I saw him and forgot about everything else! But I can go to the grocery store this afternoon. He needs more toys, after all.”

“Oh, he’s gonna be so spoiled!”

[zombiegutfuck]

tf141 men and their love languages

captain john price will spoil you to the heavens. anything for his little wife. new perfume with the same high notes he knows you absolutely adore, expensive jewellery that jingle together every time you move your wrists, designer heels for date nights that he can’t wait to take off for you, big fuzzy coats for those dark, winter nights to keep you warm when he’s on deployment and he can’t supply you his own warmth… the list goes on. he has the money to spend, so why not spoil his dear darling.

lieutenant simon riley will do absolutely anything for you, you don't even need to ask. the pipes are making a funny noise when you turn on the shower? oh, lovie, he’ll get that fixed for you in no time. the fence blew over in the storm a couple days ago? sit back, love, he’ll go out and make the garden look nice and pretty again, just how you like it. it’s that time of the month again? he’s up and out at the brink of dawn, restocking your favourite snacks, painkillers for the aches he can’t get rid of, and a new fuzzy hot water bottle. the old one was in tatters, sweetheart.

sergeant kyle garrick believes in the old style of love. every night when he’s off on deployment, he’s either reading your handwritten letters under the dim light of his desk lamp in his barracks, gazing lovingly at the pictures you sent with it, or he’s spending hours writing his own to you. unlike how you write about updates in your daily life, he writes about how much he misses you, how beautiful you are, how he can’t wait to come home to you. he has a phone, of course, but it’s only use is to message you in the morning, when he knows you’re getting up after three alarms, to wish you a good morning and to have a nice day at work, don’t forget to eat and drink plenty of water.

sergeant john mactavish would have to be forcibly removed from you with a construction vehicle of some sort when he gets home from deployment, maybe an excavator would do the trick? he’s absolutely glued to your side. how couldn’t he be? look at you, bonnie thing. his beefy hand is 100% engulfing yours as you walk through the markets in town. if not, his hand is firmly planted in the back pocket of your jeans. the broke boyfriend hug doesn’t exist with this man, he pays for everything, he just doesn’t want to leave you alone, he doesn’t want to not be touching a part of you. why not downsize the sofa, bonnie? it’s overly big, his lap is just fine for you! why are you sleeping all the way on that side of the bed? don't be daft, lassie. come, let him be your personal heater.

i love them and they don't even exist (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ that's how i like my men

[mingtinys]

what dating seventeen feels like

pairing : seventeen x gn!reader

headcanons , fluff , misc

warnings : none

word count : 1.1 k

requested ? no

a/n: just a small collection of the things i love in life that i associate with seventeen

choi seungcheol

falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. chocolate-covered strawberries. the kind of love found in romcoms. expensive dinner dates and champagne.

cologne that lingers on your clothes and bed sheets. tight, bone-crushing, hugs. his hand almost always under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin (it grounds him). him letting you win when you play wrestle. cute aggression victim.

having a rock to hold on to amidst a raging current.

yoon jeonghan

diving under a crashing wave to find calm, gentle, water. rollercoasters with big drops. feathers. lavender fields. leaving the theater and realizing night has fallen.

always saying the same thing at the same time (it scares seokmin). naps on the couch. sending each other pictures of weird-looking animals with the caption "you" or "us." partners in crime. braiding his hair.

having not only a boyfriend but a best friend in jeonghan.

joshua hong

warm blankets, fresh from the dryer. pancakes and orange juice in the morning. raw honey. the scent of freshly baked bread. scented candles and wax melts.

lives up to the gentleman title. opens doors, bides by the sidewalk rule, lends you his jacket, etc. acts! of! service!! fighting over who pays the bill (he's actually ambushed your waiter to pay before you can even see the check). domestic, mundane, slice-of-life type of love.

a honeymoon phase that never ends.

wen junhui

walking down empty streets without a care in the world. morning cartoons. clingy cats. ice cream for dinner. frozen pizza with red wine. airport liminal space hours.

taking pictures of sunsets to send to each other. doodling on his hand. staying up until 3am accidentally. back hugs galore. resting his chin atop your head. him getting as close as possible when showing him something on your phone (i'm talking cheek smooshed up against yours). sleepy jun asking for kisses every morning.

living life in the moment because you know the future can wait for you two.

kwon soonyoung

energetic snow days. sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen. energy drinks and all-nighters. watermelon sugar. summer bonfires. the ambiance of muffled music through club bathrooms.

zoo dates. always wins you the biggest prizes at carnivals. his favorite place to nap is your lap. sweaty post-dance practice hugs. he gets pouty if you start a tv show without him. baking brownies at 3am. talks about you non-stop to anyone who will (or won't) listen.

excitement that isn't momentary or overwhelming. excitement that makes life meaningful.

jeon wonwoo

tulips blooming in the spring. waxing gibbous moons. amethyst. resting after a long, busy day. the scent of old, yellowed books. rhythmic clicking of a keyboard. warm, smooth, riverbank stones.

re-adjusting his glasses for him after every kiss. let's you design his character's outfits in video games. tells you about the book he's reading like it's gossip. he's always taking candid photos of you. quiet mornings. elderly couples who see you two are reminded of how they fell in love.

defining love not by how much it's said, but by how it's felt.

lee jihoon

thunderstorms that lull you to sleep. shiny, red guitars coming to life with smooth melodies. the crackle of a fire. rosemary. empty highways at night. lightning that strikes twice.

morning coffee dates at home. napping on his studio sofa while he works. quality! time! absolutely spoils you every chance he gets. pretends to act all cool when you catch him staring. writing songs for you. his hand routinely finds your knee when he's anxious. he prefers intimate and private acts of affection to the alternative.

cherishing all the little things that make your relationship important.

lee seokmin

wishing on dandelions. blue skies. morning dew on grass. golden hour. that burning sensation you get in your lungs when laughing too hard. iced lattes.

always asking permission to kiss you. so, so attentive. falling asleep on facetime. pillow forts. lots, and lots, and lots of nose kisses. him never wanting to leave you in the morning. "five more minutes" type of guy. his favorite feeling in the world is making you laugh.

finally knowing what it means to love someone so much you'd give the world for them.

kim mingyu

sleeping by a window with the sun warming your skin. hearing your favorite song on the radio. silky white sheets. first date jitters. first love. receiving a bouquet of roses.

admires you so, so, much. talks about you 24/7, much to his members' annoyance. (jk, they love you, they just like to tease him about it). literally a sponge the way he starts picking up your habits and slang. he's physically incapable of rejecting your puppy-dog eyes. likes to lay sprawled out on top of you. he'll often seek you out if he needs a little extra support.

the feeling that comes with knowing you've found "the one."

xu minghao

the autumn leaves changing. winter constellations. a solar eclipse. the quiet of a house before everyone wakes. those cozy granny-square blankets. white wine. laughing at scary movies.

wine and painting nights. him always making two cups of tea. art museum dates. swaying together to music in the kitchen. him secretly being a sucker for your doting. has your mannerisms memorized and prides himself on it. somehow always knows what to say when you're feeling down.

growing, learning, and experiencing life alongside each other.

boo seungkwan

warm, summer air. mystery flavored lollipops that somehow taste like every flavor all at once. rosy red cheeks.

teasing each other and inside jokes. nicknames like loser, stupid-head, idiot etc. (affectionate). hours long gossip sessions. kisses that taste of coffee and tangerine chapstick. stars in his eyes whenever you're doing literally anything. having his undivided attention.

resident happy pill and mood-maker seungkwan knowing he can let his mask fall around you without judgement.

hansol vernon chwe

watching city lights blur past in the passenger seat of a car at night. cereal at 1am. falling asleep while watching tv. poorly handmade, yet meaningful gifts. assorted candies. buying road trip snacks.

communicating with a single look. ice cream dates in the middle of winter. speaking purely in movie and tiktok references. late-night conversations that take a weird turn. (you've once debated if aliens would like pineapple on pizza). pretending not to notice how shy he gets when initiating physical affection.

loving the strange, bad, and hidden parts of each other as much as the good.

lee chan

the comforting buzz and motion of a subway at night. toothy smiles. watching reruns of your favorite childhood show. surprise parties. the first snow of the new year. concert lights.

driving at 2am, singing at the top of your lungs. random dance parties in the living room. getting noise complaints and giggling about it. pillow fights and board games, competitive, yet both trying to let the other win cause it'll make them happy. asking him to open jars. him getting exceptionally giddy to open said jars. (you're completely capable, but know he likes to feel needed).

making each other's inner child feel safe.

