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jinnie-ret · 2 months

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cigarette duet

poly!stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: smoking, mentions of rehab, mentions of recovery

word count: 3k

summary: you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

requested: @ihrtlix

It has been a while since I've written! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get around to the requests for this event but I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hope you enjoy! Please don't take offense to any opinions presented in this imagine. Enjoy! And if you want to be tagged in anything I write please lemme know! <3

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Perhaps you had smoked one too many cigarettes last night. Waking up the next morning after battling your stresses with the addictive feed of nicotine, your throat felt dry, hoarse, scratchy even.

"Baby, are you sure you're not sick?" Felix fussed, placing his hand delicately on your forehead to gain an idea of your temperature. "I mean, you don't feel hot, but maybe you're coming down with something?"

"I'm fine, love, just need some water," you kiss his hand that was pulling away from your face, offering a reassuring smile after clearing your throat.

And in your mind, that was enough. You didn't notice the little things that your boyfriends did however.

"Binnie, what are you doing? You look like a perv haha," Hyunjin giggled at the sight of Changbin rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing your hoodie.

"Ssshhh, keep it down. And plus, it's not being pervy, people in relationships do it all the time. It's comforting smelling each other's clothing," Changbin righteously pointed out to his boyfriend, puffing his chest before adding, "well, normally it is..." he sighed.

"Woah that's mean, you can't say our girlfriend smells," Hyunjin pushed Changbin's shoulder, laughing again but with wide eyes this time round.

"No, no, you've got the wrong idea anyways. I think... I think Y/N's been smoking. I can smell it on her hoodie," Changbin sighed, tossing the white hoodie of yours back into the washing basket that was full to the brim. He was about to continue his spiel of conspiracies until he jumped when your arms wrapped around behind him.

"Aw, babe, are you doing the washing? Thank god for that, I was worried it would never get done," you squeezed him tightly once more before kissing him on the cheek and continuing your venture into the kitchen, Felix trailing behind you.

"I think she's getting sick, I'm gonna see if we have any meds in the cupboard, or some throat sweets at least," Felix pouted as he walked past his two boyfriends, Hyunjin ruffling his hair on the way.

Changbin threw a meaningful look at Hyunjin, alarms going off in his head because it only added more fuel to the blazing fire of thoughts in his head.

"Look, we don't know that she is smoking for sure. Maybe she's just been around some friends that are?" Hyunjin whispers hurriedly, yet this caught Seungmin's attention, and his ears too.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Seungmin casually stood between the two, grabbing laundry detergent and capsules from the cupboard to act natural yet because practical at the same time.

"I'll explain later, to all of you. I'm just a bit concerned," Changbin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face before actually making a start on the chore at hand.

It was an escape for you, much like it was for other people who smoked cigarettes. And plus, you hadn't been doing it for long. You thought what could the harm be when you didn't do it a lot? Plus, it was handy that none of your boyfriends batted an eyelid in the studio when you said you wanted to go outside for some air. In fact, it gave the opportunity for Changbin to lay out his thoughts to the rest of your boyfriends who hadn't yet heard his observations.

"Y/N... I don't think she'd do that, I can't picture it," Jeongin shook his head, shaking his hands in confusion because the picture being painted in front of them seemed very unlikely and it wasn't a nice one to think of.

"And she knows it's too risky. First of all we're idols. I hate to say it but we have to think about that first in situations like these. Even when we're drinking we've got to be careful. If you're right about this, Binnie, then..." Chan groaned, leaning back into his seat with a huff.

"But she did just go out 'for some air'," Han added on, brows furrowed as he thought what Changbin was saying was quite plausible.

"Ok. We'll go check then," Minho shrugged as he stood.

"What?" Felix too stood up.

"We can't sit here and keep worrying. Let's go check and see for ourselves. If we're wrong... And I hope we are... Then it's fine," Minho grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, scanning around the room for his boyfriends' reactions.

"And if we're not wrong, then what?" Hyunjin voiced his concerns.

"Let's just hope we're not," Chan was first to walk out the door, the rest of Stray Kids following along after him like ducklings and their mother. Apart from this time it wasn't the cute, adorable scene you'd hope for, especially because they could smell the smoke and see your lax figure as soon as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.

"No. Y/N you've got to be kidding me!" Chan snatched the cigarette out of your hand and immediately stomped it out.

"Chan I-" you fumbled on your words, eyes wide as you had all eight of your lovers stood in front of you. And the way they looked at you made you stomach twist into knots you were sure you'd never felt.

Disappointment. Anger. Concern. Indifference.

"Let's talk about this inside," Changbin wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he spoke quietly to you.

Your heart was racing faster. They were going to think the worst. But you had a way out of this. It wasn't even that bad. Sure, over the past month maybe you'd have been spending more money on packs of cigarettes, yet on the inside you felt as if there were worse things you could be doing to yourself.

"Sit," Minho bluntly said, face unreadable, tone void of emotion.

And so you did.

"We'll just have a conversation about this, nice and calm, ok?" Felix nudged Chan in particular with his leg.

It seemed however that it wasn't a conversation, but more of an intervention. A heated one, at that.

"I can't be nice and calm, Lix! Our girlfriend is destroying her body, and for what?" Chan's voice rose ever so slightly, hands squeezing the arms of the chair he was tensely sat in.

"It's just a cigarette," you feebly replied. That backbone of yours was slowly wearing away the more and more anger you felt radiating off of your partners.

"Don't be ridiculous," Seungmin scoffed, "think of the damage it's doing. Think about your career."

"It's more than just the odd cigarette, right?" Changbin prodded, wanting answers to the millions of questions he had. After all, he was the first one to notice how you gradually stopped voicing your concerns to him but still sometimes had the habits that showed your anxiety.

"Well, yes, but-" you began but were cut off.

"No buts. That's... It's, you're hurting yourself, hurting your lungs. Why are you doing this, baby?" Jeongin took your hand in his, concern not the only thing glistening in his eyes, which broke your heart.

"It's just a nice distraction, that's all. It won't go on forever, I'll just stop when I want to," you shrug your shoulders, squeezing his hand to show you meant what you said.

"It's not that easy. Nicotine. It's addictive. You think you can just stop like that?" Hyunjin frowned, shaking his head.

"I know I can," you firmly said, urging them with your voice to trust you.

"I don't know what planet you're living on," Chan shook his head.

"Channie..." Felix bit his lip, feeling torn. On one hand he didn't want your boyfriend to be so tough with you, but he also disagreed with the choices you made, the ones you were making.

"No I'm sorry but Y/N, babe, you've made one of the stupidest choices you could make! Seungminnie is right, Jeongin too. It's damaging for your body, let alone your career. You keep this up, you're not going to be able to sing as well as before. And then it'll get to the point where you can't breathe as well anymore," Chan ranted, fiddling with the bracelets adorning his wrist as he didn't take his eyes away from yours, not once.

"I just told you it's not going to go that far!" your face contorted to one of disbelief.

"That's out of your control," Minho sternly redirected your attention to him.

"Wow. It's like you don't even trust me. I'm not some kid. I can make my own decisions. So what if I'm doing this for a little bit of stress relief? For a bit of fun. It helps me," your voice almost turns to pleading, wanting them to hear you out, hear your reasoning.

"It hurts you, baby. And when it hurts you, it hurts us as well," Han bit his lip after shakily speaking up. He didn't like this situation, not one bit.

"I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'd never do that," your voice wobbled, throat feeling as if it was closing up from the sob that was lodged down there.

"Too late. I mean just look," Chan emptied your handbag, empty packets of cigarettes and some not, falling out onto the floor of the studio.

"Y/N, that's a lot," Hyunjin gasped, clutching a hand on his chest.

"It's not. It's not that bad..." you denied as you knelt on the floor and tidied up the mess.

"You're in complete denial," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm well aware of my actions thank you very much!" you shouted suddenly, causing everyone to freeze at the volume you had just reached.

The guilt set in. It was never meant to go this far. It was just meant to be for stress relief. Something to distract you from the aches and pains, physical and mental. It wasn't long until you'd be performing a special fanmeeting and relearning old choreographies and a cover had you feeling like you were being worked down to the bone. Even iconic dances like God's Menu were hard to remember, and you felt like you had no chance. No choice. It was like it fell into your lap so easily.

The first time you had stood outside to catch some air, it was for that genuine reason. And you weren't alone. You didn't know if the person worked at your company, if you knew them, whatever. But their hand offering you something that could bring you temporary bliss was a solution you were grateful for. Only now, you were seeing that it was short term.

