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woniehugs · 2 months ago

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OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

CHAPTER 3

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it's your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you've had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better... or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x fem! reader

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you'll see, friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ warnings: heavy makeout sesh, dry humping, groping, dirty talk, they finish in their clothes obviously

—✧ word count: 5.5k

—✧ author’s note: so yeah this is my first time writing something like this (kill me now) so tell me where i should improve bc i’m not sure if i’m doing this right (send help). gotta be honest, this is more of a filler and for you horny fuckers out there lol.

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl @renjuns-grillfreind (cant be tagged) @freakywonbin , @enhafika , @enhacolor , @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz , @sumzysworld , @woniefull , @aanniikkaa , @faithnsstuff (cant be tagged), @wonnienyang , @wonlluvie , @slut4hee , @hwaluvrsblog , @jakeswifez , @jakesimfromstatefarm, @jiryunie (cant be tagged), @nikibleist , @friurt , @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @lolddhfsdcvff-blog (cant be tagged), @my10monthslovesimjae , @heefever , @milanco , @khaisdrz , @cha-raena, @bananna-12 (cant tag), @ilovejakesimsm (cant tag) send an ask or comment if you want to be added!

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you hadn't planned on ending up in jake’s room that night, let alone on his bed. but there you were, heart racing as his lips moved against yours, each kiss growing deeper and more urgent. the project lay abandoned on the desk, your notebooks and papers forgotten the moment he pulled you closer, his hands firm on your waist.

the rush of it all, the heat of his touch, the way he whispered your name—made your head spin, drowning out the voice in the back of your mind warning you to slow down. it felt good to lose yourself in the moment, to let go of the pressures and expectations for once. but just as your hands moved to trace the lines of his jaw, a sudden surge of doubt stopped you cold.

"jake, wait," you breathed, pulling back and putting a hand on his chest to create some space. "w-we need to talk about this first."

he froze, his dark eyes searching yours, still catching his breath. "what else is there to talk about? we’re on the same page, aren’t we?” jake said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“we are… i think.” you whispered out the last part, looking away from jake and sitting yourself up on his bed as he gives you some space to do so. you wrap your arms around your legs, “but i just want to make sure. it’s best we know what we want from each other, right?”

jake tilts his head at you, and to be frank, you found the action quite adorable, if it weren’t for his messy hair, swollen lips, and cheeks tinted red. now, he just looks like something out of one of your daydreams. that was all your doing, you were acutely aware of it.

he gives you a small smile, brushing his hand through his hair. "of course. just want to make sure of something real quick." his tone was casual, almost teasing, but there was something in his eyes—something that made you wonder if he was just as conflicted as you were.

you opened your mouth to ask, but then jake leaned in and kissed you again, catching you off guard. it was different this time—softer, as if asking for permission. you felt the world tilting, his warmth pulling you back into the moment despite your doubts.

when he pulled away, you found yourself breathless once more, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

"well?" he said with a crooked smile. "you didn't hate that, did you?"

nah. do it again please.

you rolled your eyes to hide the fluttering in your chest, but you couldn't ignore the truth in his words. "no, i didn't," you admitted, voice barely a whisper.

drawing in a deep breath, you sat up straighter, steeling yourself. “jake, if we’re going to do… whatever this is, there has to be some rules.”

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “rules? are we signing a contract now?” jake teased, but his tone remained light, like he was testing the waters.

you shot him a look, resisting the urge to laugh. “i’m serious,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’m gonna be straight with you. i’m not really looking to jump into a relationship, not ready for all that right now. so, whatever this is—” you gestured between the two of you, “—it’s strictly casual.”

jake’s lips twitched into a smirk, his gaze never leaving yours. “you sound like you’ve been planning this for a while. should i be worried?”

there was a bit of (no. whole.) truth in his words, and you weren’t really sure if you’ll ever admit it to him, especially not this early on. “you’ll have to find out on your own.”

“strictly casual,” he echoed, leaning back slightly on his hands. you’re grateful that he decided to let the previous question slide. “got it. so, no swooning over me in the halls, writing love poems, or any of that cringey stuff?”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward. “get off your high horse, jake. but exactly. no expectations, no labels. just… this.” you said, letting your voice trail off as you tried to find the right words. “we don’t let it interfere with anything else, and we definitely don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

jake tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “alright, no complications. but what if i buy you a coffee one day? is that off-limits, or are casual coffee dates allowed?”

a small laugh escaped you. “casual coffee is fine,” you conceded. “just don’t call it a date.”

“noted.” jake leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “and if i kiss you again, like right now, does that fall under ‘strictly casual,’ too?”

your breath hitched, but you held your ground. “as long as we both know it doesn’t mean anything,” you replied softly. “and it ends the moment one of us says so.”

jake’s smirk softened as he studied you, his eyes flickering with something that felt like curiosity, or maybe a hint of a challenge. he moved closer, his fingers tracing light circles along your arm. the touch was casual, but it sent a shiver through you, making it harder to stay focused.

“i’m assuming casual means i can still do... this." his fingers skimmed up your arm to your shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips when you didn't pull away.

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "it means no strings attached, jake. no acting like we're something we're not." you caught his gaze, determined to keep the conversation on track even as your heart pounded in your ears. "we don't get jealous. we don't make this complicated."

he tilted his head, looking at you with that familiar glint of mischief. "and if i happen to like having you all to myself for a night?" he asked, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck now. "that doesn't count as jealousy, does it?"

you almost laughed, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his chest, more to keep him from getting any closer than to push him away. "as long as you don't start acting possessive or territorial, i think we're good," you said, your tone light but firm.

"this isn't supposed to be some dramatic thing. we’re just two people who enjoy each other's company. that’s it."

jake’s hand slid down to your waist, resting there as he considered your words. "alright," he said slowly, "no drama. no jealousy." he let his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your skin. "but if i call you over to see you and talk, that's still within the rules, right?"

you hesitated, feeling his hand slip just slightly under the fabric, his touch making your skin tingle. "it depends on what you want to talk about when you call me over," you replied, your voice lower now.

a smirk tugs at the corner of jake’s lips as he moved closer, his hand drifting from your waist down to your hip, his fingers tracing the curve there. “what if i want to do more than just talk?"

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you held your ground. "if you're talking about hooking up, then sure. but I'm serious about keeping it simple. no mixed signals."

jake chuckled, the sound low in his throat as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing your ear. “so, if i told you that i’ve been thinking about fucking you since last saturday," he murmured, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, "that wouldn't be breaking any rules, would it?"

bingo.

your breath hitched, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you at his words.

"as long as you're not expecting any strings attached afterward," you shot back, trying to maintain your composure.

"i don't think I've ever heard you sound this serious before," he teased, leaning away from you. "it’s almost like you’re scared i’m going to break your little rules.”

he’s right. maybe you are scared. but who cares? that’s the reason why you set the rules. to set boundaries and not cross them. this was all just going to be a fun game for you (that you started) so you can have some excitement before you graduate. and what better way than to fool around with the hottest guy in school?

you pushed gently at his chest, keeping him at bay while still meeting his gaze. "i’m just making sure we're clear," you said. "i don't want either of us to get the wrong idea. if this starts to get messy, we stop. simple as that."

jake’s smile widened, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes. “good. because i’m not ready for all that relationship stuff, either,” he said, his tone earnest beneath the playful facade. “just two people having a little fun, right?”

“right,” you echoed, feeling a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation as you set the terms. it felt good to put some boundaries in place, to have some control over whatever was happening and about to happen between you.

“i’m allowed to touch you like this, right? because i gotta say, i’m kind of enjoying it."

“you’ve been doing it since earlier, jake, and i haven’t said a thing about it. what do you think?”

before jake could say anything more, you clap your hands together. "okay, then. we both know what we want from this," you said. "and we're not letting it interfere with anything else."

he gave a slow nod, his fingers still resting lightly on your skin. "agreed. and just so we're clear, i’m not saying i won’t keep wanting to kiss you like this," jake added with a playful glint in his eye. "but i’ll play by your rules."

you stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor and feeling the weight of the

agreement settle between you. "good. then i guess i’ll see you around. it’s getting late.” you said, turning to head to the door.

a thought suddenly stopped you, and you turned back to jake, meeting his gaze. “oh, and one more thing,” you added, voice firm. “i don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

jake’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “keeping me a secret already?” he teased, “don’t worry. i’m good at keeping things quiet, as long as you are.”

you felt a flutter of something at his words, but you brushed it aside, nodding once before finally turning to leave.

but before you could, jake caught your wrist, pulling you back in for one last kiss, slow and deliberate, like he was making a point of savoring it.

when he finally let go, his voice was a low murmur against your ear. "just don't forget to call me if you ever need to break the rules a little."

a thought lingered in your mind, wondering if “strictly casual” was going to be as simple as you’d hoped.