[starlightoru-gojo]

You already accepted the moment you said ‘yes’ to be in a relationship with Satoru Gojo that you won’t be always the priority. He is a busy man, he has a lot of priorities on his shoulders, you know how heavy the responsibilities were given to him unapologetically because he was named as the strongest. He’s just also a victim a the circumstances. During your relationship, Satoru missed a lot of important dates be it anniversaries, your birthday or even his yet you just always shrugged it off and tell him “It’s okay, Satoru. I understand.” Despite that, you choose to marry him because you love the man so much. You already know what you applied for, really. But, maybe, years of your patience snapped. You can’t just forgive him this time, now when it’s your son’s birthday and he’s not there.

The party’s over and no papa showed up. You organized everything with him yet he’s out of sight.

You looked at the remnants of the party, balloons everywhere, stickers and toys that are on the floor. It’s pretty messy. You started cleaning after all you can’t be tired not when your 2 year old son is helping you clean. You start by pulling out the ceiling decorations and then the walls. Your son is picking up toys and putting it in a box. You already talked him out to just let you do the work but is stubborn just like that. “Babe, let mama clean, okay?” You said grabbing the designs off the wall, you baby just looked up and smile at you then to the front door “Papa home?” Your eyes wide in shock while he looked at you with hopeful eyes. You climbed down the ladder you’ve been using to picked up your son. He yawned when you kneeled in-front of him. “You’re waiting for Papa?” He just nod and rub his watery eyes from lack of sleep. Your heart aches so you just hugged him just to give him comfort or just maybe for you too. You can’t really forgive Satoru this time. “Uhm maybe tomorrow? Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when Papa’s here.”

Your son choose to sleep on the couch because you are washing the dishes and wants to looked at you or more like guard you. He is very protective of you, just like his father. But seeing his small figure curled in the sofa makes you melt and soft.

“Acting like a man, are you?” You pinch his chubby cheek, staring at your handsome son. You sat on the floor mat, watching your precious meat bun. His cheeks looked like xiaolongbao. Lifting him carefully, you carry your son who adjusted himself on you hugging your neck. You cooed, you’re about to walk upstairs when your front door opened. You stared at Satoru who just walked in with tons of gift in his hands. He looked at you apologetically and you just leave him there.

“Hey… babe-“ he grab your waist before you can even walk further.

“Not right now. Don’t even start, Satoru.” You calmly said but with full of conviction. Satoru looked at you with his pleading eyes.

“Okay. Just let me carry my son, please.” Your heart ache, clenching your jaw. You don’t know, but you just suddenly became very protective of your son that you just walk out in front of his father.

“Babe, please…” Satoru followed you upstairs pleading but you’re just furious just by looking at him. You can’t just forgive him just because you let him every time. Tucking your son on his bed and kissed his forehead and whispered a sweet good night. Satoru watched you did all of it. He knew he messed up and you’re easy when it comes to your son. You both quietly move out the room but Satoru immediately talk.

“Y/n.” grabbing your hand to stop you from walking away. Your home was lightly illuminated, serene and quiet, it was over all peaceful but your heart isn’t. You just looked at him with indifference that made Satoru flinch.

“You promised, Satoru.” You coldly said.

“I know. And I’m sorry,” He said with pain in his chest. It wasn’t his intention, he was about to go home when things just haywire, he could have just leave the mission but the higher ups will just not let it that way. “It’s wasn’t my intention. Babe, you know I would never do that to my son—“

“But, you did. I let you off every time, accepted your apologies, you could even leave us a message that you trapped in some far away land! You know what, just be clear with us! I openly accepted that I am not the priority but not with my son, Satoru. This was not the first time you let him hanging—“ your tears fell remembering how your son would wait in your front door because his father promised he would bring him sweets and was meet with nothing. “Just… don’t make promises you won’t fulfill, Satoru. Don’t hurt him anymore.”

You saw how Satoru opened his mouth to say something but closed it. You let go of his hand, walking towards the living room where you left the cleaning to attend to your son first. Wiping your tears and just focused on the chores.

Satoru followed after picking up the party poppers and carrying the chairs. You’re both silent, minding each other’s business. You can feel Satoru’s gaze and you can’t help but ache you don’t want this but you’re just angry right bow. Satoru’s the one who finished grabbing the designs on the ceiling, you watched him, shoulders slouch and tired eyes. But you shrugged it off, he should know that he just hit your limit. His carrying boxes while your just wiping some stains on the floor when you heard small steps scurrying.

“Papa!” You and Satoru immediately looked at the little one slowly going down stairs. Satoru who is about to carry a big box stopped and looked at you. You watch him but teared off your eyes when you saw how your son excitedly run towards his father. You watched how Satoru deal with his son.

Kneeling in front of your son, Satoru, watched him closely, apologizing or whatever you can see in his eyes yet his son was looking at him with glimmer in his eyes. Satoru gulped trying so hard to stop his tears.

“Happy birthday, big boy.” You can hear Satoru’s strained voice, his eyes water and you looked away. “I’m sorry if Papa was not here, earlier.” Satoru hugged his son, apologizing. Your son just hugged his father back with a confused look on his face.

“Papa gift?”

You scoffed. Both Satoru and your son looked at you. Two pairs of beautiful blue eyes are watching you closely. You chuckle while wiping your tears walking towards your boys. For all the things that happened the only thing that matters is his gift.

You snatched your son away and jokingly squinting at Satoru on the ground. “Where’s your son’s gift?”

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[foreingersgod]

Pls pls something about emily engstler where the reader ( they can be friends at the beginning) keeps staring at her tattoos especially on her hands and emily catches her

Tattoos . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

A/N: i’m thinking let’s stay home pt 2 next??

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“what’re you staring for?” a familiar voice sounded from across the couch. it was so sultry, so smooth. you couldn’t help that your body was drawn to it instantly.

it was a normal day, you and your girlfriend tucked away in the comfort of your home for the weekend. she had had a rough week of intense practice and you had a draining week of work, so the both of you decided to take some time to relax. but it was a dangerous game for you, emily within your reach at all times. she was practically irresistible and you found yourself gawking at her nearly every chance you got.

she was quite literally the hottest person on the planet in your eyes. her hair, her body, her lips, her eyes…everything about her made you crazy. but your favorite thing about her, that made you want to pounce on her at any given moment, are her tattoos. you really couldn’t explain it, why you were so drawn to them. the intricate designs that littered her skin just had some sort of grasp on you, had you drooling like a teen girl over her high school crush. you would squeeze your thighs together in desperation as you’d watch her hand run down her face, ink ridden fingers mindlessly tracing the outline of her lips. god the things it did to you. how her muscles would flex when you’d watch her work out, your eyes glued to the way the tattoos moved with them. everything she did, you’d be admiring the beautiful works of art.

emily wasn’t quite aware of your fixation with her tattoos. rather she knew you liked them, but clueless to the near obsession you had. she never caught onto the stares or the amount of times you’d trace them with your fingernails when you’d lay in bed at the end of the night. she had always figured you’d liked them just like any normal person would. so you would continue on with your infatuation, let yourself indulge every now and then without her noticing.

until now.

“hm?” you blinked rapidly, shaking yourself out of a daydream.

your legs were draped over hers as you laid horizontally across the couch, your head rested against the cushioned arms of the sofa. emily was running her hands up and down your shins aimlessly, making little imaginary drawing here and there. she was scrolling on her phone to pass the time and you were sat there, just looking. for the past, probably 10 minutes, you sat there watching her. watched how her tatted fingers glided smoothly along your skin. watched how they moved effortlessly. it was hypnotizing to watch, getting lost in the print on her fingers. you couldn’t lie, you were getting hot and bothered just thinking about those fingers.

when you had emerged from your fantasies, finally looking over at emily, she was already staring back at you. her phone now discarded somewhere next to her and her gaze glued to you. her fingers had stopped tracing and she had one eyebrow quirked at you in curiosity.

“you’ve been staring at me for like 10 minutes” her head tilted to the side, she was so damn cute “everything ok? is something wrong?”

“m’not staring” you pursed your lips. now it was your fingers, fiddling senselessly out of nerves. you were too embarrassed to admit that you’d been caught.

she just chuckled, tongue running along her bottom lip. her hand rose up to scratch at the back of her neck in amusement at your poor excuse of a lie.