"You need help. Seriously..." Chan spat, grabbing his backpack and storming out of the studio.

"Find a way to end this, Y/Nnie," Felix mumbled, stroking your hair gently before following Chan out with a rush.

"You're all just going to go?" your voice cracked. Were they leaving you now?

"We just need some time," Changbin sighed. And then he was gone too.

"You're leaving me?" you sniffled, standing up to face your boyfriends that were still in the room.

"Not like that, baby. We're just giving you time to think about how you can stop this, ok?" Han stroked your face as he made sure you knew this wasn't the end. And then he left too, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin leaving too.

All alone. Perhaps it was what you deserved. You relied on the cigarettes more than your boyfriends. And they were all you had left for the moment. That was when it sank in. You had to make a change. You had to stop this habit form taking over your life, from pushing away the people you love most, and from taking your life away.

•••

"She's sorting herself out at least... that's got to be commendable."

"I guess so. Let's just hope it doesn't get out that a JYP idol is at rehab for smoking."

"It won't. And she's doing well from what I've heard..."

This was the only time Han was grateful for the staff gossiping. Immediately, he felt calmer. Considering the boys had spent the last few days blowing up your phone and worrying where you went, it was an oddly relieving feeling hearing you were at rehab. They had tried asking JYP himself, asking the manager of the company where you were but all they said was that you were safe.

"I know where she is!" Han bursted through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him as he panted out of breath.

"Woah, woah, ok, deep breaths, let's sit down," Chan, with the darkest circles around his eyes yet, gently sat Han down on the sofa. He felt awful. He thought he had driven you away from them all. From the group. From the relationship. And that had been eating him up inside. It was a wonder he could act so calm with the news of you going into rehab.

"Rehab? For smoking? I didn't even know that was a thing," Seungmin hummed in thought, his arms crossed.

"I didn't either, but I overheard the staff. They say she's doing well. It's a good thing, right?" Han's eyes stared through the souls of everyone gathered in the lounge, begging for some sort of confirmation that things would get better.

"I mean, at least we're a bit more in the know then our own fans about why our girlfriend is on hiatus," Changbin brushed his fluffy, dark hair out of his eye.

"Can't we go and see her?" Felix wondered, lifting his head up from where it rested on Minho's shoulder.

"We shouldn't," Minho quietly sighed.

"Why not?" Jeongin quickly turned to him, mouth parted in shock that he didn't want to see Y/N.

"No, he's right. She's gone there for a reason. To get better. It's what we all said to her, isn't it? We'll see her soon. And when we do... It'll all be better," Chan helped everyone see sense. He was right. You had listened to them. You went and got help and were solving the problem. If they suddenly ambushed you and got in the way of that... You'd be back to square one.

•••

Today was the day, you were finally going back to the boys. You spent a good 3 weeks at rehab, and had been advised on some good coping mechanisms to take your mind off of smoking and how to create some healthier habits. You had shown good progress and it was deemed acceptable for you to leave and spend time back with your loved ones. And you couldn't lie, you were incredibly nervous. You had dropped a text without reading the spam that littered the groupchat, notifying your boyfriends what time you'd be returning, but after that you once again did not read anything else that was sent.

"Oh my baby, I've missed you so much," Han was the first one at the door, pressing kisses all over your face as he took you into his arms, holding you lightly.

"I've missed you too," you cried immediately, despite the weight off your shoulders.

"You're good now, right, darling?" Seungmin softly tugged you away from Han, both of his hands cupping your face whilst his thumbs wiped away your tears.

"I'm better," you nod through tears, Seungmin pressing a kiss to your head and giving space for your other boyfriends to soothe you and reunite with you. It had only been three weeks, yes, but 21 days had never felt so long.

"I'm proud of you, come here," Changbin scooped you into his arms and lifted you slightly, making you giggle before your feet touched the ground once more.

"Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I had done... How far it went, you know?" you began, looking down at the floor as Hyunjin came and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his long arms securing you to him.

"We're just happy to see you here, honey, healthier," he whispered into your ear soothingly.

"And please talk to us in future. We had time to think after that, moment, and we know you were doing it as an escape. But we're here for you," Jeongin pecked you on the lips, your heads pressed against each other for a moment before he too moved away.

"Always, we're always here," Felix reiterated what Jeongin preached, and kisses you as well, noses rubbing against each other as he moved away, a cute expression on his face.

"Come here," Minho opened his arms, and you reluctantly left Hyunjin's arms only to be happy again in the warmth of your other boyfriend's embrace.

"Thank you for waiting, all of you," you swayed with him in his hug, until you pulled away and it was only Chan left.

He stood a few metres away, back to you, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"Channie... babe," you sighed, tugging his hand to turn him and face you. His words had hurt you the most but it was also a huge wake up call. "Please, look at me, I'm not mad. I'm so grateful."

"I was too harsh with you," he bit his lip, hard, not wanting to let any tears escape.

"I needed it. Look at me now, I'm here, I'm better, and I've got habits I can stick to instead. Ones that won't hurt me. And they won't hurt you guys either," you looked up at him, one hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck and the other cupping his face.

"I'm so glad you're back... We were worried... Lost without you," Chan admitted, staring up at the ceiling before kissing you deeply, expressing all the emotions he had held back whilst you were gone.

"It's all good now. Plus, you should all be proud of me-"

"We are proud of you, baby," Jeongin cut you off stroking your hair.

"Well, be even prouder because I know how to bake an amazing carrot cake if I say so myself," you laughed, sharing a new skill that had occupied your stress and been taught whilst you were away.

"You can bake with me now! Oh my gosh! It's a miracle!" Felix cheered, tugging you into the kitchen as the other boys chuckled from behind you both.

"I didn't think you meant this very second!"

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

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kerryweaverlesbian · 9 months

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Dean as a kid trying to find the same laundry detergent his mom used to use and never finding it. He was too young to help with the laundry before she died, and he can't ask John, because he's not supposed to talk about their life from before. One day in his thirties he grabs a random box at the store because their usual brand is out of stock, and the sense memory he gets when the clothes come out of the drier makes him sit on the floor and weep.

#i am NOT restarting does dean do laundry discourse dhshfhsb I'm just saying

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months

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i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

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69dias · 2 years

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[baby don't go; i'm bad at being alone drabble] where the sanctity of a kitchen counter is ruined

w/c: 3.6k

warnings: breeding kink, impreg kink, slight d/s dynamics, jk is kinda mean omfg, fucking on a kitchen counter, they r soooooo fucking in love omg, unprotected sex which is BAD!

jungkook thinks there is no greater prize than domesticity. he has you, and every square inch of this shared apartment is a holy reminder of it; your framed photos on his walls, your lipstick prints on his coffee mug, your clothes in his drawer, you in his clothes, standing in his bathroom and in his shower and in the entranceway and in his kitchen.

wherever he turns, he finds something that reminds him that you’re with him, and he thinks each little speck of you in the nooks of his home are the answers — and if there’s just one true answer, he thinks it’s this.

to set the scene, picture a fall’s sunday morning somewhere in manhattan. there’s him, face still coated with sleep, footsteps heavy out of the bathroom, and there’s you. in the kitchen, a sweater too big for you hanging off your frame so the sun that pours in catches your skin like a halo. there’s you, with your hair pulled back to bare your neck, unraveled in all your glory, only for him to see. no lawyer, no boundaries, no walls put up, breathing life into every memory in the pictures hung up on his fridge when you move and the sun finally catches them, palms of your hand kissing the granite counters —

jungkook has these moments often, when he can feel the ground sweep from underneath his feet simply upon staring at you because how could he not? he’s spent half his life loving you, and the realization that he has you now settles between his ribs until he finds it difficult to fully inhale.

it’s a sunday morning, and there may be just one answer in his life, and it’s you.

“you’re up?”

your voice gives him something to hold onto, something tangible to grasp as he blinks dumbly, trying to fathom what you’ve just asked when you look like that.

“huh? u-uh, yeah. mornin’ baby.”

you’re pulling a pan out of the cabinet that the both of you spent meticulously organizing on move-in day when he realizes that you’re about to make him breakfast, something he hates when you do alone. it really makes sense now; waking up before him and leaving him in bed when sleeping in on sundays is the ‘highlight of your entire week’, in your own words, the laced confusion in the tone of your voice when you’d asked him if he was awake.

jungkook crosses over the threshold of the kitchen, hands gentle on your wrists as he pulls the frying pan away from your hands, choosing to wrap them around his waist instead. he smells your shampoo from this proximity, smells his laundry detergent and his cologne in the knitted sweater you have on. he hears your yelp of surprise, and sees the way your eyebrows furrow when you realize his what his incentive is.