“i think you’ll be the first one to call out of the two of us.”

• • •

jake: hey, can we meet up?

you: but it’s so late? we have school tomorrow, jake.

jake: you said we could meet anytime.

you: well, yeah, but i didn’t think you’d also mean this late. i literally just finished doing homework :’)

jake: then i’ll come over to yours then.

you: you don’t know where i live???

upon reading jake’s message and realizing that he won’t be replying in the next 10 minutes, you dragged your chair across the tiled floor and ran to your closet, quickly rummaging through your clothes to wear something more appropriate.

you weren’t about to let jake see you in your home clothes that looked like lingerie since you’ve had these since you were a teenager, and you couldn’t care less about who’ll see you in those.

tonight was a different story.

“y/n, i told you not to drag your chair or stomp your feet so loud on the floor. we can hear it from down here!” your mom scolded, and you winced a bit at her tone.

“sorry mom! panicked a bit, and all…” you replied, your voice coming to a whisper at the end.

you picked out a pair of shorts and an oversized hoodie that covers up to your thighs. it definitely looked too big on you, but you also didn’t want jake to think you were desperate.

not that you were, of course. (you were)

it had only been three days since you and jake had the talk and set your boundaries if you both wanted to make this work. you’ve been a giddy mess ever since, always looking forward to seeing jake whether it was at school or not. at school, you would continue your usual routine of eating together at lunch and bringing the other to each other’s classes.

when the two of you were sure no one’s looking or that you were out of plain sight, jake’s hand would linger against yours for more than a few seconds, intertwining his pinky with yours, and you’d feel the ghost of a smile forming on your lips.

there was even a time after classes, you two had purposely got out of your rooms a bit later than usual, and before you could process what was about to happen, jake kissed you softly on the lips.

“i’ve been waiting to do that all day.” he whispered against your lips.

you touch your lips upon remembering the memory. you suddenly needed jake, right now, by your side, so badly. luckily for you, the heavens above seemed to listen to your prayers.

you heard a light knock outside your window, startling you. quickly putting on your hoodie, you grabbed your phone from your desk to see if jake had messaged you.

jake: i’m outside your window

your heart skipped a beat as you read jake’s message. hr was actually here, outside your window, in the middle of the night. you pulled on your hoodie, took a deep breath, and walked over to your window, heart pounding.

sliding the window open, you saw jake standing below, hands shoved into his pockets, his face lit by the glow of the streetlamp. he looked up, flashing you a grin that was both mischievous and a little sheepish.

“hey,” he whispered, a glint in his eye.

“what are you doing here?” you whispered back, trying not to sound too excited. “you’re insane, you know that?”

“maybe.” he shrugged, then glanced around, as if to check if anyone else was watching. “come down?”

you glanced back at your bedroom door, wondering if your parents were asleep yet. “if we get caught, we’re dead.”

jake smirked. “then we’ll just have to be careful, won’t we?”

you couldn’t help but smile back, the thrill of sneaking out making your pulse race. slipping on your shoes, you quietly tiptoed down the stairs, each step feeling like a mini victory against the silence of the house. finally, after what felt like an eternity, you slipped outside, and there he was, waiting for you with that same, soft smile.

you walked over to him, crossing your arms to fend off the night chill. “so, what’s the plan, mister ‘i-show-up-outside-your-window-at-midnight’?”

jake took a step closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “no plan. just wanted to see you.” his voice softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world faded you

your breath hitched, and you suddenly felt like words were pointless. instead, you looked down, your fingers finding his, your hands intertwining naturally. you stood there, holding hands in the quiet night, as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

“how’d you know where i live anyway?” you ask, ignoring the butterflies you were feeling in your stomach. it was your first time experiencing something like this, and you weren’t so sure on what you should do. either way, the fact that jake came over to see you had you thinking of other things outside your original plan.

“you did mention before that you lived nearby. i also happen to catch you enter your house just one time because i was going around the neighborhood.” jake answered with a smile, and you swore you could die right then and there at the sight.

“that’s very stalker-ish of you, sim jaeyun.” you teased, “what would the others think?”

jake chuckles, “don’t really care. besides, it’s not like i was trying to figure out your address. like i said, i just happened to be there.”

a comfortable silence fell between the two of you. you’re surprised he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, and a part of you is glad that he hasn’t.

he glanced at your window again and raised an eyebrow. “so… mind if i come up?”

your eyes widened, but the thought of jake in your room sent a thrill down your spine. “are you serious? i literally just went down because you told me to.”

“well, unless you want your neighbors to keep watching me stand here,” he teased, nodding toward a window across the street where a curtain had just shifted slightly. “or we could always go somewhere. whatever you want.”

without another word, you took his hand and led him inside, carefully closing the door behind you and tiptoeing up the stairs. every step felt louder than it was, and your heart pounded as you reached your room. you nudged the door closed with your foot, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.

jake glanced around, taking in the cozy mess of books and clothes, the walls decorated with photos, and the fairy lights strung above your bed. “so, this is your space,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“yep, this is where the magic happens,” you joked, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach.

jake chuckled, his gaze lingering on you. “magic, huh? maybe i should come over more often.”

you felt your cheeks warm, and before you could respond, he walked over to sit on your bed, patting the spot beside him. you joined him, sitting closer than you normally would, his knee brushing against yours.

a comfortable silence settled over you both. after a moment, he lifted your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and gently tracing circles on your palm. “i’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked up at him, caught in his gaze. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he replied, his eyes softening as he leaned in. you felt his hand slide up to cup your cheek, and he kissed you, slow and gentle, as if savoring the moment. it was the kind of kiss that made everything else disappear.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing softly. “i’ll probably get in so much trouble for sneaking out here,” he whispered, grinning.

you laughed quietly, your heart racing. “me too. but right now? i don’t really care.”

as you sat there, your faces close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, jake leaned in again, deepening the kiss. his lips moved with a new intensity, and you could feel your heart racing in response, echoing the thrill coursing through your veins. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, his hands finding their way to your waist-his grip firm yet gentle, grounding you even as your head began to spin.

your fingers tangled in his hair, feeling the softness beneath your touch as his hands slipped from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you against him. the warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your hoodie, making your skin tingle beneath. his hand began to trail up your spine, hesitating slightly as if checking to see if you were comfortable. you responded by pressing even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were always meant to.

a soft smile escaped his lips against yours, and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks. he began to trail kisses along your jaw, his lips brushing against sensitive skin, making you shiver involuntarily.

"you’re driving me crazy," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and sultry. the way he said it sent a thrill of desire coursing through you.

"maybe i like it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the teasing tone escaping before you could fully consider the boldness of your words.

his hand moved back down, resting at your hip, while his other hand stayed at the nape of your neck. he gently massaged the spot there, his fingers dancing against your skin as he brought your face back to his for another deep kiss. you could feel the heat radiating between you, the urgency of the moment intertwining with the sweetness of your connection.

you both moved in sync, exploring each other's touch and finding that perfect rhythm together. each kiss, each caress felt like a promise, igniting something primal and raw within you. your breaths came faster, filling your quiet room with a soft, unspoken language, each touch and glance saying more than words ever could.

"god, I can't get enough of you," he breathed, his hands brushing up your sides, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

"you make me want to do things I've never even thought about before."

the tension built with every second, electric and charged, making you ache for more. "is that so?" you teased back, feeling bold.

"what exactly do you want to do to me?" the challenge hung in the air, making your heart race even faster as you felt his eyes darken with desire.

"maybe I want to take my time," he replied, his voice deep and husky. "to feel every inch of you." his fingers slipped under the hem of your hoodie, brushing against your bare skin, igniting a spark that made you gasp softly.

