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seospicybin · 7 months

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TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

PART II

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle Masterlist

Synopsis: You and Chan become contestants in a reality dating show, Too Hot To Handle. (11,9k words)

Author's note: Buckled in and enjoy. And oh, feel free to vent in my inbox x

YOU: I don't have any tricks [Laughs] I'll just do the head tilt, looking them right in the eyes and you know, flutter my eyelids a little [winks] I'm just so sexual, I think that's why they attracted to me [Plays with hair] I love bad boys. Someone with an edge to them. That's my type. [smiles]

"Mmh... yeah."

You're fluttering inside as Chan applies gentle pressure on the right spot, "Oh..." you breathlessly moan.

"Good?" He asks.

With your head clouded in pleasure, you manage to answer, "Uh-huh."

He grabs your leg to keep you still as you're squirming on the bed, he lathers more massage oil and lathers it down your leg.

And you thought seeing him naked was the most arousing thing you'd have to get through tonight, it's seeing his big hands on you that makes you can't stay still as you lay on your back under him.

Chan puts the bottle of massage oil back on the bedside table and he brings his head down to rest it on your stomach.

"You're like... good at a lot of things," you sweetly praise with your hand tangled in his soft curls.

He shyly smiles and turns his head to the side, planting kisses on your inner thigh, then drags his plush lips close enough to where you want him the most.

You hold your breath as his mouth is only inches away from your clothed core and groan when he places a kiss on your abdomen instead.

Chan knows what he's doing, teasing you to see how long it takes to make you fold before him. His elbow propped against the mattress to keep him hovering above you.

"I wonder if you're good at everything else too," you tell him as you drag your hand down his magnificent abs.

YOU: Chris is hot. I can make a cheese toast on those abs [laughs]

Chan's gaze is soft but the glints in his eyes are flickering like there's a wildfire raging inside of him. His skin is warm but reddening in certain places, his ears, his hands, his neck, and his chest.

There's no explanation to it except that he's horny and knowing that makes you want to tease him back.

You take his hand and take his middle finger into your mouth, gently sucking on it just to give him a glimpse of what your mouth feels like while constantly giving him the eyes,

"Can you resist me, Chris?" You turn your voice low and sultry when you call his name. You playfully tug his index finger between your teeth as you wait for his answer.

The Adam's apple in his throat bobs and he cups your cheek in his hand, he swipes his thumbs across your lips before shoving his thumb into your mouth.

Chan watches as you suck on his thumb and you twirl your tongue around it. When he pulls it out, he sees his thumb glistening wet from your saliva.

"Fuck..." he curses under his breath.

He brings his wet thumb down your front and makes you shiver as it glides down your skin. His hand makes a turn to the right, then slaps at your ass cheek, "You're so naughty."

That only makes you more aroused, you place a hot kiss on his neck and whisper, "I know."

If there's one thing Chan should learned by now is that you're bad. You're not going to make these rules stop you from forming a connection your way and that is by involving some physical stuff in there.

For you, it's impossible to make connections without physical touches involved in it, they go hand-in-hand. Also, what's the point of having an emotional connection if you don't like being physical with that person?

"I'm naughty, I'm bad so what's you going to do about it, mmh?" You ask him with another kiss pressed on his chest.

He lifts your leg to put it around his waist and squeezes the flesh on the back of your thigh. You know you're putting him in a predicament, one side of him wants to be good but another side of him wants to rebel.

Oh, you know that very well because you're going through the same thing except that you know your bad side always wins.

You tilt his head by pulling his chin down to force him to look at you, "What are you going to do, Chris?"

As Chan leans in, you can see which side of him that has won the inner battle.

YOU: Lana, you were wrong to send us to the private suite... [nervously laughs]

This morning, you wake up earlier than Chan. You use this chance to play with his curls and spot the faint freckles on his face with your fingers.

After a while, his eyes are fluttering open, and finds you staring at him.

"Morning, my beautiful man," you softly greet him with a smile and kiss his bulging bicep.

He sleepily smiles with his eyes barely open, "Morning," he replies with a croak.

He reaches for your face and brings it close so he can kiss you on the cheek, long and lingering as if it would help to bring him back to his senses.

"How was your sleep?" You ask while twirling his curls around your fingers.

"So tight," he shortly answers.

"I'm asking about your sleep. Not about me," you jokingly say.

His body is shaking from his quiet laughter, he rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and turns over on the bed to lay on his back.

You waste no time to put your body on top of him and rest your head on his chest while he puts his arms around you, two bodies becoming one in a warm embrace.

It only dawns to Chan that the night has turned to day and soon, you and him have to be back, living in the villa with the rest of the group.

On top of that, you both have to deal with Lana.

"How are we going to tell everyone?" Chan asks you.

You kiss his chest and rest your head again, "We don't. We'll just stay here," you tell him with a giggle.

His reverberating through his body and sending yours to shake along with him, "Forever?"

You nestle your head in his neck and hum, "Mmh. Forever."

YOU: Last night was great. We enjoyed each other's company and I think... I think we did all right [smiles]

The atmosphere is cold despite that it's a sunny day and the heat of the summer clings to the salty air.

Everyone is already seated on the sofa, they're watching every step you take as you walk into the cabana and sit on the sofa with Chan taking a seat next to you.

"So..." Dani is the first one to break the suffocating silence, "How was the private suite, guys?"

Chan puts his arm around you and decides to answer it for both of you, "It was nice. Nice bed, nice bath..." he pauses to glance at you, "It was great!"

You look at everyone and add, "It was romantic."

Luke clears his throat and raises his hand like he's in a classroom, "How romantic are we talking about here?"

You look at Chan while putting your hand on his knee, "We had a bath together, and played with some sex toys," you give them a few bits of what happened last night with a giggle at the end.

It feels awkward that everyone is not as enthusiastic as you to hear it. Well, you're not going to let them stop you from being happy. You look at Chan, he's looking just as happy as you and that's enough.

The melodic chimes in and your heart drops to your stomach.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana greets.

Everyone is half-heartedly answering her like they know they're about to receive bad news even though she barely started.

"Your stay at the private suite was the ultimate test of restraint to further their connection without surrendering to physical desires," Lana says.

You get a feeling that Lana is only dragging it around to heighten the anticipation and make everyone even more anxious.

"However, this was also a test of trust."

YOU: Wait, what?

"When you left for the suite, I asked the group whether they would put their faith in you as a couple."

The anxiety takes over the moment you hear Lana doing another test without you knowing. You silently groan and avoid everyone's eyes by looking away.

"If they trusted you not to break the rules, I would reimburse the $32,000 you both have lost so far."

You feel Chan's hand firmly grip your waist as he's receiving the news with you.

"However, if you break any rules in the private suite, an additional $32,000 will be deducted from the prize fund."

YOU: Lana, why would you do that?

Seeing that both of you are looking guilty and unconvincing, they are all looking so down.

"We have so much faith in you," she says but her words are filled with regrets.

You turn to the side and Chan is at a loss for words, he's just as shaken as you are. You're holding on to his hand like it's a lifebuoy that will help you keep floating while everything else is trying to drag you down.

"I can reveal that they did not..."

You hold your breath the whole time Lana is speaking and hold Chan's hand hard enough his knuckles turn white.

"Pass the test."

"Oh..." Jace dramatically slumps down his seat with hands holding his panicked face.

"Are you joking?" Lola gasps in disbelief.

"This has cost the group $32,000."

You close your eyes because it's the only thing that will help you to escape this moment.

"What did you do?" Dani asks with a stressful grin.

Since Chan is still speechless, you take your turn to speak and answer her, "We kissed."

Dani drops her head onto her hands and sighs.

"Just one?" Jane asks.

It forces you to replay everything that happened last night in your head and you find two instances that you know for sure are rule breaks. The first is when Chan pulled you onto his lap in the tub, then kissed you and the second one is the kiss you shared on the bed before sleep.

There are yelling, cursing, and groaning, everyone is going at you at once. There is no use to respond them because they won't even try to listen to you so you toughen up and let them.

YOU: I had no idea that they bet that much money on us last night.

"And because you kissed twice, you have been fined an additional $12,000."

You close your eyes again to briefly disassociate yourself from life and give yourself a space to think.

"That means your night in the suite has cost the group a total of $44,000."

It keeps getting worse and worse, the guilt is not something you can avoid anymore and you feel sick in the stomach.

Chan takes a deep breath and can finally say something to everyone.

"We had no idea you guys waging that much money on us but we're sorry... genuinely, we are so sorry," he earnestly says.

"The prize fund now stands at $91,000."

Pierre scoffs at it and shakes his head, "We'll be going home with nothing."

Everyone just doesn't have anything else to say, they're gutted to know half of the prize money has gone.

"Goodbye," Lana casually ends, leaving everyone with bitter news.

YOU: I thought everyone would understand so I thought– I thought we could get away with one, two kisses... [heavily sighs]

It's hitting in now with the girls giving you a silent treatment in the bedroom while the boys are out for a workshop.

But it's only going to get worse until you convince them that it won't happen again.

"I genuinely feel terrible you guys, I am sorry," you tell them.

Lola is not really that subtle at hiding her angry face, you know she's been holding it in ever since she walked out of the cabana.

"You know it was a test. You should have known that you have to resist," she says with gritted teeth.

"I know, I know," you tell her.

"I wasn't... it just felt right at the moment. I–"

Dani cuts you off with a sharp glare and says, "You have kissed like what? Five times? You should have learned already!"

That's true and you admit that you did wrong, but you hope that they'll give you a second chance to make things right again. It seems like the only way to prove that you want to do better is through actions.

"I'm wrong and I'm sorry," you simply conclude and wish that's enough for now.

There's only someone you can go to for consolation and you dash to the bathroom knowing that he's there. You hug him from the back as Chan is washing his hands in the sink.

His skin is smooth and hot as you rest your head on it, your hands are locked around his waist.

Chan puts his hands on you and looks at you through the reflection in the mirror, "It's going to be okay," he says.

It feels good that he knows you need the comfort and he's giving it to you without waiting for you to ask for it. To say that it's just physical is wrong, you do have an emotional connection with him and you believe it's going to get stronger from here.

"I have to shower," he says.

You reluctantly let go since you've been hugging him for quite a long time, "Can I join?" You jokingly ask even though you're dying to shower with him.

Chan laughs at it but he knows it's a bad idea. He grabs a towel and kisses you on the forehead before getting into the shower stall.

"I'll be good and wait for you here," you tell him and sit on the edge of the tub while he's showering.

Alicia comes into the bathroom to wash her hands and sees you sitting there. She laughs at you and then says, "You can shower with him."

You shake your head and awkwardly laugh, "Nah, don't want to cost the group more money."

If it was a month ago, you wouldn't hesitate to jump into the shower with him so this feels like you passed the first test of many.

YOU: It's going to be hard to earn their trust back but in time, I hope they see that Chris and I, we do have a genuine connection.

You're not the only one.

Chan is just as excited for this date that he can't stop grinning and his dimples sunken deeper into his cheeks, making him look adorable despite the muscular body he has.

The date is taking place at the beach, they have set a bonfire with a picnic mat and cushions to sit on.

Chan initiates a toast with you to start the date, "To our first date!"

You clink your glass with him and add, "First one of many!"

You feel good already after one sip of the chilled wine, mostly because what happened today has taken a toll on you and now all of the anxiety has left your body, you're completely relaxed and at ease.

"You're beautiful," he praises while tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Thank you," you mutter with a smile.

Something about him that makes you don't have to try so hard with him. You can act however you want without feeling like he's going to judge you for it, he makes you feel seen and heard, and most importantly, understood.

