#they want people to fuck the popcorn buckets

[monstrousdesirestudy]

First the Dune sand wormussy popcorn bucket, now this. They know what they are doing

[yeiwing]

Choose your Kayne

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

may 10, 2013 6:00 p.m. the entrance to hell

is binn béal ina thost

sweet is the silent mouth

[theorist-fox]

The concept of Bad Man Simon Riley who's aware he's a Bad Man™️ is one I hold very dear to me.

Masterlist 🦊

Simon Riley is, fully and completely, what people envision as a bad man. He's a convoluted character who carries a lot of baggage, and that same weight has crushed him into the beast he is today.

His reflection is his constant reminder of the bad things he's done and endured. And when you have such a blatant, ever-present memento of how dark you really are, it's hard to forget.

He doesn't bother putting up a facade. Won't help the lady cross the street, nor will he take a bullet for someone else. No one has ever done that for him, so it's only natural to give the world a taste of its own medicine. He doesn't even try; it just happens.

It takes him nothing to leave Soap behind in Las Almas and find shelter in an abandoned church. Sure, he'll cover for him—if the lad is fast enough, that is. Saving Alejandro afterwards is a mere ploy to make this blasted mission end sooner—true, no one fights alone, but he'd like to get out of there as soon as possible, thank you very much.

Barely brushes the concept of Price's injury when he faints due to the inhalation of some Sarin gas of sorts. Can only think that if he'd died, he would have to take the captain's place in leading the operation. A fucking bummer alright—but cap's fine, thankfully, right? One less thing to worry about now.

Won't try to start relationships, because what good can he bring when he can't even drop a kind word for himself? He's awful, inside and out, and he's aware.

What happens, then, when he's suddenly loved?

What happens, then, when you're sliding under his skin, pretending you don't see the rot and the grime?

The question of "why" is pinned to the front of his brain like an annoying leech that plagues him day and night.

On the couch, you're absolutely unbothered by his dark presence next to you. You're just munching on popcorn and watching some film he doesn't even remember the name of.

"Y'should go," he says out of the blue.

You barely spare him a glance. "Film's not over yet."

No, that isn't what he meant, but he has an inkling that you've gathered that already.

"Ain't good for ya," he insists. "Ain't good for anyone, but that's a whole 'nother story."

You side-eye him from your end of the couch. "Self-deprecating at dinner time? Could you move it up the schedule a little, like—breakfast or somethin'."

He doesn't understand. Won't get through his skull. Share a home with him, and for what? What's he giving you that you're coveting so hard, enough to find it easy to snark back at a beast like him—poking the bear while wearing flimsy cotton shorts and a band t-shirt?

"Y'don't understand," he grits out. "I ain't a good man, love."

"Oh, I know." You say, popping a handful of popcorns in your mouth. "And?"

It irks him. Wants to bite off your head, but, surprisingly, he still has morals, and he wouldn't even dare touch you with ill intent.

"Don't act stupid, now." He warns.

"Ain't acting stupid." You reply as if there is some obvious thing he isn't getting. "You've done bad things, and bad things were done to you. That it?"

He hums as a frown paints his face.

"Should I love you less?" You go on, "Or not love you at all?"

"The latter."

"Wrong." You add as soon as he responds. "Wrong, because that's what you believe, not the truth."

He cocks a brow at your apparent arrogance. A nod in your direction, "What's the truth, then?"

You place the bucket of popcorn on the coffee table. "Truth is that you're human, Simon."

Now that's a word he wouldn't associate with himself.

Monster. Beast. Bear. Wraith, or demon. Ghost.

"As a person, good and bad can coexist—there is no such thing as night and day." You go on, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you've unleashed on his poor heart.

Keep saying the word person around him this often, and he'll start believing he is one.

So, you have seen the rotten flesh and the mud coating his insides. You have buried your hands in his viscera and coated your skin with his blood and the one he's spilled.

You know, and yet you're here. You're here because you've also seen something else, something he's not aware is there.

Same thing that made his heart lurch when Price wasn't waking up. Same thing that made him hide, prone in the bell tower of a Mexican church, making sure Soap would get back in one piece.

Same thing that has him gaze at you now, with eyes that sting with clear, fresh water. No rotting liquid, no oozing pus, or sickening blood.

You shrug, "Maybe your sun is a little eclipsed, but there's that. I can still see it, y'know?"

You outstretch your leg. Press the tips of your toes against his thigh. The world is suddenly in technicolor, and his chest warms like a rekindled flame.

You wink. "And it's bright as hell, too."

[avocado-writing]

Idk if you know Mortal Kombat, especially mileena (she's my favorite) but may I please get a Wolverine and/or Deadpool with a gf who has a mutation like Mileena.

She thinks she's ugly when she uses it but the boys think otherwise 🎀

(I'M LITERALLY IN HEAT EVERYTIME I THINK ABOUT THEM)

This is (my wife) Mileena

When Wade fights with you at his side, your carnage is always prefaced with a quiet request. 

“Please don’t look.”

And, because he is fundamentally a good dude, he doesn’t.

Fuck. He really wants to, though.

The noises that you make when he turns his back to focus on a different opponent are… interesting. It sounds like a bunch of really wet celery being snapped in half to a symphony of screams. When he’s done slicing people into teeny tiny chunks he turns around and sees you standing there in a pool of blood, trying to get the stain of it off your jacket.

He’s never been so curious about something in his entire life.

You’re so lovely. Loveliest thing he’s ever met. How the fuck he managed to convince you to give him a chance he’ll never know. God, the stars, and luck must have all been on his side that day, when after you’d finished taking down a cartel he’d asked you to grab a coffee and you’d said yes. Ever since then it’s been great. He loves spending days on window-shopping dates with you, fingers intertwined as he leaves you breathless with laughter; lazing on his sofa with some stupid rom-com playing with a bucket of popcorn between you both; snuggled in his usual corner booth at his favourite pizza place playing footsie beneath the table.

Perfect. You are perfect in every way.

So if all it takes is looking away when you ask him to then it’s a pretty easy compromise.

Unfortunately what you don’t take into account is that he is an idiot.

Wade catches the sight of you in the reflection of his katana the next time you’re out on a job. He’s just liberated some dude’s head from the rest of his body and is cleaning his blade when he spots you. 

And he cannot turn away.

Your mouth is open so wide it could rival a snake’s. Rows of jagged teeth which help you dismember the man who has been caught in the vine of your tongue, struggling to get away as he screams for help. When your jaws snap shut the man is silenced. You spit out the remains of his face onto the ground beside you like discarded gum.

“Holy shit!” says Wade. You squeak when you realise he’s caught the reflection of you, covering your mouth with both hands as it returns to its normal soft, kissable line.

“Oh no!” you whisper. Wade dispatches the last guy who’s running for him with a well-aimed bullet before coming to gather you in his arms.

“Baby, hey, it’s okay!” he says quickly when it’s obvious that you’re about to cry. You look up at him with glistening eyes.

“But Wade, I look so ugly,” you manage, “I thought… if you saw… you might not want to…”

Be with me any more, are the words which hang unspoken in the air. Wade guffaws.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Babe, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Your eyebrows crease together in confusion. He wants to use his thumb to smooth it out, but instead chooses to wipe a tear off your face.

“Yeah?”

“Of course! Shit, you’ve got that fuckin’ Venom thing going on? Like Mileena from Mortal Kombat but sexier? Come on, I’d be a fool if I wasn't rocking a semi right now!”

This makes you laugh properly, from your stomach, and all your worry is forgotten.

“I shouldn’t have worried…” you sigh when you get your wits back.

“Nah, of course not. You’ll always be my boo, okay?”

You grin up at him, before an idea very clearly crosses your mind.

“Oh! That means now I can show you what my tongue can do.”

He isn’t proud of it, but that promise almost makes him cum in the suit.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[starkwlkr]

Not a request (at least, technically 🤭) but if you’d ever write something specific about Hugh and his wife sharing the screen in Deadpool and Wolverine, and their kid’s reactions, I’m absolutely down for that

i love you in every universe | hugh jackman

an: sorry for the long wait!! texas is freezing and i’ve been getting a bit sick :( but i hope you’re all doing well <3

New York

The Jackman kids were busy with their own lives, but when Olivia suggested a movie day, they all cleared their schedules for the rest of the day. Since you and the kids didn’t attend the world premiere of Deadpool and Wolverine and had yet to see it, your family decided it was a good idea to watch it together in the cinema.