"maybe i’d let you," you breathed, your voice breathy, filled with longing as his touch sent shivers down your spine. you could feel the heat pooling in your core, an ache that was becoming harder to ignore. "but only if you can handle it."

jake’s breath hitched, and a low, throaty chuckle escaped his lips. "oh, i can handle it, believe me." his hands trailed higher, brushing against the sides of your body, making you moan softly as the warmth spread through you.

eventually, both of you pulled back slightly, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. jake looked at you with a soft, almost awed smile, and you couldn't help but smile back, feeling both exhilarated and slightly dazed. "you’re incredible," he said, his voice a mixture of admiration and lust.

you rested your head against his shoulder, still holding onto him as if to keep yourself steady. "so are you," you whispered, feeling vulnerable yet safe in his embrace. "i never imagined it would feel like this with you."

"neither did I," he admitted, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm, sending warmth through you. "but i think we're just getting started, yeah?”

your heart raced at his words, anticipation swirling within you. you lifted your head to meet his gaze, the heat in the room palpable.

"then show me," you challenged softly, your voice laced with desire. "show me what you really want."

jake leaned in closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between. "oh, i intend to," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours, teasingly brushing against your mouth as if he were savoring the moment.

with a sudden burst of confidence, he captured your lips again, this time more fervently. you melted against him, the world around you fading as the kiss deepened into something more desperate. the sensation was electric, igniting a fire within you that begged to be fed. you could feel his hands roaming your back, fingers trailing down to the curve of your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he wanted to fuse your bodies together.

"tell me how it feels," he breathed between kisses, his voice thick with desire. "i want to hear you."

your heart raced at his request, the weight of his gaze making you feel exposed yet exhilarated. "it feels... amazing," you managed to gasp, feeling the warmth pooling in your stomach as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck. "you make me feel things i didn't know i could."

a smirk played on his lips at your honesty, and he leaned in again, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. "good," he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and inviting.

"because I want to make you feel so much more." his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn't help but moan softly, the sound reverberating between you, fueling the fire of the moment.

jake paused for a moment, lifting his head to look into your eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. "what else do you want?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

"because I want to give it to you."

you felt emboldened by the intensity of his gaze, the need in your chest surging. "i want you to take control," you said, your voice barely a whisper, thick with desire. "show me how much you want me."

his expression shifted, the playful glint replaced with something darker, more serious. "you asked for it," he replied, capturing your lips once more, the kiss turning urgent and demanding. his hands gripped your hips, guiding you to straddle his lap, the shift in position igniting a new wave of heat between you.

you gasped at the sudden closeness, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you. "jake..." you breathed, the thrill of the moment making your head spin as your body instinctively moved against his.

"god, you're incredible," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your thighs, fingers digging in gently as he held you against him.

"i can't believe how much i want you." the raw honesty in his voice sent another jolt of heat through you, causing your breath to hitch.

"then don't hold back," you urged, the thrill of the moment overwhelming your senses. "i want all of you."

his eyes darkened with a mix of hunger and admiration as he took your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"you’re making it hard to think," he said with a chuckle, his voice laced with desire. "but i’ll do my best." with that, he kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that left you gasping for breath, his hands moving to explore the curves of your body.

the kiss deepened, and you felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, seeking permission. you opened up for him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he tasted you, exploring the depths of your mouth with an intensity that left you dizzy. his hands continued their exploration, finding their way beneath your hoodie, fingers splaying against your bare skin, igniting sparks of pleasure with every caress.

"jake," you breathed, your voice tinged with desperation as his touch ignited every nerve ending in your body. "you’re driving me wild."

"i can't help it," he admitted, his voice desperate as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

jake lifted you slightly, positioning you so that you were straddling his lap fully. the fabric of your shorts brushed against him, and you felt the unmistakable heat of his desire pressing against you. the sensation sent a thrill of excitement through you, and you instinctively ground down against him, your breath hitching as the friction intensified the ache building inside.

"god, yes," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements as you rocked against him. "just like that."

you met his gaze, feeling a mix of exhilaration and hunger as you continued to grind against him. each movement sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you could feel the tension building as you found your rhythm. the room was filled with the sound of soft gasps and whispers, a language of intimacy that only you two understood.

"jake," you moaned, feeling the heat between you intensify. you leaned forward, capturing his lips again, your tongues dancing as the urgency of the moment escalated. his hands slipped beneath your hoodie, fingers grazing your skin, making you shiver with every touch. he groped your sides, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you against him, anchoring you in place.

"damn, you feel incredible," he breathed against your lips, his voice thick with desire.

you could feel him shift beneath you, pressing up into you with a delicious urgency that made you gasp. "i could get lost in you."

you smiled against his mouth, feeling emboldened by his words. "then get lost," you whispered playfully, your voice laced with challenge. you ground down harder, the friction igniting a fire in your core that made you moan softly, your body craving more of his touch.

jake responded immediately, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided you to move in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. "you have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone.

you reveled in the sensations, feeling your body respond eagerly to each of his movements. the heat built between you, a heady mix of lust and connection that made the world around you fade even further. "i think I'm starting to understand," you gasped, the pleasure nearly overwhelming as you continued to grind against him, lost in the rhythm.

"just don't stop," he urged, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, encouraging you to move faster, deeper. "you feel so good, y/n."

as you picked up the pace, the pressure in your lower belly grew, a delicious tension that left you breathless. each thrust against him sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you, and you couldn't help but moan louder, completely lost in the moment. the sounds of your bodies meeting, the soft gasps and murmurs, filled the room.

"jake, I'm so close," you panted, your breaths coming in quick gasps as you pressed against him, feeling the heat pooling deep within you. the combination of his hands on you and the friction between your bodies was driving you wild, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"me too," he admitted, his voice raw with need. "just a little more."

with every grinding motion, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, wrapped in heat and longing. you could feel the tension building, ready to snap, and you knew you were both teetering on the edge of something explosive.

"just let go," jake urged, his hands tightening on you, his voice low. “you can do it.”

with one last grind, you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, crashing like a tidal wave as you moaned his name, completely lost in the moment. the sensations flooded through you, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as you clung to him, feeling the intensity of your connection as you both rode the waves of ecstasy together.

as the waves of pleasure began to settle, breathless and exhilarated, you rested your forehead against his. you both took a moment to catch your breath, the air still thick with intimacy. jake shifted under you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “hey,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, “you okay?”

you nodded, a smile creeping onto your lips as the afterglow washed over you. “y-yeah, that was amazing,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern.

jake leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad,” he said softly. he then settled you slowly on the bed before slipping out, moving towards the bathroom just near your desk. you could hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returned with a damp washcloth.

“here, let me clean you up,” he offered, his voice warm and tender. as he gently wiped away the remnants of your encounter, you felt a rush of affection for him. hr moved with care, making sure you were comfortable, and you couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

“thank you,” you said, feeling both cherished and secure. jake smiled back, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. once he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed beside you, pulling you close into his embrace.

“i just want to make sure you’re okay,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you protectively. you nestled against him, feeling safe and content.

you were definitely more than okay.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

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wlntrsldler · 10 months ago

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poisoned mercury | everybody talks

a/n: don't love this chapter. definitely a filler, but the next chapter is much more fun!

iii. everybody talks by neon trees

series masterlist | previous | next

tagged chrisr0driguez, travisstoll, and connorstoll.

lukecastell4n: little break but we'll be back so soon poisonedmercury

poisonedmercuryfan: new music????????

castell4nsgf: omg im excited

stollsluvr: ME TOO

chrisr0driguez: we miss you guys already!

lukecastell4n: fr, we miss seeing your beautiful faces on tour :(

travisstoll: working hard

lukecastell4n: hardly working 🥱

connorstoll: give me my guitar back

lukecastell4n: no

“mornin’ five star,” luke tossed you one of your probiotic drinks from the fridge as you entered the kitchen.

you caught it seamlessly, mumbling a quick thank you. it wasn’t even seven am, but the two of you were already awake. it became a routine since it seemed like you both had the same idea. your coach told you that you needed to workout, even though you were on probation, in the off-chance that you’ll be allowed to play again when the season starts. you figured that the campers would be enjoying their vacations and sleeping in so you’d have the community gym to yourself. unfortunately for you, luke castellan was an early bird.