“i was gonna cook, jungkook, what the fuc—“

there is something about jungkook’s disdain for getting a meal cooked for him that you’ve never understood. back when you were kids, if anyone but his mother even attempted to make him food, he’d throw a fit, and that extended well into college when he’d snatch kettles for you when you’d try to boil him some water.

it’s never bled into his love for having other things done for him — he’d always be the first one to open his mouth and hand you a spoon to feed him, always be the first to ask you to do his skincare for him, he loved being taken care of but there was just something about having food cooked for him that he’d do anything to avoid, if the way his lips are attached to the side of your neck are any indication.

they feel soft on your skin, enough to make any rational thoughts, any questions as to why he hates you cooking for him; enough to make anything beyond the eruption of chills over your body dissipate into the cold morning. his inked hand splays across the expanse of your left thigh, calloused fingers dimpling your warm skin as he noses his way up to your jaw in soft nuzzles.

“what’s gotten —“ you pause to chuckle breathlessly and jungkook swears his eyes flash white for a second. “what’s gotten into you, hm?”

he pauses for a second, to tilt his neck up and smile against the angle of your jaw before laying a small kiss over the skin. “nothing. just, I think you look real pretty in my clothes.”

you open your mouth to protest, but jungkook takes advantage of it to slot his lips against yours before you can deny him the privilege of complimenting you. the way he bites your bottom lip, the silent permission he asks for before licking into your mouth with just enough fervency to spur you on, combined with his words hanging heavy in the air sends sporadic chills down your skin until they settle as a deep yearning at the pit of your stomach.

it’s not often that jungkook takes you in the kitchen, preferring the couch, the bed or someplace where he can protect the sanctity of the literal meals you eat, but there’s something about the way you’re panting against his lips, hips bucking up into nothing when he hasn’t even begun yet, something about the desperation that laces your hands as they trace down the expanse of his back that has him throwing all rationality out the window in favor of twirling you around in his arm to press you against the granite.

your lips are pretty and pink, slightly agape as you tilt your head back into his shoulders, out of breath from how he’s just kissed you. he feels quite literally unhinged at the sight, his sweater falling off your shoulders when he pushes his hands down your body, aching, yearning to feel every square inch of you as soon as he can. jungkook’s body has a mind of its own now, hips pushing yours into the counter in front of you until your eyebrows knit in discomfort —

“wait, wait jungkook,” you turn yourself around in his hold, opting to lift your body onto the counter instead. his face searches yours, eyes wide in worry but you couldn’t care less, nothing but a breathy chuckle leaving your mouth as you pull him in between your legs, wrapping them around his waist. “nothing’s wrong. just this counter is really painful.”

he responds with another kiss, this time a lot more fervent as he tilts his head up into yours, lips moving in tandem with yours, hands intertwined with yours. it’s only when he breaks away to kiss down the column of your throat do you register just how hot this ordeal is; just how hot it is when he loses all of his composure to fuck you sitting on the kitchen counter. the thought barely lingers though, because you feel his deft fingers untangle from yours to run down the curve of your waist till he reaches the hem of his sweater, unceremoniously pulling it up and away from your body.

his kisses dot your sternum, body wracking with a shiver as the cold air envelopes you, but he doesn’t let you suffer for long, moving his arms so he can wrap you in his own body warmth. the small love bites he leaves are now filthy licks that he leaves, blowing on the trail of spit to torture your senses further, to leave you wanting him, wanting his embrace, needing him. jungkook seems pleased, too, finding your nipples hard from the cold when he finally trails the tip of his tongue down to your boobs. his hands cup the both of them, lips latching on to your right nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin until your back arches violently, hips lifting from the granite until he tsks against your chest.

“stay down, honey,” his voice comes out muffled, and you can’t tell if it’s because his mouth is full, or if it’s because your brain is so fuzzy from the pleasure that sparks against every nerve ending in your body. “be good.”

be good. his gentle assertion sends a wave of arousal down into your panties as he switches boobs, opting to pinch and flick at the one he’s wet so expertly with his mouth. your moans are choked out, head tilted to the ceiling, eyes shut tightly like you’re already on the precipice of release when he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet — it’s ridiculous how easy you are, something he mumbles out when he’s mapping out your stomach with his lips.

“jesus, baby. look at you. you’d fuck the counter if it meant getting off, huh?”

there’s a bite to his voice, just enough of a humorous lilt to let you know that he’s not actually being mean, and with the character of his words, the reassurance makes warmth bloom in your stomach, colored in with the arousal already settled in there. you can’t reply, something he doesn’t notice as he looks up at you, teeth nipping at the hem of your underwear.

your hands travel down into his hair, manicured nails gently scratching at the scalp until his gaze on you falters, the reminder that he was sound asleep barely fifteen minutes ago making way to the front of his mind before he remembers the task at hand.

jungkook shifts his weight to his knees, kissing along the fabric of your panties until you’re gasping, spreading your legs for him naturally —

this is natural; he’s come up to you and has you on the counter with your entire body unraveled for him. you have him on his knees and you haven’t even lifted a finger to make him feel a tenth as good as he’s made you feel. the two of you work in tandem, a testament to how well you fit each other, a testament to how soulmates don’t exist — how they’re made. it’s in the way he’s never too mean even when he’s engaging with his dominant side, the way you’re always responsive, the way the two of you have built your lives around each other. it’s the sacrifice and the redemption that comes at a head like this, with his face between your legs and the sun shining into your living room.

he gets you out of your head when he plants a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties before pushing his tongue against it, the adding friction from the fabric making the contact even more delicious. he has a routine, but he never makes it boring, if the way you’ve readjusted yourself onto your elbows so he can get a better angle is any indication. it’s a bit sloppy, the way he’s revving his throat up to spit onto your pussy, the way he’s licking at your clit like it’s the last meal you have, the way your broken moans color the air, echo through your home.

“shit — shit, jungkook. take ‘em off, fuck, please.”

he pulls away to look up at you, eyes narrowing at the tone of your voice before he grabs the waistband of your panties, lulling you into the false comfort of thinking he’s going to heed to your request when he really does the opposite, pulling them up between your lips. the uncomfortable friction makes you grind downwards, counterintuitively making you whimper as your swollen clit makes contact with the drenched fabric. he tugs them up gently a couple of times, before pushing his head between your legs to continue eating you out, lapping up the arousal that pools from your pussy at the exorbitant dominance he’s just displayed, along with the pressure of your panties pressing onto your clit.

the discomfort doesn’t last long, though, not when he’s fucking you with his tongue, not when he’s shaking his head between your legs, and the way he has one hand between his legs to obsevenely rut into himself is indication that he’s just as turned on by this as you are. how could he not be, though, when your thighs are tense from how he’s making you feel, when your back is arched and your moans are choked in your throat because your breath is constructed from how he’s making you feel.

the tension in your stomach makes you pull at jungkook’s hair, needing some sort of — any sort of — release, and his gentle hums reassure you that he won’t be pulling this high away from you. he moves his tongue up to your clit, suckling on it until you writhe on the counter so he has to use his free hand to hold you down, until your orgasm is close enough that you think you can taste it on your tongue, until he has you shouting his name out.

your legs tense when you look down at him and see his eyes on you, see his eyes staring at the jiggle of your tits, the curve of your body, the way your face contorts in his wake, and you feel yourself coming undone knot by knot. it’s powerful, but jungkook helps you through it, tongue stuck out so you can ride it out for as long as you need; so you can use him for as long as you need.

there’s a broken whimper of his name when he doesn’t pull away, and you suddenly become aware of how sore your elbows are when he lifts himself up, pulling your body with him so you’re sitting upright again. the weight of your orgasm settles between your ribs, making it a bit hard to breathe, and he doesn’t help by catching your lips in another kiss. you taste yourself on his lips, and his hands find their way to his sweatpants, shoving them down with practiced expertise before pulling away from the kiss.

his forehead presses against yours, eyes glinting as he smiles against your flushed skin. your breathing slows when he finally gets himself out of the confines of his boxers, and you instinctively get off the counter so you can return the favor, but his arms catch you before you can touch the ground —

“uh-uh, baby. not today, i gotta be inside you right now.”

from the looks of it, too, he’s not lying. his cock stands tall, nearly slapping the defined lines of his abdomen, pearly pre-cum dripping down the side as he jacks himself off a couple of times, pulling your legs in to wrap around his waist so he can align himself with your pussy.

he lets a small whimper out when the red tip makes contact with the warmth of your cunt, sliding it up and down until your eyes are squeezed shut in anticipation. this is part of the routine, you suppose, if you bar the times he has something to prove, bar the times he shoves himself into you all the way to the hilt until you’re preening under his body. today, he takes his sweet time, your moans mixing in the air and lingering as he mixes his pre-cum with your arousal, no doubt leaving a small puddle on your counter.

the filthiness of what you’re doing is part of what makes it so attractive; it’s like corruption in how you’re taking apart the sanctity of this part of your home, how you’re christening it with your bodies, how sex will make it purer, how it’ll leave an imprint on this counter — how neither of you will ever fully look at it without envisioning this moment.

it’s only when you move your own hand down to envelope his, to just get him in you, does he slowly push himself into the wet warmth of your pussy. the stretch is never easy, even though it’s been months, but he talks you through it. always.