"So... how does it feel being the biggest spender in the retreat?" You playfully ask him, putting your hand on his knee.

"Good but not great," he answers with a scrunched nose.

You chuckle and you put your hand on his shoulder to pat him, "We have to be good, Chris!"

He bursts into laughter and looks at you, "Oh, really?" He asks with a false shocking face.

You nod but you both know that between the two of you, you need to work hard to be good. Getting out of habit is going to be hard but you're not going to give up just yet.

You look into his eyes and softly smile, "The thought that I almost lost you today made me realize how much I like you," you sincerely tell him.

Chan slyly smiling at you, "

And it's the first time in your life you care so much about someone else's feelings for you. All these times, you don't fuss much whether someone likes you or not, you're going to leave them soon anyway so why bother?

But right now, this moment, you want to know if he feels the same way.

"So you like me, huh?" He says yet again with a playful tone.

You dramatically roll your eyes at him and say, "I gave you a handy before our first date and if that doesn't say I like you then I don't know what is."

He crashes his body against you as he breaks into another series of laughter, "Why are you laughing? Do you like me or not?" You ask him again half-laughing.

He presses a long kiss on your jaw and cheek, then his hand tenderly caresses your cheek.

"I like..." he drags the word as he takes a look at your face with his lips slightly curled into a smile.

"I like your eyes, I like your... nose, I like your smile..." he says with a stifled laugh.

You find the hidden intention behind all those sweet praises, "I don't think compliments will get us a green light," you tell him.

Chan shrugs, "It's worth a try," he innocently says.

You lean forward and put your hands on his thighs, keeping his eyes engaged in intense eye contact, "Okay, then, tell me more!"

"Tell you what?" He asks with his teeth faintly biting his lower lip.

"Things you like about me," You look at his eyes and then his lips, doing it not so subtly just to tease him.

"You're beautiful and smart," he compliments, putting his hands on your shoulders.

You tilt your head to the side, "And?"

"Gorgeous and sweet and cute," he compliments more.

You notice his eyes are also looking at your lips, "Kiss me then," you dare him with your lips pursed at him.

Chan leans in but instead of kissing your lips, he places a soft kiss on your nose, "We have to be good, remember?"

You whine and pout, then let out a sigh as Chan puts a space between your bodies, "I can be good, right?"

He brightly smiles at that and holds your face with both hands, "We got each other," he assures.

With that being said, you have nothing to worry about when you have him on your side.

YOU: I want to do this the right way and that means I have to show everyone that I can be good.

There's a bowl of grapes and you take turns feeding them to each other, Chan playfully bites at your fingers when you shove them into his mouth.

"That hurts!" You yelp.

He laughs at what he did and pulls you close, placing you to sit on the space between his legs so he can hold you from the back.

He delightfully sighs as he looks up at the night sky, "We can't see the stars," he says.

You turn your head to look at him, "I know another way you can make me see stars," you tell him.

He knows exactly what you meant by that and slyly grins at you, "Mmh, yeah, I can hit you hard on the head."

"Ooh, you choose violence, huh?" you exclaim with a sharp hiss.

Chan tightens his hold around you while nuzzling his head into your neck, squeezing you like a plushie toy. You have nothing to complain about when you like his big arms enveloping you whole.

It seems that Lana won't be kind enough to gift you a green light tonight. You bet it's because she has seen what you can do and a green light would only unleash more bad out of you instead of the opposite.

"What do you want to do if it goes green though?" You ask out of curiosity.

He brings his mouth close to your ear but instead of whispering his answer, he gently bites at your ear and then drags his mouth down your neck.

"Oh... who's the bad boy now, mmh?" You say with eyes closed as he brushes his lips on the sensitive skin behind your ear.

Chan knows what he's doing and you can't tell if he's testing you or he simply wants to tease you, bringing out the bad in him when you're trying to be good.

Either way, you're doomed.

YOU: It's so easy to be bad but to be good? Ugh... I need a lot of strength.

The lights are on and you feel like sleeping for another hour.

Chan is still lying down next to you, he suddenly takes your hand and puts it around him as he turns to lay on his side, forcing you to spoon him from behind.

You spot a faint freckle on his shoulder and kiss it, cuddling him while everyone else is chatting from their beds. Your hand is resting on his chest and you feel like teasing him by lowering it to his abdomen.

"Let me say hi to the morning wood," you softly whisper into his ear.

You hear his quiet laugh as he grabs your hand and clasps it with you, then puts it back on his chest, not letting your hand wander around his body.

Rome isn't built in a day and certainly, it's going to take you more than a day to leave your bad habit.

Lana chimes in for her usual morning greeting, "Good morning!"

"Morning," you reply while yawning.

"I hope you are enjoying your new watches," Lana says.

"I think our watches didn't work," Jace jokes.

"Ours working just fine," Pierre says.

You keep cuddling each other under the duvet while intently listening to the talk bouncing around the room. Low-key jealous that Pierre and Alicia got the first green light.

"Was it good?" Chan asks from next to you.

Pierre laughs and exchanges a glance with Alicia. Jace cuts in with the most important question, "How long did the green light last?"

Pierre thinks for a moment, "Like two to three minutes."

"I can work with that," Jace says with a smirk.

Trying to be good is not easy and the more you try to get away from bad things, the harder it gets.

You bring a bottle of nail polish with you to pass the time by painting your toenails while sunbathing outside.

Chan finds you in deep focus to pain the other foot and comes to your aid, "I'll do it for you," he offers.

You hand him the nail polish and beam a smile at him, you watch as he carefully paints your toenails with blue nail polish.

"You are good at everything!" You compliment while wriggling your toes, impressed by him.

He smiles in pride and puts your feet on his lap, he leans down to blow air on the still-wet nail polish. Your feet are sensitive so what he's doing makes you feel ticklish, sending you giggling and squirming in response.

Chan definitely knows about this and he's using it to tease you.

"Stop it, Chris!" You scold, yanking your feet away from his grip.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," he says but he keeps holding your feet by the ankle.

The more you try to get out of your bad habit, the more sexually frustrated you are.

YOU: I am struggling right now. I just need a little... something [groans]

It's kind of suspicious that Lana starts the party early today.

She calls everyone to gather on the beach and have a party there with cocktails served and ready to drink.

You don't want to be caught off guard but you need a sugary, alcoholic drink with a cute little umbrella on it.

"This is so cute!" Dani squeals next to you.

Instead of sitting next to Alicia, Pierre sits between you and Chan. You glare at him in suspicion, "Are you like... cockblocking us?"

Pierre sips his drink and grins, "Yes, yes, I am."

You scoff and laugh, "But I could kiss Alicia, you know?" You tease him with a mischievous smile.

Pierre curses out loud in French and makes his way to sit next to Alicia, protecting his girl from you. Chan flashes you a grin and puts his arm around you.

The music is playing loud enough against the sounds of waves crashing but no one is dancing, everyone prefers to sit around the small bonfire and chat with each other.

After being locked in the villa with them for weeks, it would be impossible not to have some sort of attachment to them because you're going through the same thing.

"Oh, my God! The boat is coming here!" Dani points out at the boat that is indeed getting closer to the shore.

Everyone is cheering as the boat stops and two people are getting off of it, a boy and a girl. This can only mean one thing.

"Hi, everyone!" The new girl says, coming in her red bikini and dark wavy hair. She has a hot body and her tan skin is glowing under the afternoon sun.

You leer at Chan to see any reaction that could tell the possibility of his head turning for the new girl.

"Hello, I'm Claire," she introduces as she gives you a quick hug and a cheek-to-cheek kiss.

"You're too fit, girl!" You say passive-aggressively and a courteous smile on your face.

You watch for details as she introduces herself to Chan who's standing next to you. He gives her his dimpled smile and you roll your eyes immediately.

Looking around, you can see that you're not the only girl bothered by Claire's presence.

YOU: Player recognizes player, okay? This new girl will stir things up, I just can tell.

The party moves up to the villa and the new guests are on a tour as Lola takes the role of the guide.

You're going to the dressing room to freshen up and fix your make-up before getting back outside. You accidentally bump into the new boy instead, you forget what his name is because you were too focused on the new girl.

You were applying a fresh coat of lipstick when he greeted you, "Hey!"

You glance away from the mirror to see him standing in front of his closet, "Hi..."

It's the first time you take a good look at him, he's tall and has beautiful brown skin, he has tattoos covering his left sleeve and you can see that he has an edge to him.

He takes off his shirt right there, exposing his lean body and a big tattoo on his back. You don't want to be presumptuous but it seems like he's doing it on purpose.

You burst into a low laugh, "I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

He takes two steps closer to you while buttoning up his shirt, "It's Mac," he answers.

It's dangerous. Mac is the type you're always going for and you have to stick to your new regime of getting away from bad things so you decide to leave.

You put away your lipstick, getting up from your chair while smoothing down the hem of your dress.

"Nice to meet you, Mac!" You tell him with a smile as you walk past him.

You're right to think that the new guests are going to stir things up.

You take a deep breath as you walk back outside, expecting Chan to get all over the new girl like the other boys and surprisingly, he's not.

He smiles at the sight of you and pulls you into a hug.

"Where have you been, mmh?" He murmurs with his mouth on your neck.

It's like he knows your head is about to turn a little.

YOU: Nah [shakes head] My head is not turning. It's not [nervously smiles]

You wake up next to Chan and you give him a morning kiss on his cheek, playing with his curly hair and feeling delighted to see another sunny day.

You can only hope that your gut feeling is wrong for telling you that something is about to happen soon, good or bad, you hope it has nothing to do with you or Chan.

"I think I'm going for the new guy," Olivia says, sounding chipper than usual.

"Mmh. You should, he's hot," Dani says while brushing her long hair.

You look at the new girl and she's quietly putting on her make-up at the end of the long vanity table. Just like Lola reads through your head, she asks her, "How about you, Claire? Have your eyes on anyone?"

Claire puts away her mascara and picks up a brush, "Uh... for now I'm trying to keep an open mind and get to know everyone," she answers.

That sounds vague, sounds dangerous for you, and not that you're intimidated by her great physique. Chan is a man after all and prone to temptations.

Everyone is called to the cabana as usual and you decide to do your hair later, you can't make Lana wait for you.

Chan is prepared with his hand outstretched at you to make you sit next to him, putting his arm around you like someone is about to pull you away.

"Looking like a snack today," he whispers to you.

You crack a laugh and hold his face as you whisper back to him, "You are welcomed to eat me."

He pinches your forearm as a way to get back to your naughty response, making you wince in pain. The melodic chime sends you both sitting up straight on the sofa.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana begins.

"Hi, Lana!" You greet back with a tense smile even though you have nothing to worry about.

"As you know, I encourage genuine romantic connections. So I have planned dates for our new guests."

Everyone's attention is on the two new guests, Claire and Mac. The couples seem to be alarmed that their partner may get picked to go on dates with them, including you.

"Claire, please select someone from the group to take on a date!" Lana orders.

The girls are looking tensed next to their man, you want to look coy but you shoot her a subtle glare just so she knows not to mess with me.

"My pick is..." Claire is looking in your direction.

Your heart is pounding, afraid that she'll dare you and pick Chan.

"Nick," she settles with the safest choice since Nick isn't with anyone at the moment.

YOU: That's right. Smart girl knows better not to mess with someone's man [smirks]

"Mac, please select someone from the group to take on a date!"

Now it's the boys' turn to get nervous and you can see that Chan's jaws tensed, it's somehow making him look more attractive.

Okay, you have something to confess. You don't want to sound overconfident but you caught Mac giving you the eyes for a few times. This morning, as you cuddled Chan on the bed, you noticed that he was watching you from his bed.