As Olivia grabbed her popcorn tin that was handed to her, Reese and Alex tried their best at the claw machines in the small arcade. You were still deciding what type of candy to get while Hugh patiently waited.

“Look, peanut M&M’s, you love those.” Hugh pointed at the box of candy on display.

“Better grab two, Olivia always ends up stealing them from me.” You chuckle as Hugh does as he was told.

“I’m sad, they don’t have the wolverine popcorn bucket. I was hoping to use it for my Halloween candy this year,” Olivia joined the rest of her family, Reese and Alex had been unsuccessful in winning a prize. “It’s your head, can’t you call Kevin Feige and tell him to send me one?” Olivia poked Hugh’s arm.

“Sure.” Hugh playfully rolled his eyes and walked up to the counter to pay for his family’s snacks.

As he walked away, the kids began to whisper to you, asking if you were in the movie. And like always, they got nothing out of you.

“I’m not in this! I was literally at home with you guys!” You tried to tell them, but they weren’t convinced.

Once Hugh returned, your family made their way to the designated house and sat in their assigned seats. You always loved watching the previews so you made your family leave a couple minutes earlier than intended. After each preview, Olivia would say “I’m watching that” or “eh”.

There were a couple more people around you so when the lights dimmed, Alex made sure Olivia stopped talking.

For some reason, you were nervous and excited. This was the first time your family actually sat down together in the cinema and watched something you and Hugh worked on. The moment was too perfect, it was definitely a memory you never wanted to lose.

Olivia danced and bopped her head to the opening scene while Alex and Reese lightly laughed. You remember Hugh texting you something about a dance scene involving Deadpool.

As the film went on, you were excited to the reactions of your kids when your character showed up. It would be after Wade and Logan arrive to the cave and meet Elektra, Gambit, Laura and Blade. Your characters were from different teams, but that didn’t stop Deadpool/Ryan from making jokes about your real life marriage.

“Who brought us here?” Deadpool asked.

“That would be me.” A female voice said.

You and Hugh turned your heads to watch your kids’ reactions as Laura entered. Olivia was so happy to see Dafne back that she almost screamed of joy. The Spanish girl was like a sister to Olivia. Alex gasped as Laura revealed herself while Reese had the biggest smile on his face.

“Oh shit. Logan that’s her, that’s X-23,” Deadpool informed Wolverine. “She’s the one I told you about.”

Both Laura and Logan kept their gaze on each other. Olivia wiped a fake tear, whispering to her father that it was beautiful to see Laura back.

“Wait, is there by any chance a Mrs. Hugh Jackman back there?” Wade pointed to where Laura had just come out of.

“You have such a big mouth and irritating voice, red.”

The screen cut from Wade to your character, leaning against the doorway of the cave.

“Holy f—” Reese choked on his soda, popcorn tumbling from Alex’s lap.

“Mom?” Olivia whispered in disbelief.

“Oh my fucking mother of god,” Wade gasped at the sight of you. He slowly walked up to you and touched your face thinking you were a ghost or something from his imagination. You swatted his hand away immediately. “You’re real. Logan, it’s your wife!”

“I’m sorry? Who the fuck is Logan?” You asked.

“That grumpy old man back there, but this is huge for the social media edits! I can already picture them. Anyways, I’m assuming your three little ankle biters are running around somewhere,” Wade said in an Australian accent, looking around for your ‘children’. “Tell the mean one she owes me ten bucks.” He then turned to the camera and pointed at it. “You know what you did, you piece of-”

Olivia couldn’t help but burst out laughing. It had been years since she and Ryan made a bet and she had lost.

“Okay! Are you done?” You interrupted.

“No, but thanks for asking sweetie pie,” Wade patted your head. “This is an even bigger moment than the US government asking Steven Spielberg to direct the moon landing!”

Logan groaned. “Can you not do this right now?”

“No, I will absolutely do this right now,” Wade quipped. He turned back to you. “I mean, seriously, you and Logan? You’ve been dancing around each other for how many movies now? And Kevin Feige still hasn’t made it canon? Unbelievable!”

“He understands me!” Olivia whisper yelled. The small comment made the Jackman family laugh.

You sighed. “Please shut up.”

“You are being a negative Nancy! I’m giving the internet what they want!” He attempted to wink but couldn’t because he had his mask on. “I mean look at the tension, people! The chemistry! Forget will they, won’t they—they definitely already did. Three times!”

The kids laughed throughout the scene while you and your husband watched with smiles plastered on your faces. You couldn’t even remember why you were nervous in the first place. No matter what you did in your film career, the kids would love it.

[luveline]

Omg jade hii <3 I know it's not shy friday yet but can I request maybe eddie with a shy best friend who's secretly in love with him? 👉👈 up to you wether he notices or is oblivious. I love your fics sm thank u any way❤️

omg hii thank u for ur request, I guess it is shy friday now!! i hope u enjoy! fem!reader, 1k

Eddie grabs your hand as soon as he gets close enough, his delight to see you completely unshielded. "Holy shit!" he says, forgetting your hand to throw his arms over your shoulders. "I missed you so fucking much, never ever go on vacation again." 

"Eddie," you murmur reproachfully, though your arms have a mind of their own, wrapping around his back. 

"You're not allowed to leave me. I hate everybody who isn't you the longer you're gone, it makes me a bad person." 

Eddie steps back but keeps your shoulders in his hands. His eyes are soft and brown, but his excitement to see you has his pupils like pinpricks. His cheeks are quickly chapped in the cold wind blowing in through the doorway. 

"I bet it was warmer there, we're knee deep in winter now," he says. "You look like you had a good time." 

"It was good," you agree, sliding the bag of presents from your elbow to your wrist, assuming he'll want to see them most. 

He begged for gifts, in person before you went and down the phone while you were gone, landline calls he insisted on. I worry about you, I wanna make sure you're okay when I’m not there.

You got him everything you could afford, a magnet, a bottle opener, a key chain, a teddy bear with a flag around his neck. Basically a bag load of candy on top. 

"I really missed you, sweetheart," he says. "Not to be sincere or anything, but I fucking love you. Next time you go away I'm gonna have to come with you." 

You laugh nervously. "I love you too," you say, averting your gaze to his collar, black double stitching against his neck. 

"Are you hungry?" he asks. 

"No," you lie. You hate being an imposition on him, even knowing that Eddie will tell anyone willing to listen that you're his best friend. 

"Seriously? You were on a plane for hours, and you came straight to see me, let me buy you pizza or something, yeah?" 

You lick your lips and nod. Eddie lifts your face to his, and it genuinely feels like a heart attack, that sudden realisation he could kiss you if he wanted to, the proximity of his face to yours. Instantly, you're wondering if your breath is okay, if you have eye crusties, if you smell good. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

"I'm alright, I'm just tired," you say. 

"You don't look tired, you look cagey. Sorry, I forget that you get all shy again when we don't see each other." He talks brazenly but not without sympathy, patting your shoulder. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

"Can we order something? I'm sick of being in motion."

Eddie throws his car keys like a longshot into the bowl on the sideboard by his front door. "Yes. Absolutely. I'm sick of moving too, and this is the first time I've stood up today." 

"Gross."

"I brushed my teeth before you came over," he says, bearing them garishly as proof. He talks through gritted teeth, "Pearly white, no?" 

"Looking good." 

He beams. Eddie wraps a hand around your wrist like the touch means nothing and tugs you along to the living room. He pushes you down into the seat you always take, tosses your usual blanket at you, and whizzes off to the kitchen for coke and popcorn. He has the sweet stuff in a bucket that he eats a handful at a time, the lid sealed. 

"New one?" you ask. 

"Waiting for my best girl to get home," he says easily, collapsing down into the seat next to you, dropping the remote on your chest. "Shit, I missed this." 

"You didn't watch TV while I was gone?" you ask, confused. 

"I watched TV, it just wasn't good without you in my ear judging people." 

"I don't judge people… much." 

"Everybody judges people. I love when you judge people 'cos you say what I'm thinking." Eddie drops his head into your shoulder, his curls brushing your cheek. "I missed you so much." 

"You said that," you say quietly, a little breathless. 