“c’mon baby, almost in. good girl, yeah, breathe in —“ his eyes fix on your body, watching the slow inhales, the way your lips fall open, every inch of skin he can take in as he buries himself inside of you with a low groan. “that’s it honey. good job, baby.”

his tatted hand splays against your stomach, pressure just enough so you can really feel it, so you can feel more of him, even if his dick just kisses your cervix from this angle. the rock of his hips is intoxicating, slow and languid when he pulls himself out, gasping as every ridge of his cock is completely embraced by your pussy.

“fuck, fuck, jungkook, that’s so good -“

“yeahh… yeah it’s good, can feel me all the way up here can’t ya?” he presses down on your abdomen, chuckling as a light squeak escapes your lips. “love your cunt, she gets all warm and soft after I get my tongue in her. look at her. go on, take a look.”

his free hand tilts your jaw downwards, words coaxing your eyes open as you watch the pull of his cock in and out of your pussy, how he’s absolutely soaked whenever he pulls out.

“shit, i’m so wet, jungkook. this is so fucking good.”

for being so eloquent, you’re sure at a loss for words when you’re met with this sight, and he makes sure you know it.

“good enough for your silly head to just go blank, huh? not a thought in your brain when your cunt has a cock in it, yeah?”

you groan, gritty and needy in response, which only seems to spur him on.

“all mine, huh? yeah? gonna make me fuck a baby into you and make it true?”

jungkook and you talk about your future openly, and kids have always been part of this equation, but it’s been silently agreed upon that now is way too soon. regardless, though, it ignites something within you that you can’t suppress, and a moan tears itself out of your lungs, a gush of arousal pooling around his cock at his filthy words.

the worst part about jungkook, though, isn’t the dirty talk — it’s now observant he is. and he knows, and he’s never impartial to completely using it against you.

his hips still, using one finger to lift your jaw up again so you’re staring him straight in the eye. “you like that, huh? want me to fuck you full?”

you’re defiant, a bit embarrassed as pink coats your cheeks and you refuse to answer. he doesn’t take it, though, using his hand to grab your cheeks, smushing the skin a bit until he can move your head to answer for you.

“gimme an answer, baby. want me dripping down your legs? hm?”

he uses the hold on your face to nod yes, continuing to fuck into you, rougher this time until the sting of his grip and the way his cock hits just the right spot makes tears gather in your eyes.

“right there, huh?”

“y-yeah, hnnngg, fuck! right fucking there, right there.”

it’s like a mantra, a repeated sequence of the only words you can think of — jungkook, fuck, right there, so good. he’s not much better at this stage, cock twitching inside you as you roll your hips up to meet him halfway.

a hand slides between your bodies, dipping down to gather the obscene amount of arousal from where his cock meets your pussy, before he uses it to rub tight figure-eights onto your clit. the coil in your stomach gets impossibly tighter, moans and the most filthy of squelching tainting the air along with skin slapping as he fucks into you relentlessly, fingers never losing their rhythm on your clit.

your head looks back, and his falls into the crook of your neck as he groan slowly into the sweaty skin. he’s beyond himself, and you’re not better if the way your legs tighten around his waist so as to bring him closer somehow is any indication.

the slam of his cock is delicious, even when it gets sloppy, even when neither of you can make out words anymore, your vision going foggy as the touch on your clit makes it too hard for you to hold off on cumming.

“ah — ah, jungkook, please, gonna fucking — I’m fucking, fuck! gonna fucking cum.”

he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t respond other than a barely there nod into your neck, letting you get higher and higher and impossibly higher until you crash, body tensing in his tight grip as he jackhammers into you. it’s much rougher than your first, and you convulse as he holds you, as he forces you to just take it, hips getting sloppy and losing their rhythm when it dawns on him how close he is.

jungkook holds his end of the promise, moving you so your back presses against the granite, the cold a relief to your burning skin. he nearly bends you in half, cock slamming into you until he stops, burying himself all the way when you feel ropes of his cum painting all over your insides.

he’s quiet, a breathy whimper of your name, eyebrows knitted together like the pleasure aches, and it’s the hottest thing you swear you’ve ever witnessed.

you lay there, and he pulls back until his soft tip is all that’s left inside you like a plug. when he pulls it out, always true to his word, a lewd display follows, white on your skin as he leaks out of your cunt. jungkook, however, doesn’t seem to think of it as anything of the sort, simply watching it in amazement until he feels your eyes burn into his face.

the look you share after is soft, and jungkook could die in this moment without regrets, because he has you, and you’ve just soiled the kitchen counter and there’s nothing else that he could want from life anymore, especially when he hears your voice:

“you don’t like me cooking for you that much?”

#jungkook #bts #jungkook smut #jungkook drabbles #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook/reader #jungkook blurbs #jungkook angst #jungkook fics #jungkook drabble #bts smut #bts drabbles #BDG;IBABA #jungkook au

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slut4satoru-blog · 11 months

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Husband Head Canons—Toji Fushiguro minors DNI +18 content (NSFW)

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

i’ve been having so much fun writing these days! thank you all for the immense support. you push me to keep writing filthy stuff for us all!! hope you enjoy and remember my requests are open. please remember that i have not proof read this, sorry if anything’s misspelled haha. 🩷

content warnings: f!reader, AFAB, established relationship, p ➜v inter course, mentions of nipple/breast play, cream pies, unprotected sex, toji is uncut i dare you to fight me, squirting, public sex, oral (f!receiving), cock warming, sex toys, fingering (f!receiving), biting, markings, sweaty gym sex, clit play, g-spot abuse, this man needs all of the content warnings this world may carry lol & anything else i might have missed

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loved the way you treated megumi and tsumiki. he always looked up to eating breakfast with all of you, seeing how well you guys got along made him melt every single time.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loves it when you make dinner. he’s a better cook for sure, but whenever he comes from home and he sees you in your zone whipping up some food, wearing your cute custom made apron with your name on it. in his eyes, it’s one of the best sights ever.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loves doing laundry! he hates doing dishes and you hate doing laundry, so it’s a match made in heaven when you love doing dishes and he is a wizard in the laundry room. you’ve never seen anyone be so detailed about laundry detergent and clothes before you got married with him.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that is a pro at budgeting and making groceries. you decided to leave it to him the first time you saw his little “budget” binder along with his coupon cabinet and it’s been for the better. you’re still amazed at how $400 worth of groceries ended up costing $120. since then, no one goes grocery shopping but him.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that is horridly bad at video games. you laugh-cry every time the kids dare him to play on their games and he looses every single time. he’s a sore looser too, so you have to prepare yourself every time for the little pouting mess he becomes when megumi and tsumiki are “too hard on him”.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that offers you the best after care you’ve ever seen. after he fucks you senseless and leaves you almost immobile, you see him get up quickly and set up the bath with your favorite bath salts and scents. brings you your favorite hot/cold beverage and gets in the bath with you as he rubs your back, and ends up fucking you again there because he for sure can’t hold himself when you’re a moaning mess.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loves public play. you can’t think about the last time you guys have gone out that he hasn’t asked you to wear a bluetooth vibrator, or when he tries to finger you under the table when you’re eating out. there was this one time the man literally got on his knees under the table at this really niche restaurant just to eat you out. he stood up 5 minutes later with the most shit eating grin, glistening with your cum like he had some expensive lip gloss on. he’s always been one to live for the thrill and being married wasn’t going to stop him.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loves fucking you right after the gym. he loves to see you al sweaty and tired. makes him want to impale you on his cock. so every time you come home from the gym; heck, sometimes in the gym lockers he’ll show you how hot you are to him as he slides his big, uncut shaft into you. marking your tits up as if they’re his trophies as you cry out his name.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that is obsessed with your tits. he loves nipple play, biting and sucking on your tits after a long day at work is just what he needs. it extends to him loving it when you play with his too, sucking and biting his nipples is the 100% sure way of sending him off the edge too.