your gym schedules synced up and you often found yourself having to make small talk with him in the kitchen while you filled up your water bottle before you ditched him to head to the gym. he would trail a respectable distance behind you, giving you your space, as he walked to the gym. the two of you did your separate workouts, sneaking glances at one another because it was a little awkward that you lived together, went to the gym at the same time, but didn’t talk to each other.

it wasn’t for a lack of trying on luke’s part. he’d tried to talk to you a few times, but it seemed to not be a good idea to start a conversation before you had your morning coffee. it was funny for the first few days, but he was afraid that it would quickly cross the boundary of being quirky and cute to being straight-up annoying. he lived with you and he showed mercy to the rest of your cabinmates by not pushing your buttons. too much.

he still occasionally indulged in bickering with you, which seemed to be all of your conversations. you always found something new to argue with him about. your dad was right about you being hard-headed and stubborn, but for some reason, luke didn’t mind. his days at camp were fun, at least, as fun as a summer camp could be, and your interactions kept him on his toes. the usual schedule of meals, rehearsals, and attempts to write new songs, became repetitive after a few days, but with you in his face, ready to argue at any moment, it felt like there was something to look forward to.

you took the foil off your drink, downing it in one go. you tossed it in the recycling bin before turning to him, “do you go to the gym at this hour to spite me?”

luke chuckled, cracking open a red bull, “the word doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”

“i know that,” you rolled your eyes, “but you can go to the gym any time in the day and you choose to go at the ass crack of dawn. why?”

“it’s peaceful,” he shrugged, “the machines are empty and i don’t have to wait. it’s nice.”

“that’s why i go this early.”

“see,” he smiled, tilting his head. “great minds think alike.”

you grimaced at his comparison, scrunching your face up. the sun was beginning to rise causing an orange glow to cast on your face. despite waking up so early and sleeping so late– he’d heard you come in with clarisse at 3 am this morning after a late-night smoke session, luke couldn’t see a trace of tiredness on your features. luke envied you. he definitely did not look that good after 3 hours of sleep.

you fixed the zipper of your sweater, adjusting the bottom of it to better fit your hips. you were wearing a tight-fitting workout outfit, black nike pros, and the usual vans you wore when you worked out. your hair was in a high ponytail keeping it out of your face, which was a good thing. he’d seen how intense your workouts were and you definitely didn’t need to have your hair in your face while you leg pressed 275.

“i just feel like i see you everywhere,” you commented, “and everyone just wants to talk about you.”

luke’s eyes twinkled, “what do they say?”

“luke castellan is so talented, luke castellan is so hot, blah, blah, blah,” you imitated the words you’d heard from other campers, sighing in discontent. “like shut up already. i thought that it would die down after the first day of you guys being here, but it’s been a week and it’s the same thing.”

luke followed you out the cabin door, walking beside you for the first time since you both started going to the gym at the same time, “well, do you agree with them?”

you stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. your eyes raked over his face and his body, contemplating. you weren’t blind. you understood why people said what they said about him. luke castellan was attractive with his curls and toned arms and his stupid full lips, which seemed to always be in a smirk, but the hype was too much. and poisoned mercury’s music was good– great even, but you needed to hear something other than how muscular luke castellan was or how his scar made him look rugged or how his voice sounded like angels singing. you were at your breaking point.

luke stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes and the balls of his feet, patiently waiting until you made up your mind. your lips formed a tight line, “i don’t see it.”

“fuck, five star,” luke scoffed, unable to stop the smile on his face. he shook his head, curls bouncing around, “you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“don’t need to fuel your ego any more than everyone else does,” you replied, continuing your walk to the gym.

you didn’t seem to mind that luke continued to walk beside you, which was progress, in luke’s mind. his bandmates have been on his ass about trying to be friends with you since the rest of them developed friendships with you and clarisse over the week they’d been here.

he’d seen you on the couch with chris watching tiktok videos on how to properly take care of his curls a few times. (luke was not stealing some of the curl cream that chris bought per your recommendation. his curls just suddenly became a lot more defined recently.) he watched you play darts with travis at the activities center and argued with him about why he didn’t need to buy a dart set for the cabin. (he agreed with you there. there was an incident in atlanta where connor was sent to the er because travis managed to lodge a dart in connor’s calf after losing a game.) he once saw you, clarisse, and connor return from a swim in the lake in the middle of the night when he stayed up trying to write a song. (the song remains unfinished on his notepad, tucked safely away on his bedside table. he had no inspiration to write any music at the moment.)

again, it wasn’t for his lack of trying. you just didn’t seem interested in forming a relationship with him outside of being roommates. it was getting to him. just a little bit. he found himself thinking of you a lot. the boys started to comment on how he hadn’t gotten with anyone at camp yet, despite getting numerous offers from older campers and head counselors alike, but luke shrugged it off and said that he didn’t want to start drama so early on in the summer. it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. for some reason, he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

“i can’t control what people say,” luke said after a moment. “i’m sure it must be so annoying to hear about how great i am.”

“you are so full of yourself,” you groaned, shooting daggers in his direction. this made him laugh. “you know what you can control, though?”

“what?”

“the mess you make in the cabin,” you replied, “seriously, you guys have been here a week and the cabin already looks like a fucking frat house.”

luke thought about the state of the common area. you were right. the cabin was a mess, empty cans everywhere, crumbs on every surface, and wires from the playstation scattered across the living room floor. the boys weren’t the neatest, they were teenagers after all, and luke had to clean up after them more times than he could count. having his mom on tour meant that he often got stuck with clean-up duty.

“hey, don’t blame me,” he raised his hands up in defense. “i recycle.”

“aren’t you a model citizen?” you remarked sarcastically, opening the door to the gym. you pursed your lips, staring at luke. “yeah, i still don’t get it.”

luke snorted, smiling at you, “have a good workout, five star. looking forward to walking home in silence with you.”

when you didn’t say anything else, but threw up the middle finger as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but stare at your figure before you disappeared from his view. what a way to start his day.

–

“hi, luke,” two girls called as they passed by the boys, waving flirtily at the lead singer.

luke sent them a smile back, tossing a wink to them that made them giggle as they walked away. it was a miracle that there were no news leaks about where they were. luke’s mom was happy that this arrangement was working out.

travis swung an arm around luke, “c’mon castellan, save some girls for the rest of us.”

luke pushed his arm off, laughing, “trav, didn’t you literally go home with a girl on our first night here?”

“ah, yes, stacy,” travis sighed, dreamily, smirking to himself as he recalled his first night at camp. he shook his head, facing luke again, “but seriously, castellan, ten girls have said hi to you since we left dinner and you’re flirting with them but not doing anything about it.”

“i promised my mom i’d be good this summer,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his front pockets as he led the boys into the cabin. “and i told you guys, it’s too early to start shit. we got the whole summer. spread out your escapades, stoll.”

luke thought that being back at camp half blood would bring back some terrible memories, especially his last summer there. it was the summer right after his dad left and luke was miserable. he was a moody 8-year-old who yelled at everybody who tried to be his friend, which resulted in him being alone all summer. he sat in the back of the room during music lessons, refused to participate in the end-of-summer performance, and on many nights, cried himself to sleep because he missed his dad. he felt pathetic.

but so far, surprisingly, camp was actually nice. at his core, luke was a music fanatic, so it was energizing for him to get to talk about his music and his journey to stardom. his favorite interaction so far was with two, younger boys, who enthusiastically approached him and said that they were learning how to play guitar and sing because they looked up to the band. it was a little concerning at first, given that the band’s reputation wasn’t necessarily kid-appropriate, but he appreciated the sentiment. grover and percy walked away grinning from ear to ear when luke made them promise that they’d stop by again soon to show him their progress.

luke sat on the bar chair, watching as connor and chris turned on the playstation, mumbling about a rematch on 2k to prove that one was better than the other. many things changed in all of their lives, but some things stayed the same. they were still just four best friends; the difference was, now, they got to travel the world together doing what they loved.

chris and luke met in their freshman english class. chris let it slip that he was learning how to play bass because his mom warned him that if he broke another bone trying to skateboard, he’d have to walk to the hospital himself. she was joking, of course, but chris figured that after two years of failed attempts at learning how to skate, he should hang it up.

he decided to try his hand at music and the bass became his new hyperfixation. they started writing music in luke’s old bedroom in connecticut shortly after. for years, the songs were just for them. they recorded it on shitty equipment and used garageband to fill in the instrumentals until they met the stolls. the stolls, luke’s neighbors who moved into town when luke was 16, heard them trying to figure out a hook for a song they were writing and offered some help. travis, with connor behind him, introduced themselves and the rest is history.

poisoned mercury was born. travis convinced the other three that their music was good, that they should go out and play at local cafes and bars. at 16, luke became the front man of poisoned mercury. the song the four of them wrote together on their first day as a band, became the lead single of their debut album. kilby girl spent thirteen weeks on billboard top 50 and in less than a year and a half, the boys had a record deal with olympus records and they were heading off to start the north american leg of their world tour.

you walked into the cabin with clarisse, laughing as she explained the incident that caused her to have glitter all over her face and her hair. one of her campers was having trouble opening the glitter jar and when she came over to help, the top popped off and glitter sprayed all over her.