“come on, baby” her eyes still shooting daggers into you, eyelids low but still alluring and intrigued “don’t lie t’me”

“i’m not, honest! i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” you scoffed playfully, hoping she wouldn’t pry any further. but you knew she would. she always did.

“i’m talking about how the whole time we’ve been sitting here you’ve been eyeing me”

“i have not” you emphasized even more.

“oh really?” she said, and you nodded in return. she leaned in closer to you and you watched as her eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes “then why is it that every time my hand reaches your thigh your breathe catches in your throat?”

if your breathe wasn’t hitching when she was touching you, it certainly was now. she looked so divine, practically hovering over you just to tease you like this. you wanted to be mad at her for making you feel so humiliated, but how could you when she was so tempting.

“talk to me,” her voice lowered to a rasp “you know exactly what i’m talking about”

unable to handle the heat, already feeling the blush creep onto your face, you sighed in defeat. you bit your lip and squeezed yours eyes shut as you tried to think of the right words to say. how does one say your tattoos make me want to tear off your clothes and take you right here, right now without sounding like a freak?

“it’s embarrassing, emily. don’t make me say it”

“you don’t have to be embarrassed around me, baby, s’ok” she was met with a moment of silence as you groaned in frustration “why were you staring?”

“your…” another sigh fell from your lips, you were at a loss for words “your tattoos”

“my tattoos?” she smirked “what about them?”

“they’re just so, i don’t know, attractive?” your body cringed as you said it. you tried to avoid her gaze to ease the shame you felt, but you couldn’t help but catch how her smirk formed into a toothy grin “like…god this is so stupid…like they just look so good on you and you look so fucking good all the time. and i just can’t stop looking at you, em, i’m sorry”

with a new found confidence, you continued “your fingers, just the tattoos on them…oh my god emily you have no idea what you do to me. even when you’re just sitting here i can’t resist you”

“wow” she breathed out, lips curled tauntingly “can’t resist me, huh?”

“shut up”

“no no” another laugh fell from her lips. but this time it was soft and relaxed, not seductive to try and coerce some confession out of you “it’s cute, babe. you shouldn’t be embarrassed”

you just rolled your eyes at her, part of you still irritated that you were put in such a position, but another part of you relieved she didn’t mind.

emily let her hands fall down to you legs again, palms flat against you. you could feel the slight callousness of her skin. they pressed into the plushness of your thighs gently as they agonizingly crept their way towards you. she kept her eyes on you, eyelashes low, lips slightly parted. your mouth fell dry as her hands approached the bottoms of your shorts. her fingers toyed with the hems, then eventually pushing their way past the loose fabric until she was met with the silky skin of your hip just under your shorts. then, with little warning, she let her head lower down to your neck. her breathe was hot against you as she let her lips attach, kissing along your body. you gasped upon feeling the sudden sensation, your hands flying up to the back of her head in an attempt to brace yourself.

“all this over some tattoos?” she whispered into your neck “baby…you’re killing me”

“will you be quiet and just kiss me?” you blurted, unable to handle the built up tension.

“anything for you”

and with that, her lips were on yours in an instant. your bodies melting into each other as she showed you just how much she loved you with those damned tattoos.

[circecyerce]

AO3 LADS Fic Recs Jan-Feb 2025

temptation's kiss by OrangeButt73 NSFW

“You want us to wait this out,” you say it for him, because he refuses to by the way he shuffles his feet like he’s nervous, like he’s caught red-handed committing a crime. He seems to consider something. And then — an admission, albeit a hushed one. “Yes,” he whispers. Curbs the affection from scratching the surface. Your eyes narrow at him, sharp slits that are ill-tempered. “But you won’t let me fuck someone else.” Rafayel nods his head, no hesitance this time as he already knows he’s being selfish. “Yes,” he whispers, again, another admission that feels too heavy, too loving — too cruel. You want to give. Rafayel wants to take.

kinktober in deepspace by seyachu NSFW

an attempt at kinktober for love and deepspace. (with afab!reader and gn!reader) please mind the individual chapter tags! all are STC/be updated along the way ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ D1: somno (xavier) D2: vibrator/morse code (sylus) D3: medical/doctor kink (zayne) D4: costumes/roleplay (maid!rafayel) D5: phone sex (caleb) D6: exhibitionism (jeremiah) D7: sex pollen (bday!xavier) D8: wax play (rafayel) D9: breastfeeding (caleb) D10: cockwarming (zayne) D11: ???

His Watchful Eye by dollgxtz NSFW

"Good girl, keep chewing. Don't bite your tongue" All you could mutter was a moan, unable to think straight in your drug hazed state. You managed to swallow. All you felt was warm heat radiating off of slightly pale flesh. You blushed and planted your face in his neck. Sylus put the fork down, amused by your affection. Getting up from the sofa in the room, he laid you down on his bed. He began unbuckling his belt.

Between the Blades of Grass (Sylus x Female Reader) by aeyumicore NSFW

When Sylus, the strongest warrior of the Grasslands, chooses you as his mate, you're forced to consummate your union in front of the entire clan. Inspired, but not continued off of, the new 'Grassland Romance' memory.

I'll Come Back To You by Ophella SFW

You are the centre of their universe, whether you know it or not, and each of them cannot bear to lose you again. So what happens when they do?

Take Your Time, Miss Deer by borkunlimited SFW

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes. Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or- -Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger. A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

[icallhimjoey]

said it without saying it 👈 can we fucking just say it already?

ALL RIGHT OKAY jcf, fine, this one is for the girls who can't get enough of the mark and poppy au — this one follows 'said it without saying it', love ya babes you're all the best mwah <3 Wordcount: 4K

---

At Long Last

There’s no denying it anymore.

You feel it all the time.

Every day.

Joe can do the most mundane thing, the absolute bare-minimum tiniest little thing, and you feel it swell within your chest before it slowly leaks into all of your limbs and drips out of your fingers and toes.

You knew it was going to happen this way.

Always thought that you’d blurt out the words Joe wanted to hear the most in a moment where it’d completely catch him off guard.

When he’d come back from a run and was aching to get into the shower. Or when he’d have a difficult time practicing his lines, frustration about to make him burst at the seams. Or when he’d be getting his make-up done before an event, and there’d be other people there, flustering him beyond belief.

You’d nearly said it once.

Joe had told you no.

This isn’t the time.

You had felt it in that moment, so so strongly, simmering beneath the surface, unspoken yet overwhelming. Since then, the moments had started piling up, and you’ve come to realise that… there’s a pattern.

Just when you think you’ve slotted Joe into the right box in your mind, something changes, and you feel it.

It’s disorienting, and… embarrassing, honestly. After years of knowing him, of learning how to anticipate his reaction to situations, his facial expressions, what he would say… you’ve learned that actually, you’re wrong. A lot. All the time.

He surprises you.

You adapt.

Little bit by little bit.

The puzzle pieces that used to make up Joe get replaced by new ones that you like a lot better.

But, you’re only human. And a first impression — as well as actual first-hand experience — is proving hard to shake. Some puzzle pieces are hard to remove. Feel like they’ve been glued in place. And sometimes you think you’ve replaced a piece, but then come to find out your brain has just stuck the old piece back in place. You’re smart, but it’s a difficult task to overrule your nervous system.

One wrong turn.

A sharp twist.

Snow in your face, your knee in agony. Later you realised you’d also bent your arms in a weird way in an attempt to break your fall.

None of your injuries were catastrophic, not even serious enough for a cast, but enough to cut the skiing trip short and keep you limping for weeks. Poppy said she’d never seen Joe take responsibility in the way he had.

Joe usually left a lot of things for others to decide. Would flow along with whatever everyone else thought was best without issue. But you were hurt, so, no, Mark. I know we have four days of trip left, but we’re going home, all right? I don’t care what she says, we’re not all taking a lift up a mountain and leaving her down here on her own. 

You still blush every time you think back to how Poppy quoted Joe scolding Mark for suggesting you just stay in bed while they hit the slopes.

You’re mostly recovered now, able to walk, dance, and chase buses just fine. You easily forget that there’s a fragility there still. Something to be careful with. It’s why some days, some evenings, after hours on your feet in shoes not designed for support, the ache comes back.

Quiet and dull.

Not enough to make a real fuss over. Joe feels guilty enough about the whole thing to begin with. He doesn’t need the reminder, months later, that his idea – his decision to suggest a skiing trip in front of your friends, making it impossible for you to say no – had left you bruised and battered.