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that loves cock warming. yes, he’s the king of aftercare. but sometimes both of you are too tired to move after some fun, nasty time. so he’ll just slip inside one more time to feel you around him without him moving. sure is, until you start clenching too much on purpose and he proceeds to fuck you one more time. a cute little ring of creamy fluids and cum decorating the end of his shaft.

and here’s an extra one since we’re all sluts for this man-whore 🩷

★ ➜ 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘍𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰 that absolutely goes insane when you squirt. he makes it his mission to always see that little stream of fluids spurt out of your sweet cunt. he’ll abuse your g-spot, massage your clit until it becomes hot and unbearable just to see his favorite part of it all. when that stream hits him, body or face, he goes wild and just turns completely feral. swearing to always take all of since he sees it as a reward for all of his hard work.

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nevvdrinksteaa · 6 months

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favors pt. i

~~~

i think that this sounded better in my head, but i went ahead and wrote it anyways because i really couldn’t stop thinking about it. also kinda leaned into the horny vibe i was feeling, i’ve never written smut but i’ve read a lot and i think i could do it lmao

~~~

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

prompt: idea from sweet child o’ mine @macfrog (it’s amazing i suggest you read it)

you’re abby’s babysitter and mike can’t pay you just quite yet and he asks if he can do anything for you in return and you mention that you need a date to your brother’s wedding.

warnings: uhmm fluff, angst, suggestive content, i think that’s it, let me know if i missed something!

word count: 1.7k

PART TWO HERE

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waking up from your uncomfortable position on the couch, you heard the rain pattering on the window. The cold air suddenly swarming your body as you woke from your slumber. You reach over and tap your phone on the coffee table, watching the screen light up and checking the time. 5:48 AM Mike should be home in about 30 minutes. You reluctantly decided to slowly remove the blanket, standing up and reaching your hands in the air, stretching your stiff body as much as humanly possible.

You decided to help Mike and start cleaning up the mess you and Abby made from your activities. You start picking up the crayons, markers, and pencils and place them in the pink basket you picked out for Abby hours before coming over, smiling at how she colored in the paper hearts that were stuck to the sides, picking up the loose paper and sticking it in a neat pile on the desk on the dining table for Abby to use when she wakes up. You walk directly towards the hallway, taking clothes from the hamper and starting a load of laundry. Softly chuckling to yourself about how manly the laundry detergent Mike picked out smelled, you filled up the cap with the green goop and threw it in the washer.

Mike walked through the door as you were finishing up the dishes, drying off the big bowls you and Abby used to make brownies. He kicked his shoes off by the door and placed his keys on the little hook above the light switch. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in how cute you looked dancing to the soft music that came from your phone, how pretty your hair looked slightly knotted from your nap on the couch, the shorts you were wearing creeping up your legs with every step you take.

Mike loved watching you, in the least creepy way possible. He adored everything about you, taking the little extra time he had to notice things he never had any interest in noticing in anyone else before. You were so different and he was so infatuated, interested in getting to know you, getting to know your interests, getting to know your body. He thought about you constantly, something about you made him feel like a teenage boy. He was deep in thought when you turned around, yelping when you noticed him staring at you.

“You want to take a picture? Some people say they last longer” you say smirking, crossing your arms at the brown-eyed boy.

He chuckled softly at your flirtatious comment, a light pink dusting spreading across his tired face, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You were listening to music and didn’t hear me come in.”

“It’s okay, I was just finishing up some dishes, I didn’t think it would’ve been fair to leave you with the brownie mess” His ears perked up with excitement “You made brownies?”

He faked surprise, ‘Of course, you made brownies’. You were always doing extra things, it was his favorite thing about you, always doing the most and expecting nothing in return.

You grabbed a brownie for yourself before sliding the plate over to the pretty boy. You stayed leaning against the island, smirking to yourself when you saw Mike's eyes dart to your chest.

“Abby and I made them, she said that she wanted to surprise you when you got off work”

“I swear that kid is only nice to me when you’re here,” he said, partially to you and partially to himself.

Rolling your eyes “You know that isn’t true, she adores you”

“I would strongly disagree, She told me I was the ‘dumbest person ever’ when I told her she needed to eat more than just spaghetti and pizza”

“To her defense, she ate brownies today, that's more than spaghetti and pizza”

“I cannot believe you would rather agree with a 10 year old than me” He put a hand over his heart, sighing heavily to show he was hurt by your words. “I always knew you liked Abby more than me.”

You looked at him, eyes wide at his comment. “Sorry, I thought it was clear that I liked her more than you” you paused, for dramatic effect “I never tried to keep it a secret.”

He laughs grabbing a second brownie, and moving away from the kitchen island toward the couch. “You coming?”

“I could be” you winked, smirking at him. He shook his head, thinking of all of the ways and positions he really could make you cum.

You start to follow him, scolding yourself for flirting with him, staying behind for a few seconds to click the lid back on the Tupperware container.

You walk around to the left side of the couch, opposite to where Mike was sitting. After your comment, you got nervous, thinking you pushed it too far. You started noticing the quietness that suddenly arose and not knowing what to say to make things less awkward.

Mike was the first to break the silence, “How was she today?”

“She was good, I was able to pull her away from her drawings long enough to watch a movie. We watched Coco and the end made her cry, then she called me a monster for making her watch it and walked right back to the bedroom to color” You giggle at the memory of the evening you had with the younger sibling.

“Sounds like Abby” Mike sighed “At least she’s warming up to you enough to sit and watch a movie with you, I can’t remember the last time we sat down for a movie”

You grabbed his hand, noticing the sadness that started to form on his face. “You know she loves you, she talks about you constantly, you’re front and center of every one of her drawings. You’re her favorite person”

He smiled softly at your kind words, grateful to have you there to comfort him. “Thank you”

“Of course, that’s what I'm here for”

“Technically you're here because you babysit my sister, but it does make me feel good to think that you’re here only for me”

“Yeah yeah Schmidt, keep telling yourself that”

“Speaking of” Mike trailed off, “It’s going to be just a little bit longer before I can pay you, the new job doesn’t offer insurance so I have to pay for everything out of pocket and Abby was just sick-” You cut him off

“Mike you know I’m not worried about it” he sighed and you could tell by the look on his face that he was still bothered by not being able to pay her.

It had been three weeks since you started babysitting for Mike, coming early to help him make dinner before he leaves for work and staying late to get Abby dressed and feeding her before driving her to school so Mike could get more than an hour of sleep.

You enjoyed helping Mike and loved taking care of Abby, you were the oldest child in your family, so you were used to caring for people.

Mike hated it, it made him feel so guilty. He felt like he was taking advantage of your kindness, promising you every day that it would be only a little bit longer before he could pay you.

“You know, if you feel bad you could just repay me with a favor”

Mike perked up. His mind was filling with ideas of what could fall out of your pretty little lips. He would do anything you asked him to, make you dinner, give you a massage, eat you out for hours and hours. ‘God, why was he suddenly so horny?’

“What kind of favor are you thinking?” slightly squeezing his hand that was placed across your soft thighs. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he felt like a cheap whore, suddenly nervous that he was coming onto you so strong and you wouldn’t reciprocate.

“As tempting as this favor is,” you say placing a hand on his chest “I was thinking something else”

He was suddenly so embarrassed. He quickly pulled his hand away, placing it in his lap, and looking away from your beautiful face. You felt bad seeing a pitiful look on his face, hurting Mike’s feelings was the last thing you wanted to do.

“My brother is getting married in two weeks and I need a date.” He was ecstatic, pushing his horny feelings aside, he could picture it in his head; you two hand in hand, his tie matching your dress, sharing a kiss after your first slow dance-

“My boyfriend has a work conference and he has to be at” You have a boyfriend? “and my family is so annoying if I know if I come without a date, all they would do is tell me that I’m wasting my life away and I’m going to forever be so lonely and-” You have a boyfriend? How could he not know that?