“i feel glitter everywhere,” she shuddered, “i need a shower before we help out with concert prep.”

you looked around the cabin, grimacing, “it smells like boy in here.”

“it’s our bachelor pad,” travis called out from the kitchen. he walked out into the living room with a fresh hot pocket in his hand, eyes widening at the sight of clarisse, “woah, what happened to you?”

“arts and crafts day,” clarisse cringed, falling into the couch cushions. “i’m gonna be covered in glitter for days.”

“hey, watch out,” connor paused the game he was playing with chris, shoving clarisse slightly. “you’re gonna get glitter everywhere.”

“ah, yes, because having glitter is going to ruin the aesthetic of empty cans and half-eaten chip bags?” clarisse cocked an eyebrow, pointing at the mess the boys made. you and her were engaged in a passionate rant about how much it sucked living with teenage boys before your arrival to the cabin.

“we’ll clean up,” chris rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly glancing at clarisse. you had a feeling that cleaning was the last thing on their agenda.

you sat on the bar stool across from luke, “i didn’t expect to live in the mojo dojo casa house this summer.”

“the what?”

“from barbie,” you replied, “when the kens take over barbieland?”

luke shook his head, “haven’t seen it.”

of course, he hasn’t seen it. clarisse and the boys fell into a conversation about how she accidentally got glitter bombed. luke watched you as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, occasionally letting a chuckle leave your lips when you found something funny. he felt a little creepy staring at you like this, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

the sun was shining behind you, a soft glow framing your face and it made your brown eyes look like pools of honey. your nose piercing was iridescent under the light, which made luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise. he thought it was just plain silver, but when you tilted your head in certain directions, he could see sparkles of purple and pink. your long hair was thrown messily over your shoulders, a few tangles here and there, and the god-awful, orange camp half blood shirt you wore actually suited you. luke was a firm believer that nobody looked good in orange until he saw you in it.

“you’re staring,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “don’t tell me i have glitter on my face now too.”

luke cleared his throat, playing with the chain around his neck, “yeah, like a tiny speck on your cheek.”

you groaned, rubbing the right side of your face, “is it gone?”

you didn’t actually have any glitter on your face, but luke figured it would be less awkward to say that you did instead of telling you that he was staring just to stare. he nodded, “you got it.”

“thanks, i cannot deal with glitter,” you got up, walking over to the group. “hey, we can use some help with prep for next week’s concert if you guys are free.”

“we’re not doing anything, right?” connor looked around. travis and chris shook their heads. “what about you, castellan?”

“nah, i can’t,” luke said, “promised mom i’d try to write at least one song this summer and i’ve been in a rut so i think i’ll try to do that. you guys have fun though.”

“perfect,” you smiled, “we can leave after clar gets out the shower.”

they sent you a thumbs-up before you walked into your room. clarisse disappeared into the bathroom shortly after. luke took clarisse’s spot once you both left. he propped his feet up on the small table in front of him, leaning back on his seat. he waited patiently for the sound of the showers to turn on before he spoke, “she’s hot.”

“yeah, she is,” chris said, hitting play on their game.

“don’t even think about it, castellan. when i said start a relationship with her, this is not what i meant,” connor remarked, shaking his head, “we are not gonna fuck up our relationship with mr. d because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“oh, you’re talking about y/n?” the three boys stared at chris, who sunk into his seat, blushing furiously. luke narrowed his eyes at chris, a playful smile on his lips. he’ll have to ask him about that later.

travis blinked, bringing his attention to his brother, “s’not like castellan has a chance anyway.”

luke’s head snapped to travis, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean she’s out of your league, big guy,” travis shrugged.

“well, yeah,” luke rubbed his jaw. he wasn’t that dumb to believe that you were in his league. you were lightyears ahead of him. he’d been rejected before, of course he had, but not since poisoned mercury got big– again, really bad for his ego – but he’d never been counted out before he even threw his hat in the ring.

“i’m with trav on this one, luke. don’t fuck it up.”

luke stared at his friends in disbelief, “can’t y’all have a little faith in me?”

“no,” they said in unison.

“fuck you guys,” luke flipped them off, ignoring their snickers. “i’m going for a smoke.”

he really needed to get you out of his head.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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blackseafoam · 5 months ago

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501ST vinyl sticker sheets are here!!!

With space filler stars too!! Still taking Star Wars drawing requests with every order for a limited time :)

#my art #star wars #the clone wars #captain Rex #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #arc trooper jesse #clone troopers #clones #clone trooper hardcase #clone medic kix #501st legion #501st battalion #clone wars 501st #grand army of the republic

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chronically-ghosted · 10 months ago

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i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?”

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.”

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself.

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion.

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you.

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?”

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall.

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?”

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that.

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin?

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more.

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came?

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you.

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.”

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking.

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest.

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled.

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed.

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.”

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts.

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough.

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress.

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.”

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again.

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring.

“It, uh, popped.”

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?”

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall.

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook.

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist.

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you.

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!”

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast.

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.”

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing.

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more.

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?”

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter.

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back. “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!”

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?”

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.”

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.”

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?”

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly.

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release.

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.”

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door.

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books.

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?”

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better.

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?”

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.”

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo.

Funny how that all fucking worked out.

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off.

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.”

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh.

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,”

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.”

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest.

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.”

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.”

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear.

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.”

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you.

Don’t look at me like that.

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded.

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot.

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night.

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn.

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you.

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,”

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.”

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar.

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.”

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night.

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life.

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm.

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you?

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once.

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and –

Does not find a bra.

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open.

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him.

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure.

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits.

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it.

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head.

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him.

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?”

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely.

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror.

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you.

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo.

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress.

“C’mere, baby girl–,”

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his.

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air –

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses.

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder.

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.”

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are.

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches.

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl.

God, he’s so hard it hurts.

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try.

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.”

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass.

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him.

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan.

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched.

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all.

Families share similar insecurities, after all.

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts.

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,”

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain.

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales.

Girlsex.

Girlsweat.

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell.

He wants . . . to put his dick into something.

But first –

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan.

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal.

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top.

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent.

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have.

Even when you left him, you’d never forget –

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip.

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple.

Settle down. We’re only just getting started.

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next.

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you.

Oh my God, duh, fingers.

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed.

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt.

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him.

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like–

Do not fucking come right now.

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.”

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off.

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.”

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it.

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee.

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher –

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open.

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you.

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.”

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you.

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation.

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness.

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress.

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain.

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it.

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear.

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes.

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it.

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.”

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock.

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once.

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.”

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick.

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more.

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears.

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles.

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much.

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned.

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast.

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.”

I want to die in this cunt.

“So good, baby.”

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you.

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance.

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees.

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders.

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it.

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips.

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing –

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.”

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours.

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point– all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.”

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw.

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you.

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you.

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes.

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him.

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.”

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet.

“David.”

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood.

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.”

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.”

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest.

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears.

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard.

“Holy shit.”

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps.

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are.

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.”

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.”

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him.

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant.

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece.

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.”

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum.

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple.

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.”

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase.

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests.

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets.

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip.

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.”

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize.

You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once.

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.”

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone.

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty.

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off.

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this.

I never want to see you again.

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%.

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame.

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside.

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean.

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap.

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.”

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .”

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.”

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all.

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but.

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table.

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist.