Since this morning, you've been lying to yourself by constantly assuring yourself that Mac does not have any interest in you. Now that he's being given the chance, you can only hope that you're overthinking it.

Olivia is the only one excitedly waiting for his answer while the other girls are pretending not to care about it.

The tension keeps on building the longer it takes for him to settle on a decision. You look away and try not to get sucked into the gravity of the situation.

"There's someone I'd like to get to know better," Mac hints by looking in your direction with a devilish smirk dancing on his face.

Then Mac calls your name and your head snaps in his direction, "You and I," he says with his tattoed finger pointing at you, "on a date."

It suddenly gets eerily quiet in here and you can hear seagulls cawing in the distance. Everyone senses a drama brewing from the moment Mac chooses you to go on a date with him right in front of Chan.

YOU: Okay, this is the big test [nods] but here's the thing, I'm never good with tests [winces]

Your date is later at night and you've been contemplating what you should wear for it. You want to look good but at the same time, you don't want to give the impression that you're anticipating this date.

You're nervous, nervous because you don't trust yourself and you definitely can't trust Mac.

Chan comes into the dressing room looking defeated already, he's watching you putting on makeup from across the table.

"Are you worried?" You ask without looking at him.

He intertwines his hands together in front of him and pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, letting out a big sigh instead of answering you.

You finish your make-up quickly and come to him, sitting on his lap to hold him. Honestly, you feel a little sad that he doesn't have that much trust in you but you understand why.

"Don't think about it too much," you tell him.

He puts his hands around you and pulls you closer, burying his head in your chest as he inhales your scent.

"I won't be long," you assure him while softly scratching at his scalp.

It's almost time for you to go, you slowly pull away and hold the side of his face, "I'm going, okay?"

You kiss him on the cheek and get off his lap, looking over your shoulder at him before exiting the door.

YOU: I kind of wish that he puts a little more trust in me [softly sighs] Time to prove myself, I guess.

Mac grips your waist as he gives you a quick hug and a cheek-to-cheek kiss, "Oh, what a lush!"

You're smiling hearing his words and sit on the cushion since it's almost the same kind of date you had with Chan before, except that it's in the backyard of the villa.

"How are you?" He asks as he hands you a glass of champagne.

"Good. How are you?" You answer then take a sip of your wine.

"Never been better!" He shorty replies.

It's better to have small talk and be boring, you reckon. You think of something to ask him, "Where are you from?"

"South Africa," he answers.

"Oh, that explains the accent," you try to sound impressed and remain coy at the same time.

"So... You're with someone," he says, going straight into the main topic.

"It's nothing serious but yeah, I'm seeing someone right now," you hate that you sound so unsure of yourself when you answer him.

"Seems like I'm going have to step on toes anyway," he casually says.

Mac is bold, daring, and extremely attractive, he's so dangerous that he makes all of your alarms go off at once, telling you to exit this situation or else you won't survive.

YOU: Lana, you're so bad for dangling a sexy, bad boy right in front of me and thinking that I can resist it. [Sighs]

The plan to bore him is not going according to plan.

It's hard to make it boring when he looks so hot in his white shirt and his tattoo is peeking out of the opening of his shirt.

"I'm just going to be frank, you're my type," he remarks with an easy smile.

You don't mean to get flustered but it just happens, your body is acting against your will.

"How about me? Am I your type?" He asks, his tattoed fingers are playing with his luscious lips.

You look down at your drink and pretend that you see something interesting in there, "Well, I'm—"

You're getting tired of dodging away and decide to be your true self, "Yeah, you're definitely the type that I usually go for," you honestly answer.

Mac triumphantly smiles, "I can see that. I can see that you're wild and I meant it as a compliment."

"Thanks," you say with a dry chuckle.

It feels wrong that you start to enjoy this date but you're sure it's because you let loose, you're slowly coming back to your habit and it's comfortable, luring you to get back to it.

"Want a bite?" He offers, gesturing at the bowl of sliced fruit and the chocolate fondue to dip it in.

Again, your body is acting against your will and you nod at his offer.

He takes a piece of banana and dips it into the warm melted chocolate with his fingers. You hold his hand by the wrist to keep it still while you take it into your mouth.

"You got something," he says, wiping the smeared chocolate on your upper lip with his thumb.

Mac doesn't hesitate to lick his thumb after and it's only fair that you do the same for him, you carefully bring a piece of strawberry dipped in chocolate to his mouth and try not to let it drip onto his white shirt.

"You spent quite a lot of money, I heard?"

You nervously laugh again and nod.

Mac is so straightforward and you know that everything he says to you is unfiltered, they're purely what he thought of you and you're scared to hear more of what he thinks of you.

"It's hard to follow the rules," he says.

"Yeah..." you half-heartedly respond.

He gazes into your eyes and somehow manages to get closer to you, "I want to get my fair share of the fun," he remarks with a flirty gaze thrown at you.

It takes no genius to know what he means by that and your heart starts to race, there's no exit strategy because you've never been in a situation that requires you to say no to a kiss.

"Also because I have a lot of catching up to do," he says with his eyes centered on the lower half of your face.

All you know is how to say yes to everything, there are no rules, no restraint, and no self-control whatsoever.

He looks deeply into your eyes and his voice drops lower than before, "What do you think?"

YOU: Chris keeps slipping off my mind and I... want to kiss Mac.

The steps you're taking to get back to the villa are getting heavier and heavier.

You put on a smile at the sight of everyone mingling around with drinks in their hands and look for someone in mind, found him sitting by the firepit.

Chan is talking to Jace and Lola when you appear, "Hey..."

Jace and Lola seem to understand that you both need the privacy, they kindy excuse themselves to leave.

Even though he's wearing a black shirt that enhances his broad shoulders, it doesn't look as stunning as when he wears it with confidence.

You take a seat next to him, facing the firepit with the fire lying low and swaying from the wind. You take a moment to compose yourself before looking at him.

"Can I be honest with you?" You begin.

He nods but he figures that you need his verbal answer, he clears his throat, and then says, "Yes."

"I'm quite disappointed that you don't have any trust in me," you sadly say.

You can hear his deep sighs full of regret. He takes your hand and holds it, "I trust you. It's me... I'm not confident with myself."

He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckle, "I'm sorry," he sincerely says.

You nod and hold his gaze, "That's okay, I understand."

There's a pause and it's getting so suffocating, there's so much to say but you're afraid of the reactions you'd get.

"So, how was the date?" He asks.

You need to answer it carefully but lying is also not the best option, you mull it for a moment to come up with an answer, "Uhm... he said that I'm his type and he uh..." you speak while cautiously watching for his reaction.

"He said he doesn't mind stepping on your toes," you add an awkward laugh to lighten the mood.

A crease is forming between his eyebrows and his jaws are clenched, "The fuck?"

You quickly think of something to say to turn it all around before he gets burned by rage.

"He is my type but..." you laced your fingers with him, "We didn't do anything."

His face is less tense than before and the glints return to his brown eyes.

"I know I said I like bad boys but that's because I haven't met you," you tell him.

A smile rises on his face ever so softly like a sunrise. His angry face is incredibly attractive but seeing him like this makes you feel warm inside.

"Yeah?" he asks with a smile that grows wider and brighter on his face.

"Yeah," You answer without a beat.

He pulls you onto his lap and hugs you so tight, he plants a long kiss on the top of your head, then places another kiss on your cheek.

"I'm glad you're back," he murmurs.

"With you," you add to his sentence.

"With you," he repeated with a laugh.

YOU: Everything I've done I've failed at but not this time. I passed the test and it feels good [smiles]

When the lights are on the next morning, your eyes refuse to open.

"Too early," you groan and stay lying on your bed with your eyes closed.

Chan shifts on the bed and without warning puts his body on top of you, he props his elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

You slip your hands under his arms and feel the ridges on his back muscles, they're firm yet smooth like touching a marble sculpture.

"How's your sleep, baby?" You softly ask with your hand in his soft curls.

Chan only answers with a hum and a kiss on your collarbone.

There's a talk going on in the room as you cuddle on the bed, the attention is on the bed at the other corner of the room where Nick is sleeping with the new girl, Claire.

You don't pay any attention to the chat until Jace asks, "How about you, Mac? How was your date last night?"

You're more afraid of Chan hearing how your heart starts to pound inside your chest and he's resting his head right on top of it.

Mac subtly glances your way and brushes his dark wavy hair to the back, "It was fun getting to know her. It was a really fun date."

Alicia is uneasily throwing glances at you from the next bed while you can only guess if Chan is listening to the conversation or not.

"Did anything happen?" Claire asks while biting her nail.

Fucking Claire is being fucking nosy and you unconsciously gripping the pile of duvet next to you.

Mac cracks a laugh then says, "I wish."

Oh, no! Chan hears everything. He lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at Mac, you can't see it but you believe it's nothing good.

There's tension in the room and it needs an intervention, Jace claps his hands together and snaps everyone awake with the loud sound of it, "Let's start our day, shall we?"

"Yeah, yeah," a few people replied with a croak and a yawn.

Chan seems to be like his usual self, he kisses you before getting up from the bed to start his day. You start yours with a quick yoga session with Dani and Alicia, after that, you take a dip in the swimming pool to cool down.

You climb out of the pool and someone has been waiting for you with a towel in his hands, from the tattoed fingers you can guess who it is.

"Good form!" Mac praises.

You sheepishly smile and wipe the beads of water from around your eyes, "Thanks!"

"You're a good swimmer," he praises again and hands you the towel.

"I took private lessons," you playfully reply and dab your face with the towel.

"Oh?" He looks surprised.

"That explains it!" Mac is not embarrassed to get caught checking you out from head to toe and back to your head again.

To think that you're safe from danger is so wrong. Mac was serious when he said he won't give up just yet only because you're with someone already.

You remind yourself that it's best to avoid it rather than try to handle it and risk failure.

"Sorry, I have to get ready," you tell him.

He licks his lips and nods, "Sure, yeah."

You're walking away with the towel and can feel his eyes following you until you're out of his sight.

YOU: I see my old self in Mac. I'm literally fighting my demon here.

Everyone seemed to be dreading it already as they gathered in the cabana for that time of the day.

With the new guests, it's possible that there were rule breaks last night but not you, you've been exceptionally good for these past few days so you can sit back and relax this time.

Lana comes online with her usual greeting, "Hello, everyone!"

You can reply to her at ease today, "Hello, Lana!"

Chan has his hand on your knee and his thumb is making lazy circles on the skin, it gets ticklish at times but soothing, it makes you calm.

"I must inform you that yesterday further rule breaks occurred."

You cringe at the announcement and quietly mutter, "Damn..."

"Resulting in yet another reduction in the prize fund."

Dani groans the loudest and the others are trying to disassociate themselves from this moment. Dani squinted her eyes and pointed her hand at you.

You lightly shake your head and calmly deny, "Wasn't us."

She then turns her head around to guess the perpetrator among the group. But before that, she assures everyone that it's not her and Luke, "Promise you we did nothing."

You have your eyes on the new girl Claire and she's sitting right next to Nick, they look guilty right now.

"It's better if you own up to it fast," Alicia says with a fed-up tone.

Claire nervously grins then finally admits, "We did."

"There we go!" Pierre exclaims in satisfaction.

Gosh! You're so glad that you're not in their positions right now. It's so intense that you can feel the heat of their intense stares at them.

"We had a kiss at the date," Claire begins, then she looks at Nick before continuing.

"Things got heated on the bed but... we hurriedly stopped ourselves," she explains.

As if that would help her to get out of this easily. She's new so everyone is not amused that she's spending this much money when she's only been here for a day.

"The rule breaks committed were one kiss on the beach, one kiss in the bedroom, and late at night, a mutual gratification," Lana comes up with the bill and it's shocking.