“Mike, are you listening to me? If you’re uncomfortable pretending to be my boyfriend then I could always ask someone else”

“I’ll do it” Against his better judgment, he agrees, hoping that something could come out of it

“Really? Oh my god, thank you so much!” You lean over and hug him “You’re really saving my ass”

“Anything to help” he laughs, trying to make it seem like you didn’t just stab him in the chest with a casual mention of your boyfriend.

Suddenly, your alarm goes off and you pull away from the hug. Mike felt cold at the loss of contact.

“It’s 7:30, you should get to bed” you state standing up from your spot on the couch “I’ll get Abby ready from school so you can catch up on some sleep, I’ll text you the details of the wedding after I drop her off”

Mike watched as you walked away, feeling like he just got punched in the gut. You didn’t feel the way he did and god that was embarrassing. He never had time to even think about a relationship and the first time in a long time he does, the girl in question has a boyfriend.

Mike let out a deep sigh and got up, heading towards his bedroom ready to close his eyes and forget about the miserable conversation. As he walks past Abby’s room he notices you crouched beside her bed, softly shaking her awake.

Fake boyfriend or not, at least he knows he won’t be pretending about his feelings for you to your family.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #nev writes

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dellalyra · 10 months

Text

𝙔𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 - 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

A/N: submission request from my dearest darling @soraya-daydreams, coming in clutch with the cute ideas.

CW: like one suggestive sentence, almost crack, hints that pixie loves her fashion

“Y/N!” A scream (clearly Nobara) echoed down the corridor of the school as you organised some books in the Jujutsu High library.

“Y/N!” Yuuji, this time.

“Mom!” Unless Akio had miraculously learned how to speak at 6 months old then that was Megumi.

Three figures skidded around the corner, through the library door and landed in a heap of limbs and black, brown and pink hair. You just raised your eyebrows.

“I’ve heard walking slowly causes less injuries, but hey, what do I know?” You smirk, as the kids untangle themselves.

Nobara is clutching a bundle of fabric in her hands, creamy white and brown - clearly something stained.

“Y/N, this is a DEFCON level one emergency - we screwed up like, majorly.” Nobara uttered, hand on her hip.

“You screwed up majorly, Itadori and I were just sitting there.” Megumi pointed out.

“But ‘Gumi! We were witnesses, that makes us like - accessories to murder!” Yuuji scrambles.

Your heart skipped hearing Yuuji call your son ‘Gumi’, something he only let you and Satoru and Tsumiki call him beforehand, you also don’t miss the blush on his pale cheeks - reinforcing your idea that the feelings these two had for each other were not simply platonic.

Wait -

Did Yuuji say murder?!

“Okay, who’s dead? Where’s the body? Have any of you touched anything at the scene? Megumi I need you to -” you immediately went into practical mode and all of those true crime documentaries and podcasts come flooding back.

“Jesus, mom, no - not actual murder. Yuuji is just exaggerating.” Megumi says, eyes rolling.

“I really fuck with the ‘act now, questions later’ vibe though, Y/N. Queen behaviour.” Nobara says, throwing a peace sign with the unoccupied hand.

“We were just having coffee! Well, Megumi and Nobara were having coffee - I was having orange juice.” Yuuji adds.

“Guys. What’s broken or who’s injured?” You say, mom voice appearing.

“Um… so! I was drinking my coffee, and Ijichi left something on the table, because he’s dumb!” Nobara starts frantically explaining.

“No - ah ah, we love Ijichi, this school wouldn’t function without Ijichi. Don’t listen to your Sensei.” You butt in because there will be no Ijichi slander in your presence.

“Sorry, Y/N. Anyway! I was drinking my coffee! The coffee got knocked over and spilled! It spilled onto this!” She says, holding up the ruined white fabric in her arms, as both boys grimaced.

You gasp.

“Oh, fuck.” You whisper.

“That’s what I said!” Yuuji interjects.

“Shit.” You say again, examining the fabric in your hands

“That’s what I said.” Megumi groans.

“Motherfucker.” You toss your head back.

“That’s what I said!” Nobara nods.

“Okay. Let’s fix this. Eh… Megumi! Go to see Ijichi - ask him for washing detergent - he lives in the staff accommodation, so he can get us some. Nobara, I need you to boil the kettle and get some boiling water and cloths, okay? Yuuji, do you have vinegar in the kitchen? Because we need that.” You list off, desperately trying to remember what gets rid of coffee stains.

Megumi nods and leaves, Nobara rushes from the room and Yuuji salutes and darts to the kitchen.

This has to work.

Because the coffee flavoured thing in your hands is your husbands tailored white silk Yves Saint Laurent dress shirt, which he adores.

Which he also bought for ¥250,000.

After a moment the three kids come back with the required equipment and you combine all three and dunk the shirt into the mixture to soak for 15 minutes.

As the timer beeped on your phone, you took out the shirt and quickly realised it was absolutely no better.

You looked at the kids.

Then it all went to shit.

“Princess! Are you being a dork and organising books for fun again? Yaknow if you’re bored you can always come into my office and get on your kn-” The boisterous voice of your love echoes as the man himself rounds the corner and finds the kids and you tussling by the table. In a flash, you all turn to him - wide smiles.

He quirks his eyebrows.

“Princess, I saw you an hour ago and I’m pretty sure that a baby bump doesn’t grow that fast in an hour, and thanks to modern contraception and a 6 month old son I’m guessing you’re not pregnant.” He smirks, knowing you’re hiding something, probably covering for the kids.

Before you can react he’s swooped you over his shoulder as the kids all grab your ankles and you become a tug of war between two warring factions.

Satoru eventually wins by teleporting you both to the other side of the desk and sticking his tongue out at the teenagers and shoving his hands under your sweater and taking out the offending lump.

He studies the fabric for a minute, as four people hold their breath.

That’s when he burst out in hysterical laughter.

“Baby, were you covering for these delinquents?” He asks, hand on your cheek.

“Covering?! No! They were helping me! I spilled the coffee!” You say, stuttering.

“No you didn’t princess, you drink mochas, and this is just coffee.” He says, still laughing and you curse how well he knows you.

“I don’t drink coffee!” Itadori adds.

“You don’t need the fucking caffeine.” Megumi nods.

“Well don’t leave your silk designer shirts on the table -” Nobara starts and they’re all speaking at once.

Satoru just smiles and opens his phone, tapping it a few times and then he spins the phone around, showing it to the kids.

“I just bought 5 more of the same shirt. I don’t give a damn about the shirt, seeing you three running around trying to fix it was a years worth of entertainment for me. Truly - high quality comedy.” He laughs, tossing the shirt into the trash near him.

It’s moments like these the ‘Gojo heir’ in him shines through.

“Say sorry to your mom for worrying her.” He says, winking at them all.

“Sorry, mom.” Megumi shrugs.

“I’m sorry, mom!” Yuuji adds.

“Yeah, sorry mom.” Nobara sulks.

“I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU!”

#submission #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #family formations extras #dad!gojo

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byuntrash101 · 1 year

Text

30 secs in heaven

dom!reader x sub!hyunjae

smut | nsfw | mdni

frat fuckboy!hyunjae,ennemies to fwb(ish), slut shaming hyunjae, shaming hyunjae for being a virgin (there's nothing wrong with being a virgin or a slut tbh they're sociological constructs it's your body do what u want), just shaming hyunjae in general (you are kinda mean oops), premature ejac, cumming untouched, lasting training, multiple orgasms (m), overstim (m), oral (f), face riding, nude sub/clothed dom, begging, degradation, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, slight pain play, spit play, unprotected sex (it's discussed but they decide against it. don't be like them kids), creampie

requested | part of my 2023 prompts event [closed]

turns out the campus' fuckboy is nothing more than a pathetic virgin that cums way too fast

[❛ this is a one time thing. ❜ + ❛ shut up and kiss me already. ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REGLOB MY WORK 🖤

“How old are we?” Hyunjae snorted. “12?” he asked, cocking a disdainful eyebrow, looking down at the empty clear vodka bottle at the center of the circle.

“Don’t be a fucking twat for once will you?” Sangyeon retorted, eyes shooting daggers at the younger blonde man.

He wasn’t wrong though. Playing this hybrid of spin the bottle meets 7 minutes in heaven was kind of childish for a bunch of college sophomore and juniors such as yourselves but you didn’t speak your mind. For two reasons.

One. The night reached a state where everyone was trashed out drunk and passed out at various curious places. Even the DJ was blacked out, head resting on one of the house plants so the music was reduced to a random lo fi spotify playlist playing in the background on somebody’s unclaimed laptop.