Eddie looks up at you, something playful about him as he says, "I know. It's fucking true as all hell, too. What do you want from Marino's? I'll get you two if you promise not to go away again." 

"What am I gonna do with two pizzas?" you ask, the warmth of him seeping down into your shirt. 

Eddie digs a nail into the popcorn lid, face turned to you but gaze on the bucket. "Uh, eat them. Eat one tonight, take one with you tomorrow for breakfast." 

"I don't want two pizzas, just one is good. I'm gonna eat all your popcorn anyway, I won't have room." 

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, eyes flying to your face. "You think so, huh?" 

Your heart in your mouth, a shudder coursing down your chest, you have a moment where you think for sure he knows, he's found out, and he doesn't care —he looks like he wants you to confess. 

What a fantastically dangerous idea. You avert your gaze and thrust your bag of gifts and candy into his arms. "You'll be too full for popcorn after those." 

You can feel his gaze on your cheek for a little while longer, but eventually he moves from your shoulders, laughing quietly as he digs through his new things. 

"You're so awesome," he says, pulling out the keychain you got him. It's an electric guitar with an enamel body the same colours as the flag. "I'm putting this on my keys right now." 

Eddie kisses your cheek. "Thank you," he adds.

He stands and rounds the couch to go get his keys. You feel your cheek with a trembling hand. Eddie kisses you, he hugs you, he has a thousand affections and all of them set you aflame. Sighing, you let your cheek drop into your hand. It's hopeless. 

He watches from the doorway as you sigh. His smile can't be described any other way —he's infatuated. The sooner you realise, the better, but for now he's really enjoying the run up. 

[churipu]

Hi can I request the jjk men (toji, yuji, yuta, sukuna) with an s/o who doesn’t show any emotions?? If you do thank youu. <3

JJK MEN + "NO EMOTIONS" PARTNER 𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖

featuring. toji fushiguro, itadori yuuji, yuuta okkotsu, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing, soft and ooc toji and sukuna :(

note. hi hi nonnie :( sorry for the very late update to your ask — uni has been busy lately, but i promise all my inbox is going to be emptied, even if it takes long.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. he tries to make you show emotions — teasing you, annoying you, anything that could make you be at least a little emotional; whether it is happy or sad (kidding, he wants you to be happy all times).

toji doesn't actually mind. but he wanted you to be more reactive of his teasing, because he didn't get the point of teasing if you weren't angry at him. instead of you being angry, or telling him that he should stop, all he got was a nod and an "it's okay".

so the top of his bucket list was to break down this emotionless wall of yours.

preparing a snack for both you and toji at movie night, you spent your sweet time in the kitchen. waiting for the popcorn to cook, when suddenly he stomped inside, boldly asking you, "what the fuck do we have for snacks?"

seeing you flinch in surprise, toji awaited your answer. ready to receive a mouthful of angry words, but all you did was stare at him with those beautiful doe e/c eyes of yours — and you meekly said, "popcorn."

the male's gaze softened as he reaches his hand out to you, "don't ever let me talk to you like that ever again," he pulled you into a warm embrace, "got it?"

you nod, "okay."

he never does that again.

ITADORI YUUJI. opposites attract. opposites attract. opposites attract. i said what i said. yuuji finds you amusing, especially the way you're always so unbothered about . . . everything? he asks himself how you're able to do that, and tries to find out the anatomy behind it. which ended up leaving him more clueless than ever.

you get a cut on a mission? you were just okay. you get hit by something that wasn't directed at you? okay. you get insulted? okay. it was okay, okay, and okay with you.

although, the male is a firm believer that even you — could feel hurt sometimes. after all, you are still human, right? so he's always the one telling people off for you, even if you tell him that it's not needed and that you were okay. yuuji doesn't believe in that.

"hey, piss off — don't say that about my partner." yuuji glares at a male, eyeing him up and down in menace.

"yuuji, let's go," you grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him away from the scene, and yuuji was still giving out stink eyes to the same male, motioning his finger across his neck like a threat.

even if you didn't manage to express it, you were very very thankful for him. because he is right. you do feel hurt at times, but it was something you hear a lot so you don't bother.

YUUTA OKKOTSU. honestly, he gets pretty intimidated at first. he's always so fidgety around you — it's pretty funny. but when he actually got to know you, yuuta's a little surprised that you could crack out jokes (unknowingly), and everyone ends up laughing . . . except for you.

he's really attracted to you. and rika, well, she wasn't the keenest on knowing that (she tried to hurt you) — but yuuta was there to tell her off nicely. rika still didn't like you at all, she tolerates you at times, but after a mission with yuuta, where you found yourself in a position of taking a blow meant for him. rika still hates you (not), it's getting there, she didn't want to kill you. that's progress.

"why did you do that?!" yuuta ran towards you, grabbing your upper arm, pulling you up.

". . . do what?" you asked nonchalantly before wincing out in pain.

and i guess, ever since then, yuuta has been stuck to your hip. he gets really excited to see you, even if you don't look as excited. but still — something about you attracts him, which eventually leads to the both of you dating.

still the same, you barely show any emotions. barely. that was also progress, with him, you could actually be honest with your feelings. but with anyone else? big no.

yuuta feels very honored. protects you. tells rika to protect you. he's so in love with you.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. oh, he despises it a lot. this man, he isn't satisfied if he doesn't get a reaction out of you — which he doesn't. most of the time. at most, you're going to brush him off and walk away, which he deemed as "being angry", but he's just embarrassed because it's not often someone brushes him off just like that.

kind of like a love language. he teases you to show affection, but when you don't react. it's like a punch to the gut, like you don't acknowledge his love for you.

but sukuna would never say that out loud.

despite that, you also had a way of showing love to him. it's not one of the 5 main love languages, but it works for him. sukuna pretends not to know, but he knows. and he secretly loves it.

you always. always without forgetting a day, scribble down on a post it note and leaving it somewhere that sukuna always notices. whether it being on the fridge stuck to a magnet, on the kitchen island, on the coffee table in the living room, by the corner of the bathroom mirror, by the snack cabinet. sukuna could always find at least three in a day, randomly stuck around.

and on the note, it would just be a random "i love you" or a cute doodle of animals holding a heart or a flower for him. he didn't ask you why you do it the first few times and just goes along with it, secretly keeping them all in a secret place where he makes sure you weren't going to find out.

"why'd y'keep leaving these random notes everywhere?" sukuna grunted.

"why? should i stop?" oh, sukuna was actually a bit mortified at the thought of not finding anymore notes specifically made for him, so he could only be silent, "doesn't matter what you think — i like making 'em."

oh, thank god.

he never questions you on it ever again in fear that you'd actually stop.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[kaysfanficcorner]

Movie Dates with a Stranger

Author's note: Just a quick little one shot about sweet Javi after a discussion with my best friend. She and Pedro are truly my two muses. If you dig this, please check out my other fics, Celebrity Crush (Dieter Bravo) and Out of This World (Din Djarin). More chapters of Out of this World are on *the way* soon!

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x reader

Summary: You go the movies every Saturday morning, and the same man is there every single time.

Warnings: none that I can think of other than how stinking cute this film nerd really is.

AO3

*****

When the company you work for announced that they were opening an office in Spain, you jumped at the chance to take a position there. Having always wanted an excuse to leave the country and coming off of a bad break up, it was as if the universe was giving you exactly what you needed exactly when you needed it.

You're finally feeling settled in your new city. You've even managed to find yourself a gorgeous little vintage movie theater so you can get back into your favorite hobby from back in the states. Going to the movies is your favorite pastime in the whole world, and it has been since before you can remember. In America, you would attend the movies at least once a week if not two or three depending on how many good releases were out in one weekend. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until the morning stroll when you managed to stumble upon the one-screen theater playing a new film you'd been dying to see.

Without further consideration you'd purchased a ticket and the rest was history. Every Saturday morning since you've gone to see whatever movie was out regardless of what it was. Some in Spanish, some in English, but none of that matters. You're in your happy place.

The fact that you always go to the first screening of the day means that there are usually very few people in the theater.

So you notice when the same man has been there with you for the last five films.

He's gorgeous in every sense of the word, which you really got to see up close the third time you came and he was in front of you in the line for the snack bar. Well dressed, his casual attire was certainly expensive looking so you assume he must have money. He's got the most adorable smile, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners as his mouth forms a grin at the huge bucket of popcorn the worker handed him. He always gets popcorn, a cherry coke, and a box of peanut m&ms. He's had the same snack every time you've seen him.