So you never really mention it.

You will easily hide rubbing a hand to your knee under the dinner table, and will swallow a wince when you stand up after sitting on the sofa for a while.

Joe doesn’t mention it either, so you presume you are hiding it well.

But then after a long Saturday of errands, you get back home to find Joe already there. In your kitchen. Your favourite throw blanket slung over his shoulder. Steaming mug of tea in his hand, and the microwave humming in front of him.

“Hey,” you sound surprised. “Wasn’t expecting you. Are you making dinner?”

Joe turns his head as he nods towards your sofa. “Go sit.”

The mental gymnastics it takes to replace one of Joe’s puzzle pieces with one that microwaves food proves impossible. There’s no way he’s microwaving food.

Turns out you’re right.

You let yourself drop onto your sofa quite heavily before bending over to take your shoes off.

When you sit back up, Joe’s there, both his hands full.

“Sit back,” he motions with his head. “Feet up. No, on the sofa. Both legs.”

You’re not quite sure what’s happening, but can’t help but smile whilst you do as you’re told.

“Take this. Careful, it’s still boiling.”

A hot mug of tea is cautiously handed to you.

You see how next, he reaches for the throw blanket that he’s still carrying over his shoulder and makes a whole show of shaking it out before he gently drapes it over you.

In the kitchen, the microwave beeps.

“What are you making?” you ask curiously, and Joe just smiles. Doesn’t say anything. Just tucks the blanket around your hips, looks at your mug until you take a careful sip, and then quickly jogs back to your kitchen.

It’s not food.

Joe doesn’t come back with food.

Before you even fully understand what he’s holding, Joe takes hold of the blanket by your feet and reveals your leg.

“Figured it might be one of those days,” he says and softly places a heat pack over your knee before he gently folds the blanket back.

And, fuck... that’s nice.

You don’t quite know how to react to any of this.

You didn’t know he was aware. That he’d noticed. And then he hadn’t even asked if your knee hurt… just knew it might, and cared enough to surprise you like this.

There’s a faint prickle of tears behind your eyes that you rapidly blink away, and you feel it then. You feel it inside of your chest, feel it in the warmth of the mug that you’re holding, feel it in the comfort of being taken care of inside of your own home whilst you didn’t even ask for anything.

You’re openly staring at him, and Joe just smiles as he sees the cogwheels turn in your mind. You need to take a deep breath to make sure your lip doesn’t wobble, and then busy yourself by taking another sip of tea.

“Comfy?” he asks, touching a warm hand over the blanket, making sure the microwavable heat pack’s in place.

All you can do is give a jerky nod.

He presses a kiss to your forehead and says something about dinner next, but you barely catch it. You’re trying too hard not to cry. Trying too hard not to say something too big for the moment.

And it aches, not to say it.

The words sit on the edge of your tongue, and you could so very easily give them to him now. You know he wants them, that much is clear, but there’s something holding you back, still. Something that makes you want to keep them to yourself, just for a breath longer.

Joe got to carry this feeling on his own for so long. He’d held onto it for ages, carried it as a secret he hadn’t even told Poppy about.

It only feels fair that you get to cradle it too, quiet and unspoken, before it becomes something shared.

Joe doesn’t make it any easier though.

Makes it really fucking difficult, actually.

You’re not sure if he’s even aware of what he’s doing, and the inner struggle that he leaves you with, but one night, he manages to get you stupidly close to breaking several times, you think he must know. That he’s just going out of his way for it now. That he can somehow sense that you’re close just from the look in your eyes and the blush on your cheeks and, just to put you out of your own-inflicted misery, will try whatever he can to pull you over that threshold already.

He manages to pull you right onto that threshold when you’re getting ready for a party.

You’re halfway done – hair up, earrings on, black strappy dress getting zipped up by Joe – when you frown at your own reflection.

Joe asks if anything’s wrong, and: nothing’s wrong. Not really. So you tell him, “Nothing…” as you tug on the hem of the dress, smooth the fabric over your hips, and turn to give your backside an uncertain glance.

Joe keeps quiet as he steps into the doorway, hands in his pockets, leaning against the frame.

“You know that other dress… my green one? God, that dress would’ve killed…” you muse. “But the zipper on that’s still busted, so… this’ll have to do.”

It’s honestly fine.

The dress is fine.

Your eyes keep finding things just slightly wrong about it in your reflection, and you sigh. One of those long, shoulder-dropping sighs. You’re trying not to make a big deal out of something that genuinely isn’t, but somehow, still kind of is.

This dress will look stupid next to what Poppy will be wearing. You will somehow look overdressed and underdressed at once.

When you finally peel your eyes away from yourself and give Joe a small smile, he suddenly frowns.

“Green dress?”

“Yea,” you turn and find a pair of heels to wear. “Remember the one I bought online a couple week ago? I broke the zipper when I tried it on so I couldn’t return it – not that I wanted to return it, it somehow fit me just right–”

“This green dress?” Joe interrupts you, having gone into your wardrobe to retrieve it. He’s holding your green dress by the hanger, twirls it in his hand to showcase how it’s zipped up, and… you’re not sure if you’re seeing that correctly.

“This green dress that I took to get fixed like… three days after you got it?”

You blink at it.

“This the one?”

At him.

“Hmm? Is this the dress you mean?” Joe’s doing a bad job at hiding a smug smile and his pride at being able to surprise you with something he thought you would’ve noticed much earlier.

It’s that stupid face that makes you feel it then. You feel it when you see how he goes a little soft when you stare at the dress that he then gently hands over. You feel it when he goes to unzip the black dress you’re still wearing, sliding the straps from your shoulders with careful fingers.

You make eye-contact in the mirror and nearly say it then.

Nearly.

Instead, you mutter a meek, “Yea, thanks.” that makes Joe laugh out loud before he tells you to hurry up, because Poppy is going to kill the both of you if you turn up late.

You quietly wonder how much more you’re able to take.

How much longer until feeling it turns into saying it.

Joe lets you cool off just enough before it happens again, just a couple of hours later.

The party over at Mark and Poppy’s was only small, and fairly casual if you went by Poppy’s definition of the word. At the end of the night, when it is just the four of you left, you find yourself in the kitchen to pour yourself a last drink.

You hadn’t heard Mark’s comment.

Hadn’t heard Joe’s response either.

You have only been out of the room for two minutes, but the shift in atmosphere is hard to ignore when you step back in. You can see how Poppy is pressing her lips together, hiding her face from Mark as she pushes her chin against her shoulder and looks at Joe with big eyes. It looks like she’s trying not to laugh, or say something stupid.

Mark looks a little miffed, and before you can audible ask what you just missed, Joe loudly clears his throat and asks Poppy something unimportant about a party guest you don’t know. Poppy immediately falls into conversation with him.

You give Mark a look.

What’s up?

He simply shakes his head.

Nothing. Don’t worry about it.

And just like that, the moment has passed.

You learn later, through a whispered chat with Poppy by the front door, that Mark said something about you that was… well, true, actually. Which makes sense, obviously. If there’s one person who knows you inside and out, better than anyone else you can think of, it’s Mark.

“You know what she’s like. She gets all twitchy if things don’t go her way.”

Mark hadn’t meant any offence – there was no malicious intent. He would’ve easily said that to your face, no problem. Just a light joke that probably would’ve made you punch his arm before making a similar statement about one of his flaws. The comment made Poppy snort, and Mark chuckled lightly before Joe cut him off.

Because Joe hadn’t laughed.

Apparently, Poppy said, he hadn’t even blinked.

“He didn’t say much, but…” Poppy whispers like it’s hot gossip she’s sharing whilst you sling your arms into your jacket. “He put Mark in place a little… told him that it wasn’t fair of him to say that, and that you get quiet when you’re nervous, not controlling. That he should know the difference.”

That was it.

It’s a weird bit of information to receive just before you’re about to leave.

You think you do get twitchy when you feel like you don’t have control over a situation. That’s actually a totally fair thing to say. Mark’s right. He’s your best friend who you feel is totally allowed to make an off-hand comment about you like that – you know you’ve said worse things about Mark without him in the room for that matter.

But somehow… Joe’s more right.

And Joe knew that.

And then he had said so out loud and had defended you even when you weren’t there to hear it.

That’s... strange.

Somehow difficult to fully accept.

You’re not sure how to respond to Poppy – she seems gleefully shocked at this… new development. What do you say to someone who’s just told you that her best friend, someone who used to hover at the edge of your life without really ever touching it, is now apparently seeing you more clearly, more accurately, than your own best friend?