Two. You didn’t want to side with Hyunjae. Ever. That man kind of repulsed you. You were never into fuckboys especially the ones that had the reputation to back the rumors. You were deeply convinced that every girl on campus has had a go with Hyunjae’s pogo stick and of course if that was what they wanted, great for them but that wasn't your style that's all.

“I don’t need a bottle to take a lucky girl to heaven” Hyunjae declared, a smug smirk playing at his lips, and looking through his long lashes at one of the girls in the circle, even daring to go as far as to wink at her. She immediately started to giggle.

As far as you were concerned you had to repress a gag and opted for a more discreet but just repulsed facial expression.

“Yeah right just spin it!” Eric hurried him by motioning to the empty bottle in the circle but that didn’t stop Hyunjae from throwing one last disgustingly fuckboyish eyebrow raise to the snickering girl.

“Aight” he said, reaching for the vodka bottle, starting to spin it.

Anddd of fucking course it had to land on you. At that moment you and Hyunjae made eye contact. The smugness is gone. You both look at each other in complete confusion, hung in time.

You are not fond of Hyunjae, that's a fact. A known one. The main interested party knew that much from one very reliable source. Experience.

Of course since you breathed and had boobs Hyunjae tried to get into your pants too back when you were a new and introverted freshman in a brand new and intimidating college. But Hyunjae learned pretty fast that introvertedness wasn’t to be confused with shyness. Because you certainly weren't the latter. You rejected him in a way that didn’t leave any room for interpretation or even second chances and he never bothered you again.

Fuck… Why me?

For a second you argued that the bottle landed between you and Giggles so you really didn’t mind letting her get into the sickeningly small closet with Mr. Universe. But unfortunately Sangyeon and Eric were way too happy to stick Hyunjae with one of the rare girls on campus that never showed interest towards him.

Before you could understand they whisked you both in the tiny closet. And you found yourself squished between a couple of mops, floor detergent and of course the campus’ Angel Face.

You both stayed quiet for a while, both awkwardly standing in the dark. Your arms crossed on your chest while Hyunjae leaned on the door.

“I mean” you were the first one to break the silence. “We can always just wait here for 7 seven minutes.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. But it was somehow even more awkward. The air felt heavy, weighing down on your shoulder like lead.

“I don't want to get herpes or whatever”

You didn't really know why you said that but it just slipped out of you. Maybe because you hated how dry he was, not making a simple effort to at least talk to you or how he looked like being in your company was the most dreadful thing that could happen to him or maybe it was the booze talking. But nonetheless you said it.

“What?” he whipped his head in your direction.

“Yeah you surely have herpes with all the mouths that you kissed. Too bad they don't make condoms for your mouths” you laughed out loud.

At first Hyunjae looked pissed, sharp eyes peering at you but as his eyebrows relaxed on his forehead a sly smirk pulled his lips.

“You know what?” he started “I think you’re jealous…” he walked to you lifting his arms and placing both his palms at each side of your shoulder, forcing you to back up, trapping you between the wall and his large frame.

The untasteful scent of his overly sweet cologne mixed with the strong smell of cold tobacco floated to your nostrils, by reflex you pushed your chin back in your chest until the back of your head was against the wall too.

“Maybe you want to be added to my list?” he tilted his head bringing your face closer to yours.

He keeps a list? That's the cringiest thing you ever heard.

“Shut up and kiss me already. Let's get it over with”. You exhaled, bracing yourself.

“Kiss you?” Hyunjae started laughing. “You’re the last thing on earth I want to get my mouth on” he said before standing back straight, letting his hands fall to his side.

But before he could turn around you grabbed him by the collar and switched position with him, shoving his body onto the detergent bottle and you crashed your lips on him. To your surprise Hyunjae reciprocated the kiss, gradually he relaxed between your arms. You dared to open your mouth, letting your tongue slip past his lips. His flavor took over you, the taste of cigarettes and raspberry vodka filled your head. He started to breathe heavily and then moan into your mouth.

Hyunjae on the other hand didn’t even feel himself get hard. He didn’t have time to understand he liked this change of pace, he liked being pushed around, he liked that you pinned him against the wall and just stole this kiss from him.

You should have known he was enjoying this kiss a little too much but somehow it didn’t ring any bells to you and before you realized it his voice went very high pitched until he broke the kiss abruptly. When you looked at him his eyes were rolled back in his head and his jaw was hanging open.

“Fuckkk” he cursed in a throaty moan.

Silence again. You took your hands off his collar. You looked at him in confusion, looking for some kind of explanation on what just happened into his eyes but the only thing you found was evident and undeniable shame.

“Did you just…” you asked as Hyunjae bit down on his lip in worry when you looked down you spotted the disgraceful wet patch at his crotch.

“Are you for real right now?” you started to chuckle. “Did you really just fucking cum from a simple fucking kiss?” you started laughing louder. “7 minutes in heaven? More like 30 seconds! I can’t fucking believe it. Cumming untouched like a fucking prepubescent virgin.”

In this very delicate situation, saying Hyunjae felt vulnerable was an understatement. And this side eye he made, unable to hold your gaze, betrayed him right away.

“Wait?” you clapped your hand over your mouth. “Nooo wayyyy dude” you laughed even louder, throwing your head back. “Are you a virgin?”

The silence that followed spoke for itself. Hyunjae felt dizzy, he staggered backwards until his back hit the closed door.

“Wait, I don't get it… Did you pay those girls to say that you fucked them?” you were still half laughing.

He had nothing to lose anymore.

“N-no… I.” he looked back at you through his lashes, your cold, unwavering glare made him shudder. “I don’t even know how it started” he blurted. “Just one day that girl from my sociology class started to say she fucked me and that I was the best she’d ever been with and I never denied it. And then another girl said the same thing and then another…” Hyunjae’s words get caught in his throat and he swallows back a sob.

“Why didn’t you say anything, dipshit?” you spat. The biting tone made Hyunjae’s guts stir with an unknown feeling.

“I don’t know, okay?” one single tear rolled down his cheek.

There was something so satisfying in seeing Hyunjae crumble like this, catching him in a lie and finally letting the truth out. You wrapped your hand around his chin, nails poking at his wet cheeks as you made him look at you.

“Yeah I bet you loved having your harem following you around at parties and worshiping the ground that you walked.” You hissed between your teeth.

“Yes… But at the same time I was petrified to be with a girl… because of that reputation I was too scared to disappoint her that she would tell the truth to everyone…”

“And losing the attention felt unbearable, right?” you dug your nails a little deeper on his cushiony cheeks.

“Yess!!” he exclaimed, wincing at the pain, another repressed little sob pathetically shaking his large body.

“You know what…” you let go of his face, raising both your palms at each side of your face . “I don’t want to stay here for another fucking second.”

“No please” He whispered, pressing his back on the door to prevent you from leaving.

Maybe, there was an opportunity in all this. For both of you.

“I-I…” he hesitated. “y/n… I can offer you a deal…” he somewhat regained his composure, straightening his back against the wooden door.

You were intrigued.

“Maybe you… I mean…” he hesitated.

“Spit it out Lee” you urged him, your patience running thin.

“Maybe you could fuck me?” he blurted out.

“What?” you frowned in confusion.

“We could help each other. You help me… conquer my fear” Hyunjae walked on eggshells, the proposition sounding more and more like a polite suggestion rather than an actual deal “and in exchange I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Anything goes” he added.

Now that was something you could get to enjoy. Breaking the cocky fuckboy into a pathetic little mess.

“You would like that wouldn't you? '” without a heads up you grabbed Hyunjae's crotch. Package tightly fitting in your palm. “You think I didn’t notice how your dick didn’t go down this whole time?” Hyunjae whimpered ever so slightly in response. “You like when I’m mean to you don’t you?” The blonde whined again but didn’t speak. “You like when I make fun of you, huh?” you grip around his balls becoming ever so slightly tighter. “When I call you names?”

“Yess” Hyunjae admitted in a broken whisper, eyes tightly shut, shame painting his beautiful features.

“Pathetic” you spit. “You cum from a simple kiss then stay hard when I laugh at you. Your cock is really begging to be used, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Use me” he responds back a little more eagerly than he would have liked. You clench a little harder around his crotch making him gasp for air and jolt his hips into your hand.

“Good boys always say please” you whisper in his ear, the hot air lifting goosebumps on Hyunjae’s skin, drawing a quiet whimper out of the boy.