In this point of view, you understand now how devastating it is to hear a few grand of money lost for some kisses and a handy.

"This has cost the group $22,000."

YOU: Look at you! Spending all that money on useless things [smirks]

"The prize fund now stands at $69,000."

Your eyes widen at the amount of money taking a nosedive and you're responsible for half of it which reminds you to not say anything or it'll hit you back right in the face.

The worse is it's not the end of it.

"There was another rule break!"

The hunt for the next perpetrator is up and Chan suddenly stops drawing circles on your knee, you turn to look at him and he's looking at Mac.

You get the impression that he didn't believe it when you told him you did nothing on the date with Mac. Of course, you don't need to worry about it but, sadly, he has trust issues with you.

"It was me, okay?" Jace confesses and that explains why he's exceptionally quiet today.

"Cut your boy some slacks, please?" He begs, putting his hands together to apologize.

Even Jace can't stay good for long and that only shows how things in the retreat are getting harder instead of easier. It's always darkest before the dawn, they say and you hope they're right.

YOU: It's obvious that Chris has a trust issue with me and I understand... I don't even trust myself that well [looks down]

It's good that you have the chance to get away from Chan for a workshop.

You're aware you have to eventually talk with him but for now, you need a space and time to think by yourself. You haven't had the chance to recalibrate your new self with your old self and it feels like you're lingering on either side of it.

A lot is going on and you need to process it. It's good that you have no time to waste in between, after the workshop, you go straight to the dressing room to get ready for a party.

The theme for tonight is Masquerade and they have provided a box of costumes for everyone. You dressed up in a black lacey dress and a mask that matches it. You're not in the mood for partying but you can't just throw a tantrum and refuse to do a filming.

Chan has sensed something is off with you from the absence of smiles and the unenthusiasm drawn on your face. You deem that they have enough footage of you and decide to leave in the middle of the party to the dressing room.

You take off your mask and plop down on the chair, sighing and thinking out loud. Not long after, Chan enters the room and sits next to you.

A moment passes in silence and Chan brings his chair closer to you so he can put his hands on your knees, "Want to talk about it?"

You're not ready to talk about it yet but letting this going on for too long isn't good either. You look him in the eyes and ask, "Didn't I tell you that I did nothing with Mac on the date?"

He innocently nods and answers, "Yes, I know."

"Then why did you doubt me earlier?"

"When did I—"

"When Lana said there was another rule break and you immediately thought it was me," you cut him off with the answer.

His mouth is open but nothing comes out of it. He seems to have a lot to say too and you dare him to say them out loud, "You didn't trust me at all!"

He grits his teeth together to suppress something in him and fiercely looks at you, "Maybe I would have trusted you more if you didn't entertain him."

You jerk your head back hearing his wild accusation, "Entertain him how?"

His fingers are pressing on your knee and dug into the flesh, "Maybe if you told him off and showed him that you have no interests, he would leave you alone."

"I told him that. I told him that we're not exclusively together but I'm seeing someone and that is you," you stare back into his eyes.

"And that's the whole truth," you conclude.

Chan not willing to let it off as well, forward with his jaws all clenched, "Then why did I see you talking to him?"

You scoff in disbelief, you didn't expect him to be this angry over a simple thing, "It's not against the rules and it's not like... I can control what people can do and not do," you say and unintentionally raise your voice louder at him.

Mac's presence may have brought out the bad in you but he brings out the worst out of Chan. It makes you see everything that is wrong between you and Chan.

Aware of what you've just done, you let out a sigh and lowly mutter, "It's us, you know."

YOU: It's no longer about Mac, it's us, we're... wrong for each other.

Despite that you're still sharing the same bed and waking up next to each other, the others know that you and Chan are going through something.

A few of them must be relieved to know that there's a low chance for the two of you to rule break and spend some money.

"What's going on, babe?" Dani asks as she applies concealer under her eyes, "Are you guys okay?"

You sigh as you pick a brush to use to apply your make-up, "I'm not sure..."

There's still a little anger left in you but you're also sad that there's a possibility you'd lose this thing with Chan. You like him but you don't want to force this to work when it doesn't feel right to you.

"He has doubts and I have my doubts," you continue talking with another deep sigh.

"I think you should take time to think," Dani says.

She stops doing her make-up and looks at you, "I've seen you two from the very beginning and there's something there, I think it would be a shame to throw it away."

She picks up her makeup pouch, "So give it time, think it over, yeah?"

It feels good to know someone is rooting for you but on the other hand, someone sees this as an opportunity. Mac sees you sitting alone on the terrace and walks up to you, "Looking good today," he says with a smile.

You return the smile, "Thank you, Mac."

"Can I sit?" He asks gentlemanly.

You pull your feet close and hug them to make space on the sofa, "Yes, please."

He sits there with his legs spreading open and eyes that gaze right into your soul, "You know that I'm very open-minded about this whole situation and I'd like to know where your head at," he begins.

To be honest, you can't find the answer yet. You still need more time and space to think things through.

"I don't know. It's... so confusing," you tell him with a sigh.

Mac softly laughs and runs his hand through his wavy dark hair, "What do you want to happen, you know, ideally?"

That seems to put things into perspective. What do you want? Do you want to start things over with Mac and throw things away? Or try harder and fight for things between you and Chan to work?

Of course the former sounds so much easier, and simpler but are you ready to end things with Chan?

"To be honest, I'm not ready to throw what Chris and I have built since day one," you answer.

You have to admit that Chan is right about not entertaining Mac about this idea. You owe him the real, honest answer.

"It's not about you, I didn't lie when I said you are the type that I go for, but what I really want..."

It's time for the truth and you want to lay it as gently as possible to not hurt his feelings.

"What I want is to move on and continue building this connection with Chris," you finish.

Mac seems to understand, he's nodding as he processes your answer.

"That's fair!" He says with a thin smile.

"You're good-looking and a gentleman, it's just... what Chris and I have is special, genuine," you explain with a polite smile.

"Okay, you can stop making me jealous now," Mac jokingly says.

You feel bad for him, but you can't have everything and think that there'll be no consequences for it.

"Can I give you a hug?" You hesitate to come to hug him.

"Yeah, get in here!" He answers, opening his arms for you.

You share a friendly hug with him to thank him for being so understanding. You keep it brief to avoid Chan misunderstood it all over again.

You decide to leave first to make it less awkward for him, "I'll see you around," you say with a smile before leaving.

YOU: Not sure what's going to happen but what Chris and I have is worth fighting for.

Thankfully, you get the space and time you need with the boys out of the house for a workshop.

You think of things you want to say to Chris to figure out what's next for whatever it is between you and him. Also, mentally prepare yourself for the outcomes, good or bad, you're trying not to have any regrets in the end.

Pierre and Luke are already coming back from the workshop, but you don't see Chan. Pierre comes to join Alicia on the bed next to yours.

"Where is he?" You ask him.

Pierre props his elbow against the mattress, "I saw him pull Mac aside," he tells you.

That startles you that you get off the bed, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He waves you off and calms you down, "Don't worry. It's nothing like that," he pauses to pop open a button on his shirt, "They're talking. That's all!"

That's not enough to make you relax and you're not manifesting it but things could get ugly. You often forget that there'll be people there since it's a TV show after all.

You patiently yet anxiously wait while drinking in the dressing room, you moved there because the couples are getting lovey-dovey in the bedroom and it sucks being the only one without a bed partner.

You hear the sounds of footsteps approaching and you look at the doorway to see Chan.

To say that you feel relieved is an understatement, you crash your body into his and throw your arms around his neck.

"I missed you," you murmur.

You've only been away from him for hours but gosh, it feels like days. Being away from him just for a minute drained the life out of you.

"Missed you too," he mutters, his lips grazing your ear shell as he speaks.

YOU: Well, at the end of the day, we realize how much we mean to each other.

Chan holds you back and lifts your feet off the ground while pressing a kiss on your neck. You stay like that, soaking each other's warmth.

After a moment, he puts you down and presses his mouth close to your ear, "Put on your swimsuit and meet me at the pool," he whispers.

There's no time to ask why and Chan is not asking so you just nod at his order, "Okay."

As everyone else is getting ready for bed, you change into your bikini and head outside to the swimming pool. Chan is doing a lap in backstroke and stops as he sees you coming into the pool.

He catches you by the waist as you jump into the water and keeps hoisting you against his body. His wet hair stuck to his face and you brush it to the back for him.

"Is it time for another swimming lesson?" You ask with a sly smile.

The first swimming lesson wasn't a lesson to begin with and you ended up spending $18,000 that night. You have no idea what he's trying to do tonight but you plan to not think much.

He looks so hot with his hair wet and his body soaked in pool water. As if the visual wasn't enough, he constantly has his hands on you.

"What did you boys actually do in the workshop, mmh?" You jokingly ask him.

Knowing well enough now that it's not a swimming lesson and your heart is beating fast, because what if you made the same mistakes as last time?

He puts the strands of hair escaping your messy bun from the nape of your neck, then places a hot, wet kiss on it. You let out a stifled breath when he pulls away, his kiss leaves a searing feeling on your skin.

"I can't stop touching you," he whispers as he holds you from the back.

He turns you around and you hurriedly avoid his eyes, knowing what they are capable of. You hug him instead with your arms around his shoulders.

It's a fight or flight situation and since your skill in fighting your old self remains questionable, you choose the latter option.

"It's getting late," you tell him.

He kisses your jaw before asking, "Want to head back inside?"

You nod and he complies right away. He helps you get out of the pool, he holds your hand as he leads the way back inside the villa.

YOU: Who would have known? The student becomes the teacher [smirks]

It's too early to feel relieved yet.

Everyone else is already tucked in their beds, leaving the two of you being the last one still awake and roaming around the villa.

"Come here!" Chan says, pulling you by the hand to pin you against the sink.

Without looking into his eyes, you can feel the intensity of his stare as he cages you in his arms and leans close enough that you feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You put your hands on his chest to maintain this not-so-safe space between your bodies. He's been hanging you on the thinnest thread all night and you want to know what he has in mind.

"What are you—"

Before you can finish your sentence, he lifts you by the waist and then sits you down on the sink. It amazes you how he can easily lift you like you're a paper doll.

Chan puts his arm against the edge of the sink and cages you in between, slightly bending down to see you eye to eye.

He holds your chin to force you to look back into his eyes and he triumphantly smiles when you do. He then brings his mouth close to your ear, "I'm feeling bad," he breathlessly says.

And you think you're the only one capable of being bad? Despite your heart pitter-pattering inside your chest, you dare to ask him, "How bad?"

It's embarrassing how he can hear your ragged breathing as he places slobbering kisses down your neck. He then looks at your face with his lips merely inches away from yours.

"Really, really bad," he answers, then crashes his mouth against yours.

His hand reaches to your back and pulls at the straps of your bikini top, untying it open in one strong pull. He pulls you close as he deepens the kiss until your breasts are squashed between your chests.

YOU: I suddenly forgot who I am, where I am... what am I doing.... No, wait, I actually know what I'm doing [giggles]

This is such a plot twist.

When you're trying to be good, Bad Chan comes out to play. You lose count of how many times he kissed you until he decides to carry you into the shower.

Chan puts you down to turn on the shower and sets the water temperature right while you take off your bikini bottom. He follows suit after, taking off his swimming trunks as you wash yourself down with the warm water.

He joins you under the shower, putting his big arms around you and not hesitating to use them to freely roam around your body.

He cups your breasts in his hands and gently fondles them, "You're so perfect..." he delightfully sighs.

You grope down his body until it meets his hardening member, wrapping your hand around it to give it slow strokes.