His burnt caramel hair is curly and always well managed, definitely with some sort of boujee product. His cologne smells like heaven when you catch a good whiff of it. He'd turned with all of his treats in hand, smiling down at you and telling you to enjoy the film with such genuine enthusiasm you hadn't been able to hold back your own wide grin at him. As he moved past you to allow you your turn in line, the scent of him nearly made you moan out loud. His voice had also been one of the loveliest sounds you'd ever heard.

In other circumstances, the thought of a strange man appearing at the movie theater five weeks in a row would freak you out. Are you being stalked? A naive American being scoped out for kidnapping or murder?

No, that's not the vibe you get from him at all. If you had to pinpoint the vibe you do get, it's that he's a fucking nerd. This guy adores film, just like you do. He'll obviously see everything. In the last five weeks the two of you have watched two action movies, one drama, one boner-comedy, and one romantic comedy. Not all of them were good, but your movie theater buddy seemed to watch all of them with the same level of reverence. He even turned around after the second action film, the fourth time you'd been in the theater with this stranger, and gave you an enthusiastic little grin and a thumbs up.

“That was fucking awesome, wasn't it?!” he'd whisper yelled to you.

That had made your heart skip a beat, whisper-yelling back in the affirmative.

The fifth movie was when you realized how much you were looking forward to seeing your stranger. That entire morning you'd had a giddy little smile on your face, picking out one of your cutest and most flattering casual dresses with a pair of heeled boots to match. You'd even gone so far as to do your hair and make up, when the first couple of weeks you'd gone for a more bum-chic look with sweatpants and a hoodie.

It was halfway through applying your mascara when it hit you that you like your film-nerd stranger. Seeing him every Saturday has been the highlight of your free time in Spain so far. Living so far away from everyone you've ever known has been lonely, and this handsome fellow at the movies has been the closest thing to a real social interaction outside of work since you moved here.

You're certain that you'd noticed his reaction to a more dressed up version of yourself, purposefully sitting one row in front of him so that he had no choice but to see you. His eyes had widened before a little shy smile crept up his lips, you'd seen it out of the corner of your eye before sitting down with a little smile of your own.

Now it's the sixth week, and the first horror movie. Horror is one of your favorite genres, and this one has been getting rave reviews for the last couple of weeks. Critics are calling it the horror film of the year and audiences are calling it the most frightening movie of the decade. Needless to say you are chomping at the bit for this one.

With an appropriately spooky and equally flattering outfit, and a makeup look complimenting the vibe of the film you're about to see, you feel like you truly look your best upon entering the theater lobby on that Saturday morning. On instinct your eyes flick around the large room, on the lookout for your stranger among the movie posters and popcorn.

You don't see him anywhere and your heart sinks a little, but you try not to lose hope. You're aware that it's quite possible that he's going to eventually skip a Saturday or there may be a movie that doesn't interest him after all.

Making your way over to the snack bar, you grin and wave at the same teenage girl who has greeted you from behind the counter every weekend. The same crew works the same shift each time you're there so you've become a little friendly in your snack bar encounters.

Knowing your Spanish isn't perfect, you try your best to order a soda and nachos in the language of the country you're in, and a cheerful voice from behind you makes you jump when you're finished.

“Your accent is getting much better.”

You spin around to find him standing behind you, that kind smile of his reaching all the way up to his eyes. He's dressed in a dark brown pair of slacks with a tan t-shirt and a dark purple corduroy jacket. His hair is perfect and he looks almost as if he's the one who was trying to dress his best this week.

You can feel a blush rush to your cheeks, avoiding his gaze as you give an awkward little, “Gracias.”

So he'd been paying attention to you just as much as you'd been paying attention to him? Lord have mercy.

He doesn't say more, just smiles that adorable smile of his as you grab your snacks and leave him to order his usual. You quickly make your way to your seat then, opting for the one you usually take that sits two rows behind the handsome stranger. He takes the same exact seat every week and you'd certainly noticed that as well.

Right on time he comes in and takes his seat, eyes flicking to you for a moment before he sits down. You smile broadly at him, and a shy little look takes over his features as he turns to face the screen. No one else shows up to this screening. The trailers run and your stomach flutters when you realize that the two of you will be here alone for the very first time.

You try not to pay attention to him when the lights begin to dim and the title card of the movie appears on the screen. You try not to watch the back of his head as he happily shoves popcorn into his mouth, attempting to focus on the movie you've been dying to see since they first announced its conception on some movie news site years ago.

Eventually the eerie tension of the film and the characters start to draw you in, your attention finally in the right place. And then a brilliantly laid out jump scare actually manages to get you, and you notice a bit of popcorn flying into the air over at your stranger's seat. Another comes shortly after that, and the stranger gets up from his seat completely. Your eyebrows raise, trying to keep your eyeballs glued to the screen. But then you feel a presence come right up beside you, and you turn to see your stranger standing right there. Your heart leaps in your chest as he slips into the seat right beside you and sends an apologetic look your way.

“I am so sorry to intrude, and I hate to look like a total pussy in front of a beautiful woman, but I am so fucking scared of this movie. Is it alright if I sit with you?” he whispers over, despite the fact that no one else is in the room but you. His accent is so cute that it's killing you not to giggle.

“Sure, I was honestly getting a little scared of it myself,” you whisper back, hoping to reassure him a little.

“Gracias,” he says with a bow of the head before turning his attention back to the film.

The presence of him next to you is driving you mad throughout the next few scenes, but you're completely elated by the fact that he's so close now. Close enough to smell that cologne again, for your forearm to brush his on the armrest.

Another scare comes, and the stranger's little yelp of surprise beside you causes the giddiest of grins to tug at your lips. When another comes again shortly after, his hand grabs for yours.

“Sorry!” he whisper-yells, letting you go just as quickly as he'd grabbed you. He looks so embarrassed.

Feeling brave, you reach over and take his hand in yours. He lets you touch him with ease, fingers of both hands intertwining with each other. His hand is so much bigger than yours.

“If this helps you feel less scared I really don't mind,” you whisper back, eyes on the screen once again. He doesn't say anything else.

Each time the movie scares your stranger, his fingers dig into your hand with varying levels of pressure. At one point you catch yourself tracing little circles into his skin with your thumb, and he's actually doing it back. That makes you melt into the seat a little.

Sooner than you'd like it feels like the climax of the film is wrapping up in a mess of blood and guts, and shortly after that the film is over all together. The credits start rolling and the house lights come back on. You're expecting your stranger to let go of you, but to your shock he lifts your connected hands and places a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. Then he lets go.

“Thank you for keeping me company during that. I am forever in your debt,” he says, adding shyly, “Horror movies always scare the shit out of me. Even the bad ones.”

“Well they weren't kidding when they said that was the scariest movie of the decade online. I was just as scared as you! And usually I can handle things like that. Proud of you for making it through that with me,” you say, adding an introduction as you give him your name.

“I am Javi,” he says with a grin, “I'm glad to finally meet you after all these weeks.”

“Likewise. It's nice to know another movie enthusiast,” you agree.

The two of you gather your things, heading back out to the lobby while discussing the finer points of the film you both just saw. When you part ways to both use the restroom, you're thrilled to find him waiting for you just outside as you reemerge.

Javi extends an elbow towards you. “Would you like to go get a cup of coffee? I have so much more to say about that movie, I probably need at least another hour to get it all out!”

A giggle finds your voice, a hand coming to your lips for a second before you're looping your arm through his and he's leading you out of the theater and down the street.

You start the conversation back up, leaning into him a little as you walk. “I cannot believe that the lead actress did such a good job! I honestly wasn't expecting such a performance from her based on the other movies of hers that I've seen.”

“Oh my God, I know! I was really shocked by how good she was, and the things that poor girl had to do! It must have been so fun to shoot that stuff.”

When the following Saturday morning rolls around, you cannot wait to jump out of bed to start your day. It will be the seventh straight week of going to the movies with Javi Gutierrez, but it's going to be your first real date.