When Joe and you leave, he doesn’t bring it up.

Just holds your hand and leads you down the pavement and tells you how you looked the best out of everyone tonight to which you say that you don’t care if you looked the best out of everyone tonight but then Joe says that you looked better than Poppy and Poppy actually looked fucking stunning, she always does, so you can’t help but smile as you feel a blush creep up your neck.

You don’t want to say I love you just because Joe’s saying nice things about you to your face and, as you’ve just found out, behind your back as well, but you feel it.

Your toes are slowly curling over the edge of the threshold and you know it’s not going to take much more than a little nudge for it to come spilling out.

It nearly does when Joe squeezes your hand a little tighter when you cross streets.

It nearly does when you can tell how he’s adjusts his pace a couple of times to make sure you’re not overextending your knee.

It so very nearly does when, suddenly, he takes a few jogging steps up ahead when you walk past a pub. Before he stops, you already know that he’s going to, and you slow to halt to witness exactly what you just predicted.

“Gelato?”

Joe stops right in front of the ice cream place, and in a flicker of a memory, you see Joe standing there in the exact same spot, holding the door open with the same hand, asking you the exact same question he’d asked you that first time.

Before.

Before, when you weren’t anything other than Mark and Poppy’s best mates that were forced to hang out together because they got given a job to do.

Before, when you were convinced Joe hated every second he had to spend in your vicinity because all he’d ever do was keep quiet and distant, and all you’d ever do in response was overthink every single little interaction you’d had.

Before, when you thought it was stupid and pretentious that he said ‘gelato’ instead of ‘ice cream’.

You still think that.

When he suggested getting ice cream that night, it was to make up for something dumb he’d said. You assumed he’d just tried his best to be polite – inviting you to get a sweet treat just to make sure Mark wouldn’t skin him alive.

“My treat.” Joe adds, echoing his former self.

Hit with a clear-as-day nostalgia, you give an exaggerated sigh followed by a massive roll of your eyes as you drop your shoulders.

“Fine.”

The small table you shared once before is taken, but if it hadn’t been, you’re sure Joe would’ve lead you over it in a bid to override that memory for a new, better one. Instead, you end up on the bench outside the shop, tubs of ice cream and plastic spoons in hand.

Joe’s quiet, like he was back then, but, it’s different now.

Now you get to sit really close to him, in your green dress, the one that he secretly got fixed for you, the sneaky fucker. Your whole side is pressed up against Joe’s, even though there’s plenty of space for three, maybe even four people, and if Joe didn’t need both his hands to have his dessert, he would’ve slung his arm around your shoulder to pull you even closer. When you jokingly attempt to scoot, pressing the two of you even tighter together, Joe grins and places his foot in between both of yours, casually twisting your legs together as he shovels hazelnut ice cream into his mouth.

“That was a weird day, wasn’t it?” Joe suddenly says.

“Weird?”

Joe gives you a sideways smile. “Well… yea. Loved it, and hated it.”

You watch as he thoughtfully swirls his little spoon about, before he continues, “I felt so awkward and embarrassed… I remember thinking, what the fuck, she’s actually having gelato with me.”

“Be normal and say ice cream.”

Joe leans forward a little and looks up at the big sign behind the two of you that clearly says Italian Gelato before giving you a pointed look. “It’s gelato.” Joe says sternly, brow furrowed, and you don’t take him seriously at all. You shove his shoulder with yours as you smile, eyes on your ice cream.

Ice cream.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence that you’re afraid to break, because you know Joe is slowly working his way through feelings he found stuck within this memory.

“Genuinely thought I’d fucked up beyond repair, that night.” Joe thinks back. “I remember offering you a bite because I didn’t really know what to say, and the second I did, I was already thinking, you fucking idiot…” he shakes his head a little as he smiles to himself and his voice softens when he says, “But then you took a small spoonful.”

“Offered you a bite of mine.” you casually interject through a mouthful.

“And you offered me, a bite, of yours.” Joe repeats it like every word weighs heavy with indescribable meaning. “You know what that did to me? After all I’d basically done ever since we met was make you feel unwelcome?” Joe eyes you for a moment, then tuts in self-disdain and has to look away. “God, you’re something else, you know that? And I’m an idiot. Clearly. Didn’t know how to fix months of me acting like a fucking dick, so I just… tried not to stare at you as I fell harder, and then went, here, have some, like that was the answer– Jesus, what was I even on, honestly?”

You think Joe’s mostly talking to himself at this point, but he’s doing a great job at transporting you back in time. You try picturing yourself, all awkward and unsure, stumbling through what you thought was your first ever normal conversation with Joe. And him— wanting so badly to say something different than what he did.

Joe’s right, that night was weird, but you think that maybe… yea. Maybe that night was the moment when something shifted. When something inside of you, something only small, changed the way you looked at Joe which, eventually, as luck would have it, snowballed into this exact moment, right here, right now.

Oh, wow.

Yea, that’s… that’s exactly right.

That night was when the first little puzzle piece got wriggled out of place.

The realisation sort of hits you like a freight train running and it makes everything come to a standstill. 

“And then you just went– … you know I didn’t deserve that, right?”

Your ice cream melts unnoticed in your hand as you stare into space, and Joe gives you a slight nudge with his shoulder that pulls everything back into focus.

“Don’t deserve you…”

Your eyes meet his, and neither of you smile.

Not yet.

It settles between you. Something warm. Full.

You feel it, then.

Joe keeps surprising you.

You try to swallow around what’s stuck in your throat, but end up loudly clearing it instead.

Inside of your mind there’s a million things happening. You kind of want to tell Joe that Poppy told you what he said to Mark when you weren’t in the room. Want to tell him that going out of his way to do something kind for you, like taking a dress over to a tailor to get a zipper fixed, makes your chest ache with feelings you don’t know how to express. Want to tell him that, that night, ages ago, when Joe suggested gelato as a late night treat after you’d just stormed off, was the turning point that changed… well, everything.

You want to tell him that—

“I love you.”

Soft. Cracked. True.

You’ve hurled yourself right over that threshold.

You’re sat on a bench outside of an ice cream shop together, holding little tubs of melting ice cream that you’re eating with tiny, colourful, plastic spoons, and shut the fuck up, Joe’s heart is about to burst from his chest.

Everything has halted.

He’s looking at you, expression unchanging, and he’s quiet and calm as he lets the world catch up to him. Just like Joe didn’t rush you, you don’t rush him.

He just told you that he didn’t think he deserved your kindness all that time ago, and that he doesn’t deserve you now and then you just went and turned this moment into the most important one of his life.

Give him a second.

It takes a moment of just sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, and just when you start to think that maybe something’s wrong, Joe looks down and lets his eye fall on his melting ice cream.

“Joe—…”

You’re scared he’s forgotten how to breathe.

He slowly goes for a scoop of his hazelnut ice cream, seems to change his mind, but then goes ahead anyway. Then, instead of bringing it to his own mouth, he hovers it in front of yours.

‘I remember offering you a bite because I didn’t really know what to say.’

Your gaze moves from what he’s offering to his eyes, and can’t help the pursed little smile that tugs on your lips before you let them curl around the spoon and take the bite.

‘But then you took a small spoonful.’

It’s the cheesiest and most predictable move you can make, but with a mouth full of his hazelnut gelato, you do your best to gather a last spoonful of your mostly melted salted caramel.

‘And you offered me a bite of yours.’

Joe doesn’t even go for it.

Finds that the offer in and of itself is plenty and would much rather taste the ice cream directly from your mouth, right now, if he’s honest.

You just told him you love him.

You love him.

You love him.

He’ll beat himself up for this later, but he hasn’t even finished the thought that this means he’s allowed to say it back bef—

“I love you too.”

---

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add yourself

[kairawrites]

sweet escape.

🌺 masterlist 🌺

pairing: lewis hamilton x his wife

requested: A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

summary: It's your turn to host the sleepover, and the house is crawling with kids. All Lewis wants is to enjoy his favorite snack in peace, but someone else has beaten him to it.

words: 1.7k

It was your turn to host the sleepover, and Ariel and Mason, along with their friends, had been buzzing with excitement all week. Their friends always claimed that you hosted the best sleepovers, and tonight was no exception. The living room had been transformed into a comfort kingdom, a cozy haven that would make any child’s sleepover dreams come true.