He turns your head to the side so he can capture your lips in a passionate kiss that drowns you in pleasure. One hand glides down to your core and softly touches you there.

"Mmh... so soft," he sighs against your lips.

He parts your legs open and positions himself behind you, slipping his cock between your thighs gap to gain friction and making you more drenched than you already are.

Chan plants his mouth on your neck and you can feel his cock getting harder and harder with each passing second. You're lowly moaning as he sucks on your skin and his hand squeezes on your breast.

"Chris..." you mewl, seeing his fingers pinching on your nipple.

He turns you around and wastes no time to push you to the wall, he lifts one of your legs to his waist so he can easily enter you, sliding his length into you.

"Oh, my..." you gasp, surprised by how well you take his impressive length.

You cling onto him as he starts thrusting into you by steadily lifting your leg with one hand. He's watching your reaction as he sets a steady pace of his thrust.

You have your eyes closed most of the time, drowning in pleasure with how good he's fucking you right now. When you open your eyes, you find him with his lips curled into a sly smirk.

He seems to enjoy watching how close you are to falling apart with your mouth parted open, lowly moaning his name.

Chan hastily kisses your open mouth and asks, "Harder, yeah?"

He doesn't necessarily need your answer, he puts his hand on your other leg and hoists you against him. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist and this maneuver launches him deeper inside you, making you gasp in response.

"Oh, you feel so good," he says with his lips wet from the shower.

You kiss him to drown out the noises you make while your hands are helplessly clutching at his shoulders when he picks up the speed of his thrusting.

It's getting hotter inside the shower you can't tell if it's the water or the tension that caused the foggy glass wall.

YOU: Let's say we ticked everything off the list in one night [smirks]

It's another day of waking up next to Chan.

He flashes you a smile the second you open your eyes and it feels like you both became teenagers once more. You put your hand across his chest and sweetly kiss his cheek.

"Good morning, my beautiful man," you softly say with another sweet kiss on his jaw.

He holds the side of your head to return the kiss on the cheek, "Morning, baby."

Despite the bright sunny day outside, a storm is about to hit everyone soon as Lana chimes in right after the lights are on.

"Oh, shit," you quietly mutter under your breath as you force yourself to sit on the bed.

You can sense that it's that eerie quiet before Lana brings the thunderstorms in a second. Chan holds your hand and puts it close to his chest as he sits with his back on the headboard.

YOU: I hope Lana didn't see anything last night [grimaces]

"Good morning, everyone!" Lana greets.

Your heart skips a beat and you believe Chan can feel you gripping at his fingers. You're putting on a calm face even though you feel like hiding under the bed right now.

"I am very disappointed to report there were several breaches of the rules."

Everyone turns their heads in every direction and at this point, anyone could break the rules, not just you. You look at Chan and he looks as still as a sculpture.

Claire looks at Nick and says, "Do you want to start?"

Nick scratches his head and he gets red in the face already, "Uh... we had a kiss last night," he admits.

"And that's it. We stopped right after," Claire quickly adds to soften the blow.

"Claire and Nick, your rule break has cost the group $6,000," Lana announces.

Everyone else shows mercy for them or maybe they're too exhausted to have to deal with losing money first thing in the morning. Lana knows how to make everyone's day bad.

"There was another breach of the rules," Lana further announces.

It's the first time you hope someone else is breaking the rules because you're not ready to come forward yet. You look around the room and notice that Luke raises his hand.

"We broke the rules last night," he meekly says.

"Rules?" Lola asks with wide eyes.

Dani covers her eyes next to him and lets Luke speak for both of them. He rubs his chin and sighs, "A kiss and..."

Luke glances at Dani to continue talking, "We got carried away while showering together, a little gratification," he finishes with a nervous laugh.

You gulp air at the mention of shower and knowing that you're not the only one done dirty in there. That doesn't make you any better, if anything, it makes you feel worse.

"Dani and Luke, your rule breaks have cost the group $14,000."

Jace is the only one laughing at it but doing it so painfully when Lana updates the amount of money left in the pot.

"The prize fund now stands at $43,000."

The whole room is filled with groans and moans, there's not much left compared to the initial amount of it. You can't imagine how they would react when they know the worst is yet to come.

"However..."

YOU: Oh, here we go [deeply exhales] Please, tell my mom, I love her.

"There was an additional, serious breach of the rules."

You look at Chan and see that he prepares himself to speak to everyone. He scoots over to the edge of the bed and sits there. You follow to sit behind him, holding his hand and folding it around his waist.

"Okay, I'm trying to be honest here," Chan begins.

"Oh, no.." Olivia immediately responds with a disappointed sigh.

They kind of expected that the biggest spending couple is most likely the one who committed a serious rule break. They're dreading it all over again.

"A few kisses and it led to sex," Chan confesses.

You hold his hand tighter in yours and hold him close with your other hand on his arm.

"This was all my fault. I messed up, I'm sorry," he sincerely tells them.

Everyone is turned their heads away from you both and looking devastated if not disappointed. No matter how sincere he is about his apology, they won't listen because it wouldn't bring back the money you both have lost.

"You both yet again failed to show any form of restraint and broke the ultimate rule of my retreat: sexual intercourse."

Everyone has their head hung low and some are covering their faces as if they're too scared to face reality.

"There was $43,000 in the prize fund but because of the numerous rule breaks last night..."

You're under the eye of the storm now, ready to get shredded into pieces and then sucked into oblivion.

"Your prize fund now stands at $0."

They're right to close their eyes, the reality is a scary thing to see.

YOU: So, what's going to happen now?

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut #too hot to handle series

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harrywavycurly · 10 months

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Sarahhh that thing with Eddie hearing you talk to someone on the phone can you do it where he hears you talking about him in bed please!!!!!🫠💕

Hiiiii babes!! I’m laughing because I have like 3 other asks about this in my inbox and I honestly didn’t even think of doing this so of course I’ll do it for y’all! I hope you enjoy this😂💖

TW: lots of sex talk, mentions of oral and choking

*Eddie thought he’d surprise you with lunch but turns out he’s the one getting surprised*

“No he’s never done that.” You answer as you get comfortable on the couch after you prop your phone against your bottle of water on the coffee table. You’re currently in the middle of a catch up session with one of your oldest friends, you’ve been on FaceTime with her for the last hour and now as usual the conversation has moved on to talking about your relationship with Eddie. “He doesn’t really like a lot of PDA.” You add as you take a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl that’s sitting in your lap as you watch your friend make lunch through the phone.

“He doesn’t like it? Why?” She asks as she puts two pieces of bread in the toaster. You just shrug as you eat another handful of popcorn. “Has he ever choked you in the middle of it?” You nearly spit out the half chewed popcorn in your mouth making your friend laugh as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“You went from asking if he grabs my ass in the mini mart to now asking if he just randomly chokes me in the middle of having sex?” You confirm just to make sure you actually heard her ask what you think you did. She just laughs and nods as she begins making herself a sandwich. “I mean no he doesn’t just choke me all willy nilly it’s usually a…sort of vibe that’s known from the beginning that it’s gonna be one of those kinda nights.” You explain as you reach for your cup of juice from the coffee table.

“Ohhhh I see so you two are kinda freaky huh? Love that for you.” You just roll your eyes as you take a sip from your cup. “How often is he giving it to you?” She asks before taking a bite out of her sandwich, you purse your lips and raise an eyebrow as you put the cup back on the table.

“I mean you’re going to have to be more specific.” You watch her give you some playful side eye as she takes another bite out of her sandwich. “Do you mean how often do we have sex in general or how often do we have a quickie…or how often am I getting bent over and sent to pound town?” You can’t even finish your sentence before she’s laughing and covering her face because you know she hates the expression of pound town.

Eddie feels his cheeks get red and he wants to die on the spot, he knows he should’ve let his presence be known the moment he entered the house though the back door but he didn’t want to disturb you. But now he’s very much wishing he did as he can’t help but overhear your very personal conversation with your friend. To think all he wanted to do was surprise you with lunch from Benny’s since he managed to get off work early.

“Jesus you have categories? Well okay the how often are you two having quickies and where are these quickies taking place?” You can’t help but smile as a memory of you and Eddie in the back of his van creeps into your mind.

“I mean like once a week sometimes? The man drives a van…it’s like made for quickies he even has a pillow and blanket back there because he knows I refuse to just lay down on his gross ass carpeted floorboard.” Eddie runs a hand over his face as you talk and explain that he drives a damn shaggin waggin.

“Once a week isn’t bad…that’s about the same amount of times I can convince Tyler to go down on me.” You make a gross face at the mention of her current hookup buddy.

“You shouldn’t have to convince him to go down on you…Eddie is perfectly content with having his face between my thighs all night…once he even fell asleep down there.” You watch her eyes go wide as she shoves another bite of sandwich into her moth. “I mean after I finished of course…he’s a gentleman.” You add making her just laugh and nod her head in agreement, Eddie is a total gentleman.

“Does he do that fancy tongue and finger combination thing?” She asks and Eddie swears his face is the same shade as a tomato as he lets out a silent groan and runs his hands through his hair.

“He does oh and sometimes he does this thing with his pinky where-” before you can finish your sentence you heard something that sounds like a door slam making you jump a bit.

“Hey baby!” You hear Eddie’s voice coming from the kitchen making you smile as you look over the back of the couch. “I’m home and brought you lunch.” He shouts as you grab your phone and head into the kitchen after putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

“I’ll call you back later.” Your friend just smiles and nods before both of you say goodbye and hang up. You slide your phone into your back pocket and grin when you see Eddie standing there with a bag that says Benny’s on it. “Oh you’re just the best.” Eddie just laughs and shakes his head as he places the bag on the dinning table.

“You know me…always a gentleman.”

#eddie munson request #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson au #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #my little dungeon master baby #tw choking

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imgoingtofreakoutnow · 8 months

Text

Sketch me down, see me through – pt. 1

Summary: After a quiet day, you decide to sketch Astarion

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: it's really just a fluffy thing, lots of pining, they're both touch-starved

A/N: I wrote this a while back and it's not too bad, so enjoy! Here you can find Part 2 (@tripleyeeet you know this already but enjoy still! also, @yn-ymn-yln you might like this)

\_/

The day was slowly fading into the night as the fire of the camp stretched towards the burning sky.

It had been a weirdly uneventful day: you had wandered around without a real aim or purpose all day, mostly enjoying the view than actively looking for more loot. You still managed to stumble across a couple of lonely barrels and chests, gaining nothing really useful other than a well-crafted dagger with neat gold details in the handle.

Your companions were nowhere to be seen, probably drinking in the village nearby or resting in their tents or simply enjoying the company of somebody else.

As you sat alone next to the fire, sketching a bird roaming a few feet away and looking for food in the grass, you didn’t really mind a chance to enjoy your own company.

“There you are!”

The bird flew away in a ruffle of feathers when Astarion’s voice rumbled in the small clearing your camp was set in.

“I thought you had joined the others at the tavern,” he said, plopping down behind you with a tired sigh.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for drinking…” you mumbled with a shrug, your hand jotting down the last details of the bird before they left your brain, “or being among other people.”

“I better hope you don’t mind my company.”

His head popped over your shoulder, but you didn’t raise your gaze from the drawing, too focused shading the charcoal with your finger than giving in to his egotistical nature.

“You know I don’t,” you assured, blowing away the excess black dust from the parchment, “but you did make my model fly away.”

Astarion scanned silently the small sketchbook still open in your hands from behind your shoulder. You could feel his breath brushing your ear, creating a web of shivers that ran one after the other along your spine.

“Look at that.” His fingers reached for your drawing. You held your breath as they hovered over the dark and slightly smudged lines. “I had no idea we had such a talented artist within our group.”