*****

Masterlist

[transformers-spike]

Helloo, I'm wondering if you can do a sh comfort with any character from tfp plz :3

From the ☣️ annon

Went for Starscream because I know his brand of comfort is... questionable but entertaining to write - also (sfw)

You’re in trouble. Big fucking trouble. You can stay in your little lab all you want, fiddling with genetic samples with the grace of a high schooler dissecting a frog, lacking your usual precision. Yes, you got yourself into it. No, your past self refuses to apologize to the current you. And while you may understand what pushed the old you to make this decision a week ago, personal growth isn’t going to do shit after the stunt you’ve pulled. Starscream is your abductor, yes, but he’s also your “guardian” so to speak; the Decepticon responsible for your continued wellbeing. This has not stopped him from threatening your life back when you were being “rescued” from your old job, but there’s no use dwelling on it. The point is, there’s a degree of mutual trust between the two of you. In exchange for a wide variety of resources and access to actual alien technology, you’ve been hard at work handling projects he’s tossed your way. You pride yourself in it, because who wouldn’t after spending decades perfecting their craft? Or getting into a ludicrous amount of student debt… Your stint with the government was, admittedly, your lowest point; MK-Ultra 2.0 type experiments you only agreed to as a morally and financially bankrupt newcomer with a grudge against society as a whole after working half a decade in retail. To say you regret it is to put it lightly. At the very least the Decepticons are honest about their intentions, no “protecting the people” rhetoric; if they’re going to cyberform the Earth then you’ll be there with your bucket of popcorn watching it all unfold. Although, past you wasn’t quite as eager. Guilt racked your brain, tormented you well into the night, reminded you every waking moment you could only be an instrument in someone else’s plan, a pawn that would unquestionably follow its master even if it meant digging its own grave. Yes, you’re doing better now (you think), and you were concealing the secret just fine until you misjudged the boiling point of an experimental concoction and got a face-full of glass. It could have been worse, you had shielded yourself with your arms, earning only a couple scars on your face (and a frightening amount on your arms). That’s when Knock Out came in. Oh Knock Out. You cunt . Of course he was being too kind; it wasn’t from the chunks of glass he was removing with a pair of forceps, nor the tears of pain running down your face (you honestly expected him to go “Ew” and toss a blanket over your head so he wouldn’t have to look). It’s because he had seen the week-old cut along your arm. He didn’t make a fuss, didn’t point it out, didn’t so much as pause while treating you. Oh no – he sent you a message first thing in the morning informing you he relayed the extra detail to Starscream and sent you the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug emoji. Your first reaction was to threaten his life through text, which he responded to with an eyeroll.

This leaves you here, waiting at your post, counting down the seconds to doomsday, hands shaking cursing yourself for spilling the (thankfully non-corrosive) substance down the beaker. You try to seem casual when the door opens up. You try to steady your breathing when you feel his footsteps. You try to put down the beaker and greet him – which drops and shatters. Staring down at your work, mouth agape, you don’t have the strength to look him in the optic after three major blunders in under 24 hours. Although it’s hard to avoid his gaze when he commands your attention with his presence alone. “Hey,” you say, sweating profusely. “Nice day we’re having. Out here in space, I mean.” His expression is one of exasperated frustration. “Oh don’t patronize me.” He scoops you up like a naughty kitten, glaring daggers at you. “Show me,” he orders. You cradle your arm to your chest. “But, Knock Out bandaged it yesterday-” “Are you trying to waste my time?” You hang your head low and undo the wrappings at a snail’s pace, desperately stalling, praying for anything to intervene and pull Starscream away so you can scramble under your desk and hyperventilate in peace. But your boss doesn’t have time to waste. He groans dramatically before plucking your arm and tearing through the bandages in one clean cut of his talon. “I swear it’s not that bad,” you say, the antithesis of convincing, cringing inside as he observes the scars in eerie silence. The expression he wears is unreadable. His optics drag from your arm to your face. You swallow. “It’s just a scratch-” “No,” he cuts you off, voice bursting with anger. “Do you take me for a fool?” “Wait I didn’t mean it that way-” “Shut up.” He glowers down at you, claws tightening around your arm. “I will remind you, human, that you are an investment . And I won’t have my investments break of their own volition. So tell me,” he drags you closer, sending a sudden burst of pain which you dare not show, “ why would you do it?”

“I… I don’t… I don’t know how to explain,” you whisper. He scoffs and rolls his optics. “Is it so difficult to collaborate? If you won’t tell me, then I can’t help you.” The words ring in your ears. You go weak in the knees. “Help me?” you echo, incredulity heavy on your tongue. He flashes you a look of utter confusion. “What? Did you think I would punish you? Oh, please , it’s not my modus operandi. I have a more refined manner of supervising my subordinates compared to… I’m sure you can guess whom. Now stop wasting my time, and tell me why .”

“Uh… it’s a long story,” you babble, still reeling from his words. “Then shorten it, I don’t have all cycle.”

“I’ve been plagued with some… pretty horrendous thoughts at night, among,” you vaguely gesture at your makeshift lab, “the stress of deadlines.” He contemplates you, arching an optical ridge. It feels… strangely human compared to the apathetic stares of your old bosses. You’re a number here just the same, except it will be significantly more difficult to replace you. “I can’t change the deadlines,” he starts in an oddly soft tone, scrutinizing your reaction. “However, I can procure the proper medication to avoid another incident. .” You flash him a bewildered look. “Antidepressants?” you ask incredulously. “I was referring to something along the lines of ambien or adderall.” He releases your arm and taps his chin. “Perhaps both considering your current state.”

“Oh…” You blink. “I didn’t expect you to know this much about human pharmaceuticals.”

He scoffs again, putting an offended servo to his chassis. “Unlike us, you humans are exceptionally fragile, mentally and physiologically. I had anticipated some manner of a breakdown, although not this severe.” “So am I forgiven?” you ask, a mild attempt at sarcasm to clear the ambiance. It earns you a glare. “No,” he declares unsurprisingly. “I will be confiscating the hazardous materials.” You cock an eyebrow and point at the glass vials behind you, two of which are very obviously missing from the rack (and one whose pieces are mostly dislodged from your arm). He ex-vents loudly, slapping a servo to his face. “I was referring to the sharp instruments in your possession.” His voice is muffled. “Fair enough,” you say. “And B09F will be dispensing your medication.” “A bit excessive. But sure.” He scowls at you between his digits. He seems… terribly overworked. Cybertronians don’t have eyebags, but you swear there are dark lines under his optics. You clear your throat and avoid eye contact. “Thank you. I appreciate it quite a bit. You’re much better than my previous employer.” Said previous employer orchestrate your kidnapping and made you work towards humanity’s downfall with a blaster to your head. This, you leave out completely. He freezes for a split second. Slowly, he removes his servo to contemplate you better. “Odd,” he remarks. “I thought humanity would treat you better as one of their own.” A smile spreads across his face. “No matter. At least someone can appreciate the effort I put into running a tight ship.” You return his smile in spades. “I’m sure I’m not the only one.” “Flattery won’t work on me,” he scoffs. A moment passes by. He opens up an optic like a dog waiting to be pet. “Well?” he urges. “Uh… I’m sure others admire you just as much as I? You’re… the best commander on the ship? You’re the most competent person I know?... You’re a better father than my dad ever was?” His optics snap open. “Are you comparing me to your genetic progenitor?” “To an extent? In the sense that you’re a better mentor and guardian than mine ever was.”

He squints at you. “You humans are terrible towards your own kind. Although I suppose I should accept your compliment.” His wings flick in a show of… begrudging content. “Now, take the rest of the day off.” You beam up at him. “With the condition you’re bound to your quarters.” You look down in disappointment. “Fine, you can roam around the perimeter as long as B09F chaperons you.” “Sure thing dad,” you say in an attempt at humor. He furrows his optical ridge. “If you start calling me "daddy" I'm tossing you out the airlock.”