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.”

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face.

“Guess so.”

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him.

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling.

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

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dig-jules · 2 years ago

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i will forever defend Star Trek: TMP because it's everything that really is unique to Star Trek

it takes time to express the beauty of exploration, forces the viewer to sit and observe the scenes of a voyage as though they were looking out of a starship window. They aren't just filler sequences, they're stirring landscapes that depict space as the living, breathing expanse that it is, not the conquerable territory it's often portrayed as.

it's not "how can we kill this destructive force"

it's "what's making this force destructive"

the climax of the movie is all about looking beyond yourself to find beauty in a cold, seemingly meaningless existence.

#star trek tmp #star trek #star trek tos #jim kirk #spock #leonard mccoy #star trek: the motion picture #THIS SIMPLE FEELING IS BEYOND VGER'S COMPREHENSION .NO MEANING. NO HOPE. ITS ASKING QUESTIONS. IS THIS ALL THAT I AM? IS THERE NOTHING MORE

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thebuhonerodazorrow · 2 years ago

Photo

Bloodwulf #1

Sopla un viento asqueroso

Octubre 1996

Image

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grandpeachpersona · 1 month ago

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It's A Man's World

Chapter 6 (Welcome to Atlanta)

A/n: Just a filler chapter to be honest. Real action picks up the next chapter 😏

Warnings: None that I can tell

Likes and reposts are welcome also my ask is open just not doing any requests right now.

No matter how many times I replayed the moment in my mind, disbelief still lingered in my heart. Joe, in a roundabout way, had just extended a rather unexpected invitation—was he really asking me out on a date, regardless of whether I made the World Series? As the season drew to a close, I found myself wishing it would come to an end even faster.

As I stood at the podium during the pregame press conference, anticipation buzzed in the air around me. One of the interviewers leaned forward, a bright spotlight illuminating his eager expression. “So, how are you feeling before your first home game?” he inquired, his voice brimming with excitement.

With a mix of nerves and determination, I replied, “I’m feeling great. I won’t lie; the butterflies are definitely there, but I’m ready for this moment.” My tone was confident, masking the slight tremor in my hands.

The next reporter chimed in, “Your last game—you were 3 for 4. What was going through your mind each time you stepped up to the plate?”

I chuckled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “Honestly, I wasn't thinking much at all,” I said with a playful grin. “I was just hoping I could hit a ball that would bring in a run,” I added, my nod punctuating the laughter that filled the room.

Then, another reporter posed a question that made my heart swell, “It’s well-known that you, Joe Burrow, and Ja'marr Chase attended college together. What was that experience like, and how does it feel to see them thriving now?”

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I reminisced. “Oh, it was such a blast! They graduated just a year ahead of me, but even back then, I knew they were destined for greatness. And now? It’s incredible to see them shining in their careers. I’m genuinely proud of both of them,” I said, my voice tinged with warmth and admiration.

Curiosity sparkled in the reporter’s eyes as he asked, “What was their reaction when they found out you were participating in the combine?”

I scratched the back of my neck, a sheepish smile forming. “I didn’t actually tell them,” I admitted, as chuckles rippled through the crowd. “But somehow, they found out anyway, and… let's just say I ended up buying the first round of drinks,” I said, laughing softly at the memory of our celebration.

The energy at Truist Park in Atlanta was electric, the cheers of the crowd echoing like thunder as we celebrated a stunning opening-day victory of 13-3 against the Diamondbacks. From the moment the first pitch sliced through the air, I felt an exhilarating sense of anticipation—Atlanta was truly buzzing, and it certainly did not disappoint.

Now, as I stepped into my new apartment, a place I could finally call home, a wave of contentment washed over me. I tossed my bag haphazardly in the corner by the door, the familiar clank of my keys hitting the table breaking the silence of the empty space.

With a soft thud, I collapsed onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh as I closed my eyes, attempting to untangle the chaos swirling in my mind after such a whirlwind of a day. But as I relaxed, thoughts of the whole Joe situation crept back in. Was he truly serious, or was this all just friendly banter? Was I overthinking every little interaction, or was there something more brewing beneath the surface? So many questions swirled around in my head, their answers just out of reach. For now, it seemed I would have to be patient and wait for clarity.

2 months later...

All-star week had arrived, but unfortunately, I wasn’t among the chosen players to participate in the coveted All-Star game. Still, I felt a wave of relief wash over me at the prospect of some much-needed rest before rejoining my team on the road.

This week also marked the halfway point of the season, a crucial juncture that implied if aspirations of snagging a wild card spot were to be realized, it was time to buckle down and hit the grind hard. Our record stood at a promising 32-17, leading us into the National League Divisional Championship Game, but the landscape of the season could shift in a matter of days.

With this little break that we humorously referred to as my "bye week," I had invited Mia down to catch up. The moment she arrived, she sauntered in with a bottle of wine, her spirited energy lighting up my living room. “So what's going on?” she asked, handing me a glass and settling herself onto the couch beside me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Girl, everything! But anyway, I have a date,” I teased, dragging out the last word to build suspense.

“Okay, with who?” she said, perking up at the mention of a potential romantic interest. “Is it one of your teammates?”

I shook my head, a smile creeping across my face. “Nope.”

She leaned in closer, her expression shifting to one of mischief. “Some rich ass celebrity?”

I shook my head again, amusement dancing in my eyes.

“Then who? Because I'm lost,” she replied dramatically, acting exasperated.

“Number 9,” I replied with a grin.

Her eyes widened in realization as the nickname registered. Number 9 was our inside joke for Joe, the charming player whose effortless grin had captured my attention on more than one occasion. Mia’s gaze bore into me as she processed my words. Finally, her excitement erupted.

“Final-fucking-ly!” she exclaimed, bouncing off the couch like a kid on Christmas morning. “How the hell did that happen so fast?” she asked, still trying to catch her breath from her outburst.

I laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and I began to recount the story of our unexpected connection and the playful bet that had sparked this new chapter.

“So either way, it's a win-win situation,” she mused, a thoughtful look crossing her face once I finished explaining.

“Yeah, in a sense, but I’m just not sure if it’s a friendly outing or an actual date,” I admitted, genuinely perplexed about Joe’s intentions.

“Let me tell you, he didn’t mean it in any friendly way. That boy has liked you since the day you walked into LSU; everyone saw it,” she declared, her tone passionate. “Every time you turned around, Joe and you seemed glued at the hip for a while; people thought you were already dating!” She took a sip of her wine, emphasizing her point.

The number of times we had brushed off those rumors had become a running joke. Yet here I was, finally starting to understand how people viewed our dynamic.

“Yeah, I guess it was just a matter of time,” I said, finishing off my glass and enjoying its rich flavor.

“Took long enough! Ja'marr owes me 50 bucks,” she said triumphantly, standing up and gathering the glasses to take them into the kitchen.

I chuckled softly to myself, recalling how my friends and I had joked about Joe and my chemistry. I knew I shouldn’t have introduced them; it had all spiraled a little too quickly, and yet, there was a thrill in the air that suggested maybe it was all meant to be.

I had just wrapped up an intense batting practice session, the scent of sweat and freshly cut grass lingering in the air, when my phone began to ring, cutting through the post-practice haze.

Incoming FaceTime call from Joe Burrr 🧡

A grin spread across my face as I pressed accept, and a moment later, Joe’s familiar face materialized on the screen, lighting up my day.

“Heyyy Joee,” I drawled, stretching out his name playfully, letting my excitement show.

He tilted his head back, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Please don't ever do that again, but hi.”

I pulled a chair towards me, the cold metal scraping against the ground, and settled in comfortably. “What’s up?” I asked, curiosity bubbling within me.

He shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. “Nothing much, just bored, so I thought I’d give you a ring. Are you at practice?” His gaze drifted to the vibrant backdrop of the field behind me.

“Yeah, I just finished batting practice. About to jump into some field drills soon, but I’ve got a minute,” I reassured him, feeling the warmth of our friendship.

“You sure? I don’t want to mess up your flow,” he replied, a note of hesitation in his voice.

I shook my head, a slight smile playing on my lips. “Joe, I will always have time to talk to you.”

A small smile crept onto his lips in reply. “Okay, okay, but I do have a reason for calling. When is your last game for the season?” he asked, genuine curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

Confusion washed over my face momentarily. “I think it’s October 2nd. Why do you ask?”