“I’m not that good,” you scoffed with a smile, turning your head ever so slightly towards his, “but thank you.”

“However,” he continued, scratching thoughtfully his chin, “you could definitely use a better model.”

You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together before clicking your tongue. “You’re right, I should ask Gale to pose for me.”

“Gale?!”

“Or Shadowheart,” you added, ignoring his insulted tone. “Her features are so soft, perfect for a portrait.” You met his eyes with a grin. “Don’t you agree?”

Astarion huffed through his nose, pulling back and leaning on his arms. “I suppose she could be a decent model, but I don’t see her around to be sketched.”

You snorted, turning around on your seat to face his narrow scarlet eyes.

“Oh, is my annoyance amusing to you?”

“If you wanted me to sketch you so badly,” you started, turning to a blank page of your sketchbook, “you could’ve simply asked.”

Astarion stared at you for a second, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide in surprise. Those were the small expressions that you loved more about him: those seconds in between, where his facade broke for a moment, revealing something so brief that simply couldn’t be faked.

Then he cleared his throat and his mask of smugness covered his face once again, annihilating whatever real emotion that had made its appearance on his features. “If you insist, darling.”

He laid down on the grass, propping himself up with his elbow. His head rested on his closed fist, tilted as his half-lidded gaze was stuck on you. “So, how do you want me?”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. No matter how many times he looked at you like that or his words tickled your brain with lewd thoughts, Astarion always managed to stir something in your guts; a pull you couldn’t always ignore, especially when you were completely alone.

“You can just sit up,” you assured him, breaking away from his eyes to sharpen your pencil. “I’m not that good of an artist to draw you like that,” you explained a moment later, pointing at the relaxed —and obviously thought-out— position he was in.

“As you wish.”

Surprisingly, Astarion immediately followed your request, sitting back up with not even one objecting word.

“Nevertheless,” he murmured, leaning towards you, “if anatomy is the department you lack, I’ll be more than happy to aid you with your… sketches.” A devilish grin appeared on his face as his hand moved in the air with his words. “In every position you might ever need.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your calm voice and mischievous grin, almost mirroring Astarion’s, were in no way a faithful reflection of the turmoil storming your chest and mind.

“Now stay still,” you told him, your focus slowly shifting to the drawing as you started laying down the first few guiding lines.

“I’ll be as immovable as a rock, darling.”

“And silent,” you mumbled, your eyes darting from the page to Astarion’s slightly vexed expression.

Astarion noticed your frowning, however he had no time to articulate the question on the tip of his tongue that you had leaned in. Your hand reached out hesitantly, almost waiting for him to pull away or shoving you back in an instinctive reaction. But he didn’t.

You gently grabbed his chin, guiding his face slightly to the side. Then your thumb moved to the spot between his eyebrows, smoothing away the crease of irritation altering his features. You could feel the tension in his muscles give away under your touch, any resistance crumbling under your fingertips.

“There,” you whispered, admiring the calm expression on Astarion’s face. “Can you stay like that for a while?”

“Of course, darling.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he spoke. There was a sudden softness to him, one that you had never seen for longer than the blink of an eye. It was almost overwhelming, even after you had lowered your gaze to work on the small portrait.

Your pencil, guided by your hand, moved quickly on the page. You didn’t really need to look at Astarion to sketch him. His cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the shape of his eyes, his features had long been carved in your mind.

If he had taken the sketchbook —as you feared he was going to— when he appeared next to you, he would’ve found pages and pages covered in quick and small drawings of him. Studies of his face, hair, hands; whatever your mind could recall accurately.

Nonetheless, there was always something that you never managed to get exactly right.

You moved your gaze from the page, studying closely his eyes and the ever-changing glint behind them as you tried to recreate it with charcoal and parchment. An impossible task that made you sigh more loudly than you expected.

“I can almost smell your brain fuming, darling.”

You put down the pencil, straightening your spine and stretching your sore neck. You scrunched your eyes, exhausted of drawing in the dim and shifting light of the flames.

“Is it done?”

When you opened your eyes, Astarion was subtly peering over the page, the smug grin on his face unable to hide his nervous anticipation.

“I think so,” you mumbled, shading one last detail before staring critically at your creation. As you looked at it, you noticed so many details out of place: a line too straight, a curl too twirly, a shadow too dark…

“It could be better,” you said apologetically as you handed the sketchbook to your model, “but I hope you like it.”

Hesitantly, almost as if the book was made of fire, Astarion took it.

He stared at your drawing for a long time, his fingers following the charcoal lines and then looking for those same shapes on his face. A small shaky breath left his lips as his fingertips moved on his neck, brushing the scars of the bite.

“I had never seen them on me before,” he whispered, scoffing slightly as his hand fell back on the drawing.

“I actually drew them a bit too high,” you explained, pointing at the sketch with your smudged fingertips. “And the nose is too straight, and it’s all a bit of a mess-”

Your voice was cut off when Astarion took your hand in his. Before you could utter another syllable, he brought it to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“Nonsense, darling. You’ve given me a mirror in which I will always be able to see myself.”

He kissed the inner part of your wrist, his eyes locked in yours as his teeth grazed your veins. “How will I ever be able to repay you for this?”

“You don’t have to.” Ignoring your burning skin, you squeezed gently Astarion’s hand in yours as his eyebrows shot up. “I did this for you and you only. I’m not expecting anything in return.”

Astarion still looked at you with a puzzled expression while you took your sketchbook out of his grip, took the short dagger hidden in your boot and carefully cut the page with his portrait out of it.

“This is yours,” you said handing him the rough sheet of parchment, “and it should’ve never been taken from you in the first place.”

As if he was handling the smallest and frailest animal, Astarion accepted the page in his hand, his wide eyes still marveling at the way your lines came together to recreate him.

“I…”

For once, words failed him.

He looked up from the sketch and a million emotions crossed his face. Confusion and relief. Sadness and recognition. Fear and joy. And that softness, that overwhelming look empty of all the sharp edges that defined him every other moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, placing a shaky hand on your cheek. “I won’t forget it.”

That touch was alien to you.

It wasn’t the kind of touch that you had learned to expect from Astarion. It wasn’t sexual or teasing, anticipating a pleasure that he seemed always so eager to satisfy. It was gentle, hinting at an intimacy you had never dared to entertain, not even when you were falling asleep in your tent and your neck was still sore where his teeth had dug their way into your flesh.

His thumb moved slowly, hesitantly on your skin. You were both entering uncharted territories and you could do nothing more than being careful. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch as you always did, kissing softly his palm to let him know that you wanted it.

That you craved this intimacy, no matter how long you both needed to get there.

Some voices reached your ears —drunken and loud singing— and before you could make out who they belonged to, Astarion had already moved away, leaving your cheek to the cold touch of the night.

He quickly folded the drawing and put it away, giving you one last small smile before a smug grin bloomed on his face and removed every other emotion. He stood up and headed towards Gale and Wyll, the swaying owners of those voices that had just entered the camp.

As the crowd was becoming a little too much for your liking, you headed into your tent, falling with a sigh on your pillow. You could still hear the other three outside, but your mind was wandering far away, relishing in the memories of that night as you slowly fell asleep.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dnd #astarion ancunin #astarion fic

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theragethatisdesire · 2 months

Text

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone.

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it.

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum.

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him.

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash.

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears.

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #aot #aot fanfic #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #that's all for now folks!!!!#more to come in part 2<3

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 months

Note

hello seth! i don’t think my tumblr works with anon so i’ll just send it like this! i’m a huge fan of your writing and i absolutely adore it. whenever i am in the need for a good story and writing inspiration i go to your blog. so i was hoping if you could write a sally face fic! i haven’t seen too many on here and willing to write for m reader or ftm.

i like the thought of being with sally and just having time with him, soft domestic type stuff. then he starts asking you how you really feel about his face and you smile and take off his mask with permission and kiss him saying he’s beautiful and to not worry. you kiss him and hold him. he then sits up but keeps your lips locked and you begin to explore each other sexually but in a such intimate way you both are crying almost. if you want could be m reader but i would love a ftm reader! can we also have reader be bottom but still be guiding sally and affirming him. i know this is a big ask and you’re always working so hard so please take liberty with this ask! take what you want from it and remove what you don’t like. i just love you’re writing. take your time as well! writing can be draining sometimes and you really need to find that inspiration so i want to make sure you feel no pressure!

have a good day/night/evening!!<3

❝ I'll show you how we're supposed to feel (when we meet at Orion's belt) ❞

warnings: mentions of facial dysphoria, self-deprecating thoughts (Sal), unprotected sex, praise (a lot of it), minor hair pulling, creampies, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like cunt and boypussy are used)

masterlist ;

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words! hearing that you use my writing as writing inspiration made me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside oh lord 😭 you're too kind! This request was the softest one I've ever worked on, thank you so much for gracing me with the opportunity to write this~

*song on repeat: Orion's Belt by Sabrina Claudio / Baby Girl by SMNM

"Cold, cold, cold," Sal lifts his head from the couch. The sight of you rushing down the wooden stairs in nothing but a towel makes him lift himself to sit. "Fuck! Sal, you should put carpet in here!" Grinning, he leans forward and folds himself in half to stare at you furiously lifting the towel up to wrap around your shoulders instead.

"You hate carpet. B'sides, it'll get that weird moldy smell in here. I told you to get those fuzzy slippers," Gizmo meows in agreement from his corner of the couch. "Traitor!" you exclaim and he simply meows once again, lifting a leg to lick his stomach and Sal reaches over to give his head a good scratch.

"See? Even Gizmo agrees."

"Gizmo has in-built fuzzy socks. He has no say in this," your huffing and puffing simply makes Sal roll his eye, lifting Gizmo up to place the large cat right on his stomach while he props his head onto the armrest of the couch. Gizmo stretches out onto his torso, unbothered by the change in position while he presses his nose into Sal's chest and twists until he's nearly full on his back; the action makes Sal secure the old cat on him. His olive-toned arm loosely wrapped across Gizmo's purring body.

You're still rambling but it's all background noise to Sal. The sight of your bare legs and backside calls for his attention and despite how guilty he feels, he can't help but drag his sight all the way up to your — now — bare shoulders. The towel is now limply draped over the towel rack, and your muscles and bones are moving seamlessly underneath the fabric of your skin.

Everything about you can make him feel like he's going to explode. In a good way, if you can believe it. He sure as hell didn't. Sal remembers the first time he saw you, thinking you looked cool and that it was nice your interests lined with his. Somehow you managed to become more than that.

More always scared Sal. It was greedy and selfish. He wasn't religious but there was a sense of anxiety that came from wanting and needing more than you were given. Some sort of divine guilt was planted within him through passing by churches and reading the signs of worship plastered on billboards. Needing more is frightening, especially from other people.

More time spent with you two. More hours of listening to you speaking. More days spent with you in his home, bare skin and bare soul all for him and only him.

It frightened him!

Because, as self-centered as it sounds, he'd have to give you more. Don't take this the wrong way, he wants to — God, he wants to — but...but...

What if you don't like all that he has?

The fabric of his skin is spoiled. Marred. One of his eyes is artificial, his jaw asymmetrical, bone blown to bits, nose cut off and skin grafts stitched together and spliced.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shaky as he squeezes Gizmo. The patch-furred critter mews, twisting once again and crawling up. His weight on Sal's chest is comforting. The pressure across it squeezed down on him, reminding his body that it was real and he was safe.