The sofa was covered in blankets and pillows, perfectly prepared for you and Lewis to cuddle up later. Roscoe was already settled in, burrowed into one of the blankets. Air mattresses, each adorned with fluffy blankets and an array of pillows, covered the remainder of the living room floor. Pressed together and ready for the kids, they formed cozy nests. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, twinkling glow over the room, and each air mattress had a customized snack basket placed at the foot, filled with treats specially chosen for each child.

In the kitchen, boxes of freshly delivered pizza sat waiting on the island, their aroma mingling with the sweet scent of the homemade treats you had prepared. After picking up the kids and their friends from their respective homes, Lewis had returned to find this magical setup already prepared and waiting for the night’s festivities. The sight of it had brought a smile to his face—this was exactly what a sleepover should be.

Once Ariel and Mason, along with their friends, were fed and changed into their pajamas, you managed to get them to agree on a movie. They were going to watch Monsters, Inc., a classic that never failed to entertain. The kids settled into their cozy nests of blankets and pillows, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the string lights as you switched off the overhead light. Lewis watched in awe as you effortlessly managed all eight of them, your voice calm and soothing as you adjusted the volume and made sure everyone was comfortable.

You were wearing pajamas that matched Ariel’s and her friends’—a cute set in soft pink with Hello Kitty prints scattered across the fabric. Lewis, on the other hand, was dressed in black pajamas adorned with Spider-Man prints, matching those of Mason and his friends. His pajama top was emblazoned with the superhero’s web design, while the pants were red with a Miles Morales pattern.

As the kids finally settled into their makeshift beds, Lewis watched you walk over, a smile playing on his lips as you let out a breath, clearly relieved that the evening was under control. He reached out, his fingers lightly touching the hem of your shorts. “Cute pajamas,” he noted.

You giggled as you glanced up at him. “Thanks, but you’re one to talk.” You gestured to his Spider-Man pajamas, and he grinned.

“Hey, don’t be mad I got the better pair,” Lewis said with a chuckle, leaning down to steal a quick kiss.

“I have something for you,” you said, reaching around him. Lewis’s eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement as you produced a personalized snack basket just for him. “The kids wanted to try the peanut butter bites, so I had to give you only two,” you said with a playful grin.

Lewis’s grin widened as he took the basket from you. His hand instantly moved to retrieve a peanut butter bite. A soft moan of appreciation was muffled as he bit into the sweet treat. He’d been looking forward to this moment all day, from the moment he found you pulling out the ingredients in the morning.

“You always spoil me,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before moving to join Roscoe on the sofa, ready to enjoy the treats.

Lewis was sprawled comfortably on the sofa, Roscoe resting contentedly against his chest as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. The kids were thoroughly engrossed, laughing at the antics of Sulley and Mike.

However, something felt off. The absence of your laughter was unusual. You were always the one who laughed the loudest at this film. Lewis lifted his head from the armrest behind him and scanned the room, searching for you.

Seeing that you were nowhere in sight, he figured you might have slipped upstairs for a bit of peace and quiet. With a small smile, he reached into his personalized snack basket, hoping to grab another peanut butter bite. To his dismay, he found that there were none left.

He set the basket aside and rose from the sofa, leaving Roscoe to stretch out in his spot. Lewis headed to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and checked every shelf and corner for any remaining peanut butter bites. His search proved fruitless, leaving him mildly frustrated. He sighed, shutting the fridge.

A thought crossed his mind—maybe, just maybe, there was one last stash hidden away in the pantry. You had the habit of storing treats in the pantry when you wanted to keep them away from the kids.

Lewis opened the pantry door, only to stop in his tracks. There you were, standing in the small pantry, looking a little too guilty for someone just grabbing a snack. Your hand was tucked behind your back, your eyes wide with surprise as you met his gaze.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding?”

“Just…getting a snack,” you replied.

Lewis’s gaze passed over your face, his eyes lingering for just a moment. He had known you long enough to recognize the subtle signs when you were hiding something. The way your eyes shifted slightly to the side and the faintest of smiles that didn’t quite reach your eyes were all dead giveaways.

He could tell you were trying to play it cool, but he could see through it. “What are you hiding back there?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. His expression was one of playful suspicion, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but you took a step back as he advanced.

Lewis leaned in, the familiar scent of chocolate and peanut butter widening his smile. “Is that the last of the peanut butter bites?”

Before he could say another word, you quickly stepped forward, covering his mouth with your hand. “Shh!” you hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen as if expecting the kids to burst in at any moment.

Lewis chuckled, his laughter muffled against your hand. You guided him by the front of his shirt, pulling him inside the pantry as he reached back to shut the door behind him. The small space felt even smaller with the two of you squeezed inside.

You tried to maintain your composure, but with him this close you failed.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, you looked up at him. “Alright, fine,” you admitted, unable to keep up the pretense any longer. “I took the last of the peanut butter bites.”

Lewis’s eyes lit up with a mix of triumph and amusement. “So, you were hiding them?” he asked, his voice full of mock surprise. “I thought you made these for me.”

Your eyes rolled, yet you allowed him to take a bite out of the bar in your hand. “What if I want them for myself?”

Lewis paused, a mock-serious expression on his face. “Then you shouldn’t have made them so good.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you watched him take a second bite. “Guess that’s on me, huh?”

“Yeah, means you gotta share.” Lewis leaned in, his smile widening as he kissed you softly.

You broke the remainder of the bar in half. You held out one piece to Lewis.

“You know,” he said with a chuckle, “I didn’t kiss you just to get that bar.”

You giggled, raising an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

With a mischievous grin, Lewis leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours as he placed a second, more lingering kiss on your lips. The sweet taste of peanut butter lingered between you. You could feel the warmth of his hand against the back of your neck.

As he pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours with a playful glint. “Maybe that's all I'm after,” he mumbled, lips brushing against yours again.

Despite the warmth of your husband's lips against yours, you can't help but giggle. “Why are we hiding snacks in our own home?”

The sound of your laughter pulled a smile to your husband’s lips.

“Have you seen the way those kids look at me the second they realize I have food?” His brows raised, Lewis popped the last of his bar into his mouth. “They’ve got their mother’s eyes—big, innocent, and impossible to say no to.”

The two of you stayed there for a few more minutes, savoring a few moments of quiet. Eventually, the sound of muffled laughter pulled your gaze to your husband’s.

“Thanks for sharing,” he smiled softly, gently cupping your face, leaning in for a kiss.

You found yourself pressed against the pantry door, your breath catching as his lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity. His touch slipping beneath your pajama top.

When he finally pulled back, you were both slightly dazed, your heart racing in your chest. Lewis rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “Whose idea was it to invite a bunch of kids to our house again?”

You giggled, remembering the enthusiasm in his voice when he suggested it. “Yours.”

He groaned, shaking his head as he kissed you again, a little less serious this time, more playful. “Remind me to never get any bright ideas.”

“Don’t let them stay up too late,” you warned with a smile. “Or you'll have to wait until tomorrow to get what you want.”

“They’re not the issue,” Lewis teased, his voice soft as his fingers traced your jawline. “Keeping you quiet is.”

You gently rolled your eyes at his teasing, but your heart fluttered as his gaze drifted back to your lips.

“Get rid of the evidence,” you whispered, your smile widening as you reached behind you to open the pantry door.

But before you step out, you stood on your toes and kissed him quickly, a soft, sweet peck that was over almost as soon as it began. Lewis watched you go with a lingering smile.

[struwberrii]

boyfriend! sakusa who isnt super big on physical touch, but always shows how much he cares with the little things he does, like holding doors for you and carrying your bags.

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t love physical touch, but still takes every opportunity he can to kiss you

boyfriend! sakusa who immediately comes to you when he’s in a bad mood and needs to talk shit about someone

you were relaxing on your couch when suddenly you heard a harsh knock on your door. you panicked thinking it could be the police, but upon further investigation (looking through the peep hole) you discovered it was just a very irritated sakusa. you opened the door and almost immediately he pushed past you and b-lined for your spot on the sofa

“you won’t believe what that idiot atsumu did today, i swear his stupidity may just drive me mad!”. he practically growled. you could already tell this was gonna be a long rant so you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got comfortable next to him before he started.

boyfriend! sakusa who only allows you to enter his bedroom and has a blanket and pillow saved for only you (he regularly washes when he knows you’re coming over)

boyfriend! sakusa who leaves a get well soon basket at your doorstep and facetimes you for hours at a time when you get sick

boyfriend! sakusa who always surprises you with designer jewelry and shoes, not for any reason other than him wanting to see you wear it.

boyfriend! sakusa who likes going out with you at the most random times, just to avoid huge crowds (if he wasn’t with you he wouldn’t be making an effort to go out at all if possible)

never in your life did you think you’d be getting ready for a dinner date at 8:30 pm on a tuesday. your boyfriend was on his way to pick you up, he made reservations for the two of you at a nice restaurant with a beautiful view. you were slightly annoyed with the time and date since you had work/school the next morning but just seeing sakusa instantly lifted any negative emotions you had about the situation. you opened the door to see him in a white polo shirt, black pants, a luxury belt on and a fancy silver watch on his wrist. you were practically drooling. the two of you walked to his car and made your way to the restaurant.