“Well, that’s the same day we’ll be in Atlanta,” he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

“You all facing the Falcons the same day?” I replied, piecing together the connection.

He nodded, an enigmatic smile gracing his features. “Yep. And I would love to see you there,” he said earnestly.

I made an exaggerated expression, anticipation mixing with disbelief. “How the hell am I going to be there and still play my game, Joe?” The prospect seemed absurd.

He chuckled, his laughter contagious, and then rolled his eyes. “Ri. It’s a night game."

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt like the biggest fool on Earth. Of course, it’s a night game, Sierra; otherwise, he wouldn’t have called to invite you!

“I knew that,” I stammered, hoping to salvage my dignity.

Joe studied me for a moment, then burst into soft laughter, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Yeah, alright.’

“I’ll be there without a doubt,” I assured him, my heart swelling with excitement.

“Good. And don’t show up in any Falcons gear either,” he said, his tone turning serious as he shot me a pointed look.

My competitive spirit ignited, and I decided to push his buttons just a bit. “And if I do?” I challenged, a teasing glint in my eyes.

“Sierra, don’t play with me,” Joe replied, his voice dropping to a serious tone that sent a flutter through my stomach.

“I’m just kidding, Joe. Even though I still haven’t forgotten your little stunt, I’ll proudly wear your jersey,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face.

He fixed me with a pointed look again, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “You better.”

Next Chapter...Nice

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x oc #black!reader #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fic

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coolshadowtwins · 8 months ago

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LiuShen Fanficion Round Up! Lets Go!

This took way too long! These are hard to do on mobile. Thank you to everyone who gave recs! If anyone recommends any other LiuShen/BingLiuShen fics, I’ll add them to this later!

I might have missed some that people have recommended, so tell me if I did!

The clueless fairy and his knight by sailorstar165

Summary:

Yet another filler quest from the pesky System in his head leads Shen Qingqiu to a heavily damaged heavenly raiment that inconceivably now belongs to him.

This was impossible for two reasons.

One, Lunar Fairies are female only. So sayeth the "Great Master" Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky when he wrote the abomination that was PIDW, and last he'd checked, Shen Qingqiu was very much male.

Two, Shen Qingqiu is just some one-dimensional scum villain! He was a garbage person for the sake of villainy! He shouldn't have a tragic backstory and missing family and some fated role to play in this universe!

When the System lured him in with the promise of hidden lore, Shen Yuan wasn't signing up for this!

Cultivate: slow life on a monster infested mountain by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

When trying to transfer Shen Yuan from the real world to Proud Immortal Demon Way, the System runs into an error. The transfer is not complete.

Shen Yuan is dropped off at the foot of a mountain aware of two things: he's in the story, and the Shen Qingqiu of this world is not only aware but thinks he tried to possess his body — and he's PISSED. Shen Yuan tries to opt out and live a simple life on what locals tell him is a monster-infested mountain no one in their right mind would bother with.

Sounds like a great hiding spot!

(TL;DR: Stardew Scum Villain Valley Mountain.)

Reincarnation not desired, transmigration not required by Pegunicent

Summary:

Shen Yuan dies. Then he decides to finally get a life.

Star crossed wires by silversinnbees

Summary:

Shen Yuan’s family has been pestering him to get an android for months now. His health had recently taken a dip that landed him in the hospital for a bit and an ultimatum had been issued: either Shen Yuan goes into some kind of assisted living facility (which, no), or he purchases an android fitted out with caretaking programming to live with him. He had griped about it for the longest time, not liking either option given to him but he ultimately decided that an android in his living space was a better option than essentially living in a hospital.

Shen Yuan brings an android named Liu Qingge into his life to take care of him. He never could have expected that the android was capable of so much more than just caring.

Metagaming by esama

Summary:

[Self-Saving System Activated! You will be now returned to your original starting position.]

Shen Qingqiu dies and gets a second chance and decides to try a different approach. (Note: this does a many pairings, not just LiuShen!)

Meet Cute (these dorks) by Mayvn

Summary:

The instant he turned to dash into the fight, Liu Qingge froze as he saw Not Shen Qingqiu standing coolly over one unconscious thug, guqin in both hands and still in a pose that clearly showed he had, in fact, just bludgeoned someone with the end of his guqin. Not Shen Qingqiu smirked and tilted his head back cockily. --- LQG finds SY running away from a sticky situation and brings him back to Cang Qiong in hopes that he can keep the man from getting himself mugged. SY is just relieved he doesn’t have to pretend to be a girl anymore.

Blanket Forts and Rainy Days by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Mere weeks after the Demon Invasion incident, Liu Qingge visits Qing Jing Peak to discover the disciples hard at work building a monstrosity of blankets and bamboo. Like the students, he becomes inexplicably drawn into Shen Qingqiu's orbit in spite of himself.

Or: How Shen Yuan causes chaos under the flimsy guise of education and Liu Qingge heroically tries to keep himself oblivious to the state of his own squishy heart.

the stages of [...] by tennssi

Summary:

Despite all efforts, Luo Binghe died before the abyss event, and the only thing that saved Shen Qingqiu from being transported back to his world were the points he painstakingly accumulated to prevent Binghe’s blackening.

Stuck in a state of mourning that he himself is unaware of, he finds an unexpected comfort from a certain Peak Lord, who despite everything, never left his side since.

Sharing is Caring by celardor

Summary:

“Liu Qingge! I told you not to drink the water!” Shen Qingqiu shouts. His thoughts are a panicked whirl- is it going to have the same effect that it did in the original story?

Liu Qingge just stares at him in shock.

Shen Qingqiu’s question is answered when he suddenly hears Liu Qingge’s voice. Liu Qingge isn’t speaking, though- his mouth never moves. No, Shen Qingiu is hearing Liu Qingge’s voice inside his head.

Liu Qingge’s voice says, “Holy shit. I can see his nipples.”

They both stare at each other in horror. At that moment, there’s a happy little ding and a System notification pops up in front of him.

[Congratulations! Bonus mission activated: Sharing is Caring!]

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says, with feeling.

*************

Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge accidentally trigger a wife plot that leads to them forming a telepathic connection.

(This one is a favorite of mine! I’ve re-read it multiple times, and it has an inprogress sequel.)

The Guardian Ghost and the Bookish Fairy by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Liu Qingge survives his qi deviation… in the form of a ghost. Having nothing better to do and no desire to be exorcised, he follows after Shen Qingqiu and decides to haunt him for the hell of it.

It doesn't take him long to realize that not only is this not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, but there is more going on. And apparently Shang Qinghua is involved too? Ah! He understands now — they're immortal fairies given the mission to thwart a dark prophecy of the sect's collapse. Well. He can help with that. And how better than to protect the bookish fairy that's taken his old foe's place?

There are no ulterior motives. Why think such foolish things???

TL;DR: What happens if SY transmigrates just a little too late?

Story marked "Chooses Not To Warn" purely because LQG becomes a ghost in the first scene and I didn't want to agonize over whether that required a MCD warning or not. If it does to you, this is your heads up! No other archive warnings are necessary.

Moments by hummingbirdhum

Summary:

Liu Qingge never paid Shen Qingqiu attention unless he had to, before. But things are different now, and in a million little ways, this new Shen Qingqiu keeps managing to make him...feel things. Things he's not used to.

Basically SQQ keeps being attractive and adorable without realizing it and eventually it's going to build up to the point LQG has to do something about it.

Updates will be sporadic in length and in upload date. Starts pre-abyss.

every memory of you by beta_babelfish

Summary:

Before Shen Qingqiu can voice his agreement and his opinion that they are doing an excellent job of getting things done, a knock sounds at the door. The other Shen Qingqiu sighs heavily, and stands. “You ought to hide, I suppose,” he says. “That’ll be Yue Qingyuan.”

 “Oh? Is there some business with the sect?” Shen Qingqiu asks, immediately curious.

 “Oh, he’s here to clear my meridians, as usual,” Other-Him says nonchalantly.

 Shen Qingqiu blinks. He blinks again. “As usual?” he says after what feels like an eternity, voice sounding strange and an unsettled feeling churning in his gut. “What about Liu-shidi?”

 Other-Him looks at him blankly for a moment. “Who?”