"In conclusion, I propose we buy a heater! That way we can — "

You're dressed in Sal's pajama pants, hands in the middle of pulling down the oversized band shirt when you notice Sal squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sal? Baby? What's wrong?" You sit by his legs, placing a hand on his knee and pressing your hands on it to ease him back down. "You're okay, baby. You're okay." It's not often Sal gets like this. You've known him ever since he came to Nockfell County; you know he's the type of person to withdraw within himself when his anxieties get the best of him. He's certainly gotten better with time and as your friendship — and eventual relationship — got stronger, the both of you worked on ways to lean on each other when things get tough.

Sal inhales deeply, Gizmo raising with the motion, and exhales. You don't pry more, giving him room to find the words and tether back to you. Gizmo's purrs muffle the silence.

"Sorry, just, the sight of your ass gave me a heart attack, Jesus," the joke is met with a loose grin but Sal knows you better than that. Still. He's grateful you snort at his jesting. Gizmo stands — Sal grimaces as he puts all his weight on his sternum — then walks over to your lap instead. The sight makes him calm down.

The faded grey of the once-black band shirt and his pajama pants do too. It's silly but the sight of you in everything that's his comforts a part of him. You're here. You're in love with him. Your gaze holds nothing but patience and adoration and a tinge of worry.

But you're here, in his clothes, in his room, his cat in your lap, and your hands on his body.

"You feeling better, Sal?" He nods, pushing to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it, baby?" Gizmo gives your chin one more bump before he jumps on the floor and meanders his way to his food bowl. Taking the chance, you inch closer to Sal and he's grateful for it.

You're not scared of the cold prosthetic on his face. The iron bolts that secure the straps to his face and head, the glass eye that shines humourlessly in any situation.

"Do you ever want...more from this? From me?" That line of questioning made your brows furrow and mouth frown. "What do you mean?" You reach for him and Sal reciprocates by holding your hand in his lap.

"I was joking about seducing Mr Smith from the electronics store for a heater," he scoffs at your lame joke but continues. "I don't mean that, I'll get us a heater. Just..."

"You've never seen...all of me." His grip loosens but you don't let it. "So?" he looks at you, his face angled low and the shape of his prosthesis mimics his brow bone. Sal is pinching his face, confused at your indignant tone.

"So?" He whispers. You lift his hand up, inching in closer and placing his knuckles over your clavicle.

"So?"

"Doesn't it freak you out? We've been together for so long and you've never seen my face," he murmurs. Since you're so close, speaking above a whisper would ruin this moment. Sal's heart is racing again though this time the anxiety is laced with his love for yours. It's a confusing emotion but he relishes the way you press your forehead to his, nose bumping with the bump on his prosthesis.

"Do you want me to see your face?" He inhales sharply, glancing away.

"...I do. But..."

"Mm?" you spread his fingers out, guiding them to your neck and the calloused pads of Sal's fingers make gooseflesh spread. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in applause; because that's what he does to you.

He makes your pupils expand, makes your heart race, makes your brain produce dopamine; your body lights up like a goddamn firework when he so much as looks your way. You can be yourself with him without fear because you know you do the same to him.

"...I've only ever let you kiss me when it's dark. The first time we had sex, I couldn't even take off the mask...I just...I'm..."

Your frown deepens when Sal sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Be honest. Does it bother you?"

He's glad you don't reply immediately. A part of him always worries your love for him overtakes everything else. That, if something ever happens between the two of you and it tears you apart, you'll feel regret once the love is gone. You brush his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw as you shake your head.

"No. It doesn't. Because it's you, Sal. I love you. Even the parts you aren't ready for me to see." He exhales and his breath escapes through the slits of his mouth. You feel it on your thumb and it makes you grin.

There's a twitch in his eye and your grin falters for a moment before it reappears when he locks eyes with you.

"...Do you want me to see your face, baby?"

His jaw is set. His tongue is made of lead. So Sal simply closes his eyes and gives you a minuscule nod. If it weren't for your hand on his jaw, you probably would've mistaken it for a twitch.

"Can I take off your prosthetic?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure, baby? I won't do it if you're not — "

"I'm sure." He says in one breath. "I'm sure."

A moment of silence was shared and you leaned forward to press your lips in the molding of his. The cool material does not pulse or pump with life but it's your Sal's and you cherish it deeply; he exhales shakily and you grin as your fingers dance through the locks of blue to find the straps that hold the prosthetic in place.

It's secure, it's meant to be, and you can feel the wear and tear of the years in the material. The scratches and indents weaved into every fiber. You unbuckle the lower end first and Sal tightens his hold on you, so you pause and press another kiss to his porcelain cheek.

When he nods, you continue, cupping the mask in one hand to steady it while you undo the upper buckle.

Sal would be statue-like if it weren't for the nervous tremors in his fingers. The mask loosens and its weight drops into your hand. His breath does not come through the slits anymore and you can feel it breeze through the fine hairs on your fingers.

He says nothing and neither do you. Still, you place one more kiss on the forehead of his prosthetic and lower it from view.

Sal has his eyes cast away, but he faces you. There's a large scar across the right side of his mouth, splitting his lips and exposing his teeth. There's a dent on the right side of his lower jaw that leaves his bone structure slightly unbalanced, and the cartilage of his nose is completely missing. The skin has healed, stretching his eye and tugging on the rest. It's pinkish still, never quite settling into the rest of his olive-toned skin, and Sal understands why it's jarring.

It's like peeling back the layers of what makes humans...humans.

The skin. The sight of his face makes people unnerved. Teeth and gums and muscles and the lack of a nose. One side of his face was a plain canvas and the other was a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting of horror.

Your touch on his bare skin shocks him. The pads of your fingers drag across his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" You ask with your eyes lidded.

"No, no, it...it doesn't." You smile and your thumb rests just under his eyes, sweeping fondly while your palm holds his face preciously within your hand. There's a flush to his skin — it's not unusual with how the prosthetic held over his face nearly 24/7.

There's a feeling of nakedness that comes without the even pressure across his visage but your hands are an amazing substitute.

"You don't have to be nice," he says. "It takes a lot to get used to — "

"I know I can't completely convince you to not think of yourself as 'something to get used to' but you're not. Not to me." Sal's eye water and he wills himself to finally look at you.

There's a pinch to your brows, it makes your eyebrows cast this shadow across your eyes and highlight the colours of your eyes. You're frowning at his self-deprecation, though beyond that he can see you mean well.

"I would gladly sit on your face, Sal."

He scoffs, groaning as he slips away from your hand to toss his head back and flop right onto the couch again. "You're fuckin' impossible, (Y/N)," he mumbled as his hands covered his face. You place the prosthetic down on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and chuckle as you swing one leg over his hips and rest your crotch over his.

"What? I'm being honest here!" Bracing your weight on your elbows, Sal finds the comfort of your body across his similar to Gizmo's. "You're fucking beautiful," he squirms at that and you huff, nuzzling your face into his neck while he peeks from over his fingers.

"You don't have to say that," you huff once again. "I'm not saying that because I have to, I'm saying it because I want to. You're fucking beautiful, me being your boyfriend is just a coincidence."

He feels you shifting and instinctively, his hands rest on your hips and there he is again. You know you shouldn't stare, so you don't, but the shy glances at his face are less than secretive. His eyes are blue, cobalt almost, and his eyebrows are a darker shade of his hair. The shape of his eyes is rounded, with a deep crease and heavy eyelids just like his father's. Lifting your head, you gaze down at him and your hands are once again gingerly ghosting on his skin. This time, they're tracing his collarbones, feeling up the protruding muscle of his neck and halting at his jaw.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He has a quirk. A lip twitch that he does when he's excited; you've been dating him for years and you're still finding out new things about your boyfriend. It makes your heart race and it only triples in speed when he nods. Hovering, the peak of your lips ghost his. He had always envied how you kiss his prosthetic. It was an extension of himself but he hated how badly he wanted to feel you on him.

They press to his and Sal slips his eyes closed. It's nothing more than a peck. Innocent, chaste. But then he's tightening his grip and pulling you in; tilting his head like he's always seen other people do and you're grinning into it. He knows because he can feel it.

He can feel it.

How your lips spread, the hint of teeth that slide over his bottom ones, and the crinkling of your nose that's brushing over his cheek.

"You taste so good, pretty boy," your words make his ears red. "I'm sure anything is better than kissing porcelain," he replies with a breathless tone, leaning forward again as if unwilling to part from you even if just to talk.

"No, don't disrespect yourself like that. What did we say about making those jokes." "Hah, I'll stop when you do."

Giggling, you're leaning in again. Sal wonders if kissing you is the only reason he's not completely in tears. The first time he'd accidentally showed Larry his face, he'd cried because Larry didn't look away from him. You taste tears on your lips and Sal curses softly as he tucks himself under your jaw, groaning. You shush him comfortingly, threading your fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep inhales.

"I love you." Those words are followed by more tears and you squeeze him again. "I love you, Sal," he nods against your — his — shirt. He can feel the grin you have from the crown of his head.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Because you did. Sal was the man you wanted to be with until the Earth decided to throw in the towel; it didn't matter how buried your love for each other would be, because when your bones are dug up, or his guitar, or the treasure trove of things you've called yours; in the future, when you whisper to those archeologists: "Do you know?" they'd nod and reply, "We know you loved him."

Sal has never felt love like this. One that felt overwhelming at first, the same way entering a body would be for the first time in your life, but once he embraced the feeling? It was so...fulfilling.

How lucky was he?

Sal pulls away to cup your face and he leans in. You meet him halfway.

The feeling of your breath, your heart thudding against his own chest, the pulse beating under his thumb as he holds your neck — Sal isn't sure if he'd ever get into heaven but he doubts it ever compares to you.

His jaw moves and your lips part as you press closer. Fuck, kissing him felt like drinking in sunlight. There's a freedom that follows it, leaves you floaty and blissful.

"I love you," he replies between the friction, teeth biting down on your lower lip if only to hear if you'd gasp. You do.

"I love you so fuckin' much, (Y/N)." There's a feverish desperation in his words. But it makes your heart swell. There's no doubt in his eye, nothing but the truth and the truth is he'd worship you.

You're kissing again. Eager to show him the explosions he sets off within you. Between desperate lip locking and messy tangles of tongues, his hands move down and up your — his —shirt.

Squeezing your sides as he drags his digits across your skin. It spreads fire across your planes, has your already uneven breath shuddering as he memorizes the shape of your body again.

There's a growing hardness between his legs. You can feel it — twitching below your crotch as he tilts his head and tastes the lust that perspires from your neck.

He's greedy with his mouth. How could he not be? Sal has been wanting to taste you the second he realised how badly he wished you were his.

"Fuck, Sal." You groan, chewing on your lower lip as he experiments with this unmarked territory. His tongue is warm, his teeth brushes over pumping arteries with an air of amusement; when he finds the sweet spot? The spot where your breath hitched as he kissed it?

Sal makes your blood vessels explode. It isn't enough that the hairs on your neck stand in attention because of him, or how your blood rushes to your head when he so much as looks your way. He's determined to show you he can worship you in more ways than one.

You're gripping onto his shirt and your hips grind down. The moan he lets out makes your cunt wetter than before.

"I need you," you tell him as he sinks his teeth in. Just to test it out, to see if you'd like it. You do. His back feels cold as you lift his shirt but he grips at your wrist, panting as he moves his head away so you can see him.

"Can I...Can I keep it on?" He already felt a touch too exposed. You nod, reassuring him with a chaste peck.

"I'm gonna take of my shirt. You've made me all warm," he smiles a bit too smugly. He's handsome that way. When he gets a bit cocky — it's a sure fire way to make your head dizzy with desire.

"My shirt," he mumbles.

But when your bare torso is revealed the sass is pushed away. Sal presses kisses on your chest, teasing your perk buds with his too-warm hands and relishing in the way you toss your head back when he takes one in his mouth.