“i forgot to say this earlier, but you look absolutely stunning tonight” he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the road. you laughed and returned the compliment.

“by the way, why’d you choose a monday to take me out, kiyoomi?”

“i really do hate crowds, y’know?”

boyfriend! sakusa who has the funkiest music taste and always leaves you confused when his playlists go from the doors band to aphex twin to chase atlantic

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t mind your germs getting on him

(he still makes you shower before you get in his bed)

boyfriend! sakusa who sleeps best when you’re lying on top of him under his blanket with his arms wrapped around you

boyfriend! sakusa who made a hand signal that only you and him know, that he uses when he wants to get out of any situation and sneak off with you

you were at one of sakusas games, you always arrived earlier with him since people wanted interviews with him and to take videos for tv, so you would usually just sneak around back and wait for him, but sometimes interviewers caught up to you and would sneak a few questions in with you. this time you and sakusa were both in the lobby of the dome he was scheduled to play in.

“do you know how long sakusas been training for this match?”

“has sakusa shared the secret behind his flexible wrists with you!?”

“are you only with sakusa because of his fame?”

you were being asked so many questions you could hardly even get one answer out, you looked over at your boyfriend to see what he was up to, and that’s when he gave you the signal, low enough for nobody else to catch it. then he made up some partially believable excuse and left the interviewers. quickly after you made up a slightly less believable excuse and followed pretty far behind him. you weren’t exactly sure where he went, there was way too many doors down the hall he took so you just walked in hopes of finding an open one.

that’s when you suddenly felt a strong arm wrap around you and pull you into one of the lounge rooms, followed by an attack of kisses to your face.

“i play so much better when we get to do this”

boyfriend! sakusa who lets you do hair care and skincare on him, and is surprisingly educated on skincare and which products/ingredients work best for different types of skin problems.

boyfriend! sakusa who let’s you count all the freckles/moles on his body and trace them with your fingers

boyfriend! sakusa who wakes you up every morning you’re together by the smell of him brewing your coffee and making breakfast for you

you woke up in sakusas bed earlier than usual. it was 8:25 am on a saturday, you had no reason to be awake this early. but something smelled so good, you couldn’t go back to bed after your nostrils had been blessed by such a scent. you grabbed one of sakusas sweaters and made your way to his kitchen. there he was in nothing but his boxers, cooking pancakes over the stove. the morning sun hitting his back at just the right angle to make all his muscles really pop out at you.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you so early love”. he says after hearing you come out of his room.

“it’s all good, just what is that heavenly smell?” you joked, sitting on one of the stools at his kitchen island, watching him finish up cooking. he turned around and slid a plate of pancakes infront of you. he even drew a little smiley face out with all your favorite fruits and whipped cream. then he handed you a cup of hot coffee, just the way you like it.

“what did i ever do to deserve you” you said as you smiled at your boyfriend.

boyfriend! sakusa whos love language is acts of service

boyfriend! sakusa who takes your makeup off for you, does your skincare for you and tucks you into bed when you’ve had a bad day

boyfriend! sakusa who always reminds you to do the little things, like washing your hands when you get home from being out, or drinking water

boyfriend! sakusa who’s trying his best for you

(sorry guys this may be a teeny bit ooc but i love him idc)

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

DARE TO DISAPPOINT. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader — angst & smut

summary. you and bucky arrange to meet your friends for the first time, but he doesn’t show up. you find out the reason why while he attempts to make it up to you

word count. 2.7k

warnings. 18+ only! little bit of one-sided arguing at the beginning. hurt reader, teasing bucky, cunnilingus, pinv, resolved ending. mdni

Plans change and sometimes that’s okay. You’re grown enough to deal with it though you often expected better. You expected better from Bucky. 

Earlier in the week, you and your friends arranged to meet at a nice restaurant, the purpose of the hangout designed to introduce them to your boyfriend, Bucky. It was the natural step after several months of dating. And after a few change-abouts with the date, and accommodating last-minute personal life popups, it was all set in stone. The date of the introduction known to you, Bucky and your friends.

It was the day of your hangout —the night of— and Bucky was yet to return home. The minutes slowly turned into an hour and an hour slowly turned into two. Your texts and calls were yet to be unanswered and you couldn’t help but notice the nervous pit grow in your stomach.

It wasn’t like him. He’s not the kind of guy that would stand you up. That’s essentially what this was – you arranged a date, got dressed all nice and now he left you hanging. 

You’re sitting on the sofa, heels on the floor and phone in hand as you reread your messages, looking at your string of unresponded texts. This was getting ridiculous.

And as if he were right on cue, you hear keys jingle, the opening sound of your front door following shortly after. The silhouette of Bucky appearing through the gap.

“I’m so s—” he says as soon as his eyes fall on you, his features softened.

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head at him. 

His head faintly tilts as he walks over to you, his hand reaching for your shoulder. “Honey,” he practically coos, his voice gentle. 

But you shrug off his touch, moving your arm away from his attempt of physical comfort. 

“You can’t do that,” you turn to look at him, your eyebrows furrowing as if to further show your frustrations. 

You pick up your shoes from the floor, slinking your fingers in the straps as you stand. You turn on your foot and head for your bedroom down the hall, not so much as giving him another glance – almost blanking him. 

He doesn’t let you get far, his hurried footing chasing after you. “Baby,” he whispers, the pet name faint and gentle. Like he was appeasing you, an attempt of amends.

But again, you ignore it, making your way into your room to unready yourself and get out of your dress. 

“Come on,” he lingers in the doorway, watching you walk around your room. “Don’t shut me off, talk to me. Get angry at me, just say something,” he says, speaking like it was like a plea. 

You turn around to face him, a lounge t-shirt grasped tight in hand. “You want me to get angry?” you scoff, tone fairly amused. 

“Yes,” he nods, eyes soft as he looks at you. “I upset you. I hurt you. Tell me that.”

You scoff once more and throw your tee on the bed. “You want me to get angry? Okay fine,” you snap. “You disappointed me. We arranged to meet my friends but you never showed up. You made me sad. You pissed me off. You don’t do that, okay? Not to your girlfriend,” you glare at him, getting everything off your chest – repeating the things you said to yourself while you were waiting for him. “That’s the third time we’ve had to cancel, do you know how embarrassing that is?”

He nods, never once retaliating – taking in everything you say.

“James,” you pause, taking a breath. “If you don’t want to meet them, just tell me. Okay? Don’t mess me around,” you say, words far calmer once you realise you were not being met with anger, but instead comprehension. 

He was understanding you, listening to you. Anger a far-distant emotion of his.

“I am sorry,” he nods, action reaffirming his apology. He steps into your room, waiting hesitantly near your bed – standing on the opposite side as you. 

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve understood,” you say, voice almost defeated as you sit on the edge of the bed, your back to him. “I know how you get… just tell me next time.”

He makes his way around the bed to you on the other side, halting when he’s in front of you. “I know,” he says, eyes focused down on you in your seated position. 

You stiffen your features, straightening them so he doesn’t see your facade weaken into a smile.

He could see the slip, his own expression mirroring yours. “Forgive me,” he whispers, leaning over to peck your forehead. 

You cock your head at him, amusement in your eyes when you watch him bend to the floor, taking a knee before you. 

Bucky extends a hand towards you, palm gliding across your face to cup it, his eyes warm as he looks over you. “Come on,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Say you forgive me, just say it,” he mutters into your cheek —the opposite one to his hold— speaking softly into your skin. He thumbs the apple of your cheek, swiping over it as he presses a kiss into your lips. “You know you want to,” he lingers, whispering into them. “Let me make you forgive me.”