Or, Shen Qingqiu is wifeplotted into an alternate timeline in which he did not save Liu Qingge.

Fowl Weather Friends by Koiichaser_lucorinth

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu had always felt a small disconnect from his wings, coming from a world that didn’t have them. Like the opposite of phantom-limb syndrome. Things that were a part of him, yet felt separate.

They were cool in concept, yet gave him no end of trouble.

Like old wounds, they ached and cramped in bad weather or exhaustion. As if the Original Goods had gotten them broken in places multiple times before healing away the physical signs as he cultivated.

Also, they were just annoying!

They required so much upkeep! Feathers constantly shed and had to grow in, which was itchy as hell. When they grew in, they did so with sheaths you had to scratch off as they emerged, but you couldn’t scratch too hard because OOPS, was that a blood feather? If it was, congrats on just breaking open what was basically a straw directly to a vein. Better pluck it all out from the root if you ever want it to stop bleeding! And then you had to heal the gaping hole the correct way, or the next pinfeather might not grow back correctly.

…Shen Qingqiu might not have devoted his patience.

If he were to be honest, he might have slipped up a little in regards to the care of his wings as of late.

I Wish You Were My Husband by Feynite

Summary:

AU based on The Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir (familiarity with that story's not required).

Wherein Shen Yuan transmigrates into a harem intrigues romance novel (gay edition), Yue Qingyuan really fucks up, Liu Qingge is not suitable for his job, and no one even remotely sees Luo Binghe coming. (Note: this is maybe a stretch of LiuShen? But I think it counts lol)

You Take Me By the Heart When You Take Me By the Hand by UnhookedStar

Summary:

Liu Qingge knows that as smart as he is, Shen Yuan is often startlingly oblivious to the implications of his actions. Liu Qingge has learned this the hard way after years of obsessing over countless overly familiar casual gestures. However, while Shen Yuan's sense of personal space has always been practically nonexistent, he's been even more sticky than usual lately. He keeps casually touching Liu Qingge; brushing his hair out of his face, randomly reaching out and patting his head, leaning in close to say something and never leaning away again. The other day, Shen Yuan had held his hand. In public.

Or, Liu Qingge has no idea why Shen Yuan has been acting so much more familiar with him lately, but all of this casual touching is starting to push at the limits of his self control.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan just wants to know when his boyfriend is finally going to kiss him.

The Journey Home, The Hollow Victory by MonroeKnox

The journey back to Cang Qiong Mountain seemed longer than it’s ever been.

Unlike so many times before, peak lord Liu Qingge was returning victorious.

But, in his heart, there was nothing to celebrate.

Liu Qingge could not outrun his grief forever. Especially not when he has finally brought Shen Qingqiu home.

Misery by Calamity Butterfly

Summary:

"With shaking fingers, he traces the planes of what will be Shen Qingqiu’s face. He brushes dirt from the body’s hair, rearranges its arms so it looks more peaceful, wipes a smear of mud from its chest. The body doesn’t exactly look dead but isn’t currently breathing and doesn’t have the… seeming of life. Shang Qinghua insisted that Shen Qingqiu’s soul was not yet fully inside the body, but Liu Qingge is sure he can sense Shen Qingqiu’s presence in the clearing, if not in the body. He hopes Shen Qingqiu is able to be aware of and comforted by, at some level, the knowledge that his body is safe and being cared for by one who cares for him very deeply."

A very Not Ok Liu Qingge finds Shen Qingqiu's plant body before Shen Qingqiu wakes up. He tends and cares for it and keeps it safe.

Another Time, Another Place by Mayvn

Summary:

Another Luo Binghe suddenly appeared and Liu Qingge died trying to save Shen Qingqiu, only to find himself waking up in a strange room full of strange things.

 Losing his ‘apartment’? Cheating girlfriend kicking him to the curb for a rich ‘fuerdai’ after stealing all his money? What’s a ‘dogblood drama’? He doesn’t care about any of that! What happened to Shen Qingqiu?!

 ---

 Basically, LQG gets transmigrated into a dogblood drama, but just wants to cultivate and live happily with SY. If only these damn characters would get a hint and stop trying to drag him back into the plot! Meanwhile, after being forcefully repatriated, SY uses all his superpowers as an avid trashy web-novel reader to try to predict what will happen and protect LQG from all the shitty tropes while also dealing with the realization that there’s been cultivation in the modern world this whole time!

Not to mention the familiar-but-different faces popping up here and there…

rsvp me to world's end by beta_babelfish

Summary:

FUTURE Shen Qingqiu [FSQQ] 4130 HOURS FROM NOW opened a memo on board WELCOME TO HELL

FSQQ: OKAY. First things first if the term “peerless cucumber” means anything to you you’re in the right place. If it doesn’t then you’re gonna be banned immediately. thanks PAST Shen Qingqiu [PSQQ] 45 HOURS AGO responded to the memo PSQQ: what the hell is a peerless cucumber FSQQ banned PSQQ from responding to the memo FSQQ: what did i just FUCKING say!!!! FSQQ: anyway FSQQ: you know that shitty webcomic. Proud Immortal Demon's Game? about that game called SBURB that causes the end of the world and the creation of a new one with frogs or whatever. luo binghe is there, he rips apart paradox space and uses his fuckin insane powers to take over like three different universes and all that? FSQQ: you’re in it now FSQQ: have fun CURRENT Shen Qingqiu [CSQQ] RIGHT NOW responded to the memo CSQQ: WHAT THE FUCK

Or, the Scum Villain/Homestuck crossover that absolutely nobody asked for, but you're getting anyway

A Night on Cang Qiong Mountain by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu frets over the upcoming Endless Abyss event. Wanting to figure out a way to give his little white sheep fond memories of his time at the sect to hold onto in the Abyss, he remembers Halloween, something he looked forward to each year in his previous life (even if it was only through game events). System steps in to offer him a Limited Time Event of his own.

These are stories based off of the same premise that can be read stand-alone if preferred. Technically you could read them in any order.

NSFW

We'll survive, you and I by rinsled05

Summary:

On the bed, back against Liu Qingge’s chest, Shen Yuan is grinding his ass against him, soft, breathless sounds slipping out of his mouth.

Liu Qingge's skin buzzes with need, and he wants to put his hands on Shen Yuan’s hips, feel them shift under his palms. Wants to hear Shen Yuan whimper as he matches Shen Yuan’s pace and rocks back. To suck and nip at Shen Yuan’s skin, leaving bruises in the shape of his mouth.

But he's too aware of Luo Binghe's presence on the other side of the bed, the curl of his arm around Shen Yuan’s waist. Liu Qingge can’t tell if Shen Yuan is awake, either, if he even realizes that the body spooned against him belongs to Liu Qingge. It’s entirely possible that he thinks it’s—

“Qingge,” Shen Yuan whines.

Oh.

 In which Liu Qingge fights to keep himself and Shen Yuan alive in a zombie apocalypse, knowing that Shen Yuan would have married Luo Binghe if not for, well, zombies. Liushen main, with hints of Bingqiu, Bingliu, and eventual Bingliushen.

the horns of a dilemma by lavenderandrue

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu doses himself with truth mushrooms on purpose and gets more than he bargained for.

returned tenfold by lavenderandrue

Summary:

“We were thinking perhaps a little game of sorts? An exchange of winnings and gifts?” Bristling immediately, Liu Qingge draws himself up ramrod straight. “I have no wish to play your games, demon,” he spits. Shen Qingqiu makes some kind of small noise behind his fan, perhaps a laugh or a sound of dismay, and Liu Qingge tries to ignore the way the tips of his ears heat up. “Actually, Shidi, it was this shixiong’s idea.” Shen Qingqiu uncrosses his legs and sits a little straighter on his throne, which is far more ornate than Luo Binghe’s. The solemn dignity is marred a little by the pile of cushions spilling out from underneath his robes and the bag of melon seeds resting on the arm. Liu Qingge’s chest aches faintly. This is fairly normal when he’s around Shen Qingqiu, so he ignores it.

Dual Cultivation by Acernor

Summary:

“Shizun said I made you feel so good,” Luo Binghe says, “that I could fuck you any time I wanted.”

Liu Qingge stops breathing for a second.

“What,” he blurts out.

Shen Qingqiu could tell he’d been into it?!

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #liushen #liu qingge #fic rec

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