“Please, please, please” he whispered back, shallow breaths giving away the urge he felt. You smirk at his state of aggravated neediness.

“This is a one time thing” you finally agreed as you find your fingers fiddling with the button of his jeans. Hyunjae’s face lights up in hope.

“Yes! Please! fuck me and I will never bother you again I’ll-” his voice got caught in his throat when you carefully peeled the denim off him. Hyunjae’s hips move against his will one more time when you drag down his wet and cum soaked boxers as he felt the cold air hit his scolding hot and leaking tip. You bit your lip at the sight. His cock hadn’t stop leaking from the kiss. Precum and cum mixing at making his cock glisten under the dim light of the closet.

“Take everything off and get on your knees” you said, taking a step back to allow him some space to fulfill your request which he did hurriedly.

In a flash he was sitting on his heels in front of you looking up at you through his lashes, both hands laid flat on his thighs while he waited for you. You didn't even bother taking your clothes off, only sliding off your underwear from under your skirt. When you lifted the fabric and unveiled to Hyunjae the very object of his desire he stopped breathing. He left like he had never in his life laid eyes on anything this beautiful, this perfect.

He licked his lips hungrily, wanting nothing more but to wrap his mouth around the glistening folds.

“Make me cum with your mouth like a good little fuck toy” you said shoving your hips onto his face.

Instantly Hyunjae started to move at a rapid pace burying his face in the wet crevices, wanting to drown in you. You grabbed the eager boy by his thick blonde locks.

“Slower you dumb cunt” you pulled archly on his face, making his neck bend awkwardly to look up at you. “You a fucking bitch in heat or something?” Hyunjae winced at the dull pain on his scalp.

Hyunjae took a deep breath to calm himself down and stuck his tongue out, carefully swiping it from your entrance to your clit. You let a satisfied sight slip off your lips. And Hyunjae’s hands fly to your thighs to ground his body between your thighs and his mind to the present. Trying so bad to keep it slow as your taste intoxicates him, turning him into an animal.

“Yeah like that” you say as you relax your hand around his hair, even gently stroking it. You start to rock your hips on his tongue. Grinding your clit on his mouth just a little harder.

Hyunjae reads between the lines and goes ever so slightly faster. Twirling his hot tongue around your erect nub then going back down to dip the tip at your opening earning a pleased moan from you. You throw your head back and just lose yourself in the pleasure he provides you. Letting your voice go more high pitched as you near your high

That sound alone is enough for Hyunjae to lose control again. He was holding off so well up until then. So well when you squeezed his crotch, so well when he stripped for you, so well when he first tasted your nectar on his lips but the sound you made while your scent filled his head was too much for him. Again the white clumpy liquid spurted out of his beet red cock to stained his thighs and stomach while he moaned into your pussy. His large body shaking under you as he orgasmed once more.

When you noticed you turned around only to witness what you feared had happened. You saw Hyunjae’s mess all over his thighs and stomach. The slimy liquid finding refuge in the dents of his hips around his abs. You grabbed a fist full of his hair again.

“You fucking pathetic little bitch” you pulled his face away from your folds. “You fucking came again!”

“S-sorry” he barely managed to say looking up at you with his cheeks and chin made shiny with your essence, mind still hazy from his high.

“You deserve punishment don’t you think?” you growled as you pulled harshly on his hair bending his neck backwards, the sharp pain making his eyes prickle.

“Yes, I do. ‘m sorry y/n” he started to mumble. His guts stirred in anticipation when he saw your glacial eyes stare back at him with resentment.

“Open your mouth” you demanded. “Stick your tongue out”

Hyunjae felt his cock twitch when he saw you lean in and purse your lips only to spit right on his tongue.

“Don’t swallow yet.” you instructed, hand still gripping tight around his hair. “Say thank you”

“Pthang you” Hyunjae replied as best as he could as the slimy foreign liquid rolled on his tongue, making his insides flutter with thrill and joy.

“Swallow” you said.

And he did. Happily taking your spit down his throat almost as a trophy an indelible token of what you both did in this closet.

You let go of his hair and step away and Hyunjae collapses. He sits with his legs forward and his sweaty back against the cool wooden door.

You positioned both your feet at each side of his hips and started to crouch down. Hyunjae jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his bare cock guiding it to your entrance. Cock twitching at the idea of serving you properly.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked between hisses as you lightly pump your fist around him.

“No. You?” you ask back and he shakes his head. You circle his tip on your hot wet folds which makes him arch his back against the door and press his lips into a thin line.

“Should we go get one?” he says, frowning in worry.

You let go of his cock and motion your chin to the door. “Go ahead. Go out and ask your friends for a condom.” You taunted him.

Hyunjae was conscious of the state he was in and the last thing he wanted was for his friends to see him like this, him that was so preoccupied with appearances. So he shook his head again.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy” you said as you grabbed his base again, angling him right at your entrance. “Today is a safe day for me” you said and you sunk yourself on his cock. The hot tip deliciously parting you, sliding with ease inside your drenched heat.

It took Hyunjae everything he had to not burst again. Finally popping his cherry. Finally feeling the delicious wetness and warmth of your pussy around him. Completely unrestrained, raw. He thought his whole body was going to burst into flames, his heart hammering against his ribs.

You saw him struggle, eyes shut tight, eyebrows digging a deep crease on his forehead, jaw clenched and nails clawing at the wooden floor. You grabbed his face between your fingers, sharp nails poking at his cheeks. The pain helped Hyunjae concentrate on something else that wasn’t the agonizing pleasure he felt on his throbbing cock.

“Look at me! Don’t you fucking cum, you hear?” you forced him to look at you. Slapping his cheek when you caught him losing focus, his eyes turning in his head. It worked and Hyunjae calmed down.

“Ok” he stated, out of breath. “I’m good”

You started to very slowly lift your hips up.

“I can’t fucking believe you came twice and you are still this fucking hard” you moaned as his tip was barely hanging inside of you to smash yourself back in. "You really are like a fuck toy ready to get used again and again and again" you said making your hips snap down with every word.

Hyunjae whimpered as a reply, biting down his lower lip in shame.

You climb the ladder of pleasure very rapidly given the orgasm Hyunjae robbed you of earlier you too were pretty worked up and with very little time you found yourself flirting with your edge again.

Hyunjae, on the other hand, was being tortured by the strong grip of your walls around him. As you were nearing your high you clenched down harder on him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

“Y/n… aaah” he was out of breath. Large beads of sweat dripping down his temples and hanging under his chin. “I can’t hold back anymore. Gonna aaah c-cum” he was at the end of his rope. His fucked out half lidded eyes looking at you with the most miserable of expressions.

You knew you were close, you figured you let the man let go before he loses the sanity he has left.

“Cum” you said.

The result was almost immediate. Hyunjae moaned out loud, finally letting go of his clenched jaw to let it lose as a string of groans and high pitched moans left his lips, to reverberate on all the walls of the tight space, probably to be heard by everyone outside that was not knocked out drunk. You felt Hyunjae delivering an abundant quantity of cum right in your pussy. Each of your thrust shoving the cum even deeper inside your dripping heat.

But you hadn’t finish yet and you don't intend to let yourself be edged to this level twice on the same night. You weren't going to stop before you grasp your orgasm.

Hyunjae started to whine when you kept on bouncing on his sensitive and drained out cock. Still constricting the poor member around your unforgiving wall. Hips still going strong with the brutal pace, determined to rip your orgasm out of Hyunjae.

“Please. Slow down I–Aaaa” tears started to roll down his face mixing with the sweat on his chiseled jaw.

“Shut up, I'm almost there” you said, clapping your hand on Hyunjae's mouth. His face contorting in overstimulation at the forced pleasure he winced under your touch, the face of true suffering. Hyunjae’s anguish was the last straw for you.

You finally snatch your high, hips becoming sloppy as you let yourself moan out, throwing your head back and pushing your hips back and forth, making Hyunjae’s cum gush out of you, mixing his previous loads still pooling on his stomach.

You gradually slow down, riding out your high slowly until you come to a complete stop. You keep Hyunjae’s dick right inside you. After a couple of minutes of both of you trying to clear your minds and catch your breath you speak.

“You aren’t really ready be able to live up to your reputation yet but come see me again I’ll teach you to last for hours.”

a/n: ooooff. idk what happened here? i was really in my domme head space and my fingers slipped. thank you anon who requested this is one of my faves <3 guysss did you like it? if yes please consider leaving a comment or an ask. 1 comment = 1 forehead kiss from cat <3. ily

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