Your chest heaves at his tempts, the juxtaposing sides of your brain conflicting, each one fighting for leadership. You wanted to forgive him as you knew it was not in his character, but then again, he knew about this date. He knew it was important, yet he was late – didn’t show. 

So, you pull your head back slightly to look at him, eyes honing in on his lust-filled ones. He means it. 

You squint at him, the action playful.

“See,” he smiles, features gentle. “It’s not hard.”

You glance down at him. “It’s not?” you tease, suddenly forgetting the outrage mere moments before.

He cocks his head, chuckling with a sweet, boyish smile. “No, that is.”

“That’s a shame,” you say, your hands reaching to the sides of his face, fingers  grazing back into his hair. “Problem is,” you start, leaning in to kiss him briefly. “I’m tired from waiting around, so I was thinking about going to bed. Get an early night.”

His hands move to your thighs, one metal, one fleshed palm firm on the swell of your upper legs. “Bed?” he repeats, his touch rising to sit under the fabric of your dress. “Well, what would you say about me staying over?”

“I don’t know,” you play along, entertaining him. “It is quite late though, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” he nods, leaning forward once more to speak against your lips. “Maybe I should stay,” he utters to them, punctuating his tempt with a kiss.

Your hands around his face fall to his shoulders, your arms draping loosely over them as you pull him back in, kissing him with a little more urgency than before. “Maybe you should,” you mutter into his mouth.

He can read between the lines, he’s not an idiot. Sure he’s a man, but he’s not completely clueless. 

That little silent agreement from you was all he needed, the hints of willingness showing him he was in the midst of your forgiveness. And so with his hands still on your thighs, he raises them just that bit higher, his fingers skimming the very inners. 

“Forgive me yet?” he asks, pads of his fingers bumping against your fabric-covered cunt.

You firmly shake your head ‘no,’ wordlessly telling him he had a lot more to do than kiss you and touch your thighs. The simple act only spurring him on more.

He hums and pulls away from you, his eyes landing on your legs – gaze honing on his fingers just mere centimetres away from your pussy. He keeps his eyes down as he follows his movements, his fingers grazing up to slink into the waistband of your underwear.

Without a moment to think on it, your hips are lifting, the action helping him take them off. He tugs on them gently, pulling them under your ass and over your thighs, being sure to drag them over your skin as he does it. Letting the fabric caress you.

Your eyes are focused on your thighs like his are, each micro movement being watched eagerly by the pair of you. Each of you following the motion of their removal, the skimpy fabric momentarily caught around your knees – underwear spread between your parted legs before falling to your ankles.

He moves forward, his body slotting between you as his right, fleshed hand resumes its prior position in the crease of your upper thigh. His touch light and teasing.

His thumb extends out, tip of it knocking just under your clit. The feeling eliciting a soft, breathy noise into the close distance between. He keeps his eyes on yours as he does it again, prodding his thumb to the nub to get the same reaction. And he gets it, that same response of a delicate, whiney sound. The same sound causing a strain in his boxers. 

“Sounds like you forgive me,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you briefly, the slight force of him pushing you back into the mattress behind you. 

Your legs spread instinctively as he pushes himself closer, your eyes still focused on him in your laid position. 

“Getting close,” you quip, your reply a double entendre.

He hums, the view of his smile disappearing as he ducks down between your thighs, his face itching closer to your cunt. Brushing up the hem of your dress, he presses a kiss to the inner of your thigh, lips lingering for a mere moment.

With your hands having a mind of their own, you reach down to his head, your fingers skimming through his hair as a way to hold him close. Your grip light as you keep him where you want him.

He presses another kiss into your thigh, this time it’s in the crease. The contact of him so close to where he was needed pushed your mind further into a tizzy. 

As he circles your pussy with kisses, he’s sure to avoid your clit – being mindful to ignore the mound of nerves. Making you wait for it.

His little teasing games aren’t going to cut it tonight. It was your forgiveness he needed, so him making you wait, for the second time was not what you wanted. So, with your hands in his hair, you direct him, guiding him closer to your cunt – nudging him to the places where you need his touch.

Your cues go noticed. His lips moving to wrap around your clit, tongue slipping between to flick over it – the ache in your pussy being alleviated instantly with the brisk contact. The grip in his hair tightens as your hips unknowingly buckle, a gentle wind knocking you further into his face. The tip of his nose skimming your pubic bone.

Taking the hint, he does it again. His tongue laid flat against the nub as he encapsulates it between his lips, warm wet mouth attached to you like a suction cup.

And before long, he’s making it up to you by making out with your cunt. Working you up impossibly more until you’re writhing and grinding against him, crying obscenities into the air til you’re on the cusp of your high. Mere moments from falling into that deep end.

Though before you get there, the elated feeling is stripped from you. His tongue and lips lifting from its position. His selfish, cruel trick leaving you panting and gasping and whining frustratedly. 

“Are you trying to make me hate you?” 

“What?” he questions, voice teasing as he stands. His upper body hovering over you with hands situated either side, weight anchored from above. “No,” he whispers, head shaking softly as he leans to press a kiss to your lips. “Never.”

With one hand, you cup his face, holding him there as you deepen the kiss – tasting yourself on his tongue. Your other slips down to his waist, eager fingers dancing over the exposed slither of skin. The urgency clear with your soft, muffled breaths into his mouth.

“I will,” you utter, pulling away to speak against his lips. You drop your other hand to his waist, mirroring the desperate grabs on the band of his pants. “I will hate you.”

“You can never hate me,” he murmurs into your jaw, solidifying his statement with a string of fluttery kisses down the length of your throat.

That part’s true.

He balances on his left, metal arm, his fleshed one sliding between you both and down the front of his combat pants. A slight bulge forming in the constricting fabric, his meaty wrist being the reason.

Your legs bend at the knee on instinct, your thighs spreading and adjusting to his lower half more comfortably. Knees hugging at his sides as he palms his cock, readying himself. He pumps it a few brisk times after pulling himself over the waistband, eager dick hard and heavy resting over his belt. His hand moves to his mouth to spit into the palm, and with that added little bit of lubrication, he grabs a hold of himself once more, working the saliva over the tip.

With his soft, baby blues honed in on yours, he focuses, his gaze never leaving yours as he guides himself towards you under your dress. The movement comes from a place of muscle memory, the motion fluid from repeating the act dozens of times before. He doesn’t even need to look to know how far away he is from you.

And as the head of his cock knocks against your cunt upon first contact, you involuntarily let out a soft, breathy exhale, the sound blissed and relieved. He swirls his tip around you, circling through your folds to pick up that residual spit – using that like lube.

He lines himself with you, hand firm around the middle of his dick as he eases into you, pushing inside slowly. His eyes still focused on yours, they mirror his, a sort of softness spreading in them the more he starts to fill you, stretch you.

You pull him back down to your eagerly, hands slipping up to the curve of his back to make him resume his prior hovering position. You hold onto him tightly, your chest rising and falling in such a way you fear your lungs may explode, the quick pace a physical tell of the way he affects you. He makes you feel so much.

He ducks his head, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, the motion in his hips halting with only half of himself wedged inside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, words soft between the close distance of your lips.

“For what?” you ask, bringing a hand to hold his head, the palm cupping sweetly over his cheek. “For earlier?”

He hums, pulling away to look at you. His grasp reflecting yours, his fleshed hand holding the side of your face.

“What happened?” you question, looking off to the side as you graze through his hair. “I thought you were excited about meeting them.”

“I was. I am. I just,” he pauses, distracting himself by thumbing over your lips, his eyes following the outline motion. “What if they don’t like me?”

You stare at him, brows furrowing quizzically as the doubt-filled question settles in your ears. What on earth makes him think that?

“Why would they not like you?” you ask, redirecting your focus to his eyes. 

“I don’t know.”

“If they were to hate anyone, it would be me,” you smile softly, thumbing over his temple. “They’d be so jealous when they see who I’m with.”

He chuckles faintly, head shaking at the compliment. 

“I’m being serious,” you whisper back, extending your neck to kiss him briefly. “They know how special you are to me,” you pause to kiss him again, trying to butter him up – make him feel better. “They’ll love you, because you love me.”

He smiles faintly against your lips, a soft boyish grin stretching across his face. “We can still make it tonight,” he suggests.

You shake your head ‘no’, the offer appreciated, but not wanted. “We can arrange something another time,” you drop a hand to his very lower back, your fingers pawing at him – silently asking him to wind his hips. “Tonight. I just want you.”

**not my artwork, I don’t know the artist either