"Sal, holy fuck." He kneads at your ass, making your hips move back and forth. Rocking your clothed cunt over his boner as he leaves hickeys and bitemarks.

Here is where I plant my love, he thinks as he feels your heart pound against your ribcage, here is proof that he's mine.

Your pants are pulled below your waist and Sal moves back, making you yelp at the loss of balance. One second you're over him and the next, you're both tumbling over the couch.

His hand cradles the back of your head, curling over you as much as he could when you crash. Thankfully, none of you knocked into the coffee table but the adrenaline of the short fall makes the both of you wide-eyed.

"Holy fuck!" You laugh breathlessly. He scans you for any injury but soon follows suit. "You okay?" His hair curtains your face from view as he descends to claim your lips again.

"I'm peachy, baby." Sal grunts as you tug at the waist band of his pants. "Don't stop..." and how could he say no to you when you look up at him like that?

Your hands invade underneath his shirt and Sal moans as you press your fingers lightly into his back, kneading at the tense muscles. "M'not gonna take it off. Just wanna feel you," you assure as you reach his shoulder blades. God, the feeling of your hands on his body made him feel so Holy.

Ironic in the grand scheme of things but it's not like Sal gave a damn.

It's your turn to mark him up. He often already is. But this time your lips latch onto the obvious places. Lifting yourself to sit, Sal is suddenly at your mercy as you lovingly bruise him up with your mouth.

Sal lifts himself off your crotch a bit, panting and moaning at your ministrations, and slips his hand down your pants. Your breath stutters as your boyfriend touches your core.

"Sal," you plead. "I know, baby. I know," Sal frowns when you whine. "What? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're just..." You're breathing heavily as you stare up at him, nails lightly digging into his skin as your dick twitches against his palm.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sal."

That catches him completely off-guard. He hates how tears immediately burn at his waterline but regret doesn't come when they travel down his cheek. You're kissing him and the self-depriciation doesn't once rise. That snivelling, hissing, voice of doubt remains mute as you hold him.

"So fucking pretty," he slips his finger in as if attempting to distract you with pleasure. It makes you keen but you continue to sing praises for him as he pumps his digits in and out of you.

It's hard to move when you curl your arms over his back, hands peeking from the stretched out collar of his shirt. Forehead once again pressed to his.

"I can't — "

"You're all mine. My pretty boy is all mine." Blood should not rush so quickly to one's head. His chest is dusted in red, his shoulders, his ear, the apples of his cheek —

"You feel so good, Sal."

You allow him to push you back, splaying out onto the floor with your eyes lidded in want as he looked at you.

"...Shit, you're making my brain go all stupid," he grumbles — it sounds more like a whine. You lift your hips as he tugs your pants down and off. Sal gets between your legs and for a moment you think he's about to just slide in — which causes you a bit of concern considering how much meat he's packing between his legs — but then he lays on his stomach and your cock peeks straight up.

"I've watched a few pornos," he says with a grimace, "but — "

"I can guide you, Sal." He's looking up at you with those doe eyes and you chuckle as you brush some of his hair back. "You made me cum from grinding on your goddamn leg before. You've got this, Sex Grandmaster Sal."

"Really don't think mentioning Larry's marijuana induced rambling is setting the mood, babe," your giggle smooths out the furrowed brows he had. "Sorry, sorry."

Your cunt is making his mouth water. Sal presses his thumb on your cock and the sigh you let out eases his worries. His tongue on your dick has you inhaling deeply, slowly, back arching off the floor as he looks up at you.

He's overzealous but fuck does it make you wetter than you've ever been. Licking and sucking on your cock while he teases the opening of your cunt with his fingers. The hints of teeth makes your hips twist but he holds your hips down with muffled groans.

"Fuck, yes. You're doing so good, Sal. S'fuckin' good — holy shit, babe," the way your voice gets all pitchy makes him grin. Your slick on his tongue is making him want more, so he spreads your lips apart and sinks his tongue inside, it makes your grip onto his head, and Sal moans into you at the pinpricks of pain that follow.

Fingers accompanies his tongue and you're clamping your thighs around his head. It forces Sal's face into your cunt and the whole thing has him chuckling against you.

Pinning your thighs apart, Sal licks and swipes at the slick around his mouth and chin, catching his breath as he curses.

"Fucking Christ, does it feel that good?" You whine in retaliation. "You're the one going down on me of course I'm going fuckin' crazy. You get all whiny when I go down on you too — "

He curls a finger inside of you and you cut yourself off with a particularly loud moan. The floorboards above you creak and like a deer lifting its head as a branch snaps in the distance, another follows as whoever was in the living room heard the echoing cries of pleasure.

Sal slips another finger in and you cover your mouth, glaring at his handsome face petulantly. It falters as he stretches you out, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm that he occasionally breaks to curl his fingers up.

You're groaning and curling your toes, eyelids fluttering and squeezing shut as he jerks you off with his other hand. Loosening his jaw, Sal uses his spit to lube you up further. He had a thing for sloppy sex. You once joked he enjoyed the slick-and-slide of it all and he didn't deny it then and probably won't ever.

"Nuh - no, don't wanna cum yet, I wanna cum with you, baby," he slows his rhythm, staring at you as you lift yourself onto your hands and taste yourself on his lips.

"Want you inside me. Please, Sal, I'm beggin'"

"You don't have to. I've got you." He nods when you hold onto the waist of his pants. Pulling it down to his knees and let his cock spring out into the air. Fuck, it's a pretty dick.

It's fat and heavy. Thicker than longer, the girth always makes your toes curl. It's a darker colour compared to the rest of his skin tone, the mushroom tip a warmer shade that burns when you tease him too much. You motion for the couch and he leans against it, whispering your name as you hover over his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he says as you pump his dick with your fist while you line it up to your cunt. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, big dick," he struggles not to laugh in your face, shaking his head in 'disapproval' that's short-lived.

You sink down on the tip of his cock and Sal moans out your name, squeezing your hips. You shiver for a moment, willing your insides not to clench so excitedly when you've still got some ways to go.

"Shit, (Y/N). You're so fuckin' tight." You could not agree more. The more you go down on him, the more you're tempted to just squeeze him like a vice. Sal brings your face down to kiss him, very quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of it. It's no wonder teenagers made out in the hallways all the damn time.

Gravity helps you the rest of the way. When he's all the way inside of you, you part your lips, the way your eyebrows slope being felt on Sal's forehead as you clench around him.

"Fuuuuck, Sal" you're whimpering his name, arms wrapped around his neck as you look at him. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby."

He swallows thickly, reaching to push your hair away from your face as he gazes up.

"I love you, so fuckin' much. I love you, Sal," you're determined to make him turn into nothing but mush. He's certain of it. His insides felt like a field of flowers, all blooming at once, even if it didn't sense at all. There's an airy moan that escapes him as you squeeze your inner thighs, your hips move forward and Sal grips you like he's afraid you're just a figment of his imagination.

"I know, baby," he whispers back. "I love you, more than you can imagine."

A dopey grin appears on your face. "You think you can show me how much you love me, handsome?" He smiles and your heart feels like it's going to stop.

"I can do more than show you, pretty boy."

He turns you over on your side, not once pulling out. You hastily grab some couch pillows for the both of you before your descent onto the floor. It's cold but that's all the more reason to hold onto each other.

Once your head is on a pillow and you're on your back again, he drapes over you.

Another kiss. Another mischievous nibble. A sly dance of tongues.

Sal is pulling out, the drag of his dick makes you whimper, and thrusts back home. The action has your nails leaving welts on his back but it just reinvigorates him.

He's splitting you open and filling you up. Every thrust makes you see stars. You're unwilling to let him go if the legs wrapped around his waist are saying anything.

But Sal is growing flustered the more praises you tell him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck this pussy, this pussy's just for you."

"Fuck, you look so good, baby. On top of me, fucking me, shit — !"

"Oh, God, your cock is — yeah, right there! — you're in so deep, Sal -Ah!"

You're so fucking filthy.

He wants to hide his face in your neck but he doesn't wanna take his eyes off you. Eyes trailing where his lips and teeth had been, eyeing the sheen of sweat on you and your messed up hair.

The shower you just took had been in vain, huh?

"Fuh - fuck, I'm close," he warns, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovers above you.

"Yeah? Me — mff! — too. Cum inside, baby. Need to feel you — fuuuuck — dripping outta' me," he chuckles breathlessly at your words.

His hips are stuttering and he can see the way your brows are furrowing, angelic moan after angelic moan being knocked out of you. He gives your cock a rub and the way your back arches off the floor makes him hold his own orgasm back just so he can see you like this as clearly as he can take it in.

"Sal, oh fuck, baby!"

"I've got you, (Y/N)."

He chokes out a groan as he feels you clamping down on him, your cunt gripping onto him like it never wants him to let go. You gasp as he snatches your breath, messily making out with him as the aftershocks of your orgasm are barrelled through thanks to Sal's deep thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit," you smile as he begins to lose his rhythm. Ignoring how sensitive your boypussy feels as he chases his end. "C'mon, baby, fill me up. Yeah, that's it."

He cums with one final thrust. The warmth of it floods your insides, earning pleasant shivers from you as you moan out his name. He's riding his orgasm out, pushing in and out of you shallowly as he catches his breath above you.

"Jesus, fuck..." You giggle at his words, chest rising and falling in rapid motions as your heart tries to calm down.

"That was, Christ, that was — " "Fucking amazing?"

He nods, falling on top of you as carefully as he can. You embrace him, humming as he kisses your neck while you rub his back. The both of you catch your breath, satisfied expressions etched on your faces.

When Sal moves, your eyes are already closed. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, ignoring the way he stares at his own jizz dripping out of your cunt in favor of gazing at his face.

"We gotta take a shower all over again," he says, helping you sit up and accepting the hug you give him when you're righted.

"...Wanna do it all over again in the shower?" Your question earns a throaty chuckle. "Thought it was implied in my statement."

Another beat of comfortable silence is shared. Sal sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I've got you, Sal."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #ftm reader #trans reader #sally face x reader #sally face x male reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x male reader

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avastrasposts · 6 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps.

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings.

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs.

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face.

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight.

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs.

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles.

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.”

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.”

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?”

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough.

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.”

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated.

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!”

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.”

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.”

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt.

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options.

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.”

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.”

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly.

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?”

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin.

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?” “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you.

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him.

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench.

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.”

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door.

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again.

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.”

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench. “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple.

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.”

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool.

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.”

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go.

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses.

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.”

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months.

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat.

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn.

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.”

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan.

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough.

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks.

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks.

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.”

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?”

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?”

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is.

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl.

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.”

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread.

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge.

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.”

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside.

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand.

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.”

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.”

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel.

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.”

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.”

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?”

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.”

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.”

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots.

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you. “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!”

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine.

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.”

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.”

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?”

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity.

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek.

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk.

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.”

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till.

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back.

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want.

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier.

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth.

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.”

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you.

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for.

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee.

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath.

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements.

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter.

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you.

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray.

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl.

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.”

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.”

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon.

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.”

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.”

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth.

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.”

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling.

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.”

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?”

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste.

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?”

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough.

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out.

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.”

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours.

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him.

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that.

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist.

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face.

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.”

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check.

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.”

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.”

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.”

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer.

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge.

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile.

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go.

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread.

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews.

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.”

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip.

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite.

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better.

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see.

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder.

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair.

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head.

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again.

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.”

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.”

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him.

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive.

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor.

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase. “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box.

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door.

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights.

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them.

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting.

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D”

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #a bakers dozen #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fluff #the bubble

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