[bitchimasnake-sss]

"forgive me one last time" ft. the monster trio!

headcanons of highschool!au monster trio as your boyfriend begging for forgiveness after fucking shit up :) m.list

luffy:

- "yn" he mumbles, trailing after you in the hallways "stop trailing me" you hiss as you open the locker, shoving the books inside and taking out another "yn" his hands are wrapping around your waist, his neck finding home in the crook of your neck and he's whining again, "please forgive me, pretty please?" - it wasn't even like you got mad often tbh; dating luffy meant he is gonna do stupid shit and you're gonna have to deal with it but there was a limit to stupid shit too - you shove his head away from your neck, "romilda fuckin' asked you, "wanna go watch a movie??" and you said yes. how can you say yes to a date while you have a girlfriend?! do i mean nothing?!" "i didn't know it was a date!!" his hands are wrapping around you tighter, "i thought she was lonely and wanted to hangout with a friend!! you know i wouldn't have said yes otherwise ynnn~" "are you an id-" you huff, "i'm getting late for class, get off" you forgave his dumbassery on the regular but come on, now its insane - yeah you didn't forgive him - not until you came back to keep your books and take new ones for the next period and saw giant "i miss you" and "sorry" glittery stickers plastered onto your locker (did he steal those from a 3rd grader? youre not sure) - you huffed, opening the locker - your jaw went slack - the entire locker was full of your favourites. your favourite candy, the cookies sanji always makes during christmas (how did he get those rn??), your favourite soda and flowers - how did he manage all that in the time span of one period??? - at the side is a note in a scrawly handwriting, "you wanna go watch a movie with me? (asking you for a date, not as a friend who wants to hangout) boyfriend :)" - you ended up forgiving him only after he bought he a bucket of popcorn and kissed you during the end credits of the movie - he also had to buy you dinner from the baratie like a gentleman.

zoro:

- "zo," you huff, "it's like the thousandth time, ofcourse im gonna be fucking mad at you!" "i know" he groans, "i really know, but i'm sorry, please" "no. you can't keep saying you'd show up for my events and then fuckin' disappear like always!" - you're fighting in hushed whispers in the hallway, you didn't wanna cause a scene because you know how bad zoro finds public attention - you know he's busy training, busy with his friends and you know he loves you but a part of you wonders if he simply doesn't actually love you - he constantly fails to show up at your events, he has never outright called you his girlfriend in front of people who weren't his close friends and he has never even held your hand in public because he says pda makes him uncomfortable - you got him but it simply sounds like he's afraid to admit you both are together - "are you not happy with me?" your voice is breaking, crumbling into silent heaves, "do not lo-" "what?" his hands find yours, "no, ofcourse not. baby, i just had another practice and dad (mihawk) called me back home. im sorry, i couldn't say no to him" "i know b-" - he kisses you - in the middle of the fucking hallway, with other people around - he does it. that bastard. - his hands are tucking your hair behind your ear, resting softly on your cheek as he tip you backwards and kisses you till you cannot possibly breath "i love you" he says loud enough so that anybody within earshot could hear, flashing you a small smile his voice comes down to a whisper, "i'm sorry i suck at being a good boyfriend, i will get better okay?" - he follows through on that promise because the next time, he is standing at your event with a tshirt just reading "yn is the coolest" and a small, stupid smile on his face "was the tshirt necessary?" "yes" - ugh i love soft zoro

sanji:

- sanji had a (bad) habit of always backing you up - one might wonder what's bad about that but when he almost beat the shit out of a random guy for saying he didn't like your vibes - "sanji!" you pull him away, eyes widening, "stop it" "but yn" "you cannot keep doing this! you cannot keep fucking putting up a fight against anybody who doesn't like me-" "yes i can" "sanji." - it ended up leading to a fight and you stormed off into the class - you expected sanji to come apologize the very next period or atleast text you or something - but nothing. you didn't see him for the rest of the day. - not until it was 9 pm and all of a sudden, a cheesy pop song was playing outside your window and in your front lawn stood a drenched, blonde guy holding up a boombox and a giant wet, white sheet reading "FORGIVE ME YN IM SORRY PLEASE I LOVE YOU" - first of all why was he drenched? it wasn't even fucking raining - that brings your attention to his two best friends, luffy and zoro holding a hose at him from a distance (luffy is giggling, he's having the time of his life, zoro looks like he hates being alive) - "sanji why are STANDING IN FRONT OF WATER?!" "SO THAT YOU FORGIVE ME, MY LOVE IM SORRY" "YOU'D CATCH A COLD, COME INSIDE IDIOT!!" - well, he did bring a box full of home-made chocolate though, so you cannot be mad at him for long - did this event stop him from being a bit over-bearing? no, not really but eh, that's sanji for ya

a/n: cutesy little headcanon lol thankyou so much @scentisterror for helping me with this <3<3 m.list

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[realmsdelght]

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince; Rafe Cameron

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: your friends hate Rafe, but Miss Americana will always defend her Heartbreak Prince Warning: language, alcohol, and mention of drugs Word count: 2,2k

Kildare Island was small, everyone knew everyone, and every person had an opinion about every person on the island.

Rafe Cameron had a reputation. Bad boy, spoiled, unhinged, psycho, every bad adjective in the book was used for him. And yet he was a magnet, not just from girls, but from people in general. But no one ever thought he would find love, people thought he would marry a ‘hot’ gold digger who he would cheat on and take his anger on. 

Sunshine, as everyone called the girl, was the light of the island, a kook with a heart of gold. Friends with Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera, she loved a good party and drinks, but she still woke up early the next day to volunteer with Kie. She was one of the few people who everyone liked on the island. 

So when Sunshine and Rafe Cameron showed up together at Midsummers, his arm around her waist, people were shocked. The day after the event gossip spread like wildfire, everyone was talking about the new couple and wondering how that happened. Even months after dating, most people still couldn't believe Rafe was able to get with someone like that. 

“Baby!” The girl’s voice rang through the house.

“Coming!” He sang to her.

The girl turned around when she heard footsteps, waiting for her man. She gave him her best smile as she watched him walk into the room with a bucket of popcorn in his hand. Rafe sat down, placing the popcorn in his girl’s lap.

“Thank you,” she gave him a peck on the lips before turning back to the TV. The couple was not even 30 minutes into their movie when the girl threw the empty bucket to the side and jumped on her boyfriend’s lap. 

“Oh wow,” the boy’s hands immediately went to her ass.

“So… I was thinking. Maybe going to a party on a Friday night is not a bad idea,” she said as she tried to read her boyfriend’s reaction.

“My party girl is bored already?” He joked.

She rolled her eyes before giving him another kiss, “I’m not bored, I just wanna dance.”

“Then let's go princess,” he said, getting up and carrying his girl to his room.

They knew what would happen when they decided to go out. Every Time they went out there was something. Both of them got a lot of attention, both good and bad, which often led to arguments and fights. Sunshine’s friends hated Rafe, which they always made known. And the Cameron boy loved trouble, she thrived in fights, and he would get in fights if his girlfriend’s name was mentioned in a conversation. Yet here they were, Rafe sat on the couch watching as Sunshine danced with some of her friends.

“Rafe, man. I didn’t think I would see you here today,” a guy he didn’t know sat down beside him and Kelce.

“I thought you were on a leash,” some other guy joked.

Kelce looked at his friend, hoping he was sober enough to take it as a joke. “None of your fucking business, man,” he made sure it came out rougher than his drunk self meant it, but he didn’t want some random guy talking about his girl.

“Wait, I thought you said you were staying in and watching movies,” Kelce turned to him, ignoring the boys around them.

“Sunshine wanted to dance, so here we are,” he smiled at his friend.

Kelce smiled at the Cameron boy. He would never tell his friend, but he was happy for him, no one had ever seen Rafe Cameron so happy, and he thought it was a nice look on his friend.

Sunshine loved a good movie night, but this party was what she needed at the moment. There was nothing better than to dance with her friends, and hopefully drink until her boyfriend had to carry her home. She was lost in her own world, dancing with Kie behind her, until someone got her out of her zone. “Babes, can you tell your psycho boyfriend to stop staring,” her friend Olivia asked, making her take a deep breath. 

Olivia and her friends from highschool were a difficult story. She loved them to death, but they despised Rafe, and they were always on her ass about it, to the point where even Sunshine couldn’t be around them most times.

“Chill, he is just admiring his beautiful girlfriend,” a drunk Kie said.

Olivia scoffed, making Sunshine turn towards her, “he isn't doing anything. He’s just looking at me,” she tried to defuse the situation.

“It’s never anything with him until he’s punching someone in the face,” she rolled her eyes.

“Can we not?” She was over the argument, “I came here to have fun with my friends, not to argue.”

“With that said, let’s go get a drink,” Kie broke the group up, pulling her away. The two walked towards Pope and JJ, who were near the keg.

“Excuse me,” Sunshine took a bottle from Pope’s hand, taking a big swig from it.

“You know,” Kie took a sip from JJ’s cup, “ I never thought I would find someone that hated Rafe more than we do,” she pointed out.

The girl sighed loudly, “I honestly don’t understand. I know Rafe is an asshole, but he hasn’t done everything to them. Honestly, I have never been happier, and I just don’t understand why they can’t be happy for me,” Pope threw his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. 

“If it makes you feel better, we hate his guts but we are really happy for you,” JJ smirked at her.

“Thanks, J,” she smiled at him.

Sunshine never hung out with the pogues before, not because she had anything against them, she was even friends with Kie during school, but they just never ran in the same circles. But that changed once Sarah started going out with John B, and Sunshine had to say she was glad. After she started dating Rafe, the pogues were there for her, while her own friends ignored her.

The group decided to ignore any animosities and have fun. They danced, drank, and even played some beer pong, and at some point, even Sunshine’s friends joined them.

Rafe loved seeing his Sunshine like this, so happy he thought she was glowing, and he thought the only way she could look better was with his arms around her. 

“I will be back,” he told Kielce, who nodded and handed him another beer.

In Rafe’s mind, there was no one else in the room, just her. His Sunshine lit the whole room, he was attracted to her like a moth to a flame. Kie made a funny face at her, which he knew could only mean one thing. She felt strong arms wrap around her, and she knew. Aside from Kie’s face, those arms, the cologne, everything about that person was familiar.

“Hi babygirl,” he whispered.

“Hi baby,” she melted in his arms.

“You having fun?” He asked.

“We were before you came here,” Kie smiled, giving him the finger. Whether it was more joking than serious, the couple wasn’t sure, but they didn’t care.

“Is this for me?” Sunshine asked when she noticed the two beer cans in her boy’s hand.

“Just this one,” he opened the can and handed it to her, “don’t want you to get more drunk,” he joked.

“Hey!” She turned around to face him, “not drunk, just tipsy,” she winked at him, taking a sip of her beer.

“I know baby,” he gave her a quick kiss.

It was weird for the pogues to see Rafe like this, so happy and calm, but they were sure happy for Sunshine, and also for the rest of the island that didn't have to deal with Rafe’s unhinged wrath. 

“Giving her another drink, really?” Someone mumbled behind them, and Sunshine knew exactly who that was.

The girl could feel how tense his arms had gotten around her, but the two of them turned around slowly.

“Don’t start please,” Sunshine pleaded.

“I’m not starting anything. I just don’t think you should be drinking anymore, and it’s not responsible of your boyfriend to be giving you more alcohol,” Olivia said.

Before his girl could say anything Rafe’s fighter spirit got the best of him, “and I think my girl is an adult and can have as many drinks as she wants.”

“Of course you want her drunk,” one of the girls said, causing the people around to gasp.

Sunshine got out of her boyfriend’s arms and walked closer to Olivia and her friends, “don’t you talk about him like that ever again,” she pointed at the girl. 

“That’s what I’m talking about, he changed you,” Olivia pointed out. 

“No, he hasn’t,” Sunshine drunkenly shouted. Her reaction surprised everyone. No one had ever seen Sunshine raise her voice to anyone, let alone shouting at someone.

“Yes, you have!” She shouted back, “since you started dating him you have barely hung out with us anymore.”

“That’s because all you do is shit on my boyfriend,” Sunshine said.

“Because he doesn’t deserve you!” Olivia screamed, “he is a coke head that likes beating the shit out of people, and uses his daddy’s credit card to buy blow.” It was as if the room stopped, everyone else around them was waiting for the Cameron boy to explode. 

Rafe felt the rage boiling from deep inside him, and at that point he was not past punching Olivia. But as much as he hated to admit it, her words hit straight into his insecurities, so differently than what anyone expected, he took a deep breath and walked away, leaving everyone speechless at the party.

When the initial shock was over, Sunshine realized what had just happened and ran towards the door that Rafe had just walked through. Once outside, the girl looked around for her boy, but he was nowhere to be found, it was as if he had just disappeared. She walked closer to where the car was parked, but as soon as she reached the higher level of the street she saw someone’s back, sitting alone in the sand by the house. Sunshine walked towards Rafe, silently sitting down by her boyfriend. 

Rafe didn’t bother to look at her and she knew what that meant, “don’t do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he shrugged.

“You are doing that face, the face when you get into your own head and start overthinking,” she finally looked at him, but the boy's eyes were still on the ocean.

“She is right,” he looked at her, “Olivia is right. I always thought about it, but I never said it out loud.” 

“Baby,” her voice came out shaky, and she reached to hold his hand.

“No, she is right. I’m a trust fund kid who does coke and drinks, and I have no future outside my dad’s company,” he started tearing up.

“Oh Rafey,” she placed her hands on his cheeks, making him look at her. “You remember my boyfriend during senior year, the soccer team captain?”

Rafe was confused as to why she was telling him this, but oh, he did remember that guy, “yeah, that asshole… he used to shit talk us for partying every weekend but he smoked more weed than JJ.”

She giggled, “that one. Everyone always told me how lucky I was, he was a good boy, went to church on holidays, was a mama's boy, all of that. And he was…,” she took a deep breath, “he is a good guy, but after we broke up I realized some things. It didn’t matter how much of a good guy he was, he never really saw me,” Rafe gave her hand a squeeze. “When he went to college I would do anything for him, care packages, I would visit him any time I could but he never put that much effort into it. I know he was busy with classes and all, but he couldn’t even pick up the phone if I called without letting him know beforehand.”

“Asshole,” the Cameron boy muttered.

“All the anxiety I had about intimacy and relationships, I told him about that, I told him about how often I felt like I didn’t deserve him. I knew none of that was his fault or responsibility, but I wanted to feel acknowledged, I wanted him to tell me he would be here for me for whatever I needed. But he just ignored me, hoping I would fix myself on my own.”

“I’m sorry baby,” Rafe said.

“My point is, he was perfect in the conventional way, but Rafe,” she looked into his eyes, “you saw me, all of me, flaws and all. You helped me through my anxieties, and you showed me what love really is. You make me feel so loved, I don’t think you understand how much the little things you do mean to me. You deserve all the love in the world, and you are worthy of it. All of it.”

Rafe placed his hand on her cheeks, getting closer so their noses were touching, “remember what I said to you the first time we kissed?”

“It’s you and me,” she giggled.

“That’s my whole world,” he got even closer, lips almost touching.

“And fuck everyone else and their opinion,” she said.

Rafe laughed, “I guess they were right, you are a bad bad girl now,” he kissed her, “but yeah, fuck those assholes.”

[obsessivelyloved]

Day 1: Love at First Sight

Full disclosure: I wrote this while drinking so sorry in advance if it flows weird or if there are any weird sentences that don't make sense.

___________________________________________________________

His eyes had been drawn to you. Tord couldn’t put his finger on why. It wasn’t like he made it a habit to ogle movie theater workers. He was always in and out whenever the latest gorey movie came out. The less human interaction he had the better. He got enough interaction from the lowest of humanity at his job. Building robots on the side really brought out the stupidity in people. 

But ever since he stepped foot in the theater, he couldn’t help but sneak glances over at you. You looked bored, standing behind the concession stand. 

You fidgeted with something beneath the counter and swayed a little. 

Tord almost envied you. Not many people buy snacks at the movie theater nowadays. It was much simpler - and cheaper - to sneak some in. 

But something compelled Tord to speak to you, His heart raced as he approached the counter. Fuck his movie, he could afford the first few minutes to talk to you. He swiftly read your nametag and rolled your name around in his head. 

He liked it. It really suit you. Knowing your name made his heart race more. 

  Tord put on his best flirty smile, leaned against the counter, and opened with a line he used frequently at the bar. “They pay you to stand here and look so pretty?”

You stared blankly at him. “Can you repeat that?” you ask flatly. His heart dropped. Shit. Normally that got a chuckle out of the pretty girls and guys at the bar. Or the giggly cashiers at the grocery store.

Tord grinned wider, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. 

“I said,” he drawls, leaning further over the counter. The scent of buttery popcorn grows stronger. “That you’re way too cute to be working here.” 

He meant it. Really, he did. You kept staring blankly at him. 

“Are you going to buy something or are you just going to harass me?” 

Alright, changing tactics. 

“What do you recommend?” Tord asks, leaning back away from the counter. A rush of heat went down his back. Why did he feel so embarrassed? 

“I’d just get a large popcorn and call it a day,” you answer in that same flat voice. 

Frustration starts to bubble in Tord’s chest. Just what the hell was wrong with this person? Tord was great with people. He was building his own army for fucks sake. People flocked to find him, to join his cause.

Why did he want to impress you so bad

Tord snorts and shakes his head. “You sure know how to upsell a guy. Shit, just a large popcorn? You’re not going to try to convince me to give up my right arm for a candy bucket and a large soda?” 

A slight smile appears on your face for a moment. It makes his heart flutter. 

“I honestly don’t care what you buy. They just pay me to stand here.” 

Tord barks out a short laugh at that. “Really?” he asks. “I’ll take the popcorn then, since you put your heart and soul into convincing me to buy it.”

Whatever faint amusement was on your face was gone in an instant. A vague frustration crossed your face before you spun around to fill up the popcorn bucket. Tord didn’t mind. His gaze lingered on you. You may have acted prickly and above his flirtations, but Tord couldn’t deny that something drew him towards you. 

He wanted to find out what, keep talking to you, and give you his phone number. He wanted a genuine smile, a laugh, and your phone number. 

You turn back around with a full bucket of popcorn. “Eight fifty,” you state blandly, all but slamming the popcorn bucket on the counter. 

Tord pulls out his wallet and hands you a twenty. You give him a sour look as you open up your till and dig for the right amount of change. 

After he receives the right amount, Tord winks at you and slips it all into your tip jar.

“For your stellar service,” he purrs. And then he was off, making a beeline for the room his latest gorey interest was playing. You wouldn't leave his mind the entire time he sat in that theater. His heart raced every time he thought of you. It’d been a while since someone had caught his attention like you had. 

Perhaps you’d be worth the chase. His bed had gotten awfully cold lately since his dearest decided to get into his locked drawer and wield his gun. He’d love them forever but it was time for him to move on. You seemed perfect for him. He couldn’t wait to see you again. 

After all, it was rare for Tord to experience love at first sight.

[cindol]

hi I love ur fics, can we have silly sukuna on a dine-in movie date!!

for u anon ofc 🐺 !

sukuna ryomen x fem reader

tagging — @aquasoftware

cw + — non curse modern au, once again this is rich man sukuna, reader and sukuna are in their late 20s, sukuna is jelly of gojo here,

a / n : I didn’t know specifically what you meant by dine in so I hope you enjoy .

When sukuna isn’t out and about terrorizing anyone in his path or doing just fuck all the place he finds solace in is his home movie theater. Sukuna found the people in public movie theaters to be insufferable as the employees so he got a completey home made movie theater built in one of his empty rooms:

For the first time in forever it was being used since you and sukuna finally found a good free time to use it as a home date.

Like always on these home dates, uraume was the one who had all the snacks prepped for you and sukuna and a romcon action movie on the screen. Sukuna didn’t care much for the movie, he just knew you wanted to watch it because it had some actor you had a celeb crush on and luckily he happened to know the director and got a copy.

Anytime this actor satoru gojo came on the screen you had a giddy expression on your face and a squeal coming from you.

Sukuna just had a brow raised while he ate some popcorn then swallowed in digust. “Don’t know what you see in the guy, just some pretty boy with glasses.” He had a hint of jealousy in his rough tone that made you giggle.

“Wellll, I like pretty boys.” you eyed him and he groaned rolling his neck at the cheeky compliment.“and what’s so wrong with cheeky asshole’s? You’re almost one if you had some black shades.” you tapped at the side of his eyes making him fluster and do a rough groan.

“I’m an ass but I’m not the cocky asshole that satoru is.”

“Someone’s jealous I’ll get taken away?” you hummed closely into his ear while taking some popcorn from his bucket.

a deep roar of laughter came from sukuna’s throat.“some boy with fluffy hair could never steal you from me, don’t be imprudent.” Even with him saying it you knew sukuna had some doubt, he just didn’t show it.

“Hm well.. gojo satoru is not my sukuna ryomen.”

[effy-writes]

Fizz x Male! Reader Smut: Horny

requested from wattpad

i SUCK at writing male reader smut oh my god

also people who are requesting i WILL get to yours within a day or two :) so dont worry. thank yall for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Fizz's day off in a while, so he spent the entire day watching movies with you. It ranged from corny, to drama, to action, and finally romance.

Since Fizz works with Ozzie he had access to watch movies from Earth. The one Earth movie he wanted to watch was 50 Shades of Gray.

He refilled the popcorn bucket and laid down beside of you.

"Fizz, whats this movie about?"

"Some BDSM movie." He replied, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"Interesting." You rested your head on his shoulder and wrapped your leg around his.

The movie was slow at first, just the two characters meeting and getting to know each other, but things have definitely escalated.

Fizz felt his pants tighten up once the first sex scene came across. He tried to adjust himself so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable, but the sex scene became more intense.

You felt him moving in the bed, like there was something crawling on him. "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh right, yeah I'm fine." He grabbed another handful of the popcorn due to nerves.

He looked over at you who was nose deep in the movie. The room was dark, but he could see the TV light shining on your face and it turned him on even more. He wanted to fuck you like how the male protagonist was, but he knows you're a virgin and doesn't know if you'll be into that since it'll be your first.

You looked over at Fizz who was staring at you with lust in his eyes, and you want to reciprocate.

"I want to fuck you." You blurted.

Fizz blinked, "Really? You sure?"

You smiled, "Really. I can tell you want to by the way you were moving around."

He sat up, "You don't have to because I'm horny, just letting you know that."

"Fizz," You placed your hand on his, "I want to. Just talk me through it, and don't do the shit that that dude is doing, I'm not ready for that just yet." You snickered.

Fizz moved and got on top of you, straddling your hips. You used his collar to bring him down to kiss you. Breaking the session he took off his shirt as well as yours.

He placed his hands on the bridge of your pants and slid them off, leaving a trail of kisses from your stomach all the way to your genitalia.

He took off his pj bottoms and threw them aside. You swallowed your nerves, seeing his erect cock dying to get out of his boxers.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry." He reassured as he opened the lube bottle and lathered up his robotic fingers and your entrance.

He slowly slid two fingers in to open you up a bit. Your back arched as his fingers pumped in and out, picking up the speed.

"Tell me when it gets too much." He whispered.

"I..will." You said in between breathy moans.

Fizz pulled his fingers out and desperately took off his underwear, his red cock with white scars sprung up. Since the room is not completely dark you saw precum leaking out.

"I want you so bad." You whined, spreading your legs further apart.

Fizz let out a pleased hum as he rubbed lube all over his dick, getting it nice and wet so it'll slide in easier.

Fizz leaned down and nibbled at your neck while he lined his cock to the entrance of your ass.

"Please." You bucked your hips.

"You're so needy." He teased as he pushed himself in.

"Fffuck!" You gasped, digging your nails into his back.

"You're in control of me, tell me what you want me to do." Fizz let out a pleasing sigh, "You feel so fucking good."

"I want..you to fuck me." You wrapped your legs around his hips.

Fizz slowly pumped himself in and out to get you acclimated to the size of his dick. Once you begged him to pick up the pace he did as you wished.

He pinned your hands as he picked up the pace, hips striking your ass as your loud moans echoed the room. Fizz leaned down and planted his lips onto yours so you could moan in his mouth.

Your body twitched as you felt yourself reaching your climax. "Fuck..Fizz." You whimpered, your head throwing back.

Fizz let your hands free and gripped your thighs so he could plunge into you deeper. His moans increasingly got louder with each thrust.

“I’m gonna..” He panted.

Your scream of pleasure interrupted him, body compulsing as you came.

Fizz rolled his hips, riding out your orgasm as he came inside your wet, tight asshole.

The two of you panted as he pulled out. He rested his head on your knee so he could catch his breath. “I’m usually the one bottoming so I barely have the stamina to top.” He laughed.

“Next time I’ll top you.” You cooed.

Fizz laughed in amusement and laid down beside of you, pulling you into his arms. “Did you enjoy it? Was it too painful?”

“A little, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Fizz kissed your forehead repeatedly, “Can’t wait for you to fucked me ruthlessly.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“FUCK yes.”